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DargonZine - Volume 2, Number 1
From [email protected] Tue May 12 10:33:07 1992
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Date: Tue, 12 May 92 10:29:47 EDT
From: "Avid Reader - Fledgling Writer" <[email protected]>
To: [email protected]
Status: OR
1 /
DDDDD ZZZZZZ //
D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE ||
D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 2
-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Issue 1
DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
\\
\
------------------------------------------------------------------------
-- DargonZine Volume 2, Issue 1 03/17/89 Cir 882 --
------------------------------------------------------------------------
-- Contents --
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DAG Dafydd Editorial
A Night in the Town Carlo N. Samson 28 Naia, 1013
Trial by Fire, Part 1 M. Wendy Henniquin 7-12 Sy, 1013
The Game Begins John Doucette 13-14 Sy, 1013
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dafydd's Amber Glow
This will be brief, as this issue is going to be very long.
First, please don't be alarmed by the fact that this is Volume 2:
yes, there was only one issue in Volume 1. I have decided to make
each volume cover a Calendar year and, as Volume 1 went out in 1988
and it is now 1989, this issue must be in the second volume.
Second, I would like to announce that Rich Jervis
([email protected]) is handling orders for the DargonZine
tshirt. He needs a few more promissory orders before he can get an
estimate from the printer.
The shirt will bear a design based on the the DargonZine logo
in either silver on blue or black on blue. Current estimates for
price are around eight dollars but a large response to this will
cut the price accordingly. Please contact Rich for more
information. No profits are expected as he will no doubt go in the
hole from shipping costs.
Lastly, the next issue of Volume 2 will be out within the month
- I have enough stories right now to make this issue about three
times the size it is, so you won't have to wait almost 5 months
before reading more about Dargon.
Thank you and good reading,
Dafydd, Editor DargonZine
(m.k.a. John L White)
(b.c.k.a. [email protected])
------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 A Night in the Town
by Carlo N. Samson
(b.c.k.a [email protected])
The sun was setting as Cydric Araesto arrived in the coastal town
of Sharks' Cove. He rode through the gates and onto the main street,
seeking a place to rest after his journey up from Magnus, the Crown
City of Baranur. After a short while, he decided to stop at a place
called "The Hawk & Dragon Inn", as it looked a bit more respectable
than the other taverns he had passed.
Cydric snorted at the thought that anything in this rat- bag of a
town could be respectable; all manner of thieves, smugglers, murderers
and whores infested Sharks' Cove, so he had heard. Some even said the
local guard were afraid to venture onto the streets at night.
Cydric entered the common room of the Inn and sat down at a corner
table. An odd feeling came over him; it seemed like he had done this
before. And indeed, he had. His thoughts traveled back several months
and several hundred leagues, to the northern town of Dargon. He had
come into a tavern just like this one, met a girl who took him to a
Sage, who took him on a strange adventure into a realm beyond dreams.
But that time, he had been searching for an answer; this time, he just
wanted to get away.
At the bar, a group of revelers sang and drank, led by a young
girl strumming skillfully on a mandolin. Her voice was light and
pleasing, yet Cydric didn't think she was a bard.
He called a serving girl over and ordered a drink. When it
arrived, he took a sip and stared into the brown liquid, remembering
the whole Dargon episode as if it had happened yesterday.
It had all started with a strange, recurring vision, which always
ended with the name "Corambis the Sage" and a map showing the location
of Dargon. He told no one about it, since it wouldn't do for the son
of King Haralan's Royal Treasurer to be thought insane. After a few
months, though, he decided to follow up on the vision. He left the
castle in the middle of the night, leaving only a letter to his
fiancee Lysanda, King Haralan's niece.
He arrived in Dargon and met Corambis, who also had been having
visions. It turned out that their visions were being sent to them by
an Elder, trapped in another realm of existence, who needed Cydric and
the Sage to free him. They entered the realm through a portal opened
by the Elder, but when they found him they discovered that he was
really a sorcerer called Nephros, who needed them as part of a ritual
to free a powerful demon from the Nether Realms. But with the help of
Corambis' patron goddess they managed to escape, battling giant
lizards and crystal skeletons along the way.
Cydric smiled and took another sip. It had been a rather exciting
experience, even though they could have been killed on several
occasions. Then his expression sobered as he remembered what had
happened after they returned to their own realm.
A royal messenger had arrived at the house of Corambis, where
Cydric had been staying, and informed the young noble that Lysanda was
expecting a child, and had been for three months. Cydric had no choice
but to return to the capital and marry her immediately to avoid a
scandal. Unfortunately, rumors of Lysanda's pre-marital pregnancy
began circulating, and were confirmed when the child was born only six
months later. The High Church of Magnus was extremely shocked, but the
Master Priest made no official comment after being taken aside by the
King himself. Still, the public knew, and soon it got so that Cydric
1and Lysanda couldn't even go into town without people giving them
looks and quietly whispering about "heathen fornication". This put a
strain on their marriage, and a month later they had a fight which
ended with Lysanda taking the baby and moving back in with her
parents. She then petitioned the Church for a dissolution of the
marriage, and when it was granted she and her parents moved far away
from the capital. Cydric fell into disfavor around the court, so a
month after Lysanda left he decided to leave as well, much to the
relief of the courtiers and to the sorrow of his parents and friends.
The sound of cheering interrupted Cydric's thoughts. The girl at
the bar bowed with a flourish, her song apparently over. Cydric
returned to his drink. "Sharks' Cove," he silently mused. "Not the
best place in the world to end up in." He shook his head. "But at
least no one knows me here. Time to make a new start. Hopefully I
won't make such a mess of my life this time around."
"Hello there," a voice at his elbow said. Cydric looked up and saw
the mandolin girl standing next to him. "The tavern's full tonight,
isn't it? Hardly any place to sit. Would you mind if I sat with you? I
noticed you came in here alone. But if you're meeting someone I can
just go somewhere else, but if you're not, I'd like to join you, if I
may. Well?"
"Uh, be my guest," said Cydric, after taking a moment to decipher
what she had said.
"Many thanks." The girl carefully placed her instrument on a chair
and plopped her slender figure onto the table, dangling her legs over
the edge. She was dressed explorer- style: billowy white shirt, maroon
velvet vest, cotton breeches, and deerskin knee boots. Her
tawny-auburn hair, short and curly, was quite unlike the long, braided
style currently in fashion among the young ladies of the kingdom.
Cydric guessed that she was just a bit younger than him, perhaps no
more than 19 or 20.
"You're dusty," she said. "Have you just ridden into town?"
Cydric self-consciously ran a hand through his short brown hair.
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I've been traveling."
"You also sound tired. Is that the reason you didn't applaud my
playing?"
Cydric shrugged. "I suppose so."
"Sorry," she said, laying her hand on his arm. "I don't mean to be
so forward, especially with a stranger." She leaned over. "So, what's
your name?"
He introduced himself as Cydric Artovan. "Very pleased, Cydric,"
she said, extending her hand. Cydric went to press it against his
cheek, in the usual manner of greeting; but after he had done so she
gripped his forearm warrior-style. "My name's Amanda Lynn."
"A mandolin?" Cydric said.
She laughed. "That's what everyone says the first time I tell
them. Just call me Mandi."
"Very pleased, Mandi." Cydric sloshed the drink around in his mug.
"Well, Cydric, now that we're no longer strangers--at least not
_total_ strangers--tell me, what strange force compelled you to visit
this town?"
"Just passing through," Cydric replied.
"Passing through?" She chuckled, then gathered her legs under her.
"Most people go out of their way to avoid the Cove."
"Actually, I may have to stay for a few days. I'm low on money.
Would you happen to know if there are any, um, employment
opportunities available around here?"
"That depends." She peered over the edge of the table at Cydric's
lap. "Hmmm, very nice."
1 "I beg your pardon?"
"Your sword and dagger, I meant. How well can you use them?"
"Well enough to defend myself."
"That's not quite good enough for a mercenary position.
Although...."
"Yes?"
"Is your codpiece in working order?"
Cydric grinned uncertainly. "Ah, why would you want to know that?"
Mandi cocked her head and winked at him. "Prostitutes aren't all
women, you know."
Cydric coughed. "Ah, I'm also able to read and write. Do you know
of any children that need tutoring?"
A scruffy-looking man from the next table leaned over and looked
at them. "Why sure, son," he called. "Take my partner here--all 'is
talk's babble, it is. Thinks you could teaches 'im to grunt some
words, eh son?" He and his companions laughed uproariously.
"Your mother eats flies, dung-breath!" Mandi called back. To
Cydric she said, "Ignore those fools."
"Yeah, you just be sure and show the old son there a good time,
pretty missy," the man replied, leering. He turned back to his table.
"I take it the whole town needs tutoring," Cydric said in a low
voice.
"You've got that right," Mandi replied. "Anyway, have you ever
been on a ship before? A friend of mine is looking for additional
crewmembers."
Cydric's heart quickened. While in Dargon he had met a man, a
former ship's captain turned stew-seller, who told him about his life
and experiences at sea. After hearing his stories of action, danger,
and romance, Cydric had decided to give the seagoing life a try. His
marriage to Lysanda, however, put an end to that ambition; but now,
things were different.
"What does your friend do?" Cydric asked. "Is he a merchant, a
fisherman?"
"A slave trader," Mandi replied. She giggled at Cydric's surprised
expression. "No, he's really a shipping merchant, as you guessed. Are
you interested?"
"Well yes, but I've never actually been on ship before."
"Oh, that's all right. You'd get used to it eventually. But are
you really sure you want to join up?"
Cydric was silent for a few moments. "Yes," he finally said. "Why
not? It'll keep me off the streets for a while."
"Oh goody," Mandi said, sliding off the table. "I think he's over
at the Abyssment tonight. Do you want to meet him now, or would you
rather get cleaned up first?"
"Give me a few minutes," Cydric said.
After Cydric had checked his belongings into an upstairs room and
washed up, he and Mandi set out on foot into the darkening streets.
"On second thought, maybe we should do this tomorrow. I've heard
that this town isn't safe after dark," Cydric said.
"Oh really, Cydric, this place isn't as bad as you've heard,"
Mandi said.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I am." She leaned close to his ear and whispered, "It's
worse."
"I hope you're jesting."
Mandi laughed and put her hand on Cydric's shoulder. "Don't look
so worried. The Abyssment's not far. Besides, my friend's leaving
tomorrow morning, as he only needs a few men to replace the ones he
lost overboard on his last run."
1 "Lost overboard?"
"Storm at sea. Really, don't worry, they didn't die of plague or
anything. He's a damn good captain, Thorne is."
The sound of their footsteps echoed on the cobblestone streets as
they walked along.
"What is this Abyssment place, anyway?" asked Cydric. "It doesn't
sound very wholesome."
"It's only the best tavern this side of the Darst Range! My
favorite night spot in all of Shark's Cove."
"So why don't you work there, instead of at the Hawk and Dragon?"
"Well, The Abyssment has it's own musicians, and alas! they don't
need another one right now. But they do let me perform with them once
in a while."
"I don't see why they won't hire you permanently. You're the best
mandolin player I've ever heard."
"Oh! Do you really think so? Or are you just flattering me?"
"No, I mean it. Who taught you?"
"My father. Oh, now he really deserves to be called best mandolin.
He gave me my name, you know. Said it was a charm to pass his
abilities onto me."
"It seems to have worked," Cydric said.
Mandi smiled and laughed. "Oh Cydric, you're the one with charm!"
A short while later they arrived at the establishment know as The
Abyssment. The sign above the door spelled out the name in
black-trimmed red letters, and the words "Gaius Caligula, Proprietor"
appeared beneath.
"Here we are," said Mandi.
As soon as they entered, Cydric saw that it was unlike any tavern
he had ever seen. The tables, booths, and bar were arranged so that
there was a clear space in the center of the room where a crowd of
people, most of them around Cydric and Mandi's age, danced to the fast
and lively music being played by the trio of musicians near the bar.
Glowing spheres set in the rafters sent out rays of rainbow light into
the smoky air. The aromas of tobacco, ale, perfume, and food all hit
Cydric at once.
Mandi began moving her body to the beat of the music. "Wait for me
at the bar," she said. "I'll try to find Captain Thorne." She vanished
into the crowd.
Cydric decided that whatever the people in the room were doing, it
certainly wasn't dancing. They were swaying and gyrating their bodies
to the driving beat of the drums; he found it hard to tell if anyone
had a partner, since none of them were holding hands in the
traditional manner.
As he made his way to the bar he passed a table at which a group
of young persons were sharing a pipe.
"Excuse me," Cydric said to the boy who currently held the pipe,
"but what sort of tobacco are you using?" The boy looked up with
glazed eyes and said, "Beezorg, yo-man, beezorg." He gave the pipe to
the girl across from him, smiled dreamily, then slumped headfirst onto
the table.
"Ah. I see. Thank you very much," Cydric said. He continued on his
way, unsure of whether the boy's statement was an answer to his
question or just an incoherent mumble.
"What'll you have, squire?" asked the bartender as Cydric made for
an empty stool.
"A Lederian, please. In a clean mug, if you don't mind."
"A clean mug, if I don't mind?" the bartender echoed. "Well, what
if I did mind? What would you do about it?"
"Please, just get me the drink," Cydric said, trying to sound
1rugged.
"Very well, squire. But supposing I brought it to you in a really
filthy, really disgusting mug? What would you do then?"
Cydric started to reply, then noticed that the people near him
were watching the exchange with interest.
"Well, I'd...." Cydric hesitated.
"You'd what?"
"I'd...be sick."
The bartender gave a hearty laugh. "This one's all right, folks!"
he declared. From behind the bar he took a mug, wiped the inside clean
with a rag, filled it with the requested drink, then set it before
Cydric. "On the house."
Cydric thanked him. The bartender grinned, then went to tend to
another customer.
Looking around the room, Cydric saw that the majority of the young
patrons bore little resemblance to the youths that lived in the
capital and other civilized areas. Many of the girls wore short skirts
that exposed their knees, and had short hair like Mandi's; most of the
boys wore leather jerkins decorated with strange symbols, and some had
hair that reached past their shoulders.
The person to Cydric's right got up and left, and a moment later a
thin girl dressed in a black-striped red chemise sat down in the
vacant seat. "Are you alone?" she asked.
"Ah, actually, I'm waiting for someone," Cydric replied. "You?"
"How about a dance?" She pushed back a lock of her straight blonde
hair.
A glint of light on the girl's face caught Cydric's eye. He looked
closer, and saw that she had a small gold ring in the left side of her
nose.
"Back off, missy, he's with me," Mandi said, approaching them. The
blonde girl gave Mandi a disdainful look, tossed her head, then left.
"Did you see that? She had a ring in her nose," said Cydric.
"Must have been a queenie," Mandi replied. "Anyway, Thorne'll be
here later. He's got some other business to take care of."
"How much later?" Cydric asked. "I don't want to stay too late."
"Don't worry, he'll show up. Come on."
"Where to now?"
"I thought we might dance a little."
"Dance? But--"
"You don't know how? I'll teach you." Mandi pulled him onto the
floor just as the musicians started another number.
"The King doesn't dance like this," Cydric said.
Mandi giggled and bumped him with her hip. "What does he know
about dancing? Look, it's easy. Just do what I do."
"This looks extremely sinful, Mandi."
"Why Cydric, that's why it's so fun! Come on!" She put her hands
in the air and began shaking her shoulders.
Cydric watched her for a few moments, shrugged, then began shaking
as well.
After a while, the musicians decided to take a break. As the crowd
broke up, Cydric and Mandi quickly occupied the nearest table.
"Whew! Wasn't that the most fun you've ever had in your life?"
Mandi asked breathlessly as they collapsed into the chairs.
"I'm exhausted," Cydric said, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Oh now, you enjoyed it, didn't you? You're a natural born dervish
dancer if I ever saw one!"
"Is that what it's called?" Cydric said, grinning faintly. "How
appropriate. But--yes, I did rather enjoy it." He sat up a little and
scanned the faces at the bar and the other tables. "Has the captain
1arrived yet?"
"Relax, Cydric," Mandi said. "I told you, he'll be here."
"If you say so," Cydric answered.
"Yes, I do." Mandi felt her stomach, then said, "Why don't we have
something to eat while we're waiting? I haven't had a single morsel
since midday and I'm positively _starving_. How about you? You've been
traveling all day, right? You must be completely _famished!_"
"Now that you mention it, I could use a light meal."
Mandi signalled to a serving boy. She whispered something to him,
and he nodded and left.
"What did you say?" asked Cydric.
"I just told him to bring us some specialties of the house," said
Mandi.
The serving boy returned a short time later and placed two wooden
bowls before them.
"Right then Cydric, have a taste of this one." She indicated a
bowl that contained several small white objects covered with a
brownish gravy.
"What is it?" Cydric said, eyeing the dish suspiciously.
"Try it and find out." Mandi spooned up a portion and held it out
to him.
"Well, all right...." Cydric let her feed him. The white objects
were crunchy, but with a soft chewy interior.
"Interesting. There's a touch of wine in the sauce, but I can't
place anything else. What is it?"
"It's called 'kavaliculi', but it's better known as
snails-in-sauce."
Cydric made a choking sound. "_What_ in sauce?"
"Snails. Don't worry, they're fully cooked." She dipped her finger
into the bowl and licked up a bit of the wine gravy. "Isn't it
delicious?"
Cydric swallowed hard. "Quite a, uh, unique dish," he said, trying
not to think about what he had just eaten.
"Now try this," said Mandi, pushing the other bowl towards him.
Cydric saw that it was full of what appeared to be bits of dried
twigs.
"Ladies first," he said.
"Silly, it's only a dessert," she said, scooping up a small amount
and stuffing it into her mouth.
"A dessert? Well, why didn't you say so." Cydric ate some. The
bits were crispy and coated with a sweet substance.
"What do you think?" Mandi asked.
"Hmmm. Very tasty."
"I knew you'd like it! Do you want to know what these are called?"
"I have a feeling you'd tell me anyway."
"'Lyr-filas', or 'leaf-wrigglers dipped in honey'."
Cydric smiled bravely as he felt the last bits slide down his
throat. He firmly resolved not to eject the contents of his stomach
onto the table--at least not in front of Mandi. "How, ah, delicious,"
he said. "I never knew insects could be made to taste so, um,
flavorful."
"They are good, aren't they? Well, let's finish the snails
first--they're best eaten while warm." She handed Cydric a spoon.
"Tell me something, Mandi," he said as he watched her dip into the
bowl, "what do you have for breakfast? Glazed fly larvae on a
biscuit?"
"Only during Melrin," she said, grinning.
Cydric had downed three mugs of water by the time they finished
their unusual meal.
1 "It's getting late, Mandi. I think I'll go back to the inn now,"
Cydric said.
"Oh, can't you wait just a few minutes longer? I'm sure he'll show
up."
"That's all right. I'll just look for a job tomorrow. I shouldn't
have any trouble finding unschooled children in this town."
"Don't you want to join a ship's crew and have adventure and
excitement on the high seas?" Mandi asked. "Or would you rather teach
some runny-faced urchin how to spell 'cur'?
"What do you suppose is keeping him, then?"
"I don't know. Be patient, I'm--"
"--sure he'll be here," Cydric finished. "Thank you anyway." He
got up to leave.
"Well--you're right. I'm sorry I kept you so late. But aren't you
at least going to walk me home?"
"Certainly, if you'd like."
"I certainly would. We're going the same way."
"We are? Oh--you live at the Inn, don't you?"
Mandi smiled merrily. "It's where I hang my mandolin!"
Dim yellow light from street lanterns provided pale illumination
as Cydric and Mandi stepped out into the cool night air and headed
back toward the Hawk & Dragon.
"So, Cydric, what did you think of your first night at the
Abyssment?" Mandi asked.
"Well," he replied, "if suggestive dancing, open drug use, and
brazen prostitution becomes socially acceptable, it'll be the most
popular tavern on Makdiar!"
"Does that mean you liked it?"
Cydric chuckled and made no reply. Looking up at the black
star-strewn sky, he saw that there was no moon. He remembered an old
childhood warning about thieves and nightshades preying on people
foolish enough to be out on moonless nights. He'd long since lost his
belief in nightshades, but thieves, he knew, were a grim reality.
Turning to Mandi he said, "We'd better hurry back."
"What for?" said Mandi, giving a little skip. "It's a magnificent
night, absolutely beautiful. We should enjoy it."
"I don't fancy having my throat slit by a brigand."
"Oh Cydric, there's really nothing to worry about. I've walked
home at night many times and as you can see, I'm still alive."
"That may change one day."
As they made their way through the silent streets, Cydric kept
glancing at every shadow, down every alley, any place that might hide
a potential attacker. Once or twice he thought he heard bootsteps.
"My heart's on fire for you, hmm hmm hmm hmmmmmm hmmm," said
Mandi.
"Beg your pardon?" Cydric said.
"Oh, that's just a song I'm composing. Would you like to hear it?"
"Maybe later. We shouldn't call attention to ourselves."
"And what's wrong with a little attention? I want everybody to
hear this song. I want everybody to know my name!" She flung her arms
wide and twirled in mid-step.
"Mandi, please!" Cydric hissed. "I have the feeling we're being
followed."
"Really? How many people?"
"Shhhh." Cydric stopped and listened intently. He heard a faint
scuffling, then silence.
"Well?" whispered Mandi.
"I'm not sure. Two, maybe three. They've probably been behind us
ever since we left the Abyssment."
1 "Oh good, an audience. Let me sing for them."
"It'll be the last thing you ever do. Come on." He started walking
rapidly, pulling Mandi along.
"You don't have to act like a warrior for my benefit. I'm
perfectly able to take care of myself," she said.
"Are you any good with a blade?'
"Well, no. But I can outrun anything on two legs."
"Your own legs?"
"Of course my own legs."
"And I'm sure they're very nice legs. Now move them a little
faster."
Their shadowers soon abandoned all attempts at stealth. Cydric
looked back down the street and saw two figures silhouetted against
the lantern light. The sound of their footfalls echoed through the
still night.
"Damn," muttered Cydric.
"What?" asked Mandi.
"Don't look behind you, but they're starting to close in on us."
Mandi looked anyway. "What do you think we should do? Are they
going to hurt us?"
"Well, they're certainly not going to ask to hear your song! Now,
when I say run, run."
"Okay," replied Mandi. "Last one back to the Inn is a dead man!"
Literally, thought Cydric. He counted to five, then shouted: "Run,
Mandi!"
They shot away down the street. Cydric heard faint laughter over
the clatter of bootsteps. Suddenly Mandi screamed.
A dark-skinned man armed with a large curved sword stood in their
path. They stopped in their tracks.
Cydric looked back and saw one of their pursuers advancing toward
them. The other one was nowhere to be seen.
The man indicated a nearby alley. "In there," he said in a thickly
accented voice. Cydric and Mandi raised their hands and walked to
where he pointed. When they came to the wall at the end of the alley
the man ordered them to turn around.
"Your money," he said simply.
As Mandi handed over her purse, Cydric recognized the sword as a
shivash, a blade used by the warriors of the Lashkir Desert. He
wondered what this particular Lashkirian was doing so far from home.
"Now yours." The Lashkirian waved his blade threateningly at
Cydric.
"Look, just leave us alone and we won't give you any trouble," he
replied.
The man pressed the point of the shivash against Cydric's neck.
"You will give it now, you blistered son of a jantral!"
"Better do as he says," said Mandi.
Cydric slowly reached for his belt pouch but found it missing. He
patted himself all over, with the same negative result. "Sorry," he
said. "I seem to have lost it all somewhere."
The desert warrior let loose a string of curses in his native
tongue.
"Easy, friend," said another voice. Cydric saw another man, their
initial pursuer, appear at the mouth of the alley.
"He says he has no money," said the Lashkirian.
"He said that, did he?" the other man replied, coming up to them.
He scratched his stubbly brown beard. "What do you think, Scarabin, is
he lying?"
"Like a dog-skin rug," answered the Lashkirian. "Let us kill them
both, master Kayne."
"Well, not before I get to know the girl a little better," Kayne
1replied. He moved closer to Mandi, who delivered a solid kick to his
shin.
"Ouch! Spunky little wench, isn't she?" said Kayne as he hobbled
back several paces.
"Don't you try to take advantage of me!" said Mandi.
"Be silent, girl!" Scarabin ordered.
"And don't _you_ tell me what to do, lizard man!"
The desert warrior growled. Cydric realized that she had delivered
a dreadful insult to the Lashkirian.
"I shall cut your throat out!" Scarabin shouted. He lunged at
Mandi.
"Temper, temper," said Kayne, catching Scarabin's arm. In a flash,
Cydric kicked the shivash out of the Lashkirian's grip, delivered
another kick to Kayne's stomach, then dropped back and drew his own
sword. He was about to aim a sharp slash at Kayne's face when he felt
Mandi grab his sword arm.
"Let go, for gods' sake!" yelled Cydric.
Instantly, Kayne came up and wrested the sword from Cydric's hand.
He shoved the young man against the wall. Cydric drove his knee into
Kayne's groin and shoved back. As Kayne staggered, Scarabin swung at
Cydric's face. He stopped the blow with a left-arm rising block, then
punched the Lashkirian in the chest. Scarabin fell back, then leaped
forward, catching Cydric's head in his hands. Cydric felt Scarabin's
thumb jab a spot behind his right ear, then suddenly he felt himself
go weak. His knees buckled, then he collapsed to the ground.
"You better not have killed him!" he heard Mandi say. She rolled
him over, then sighed with relief as he dazedly shook his head.
"Oh Cydric, you're all right, aren't you?" she asked, concern
edging her voice.
"Fine, just...fine," he replied, struggling up to a sitting
position. He saw Kayne and Scarabin standing over them. "If you're
going to kill us, why don't you get it over with!" he said fiercely.
"Relax, Cydric," Mandi said, smoothing his hair. She turned and
glowered at Scarabin. "Did you have to do that to him?"
"My apologies, mistress Mandi. It was done out of instinct."
"You know these people?" Cydric asked Mandi. "What's going on
here?"
"I suppose it's time we told you," said a female voice from the
mouth of the alley. Cydric looked up and saw a tall dark-haired woman
striding towards them. She was clad in black and silver, and carried a
lantern. As she helped him to his feet she said, "I hope they didn't
hurt you, Cydric. I told them to not to be too rough."
"He's fine, all right, but what about me? I won't be able to make
love for a month!" Kayne said, rubbing at the place where Cydric had
kneed him.
"What do you mean?" Cydric asked the woman. "Who are you? And how
do you know my name?"
"One question at a time, please. First let me introduce myself.
I'm Brynna Thorne, captain of the trading vessel _Vanguard Voyager_.
You've already met my crew, I think. Tyrus Kayne, my First Mate, and
Scarabin, my best warrior."
"You're Captain Thorne? But Mandi said--I mean, I thought you
were--"
"Thought I was what?"
"Well, a man."
"Is that what you told him?" Brynna asked, glancing sharply at
Mandi.
The young lady grinned sheepishly. "Well...."
"I can't wait to hear your explanation for this one," said Brynna.
"Well, you see, everyone I asked seemed interested in joining the
1crew. But when I told them about your being a woman, they sort of
laughed and left."
"I see."
"Well, what else could I do?"
"We'll speak about it later," Brynna said. She turned to Cydric.
"Now then, I suppose you're wondering why I didn't show up at the
Abyssment tonight?"
"The question had crossed my mind."
"Well, when Mandi told me you wanted to become a member of the
crew but hadn't had any experience on a ship before, my first thought
was to dismiss you outright. But she told me that you were desperately
poor and in need of employment, so I decided to conduct a little test
to see if you were suitable. I had her take you to the Abyssment,
where I observed you for the whole night."
"But how did Mandi contact you? I was with her all the time."
"Not always," Mandi said. "Brynna was in the gaming parlor of the
Hawk & Dragon. I spoke to her while you were checking your stuff into
your room."
Cydric nodded in understanding, then said to Brynna, "And you were
at the Abyssment the whole time?"
"I was indeed. And I must say, I was impressed by the way you
handled yourself in the various situations you encountered. For
instance, most people would have pulled a knife on that bartender, or
simply left. You also seemed open-minded enough to try dervish
dancing, even though it's been officially banned by the Church for
ages. And you are one of the few people I've seen who hasn't
immediately become sick after trying snails and wrigglers for the
first time.
"What this all means, Cydric, is that you seem like you'd be a
good addition to our crew. I need people who are level-headed, and not
afraid to experience new things. So, if you want to join us, you're
most welcome. The decision is yours."
"This attack was also part of my test, I gather."
"Yes, it was. I was looking to see if your combat skills were any
good, and from what I saw, yours appear to be above average."
"Exactly what sort of trading do you do, though? I mean, there's
not much need for a fighting crew unless you travel outside the
patrolled sea lanes."
"That's quite true," Brynna replied. "The nature of our trade
takes us outside the normal routes, and consequently we run a greater
risk of pirate attacks. You see, there's a great demand nowadays for
unusual and exotic goods; we travel to the lesser known places of
Makdiar in search of these things. We've collected heavenspice from
Bichu, fire crystals from Karmitan, orchids from Sanctus Island...."
"Not to mention relics from the temples at Yaltark, and sea-snail
shells from the Wild Coast," added Kayne.
"But understand, Cydric, that shipboard life will sometimes be
hard, and there may come times when you'll wish you'd never signed
aboard. And there often may be times where our lives will be in
danger--not just from pirates, but from things unknown even to the
most worldly wizard. Are you still interested?"
"I'm willing to give it a try. And I'm not worried about death,"
answered Cydric.
"Bravely spoken," Brynna said. "One more thing, though; do you
mind the fact that I'm the captain? That is, do you object to taking
orders from a woman?"
Cydric paused, then said: "Not when she has a right to give them."
"Wise answer, Cydric," remarked Kayne.
"Does this mean you've accepted him?" Mandi asked, looking
hopefully at Brynna.
1 "It does indeed. Welcome aboard, Cydric," she said, extending her
hand.
"Oh goody!" exclaimed Mandi, as Cydric smilingly thanked Brynna
and gripped forearms with her. Kayne repeated the welcome, and
Scarabin bowed politely. Mandi smiled broadly and gave the young man a
hug.
"We'll discuss terms and duties later," Brynna said. "But right
now we should all go back to the Inn before some real thieves show
up."
As the group filed out of the alley, Mandi walked between Kayne
and Scarabin. "Great acting, you two!" she said. "Sorry about that
'lizard man' thing, Scar. I wasn't thinking."
"I am not offended, mistress Mandi. I know your intention was to
make the attack seem real to the lad," the Lashkirian replied.
"But _you_!" she said, whirling on Kayne, "If you ever try
anything with me again, acting or not--I'll personally see to it that
you're _never_ able to make love again."
"Ouch," said Kayne, chuckling in amusement.
While the three were thus conversing, Brynna took Cydric aside and
whispered, "Since you've no previous shipboard experience, your duties
will be simple at first. But there's one thing that I'll expect you to
do, above all else."
"Yes?"
"Keep Mandi out of trouble. My young cousin seems to have
developed a talent for it, ever since she stowed away and persuaded me
to let her be part of the crew."
"I'll do my best, my lady--er, captain."
"I can tell you right now, though, it won't be easy."
"That's right, it won't!" Mandi said, popping up between them. She
slipped her arm around Cydric. "You and I are going to have such fun."
"I can hardly wait," Cydric replied, grinning. Mandi pinched his
cheek as they walked off into the night.
The End
------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 Trial by Fire
Part I
Accused!
by M. Wendy Henniquin
(b.c.k.a. HENNEQUI_WEM@CTSTATEU)
As Luthias opened the door, the Duke of Dargon whooped, scooped
his pretty wife into his arms, and twirled her in the air. Lauren,
clad in a sunshiny yellow gown, clung to the Duke's neck and laughed
gaily as a debutante. Luthias paused, unsure of the situation and what
to do about it. He looked at Myrande for guidance. She shrugged.
Above the laughter, Luthias called irritably, "Well, I'm glad you
two have something to be happy about."
Clifton set his wife gently on the floor and sprang across to the
room to his cousin. "Luthias!" he greeted him. "You're going to be an
uncle!"
At this, Luthias blinked. "What? You're joking! Roisart went out
and got some girl pregnant before he died?" A smile seeped across the
young Baron's lips. "That wasn't Roisart's style at all."
Myrande swatted him. "You dullard," she groaned. She looked at
Lauren. "When, your grace?"
"The seventeenth of Feber," Lauren stated confidently.
"Lauren, you can't know that accurately," Clifton protested
affectionately.
Lauren nodded with assurance. "I just know."
"I didn't think you'd start having children this soon," Luthias
commented, collapsing into a chair. "Don't you want to be alone for a
while?"
"Oh, we'll find time enough to be alone, don't worry," Clifton
assured his cousin.
"Sure, cousin, and make more babies," Luthias finished irritably.
"Married people have a tendency to do that sort of thing," Lauren
teased her kinsman. "Of course," she continued, eyes twinkling, "it
isn't exclusive to marriage, eh, Luthias?"
Luthias glared at the Duke. "You told her! I don't believe this!"
Clifton opened his mouth to reply, but his wife silenced him with
a quick gesture. "Wait. Does Myrande know about this?"
"What, about his wenching days?" Myrande asked. She smiled, waved
Lauren's concern away. "Certainly. I'm the seneschal. I'm the one who
holds the keys and lets arrant knaves in when they've been wenching."
Luthias scowled at her teasing grin. "However," Myrande defended him,
"he always made certain that there were no babies involved." He had
almost been fanatic about it, as Sable recalled. Then she looked at
the young Baron. "You haven't done anything like that in over two
years, though."
"That's because my father started hearing about it," grumbled
Luthias. He glared at his seneschal.
"It wasn't me!" she protested. "Don't you think that Roisart
noticed your coming in late all the time?"
"Besides, your father wasn't easily fooled," Clifton concluded.
Seeing Luthias' discomfort, he moved behind his desk and changed the
subject. What was past was past, after all. "So, Luthias, I gather you
aren't having the best of days." The Duke scanned his cousin's face.
"You don't look well."
"Oh, I'm well enough," Luthias assured him sarcastically. "I'm
just losing my mind." He flung one of the letters across the desk.
"Take a look at that."
Clifton opened the folded parchment and skimmed it. "The legal
elections? I've already been informed," he said, handing the paper
back to Luthias. "So?"
1 "Clifton, I'm going mad just trying to run the barony. I can't be
Duke's Advocate, too. The mere traveling takes up so much time, and
the preparation...besides, I know nothing of law. Even if I had the
time to dedicate to this, I wouldn't be a good Advocate."
"As I understand it," Lauren interposed, "you wouldn't be trying
many cases, Luthias. You'd only be involved in cases where a member of
the nobility were being tried, and then only for major crimes, such as
murder or treason."
"Right," Clifton confirmed. "That doesn't happen too often,
manling. You should do well enough."
"Can't you get someone else?" Luthias requested. "I really don't
need the extra responsibility."
"It's not my decision," the Duke reminded him. "By royal decree,
the members of the Tribunal and the Duke's Advocate are chosen by
election. Sorry." The Duke leaned back in his chair. "I hope you two
are going to stay the week. The Tournament's only five days away, and
besides, it's cooler here than in Connall."
Luthias wiped the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead. A
few grains of grit from the road scraped annoyingly across the scar
above his right eye. It didn't help; nothing did. Not even the sea
breezes sweeping the air of Dargon brought much relief from the heat
and humidity. "I don't know," Luthias said. "There's so much to do..."
"You mean you aren't entered in the Tournament?" Clifton asked
incredulously. "You almost won last year!"
Luthias smiled, almost sheepish. "I don't have much time for
games. I've got too many responsibilities at home."
"That's what Michiya said, too, and you told him to go ahead and
enter," Myrande pointed out. "Besides, what duties will you have at
Connall? Most of the people of the barony are coming to the city for
the Tournament!"
"True," Luthias sighed. "Michiya's fighting, Macdougalls is a sure
bet to take the archery--"
"Again," Clifton interjected.
"And God only knows how many men you'll have fighting for you,
Sable," Luthias finished tiredly. "And not one of them asks for you."
"Someone has, haven't they?" Lauren asked, looking at her husband.
"I recall you saying something to me a day or so ago about a
letter..."
"I had wanted to forget it," Clifton almost snapped. He opened up
his desk drawer abruptly and pulled out a folded piece of fine velum.
"I think you'd better see this, cousin."
Luthias' mouth twisted angrily when he recognized the seal of the
Baron of Shipbrook, and a red cloud of rage covered his face as he
read it. "That son of a bitch!" Luthias exploded furiously. "How dare
he!"
Frantically, Myrande snatched the letter from the Baron of
Connall. "I don't believe this," she murmured. "He threatened this in
his letter to you, but this was sent before yours."
"What did you tell him, Clifton?" Luthias asked, only slightly
calmer than he had been. "Are you going to take Myrande's guardianship
from me and give it to him?"
"Are you mad?" Clifton demanded. "Do you think I'd let any woman
of this Duchy marry Baron Oleran? I've already written him and told
him to mind his own barony."
Luthias took the letter from Myrande, read it again. "He's right
that I should have found a marriage for her..."
"No, he isn't," Clifton argued. "I know why your father refused to
marry her off, and I agree with his reasons."
Myrande stared at the Duke. "Uncle Fionn told you!" she accused,
incredulous.
1 "Only because he wanted my advice," the Duke explained.
"He wanted your advice?" Luthias echoed.
"Well, I am the Duke."
"Yes," Luthias agreed, "but you're twenty years younger than he
was!"
"Actually, my age made me closer to the man she was in love with,
and your father wanted to know whether or not I thought something
would develop," Clifton explained casually. He leaned back in his
chair.
Luthias glared at his seneschal. "Does everyone in the whole Duchy
but me know who you're in love with? I'm the only one who can arrange
your marriage, and--"
Clifton grinned, amused. "Luthias, I don't think you'd want to
handle this one."
"I agree," Lauren advised quietly. "You're much too close--"
"And you know too?!" Luthias cried, enraged. He turned toward
Myrande and shoved her slightly. "Thanks a lot for trusting me,
Sable."
Myrande blinked once, then turned and silently left the room. The
door closed quietly behind her.
"Now you've gone and done it," Clifton grumbled. "And you said you
had 'the touch' with women."
"She doesn't keep it from you out of spite or distrust," Lauren
said quietly, carefully keeping anger and accusation out of her voice.
"Her reasons are just."
Luthias sat again. "I don't mean to yell or hurt her," he
confessed. "I want to see her happy, and she won't let me arrange it!"
He slammed his fist into his open palm to emphasize the point. "She
won't even tell me about it."
"Never mind," Lauren soothed. "I'll go make sure she's all right.
Excuse me." She touched Luthias' shoulder reassuringly, smiled at
Clifton, and left his office.
Clifton sighed and shook his head at his cousin. "The hell with
all of this nonsense, Luthias. Go marry her yourself."
"I'm getting that advice from all over." The young Baron of
Connall smiled ruefully. "Roisart said the same thing in my dream last
night."
"Well, he's right," the Duke continued. "It would stop your
constant arguing and get Shipbrook off your back." Luthias looked
reluctant. "What's wrong? I thought you liked Sable. Would you mind
marrying her?"
"Not at all, if it were me she wanted," Luthias admitted,
shrugged. "Or if she didn't care who she married. But I refuse to have
her resent me because I kept her from whoever she loves." Suddenly,
the Baron smiled with irony on his lips. "I'll tell you one thing,
though, Clifton: if she ever steps before me again in nothing but that
nightgown, I'm not responsible."
Clifton lifted his eyebrows. "Responsible? Why? Was it that ugly?"
Wickedly smiling, Luthias shook his head. "No. Nearly invisible."
"Ah," the Duke said knowingly, relaxing in his chair. "One of
those nightgowns." He smiled, thinking of his bride. Then he teased,
"Why didn't you do something about it, manling? Then we wouldn't have
to worry about marrying her off."
"I wouldn't so dishonor her," Luthias protested, dignified.
"Dishonor? I don't think any dishonor is involved."
"Nor I, but she'd see it that way," Luthias sighed. "She's been
saving herself, and I wouldn't deny her that privilege." A shadow
crossed his eyes. "My father once...screamed at me when he thought I
was fooling with Sable. He said..." What had he said? It was a long
time ago, and it still shamed him. "He said if I toyed with her body,
1I'd be toying with her heart, that I'd do nothing but hurt her."
"Sable's a big girl now," Clifton commented. "I also don't think
any man--including you--would be able to touch her without her
allowing --and wanting--it. Still, manling, you should have tried."
"No, Clifton, I'm not going to try to force her to marry me.
That's how she'd see it," Luthias added, seeing an objection on his
cousin's face. Then, suddenly, the young Baron of Connall smiled
wickedly. "Of course, if I see her like that again, I just might lose
control of myself." The Duke grinned. This sounded like the old
Luthias, or rather, the young one.
The young Baron of Connall looked over his shoulder. "Speaking of
Sable, I suppose I ought to go apologize to her. "See you later,
Clifton."
The Duke reached for some of his paperwork. "Staying for the
tournament?"
"Might as well," sighed the Baron. "Put me on the lists." He shut
the door quietly.
The Duke pushed the parchment away, mused silently at the
situation. "I give up," Clifton muttered finally, pulling paperwork
toward him.
Luthias found Myrande standing in front of three tall portraits in
Clifton's gallery. The long, white hall ran almost the length of the
keep, and in it were hung paintings of the Dargon family, Luthias' and
Clifton's ancestors. Myrande was standing before the three most
recent.
To her left was a grand gentleman, in grand armor, holding his
helmet beneath his arm and his sword in the other hand. He was tall,
dignified, solemn; his brown eyes were Clifton's eyes, Luthias' eyes.
This was the Duke of Dargon, Clifton's father, Luthias' uncle, the man
who had given Myrande's father his knighthood. The Baron of Connall
gazed at the painting with respect. He had always admired his uncle.
To Myrande's right, and Luthias', was the newest portrait, not
more than seven years old. The young man in it stood, like his father
to Myrande's right, with a dignified posture, but this man was
surrounded by books, papers, and musical instruments as well as war.
Luthias smiled at Clifton's image and thought, this is what Roisart
might have been like, had he gone to the university.
The center portrait held Myrande's dark eyes, however. The man in
the center of the painting, a man in his thirties, perhaps, had the
looks of both the Dukes of Dargon. He was seated before a desk spread
with papers, and although he looked as if he were trying to
concentrate, his lips were twisting into a quiet smile. He was not
alone; behind the desk, a nine-year-old boy challenged a lion's head
with a sword, and seated on the floor by the man's chair was another
boy, a twin of the first, reading a book of fairy tales.
"I hate that picture," Luthias remarked.
"I know it," Sable returned laconically.
"You're angry with me."
"You're perceptive," she returned coolly.
Luthias grimaced angrily. "I came to apologize," he snapped.
"You should," Myrande returned in kind. "You know I trust you."
"Then why don't you just tell me?" Luthias demanded. "I'm the one
who can do something about it! Just tell me who this man is!"
"No."
"Why, Sable?" Luthias growled, taking her shoulders. Her onyx eyes
glared at him. "Give me one reason why. One good reason."
"I've given you my reasons," Sable reminded him coldly.
"Not good enough. Tell me!"
"I can't!" Myrande spat between her teeth. She squirmed beneath
1his hold. "I tell you, I can't. If you knew, you'd understand why I
can't tell you!"
"But I *don't* know," Luthias shouted, "and I *don't* understand!
Don't you think I want to help you? And you don't even give me a
chance!" He released her in disgust. Scornfully, he added, "I'll wager
you haven't given him a chance, either, whoever he is."
Myrande turned her back coldly to him, as if she didn't want to
hear or see him. "By God, Myrande," Luthias exploded, "it's your own
fault! You don't want him to love you--you'd rather languish on like a
simpering heroine in one of Roisart's romances than give the man a
chance to accept you!"
"Why bother?" she asked. "I don't want his pity. Why should I tell
him and watch him reject me when I already know he doesn't love me?"
"How do you know? Has he told you this?" Sable was silent. Luthias
wrenched her shoulders again so that she was forced to face him. She
struggled, but the Baron held her fast, and while she was the more
determined, Luthias' arms were stronger. He shook her once. "Has he
told you?"
Myrande opened her mouth, but only glared at him furiously.
"No, I thought not." He released her again. For a wild, furious
moment, he wanted to strike her with all his strength. He began to
speak, but fell silent as his eyes met her hard stare. His eyes lost
the anger and suddenly all Luthias felt was hurt--that she couldn't
tell him, and that she was hurting. "Sable, damn it, if you can't tell
me, at least tell him. He'd be crazy if he didn't love you. Give the
man a chance."
The sorrow in the young Baron's eyes and voice pierced the icy
wall behind Sable's black eyes. "I can't," she said tiredly. "I
can't."
"Why?" Luthias coaxed softly, reaching for her hand.
"For the same reason I can't tell you," she whispered. She paused
and raised her eyes. Luthias felt strangely, as if she were searching
for something in his face. "Luthias, I would tell you--oh, God, I want
you to know--" Luthias heard her voice break, and she averted her eyes
and turned away as she tried to regain control. She would not cry in
front of him, Luthias knew, not if she could help it. Her hands flew
to cover her face. "It's the same as always!" she cried out. Luthias
reached to touch her, but for some reason, unknown to him, he withdrew
his hand. "I don't have the courage," she finally choked.
"Oh, Sable." Luthias put his arms around her waist and shoulder
and pulled her close. She shook once beneath his arms, a silent sob.
"Don't cry," he whispered.
"I'm not crying," she insisted thickly.
"Sable, let me do something."
Beneath his hand, her head shook negatively.
Luthias felt tired. "Then do something yourself. I don't want to
fight you...I've got enough to fight...but I want you to be happy. I
can't stand seeing you like this."
"There's nothing you can do," she said sadly, her chin resting on
his arm. "There's nothing anyone can do."
No, Luthias denied it. There was something he could do, and by
God, he would do it. Luthias slowly, gently, tightened his grip.
Myrande's body snuggled against him, her form and her warmth welcome
even in the obscene heat. Luthias bent toward her ear, received a
wonderful view, and buried his head in her rose-scented hair to
concentrate. "Forget him, Sable," the young Baron of Connall
whispered. "If he's hurting you, he isn't worth it. Forget him, and--"
"Luthias!" The Baron of Connall gave an inward, violent curse as
he heard his cousin call him. He turned to see Clifton, Lauren, his
castellan Ittosai Michiya, and two visitors approaching. Luthias
1silently swore again and reluctantly, he released Myrande. Before she
stepped slightly away, the Baron saw unshed tears shining in her eyes.
She blinked once, but did not cry. Luthias put his hand on her
shoulder and gently squeezed it.
"We'll talk later," he promised softly as the Duke and Duchess of
Dargon, the Castellan of Connall, and the visitors came closer.
Luthias recognized one of the men: Baron Richard Vladon, a member of
the Tribunal and an old friend of his father's. Luthias politely
offered his hand. "Good day, Baron Vladon."
Vladon, a serious-looking, gray-haired man in his sixties, shook
Luthias hand firmly. "Good day, Lord Luthias--forgive me, Baron
Connall." Luthias smiled. He preferred the first title.
"Luthias," the Duke of Dargon interrupted, "this is Sir Edward
Sothos, Knight Commander of the Royal Armies. He's come to judge the
tournament. Your excellency," Clifton continued politely, "my cousin,
the Baron of Connall."
Luthias bowed slightly to dark-haired Knight Commander, over whom
Luthias towered slightly. He had met Sir Edward once, five years ago,
when he was sixteen and Edward had come to visit Sir Lucan Shipbrook,
Myrande's father, a few weeks before Sir Lucan fell ill and died. As a
youth he had stood in awe of the stern, reserved man with the scar
across his face. But Luthias grew, learned to bear his own scars like
a warrior, and learned to admire the strong, black-clad Knight
Commander.
Luthias extended his hand. "How do you do, your Excellency. A
pleasure to meet you."
"How do you do, Baron," Sir Edward returned gravely, but not
unpleasantly. His grip on Luthias' hand was firm and hard, the hold of
one warrior to another. "An honor and a pleasure, sir. Ah," the Knight
Commander continued, smiling as Myrande turned toward him. He bowed
low and pressed her small palm to his cheek. "How do you do, my lady.
I believe I have the pleasure of addressing the Baroness of Connall?"
Clifton glanced sharply at Myrande. She paled as she heard Sothos'
words. Luthias seemed caught between smiling and frowning, but did not
lose any composure. "Unfortunately, your excellency," Luthias rued,
"it is not the case. My friend, ward, and seneschal, Lady Myrande
Shipbrook."
Sir Edward straightened. "Oh, yes, Sir Lucan's daughter! How could
I forget a face like that? You are the image of your mother. A
pleasure, my lady." He smiled by way of apology. "Forgive my rude
assumption. I saw you in the arms of Baron Connall, and naturally, I
thought--" The knight faltered and smiled sheepishly. "Things are very
different in Dargon than they are in the capital."
"There's no need to apologize," Myrande said. Luthias' mouth
twitched; somehow her voice sounded strange. He wanted to put his arms
around her again; she felt too good to let go of.
After a lame moment of silence, Lady Lauren suggested, "Come, Sir
Edward. My father will be pleased to see you again. He should be in
the library now." Sir Edward bowed to Myrande again, nodded to
Luthias, and left with the Duke, the Duchess and his cousin. Ittosai
lingered.
"I hear you are entering the lists, Luthias-san," Michiya
commented, smiling. "I am eager to meet you."
"Any objection to practicing now? The servants should have
returned by now with my armor and weapons."
"You want to impress Sir Edward, don't you?" Myrande asked in a
low voice.
Luthias smiled. "Of course. He's the greatest knight in the land."
For a moment, the young Baron was wistful. "I always wanted to be just
like him and Sir Lucan. He's the greatest Knight in the Kingdom." Then
1he clapped his seneschale's back. "Come join us, Sable. I want to see
how good you really are with this naginata."
"You may regret it," Myrande warned. Ittosai, her tutor, smiled.
"But I'll join you later."
"Let us go then," Michiya suggested. He bowed in the Bichurian way
to the lady and left with the Baron.
The atmosphere had not cooled by the day of the tournament.
Luthias had barely slept fourteen hours between the time he arrived in
Dargon and the day of the tournament; it was too hot, and he was
plagued by bad dreams. But the little vacation from the barony and the
concentration of fighting had done him good; he had been more relaxed,
and he was ready for the fight when it came.
The fact that Sir Edward was judging the tournament had made him
nervous, though. The greatest Knight in the Kingdom, watching him,
watching Ittosai, watching all the men, young and old, who were
entering the tournament. Sir Edward himself, the Knight Commander. And
with war coming--
That was nonsense. He and Sir Edward had discussed it over the
dinner table at Clifton's home days before. The Knight Commander and
Ittosai Michiya had agreed with him that Bichu and Baranur fighting
was close to impossible. Bichu's navy, primitive as it was, could
hardly reach Baranurian shores, and were there ever a confrontation,
the encumbered Baranurians would never be able to withstand the light,
quick weapons born by the Bichanese. But still the rumors--and
Luthias' nightmares of horror and war--continued. The young Baron
didn't like it.
Despite the pressures and the ugly rumors, Luthias had enjoyed the
tournament, which had taken place earlier. Macdougalls took the
archery, bow down, and no one was surprised. Carrying Myrande's
colors--and the struggle Luthias endured to win that privilege
surpassed the tournament fighting--the Baron of Connall won the
tournament by defeating his castellan in the final round.
Luthias glanced around the ballroom, slightly uncomfortable. He
had always hated balls, hated dancing, and now he hated wearing the
baldric of the Duchy champion. He didn't deserve it, and he knew it.
Ittosai had allowed him to win. Oh, Luthias didn't realize it at the
time, but as soon as he struck the final blow, he knew that Ittosai
had allowed it. He understood Michiya's reason for doing it, so
Luthias said nothing to his castellan, but Ittosai knew that Luthias
understood.
He made his way through the crowds, searching for his seneschal.
He supposed he should dance with her. She was clumsy, but she did
dance well, and she looked stunning tonight in a gown of ruby silk. He
caught sight of her, dancing with the Knight Commander, so he moved to
the side of the dance floor and watched.
"Luthias!" someone called. Luthias frowned, trying to place the
slightly familiar voice, and turned. Facing him was a thin young man,
shorter than Luthias and slighter, blond, and hazel-eyed. He was
dressed in the fashionable clothes of Magnus, as was Sir Edward, and
this man's clothes were also black. He bore himself confidently, and
however serious his face was, he moved as a fighter.
Luthias peered at him as he came forward. Then he recognized him:
"Warin!" Luthias smiled. Warin Shipbrook, like his brother Tylane, had
been good friends with the Connall twins and Sable since they were
small. It certainly wasn't their fault their father was crazed. "When
did you get back?" Luthias asked, clasping his friend's arm. "I
thought you were still at the University in Magnus!"
"I've graduated," the scholar admitted proudly, "and I came home
with Sir Edward. I've got to learn to rule, now that I've studied all
1the laws." Warin smiled, then sighed. "Roisart would have loved the
library." He paused, tried to smile again. "And it seems I'm not the
only one learning to rule."
Luthias shrugged, looking away. It had been months, but part of
him still grieved for his father and brother. "I do what I have to."
"If you need help, you know where I am."
Luthias almost laughed. "As if your father would let me near you.
He hates me."
A cross expression triumphed over Warin's face. He kept his deep
voice low. "My father and his notion of family honor. As if he had
any, throwing Uncle Lucan out of the family! And marrying Myrande to
Oleran!" Warin looked Luthias in the eye. "Damn it, Luthias, give her
to me, if there's no one else. I could bear living with her. She's a
sweet girl--"
"Whom you haven't seen for five years," Luthias chuckled. "She's
grown into quite a hellcat." He lost his good humor. "A stubborn,
proud hellcat, in love with a man who doesn't love her--she won't
accept anyone else." The young Baron threw his hands out in confusion.
"It's not for lack of anyone to marry her to--*I'd* marry her. She and
I would get along excellently. But she won't do it!"
Warin smiled. "Just like her mother. No one but Uncle Lucan for
her!"
"Sir Lucan loved her back."
"True," Warin agreed.
"Well, when I get my hands on the fiend, I'll kill him," Luthias
vowed. "She's been hurt enough in her life."
"Luthias-san," Ittosai Michiya announced himself. He bowed to the
Baron, then to the Baron's friend. "How do you do," he said carefully
to Warin, using Baranurian manners. "I am Ittosai Michiya, Castellan
to the Baron of Connall."
"Lord Warin Shipbrook," he introduced himself, and bowed in the
Baranurian fashion.
Ittosai continued, "There was a Bichanese merchant at the market
with katanas. I am in need of a new one, and I thought that you as
well would like to have one." He held out a supremely crafted katana.
Luthias smiled. "Thank you, Michiya. You didn't have to do that."
"You well earned it today on the field, Luthias-san," the
castellan cut him off. Ittosai smiled. "We shall practice together
tomorrow."
Small hands suddenly appeared before Warin's eyes. Luthias smiled,
recognizing them. Warin removed the hands and turned. "Myrande!" he
greeted his cousin, kissing her warmly on the cheek. He stepped back,
inspected her. "You've grown no taller."
"Nor have you," she teased testily.
"But at least you're bonnier," Warin offered.
"Bonnier? I'm falling apart, and he says I'm bonnier." But Myrande
was smiling.
"I must go," Ittosai interrupted, "for I have promised to dance
with the Duchess. But these are for you, Myrande," he stated quickly,
pushing two ivory sticks, tipped in silver, which were carved with
Bichanese characters on the blunt end.
"Thank you," Myrande said politely. She looked confused though.
"They are chop sticks," Michiya explained. "In my country, they
are used for eating, but the ladies also wear them in their hair. Like
this," he explained. He took the ivory sticks and slipped them, silver
pointed end first, into the pile of hair at the back of Myrande's
head. Michiya took a step back and admired the effect of the crossed
sticks. "There. You are perfect, except your eyes are too round."
Myrande laughed. "Excuse me, prease," he concluded, hearing the music
paus. He bowed to his lord and his company. "I must dance with the
1Duchess."
Luthias took him aside as he was leaving. "Let me know how much
the katana cost," Luthias asked quietly.
Ittosai smiled. "I have more than enough, Luthias-san. It is a
gift; besides, you give me too much gold for my services." He bowed
toward the Baron slightly. "I shall see you on the later, my friend."
Luthias turned back to his ward and his old friend Warin, who were
trying to catch up on four years of one another's lives in less than
an hour. "Do you want to dance, Sable?" the Baron of Connall asked.
She smiled shyly. "I already promised Warin." Shy? Why does she
look shy? It wasn't as if he had never asked to dance with her before.
Come to think of it, he hadn't.
"Go ahead," young Shipbrook offered easily.
"No, I'll dance with you later," Luthias insisted. "I see Clifton
wants to see me." He nodded to his friends and left.
"Now," said Warin, taking his younger cousin's arm, "we shall have
to see if your dancing has improved."
Myrande laughed. "Improved? You must be joking." She stepped with
him, and they began to dance. "Are you glad to be home, Warin?"
The scholar considered. "I am, and I'm not. I'm glad to see
everyone again, Tylane and you, Luthias, the Duke...but still, I'm
having a hard time getting along with my father--"
"You're not alone."
"I realize this. Has he really tried to supersede your
guardianship from Luthias?" Myrande nodded. "I wonder if he's
insane--belittling the Baron of Connall and trying to marry his niece
to Oleran. And the way he treats Tylane..."
"What's he doing to Tylane?" Myrande asked quickly. She was fond
of Tylane, her cousin, and had been very happy for him when his
engagement to Danza Coranabo, who had been offered to Luthias, had
been announced several weeks ago. "Is he disinheriting him?"
"Worse. Whenever Tylane does so much as disagree with him, he
threatens to refuse Danza."
"How can he do that? The banns have been announced, and the dowry
paid."
"Tylane's only nineteen, Myrande, and my father legally can still
speak for him," Warin explained, as if he didn't really like the fact.
"And disinheriting him isn't a threat; Tylane will be one of the heirs
to Coranabo when he marries Danza. No, disinheritance is what he uses
against me."
"For what?"
"For anything. For disagreeing with him. He wants total control,
Myrande; he wants his family to think of him as King and God." Warin
made a sound of disgust and turned away. Neither mentioned the Baron
of Shipbrook again; neither wanted to think about him.
Luthias approached his cousin, the Duke, and Sir Edward. The
Knight Commander smiled. He and Luthias had spoken much over the last
few days. "Come into the study," the Knight Commander invited. Luthias
nodded and walked with his cousin and the Knight Commander to
Clifton's office.
"Baron!"
Luthias turned his head and grimaced when he saw the Baron of
Shipbrook. Unlike his two congenial sons, the Baron was tall,
dark-haired, and bore himself arrogantly. Luthias didn't like him and
had never liked him. He found it difficult to tolerate people who
insisted that their will govern the world.
"What do you want, Baron?" Luthias asked, trying to keep his voice
low, steady, and polite. He motioned to his oncoming manservant to
wait a moment.
1 "A word with you, nothing else."
Luthias' mouth quirked with annoyance. He didn't exactly wish to
speak with this man, now or ever. But he was the Baron of Connall...
He looked at the Duke, who nodded. "Come to the study, and speak."
"I wish to discuss my niece's marriage to Baron Oleran," the Baron
of Shipbrook announced as soon as the door closed.
Curse him! Tactless brute, bringing this up at a ball, in front of
the Knight Commander! Luthias' eyes caught the metal of the Bichanese
katana at his side. It was an excellent weapon, quick and sharp, just
the thing to remove this cretin's head.
Fine thing, for the Duke's Advocate to be tried for murder...
"We have arranged for the ceremony to take place on the
twenty-fourth of Seber."
"There will be no marriage," Luthias contradicted, his voice firm
and low. His hands began to curl into fists.
"You have no right to deny her this," Shipbrook stated guardedly.
"I am her kinsman, and I know best for her. If you have your will, you
will keep her as your slave for the rest of her life, but she deserves
better--a home and title of her own."
"I am her guardian, and I have every right to protect her,"
Luthias replied carefully. "I will not have her wed to Oleran."
"She is of my blood. I have more right to her--"
"You have NO right," Luthias seethed, his words slipping tightly
between his teeth. "You gave up any rights to her and her family when
you cast Sir Lucan out! Myrande is my ward, and it is I, sir, not you,
who holds sway over her life."
"Lucan left her to your father, boy, not to you," Shipbrook
argued. "You have neither the wisdom, nor the--"
"Sir Lucan left her guardianship to the Baron of Connall; I am the
Baron of Connall, Shipbrook, and I shall judge what is best for
Myrande." Luthias wondered fleetingly how his cousin and the Knight
Commander would react if he began to strangle the Baron of Shipbrook
before their eyes.
"She was left to Fionn Connall--"
"She was left to the *Baron* of Connall," Luthias repeated
angrily. "I have seen the words, sir. Now leave!" The young Baron's
hands were at his side, clenched so tightly that the entire fist was
white. His eyes were wild and dangerous.
"You want her dishonored, an old maid to be mocked!"
"I want her alive and happy!" Luthias shouted. He wished he had
more--or less--control. "You want her miserable, or dead. Get out of
here, Shipbrook!"
Shipbrook took a step back, seeing the fury in Luthias' eyes.
Silently, he left. Luthias cursed him mentally. He shook his head, as
if to clear it, and bowed his head when he saw Sir Edward. "I
apologize, sir, for my outburst."
"Think nothing of it, Luthias," the Knight Commander said gently.
"Excuse me," the Duke said, and he brushed past Luthias on his way
out.
"Not a discreet man, this Baron of Shipbrook."
"No, Sir Edward."
"Not at all like his brother," Sothos continued. "Sir Lucan was a
good man. Is it all that hard to find a suitor for his daughter?"
Luthias smiled, and his fists loosened. "Not at all, Sir Edward.
Her cousin, Warin Shipbrook, has offered, and I would marry her, but
she doesn't want either of us."
"Proud?"
"And stubborn," Luthias agreed. "But I'll get around
it...eventually." He didn't add that he hoped that Shipbrook would do
nothing stupid before he, Luthias, could figure out how to handle
1Myrande.
"Good luck to you, then, Luthias," laughed the knight. "However, I
called you here for something of a different nature."
Luthias sat. "What?"
The Knight Commander perched himself on the edge of the desk. "I
know--just as you and your Castellan say--that war with Bichu would be
ludicrous. But I still sense war coming; from whence, I know not. Do
you have any opinions?"
"The countries to the east are too small; would Benison risk it?
They've waged wars without warning before."
"True, but I doubt they would be so stupid as to attack us. We're
too evenly matched with them."
"Of course," Luthias said.
"No matter what, the army needs preparations. Did you know that
your father had asked that you train beneath me?"
Luthias blinked. "What? No--he never told me..."
"Yes, the Duke tells me he was killed before he had the chance."
Edward smiled. "I wanted him to tell you this part, but your father
had intended for you to come to Magnus and become a knight beneath me.
Your brother, I'm told, was to have gone to the University."
"I knew Father was planning to tell Roisart that on our birthday."
"I see. But he didn't live that long." Luthias nodded. "In any
case, Baron Connall, I would ask that you return to Magnus with me, to
become a officer in the Royal Army."
Luthias leaned back in the chair and considered. "Am I to be
Knighted, then?"
Sir Edward smiled. "I would think so, but not yet. You're a fine
fighter, Luthias, as far as that goes, one of the finest I've ever
seen. But there's more to Knighthood than fighting. Honor." Sir Edward
frowned. "Were you aware that your Castellan threw away his chance to
win the tournament?" Luthias nodded. "Why did you allow it?"
"Because I understood why he did it," Luthias explained.
"Knighthood involves truth, Luthias. You won dishonestly, and you
accepted the prize and honor for that victory without a word."
"I would think that discretion is also a knightly quality,"
Luthias argued easily. "There are rumors of a Bichanese attack, Sir
Edward. If Lord Ittosai won the tournament, the panic would rise. A
Bichanese man better than every fighter in Dargon, better than the
Duke's cousin? The people would go mad. How long do you think Ittosai
would have lived, if he had won? I would rather sacrifice the truth
than my friend's life," Luthias concluded firmly, his jaw tight. Ever
since he was a tot training under Sir Lucan, Luthias had wanted to be
like him--a great fighter, a great Knight. But if wanting to keep
Ittosai alive was a fault to Knights, then he wouldn't be one.
Sir Edward sighed. "You are right, Lord Baron Connall." He smiled.
"I would be pleased if you would join me in Magnus. I think you would
be Knighted by spring."
Wild hope rushed inside Luthias. Go to Magnus--become a Knight in
the spring. Go to Magnus... "My lands," he murmured. "Myrande."
"What?"
"I'll have to wait and see, Sir Edward," Luthias replied. "I have
no one to govern my lands, and the way Baron Shipbrook is, I doubt I
should leave Lady Myrande."
"Bring her with you."
"You said things were different there. They wouldn't understand my
friendship with her."
"People aren't very tolerant of...that sort of thing," Sothos
agreed. "The Princess' marriage was dissolved due to that lack of
tolerance. But you said you wanted to marry her."
"She won't let me," Luthias rued, but he smiled slightly. "I will
1think on it, Sir Edward."
A knock sounded. "Come," Sir Edward invited.
Baron Vladon entered the room. Behind him stood the Baron of
Winthrop and the Baron of Coranabo. "Please excuse our interruption,
your excellency," Baron Coranabo apologized. "We must speak urgently
with the Duke's Advocate."
Sir Edward glanced at the Baron of Connall. "Should I leave?"
"No, stay, Edward," Vladon advised his cousin. "It is well that we
should have a Royal Official as a witness."
Witness? "What is it?" Luthias asked, wary.
"We have evidence," Coranabo began slowly, as if it were difficult
for him. Yet his eyes were cold, not at all as if he were
uncomfortable. "That there is a conspiracy to start a war with Bichu."
"I know there was," Luthias replied gravely. "My father and
brother died because of it."
Baron Winthrop, obviously unsettled, coughed. "My boy," he
addressed the Lord Baron of Connall, "this is gravely serious."
Luthias grimaced. "Tell me."
"There are witnesses," Coranabo continued slowly, "that say that
some people of this area are plotting with Bichu against the Kingdom."
"Who?" Luthias demanded.
"Your Castellan," Coranabo told him, "Ittosai Michiya."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 The Game Begins
by John Doucette
(b.c.k.a JDOUCETTE@UPEI)
A man dressed in plain grey clothing entered the bed-chamber and
went to the figure sleeping peacefully in the elegant four-poster. He
bent down and gently shook the slumbering figure awake. "Primus," he
said with great respect tinged with fear. "Wake up, my lord."
The figure turned over. "I told thee I was not to be disturbed
under any circumstances," he said in a whispering voice.
"Y-Yes, Primus," the servant stammered. "B-But--"
"ANY circumstances, Lothan. If thee cannot carry out my most
trivial commands, then I must search for another man-servant."
Lothan trembled in the darkness. He knew what the Primus meant
when he said he would have to search for another man-servant. None
save those who were part of The Order could know the identity of the
Primus. Lothan swallowed hard. "F-Forgive me, my lord. Dra'nak
Valthorn has returned."
At the mention of Valthorn, the Primus sat upright in bed and
fixed Lothan with a piercing stare, even though the room was in
near-total darkness. "If this is a contrivance to save thyself, thee
art a dead man, Lothan," he said without emotion.
"No, Primus! I swear it! The Dra'nak stepped through the portal
only ten minutes ago!" For long seconds, Lothan could feel the unseen
gaze of his master upon him.
"Inform the Dra'nak that I will see him in my study in one quarter
of an hour," the Primus said to his terrified servant.
"Y-Yes, Primus," Lothan said, the relief plain in his voice. He
bowed once and fled the room.
Dressed in velvet-soft black robes, the Primus of The Order
entered his private study accompanied by his ever-present guards, also
members of The Order. Waiting for him was Dra'nak Valthorn, one of The
Order's enforcers, the most feared men, next to the Primus, in The
Order. Of the four Dra'naks, Valthorn was the most powerful, second in
ability only to the Primus himself.
The study was large, almost a laboratory. There were books
everywhere, as well as three large tables for conducting experiments.
The portion of the library closest the entrance was devoted to
leisure. A small table surrounded by six chairs sat in a corner.
Behind the table were book shelves containing hundreds of
midnight-black bound tomes of magic. One could almost feel the magic
emanating from them.
Seated at the table was a man wearing the same clothes as the
Primus and his guards wore. In fact, all two hundred members of The
Order wore black robes. Their servants, those that had servants, wore
grey.
Valthorn rose and bowed to the Primus from the waist. His robes'
cowl was pushed back, revealing the face of a man in his late
thirties. "Cho dakh, Primus," he said in a deep voice.
"Cho dakh, Valthorn," the Primus replied. "What news?"
"I hath succeeded in tracking down one of the cabal's members,
Primus. I was not able to determine the identity of his confederates.
However, I was able to extract some information as to their purpose."
"And it is?"
"They intend treason, Primus. I am not certain whether they wish
to secede, or whether they wish to take our Master's throne."
"Hath thee uncovered any mention of Baron Myros?" the Primus asked
intently.
"Nay, Primus," Valthorn replied. "Hath some event occurred that
1would suggest otherwise?"
"Myros hath journeyed to Magnus."
"Baranur?" Valthorn said incredulously.
"Yes. Baranur. Celeste hath reported to me that Myros doth
undertake this journey to visit an 'old friend'. She suspects Myros of
having ulterior motives. Our Master decided to make Myros Ambassador
to Baranur, in order that we may more readily observe him. I hath
given Celeste the task."
"Celeste? Dost thou trust her?"
"Trust, Valthorn? Nay, I do not trust her. But she knows what will
happen to her if she betrays me," he said with the faintest trace of a
smile.
"What dost thou wish me to do regarding the cabal, Primus?"
"Summon the Conclave," the Primus said after a moment's
consideration. "This decision must not be taken lightly."
"At once, Primus."
The chamber where the Conclave met was hundreds of miles
underground. It was a circular chamber, sixty feet in diameter. It was
unlit except for an area in the center of the chamber twenty feet
across. Illumination was provided by a brilliant globe of light
suspended thirty feet above the floor.
Contrasting sharply with the polished white marble from which the
chamber was hollowed out, seven large, black stone chairs were spaced
evenly about the periphery of the lighted area, facing inwards. Seated
in one of these was the Primus. He was dressed, as was custom when the
Conclave was in session, in his formal robes of office. Midnight
black, they were inscribed with runes that glowed a silvery radiance.
The cowl, normally drawn over his head so as to hide most of his
features, rested on his shoulders, revealing a man whose face was
marked by the passage of countless years. He kept his snowy-white hair
shoulder length, for longer hair was difficult to conceal under his
robes' cowl. He had been Primus for so long that his given name was
but a dim memory. The Primus sat back in his chair, waiting for the
other six members of the Conclave to arrive. His thoughts were on days
long since fled. Days when Galicia was young.
Five hundred years ago, the final victor emerged from the
Consolidation Wars and proclaimed himself Emperor of Galicia. Two
hundred years of bloody warfare had finally resulted in a lasting, if
forced, confederation between the Galician city-states. The new
Emperor, realizing that not all of his new subjects were overjoyed
with their new ruler, called together all the mages that he knew were
absolutely loyal to him, and created The Order of Galicia, now known
as The Order.
No one but the Emperor and his most trusted advisors even knew The
Order existed. To head The Order he chose the one man he trusted
completely, his personal magist. This mage, known as the Primus, was
tasked with protecting the Emperor's person and with gathering
intelligence concerning the Emperor's enemies. To accomplish this, the
Primus could call on the resources of two hundred of Galicia's best
mages.
A fortress was constructed to house The Order, a fortress whose
location was kept from the Emperor. Only those of The Order knew where
it was. The fortress was warded by powerful spells; the only way in or
out was by way of a teleport chamber. Other spells prevented anyone on
the outside from using their art to view the happenings inside. Still
other spells existed that would activate only under certain
circumstances, such as combat.
The Primus at the time, the very same man who was Primus at
present, formed a council to help him run The Order, a council he
1called the Conclave. Realizing the need for a secure meeting place,
both from physical and magical attack, he began to work on a chamber
deep underground.
It took him two months to hollow out space for the chamber.
Another month was spent on applying various spells to the chamber to
proof it against magic. Among those spells was a spell that formed a
column of force that trapped the light emanating from the light sphere
in the central area. The column also prevented individuals inside the
lighted area from seeing out, and those outside from seeing in. Within
the column itself, a permanent dispel magic spell was in effect, so
that none of the Conclave members could use magic on each other. The
only way to reach the chamber was by teleportation, and then only if
the mage in question was a powerful one; not every mage could teleport
himself the distance required to reach the chamber.
The Primus was brought out of his reverie by the arrival of the
first member of the Conclave. Valthorn stepped through the force-wall,
turned to face the Primus, and bowed from the waist. "Cho dakh,
Primus."
"Cho dakh, Valthorn."
Valthorn took his seat, the second from the Primus' left, and
waited. He did not wait long. Within the space of the next three
minutes, the other five members of the Conclave stepped into the
lighted area, greeted the Primus, and took their seats.
"Thee art aware," the Primus began, "of the recent happenings
regarding the discovery of a cabal working against our Master. What
thee art unaware of, with the exception of the Sehrvat Primus, is that
Dra'nak Valthorn hath discovered the identity of, and interrogated, a
member of this cabal. Unfortunately, this individual did not see fit
to impart to the Dra'nak a great deal of information. He did reveal
the cabal's intentions, however. They intend to commit treason. We do
not know whether they wish to secede, or whether they wish to try to
oust our Master."
"Therefore, this assembly hath two decisions to arrive at: whether
or not our Master should be informed at this early juncture, and we
must decide what action we shall take with regards to the cabal. What
say thee, Xavier?"
Xavier, Lokhmahst of The Order, turned in his seat to face the
Primus. "We must inform our Master of this at once, Primus," the sixty
year-old mage said. The Primus had been afraid of this. The Lokhmahst,
or loremaster, commanded great respect within The Order.
"Were circumstances different, Xavier, I would say aye to thy
suggestion. However, the information gathered thus far is not worthy
of our Master's attention."
"How so? We hath uncovered a plot to commit treason against our
Master. Whether this treason is against his person, or against the
state, he must be informed."
"What of the rest of thee?" the Primus asked. "What art thy
opinions?"
"What Lokhmahst Xavier hath said hath value, Primus," Valthorn
said. "However, I agree with you. There is not enough hard evidence
against the cabal. If we were to inform our Master, the members of the
cabal might get wind of our discoveries and conceal themselves even
better than they now are."
"I side with you also, Primus," said Derek, the Sehrvat Primus.
The position of First Servant originally entailed being head of the
Primus' household and in charge of acquiring servants for those
members of The Order that wished to have servants. Over the years, the
duties and responsibilities of First Servant evolved to include
overseeing the hiring of mercenaries for tasks that were unworthy of a
member's participation, or tasks in which The Order could not risk
1direct involvement.
"What of thee?" the Primus asked the three remaining Dra'naks who
had not voiced an opinion.
"I support you, Primus," Dra'nak Anton replied.
"Xavier," Teng answered.
"You, Primus," Lenore stated.
"It is decided," the Primus said. "Rest assured, Xavier, that I
shall impart knowledge of the cabal to our Master the instant we hath
better information."
Xavier nodded slightly, acknowledging defeat gracefully. "What
then, is to be our course of action?"
The Primus considered for a moment. "This matter is too delicate
for direct involvement." He turned slightly to face Derek. "Dost thou
hath someone that could be relied upon?"
Derek thought for a moment. "I believe," said the Sehrvat Primus,
"I know of three that could be useful."
"Excellent. Thou shalt seek these three out and hire them
forthwith."
"Yes, Primus."
"Our business is concluded. The Conclave is disbanded. Cha loth,
Ull."
One by one, the Conclave bowed to the Primus, bidding him farewell
in the ancient Galician all members of The Order were required to
learn. Valthorn was the last to depart. "Cha loth, Primus," he said.
The chamber echoed with the sound of chanting as the members of the
Conclave teleported to the fortress.
"This is all your fault, Tarn!" Justin said as he parried a thrust
from his grey-clad attacker.
"Me? What did I do?" the little thief asked plaintively as he
knocked another arrow.
Justin caught his attacker's slash on his shield and delivered a
vicious kick to his opponent's knee, sending the luckless man crashing
down the hill. He whirled on Tarn. "You just couldn't resist, could
you? You simply had to let your natural tendencies run away with you,
didn't you? Didn't you!?"
"I didn't steal anything! Honest! I wanted to, but I didn't!"
"THEN WHY ARE THEY TRYING TO KILL US, YOU LITTLE--" Justin stopped
short at the sight of Tarn aiming his bow in Justin's direction. "Now
wait a minute, Tarn. There's no need--" Before Justin could finish,
Tarn let his arrow fly. Justin cringed as Tarn's arrow whizzed past
his ear and struck something behind him. Justin turned around to see
one of their assailants staring blankly up at the sky, an arrow
embedded in his chest.
"Would you
two..(parry)..mind..(parry)..rejoining..(parry-riposte)..this
debacle?" Julia asked somewhat heatedly.
Just as Justin was about to re-enter the fray, the enemy
retreated, leaving six of their comrades behind. "Now it's only
fourteen-to-three," Justin commented.
"You're just full of cheery pronouncements today, aren't you?"
Julia asked.
"Look," Justin said, turning to face Julia, "this wasn't MY idea!"
"You're the one who suggested we take the southern route in the
first place!"
"I'm not the one that got the town guards upset!"
"This isn't the time or place!"
"I hate to interrupt," Tarn said, "but we seem to have a visitor."
Justin and Julia forgot their argument and looked in the direction
Tarn was pointing. A man dressed in black robes was walking calmly up
1the hill. "Damn," Julia said. "They've brought up a wizard."
Tarn aimed his bow at the approaching mage. "Wait, Tarn," Justin
said. "If he wanted to, he probably could have killed us without
showing himself. Let's see what he wants." Reluctantly, Tarn lowered
his bow.
The mage stopped twenty feet from the crest. "I wish to speak with
thee," he called out. "May I approach?"
Justin looked to Julia for confirmation. "Not much else we can
do," she said.
"You may."
The mage travelled the remaining distance between himself and the
group on the hill-crest unhurriedly. He coldly regarded the corpses of
the six slain attackers. "Fools," he said. "I must apologize for the
actions of my retainers," he said to the three companions. "They were
over-zealous in their pursuit of my wishes."
"And just what are your wishes?" Justin asked suspiciously.
"I hath a task I wish thee to perform for my Master."
"And just who is your master?" Julia asked.
The mage reached inside his robes and pulled out a chain with an
amulet on it. He handed it to Justin without saying a word.
"She asked you who your master is," Justin said, trying to control
his mounting anger. "What sort of answer is this?" he demanded.
"Look at the amulet."
Justin looked down at the amulet in his hand. "By the gods," he
said softly.
"You're as white as a ghost, Justin," Julia said, the concern
plain in her voice. "What is it?"
Justin held up the amulet for her and Tarn to see. It bore the
relief of an eagle with a crown upon its head. "The Emperor's crest!"
Julia breathed.
"Here's where the fun begins," Tarn said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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