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DargonZine - Volume 4, Number 3
From [email protected] Tue May 12 09:07:48 1992
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Date: Tue, 12 May 92 09:03:39 EDT
From: "SilentElf" <[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 4
-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Issue 3
DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
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-- DargonZine Volume 4, Issue 3 06/06/91 Cir 1102 --
------------------------------------------------------------------------
-- Contents --
------------------------------------------------------------------------
What are Little Girls...? Bryan Maloney Yuli 3-4, 1014
Pact Max Khaytsus Yuli 10-11, 1014
Fortunes 2 Max Khaytsus Yuli 15, 1014
------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 What are Little Girls Made of?
by Bryan Maloney
(b.c.k.a. <[email protected]>)
Aimee held her breath when she heard more crashing from outside.
Were the Be-innyson soldiers coming again? She wished that she was in
the castle with Daddy and Grandfather. She closed her eyes and wished
harder, so hard that she could feel her fingernails digging into her
hands. She opened her eyes and saw she was still in Grandfather's
shop. Wishing never worked by itself-- you had to go and make it work
for even the littlest things.
She'd been here since yesterday, when the Be-innyson soldiers
started throwing rocks at the city walls. She'd been taken to Old Town
with the other children and put near the castle--but she had left
something very important behind. When Grandfather picked her up and
put her in the wagon to Old Town her puppy Karl had jumped out of her
arms and run into Grandfather's home.
Grandfather told her that he'd make sure to bring Karl if he had
to go to Old Town too. Then she'd heard that the Be-innysons had made
holes in the New Town wall and were coming in. She was smart enough to
know that Grandfather would be too busy to find Karl, so she sneaked
out--it was easy enough with so many children around--to find Karl.
When she got to Grandfather's, Karl was there--but Grandfather
wasn't. The puppy was upstairs in Grandfather's rooms. He had tipped
over a jug of Grandfather's awful, bitter drink and was lapping at it.
Aimee had to laugh at the way the puppy staggered and yelped--like
Grandfather did during the Melrin festival. Aimee had gathered the
puppy in her arms and was about to leave when she heard marching,
clanking feet.
She ran to a rope hanging over a table and pulled her feet up,
dangling with one hand while the other held Karl. Slowly, the stairs
to the attic came down, and Aimee climbed them. She sat on a
projecting board she had fastened to the stairs (when Grandfather was
away once) and pushed them closed. Then she pulled the rope up through
its hole. She carefully made her way around the holes in the floor to
the attic window. There she lay down to watch the street.
Soldiers were coming from her left. They marched in straight
rows, making a terrible noise. She could tell that they weren't
Dargon's soldiers. They had square shields and carried an ugly banner
with a big metal bird on top of it. They had to be Be-innysons!
Aimee was nervous, but not really scared. She'd remembered
hearing Grandfather tell Goodman Corambis that the attic had been made
by smuggil-ers to hide in and see down below. (The next day she
sneaked into the attic to see. Grandfather was right--she could see
everything through the holes in the floor. Best of all, Grandfather
couldn't see her. The ceiling was built very high with rough logs and
painted to make the holes look like parts of a pattern.)
Then she saw Thomas Redcap. He had been sleeping in a doorway.
Thomas was always drunk and he smelled bad, so Aimee stayed away from
him. But nobody ever did anything to him because he never hurt anyone.
Two of the soldiers had picked him up and were shaking him awake.
Thomas woke up and the head soldier--did Be-innysons have
captains?--said something to him. Aimee suppressed a
laugh--Be-innysons were stupid people! Everybody knew that Thomas
couldn't say his own name just after he woke up.
Thomas just stared at the soldier. When the soldier started to
yell, Thomas tried to run. The soldier took his sword and stabbed
Thomas in the back. Thomas kept trying to run, but the soldier kept
stabbing him. Finally, Thomas fell down and the soldier stabbed him in
the neck.
Aimee started shaking--these were terrible men! They were demons
like Mother Clariss the Priestess had told her about! She watched the
men pick up Thomas and toss him in the gutter. Some of them actually
laughed! Then the captain shouted something Aimee didn't understand
and the men went into buildings.
Aimee froze, clutching Karl. Three of them had come into
Grandfather's place! If they would kill harmless old Thomas Redcap,
what would they do to her? She inched over to a smaller peephole and
looked into the rooms below. Karl squirmed and whimpered.
"Be quiet, Karl!" she whispered.
Karl tried to lick her face. He began to wriggle more, and Aimee
was afraid that he would start to bark. She couldn't let him go--he
might fall into one of the larger holes and start to yowl. What could
she do?
Karl then belched, softly. Aimee grimaced. he smelled just like
Daddy and Grandfather did at the Melrin festival--of course!
Grandfather kept some of his jugs up here in the winter so they would
be cold when he drank them. Maybe he'd forgot to take some down this
spring. Aimee looked around until she spied a pile of earthen jugs.
"Will you be quiet if I give you a drink?" Aimee whispered as she
crawled over to the jugs. The clay stopper was fastened with wax, and
she had to dig at it with her fingernails. Karl, smelling the
beverage, was whining in anticipation.
Aimee pulled the stopper out and poured some of the brown
contents into a depression on the floor. Karl lapped fast and furious.
Aimee then went back to the peephole.
The soldiers had come up the stairs from the public rooms and
were searching Grandfather's rooms, turning over everything that could
move. Aimee was glad that the table was heavy oak, or she would have
to jump from the bottom of the stairs when she left. Finally, one of
the soldiers found Grandfather's jugs he kept by the table. They
laughed and stuffed them into their packs. Then they left.
Aimee went back to the attic window and looked at the street. The
soldiers were gathering together. The captain yelled something and
they went back into lines and marched away. After they were out of
sight, Aimee went to the board nailed to the stairs and lowered them.
Then she scampered down and went immediately to a cupboard that had
been ripped open. She ran her fingers on the top of the bottom shelf,
along the outside rim, until she found a catch. She pulled the catch
and a small door on the opposite wall swung ajar. This was another
thing made by smuggil-ers, according to Grandfather. She ran to the
secret cupboard and looked--it was there.
Grandfather had once been a soldier, and he had kept a few
souvineers. One was a big greatsword, too heavy for Aimee to lift.
Another was a decorated crossbow that Grandfather had gotten as a gift
for helping in some battle or another. The greatsword was
gone--Grandfather took it with him probably, but the crossbow was
still there, hidden with Grandfather's other treasures. She knew that
she couldn't wield it, but she would still feel safer if she had it
with her. She grabbed the weapon and a handful of silver-inlaid bolts
and ran back into the attic, withdrawing the stairs behind her.
"I know what I'll do." She thought, "I'll wait here until I see
some Dargon soldiers march by, and then I'll come down and tell them
I'm Aimee Taishent and they'll take me to the castle because Daddy's
in the guard."
She lay down by the attic window and watched the street. After a
while, Karl staggered next to her and collapsed in a heap.
"Did you have enough?" Aimee whispered.
Karl emitted an enormous belch and went to sleep.
"Karl, you smell worse than Thomas Redcap." Then she
remembered--Thomas lay on the street, dead, holes poked into his body
by the Be-innysons. Softly, Aimee began to cry. The tears flowed
smoothly down her cheeks until they dripped on the floor. Then she
began to sob, trembling. Her throat started hurting, but still she
cried. Her head started hurting--still she cried. Aimee wept until
after sundown. Then she slept.
She woke the next morning to the sounds of battle. She looked out
the attic window to see a mob fleeing down the street. Behind them
were more Be- innysons. They were hitting people, not even chasing
them. Just running over them and killing them. Aimee suddenly felt
terribly guilty.
"I'll never knock over another anthill. I promise." She
whispered. "Just please, Bright Cahleyna, don't let the soldiers come
in here."
The mob passed and the soldiers followed them, not stopping to
look in any buildings. Aimee breathed a sigh of relief. How long would
it be before the Dargon soldiers came by? Would they ever? There were
so many Be-innysons, what if they won? Would they come and kill her
like they did Thomas Redcap? She started to cry again.
She stopped when she heard Karl whining. The puppy was lying on
his belly, forepaws over his ears, eyes tightly shut.
"It serves you right, Karl." Aimee whispered. "Now you'll
remember how awful that stuff is to drink." Aimee then realized how
terribly hungry and thirsty she was. She also needed to go
outside--badly. But the Be-innysons were out there! She looked around
until she saw some old junk in a corner. Maybe there was a chamber pot
in the pile! Desperately, she climbed into the castoffs and began to
dig. The pile was huge--Grandfather never threw anything out. She
began to tunnel into the heap, which nearly touched the roof.
"There's my toy cart!" Aimee stated.
Karl stood at Aimee's exclamation and dragged himself to the
pile. He whimpered at his mistress.
"Karl, I was going to pull you around in this, but a wheel fell
off. Grandfather said he would fix it, but I guess he just lost it in
this mess. I'll make him put it together when he comes back." Aimee
stopped digging. Would Grandfather come back? Would anyone? She
started to cry, but her sobbing breaths reminded her of a lower call.
She quested further into the heap. Finally, she caught at glimpse of
glazed clay. Tossing small bits of junk aside, she found a cracked
chamber pot.
After she relieved herself, she had a terrible thought--"How do I
get rid of this?" she asked herself. Aimee decided that she would have
to leave it here until she could think of something.
She was still thirsty, though. Aimee grit her teeth and picked up
a jug. She pried it open and took a drink. Yak! It was even more awful
than she remembered. But it helped her throat, so she drank more. She
put the stopper on the jug and sat down next to the attic window,
watching the street for Dargon soldiers. Karl wobbled over and lay
down beside her. Aimee picked him up.
"Karl, I wish you were a great knight like the old Duke Clifton,
then you'd put me on your horse and we'd ride straight to the castle.
And if any Be- innyson soldiers tried to stop us, you'd take your
sword and kill them." Aimee thought about the Be-innysons; she thought
about Thomas Redcap; she thought about the people running away, killed
like ants; and a strange feeling started inside her. It was cold, but
somehow comforting. The more she felt it, the better she felt.
"I hate you, Be-innysons." she said, and for the first time in
her life, she knew what that meant.
Aimee watch the street until she had to relieve herself again.
She went over to the chamber pot--it stank. Aimee sighed, there was no
helping it. Grandfather would understand about the smell. She walked
to the chimney and unlatched a metal door. Grandfather had put it in
himself so he wouldn't have to hire a sweep to clean the flue and he
wouldn't have to go on the roof to clean it himself. The special bendy
brush Grandfather used was on the floor beside the chimney.
She opened the door and poured the contents of the chamber pot
down the chimney. Grandfather kept the flue closed unless he had a
fire, so she knew it wouldn't splatter in the fireplace and give her
away. She would have to remember to warn him before he opened the flue
next time. Again she relieved herself and emptied the pot. That was
when she heard the crash.
She crept to a peephole and looked down. A Be-innyson soldier had
chased an older girl into the building and up the stairs to the rooms
below. He had a terrible grin on his face. He grabbed the girl and
threw her onto the floor. Then he ripped her skirts and petticoats off
and opened his codpiece. Aimee immediately knew that the man wanted to
sex (or s-e-x, as Grandfather always said around her. She was six
already--she'd heard what grownups did! Anyway, she'd seen Karl get
born.), but the girl didn't want to--the soldier was going to hurt
her!
A flame started in Aimee's heart and crept up her throat. She was
going to stop him! He was a Be-innyson, and all they ever did was hurt
people. She didn't care how big he was or what weapons he had. Aimee
Taishent was going to stop him! She scampered to the attic window--no
one was on the street. At least it was only him. The girl had started
screaming. Aimee went to a peephole and looked down. She saw the man
forcing the girl onto the floor. Desperate, Aimee caught the crossbow
on a nail jutting from a pillar and pulled back the string with both
hands.
"Please, Father Ol, keep the string from breaking."
Aimee pulled, leaning away from the crossbow. The string dug into
her fingers, feeling like a knife. Finally, the catch clicked--the bow
was cocked.
Her fingers hurt too much to move--there was already a purple
line across them--but she forced herself to drop the bolt into its
slot, like she had seen the guards do in practice. Then she started
running toward the stairs.
On her way, a flash caught her eye. The soldier was right under
one of the larger holes in the floor--Grandfather called them murder
holes. It was very big, Aimee had almost caught her foot in it. She
looked down and saw the soldier's back, right below her. She carefully
aimed into the hole and and gasped as the bolt slid out of the
crossbow and through the hole below. You had to hold the bow straight!
She'd heard Daddy tell that to his men, but had forgotten. She
remembered now.
Aimee heard the soldier shout and then a crash. What would he do?
He couldn't get to the stairs, she knew that, but what would he do?
She looked down through the hole. The soldier wasn't there, but the
girl was. Her head bled and she lay in a ball, quaking. Where was the
soldier?
Aimee ran to another murder hole and looked down--no soldier! Had
she scared him away? She ran to the stairs to lower them, but stopped
dead as she saw them come down by themselves. Frozen with fear, she
watched as the Be- innyson soldier came up the stairs, holding a
pole-arm with a hook upon it. He smiled at Aimee and approached her,
weapon held low.
Aimee stared at the soldier as he walked toward her. He was
talking, saying something she couldn't understand. When he had cleared
half the distance between them, Karl charged the foreigner with a
squeaking snarl. The soldier batted the pup aside with his polearm.
As soon as Karl took to the air, yelping, Aimee awoke. The
soldier wanted to hurt her! She ran around the soldier, trying to make
for the stairs, but he just turned and swung his polearm in front of
her. She tried to duck around the weapon, but the soldier just stepped
and hit her with the haft.
She fell over, bruised, and heard the soldier laugh. She looked
up and saw him heft his weapon, then he swung it. The blade descended
upon her like a foot upon a beetle. Aimee tensed herself for the blow,
her last, when she heard a thump beside her. The soldier had missed!
Was he too drunk to hit her? She looked at him and her hopes died as
she heard him start to laugh. He aimed another blow at her, missing by
inches. He was playing with her-- just like boys played with rats!
Aimee scrambled backwards on all fours; the soldier advanced,
smirking. He said something in his own tongue and laughed. Aimee still
went back. The soldier stopped to watch her. Finally, Aimee hit
something--it was the junk heap. She started to climb into it and
froze as the soldier yelled and charged toward her, weapon lowered.
Desperate, she grabbed at the pile below her. Her hands came up
with a piece of wood. It was the shaft from Grandfather's old cloak
tree. She had broken it last year by swinging from it and knocking it
over. Grandfather was so mad he didn't even spank her--he just told
Daddy! She pulled up the piece of wood and held the end before
her--the top with a pointed bit. It wasn't long enough! The soldier's
weapon was easily twice as long. And she couldn't even pick it up
besides, the other end was tightly wedged in the pile.
"I'm sorry, Daddy." she whispered.
At that moment, the soldier discovered one of the murder holes.
His right foot came down exactly upon a larger one and went in. The
bones of his ankle ground against each other and cracked. Yet the
momentum of his charge was too great to be halted by this minor
setback. Instead, his body flew the last few yards through the air and
landed upon Aimee. His polearm entered the pile, headfirst, catching
Aimee's skirts upon the hook.
Aimee opened her eyes. Above her lay the soldier. Why wasn't he
doing anything? Then she noticed that her hands were warm. She looked
down to wher she had been holding up the end of the cloak tree and
gasped when she saw it go into the soldier. She looked up at the young
man. He was a youth, with a light mustache beginning to form. Aimee
noticed that his hair was reddish and looked very soft. He was
motionless, breath coming in ragged gasps. Tears poured from his eyes.
Aimee watched the final spasm shake the soldier before he stopped
breathing. Then she looked at his face. He had the same look that
Thomas Redcap did when the soldiers cut him down.
Aimee went limp on the pile, sobbing. She was as bad as the
Be-innysons! She thought that killing the soldier would make her feel
better, but it didn't. She felt awful, even worse than the time she
had been throwing stones to knock down apples and accidentally hit a
squirrel. She dragged herself out of the pile, tearing her skirt on
the hook. Sobbing, she ran down the stairs.
More than anything she had to get away--she'd killed somebody.
That was the worst thing you could do! Grandfather had taught her that
Ol and Cahleyna valued all life, and now she had killed someone. She
had to hide--go where no one could find her. She ran for the stairs to
the street level when she collided with a soft form.
"Where did you come from?" Aimee heard someone say.
Aimee looked up and saw the face of the girl. Unable to speak,
Aimee pointed up.
"You say you came from heaven?" The girl's eyes were wide. "Were
you an angel sent by Cephas Stevene to rescue me?"
"No." Aimee was finally able to say. "I came from the attic. I
tried to shoot the bolt at him and he--" Aimee burst again into tears.
"I killed him!"
The girl held Aimee tighter. "It's all right, honey. He was going
to hurt me, and you only wanted to stop him." Aimee felt a hand on her
chin, lifting her face.
"I am Marta, what's your name?"
"Aimee, Aimee Taishent." Aimee said.
"Are you related to the mage?"
"He's my grandfather!"
"No wonder you're so brave. Living around magic must be very
exciting. I bet you can even read." Marta smiled and stroked Aimee's
hair.
"It's not all that exciting." Aimee said, "Usually he just sits
and studies, except when he has a customer, but I can read."
"Where is your Grandfather?"
"He's in Old Town. He went there when the Be-innysons--when
they--when--" Aimee began crying again.
"It's all right, honey. One way or another, it will be over
soon." Aimee and Marta embraced, each comforting the other.
After a time, Aimee snuffed and said, "Go into the attic, it's
not safe to be down here."
"What about you?" Marta asked.
"I'll be right behind you." Aimee said. Yesterday she had been so
scared that she forgot Grandfather's secret stash. It was where he
kept all the wonderful things he wasn't supposed to eat at his age.
She crawled under the table and pushed a knothole--smuggil-ers had to
be the most fun people. A small trapdoor pushed up and Aimee lifted
it.
Underneath were pickled sweetmeats and fish salted so heavy it
crackled. There were also some pickled plums from Bichu. Aimee liked
these, even if they burned on the way down and made her feel funny.
She put it all on the table and closed the trap door. Then she climbed
on the table and put the lot in her torn skirt. After she climbed into
the attic she sat the food on the floor and raised the stairs.
As she finished pulling up the stairs, she remembered--the
soldier was up here! She couldn't turn around, she might see him.
Aimee stood, trembling, and stared at the stairs.
"It's all right, Aimee, I covered him."
Aimee turned around. Marta had covered him with the blanket she
had taken from Grandfather's bed to cover herself up. She was trying
to pull her ruined skirts around her.
"Wait, Marta." Aimee lowered the stairs and ran down. For once
she was glad that Grandfather got cold. Sometimes she hated how he
always had two blankets--it made sleeping with him too hot. She pulled
the other blanked out from under the bed and brought it into the
attic. When she returned, Marta had already started on the sweetmeats.
"I haven't eaten since before yesterday." she said.
"Neither did I." Aimee replied. "I'll get something to drink."
She walked to the jugs and got one. The two began to feast, only
pausing to drink the over-warm beer.
When they had finished eating, Aimee went to the attic window.
"What are you looking for?" Marta asked.
"I'm waiting for Dargon soldiers."
"Oh." Marta sat, quietly.
After a time, Aimee looked back at Marta. The older girl was
sitting, rocking back and forth. Tears flowed down her cheeks and
throat. Her body shook with silent sobs. Aimee ran over to her.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Aimee put her arms around Marta.
"That man--he wanted to..." Marta put her head down.
"I could see that, but I stopped him." Aimee was puzzled. He
hadn't been able to hurt Marta, but Marta still seemed hurt.
"I know you stopped him, and he didn't hurt my body, but he hurt
my heart." Marta wiped her face. "He scared me and tried to do
something terrible." Marta began sobbing.
"He broke the Third Law of your Stevene, didn't he, Marta?"
"What do you know about that, Aimee? They don't teach the Third
Law to little girls."
"I can read. Mother Clariss is a Priestess for Stevene and she
used to come around and talk to me before Grandfather chased her away.
One time I sneaked one of her books out of her pouch. I kept it up
here until Grandfather found it. He was so mad--I don't know why."
"Perhaps your Grandfather is pagan...mine was."
"I don't know about that, but he made me pray all day to Ol for
that."
Marta looked Aimee in the eyes, "Then you worship Ol?..."
"Of course I do. Grandfather tells me all about him."
Marta took Aimee on her lap. "Despise not the pagan, for they may
still be good of heart." she whispered.
"What did you say?" asked Aimee.
"Just a little prayer of thanks that you were here, Aimee--What
were you saying about the Third Law?" Marta dried her eyes.
"Well, I think it goes: 'The sexyoual act is a sacrament. It is a
holy gift of pleasure...' that means good feeling, you know."
"Yes, I know, Aimee." Marta smiled, faintly. "Go on."
"...'a holy gift of pleasure from God. He who violates this gift
shall burn, but she who is violated...' Why did Seefas Stevene say
'she' there, anyway?"
Marta sighed, "I think he had some idea what things are like in
the real world."
"Okay, anyway: '...she who is violated is as pure as before, by
My Holy Word. Let none gainsay...' That means disagree. '...this
decree."
"Thank you Aimee." Marta hugged the young girl.
"Do you want to pray, Marta?"
"I would like that."
Marta recited the Plea to Stevene and the Creed of Mercy. Aimee
listened to the alian phrases. Stevene people prayed strangely, all
full of begging and pleading. Praying to Cahleyna and Ol was much
easier. You just thanked them for the good things and asked them to
help with the bad things. When Marta was done Aimee looked into her
eyes. They were brown and dark, just like Karl's fur--Karl! Where was
he? She looked around the attic and then, to her horror heard, at the
same time, Karl barking from below and a roar, like the parade at
Melrin Festival, coming down the street.
"I've got to get Karl!" Aimee cried as she ran to the stairs.
"No, Aimee, the battle's come this way." Marta grabbed Aimee and
held her tight. "Anyway, you've already proven that the Stevene looks
after brave little girls and foolish puppies very well."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." Marta lied.
The two sat by the attic window to watch, fearfully.
"They're coming." Marta whispered.
Around the corner came a Beinison legion, banner torn, shields
broken, ranks ragged. Behind them was a veritable mob of an army. Here
a soldier in fine armor hacked at a Beinison shield; there three
street toughs pelted a lone Beinison with cudgels. Old men threw
rocks; young men wielded spears. It was a rabble, but it drove the
foreigners back. Behind this line were ranks of ill-matched soldiery.
Dargon personal guard mixing with town militia. Noblemen marching
alongside common thugs.
The two girls watched the foreigners get pushed down the street,
almost as if the stones of the city had risen against them. Then there
was quiet.
"Do you think we should go out?" Aimee asked.
"We ought to wait for our soldiers to look for us. Things could
change."
Aimee nodded, and the two waited, breathlessly.
Hours later, after sundown, the girls heard noise from below.
"She's got to be here!" They heard a man yell, "It's the only
place she'd go!"
Aimee ran to the stairs and lowered them as fast as she could.
"Aimee, stop, it could be a trick!" Marta called.
Aimee, heedless, ran down the stairs, one word on her lips.
"Daddy!" She ran into her father's arms.
"I guess we found her, Lieutenant." a soldier in sergeant's
livery said. "Anything else you want?"
"No, thank you sergeant." Jerid Taishent replied. "You can go
now."
"Right!" The sergeant saluted. "All right, you crowmeat, we've
got Beinison cowards to mop up! Move yer asses!"
The soldiers left at a trot.
Marta walked down the stairs, blanket wrapped around her. Jerid
looked up at the sound of her. The first thing he saw were her eyes.
Somehow he couldn't look away.
"Who is this, Aimee?" Taishent asked.
Marta blushed and pulled at the blanket.
"That's Marta, Daddy." Aimee said. "Some man tried to hurt her so
I killed him."
Jerid winced at his daughter's words.
"Beggin' yer pardon, sir," the Sergeant had returned, "but we'll
be needin' ye to help wi' the moppin' up."
"I'll be right there," Jerid said. He put Aimee down. "You stay
here until Grandfather or I come for you. Will you do that? Don't come
out of the attic unless you actually see one of us."
"I'll wait right here." Aimee said, seriously. "Karl!" Aimee
dived under the bed and retrieved the wriggling puppy. "You'd better
stay with me, or some Be-innyson will come along and cut you into
gloves."
As Jerid left the shop, his sergeant approached him.
"Me 'n the men," he said, "would like to say that we're sore
happy that ye lost none o' yer family."
"Sergeant," Jerid replied, "Thank you--and the men--for that, but
you're wrong." Tears frosted his eyes. "My little girl died today."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 Pact
by Max Khaytsus
(b.c.k.a. <[email protected]>)
Kalen stood on a wharf at the north end of the town of Dargon,
looking into the darkening ocean. The sun, setting to the west, was a
red disc half engulfed by the water. Menacing red shadows fell across
the port and the city walls as a fresh reminder of the Beinisonian
invasion only a month ago.
He paced, looking at the havoc raised by the fighting. The piers
were ruined, torn apart so that the Baranurian fleet had no place to
dock after the battle was won. A large, hundred foot, merchant ship
was almost completely submerged in the water not far away. It had been
in port when the Beinison ships arrived and minutes later it was deck
deep in the water. Now the hull was half buried in the sand and the
tides were slowly dismantling the ship. There was nothing to salvage.
The city walls were battered as well. The solid stone was cracked
and chipped and in one place the stone wall had all but crumbled to
dust.
A creaking of the wooden walk alerted Kalen to turn. He noted a
dark shape walking towards him from the eastern end of the docks,
almost completely hidden by the dark. Two days ago Kalen received an
anonymous note asking him to meet the sender here. The missive was
brief and cryptic and could not be traced, but the lieutenant felt
that it was something important. Ilona insisted that he not go or to
at least bring guards, but the note explicitly told him to come alone,
so he did.
The shadow approached and Kalen recognized it for one of Liriss'
henchmen. He wondered again if it was a trap or a set-up, but the man
he was meeting was not armed. Kalen likewise had not brought his
sword, but his eating dagger could always be used as a last resort
weapon, as it has done a few times in the past.
Kesrin Mardos stopped a few feet from Lieutenant Kalen Darklen,
carefully studying the acting Captain of the Guard. He was carrying a
heavy proposition, ready to create a life-long associate or a
life-long foe.
"What did you want?" Kalen asked.
"What my Lord wanted," Kesrin answered without emotion.
"What did the rat send you for now?"
Kesrin suppressed a smile. He would have to use that line later.
He often thought of Liriss as a rat, himself -- the same moustache,
grown recently, unkempt hair ever since the Beinison invasion, and a
growing need to be the master of all he could, whether it served a
purpose or not. Like a dog on a stack of hay, will not eat it and
won't let a horse near.
"The rat," Kesrin spoke in a dry voice, it was all he could do to
contain his amusement, "asked me to deliver you a proposition."
"Which is?" Kalen was just as dry. There was nothing pleasant
about being propositioned by a gangster in the middle of the night on
a dark pier with no weapons or guards in sight. It would be like
making a deal with the death god, J'Mirg, or Amante, or Nehru, or
Balen-Ruk, or whatever all those religions called him, and hoping to
come out ahead. Kalen was not sure where he got all that religion, but
these were all one and the same. In this case Liriss.
"He wishes to hire you."
"For what?!" Kalen exclaimed, realizing he had begun to drift.
Working on both sides of the fence was just what he needed.
"For information! Control!"
"No," Kalen shook his head, the grim darkness agreeing with him.
"That's absurd. That's against the law."
"Hear me out," Kesrin said calmly. What was Kalen expecting?
Information about a whore-house to close down? "We are ready to do
things for you. We can make you the Captain of the Guard..."
"You're not the only one," Kalen interrupted.
"But we can do it now! We know you want it."
"I'll wait until Captain Koren retires," Kalen said. He knew he
was the logical choice for the position as soon a the present captain
would become tired of the job, something he did not expect to happen
for years.
During the Beinisonian invasion of Dargon, Captain Koren was
severely wounded and for the last month had been in the care of Duke
Dargon's personal physician, Elizabeth of the Pass. He was not
expected to be up and about for at least another month more and Kalen
held his job by default, pending Adrunian Koren's improvements under
the care of the physician.
"I'll wait until he is ready to step down on his own," Kalen
repeated.
"You will naturally be provided with inside information on our
competition, to aid you in their apprehension," Kesrin continued.
"You don't understand..." Kalen started, but Kesrin did not
yield.
"We will also pay you the exact same salary as the Duke. Think
about it! Double the money for one job!"
"What would you want from me in return?" Kalen asked cautiously.
"Nothing that you'd have to work hard for. Just ignore what Lord
Liriss does and make sure his competition stays out of the way..."
A rather simple job, Kalen thought to himself, but still not
worth doing. Money is not everything. There was also a certain part of
living that's involved in life and to live well morality must be
upheld.
"I can't say I'm interested," he answered.
"There are others..." Kesrin let the threat trail off.
"Not others that can make captain," Kalen returned.
"Not if you're alive," Kesrin agreed.
"If I had my sword, I'd take you in," Kalen said through his
teeth.
Kesrin smiled. "What for? Being outside the city gates after
dark? Curfew was lifted a fortnight ago. Or are you upset over being
threatened? It's only your word against mine...and you're the acting
Captain of the Guard." It was not certain if that last was being used
in a mocking way.
"If I had my sword," Kalen corrected himself, "I'd run you
through." He turned, walking away from Liriss' right hand man. There
was nothing to talk about and nothing to fight with...or for. If not
Kesrin, then another. It never stopped. It was better to keep known
criminals where they were, in order to track them with ease.
Kesrin grabbed Kalen's shoulder and spun him around. The
Lieutenant cringed from the pain that shot down his arm. "If we don't
hear from you by tomorrow night, we will assume you made up your mind.
We'll make the same deal with someone else. You are neither the first,
nor the last."
Kalen grabbed Kesrin's collar, violently yanking him up, but not
being able to lift him off the ground in this manner. His shoulder
screamed out in pain again. "Who else, you bastard? Who are you paying
off?"
Kesrin broke the grasp on his tunic. "Lieutenant Shevlin was
working for us. He died an honorable death. Make sure you don't wind
up just another body on the street! You have until tomorrow!"
Lieutenant Kalen Darklen watched Kesrin return into the darkness.
He wanted to follow, but the danger of that was hundreds of times
greater than the meeting itself. He watched the man disappear into the
darkness, then slowly walked back through the hole in the
fortification to return home.
Although the darkness had only settled, the streets of the city
were all ready empty and quiet. The winding street that Kalen chose
took him to the deserted market place. He stood at the opening to the
alley, studying the square, wondering about the proposition Kesrin
presented. Kalen could not imagine that Lieutenant Shevlin, a man he
worked so closely with for a number of years, could be a turn-coat,
but he had no evidence either way. Shevlin always did his job and did
it well -- he was Kalen's main competition for the position of Captain
of the Guard -- he was one of the most efficient officers in the
guard, being offered twice to switch to the Duke's personal guard.
Yet, Kalen had wondered in the past about how Shevlin could afford to
buy some of the things he had on a lieutenant's pay. Either way, he
died in the invasion. No answers would come from him.
Kalen wondered if he should accept the offer extended to him, to
go in under cover, to watch the criminal underworld and then strike
when least expected, but then he remembered the price he would have to
pay -- Adrunian Koren's life -- and eventually his own. It was too
steep.
A pair of lanterns appeared on the other side of the square. They
were carried by six men -- a patrol. With a sigh Kalen decided to
return home.
* * *
Ilona Milnor paced back and forth in her small rented apartment.
She had warned Kalen not to go to the meeting, but he stubbornly
insisted. When she said she was going to go with him, he made her
swear that she would wait for him to return. Now she was angry she
made that promise. It could have been a trap and she just let him walk
off. She walked over to the table on which she had placed her sword
and belt and started putting them on, but then unstrapped the buckle
and returned the belt and weapon to the table. She had lost count of
the number of times she went through this procedure this evening.
Kalen was an ambitious officer. He became a lieutenant after only
five years of service and at the age of twenty-nine was all ready, the
best candidate for the position of Captain of the Guard. He almost got
that that job, not to long ago. Captain Koren was gravely wounded in
the invasion and there was some doubt as to weather or not the Captain
would make it. Kalen was one of the few who said he would. He confided
in Ilona that he was afraid of taking the Captain's place, that there
was still so much he needed to learn and do before he could admit to
himself that he could take care of the town. For now, while Captain
Koren was still recovering from his injuries, Kalen was getting some
of the experience he claimed he lacked and in the last month he had
done an amazing job of running the city on his own.
Ilona once again went over to the table, contemplating the sword.
If Kalen was not back in a few more minutes, she would go after him.
The thought of this made her chuckle. She had been thinking about
going all evening and accumulated two or three hours worth of these
"few more minutes" intervals. This was it. She put the sword-belt on,
got the sword and went out. The air outside was cooler, though it was
very humid. Ilona looked up and down the street. The way the street
was situated, Kalen could return from either direction. She hesitated,
not wanting to miss him because of lack of patience and an over active
imagination. Kalen always complained that she was not patient enough.
As she stood there, contemplating what to do, someone appeared up
the street, walking towards her. Ilona immediately recognized the
person as Kalen. She hurried towards him, meeting him half way. She
immediately spotted the red stain on his left shoulder.
"What happened to you?"
"It was Kesrin. He wanted to talk," Kalen answered, not quite
grasping the question.
Ilona gently touched Kalen's bloody shoulder. "You fought?"
Kalen shook his head. "Kesrin grabbed me to prevent me from
leaving. It's not his fault -- he didn't know."
"Let's go inside," Ilona suggested, taking Kalen's right arm.
"I'll take a look at it."
They slowly walked back to her apartment, with Ilona thinking of
a good way to get her message, perhaps plea, across to her lover. His
shoulder was injured during the Beinison invasion in Yule and he
stubbornly refused to let anyone know about it until they wound up in
bed a few days later. It was not a life threatening injury, but it
would not heal without the proper care and rest. Instead, Kalen felt
the absolute need -- that misplaced loyalty of his -- to coordinate
and supervise guard activities until Captain Koren was ready to resume
his duties, ignoring his own needs in the process.
Inside Ilona sat Kalen down on the bed and helped him remove his
tunic. The scab on his shoulder was freshly torn and a trickle of
blood ran down his chest. She soaked a clean rag in a basin of water
and began cleaning the wound.
"This is the second time this week," she noted.
Kalen grunted in agreement. It was hard to tell if he was being
sarcastic or not.
"I want you to make me a promise..."
"I'm very bad with commitments." He tried to smile, but only
gritted his teeth as Ilona ran the rag directly across the wound.
"It won't heal unless you rest," she said as Kalen jerked back.
Kalen took Ilona's hands into his. "This town won't stop running
just because I'm sick."
Ilona looked into his eyes with a pleading expression. "It does
not have to. I can do the job. So can Lieutenant Azyn."
"You don't understand," Kalen sighed. "Before the invasion there
were four of us to help Koren. You telling me two people and less than
half the regular staff can do the job?"
Ilona picked up the rag, washed out the blood and returned to
Kalen. "We don't have a choice, do we?"
"We do. I'm here. I can do the work."
"Kalen, everything is returning to normal. The people are
beginning to rebuild. The looting has stopped. The Duke's personal
forces are out on the streets along side the town guard..."
"...a ship was stolen three days ago," Kalen interrupted her, "a
warehouse was burned to cover a robbery, we have dozens of urchins
holding citizens up in the night and I was propositioned by the mob.
We need people now more than ever!"
"Kalen! You're making it worse. That wound is turning into an
ulcer!"
Kalen lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "I wish I
could say there was a choice, but now there's a new problem..."
"They propositioned you?" Ilona asked, Kalen's words finally
catching up with her. She expected anything from the mob, but a
blatant offer from the them to pay off a public official was too much.
Kalen's expression was as grim as ever. "Kesrin told me they will
match what I am getting paid if I help them out now and again."
"Help them out?" Ilona picked up the strips of bandages and
started wrapping them around Kalen's shoulder.
"In addition to the money, they will insure my standing in the
guard, provide leads on other criminal dealings and the like...all
they want is free run of the city."
Ilona shuddered. "They can't be serious. What did you say?"
"I said `no'. What else could I tell them?"
Ilona put her arm around Kalen and pulled him to his side, to
face her. "Please stop trying to be a hero. Let the wound heal."
Kalen put his arms around her, pulling her closer and hiding his
face in her long light brown hair. "I wish I could..."
* * *
The following morning Ilona left for work at sunrise, leaving
Kalen asleep. It was late when they finished talking last night and he
spent the night with her. She hoped that he would sleep well into his
shift, but knew it to be an impossibility. The day went normally; at
least as normal as any this week. Shortly before lunch she took a
patrol on a quick tour of the market place. This was the area of town
that suffered the most damage during the invasion. What could be
easily carried off was and over half of what remained was burned to
the ground. Then, a week after the Beinisonian forces were fought off,
a mob of people raided the merchants restoring their businesses and
destroyed what was left. The town guard, all ready reduced to half
strength, was helpless to do anything and the looting extended into
the rest of the city.
It was not until a week later, when the remainder of the Duke's
forces were able to place a greater effort into restoring the Ducal
Capital, that peace was restored to the city.
Duke Clifton Dargon, who was placed in charge of King Haralan's
navy, left for Sharks' Cove where the Beinison invasion was in full
swing. Most of his troops either went with him or were sent on to
other areas of the duchy. Only fifty or sixty men remained in the
town, in addition to the sixty-two members of the guard. Dargon no
longer needed to be defended against invasions. Any damage that could
be done to the city was all ready inflicted. Besides, Duke Dargon's
flotilla was to engage the ships that posed the greatest danger to the
city. Any infantry troop would have to first take two other duchies
and then most of Dargon, in order to reach the city.
A temporary guard station was set up in the middle of the market
place. In spite of the damage inflicted on the market, it was the
first part of town to be almost completely rebuilt and return to
normal. Ilona spotted Lieutenant Jerid Taishent of the Duke's personal
guard and after telling her troop to spread out and look around,
proceeded towards him. Jerid was the only man of any rank from the
Duke's troops still in the city. The rest, together with Bartol, their
chief, had either left with the Duke or with the troops distributed to
keep peace in the duchy.
"Are the natives restless today?" Ilona called out to Jerid.
He turned to her from watching the mobs pass by. "They are well
behaved. We arrested three or four since sunrise. What about your side
of town?"
Sometimes all sides seemed like here. "All right for now. Someone
threw a dead rat through the Guard House window, but little more."
"No trouble?" Rats were common these days.
"None that I heard off yet."
"Are you planning on staying here?"
"In town or the market place?" Ilona smiled.
"The market place," Jerid grinned back.
Ilona shook her head. "Just looking around to see that everything
is all right. You're not here because of those arrests, are you?"
"I stopped by to pick up a present for my daughter," Jerid said.
"This war business is a little much for her."
"You go on, then. I intended to stay here through lunch."
Jerid saluted Ilona and called over to one of the men at the
guard post, "Ryal, get that package and let's go!"
One of the men picked up a sizable package and followed his
commander.
Ilona returned the salute as Jerid left. She looked at the market
place, studying the people and their wares. Merchants and shoppers
alike looked tired and worn out, much as they had the first days after
the invasion, but the bruises and injuries they wore a month ago were
now mostly gone. The merchandise also looked better and better every
day. New merchants came daily from the villages in the south,
unaffected by the war, and a few caravans from Tench have also
delivered their wares. Yet, in spite of all this progress, Ilona knew
that all was not as well as it would seem. The economy was dragging
along and the prices were very high. The local merchants could not
compete with those who travelled to Dargon. Many lost their homes,
capital and stock. All had lost family and friends. Ilona sighed,
knowing how lucky she was that Kalen was merely wounded.
During the invasion she, herself, was put in charge of the castle
defense -- the last line of defense. Someone, somewhere decided that
since she was the only female lieutenant in the duchy, she should be
as far away from the fighting as possible, behind the castle walls,
waiting, just in case she was needed. And she was needed indeed.
Needed to tend the wounded when they were brought in. Ilona was angry
at the way she was treated, simply because she was a woman. She was
trained as well as any in the guard and quite likely, better than
most. But then, being behind the castle walls, she was safe, not
injured, not violated. It was something Kalen did not have to worry
about and there were plenty of things to worry him where he was.
Looking around the market place she noticed the old sage,
Corambis, talking to a few people on the corner. His was one of the
few local businesses that did not suffer the after effects of the
invasion. As soon as his booth was rebuilt, he started seeing
customers, all seeking advice for what to do next. Ilona hesitated a
moment, then, seeing the people leaving, hurried to Corambis.
The sage waited for her to approach, then smiled. "Good day,
Miss."
"Good day, Sage," Ilona returned the greeting.
"Is there a reading I can do for you?" Cormabis asked.
"I..." Ilona shuddered. She should have thought first. "There is
something I need advice on, but I can not discuss it."
The sage smiled. "State secrets are the most fleeting ones of
all. Come with me. I will only ask what I must."
Ilona obediently followed the old sage into his booth. `I must be
crazy!' she thought. `If he doesn't sell me out, I'll get killed
pulling this stunt!'
The sage absentmindedly held the door to the casting room open
for Ilona to come in. "My assistant is out helping a friend of mine, a
doctor, so I have to make do on my own. Please, be seated."
Ilona took a seat at the table sporting the wheel of life. It was
so new that it reflected what little light there was in the darkened
room.
"From my daughter," Corambis said proudly, taking a seat across
from Ilona. "She had a wood-crafter make it as soon as she heard I
lost the old one."
"A good gesture," Ilona muttered. "You're a lucky man to have a
daughter like that."
"Lucky, yes," the sage agreed, "but she had it made of pure oak.
Now I fear it favors the Valonus, but never mind that," Corambis
smiled, pride still on his face. He gave her the velvet pouch with the
casting chips inside. "Hold this while you tell me your woes."
Ilona accepted the bag. "I don't know where to begin. Some new
information has reached us in the Guard and I want to act on it.
Lieutenant Darklen may missunderstand...and if Captain Koren were
around, he would tell me to keep out of it as well, but I think I can
do a lot of good by acting on it."
"Give me that," Corambis took the bag from Ilona. "You don't need
a fortune told. You need to do some soul searching. It's a good thing
I do both."
Ilona smiled, in spite of herself.
"Now," the sage continued, "don't think yours is a one of a kind
problem. We all have to make hard decisions. You must do what you feel
is right."
"But what if I'm doing something I shouldn't be?"
"Like what? Taking advice from someone who knows nothing of the
problem? What makes me more qualified than you? That I tell fortunes?
Lieutenant, in true honesty, this is a case of the blind leading the
blind."
"But what if I'm wrong?"
Corambis shook his head in dispair. "Do you know the problem?"
"Of course!"
"And you know how you want to solve it?"
"Yes."
"And you believe yourself to be on the right track?"
"Yes!"
"Then why are you here wasting my time and your money?"
Ilona blushed lightly in the dim light. "Two years in this
position and I still don't have the confidence I need," she sighed an
offered the sage his fee.
Corambis sternly pushed the money back. "If you're wrong, pay me
later. If not, come back and tell me about it."
"I will, sir," Ilona promised and left the sage in his booth. At
least now she knew she was crazy. Corambis was right. She was wasting
time. She was not assertive enough, not confident of her abilities --
she knew what she had to do. She should just do it and accept the
results as they come.
Ilona again scanned the market place, walking from one booth to
another. The crowd had been steadily growing all morning, now being so
thick, it was hard to see more than two booths away. Ilona fought her
way through the crowd to an intersection in the rows, where the crowd
was not as congested. "Simon!" She stopped across from the old sailor
and his stew cart. The monkey jumped with a scream and pulled out a
spoon.
"Yes, Lieutenant Milnor?"
"How about some stew?"
"Which will it be?" he asked.
"Sun-sweet," Ilona answered. "I'm in a particularly vile mood
just now." She took the spoon from Skeebo and gave him the coins for
the stew.
"Here you are," Simon handed a steaming bowl to Ilona. "If you
feel bad enough, then even this will taste good going down."
"Is it true that only you and Guiseppi have been able to finish a
bowl of this?" Ilona asked, carefully sipping the spicy stew.
"What do you think?" Simon asked.
"I think it's a tall tale."
"Actually it is," Simon laughed. "I only poured myself half a
bowl and Guiseppi never had taste."
"Then I'll just have to be the first to do it," Ilona said. "I'll
see you later."
"Ah! But it won't be legitimate if I don't see you do it,
Lieutenant," Simon said and Skeebo took hold of her belt.
She petted the monkey until it let go. "I'm with the Guard,
Simon. You know we don't lie," she told him and went back into the
crowd. Behind her the old sailor sadly shook his head. Not all were
pure and innocent and not all were as honest and reliable as one might
expect.
* * *
Ilona felt a little better as she ate the burning stew. She was
determined to finish the spicy concoction and then go through with her
chosen assignment. If Kalen was not going to take the opportunity, she
was ready to do it on her own.
Looking about the market place, she noticed a young boy carefully
crawling between the feet of the people gathered around a merchant's
table. As soon as he was on his feet, he started running and she,
dropping the bowl of Simon's finest, leapt after him. It was not long
before the crowd got too thick to continue and after a bit of
struggling and dodging, Ilona grabbed hold of the boy and pulled him
up to his tip-toes by his ear. The boy was young, no older than eight,
skinny and by the looks of him, homeless. "So what did you get?" she
asked him, leading him out of the crowd. The boy did not answer.
"Ten Bits for that ear!" somebody next to Ilona proclaimed.
She looked over her shoulder to see a man in his twenties,
looking anxiously at her.
The boy jerked hard, but she still firmly held his ear and he
cried out in pain. "If he does it again, I'll give it to you for
free."
"You're not going to arrest a child, are you?"
"Are you planning to adopt him?"
The young man reached into his purse. "Five Silver?"
"Are you trying to buy a human being?"
"I wish to take care of his fine."
"So he can rob another merchant to pay you back," Ilona's eyes
narrowed. "Tell your boss I wish to have a word with him about a deal
he was making yesterday. I know someone who is looking for a job..."
"I am not leaving without the boy," the man declared, seemingly
missing what she said.
Ilona pushed the child to him. "Tell Liriss he has until sunset."
* * *
Kalen stared at the ceiling, studying the crack that ran almost
directly above him, dividing the ceiling of Captain Koren's office
evenly in half. A sheet of parchment appeared in his line of vision,
held by Ilona.
"That's it."
Kalen thumbed through the sheets. "A bit sketchy. There's more
paper than report. You could fit it all on a page or two."
"I've got a lot on my mind," she said.
"Like what?"
"Like you not getting enough rest."
"That's not your problem," Kalen said. "I know my limits."
"I won't argue with you," Ilona answered. "You all ready know
what I think."
"I know," Kalen nodded. "Just tolerate me, please."
"I'd better go."
Kalen got up. "I'll walk you out."
Ilona put her arm around his waist and her head on his shoulder
as they walked through the guard house. Kalen returned the gesture
with his good arm. "Do you want an escort?"
"I'll be fine," she said, hoping he would not insist. He did not.
At the large double doors they exchanged one final embrace and Ilona
hurried off into the darkness. She was worried about what she was
going to do, but the thoughts of what it might produce in the long run
helped relax her fears. More importantly, she believed that if Kalen
was not involved, he would not be compromised as the acting Captain of
the Guard.
The darkness hid Ilona's figure, draped in a black cloak, as she
made her way to the oldest part of town, just a few blocks from Dargon
Keep and stopped in the shadows of a building. When her eyes adjusted
to the added darkness of the alley, she spotted a tall muscular man,
also robed in black, walking in her direction.
Releasing the strap holding her sword, Ilona started towards the
figure. The man stopped a few feet from her and she recognized him as
Kesrin, Liriss' lieutenant.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"I wanted to meet with someone of authority," she answered,
trying to provoke him on purpose.
Kesrin did not appear to be affected by her statement. "Tell me
first."
Ilona did not like the sound of that, but if it was the only way
she could get to see Liriss... She told him all she had to; perhaps a
little more colorful than it really was, but it was plenty to convince
him to get her a meeting with Liriss.
Kesrin considered deeply if he should, but in the end decided it
was better not to come back empty handed and took Ilona down the
narrow winding streets of the old portion of the city. It was obvious
he took the long way and Ilona was pretty sure she saw someone
trailing them, probably to make sure that she was not being followed.
Finally Kesrin stopped at what appeared to be a random door and opened
it without knocking. Ilona followed him in.
Inside, at the end of a long corridor, was a small room,
furnished with a single table and two chairs. It was dirty, with a
musty smell and plenty of dark stains, some appearing to be blood. The
walls and the ceiling were rough and in bad shape.
"Wait here," Kesrin said once she was inside and left her alone.
Ilona sat in one of the chairs, looking at the single greasy
candle burning in the middle of the table. It cast little light and
there were no windows, not that having any would provide more light on
a night as dark as this. There were some noises in the corridor and
Ilona looked at the door, noticing deep cuts in its surface, as if it
had been attacked with an axe.
As she watched, the door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man
in his forties walked in. His eyes looked tired and the hair at his
temples was beginning to turn grey. The last year must have been a
hard one for him.
As Ilona studied Liriss, he took the opportunity to study her.
This was not their first meeting. They last saw each other a little
over a year ago, in the spring of 1013, at a celebration thrown by one
of the local merchants on his daughter's wedding. Both were guests, on
neutral ground, unable to confront each other, but this was different.
Liriss tossed back his cloak, making sure that Ilona knew that he was
armed. "It's been a long time, Lieutenant," he greeted her.
Ilona rose from the chair, politely greeting the crime lord. "Not
so very long, Liriss."
"Please be seated," he indicated to her.
Instead, Ilona moved away from the table. "I will be more
comfortable standing up."
Liriss nodded. "Up to you." Uneasy silence set in for a moment
before he continued. "If you are here to let me know that Lieutenant
Darklen is not interested in my offer, I all ready knew that at
sunset."
Ilona faced Liriss, her face a calm mask. There was no reason to
stall. They both knew why she was here and there was no turning back.
"I did not come here for him. I came here for myself. I want the job."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 Fortunes 2
by Max Khaytsus
(b.c.k.a. <[email protected]>
Corambis stood over the large table with the Wheel of Life,
scratching his head. "Thuna! Thuna, bring me a pebble from the
outside," he called out.
Something crashed with a thud in the outer room, but he ignored
it, pressing his hand down on the velvet table. It tilted.
"By Kurin's beard! Expert craftsman my ..."
Another loud crash outside drowned out the sage's words. "What's
going on out there, Thuna?" he shouted.
The door opened and Dyann Taishent stepped into the casting room,
holding his hand in the air before him.
"What is she doing?" Corambis demanded.
"I'm not sure," Taishent looked back out the door, "but she told
me to give you these," he dropped some pebbles on the table.
Corambis shook his head.
"...and she asked me to tell you to stuff them in your ..."
Another loud crash in the other room cut him off and Thuna
shrieked.
"That does it!" Corambis snapped and went over to the door.
"Thuna, what are you doing?"
His assistant jumped into the casting room and slammed the door
shut after herself. Her dark brown hair was a mess and in her hand she
held a broken stick. "You have a mouse, Sir," she whispered, trying to
maintain dignity.
"A mouse," Corambis said flatly.
"Well...a rat...maybe two..."
"Then chase it out, girl! Get the broom and chase it out!"
"I can't, Sir. It ate the broom." She handed him the stick she
was holding. Sharp grooves of tooth marks marred it on one side and it
was splintered from being hit on the other.
"In the name of Ol!" Corambis cursed. "Three weeks and we all
ready have rats! Here," he handed her some coins. "Go get me a cat."
"I don't think a cat will solve it, Sir," Thuna muttered.
"Get me something," Corambis ordered and opened the door.
Thuna peeked out cautiously, then retrieved the remains of the
broom from the sage and ran out.
Corambis sat down holding his head. "Rats all ready. It was fine
when I had the grain merchant next door..."
Dyann Taishent sat down across from Corambis. "If you're too busy
to do a casting today, maybe we can sip some cider and then chase the
rats around..."
Corambis let out a laugh. "Here, give me a hand." He scooped up
the pebbles on the table and pointed to one of the corners. "Press
down on that."
Taishent put both of his hands on the edge and tilted the table,
while the sage fumbled at the opposing leg, stuffing the pebbles
beneath it.
"There," Corambis finally got up. "Stable for now."
"Rats?"
"I wish. Trissa got some wood cutter to make me this. All the
legs are of a different length. Twenty years bringing her up and she
gets me a casting table made of oak."
Taishent chuckled. "How does it cast?"
Corambis shrugged. "Madam Labin asked me to cast for her
pregnancy. According to my casting, she will have a puppy."
Taishent's mouth dropped open. "What did you tell her?"
"I said she will have a healthy baby...if a little on the hairy
side. I will have to call her back for a second casting..."
"Do you still want to do a casting with the table acting up like
that?"
"Of course," the sage said. "But we best do it under the
influence." He got up and took a jug and two glasses from the corner.
"At least the rats haven't gotten to this."
"Jerid has been raiding my house every few days," Taishent
sighed. "He took all the cider and just two days ago carried off a
package of kavaliculi. Told me I was too old to eat all that."
Corambis filled the two glasses and handed one to Taishent. "Live
good while you live."
"I've got a new hiding spot," Taishent winked. "I'll be picking
up some pickled meats this evening."
"Now," Corambis produced a bag of chips. "The casting." He
chanted the incantation, naming Baranur as the recipient and let the
nine blue and one red chips fall to the wheel carved in the table.
The ally discs slipped to Pyrale, the torch. The adversary
markers landed on Kafarn, the ship. The other discs landed in random
areas, some rolling out to the outer rim of the wheel, where the major
power elemental symbols took form. The red disc representing Baranur
danced around the table for a time and finally came to rest on Aurus,
the mistweaver.
"Be better off chasing rats," Taishent muttered.
"Allys in water, enemies in fire..." Corambis said. "That's a new
one..."
"Only the body is on Valonus," Taishent pointed to the oak
symbol.
"Usually all of them are there," Corambis sighed.
Taishent quickly unwrapped his deck of cards and placed the Fate
card on the table with the wheel. He shuffled the deck, said the
incantation and placed another card on Fate, face down. After a second
shuffling and casting, he laid a pattern on the surface. The top row
held Sword, Wizard and Moon, the one below it contained Sorrow, Air
and Fortress.
"If I did not know any better, I'd say we're at war," Taishent
smirked with sarcasm and turned over the hidden card on Fate.
"The Jester again!" Corambis exclaimed. "That's the fourth time!"
"Fifth," Taishent corrected. "I first cast him last summer."
"Indeed you did," the sage agreed. "This makes it five times
consecutively."
"I guess we got it all right last summer," Taishent said, sitting
back down. "The unrest of the mob, the actions of that coven, the
Duke's trial...the war..."
"Do the far future," Corambis prompted.
Taishent recast the cards and laid out the last row -- Water,
Knight and Fire.
Corambis fumbled to refill their glasses with cider. "Why water
and fire?" he wondered. "Both of us..."
"Clifton Dargon's fleet?" Taishent guessed.
"But why the fire?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Quanta is the electronically distributed journal of Science Fiction
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(C) Copyright June, 1991, DargonZine, Editor Dafydd
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