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          |           |      BITNET Fantasy-Science Fiction Fanzine 
       ___|___________|___  X-Edited by 'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>

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                                 CONTENTS 
             X-Editorial                          'Orny' Liscomb 
            *A Difficult Recovery: Atros 6         Joseph Curwen
            *Two Journeys                          Rich Durbin 
            *The Treasure: Part 1 of 4             John L. White

           Date: 042787                               Dist: 352 
           An "*" indicates story is part of the Dargon Project
           All original materials  copyrighted by the author(s) 
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                               X-Editorial
     Well, as  opposed other recent  issues, we actually have  a rather 
 significant  amount  of  news.  Firstly, I've  taken  the  plunge  and 
 bought  myself a  new Amiga  1000  personal computer.  Very nice.  But
 that's really not FSFnet material, now, is it? 
     The big  news is  that after  some consideration  and deliberation 
 with the Dargon  authors, it has been decided that  in the near future 
 subscriptions   to    FSFnet   will   be   available    via   standard 
 non-electronic mail. This  policy will enable persons  with no network 
 access to  get the  zine, and  permit people  who lose  their accounts
 but  wish to  continue  receiving FSFnet  to  do so.  I  also will  be
 printing  up  issues  using  desktop  publishing  on  the  Amiga,  and 
 possibly including artwork.  Of course, because postage  isn't free, I
 will  have to  charge  postal subscribers  a  distribution fee,  which 
 will basically  cover postage  and printing costs.  At this  point the 
 costs of  postal subscriptions is  unknown, and  I'll be setting  up a 
 policy  regarding them  in the  next few  weeks. If  you are  about to 
 lose your  account, and are  interested in a postal  subscription, you
 might  drop me  a  mail file  with  your postal  address,  and I  will 
 forward you  the information  as soon as  I get it  all ironed  out. I
 will also  be announcing the official  policy in FSFnet, for  those of 
 you who might be interested.
     Well, that's  all the news for  now. Remember, if your  account is 
 going  away, please  drop me  a  line so  I  can remove  you from  the
 distribution list. Now, on to the issue! 
                     -'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE> 

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                      A Difficult Recovery: Atros 6 
     After  an instant,  Atros awoke  on  the rough  pallet in  Pravo's
 house. The  full light of  the sun bore down  upon his face  through a
 high  window. Atros  shielded  his eyes  in the  shadow  of bundle  of 
 roots hanging in the  window to dry. He guessed that  was very late in
 the afternoon. Pravo must have let him sleep through the morning.
     Atros was still  wrapped in his tattered gray cloak,  which he now
 noticed was spattered  with black mud. He had even  slept in his high,
 calf  skin boots.  A myriad  of small  untreated cuts  lay across  his
 arms and  chest. His arms and  back were very sore  from the exertions
 of  the previous  night  and the  ravages of  the  hard pallet.  Atros 
 wondered  at this.  Pravo  had  been so  meticulous  in  his care  for
 Darla,  spoiling  her with  a  luxurious  down  bed and  an  expensive 
 physician, while  ignoring Atros  entirely. Hadn't the  physician been 
 concerned for a  bleeding man lying across the entrance  to the house? 
 Yes, Darla  was a more serious  case and should be  treated first, but
 wouldn't it be  natural to see to  him after she had  been dealt with. 
 It  was very  puzzling.  He wished  to question  Pravo  though he  was 
 uncertain whether he should draw attention to Pravo's oversight.
     But now,  he must  see to  Darla's health.  He rose  carefully but 
 was still rewarded  with fresh stabs of pain. He  would pay dearly for 
 over  spending  himself  last  night.   Seeing  that  he  was  already
 dressed, he  could avoid going  through that morning ritual,  at least
 until after he saw  Darla. It was rather obvious that  he would need a 
 fresh  change of  clothing soon  though. Still,  it would  worry Darla
 unnecessarily if  she saw so much  mud and dried blood.  Trying not to
 make too great  of a mess on Pravo's floor,  Atros quickly brushed off 
 the  cakes of  dry  mud from  his clothing.  Availing  himself of  the 
 pitcher  and basin  he found  on  the shelf  next to  the low  pallet, 
 Atros  washed his  face and  hands.  Fortunately, most  of his  wounds 
 appeared  superficial  if painful.  He  was  very  glad to  be  spared 
 tortuous  treatments  of stitching  or cauterizing.  Having thoroughly
 prepared himself, he set out to find Darla. 
     With a  few quick  strides down  the narrow  back hall  and around
 the corner,  Atros arrived at the  closed doorway to Darla's  room. He 
 knocked  softly  but  heard  no  response, so  he  slowly  inched  the 
 doorway  open  and  almost  instantly gasped.  Darla  lay  motionless, 
 breathing  only shallowly.  The portion  of  her face  not covered  by 
 thick gauze was  white with pallor. The sight  caused intense memories 
 to overwhelm Atros momentarily. Memories of another life.

     He entered the  white and gray semi-private  room slowly, timidly.
 The hollow  echo of his  footsteps had  haunted him since  leaving the 
 elevator.  The partial  translucency  of  the fringeless  partitioning 
 curtains muffled the  light of the drab, overcast  day visible through
 the  distant  window. He  passed  the  first partitioned  bed  without 
 trying to glimpse  one of the contributors to  the intermittent buzzes 
 and beeps plaguing the ward.
     His steady  stride faltered and  stopped as  his eyes fell  on the 
 tiny, pale  figure lying  rigid on  the wide,  white mattress  next to 
 the low  window. For  a moment  the sight paralyzed  his his  body and
 mind  in  a  flood  of contradictory  emotions:  compassion,  disgust,
 sympathy, terror,  love, loathing, satisfaction, and  remorse. But his
 mind choked them down. 
     How could  she have deteriorated  so much overnight?  (A sleepless 
 night  for  him,  apparently  something   much  worse  for  her.)  The
 hospital frock  dehumanized her in  its half effort to  allow modesty. 
 It  would have  been better  if they  hadn't made  any pretenses.  Her
 back was  arched unnaturally upward in  a tense strain. She  seemed so 
 much  like a  turtle that  lay  upset in  the middle  of the  highway, 
 waiting  motionless..stunned for  the  next in  an  endless series  of
 inconceivable abuses.  He glanced  at the  pain stricken  face peeking
 out  from  under the  thick,  restrictive  bandaging, but  he  quickly 
 looked away.  Her eyes were open,  staring unfocused at the  wall lamp
 above her head.
     "Mother..." he said softly, tentatively. She did not respond. 
     "Mother..." he  called again, taking her  hand in his own.  It was
 cold...lifeless. The  fatty flesh  of her arms  hung loosely  from her
 bones. He saw a flicker in her eyes, almost a response. 
     "Mother..." he  repeated leaning close  to her ear,  clutching her
 hand in his own. 
     "Dewar...Dewar,"  she  murmured  turning  her head  from  side  to
 side, her eyes still unfocused. 
     "No, Mom, it's me, Statsul...your son. Can you see me?" 
     But  it was  no  use. She  squirmed and  thrashed  about, so  that 
 Statsul  was afraid  she  would  pull the  sensors  off  her neck  and 
 chest.  He  released  her  hand  and  it  dropped  to  her  side.  She 
 continued to  call out "Dewar"  for some time...the name  of Statsul's
 father,  dead for  more than  a  decade.... Finally,  she became  calm
 again. It was as if nothing had happened. 
     Statsul shrunk from  the room and into the  hall. Hands trembling, 
 he  took a  plastic bottle  from  his coat  pocket. He  fumbled for  a
 moment, took  two capsules  from the container,  and popped  them into 
 his mouth. With  the open bottle still in his  left hand, he triggered
 the stainless  steel water fountain  with his right and  swallowed the
 pills  as the  water gushed  into  his mouth.  He turned  and she  was
 there, he  choked. The ward  nurse, a dark,  middle aged woman  with a
 once stunning  figure and  tired eyes.  She took  the bottle  from his 
 hands, glanced at it, closed it, and returned it to Statsul.
     "Don Diagoros?" she said. Her accent was hardly noticeable. 
     "Yes...hmph...What can  you tell me about  my mother's condition," 
 he stammered. 
     "We're not allowed  to discuss the patients,  Don Diagoros. You'll 
 have to see a physician or an ablegate. The Legals, you know?"
     "Oh," he resigned and began a hesitant turn. 
     "But  if you  won't tell  anyone. I  guess I  can help."  The same
 qualities that  made her a good  nurse prevented her from  not helping 
 this man.  "Dona Diagoros...  I'm sorry, but  she's not  responding to
 the medication,  transvection treatments, or microsurgery.  I'm sorry,
 but  it doesn't  look good."  She hadn't  fully considered  what she'd
 have to say  when she agreed to  help him. She was out  of practice at
 this sort of thing. 
     "Oh..." he whispered barely audible.
     "Her  a..illness  is  just  too   advanced.  If  we'd  only  known 
 sooner.. She should have had a genome map done years ago."
     Statsul mumbled something about her being a Dissenter. 
     "I see...Well,  that's her  right...I'm sorry  Don Diagoros  but I
 must  go now.  The patients...."  She made  a brisk  half turn  on her 
 flats and was gone in a blur of blue and white.
     Statsul began a slow return to his mother's bedside.

     Atros was  recalled from his  flashback by  the force of  the door 
 slamming into  him from behind. While  his mind had been  distant, his
 body had walked into  the room and closed the door  behind him. He did
 not know how long he had stood there staring at Darla. 
     "Atros!" Pravo  nearly shouted.  "You startled  me. I  didn't hurt 
 you,  did I?"  Pravo  asked entering  the room  after  Atros had  been 
 jostled forward, allowing the door to open completely.
     "No..." Atros  stammered then recovering his  composure added, "Do 
 you have some fresh clothing and perhaps some food?" 
     "Yes, of course,  how careless of me. The clothes  first. You're a 
 mess... Through  here in  your room.  I pointed  them out  last night.
 Don't you  remember?" Pravo asked  leading Atros  back to the  room he
 had occupied. 
     "How is Darla? Has she awoken?" Atros responded with a question.
     "Don't worry,  she'll be  fine. She's  just lost  a great  deal of 
 blood.  She's slept  since you  left her  last. The  drugs the  healer 
 gave her  for the pain  make her sleep." Pravo  opened a chest  in one 
 corner of the room. 
     "Hhm....good. She  would be in  a great  deal of pain  now," Atros 
 said. "This one?" Atros asked pointing to a blue-gray woolen shirt. 
     "Yes, that's fine.  I have not worn that in  years. Nearly since I
 was your age." 
     Atros dressed himself in silence. Minutes past. 
     "You killed a man last night, didn't you?" Pravo asked suddenly. 
     "Yes,no...no. I  fought two but  I killed no one."  Atros finished
 dressing, closed the chest, and sat on the lid.
     "But you were involved." Pravo's stance was very tense.
     "Yes, I was protecting myself." 
     "And Darla?" 
     "And  Darla." Atros  was uncertain.  His hand  unconsciously moved 
 toward his boot knife. He pretended to tighten the lacings. 
     "It wasn't a simple mugging, was it?" Pravo asked forcefully.
     "You seem  to know a  great deal about  it." Atros still  hoped to
 diffuse the  situation. He  tried to appear  relaxed and  calm, though
 if anything he was more anxious than the older man appeared.
     "The word of  murder in the streets travels quickly.  And you told
 me something of it last night."
     "I did?" Atros paused. "Yes, I suppose I did."
     "But it wasn't just a mugging, was it?"
     "No, I  don't believe so,"  Atros responded tentatively.  He still 
 couldn't predict which way the confrontation would go.
     Pravo  sighed then  admitted, "Atros,  I've debated  betraying you
 to the city guard since you arrived last night bloodied and torn."
     "Why didn't you? I am really just a stranger to you."
     "I  don't know.  I'm harboring  a murderer  and I  don't know...." 
 Pravo's voice  softened as the tension  of the past few  moments began 
 to drain from his pores.
     "At  first,  I  couldn't  because  Darla  needed  immediate  help.
 Later,  I   saw  how   much  she   loves  and   trusts  you.   I  just 
 couldn't....." Pravo shuffled  his feet and brushed  back his straggly
 graying  hair. He  was so  occupied by  his own  thoughts that  he had 
 missed Atros' flinch at his mentioning of love. 
     "Also,  you  intrigue  me.  We  are alike  and  yet  unlike.  I've
 studied  legends and  myths all  my life  yearning for  the mysterious
 and the  exotic, and  you appear  on my  door step  late one  night. I 
 honestly don't know what I should do." 
     "But it's not just that, is it?" 
     "No, it  isn't. But you'll  have to let  me keep my  own secrets,"
 Pravo said with a touch of humor. 
     Atros chuckled and agreed.
     "You promised  last night to tell  me your story. Maybe  that will 
 help me make my decision." 
     "You've  already decided  or you  wouldn't have  said anything  to 
 me," Atros accused playfully.
     "Maybe," Pravo smiled broadly, "but you still owe me that story."
     "I owe you  a bit more than  that, but if it will  make you happy,
 I will try. You will pardon me if I omit details to protect myself?"
     "I doubt  that I could  force a  full confession from  you," Pravo
 responded a bit sarcastically. 
     "True. Well, where should I begin?" Atros said settling back.
     "How did  you learn so much?  Where were you educated?"  Pravo was
 suddenly transformed into an over eager schoolboy.
     "I was the  third son of a minor  lord on a manor far  to the east 
 of  here.  I was  trained  to  read and  write  by  the parish  priest
 because  I was  supposedly destined  to the  ministry, though  I never 
 really  felt  a  religious  conviction.   I  was  more  interested  in
 scholarly  pursuits even  then.  My childhood  was relatively  normal, 
 though I had little time for anything but labor of some sort." 
     "That is  hardly what I  expected," Pravo interrupted.  "I thought
 you were a street urchin or at least a city resident." 
     "No, not until  much later," Atros began, paused,  and resumed, "I
 lived quite  contentedly on the  manor until my late  childhood. Then, 
 I  began  to  experience  peculiar  dreams.  Frightening  dreams.  The
 dreams changed me." 
     "What were the dreams like?" Pravo tooking a stool opposite Atros.
     "Oh  it  is  difficult  to  remember specifics  now.  I  was  very
 confused at  that time. But  most the  dreams were about  other places
 and other  cultures. Upon awakening  I could remember bits  and pieces 
 of things which were very unsettling. 
     "At first I  told everyone about my dreams. Slowly,  my family and
 friends grew  frightened of  me. Frightened of  the strangeness  in my 
 dreams  and  the reflection  of  this  strangeness  in me.  Rumors  of 
 possession spread  quickly. My  father decided that  I should  be sent
 to a  distant monastic retreat. I  assented, of course. I  would never
 have gone  against my  father's wishes. Not  then.... But  the retreat 
 wasn't dedicated  to scholasticism as  I had  been lead to  believe. I
 discovered that it  was a prison for  undesirables: the diseased...the 
 deformed...and the insane.  I was kept in that place  for many months.
 I will  not tell you  what the conditions  were like, but  during that 
 time I  lost a portion of  my sanity. The boundary  between dreams and 
 wakefulness  slipped  away.  I  lived   fully  and  completely  in  my
 dreams." Atros paused for long moments.
     "You eventually escaped?" Pravo prompted after some time.
     "In a  way, I was released.  I convinced the jailers  to free me."
 The volume of Atros' voice trailed off in mid sentence.
     "That easily? You just spoke to them and they released you?" 
     "Yes, something  like that.  Over the  years, they'd  grown rather 
 shaky  of  mind  themselves.  I  played  on  their  fears  until  they 
 complied with  my wishes." Atros  paused then continued, "My  mind was
 still  very   disordered.  After   leaving  the  asylum,   I  drifted, 
 inhabiting slums  and deserts,  doing things I  now regret.  With time 
 reason  returned.  I  fought  to  drive off  the  dreams  and  I  have 
 continued that fight ever since," Atros said finishing up quickly.
     "But where did you read so much? What library has so many books?" 
     "I hoped  to find release from  my dreams in research.  I traveled 
 widely and searched broadly."
     "You  understand this,  don't you?"  Pravo asked  in Cantonian,  a
 long dead tongue of the region. 
     "Yes,  I've  picked up  a  number  of languages,"  Atros  admitted 
 without thinking. 
     "You could  not have learned  that from books, the  Cantonese used
 runes not an alphabet. Who taught you such a thing?"
     "Perhaps your friend Baughis?" Atros suggested. 
     "No, Baughis  is too lazy  to learn ancient languages.  Who taught
 you, Atros?" Pravo nearly demanded. 
     "To tell  the truth,  I don't remember.  I simply  understood your
 meaning. The  tongue is related  to the  dialects still spoken  in the
 far east where I have traveled. I picked things up as was necessary."
     "I'm not entirely  satisfied with your answer, but  I realize that
 I'm  not likely  to get  any better  response... You  still have  many
 secrets, Atros."
     "Yes, they are necessary." 
     "Have  you had  any sorcerous  training?  I'd think  you'd have  a 
 talent for that sort of thing."
     "No, only theory. I know nothing useful."
     "Unfortunate,  if true."  Pravo  was deciding  that vague  answers
 were more annoying than mysterious.
     "Perhaps it would be even more unfortunate if I did." 
     "I  don't get  your  meaning."  Pravo paused,  but  Atros did  not
 volunteer anything.  "Well, then  never mind.  You're not  planning to 
 leave  the  house today,  are  you?  Captain  Koren is  searching  the 
 streets for someone of your description."
     "Then last night's fight was seen by someone?" 
     "No, apparently only your bandaging of Darla after the combat."
     "Hhm. Well, they did ambush us." 
     "So you say.  Who was the man  who helped you with  Darla? A short
 elderly man in a light coloured cloak. A physician of some sort?"
     "An ally who most probably saved our lives."
     "Hhm. Then he killed the men found in the street?"
     "Men? There was only one body when I left."
     "Two dead they say."
     "Two? Hhm...possibly..." Atros drifted off into deeper thoughts. 
     Growing tired  of Atros' show  of cryptics and poetics,  Pravo was 
 rather  glad to  remember his  hunger. An  offer of  food was  quickly
 accepted by his  guest. They spent several minutes  in the preparation 
 and consumption of a large, early dinner. 
     After  the  meal  was  completed,   Atros  and  Pravo  settled  in
 comfortable chairs  in the  study just off  the main  entryway. Atros'
 soreness lingered on,  but the worst of his pain  was already over. In
 any  case, the  effects  of  a thick,  warm  mead  helped deaden  what
 discomfort remained. 
     "Pravo, I must go...." Atros said slowly.
     Pravo interrupted,  "I thought  we'd been over  this. You  are not
 well and  the city  guard are  looking for you.  You will  go nowhere, 
 it's not safe."
     "No, Pravo, hear me out. There is more to it than that." 
     "Okay, what is it?" 
     "I must go...  and I must stay. I'm still  being sought after both
 by the guard and  by the men who attacked us  last night.... They want 
 me, not Darla. By  being here, I endanger her. If I  leave I will draw 
 them off. But I  also must stay and protect her. But  my being here is
 likely to  attract notice....  What did  you tell  the healer  of me?"
 Atros asked suddenly. 
     "Why, nothing. He never saw you." 
     "But I lay in the entryway last night.?." 
     "Yes, but  I brought  him through the  servant's entrance.  It was
 more convenient. He never saw you."
     "How did you explain Darla then? He did see her." 
     "Yes, of course.  I told him that  she is my servant  and that she
 had fallen  in the  cellar. He has  his own ideas  no doubt,  but they
 don't matter. I  can trust him, he will say  nothing to anyone without 
 first consulting me." 
     "How can you be so certain?"
     "He's kept  my confidences in  the past, besides he  cannot afford
 my displeasure even at the expense of lying to the guard." 
     "It's  not the  guard of  whom  I'm concerned...You  do trust  him
 completely?" Atros belabored the point. 
     "Yes, as completely as is reasonable." 
     "Good.  And I  am forced  to trust  you....You will  take care  of
 Darla should I decide to go?"
     "I still  think you should stay,  but yes, of course,  I would not
 let you move her. Not so soon." 
     "Good. I  don't think  anyone could trace  us here  except through
 your healer..whom you trust..Our meeting last night was fortuitous."
     "Yes, it was."
     "You haven't suggested that I should turn myself in.?." 
     "No. My impression was that my suggestions carried little weight."
     "No, I  am still  considering. I  am taking you  for your  word in
 the  matter of  the  healer, the  weakest link  in  our safety.  Don't 
 think that I  don't appreciate what you've done. It's  just that there
 is much  more to  this business  than you  know...more than  you could
 know. In the end the decision is mine."
     "Then I will leave you. I will be reading by Darla's bedside." 
     "Good, call me if she awakes," Atros said to Pravo as he departed. 
     Atros  tried to  reason out  his  situation. Though  he would  not
 insult  the  old man  by  saying  so,  he  believed Pravo  was  poorly 
 qualified to  protect Darla, though he  did seem devoted to  her care.
 To  leave  and  continue  his investigations,  he  must  find  someone
 capable  of guarding  her  well. But  he  must leave  to  find such  a 
 person.  He  knew that  in  the  end he  would  serve  both Darla  and 
 himself  better if  he tried  to uncover  the parties  involved rather
 than waiting  for them to find  him. He could not  entrust his errands
 to anyone  else. Also, though  he denied  it to himself,  Atros wanted 
 to leave  Darla and Pravo. He  had exposed his own  weaknesses to them
 last night  and now  felt shame. But  though such  feelings influenced 
 his decisions, Atros  would never admit them in  his carefully ordered 
 patterns  of reasoning.  Finally  Atros decided  that  he would  leave 
 Darla and  Pravo, at  least temporarily,  on the  basis that  since he 
 was  in poor  condition himself,  he could  not hope  to defend  Darla
 alone.  His  immediate  presence  or  absence  had  little  effect  on 
 Darla's safety.  He realized that  he would be  taking a chance  if he 
 went abroad  now, particularly since he  would have to return  to some
 of his  recent haunts,  but he believed  that the  benefits outweighed
 the potential hazards.
     Rising, he  went to Darla's room  and told Pravo of  his decision. 
 He promised  to return  before morning unless  he was  being followed. 
 Pravo  once  again tried  to  dissuade  Atros  from leaving  (he  half
 expected never  to see Atros again)  but fell silent once  he realized 
 that Atros could be more stubborn than himself.
     Atros left using  the servant's entrance, which proved  to be more
 discrete. He  wore a  short brown  cloak with the  hood up,  which did 
 not unduly attract  attention as the night had already  grown cold. He
 proceeded  to  the tenement  where  he  had  been staying  through  an 
 indirect  route over  well traveled  streets.  He saw  groups of  city 
 guardsmen twice (Where  had they been last night?) but  passed by them
 without incident. 
     Arriving  at the  inn, he  was  recognized by  the landlady  which 
 gave  him a  momentary start.  The landlady  seemed to  know something
 was  in the  air  because  she quietly  signaled  him  into a  covered
 stairway for a  private conference. The grubby matron  told Atros that
 men had broken  into his apartment that morning but  were gone now. As 
 soon as  she completed  that statement Atros  launched himself  up the
 stairway  and through  his front  door.  The sight  which greeted  him 
 wrenched at his gut. 
     The room had  been ransacked for some unknown  purpose. The simple
 wooden table Atros  had used as a desk was  overturned, the stiff back 
 chairs broken.  Papers splattered with  dried ink lay  everywhere. But 
 it was the  absence of the piles of books  that drew Atros' attention.
 Looking about  the rummage  he could  see a  few scattered  about, but 
 not nearly  enough to  account for  them all. With  fear in  his heart
 Atros  turned  to   the  stone  fireplace,  the  view   of  which  was 
 obstructed by the overturned table.
     As  he dreaded,  the charred  remains  of dozens  of volumes  were 
 apparent.  Atros sank  to his  knees, his  hands sifting  idly through 
 the remains  of the  irreplaceable tomes. Atros'  head fell  back, his 
 voice a screech of  pain. "FOR THIS THERE WILL BE  BLOOD!" he vowed to 
 the heavens.  For long moments  his ears were  filled by the  sound of 
 his agonized heart and the dry sobs of his breathing. 
     Then he heard  the drone of a voice, some  one had been addressing 
 him  for sometime.  He  turned to  see the  landlady  had entered  the 
 room. She was  explaining why she hadn't called the  guard yet, why it 
 wasn't her  fault that they  got in, why  she couldn't be  expected to
 protect her tenants from armed men. Atros didn't care. 
     He asked her  to completely describe the men. She  said that there 
 had been three.  It seemed she had  an eye for detail.  But after much 
 questioning, Atros  was sure that  their leader  had been the  man who
 had struck  Darla last night. They  all seemed to be  hired swords, he
 could try the  local mercenary groups and taverns.  Still, his chances
 were  rather dismal  in a  city  as large  as Dargon.  Atros told  the 
 landlady that  she had been  right not to  involve the city  watch and 
 that he  would be paying  for the damages and  vacating as soon  as he
 sorted  through his  things. She  left with  a few  more coins  in her 
 greasy bodice, satisfied. 
     Atros first  discovery was that  the vandals had been  careless. A 
 few  of  the most  ancient  tomes  were  proof  against fire  and  had 
 survived unscathed.  Some others  were only partially  consumed. Atros
 sorted  through  the  ashes  with  a  full  inventory  of  the  room's
 contents  in mind.  It did  not take  long to  realize that  about one 
 third  of the  books were  still missing.  These seemed  to be  either
 highly ornate tomes  or books written in the script  of Baranur, which
 included   several  of   Atros'  personal   journals.  Obviously,   an
 uneducated  ruffian had  chosen  which  books to  steal  and which  to
 destroy  based  on superficial  appearances.  Atros  would teach  that 
 person what it was to play god.
     Atros  quietly gathered  his salvageable  belongings. In  doing so
 he noticed  a note  which had lain  face down on  the floor.  The note 
 was on high quality vellum but was written in a rough hand. It read:

     Raffen Yeggent, 
         We grow tired of pursuing you.  Now it is your turn to
     come to us.  Go to the abandoned millery east of Dargon as
     soon as you are able.  We don't have to tell you not to 
     involve outsiders. 
                                           Balthus

     Atros decided  it was  about time  to see a  friend. He  left that 
 boarding  house  for  the  last  time making  sure  that  he  was  not
 followed. The  burden he  carried from that  place weighed  heavily on 
 his weakened frame.
                     -Joseph Curwen  <C418433@UMCVMB>

         <>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<> 

                               Two Journeys

                                  Injury 
     Nathan half  supported and half  carried Lana through  the streets 
 of Tench.  He espied his goal  and made way  to the door. After  a few
 brief  raps  an older  man,  balding  with  a  salt and  pepper  beard
 answered. His  eyes opened wide at  the sight of the  bloody mess that
 was Lana.  "Quickly man, bring  her in and lay  her on my  table here"
 he gestured. 
     "Doctor, please, help her" Nathan pleaded. 
     The doctor  pulled out  a small  knife and began  to cut  away the 
 ragged  clothing hanging  over  and  in the  wounds.  "What the  devil 
 happened! She looks like she's been mauled."
     "It was  her twin" he replied  "she had some sort  of giant ferret
 with her, and sicced  it on Lana. The bitch didn't call  it off til it
 had nearly killed her."
     The doctor  frowned as he worked  over the wounds, he  hadn't seen
 anything nearly  as bad since  he was  a doctor with  Morion's company
 years ago. Still, he  knew what had to be done.  He looked up "Nathan,
 fetch the headsman, and tell the blacksmith to heat his irons."
     "No" Nathan said unbelievingly, "not that."
     The doctor looked  deep into Nathan's eyes "It's that  or her life
 lad, I've seen wounds  this bad before, and this is  the only sure way
 to do it." 
     Lana  groaned  again,  fighting  her way  to consciousness.  "Easy
 lass" the doctor said "you've lost much blood, just lie still." 
     Nathan hovered  near her, holding  her good hand "just  rest Lana" 
 he  whispered. Nathan  stood, and  with a  last agonizing  look, raced
 from the building to see to the tasks the doctor had ordered. 

                                A New City 
     Tara  packed up  her equipment  and  carefully arranged it  on her 
 horse,  Boxter. She  shivered in  the  early morning  damp. Running  a 
 cold  camp the  night  before  hadn't helped,  but  with the  warnings
 she'd heard and  Lana's threats on her life there  was no point taking
 chances.  Tara knelt  down to  check the  bandages on  Zed's ear.  The
 shivaree didn't  seem much  worse for the  wear considering  that Lana 
 had cut off  most of his ear  when he attacked her.  Tara's own wound, 
 a shallow slice  across her chest just below her  breasts was minor as 
 well, the bandage serving  only to keep the dirt out,  and to keep her
 from scratching it when it itched. Which it did now with a vengeance.
     All packed  up she worked her  way to the road  and headed towards 
 Dargon,  mounted  on  Boxter  and   with  Zed  trailing  behind.  Tara
 traveled this  way for  a week, occasionally  scrambling off  the road
 and  hiding in  the  forest when  a  larger party  came  her way.  The 
 shivaree's  keen   senses  detecting  the  groups   long  before  they
 themselves were  sighted. Finally after  a week of  careful traveling,
 cold camps,  and preserved  foods bought  in Tench,  they came  over a
 rise  and saw  the sea,  a  town, and  the three  legendary spires  of
 Dargon keep.
     Tara  stopped  at  the  crest  of the  rise,  and  stared  at  the
 bustling city  she had  set as  her goal  so long  ago. Just  a little
 over  two weeks  before  bandits  had raided  her  town, murdered  her 
 parents, a fired the farm, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
     She nudged  Boxter into motion set  forth on the final  leg of her
 journey. She  would arrive at dusk,  too late to search  for her uncle 
 but in  time to  seek out  an inn and  a hot  dinner. She  reached the 
 outskirts with no  trouble. As she penetrated into  the more populated 
 parts of town the shivaree drew many stares and interested looks.
     Since she  was exhausted from  her journey  Tara decided to  go to
 the first inn  she came to. This  evening that inn happened  to be the 
 Inn of  the Hungary Shark.  She looped  her reins around  the hitching 
 post and walked  into the inn. The  inside of the inn was  set up more
 like a  tavern. There  was no typical  desk as the  other inn  she had 
 seen in  Tench. There was  already a  small crowd gathered  for drinks 
 and good cheer.  Tara decided to try the bartender.  She walked up and 
 took a seat  at the bar. When the bartender  approached her she looked 
 at him with a hopeful smile. 
     "You'll  have to  leave  the ferret  outside  miss" the  bartender
 told her. 
     "Oh,  yes, certainly"  she answered  "but perhaps  I could  have a 
 room and  stable space  in which to  put him. And  he's not  a ferret, 
 he's a shivaree."
     "I see,  it's a  room you  want" he smiled.  He turned  and called 
 "Dilp get out here, we've got a customer."
     Presently a boy in his teens appeared "yes Thomas, you called?" 
     Thomas the  bartender pointed  to Tara,  "stable her  shivaree and
 any  other critters  she's got,  sign her  in, and  take her  stuff to
 room 219, now hop to it boy." 
     Dilp turned to her "This way please lady...?" he asked quizically.
     "Tara,  just Tara"  she told  him. Soon  Boxter was  in his  stall
 with fresh hay and  straw while Zed was put in  another pen with water 
 and meat  scraps on the way.  Then Dilp took  her to the bar  where he
 pulled  out a  rather  largish  leather bound  book.  He  opened it  a
 little more  than midway through, made  some marks and asked  Tara for 
 her full name. "Tara n'ha Sansela" she replied. 
     He  made a  few  more marks  and  presented the  page  to her  and
 handed her  the quill, freshly  dipped in  ink. "Please" he  said "put
 you mark  right here" and he  pointed down where he  had just written.
 Tara scrawled  an X  there like  there appeared at  most of  the other
 entries. Dilp  then picked  up the  pile of her  stuff they  had taken
 off Boxter and showed her to a room upstairs. 
     It was  about fifteen feet  deep and ten  feet wide with  an eight
 foot ceiling.  There was a large  feather bed and a  dresser. The room
 was  lit by  an oil  lamp which  Dilp ignited  after he  put her  gear
 down. "Do  you wish  to have  dinner brought  up here  or will  you be 
 dining in the common room tonight?" Dilp inquired.
     Tara smiled  "I think in  the common  room tonight, I  haven't had
 much  company lately."  Satisfied with  that  he went  down stairs  to
 resume his duties.
     Tara used  the wash basin  on the  dresser and attached  mirror to 
 wipe off the road  dust she had accumulated on her  trip. When she was
 finally satisfied  she went down  to the common  room and with  a word 
 to Thomas  had her  dinner served  at one of  the tables.  She enjoyed 
 her dinner to the  tune of a bard who was singing  tonight. As she ate 
 she noticed a  sad looking woman with a silver  half-mask covering her 
 face,  and her  equally odd  companion who's  face was  hidden in  the
 shadows  of his  cloak hood.  After dinner  and early  in the  evening
 Tara returned to her room and fell into a deep slumber. 

                                  Tench 
     Lana  awoke,  blinking in  the  mid  afternoon sunlight  that  was 
 streaming  into  the room.  Across  the  room  in a  cushion  armchair 
 slumbered  a  haggard  looking  young man,  in  twenties  perhaps?  He 
 looked like  he'd been  there a  week without  changing. He  had brown
 hair and  a thin beard,  a bit  shy of six  feet in height  and slimly 
 built. Somehow he  looked familiar. Nathan. Now  she remembered, she's
 had  several dalliances  with him  the times  she had  been in  Tench.
 Suddenly it came  back to her. The  girl who looked so  much like her, 
 and  ruined her  reputation. It  would take  a number  of killings  to
 remind people  that Lana was  not one to  be trifled with.  She'd have 
 killed the girl  if that giant rodent hadn't attacked  her. Lana tried 
 to brush  her hair out of  her eyes, but nothing  happened. She looked 
 where  her left  arm  was supposed  to  be. There  was  nothing but  a 
 bandaged stump. Lana let out a tremendous scream of shock and rage. 
     Nathan  awoke with  a  start  and tumbled  out  of  his chair.  He 
 looked up and  saw Lana staring at  the stump where her  left arm, her 
 fighting arm used  to be. They'd had  to remove it, the  damage was so 
 great. The headsman  had chopped it off with one  true blow, while the
 blacksmith had  cauterized it,  stopping bleeding and  infection. They 
 still had almost lost her. Lana had lain unconscious  for over a week. 
 He stayed  at her side,  leaving only  to relieve himself.  After what
 they'd been to each other could he do any less?
     Lana  stared at  her stump,  realizing that  she'd be  helpless in 
 any  kind of  fight.  Once word  spread  she'd be  unable  to come  to
 Tench.  Her enemies  were far  more willing  to draw  swords than  her 
 friends. It  was all  that little  peasant girls  fault, and  she must
 pay!  The young  man  sat down  on  the bed  and held  her  to him.  A
 pointless exercise she thought, but still strangely comforting.

                            Looking For Uncle 
     Tara  rose  mid  morning, having  slept  uncharacteristicly  late. 
 Still, the journey  was long and she had needed  the rest. She dressed 
 and went  down to the  stables to check on  Boxter and Zed.  Both were
 in  fine  shape, Zed  never  the  less was  pleased  to  see her.  She
 checked  his ear,  which was  healing quite  well. Her  own wound  had 
 scabbed over  and ceased to  itch. She returned to  the inn and  had a
 good breakfast. 
     As  she ate  she reviewed  in  her mind  what she  knew about  her 
 uncle. He'd  left their village  some twenty summers  before, seeking 
 to make  his fortune.  The last  they'd heard from  him he'd  become a
 guardsman in  the city  of Dargon.  He'd also  cast aside  his peasant 
 name  of  Glenn  and  started  using  the  more aristocratic  sounding 
 Adrunian Koren.  There hadn't been word  of him since, but  that night 
 after the  raid, her father's  ghost had  sounded so certain  he would
 be here, unless it was after all, a dream.
     Tara  set out  into  the city  just  an hour  before  the the  sun
 reached it's  highest point  in the  sky. She  quickly located  a shop
 where she could buy  a new  outfit, and  then a  bath house  where she
 could clean  the road grime from  her body. Tara felt  much better all
 cleaned  up and  with  a fresh  tunic,  new boots,  and  a fine  cloth 
 skirt. She  girded on  her father's  sword and set  out to  search for 
 some guardsman to ask about her uncle.
     Before long  she ran  across a patrol  making it's  rounds through 
 the markets.  Tara hurried up  to the leader  of the group  and caught 
 his attention. "What can I do for you lass" he grinned. 
     Tara  curtsied and  answered "I  am Tara  n'ha Sansela,  and I  am
 looking for my uncle."
     The officer laughed  "I'm Lieutenant Kalen Darklen at you service, 
 but I'm  afraid finding  misplaced relatives  is a  little out  of our 
 line of work. We're here to keep order. Where did you see him last?" 
     Tara  giggled "I've  never  met him,  he left  home  before I  was 
 born." Seeing  the look  forming on Kalen's  face she  hurriedly added
 "but I know he 's a guardsman, or at least was one for awhile".
     Kalen looked thoughtful "what's his name then?"
     Tara looked at him "The name he uses here is Adrunian Koren." 
     Kalen  Darklen's  eyes  widened   and  several  of  the  guardsmen 
 mumbled to  each other.  Tara thought she  heard someone  say "Captain 
 Koren", but she  wasn't sure. She was positive however  that these men
 recognized the name.
     "Well, well" the Lieutenant said "perhaps you'd  better walk along
 with  us, I  just may  know the  gentleman you  seek." The  troop made
 it's  rounds without  incident, making  it's  way back  to the  guards
 quarters  in  Dargon keep.  Kalen  dismissed  his  men and  bade  Tara 
 follow him.  He led her through  several passages and corridors  to an 
 office.  In the  office was  a large  man with  Iron grey  hair and  a
 great  walrus  mustache. He  wore  a  blue  uniform jacket  with  gold 
 epaulets and  brass buttons. He looked  up from his paperwork  as Tara
 and Kalen entered. 
     "Good  day  Lt. Darklen,  what  have  you  brought me  today?"  he 
 rumbled, his  voice seeming to come  in a gravely way  from the depths 
 of his chest.
     Kalen answered "Captain Koren, this lady claims to be your niece."
     "Oh really now"  the Captain said, focusing icy blue  eyes on Tara
 "and what  proof do  you bring me  that you're my  niece? and  what is
 your name anyway?" 
     Tara was startled,  she hadn't stopped to consider  that she would
 have to  prove her identity.  "Um" she  said brightly "your  real name 
 is Glenn, and your brother was Samuel."
     "Was?" he asked, looking at her strangely. 
     "Yes,  he  and  my  mother  and the  rest  of  the  village  were 
 murdered by bandits." 
     He was  staring at her  sword, "let me have  a look at  that blade 
 of  yours". She  drew her  sword  and handed  it to  him. The  Captain
 looked up  "Kalen, get  my sword  will you? the  one the  Bichu fellow 
 got back  for me."  Kalen pulled  a sword  off the  wall where  it was 
 mounted  and handed  it  to Captain  Koren, who  then  placed next  to
 Tara's sword.  After a  moment a  strange look  appeared on  his face.
 "Where did you get this" he asked, indicating the sword. 
     "It was  my father's,  I took it  from him when  I buried  him and 
 mother" Tara replied, brought near tears by the memory. 
     Koren looked  at her "My brother  and I were given  these matching 
 swords  when each  of us  reached his  majority. Come  Tara my  niece,
 come give  your uncle a  hug." And they hugged  each other for  a long 
 time, as  Kalen stood there,  pleased to  have made this  pretty young 
 girl, and  his friend  and commanding officer  Adrunic Koren  so happy
 by bringing them together. 

                           A Seed of Vengeance 
     The smell  of roast  pheasant filled  Lana's nostrils.  Nathan was 
 serving her  dinner in  bed. She  was still too  weak from  blood loss
 and  hunger to  get up.  Nathan  had been  treating her  exceptionally 
 well since  she'd awaken. He  was behaving  better than any  other man 
 she had known. He  had tried to take nothing from  her, not her money,
 her body, nor had he tried to use her for her skills, ever.
     Nathan carefully sliced  the pheasant and piled it  high on Lana's
 plate.  He knew  she would  only get  better with  plenty of  rest and 
 nutrition. He was happy  to be taking care of her,  but he didn't know
 what to do about  her sulking about the loss of her arm.  It was to be
 expected, the  loss of a limb  would disturb anyone, and  especially a 
 warrior like Lana. But  he would continue care for her  as long as she 
 would permit him.
     "Nathan" she  said, staring  absently at  the ceiling  "the doctor 
 says I'll be  well enough to travel  in another week. I  have too many 
 enemies in Tench, I'll have to leave." 
     Nathan looked  at her intently "but  where will you go?  what will
 you do?"
     "I'll go to  Baranur, I have money, lands,  and connections there.
 I'm been  saving away  for the  day when  I would  have to  retire. It 
 looks like that day came sooner than I ever imagined." 
     "Surely you  knew something like  this could happen any time, with
 the kind of life you lead."
     "Yes Nathan, but  not this soon, and not because  of some amateur.
 An  amateur with  my  face!  It wasn't  even  honorable, sending  that 
 overgrown  rodent after  me! And  that Nathan,  is why  I am  going to
 kill her. I can't go after her myself, but I am going to kill her."
     "But how Lana, how?  You won't be in any shape  to go after anyone 
 for quite awhile." 
     "I'm going  to Baranur, Blastomere,  is there. I have  enough gold 
 socked away  to pay  him. But  I need  your help  Nathan, I  need your
 help  to travel  to Baranur.  I cannot  go alone  like this.  Will you
 come with me Nathan?" 
     Nathan sat  in his arm chair  for a few moments,  deep in thought, 
 not looking  at anything. Then, his  decision made, he turned  to Lana
 "Yes, I shall go with you, and I shall help. I am yours to command." 
                     -Rich Durbin  <MS33OPER@MIAMIU> 

         <>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<> 

                               The Treasure
                                  Prolog 

                               Reference A
     "...toiled  and  wrought  long  and hard,  and  harnesser  of  the 
 Yrmenweald, the  great Master  Staff, was  completed after  many, many
 cycles  (1). Swithwald,  the most  exalted  Master of  the Clear  Fire
 Weavers (2),  completed the  bindings between the  (an untranslateable
 rune - a name?)  (3) source and the Master Staff,  and left the siring 
 of the lesser  staves to the rest of his  brotherhood, being exhausted 
 nigh  unto death  by his  feat.  And so  was  the way forged for us to 
 become the most powerful ever seen in Keinald's Demesne (4)..."

                               Reference B
     "...it was  commanded by our  King to  set down herein  the manner 
 by  which  was hidden  the  access  to the  Source.  Once  my pen  has 
 darkened these  pages with  that information,  then shall  the Weavers
 remove all  knowledge of what has  been so recorded from  the minds of
 the Sons of  Aelther (5). Thus shall  the might of our  nation be safe
 from  our enemies.  This tome  shall be  in the  keeping of  my Office
 until time ends,  and with it, the supremacy of  Fretheod (6), and the
 Sons of Aelther." 

                               Reference C
     "The demise  of the  Fretheod Empire  is an  oddity. At  one time,
 they  were the  masters of  all lands,  unconquerable, ever  spreading 
 their  empire to  all points  of the  globe. Legend  has it  that they 
 maintained  their supremacy  through  a magical  construct, what  they 
 called the  Master Staff,  and a collection  of lesser  staves somehow
 linked to the  Master one. The lesser staves, carried  by all captains
 of war,  and all exploring parties,  could draw upon the  power of the
 Master  Staff, enabling  the bearers  to accomplish  amazing feats  of
 foresight.  Where the  Master Staff  got  its power,  or exactly  what
 that power was, no one now knows. 
     "In the final  days of the Fretheod Empire, civil  war broke out - 
 the  first ever  in the  long history  of the  Sons of  Aelther. Twins 
 were born  to the  ruling monarch,  Queen Earnfled.  As the  two sons, 
 Osgeofu and Tilgeofu,  grew to maturity, it became  apparent that they 
 were  alike in  only their  looks. Everyone  knew that  Osgeofu, being
 first  by mere  minutes  into  the world,  would  inherit the  Empire, 
 becoming the  next monarch. But,  everyone wished that  Tilgeofu would 
 have that honor,  being the more noble, kind, and  strong of the pair. 
 Osgeofu was  petty, cruel, and  just short of  a coward. But  the laws
 of the Sons  of Aelther were inflexible, leaving only  one way for the
 people to get the desired person onto the throne - revolution. 
     "Tilgeofu did not  instigate the civil war, but there  was a large 
 faction of the  nobles who refused to submit to  the reign of Osgeofu. 
 They organized,  planned, arranged,  and finally struck.  But, Osgeofu
 was aware  of the  unrest, and  he had planned,  too. So,  the planned 
 quick coup turned  into a long and bitter battle,  and eventually into 
 a full war.
     "In the second  month of the war, the Queen  died. Osgeofu crowned
 himself, and declared  Tilgeofu's followers outlaws. The  war began to 
 go against the rebel brother, but Fretheod was suffering more. 
     "At  the  end  of  the  Fourth month,  the  last  remnant  of  the
 instigating faction,  along with Tilgeofu, penetrated  the Palace, and
 made it  to the throne  room. There, Tilgeofu confronted  his brother. 
 With  the  people  loyal  to  him rioting  in  the  streets,  Tilgeofu 
 demanded  his brother's  abdication.  Osgeofu  refused until  Tilgeofu 
 threatened  him with  Huaetec, the  Royal  Sword of  State. The  king, 
 cowed  by  the threat,  stepped  down  from  the throne,  but,  before
 removing his  crown he  smashed the  head of the  Master Staff  on the
 stone floor  of the throne  room, and  then cracked the  polished wood 
 length  across his  knee. Then,  laughing and  shouting, "If  I cannot 
 have it, no  one can!", he dashed  to a window and  leaped through it,
 still wearing the crown. He was torn to  shreds by the mob outside. 
     "Shortly  thereafter, a  neighboring kingdom,  formerly in  thrall
 to the  Fretheod Empire, revolted,  and attacked the  barely recovered 
 nation. Fretheod  tried to hold  firm, but  something was gone  out of 
 the Sons  of Aelther.  They still  fought as  fiercely as  before, and
 they  had  superior numbers,  despite  the  harrowing war,  but  their 
 masterful leadership  was gone.  Their generals made  stupid mistakes, 
 and  were  led  into  obvious   traps.  Tilgeofu  sent  his  Skaldric,
 Tarhela, across the sea to get help, but Tarhela never returned.
     "It took  a long time for  Fretheod to die. Even  after that first 
 invasion razed  the capitol and killed  Tilgeofu and his sons  it took
 many  years for  the  far-flung colonies  of the  Sons  of Aelther  to
 fail, or  to become nations  in their  own right. Eventually  only the 
 name remained.." 

                               Reference D
     "...I fear  that I  have failed  my King. The  storm that  blew us 
 off  our course  has only  just  died away,  leaving the  ship a  near 
 wreck, and us utterly  lost. I watch now as the  captain stands at the 
 wheel,  cursing the  gods, the  sea, the  wind, even  the King,  as he 
 brandishes one  of the now  useless Son Staffs  upon which he  used to 
 depend.  Such a  storm  would never  have caught  a  ship of  Fretheod
 unawares before Osgeofu's treachery. 
     "I have  in my posession the  Tome of the Yrmenweald,  passed down
 from  Skaldric to  Skaldric since  the beginning  of the  Time of  the 
 Master  Staff. It  was the  only  hope my  King had  of regaining  the 
 power of  the Master  Staff and  saving our people.  But, we  know not 
 where we  are, and  so the  chances of happening  on the  citadel that 
 holds the  secrets are almost none.  Wudamund might as well  be on the
 larger  moon for  all  we can  get  to it  now. Only  by  the will  of
 Keinald will Tilgeofu and Fretheod now be saved..." 

  Reference A  -  Translation of the "Tome of the Yrmenweald", by 
                   Hrothgrim the Skaldric, page 185.
  Reference B  -  Translation of the "Tome of the Yrmenweald", by 
                   Hrothgrim the Skaldric, page 421.
  Reference C  -  From the "History of the Ancient World", Volume 4,
                   by Trenta, Historian and Chronicler to King Vulpa
                   of Baranur, pages 231-233.
  Reference D  -  Excerpt from the personal log of Tarhela, Skaldric 
                   to Tilgeofu, page 642 (the second to last leaf). 

  Footnotes: 
     (1)  A cycle is approximately the period of the Moon from New to
           New.  It equates roughly to one month.
     (2)  The Clear Fire Weavers were the cream of the crop of the 
           wizards of the land, distinguished by passing a fatal test 
           involving binding and controling elemental fire. 
     (3)  Not only is the figure untranslateable, but it resembles
           nothing remotely similar to any rune or figure in the
           entire lexicon of the Fretheod - it seems to be an alien
           inclusion, perhaps from another language. 
     (4)  Keinald is the Over-god of the Fretheod, and the world is 
           considered to be his personal property. 
     (5)  Aelther was (in legend) the first man to set foot upon the
           shores of the land that became the home of the Fretheod. 
           Thus do the people of the Fretheod honor the first of 
           sailors.
     (6)  Fretheod was, at one time, the foremost Empire in the world, 
           spanning all the known lands of the time and finding more 
           all the time.  They were inveterate colonizers, and their 
           markers - stone pillars or obelisks with sticklike writing
           on them - can be found in almost every area of the world
           now traveled. 

                                  Part I 
                                The Thief 
     Ka'lochra'en stood  before the  huge, intricately carven  doors of
 the Bardic College,  and wondered (as usual) if it  would work. He was
 a skilled  thief of  a special type  - he didn't  snatch and  run, but
 rather he  spent a lot  of time  and preparation planning  his thefts, 
 and making them  as perfect as possible. Often, that  meant assuming a 
 role,  as he  was now  doing, or  in some  other way  infiltrating the 
 premises  of his  target openly  and  making sure  that he  was not  a
 suspect in  the crime.  He found  his own  method of  work to  be much
 preferable to  that of the average  thief, and it meant  that he could 
 go after  larger marks  and enjoy  the money he  got for  his services
 without having to hide from reprisals. 
     But,  no  matter how  foolproof  his  plans,  or how  perfect  his
 impersonation was,  he always worried just  before he began a  job. He
 let himself  run over  the details  in his  mind, reviewing  his cover
 story, assuring himself  that he knew the layout of  the place and the
 exact location  of the book.  He thought that  it was this  worry that 
 had kept him alive  so long - he had been in the  business for over 15 
 years, and had never been so much as suspected of one of his crimes.
     He was being  well paid by a  mysterious man to get a  book out of 
 the College's  main vault.  The man,  who refused  to name  himself or
 give any details  about the book, had provided the  keys to the vault. 
 Ka'en had wondered aloud  why the man needed his help  to get the book
 when he  had the keys.  The man  had said that  no one must  know that
 the book  was missing, and that  Ka'en was renowned for  making things
 disappear  mysteriously.  The  number  of  gold  coins  that  the  man 
 offered got Ka'en to take the job, despite his misgivings.
     Taking  a  deep  breath  and  assuring  himself  that  he  was  as
 prepared as  possible, Ka'en continued  up the steps. His  green cloak 
 was an exact copy  of one worn by a bard. He  wore a nondescript sword 
 and a  leather harp-case on  his back, though  the case was  empty and 
 padded. And, most  importantly, he wore around his  neck an absolutely 
 authentic Rank pendant.  He had gotten it from  Bellen, a disreputable
 ruffian who,  nevertheless, had ways  of procuring certain  things. He 
 had  proved to  be reliable  before,  and so  when Ka'en  had put  out 
 feelers  for a  bardic  Rank pendant,  it  had been  just  a few  days 
 before Bellen  had turned  up with  one. Ka'en  hadn't asked  where he
 had  gotten  it, staving  off  Bellen's  eager  attempts to  tell  him
 anyway.  He had  given the  ruffian the  five crowns  he had  promised
 (which  wasn't even  a decent  fraction of  what he  had already  been
 paid for  the book), and  had continued to  prepare. He knew  that the 
 Rank indicated was  fairly high among the journeyman  class. The owner
 of the pendant  had completed Eight of the Ten  staves required before
 advancement  to Master  class.  That  would make  Ka'en's  job both  a
 little easier  and a little  harder. Easier, because he,  wearing that
 pendant,  would be  taken  for an  important  person. Harder,  because
 there weren't  all that  many Eighth  Stave Bards  proportionally, and 
 it  might well  seem  suspicious  that he  was  a  stranger. But,  the 
 opportunity was too good to pass up; he decided to take his chances. 
     A small nagging  doubt remained in his mind -  there was one thing 
 that   would  undo   all   of  his   planning.   His  second   cousin,
 Je'lanthra'en,  a real  Bard,  would  be able  to  unmask  him if  she
 happened to  be in  residence. As  he pushed  the well-counterbalanced 
 massive doors  open and entered  the College,  he decided to  check on
 Je'en's whereabouts  with the  option of aborting  the mission  if she
 was in Magnus at that time.
     Ka'en  assumed  his role  as  he  strode purposefully  through  an 
 entrance  hall as  huge as  the doors  and tastefully  ornate. It  had
 only  one  other  door,  much  smaller, which  led  into  the  College 
 proper. Standing  by the closed door  was a young man  wearing the red
 sash of a SongWarder over his blue tunic and white hose.
     "Greetings, brother," said Ka'en as he halted before the warder.
     The  young man  in  blue and  white bowed  formally  to the  tall, 
 tow-headed  man in  green cloak  and proper  pendant. "Welcome  to the
 College of Magnus,  my Lord," said the warder, and  shifted his weight 
 onto  the plate  in the  floor  that caused  the inner  door to  open. 
 "Enter, and may all your needs and wants be fulfilled within."
     "Perhaps you  can assist  me, brother," said  Ka'en. "A  friend of 
 mine, a travelling  companion for a time, said she  might be here this 
 month.  I  was  wondering  if  you  knew  whether  Je'lanthra'en  was, 
 indeed, here?" 
     The face  of the warder  fell. He said, "I  am sorry, my  Lord, to 
 be  the one  to tell  you this.  Lady Je'en  is in  town, but  she has 
 suffered an accident.  Just this past week, in the  Fifth Quarter. Her 
 injuries were  severe, and  she is  being tended  by Master  Enowan in
 the Palace. Did you know her well?"
     Ka'en  allowed his  face to  show the  sorrow he  did feel  at the 
 news of Je'en  accident, but he kept hidden the  elation that he could
 continue his  night's work without  fear of discovery.  "Yes, brother, 
 I knew her well.  I am sorrowed to hear of this. I  leave again on the 
 morrow,  but perhaps  I will  delay long  enough to  pay her  a visit.
 Thank you  for the  news, brother."  And he  passed through  the inner
 door shaking his  head sadly for effect. He never  made the connection
 between the pendant  he wore, the hints Bellen had  tried to drop, and
 the news of Je'en accident.
     He went  to see the  seneschal of the College  and got a  room for
 the night. He  was in time for dinner and  he actually enjoyed himself 
 at the meal,  listening to the tales  spun by the other  bards and the
 students as  well. He  had to  supply a  few, himself,  but he  had no
 problem imitating the style  of the others in the room.  He also had a
 vivid imagination so  he managed to entertain the whole  group as well
 as any bard present. 
     He pretended  to drink overmuch  and finally excused  himself from
 the  procedings with  the  excuse  of needing  sleep  for his  further
 travels.  He wasn't  the  first  one to  leave,  so  his going  wasn't 
 unduly remarked.  In other  circumstances, he would  have left  with a
 woman, and, after  a little fun, he would have  drugged her asleep for
 the  bulk of  the night,  providing  himself with  a "perfect"  alibi. 
 But, he couldn't be  sure that a bard wouldn't detect  the drug in the
 wine - bards  were spooky that way, sometimes. So,  he would just have
 to rely on  the image he had  projected at dinner to prove  he was who
 he said he was. 
     He  went up  to  his room  in the  sparsely  populated Guest  Wing
 (larger than  both the  Student and Resident  Wings put  together) and
 took a small nap, waiting for the college to fall asleep. 

                                 The Job
     Ka'en's  inner   clock  woke  him  shortly   after  midnight.  The
 intricately  maintained  time-lamp  on  the wall  confirmed  that  his 
 personal  alarm had  worked properly,  and the  silence pervading  the
 wing  attested to  his  choice of  times. With  a  little care,  Ka'en
 would not be disturbed in his thieving.
     Dressed in  the black  clothes packed in  his harp  case, carrying 
 the tools  of his  trade, and  the keys to  the vaults,  Ka'en slipped
 out of  his room and down  the stairs to  the Leafy Atrium -  a little
 clear-domed hall  that led from the  work buildings of the  College to 
 the three living  wings. He crossed the open space,  dimly lit by moon
 light, and paused in  the inky shade cast by the  little garden in the 
 center of the  hall that gave it  its name. He waited to  be sure that
 no one was coming  before moving on: the Atrium was  where he was most 
 likely to run into someone.
     He made it  to the main building of the  College without incident, 
 but  just as  he  approached the  stairs into  the  cellars, he  heard
 footsteps and  voices. Hastily  ducking into  the nearest  doorway, he 
 waited until he heard the three person parade fade into the distance. 
     Then, he heard  a sound behind him. Turning lithely  as a cat, and
 as  soundlessly, he  noticed  that the  room wasn't  empty.  It was  a 
 study room, adjacent  to the main Library, equiped with  a large table 
 and  rather  comfortable  looking  chairs.  Perhaps  too  comfortable,
 Ka'en  thought. The  sound he  had heard  was a  stifled snore,  which 
 repeated itself a  few times more. A  student was curled up  in one of 
 the chairs,  his candle burned  down to a  faint, blue glimmer  amid a 
 pool of  liquid wax,  and the book  he had been  reading was  lying on
 the floor. 
     Ka'en  paused for  several  more minutes  before  easing the  door
 open,  and then  shut again  behind him,  careful not  to disturb  the
 sleeper.  Silently  blessing  his  fortune,  and  overzealous,  sleepy 
 students,  he  padded  to  the  stairs and  continued  down.  When  he 
 reached the  third landing,  he passed through  the archway  into that
 cellar, leaving  the mysteries of  the still descending  staircase for
 someone else to explore. 
     There were  more vaults in the  cellars of the College  than there 
 were in  the Crown Castle,  some said,  and they were  probably right. 
 Some  also said  that  there was  more  wealth in  the  vaults of  the
 College than  in all of the  vaults the Kingdom of  Baranur considered
 its own.  That, too,  was probably  correct, but  there was  more than
 monetary  treasure  in  those  vaults. The  Bardic  College  collected
 knowledge, and art,  and anything else that the wisdom  of its leaders
 commanded them to collect. Like old books.
     Ka'en came to  the correct door, just  one of at least  ten in the
 long hallway.  It was  of a dull  grey metal ten  feet tall  and three 
 wide.  It stood  out  from the  well  carven walls  of  the hall  even 
 though there  wasn't a crack around  the perimeter as most  doors had. 
 There was also  no handle, and no visible keyhole,  either. But, Ka'en
 knew what to do. 
     He  took the  first  of the  keys and  measured  its length  eight
 times from  the floor  up the  right edge  of the  door, and  then one 
 over.  Two  fingers' pressure  moved  a  piece  of the  carving  there
 aside,  revealing the  first  keyhole.  He had  been  told to  measure 
 carefully  since the  very  similar carvings  around  the correct  one
 were traps, which  would set off an alarm as  well as incapacitate the
 burglar in various ingenious ways.
     Inserting  the  measuring  key  carefully into  the  hole  it  had 
 revealed,  Ka'en  turned it  slowly  to  the  left (right  would  have 
 released another  trap). There  was a faint  snapping noise.  He could
 feel the  key click as  it turned. After  the second click,  he pushed
 the  key in  hard  and felt  it  sink home.  A  louder snapping  noise 
 accompanied the  appearance of  the normal  outline of  a door  on the 
 grey metal,  as well as three  triangular holes in the  general region
 of a normal keyhole. 
     Taking the second  key from his belt pouch, Ka'en  measured up the
 left  jamb of  the  now revealed  door  for nine  of  the shorter  key 
 lengths and then four  lengths to the left. The end  of the key rested
 on the  center of one  of many identical triangular  projections, each 
 with an  indented circle within  each point. He pressed  the indicated
 triangle,  and  it sank  deeply  into  the  wall.  There was  a  faint
 whirring noise  and after a  few seconds the triangle  reappeared with
 the  lower right  circle glowing  faintly. Ka'en  inserted the  second
 key into the  lower left hole in  the door, and turned  it. The proper
 hole was different  every time, or so his employer  had said, selected
 randomly with the  pressing of the carving and indicated  on that same
 carving. The wrong hole or the wrong carving were, of course, traps. 
     When  the  second key  had  been  turned  all  the way  around,  a 
 knob-like  portion  of the  door  popped  out,  just above  the  three 
 keyholes.  Taking the  third key,  Ka'en inserted  it slowly  into the 
 center  of the  knob,  deactivating  the last  trap  on  the door.  He 
 turned the knob and the thick, but not heavy, door opened inward. 
     Relieved  to  have  negotiated the  complicated  entry  procedure,
 Ka'en slipped inside  after removing the three keys.  His employer had 
 assured him  that the door could  be opened with ease  from within, so 
 he  closed  the  door behind  him.  When  it  met  its frame,  he  was
 astonished to  see that it had  become transparent. At least  he would 
 have plenty of warning if someone tried to enter.
     He turned  his attention to  the interior  of the vault.  This was 
 one of  the College's knowledge  vaults, which was  just as well  - no 
 temptation  to  take a  little  extra.  The  shelves and  chests  were 
 arranged just  as the mysterious man  had said. He went  directly over 
 to the  correct chest. It was  the top one of  a stack of four,  so he 
 wouldn't have to worry about moving it to gain access.
     Two  more  keys rested  unused  in  his  pouch; he  retrieved  the 
 first. The  very thin  leather gloves  he was  wearing allowed  him to 
 trace  the intricate  lines  graven into  the side  of  the chest.  He 
 found  the  hidden  keyhole  and  unlocked  the  chest  -  the  large, 
 normal-looking  lock  hanging  where   locks  normally  hung  was  yet 
 another trap. 
     He  raised  the  lid  and  eyed  the  thick,  leather-bound  books
 arranged neatly  within. Carefully lifting  the first tray out  by the
 handles, he set it  on the floor and stacked the  other three trays on 
 top of  it. Taking the  last key in hand,  he pushed aside  the lining 
 of  the seemingly  empty  chest  and released  the  hidden bottom.  He
 slipped the  last key  into the  lock that bound  his quarry  into the
 recesses of  the false  bottom of  the chest  with crossing  straps of 
 iron, much  like a cage.  He carefully  removed the required  book. It 
 was light  for its size and  thickness. He traced the  sticklike runes 
 laid in  gold on the very  light-colored leather of the  cover, making 
 sure that they  spelled out what the stranger had  told him meant "The 
 Tome of the Yrmenweald".
     Satisfied with  his find, he  placed the  book in the  other pouch
 he carried.  He relocked  the cage  and replaced  the contents  of the 
 chest as he had  found them. With a brief glance  around the vault, he 
 went  back  to  the  door.   He  surveyed  the  corridor  through  the
 transparent door  and eased  it open without  complicated precautions. 
 When he  shut it behind  him, it again  became a featureless  plane of 
 dull grey metal.
     Ka'en made  his way carefully back  to his room, sure  that he had 
 been  undetected. He  repacked his  black  clothes in  the harp  case,
 adding the  book to the  bundle, and  settled back on  the comfortable 
 bed to sleep away the rest of the night.

                               The Payment
     Ka'en left  the College the  next day with no  suspicions trailing 
 him about  his midnight activities.  Once again,  he had pulled  off a 
 job  successfully. He  strolled casually  out of  town, following  the
 route he  had hinted  at the  night before at  dinner. Around  noon he
 reached his  cache at  the center of  a stand of  trees, sure  that no
 one  had followed  him. He  changed clothes,  burying the  bardic ones 
 deep in  the ground. Dressed as  a nobleman traveler, he  made his way 
 back to Magnus. 
     It was  well after dark when  he crossed the city  limits. He made 
 straight  for  the  rendezvous  point,  an  inn  called  the  Fighting 
 Unicorns. He  knew that  his employer  would not  still be  there this
 night, as  his own wanderings  to throw  off any cunning  trackers had 
 delayed him,  but the inn was  comfortable and cheap, and  he wouldn't
 mind a night in one of its large rooms.
     The Fighting  Unicorns was situated  as near the Fifth  Quarter as 
 any legitimate  business could  be without being  part of  that warren 
 filled  with  underworld characters.  That  was  the reason  that  its 
 rooms were  so inexpensive - few  dared to brave the  proximity of the 
 haven  of thieves  and murderers  that  was practically  on the  inn's
 doorstep.  So,  its few  patrons  were  coddled,  in hopes  that  good 
 treatment would  bring more business. It  didn't - the dark  alleys of 
 the Fifth  Quarter were  more powerful  than word of  mouth -  but Sir
 Hawk, the  owner and proprietor,  was an  optomistic sort, so  he kept
 up the treatment, just in case.
     Ka'en  slept well  and stayed  in his  room for  most of  the next 
 day. As sunset approached, he went down to the  taproom to have dinner 
 and wait for his employer.
     The food  at the Fighting Unicorns  was as cheap as  the rooms and 
 the portions  as large,  so Ka'en ate  more than his  fill for  just a
 few small coins.  When he finished, he ordered a  large tankard of the
 fine inn  ale and settled  back in his  booth to await  the completion 
 of his mission.
     Sir Hawk did his  best to make his inn very  attractive to his few
 customers,  so  there  was  some  very  fine  entertainment  once  the
 kitchen  had closed.  This night,  there  were several  singers -  not 
 bards, but persons  with the talent who simply didn't  wish to undergo
 the  rigors  of  full  training  - and  two  fine  dancers. Ka'en  was 
 enjoying the  show so  much that  he had almost  forgotten why  he was
 there. The ale,  of which he had  drunk less than half,  had given him 
 a slight buzz,  and he was very relaxed and  comfortable just drinking 
 and watching the floor show.
     His comfort  was interrupted when  a very lovely  woman approached
 his table.  She was dressed  finely, but manner  of her dress  and the
 style with  which she  had painted  her face,  indicated that  she was
 one of the more classy of those who plied the horizontal trade. 
     She attracted  the glances and  stares of  most of the  other male 
 patrons  of the  tap,  but  her destination  was  firm,  and she  slid
 herself  into  Ka'en's booth  across  the  table  from him.  He  said, 
 "M'lady, please, not tonight. I am meeting someone here and..." 
     The woman  smiled sweetly and  said, "I  know." She reached  out a 
 lovely slim arm  and pulled the curtain of the  booth closed, shutting 
 the  two of  them in.  Before Ka'en  could protest,  the woman  smiled 
 again and  put a  long finger  to her lips,  shushing him.  She closed 
 her eyes  and began to shimmer.  Her whole form wavered  and glittered 
 and the  woman disappeared. In  her place  was the brown  robed figure
 of his mysterious employer. 
     The  man said,  "Very  effective illusion,  don't  you think?  You
 have the book." 
     Ka'en nodded, and  patted the large satchel resting  beside him on
 the seat. "You have  the money?" he asked. The man  in brown nodded in 
 turn, and  pulled a very large  black bag out  of thin air and  set it
 down on  the table with  a hefty  and  satisfying clunk.  Ka'en lifted
 the satchel  onto the table  and pushed  to toward his  employer while
 pulling the bag of coins closer to himself. 
     The two opened  their bags of loot at the  same time. Ka'en's eyes
 went wide  at the sight  of all  of that gold.  The man in  brown drew
 out his  newly purchased book  and looked at  it with almost  the same 
 degree  of avarice.  After  fingering  the locking  clasp  on the  old
 volume,  he  put  it  away  and  looked up  at  Ka'en.  "Is  our  deal
 completed to your  satisfaction?" he asked. Ka'en nodded.  "The keys I
 gave you  are in the  satchel, too?"  Again, Ka'en nodded.  The return 
 of the  keys hadn't  been part  of the deal  and Ka'en  had considered 
 keeping  them, but  presumably they  only  opened that  one vault  and
 there was nothing of overtly monetary value in it.
     The man in  brown smiled faintly, and said, "Then  I shall take my 
 leave. It  has been  a pleasure  doing business  with you,  sir." And,
 without offering  to shake  hands on  the completion  of the  deal, he
 closed his eyes  again. With much the same effect  as before, save now
 in  reverse,  the  man  in   brown  vanished,  and  the  lovely  whore
 reappeared.  Though the  man  had  been holding  the  satchel, it  had 
 seemingly  now vanished.  She/he opened  the curtain  and slid  out of 
 the booth.  After leaning  back in  to give Ka'en  a little  kiss that
 utterly embarrassed  him, she  walked  away  with  a "See  you  later"
 thrown back over her shoulder.
     Ka'en stared  dumbly after  the illusion of  beauty long  after it 
 had  vanished through  the doorway.  He had  suspected, faintly,  that 
 his employer  was a  magician -  who else  would have  that much  of a 
 need for  an old book  - but the proof  was unnerving. He  didn't like
 magic much  - it was too  unpredictable. And, he wondered  again why a
 magician needed  his help  to procure  the book.  He didn't  know that
 the  College was  protected from  outside magic  by the  power of  the 
 Crystal of Oathes.
     When Ka'en  recovered, he  remembered that there  was a  large bag 
 of money sitting out  in the open in front of  him. Hastily, hoping no 
 one had noticed, he  yanked it off the table and  onto the seat beside 
 him. Unfortunately, he had not been fast enough.
     Just as he was  about to return to his room for  one last night of
 comfortable sleep before  moving on, someone else  slipped quietly and 
 quickly  into the  booth with  him. Startled,  Ka'en recognized  Skar,
 the leader  of the  group of  cutthroats that  Bellen ran  with. Skar, 
 who  was leering  at him  very unpleasantly,  said, "Greetings,  Kane.
 And good business come your way lately?"
     Ka'en, who  was known to the  underworld of Magnus as  Kane, said,
 "What business might it be of your's, Skar?" 
     "Well, friend Kane,  perhaps we could share a little  of that gold 
 you just got from  that fancy whore as just left.  You know, share the 
 wealth, eh?" 
     "What  makes you  think that  she brought  me that  gold, and  why 
 should I share it in any case?"
     "I know  she brought it because  you didn't have it  when you came 
 down them  stairs earlier.  And, 'cause  if you  had that  much money,
 you wouldn't be staying here, now would you. 
     "And,  we should  share, 'cause  I  know something  that the  town 
 guard  just might  like to  hear.  I don't  know just  what that  tart 
 wanted you to  do in the Singers'  school, but I know  that you bought 
 a Singer's  pendant from Bellen.  And if  the High Singers  check real 
 careful, I bet they find something missing, eh?
     "'Course,  my  yearning  to  do   my  civic  duty  just  might  be
 subverted with enough gold..."
     Ka'en was appalled. This gutter  rat was blackmailing him.  Of all 
 the  gall! What  was worse,  of  course, was  that his  record was  in
 jeopardy now. He  just might be caught, finally, and  all because of a 
 little greed. 
     Skar said, "I  think about half of what's in  that black bag there
 should keep my mouth shut - for a while, at least, eh?" 
     Ka'en, a  resigned tone  in his  voice, said, "I  guess I  have no
 choice, Friend  Skar. How about  a little  privacy, though, so  no one 
 else  decides  that they  need  a  little of  my  hard  won gold?"  So 
 saying,  he drew  the curtain  across the  mouth of  the booth,  again
 isolating it  from the rest of  the taproom. Lifting the  sack of gold
 back  onto the  table with  one  hand, he  drew his  last resort  from 
 behind his belt buckle. 
     With  the  tiny dagger  -  not  much more  than  a  pin, really  -
 carefully concealed  in his  left hand,  he opened  the bag  and began
 counting out  the gold into two  piles. Skar greedily reached  out for 
 his  pile after  it  had grown  to  six coins,  and  Ka'en managed  to
 surreptitiously  scratch   his  hidden  dagger  along   one  of  those 
 reaching hands. 
     He  continued to  count for  another  minute or  so. Then,  Skar's 
 head jerked  up, his eyes  wide with shock  and fear. "What  did y..." 
 he began to say,  but in mid word, he simply  stopped moving. His eyes
 continued to blink, slowly, but the rest of his body was immobile. 
     Ka'en returned  the coins to  his bag and  his last resort  to his 
 belt.  Then,  he took  his  still  half  filled  tankard, and  put  it 
 between Skar's chilling  fingers. Molding the thief like  a wax dummy,
 Ka'en shaped  Skar into  the position  of a  solitary drinker  - hands 
 around the  tankard, body leaned  forward, head down and  staring into
 the depth of  his ale. He also managed to  work the thief's expression
 into one  of contemplation. Then, he  eased himself out of  the booth, 
 opening the curtain and closing it again on the dying gutter rat. 
     He was up well  before dawn the next day, packed  and ready to go. 
 He hadn't  been able to  sleep very well, though  - he didn't  like to 
 kill.  He left  two gold  pieces  on his  pillow to  settle (and  much 
 more)  his bill,  and slipped  out  the back  way. He  decided not  to
 return to Magnus for a very long time.
     Skar was found,  dead, just as dawn came, and  the taproom closed. 
 No cause  of death  could be found  - the slight  scratch on  his hand 
 couldn't  possibly   have  killed  him,  according   to  the  official 
 reports. The  authorities wanted  to question  one Baron  Kanning, the 
 last person to  be seen with him,  but the noble in  question had left
 before  dawn, leaving  a  hearty  tip behind  him.  Skar  was a  known 
 ruffian,  and a  denizen  of the  Fifth Quarter,  so  the inquest  was 
 closed after  only a cursory  attempt to  find the Baron  in question.
 Most felt themselves well rid of the thief.
                     -John L. White  <WHITE@DREXELVM> 

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                     -John