textfiles/magazines/DARGONZINE/dargon.v13n7

  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 13
-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
  D    D  AAAA RRR  G GG O  O N N N   Z     I N N N E     || Number  7
  DDDDD   A  A R  R GGGG OOOO N  NN  ZZZZZZ I N  NN EEEE  ||
                                                           \\
                                                             \
========================================================================
 DargonZine                                     Distributed:  7/30/2000
 Volume 13, Number 7                            Circulation:        760
========================================================================

                                Contents

 Editorial                    Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
 Magestorm 2                  Mark A. Murray         Yuli 1017
 Talisman Five 2              Dafydd Cyhoeddwr       Sy 18-23, 1010

========================================================================
 DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
 collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
 We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
 Please address all correspondence to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
 on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/. Back issues
 are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
 public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.

 DargonZine 13-7, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright July, 2000 by
 the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
 Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
 All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
 and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
 without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
 of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
 Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================

                               Editorial
                         by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
                           <ornoth@shore.net>

     Welcome to DargonZine 13-7! In this issue, we continue two stories
that were begun in our last issue: Mark Murray's "Magestorm", and
Dafydd's long-running "Talisman" epic.
     If you've read the Editorials in our last two issues, it won't come
as a surprise to you that we've now given you, the reader, the ability
to "rate" every Dargon story you read. In our past two issues we piloted
this feature, and response was pretty favorable. Now, at the end of the
Web version of every story that we print, you'll find a sidebar that
gives you the option of telling us whether you liked the story or not.
This now appears in all of the back issues that we've converted to HTML,
and it will also appear in all future issues! By rating each story,
you'll help us learn what you like, so that we can in turn write better
stories. Please take the time to check out this new feature, because
it's a quick and easy way for you to tell us how our writers can get
better at what they do!
     Finally, since that's all the news I have, I'll end this Editorial
with a quick reminder that we need you to help spread the word about
DargonZine. While we may be the longest-running zine on the Internet,
we're very strictly noncommercial and don't send out spam or spend any
money on advertising. Instead, we rely almost entirely on our readers to
let other people know about DargonZine. So if you know of someone who
would enjoy the huge quantity of great fiction that we provide, please
let them know about our site. That's all!

========================================================================

                               Magestorm
                                 Part 2
                           by Mark A. Murray
                         <mashudo@netzero.net>
                               Yuli 1017

          Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 13-6

     "Illiena!" It was a scream in the night; a plea to a loving goddess
for aid in the dark bells of life.
     "Merrif," came a sleepy answer, but not from the goddess. The reply
came from a creature that was awakened by the scream.
     "Illiena!" Merrif cried out again.
     "Wake up, Merrif," Niatha replied, slowly stretching out his legs.
"You're having the dream again."
     "Eh?" Merrif snorted. He rolled over onto his back, pushed some of
his long brown hair away from his face and opened his eyes. "Was I
screaming again?" He groaned as he rubbed his eyes. "I almost saw her
..."
     "I fear you'll only see her when you die," Niatha sighed. He curled
his tail around his body while he squirmed his way deeper into the
blankets. "I'm still tired and the sun has yet to strike my eyes
harshly."
     "I was in a tower," Merrif said, ignoring Niatha. "It wasn't a
tower here in Dargon or anywhere close by. I think it was quite a
distance away. It was a tower that spiraled upwards. It --"
     "Do you have to tell me now?" Niatha whined.
     "Hush and listen! You know I'll forget it when the sun finally
shines." Niatha let out a quiet hiss as he turned his head to look at
Merrif.
     "What about the tower?"
     "There was an energy about it. A malevolent energy that had been
sleeping until someone or something woke it. There were others with me.
The man we met yesterday at the marketplace was there."
     "Raphael or Lylle?" Niatha asked.
     "Raphael."
     "The day's events always creep into dreams," Niatha replied.
"Probably him because he knew of Illiena."
     "There were others, but they were people I didn't know. Tall skinny
men and women. Some were dressed in white and others in black. There was
one woman dressed in red. And all sorts of animals were about."
     "Truly a vivid dream. Is that all?" Niatha yawned.
     "Nearly so. Only a mene more and you can go back to sleep."
     "What of the tower?"
     "Something awoke in it. Something powerful and deadly. I don't
remember much of what happened, but we were fighting it. It was winning.
The tower shook with the magic inside it. Things were going badly and I
cried out to Illiena. A bright light in the form of a person appeared
..."
     "And?" Niatha asked.
     "That's when you woke me," Merrif replied.
     "All that talk yesterday about Illiena can't have helped. You dream
about her every night. Maybe one day you should focus on something
else?" Niatha turned to settle back into the quilt when he noticed the
faint light in the window. "Aah," he sighed with a low resigned voice as
his head plopped onto the bed. "No use going to sleep now. The sun is
coming."
     "We have to go back to the marketplace," Merrif told him.
     "What?"
     "We're meeting Raphael and Lylle again."
     "I don't remember agreeing to that."
     "You were sleeping."
     "When did you switch from talking about Illiena?" Niatha asked. He
stretched out his front legs and rolled over on his back. Squirming into
the quilt, he said, "It's so warm, I don't want to move."
     "You've got to get up sometime."
     "No, I'll just lay here all day," Niatha replied. At that moment,
the sun chose to reflect its rays in through the window to land on the
floor.
     "Not unless you can block out the sun," Merrif said. "It's creeping
closer."
     "I'll just turn my back to it and it will go away," Niatha replied.
     "I have a better idea," Merrif said, smiling. He threw the quilt
off of himself and over Niatha. "There, you won't have to worry about
the sun all day." Sitting up, he moved around the lump that was Niatha
to get to the edge of the bed. Niatha rolled and shifted until he was
out of the quilt.
     "Merrif!" Niatha hissed. His fur was ruffled and his wings were out
away from his body. He flapped his wings a few times and then collapsed
them against his body. He used his paw to smooth out his fur.
     Merrif got dressed and walked over to his table. On it were
scrolls, vials of liquids and powders, small empty bags, a couple of
books, and a wand. "If we're going to the marketplace again, we might as
well try to sell some potions." He sat down and started mixing some
powders and liquids.
     "Why did you bring me here?" Niatha asked.
     "You won't catch me by surprise," Merrif replied. "I told you that
I don't want to talk about it."
     "You had to have a reason. Something. What were you doing?"
     "Why do you want to know?"
     "Don't you think I should know?"
     "No," Merrif answered in a quick, almost harsh, tone. He stopped
mixing and started packing his potions and powders into his pack, slowly
and deliberately. His long thin fingers carefully picked up each item
and gingerly placed it into the pack.
     "I won't stop asking."
     "I know." The room stood frozen in the silence. Even the sun seemed
hesitant to strike further inward upon the floor.

     "Why so silent this day?" Raphael asked as he and Lylle approached
Merrif's table in the marketplace. Raphael walked with a small limp and
used a straight wooden cane to aid him. Lylle walked with a youthful
spring in his step. It was a bright, sunny morning and Merrif was
sitting on a stool behind his table while Niatha was lying on the
ground.
     "The day is lazy," Merrif replied. There were not very many people
in the marketplace.
     "You won't talk about magic," Niatha said, flicking the end of his
long tail back and forth.
     "There are things about magic that shouldn't be discussed!" Merrif
retorted.
     "I agree, but I didn't say anything about magic," Raphael said.
     "I'd like to cast magic," Lylle said.
     "No, you wouldn't!" Raphael quickly replied, a sharp edge to his
voice. He turned, leaned forward a bit, and looked Lylle in the eyes.
Lylle couldn't hold his stare.
     "Not a day to discuss magic," Merrif said.
     "Yes, it is," Niatha argued.
     "No, it isn't," Raphael agreed.
     "Any day would be a good day," Lylle said.
     "We each have our own world to live in," Merrif said. "Each of us
has his own desires and his own fears, his aspirations and his failures.
Yet, each of us shares the world."
     "Yes," Raphael sighed. He relaxed some, shifted his weight and then
leaned on his cane. He looked over at Merrif. "Magic has been your life
and without magic, I would guess you'd be lost. Magic has been a curse
in mine and without it, I imagine I'd be happy. Lylle has lived on the
streets all his life without magic, and he thinks that with it, his life
would be easy and rich."
     "Magic is my life," Niatha said. "Or what I remember of it." He got
up, shifted his weight onto his back legs and in a smooth leap, hopped
onto the table.
     "Magic, in its own way, brought us together," Merrif said.
     "Huh?" Lylle said. "What's that mean?"
     "Yes," Niatha agreed. "I can understand us and Raphael, but not
him. Raphael can see me as I am. Lylle can't. He thinks I'm a cat."
     "I was wondering how you included us?" Raphael asked.
     "Because of magic and dreams. I can't explain it, but since the two
of you showed up, something has started stirring. It's like a storm
brewing on the horizon, gaining strength before its assault."
     "What's that got to do with us?" Lylle asked.
     "I don't know. I don't know what the storm will bring. I don't know
if the storm is really for us, but my dreams give me cause to believe
we're in for some troubling times."
     "Why don't you use your magic to find out?"
     "It doesn't work that way."
     "You aren't going to tell them the truth about your magic, are
you?" Niatha asked. Merrif ignored him.
     "You were in my dream last night," Merrif told Raphael, changing
the subject.
     "And what was I doing?" Raphael asked.
     "What about me?" Lylle asked.
     "You were fighting. There were two other groups there: men dressed
in all white and men dressed in all black. You were fighting both of
them."
     "How many were there?"
     "Too many to remember. They seemed to flood into the room from
outside."
     "What happened?"
     "I don't know. Niatha woke me before I could find out. There were
other things going on, though. I thought I saw Illiena as a bright white
light. And there was a woman there dressed all in red with green eyes."
     "Describe her more," Raphael ordered. He stopped breathing and
focused his attention on Merrif. His lips were closed tightly together
and his brows were creased.
     "That's it. She looked like most other women, except she was
dressed in red. She had green eyes ... and maybe red hair. Yes, red
hair. That was what made her stand out. She was all red with just green
eyes."
     "Megan," Lylle whispered.
     "We don't know that for sure," Raphael retorted. "Where was this
place you dreamt of?"
     "I don't know. Who is Megan?"
     "You both were there," Lylle said. "Maybe there's still hope?"
     "It was just a dream," Raphael hissed. His fist hit the table,
causing vials to shift and rattle. A fire lit in his eyes as he stared
at Lylle. Lylle stepped back away from him, a questioning look in his
eyes. "I went through living without her," Raphael said, "and hoping
she'd come back. I don't want to go through that again." His tone was
hard and edged.
     "You and Megan," Merrif mumbled, putting pieces of knowledge
together. Raphael turned his head slowly to look in disbelief at Merrif,
but Merrif continued on, "She's gone, but I dreamed of both of you."
     "She's *gone*," Raphael stated, his voice deep and rough. Muscles
strained in his neck and a vein bulged in his forehead.
     "You wouldn't try to get her back if you had the chance?" Merrif
asked.
     "I am not like one of these people who come to you for potions,"
Raphael spat out, his eyes full of anger. "Your magic won't work on me.
I've been through worse. I said she's gone!" He turned and started to
walk away.
     "What if she's in danger?" Merrif asked quietly. Raphael stopped
and turned around. He pursed his lips as if to say something, but
instead walked slowly back to the table. No emotion showed on his face,
but the air around him seemed to swirl and swish.
     "By Illiena's whoring life," he said, each word emphasized
strongly. "She is gone."
     Merrif's eyes went wide and his lips moved but only spittle bubbled
out. Both men stared at each other. Merrif leaned back and pushed his
hands outward.
     "No!" Niatha yelled, but it was too late. Before he could move,
Merrif's magic spiraled outward and struck Raphael in the chest. Raphael
staggered back, his breath flying out of him in one big huff.
     "Ah," Raphael groaned as he took staggering steps to regain his
balance. A green light flowed around him, draping him in an eerie glow.
"Oh," he moaned, reaching out to grasp something. "Megan?"
     "What did you do?" Lylle asked, stepping towards Raphael. He
reached out to grab Raphael but the light sparked and burnt his hand.
"Ouch," he yelped and jumped back. Traces of green light faded from
around his hand. "Stop it!" he ordered Merrif.
     "I can't," Merrif replied. "I don't know what it is."
     "You caused it!" Lylle yelled. "Get rid of it." Raphael's eyes
turned green to match the light around him.
     "I don't know what I did!" Merrif yelled, staring at Raphael. "He
brought it upon himself, anyway!"
     "You used magic," Niatha said, staring at Raphael also. "You know
your magic never does what you want it to do."
     "Megan!" Raphael screamed as he fell forward, his knees striking
the earth solidly. His cane clattered to the ground as he held his arms
out, reaching for something only he could see. Pain and grief etched
deep lines across his face. The green light slowly faded away. His green
eyes retained their color, as if holding on to the last vestige of
magic, not wanting to let go. But it was not enough. His eye color
returned to brown.
     "Raphael?" Lylle asked, tentatively stepping forward.
     "Wha-- " Raphael stammered. "What did ... did you do ... to me?"
His arm went out, trying to reach Merrif, trying to touch.
     "I don't know," Merrif answered, his voice breaking up. "Whatever
it was, I'm sorry." He started to reach out to Raphael.
     "Cold," Raphael said, wrapping his arms around himself. Shivers ran
up and down his body. He stumbled to his feet and swayed there, gently,
like a small breeze was blowing him. "Your dream ... I was there."
     "You shouldn't have used magic," Niatha said. "He's going to want
to go there, now." Niatha huffed and flapped his wings once before
settling them back down against his body.
     "He's right," Raphael replied. "We have to go there."
     "Ol's piss!" Lylle yelled, looking at Niatha. "It isn't a cat!"
     "One can hear me and the other can see me now," Niatha sighed.
"Just what did you do?"
     "I don't know," Merrif whispered. "But I think I've bound us all
together for the storm to come."

     "Merrif?" Niatha called sleepily. He stretched his four paws out as
he yawned. Opening his eyes, he looked around slowly, almost lazily. He
saw Merrif hunched over a book at his table. Above the table, there was
a piece of cloth hung over the window. The cloth wasn't thick enough to
block out all of the light, but it did stop the sun's rays from reaching
the bed. "Merrif?"
     "Eh?" Merrif muttered, lifting his head. "You're awake?"
     "You blocked the window."
     "You always yell about the sun waking you up. You want me to
unblock it?"
     "Why?" Niatha asked. He rolled over and sat up. Tilting his head
down, he used both front paws to rub his face.
     "I thought for sure I woke you up again, but you were sleeping
sound. I got out of bed and lit the lamp and you still didn't wake up. I
thought you needed the sleep, so I put the cloth over the window."
     "You didn't dream about Illiena?" Niatha got up and walked over to
the edge of the bed. He hopped down, padded across the floor, and jumped
up onto the stool. He stood on his back legs and looked at the top of
the table. Sighing, he sat back down. "You've got the table all covered
again."
     "I did dream about her," Merrif replied. "That's why I thought I
woke you."
     "Did you dream of the tower?"
     "Yes. And of Raphael and Megan and Lylle and the other men. And of
Illiena. That's why the table is so messy. I've been going over
everything I have about her. I saw her as a bright light in the form of
a person."
     "And?" Niatha yawned. He twirled around a couple of times on the
stool before settling down, laying on his side.
     "Everything says that she manifests herself as a beautiful woman.
Why a figure of light?"
     "It's a dream," Niatha replied. "Dreams are always twisted from
reality."
     "Perhaps," Merrif mused. "Perhaps. But these dreams may hold the
key to our trip."
     "What?" Niatha asked, sitting up quickly. "Trip?"
     "Yes," Merrif replied. "I think it would be good to get out and
travel again. It's been too long since I was out of Dargon. I remember
--" Merrif stopped as he saw Niatha's ears and nose twitch. "What?"
     Niatha slowly moved his head to the left and his eyes narrowed. His
nose twitched again. Merrif slowly turned his head to see what held
Niatha's attention. A rat had crawled in under the door and was sitting
there. Niatha used his strong back legs and launched himself upward,
leaving the stool sitting there motionless. In his apex, he quietly
opened his wings wide. As he descended, he glided towards the rat.
Suddenly, he pulled his wings in halfway and swept them back; his
descent angled steeply and rapidly towards the rat.
     The rat sat unaware. Niatha's front paws reached out and his claws
extended just as he hit it. The rat squealed in a high pitch as claws
sank into its body. Niatha tucked his head down, bit hard, and rolled.
He held the rat firmly as he rolled once and landed on top of it. The
rat was dead.
     "Ugh," Merrif squeamishly said, turning his head. "Did you really
have to do that? You couldn't just chase it outside and then kill it?"
     "I can't eat it here?" Niatha asked, still holding the rat in his
claws.
     "No!" Merrif yelled. "Take it outside. I don't want to clean up the
mess you'd make."
     "You've got the window blocked."
     "No! Don't come near my books with that thing. I'll open the door."
Merrif got up and walked over to the door, carefully not looking at
Niatha or the rat. He opened the door, stepped back, and turned to look
the other way.
     "There isn't a lot of blood," Niatha remarked.
     "It isn't the blood," Merrif said. "I don't like to see something
dead. Now get it out of here."
     "Things die so that others may live," Niatha said before picking up
the rat with his mouth. He took it out the door and walked around the
house. Merrif was just about to shut the door when he heard Raphael's
voice.
     "Does Merrif live here?" Raphael inquired. Merrif poked his head
out the door and looked up the alley. He didn't see anyone, so he turned
his head and looked the other way. He saw Raphael and Lylle a few houses
down.
     "Raphael," he called. "I live here." Raphael and Lylle turned, saw
him, and started walking his way. Niatha returned before they reached
the door.
     "I'm not going to like this, am I?" Niatha asked. "I'm comfortable
here in our home. I don't want to go anywhere."
     "A good morn to you, Merrif," Lylle greeted him. "And to Niatha,"
he added.
     "May Illiena smile upon you all your life," Merrif replied.
     "If you teach me magic, I'm sure she will," Lylle said with a grin
spread wide across his face.
     "Oh, that's just what Dargon needs," Niatha moaned. "Two mages who
can't control their magic."
     "What's he mean by that?" Raphael asked, leaning on his cane. He
was standing beside Lylle and looking down at Niatha. He lifted his face
and looked at Merrif.
     "I forgot," Niatha apologized. "He can hear me." Niatha turned and
entered the house. Merrif gestured for Raphael and Lylle to follow.
     "Welcome and good health," Merrif greeted them as they entered his
home. Raphael and Lylle stepped into the small room. "Not many places to
sit," Merrif explained. "I don't normally have company. There are two
stools and the bed. Feel free to sit on any of them, but please don't
bother anything on the table."
     Lylle walked over, sat on a stool, and looked at what was on the
table. He saw scrolls, books, powders, a mortar and pestle, empty bags,
vials, and a couple of mugs. Looking around the room, he saw herbs
hanging on the wall to the left of the fireplace and clothes on the
right. There was also a stack of wood next to the small fireplace. A bed
was opposite him, against the wall. Niatha was sitting on the bed.
Merrif was hanging herbs on the wall to dry.
     Raphael sat on the bed next to Niatha. Instead of looking around
the room, he watched Niatha. "What are you?" he asked. Merrif moaned as
he tied a bundle of herbs together.
     "That's the question I've been asking Merrif and he doesn't want to
answer it," Niatha replied. His face seemed to compact some and the fur
around his eyes puffed out. He looked over at Merrif, waiting for the
response he knew would be there.
     "I did answer that question," Merrif stated. "I told you I don't
know what you are. A creature of magic, most likely."
     "How did I get here?" Niatha asked, then turned to Raphael. "He
won't answer that one, either," Niatha whispered.
     "I heard that!" Merrif replied. "And no, I won't answer it. Why do
you want to know?" Merrif asked. Lylle seemed to be concentrating hard
on the contents of the table.
     "I didn't mean to start a fight," Raphael said.
     "We go through this almost every day," Merrif said. He had finished
hanging the herbs and turned around. "I'm not ready to give him that
answer."
     "Why not?!" Niatha pleaded, his claws digging into the quilt. "I
don't know what I am, who I am, where I came from. I don't know
anything."
     "Neither do I!" Merrif spat out as he turned. "Neither do most men.
We stumble about searching for answers to who we are and why we are
here. We know our name and we know where we live, but we don't know much
else. Why should you be any different?" He ran both hands through his
hair as he waited for an answer.
     "Because I don't even remember my parents," Niatha said.
     "Lylle doesn't remember his parents," Raphael said. "And my father
died in the war." Lylle looked up confused. He was only hearing part of
the conversation.
     "Mine died of the Red Plague," Merrif said. "Something I wouldn't
want anyone to go through. Niatha," Merrif sighed. "We're all searching
for something. That's why I think we should find this tower in my dream.
It may hold the answers to many of our questions."
     "Even if it doesn't, will you tell me how I got here?" Niatha
asked.
     "Yes, whether or not the tower holds our answers, I will tell you
how you came to be with me," Merrif promised.
     "I know where the tower is," Raphael said. All three turned and
looked at him.
     "How?" Lylle asked.
     "When I was struck with Merrif's magic, I floated out and above
Dargon. Then I flew straight to the tower. I know where it is."
     "Where is it?" Merrif asked.
     "Somewhat south of here, near Valdasly."
     "How far is that?" Niatha asked.
     "You're really going?" Lylle asked. He had returned to staring at
the top of the table.
     "It's about a month or so of travel," Raphael answered Niatha, then
turned towards Lylle. "I'm going only if you go too." Lylle looked up
from the table and over to Raphael.
     "That's asking a lot," Lylle said.
     "Why?" Raphael asked. "What do you have here? You don't even have a
place to call home."
     "I'm a shadow boy," Lylle replied as if that would answer
everything.
     "Maybe it's time to be something else," Raphael said. He stood up,
walked over and sat on the stool opposite Lylle. "How long can you live
on the streets? Avoid the guard?"
     "I'll go," Lylle said softly.
     "How are we going to get there?" Niatha asked.
     "The best way would be to travel with a caravan," Merrif said.
"It's expensive though."
     "I might be able to hire on as a guard," Raphael said. "That leaves
you and Lylle."
     "I can get money," Lylle said, smiling. "Not a lot, but some."
     "I could sell a couple of my scrolls and a book to Corambis. He's
had an interest in them for some time," Merrif said.
     "Not the Illiena ones?" Niatha asked.
     "No, not those," Merrif replied. "Never those."
     "You're going to take all this?" Raphael asked, looking at the top
of the table.
     "Most of it," Merrif said. "I'll need it and the herbs on the
wall."
     "And clothes," Niatha said. "Don't forget them."
     "What?" Lylle asked, knowing that he wasn't getting all of the
conversation.
     "Niatha told Merrif not to forget clothes," Raphael explained.
     "I don't suppose you can use your magic again so I can hear him,
can you?" Lylle asked Merrif.
     "No!" Niatha yelled.
     "No, I can't," Merrif said.
     "At least you can see him," Raphael said. "Something only the three
of us can do."
     "He might burn your tail," Niatha said. "If you had one, that is."
Raphael looked at Niatha with a confused look on his face, but didn't
press the issue.
     "Hush," Merrif told Niatha.
     "We're really going to go?" Lylle asked. "Really leaving Dargon?"
     "Yes," Raphael replied. "I believe in Merrif's dream. I've talked
to May and she said Megan went towards Valdasly. I didn't think Merrif's
dream was anything important until he hit me with his magic. And Megan's
too important ..."
     "She is special," Lylle said, staring at the fireplace. "I couldn't
change her mind when she left. She was so angry at you and so
frustrated." He looked up and saw Merrif's tilted head and questioning
look. "It's a long story. Maybe Raphael can tell it to you on the way to
Valdasly."
     "It'll be a long trip and there will be time for all of our
stories," Merrif agreed. "First, we have to find a caravan that will
take us there."
     "I can ask around about what caravans are leaving, but I don't know
if it'll help," Lylle said.
     "May might know," Raphael volunteered. "She's the owner of Spirit's
Haven," he explained. "It's a very nice inn that all sorts of people
stop at. May knows a lot of different people from merchants to nobles.
If she doesn't know, she might know who would."
     "Might as well go now," Lylle said. "If we're going, let's go as
soon as we can." Lylle stood and headed for the door.
     "I'll gather some potions and herbs and take them to Corambis
today," Merrif said. "Can you find your way back here?"
     "I can now. Your directions yesterday were clear up to the alley.
After that, I started guessing," Raphael replied. He laughed and said,
"Not very good guesses."
     "Come back tomorrow morning and let me know how you've fared."
     "Tomorrow, then," Raphael agreed. He left to catch up with Lylle.
     "Are you going to tell them everything?" Niatha asked. Merrif
walked over to the bed and sat down.
     "I don't know. Do you think they'll change their mind if I tell
them about the dreams?"
     "No," Niatha replied. "Raphael wants to find this Megan. He'll go
with or without us."
     "I'll tell them, then."
     "Why do you trust them?"
     "I don't trust them fully, but to meet Illiena, I would travel with
a band of thieves."
     "Would you invade Beinison?" Niatha asked.
     "There was a time when I would have said yes. That I would have
burned Beinison to the ground, salted the earth, and killed every man,
woman, and child to meet Illiena." Niatha sucked in a large breath and
hissed it back out.
     "When was that?" he asked, shock covering his face.
     "A long time ago. A very long time ago."

     The morning breeze blew with a slight chill. The sun shone
brightly, though, giving a warmth for all to enjoy. Merrif was sitting
on the doorstep of his house, watching the alley and the few people who
traveled it. This was his last day in Dargon.
     "Thinking about changing your mind?" Niatha asked as he brushed by
Merrif.
     "No," Merrif answered. His face was tilted up to let the sun strike
it. "I won't change my mind. We are going to the tower and we are going
to find Illiena."
     "You are going to find Illiena," Niatha specified as he sat on the
street in front of Merrif. "The rest of us are going for different
reasons. I'm going to get my answer. Raphael is going to find Megan. I
don't know why Lylle is going. But you could save all the time and
trouble and tell me now how I came to be here. Then I wouldn't have to
go."
     "Not until we get to the tower," Merrif stated.
     "What if you die before then?" Niatha asked. "What happens then?"
     "You don't get your answer."
     "I'll just have to keep you alive, then," Niatha replied. He sat
down in front of Merrif and turned to smooth the fur on his back, using
his paw and tongue.
     "I hope we all get our answers," Merrif said.
     "Raphael won't stop until he finds Megan," Niatha warned. "He's as
single-minded about that as you are about seeing Illiena. Should your
paths separate ..." He let the thought drift silently away.
     "They won't," Merrif said. "At least not until we find the tower."

     "Good day, Merrif," Lylle called from down the alley. He was
carrying a bag slung over his shoulder. Lylle was a skinny youth with
long, unkempt hair. Although he smiled easily enough, there was a sly
manner about him. His eyes darted about, surveying his surroundings,
always looking for something.
     "Illiena's smile upon you," Merrif replied. "A beautiful day today,
isn't it? And where is Raphael?"
     "It is a grand day," Lylle said, smiling. "Raphael will be along
soon. He got us on a caravan going to Valdasly. We leave tomorrow
morning." He reached Merrif and sat down beside him, dropping the bag on
the ground.
     "You're happy that you're going?" Merrif asked. Niatha turned away
from them and walked into the house.
     "I am happy because I have a family that I never knew cared that
much," Lylle answered. Niatha jumped on the bed and clawed at the
covers, trying to make a comfortable place to sleep.
     "A family?" Merrif asked, turning towards Lylle. "I didn't know you
had one."
     "It isn't a family like you're thinking," Lylle answered. He placed
his hands behind him and leaned back, tilting his face into the sun. He
closed his eyes and said, "I told the other boys that I had to make a
decision. They asked me what it was about. I explained the whole thing
to them and they threw me out. They told me I was no longer a shadow boy
and tossed me and my belongings out in the street."
     "You're happy about that?" Merrif asked.
     "No ... I wasn't at first. I was mad. They just threw me out. I
beat on the door, but they told me to go away. I picked up my bag and it
jingled. After opening it up, I found money in it. That's when the door
opened and they all rushed out to say good-bye. Somehow they had found
out what I was going to do and had prepared for it. It was their way of
blessing my journey."
     "You're leaving everyone and everything you know behind and that's
something to be happy about? I still don't understand."
     "No," Lylle smiled. "I doubt you would. You've never lived on the
street, have you?"
     "No," Merrif answered. "At times in my life, it came close to
that."
     "I know what it is to stay here. I've lived that all my life. But,
now, there's something out there and I'm a part of it. It could be
something much better. Most anything would be better than what I've got
now. Plus, I'll be with Raphael. I've known him and Megan since they
both got to Dargon."
     "Now we know why he's going," Niatha said from the bed. Half of his
body was covered in blankets while the other half was curled tightly
against itself.
     "I thought you were asleep," Merrif called out.
     "What?" Lylle asked.
     "Niatha was wondering why you were going and he said now he knows."
     "I wish I could hear him. Is there any way of getting you to teach
me magic on our trip?" Lylle asked, slightly opening his eyes to look at
Merrif.
     "No," Merrif replied. He turned to Lylle. "I haven't ever taught
anyone magic."
     "No one?" Lylle asked, sitting up. "Not ever? In all your life, you
haven't had an apprentice?"
     "No," Merrif whispered.
     "But why?"
     "It's a long story," Merrif answered, his voice seemed far off.
     "Perhaps on our trip," Lylle said.
     "I doubt it," Niatha replied from the bed. "I've been trying to get
him to open up about his past for as long as I've been with him." Niatha
huffed and said, "I wish he could hear me, too. I'd know at least one
person would be listening to me."
     "I'm listening," Merrif replied.
     "It would be better if I could hear him," Lylle said. He turned
around to look at Niatha. "He looks asleep."
     "Heh!" Merrif chuckled. "I believe that's what went through many a
rat's mind before it died."
     "Rat!" Niatha exclaimed. "Is there a rat?" He stretched his neck
out and upward in an attempt to see past Merrif and Lylle. He moved his
head from side to side, trying to get a better view.
     "No," Merrif laughed. "There isn't a rat. We were just talking
about them."
     "He eats rats?" Lylle asked.
     "He thinks I dig up tubers and eat them?" Niatha replied. He smiled
and opened his mouth a little before saying, "That's why I have these
nice sharp teeth." Merrif laughed harder and rolled backwards on his
back.
     "What did he say?" Lylle asked, shifting his gaze from Merrif to
Niatha.
     "He said he digs up tubers to eat and that's why he has those sharp
teeth," Merrif answered, settling down to a giggle.
     "Those are large fangs," Lylle agreed. "But I would have thought
he'd hunt bigger things. Rats seem too small for him."
     "Huh?" Niatha squeaked, tossing covers and sitting up.
     "He said you were a bully and picked on little defenseless rats!"
Merrif laughed. He was laying half on the floor of the house and half on
the steps, gasping for breath between fits of laughter. His hands were
on his gut, trying to hold himself still. His legs kicked out every now
and then. Lylle watched intently, not understanding the humor.
     "I am not a bully!" Niatha said, the fur around his face puffing
out. His tail was swishing sharply back and forth. "And some of the rats
around here are as big as me!"
     "Is he mad?" Lylle asked. "He looks mad."
     "He sounds indignant about what you said," Merrif replied between
fits of laughter. He turned and started to get up, but caught a glimpse
of Niatha's ruffled fur and his laughter knocked him back down.
     "This is not funny!" Niatha said as more of his fur puffed out,
this time around his neck and shoulders. His wings opened and he flapped
them once before closing them.
     "What did he say that was so funny?" Lylle asked, watching Merrif.
     "Rats have sharp teeth, too," Niatha replied. Merrif laughed harder
and started to gasp for breath. Short wheezes of breathing in were
accompanied by tears streaming down his face.
     "Is someone dying?" Raphael called from down the alley. He reached
the doorway and looked at Lylle and Merrif. "Is he --" Raphael started
to ask about Merrif's health, but realized that it was laughter not
death that was afflicting Merrif. "It seems I missed something rather
interesting." Raphael stood relaxed, cane resting lightly in his hand,
waiting for someone to explain what was going on.
     "I missed it, too," Lylle said. "Something between Merrif and
Niatha."
     "It was nothing!" Niatha replied. His fur was almost all back in
place and he was once again moving the quilt to make a comfortable area.
     "Nothing?" Raphael asked. "This nothing has Merrif out of breath
from laughter." Merrif was still wheezing, trying to breathe, but his
laughter had stopped.
     "Rats ... little rats ..." Merrif huffed.
     "I hunt rats," Niatha interrupted. "And Lylle thought I was too big
to hunt them. There, that was what was so funny." He turned his back on
them and settled down onto the quilt.
     "I don't see the humor in that," Raphael answered. "But I don't see
where a rat would have a chance against you. Perhaps you should hunt
something bigger." Niatha whirled and stood up, his lips drawn back and
his wings open. He started to reply, but saw Raphael's smile and
realized he was being teased.
     "It's going to be a long trip," Niatha sighed, plopping down on the
quilt.
     "We leave tomorrow morning," Raphael said, changing the subject. "I
couldn't find anyone hiring or willing to take us. That isn't surprising
as I'm a stranger to most here. I asked May if she knew of anyone
traveling to Valdasly and she said she would ask around. She found us a
small caravan and arranged passage."
     "Are we going to have to walk all the way?" Lylle asked.
     "May arranged for one of us to have a seat on a wagon. One of --"
Raphael began.
     "I have a horse," Merrif interrupted. He was sitting, leaning
against the doorway. "I don't ride her often, but she's a mellow old
girl."
     "Why didn't you tell me that before?" Raphael asked. He was
irritated. "I couldn't arrange for all of us to ride and now you tell me
I didn't have to try?"
     "I kept forgetting to tell you," Merrif explained. "We always got
to talking about something and I kept forgetting."
     "Ol's pi-- " Raphael started, but stopped himself. "Grrrrr," he
growled instead. "Not a good start."
     "It was a good start," Lylle said, grinning. "You just needed to
finish it: Ol's piss." Lylle laughed and Merrif chuckled.
     "I'd finish it, but I'm trying not to cross any gods. I'm going to
need all the help I can get to find Megan."
     "Put your faith in Illiena," Merrif said. There was a groan from
the bed. "Hush, Niatha!"
     "What makes Illiena so special?" Lylle asked. "Why her over all the
others?" There was another groan from the bed.
     "Ahhh," Merrif breathed. "Illiena. She is the defender and the life
giver."
     "There are others in the Manifest," Lylle said. "There is Cydrian
and ... Muska-something."
     "Illiena, Cydrian, Muskadon, and Osiniana," Merrif answered. "Don't
forget Eilli-Syk, Balen-Ruk, Kessra-Nik, and Arom-Nok."
     "Too many to remember," Lylle said.
     "Illiena is all that matters," Merrif replied. "She is the light
that shines in my day and the star that brightens my night."
     "Kessra-Nik and who else?" Lylle asked. "I haven't heard of most of
those gods."
     "There are four who guide man and four who wish to destroy man,"
Raphael said. "That's the way it was explained to me."
     "There is more to it than that," Merrif said. He got up and walked
over to his table. He picked up an old book that had no cover. "This is
one of the more detailed books I've found about the Manifest."
     "If you can read," Lylle added.
     "Yes," Merrif agreed. "If you can read. Otherwise, you have to rely
upon the word of others. That's why I learned to read. I didn't fully
trust what I was being told. And being apprenticed to a mage, one must
read."
     "My father had no use for reading," Raphael said. "Learning to
fight, learning to farm, learning to sail he said were things men should
be doing."
     "Each man must follow where his soul guides," Merrif said. "Illiena
guides mine."
     "Megan guides mine," Raphael added. "It took her leaving for me to
realize that."
     "Surviving," Lylle said. "Surviving just one more day."
     "Knowing what I am," Niatha said from the bed. "Knowing where I
came from. Where did you summon me from, Merrif?"
     "When we get to the tower," Merrif answered. "Not before."
     "Niatha again?" Lylle asked.
     "Yes," Raphael said. "He asked Merrif where he was summoned from."
     "Niatha was summoned?"
     "That's what he asked about," Raphael said.
     "I told him I'd answer that question when we got to the tower,"
Merrif explained.
     "What about the Manifest?" Lylle asked.
     "Hmmm ... oh, yes," Merrif replied, looking down at the book in his
hands. "The Manifest."
     "What does the book say about the gods?"
     "As with all things, there is a beginning," Merrif began. "In this
beginning, there was only emptiness. Emptiness except for the All
Creator. The All Creator looked about and felt loneliness. The All
Creator knew all and felt all, but in the emptiness, loneliness and
boredom reigned. You see, everything that was and everything that could
be was the All Creator.
     "The All Creator decided to create. He created all that we see:
sun, moon, stars, animals, fish, everything including man. Man was
created with free will. Man could do whatever his soul guided him to do.
The All Creator looked upon man and decided man needed guidance, for man
destroyed, killed, and ravaged.
     "The All Creator did not want to directly guide man, so the All
Creator created the eight gods. They were created to show all sides of
man, good and bad. Each god was given a specific duty and then the All
Creator hid from the creations, to become a watcher.
     "Arom-Nok is plagues and suffering. Osiniana is healing and bliss.
Kessra-Nik is war and fighting. Muskadon is peace and working together.
Balen-Ruk is thievery and deceit. Cydrian is honesty and honor.
     "The last two are Eilli-Syk and Illiena. Eilli-Syk is the taker of
life while Illiena is the giver of life. Balen-Ruk, Kessra-Nik, and
Arom-Nok follow Eilli-Syk's orders. Cydrian, Muskadon, and Osiniana
follow Illiena. So, the eight are divided into two groups. Eilli-Syk
wants to destroy man so that all will go back to the All Creator.
Illiena wants to guide man since that was the All Creator's wish. So,
they struggle against each other, with man caught in between."
     "Is that all in the book?" Lylle asked.
     "Yes," Merrif answered.
     "Do you believe it?"
     "Not all of it," Merrif said. "It is one man's view of the
Manifest. Let me give you another. Illiena is keeping man here because
she enjoys being in charge. Eilli-Syk wants to end all things so that
everything goes back to the All Creator where it began. Even man would
be there and it would be a place where peace and love and happiness
reigned in coexistence with the All Creator."
     "That's completely different," Lylle said. "Who do you believe?"
     "Exactly," Merrif stated. "Who do *you* believe?"
     "Straight!" Lylle said, dodging the question. "I believe it is
going to be a long trip."
     "Ha!" Raphael laughed. "I believe that, too. And the day passes on
and there are things yet to do. We should be going."
     "Where do we meet on the morn?" Merrif asked.
     "Here is fine," Raphael answered. "Just before daybreak." There was
a moan from the bed.
     "Why is it always just before daybreak?" Niatha asked. "Why can't
we meet just after?"
     "Because the caravan will most likely be gone by then," Raphael
replied. "Tomorrow morning, then."
     "Straight," Merrif said.
     "Straight," Lylle repeated. Raphael and Lylle left and walked down
the alley. Merrif walked over to the table and put the book back on it.
     "Yes, Niatha. I believe it is going to be a long trip."

========================================================================

                             Talisman Five
                                 Part 2
                          by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
                        <John.White@Drexel.Edu>
                             Sy 18-23, 1010

          Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 13-6

     Roharvardenul watched the man walk through the doors into the
taproom of the Fighting Unicorns, a tavern on the edges of the unsavory
Fifth Quarter of Magnus. The tall, thin, dark-haired man walked
purposefully through the sparsely-tabled room directly toward Vard's
seat. There were only two other occupied tables in the room, but Vard
wasn't surprised that the man had detected him so quickly; they had
arranged to meet in one of the privacy booths that lined the back wall
of the taproom, and the only one of those occupied was the one he was
in.
     Vard paid close attention to the way Kana, the man he intended to
hire, walked. He noted the sureness of the man's steps, the way his body
was balanced. Vard also noticed the very small things, like the way
Kana's attention included the other two tables, the natural way the man
managed to keep his face in as much shadow as possible despite the two
large chandeliers that kept the windowless room quite bright. Vard
nodded briefly to himself. He had picked a promising prospect.
     Competent and nondescript had been the only recommendations
available for Kana, and Vard had been as thorough as possible. As
frustrating as it was not to be able to learn more, Vard knew that if he
had been able to uncover more detailed information about the thief he
wouldn't have been able to hire him; he would have been in gaol.
     As Kana sat down across from Vard, the mage noted the fine cut of
the man's tunic and cloak, and the quality of the jewelry he wore. He
wouldn't have taken the man for a thief upon seeing him in the street,
but Vard was certainly aware of the benefits of wearing disguises. At
present, he was displaying the illusion of a thin blond man with long
hair and a full yellow beard. He seemed to be wearing brown robes and
closed-toe sandals. Under the brown-robed illusion were three other
illusory people; this kind of public meeting made him even more cautious
about his anonymity.
     "I understand you are looking for a pack horse," said Kana, with a
business-like air.
     Vard replied to the agreed-upon phrase with, "That I am, for a
journey to Beinison. You must be Kana, the horse trader I have heard
about."
     As Kana nodded, a server appeared at their table. Vard asked for an
ale, while Kana ordered a bottle of the inn's best wine. Vard, knowing
he would be paying the bill, lifted an eyebrow at the cheekiness of the
thief but decided to allow the impertinence. The man's confidence was
another good indication that he had chosen the right person for his
task.
     It had been six months since Vard had found the diary of Tarhela,
skaldric of the Fretheod Empire. The diary had revealed the existence of
a book called the Tome of the Yrmenweald. That tome chronicled the
history of the magical staves which had been the secret of that ancient
empire's phenomenal success. It detailed the powers the staves granted
to those who had wielded them -- scrying vast distances and predicting
the weather, among others -- but it also explained the steps that had
been required to create them. The latter information was why Vard had
immediately decided to find that tome.
     It had taken him two months to determine that the tome still
existed. Three more months had passed before he had succeeded in tracing
it to the College of Bards. The final month had been occupied with
locating exactly where within the college it resided and procuring the
keys that would be required to enter that specific vault.
     It galled Vard to have to rely on someone else to carry out the
final steps of the acquisition of the tome. He knew that he could have
accomplished the theft himself if only the Bardic College was not so
well protected both inside and out from magic. Some of the best mages in
the kingdom had spent a great deal of effort and energy to ensure that
the knowledge and other treasures within the college were protected from
others of their kind. The fruit of some of these efforts, Vard knew, was
the college's Crystal of Oathes. One of the crystal's many functions was
to negate any magic within the college created by anyone not recognized
by it, which rendered all of Vard's abilities useless. Fortunately, it
was far more difficult to protect against a non-magical thief,
especially one with the talents that Kana claimed to have.
     The drinks arrived, and after an appreciative sip, Kana said,
"About this pack horse?"
     Vard smiled blandly and reached up to draw the privacy curtain
across the mouth of their booth. As he did so, he silently and swiftly
cast a minor spell to deaden sound, so that they would not be overheard.
Then, slipping along the bench seat to the back of the booth, and
motioning Kana to follow, he produced a small satchel and set it on the
table.
     Keeping his voice low, he said, "I would like to hire you to steal
a book from the vaults of the College of Bards here in Magnus."
     Kana's eyes widened, and he asked, "Why? What kind of book?"
     "Would the contents of the book affect your performance of the
theft? Then you do not need to know." Vard lifted two items from the
satchel: a small bag that clinked dully when he set it down, and a
tightly rolled scroll. "In this bag are the keys you will need to open
the vault and the trunk that the book rests in. This scroll provides all
of the details you will need: where the vault is, how to use the keys,
which chest the book is in, and how to find the book within that chest."
Vard knew that Kana could read, since some of their communication had
been written. The instructions he needed to convey were very complex,
and he had decided to write everything down rather than dictate them to
the thief and count on Kana's memory. Nevertheless, the move made him
nervous.
     Kana opened the scroll and glanced over the instructions. Reaching
the end of the document, he grinned and said, "This is what will be on
the cover of the book? It looks like two rats ... ah ..." He looked up
at Vard, suddenly embarrassed, and continued, "Well, copulating. Almost.
Is that what the book is about?" He seemed to have recovered from his
embarrassment, and leered suggestively at his prospective employer.
     Vard wondered whether Kana was trying to provoke him, or making an
overture of friendship. He chose to ignore the thief's tone and instead
replied, "No that's not what it is about. Those are the formal runes of
an ancient civilization, and they translate to 'The Tome of the
Yrmenweald'."
     Kana was silent as he looked at the image Vard had provided of the
writing on the cover of the book, tracing the flowing lines with a
finger, mouthing the syllables of the title and trying to fit them to
the runes. He gave a shrug, started rolling the scroll up, and said,
"Pardon my asking, but if you know so much about where this book is, and
even have the keys to get it, why don't you retrieve it yourself?"
     Vard had anticipated the question, and had an answer ready. "That's
simple, my boy. Would you ask a mason to build you a wooden table? Would
you ask a blacksmith to sew you a new set of clothes? I am not a thief.
I am simply engaging the services of the correct tradesman for the job."
     Kana's eyes narrowed when Vard mentioned "thief" but he didn't
object to the use of the word. He was silent again, seemingly thinking,
and finally said, "This will not be a simple undertaking. You may think
that the difficult part has already been accomplished, with your details
and your keys. But I will still need to enter the college unnoticed, and
then get away again. How much do you offer for my services?"
     Vard pulled out a third item from the satchel, and it clinked much
more brightly than the key-bag had when he set it down. "This in
advance, and another just like it when I have the correct book in my
hands. Agreed?"
     Kana boldly dragged the new bag towards himself, opened it, and
looked inside. Vard noticed the widening of Kana's eyes, even though the
thief tried to hide his surprise. Kana reached into the bag and, after a
glance at the closed privacy curtains, drew out one of the gold Crowns
that filled the bag. He hefted it in his palm, then tried to bend it,
unsuccessfully. After scratching at the surface briefly, Kana looked up
and said, "I accept. Is there anything more that I need to know? How
soon do you expect this to be done?"
     Vard, amused by the thief's attempts to verify that the coin was
real, said, "The scroll is thorough and complete, but only temporary. It
will burn up in approximately three bells, so you shall need to recopy,
or perhaps memorize, its contents." The scroll represented the biggest
risk Vard was taking. Money was money, with many, many owners, and the
keys had also passed through enough hands to muddle any possible trace
to him. The scroll, however, could be traced, given a powerful enough
magician with the right knowledge. Vard wasn't sure that he could have
tracked the faint traces that his servant, Qrun, would have left in the
ink and on the scroll as he penned it from Vard's words, but he wanted
to leave nothing to chance. The document was spelled to destroy itself,
leaving no traces.
     Vard continued answering the thief's questions. "The college has no
plans to move the book. I do understand that your task will be
difficult, so I am allowing you to set your own pace. Do not delay
overlong, however; I intend to receive a service for the money you have
so far been paid."
     Kana still seemed somewhat stunned by the amount of Crowns in the
bag. He finally said, "Ah, how will I get in touch with you again, when
I have the book? I don't even know your name."
     "And you do not need to know it. Use the means by which we
initially contacted each other; they will suffice.
     "If you have no further questions, then I suggest you get busy. And
you can take the wine; I won't even deduct its price from your fee."
     Vard pushed the satchel toward Kana, and the thief placed his
things into it, including the wine bottle. He watched Kana slide to the
other end of the booth and open the privacy curtain. The thief walked
out of the taproom alertly, his composure having returned. Vard knew
that he had hired the right thief for the job. Soon enough, he would
have the "Tome of the Yrmenweald" in his hands.

     Four days later, Ka'lochra'en was wandering through the Syloris
Market, mulling over his tentative plan for infiltrating the College of
Bards. He walked slowly, at a pace befitting the role he usually played
as he walked the streets of Magnus: Baron Kanning, one of the
apartment-barons that populated the royal court, owed fealty by none,
owing fealty directly to the king, living on a royal stipend and any
other business ventures he cared to undertake. Ka'en, who was known by
many other names, one among them being Kana, posed as Kanning very well.
The cut of his clothes, the jewelry, his bearing, his cultured accent:
everything about him spoke of high nobility, which only demonstrated his
accomplished acting.
     Ka'lochra'en was no more a noble of the Baranurian court than he
was a master magician. As a young man, he had ventured from his native
Kimmeron looking for the adventure that his land-owning family couldn't
provide. He had found adventure in Baranur once his money had run out;
turning to thievery to survive, he had discovered an aptitude within
himself for the occupation. He had used his new skills to propel himself
out of the ranks of the trail-side bandit and alleyway cutthroat,
becoming something of a specialist in his field. After fifteen years of
very hard, very delicate work, he had achieved just the right amount of
fame: enough to enable him to get assignments like the one he had
received from the man in brown robes, yet not enough to be subject to
the constant scrutiny of the law. He liked to think that the complex set
of identities he maintained helped in that regard.
     Ka'en had studied the scroll his employer had given him and copied
over the relevant parts before the parchment had destroyed itself, first
smoking, then crawling with little snakes of glowing red fire that left
only ash in their wake. The information had been thorough and detailed,
but had only concerned breaching the particular vault and chest wherein
the book lay. It was important information -- information without which
he could not have even begun his assignment -- but there were still a
great many particulars that would have to be covered before he could put
his employer's information to use, such as the fundamental item of
gaining entry to the Bardic College in the first place.
     As Ka'en wandered through the Syloris, pretending to survey the
merchandise for sale, his mind was more profitably occupied with
fleshing out his only viable idea so far for accomplishing that. He had
decided to become one of the servants, either getting himself hired or
substituting himself for one of the staff. He knew that servants were
usually unnoticed by those who employed them, and a new face would be of
no consequence if even remarked. Then, once the inhabitants of the
college were asleep, he would slip into the cellars and accomplish his
mission.
     His trip to the Syloris had a purpose other than being seen as
Baron Kanning. In one corner of the market, against the walls of the old
plaza, was a wooden stall occupied by an old man who seemed to sell
rocks. Most who saw the stall with its shelves of oddly-shaped stones
simply thought the old man was losing his wits, and humored him. The
rest understood that the old man and his nephew were not dealing in
rocks. Information was the merchandise being vended there. Ka'en's
actual destination was that stall. He needed information on the serving
staff of the Bardic College, and Deemis was the one to get it for him.
     Ka'en had no real interest in anything in the market but his
destination, but as intent as he was on his plans he was still aware of
his surroundings. There were all sorts of dangers in the crowds of the
market, and he had no intention of falling prey to an amateur
pick-pocket or worse.
     As he scanned the crowds, he noticed an object on one of the tables
of merchandise. His attention was riveted by the strange sculpture: a
half-circle of stone with a jagged edge, as if it was only part of a
larger whole, the flat top covered with interlaced lines of gold, silver
and glass, and three stylized creatures -- two birds and a cat -- around
the edge. He approached the table that the stone fragment rested on and
absently noted that there was a gypsy standing behind it. But his focus
was on the stone. There was something about it: something compelling,
something important ...
     He reached out and touched the stone, running a finger across the
interlaced bands, tracing the outlines of the creatures. There was a
humming in his mind that lasted only a moment or so. When it was gone,
so was his interest in the stone fragment. He looked up at the gypsy,
somewhat bemused at finding himself standing here and not at the
information stall. With a curt nod to the proprietor, Ka'en turned and
resumed his previous journey.
     He reached the old man's stall, and picked up one of the more
interesting-looking stones. He ran his fingers across one of the rock's
flat surfaces, tracing out the shape of a stylized falcon without
realizing it. He acknowledged the nods of greeting by Deemis and his
nephew; both men knew who he pretended to be and both knew who he really
was.
     He said softly, "I need a rank pendant for a bard. Do you know of
one to be had?"
     Deemis replied, equally softly, "No, but I'll put the word around.
What would one be worth, should one be found?"
     "Five Cues," replied Ka'en, using the slang for Crowns. Five Crowns
was a great deal of money, but a bardic rank pendant was a valuable
property, and the man in brown had given him a great many Crowns.
     "Straight," said Deemis. "Check back in, say, three days."
     "Thank you," Ka'en said. He set down the rock, turned and walked
away through the Syloris, mulling over his plan to impersonate a bard as
a way to infiltrate the College of Bards.

     Je'lanthra'en passed through the Syloris Market on her way to an
inn on the south side of the city. The tall, fair-haired bard strode
like nobility through the noise and bustle of the market, leading her
horse. In most cases the crowds made way for her as if she actually was
noble, or perhaps even royal; such was the respect normally accorded a
bard. Je'en had grown used to that kind of treatment, and took it as a
matter of course. She had spent more than fifteen years working herself
up to the rank of Eighth-Stave Bard, and she enjoyed the perquisites
that came with her position and rank.
     Je'en was from a small country to the south called Kimmeron, which
few people in Baranur had ever heard of and fewer had ever traveled to.
She had left at a young age to seek her fortunes as a bard, with a dream
of actually studying at the great College of Bards in the far off,
fabled city of Magnus. She had reached Magnus, had been accepted into
the college due to her musical talent, and had done well for herself
ever since.
     She didn't usually reside in Magnus, preferring to travel
throughout Baranur and even into the surrounding countries, though she
was seldom able to journey as far as Kimmeron. She had timed her travels
to bring her back to Magnus for a meeting of her stave-circle. It was a
chance to participate in the workings of the college directly, in that
the meeting usually included trials for stave advancement both into the
eighth, and out of it. She tried to miss as few as possible.
     The actual meeting would begin in a few days, and Je'en was looking
forward to it. Until then she was keeping herself busy by visiting some
of the many inns in the city. In fact she had spent the last six nights
in a row out touring the inns, and had intended to stay in this night.
But two of her fellow-stavers had only just arrived and had insisted on
taking her out. The recommended rendezvous, the Braying Ass, was a
gathering place for musicians of all calibers. She was looking forward
to spending some time with her friends, but she was also looking forward
to the evening's entertainment, of which she intended to be a part.
     As she passed the selling table of a gypsy, a curiously-carved
stone caught her eye. She paused to look at the half-circle of stone
that looked as if it was broken off from its other half. She reached out
and traced her finger along the gold band as it interlaced with two
other bands across the surface of the carving, over and under the silver
and glass strands. She noted that the two different animals -- two
identically-shaped birds facing each other, and one cat -- on the
surface each had one kind of band issuing from its center. The birds
seemed to host the glass bands, and the cat the silver band. She
wondered what kind of animal the gold bands issued from on the lost
portion of the carving.
     A song drew her attention away from the carving as a troupe of
traveling entertainers began their act at the junction of several paths
close by the gypsy's table. Je'en listened briefly to the crowd-catching
ditty, smiling to herself as she recognized the intent of the bright
cadences of the music and the broad rhyme-scheme. When the players had
drawn the attention of enough of the passers-by in the market, they
began their play. Je'en nodded to them, and continued on her own way to
the Braying Ass. The gypsy and his carved stone drifted slowly from her
memory, until all she remembered of her passage through the Syloris was
the amusing ditty.

     The applause was nearly deafening, filling the tavern room of the
Braying Ass with noise. Je'en joined in, cheering loudly and pounding
her fist on the table as her friend Ginlo briefly acknowledged the
accolades before walking off of the stage. Ginlo was grinning from ear
to ear as she strode calmly to her chair next to Je'en and sat down
gracefully. The applause continued even as the next performer took the
stage. Je'en leaned over and gave Ginlo a brief hug, congratulating her
as best as she could over the noise. Hansek, the other of Je'en's two
friends who had invited her out, then did the same, giving his lover
Ginlo a hearty hug and a deep kiss.
     Je'en watched her friends Ginlo and Hansek indulgently; she had
introduced them to each other. Both were middle-aged, at least ten years
older than she was. Ginlo was dark haired, with brown eyes and a thin
face, while Hansek was blond, blue-eyed, and rounder in the face than
his lover. Ginlo played a set of minor-pipes, Hansek played a harp, and
when they sang together, their harmonies were perfect.
     Hansek had been an eighth-stave journeyman bard for more than five
years, and showed no signs of wanting to move on. Ginlo had just
achieved her eighth-stave pendant within the past year, and everyone
knew from the struggle she had had that she wasn't going any higher
either. Je'en, on the other hand, had plans to be a Master Bard someday.
She knew she wasn't ready to take the ninth-stave tests just yet, but
she had set her sights on being ready for next year's stave-circle
meeting.
     The lovers separated, smiling satisfied, happy smiles at each
other. The audience quieted down finally, and the next performer began.
He introduced himself as Bernil, and began strumming the strings of his
large-bodied lute. He started singing a familiar, favorite song, and
Je'en noticed immediately that his voice was fine enough and steady. As
he continued though, she began to notice a few other things: his playing
was proficient but not inspired, and there wasn't much heart behind the
words he sang. Despite those flaws, Je'en thought that Bernil might have
the makings of a bard and she wondered what had kept him out of the
college.
     Bernil's song ended, and the audience again filled the room with
the sounds of their approval. Bernil basked in the approbation, bowing
again and again. The applause was beginning to sound forced when the
lutanist finally exited the stage.
     No one was waiting to take his place, since the entertainment
steward had scheduled a brief rest. Conversations started up as the
Braying Ass' waiters began circulating among the tables. The pause had
been scheduled at a natural breaking point in the evening: it was
approximately the fourth bell of the evening, when the casual revelers
picked up and returned home, leaving the dedicated partiers to carry on
late into the night. All over the tavern room, patrons were standing,
saying their farewells, and heading out the door.
     Ginlo leaned over to Je'en and said, "Hans and me need to be going,
Je'en. We were on the road early; we need our rest. You coming too?"
     It was the perfect time to leave, and Je'en hadn't even intended to
go out that evening in the first place. She was about to say "Yes," but
as she blinked, there was a glimmer of gold interlacing with silver and
glass behind her eyelids. She paused for a moment like that, eyes
closed, trying to remember why that glimmer seemed familiar. When she
opened her eyes, Ginlo was saying, "Well, if you're sure. Great evening,
straight? Thanks for coming out with us. See you tomorrow!" Ginlo hugged
her, and then Hansek dragged her to her feet and hugged her, supplying
his own thanks and good wishes, and they were gone.
     Je'en sat back down, slightly bemused. When had she decided to
stay? A waiter came by, and Je'en ordered another ale. The entertainment
steward came by, and Je'en put her name down for another set. She
decided she'd leave at the next rest break. That would be soon enough.

     That rest break came and went, and Je'en still sat in the tavern
room of the Braying Ass enjoying the entertainment. Another rest break
passed, and another and another, but she still didn't leave. Each time
she promised herself to take to her saddle and head to her bed that
interlacing glimmer appeared behind her eyes, and the moment passed her
by.
     She participated as well. She sang, she played her harp Soft Winds,
she joined in with several other musicians a few times during the
evening to improvise on favorite melodies and extemporize on famous
songs. She acknowledged, but didn't accept, many offers of ale, and she
politely rebuffed many offers of company. She was having more than
enough fun on her own.
     Finally, the innkeep cheerfully drove everyone out of his tavern
room, either to the rooms upstairs or to their own homes. Je'en found
herself upon her horse, contemplating the long path ahead of her. She
faced crossing half the city to reach her lodgings in the college before
she could slip into her bed. She was exhausted by the excitement of the
evening, and was not looking forward to her long, lonely journey.
     As she rode through the nearly deserted streets of Magnus, she
found herself contemplating a change of direction that would
substantially shorten her journey. The safest route she could possibly
take back to the college would force her to circle around the Fifth
Quarter, the slums of the city. Dangerous even in daylight, they were
deadly at night. There were, however, three "tunnels" through that
quarter where three of the city's major circular avenues lay across its
territory. These particular streets -- wide, well-maintained, well-lit,
and irregularly patrolled -- were paths of relative safety through the
quarter during the day and, perhaps, early evening. Midway between the
dark of the night and the first daylight bell, however, there was no
safety at all anywhere within the Fifth Quarter.
     Je'en's first thought upon recalling these "tunnels" was that she
would take one and shorten her journey, and caution be hanged. She was a
bard, after all; who would attack her? Her green cloak, the
silver-embossed harp case on her back, the harp on yellow on green of
her horse's trappings, were all the armor she needed.
     Then good sense tried to change her mind. Alone in the middle of
the Fifth Quarter, even one of the legendary heroes of the Shadow Wars
would have been at peril of their life. King Haralan himself wouldn't
dare venture along Principine Avenue in the utter depths of blackest
night. Why should she feel herself exempt from the dangers of everyday
life in the city of Magnus?
     With another flash of interwoven gold, silver, and glass, her
bardic fearlessness reasserted itself. She was a bard, and a bard went
where she needed, when she needed. Her rank and status would protect her
from random violence. What else did she need to fear?
     Decided, she turned her horse's head toward Principine Avenue and
the shortest way home.

     Bellen was a rogue, and had no need to be anything else. He didn't
play dress up and pretend to be nobility. He didn't dream of owning
merchant fleets, or rental properties, or even of leading others like
himself. He picked pockets. He broke into shops. He snatched-and-ran. He
attacked unwise travelers for both profit and fun.
     Bellen was the first to hear of the offer of five Crowns for a
bardic rank pendant because he was just around the corner when the offer
was made. Bellen knew that Kane -- the name he knew Ka'en by -- was a
thief, but a different kind of thief than he was. There was only one
reason Kane would want a rank pendant: he wanted to pretend to be a
singer, a bard. That was what Kane did, pretend. Bellen wondered what
Kane needed to be a singer for, but he was more interested in the five
Cues.
     As he walked away from Deemis' information-stall, Bellen came
across a gypsy selling some things. He noticed a strange sculpture on
the table briefly: it looked like a half-circle of stone with interwoven
metal and some animals on top. And then he noticed a little girl, almost
a toddler, about to cut the purse-strings of the wrong noble. She held a
huge knife with some skill, but what she had in dexterity she lacked in
common sense. Bellen was a bad man, but he didn't like to see such a
promising life of crime cut short so swiftly.
     As he raced over to save her from her own folly, he was also
thinking that it had been some time since he and his friends had set
upon an unwary traveler. Perhaps they would find one that night.

     Bells didn't ring to count time in the Fifth Quarter, but Bellen
still knew it was very late. He was tired to his bones, and it was so
late that even the chance of mayhem could hardly keep him awake.
     Skar sat across from him in the alley on the edge of Principine
Avenue, well within the Fifth Quarter. Skar was their leader. The rest
of Skar's boys were deeper in the alley: Deggr, Han, Morl and Charet,
all tough men of the street who'd never done a day's honest work.
     Bellen was nervous. He'd given Skar the idea to ambush a traveler
and somehow convinced him to do it right away, but it looked like they
weren't going to get to put Skar's plan into action. They had been
waiting so long that none of them were being quiet any more. They all
sat ass-flat on the ground, fidgeting, looking bored and mean. Han and
Morl were whispering to each other, and Skar hadn't shushed them in a
while. Bellen knew he'd catch it from them all for steering them into
spending such a dull night unless something happened, and soon. Skar
kept looking at Bellen, and every time Bellen just kept reassuring his
leader that they should wait just a little longer.
     Skar was rising, ignoring Bellen's hissed "Wait!", when the sound
of hoofbeats echoed by. Skar's quick sideways glance, full of questions,
made a shiver run down Bellen's back. Had he known? If so, how?
     All six men rose to their feet, then crouched in readiness. Deggr,
the quickest of them all, took a position in front of Skar and Bellen,
ready to do his part.
     When the rider came into view, however, everyone sighed in
disappointment. It was clear that the horseman was a bard. Every piece
of tack on the horse had the distinctive yellow-haloed harp on green
mark. No one but a singer would wear a cloak of that style and shade of
green. Even his utter confidence as he rode slowly down the street
pointed up the obvious.
     Bellen saw, and somehow wasn't surprised. Skar saw, and began to
signal Deggr that the ambush was canceled. Bellen hurriedly whispered,
"No, wait! 'S just one guy, singer or no. We c'n take 'im! Six ta one,
and he don't even got a weapon out. Let's do it, Skar. Think about the
braggin' we could do!"
     Skar looked that look at him again, and Bellen knew there'd be
questions later. But the singer was moving, and the decision had to be
made. Skar made it. "We go," he said.
     The horse and rider reached the alley and Deggr leapt, knocking the
rider clean off his horse. Morl grabbed the reins of the horse fast and
secured it as the rest rushed from the alley, swords out and ready.
Bellen saw the rider somehow land on Deggr, then recover very quickly.
In the same way he had somehow known that there would be someone coming
eventually, Bellen was not shocked when the rider threw back his cloak
to draw his sword and revealed that he was actually a woman.
     They closed around the singer, and the melee began. Soon, Deggr
regained his feet and joined in. The fight was fast, but not as
one-sided as Bellen expected. Blades flashed and rang together, and
first Han fell bloody to the ground, and then Charet joined him. The
singer got her share: a bloody scratch to her face, a deep stab to her
thigh and finally, Bellen's own blade found its way under her right
bracer, cutting deep into her wrist. She dropped her blade and sank to
the ground, weak from blood loss and pain.
     Skar's boys looted the horse, but found almost nothing in the
saddlebags. They naturally turned to their victim, and took her cloak
and her harp. Deggr picked up her sword, and Bellen removed her jewelry:
one ring, an ear dangle, and the rank pendant.
     Skar was still unhappy; the frown on his face was clear. Bellen
caught the gleam in his leader's eye when he stood over their victim and
said, "Pretty. A little more money from the slavers, to make up for the
trouble we've had wit' you."
     Bellen shook his head. That wasn't right somehow, not slavers. Then
his own eyes gleamed with an idea. He said, "She'll take too much time,
be too much trouble, Skar! I know someone'll give us five Cues for this
'ere neck-chain -- 'e needs it for a job 'e's got: 'personatin' a
singer, it is. Five Crowns' more'n we'd get fer her and all the rest o'
her stuff, plus she killed Han, and probably Charet, too. Let's kill
'er, Skar! Real slow like, too."
     Bellen watched eagerly as, after a moment to think on it, Skar drew
his knife and knelt down beside the woman. He watched red chase silver
as his leader slid the blade casually across her neck. The blood spilled
down her throat and onto her tunic, and the singer's eyes, blinking open
and shut 'til now, closed for good.
     Morl and Deggr dragged the body partway into one of the alleys on
the other side of the avenue, laughing at their victory and making crude
comments about what they were going to do to her before she got too
cool. Suddenly, the night was filled with the low honking sound of a
specific kind of horn. Someone in the Fifth Quarter was warning that one
of the rare city patrols was on its way.
     The rogues scattered, taking their loot with them. As Bellen ran
his separate way into the quarter, he thought about how he was going to
dispose of the pendant. He thought about taking it right to Kane in the
morning, so he wouldn't have to pay Deemis' finder's fee. He also
wondered whether Kane might give him six or seven Cues for the pendant;
Skar only knew about five, so couldn't ask for a split of more than
that, now could he?

========================================================================