2036 lines
121 KiB
Plaintext
2036 lines
121 KiB
Plaintext
From WHITE@DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU Tue May 12 10:34:56 1992
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Received: from DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU by eff.org with SMTP id AA26828
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(5.65c/IDA-1.4.4/pen-ident for <RITA@EFF.ORG>); Tue, 12 May 1992 10:34:35 -0400
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Message-Id: <199205121434.AA26828@eff.org>
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Received: from DUVM by DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU (IBM VM SMTP R1.2.2MX) with BSMTP id 3305; Tue, 12 May 92 10:30:56 EDT
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Date: Tue, 12 May 92 10:30:44 EDT
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From: "Avid Reader - Fledgling Writer" <WHITE@DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU>
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To: RITA@EFF.ORG
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Status: OR
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1 /
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DDDDD ZZZZZZ //
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D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE ||
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E ||Volume 3
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-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Issue 2
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DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
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\\
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\
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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-- DargonZine Volume 3, Issue 2 02/02/90 Cir 939 --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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-- Contents --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Gift of War M. Wendy Hennequin Deber 17-18, 1014
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Conflict of Interest II John Doucette No 2, '13-De 17, '14
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 Gift of War
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by M. Wendy Hennequin
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(b.c.k.a. HENNEQUI_WEM@CTSTATEU)
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The moment the maid admitted Marcellon into the townhouse, he
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called her: "Sable! Myrande!"
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"She's in the other room, your lordship," the maid, a wench named
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Yara, informed him. "I believe she was a wee bit sick, your lordship,
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but--"
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"I'm all right," said the young Countess of Connall, Myrande
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Shipbrook Connall. She stood in the doorway, easy and dignified. Her
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grey gown complemented her raven hair, ebony eyes, and dark skin.
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Marcellon's mouth twitched with a smile; she was not unnaturally pale,
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but he had seen her darker. "Yara, you may go." Myrande crossed the
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room and gestured to a chair. "What may I do for you, Lord Marcellon?"
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"I've just received a message from the King," the mage revealed,
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displaying a bit of parchment with the royal seal on it. "A ship from
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Beinison has just arrived in the city."
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"Luthias--?" Myrande began, hardly daring to hope.
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"No, he's still the Empire, but the King has received a pouch
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from him, and apparently the Emperor has sent the King a gift, to be
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presented this afternoon to the King by the Imperial Ambassador, Count
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Tyago."
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Myrande sighed. Marcellon knew the separation from her new
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husband was difficult for her. Myrande had known Luthias all her life;
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her father was castellan in his father's keep since before Myrande was
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born. Life without Luthias and his late brother Roisart was alien to
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her. She asked, "A gift?"
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"A peace offering, I should think."
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"Then...perhaps...the King might allow me to go to him."
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"Join Luthias in the Beinison Empire? I think not," Marcellon,
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mage and physician, said. "You look pallid, Sable," he continued,
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affection in his voice. Myrande, who was staying in her new house in
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Magnus while at the War Council, had become like another daughter to
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him. His own daughter's husband, Clifton, Duke of Dargon, was staying
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at the mage's home during the Council. But Myrande, though unrelated,
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bore a striking resemblance in carriage and character to Marcellon's
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late wife. Though Myrande knew of Marcellon's power, she, like his
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wife, was not afraid of him; once, in the summer, she had stood up to
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Marcellon in defence of the mage's daughter. Marcellon took a deep
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breath. His daughter, too, had been pale.
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"Besides," he continued, "your maid said you were ill. Nausea
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again, Myrande?" She nodded. "And your sleepiness...still?" Again, the
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Countess nodded. "The King is concerned about you, and so am I. Have
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you any idea what is wrong?"
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Suddenly, Myrande smiled. "I know what is...wrong, Marcellon, and
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I suspect you know as well as I--"
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"I do have my suspicions," the High Mage smiled, "as I have told
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Sir Edward and the King." Marcellon patted a black leather pouch, in
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which he kept his medical supplies. "I can tell you for certain."
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She looked at him, mildly amused. "I thought you were a wizard,
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not a doctor."
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Marcellon smiled. "One can hardly be one without the other, young
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lady. The training, especially in the potions, is remarkably similar.
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And I have the herbs which can tell for certain whether or not you are
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indeed bearing a child."
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"Thank you, but I don't need the herbs," Myrande refused
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politely. "I've been a midwife for six years, and I already know for
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certain."
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"When shall the child be born?"
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"At the beginning of Yule, I should think," Myrande calculated.
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She smiled. "I can't tell you exactly, like Lauren can, but it should
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1be close to Luthias' birthday."
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"With all luck, he should be home by then," Marcellon agreed. He
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smiled. "You seem to have all well in hand. Perhaps you should become
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my apprentice." The High Mage rose. "Come, Myrande, we must attend the
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King."
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"Now?"
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"Yes, the King has called immediate court for the presentation of
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the gift."
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"Despite the storm?" Myrande asked, doubtfully casting a glance
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at the falling snow.
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"Yes. This is important; besides, most of the nobles are staying
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at the palace or near it. My house here isn't that far; nor is yours."
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"I know, but I'm unused to anything happening in Deber--
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especially when there's snow falling."
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"Snow comes early and fiercely to Dargon," Marcellon agreed. "It
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isn't like that here in the south. Come along, Countess. The King
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awaits."
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The Duke of Dargon met Marcellon, his father-in-law, and Myrande,
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his cousin's wife, at the King's palace in the city of Magnus. The
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great hall was tall, cold, and impersonal; yet the hundred or so
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nobles gathered from all the land of Baranur warmed it a little, as
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did their cheerful looks. Clifton Dargon smiled at Myrande and bowed
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slightly to her, as did her cousin, Warin, Lord of Shipbrook, who was
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also in Magnus for the War Council.
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"Did the King tell you?" Clifton asked his father-in-law. "After
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the meeting with you, Sir Edward, and the rest of the War Council last
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night, the King has made the decision not to attack the Beinison
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Empire."
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"Good thing, too," Myrande acknowledged. "The last thing we need
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is a war."
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Yes, a good thing, Countess, Marcellon thought, for your husband
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would be the first casualty in that conflict. But the mage said, "Your
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young hot-headed friends will be disappointed, Baron Shipbrook."
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Warin shook his head. "No doubt, your excellency. They think of
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war as a toy and they wish to play with it. All they think about is
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the glory of the wars we've read about at the University, about being
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heroes, about battling for the King."
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Perhaps those books should be writ in blood, not ink, Marcellon
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thought. "I must attend the King," Marcellon excused himself.
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"Clifton, see to the Countess." Clifton smiled at the tone of the
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command. He and Myrande had been friends since Myrande was a child
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playing with Clifton's cousins, Roisart and Luthias, the latter now
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her husband and the Count of Connall. "I shall see you shortly,
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Myrande," he said his farewell. "Baron Shipbrook."
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Marcellon weaved his way to the vestry behind the throne. The
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King, Haralan, was not yet there, and neither was his other chief
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advisor, Edward Sothos, Knight Commander of the Armies. Marcellon sat
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down softly on a cushioned chair and stared out at the snow.
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It fell peacefully, gently, the first snow of the season. As
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Marcellon watched, it turned gold, then blood red.
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Quickly, Marcellon blinked the vision away. Gold, and red, in the
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snow. A chill took him, and he frowned. Another vision. The third
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within a week, all three of gold and blood. Odd, very odd. Something
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powerful--
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"Ah, Marcellon," the King greeted him from behind. The mage rose
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smoothly and nodded to the King, then to Edward Sothos, the scarred
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man who stood with him. "Help me into this cloak, will you, Edward?"
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The King smiled at his chief advisor, the mage, the most powerful
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wizard in Baranur. "What think you, Marcellon? Will this gift bring
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1peace?"
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"I think, your majesty," Marcellon began slowly, then stopped.
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"What do you think?"
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"I think, your majesty, that there will be war."
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"Ah, so I should refuse this gift."
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"That would be extremely bad form, Haralan," Edward softly
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reminded him. "And it would indeed start the war you wish to avoid."
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"There will be no war so long as the Empire does not attack us,"
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the King said firmly. "I feel no great need to fight."
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"They did try to trick us into warring with Bichu by killing the
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late Baron of Connall and his son, and accusing the Duke of Dargon of
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treason," Edward mused. "I am not sure we can avoid dealing with that
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issue."
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"We have only Coranabo's word and the Count Connall's speculation
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for the truth of that, Edward," the King admonished the Knight
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Commander gently. "We will not fight a war for that." The KIng of
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Baranur smiled. "I wonder what this gift shall be."
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"Bloody gold," Marcellon muttered.
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"What is that?"
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"Nothing, your majesty," the High Mage lied. "Let us go."
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The King gave a nod to a nearby servant, who in turn gave a
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signal to the heralds. The royal trumpets swiftly announced the King's
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presence. Haralan stood regally, and started for the door which would
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open to the side of the dais. Marcellon followed, a pace behind, to
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the King's right. Edward, parallell to the High Mage, was on his left.
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When the King stood before the throne, the assembly of nobles
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bowed, and the King returned the respect with a nod. "Be seated, my
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lords and ladies," the King commanded royally. "A message of peace has
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come from the Beinison Empire."
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Around the long tables, the nobles sat, muttering amongst
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themselves. Marcellon had known the news; Countess Myrande knew, as
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did the Duke of Dargon, but this was new information to the rest of
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Baranur's noblility. The herald cried out, "His majesty calls forth
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the Count of Tyago, Ambassador of his Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of
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Beinison."
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And the boy came forward. Marcellon couldn't think of Count Tyago
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as anything else. He was a thin young man, blond, with blue eyes as
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innocent as the sky. His face was decked in happiness as he came
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forward with two servants, one who carried a roll of sealed parchment,
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another who bore a gold coffer inlaid with jewels.
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"You have a message for us, do you not, Count Tyago?" asked the
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King, his voice respectful, yet superior, as befitted his station.
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"I do, your royal majesty," the boy said. How old could he be?
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Marcellon wondered. Seventeen, eighteen perhaps? Younger than Luthias,
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certainly. They were both too young to be ambassadors, Marcellon
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thought. "His Imperial Majesty has sent me a missive to read to you,
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and a gift." The boy held out his hand for the parchement. He broke
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the seal ceremoniously and began to read in a loud voice:
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"From his Imperial Majesty, Emperor Untar the Second, greetings
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unto his Majesty, the King of Baranur, who seeks peace with Us." Count
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Tyago paused, took a breath. "Your Count of Connall has presented your
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case before us, and We have considered it carefully with Our wisest
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counsellors. We have listened to the Count Connall, and how your
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Kingdom wishes to avoid war with Our Empire."
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Marcellon grimaced. Luthias would never present Baranur's case
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from a point of vunerability. Luthias knew too much about war to do
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that. Yet, the Empire chose to see it so.
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"To end all further uncertainty between Our fair Countries, we
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have sent to you this gift, which shall clarify Beinison's intention
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toward Baranur forever."
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1 Count Tyago bowed, rolled the parchment, and sent the servant
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forward to present it to the King. Sir Edward took it, unrolled it,
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then nodded to Haralan. The Count's words were accurate. Marcellon
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looked over at the paper. Still uneasy, still uneasy, a message of
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peace, and he was still uneasy.
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"It seem that your sensible Emperor is friendly to us, your
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grace," King Haralan said, his voice laced with magnaminity, to the
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Count. "Pray, what is the gift you bear us?"
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"In truth, your royal majesty, I do not know," the boy confessed.
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"But from his Imperial Majesty's letters to me, I suspect that the
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Count of Connall deeply impressed him, and he sends this gift partly
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in esteem of the Count."
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"The young Count Connall has done well," Haralan pronounced. How
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a man as young as Haralan could be as pompous as Haralan was
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sometimes, Marcellon could not fathom. "Bring us the gift." The
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servant started forward. "No..." the King changed his mind, "bring it
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to the Countess Connall, as it was her lord and husband who inspired
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this gift." He gestured to Myrande, who sat next to the Duke of
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Dargon, a mere two seats from Marcellon.
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Myrande stood gracefully as the servant approached. She thanked
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the servant.
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Something was wrong. Marcellon gazed at the coffer between her
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two small, dark hands.
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Uneasy, uneasy, what was it that made him so uneasy? "It must be
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magical, your majesty," Countess Myrande said to the King. "It is so
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light."
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"It is a possibility, my lady," Count Tyago informed her.
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"Mon-Taerleor, the Emperor's wizard, is said to have made for his
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Imperial Majesty this gift for your Kingdom."
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Marcellon stared at the golden coffer, a cube somewhat bigger
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than a man's head, in sharper apprehension. Mon-Taerleor: Marcellon
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knew the name and the man, and raised an eyebrow. Alexander
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Mon-Taerleor, his old friend: the thought should have comforted him,
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but it didn't. Still, despite his ill ease, Marcellon was curious.
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What would Mon-Taerleor have done to impress a King, to honor young
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Luthias, the Count of Connall?
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Mon-Taerleor. Marcellon almost smiled at the memories of his
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fellow apprentice, but still, the fear gripped him. Chills of terror
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coursed through his suddenly and with force. Something was wrong--so
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wrong!
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He reached out and touched the King's arm--a bold gesture to be
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performed in Court, even by the High Mage. The King, annoyed, scowled
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at his advisor. Marcellon shook his head. "Haralan," he hissed, and
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the King lost some of his anger to puzzlement; Marcellon almost never
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called him by name. "Take it from her. Do not make her open it."
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Marcellon gazed over at Myrande with uneasy urgency; she was loosening
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the latch.
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For a moment, Marcellon saw Haralan wrestling mentally, wondering
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if he should reprimand the High Mage. Finally, the King said, "Be
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easy, Lord Marcellon. It is a gift of peace."
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"Haralan--"
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The Countess' scream cleaved the exepectant silence of the Court
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and sliced the rest of Marcellon's protest from his tongue. The High
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Mage whirled and saw the white-faced Duke of Dargon swat the golden
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box from her in a shocked attempt to close the coffer. It flew from
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Myrande's hands towards the King.
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The box landed on the table before Haralan and his two chief
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advisors. The gift bounced onto the table and thudded to a halt in
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front of the King. Stunned, then quickly sad, Marcellon stared into
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the death-frozen eyes of the Count of Connall.
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1 Pale, Clifton instantly whirled Myrande to him, held her head
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against his chest. "Don't look," Marcellon heard his son-in-law rasp.
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"He wouldn't want you to see this."
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Next to the High Mage, the King rose, fury in his movement. "What
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means this?" the monarch demanded, gesturing to the severed head of
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his ambassador. "You will pay--"
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"Your majesty, he's only a boy," Edward Sothos counseled softly.
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"A pawn...as was Luthias."
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"Remove the Count Tyago," Haralan ordered angrily. "I will call
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for him later." Palid and frightened, the boy-count bowed and left
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with his attendants and a smattering of royal guards. The King turned
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to his High Mage. "I should have listened to you, Marcellon." He
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sighed, looked at the Count of Connall's wife. "Remove the Countess."
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Shrilly, Myrande's voice rose from the depths of Clifton's arms,
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"The Countess does not wish to be removed!"
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The Court was buzzing, men were moving, and some came forward
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boldly to see the gift. "There will be war!" the Duke of Northfield
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cried. "Your royal majesty, you cannot ignore this!"
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"No," agreed the King firmly, "we shall not ignore this. The man
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who dares treat my ambassador so shall be punished--and promptly."
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"War now!" suggested a Baron, and the cry rose up insanely, "War!
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War now!"
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Again, Myrande's scream split the air of the great hall: "No!"
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Startled, the nobles fell into silence. With the strength of shock and
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pain and anger, she broke Clifton's strong, frantic grasp and turned
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to face the court. She had not been unnaturally pale before, but her
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face was a ghastly grey now, and Marcellon feared for her and the
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child she carrried. "Do you want that Luthias will have died for
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nothing? Do you want your sons, your brothers, your grandsons, to die
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for lack of food or from the cold? Do you damned idiots think that you
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can fight a war in the winter? The supplies will be blocked, and men
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will starve and die of disease and frostbite."
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"We can invade Beinison, Countess," the Duke of Northfield told
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her in a superior tone. "It is warmer there--"
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"Oh, yes, invade the strongest Empire on the continent!" Clifton
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spat. "Your majesty," Clifton appealed, turning to the King, "this is
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what the Emperor wants, that we will enter into this at a foolish
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time, do foolish things--"
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"Do you want your kinsman's death to go unavenged?" sneered a
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Baron.
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"I have more cause than any of you to wish the bastards who
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ordered Luthias' death tortured dead!" Myrande screamed at him. "Yet I
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do not want a hundred thousand men to die for him because of your
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stupidity and impatience!"
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"Lady, you offend me!" the Baron cried.
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"Accept my pity that the truth offends you," Myrande snapped.
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"But if we fight Beinison now, we will have two enemies, the Empire
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and the winter."
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"I demand satisfaction," the Baron insisted.
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"I must agree with the Countess' view." The Knight Commander
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spoke calmly and simply, but he glared at the Baron menacingly. "If
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you wish satisfaction, you may have it from me at your leisure."
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"I too agree with the Countess and with the Duke of Dargon,"
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added Marcellon. "We may yet triumph over Beinison, mighty as they
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are, but over nature, we are powerless."
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The King nodded. "There will now be a true war council, and there
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will be war," he announced. "But I will not fight the winter and
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Beinison both. We shall wait until the spring--and then, death to them
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all!" A cheer rose. Marcellon frowned at the bloody thirst; he saw
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Clifton scowl. Myrande looked ill. The King waved at a herald. "Bring
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1before us the Count Tyago."
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Swiftly, the boy was ushered into the court. With nervous
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quickness, the Count bowed. "You will remain here until spring, in
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your embassy, under guard" the King announced. "We will not treat the
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Emperor's ambassador as shamefully as he treated ours, yet we will
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allow no communication with your Emperor until you are returned after
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the thaw."
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"Perhaps, one?" asked a small voice, and the King turned to see
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Myrande.
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The King looked at her, his gaze sorrowful and kind. "What do you
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wish, Countess?"
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Myrande took a deep breath, and stepped forward. "I would wish
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that the Count Tyago request of his Emperor that Lu--Count Connall's
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body be returned to me, that he may be buried beside his father and
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brother."
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"I do not know if that would be possible in any case, your
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grace," the boy-Count said sadly. "I am suprised they bothered to send
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the head. Usually, the Emperor hangs offenders, slitting their
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throats, and leaving their bodies to the birds and dogs."
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Myrande groaned, put a hand over her mouth and the other over her
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belly, and closed her eyes. Marcellon, fearing the worst, moved toward
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her, but she held up a staying hand and dry-heaved.
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"Count Tyago," said the King omnimously, "you are dismissed." The
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boy bowed and left.
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Pale and beaten, Myrande came forward. "With your permission,
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sire," she whispered, and she reached out for Luthias' head.
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"You shouldn't do that, Myrande," Marcellon admonished sternly.
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The High Mage gestured his son-in-law and the Countess' cousin Warin
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forward, then reached out himself to take the head into his hands. For
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a moment, he stared full into that face, which he had seen animated
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with life; then, Marcellon placed it gently in the box, closed the
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eyes, and shut the coffer.
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"Let him be entombed in the royal crypt," declared the King.
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|
Impatiently, Haralan whirled and left the hall. Immediately, the
|
|
herald cried, "The Court of his royal majesty the King is dismissed."
|
|
|
|
An eerie stillness, more silent than winter, reigned over
|
|
Marcellon's house as the snow continued to fall that night. Clifton
|
|
had stayed with Myrande, whom they had brought to the High Mage's
|
|
home; Marcellon mixed a potion.
|
|
Luthias' head stared up at him from the bluish liquid...
|
|
Marcellon cleared his mind again, continued to mix the potion. It
|
|
boiled over an alcohol burner; the fire was bright.
|
|
Again, the Count of Connall's visage gazed at him, but something
|
|
was wrong with it.
|
|
The High Mage grimaced in an effort to concentrate. The vision
|
|
cleared. Vision? No, just an image from his memory; it was the head of
|
|
the Count of Connall, as he had held it between his hands today.
|
|
Something about it haunted him. The poor boy...poor Myrande.
|
|
Yes, Myrande--he had to finish this potion. Carefully, he took a
|
|
glass rod and stirred it.
|
|
Luthias' face was again in the beaker. Somehow, it seemed
|
|
incomplete.
|
|
This had to stop! Marcellon took the potion from the fire, poured
|
|
into a goblet half-full with mulled wine.
|
|
Within the wine, he saw again the face of Count Luthias Connall.
|
|
Determined, Marcellon took up the wine cup and left the room. No
|
|
matter what, he could not let this memory interfere. He had work to
|
|
do, magic to plan, a Countess to take care of...
|
|
With a soft knock, Marcellon entered Myrande's chambers. Clifton
|
|
1sat at the table, writing something. She sat, dressed in only a white
|
|
flannel shift, gazing at the floor. Her face was not hard, or wreaked
|
|
by pain, nor aflame with fury, but dull, blank. The High Mage frowned.
|
|
He did not like this.
|
|
"Myrande," he said softly. Myrande looked at him immediately.
|
|
"Drink this."
|
|
"I don't want it," the Countess insisted, keeping her voice low
|
|
in an effort to disguise her pain. Marcellon sensed it in any case,
|
|
and the sorrow leaked into her whispered words despite her. "I'm..."
|
|
She swallowed and looked away.
|
|
"Drink, Myrande," Marcellon insisted. "For the sake of the child
|
|
you carry. I feared for you today."
|
|
Myrande looked at him, but did not take the goblet. "I'm all
|
|
right. I'm not dead yet...but they all are, Father and Mother and
|
|
Uncle Fionn and Roisart, and now Luthias...Luthias...God, it nearly
|
|
killed me once, when I thought he died at the same time as his
|
|
brother...I feel like the world is gone."
|
|
Marcellon ached for her, gazed at the cup, and saw Luthias' head
|
|
again, as it had stared up at him today when he had replaced it in the
|
|
jeweled box.
|
|
"My family is gone, all of them," Myrande continued, in a voice
|
|
stunned and painful. "I have no one..nothing...no where even to live."
|
|
"That is not true," Marcellon stated flatly. "You are always
|
|
welcome here in my home, Myrande."
|
|
"And in mine," Clifton added, rising from the table. "Warin
|
|
wouldn't turn you away, and neither would your mother's kin, the
|
|
Taladors. In any event," the Duke of Dargon continued, approaching the
|
|
Countess, "you have your own home--several." He handed her a piece of
|
|
parchment with his great seal upon it.
|
|
"What is this?" she asked.
|
|
"As Luthias' child isn't yet born, Connall, its holdings, the
|
|
town house in Dargon, and the house here in Magnus revert to me,"
|
|
Clifton explained.
|
|
"I know," Myrande said dully. "Why else would I not have a home?"
|
|
"You have a home," Clifton assured her firmly. "My father granted
|
|
that land to Uncle Fionn for him and his children; I grant it to you,
|
|
Myrande, for you and yours."
|
|
Myrande took a shuddering breath. "My children? What children?
|
|
How am I ever going to have children? He's gone," she sobbed.
|
|
Determined, she choked it down, but her eyes still held tears.
|
|
"Drink this," Marcellon whispered, and this time, she obeyed
|
|
blindly. Clifton gestured for the maid, and both men left the room
|
|
uncomfortably.
|
|
When the door was shut, Marcellon saw that his son-in-law was
|
|
more disturbed than when his cousin's head had laid before him. The
|
|
High Mage put a hand on the Duke's arm. Clifton choked, "She- -it must
|
|
be worse on her than--I've not seen her this close to crying since she
|
|
was a baby. She has too much pride to weep in front of anyone; I doubt
|
|
even Luthias has ever seen her cry."
|
|
Marcellon placed a hand on his son-in-law's shoulder. "Are you
|
|
all right, Clifton?"
|
|
Luthias' face hid in Clifton's eyes. "I'm all right, Father. But
|
|
he was the last of my kinsmen--" The Duke of Dargon stopped, regained
|
|
his voice. "They were so young. Uncle Fionn was only forty-five,
|
|
younger than you are."
|
|
"Early death is no uncommon thing," Marcellon disagreed. "Your
|
|
father couldn't have been--"
|
|
"That's different. The Red Plague takes everyone. But Roisart
|
|
survived it; he was going to be in the university now, learning how to
|
|
be Baron. Uncle Fionn and Sir Edward wanted to make Luthias a Knight."
|
|
1 "I know, my son, I know," Marcellon soothed. "You should rest."
|
|
"No, I think I'd better stay with Sable," Clifton suggested. "She
|
|
won't sleep tonight--"
|
|
"No, she will," Marcellon assured him. "The potion will make her
|
|
sleep. I'll not risk her health, nor the babe's. Trust me, Clifton."
|
|
The Duke of Dargon almost smiled. "I do trust you."
|
|
"Now go," the High Mage ordered. "You need the rest." Marcellon
|
|
jerked his head down the hall. "I had rooms prepared for you."
|
|
"I don't know if I can," Clifton confessed. "It's
|
|
rather...unnerving to see the man you called your brother...to see him
|
|
sent home, piecemeal, in a box."
|
|
"If you need it, I shall make you a potion, too," Marcellon joked
|
|
lightly. "Now, go to sleep."
|
|
"Yes, Father," Clifton almost laughed at the imperious tone of
|
|
the final command, and the Duke of Dargon slipped into his rooms.
|
|
The High Mage sighed, stared at the door--
|
|
Luthias' face lurked within the wood.
|
|
Damn it all! He could not banish that sight from his mind. And it
|
|
was not the shock, nor the horror, nor the anger which kept the vision
|
|
recurring. No, he had seen worse, much worse, in the time when he was
|
|
in Beinison, learning from the now-dead Styles. No, something nagged
|
|
him; something was wrong, more than the obvious injustice.
|
|
Wrong--something was wrong with that head!
|
|
Furious at the visions, Marcellon strode to his room. Wrong with
|
|
it--it was severed from its body, that is what was wrong with it. The
|
|
life, the animation, was gone from the eyes, the soul from the body--
|
|
Marcellon threw open the door to his bed chamber, slammed it shut--
|
|
The Count of Connall stared at him from a hanging mirror. "Why do
|
|
you haunt me?" demanded the High Mage in an enraged whisper. He gazed
|
|
at the head. Something was wrong, missing...
|
|
Stubbornly, Marcellon blinked the vision away. Then he turned,
|
|
lit a candle, and pulled a chair to a nearby table on which sat a
|
|
bundle of black cloth. Marcellon pulled the velvet away and dusted the
|
|
crystal ball. "Then show me," he challenged.
|
|
Marcellon gazed at the ball, cleared his mind, and let his eyes,
|
|
his soul, see only the crystal. Yes, the crystal...then the mist.
|
|
The mist cleared, and Marcellon saw a riverbank, in the summer,
|
|
some people...
|
|
Yes, they were closer now. A young man, of twenty perhaps, in
|
|
riding clothes, brandishing a sword and laughing. Suddenly, Marcellon
|
|
realized he gazed a younger version of his son-in-law.
|
|
There were others with him, two boys and a girl. The boys were
|
|
tall and slim in the manner of young men growing too quickly. They
|
|
both looked strong, though one looked slightly more athletic, and the
|
|
other squinted in the sun. They laughed loudly (though silently, to
|
|
Marcellon) on the riverbank, and the more athletic lad retrieved a
|
|
sword from his saddle.
|
|
The girl was dark of hair and eyes. She, too, wore riding
|
|
clothes--boy's riding clothes--and her figure was just beginning to
|
|
distort them. Her eyes laughed at the playful challenge that Marcellon
|
|
knew his son-in-law had issued. The more athletic twin brandished the
|
|
sword, smiled at the girl, and attacked his Clifton boldly.
|
|
Clifton parried well, but Marcellon could tell that only his
|
|
superior training saved him. The athletic boy was naturally skilled,
|
|
and somewhat trained beside. He attacked Clifton again. His twin and
|
|
the girl cheered.
|
|
Again, the boy attacked his cousin. Suddenly, his body betrayed
|
|
him; Marcellon, the physician, recognized the clumsiness of a young
|
|
man whose body had recently spurted in growth and whose mind had not
|
|
adjusted completely to the change. He attacked, but missed, and
|
|
1tripped; Clifton swept a blow at him, laughing, and it contacted.
|
|
Blood dripped onto the grass. Marcellon could see the girl gasp;
|
|
she rushed forward, snatching a napkin from the picnic on her way.
|
|
Quickly, she pressed it to the cut. The boy brushed her away in an
|
|
effort to be manly about the wound, but kept the handkerchief, quickly
|
|
soaking the blood, to his head.
|
|
Marcellon blinked. The vision had disappeared.
|
|
Clifton on a picnic with twin boys: they were Roisart and
|
|
Luthias, obviously. Younger, perhaps fourteen. So the dark-haired girl
|
|
of thirteen was Myrande, a younger Myrande who knew no grief for
|
|
father or mother or uncle or brother or husband.
|
|
A picnic on the river...yes, Marcellon and Clifton and Lauren had
|
|
taken an excursion with Luthias and Myrande to the same place some
|
|
time that summer. Clifton had said it had been a favorite retreat when
|
|
they all were boys.
|
|
But this vision was merely a dream of childhood. It signified
|
|
nothing.
|
|
Suddenly Marcellon understood. Nothing--that was the problem.
|
|
There had been *no scar on Luthias' head*.
|
|
Marcellon left the room hastily, intending to ride immediately to
|
|
the palace. Then a thought overtook him: was it Luthias who had been
|
|
scarred, or Roisart his twin? It would make sense that Luthias, the
|
|
warrior, who would have been Knighted, would be the more athletic twin
|
|
whom Clifton wounded, but still--
|
|
One person would know. The High Mage ran to his son-in-law's
|
|
suite, and knocked loudly. "Clifton!"
|
|
"Come."
|
|
Marcellon entered and asked quickly, "Which of the twins did you
|
|
cut in a fight?"
|
|
The question seemed to startle the Duke. "Both of them, at one
|
|
time or another. Nothing like what they did to me, though."
|
|
"You went on a picnic, and fought one of the twins. He lost."
|
|
"Oh, that," Clifton realized. "That was...seven years ago. He was
|
|
so angry; I'd spoiled his looks."
|
|
"He had a scar."
|
|
"Yes."
|
|
"It was Luthias who was scarred?" Clifton nodded. "Where?"
|
|
demaned the High Mage.
|
|
"Over his right eye. He was nervous about it when Sir Edward came
|
|
to Dargon--"
|
|
"Thank you, Clifton," Marcellon finished abruptly, and he fled
|
|
the room.
|
|
Due to the snow, it took Marcellon much longer than he would have
|
|
liked to reach the palace. He entered boldly and demanded to see the
|
|
King and Sir Edward Sothos.
|
|
"How is the Countess?" the King asked when he was admitted.
|
|
Haralan shook his head. "It is all my fault. I should have never sent
|
|
that young man...and now his lady..."
|
|
Marcellon, in his urgency, ignored him. "Where is the Count's
|
|
head? I must see it."
|
|
Startled out of his guilt, the King called a servant and sent for
|
|
it. "Marcellon, I don't understand."
|
|
"I don't either, your majesty--yet," Marcellon answered in way of
|
|
explanation.
|
|
"What is wrong?" Sir Edward inquired.
|
|
"We shall see," Marcellon promised, grabbing the jeweled coffer
|
|
from the swift servant. With all haste, the High Mage opened it,
|
|
removed the head.
|
|
The forehead was smooth and perfect...no scar.
|
|
"He has no scar," Marcellon announced. "Count Connall had a scar
|
|
1over his right eye, and this head has no scar."
|
|
"A scar? I never noticed a scar," Sir Edward protested.
|
|
"It was seven years old, and therefore would have been very
|
|
light. Truth be told, I never noticed it either," Marcellon confessed.
|
|
"But Clifton assured me it was there. It was he himself who made the
|
|
cut."
|
|
"Perhaps it is healed beyond visibility," the King suggested.
|
|
"I doubt it, your majesty," Marcellon argued. "The Duke of Dargon
|
|
told me that his cousin was *scarred.* He bore a scar. And light as it
|
|
must be by now, I am looking for it, and it is not there."
|
|
"Then this cannot be the Count's head," Sir Edward concluded.
|
|
"Exactly," Marcellon confirmed, turning it to examine it. After a
|
|
minute, the High Mage scowled furiously. "It is a facsimilie--a
|
|
magical duplicate. Styles taught me how to manufacture these. He
|
|
taught Mon-Taerleor as well." The scowl ripened.
|
|
"Forgive me," Sir Edward interrupted. "Marcellon, who is Mon-
|
|
Taerleor?"
|
|
"He and I learned together from Styles," Marcellon explained. "We
|
|
were much alike." We were much alike once, Marcellon corrected himself
|
|
mentally. The High Mage sighed. Apparently, his friend had changed. "I
|
|
believe he is now the High Mage for Beinison."
|
|
"I see," the King murmered. "It seems a wise thing, as he can do
|
|
things such as this--" he gestured to the man-made head, "--and you
|
|
cannot."
|
|
"No, your majesty," Marcellon corrected. "I *will* not, and I
|
|
*do* not. But I can. I can." The High Mage swallowed his disbelief.
|
|
Alexander had not been like this. "He chooses differently than I."
|
|
The three were silent for a moment. "This isn't the Count's
|
|
head," the King began, "therefore, Count Connall is still alive."
|
|
"I doubt it highly, Haralan," Sothos countered him softly.
|
|
"Recall what Count Tyago said. In Beinison, they hang people and slit
|
|
their throats, and leave their bodies to animals. They've done
|
|
something so horrible to Luthias that there is no body left."
|
|
Marcellon replaced the head in the box and shut it with a
|
|
disgusted snap. "Yes, they've done away with him, and not prettily.
|
|
The Count of Connall was an expert in things military, and he knew
|
|
this land. We would be foolish to believe that he was not tortured for
|
|
information--and the Beinisons do not do such things neatly. The body
|
|
must be so mangled and scarred that--In any case, that head is not
|
|
his."
|
|
"We must tell the Countess," Edward suggested.
|
|
"No!" Marcellon countermanded, shocked. "It is bad enough to her
|
|
that her husband is dead. At least let her believe he died quickly and
|
|
with some dignity."
|
|
"We shall not tell anyone," the King commanded. "I will not take
|
|
the chance of the Emperor discovering our knowledge. But Luthias
|
|
Connall shall be revenged when we reached Beinison."
|
|
Saddened, the High Mage swallowed and turned away. "'Peace is
|
|
despair'd,'" he murmered, thinking of the blood, the blood and the
|
|
gold and men dying in the snow. "'....War then, War/Open or
|
|
understood, must be resolved.'"
|
|
"What's that you're saying?" the King wondered, his voice
|
|
sympathetically.
|
|
"The words of a blind poet," Marcellon sighed, "that I read once
|
|
in my crystal." The High Mage turned away. "And may God help
|
|
Beinison--and us."
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 Conflict of Interest, Part II
|
|
by John Doucette
|
|
(b.c.k.a JDOUCETTE@UPEI)
|
|
|
|
Crown Castle, Magnus, Royal Duchy, Baranur
|
|
2 Nober, 1013 B.Y.
|
|
|
|
Sir Edward Sothos, Knight Commander of the Royal Armies, stood in
|
|
front of the mirror in his quarters and adjusted his badge-of-office
|
|
for the tenth time in as many minutes. The silver Maltese cross set
|
|
with a ruby in its centre rested lightly on Edward's chest slightly
|
|
above his family's coat-of-arms; an eagle grasping a lance in each
|
|
claw, and below the eagle a great sword facing right, a flail facing
|
|
left. Satisfied that his uniform was satisfactory, Edward stepped back
|
|
a pace in order to scrutinize his over-all appearance.
|
|
At thirty, Edward looked ten years older. His experiences had
|
|
matured him faster than he had liked; three short years of mercenary
|
|
life had hardened him mentally as well as physically. His lean, tough
|
|
body bore many scars, large and small, obtained in countless battles.
|
|
Edward smiled wryly as he gazed upon his reflection. At five feet
|
|
ten inches and weighing one hundred seventy-five pounds, he was not
|
|
exactly the classical image of a knight. Indeed, he thought, his aide
|
|
and friend Jan Courymwen was taller than he; half a foot taller. In
|
|
Galicia, western Galicia at any rate, he was considered tall. Here, he
|
|
was of average height. He thanked Nehru that at least the people of
|
|
western Galicia had the same hair and eye color that a good deal of
|
|
Baranurians possessed. The only things that set Edward apart from
|
|
native Baranurians was the cut of his hair and his accent. In Galicia,
|
|
young men cut their hair short during their military training so that
|
|
everybody would look no different from his comrades. Edward finished
|
|
his compulsory training when he was seventeen but kept the style
|
|
throughout the rigorous training required to attain knighthood and
|
|
after receiving his Wreath of Honour, a Galician knight's symbol.
|
|
Edward had hesitated briefly over his choice of uniform for
|
|
today; normally, he wore the fine clothes that any knight wore, the
|
|
only difference being his badge-of-office and Baranur's crest. But not
|
|
today. Today's function was anything but normal. Today the Council
|
|
began. Today he would confront Baron Myros for the second time in
|
|
forty-eight hours, a confrontation he and the King had hoped to avoid.
|
|
Edward thought it ironic that the uniform he chose for today was the
|
|
same he had worn when he and Myros first met seven years ago. Edward's
|
|
brown eyes narrowed and his gauntleted hands clenched at the memories
|
|
of that meeting. The scar running from his right forehead to his left
|
|
cheek was one of those memories.
|
|
Edward was wearing the suit of chainmail he received as a gift
|
|
from his father before journeying to Count Janos' castle to begin his
|
|
training to be a knight. The only change he had made to the armour in
|
|
the thirteen years he'd owned it was to have his helm and shield
|
|
blackened after he was exiled. Over the chainmail he wore the black
|
|
livery displaying his family's coat-of-arms. His shield also carried
|
|
the same display emblazoned on its surface. His father's bastard sword
|
|
he wore on his left hip. His great sword, crossbow, and case with
|
|
thirty bolts were left safely secure in the chest with his other
|
|
personal belongings. He was wearing both daggers; one on his belt, the
|
|
other hidden in his right boot.
|
|
"Come," Edward responded to the knock at his door.
|
|
Jan entered the room wearing the blue-and-gold dress uniform of
|
|
The King's Own, the infantry contingent of the Royal Guard. Before she
|
|
was transferred to Edward's staff, Jan had been a captain in command
|
|
of one of the ten companies of The King's Own. Now, at twenty-two, she
|
|
was the youngest person ever to hold the rank of commander. She moved
|
|
1to stand behind her commander and her friend. At six feet four inches,
|
|
she towered slightly over Edward. Yet whenever they spoke, it was she
|
|
who felt like she was the one looking up. "It's time, Edward," she
|
|
said nervously.
|
|
Edward half turned to face her. "Nervous?"
|
|
"Bloody right I'm nervous!" she said, belatedly adding, "sir."
|
|
"What's to be nervous about?" Edward asked innocently. "Only the
|
|
most important nobles from across the entire Kingdom are here," he
|
|
joked.
|
|
"You really know how to steady a person's nerves, don't you, sir?"
|
|
Edward chuckled. "Sorry, Jan. Couldn't resist. Let's go." Edward
|
|
strode out of the room, his manner changing from one of familiarity,
|
|
present when he was alone with his close friends, to the stern,
|
|
distant manner he assumed at other times.
|
|
As Jan followed two paces behind and to the left, she reflected
|
|
on the friendship she and Edward shared. At times, Edward Sothos could
|
|
be a hard man to understand. But no matter what happened, Jan knew she
|
|
could always count on him to be supportive. She looked at Edward. She
|
|
had come to deeply respect and admire him and knew that if he asked it
|
|
of her, she would die for this man.
|
|
|
|
Jordaan and two of his men entered the Fifth Quarter, a haven for
|
|
those who engaged in less-than-honourable practices. The three
|
|
Galicians walked cautiously down the Fifth Quarter's main street,
|
|
aware they were being watched. A group of thugs passed by. Jordaan
|
|
could tell they were gauging his group's abilities. At a glance,
|
|
Jordaan had evaluated the thugs' own capabilities. They were poorly
|
|
armed, but they did have the advantage of numbers. As well, two of
|
|
their number were huge strong men. Ten minutes' work, he thought.
|
|
Perhaps less. He quickened his pace. If they wish to assail us, let
|
|
them. As long as they don't hinder my task.
|
|
Thirty minutes later, the three found what passed for a
|
|
marketplace in the Fifth Quarter. Jordaan quickly spotted the man he
|
|
was sent to meet. The man was selling food from a cart. Motioning his
|
|
men to follow, Jordaan walked over to the cart.
|
|
"G'day, guv," the man said, expression brightening. From their
|
|
look, these three were obviously foreigners. Today was going to be a
|
|
good one after all. "What'll it be?"
|
|
The amulet given him by the Dark One enabled him to understand
|
|
the vendor's words. Unfortunately, the amulet did't allow him to speak
|
|
them. "Information I seek," Jordaan said in Merctalk.
|
|
The vendor's eyes narrowed. "Information I have. Cost you it
|
|
will."
|
|
"Price you name, money I have."
|
|
"Twenty silver. Questions you ask."
|
|
"Not here. Seen I cannot be."
|
|
The vendor stroked his beard. Something wasn't right. Yet this
|
|
foreigner agreed to the price before I even named it. He must want
|
|
what I have very badly. "Difficult that is. Place I know. Talk there
|
|
we can. Seen we will not be."
|
|
"Show us you will."
|
|
"For a price."
|
|
"How much?"
|
|
"Two gold."
|
|
"Take us you will. On arrival, pay you I will."
|
|
"Come." The vendor led Jordaan and his men down an alley to a
|
|
small door. The vendor opened it and motioned for his customers to
|
|
step inside. The room was bare. The only illumination was provided by
|
|
a small candle.
|
|
The vendor held out his hand. "Payment." Jordaan handed over a
|
|
1small pouch. The vendor opened it and counted. He smiled, closed it
|
|
and put it in his purse. "Gold?" Reluctantly, Jordaan fished two gold
|
|
out of his own purse and handed them over. "Questions you have?"
|
|
Over the course of the next twenty minutes, Jordaan asked
|
|
detailed questions regarding the recent troubles between Baranur and
|
|
Bichu. The answers he got were well worth the price he paid. He still
|
|
had orders to carry out though.
|
|
"Satisfied?" the vendor asked when Jordaan had finished with his
|
|
questions.
|
|
"Yes," he answered. "What cost to send information to Crown
|
|
Castle?"
|
|
"Five gold," the vendor replied. He could hardly believe his
|
|
luck. Here was the chance of a lifetime. This foreigner was obviously
|
|
linked to one of the embassies at the Castle and wanted a steady
|
|
source of information.
|
|
Jordaan hesitated for a moment. "Agreed." He reached for his
|
|
purse. The vendor's eyes were glued to Jordaan's right hand's
|
|
movements so much so that he didn't see Jordaan's left hand as it shot
|
|
out and grabbed his left arm.
|
|
Jordaan hauled the vendor's left arm upwards in an iron grip.
|
|
With his right hand, he quickly drew the dagger at his belt and drove
|
|
it to the hilt into the vendor's body just below the armpit of the
|
|
man's upraised arm. The vendor gasped in pain. Jordaan gave the dagger
|
|
a vicious twist and the body of the vendor fell to the floor, his
|
|
sightless eyes staring at the ceiling as his punctured aorta pumped an
|
|
astonishing amount of blood onto the floor.
|
|
Jordaan wiped his dagger on the vendor's clothes and retrieved
|
|
his money. He ordered his men to make sure no traces remained that
|
|
could point the finger at them. When both indicated they had completed
|
|
their sweep, he ordered them outside.
|
|
He and his men were met by the group of thugs that passed them
|
|
earlier. Most were armed with clubs or daggers and a couple even had
|
|
short swords. If they'd been intelligent, they would have left the
|
|
three warriors alone. Instead, they attacked, seeing only what the
|
|
three foreigners would yield after their death.
|
|
Space to maneuver in the small alley was sparse. This gave the
|
|
Galicians an advantage they would not have had were they facing
|
|
opponents armed and armoured as they themselves were. Although they
|
|
weren't aware of it as yet, the thugs were dead men, walking corpses.
|
|
Jordaan and his men stood shoulder to shoulder against the thugs'
|
|
charge. The Galicians' swords flickered now forward, now backward in
|
|
the fencing strokes taught by the Galician swordmasters.
|
|
Two assailants perished within seconds of one another. The six
|
|
remaining attackers continued their assault even though they had been
|
|
bloodied without a blow being struck in return.
|
|
Again skill and experience won out over brute strength. This
|
|
time, three bodies were added to the growing pile at the Galicians'
|
|
feet. The thugs turned to flee. Jordaan shouted a command and he and
|
|
his men charged the enemy. If any of the thugs escaped, word would get
|
|
out that Jordaan had been in the Fifth Quarter. That would result in
|
|
too many questions being asked. Questions Jordaan, or his liege, could
|
|
ill afford.
|
|
His men finished two of the fleeing thieves. The third was well
|
|
ahead of Jordaan; he feared the thief would gain the marketplace.
|
|
Jordaan put all he had into a last burst of speed.
|
|
The fleeing thief was almost to the entrance when he tripped and
|
|
fell in the mud and snow. Jordaan caught up to him as the thief was
|
|
trying to rise. A sword stroke to the neck and the thief died, his
|
|
blood mixing with the churned up snow.
|
|
Jordaan quickly wiped his blade clean and he and his men made
|
|
1their way unhurriedly back to the King's Quarter. When the bodies were
|
|
found later that day, an investigation was begun. The investigators,
|
|
being overworked, conducted a cursory inquiry, after which they
|
|
decided that the thugs had probably assaulted the vendor found dead in
|
|
a small room off the alley in which the thugs' bodies were found and
|
|
that the vendor's associates had exacted payment. All in all, an
|
|
everyday series of events in the Fifth Quarter.
|
|
|
|
Edward strode out of the council chamber, a dark expression on
|
|
his face. It was becoming more and more difficult to avoid a serious
|
|
confrontation with Myros. After all these years, he finally had a
|
|
chance to avenge the deaths of his men and Haralan had expressly
|
|
ordered Edward to avoid Myros as much as possible. Add that to the
|
|
insults Myros had heaped upon Edward and the Sothos family name and it
|
|
was all Edward could do to keep his temper in check. Deciding that the
|
|
best course of action would be to return to his office before Myros
|
|
exited the chamber, Edward had just entered the corridor leading to
|
|
his office when he was stopped by a voice.
|
|
"Your Excellency!" Jan called. "Sir!" She hurried to catch up to
|
|
Edward.
|
|
Edward turned to face his aide. "Yes, Commander?" he asked in a
|
|
this-had-better-be-good tone.
|
|
"You wanted to speak to Lord Morion after the Council session,
|
|
sir," Jan cautiously reminded her superior. She had learned years ago
|
|
to be careful when dealing with high-ranking officers in a foul mood.
|
|
"Yes. I did." Edward's anger dissipated somewhat. "Thank you,
|
|
Commander." He set off for Morion's quarters, arriving ten minutes
|
|
later. Edward paused at the door, bringing his anger at Myros under
|
|
control. He waited five full minutes before knocking.
|
|
"Come," a voice said.
|
|
Edward entered the room and closed the door. "Forgive me for
|
|
disturbing you, Lord Morion, but there is a matter I wish to discuss
|
|
with you." Edward glanced uncomfortably at Kimmentari. "I would prefer
|
|
we discussed this alone." Morion made as if to protest, but Kimme
|
|
prevented any argument. "There is no need for anger," she said to
|
|
Morion. "I am a stranger to Sir Edward. His position and his
|
|
background demand that he treat me with suspicion in this matter."
|
|
Turning to Edward, the blue-haired Araf said, "Your uneasiness has no
|
|
foundation, Sir Edward. I understand your reasons. I take no offense."
|
|
Edward bowed slightly and held the door open for Kimme as she
|
|
made her exit. When she had gone, Edward turned back to Morion. "Lord
|
|
Morion," Edward began, "let us be brutally frank with one another.
|
|
When the King informed me of the special dispensation you had
|
|
received, I had my reservations."
|
|
"Oh? And by what right do you, an outsider, question my right to
|
|
rule my own lands as I see fit?" Morion asked angrily.
|
|
"By the right of my position as Knight Commander," Edward replied
|
|
calmly. He did not want to anger this man; indeed, from what
|
|
information Edward could gather, Morion was an honourable and just
|
|
man. A worthy ally. "Understand, Lord Morion, that I will allow
|
|
nothing that will harm Baranur."
|
|
"And you think I will?" Morion queried, on his feet now.
|
|
"Not intentionally." Edward held his hands up in a gesture of
|
|
pacification. "Before you respond, try and consider this from my point
|
|
of view. I have five Regiments, aside from some Militia and House
|
|
units, to defend the Northern Marches. Now I learn that there is a
|
|
noble with independent landholds close to Dargon and the Coldwell, a
|
|
noble who's reputation as a soldier merits my attention."
|
|
"The King has told me this noble will probably support Baranur
|
|
when war comes. As you and I well know, 'probably' is not good enough.
|
|
1Not when the Northwest's major trade route is threatened by this same
|
|
noble should he so choose. This forces me to restructure my
|
|
deployments. My troops are spread thin as it is. In order to properly
|
|
protect the Coldwell, I'll have to pull an entire Regiment from duties
|
|
elsewhere, thus putting further strain on the four remaining
|
|
Regiments. Knight Captain Sir Ailean, as you can well imagine, is not
|
|
happy."
|
|
"You are saying to yourself, why can't he take a Regiment from
|
|
the south? Normally, I would. But the situation is far from normal. I
|
|
dare not reduce our strength in the south, especially in light of the
|
|
information our trade caravans are sending back."
|
|
"As a soldier yourself, you can understand the position this puts
|
|
me in. The King highly respects this noble, yet I am forced to make
|
|
contingency plans, secret plans, to conquer this noble's lands should
|
|
the need arise. I have no desire to make war on this noble; indeed, I
|
|
have a deep respect for this man as well. But my first duty is to King
|
|
and Country and if am forced to take harsh action, I will."
|
|
"In short, Lord Morion, I need to know how you stand: when war
|
|
comes in the spring, will you give your support to Baranur, or will
|
|
you wait and force me to take unpleasant action?"
|
|
Morion's ice-grey eyes narrowed. When he responded to Edward's
|
|
question, he spoke in low, measured tones. "Were you anyone else, I
|
|
would hand you your entrails." Morion paused, visibly forcing himself
|
|
let go of his anger. "As you say, we are both soldiers. Were I in your
|
|
place I...would have said the same. If Baranur is attacked, you will
|
|
have my support and my troops. Otherwise, I remain neutral."
|
|
"Thank you, Lord Morion," Edward said, relieved. "That makes my
|
|
task much easier."
|
|
"Do I sense a 'but' somewhere, Sir Edward?"
|
|
"Lord Morion, you run a training school for warriors, do you
|
|
not?"
|
|
"Yes," Morion answered warily. Edward's unexpected question
|
|
caught Morion off-guard.
|
|
"I am told that the quality of your students is excellent."
|
|
Morion inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement of Edward's
|
|
praise. He said nothing, however; he felt he knew where this was
|
|
leading.
|
|
"Indeed, I get daily requests from my generals suggesting that we
|
|
make an arrangement to recruit directly from your school. Knight
|
|
Captain Sir Ailean is most vocal in his exhortations. He thinks he
|
|
could raise an extra Battalion or two from your graduates, something
|
|
that would please him greatly. But that is not what I want to
|
|
discuss."
|
|
"It seems to me," Edward said, adopting a thoughtful pose, "that
|
|
for newly graduated students to fetch such praise requires an
|
|
instructor of immense talent."
|
|
"No." One word, but quite powerful when spoken by the right man.
|
|
"You haven't even heard my offer, Lord Morion."
|
|
"I've told Haralan every other time he asked and I'm telling him
|
|
now. No."
|
|
"Lord Morion, this request comes from me, not His Royal Majesty.
|
|
Haralan told me not two days ago that it was useless to try and
|
|
persuade you. But I did not survive three years of war by taking no
|
|
for an answer."
|
|
"Well, 'no' will have to satisfy you now."
|
|
"Will you at least hear me out?"
|
|
Morion hesitated before answering. He had no desire to return to
|
|
the King's service and he would not. And yet he sensed something
|
|
different about this man's offer. "Go ahead."
|
|
"I know of your reluctance to come back to the King. So this is
|
|
1what I propose: I'll send the troops to you and you train them."
|
|
"But I wouldn't be under the King's suzerainty?"
|
|
"Not at all. Morion, I've begun bringing the Reserve Regiments up
|
|
to strength. It will take time to train them, time I fear is in short
|
|
supply. I need someone who can whip them into shape. Fast. I think
|
|
you're the man to do it. Will you agree?"
|
|
"I'll have to think about it," he answered. Seeing Edward's
|
|
reaction he said, "For now, it's the best answer I can give you."
|
|
"Well enough." Edward and Morion shook hands in the way of
|
|
warriors, right forearm clasped to right forearm. Edward turned and
|
|
left, one of his many problems solved for now.
|
|
When Edward returned to his office, he found a message packet
|
|
waiting for him. He entered his office, sat at his desk, and opened
|
|
it. Inside was a note written in handwriting he hadn't seen in years.
|
|
He read it, not daring to hope that what he had dreamed of since his
|
|
exile might be coming true. He re-read it once, twice, three times,
|
|
each time his hope increasing. Realizing the danger to the writer, he
|
|
destroyed both the note and the message packet it came in. He gave
|
|
instructions to Jan to the effect that urgent matters prevented his
|
|
attending dinner with the King and His Royal Majesty's guests. Then he
|
|
went to his quarters and waited.
|
|
|
|
Others that evening had expressed their regret at not being able
|
|
to dine with His Royal Majesty. Baron Corneilious Myros, his chief
|
|
advisor Sir Grange Rarrack, and Celeste (known as the Dark One to all
|
|
save Myros) sat in Myros' quarters listening to Jordaan's report on
|
|
his day's activities in the Fifth Quarter.
|
|
"You are certain you were not seen?" Rarrack questioned Jordaan.
|
|
"Quite certain, my lord. This 'Fifth Quarter' is a haven for
|
|
criminals and other vermin, my lord. I do not think it likely they
|
|
would have been overly curious about us."
|
|
"Is this information accurate?" Myros inquired of Jordaan.
|
|
"Aye," Celeste said in answer to Myros' question. "My contacts
|
|
here assure me the man's knowledge hath never been proved wrong." She
|
|
carefully watched the reactions of Rarrack and Jordaan. Neither had
|
|
known that Celeste was a woman. Indeed, until now Myros was the only
|
|
member of the embassy who knew Celeste's true identity.
|
|
Of the two, Rarrack reacted the least strongly. He had suspected
|
|
for some time that the Dark One was not what he, she rather, seemed.
|
|
Rarrack had five decades of experience in the political arena behind
|
|
him and had learned long ago never to take matters at face value.
|
|
Jordaan, however, was another story. It wasn't the concealment of
|
|
knowledge that bothered him so much as it was the fact that the Dark
|
|
One was a woman. Like most Galicians, Jordaan believed that a woman's
|
|
place was in the home making sure the household operated smoothly.
|
|
Yes, unmarried women who had reached the age of majority at twenty-one
|
|
should undergo the same military training required of all males upon
|
|
reaching the age of fifteen, but the training was meant to provide a
|
|
means for unattached women to fend for themselves until they chose a
|
|
husband who would undertake that responsibility. The concept of women
|
|
in combat, be it magical or mundane, was unthinkable. Granted, women
|
|
did fight at times during The Wars, but those were desperate times and
|
|
called for desperate measures.
|
|
"Something distresses thee, Jordaan?" Celeste asked.
|
|
"This goes against all law and custom, my liege!" he said to
|
|
Myros.
|
|
Taking Jordaan aside and speaking in a low voice, Myros
|
|
commented, "Whether it does or not, the Dark One is skilled in the
|
|
Art. I, for one, do not wish to challenge her. Do you?"
|
|
"No," Jordaan reluctantly admitted.
|
|
1 "Good. Don't forget that she is loyal to me. She has aided me
|
|
greatly in making contact with the correct people here. Men that will
|
|
support our cause. When the time comes for us to challenge the Emperor
|
|
directly, she will prove most useful."
|
|
Jordaan acquiesced. "I submit to your will, as always, Your
|
|
Lordship."
|
|
Myros returned to his seat, speaking in normal tones once more.
|
|
"Continue with your report, Captain." Jordaan spent the next thirty
|
|
minutes relating the last of the knowledge he had gained that morning
|
|
from the informant in the Fifth Quarter. The four of them spent the
|
|
next several hours discussing the ramifications of what they had just
|
|
heard.
|
|
|
|
Edward made his way along the eastern battlements of the inner
|
|
wall as silently as possible. The note he received earlier told him he
|
|
could find the note's author here. Edward very much wanted to meet
|
|
with the author. It had been far too long since they had spoken to one
|
|
another.
|
|
He saw a hooded shape ahead, silhouetted in the torchlight. He
|
|
quickened his pace, a thrill of anticipation coursing through his
|
|
body. The person heard his footfalls and turned to face him. Hands
|
|
went to the figure's hood and removed it. Edward stopped and stared.
|
|
"Elaine?"
|
|
"Yes, Edward. It's me."
|
|
"Why did you want to see me?" he asked, drawing closer.
|
|
"It's been nearly nine years since we saw each other, Edward,"
|
|
she said, looking up at him. "I didn't know what had happened to you.
|
|
Were you alive? What were you doing? What happened since you left? And
|
|
when I saw you two days ago, everything came flooding back. That last
|
|
day. The pain I felt when you rode into the courtyard with Father and
|
|
we saw the verdict."
|
|
"Edward, I love my husband! But when I saw you two days ago,
|
|
feelings I thought I'd buried years ago came to the surface."
|
|
"Then why did you ask to meet me?!"
|
|
"I saw you still had feelings for me. Even though we only glanced
|
|
at each other, I could see it in your eyes. I wanted to make you
|
|
understand my feelings. I thought that if you knew I loved another,
|
|
then perhaps your feelings towards me would change. And I wanted to
|
|
know why you hate Corneilious so."
|
|
"Corneilious Myros," Edward said in disgust, "is a cold-blooded
|
|
butcher."
|
|
Elaine rose to her husband's defense. "My husband--"
|
|
"Your husband," Edward snarled, "ordered my men put to death
|
|
after I had surrendered to him."
|
|
"I don't believe you!" she said defiantly. "Corneilious would
|
|
never do such a thing!"
|
|
"Oh wouldn't he?" Edward was nearly shouting, not caring who
|
|
heard or saw them. "Ask him, Elaine, about the battle we fought in
|
|
Alnor. Ask him about the men who died afterwards!"
|
|
"You say that only because you are jealous," Elaine said coldly.
|
|
The look she gave him matched the frigidity in her voice. "We have
|
|
nothing more to discuss." With that, she turned and walked away.
|
|
"Nehru's Blood!" Things weren't going at all like Edward planned.
|
|
He hurried after Elaine, blocking her way.
|
|
"Get out of my way!" she said and tried to go around him.
|
|
Edward grabbed her arms and spun her to face him. "Not until I
|
|
get the answer to a question."
|
|
Elaine coldly regarded Edward's hands around her arms. "Is this
|
|
what living with these barbarians has done? Where are your knightly
|
|
virtues, Edward? Have you forgotten what my father taught you? What
|
|
1would he say if he saw you now?"
|
|
Every question Elaine asked struck home like a spear to the
|
|
heart. Edward released her, ashamed at his actions, Elaine's questions
|
|
echoing in his soul. What would Count Janos say? he asked himself. The
|
|
answer came swiftly. He would say you lost a part of yourself during
|
|
your years as a mercenary, Edward. A part of yourself you must regain
|
|
if you are to remain a true Knight. He stood aside to let Elaine pass.
|
|
She walked past without saying a word, her hood drawn over her head.
|
|
"Elaine, wait."
|
|
The pleading tone in Edward's voice stopped her. "What do you
|
|
want?" she asked, her back still turned.
|
|
"I had something to ask you, remember?"
|
|
"What is it, Edward?" she asked.
|
|
"Tell me what really happened to my father?"
|
|
"About three years ago," she began, a slight tremor in her voice,
|
|
"Duke Markin accused your father of treason. The charge was dismissed
|
|
by everyone as ridiculous. Then Markin produced evidence. Neither I
|
|
nor my father accepted Markin's evidence, but others did. A trial was
|
|
held and your father was found guilty. He was taken to Zourkhos'
|
|
Square where he was given to the Executioner."
|
|
"Gods no!" he swore, his voice barely above a whisper.
|
|
"I'm sorry, Edward," she said, unsuccessfully trying to keep the
|
|
emotion from her voice. She seemed to be about to say more but
|
|
couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Elaine fled, leaving a
|
|
stunned Edward Sothos staring silently out over the battlements at the
|
|
ice floes slowly moving down the Laraka River to the sea.
|
|
|
|
Crown Castle, Magnus, Royal Duchy, Baranur
|
|
7 Nober, 1013 B.Y.
|
|
|
|
"Edward, you've been like this for five days now. What's wrong?"
|
|
"Nothing, Jan."
|
|
"Nothing? Nothing?! You may be able to fool everyone else, Edward
|
|
Sothos, but not me."
|
|
"Oh?" Edward asked in a deceptively calm voice.
|
|
"That's right," Jan answered. "I know you too well. Out with it."
|
|
"Oh you know me, do you? Well then you know that I don't like
|
|
people interfering in my personal business. You're not my keeper,
|
|
Commander. My life is my affair!"
|
|
"Edward, this is me, Jan Courymwen, you're talking to. I thought
|
|
we were friends."
|
|
"Friends don't butt in where they're not wanted and they--"
|
|
"Dammit, Edward, this isn't like you!" Jan said in a raised
|
|
voice. "I'm worried about you!"
|
|
That struck home. What Edward had been about to say died on his
|
|
lips. He rose from behind his desk and went to the window. He stayed
|
|
there for several minutes, pondering how much he should tell his aide.
|
|
Jan, for her part, was smart enough to keep silent and let Edward come
|
|
to a decision without her interference.
|
|
Turning from the window with a sigh, Edward said to his friend
|
|
and aide for the past three years, "Sit down, Jan. We have a lot to
|
|
talk about." He spent the next hour filling Jan in on the parts of his
|
|
past he had chosen not to tell her about previously. She learned about
|
|
the events surrounding his departure from Galicia, how he met and came
|
|
to despise Baron Myros, his relationship with Myros' wife, Elaine, and
|
|
finally about his father's death and how it affected him.
|
|
"Edward, I'm sorry," Jan said. "I had no idea. I truly am sorry."
|
|
"I know, Jan. I'm glad there's someone I can share this with."
|
|
"The King doesn't know?" Jan asked incredulously. Edward and
|
|
Haralan were very close. If Edward hadn't told him...
|
|
1 "No. I...I can't. You know most of the nobles here still regard
|
|
me as an outsider. If Haralan knew my father was convicted of treason,
|
|
it would be one more thing he'd have to keep buried away, one more
|
|
reason for him to be concerned about me."
|
|
"But wouldn't he want to know? He is your friend. Surely he'd
|
|
want to help?"
|
|
"Yes, he would. But then he'd be worried about the information
|
|
coming to light. No. He has far too much to occupy him already. I'll
|
|
not increase his burden."
|
|
"Speaking of burdens, this has been weighing down on you. I can
|
|
see it, and something has got to be done about it."
|
|
"There is nothing that can be done. Nothing can wash the stain of
|
|
treachery from my family's honour."
|
|
"If nothing can be done, what's the use in worrying about it?
|
|
Weren't you the one who told me that if nothing can be done about a
|
|
problem you should accept things the way they are and move on?"
|
|
"This is different, Jan. This is a matter of honour."
|
|
"No it's not different, Edward. Your family's honour may have
|
|
been stained, but your personal honour hasn't. And that is what will
|
|
count in the long run."
|
|
"I can't just alter my principles on a whim."
|
|
"And I'm not asking you to. Perhaps you will be able to prove
|
|
your father innocent one day. But until then, concentrate on keeping
|
|
your honour, your's Edward, intact. I think you'll find people will
|
|
soon forget about events that transpired in Galicia."
|
|
"You have an old mind in that young head of yours, Jan
|
|
Courymwen."
|
|
"Merely following your example." Jan retrieved her cloak and
|
|
Edward's from the chair they had been flung over and proceeded to put
|
|
hers on while handing Edward his.
|
|
"What's this?"
|
|
"We're going to a tavern I know in the Merchant's Quarter. Don't
|
|
raise your eyebrow to me, Edward Sothos. I haven't once seen you go
|
|
outside the Castle unless it's on King's business and it's damn well
|
|
time you did. Enjoy yourself a little."
|
|
"People will talk. Remember what happened to the Princess'
|
|
marriage because of such talk. No. I can't jeopardize the respect of
|
|
my office like that."
|
|
"To the crows with what people say! We're just two friends,
|
|
soldiers, going out for a night on the town. I won't take no for an
|
|
answer."
|
|
The two stood motionless for several seconds, locked in a
|
|
friendly contest of wills. Finally, Edward acquiesced with a smile and
|
|
a nod of his head. "Alright, Jan--"
|
|
"Coury, Edward," Jan corrected him. "My friends call me Coury."
|
|
"Alright, Ja...Coury," he said. For some reason he couldn't
|
|
identify, he felt strangely uncomfortable using Jan's nickname.
|
|
Perhaps it was due to the fact that in Galicia, a man didn't use such
|
|
a term of familiarity with a woman unless the two were intimate.
|
|
Nonsense, he thought. Jan and I are just friends and that's all there
|
|
is to it. Still, one part of his brain persisted, she is a beautiful
|
|
woman. Any man would be overjoyed to have her. Enough! Edward said to
|
|
himself. I will not think such thoughts!
|
|
Later that night, or early the next morning, rather, when Edward
|
|
had divested himself of the last of his clothing and climbed into bed,
|
|
the thoughts he had been suppressing came to the fore again. It was
|
|
then he realized that until that night, he had not thought of Jan as
|
|
anything but a friend and subordinate in the three years they'd known
|
|
each other. He hadn't stopped to consider her as a woman. She is a
|
|
beautiful woman, he admitted to himself through the dull pounding of
|
|
1an alcohol-induced headache. Very beautiful. And with that thought,
|
|
Edward drifted off to sleep.
|
|
|
|
Crown Castle, Magnus, Royal Duchy, Baranur
|
|
21 Nober, 1013 B.Y.
|
|
|
|
Celeste locked the door to her room and laid a powerful warding
|
|
spell upon it to ensure she would not be disturbed. Crossing to the
|
|
window, she closed the curtains to keep her activities from prying
|
|
eyes. Content the room was as secure as possible, she went to the
|
|
closet and withdrew a small, plain-looking wooden chest. Opening the
|
|
chest, she removed a finely crafted hand-mirror and stand and
|
|
proceeded to place stand and mirror against the closed closet door.
|
|
When satisfied the mirror was securely fastened to the stand, she
|
|
stood back and spoke the word of command that caused the assembly to
|
|
enlarge until the mirror had changed from a small hand-held variety
|
|
into a body-length mirror.
|
|
Celeste positioned herself exactly three feet in front of the
|
|
mirror and began to cast her spell. The Spell of Mirror-Talking was a
|
|
complex one that placed a great strain on the caster. The fact that
|
|
Celeste was attempting to use the spell over such a great distance
|
|
only made things harder. To her knowledge, no one of her Order, save
|
|
possibly the Primus, had ever successfully used the spell to
|
|
communicate over a distance of more than five hundred leagues. Her
|
|
intended receiver was many times that distance away.
|
|
As she cast the spell, she would pause periodically to withdraw
|
|
spell components from concealed pouches within her night-black robes.
|
|
First, she withdrew a handful of sand, which represented the mirror,
|
|
and sprinkled it on the floor in front of her. Next, she took out the
|
|
feather of an eagle, which served to assist the caster in obtaining
|
|
the desired distance, and placed it on the sand sprinkled moments ago.
|
|
As she was drawing near the spell's completion, she drew a small vial
|
|
of water, representing the glassy-smooth surface of an undisturbed
|
|
pool, from her robes and sprinkled the contents around the perimeter
|
|
of the sand making sure the water and sand never came in contact with
|
|
one another.
|
|
Celeste finished her chant and as she did so, all three spell
|
|
components burst into flame and were consumed. The smoke that one
|
|
would expect from such an occurrence was not present. Or, rather, it
|
|
was not present in the room, but in the mirror.
|
|
Celeste stood, exhausted, as the grey mist the smoke had become
|
|
swirled and billowed in the mirror. This was a good sign, for the
|
|
smoke became mist only if the spell had succeeded. All that remained
|
|
to be seen was whether or not the signal was strong enough to be
|
|
noticed by the intended receiver.
|
|
After several minutes of waiting, minutes in which Celeste
|
|
managed to assemble the outward appearance of normalcy, the mist
|
|
gradually began to slow its motion, finally stopping and fading
|
|
entirely. "Cho dakh, Primus," Celeste said in greeting to the
|
|
black-robed figure in the mirror.
|
|
"Cho dakh, Celeste," the Primus returned in his whispering voice.
|
|
"Thou hath done well in contacting me over such a great distance. Thou
|
|
hath some information to impart to me?"
|
|
"Aye, Primus. The situation here hath changed drastically. The
|
|
strife between Baranur and Bichu was the product of foreign
|
|
intervention in Baranur's affairs. Beinison is responsible. As thou
|
|
would'st expect, King Haralan hath taken grave offense at this blatant
|
|
interference in his domain's affairs. Indeed, His Royal Majesty called
|
|
a Council which convened not five days ago. The delegates hath split
|
|
into two factions; one calling for war and the other counseling
|
|
1caution and diplomacy. Neither faction hath gained the upper hand as
|
|
yet."
|
|
"And what of Myros?"
|
|
"His Lordship suspects one of his advisors is an agent of our
|
|
Master. He hath asked me to determine who the culprit might be. I hath
|
|
been giving the Baron vague answers in response to his queries. I hath
|
|
been unable to uncover any evidence of treasonous activity. Myros
|
|
guards his secrets well."
|
|
"What of this friend you mentioned? The one Myros used as a
|
|
pretext for his journey to Baranur."
|
|
"As I thought, Primus, he and Myros are enemies. Indeed, Sir
|
|
Edward and Myros came near to exchanging blows. The animosity between
|
|
the two is readily apparent during the Council's daily sessions."
|
|
"Sir Edward? Sir Edward who?"
|
|
"Forgive me, Primus. Baranur's Knight Commander, Sir Edward
|
|
Sothos."
|
|
"Dion Sothos' son?" the Primus said with undisguised surprise in
|
|
his voice.
|
|
"Aye, Primus," Celeste said in a neutral voice.
|
|
"It seems Edward hath done well for himself these past
|
|
eight-and-a-half years," the Primus said more to himself than Celeste.
|
|
"This is an unexpected and pleasant turn of events." Speaking to
|
|
Celeste once more he said, "The evidence against Myros I hath long
|
|
sought for may soon be delivered. If it is as I suspect, thou wilt
|
|
receive instructions to move against Myros within a matter of days,
|
|
perhaps hours. When thou dost, take care that thou dost not harm, nor
|
|
allow others to harm, Sir Edward. The Sothos family hath long figured
|
|
prominently in our empire's history. Edward is the last surviving male
|
|
to bear the name Sothos. The line must continue. Dost thou fully
|
|
comprehend what I am saying?"
|
|
"Aye, Primus," Celeste replied. "It shall be as thou commands."
|
|
"Good. Cha loth, Celeste."
|
|
"Cha loth, Primus," Celeste said, bowing. When she straightened,
|
|
the Primus' image was gone, the spell terminated. "What hath I
|
|
stumbled upon?" she said, thinking out loud. "Why is the Primus so
|
|
concerned about thy well-being, Sir Edward Sothos?"
|
|
|
|
Stormhaven, exact location unknown, Galician Empire
|
|
21 Nober, 1200 G.Y.
|
|
|
|
"Cha loth, Primus," Celeste said, bowing. The Primus terminated
|
|
the spell and was about to go down to the Library to consult with
|
|
Xavier, The Order's current Lokhmahst, when his manservant, Lothan,
|
|
entered the study.
|
|
"The Sehrvat Primus wishes to speak with you, my lord."
|
|
"Send him in then, Lothan." Lothan bowed then opened the door and
|
|
ushered Derek, Sehrvat Primus of The Order, into the study.
|
|
"The translation is complete, Primus," Derek said without
|
|
preamble.
|
|
"Dost thou hath the documents with thee?"
|
|
"Aye, Primus. Thou wilt find them most interesting to read."
|
|
"Then give them hence." Derek handed several scrolls to the
|
|
Primus without a word. The Primus quickly scanned the twelve pieces of
|
|
parchment. When he was done, he looked his manservant full in the face
|
|
and said, "Get thee gone. Pack enough belongings for a journey to
|
|
Rhylon. We leave in one hour."
|
|
Lothan paled under his master's gaze. Few would not. Stammering
|
|
acknowledgement of his orders, Lothan bowed, turned, and hurried to
|
|
the Primus' quarters. Much needed to be done, and an hour was not much
|
|
time.
|
|
1
|
|
Imperial Palace, Rhylon, Duchy Rhylon, Galician Empire
|
|
22 Nober, 1200 G.Y.
|
|
|
|
The aged and frail man who sat upon the throne of Galicia was
|
|
near death and knew it. At age eighty, Emperor Nyrull, his full title
|
|
being Protector and Defender of the Twelve Cities, Duke of Rhylon, His
|
|
Imperial Majesty Emperor Nyrull ("a title you could choke on", the
|
|
former soldier, who loathed ceremony, called it) was the oldest and
|
|
longest reigned Emperor in Galicia's sixteen-hundred year history. In
|
|
addition, his sixty year rule had seen the beginning of Galicia's
|
|
Golden Age, a time that saw the previous Galician policy of
|
|
isolationism end and Galicia's return to the web of international
|
|
politics. Now, all he had worked for was coming undone. His most
|
|
trusted and loyal subject, the wizard known as the Primus, had
|
|
unearthed a plot to seize his throne. The Primus now stood in the
|
|
throne room reading the names of the conspirators to Nyrull's inner
|
|
circle of advisors and generals. The Emperor listened to those
|
|
gathered debate which course of action to follow. Nyrull, as he had
|
|
always done, sat and listened, content to let them voice opinions they
|
|
would not have voiced had they been speaking directly to Nyrull.
|
|
"Perhaps," said Julius Valerius, the Empire's chief diplomat, "we
|
|
can reach an agreement with the cabal's leadership that will avoid
|
|
bloodshed."
|
|
"Avoid bloodshed? Avoid bloodshed?! They should all be taken to
|
|
Zourkhos' Square!" That from Proconsul Veers, one of Galicia's top
|
|
soldiers.
|
|
"I'm sure my esteemed colleague was referring to the inordinate
|
|
amount of very undesirable disruption that would be caused by such a
|
|
disturbance," commented Julian Adininos, head of the Finance Ministry.
|
|
"Proconsul Veers is right," said Admiral Xertes. "These men are
|
|
traitors and we must move against them before they can further
|
|
increase their forces."
|
|
"Need I remind you, Admiral, that such a course of action would
|
|
cause undue disturbance in our most agriculturally important regions?"
|
|
"This is war, Adininos! You can't just bury it in a ledger and
|
|
hope it's forgotten!"
|
|
"Calm yourself, Admiral," Valerius cut in. "Anger will get us
|
|
nowhere."
|
|
Xertes' response was a snort of contempt. He would have said far
|
|
more if Veers hadn't asked a question of the other man in the room
|
|
besides the Emperor and the Primus. "Well, Janos? You haven't said
|
|
much. What's your opinion?"
|
|
Emil Janos, late the Count of Nogrom until Duke Markin stripped
|
|
him of that title and now Weapons Master to the Imperial Guard, took
|
|
time to order his thoughts before speaking. "Both opinions have merit.
|
|
A civil war would destroy everything that has been accomplished since
|
|
The Consolidation Wars. Yet we cannot simply turn a blind eye towards
|
|
these noble's activities. I propose that we assassinate all save the
|
|
cabal's leadership."
|
|
That got approving looks from both bureaucrats and soldiers.
|
|
"What do you have in mind for the leaders?" Veers asked.
|
|
"That they be drawn and quartered as you suggested, Proconsul."
|
|
"No." All eyes turned toward the throne. "No," Nyrull repeated.
|
|
"Not all the leaders." Frail as he was, Nyrull could command a room if
|
|
he so chose. His blue eyes became as cold as ice and his voice as hard
|
|
as steel. "Proconsul Veers, you will take the Imperial Guard and
|
|
whatever other forces you deem necessary and you will march on
|
|
Markin's stronghold. No quarter will be given. Everyone--man, woman,
|
|
and child--in New Valencia is to be put to the sword." He leaned
|
|
1forward. "Do I make myself clear?"
|
|
Veers snapped to attention and saluted, right arm out from the
|
|
body, fist clenched. "You do, Sire."
|
|
"Good. You have a question, Admiral?" Nyrull asked in a
|
|
dangerously quiet tone.
|
|
"Do you think it wise to send the Imperial Guard, Sire? Who will
|
|
protect you?"
|
|
"I believe The Order can handle that. Correct, Primus?"
|
|
"Of course, Master."
|
|
"What of the assassins, my liege?" Valerius asked.
|
|
"The Order will handle that as well," Nyrull answered Valerius
|
|
while looking at the Primus.
|
|
"It shall be as thou commands, Master," the Primus said with a
|
|
bow.
|
|
Nyrull sat back and smiled.
|
|
|
|
Crown Castle, Magnus, Royal Duchy, Baranur
|
|
17 Deber, 1014 B.Y.
|
|
|
|
Jan sat at her desk struggling valiantly with a mountain of
|
|
paperwork that had built up during the two weeks the Council had been
|
|
in session. Today was the seventeenth day of the new year and the
|
|
forty-sixth day of the Council. Jan had argued, begged, and pleaded
|
|
with Edward to allow Daniel Moore to take her place so that she could
|
|
attend to the business of making the army's paperwork flow smoothly.
|
|
"Or as smooth as it ever flows," she said to herself. She smiled a
|
|
little and said, "Edward is going to have a fit when he sees his
|
|
desk." Sighing, she returned to her work.
|
|
|
|
Six figures materialized from the cold night air of Crown
|
|
Castle's Inner Courtyard. A seventh was waiting for them at the
|
|
entrance to the Diplomatic Wing, two dead or unconscious guards lying
|
|
in the snow. Three of the new arrivals walked over to the waiting
|
|
black-robed figure. Before they had even crossed half the distance,
|
|
the center figure of the similarly black-robed triad that had
|
|
accompanied them spoke words of magic and all three vanished.
|
|
Justin resumed his pace towards the wizard--he'd had his fill of
|
|
wizards lately--that he and his two companions would be working with.
|
|
The newly fallen snow crunched under his boots and his breath misted
|
|
in the crisp air. Nochturon was a pale disk in the cloudless night
|
|
sky. The stars could be seen with great clarity. Such a night is one
|
|
for celebrating, Justin thought, not this dirty business.
|
|
The wizard led Justin and his two friends into the Diplomatic
|
|
Wing's foyer. "Sit," Celeste told them. "I shalt bring some mulled
|
|
wine and then we may discuss how to execute this operation." She
|
|
walked over to the bored clerk sitting behind the reception desk,
|
|
ordered the wine she had promised, and returned to the three
|
|
adventurers. After a short delay, two attendants brought the wine to
|
|
the four.
|
|
Julia finished her wine quickly, revelling in the warmth flowing
|
|
through her veins. "We're not assassins. So why are we here?"
|
|
"I am no assassin either," Celeste responded coldly. "Thou art
|
|
here to protect my person and to ensure the mission is complete,
|
|
should I fall."
|
|
"So we're to keep the grunts"--Tarn named the derisive term that
|
|
referred to all soldiers--"busy while you work your spells?"
|
|
"Crudely put," Celeste said, giving Tarn an icy stare, "but
|
|
essentially correct."
|
|
"Who are we after?" Justin asked, getting down to business.
|
|
"Three men: Baron Corneilious Myros, his chief advisor, Sir
|
|
1Grange Rarrack, and Jordaan, Myros' Captain of the Guard. Myros and
|
|
Rarrack are still in today's Council session. Why it hath gone on so
|
|
long I know not, nor doth it concern me. If need be, we shalt
|
|
penetrate the Council chamber and execute the traitors. Jordaan is in
|
|
his quarters here in the Diplomatic Wing along with three of Myros'
|
|
top advisors and a guard of fifty warriors. Our only targets art the
|
|
three previously mentioned. However, if someone should'st seek to
|
|
prevent us from accomplishing the task at hand, they must be dealt
|
|
with."
|
|
"When do we attack?" Julia asked, her warrior's mentality showing
|
|
in the way she phrased her question.
|
|
"If thou and thy companions feel ready, we can begin now."
|
|
"Let's do it and be done with it," Justin said, clearly not happy
|
|
with the task.
|
|
"Follow me." Celeste got up and led the three past the clerk and
|
|
up the stairs leading to the rooms occupied by the Galician embassy.
|
|
Once at the top of the stairs, she led them fifty feet down a corridor
|
|
where they came upon a side passage that led directly to the embassy's
|
|
rooms. The four made their way thirty feet down the corridor to a
|
|
door. Celeste opened it and all four filed through. The corridor
|
|
continued for twenty more feet before turning to the west. At the turn
|
|
stood two of Myros's guards, armoured in platemail and carrying shield
|
|
and longsword.
|
|
A third guard came out of a room from which many voices could be
|
|
heard and stumbled slightly as he made his way towards Celeste and her
|
|
group. When he noticed them, he straightened as much as possible.
|
|
"Dark One," he said with the voice of one who has had too much to
|
|
drink, "didn't think you'd be here. And who are these three?"
|
|
"They art retainers of mine. Stand aside. I hath important
|
|
business to discuss with Captain Jordaan." Celeste continued on and
|
|
motioned for Justin, Julia, and Tarn to follow.
|
|
But the guard, with the dogged persistence too much drink can
|
|
give a person, kept with his train of thought. "Wait. I don't
|
|
recognize them. Let me see their papers." When the four did not stop,
|
|
he lurched after them. "Stop!" When they still refused to heed his
|
|
command, he made a clumsy attempt to draw his sword. By now, the
|
|
guards at the corridor's turn had had their attention drawn to the
|
|
scene being played out.
|
|
"Now!" Celeste said. Tarn whirled and fired an arrow at the
|
|
drunken guard. He died before getting his sword half out of its
|
|
scabbard. Julia and Justin drew steel and charged the two remaining
|
|
guards, who already had their weapons out and were shouting the alarm.
|
|
"Tarn!" Celeste called, as Tarn was about to go to his comrades'
|
|
assistance. "I need thee! Make haste!"
|
|
"What?" he asked, running back to Celeste.
|
|
"I shalt cast a spell. When I begin, thou wilt hold the door
|
|
open," she said, indicating the door through which the drunken guard
|
|
had come, "and when I am finished, close it with all haste and flatten
|
|
thyself on the floor."
|
|
Tarn nodded and Celeste began her spell. "Ast thrak"--Tarn opened
|
|
the door--"Uth harn"--Celeste reached into her robes and withdrew a
|
|
pinch of sulphur which burst into flame and was gone--"Ost"--Celeste
|
|
pointed a finger at the startled and confused guards in the
|
|
room--"frelbarl!" With the utterance of the last word of the spell, a
|
|
ball of flame shot from Celeste's outstretched finger. At virtually
|
|
the same instant, Tarn slammed the door shut and both he and Celeste
|
|
dove to the floor.
|
|
Inside the room, the fireball exploded not two seconds after
|
|
Celeste had worked her magic. The fireball was primarily intended for
|
|
combat against a large group of adversaries outdoors. In a small
|
|
1twenty by twenty room, the explosive force of the fireball was
|
|
contained and reflected back from the walls. The door, along with bits
|
|
and pieces of animate and inanimate objects alike, was blown out into
|
|
the corridor in flaming chunks which just narrowly missed Tarn and
|
|
Celeste.
|
|
The force of the blast staggered the four combatants as well,
|
|
sending Julia and her opponent to the floor. The guard recovered
|
|
first, aiming a vicious downward swing at Julia's prone form. He
|
|
missed, sending sparks everywhere when his sword connected with the
|
|
stone. All Julia had time to do was grab her shield and hold it above
|
|
her as her training taught. Her opponent was raining blows on her and
|
|
she knew that she couldn't hold on to her shield much longer. Justin
|
|
couldn't help as he was locked in deadly earnest combat himself.
|
|
With a last blow that caved in the front of her shield and sent
|
|
it flying, her opponent had her at last. Pausing, he saluted her, a
|
|
Galician custom the origin of which lay rooted in legend. It was that
|
|
custom that saved Julia's life.
|
|
The guard raised his sword to plunge it into Julia's heart. As he
|
|
did so, an arrow sprouted in his chest. The guard dropped his sword
|
|
and stood swaying for several seconds. He gazed at Tarn with a vaguely
|
|
reproachful look on his face, as if Tarn had interfered with something
|
|
he should not have. Then his face went blank and he toppled backwards.
|
|
Justin, meanwhile, was having a tough time with his opponent.
|
|
Every thrust had been skillfully parried, every riposte harder and
|
|
harder to avoid. These were obviously no ordinary guardsmen, but elite
|
|
warriors taught by some of Galicia's finest swordmasters. Already,
|
|
Justin had suffered half a dozen small cuts with only one or two given
|
|
in return.
|
|
Justin had help, however. Julia, by this time rescued by Tarn,
|
|
had recovered her sword and came to her friend's assistance. The
|
|
guard, beset from two directions at once, never stood a chance. The
|
|
fact he lasted as long as he did was testimony to his fighting
|
|
prowess.
|
|
"The guards must surely be alerted by now," Celeste commented.
|
|
"We must press on before we meet more opposition."
|
|
"Fine," Justin said. "Tarn, you bring up the rear. Julia and I
|
|
will lead. And you, Sorceress, will stay in the middle. Agreed?"
|
|
"Thy instructions art sound. I wilt abide by them as long as they
|
|
remain so."
|
|
Justin grunted in satisfaction and hurried down the corridor,
|
|
Julia beside him bearing a guardsman's shield to replace her ruined
|
|
one. They hadn't gone ten feet when five guards came running at them,
|
|
weapons drawn. Justin and Julia braced themselves for the attack. It
|
|
never came.
|
|
Celeste stepped between the two warriors and cast yet another
|
|
spell. Justin was seized with fear by the power of the dark words
|
|
Celeste spoke, and he wasn't even the intended victim of the spell. A
|
|
sideways glance showed that Julia was similarly affected. The effect
|
|
on the advancing guardsmen was devastating.
|
|
Two guards died immediately, killed by their own fear amplified
|
|
by Celeste's spell. Another ran screaming in terror. The last two
|
|
guards, stronger willed than their comrades, backed slowly down a side
|
|
corridor.
|
|
The sound of many booted feet preceeded a large group of guards,
|
|
perhaps twenty in all, led by Jordaan. Justin and Julia stayed where
|
|
they were. Only Celeste could hope to deal with such a large force.
|
|
Deal with them she did.
|
|
Jordaan didn't waste time with questions. He ordered his men
|
|
forward, hoping to overwhelm the Dark One before she could get a spell
|
|
off. His hopes were in vain.
|
|
1 Celeste drew a small wand engraved with arcane runes from her
|
|
robes. She pointed it down the corridor and calmly spoke a word of
|
|
command. Lightning flashed from the wand, felling five guards and
|
|
wounding two. Thunder echoed and rolled throughout the building.
|
|
Lightning flashed a second time. Four more guards joined their
|
|
brethren in death.
|
|
Jordaan recognized the futility of continuing. His only hope lay
|
|
in forcing a fight in more open surroundings where his men wouldn't be
|
|
concentrated and his greater numbers would work to his advantage.
|
|
"Back!" he shouted, his battlefield-trained voice sounding clearly
|
|
over the deafening thunder. "Fall back to the keep!" He turned and
|
|
ran, his men close behind.
|
|
|
|
Jan paused. She was about halfway through the stack of papers on
|
|
her desk when she heard it. "Thunder?" she said aloud. "We can't be
|
|
getting rain this time of year." She rose and went to the window
|
|
overlooking the courtyard. The snow had started again, giving
|
|
everything a peaceful demeanor. "Must be my imagination." She sat down
|
|
and went back to work. And again she heard it. A cold chill walked up
|
|
her spine. "That wasn't my imagination this time." She was about to
|
|
call for a guard when the door opened and one of the two guards
|
|
outside her office stuck his head in.
|
|
"Sorry for disturbing you, ma'am," he said. "I know this is
|
|
crazy, but I just heard what sounded like--"
|
|
"Thunder?"
|
|
"You heard it too, ma'am?"
|
|
"Yes, but it's not coming from outside."
|
|
"Well it certainly couldn't come from inside."
|
|
"Gods! That's it! Gregory, raise the alarm. Quickly, man! We have
|
|
intruders in the castle!" Gregory saluted and was gone. Jan yelled for
|
|
the other guard. "Haran!"
|
|
"Yes, Commander?" he asked, half in the doorway.
|
|
"If there's not a squad in here pretty bloody fast, you'll be
|
|
cleaning stables for the next twenty years!"
|
|
Haran swallowed once and ran.
|
|
Jordaan ran through a door and found himself in the Hall of
|
|
Warriors, a one hundred-foot long by forty-foot wide hall that arched
|
|
to its ceiling thirty feet overhead. The Hall was dedicated to
|
|
Baranur's twenty greatest warriors. Their statues, ten each along the
|
|
north and south walls, one every ten feet, stood in silent tribute to
|
|
those who helped make Baranur what it was today. Jordaan couldn't
|
|
believe his good fortune. He was so relieved he shouted for joy,
|
|
drawing the attention of the four guardsmen from The King's Own.
|
|
Jordaan shouted at his men to deploy and then outlined the
|
|
situation for the Baranurians. "Assassins have entered through the
|
|
Diplomatic Wing. I fear they are after my Lord Myros. Will you join
|
|
us?" At their nods, he stationed them at the east end of the Hall as a
|
|
last defense should he and his warriors be defeated.
|
|
His men were deployed in a semi-circle facing the door through
|
|
which they'd come. Jordaan drew steel and waited.
|
|
The door flew outward in a cloud of sparks as it was blown off
|
|
its hinges by a word of magic. Celeste, Justin, Julia, and Tarn
|
|
stepped through. Celeste took a step or two forward and stopped.
|
|
"Yield thyself, Jordaan, and thy death wilt be swift and painless, I
|
|
promise thee."
|
|
"No, Dark One," Jordaan said in a calm voice. "If you want me, or
|
|
he to whom I have sworn my fealty, you must pay the price." He lifted
|
|
his sword.
|
|
"So be it," she said in an emotionless voice. She leveled her
|
|
wand at Jordaan and spoke the word of command. He was flung back ten
|
|
1feet, to lay unmoving on the floor.
|
|
The loss of their leader did not affect the Galicians as it would
|
|
have other troops. These men were veterans who knew what must be done
|
|
to survive in combat. As one, they flung themselves at the little band
|
|
standing in the blackened doorway. They realized that their only
|
|
chance was to slay the sorceress before she slew them.
|
|
Celeste realized this also. Not having time for a more complex,
|
|
more deadly spell, she chose a spell she had learned when she first
|
|
began her training, a spell that could be cast in seconds.
|
|
Dropping the wand, she began to chant the words to her spell,
|
|
moving her hands in short, sharp passes as she did so. She spread her
|
|
hands in a fan in front of her and seven glowing darts shot out,
|
|
directed at the three nearest guardsmen. The closest guard received
|
|
three of the darts and tumbled to the floor. The other two received
|
|
two darts each, felling one guard. The third winced in pain and kept
|
|
coming, only to die as Tarn shot him through the throat.
|
|
The immediate odds were now five-to-four in favor of the
|
|
guardsmen. But when one considered the lightness of Tarn's armour, and
|
|
the fact that Celeste had none at all, those odds increased to
|
|
two-to-one.
|
|
"Die well, my friends!" Justin yelled and launched himself at the
|
|
enemy. Julia followed his example as well, screaming the ancient
|
|
battle-cry of her ancestors at those who sought to slay her and her
|
|
comrades. Tarn simply dropped his bow, drew his short sword, and
|
|
prepared to exact a heavy toll for his life.
|
|
For the moment, Celeste was untouched as the battle raged on
|
|
around her. To her immediate front, Justin fought with savage fury
|
|
against the two guardsmen engaging him. To her left, Julia beat aside
|
|
her enemy's shield and ripped his throat out, all the while shouting
|
|
her battle-cry at the top of her lungs.
|
|
Celeste heard a grunt of pain behind her. She whirled and saw
|
|
Tarn, outmatched and fighting two opponents, bleeding from a gash to
|
|
his right arm. Grasping the amulet at her neck, she raised her right
|
|
arm, finger outstretched. She pointed at one of Tarn's attackers and
|
|
shouted, "Die!" The man collapsed to his knees and fell forward, blood
|
|
streaming from his mouth, nose and ears. Tarn flung his sword at his
|
|
opponent, forcing the guardsman to back away to prevent himself from
|
|
being injured. Tarn took advantage of the reprieve to draw a dagger
|
|
and send it thudding home under the man's chin strap. Face tight in
|
|
pain, Tarn ripped a strip of cloth from a guard's tunic and used it to
|
|
bind his wound.
|
|
By this time, the Baranurian guardsmen had, contrary to orders,
|
|
come to the aid of the Galicians. One attacked Julia, one went after
|
|
Tarn, and the remaining two charged straight for Celeste.
|
|
Celeste was growing tired. She had expended a great deal of
|
|
energy in working her magic. She was confident she could go on casting
|
|
the weaker spells indefinitely, but weak spells would do her no good
|
|
now. And if she chose to cast her most potent combat spell, then she
|
|
would be unable to work the teleport spell she would need to escape.
|
|
As the saying went though, beggars can't be choosers. All these
|
|
thoughts flashed through her head in a matter of seconds; any mage
|
|
that could not instantly evaluate potential dangers and their
|
|
counter-measures was not a mage, or anything, for very long.
|
|
She reached into her robes for two pieces of black obsidian.
|
|
Holding them together, she began speaking words of dark power, words
|
|
that placed an immense strain on her very soul.
|
|
Her hands flew apart, the obsidian crumbling to dust. The torches
|
|
in the Hall grew dim as a chilling wind blasted throughout the Hall's
|
|
length. A Gate, black as night and radiating a smothering evil, opened
|
|
in the air before the two guardsmen now only fifteen feet from
|
|
1Celeste. From this Gate, Celeste had summoned a creature said to exist
|
|
only in legend. A creature mothers used to frighten bad children. A
|
|
creature from Man's nightmares.
|
|
Celeste had summoned a demon.
|
|
|
|
Jan led her squad at a dead run towards the Council chamber. She
|
|
feared she would be too late, that she would arrive to find the
|
|
delegates dead. The thought that Edward would be among them only
|
|
served to heighten her fear. She ran faster.
|
|
|
|
The demon strode through the Gate, wings rustling and muscles
|
|
popping. All combat ceased as everyone, Galician and Baranurian, stood
|
|
staring in pure unadulterated fear at the ten-foot tall apparition
|
|
before them. The demon paid them little notice, however. All its
|
|
attention was focused upon she who had summoned it to this plane.
|
|
Celeste knew that a test of wills was about to take place. If she
|
|
lost, the demon would devour her and would be free to roam Makdiar at
|
|
will. The demon's dark red eyes locked with hers. She screamed but
|
|
would not break eye contact. The demon smiled, sure it would have an
|
|
opportunity such as it had not enjoyed in uncounted milennia.
|
|
But Celeste was stronger than the demon thought. She gathered her
|
|
anger. Anger at the way she was treated as a child. Anger at those who
|
|
denied her her inheritance. Anger at the Primus for trying to prevent
|
|
her from joining The Order as her parents and their parents before
|
|
them had done. Anger she hurled at the demon for daring to defy her.
|
|
The demon shrieked in pain and rage. Pain caused by the assault
|
|
of alien human emotions upon its mind. Rage because this puny human
|
|
female had beaten it and forced it to her will.
|
|
"Hazkaramatan!" Celeste spoke, arms flung wide. "Thou know'st me
|
|
as thy master! Thou must do my bidding! Slay'st thee those humans thou
|
|
see'st behind thee and thou art free to return to thine own plane of
|
|
existence."
|
|
The demon Hazkaramatan slowly turned to face the two terrified
|
|
Baranurian guardsmen. It advanced slowly, spittle dripping from its
|
|
two-foot long fangs. Smoke curled up from the floor where the spittle
|
|
touched. The guardsmen screamed in stark terror. Hazkaramatan paused,
|
|
enjoying the terror, absorbing it, tasting it, feeling it. When it
|
|
felt the terror had gone on long enough, it raised its gleaming talons
|
|
to strike. The guardsmen fled for their lives, but to no avail. The
|
|
demon launched itself into the air with one stroke from its powerful
|
|
wings and bore down on the luckless humans. It caught them as the
|
|
reached the door, rending and tearing with talons and fangs, sending
|
|
bloody gore everywhere, taking out its rage and frustration on its
|
|
victims.
|
|
The task done, Hazkaramatan looked at Celeste and began to speak
|
|
a dread promise should they meet again. But before it could even
|
|
formulate the first syllable, the Gate appeared once more and the
|
|
demon was drawn through. Celeste collapsed, nearly sobbing in relief.
|
|
She had been very close to losing control. Five seconds longer and she
|
|
would have.
|
|
|
|
An unearthly scream echoed through the halls of Crown Castle,
|
|
bringing Jan and her men to a stumbling halt. "By all the gods!" the
|
|
sergeant commanding the squad swore. "What manner of foes are we
|
|
dealing with?"
|
|
Jan spun on him. "It doesn't matter!" she said angrily. "You are
|
|
sworn to protect the King with your lives!" she said to the frightened
|
|
soldiers. She snorted in disgust. "Does the name The King's Own mean
|
|
nothing?!" she shouted at them. Getting no reply, she delivered the
|
|
gravest insult one could give to a member of the Royal Brigade. "King
|
|
1Caeron would be ashamed of the lot of you!"
|
|
That got results. The mention of the man largely responsible for
|
|
the creation of the Royal Army made the soldiers hang their heads in
|
|
shame. "Well what are we waiting for?" the sergeant asked his men. He
|
|
drew his sword. "For Haralan!" he shouted and his men echoed him. The
|
|
guardsmen ran on.
|
|
|
|
The sight of Celeste collapsing seemed to be the signal for the
|
|
fighting to start anew. The last two Galician guardsmen threw
|
|
themselves at Justin, determined to exact vengeance for their friends'
|
|
deaths. Justin fought wildly, killing one man and receiving several
|
|
deep wounds.
|
|
Tarn backed up until he was standing over Celeste, who was
|
|
desperately trying to stand. Tarn knew he was outclassed. His
|
|
profession was thievery, not fighting. Add to that that his opponent
|
|
had a longer blade than Tarn and the outcome was never in doubt.
|
|
Tarn knew he had no chance, so he concentrated on defense, trying
|
|
to buy time for Celeste to recover her strength and deal with his foe
|
|
by magic. Time and again, he parried what surely would have been a
|
|
killing thrust. But that is not to say he did so without cost. He had
|
|
suffered a number of small cuts and gashes and the wound on his right
|
|
arm had started bleeding more heavily.
|
|
He stumbled against Celeste's leg and lost his balance
|
|
momentarily. The Baranurian raised his sword and plunged it down,
|
|
cutting through leather and flesh and bone. Tarn fell across Celeste,
|
|
dead before he hit the floor. The guardsman was about to finish
|
|
Celeste when his comrade fighting Julia yelled for help. The
|
|
Baranurian hesitated briefly with indecision. His comrade shouted
|
|
again and the guardsman ran to his fellow's aid.
|
|
Julia had beaten her opponent back several feet so that he was
|
|
backed up against a statue. He had lost his shield and was wielding
|
|
his blade with both hands. Blood was running down one leg and he had
|
|
taken several cuts to the chest as well. He shouted for help against
|
|
this madwoman.
|
|
Julia threw her shield away as well, fighting as her ancestors
|
|
had done. She beat her opponent's sword down and aimed a thrust at his
|
|
chest. He parried clumsily, knocking her blade up and through the side
|
|
of his throat. He fell, spitting up great quantities of blood as he
|
|
gasped for air like a landed fish.
|
|
Julia heard the running feet behind her at the last moment. She
|
|
turned, but not quickly enough. The Baranurian's blade slid deep into
|
|
her left side. She instantly slammed her fist around it in order to
|
|
trap it in her body and twisted, forcing the sword from her enemy's
|
|
grasp. The Baranurian scrabbled for his dagger but Julia drove her
|
|
sword through his mouth and out the back of his skull. The body fell
|
|
with the sword still embedded in its cranium, its sightless eyes
|
|
staring at the ceiling. Julia fell back against the statue and slid to
|
|
the floor in searing agony.
|
|
Justin advanced against his foe swinging his sword two-handed,
|
|
ignoring the blood flowing freely from his many wounds. For every blow
|
|
the Galician landed, Justin landed three. The Galician's tunic was
|
|
torn and red with blood.
|
|
Justin delivered a last series of blows that resulted in severing
|
|
the Galician's sword-arm at the elbow. Putting all his energy into one
|
|
last swing, Justin sent his sword in a dazzling arc, sending his
|
|
enemy's head from his shoulders.
|
|
The fight done, Justin collapsed to his knees, his sword falling
|
|
from his weakened grasp. He looked around, surveying the carnage. His
|
|
gaze fell upon Tarn's body. "You stupid bastard," he said softly
|
|
through tears. He had always thought the cheerful, irreverent thief
|
|
1would live forever. And now he was dead, his light extinguished
|
|
forever. "You and Julia saved me more time than I care to admit, my
|
|
friend," he said.
|
|
"Julia!" She hadn't come to help him, but he was too distraught
|
|
with grief over Tarn's death to notice. Please gods let her be alive!
|
|
he thought. He twisted his body around, trying to find his long-time
|
|
friend and companion. He caught sight of her slumped against a statue,
|
|
sitting in a pool of her own blood. "No!" He began dragging his
|
|
pain-wracked, bleeding body across the floor to her.
|
|
Five agonizing minutes later, he had dragged himself over to
|
|
Julia, a trail of blood on the floor behind him to mark his passage.
|
|
Julia's eyes were closed and he reached a gauntleted hand up to touch
|
|
her face. As he did so, her eyes slowly opened.
|
|
"You're alive!"
|
|
"Not for long," she said in a pain filled voice.
|
|
"Don't say that," he said desperately. "Hang on. Please." His
|
|
voice had taken on a pleading tone. "We'll get the mage to give you
|
|
something. You just stay alive!"
|
|
"Don't try and fool yourself. Or me for that matter. I'm bleeding
|
|
like a slaughtered pig and I can't feel my legs."
|
|
"Julia, save your strength."
|
|
"It won't make any difference." She continued, her voice
|
|
beginning to fade, her skin growing cold. "We've seen a lot together,
|
|
you and I, haven't we?"
|
|
"Yes we have." Justin was crying now.
|
|
"No regrets?"
|
|
"No. None."
|
|
"You were right," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
|
|
"About what?"
|
|
"The way I fought," she said with a weak smile. "You always said
|
|
my ancestors would be the death of me."
|
|
"Julia..."
|
|
"Justin," she said, turning her head to look at him, "I'm scared.
|
|
I don't want to die."
|
|
Justin put his arms around her and held her. "I'm here."
|
|
"Hold me," she said, her voice so low that Justin had to strain
|
|
to hear.
|
|
"I am. I am holding you. I won't let go."
|
|
She shuddered slightly. "I'm...so...cold."
|
|
"It's alright. I'll keep you warm." He felt her go limp in his
|
|
arms. He reached for her pulse and found none. He cradled her in his
|
|
arms, gently stroking her hair.
|
|
Celeste walked weakly over to the two companions, finally having
|
|
wrested Tarn's body off of her. "Justin, I am sorry."
|
|
"No. Everything's alright. She's just resting."
|
|
"Aye. Of course she is." She hesitated before continuing.
|
|
"Justin, I must go. Myros and Rarrack yet live and whilst they live,
|
|
all this is for naught."
|
|
"Go," Justin said softly. "Julia and I'll just rest here for a
|
|
while."
|
|
Celeste was about to reply when the sound of running feet could
|
|
be heard plainly. "Go," Justin repeated.
|
|
"What thee and thy companions hath done for my Master, the
|
|
Emperor, wilt not be forgotten. On this I give thee my sacred pledge."
|
|
Then, not daring to delay any longer, Celeste strode through the
|
|
double doors to the east towards the Council chamber.
|
|
When she had gone, Justin stopped stroking Julia's hair. He was
|
|
slowly slipping towards death himself. Not one to do anything slowly
|
|
in his life, he chose to end his life in the same manner in which he
|
|
had lived it. He concentrated on his pain and let it take him to the
|
|
1blackness.
|
|
|
|
Warrior and mage, noble and knight, subject and King stood ready
|
|
to defend themselves. All faced the chamber's doors in grim silence.
|
|
The shock of seeing Luthias' head tumble from the gold casket was
|
|
slowly giving way to rage and a need for vengeance. After the horrible
|
|
shriek that sounded just minutes ago, it would seem those assembled
|
|
would be granted an opportunity to vent their emotions on something.
|
|
The doors had been barred, but Marcellon had quietly assured the
|
|
gathered nobility that the doors would be brushed aside by the
|
|
creature beyond as if they didn't exist. He added that he wasn't sure
|
|
even he, one of the most powerful wizards of the age, could defeat the
|
|
menace lurking outside. That did nothing to reassure the chamber's
|
|
occupants.
|
|
The doors were indeed brushed aside with little effort, but in
|
|
not quite the manner Marcellon had predicted. The one-foot thick
|
|
wooden beam barring the doors began to move, slightly at first then
|
|
with ever increasing violence until finally it was flung from its
|
|
brackets by some unseen force. The doors parted and a figure clad in
|
|
night-black robes that hid all features strode slowly into the
|
|
chamber.
|
|
"No farther," Sir Edward said, moving forward a pace or two. The
|
|
figure halted. "Who are you?" he demanded.
|
|
"I wilt not answer thy query, Sir Edward. Thou must turn to Baron
|
|
Myros for the answer."
|
|
Edward turned slightly to face in Myros' direction. His old
|
|
enemy's face wore a look of astonishment and anger. "Well, Myros?"
|
|
Edward's voice was taught with rage.
|
|
"Her name is Celeste," Myros said with disgust. "I had thought
|
|
her loyal to me. It seems I was wrong." There were startled gasps
|
|
everywhere. Myros had spoken in fluent, if heavily accented,
|
|
Baranurian. Since his arrival on the last day of Ober, Myros had
|
|
projected the appearance of not being able to speak in any other
|
|
language except Galician. The fact that he did speak Baranurian meant
|
|
that he had known all along what had been said by those who thought he
|
|
hadn't.
|
|
"You'll forgive me if I'm not overly distressed."
|
|
Myros' only response was a snort of dismissal. "What's your game,
|
|
Celeste?" Before she could answer his question, Jan and her squad came
|
|
pounding up to the doors. "Edward! Your Royal Majesty!" Jan said with
|
|
a surprised voice. "You're alive!"
|
|
"So we are, Commander Courymwen," Haralan said in a subdued
|
|
voice, the grief over Luthias' death returning now that the crisis
|
|
seemed to have passed.
|
|
"What's happened?" Edward asked.
|
|
"Intruders have penetrated the castle, sir. They appear to have
|
|
been stopped in the Hall of Warriors by a combined force of Galicians
|
|
and some of our own men."
|
|
"Was the attack your doing, Celeste?" Edward asked.
|
|
"Aye. The deaths of thy guardsmen were unavoidable, Sir Edward."
|
|
"What is your purpose here?" the King asked.
|
|
"Baron Myros hath been declared to be in rebellion against His
|
|
Imperial Majesty," Celeste pronounced. "All his lands and titles art
|
|
forfeit to the Crown. In addition, the Emperor hath decreed a sentence
|
|
of death upon Myros' person. To be carried out with all due haste. The
|
|
same sentence is imposed upon Sir Grange Rarrack."
|
|
Edward again turned to Myros. "Well, Corneilious, it seems--"
|
|
Before Edward could finish, Myros grasped his signet ring, spoke a
|
|
word of command, and disappeared. "Typical. It seems your mission here
|
|
was a waste, Celeste."
|
|
1 "Not completely. I was sent to eliminate three conspirators.
|
|
Jordaan, Myros' Guard Captain, lies dead in the Hall of Warriors. And
|
|
Rarrack shalt soon be dead."
|
|
"But at what cost?" Marcellon asked harshly. "Four of our
|
|
soldiers are dead because they simply got in the way!"
|
|
"Three young adventurers lie cold in death because of those four
|
|
guardsmen, Marcellon of Equiville! And not only those. A great many of
|
|
Myros' former warriors art dead as well. Their loss was Galicia's
|
|
loss."
|
|
"And what of the demon you summoned?" Marcellon's face was an
|
|
angry mask. "Do you have any idea what would have happened if you had
|
|
made even the smallest mistake?"
|
|
"Aye, Master Wizard. I did not cast the spell lightly. I was
|
|
fully cognizant of the consequences of my actions. I suspect I shalt
|
|
answer for the deed upon returning to Galicia." Her tone of sincere
|
|
remorse seemed to pacify Marcellon.
|
|
"Now, I hath another task to perform. There is one among you to
|
|
whom the Emperor owes a great deal," she said, looking around at those
|
|
assembled. Her gaze came to rest on Edward. "Sir Edward Sothos. Eight
|
|
years ago, thou were exiled from thy homeland, never to return. With
|
|
the death of thy father, thee art the rightful heir to the lands of
|
|
Alphoria. Since the beginning of The Consolidation Wars that gave
|
|
birth to the Galician Empire these seven centuries past, the Sothos
|
|
family hath played an important role in Galicia's history. Thou art
|
|
the last descendant of thy family to bear the name Sothos. The Emperor
|
|
feels that Galicia can ill-afford to be without the services of the
|
|
Sothos line. Wilt thou consent to return with me to the land of thy
|
|
birth and take thy place as Baron of Alphoria?"
|
|
There was stunned silence. Many of the nobles gathered considered
|
|
Edward to be an outsider, an upstart wandering knight who happened to
|
|
worm his way into King Haralan's good graces and was not worthy of the
|
|
honours bestowed upon him. With Celeste's revelation, they began to
|
|
see him in a different light.
|
|
There were those in the room who genuinely liked and respected
|
|
the lonely, scarred, at times stern knight. Two in particular prayed
|
|
that Edward would say no to this most tempting offer.
|
|
Haralan came forward and laid both hands on Edward's shoulders.
|
|
"We have shared a great many things, Edward. You have been my best and
|
|
truest friend and the gods know I would not want to see you leave." He
|
|
sighed. "But I would not hold you back from something such as this. If
|
|
you wish, I will absolve you of all oaths of fealty to me. I only ask
|
|
that if you do go, never forget that I am your friend always." Haralan
|
|
stepped back and waited for Edward's decision.
|
|
Jan, too, did not want to see Edward leave. Waiting to hear
|
|
Edward's choice, she felt as if she was waiting for the headsman's axe
|
|
to fall. The depth of her feeling surprised and frightened her. The
|
|
more so because she wasn't at all sure it wasn't just a friend's fear
|
|
of losing someone.
|
|
"It is tempting..." he said, looking at Celeste. He caught sight
|
|
of Jan standing in the doorway. The look in her eyes just then sent a
|
|
jolt through him. He wrenched his eyes away, his emotions confused. He
|
|
looked at Haralan, the first person besides Elaine that he had truly
|
|
opened up to. The thought of never seeing his friend again filled him
|
|
with anguish.
|
|
"I can't," he said at last. "I've made a new life and new friends
|
|
here," he said to Celeste. "Galicia is a part of me, but part of my
|
|
past. Thank you, but...no." Haralan broke into a wide smile and
|
|
pounded Edward on the back in joy. Jan sent a prayer of thanks to the
|
|
gods. She felt enormously relieved.
|
|
"Then I hath but one task left to perform."
|
|
1 "Allow me one last look at the world?" Rarrack asked. "One
|
|
concession to an old man's dignity?"
|
|
"Thou die'st well, Rarrack," she said in agreement.
|
|
Rarrack walked slowly and with great ceremony out of the chamber.
|
|
Celeste made to follow but stopped when Haralan called after her.
|
|
"Will Galicia aid us in our war with Beinison?"
|
|
Celeste remained silent for several minutes. When she spoke,
|
|
every ear strained in anticipation. "Nay, Thy Royal Majesty. Neither
|
|
shalt Galicia ally with Beinison. The time is not yet right for
|
|
Galicia to fully re-enter the world. When that time comes, thou shalt
|
|
hear from us." With that remark, Celeste silently followed Rarrack out
|
|
of the chamber and into the courtyard.
|
|
|
|
Rarrack stood admiring the beauty of the scenery for several
|
|
minutes. He heard footsteps crunching in the snow behind him. "It is
|
|
time," Celeste said.
|
|
He nodded his head, back still turned to her. "It's a good night
|
|
to die."
|
|
He faintly heard the sound of chanting behind him and then his
|
|
world exploded in pain as seven burning darts pierced his body and he
|
|
fell to the snow. It was wondrously cool. His pain faded and he died.
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 QQQQQ tt
|
|
QQ QQ tttttt
|
|
QQ QQ uu uu aaaa nnnn tt aaaa
|
|
QQ QQ uu uu aa aa nn nn tt aa aa
|
|
QQ QQ uu uu aa aa nn nn tt aa aa
|
|
QQQQQQ uuu aaaaa nn nn tt aaaaa
|
|
QQQ
|
|
______________________________________
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|
A Journal of Fact, Fiction and Opinion
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______________________________________
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|
Quanta is an electronically distributed magazine of science fiction.
|
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Published monthly, each issue contains short fiction, articles and
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editorials by authors around the world and across the net. Quanta
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publishes in two formats: straight ascii and PostScript* for
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PostScript compatible printers. To subscribe to Quanta, or just to
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get more info, send mail to:
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da1n@andrew.bitnet
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two hundred subscribers to date from seven different countries.
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Electronic publishing is the way of the future. Become part of that
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****** ***** of Amateur Creative Writing ************
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---------------------------
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Athene is a free network "magazine" devoted to amateur fiction
|
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written by the members of the online community. Athene is not limited
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to any specific genre, but will publish quality short stories dealing
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with just about any interesting topic.
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The magazine is published monthly, and comes in two formats --
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ASCII and PostScript. The content is identical across both formats, but
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the PostScript version is designed for printing on laser printers while
|
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the ASCII edition can be read online as well as printed.
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To subscribe, send mail (no interactive messages, please) to:
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MCCABE@MTUS5.BITNET
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Please indicate which format (ASCII or PostScript) you prefer to to
|
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receive. Back issues, an index, and submission information are also
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available upon request.
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1------------------------------------------------------------------------
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(C) Copyright February, 1990, DargonZine, Editor Dafydd
|
|
<White@DUVM.BitNet>. All rights revert to the authors. These stories may
|
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not be reproduced or redistributed save in the case of reproducing the
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whole 'zine for further distribution without the express permission of
|
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the author involved.
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