1155 lines
66 KiB
Plaintext
1155 lines
66 KiB
Plaintext
From WHITE@DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU Tue May 12 10:36:01 1992
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Date: Tue, 12 May 92 10:31:33 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 8
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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 8 05/18/90 Cir 965 --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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-- Contents --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Campaign for the Laraka I John Doucette 10 Naia-1 Yule, '14
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My Father's Curse M. Wendy Hennequin 18 Naia, 1014
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 Campaign for the Laraka: Part I
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An Unpleasant Surprise
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by John Doucette
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Castle Pentamorlo, Duchy Dargon, Baranur
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10 Naia, 1014 B.Y.
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"You're right, Kimme, I don't understand," Morion said.
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"I am not sure I fully understand either, my love," the Araf
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commented. "All I know is what I saw in the vision. I do not know why
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this vision came to me. But I do know I must find the cause. And I
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must know which ending is to be."
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"But do you have to go now?" Morion asked, coming to sit on the
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bed beside the woman who so recently came into his life.
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"Yes," she said, stroking his cheek.
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"But, Kimme, there is a war! I have to leave for Shark's Cove
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tomorrow to meet with this Sir Ailean. I'd feel much more at ease
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knowing you were here, safe. Kimme, I have to see to the preparations
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for leaving. If you leave today, we won't have time to say good-bye
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properly."
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Kimmentari smiled. "Then I shall have to delay my departure."
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"I'll go and hurry my students along. The faster things get done,
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the faster I can get back. Then we can...discuss things." Morion
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quickly kissed Kimmentari and then departed.
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When he left the room, Kimme shuddered. She'd felt the nightmare
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coming on all the while they were talking and it had taken all her
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control not to let anything show.
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Haltingly, she crossed the room to the door and barely succeeded
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in locking it with her shaking hands before the nightmare came in full
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force. Kimmentari collapsed in a heap as the now-familiar scene danced
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and swam in her sight. Once more, the gore-splattered room was
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revealed in all its horror. Once more, the cries of innocents echoed
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in Kimmentari's ears. Once more, she threw back her head and screamed
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a silent scream as a face of pure evil turned to stare into hers. Once
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more, she heard the silent promise on the dead lips. And then,
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mercifully, the darkness welled up and she drifted into
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unconsciousness.
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Castle Pentamorlo, Duchy Dargon, Baranur
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11 Naia, 1014 B.Y.
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"Kimme, please?" Morion asked as he prepared to mount his horse.
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Kimmentari laughed, a musical-sounding laugh. "My love, no. I
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shall be fine."
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"But what about the--"
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"The hoftanau will not take me while you are gone. It may not
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take me at all."
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"But you said that when one of your race falls in love
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with...with a..." Morion searched for the correct expression.
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"Fast-liver," Kimmentari supplied.
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"A fast-liver. That the fire-love comes over you. And that it's
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usually fatal."
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"True," the blue-skinned, ruby-eyed Araf said. "But in the Dance
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I saw that our strands continued after the Dance was done. That may
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mean the hoftanau will not take me."
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"I would still feel better if you remained here."
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"No. I must find out the meaning of this vision."
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Morion put his hands on her shoulders. "Can't you tell me what it
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is?"
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"I can't remember it clearly," she lied. "Perhaps this journey
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will help me determine what the vision means and which of the two
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endings is destined to come to pass."
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"You're sure?"
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"Yes."
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Just as Morion was about to continue the conversation, a man
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wearing an unimaginably polished breastplate interrupted. "Sair," he
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said, back ramrod-straight, "tha Battalion is ready tae march."
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"Thank you, Colour Sergeant. Start them off. I'll be along
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presently." The Colour Sergeant saluted, did an about-turn, and
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marched away. Morion turned to Kimmentari. He made to speak, but she
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silenced him with a finger.
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"You must go," she said.
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Morion gathered her in his arms and kissed her lovingly. "I'll be
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back as soon as I can," he said as he mounted his steed.
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"Be careful," she said anxiously.
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"I intend to be, Kimme." Morion paused, unsure what to say. He
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and Kimme stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Morion leaned
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over and kissed his lover a long, thorough kiss.
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"I love you," he said.
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"I know," Kimme replied, smiling. "I love you also."
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"I know. Good-bye." Morion put his helm on and rode out the gate
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after his men. He was riding to war.
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Kimmentari watched him go, the ache in her heart painfully
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present even before he rode out of sight. She turned to go to the room
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she and Morion shared to finish packing for her journey to Dargon
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City.
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She had just entered the room when the waking nightmare came
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again. This time, however, she saw a man dressed in black running down
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corridors filled with death and the dead and she saw the same man
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enter the room where cowered the innocents caught up in the struggle
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for power. Except this time, the man in black rescued those in the
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room.
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As had happened many times over the months just past, the
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nightmare had had two endings; one for ill, one for good. Just what
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part she had to play, only Thyerin knew. And He wasn't telling.
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War galley HUNTRESS, flagship Beinisonian Expeditionary Force
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Valenfaer Ocean, 150 leagues southwest of Shark's Cove, Duchy Quinnat,
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Baranur
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2 Melrin, 1014 B.Y.
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Field Marshal Joachim Vasquez leaned on the railing near the bow
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of the HUNTRESS and gazed out over the moonlit sea at the vessels
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carrying the thirty-five thousand soldiers under his command. One
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hundred forty transports, escorted by one hundred warships, fully half
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of Beinison's complement of men-of-war, sailed slowly north. In the
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morning, the armada would split, fifteen thousand men and twenty
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escorts continuing north to Dargon, the remaining twenty thousand men
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and eighty warships diverting to Shark's Cove at the mouth of the
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Laraka River, Magnus' lifeline.
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The war was now in its sixth month. The offensive begun by
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Beinison in early Naia was showing results even the most optimistic
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strategists had only dreamed of. After only two weeks of fighting, the
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Baranurian front in Pyridain collapsed. Even now, Beinisonian forces
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were racing north, hoping to reach Pyridain City before the
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demoralized enemy was able to mount an effective defense.
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Vasquez was unaware of the success of the main offensive. His
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force had set sail as soon as the weather allowed. Vasquez was not
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overly concerned about the success or failure of the main attack
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anyway. If things went as planned, or even moderately so, Vasquez
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would be in Magnus inside three weeks.
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His thoughts were interrupted by a young Marine. "Pardon the
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interruption, sir," the young man said. "General Collanti sends his
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complements and asks you join him in the Admiral's quarters, sir."
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"Good," the tall, black-haired man replied. "See to it we are not
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disturbed unless there is an emergency."
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The Marine saluted and stepped aside to allow the Field Marshal
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to take the lead. Vasquez made his way below deck to Fleet Admiral
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Grieg Talens' cabin. Although Talens and Vasquez shared joint command
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of the B.E.F., until Vasquez and his troops were ashore, Talens held
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authority due to his thirty years of experience at sea.
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In three days, Talens would put Vasquez and the B.E.F.'s Main
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Body ashore at Shark's Cove, whereupon it would be his task to ensure
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the lines of supply and communication remained open to what would then
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be known as the Shark's Cove Staging Area. Talens' subordinate,
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Commodore Alexi Tormana, would have the responsibility of seeing the
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B.E.F.'s Northern Force safely to Dargon, upon which his post-landing
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task would then be identical to that of his commander.
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Vasquez entered the warm, spacious, brightly lit cabin due one of
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Admiral Talens' rank and experience. Seven men were waiting for
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Vasquez's arrival. Admiral Talens, Commodore Tormana and their
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deputies, Captains Danridge and Gromiko respectively, represented the
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Navy. General Collanti, Vasquez's second-in-command, Collanti's aide
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and deputy Colonel Jackson, and Vasquez's aide and new deputy, Colonel
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Conti, represented the Army.
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"Now that you're here, Vasquez, we can get down to business,"
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Talens remarked.
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Collanti stiffened at the tone Talens had taken in addressing
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Vasquez. He was about to make an oral protest when Vasquez waved the
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comment aside. There had always been bad blood between the Army and
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the Navy, but the current venture was too important for Vasquez to
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risk offending the man who would be his lifeline once ashore.
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There was another reason Vasquez chose to disregard the comment.
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In the four weeks spent aboard ship, Vasquez and Talens had grown to
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respect each other's abilities. Though neither had developed a liking
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for the other, neither had they developed a dislike. Both recognized a
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soldier when they saw one. Still, that didn't mean the Army-Navy
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rivalry had to be put on hold.
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"Good evening, gentlemen," Vasquez said as he strode to the chart
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table covered not by naval charts, but by a map of the northwestern
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part of Baranur. "You all know the general outline for the invasion,"
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Vasquez said, dispensing with preliminaries. "Now, I shall outline the
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specifics." Vasquez picked up a pointer and began his briefing. "In
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three days, Main Body will commence landing here," he said, indicating
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a spot on the map, "at Shark's Cove. Once Shark's Cove is secure, Main
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Body will advance down the Laraka, laying siege to Port Sevlyn.
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Shark's Cove and Port Sevlyn will each be garrisoned by a Regiment. In
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addition, two Regiments will hold the border with Kiliaen."
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"After securing Port Sevlyn," he continued, "Main Body will
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advance on Gateway Keep in the Royal Duchy. That, gentlemen, is Phase
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One. It should take no longer than sixteen days." There was stunned
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silence around the table. The Army officers were shocked; Gateway Keep
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was four hundred thirty leagues from Shark's Cove. A long way to go in
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sixteen days through hostile territory. They were not confident the
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task could be completed. The Navy officers, for their part, considered
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the scheme to be that much more proof of the Army's incompetence.
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Vasquez let the silence continue a little longer, enjoying the
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reaction from his officers. Never one to let pleasure intrude on duty,
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he continued with the briefing. "General Collanti and Northern Force
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will land at Dargon in thirty-seven days' time."
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"Enrico," he said, speaking directly to his long-time friend and
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former deputy, "your task is to seize and hold all of Duchy Dargon.
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The details I leave to you with one exception: you must subdue Lord
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Morion's holding at Tench. One more thing, Enrico. You'll have to hold
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Dargon on your own. Expect no help from me. I simply don't have the
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men."
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"Don't worry, sir," Collanti said in his booming voice. "We'll
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hold."
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"I'm sure you will, Enrico. To continue, Phase Two will be the
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siege of Magnus itself. After taking Gateway Keep, I will pause for
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three days before advancing on the enemy's capital."
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Vasquez paused to gather his thoughts. Once ready, he continued,
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looking each of those assembled in the eyes as he spoke. "Phase Two is
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vital to the entire operation. Magnus is the key to Baranur."
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"If we succeed," he said, hitting the map with the pointer for
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emphasis, "the war is over. If we fail, Baranur has a chance to
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recover. Questions?" he asked. Seeing none, he said, "Then you had
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best get to your ships. Tomorrow, we begin a new era for Beinison."
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Shandayma Bay shore, 16 leagues north of Shark's Cove, Duchy Quinnat,
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Baranur
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5 Melrin, 1014 B.Y.
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Sir Ailean of Bivar, Knight Captain of the Northern Marches,
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watched in grim silence the column of thick black smoke that marked
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the grave of the last of the war galleys from Baranur's Laraka River
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Flotilla. Scout vessels had spotted the armada two days ago, somewhat
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earlier than expected, and Sir Ailean had immediately moved his troops
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to the most likely landing point. The fact that he guessed correctly
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was small consolation. Ailean had five thousand five hundred to oppose
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four times that if the scouts' reports were accurate. From what he
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saw, the scouts were indeed accurate. Too damned accurate. "Why
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couldn't they overestimate just this once?" he asked to no one in
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particular.
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Ailean was nervous. The young man with the pale blue eyes and
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honey-blond hair had only recently been knighted after serving as
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squire to Sir Edward Sothos for two years. Ailean had found his former
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master to be a stern, but fair, teacher and disciplinarian. He deeply
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admired Sir Edward but was afraid that the older warrior never really
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liked him. He had desperately wanted Edward to like him.
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And then, just three months previous, Ailean had received his
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Knighthood and appointment to the position of Knight Captain of the
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Northern Marches on the recommendation of Sir Edward. When Ailean
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heard that the Knight Commander had pushed for Ailean's appointment,
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he was overjoyed. He vowed then and there that he would give his
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former teacher no cause for disappointment.
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Now, here he stood facing a very real enemy for the first time
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and he felt fear at the sight of the armada anchored off-shore. He
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knew that all he could do was hurt the enemy, delay him until the
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Knight Commander could find the men to reinforce him. Ailean moved his
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line closer to the water's edge.
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Already, the enemy transports had released their boats and the
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first wave of Beinisonian troops were headed for shore. Ailean could
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do little more than watch as the Beinisonian light infantry
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disembarked and fought their way through the waist-deep water; Ailean
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had no archers, and of his infantry, three Regiments were heavy
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infantry and the other two were medium infantry. Lord Morion's
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Battalion, in reserve, was composed of the best of his current and
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former students. While a group of Morion's students was equipped as
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light infantry, their numbers were far too few for Ailean to commit
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them to engaging their Beinisonian opposites.
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The Beinisonian officers shouted and cajoled their men into
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formation in knee-deep water perhaps twenty yards from the armoured
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ranks of their enemy. These were some of Beinison's finest, elite
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soldiers hardened to the ways of war. At a shouted signal they
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charged, splashing through the water towards their enemy, screaming at
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the top of their lungs.
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They collided with the Baranurian line, sabre against longsword,
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leather cuirass against chainmail and scalemail.
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The Baranurians outnumbered the Beinisonians five-to-four. More
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importantly, the Baranurians far out-classed their opponents both in
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terms of weaponry and weight of armour. However, most of the
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Baranurian troops had never seen combat before and the Beinisonians
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fought like men possessed. The inexperienced Baranurians began taking
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a step backward here, two there as they fought to defend themselves
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from the foe.
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Ailean saw what was happening and sent runners with instructions
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to hold the line, to stand fast, to drive the enemy back. Ailean saw
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and heard his Captains and Sergeants hitting, shoving, shouting, and
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cursing the men into immobility.
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The bodies began piling up all along the beach as Baranurian and
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Beinisonian struggled to kill one another. And always there were the
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shouts of the sergeants, "Close up! Close up!", as they ordered men up
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from the rear ranks to replace those in the front who had fallen.
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The Beinisonians had succeeded in pushing the Baranurians back
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ten yards and were forcing the flanks, where the two forces were more
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evenly matched in terms of armour, back even farther. While his centre
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was holding firm, Ailean knew that if he could not bring the situation
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on the flanks under control he would be forced to pull back even more
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than he already had to avoid encirclement, thus allowing the enemy to
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bring heavier troops ashore. And that, he knew, would spell his
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force's doom.
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Ailean wracked his brain for a solution as the battle raged on,
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but he saw no way to prevent catastrophe. Perhaps, he thought, if I
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threw Lord Morion's Battalion in to reinforce the centre, I could
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split them. Possible, he thought. But do I have the time? He looked
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towards his flanks for the answer. The left flank had finally managed
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to hold the enemy advance and was even pushing them back slightly. The
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right flank, however, had fallen back even more and was now bent back
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thirty more yards from the water's edge.
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And then, in a flash of inspiration, Ailean saw his chance. The
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very success of the Beinisonians on the right flank was also their
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greatest danger. In pressing their advantage, they too were now forty
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yards from the water's edge. Being outnumbered, they could not afford
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to hold back a reserve. If Ailean could take his reserves into the gap
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between the Beinisonians and the water's edge, he could roll up their
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left flank and fall upon their centre.
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Throughout history, it has long been taught that the last general
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to commit his reserves usually wins the battle, all other things being
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equal. Sir Ailean of Bivar was about to prove that maxim once more.
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Shandayma Bay shore, 16 leagues north of Shark's Cove, Duchy Quinnat,
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Baranur
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5 Melrin, 1014 B.Y.
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Lord Morion side-stepped the Beinisonian's downward swing and
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countered with a cut to the throat. Ailean's plan to attack the enemy
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in the flank had worked beautifully. Ailean and Morion had taken the
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five hundred men and women of the reserve Battalion and led them north
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to the assistance of the hard-pressed 1st Regiment of the Pyridain
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Borderers. By the time Ailean and Morion had arrived, the Borderers
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had been pushed back sixty yards from the water's edge. The Knight
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Captain led Morion's Battalion against the enemy without delay. Unable
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to stand assault from two directions at once, the Beinisonians
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retreated rapidly south.
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Ailean now had the enemy compressed into a horseshoe perimeter
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that was quickly shrinking. Light troops, no matter how good, simply
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can not stand toe-to-toe with heavy infantry and slug it out. Of the
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one thousand bodies littering the beach, eight hundred were
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Beinisonian. And of those eight hundred, two hundred had been wounded
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but had drowned before the tide went out.
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"On! On!" Morion shouted, exhorting his students forward. "Press
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on! Drive them hard!"
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Two Beinisonian soldiers ran at Morion. One stumbled and fell in
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the wet sand but the other kept on coming. Morion turned his enemy's
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thrust with his shield and aimed a slash at his opponent's unarmoured
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head. The Beinisonian parried with his sabre and dropped into a
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fencer's crouch.
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Morion thrust towards his adversary's abdomen and was met by his
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opponent's parry. The combatants' blades never met, for Morion's
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initial thrust was a feint. His real thrust was aimed at the
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Beinisonian's left side. His blade slid deep between his opponent's
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ribs and the man crumpled. Whether he was dead or not, Morion couldn't
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be sure because the second Beinisonian had regained his footing and
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was after Morion once more after finishing one of Morion's students.
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Morion immediately saw this one would prove a tougher opponent
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due to the fact that his enemy was left-handed, making Morion's shield
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useless, even a hindrance. He threw it aside and leaped at his
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opponent.
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Though Morion was wearing much heavier armour than the
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Beinisonian, his enemy didn't hesitate about grappling hand-to-hand.
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Both mens' swords had met at the guards and each had the other's wrist
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locked in a grip of desperate strength.
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Morion pushed and strained, trying to gain enough leverage to
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throw the younger man off balance. His opponent was strong, stronger
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than his size would indicate. The wet sand under Morion's right foot
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shifted and he fell. The Beinisonian was thrown off balance as well
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although he managed to keep his footing.
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Morion struggled to his knees and grasped his sword just as the
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Beinisonian reached him. Morion caught a glint of sunlight off his
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opponent's upraised sabre and knew he had time for one last act.
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Desperation lending him strength, Morion stabbed upwards. His
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sword bit deep into his adversary's neck, severing the carotid artery.
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The Beinisonian fell, his lifeblood rapidly soaking into the sand.
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Morion stood, retrieved his shield and rested for a moment while
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drinking from his canteen. He looked around; the battle was going well
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for Baranur. The Beinisonian pocket had shrunk even further. The only
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thing preventing the Baranurians from enveloping their enemy was the
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water. Morion sensed that one more good hard push and the Beinisonians
|
|
were finished.
|
|
He replaced his canteen on his belt and was about to re-enter the
|
|
fray when someone pounded him on the right shoulder. Morion whipped
|
|
around, sword poised to strike. It was Ailean.
|
|
Seeing the grim expression on Ailean's face, Morion asked, "What
|
|
is it? What's wrong?"
|
|
Ailean started to say something then stopped and turned, pointing
|
|
out to sea. A black line of boats was approaching, each packed to the
|
|
gunwales with troops. Morion could see the tell-tale flashes of
|
|
sunlight that meant the the oncoming Beinisonians were armoured in
|
|
something more substantial than boiled leather.
|
|
"By all the gods!" Morion exclaimed. "They're sending in their
|
|
heavy infantry! They're not waiting to clear the beach!"
|
|
"Yes," Ailean said tightly. "It is the end."
|
|
"We're going to have to work fast if we want to extricate the
|
|
bulk of our force," Morion commented.
|
|
"Yes you will," Ailean said in agreement.
|
|
Morion turned his head sharply to look at the young knight. "What
|
|
did you mean by that?"
|
|
"Sir Edward personally entrusted me with stopping the Beinisonian
|
|
attack on Shark's Cove. At all costs," Ailean said, gazing at the
|
|
oncoming enemy.
|
|
"But he couldn't have known the size of the force that you would
|
|
be facing."
|
|
"It matters little. We both know what the phrase 'at all costs'
|
|
means."
|
|
"Ailean, they outnumber us five-to-one! We've hurt them. It's
|
|
time to fall back and delay them as long as possible."
|
|
"I agree."
|
|
"Well what is this talk of me taking command?"
|
|
"You'll need a rear-guard," Ailean said in a business-like tone.
|
|
"The Borderers should be sufficient. That would leave you with the
|
|
better part of three-and-a-half Regiments."
|
|
"You don't stand a chance!"
|
|
Ailean turned to speak. When he did, it was with determination in
|
|
his eyes and a note of finality in his voice. "I swore to His
|
|
Excellency--on my honour--that I would not fail him. Do you
|
|
understand, Lord Morion? The fact that I have failed means my
|
|
honour--or my life--is forfeit. My honour means more to me than life
|
|
itself. And so, I shall die to preserve it."
|
|
"Ailean, don't be a fool!"
|
|
"Lord Morion, you placed yourself under my command when I
|
|
explained to you the gravity of the situation. Do you now wish to
|
|
revoke your pledge?"
|
|
"No. Neither do I wish to see you dead."
|
|
"It's decided, Morion. The longer you delay lessens the chance of
|
|
escape."
|
|
Morion stared at Ailean for long moments. Then, uttering a curse,
|
|
he left the knight and began the difficult task of executing a
|
|
fighting withdrawal, perhaps the most difficult of maneuvers a
|
|
commander has to oversee.
|
|
|
|
War galley HUNTRESS, flagship Beinisonian Expeditionary Force
|
|
Shandayma Bay, 16 leagues north of Shark's Cove, Duchy Quinnat,
|
|
Baranur
|
|
5 Melrin, 1014 B.Y.
|
|
|
|
"Well, Vasquez," Fleet Admiral Talens asked in irritation, "what
|
|
are they doing?"
|
|
Vasquez lowered the spyglass he'd borrowed and said, "They've
|
|
spotted the second wave. They're retreating." He slammed the object
|
|
shut. "We have them! I'm going ashore. Colonel Conti, see to it the
|
|
rest of the force is landed."
|
|
"Yes, sir."
|
|
A boat was put over the side and Vasquez and a six-man bodyguard
|
|
headed for the beach as fast as the oarsmen could row. Vasquez
|
|
intended to personally oversee this battle to its conclusion. He had
|
|
the chance to capture six Colours in one battle. That would be an
|
|
achievement no other Field Marshal could rival.
|
|
Vasquez was intently studying the battle's flow. He couldn't
|
|
believe what he was seeing. The Baranurians were succeeding in making
|
|
their withdrawal, outnumbered as they were. Whoever their commander
|
|
is, thought Vasquez, he is a worthy opponent. "I look forward to our
|
|
meeting," he said aloud.
|
|
|
|
Shandayma Bay shore, 16 leagues north of Shark's Cove, Duchy Quinnat,
|
|
Baranur
|
|
5 Melrin, 1014 B.Y.
|
|
|
|
Morion was slowly disengaging the three Regiments of heavy
|
|
infantry. He split his own Battalion into two groups, one to cover
|
|
each flank. The troops were holding up well, considering this was
|
|
their first battle for most.
|
|
Morion was increasingly dissatisfied with the speed of the
|
|
withdrawal. Ailean had something less than two thousand men to try and
|
|
hold close to twenty-five hundred at bay with another four thousand
|
|
about to land. Morion estimated he had another twenty minutes, at
|
|
best, to get his troops away from the fighting.
|
|
Morion's force was about halfway to the dunes. He turned his
|
|
attention from his soldiers to the battle still underway. Ailean had
|
|
been forced back but by some miracle was keeping the enemy at bay. But
|
|
at what great cost. Half his men were dead or wounded and those still
|
|
able to fight were trying to hold a frontage that five times their
|
|
number had difficulty holding earlier that morning. And that was
|
|
against the enemy's light infantry. When the Beinisonian heavy
|
|
infantry landed, Ailean's force would be overwhelmed in seconds.
|
|
Morion knew he had to act quickly or he would not even have his
|
|
twenty minutes. He called the Commanders of his three Regiments to him
|
|
and briefly explained what he had in mind. There was shocked
|
|
disbelief. Morion's plan was dangerous and if things went awry, there
|
|
would be no hope of putting up even a token resistance. But as one
|
|
Commander put it, "We'd just be buying ourselves a few minutes more if
|
|
we don't."
|
|
A few minutes later, Morion, now seated on his horse, was ready
|
|
to implement his plan. Trumpets blew, drums sounded, and all three
|
|
Regiments changed from line-of-battle to line-of-march. To be attacked
|
|
now would spell disaster. At a signal from Morion, the Colours were
|
|
unfurled and the signal given to force-march. All three Regiments
|
|
moved off at a trot, the fastest pace they could manage in the sand.
|
|
Morion drove them mercilessly, seemingly uncaring about the
|
|
difficulties the quickness of the pace and the heat of the sun
|
|
presented to the men and women under his command. Once they were past
|
|
the dunes and onto better footing, he ordered the pace stepped up even
|
|
further. When he'd put a league between his force and the enemy, he
|
|
slowed the pace to a walk. Riding to his senior Commander he said,
|
|
"Keep them headed toward Port Sevlyn. I'm going back to see how Sir
|
|
Ailean fares."
|
|
He galloped back to the beach as fast as his horse could make it.
|
|
He arrived just in time to witness the battle's final moments. By this
|
|
time, the enemy had landed his second wave and surrounded the remnants
|
|
of Ailean's force. Morion looked down on the scene with a mixture of
|
|
pride and grief. Pride that both Regiment's Colours, King's and
|
|
Regimental, still flew. Grief that less than fifty men warded them.
|
|
As he watched, the enemy's commander came forward and asked
|
|
Ailean to surrender.
|
|
Ailean refused.
|
|
Again the Beinisonian asked, almost pleaded, with Ailean to
|
|
surrender. "Why waste your life? I shall have the Colours with or
|
|
without your surrender."
|
|
Again Ailean refused.
|
|
"So be it," the enemy commander replied and slowly walked back to
|
|
his own lines.
|
|
The end was swift. The Beinisonians charged Ailean's group and it
|
|
was over in minutes. Ailean was among the last to fall, preserving the
|
|
Colours and his honour to the very last.
|
|
"Damn you, Ailean," Morion cursed softly. "Damn you and your Code
|
|
of Conduct. And damn you, Sir Edward, for accepting his pledge. Look
|
|
what it's brought."
|
|
Morion turned his horse and made his way back to his troops. He
|
|
knew he could not stop the Beinisonians with his small force. He
|
|
probably couldn't even delay them. But he must try, for Baranur was
|
|
lost if he didn't.
|
|
|
|
Shark's Cove, Duchy Quinnat, Baranur
|
|
5 Melrin, 1014 B.Y.
|
|
|
|
The Melrin festival's going quite well considering there's a war
|
|
on, the "owner" of The Tipsy Dragon tavern thought. Adrea Rainer was
|
|
watching the tavern while her fellow trouble shooter (for lack of a
|
|
better word) Rien was off on business elsewhere.
|
|
At thirty, the blond-haired, brown-eyed thief still had not lost
|
|
her touch. She could pilfer your coin-purse while standing right in
|
|
front of you and you would never be the wiser. Her five-foot
|
|
eight-inch frame held her well-muscled one hundred thirty pounds with
|
|
ease. There were not many that made the mistake of antagonizing her
|
|
that got away without a scar or three for their troubles.
|
|
Adrea had been going non-stop since early this morning. On a
|
|
normal day, she'd be lucky to get ten customers before night-fall.
|
|
Now, late afternoon, The Tipsy Dragon was full to capacity and she was
|
|
hard-pressed to keep up.
|
|
She was returning yet-again for a round of ale when a street
|
|
urchin who worked for Gaius Caligula burst wild-eyed into the tavern.
|
|
"The Beinisonians have landed!" he shouted. "They're at the north end
|
|
o' town!"
|
|
The patrons panicked, trampling each other in their haste to
|
|
reach the door. Adrea vaulted across the bar just in time and watched
|
|
as the tide of humanity flowed out the door. She could hear screams
|
|
almost immediately. Obviously, the Beinisonians had moved faster than
|
|
the boy had said. Outside, she could hear the looting begin.
|
|
She threw off the apron she was wearing and ran to her room
|
|
downstairs in the basement sub-levels, taking the steps three at a
|
|
time. She had prepared for this. Before he had left, Rien had told her
|
|
to be ready to move at a moment's notice in case the Cove should be
|
|
attacked. Adrea had scoffed at the notion. Shark's Cove was so far
|
|
north of the Beinison-Baranur border that the thought of Beinisonian
|
|
soldiers running through the streets had been laughable.
|
|
Adrea burst into her room and quickly dressed in clothing more
|
|
suited for travel. Next, she began shoving her belongings into her
|
|
pack: food, extra clothing, everything disappeared into the backpack.
|
|
She secreted a throwing dagger in her right boot. Two more disappeared
|
|
up her sleeves. She began buckling on her shortsword but thought
|
|
better of it. Wearing a weapon so openly would surely attract the
|
|
attention of any soldiers she might run into on the streets.
|
|
Reluctantly, she stowed the sword away in her backpack; her daggers
|
|
would have to serve.
|
|
She ran up to the common room and was about to leave The Tipsy
|
|
Dragon when she heard a woman scream just outside. She stopped,
|
|
thinking quickly. Obviously she couldn't leave just now, at least not
|
|
by the door. Her only other alternative was to try leaping from an
|
|
upstairs window. Adrea was on her way when the door to the tavern
|
|
burst open.
|
|
Adrea turned and saw a young woman, perhaps eighteen, being
|
|
pursued by six soldiers. The woman's dress was ripped and she had
|
|
bruises on her face. Apparently, she had escaped before the soldiers
|
|
could overly harm her. She flung a chair at one of her tormentors but
|
|
to no avail. The six caught her and forced her to the floor.
|
|
Adrea, at the back of the room near the stairs, went un-noticed
|
|
throughout the entire event. She stood rooted to the spot, uncertain
|
|
of what to do. The sensible thing to do would be to run immediately,
|
|
before the soldiers noticed her. But that was not in Adrea Rainer's
|
|
character. She could not abandon an innocent to such a fate.
|
|
She crept closer to the soldiers, who by now were taking their
|
|
turns with their victim. Adrea closed to within ten feet and drew both
|
|
daggers from her sleeves. She stood and was noticed at once by a
|
|
soldier just finishing with the now-unresisting woman lying naked on
|
|
the floor. Adrea threw both daggers in quick succession, both finding
|
|
their marks. The soldier who noticed her fell backward, a dagger
|
|
sprouting from his throat. A second Beinisonian collapsed with a
|
|
dagger protruding from his back.
|
|
One of the remaining four shouted something in a language Adrea
|
|
wasn't familiar with but could guess the meaning of. Adrea quickly
|
|
drew her last dagger and settled into a fighting stance. She expected
|
|
the four to rush her without regard for tactics but they surprised
|
|
her, fanning out in a semi-circle.
|
|
At a given command, all four rushed her at once. Adrea swept her
|
|
dagger in an arc before her and succeeded in delivering a deep gash to
|
|
one of her attacker's arms. Before she could capitalize on her
|
|
accomplishment, she was grabbed roughly from behind in a massive
|
|
embrace. She struggled but could not loosen the hold on her.
|
|
The soldier she had slashed came to stand in front of her, his
|
|
hand clasped tightly to his wound. He looked her in the eyes for a
|
|
moment before nodding to one of his companions who reached down and
|
|
wrested the dagger from Adrea's hand.
|
|
The wounded Beinisonian said something--evidently a crude
|
|
remark--and the others laughed. Adrea spit in his face. Surprisingly,
|
|
he did nothing except take Adrea's dagger from one of the other
|
|
soldiers.
|
|
The wounded man said something in a low voice, turned and walked
|
|
over to the young woman sobbing on the floor, the dagger hidden from
|
|
her sight. He knelt between her legs and Adrea heard her begging,
|
|
pleading with the man not to rape her again.
|
|
The wounded soldier slowly brought the dagger into view. The
|
|
woman screamed at the sight of it and began struggling against her
|
|
assailant. The soldier brought the blade down. Adrea heard a
|
|
sickeningly wet sound and saw the woman's struggling legs go limp
|
|
except for a slight twitching as her life gushed from her severed
|
|
carotid artery.
|
|
The soldier stood and indifferently tossed the dagger aside. He
|
|
nodded and Adrea was forced to the floor. She kicked and flailed her
|
|
arms but there were too many of them. Her tunic was ripped open,
|
|
exposing her breasts. She tried to resist but she was held fast. Her
|
|
trousers were hauled roughly off her and she felt the cold metal of a
|
|
steel gauntlet touch her thighs.
|
|
Looking around in desperation for something, anything, to use as
|
|
a weapon, she spied a heavy spitoon within arms reach. She wrestled
|
|
one arm free and grabbed the spitoon. She swung with all her strength
|
|
and felt it connect with the body on top of her, sending her attacker
|
|
to the ground.
|
|
Adrea ran for the stairs, hoping to reach a room upstairs so she
|
|
could escape from a window. She had just reached the stairs when she
|
|
felt something heavy hit her between the shoulder-blades, sending her
|
|
sprawling. Rough hands dragged her to the middle of the room and the
|
|
partially stunned trouble shooter was held down and violated
|
|
repeatedly.
|
|
After they were through, Adrea was hauled upright and held in a
|
|
standing position in front of the wounded soldier, now sporting a cut
|
|
on his scalp. He said something but Adrea was aware only that she
|
|
could feel a soreness between her legs. The Beinisonian slapped her
|
|
and again spoke, this time much harsher. He saw she was still unaware
|
|
of him and made a noise of disappointment. He drew his own dagger and
|
|
held it in front of Adrea's face. Still, Adrea did not respond.
|
|
Deeming that there was no more pleasure to be had from her, the
|
|
Beinisonian quickly and efficiently disemboweled her.
|
|
Adrea collapsed immediately, unable even to scream the pain was
|
|
so intense. The four soldiers expertly looted Adrea's belongings and
|
|
left their hacking, naked victim to die slowly in unbearable agony.
|
|
Across the street, the boy who had shouted his warning to those
|
|
in The Tipsy Dragon turned from the ghastly sight the tavern's open
|
|
door afforded him and retched against a wall.
|
|
|
|
Laraka River, 10 leagues southeast of Shark's Cove, Duchy Quinnat,
|
|
Baranur
|
|
1 Yule, 1014 B.Y.
|
|
|
|
Lord Morion sat his horse seemingly ignoring the rain pouring
|
|
from the sky. Two thousand eight hundred men and women marched slowly
|
|
southeast along the riverbank. The rain, and the occasional bolt of
|
|
lightning, served to lower their already-low morale. Most of the
|
|
survivors of the previous day's battle were numb with shock. They had
|
|
seen friends die or horribly wounded and what was worse, they had
|
|
lost. The few veterans among them tried to keep up their comrades'
|
|
morale, but the veterans themselves were in a somber mood. Not because
|
|
of the deaths--they had seen plenty of death during their service--but
|
|
because they knew the odds they faced. Most wore the expression of
|
|
soldiers that were going to die and knew it.
|
|
Morion rode at the head of the column. He was aware of what his
|
|
soldiers were thinking; he had had those same thoughts himself many
|
|
times in the past. He was tempted to agree with his veterans. Port
|
|
Sevlyn was only six days away and had a militia. Morion discarded the
|
|
city immediately. He had too few men and Port Sevlyn was too large for
|
|
him to adequately defend. The only other option was Gateway Keep in
|
|
the Royal Duchy.
|
|
Gateway was built for the very purpose Morion required; to stop
|
|
an invader from reaching Magnus. "Yes," he said aloud. "Gateway. For
|
|
good or ill, we'll make our stand at Gateway."
|
|
Morion turned in the saddle and surveyed his men. They may look
|
|
beaten now, he thought, but they'll do. They'll do. He faced forward
|
|
once more and settled in the saddle for the long, tense march to
|
|
Gateway. The Beinisonians would be close behind him all the way.
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 My Father's Curse
|
|
by Wendy Hennequin
|
|
(b.c.k.a <Hennequi@CTStateU>)
|
|
|
|
|
|
The King was laughing when Marcellon, Sir Edward, and I walked
|
|
into his private audience chamber. There was a chess board set up in
|
|
the corner; the red king was lying prostrate in the center of the
|
|
board, defeated.
|
|
Fine thing, for a King to be laughing and playing chess in the
|
|
middle of the war. But I am a Knight, and as Sir Lucan and my uncle
|
|
Sir Clifton Dargon taught me, I held my peace.
|
|
King Haralan turned from his other advisors when he saw us enter.
|
|
"Greetings, Mage," the King began, slowing his mirth. "Greetings,
|
|
Edward. Welcome, and welcome to you, Sir Knight." I bowed my
|
|
acknoledgement. "What think you?"
|
|
Marcellon advanced and helped himself to a goblet of wine from a
|
|
tray. Marcellon's often bold before the King, bolder than anyone, even
|
|
me, and I'm fairly forward, King or no King. "What think I? Of what,
|
|
your majesty?"
|
|
"That I take a Queen--that I take the Countess of Connall to
|
|
wive."
|
|
Marcellon swallowed the wine quickly to avoid choking. Sir Edward
|
|
stared. I smiled and bowed to the King again. "Your majesty shows
|
|
excellent taste in women," I complimented. "The Countess of Connall
|
|
would make a fine queen. It's too bad your majesty won't be able to do
|
|
it."
|
|
The King raised his eyebrows. Sir Edward stared at me
|
|
unbelievingly. Marcellon shot me a friendly glance of admiration. The
|
|
Master Priest, who stood behind the King, scowled at my boldness. The
|
|
King recovered first, blinked, and spoke to me. "You think her
|
|
difficult to court, Sir Knight? In that, I would agree."
|
|
"That's true, your majesty," I answered, smiling. And don't I
|
|
know it!
|
|
"That's the least of your problems, sire, if you want to marry
|
|
Lady Myrande," Marcellon interrupted. "For one thing, you'll never get
|
|
the Church to agree to it."
|
|
"You overstep your bounds, I think, Mage," the Master Priest
|
|
replied scornfully. "The Church would do nothing to stop such a
|
|
marriage. It could bring only good. Although the Countess is far below
|
|
the King in station--the mere daughter of a Knight--" I frowned. Sir
|
|
Edward scowled. "--she is well-liked and capable. She would make an
|
|
excellent guardian of the Princes Sadron and Kalien should the King
|
|
fall in battle."
|
|
Sir Edward finally found his tongue. "You're not going to fight,
|
|
are you, Haralan?" he burst out. "Don't be a fool."
|
|
"No more than I must," the King promised. "I am no great
|
|
warrior."
|
|
"Besides," the Master Priest continued as if he had not been
|
|
interrupted, "there is no reason to prohibit such a marriage."
|
|
Marcellon looked at me and I at him. "Forgive my boldness, your
|
|
holiness," Marcellon began, his voice deferential, "but I believe the
|
|
Stevene stictly forbade adultery and bigamy."
|
|
"So he did, Mage," the Master Priest answered darkly. "But no
|
|
such impediment exists here."
|
|
King Haralan gave Marcellon an odd look. "I don't understand you,
|
|
Marcellon," the King admitted softly. "I am a widower, and the
|
|
Countess is a widow."
|
|
"Not while I'm still breathing!" I ejected finally. Marcellon and
|
|
Sir Edward had wanted me to keep quiet, to see how long it took before
|
|
the King realized who I was. But the hell with it. I wasn't letting
|
|
him think he could marry Sable while I'm still alive. And if he didn't
|
|
recognize me now, he was really dense.
|
|
The King stared at me in disbelief, much as Sir Edward had a few
|
|
moments ago. "Count Connall," he finally breathed. "My God." He became
|
|
a little calmer, and began again. "Greetings and welcome, Sir Luthias,
|
|
Count of Connall. Forgive my rude assumptions, but I did not recognize
|
|
you with that beard--and the rest of your body--attatched to your
|
|
head."
|
|
"I hold no grudges," I admitted graciously. I can be gracious,
|
|
sometimes, if I want, and King Haralan didn't deserve my wrath. He
|
|
did, after all, think I was dead, and he does, after all, have good
|
|
taste in women.
|
|
"And we are glad to see," King Haralan continued, switching from
|
|
Normal Person to Royal Pompous mode, "that you are so difficult to
|
|
suprise."
|
|
"What's so suprising?" I returned. "I admire my wife, too." The
|
|
King laughed.
|
|
"This," the Master Priest said contemptuously to King Haralan,
|
|
"is the Count of Connall?"
|
|
"He is," Sir Edward answered for the King. "Apparently, the
|
|
Beinisonains didn't kill him, but rather tortured him."
|
|
"I don't want to talk about it," I said.
|
|
"If your majesty still wishes to marry with the Countess, I will
|
|
arrange the divorce."
|
|
I glared at the Master Priest. What a--! "Over my dead body!" I
|
|
shouted at him. Then I took two steps forward and pointed at him
|
|
angrily. "Better yet, over yours!"
|
|
Marcellon gave the Master Priest a cool look. "The Stevene
|
|
allowed for divorce only in extreme cases," the High Mage reminded
|
|
him. I knew that, somewhere. But theology was one of Roisart's
|
|
hobbies. I like history better. Marcellon continued in his dry way,
|
|
"You would do well not to abuse your power."
|
|
"Is that a threat?" demanded the Master Priest.
|
|
"If need be. You are not the only one with power, your holiness."
|
|
"We would recommend that you worry more about the Count Connall's
|
|
threat," the King said light-heartedly. I gave him a wicked grin.
|
|
Sometimes King Haralan and I understand each other, which is strange,
|
|
for we are so different. But then, Roisart and I understood each other
|
|
perfectly--sometimes, I think Roisart understood me better than I
|
|
understand myself--and we, too, were very different. "The Count
|
|
Connall threatened your very life, Master Priest, and in the matter of
|
|
the Countess, he rarely stays his hand." The King paused and waved a
|
|
herald forward. "The Countess Connall cannot be far; summon her to my
|
|
presence immediately."
|
|
"And the Bichanese lords with her, your majesty?"
|
|
"Bring them," commanded the King. King Haralan looked at me and
|
|
Sir Edward. "The gracious Emperor of Bichu has sent us thirty
|
|
knights--what do they call them?"
|
|
"Samurais," I offered.
|
|
"Just so. The Emperor has sent us thrity samurais--" As usual, no
|
|
one in the Kingdom can manage a correct Bichanese pronunciation! "--to
|
|
aid us in the war against the Beinison Empire. Among them is your
|
|
Castellan, Count Connall; do you require him for the war?"
|
|
I nodded and began to thank the King. Michiya was just the man I
|
|
wanted for my chief aide and advisor. He is one of the few men I know
|
|
whose military knowledge I completely respect and whose military
|
|
prowess I would fear, if we were enemies. But that Master Priest began
|
|
again--damn him!
|
|
"The Count Connall would not be so foolhardy as to raise his hand
|
|
against me, a holy Priest of the Stevene."
|
|
I was going to say something about how the Stevene hated
|
|
hypocrisy, but instead I turned to the King. "Your majesty, I believe
|
|
we have settled the matter of my wife. Would your majesty grant me the
|
|
favor of requiring the Master Priest to shut his damn mouth? As a
|
|
'mere knight,' I have not the rank to do so."
|
|
"I do," Marcellon volunteered. "Shut up, Jehan." The Master
|
|
Priest scowled, and Marcellon offered his sweetest, most innocent
|
|
smile.
|
|
"The matter is closed," the King proclaimed. "We will not marry
|
|
the Countess; indeed, we had only meant it as a jest, although we
|
|
admire Lady Sable greatly. Now, your holiness, be so good as to hold
|
|
your tongue. We have other matters to discuss."
|
|
"Tell me about the Bichanese, Haralan," Sir Edward requested,
|
|
sitting. "You said there are thirty. Who leads them?"
|
|
"A very respectable man of perhaps Marcellon's age named
|
|
Kirinagi." Somehow I knew that Michiya would pronounce that name
|
|
differently. "He is very knowledgeable and very capable. His second, I
|
|
gather, is Ittosai Michiya's brother, whose name I don't recall."
|
|
"Ito," one of the advisors said. "Ittosai Ito. An odd Bichanese.
|
|
He has blue eyes."
|
|
I vaguely recalled Michiya once telling me about an older brother
|
|
named Ito, but I had other things on my mind. How far had Sable gone?
|
|
Would she recognize me? Did she still--
|
|
"Speaking, as we were, of generals, Haralan, would you approve my
|
|
appointment for General of the Cavalry?" Edward asked. "I have chosen
|
|
Sir Luthias, Count Connall."
|
|
"I approve completely. The post is yours, Sir Luthias."
|
|
"Thank you, sire," I said automatically, but I was watching the
|
|
door for Sable.
|
|
"How are matters in Pyridain?"
|
|
And Marcellon and Sir Edward started in on it, the whole romance,
|
|
from start to finish. In the middle, the door slammed open, and I
|
|
heard Sable's voice in the hall beyond: "Your majesty will forgive me
|
|
if I speak candidly and say that this had better be good!"
|
|
King Haralan whirled. I knew Sable would never speak that way to
|
|
the King. And then she came in, leaning heavily on Michiya's arm and
|
|
on another man, a tall Bichanese with blue eyes. I suppose he was Ito,
|
|
but I didn't care. Right then, I fell against a wall, terrified.
|
|
Sable was pregnant.
|
|
God, no, I prayed. I didn't mean it. I wouldn't kill a Master
|
|
Priest, God. Don't take her from me. No, don't take her. You took
|
|
Roisart and Father--before that Mama-Aunt and Sir Lucan and Uncle
|
|
Clifton--not her, God, not her too!
|
|
|
|
*"I lost her, Lucan; she's gone, and there's no remedy for it!"
|
|
"I understand."
|
|
"How can you understand? How dare you? Your wife lives; Morwyn's
|
|
alive, and so is Sable! How do you know what it is to lose your wife
|
|
to your sons?"*
|
|
|
|
The King was standing. Sable was panting; she was pale, and her
|
|
dress was soaked from the waist down. Marcellon was at her side in a
|
|
second. "When did the water break?"
|
|
"Just now."
|
|
"Are you in pain?"
|
|
"I have been, all day, but I didn't realize it was labor."
|
|
"You?" Marcellon laughed. I wanted to be with her, to hold her
|
|
before she died, but I couldn't move. "You, the midwife, Lady Sable?"
|
|
"I've never been in labor before," she snapped. Then she smiled a
|
|
little, till pain erased it. "I'm glad to see you, Marcellon, and you,
|
|
too, Sir Edward."
|
|
I stared at her. No greeting for me?! I hadn't been gone that
|
|
long! But I couldn't speak, couldn't tell her, couldn't move...
|
|
Sable finally looked at me, but I don't know whom she saw
|
|
standing there. "I regret I'll not be able to get to know you, Sir
|
|
Knight. Your majesty--"
|
|
"*Sable!*" I finally screamed, but that was all I could do.
|
|
And she looked at me again, frightened and pale, and fainted
|
|
right into the arms of the big, blue-eyed Bichanese.
|
|
Now I could move. Marcellon was beside her, and Michiya and his
|
|
brother were propping her up. I knelt beside her. "Don't let her die,"
|
|
I begged, taking her hand. "Don't let her die."
|
|
"What nonsense are you talking?" Marcellon wondered,
|
|
half-interested. "Your majesty, excuse us. I will see to Lady Sable."
|
|
The King consented, and Marcellon turned to Michiya. "Lords Ittosai,
|
|
help me move her."
|
|
"I can carry my own wife," I snapped, lifting her. She was
|
|
awkward to manage, so pregnant...oh, God, don't let her die.
|
|
But she was going to die. She was going to die. And it was my
|
|
fault.
|
|
"Luthias-sama," Michiya was saying excitedly, "they told me you
|
|
were dead!"
|
|
"I'm much better," I grumbled, shifting Sable. "Where do you want
|
|
me to take her?" I asked Marcellon.
|
|
"You do not look much better than a dead man," the tall blue-eyed
|
|
Bichanese said.
|
|
"Let me take her," Michiya offered.
|
|
"No." I turned to Marcellon. "Where?"
|
|
"This way," said the mage, and I followed.
|
|
"Can I stay with her?" I asked, barely aware of Michiya and Ito
|
|
following me.
|
|
The High Mage nearly stopped dead and stared and smiled. "You
|
|
wish to stay with her? You're more unusual than I thought!"
|
|
"Do you think I'd let her die alone?" I shouted.
|
|
"Die? What are you talking about? Hurry," Marcellon continued
|
|
without waiting for my answer. "We've got to put her to bed.
|
|
Gentlemen, return to Sir Edward."
|
|
|
|
*A little boy was sneaking through the halls. It was past his
|
|
bedtime, and he would be punished by Mama-Aunt if he were caught. It
|
|
was harder tonight; he was tired, for today had been his fourth
|
|
birthday, but he persevered. He must once again thank his father for
|
|
the gifts: a new sword, of real iron just like Sir Lucan's, and his
|
|
very own pony!
|
|
And he crept, alone in his nightshirt, to his father's study. His
|
|
bare feet made no noise on the cool stone.*
|
|
|
|
Michiya spoke quickly in Bichanese to his brother; Ito replied.
|
|
"I shall stay with Luthias-sama," Michiya announced, and marched
|
|
beside me. I was glad he was there. God, if only Roisart were here! If
|
|
only Father--
|
|
Damn it, it was *his* fault, not mine! I didn't do it! I didn't
|
|
mean to do it--
|
|
But deep down, I knew it was my fault. I've always known. And
|
|
now, I was being punished.
|
|
Marcellon opened a heavy door and ushered me inside. I put Sable
|
|
on the soft bed. Marcellon spoke to Michiya, but I don't know what he
|
|
said; Sable was stirring, and she cried out in pain.
|
|
"Easy," I soothed, brushing her hair.
|
|
"Luthias," she breathed, "you're alive."
|
|
Normally, I would have given her a sarcastic or funny answer, but
|
|
I choked. Maybe Beinison took the humor out of me. "I'm sorry," I
|
|
finally managed. "I'm sorry, Sable. It's my fault. I never meant for
|
|
this to happen. I didn't want you to be--" When had this happened? I
|
|
thought I was careful. I thought--
|
|
It didn't matter. She was pregnant, she was dying, and it was my
|
|
fault. It was all my fault.
|
|
"That first night," she breathed. "Everything was so confused."
|
|
She smiled, touched the chain across my shoulders. "When were you
|
|
Knighted?"
|
|
She was dying, and she wanted to know about my Knighthood?
|
|
"Sable," I began, but I couldn't finish. What was I going to tell her?
|
|
What could I tell her? What did it matter? She was going to die!
|
|
"I'm glad you're home," she whispered, then pain crossed her
|
|
face, and she shouted.
|
|
"Do you want an anestetic?" Marcellon offered, coming to her
|
|
bedside with a cloth. I took it in one hand and wiped her forehead.
|
|
With the other hand, I searched for hers and grasped it.
|
|
Sable shook her head. "It won't be long." And she cried out
|
|
again.
|
|
How could someone be in this much pain and not die?
|
|
|
|
*The Baron drank from the blue decanter and whirled on his
|
|
castellan. "Do you know how it feels?" the Baron demanded wildly. "How
|
|
can you? How can you know how it feels? Morwyn lives still; my Julia's
|
|
dead!" The Baron turned toward the portrait of his dead wife and
|
|
sobbed. "Oh, Julie..." The castellan approached gently and put a hand
|
|
on the Baron's shoulder, but the Baron furiously pushed him away. "I
|
|
don't want your sympathy; you have none."
|
|
"You're drunk, Fionn. Go to bed," the castellan suggested mildly.
|
|
"What does it matter? What does anything matter?" The castellan
|
|
turned away and shook his head. He stared at the door, helpless. "What
|
|
can matter after your sons murder your wife? God, I hate them--I curse
|
|
them! May they feel the same wound--may the women they love die
|
|
bearing their children!"
|
|
The castellan's eyes widened. Swiftly turning, he struck the
|
|
Baron angrily. "For God's sake, hold your tongue!" he shouted. The
|
|
Baron toppled, and the castellan turned to the door.
|
|
But the little boy had fled.*
|
|
|
|
Sable held my hand tightly. I thought she was going to break it.
|
|
How long had this been going on? It seemed like hours. Yet Marcellon
|
|
was calm--she was dying and Marcellon was calm!--as if everything were
|
|
all under control.
|
|
What did he know? Damn the Mage! Or maybe he didn't understand,
|
|
but that's very strange for Marcellon, who knows mysteries as if
|
|
they're obvious.
|
|
Sable cried out again. "Push," Marcellon commanded gently, and
|
|
Sable's face twisted with the effort. She cried again, but Marcellon
|
|
said, "Push, Sable. I can see the head."
|
|
And that, I knew, would be the end.
|
|
|
|
*The little boy leapt into his bed and pulled the covers over
|
|
him. Unable to be strong any longer, he sobbed into his pillow.
|
|
Suddenly, there was a voice at his side. "Luke?" Little arms went
|
|
around him. "Luke, what's wrong? Don't cry."
|
|
He couldn't tell him; no, he wouldn't burden his brother. The
|
|
little boy would bear the secret, the hate, the guilt--and the
|
|
curse--alone.
|
|
But still he sobbed till dawn in his brother's arms.*
|
|
|
|
There was a baby in the room, a crying baby, but Sable still
|
|
breathed--and she was still in pain. I stared. Marcellon was smiling.
|
|
"Another push, Sable, and we're through."
|
|
"It shouldn't be...this bad," she panted.
|
|
"There's another child here," Marcellon explained. "There are
|
|
twins."
|
|
Oh, God, she really is going to die! Just as Roisart and I had
|
|
killed our mother, my sons would kill theirs! Oh, God, please!
|
|
Marcellon gave me a strange look. Then he looked at Sable again
|
|
and produced another screaming child. "Now just the afterbirth,"
|
|
Marcellon encouraged.
|
|
I remember wondering what the hell *that* was. And Sable, in less
|
|
pain--she was dying for certain--pushed again, I suppose, and it was
|
|
over.
|
|
And she still breathed.
|
|
She smiled at me and squeezed my hand--gently, thank God; it was
|
|
sore as hell--and I stared at her. She was alive. I couldn't believe
|
|
it.
|
|
She must be dying peacefully, gradually, so painlessly that she
|
|
must not even realize it. Thank God for that; at least she would die
|
|
in peace.
|
|
And Marcellon came forward, bearing two bundled lumps. "Would
|
|
your excellencies deign to view your perfectly healthy children?" he
|
|
asked gaily, putting them on the bed next to Sable. I stared at the
|
|
Mage in disbelief, then looked at the babies as Marcellon moved away
|
|
to wash his hands.
|
|
"They're so small," I said. Then I felt stupid.
|
|
Sable whacked me playfully. If I hadn't known she was dying, I
|
|
would have thought she was getting better. "Newborns generally are,
|
|
dullard," she laughed breathlessly. "Especially twins." Then she
|
|
looked at me seriously. "Roisart and Luthias?"
|
|
"What?" I asked.
|
|
"Names."
|
|
"Fionn, not Luthias."
|
|
"Lauren and Clifton called their little boy Fionn."
|
|
"All right," I conceded dully, "Roisart and Luthias."
|
|
"That," said the approaching High Mage, drying his hands, "would
|
|
be highly inappropriate."
|
|
"Inappropriate?" Sable asked. "Inappropriate to name my children
|
|
after their father and uncle?"
|
|
Marcellon, in that annoying way of his, raised an eyebrow.
|
|
"They're girls," he explained simply. And I felt even stupider.
|
|
"Julia?" Sable suggested, looking at me.
|
|
"Fine," I said without fighting. Perhaps calling my daughter
|
|
after her would free me of her death. "The other...Morwyn?" She nodded
|
|
and smiled, and I knew that she was glad to name our daughter after
|
|
Mama-Aunt.
|
|
"After your mothers?" Marcellon questioned, and I nodded. "Very
|
|
good. If you don't mind, I'll take the babes to be blessed by the
|
|
priests."
|
|
"By the Master Priest?" Sable asked sleepily, snuggling toward
|
|
me.
|
|
"Don't be ridiculous," Marcellon answered dryly. "His breath
|
|
would wilt the poor children." Sable smiled. "I shall return shortly."
|
|
I kissed Sable swiftly, then rose. I caught Marcellon's sleeve.
|
|
"How much longer?" I asked in whispers.
|
|
"Longer?"
|
|
"Until she dies."
|
|
Marcellon gave me a very strange look. "Your wife is fine,
|
|
Luthias," he soothed, putting a hand on my arm. "It was an easy
|
|
labor." *That* was easy? "She was never in any danger of death. She
|
|
will live for many years. Don't be alarmed."
|
|
"She's not going to die?" I asked incredulously. But that
|
|
couldn't be...any woman I cared for...
|
|
"Of course not," Marcellon returned with slight irritation. "Go
|
|
back to your wife, Sir Luthias, if you like; she will sleep for a
|
|
while, however."
|
|
"Sleep? After that?"
|
|
"They don't call it labor for nothing, manling," Marcellon
|
|
scoffed, using Clifton's horrid nickname for me. His eyes were
|
|
smiling, though. "Go on, Luthias. It's all right."
|
|
I stood rooted, staring at the door as Marcellon closed it, until
|
|
I heard Sable call me. I turned. "Are you all right?" she asked,
|
|
holding out her hand.
|
|
I came to her and took it. "Me? I'm fine. You're the one who was
|
|
in the pain. Sable, how are you?"
|
|
"Wonderful," she told me. I sat in the chair beside her bed. "Are
|
|
you all right, Luthias? I thought sometimes that you felt the pain
|
|
more than I did."
|
|
She'd never know how much. I touched her face, and then I kissed
|
|
her. "It's all right, Sable." She had said she was wonderful; she was
|
|
going to live, Marcellon had said. It was going to be all right.
|
|
Seeing the change in my face, she sighed, closed her eyes, and
|
|
slept.
|
|
And I laid my head down beside hers, thanking God that my father
|
|
had not cursed me after all.
|
|
|
|
*The Baron drew his little son onto his knee, but the normally
|
|
exuberant boy trembled and looked away fearfully. "Don't be afraid,"
|
|
the Baron said soothingly. "It's all right."
|
|
The boy would not answer.
|
|
The Baron held his son close. "I didn't mean what I said last
|
|
night, my son," the Baron whispered, rocking the boy.
|
|
"Grown-ups...when we hurt, sometimes we say crazy things, and they
|
|
hurt others...I never meant to hurt you, my son."
|
|
Uncertain, the boy withdrew slightly and looked questioningly at
|
|
his father.
|
|
The Baron saddened at the pain on the little boy's face. "I love
|
|
you, my strong son," he said, holding the boy close. "I would do
|
|
anything to spare you pain--I would give anything to be certain that
|
|
you never feel the pain I felt when your mother died. I love you and
|
|
your brother; please believe that, my son, and believe that nothing
|
|
you did hurt her and nothing I said was true."
|
|
And the boy sobbed and held his father tightly. "It's all right,"
|
|
the Baron whispered. "Don't cry, Luthias." The Baron held his boy at a
|
|
small distance. "You believe me?" The boy nodded. "I would never curse
|
|
you, nor would I ever hate or hurt you." The boy nodded again and
|
|
gulped his tears. "Now come," invited the Baron, offering his hand.
|
|
"Let's go riding."*
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 ** ************
|
|
*** *********** **** **** ********* *** **** ***********
|
|
**** ** *** ** *** *** *** ** *** *** **** **
|
|
***** *** *** *** *** **** *** ****
|
|
****** *** ******** ****** ******** ****
|
|
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** **** *******
|
|
*** *** *** *** *** *** ** *** *** ****
|
|
********* ***** **** **** ********* **** *** ****
|
|
*** *** **** **
|
|
*** *** ------------------- **** ***
|
|
****** ***** The Online Magazine ***********
|
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****** ***** of Amateur Creative Writing ************
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---------------------------
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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 QQQQQ tt
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______________________________________
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A Journal of Fact, Fiction and Opinion
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______________________________________
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|
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Quanta is an electronically distributed magazine of science fiction.
|
|
Published monthly, each issue contains short fiction, articles and
|
|
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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Electronic publishing is the way of the future. Become part of that
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1------------------------------------------------------------------------
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(C) Copyright May, 1990, DargonZine, Editor Dafydd
|
|
<White@DUVM.BitNet>. All rights revert to the authors. These stories may
|
|
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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