1972 lines
115 KiB
Plaintext
1972 lines
115 KiB
Plaintext
From WHITEJL@DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU Tue May 12 09:06:50 1992
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(5.65c/IDA-1.4.4/pen-ident for <RITA@EFF.ORG>); Tue, 12 May 1992 09:06:41 -0400
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Message-Id: <199205121306.AA25404@eff.org>
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Received: from DUVM by DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU (IBM VM SMTP R1.2.2MX) with BSMTP id 3200; Tue, 12 May 92 09:03:31 EDT
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Date: Tue, 12 May 92 09:03:25 EDT
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From: "SilentElf" <WHITEJL@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 11
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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 11 11/15/90 Cir 1057 --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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-- Contents --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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DAG Yours Truly Editorial
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The Bronze Horseman III Max Khaytsus Ober 5-7, 1013
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Understanding Bill Erdley Yule, 1014
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Opus Interruptus Wendy Hennequin Melrin 4-5, 1014
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 Dafydd's Amber Glow
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by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr, Editor
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First, I hope that I haven't lost any of you loyal
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readers by waiting so long to get this issue out. We have
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lots of material now, so there should be lots of reading
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material coming your way between now and the end of the
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year, which should make up for the long dry spell since
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August.
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Next, I would like to officially welcome a new author,
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Bill Erdley, to the published fold. I'm sure he never
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thought he'd see this story in print - he only submitted it
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to me an eon ago! But here it is, and I'm sure you all will
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like it. It presents a different perspective on the little
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war we're having, and does so very effectively.
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Lastly, for those of you who haven't heard, the Archive
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at MGSE is no longer functioning for a variety of
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unavoidable reasons. What this means is that the back-issues
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of DargonZine are no longer available in an automated way.
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When the Archive accepted DargonZine as part of its service,
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I archived all of the back-issues to tape (I needed the
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space desperately!). So, while I do still have access to
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them, I do not have them on hand at all times. Consequently,
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if anyone wants back-issues of DargonZine from now until
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someone else volunteers to house and distribute them (a
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veiled plea!), they will have to send their requests to me
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and I will put them in a queue. When I have enough requests
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and enough time, I will send them all out at once - it is
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unlikely that this will be any more frequent than once a
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month (sorry).
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Now, on with the stories.....
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 The Bronze Horseman
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Part 3
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by Max Khaytsus
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(b.c.k.a. <khaytsus@tramp.colorado.edu>)
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"He's not dead!" Kera looked defiantly at the farmer. "He can't
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be!"
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"I saw it with my own eyes, Miss. They jousted and then Sir Quinn
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cut his throat. He's not the first one either. Knights and bounty
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hunters from all over have been coming to collect the reward on his
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head."
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"No!"
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"Trust me, Miss, he's dead. I can take you to his grave, if you
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want."
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"All right," Kera said. Seeing Rien's grave would not help her,
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but maybe it would let her know one way or the other for certain. If
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what the farmer said was true, she would finish the job Rien started.
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Quinn would become the target of her revenge.
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"Miss? Miss?"
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Kera looked up, a single tear coursing down her cheek.
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"Are you all right? I'm sorry about your friend. Sir Quinn is a
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renegade, you know. Come, it's not safe here. Those brigands are
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always on the lookout for new blood."
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Kera felt another tear run down her cheek and tried to hide it.
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Rien was all she'd ever had, the only one who ever cared and now she
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was on her own. "I'm fine," she wiped her eyes. "Show me the grave."
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"This way," the farmer led her towards the cluster of huts at the
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edge of the field and she followed blindly. Nothing seemed to matter,
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not even as she realized that this might be a trap. She could not
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imagine what to do next. It was as if all control and ability to make
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decisions suddenly escaped her.
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"It's right here," the farmer stopped short of a cleared patch of
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land, not far from the edge of the road leading to the village. It
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contained seven wooden markers, representing the men Quinn killed.
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"Your friend is on the edge there," the farmer pointed. "He was the
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last killed."
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Kera walked over and sank to her knees. `And yet another knight
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lies buried here, slain by Sir Garwood Quinn on 20 Seber 1013,' read
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the marker. This time Kera forced herself not to cry and made a
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decision. She was going to get revenge, no matter what stood in her
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way.
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"They're coming, Miss! You'd better hide!" She heard the frantic
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words of the farmer and turned. On the road at the edge of the village
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were three mounted men. As the farmer began to run, the one in the
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middle pointed at him and one of his companions charged after the
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running man, drawing his sword on the charge. The other two rode
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slowly up to Kera and she gasped. The one who appeared to be in charge
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was Rien.
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"You're not from this village," Rien declared. "What is your
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business here?"
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"I-I..." Kera stuttered and saw Rien wink. "I was looking for
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someone..."
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"One of them, perhaps?" he pointed at the graves.
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"This one, I think..." Kera pointed to the last grave. "It's not
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marked."
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"But it is marked," Rien insisted. "Some fool knight who lost to
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Sir Quinn. He got all the honors he deserved."
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At that moment the brigand who had charged off into the field
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after the farmer came riding back alone. "I struck him down, but he's
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still alive. He's from the village."
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1 "Get the village healer to take care of him and I want him
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brought to me when he can talk," Rien said and the man rode off
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towards the village.
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"I hope your find was satisfactory, as you won't have much
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satisfaction from now on." Rien winked again. "Come here, wench."
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Kera walked over to him and he pulled her up on his horse and
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quickly removed the two daggers in her belt. Kera was suddenly too
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scared to move.
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"Here," Rien handed the blades to his companion. "Remain here. I
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will send someone to replace me, so you may complete the patrol."
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"Yes, Sir," the man answered and Rien galloped off.
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A safe distance away Rien slowed his horse. Kera still could not
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move. She did not know what happened to Rien, what he was after or
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even who was buried in the grave. More than anything else, she wanted
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to embrace Rien, but could not permit herself to do so.
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"I am glad you're here," she finally heard Rien's voice and felt
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his arm tighten around her waist. "It's a lot worse than I thought.
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Quinn is holed up here as if he was born in this place. He has plenty
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of men, too. I managed to become his lieutenant after killing the man
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who originally held the job, but I needed you. When I kill him, this
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place won't be safe for anyone. We'll need to be together. For now I
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need you to pretend you'd rather be anywhere else but here."
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"I love you," Kera said almost inaudibly and Rien realized that
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she was crying.
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The horse came to a dead stop and Rien's grip on Kera's waist
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tightened. "No. Not here and not now. Please."
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Kera nodded through her tears and Rien kicked the horse into
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motion again. "Did you get everything at Sharks' Cove?"
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"It's a few leagues out of town," Kera answered. "I tied the
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horses to a tree away from the road."
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"Good," Rien approved. "I'll check on them in the morning."
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They rode through the village which appeared to be deserted. Rien
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stopped the horse before the largest building in sight and helped Kera
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down, then jumped off himself. Kera noticed that he had a limp, but he
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pushed her ahead of himself before she could say anything.
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The building was a tavern and an inn. Inside four men lounged
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around drinking and a bartender stood behind the bar. Kera noticed
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there was a metal chain around his neck which led up to the rafters.
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Rien kicked the chair out from one of the drunker looking men.
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"How often do I have to keep telling you not to drink if you can't
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hold your booze?"
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The man groaned, rising his hands to his head and Rien, having
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picked up a half full goblet off the table, threw it at the man. "Go
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get Quinn and clean up this mess when you get back!"
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The man stumbled up to his feet and staggered off as the other
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three straightened themselves out. Rien shoved Kera into a chair and
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picking up the jug on the table took a few deep swallows from it, then
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sat down himself. A few moments later a tall dark haired man dressed
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in a fashionable red tunic and grey pants came down the stairs. Rien
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immediately stood back up.
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"And what have you brought me this time, Sir Keegan?" the man
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looked over at Kera.
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"With all due respect, Sir Quinn," Rien answered, "I brought her
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for myself. You told me I might select a woman for my own."
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"So I did," the man kept appraising Kera, "but you said none in
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the village suited your interest."
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"None did, Sir, but she is not from the village. She came looking
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for one of the knights you jousted. I request her for my own."
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Quinn thought for a moment. "Having found her, you may have her
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for tonight, Sir Keegan, but I want her tomorrow and then I shall
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1decide. She is rather young. The rest of the men might appreciate her
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as well. They need something new."
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"As you wish, Lord," Rien answered.
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"It's always as I wish, Sir Keegan," Quin laughed and went over
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to the bar. "Give me a drink, man!"
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The man Rien kicked out of his chair came back to clean up the
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floor. "After you're done here, go take up my patrol with Kritner and
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Breault," Rien told him. "Kritner will be in charge."
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"Right away, Sir," the man answered.
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Rien took Kera by her arm and led her up the stairs, showing her
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into a luxurious room. "Sit," he let go of her and locked the door.
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Kera sat down on the bed. The way Rien acted reminded her too
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much of the men working for Liriss. She noticed him doing everything
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he said he was against and it was beginning to frighten her more and
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more.
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"Are you all right?" he finally asked her.
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"Fine," Kera answered, wiping the tears off her cheeks.
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Rien knelt in front of her. "You sure?"
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"Why are you limping?" Kera asked.
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"I got hurt proving to Quinn I'm as good as any four of his men,"
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Rien said. "It's fine now. I ride most of the time anyway."
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He and Kera embraced and remained that way for a long time. It
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was dark in the room by the time they let go of each other.
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"How are your eyes?" Rien asked.
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"As good as ever," Kera said. "I think my sense of smell improved
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too."
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"It's not the disease?"
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"No, no. That's all passed. I guess I was so concerned, I just
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didn't notice the change at first. How are you?"
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Rien smiled. "A little worse for wear, but fine. I am glad you're
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back," and he embraced her again.
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This time they let each other go a lot sooner. "Are you hungry?"
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Rien asked and without waiting for an answer went to the door. "Let me
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get us some food." He put the key in the lock and remained motionless
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for a moment.
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"What's wrong?" Kera asked.
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Rien waited a moment longer, then turned to Kera. "Scream."
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"What?"
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"Just scream."
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Kera did and her yell was followed by laughter from the corridor.
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She smiled and screamed again and Rien pushed a chair so it fell over
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with a thud. More laughter could be heard outside and Kera bit down on
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her lip to prevent herself from doing the same.
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Rien placed his index finger to his lips and made a shushing
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sound, then quickly unlocked the door and stepped out.
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"What are you doing here?" Kera heard Rien demanding.
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"Talking, Sir," someone answered.
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"Not at my door!"
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"Yes, Sir."
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"Bring dinner for me and my friend and then get lost."
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Kera heard footsteps hurrying away and Rien stepped back into the
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room, holding a candle. He was smiling. "I have a well earned
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reputation."
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Kera smiled also, in spite of being concerned over how Rien was
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acting. The nagging thoughts of how he could have earned that
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reputation were shoved to the back of her mind, where she would not
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have to think about it.
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Rien placed the candle in a stand on the table and returned to
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Kera. "Give me your cloak."
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Kera fumbled with the strings at her neck and handed it to him.
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1 Rien turned it over, shook it, then carelessly tossed it on the
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floor in the middle of the room. He then bent down and unlaced Kera's
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tunic, pulling it partially off of one shoulder.
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"What are you doing?" she asked him, but instead of answering,
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Rien kissed her and roughed up her hair.
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A knock sounded at the door, "Yes?" Rien stood up and turned, one
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hand resting possessively on Kera's shoulder.
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The door opened and a man walked in carrying a tray. He stepped
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over the cloak on the floor to place the food on the table, then
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stepped back and threw a quick glance over at Kera, who lowered her
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eyes. "Will there be anything else, Sir?" he asked Rien.
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"When's your patrol?"
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"Midnight, Sir."
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"Stay away from my door."
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The man bowed and quickly retreated from the room, pulling the
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door closed after himself. Rien hurried to relock it.
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"Come," Rien called to Kera and she came over to the table. "You
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can fix your tunic now," he motioned.
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"I was hoping I would be removing it later," she answered
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cautiously.
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Rien smirked. "As you wish. I won't make you sleep dressed."
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Kera hurried through dinner, even though it was much better than
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the trail rations she had been enduring for the last couple of weeks.
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She found herself thinking of the things she saw and heard. Listening
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to Rien she understood that he did his best to fit in with the rest of
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the cut-throats around, but the environment greatly reminded her of
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Liriss' organization, something she thought was well behind her.
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"How did you join them?" Kera asked when she finished eating.
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"Here?" Rien asked and she nodded. "I was ambushed on the road. I
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realized it was an ambush, but there was nothing I could do when I was
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attacked, other than be ready. So I got hurt, but I did win the
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fight."
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Kera smiled. Somehow she'd expected that.
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"That's when Quinn showed up," Rien went on. "He had a couple of
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his men with him and all had crossbows, so I decided to talk my way
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out of a conflict...or rather into a job. A couple of praises of his
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skill and fame and a boast or two about my own abilities got me
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challenged to a sword fight. Quinn's pretty good, but I let him win
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anyway. Told him I'm a knight.
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"That got him interested enough to keep me around and a week ago
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I arranged for a mishap to take his lieutenant. Being the only other
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knight around, Quinn gave the position to me."
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"Why haven't you killed him yet?" Kera asked. "Sounds like you've
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had plenty of opportunities."
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"He has men," Rien said, "and I cannot outfight all of them
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should they learn that I either attempted or succeeded in the
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assassination. I also promised you I would meet you here. I don't
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expect to stay long now. Just a few days so I can finish the job."
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There was some commotion and Rien got up to look out the window.
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He saw two men pushing another one around in the dark. "The guards
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must have gotten a hold of another villager," he sighed.
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Kera took a look too after putting out the candle. "Aren't you
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going to stop them before they kill him?"
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"No. There are only so many good things that I can do and not
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have anyone wonder," Rien said. "Don't worry, they won't kill him.
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There are so few villagers left that Quinn will have their heads if
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they do."
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"Rien," Kera said, "Quinn told you he wants to bed me tomorrow."
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"He won't," Rien promised and put his arms around Kera. "Tell me
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about your trip. What happened in Sharks' Cove?"
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1
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Kera woke up alone, realizing that her arms had fallen asleep and
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to her surprise found that both her hands were tightly tied behind her
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back. She struggled against the rope, which was looped somewhere
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beneath the bed, but could not break or loosen it. With difficulty she
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sat up on the bed and looked around. Her clothing was still scattered
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on the floor, but Rien's were gone, as were the dishes on the table.
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She tried to bend over, to see what the rope was attached to, but it
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was too short to give her that much freedom of movement. She kicked at
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the floor in anger and threw herself back on the bed.
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"Son of a ...!" She couldn't think of a good derogatory word for
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an elf. `What am I going to do? Run away?' She rolled over to look at
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the window a few feet away. All she could see was a clear sky and a
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ray of sunlight filling the room. It must be late morning. Kera tossed
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a bit longer, making herself comfortable. It made sense to her that a
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prisoner could not roam free, but couldn't Rien just lock her in or at
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least tie her more comfortably? She wondered if the door was unlocked
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and maneuvered herself under the blanket. `He wouldn't dare...'
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The street was reasonably quiet and occasionally voices and
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footsteps could be heard in the corridor. After what seemed like an
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eternity of staring at the same spot on the wall, Kera decided that
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her only course of action was to wait and, anyhow, the bed was the
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most comfortable place in the room and she could not get free of the
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rope anyway.
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It was well past noon when Kera heard a key click in the lock and
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quickly slid further under the blanket.
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Rien walked in. She glared at him.
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"I'm sorry," Rien shut the door and walked over. He sat down and
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untied the rope.
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Kera felt like strangling him, but instead placed her arms in
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front of herself and dropped her head in them.
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"Why?"
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"If you are to appear as my captive, it has to be full time."
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"Who's going to see me?"
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"Quinn has keys to all doors. Most other men could pick the
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lock."
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"And you were going to leave me tied up for them?!"
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Rien stroked her back. "If you were free to roam about, could you
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pick it?"
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"Why didn't you warn me?"
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"I didn't think of it last night and did not want to wake you up
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this morning. You tend to sleep late, so you would have been spared
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most of the anxiety."
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Kera sighed. "If you keep this up long enough, I'll forgive you."
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Rien smiled and continued running his fingers along her spine.
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"How long?"
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"Long," she answered and brushed the blanket back.
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Rien looked up to avoid meeting Kera's gaze and then moved behind
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her, so she would not see him. "I moved the horses to a box canyon on
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the other side of the hills to the south," Rien said after a while.
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"It's secluded and has good grass."
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Kera moaned in response.
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"Are you paying attention?"
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"Uh-huh."
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"I left one of the healing potions we took from Terell on your
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horse. I am leaving another one in the room so you can be close to it.
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The third is on my riding horse here. I've got the poison here too.
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You'll administer it to Quinn tonight."
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Kera turned over and Rien pulled his arms back. "What do you mean
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I'll administer it?" She looked down at his hands. "Keep going, I
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1haven't forgiven you yet."
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"Quinn wants to see you tonight," Rien reminded her. "You will
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have the opportunity. I will be taking care of his men." He reached
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out towards Kera and a second later she jumped up with a burst of
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laughter.
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"Cut it out!"
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"That sounded pretty final," Rien said. "I guess I'm done."
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Kera covered her stomach with her arms. "How are we going to do
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that?"
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"You will take..."
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A knock on the door interrupted Rien. He looked at Kera, then
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stood up. She instinctively took the rope and placed her hands behind
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her back.
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"Come," Rien turned to the door.
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The guard whom Kera met in the field the day before entered. "The
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old man is conscious, but the healer says he is not to be moved."
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Rien folded his arms and the man took the opportunity to steal a
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glance at Kera.
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"Prepare my horse. I will be there shortly."
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The guard bowed and left.
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Rien turned to Kera and she fell back on the bed. "I hate this,"
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she sighed.
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Rien sat down on the edge of the bed. "I have to leave. You will
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add the poison to Quinn's drink tonight. I will take care of as many
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men as I can. We'll leave during the night."
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Kera looked up at him. His eyes were a nondescript blue-grey.
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"I have to tie you."
|
|
She turned over, placing her hands on her back and closed her
|
|
eyes to hide the pain.
|
|
Rien secured her hands and left without a word, locking the door
|
|
after himself.
|
|
|
|
Rien and Breault dismounted on the neat lawn in front of the
|
|
healer's hut. The healer, Sherestha, a plump old woman, scornfully
|
|
muttered that these two could not walk the fifty yards from the tavern
|
|
to her house.
|
|
"How is he?" Rien asked.
|
|
"He'll die if he's lucky," the woman answered.
|
|
Rien took the healing potion from the saddle bag and went inside.
|
|
The old farmer lay on his stomach on a pile of blankets and skins.
|
|
Across his back were leaves and herbs covering a foot long gash. Rien
|
|
knelt down next to him.
|
|
"He is not conscious," the woman said. "He's too old."
|
|
Rien stood up and handed her the potion. "Make him drink it."
|
|
"What is this?" Sherestha asked.
|
|
"Does it matter? He'll die if he's lucky."
|
|
Breault chuckled and the woman glared at him.
|
|
"What is this?"
|
|
"It will heal the wound," Rien said.
|
|
The healer opened the vial and smelled the contents, then turned
|
|
the wounded man on his side and began pouring the liquid into his
|
|
mouth.
|
|
The smile on Breault's face diminished as the wound started
|
|
healing over. He looked at Rien.
|
|
"Come, we need to talk, Breault."
|
|
They walked out back with Rien saying no more.
|
|
"Why are you healing him?" Breault finally asked. "What good is
|
|
he to us?"
|
|
"Are you questioning my authority?"
|
|
Breault drew himself to his full six-four height. "Yes, Sir
|
|
1Keegan, I am."
|
|
Rien calmly walked past him. "Don't you think I know better?"
|
|
"I think something is wrong."
|
|
Rien stopped. "Like what?"
|
|
"There's something wrong with you."
|
|
Rien remained with his back to Breault, but his hand all ready
|
|
held the hilt of his long dagger. "Like what, Breault?"
|
|
"You like life," the man made the accusation and started after
|
|
Rien. "I've never seen you take it."
|
|
Rien waited for Breault to be directly behind him, then turned,
|
|
putting the dagger in his stomach. "Don't you like life, Breault?
|
|
Given the choice, do you want to live?" He held the man still and
|
|
forced it up under his rib cage. "I am taking a life, Breault. Do you
|
|
like it?"
|
|
Red foam began appearing at the brigand's mouth and he started
|
|
slipping down.
|
|
Rien let the body drop to the ground. "Now you've seen it all."
|
|
He wiped the blade on the dead man's tunic and returned to the house
|
|
after stopping by his horse. He noticed the wound on the farmer's back
|
|
was almost gone and the old woman was looking it over.
|
|
"He will never be able to repay you," she looked up.
|
|
"You will," Rien said.
|
|
"What do you want of me?"
|
|
Rien held up the dark green stalk he had retrieved from his
|
|
saddle bag. "This is Wolfbane. I want you to make me the strongest
|
|
poison you can with it."
|
|
"Why?" the woman asked.
|
|
"I will free this village of its plague," he answered.
|
|
"You alone?"
|
|
"Mostly."
|
|
"What's in it for you?"
|
|
"Peace of mind. Revenge."
|
|
"For what?"
|
|
"One of the graves out there belongs to a friend. My lover is a
|
|
prisoner at the tavern. Is that reason enough? ...And," he added more
|
|
carefully, as if the healer was one of Quinn's people, "I just killed
|
|
a man for trying to stop me."
|
|
The old woman took the stalk from Rien's hands and carefully
|
|
studied him. "I will help you," she said finally.
|
|
|
|
Kera lay on her back, staring at the wooden planks in the ceiling
|
|
when she heard a key turn in the lock. `About time,' she thought to
|
|
herself and turned over. The door creaked open and Garwood Quinn
|
|
walked in. Kera's eyes immediately snapped shut and she pretended to
|
|
be asleep. She heard Quinn walk up to her and immediately wished she
|
|
was better covered by the blanket. He stood over her for a bit, then
|
|
walked away. A chair was shoved aside and the shutters on the window
|
|
were pushed open. Quinn came back to the bed and kicked it solidly
|
|
with this boot. Kera bolted upright, looking at him with startled
|
|
eyes. The knight smiled and she looked down.
|
|
"Has Sir Keegan been a gentleman with you?" Quinn laughed.
|
|
Kera didn't answer.
|
|
Quinn grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. "Well?"
|
|
Tears formed in her eyes.
|
|
"He wasn't!" Quinn laughed with delight. "Well, I won't be
|
|
either!"
|
|
Kera tried to pull her head back, but Quinn tightened his grip on
|
|
her jaw until she screamed in pain.
|
|
"So you can talk..."
|
|
Kera continued looking at him emptily. It was the only thing she
|
|
1could do.
|
|
Quinn pushed her down and untied the rope from the bed, retying
|
|
the lose end around her neck. "Come on," he pulled the rope. "My
|
|
room's bigger."
|
|
Kera resisted and Quinn jerked hard on the rope, making her fall
|
|
to the floor. The loop around her neck tightened and constrained her
|
|
breathing and as she began to to cough, Quinn stepped on the rope near
|
|
her neck. In her coughing fit, Kera tightened the loop more and
|
|
started gasping for air.
|
|
Quinn lazily bent down and loosened the loop, then pulled her up.
|
|
"See what can happen if you don't follow my lead?" He checked the
|
|
knots at her neck and hands and then pushed Kera ahead of himself to
|
|
the door. By the time they reached it, he was all ready ahead of her
|
|
and pulling her by the rope. "You make this good and I may even let
|
|
you enjoy yourself."
|
|
In the corridor they were stopped by a guard. "Sir Quinn, a wagon
|
|
was just brought to the inn. The men say they have prisoners."
|
|
Quinn looked at the guard with annoyance in his eyes, then shoved
|
|
Kera into him. "Take her to my room and keep her there."
|
|
|
|
Rien returned near dusk, his vial refilled with a potent poison.
|
|
He watched the off duty men roll two barrels into the bar from a wagon
|
|
in the street. He asked where it had come from and was told that a
|
|
merchant and his daughter were captured and were currently being
|
|
questioned by Quinn. The wagon was being unloaded at his order. The
|
|
two casks contained wine.
|
|
Rien proceeded upstairs to his room only to find the door
|
|
unlocked and the room empty. He scanned the area for any signs of
|
|
struggle. There were none and he returned to the corridor where he saw
|
|
a guard standing by Quinn's door.
|
|
"Where is the girl who was in my room?"
|
|
"Here," the man said. "Sir Quinn asked me to guard her."
|
|
"Did she try to escape?"
|
|
"I don't know, Sir. I was only told to bring her here and guard
|
|
her."
|
|
Rien opened the door and walked in. The guard followed him. Kera
|
|
sat inside in a chair, her hands still tied behind her and a rope
|
|
around her neck.
|
|
"She looks nice, Sir," the guard smiled lecherously and Kera
|
|
glared up at him.
|
|
"Did anyone hurt you?" Rien asked.
|
|
Kera shook her head.
|
|
"How long ago did Quinn leave?" Rien asked the guard.
|
|
"Not long. Shortly after sunset, when the wagon was brought. He
|
|
went to talk to the prisoners."
|
|
"Good," Rien said. As the guard turned back to gawk at Kera, Rien
|
|
forced his dagger into the man's back and carefully lowered him to the
|
|
floor.
|
|
"Are you sure you're all right?" Rien asked Kera again, cutting
|
|
her loose with the bloody knife. "They didn't do anything to you?"
|
|
"I'm fine, really. He didn't have the time."
|
|
Rien helped Kera up and put his free arm around her. "Return to
|
|
my room and get dressed. Come down in a bit. Be ready for a fight." He
|
|
picked up an empty glass and walked out with Kera.
|
|
She took a turn down the side corridor to Rien's room and he
|
|
proceeded to the top of the stairs. Below he saw Quinn's collection of
|
|
thugs and cutthroats gathering together for dinner. Behind the bar he
|
|
noticed the two barrels that were brought in from the wagon. He smiled
|
|
and poured the poison the healer made for him into the empty glass and
|
|
proceeded down the stairs.
|
|
1 A few of the men greeted him on his way to the bar and he
|
|
responded in kind. "Where's Quinn?" he asked the barman.
|
|
"There," he was directed to the back room.
|
|
"Make my dinner," Rien ordered and the man left, the chain
|
|
clanking up above him as he walked. Rien went around the bar to the
|
|
barrels, opened one with a mallet and dumped the poison in. The men in
|
|
the common room quieted down hearing the bang and looked over. Some
|
|
even came up. A couple more hits and Rien removed all the portions of
|
|
the splintered lid. "A little good fortune that we can all share in!"
|
|
he announced. "Help yourselves."
|
|
The men cheered and Rien, picking up a pitcher and scooping up
|
|
some of the dark red liquid, left.
|
|
Making his way past the mob that gathered around the barrel, Rien
|
|
stopped in the corridor before the back room door and and emptied the
|
|
vial of poison he obtained from Terell into the pitcher. He opened the
|
|
door and entered. A guard stepped out of his way and Quinn, sitting
|
|
with his back to the door looked over his shoulder. Across from Quinn
|
|
sat a middle aged man and a girl not yet out of her teens.
|
|
"Good, Sir Keegan. I am glad you could join us. You should see
|
|
how this fool is trying to make a deal!"
|
|
Rien smiled and placed the pitcher before Quinn. "Compliments of
|
|
our guest."
|
|
Quinn released a laugh as Rien reached up to a shelf to get a
|
|
goblet. "Get me two," Quinn instructed.
|
|
Rien placed both glasses before the knight and remained standing
|
|
behind him.
|
|
Quinn poured wine into both goblets and moved one to the man
|
|
across from him. "Let me remind you I have you, your property and your
|
|
daughter. Offer me something I don't all ready have, otherwise you
|
|
wanting to go free is merely wishful thinking. Drink a little of my
|
|
wine. Let it not be said I am not a hospitable man."
|
|
Rien looked down. There was no way to stop the merchant from
|
|
poisoning himself. Quinn was about to have his last taste of wine.
|
|
"No matter how badly I want my daughter and myself to to be free,
|
|
I can give you nothing more than what you've all ready taken from me.
|
|
I will not drink stolen wine!" The goblet bounced to the floor with a
|
|
pronounced clank.
|
|
Rien looked at Quinn, whose eyebrows went up. "Then why did you
|
|
ask me to make a deal, you old fool?"
|
|
The man did not respond and Quinn took a swallow from his goblet.
|
|
"I will let my men practice with you tonight and your daughter can try
|
|
and stay alive with me." He turned back to Rien. "That bitch of yours
|
|
is in my room. You may have her back."
|
|
Rien nodded.
|
|
"May the gods strike you down for what you are doing!" the
|
|
merchant exclaimed, glaring at the three rogues.
|
|
"If they haven't yet, I doubt they will. Worry about yourself for
|
|
now," Quinn said, taking a second, larger swallow from the goblet.
|
|
"And tomorrow your worries may be over."
|
|
Deep inside Rien smiled at the irony of the merchant's statement.
|
|
If he identified Terell's poison correctly, Quinn would not have a
|
|
pleasant death.
|
|
Quinn coughed as he put the goblet down and again turned to Rien.
|
|
"Good wine. Have the men break open a barrel."
|
|
"All ready have, Sir. I knew you'd be in a good mood." As he
|
|
spoke, Rien noticed Quinn's face beginning to redden and his arm was
|
|
curled under his stomach.
|
|
Quinn struggled to get up, holding onto the table, trying to
|
|
maintain his facing. A look of horror spread on his face. "Let them
|
|
go, Rien..." and with those words Quinn collapsed to the floor. Blood
|
|
1flowed out of his open mouth.
|
|
"Get a healer!" Rien turned to the startled guard and the man
|
|
made for the door, impaling himself on Rien's long dagger. Rien pushed
|
|
the dying man down on top of Quinn. He waited for a moment for the man
|
|
to die, then looked up at the merchant who was as white as a sheet.
|
|
"In a few minutes you will leave by this door and turn left down
|
|
the corridor. The passage leads to the stables out back. There will be
|
|
no guards. Take your horses and wagon, nothing else, and go. The left
|
|
fork of the road is not guarded."
|
|
Not giving the merchant a chance to recover from his death
|
|
sentence and its subsequent favorable resolution, Rien left the room,
|
|
proceeding to the stables. He killed the man standing guard in the
|
|
doorway and then another one outside the barn door. He took a little
|
|
more time to compensate the merchant with some of Quinn's lootings and
|
|
after dumping a bag in the wagon bed, circled around the building to
|
|
the front entrance. The first thing to catch his attention were the
|
|
two guards lying at the door. `The healer's poison must be quick,' he
|
|
thought, walking past them. Inside a good half of the men were
|
|
sprawled out on the floor and furniture and another dozen or so were
|
|
merrily drinking away.
|
|
"Look!" Rien noticed someone get up behind the bar. "Seli is
|
|
dead!" The man pulled the bartender up and shoved him over the bar,
|
|
collapsing after him. Neither got up.
|
|
Rien remained at the door, watching as two or three other men
|
|
quietly passed out in front of him. There was a commotion upstairs. A
|
|
male voice said something and a moment later a body hit the railing
|
|
and broke through, falling into the common room. The man had a deep
|
|
wound in his chest. Kera appeared at the top of the stairs looking
|
|
down. Besides her clothing she wore Quinn's red cloak and scabbard. A
|
|
bloodied sword was in her hands. She looked around the common room,
|
|
surprised that no one had reacted and, after spotting Rien, went down
|
|
stairs.
|
|
As Kera passed one of the tables, a man at it got up, took one
|
|
step towards her and collapsed. She stood in awe, looking at Rien.
|
|
"What did you do?"
|
|
Rien shrugged. "I asked the village healer to make me the
|
|
strongest poison she could with a stalk of Wolfbane I took from Maari.
|
|
Wolfbane, also known as Monk's Hood, is an aphrodisiac and
|
|
hallucinogen in small quantities, but too much of it will burn a
|
|
person out...or make them go mad. She must have added something else.
|
|
They don't even realize what's happening to them."
|
|
Another man fell out of his chair as Kera stepped over the one
|
|
that had fallen in front of her. "I didn't ask for a lecture. What
|
|
about Quinn?"
|
|
"I gave him the poison I took from Terell's shop. He's dead too."
|
|
Only three of Quinn's men remained upright and it was obvious
|
|
they would not last long. Nineteen other bodies lay on the floor. A
|
|
job well done...if well could in any way be associated with death.
|
|
"Come," Rien took Kera's hand. "There are still patrols out
|
|
there. We'd better leave."
|
|
"Shouldn't they be killed too?"
|
|
"There are less than ten men total, all back alley thugs. The
|
|
villagers can take care of them if they don't flee on their own."
|
|
Distant thunder rolled through the skies as they stepped outside
|
|
the tavern. Rien walked past the stables towards the forest.
|
|
"Aren't we taking the horses? It looks like it will rain," Kera
|
|
stopped him, "and what about all your stuff?"
|
|
"We have horses waiting," Rien answered. "They are more powerful
|
|
than anything here and they carry equipment. I have no use for looted
|
|
treasure. The villagers need it more."
|
|
1 Kera tossed the cloak she wore to the ground. "Red is too obvious
|
|
in the moonlight," she said. "And it's not my color." She started
|
|
unstrapping the sword when Rien stopped her.
|
|
"It's a good blade. Keep it."
|
|
|
|
It was well into the night when Rien and Kera reached the hilly
|
|
area southwest of Phedra. Their target was a cluster of boulders with
|
|
a small pass between them. On the other side, in a box in canyon,
|
|
waited their two horses and escape from the remaining guards.
|
|
"I take it you didn't bring them through here," Kera said,
|
|
looking over a passage so narrow that even she would not fit through.
|
|
"I went all the way around," Rien answered. "Climbing over to the
|
|
pass will save us three leagues of hiking. We'll have to climb some
|
|
twenty feet, though. There is a lip in the cliff face up there."
|
|
"What's another three leagues after the last ten?" sighed Kera.
|
|
She grabbed a hold of some rocks and started climbing. Rien followed
|
|
her.
|
|
"Do you smell smoke?" Kera asked when near the top.
|
|
Below her Rien took his time to finish the climb before
|
|
answering. "I've been smelling it for a while. If there was wind, we
|
|
could tell where it's coming from."
|
|
The step-like formation in the face of the cliff was about two
|
|
feet across, wide enough to stand on, but not much more.
|
|
Rien leaned back on the wall. "Can you see the village?"
|
|
"Right there," Kera pointed into the darkness. "It's not very
|
|
clear."
|
|
"I'm impressed," Rien nodded. "Much superior to other people."
|
|
"Do I look better with grey or brown eyes?" Kera asked.
|
|
"Excuse me?"
|
|
"You did notice that my eyes changed color?"
|
|
"Of course! I told you they did."
|
|
"So which is better?"
|
|
"For what?"
|
|
"My appearance!"
|
|
"I'm partial to grey."
|
|
"Took you long enough."
|
|
Rien laughed and Kera took a step towards him.
|
|
"If we weren't on a cliff right now, I'd give you a shove you'd
|
|
remember for a while."
|
|
"If you give me one here, I promise you I will remember it for a
|
|
while as well. At least on the way down."
|
|
Rien took Kera's arm. "Come on. This slopes up. Watch your step."
|
|
They made their way up the ledge into the crack in the hill side
|
|
and continued at a leisurely pace for some time. They were passing an
|
|
overhang which was level with the top of the hill on the other side
|
|
when a loud sound of splintering wood disturbed the night and rocks
|
|
started falling from above. The thunder that has been at the horizon
|
|
for the duration of their walk, sounded overhead and a brilliant flash
|
|
of lighting split the sky.
|
|
Kera jumped back and fell against the wall. One stone managed to
|
|
bounce off her shoulder and a mass of pebbles sprayed over her back.
|
|
When it was all over, she stirred and got up. Rien lay a few feet up
|
|
ahead. He must have taken the brunt of the landslide. Kera made her
|
|
way to him. He was alive, but unconscious. The top of the hill was no
|
|
more than twenty feet away.
|
|
While thinking of what to do next, Kera heard running footsteps
|
|
and went up, in hope of finding help, but instead encountered two men
|
|
with swords, one of which promptly took a swing at her and missed. She
|
|
backed down the slope, dodged his second attack and then swung at him
|
|
with her sword. Those late night practice sessions with Rien must have
|
|
1helped, as the man was knocked off balance and fell past her, off the
|
|
cliff. His fading scream made Kera realize how dangerous it was for
|
|
her to remain on the ledge and she hurried to level ground.
|
|
The second man, apparently wiser for not taking the same risk,
|
|
held a torch in one hand and a sword in the other, patiently waiting
|
|
for her to come up. His first swing was with the torch and Kera
|
|
instinctively jumped back, stumbling and landing on her back. With
|
|
horror she realized that her head was over the edge of a fifty foot
|
|
drop. The man advanced with the torch ahead of him before Kera had a
|
|
chance to react. She could not move with it almost directly in her
|
|
face.
|
|
"Drop the sword," the man told her and when she hesitated,
|
|
brought the flame closer in. Kera smelled singing hair and immediately
|
|
let the weapon go. The man kicked it aside. "Now get up. Slowly."
|
|
Kera did so and took a step back when the man motioned her to do
|
|
so, but when he bent down to pick up the sword, she gave the torch a
|
|
kick and it flew out of his hand and over the edge. Darkness descended
|
|
on the small plateau. The man blindly swung his sword, but Kera had no
|
|
problems avoiding the blow and remained crouched on the ground.
|
|
Without light and a cloudy sky, her opponent was practically helpless
|
|
and expected her to be just as lost, but was surprised by getting a
|
|
dagger in his side. He swung in the proper direction, but was again
|
|
too high.
|
|
Kera remained silent, watching him trying to hear her. After a
|
|
while the man apparently gave up and Kera was able to put her dagger
|
|
into his knee. He sank to the ground, but swung again anyway, missing
|
|
Kera completely. With another thrust she finished him off and went to
|
|
check on Rien. Thunder and lightning made themselves known once again
|
|
and a light rain began to fall.
|
|
Kera found Rien still unconscious, laying where she left him. She
|
|
took the time to examine him now. It was difficult in the rain,
|
|
without light -- everything was red or black or both -- but it was
|
|
enough to determine his condition. The most obvious wound was in his
|
|
side. It was dirty and bloody and the clothing was torn. Kera, not
|
|
quite sure of what to do, decided to move him to the level area up
|
|
above, instead of continuing on the thin ledge. It was amazing that
|
|
neither one of them had fallen off it in the first place.
|
|
While trying to move Rien, Kera found what looked like remains of
|
|
a mechanism that could have caused the rock slide, but it was of
|
|
little importance now. She struggled to get Rien up top and he groaned
|
|
from pain in spite of being unconscious.
|
|
Locating the brigand's camp, a small cave in the rocks, sheltered
|
|
from the storm, Kera dragged Rien in and placed him on an even slab of
|
|
rock towards the back of the cavern. There was a small fire to keep
|
|
warm and she tore off a few strips of her tunic to make a bandage. It
|
|
was only then that Kera noticed that her own shoulder was bloody where
|
|
it had been hit.
|
|
After washing Rien's wounds, Kera bandaged them. She suspected
|
|
that his ribs were broken, but not being a doctor, not only did she
|
|
not know how to make sure, but also how to treat it. She then took
|
|
care of her own shoulder and looked over the cave. It was bare, except
|
|
for the fire and two packs in the corner. Searching them she found
|
|
nothing more than basic equipment. It looked like the two men had only
|
|
been beginning to set up camp.
|
|
Kera returned to the cliff to pick up her sword and then looked
|
|
around to see if the men brought horses. Not finding anything, Kera
|
|
paused on the cliff overlooking the canyon. Through the rain she could
|
|
tell it was a good mile wide and at least three long. Kera did not
|
|
know where to begin looking for their own mounts and the only healing
|
|
potion she could use was somewhere out there. She spent a long time
|
|
1looking down into the darkness, waiting for a glimmer of something
|
|
other than trees. Finally giving up, Kera returned to the cave to take
|
|
shelter for the night. Maybe Rien would wake up by morning and tell
|
|
her where to look.
|
|
She checked the dressing on Rien's side one more time before
|
|
settling down to sleep. He was definitely weaker and this time did not
|
|
even groan when she moved him. His breathing was shallow. The lesion
|
|
was still oozing blood with no indication of stopping; the area around
|
|
the wound was hot. Kera made the bandage as tight as she could,
|
|
knowing it would probably do more damage to the broken ribs, but
|
|
preferring that to having Rien bleed to death.
|
|
Upon completion of the task, Kera made herself comfortable
|
|
against the wall of the cave, leaning slightly back on the step-like
|
|
rock formation and wishing for Rien's condition to improve by morning,
|
|
finally fell asleep.
|
|
Kera opened her eyes and was nearly blinded by the bright lights
|
|
around her. She blinked several times at the light that was as bright
|
|
as day and after a minute her eyes adjusted to the brightness. She sat
|
|
in a soft chair with arm rests in a large, brightly lit room. She
|
|
looked up to see where the light was coming from, but saw nothing more
|
|
than a uniformly glowing ceiling. In front of her sat a box, about a
|
|
foot square, with a glossy black surface that reflected the ceiling,
|
|
facing her. Kera reached out to touch it, but as soon as her hand made
|
|
contact, the box made a noise and lit up with an orange glow. Strange
|
|
symbols appeared on the smooth surface.
|
|
Startled, Kera jumped up and the chair she was sitting in
|
|
swivelled and rolled back. For the first time she noticed that ten
|
|
feet away, to her right, sat a young black-haired man. The clothing he
|
|
was wearing Kera could not recognize as having ever seen before. He
|
|
wore faded blue pants and a sky-blue tunic carefully tucked into them.
|
|
She gasped and he looked up at her, no less surprised. Next to him was
|
|
a box identical to the one Kera had touched -- she now noticed there
|
|
were quite a few of them set in rows about the room.
|
|
The young man simply stared at her for a minute, not quite sure
|
|
what to say. The box next to him flickered a couple of times, but he
|
|
did not look at it.
|
|
Kera straightened out as the rolling chair bumped against a table
|
|
on the other side of the room. The box on that table lit up like the
|
|
first. "Where am I?" Kera asked, concerned about all the magic going
|
|
off around her so freely.
|
|
"En..." the young man began to say with what appeared to be
|
|
reflex, making Kera believe it was a question he heard often. He
|
|
picked up a frame from a pile of papers and put it on his face. It
|
|
looked to be made of thin strips of metal, twisted to hold two round
|
|
pieced of glass in place in front of his eyes. A wider piece of metal
|
|
connected the two pieces at the bridge of his nose and two pieces
|
|
extended from the other side to hook over his ears.
|
|
The man eyed Kera from head to toe and she stood there looking
|
|
back at him, doing the same. "Kera?" he finally asked, taking a quick
|
|
glance at his box.
|
|
Kera nodded and took an unsure step back. She felt for her
|
|
dagger, but remembered she was sleeping before and did not have it on
|
|
her. It was on the ground in the cave, where she had placed it after
|
|
cutting bandages for Rien. "Rien?!" she spun around, realizing he was
|
|
not there.
|
|
"Calm down!" the young man finally stood up. "He's fine."
|
|
"He's not fine!" Kera fired back, no longer concerned for
|
|
herself. "He's alone in a cave, unconscious and bleeding! Maybe
|
|
dying!"
|
|
The young man again glanced at the box next to him. "Trust me. He
|
|
1will be fine," he said, not without compassion. Kera noticed that he
|
|
had a slight accent that made his words softer. "Please, sit down. I
|
|
need to know how you got here."
|
|
Kera did not care one bit how she ended up in the room. All she
|
|
wanted was to be back with Rien, but realizing that this man seemed to
|
|
know both her and her companion, she sat down in the chair nearest to
|
|
her. Just like the first one she sat in, this one was soft, swivelled
|
|
and moved freely on the floor.
|
|
"I don't bite," Kera's host smiled and indicated to a chair next
|
|
to his own. Kera changed seats, but not to the one he pointed to. She
|
|
sat down one chair away, just in case she would need to move. That
|
|
seemed to satisfy him and he sat back down, again looking at his box.
|
|
Kera looked at the desk at which she was now sitting. On it was
|
|
yet another of those boxes, but the glossy front of it was not lit. A
|
|
rectangular pad with emphasized squares sat before it. Each of the
|
|
squares had a different symbol on it. On this desk, like on some of
|
|
the others, lay a pile papers, scattered around in disarray. Kera
|
|
picked one sheet up. It was very smooth and thin -- nothing like the
|
|
parchment she had ever seen. On it were uniform proper letters which
|
|
did not appear to be written by hand. Kera stealthily picked up a palm
|
|
sized glossy item on the table to examine it.
|
|
"You were asleep," the young man said. Kera was not sure if it
|
|
was a question or a statement or even an order. He still looked into
|
|
the glow of the box.
|
|
The door across the room opened and a slender woman with long
|
|
brown hair walked in. "I got it!" she declared in a joyful voice,
|
|
holding up sheets of parchment similar to those on the tables. She
|
|
stopped at the door, looking at Kera. She wore a white blouse neatly
|
|
tucked into a narrow grey skirt that went down to her knees and a pink
|
|
belt with a butterfly buckle. The shoes on her feet were elevated so
|
|
that she stood balanced on her toes. Kera could not believe that
|
|
someone would ever wear clothing so impractical for everyday
|
|
activities.
|
|
"Stay there," the man said to the woman, holding up his arm. "I
|
|
don't know what's happened."
|
|
The woman remained standing by the door and the man turned back
|
|
to his box. He quickly pressed different locations on the rectangular
|
|
pad before the box and took one more look at Kera, then he turned back
|
|
and deliberately pressed one of the right hand squares. Darkness so
|
|
dark that Kera could no longer see at all descended on the room.
|
|
|
|
Her back hurting from where a sharp rock pressed into it forced
|
|
Kera to leap up from the "steps" she was sleeping on. She looked about
|
|
the cavern she was in. The fire was almost out and her night vision
|
|
began supplementing her normal sight. She noticed Rien lying on the
|
|
ground not far away. However much time passed, he has not moved.
|
|
Kera sat down next to him, realizing that she held something in
|
|
her hand. It was the little glossy object she picked up in the
|
|
brightly lit room that she believed to have been a dream. It was a
|
|
thin, smooth rectangular bar, made of some material she had never seen
|
|
before. A slender chain was attached to one side, ending with a silver
|
|
ring. At the other end was a strange golden symbol that Kera later
|
|
realized to be overlapping runic letters. A long red line ran almost
|
|
the full length of the item. It was crossed by many small black lines.
|
|
Down both sides of the red line were more symbols, all in black.
|
|
Kera turned the strange item over. On the back side a circle was
|
|
cut away in the square. In it floated a glowing arrow and in time Kera
|
|
realized that no matter how it was turned, level with the ground, the
|
|
arrow always pointed in the same direction.
|
|
She put it away and took another look at Rien. His condition had
|
|
1not improved. Kera lay down next to him and after some tossing and
|
|
turning, fell asleep again.
|
|
|
|
Kera awoke to Rien trying to turn over. She held him down for a
|
|
moment, stroking his hair and he relaxed. She again examined the
|
|
condition of his wounds and was surprised to find that the cut was
|
|
beginning to heal over and what she originally thought were broken
|
|
ribs was only a severe bruise.
|
|
Satisfied with her diagnoses, Kera started making breakfast from
|
|
the supplies the men she killed had, waiting for Rien to wake up.
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 Understanding
|
|
by Bill Erdley <b.c.k.a. BERDLEY@BUCKNELL.BITNET>
|
|
|
|
|
|
As I sit here under this tree and watch my friends die, I think
|
|
of how nice a day this is. It's a fine day to just sit and watch the
|
|
hawks circle lazily through the sky, occasionally dodging an errant
|
|
arrow. The clouds seem oblivious to the carnage happening below them.
|
|
The grass, on the other hand, gets to see it all; the blood, the
|
|
horror, the death.
|
|
|
|
The grass doesn't understand ...
|
|
|
|
I was one of the first to fall during the first rush. I was
|
|
holding my shield a little too high, and I caught an arrow in my right
|
|
leg just above the knee. As I stopped to remove it, I took another
|
|
arrow in the side. I fell and crawled out of the way of my comrades,
|
|
who continued the attack. I had fallen near the tree, so my crawl was
|
|
not a long one, but it was most painful. The arrow in my leg snapped
|
|
off when I fell, but the leg is almost numb, so I don't notice. I
|
|
removed the arrow from my side, but it was high enough to catch a
|
|
lung. Already I am coughing blood, and the wound continues to ooze
|
|
through the rags that I hold over it. The rags are soaked.
|
|
|
|
Even the grass beneath the tree knows the taste of blood ...
|
|
|
|
... but the tree won't understand.
|
|
|
|
This is a fine day for sitting, and for thinking. How many of us
|
|
know what we are fighting for? How many know who we are fighting
|
|
against? We fight for no good reason, except that we are told to
|
|
fight. Those that we fight could as easily be our neighbors as our
|
|
enemies. Yet we hack and slash and kill those that we have no reason
|
|
to hate; fighting and killing and dying for the whims of some noble.
|
|
|
|
I watch a man who I had met last night crash to the ground with a
|
|
cry ...
|
|
|
|
... but the ground can't understand.
|
|
|
|
The battle is going badly for us, and I watch my friends fall one
|
|
by one. They are proud men; strong men; brave men who would fight
|
|
until they could fight no more. But they could be proud at home, with
|
|
their families, watching a new child take it's first step. They could
|
|
be strong in the fields growing crops or strong in the shops making
|
|
horse shoes or plow blades or axe heads. They could be brave facing a
|
|
storm without shelter, or protecting a neighbor from a wild animal.
|
|
But they are here; these proud, brave, strong men.
|
|
|
|
They are here to die beneath a sky which has only now begun to
|
|
weep for them ...
|
|
|
|
... but even the sky doesn't understand.
|
|
|
|
The ground is cool and the grass feels soft, under the tree
|
|
beneath the sky. The battle is almost over, and the outcome assured;
|
|
we have lost. I need no longer watch, for I have seen all that needs
|
|
to be seen. A warm breeze blows across my face toward the carnage of
|
|
the battlefield. I can smell the scent of wild flowers in the wind and
|
|
it makes me smile. I can feel the wetness on my cheeks which must have
|
|
1come from tears, but I don't remember crying. I think of my wife, who
|
|
waits for my return. I think of my children, playing in a field like
|
|
the one before me used to be. I think of the nobles who demanded that
|
|
this war be fought. I think of the men whose blood now colors the
|
|
meadow.
|
|
|
|
Darkness begins to fall in the middle of the day as I think ...
|
|
|
|
... And I don't understand, either.
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 Opus Interruptus
|
|
by Wendy Hennequin
|
|
(b.c.k.a. <hennequi@ctstateu.bitnet>)
|
|
|
|
Relaxed at last, Marcellon walked barefoot beside a woman along
|
|
the shore in Dargon. The sand was warm and the water cool, and the sea
|
|
air soothed the High Mage's mind, overwrought with conferences with
|
|
the King, War Councils, nursing the ill and wounded flocking from
|
|
Pyridain, and all manner of interruptions which dissolved his visions
|
|
as if they were powdered sugar in a child's drink.
|
|
Marcellon turned to the woman beside him and smiled. She had
|
|
started appearing to him about a year ago, when the High Mage had
|
|
first met Luthias Connall and his twin. Perhaps that explained why she
|
|
looked as if she could have been related; her coloring was the same,
|
|
and so was the shape of her eyes. She also bore some resemblance to
|
|
Lady Sable: they were of a height, and while they were not cut from
|
|
the same cloth, neither could either outshine the other's own kind of
|
|
beauty.
|
|
She soothed Marcellon's heart. She always seemed to know what
|
|
troubled him, and although the woman seldom spoke of the High Mage's
|
|
anxieties, she calmed them by her presence, for Marcellon had the most
|
|
certain feeling that this woman had everything under control.
|
|
He had never seen her on the shore of Dargon before. Once, he saw
|
|
her in a meadow, on a moonlit night, with a tall, blond man who
|
|
reminded Marcellon of Richard. Another time, she sat with a man quite
|
|
like Clifton. Once, the High Mage envisioned her on an archery field,
|
|
shooting arrows. Marcellon pictured her many times in a moving, red
|
|
room, small and uncomfortable.
|
|
Thus, he called her the Wanderer.
|
|
"Who will be hurt in the war?" Marcellon asked her suddenly.
|
|
"The King will be wounded in the last battle," the Wanderer began
|
|
calmly without looking at him.
|
|
The High Mage smiled. Of course she would know; the Wanderer
|
|
always seemed to know things, even things that managed to evade
|
|
Marcellon's crystal. That question had nagged the magician all day,
|
|
but interrupted constantly, Marcellon could find no answers. He should
|
|
have known the Wanderer would tell him.
|
|
She continued, "Ittosai Michiya, too, will be wounded." The
|
|
Wanderer halted and looked up at her companion. "Clifton will receive
|
|
a severe wound soon, and you must do something, or he will die."
|
|
Clifton? Marcellon's heart froze. His daughter's husband would
|
|
die? "What should I do?"
|
|
"That answer will come to you soon enough," the Wanderer entoned
|
|
calmly. "I do not need to tell you everything."
|
|
"What of Luthias Connall?"
|
|
That made the Wanderer smile. "Has he not suffered yet enough?"
|
|
"That is not an answer," Marcellon chided guardedly.
|
|
"Do not worry about Luthias. Be concerned instead about Lauren
|
|
and Clifton. Clifton's wound is certain; his death is not. And if
|
|
Lauren goes to the battle--"
|
|
A bang--thunder?--sounded, and Marcellon jolted awake to stare
|
|
furiously at the door. Cephas Stevene, could he not even *sleep*
|
|
without interruption?
|
|
"What?" Marcellon screamed violently, and the knocking stopped.
|
|
Damn it, hadn't he given the servants strict orders to let him sleep?
|
|
For God's sake, he'd been up all night at the War Council--so many
|
|
stupid, mundane things that Haralan and Sir Edward and the various
|
|
military and noble personel could have handled by themselves, but no,
|
|
the King wanted Marcellon's wisdom or visions or moral support. God
|
|
knew, but Marcellon was certain that he instructed his servants that
|
|
1he was absolutely not to be disturbed until at least noon.
|
|
*They* had been doing it to him all week--they, the
|
|
indescribable, ever-present *they*--the King, Sir Edward, the sick
|
|
ones, the desperate, the dying, everyone and anyone--and never was it
|
|
worse than it was now. *They* had stolen the Wanderer's warning from
|
|
him. His only daughter was in danger if she went to the battle...or
|
|
maybe Clifton could only be saved if she went to the battle. Marcellon
|
|
didn't know, thanks to *them.*
|
|
"Well," Marcellon seethed, rolling out of the couch and seizing
|
|
the door handle, "which one of *you* is it this time?"
|
|
He threw open the door and was surprised to see Luthias Connall
|
|
there. The High Mage relented a little. Luthias had been at the
|
|
previous evening's War Council--and had distinguished himself with his
|
|
knowledge of strategy and tactics--and if Luthias was willing to
|
|
disturb Marcellon this early in the morning after being up all night
|
|
at War Council, there was a good reason.
|
|
Marcellon looked the young man over. Luthias Connall was a tall,
|
|
handsome, strong man with the gait and bearing of a warrior- -usually.
|
|
Today, he held his shoulders straight with great effort, but Marcellon
|
|
felt defeat oozing from young Sir Luthias, as if he fighting a battle
|
|
he knew he could not win. The Count was tired, haggard, haunted,
|
|
anxious--just as he had been during Duke Dargon's trial months ago.
|
|
Hell, Marcellon thought, staring, he hadn't even been this bad after
|
|
Mon-Taerleor and his cohorts in Beinison had finished with him.
|
|
"Sit before you collapse," Marcellon ordered with the brisk
|
|
authority of a healer. "What is it, Luthias, son?"
|
|
"I need a sleeping potion," the Knight stated with his usual
|
|
directness.
|
|
Marcellon practically shrieked, "You fool! And you woke me for
|
|
that? Stole the chance to save my daughter and her husband for that?"
|
|
The High Mage subdued his frustration, however. If Luthias had come to
|
|
him, something truly needed fixing beyond the power of a sleeping
|
|
potion. "Why not have you wife make you one?"
|
|
The Count of Connall scowled through his beard. "Oh, she'll make
|
|
one for me, all right, but not for her." His eyes pleading, Luthias
|
|
faced the magician. "If she doesn't get some sleep, it'll kill us
|
|
both."
|
|
Marcellon sat on the edge of his barely rumpled bed. "What's
|
|
wrong that she's not sleeping? Is it the babes? I thought you had a
|
|
wet nurse."
|
|
"We do. It's not the girls, Marcellon. It's me."
|
|
Marcellon fought to hide a smile. "Most men would enjoy a woman
|
|
who couldn't get enough, manling."
|
|
Worried as he was, young Luthias still--still!--rose for the
|
|
teasing. "You--!" he began, but he finished with a pillow tossed
|
|
expertly at Marcellon's head. The High Mage murmered a word, and the
|
|
feather missle dropped inches from his face. Luthias was sputtering.
|
|
"You--you know better--I mean Sable isn't--I mean she is--damn you,
|
|
magician."
|
|
The last was uttered in half-hearty exasperation, so Marcellon
|
|
didn't take it seriously. Oh, young Luthias Connall had reason enough
|
|
to hate users of magic after what the Beinisonian butchers had done to
|
|
him, but the Knight reserved no ire or prejudice for Marcellon or his
|
|
daughter Lauren. These two he trusted.
|
|
"And don't call me manling," Luthias finished.
|
|
Marcellon chuckled at the displeasure in the Count's brown eyes.
|
|
The High Mage held no fear of Luthias in his heart, just as the Count
|
|
harbored no awe of him. "Come, Luthias," Marcellon encouraged gently,
|
|
"what's wrong with Myrande that she isn't sleeping?"
|
|
The Knight's expression questioned the mage's tone. "You're not
|
|
1angry with me any more?"
|
|
Marcellon waved the question away with his hand, much as he had
|
|
dismissed the pillow. He could search the crystal later for a warning
|
|
for Lauren and salvation for Clifton. "I know as well as you that your
|
|
Lady Sable won't take a sleeping potion without being tricked. What is
|
|
it, Luthias, son?"
|
|
"She's worried about me," the Count explained. "She's afraid I'll
|
|
die in the war."
|
|
Marcellon considered this. "That isn't an unreasonable fear. How
|
|
soon do you ride out with the cavalry, General?"
|
|
"The King promised me I wouldn't ride until after the Melrin
|
|
Ball. I can't believe he's still celebrating at a time like this."
|
|
Marcellon understood it, however. The celebrations gave the
|
|
message that all was normal, all would be right again. Without those
|
|
assurances, the populace would fall apart. "He has his reasons, but
|
|
I'm certain he won't make you attend."
|
|
"Oh, I'm going," Luthias countered, half-laughing.
|
|
Marcellon frowned mightily. Damn Haralan! One of these days he
|
|
was going to push Luthias Connall too far. First, Clifton's trial,
|
|
then Beinison, now, Haralan was going to force Luthias to attend the
|
|
same ball at which his brother had been murdered a year ago.
|
|
Luthias laughed outright. "Of my own accord, Marcellon, believe
|
|
it or not. I promised Sable when I left for Beinison that I'd be back
|
|
to dance with her at the Melrin Ball. I keep my promises. Besides,"
|
|
the Count concluded, his eyes merry, "if I stayed home, Roisart would
|
|
taunt me from his tomb, 'Just another excuse not to go dancing, eh,
|
|
twin?'"
|
|
Well, something was getting better, the High Mage noted with
|
|
satisfaction. Marcellon had never heard Luthias joke about his dead
|
|
brother.
|
|
"Anyway, you'd better give me the potion. Between her nightmares
|
|
and mine, no one in the house is getting any sleep."
|
|
"Your nightmares?" Marcellon sometimes dreamed them too, houses
|
|
or miles away; those dreams of torture, longing, flight, cold, fear,
|
|
and murder were incredibly powerful. Marcellon never dared ask if they
|
|
were real. He didn't want to know. "The same ones?"
|
|
"Mostly."
|
|
"What are the new ones?"
|
|
Luthias considered. "I'm tied to a horse. The ocean's in front of
|
|
me, filled with a thousand ships--ours and theirs. There's a battle--I
|
|
move with it, but I can't get to the ships. I can see Clifton's ship.
|
|
It's hit by something, and I see Clifton fall, and the sea turns to
|
|
blood."
|
|
"Blood," Marcellon whispered. Clifton would be wounded and bleed
|
|
to death. Oh, granted Luthias Connall was no mage, and his talent for
|
|
magic was recessive, but the Knight's dreams occasionally took a
|
|
prophetic turn. Roisart had been more powerful; if only he had lived,
|
|
Marcellon groaned to himself. He could have used the help.
|
|
Then he saw in his mind a young man of medium height with jet-
|
|
black hair and hazel eyes. His face was Luthias', but the expression
|
|
it wore was closer to Roisart's face.
|
|
*Roisart-Talador,* Marcellon thought, and Luthias was before him
|
|
once more. The High Mage blinked the image away.
|
|
"Marcellon?"
|
|
"Clifton is going to be wounded and bleed to death," the wizard
|
|
explained, rising, for there was no time to lose. He glanced out his
|
|
window and raised both eyebrows. It was past noon, at least two hours.
|
|
He might be able to do it today, on an off chance, if he had help. "If
|
|
I can make him a ring--"
|
|
Luthias shook his head. "What good is a ring going to do him?"
|
|
1 "I can enchant it so that he will never loose enough blood to
|
|
die." At the Count's look of disbelief, the magician laughed. "I am
|
|
not High Mage because I lack power. Still," Marcellon mused, "I cannot
|
|
do it alone. Send your wife to me. Part of the process includes making
|
|
potions, and she has experience in that area."
|
|
"What about the sleeping potion?"
|
|
Marcellon's mind raced. "We have only until sunset to complete
|
|
this," he told the Knight. "The process must all be completed between
|
|
dawn and sunset."
|
|
"Why not wait till tomorrow? You'll have more time."
|
|
Tomorrow? But who knew when the battle would be? That was one
|
|
thing that frequently enfuriated the mage. He often knew what would
|
|
happen, but seldom knew when. Besides, a feeling of urgency was
|
|
pushing him. "I must do it today. I need your wife, Luthias."
|
|
"What about the sleeping potion?" Luthias asked again.
|
|
"I'll give something to her before I bring her home," the mage
|
|
promised, distracted. "I must make that ring. I cannot allow my
|
|
daughter's husband to die!"
|
|
He moved to his cabinet and pulled a lever. A concealed door
|
|
opened; Marcellon did not make access to his laboratory easy. From the
|
|
cabinet he took a few of the move mundane of his needs: oil, sulphur,
|
|
and acacia.
|
|
"I wonder," Luthias said behind him, startling the mage out of
|
|
his preparations, "if having a sword like that would be unKnightly."
|
|
Marcellon turned slowly. "I don't think so," the mage answered,
|
|
uncertain why Luthias had asked. "I learned this spell from watching
|
|
the Old Enchanter in my crystal. He enchanted a King's scabbard with
|
|
this spell, and the King was a Knight and a great leader of Knights.
|
|
Why?" Marcellon finally confronted him, remembering the Wanderer's
|
|
words. "Do you want your sword enchanted? You don't need it. I don't
|
|
need to worry about you, Luthias."
|
|
"Oh, I'm willing to put my faith in my training," Luthias
|
|
confessed, a little of his normal confidence seeping into his smile.
|
|
"But if I had a sword that would keep me from bleeding to death--or
|
|
better yet the sword hilt, for any blade can break--I bet Sable would
|
|
feel much better."
|
|
Marcellon smiled as he realized the logic behind the suggestion.
|
|
"Send your wife, my friend," he invited. "Have her bring the sword you
|
|
will use in battle."
|
|
|
|
The Countess of Connall entered, and Marcellon ached to see her.
|
|
She was a beauty, normally, but the worry had worn her out. Quelling
|
|
sudden fury that both Luthias and Myrande were being forced into old
|
|
age without having reached their twenty-second year, the High Mage
|
|
smiled. "Welcome. Come in."
|
|
Uncertainly, Myrande stepped forward and offered a swathed
|
|
burden. "Luthias said we would need this, but I have no idea for what.
|
|
What's this all about, Marcellon?"
|
|
Marcellon unwrapped the shroud and smiled at the sword within it.
|
|
"Luthias intends to use this sword in battle?"
|
|
The Countess grinned. "Why not? It has excellent balance, and
|
|
Carrerra steel is the best in the world. Beinison does know how to
|
|
make its swords."
|
|
The High Mage raised his eyebrow. "And when did you become a
|
|
weapons' expert, Lady Sable?"
|
|
In response, the Countess gave him an arch look. King Haralan had
|
|
been right when he said that Myrande would have made an excellent
|
|
Queen. "Being a Knight's daughter--and another Knight's wife--I've
|
|
manage to glean a few facts." She paused and relaxed her imperial
|
|
expression. "Even if this weren't the best sword that Luthias owns, he
|
|
1would still use it. It isn't every man who wins the respect and
|
|
tribute of an enemy, let alone a Knight of the Star."
|
|
"It was quite a battle," Marcellon agreed. "Luthias fought
|
|
excellently."
|
|
"I figured Sir Edward knighted him for a reason."
|
|
Marcellon rolled his eyes in mock-agony. "You're developing my
|
|
own sense of humor. Come," he commanded, offering her hand. "We have
|
|
much work to do."
|
|
A knock on the door halted the mage mid-step. "Good God, who is
|
|
it this time?" Marcellon forced between clenched teeth. Myrande,
|
|
trained from birth as seneschal and hostess, turned back and opened
|
|
the door. King Haralan stood behind it, attempting to blink away his
|
|
bewilderment. "Your majesty," Marcellon greeted him icily, but he
|
|
supposed he must speak to the man. Haralan was, after all, the King.
|
|
"Good day, Countess," the King spoke finally, taking Myrande's
|
|
hand to his cheek. He looked over her head at the High Mage, who gave
|
|
him a cold, furious stare. "Your sevants did tell me not to interrupt
|
|
you, Marcellon, but there is something I must know. Can we not speak
|
|
privately?"
|
|
Without taking his glare off the King's eyes, Marcellon said,
|
|
"Lady Sable, will you go into my garden and pick seven large valley
|
|
lilies? We will need them."
|
|
"As you wish," she answered, ducking out the room's sudden chill.
|
|
"With all due respect, your majesty, speak quickly," Marcellon
|
|
ordered, turning away. "I have much work to do. There are reasons I
|
|
asked to not be interrupted."
|
|
"I am sorry," Haralan apologized mildly, and Marcellon felt
|
|
himself relenting. Still, he was furious. He was sick of the
|
|
interruptions. "I only need one question answered, and I will leave. I
|
|
quite understand the need to work uninterrupted."
|
|
Suddenly Marcellon saw a collage of images of Haralan, trying to
|
|
see his sons or catch a nap, trying to write proclamations or pray for
|
|
guidance. He was interrupted each time. He hadn't seen his two young
|
|
sons in a week. He hadn't slept for as long. The High Mage sighed
|
|
heavily. Kings' burdens were heavy, too. "What is it, your majesty?"
|
|
"Is my brother still alive and well?"
|
|
Marcellon looked up quickly and saw the pain in the King's eyes.
|
|
"Of course. If anything had happened to him, I would have told you."
|
|
Haralan's blue eyes calmed like the sea after a storm. The High Mage
|
|
smiled at the King's relief. "The worst he's suffered since he left us
|
|
is a few broken bones."
|
|
Haralan managed a weak smile. "That puts him ahead of you and I,
|
|
my friend. Thank you."
|
|
As he turned to go, Marcellon said softly, "He misses you, too,
|
|
Haralan."
|
|
The King turned sorrowfully, nodded once, then asked, "When is
|
|
the last time you saw him?"
|
|
The High Mage smiled. "A few days ago." Marcellon called up the
|
|
memory, then searched for the vision. Ah, there was the younger
|
|
prince, in his usual place, with his two friends.
|
|
"You see him now?"
|
|
Marcellon nodded. "He is well and quite merry. He is singing."
|
|
"That's like him," the King acknowledged. He turned to go, then
|
|
paused. "If a King may ask..."
|
|
The mage rolled his eyes. "What now, your majesty?"
|
|
"What is of such importance that you instruct your servants to
|
|
deter even the King?"
|
|
Marcellon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Haralan's
|
|
occasionally pompous attitude always annoyed him. Still, the High Mage
|
|
answered, "Preserving the life of your fleet admiral."
|
|
1 "Is he in danger?" Haralan's eyes were wide and worried.
|
|
Maracellon could feel the cold terror that gripped the King's heart.
|
|
Good and skilled--not to mention loyal--officers were difficult to
|
|
come by these days.
|
|
"Be easy, sire," Marcellon assured him softly, coming close
|
|
enough to touch the King's shoulder. "I believe the Duke of Dargon to
|
|
be in great danger, yes, but as long as I can have an uninterrupted
|
|
day's work, I may be able to prevent his death." And Lauren's too,
|
|
Marcellon added. What about that battle?
|
|
"Be assured I will do my part to get you that uninterrupted day,"
|
|
the King promised, reassured. "Work well, Marcellon, and thank you."
|
|
Myrande opened the door the instant the King touched the opposite
|
|
one, but she didn't enter until Haralan had left. "Don't worry. I
|
|
didn't hear anything but the last bit. I don't know, and I don't want
|
|
to." Marcellon smiled tiredly and took the lilies from her hand. "War
|
|
isn't my talent."
|
|
"No, but making potions is," Marcellon agreed, examining the
|
|
lilies closely. Yes, they would do well. "That is why I asked you
|
|
here."
|
|
"What potions? What are we doing?"
|
|
Marcellon led her into his laboratory, put the valley lilies on
|
|
the table, and began pulling ingredients from shelves. "We are
|
|
enchanting a ring for Clifton and your husband's sword hilt so that
|
|
they will never lose enough blood to die as long as they wear them-
|
|
-or wield or touch them."
|
|
Without turning, Marcellon could feel the Countess' relief like a
|
|
long-pined-for breeze. She took a step closer to the table and started
|
|
scanning the bottles and boxes which Marcellon had selected.
|
|
"Hematite, coral, beth root, acacia, garlic, thyme, fox tail,
|
|
amaranth...We're making a clotting salve and an anti- hemoragging
|
|
potion?"
|
|
"Triple batches, and that is only the first, longest, and most
|
|
tedious step," Marcellon instructed her, fetching the mortar and
|
|
pestle and two glass cauldrons. "After that is done, I must magick
|
|
them so that they will be permanent. I must cast other spells to make
|
|
them both work together and yet others to have their effects work by
|
|
touch and not absorption or digestion."
|
|
Myrande started shredding the valley lilies. Marcellon was glad
|
|
he did not have to lesson her on how to make the potions he sought.
|
|
"How do we get the sword and the ring to do these things, Marcellon?"
|
|
"That is the most difficult part," Marcellon sighed, grinding
|
|
hematite in the mortar. "The final spell, and the one that is the most
|
|
exhausting and exacting--and therefore the one that I'll most likely
|
|
have to cast many times to make it work--transfers the powers of the
|
|
potions to the sword and the ring." In another mortar, Marcellon began
|
|
crushing red coral. "And we have only until dusk."
|
|
"If we can't make it work today, we'll try again tomorrow,"
|
|
Myrande promised, sprinkling the valley lily strings into a glass
|
|
cauldron and adding the oil.
|
|
"I'd rather finish today," Marcellon grumbled. "I do not know
|
|
when Clifton will be wounded, but I know that if he doesn't have this
|
|
ring, he will die."
|
|
Myrande shuddered and reached for the cloves. "In that case," she
|
|
agreed, grinding them in the mortar, slowly, "we had better get to
|
|
work."
|
|
|
|
Marcellon raised his hands over the clotting salve and began to
|
|
chant softly. The words were old, soothing, like a long- known prayer.
|
|
The mage felt heat in his fingers and knew that his hands had started
|
|
to glow. Between two fingers, he crushed a diamond.
|
|
1 There was a flash, and Marcellon opened his eyes. "Done."
|
|
Myrande looked from the High Mage to the caudron of salve, then
|
|
back. "How do you do that? Can you teach me? If I could make potions
|
|
that would never spoil--"
|
|
Marcellon chuckled gently at her eagerness. "You may indeed have
|
|
a talent for it, Lady Sable. According to Rish Vogel, we have a common
|
|
ancestor ten or twelve generations back. However, we don't have the
|
|
time now for it. Perhaps after the war."
|
|
Myrande studied both cauldrons carefully. "How do you know that
|
|
the spells worked?"
|
|
Marcellon blinked at the question. He had never thought about it
|
|
before. "I...just know. I can feel it." The mage wished he had time to
|
|
show her how to feel such things, but Marcellon felt rushed still.
|
|
"Come, we have much to do. Move the hemoraging potion toward me."
|
|
Showing greater strength than her size suggested, Myrande lifted
|
|
the glass pot--with effort, the mage noted--and, grimacing, she set it
|
|
beside him. The High Mage stretched his hand over the salve and then
|
|
over the potion. "Bring me a piece of coral and another of hematite,
|
|
each as big as your thumbnail. When I hold my hands open, put one in
|
|
each." The Countess of Connall scurried toward the counter.
|
|
Beginning in a whisper and increasing toward a shout, Marcellon
|
|
chanted again, the ancient words in the ancient tongue, praying for
|
|
both mixtures to work together. He turned his hands over and felt
|
|
Myrande place the stones on his palms. The wizard held them out,
|
|
offered them to God on High, raised his voice--
|
|
And gasped as if struck. Marcellon dropped to his knees and
|
|
covered his ears at the force of the fear. There was fury, too, from
|
|
another source, just as criplling.
|
|
The power left him, and he could feel Myrande's arms around him.
|
|
"What is it? Are you well?"
|
|
The High Mage took deep breaths. "Something is very wrong," he
|
|
gasped. "Call for dinner. We may as well eat now. Sir Edward is
|
|
coming."
|
|
|
|
Although Sir Edward Sothos, Knight Commander of the Royal
|
|
Baranurian Armies, hid his emotions almost professionally, Marcellon
|
|
could sense the fright--he might have named it panic had it been in
|
|
any other man--clanging like tuneless bell. "What happened?" Marcellon
|
|
demanded as he motioned Sir Edward to a chair.
|
|
The Knight Commander sat heavily after greeting the Countess
|
|
formally but tiredly. "Your excellency--" he adressed her.
|
|
Marcellon dismissed his fear of her overhearing with a jerk of
|
|
the hand. "You know as well as I that Lady Myrande can be trusted," he
|
|
snapped. "What is it? Say it, Edward."
|
|
The Galician Knight took a deep breath. "The King has gone
|
|
mad--or Sir Luthias has. I'm not sure."
|
|
Cold, steel bands snapped around Marcellon's heart like a trap.
|
|
That was all they needed! "What happened?" the High Mage demanded
|
|
again. If Edward didn't spit it out, and quickly, Marcellon decided to
|
|
read his mind. This avoiding the question--
|
|
"The King," Sir Edward revealed finally, but slowly, "said
|
|
something to me about..." The Knight Commander paused to search for
|
|
words. "About bringing back his brother to be Captain General of the
|
|
Archers."
|
|
Marcellon's jaw dropped. He stood and clapped his hand to his
|
|
forehead. He should have known when Haralan had asked, he berated
|
|
himself silently. "Steward!" the High Mage bellowed. The cowed servant
|
|
stuck his head timidly through the door. "Summon the King and the
|
|
Count of Connall to my presence *immediately!*"
|
|
As the servant whisked himself from the house, the magician
|
|
1turned to his friend. "Don't worry, Edward. The King isn't mad. What
|
|
exactly did he say?"
|
|
Sir Edward frowned mightily. "I don't remember exactly, but I
|
|
thought it sounded like a wish, especially as both King Haralan's
|
|
brothers are dead."
|
|
Marcellon nodded grimly. "As is well known," he concurred, but
|
|
the falsehood tickled his heart unpleasantly. His hasty, mental
|
|
accusation of Haralan also bothered the High Mage; he knew Haralan
|
|
better than to think the King foolish enough to try to bring his
|
|
brother home.
|
|
Next to the Knight Commander, the Countess of Connall frowned.
|
|
The High Mage raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Myrande?"
|
|
She sighed. "I can't believe he--the young prince--is dead."
|
|
"Believe it," Marcellon confirmed with a nod, though he smiled
|
|
internally at Myrande's calling a man more than ten years her senior
|
|
"the young prince." Where the hell was Haralan? "Who did he tell this,
|
|
Edward? It is imperative."
|
|
Sir Edward took a moment to remember. "Myself, Sir Luthias,
|
|
Ittosai Michiya and Ito, Sarah Verde, and Coury."
|
|
Marcellon breathed his relief. Those few could be trusted to keep
|
|
quiet. "Good. Luthias will need no such instruction, but the others
|
|
must be made to hold their tongues. And as soon as he and the King
|
|
arrive, I hope there will be no need for him to speak of it any more
|
|
at all."
|
|
"I have already spoken to Captain Verde and to Coury. Answer me
|
|
this, old man: if Haralan's brother is dead, why is Sir Luthias
|
|
upset?"
|
|
"I'd like an answer to that myself," Marcellon interrupted,
|
|
glaring at the unopened door. Where was Luthias? Where was the King?
|
|
"Luthias doesn't think Prince Richard is dead," Myrande supplied
|
|
easily. She stared out the window at the near-setting sun. After a
|
|
moment, she turned back to the High Mage and the Knight Commander.
|
|
"When my father came to Uncle Fionn with the news that Prince Richard
|
|
had been declared dead, we were all appalled. Luthias finally asked my
|
|
father how he had died. Then Uncle Fionn laughed and told us that
|
|
Prince Richard probably was still alive, and that he was only declared
|
|
dead so that King Haralan could take the throne."
|
|
Marcellon fought cringing. That was too near the truth. Well,
|
|
leave it to Fionn Connall not to miss a trick. And damn Myrande for
|
|
her excellent memory. She couldn't have been more than eight or nine
|
|
at the time of Richard's "death."
|
|
"I see," the Knight Commander said slowly. Then his eyes widened,
|
|
and this time Marcellon saw the fear plainly. "Nehru's blood, no
|
|
wonder Luthias exploded! If Haralan could bring his brother back--"
|
|
The High Mage raised his hand, and Sir Edward ceased. "I'm sure
|
|
Sir Luthias merely misunderstood him."
|
|
"What did my husband do to the King?" Myrande asked quietly, her
|
|
voice testy. Marcellon smiled at her willingness to defend Luthias
|
|
even if he had done treason. Marcellon's own wife had been like that.
|
|
Sir Edward patted her hand. "Nothing of great insult or injury,
|
|
my lady. He merely roared, 'Why don't you just *give* the country to
|
|
Beinison?' and marched off with his castellan."
|
|
Marcellon pictured the entire situation without benefit of his
|
|
powers: Haralan's announcement, Luthias' explosion and departure,
|
|
Edward's cautioning the ladies to keep this quiet, and his quick
|
|
journey to the High Mage's house. "Well, that's like our Sir Luthias."
|
|
"And he's right," Sir Edward concluded. "Or he would be, if
|
|
Prince Richard were still alive. As I understand the inheritance laws
|
|
of this country, the chosen child becomes heir. If Haralan's brother
|
|
were alive, then Haralan's right to rule would be uncertain."
|
|
1 "True," Marcellon agreed. "But we needn't worry." The High Mage
|
|
took a deep breath. "I may never get that ring done," he muttered. He
|
|
faced the Knight Commander again. "I'll clear the matter, Edward.
|
|
Don't worry, but keep quiet."
|
|
"Thank you," a relieved Sir Edward exhaled as he rose with
|
|
dignity. "Good afternoon." He moved toward the door, then turned.
|
|
"Lady Countess, you have an excellent memory." The Knight Commander's
|
|
scar danced as he smiled. "Do you perhaps remember when we first met?"
|
|
The Countess of Connall gave him a smug grin. "It was the Melrin
|
|
six years ago. You had come to judge the tournament and to visit my
|
|
father."
|
|
Sir Edward bowed, and Marcellon saw the Knight Commander's
|
|
pleasure in his face. "I don't recall who won that tournament."
|
|
"My father did," Myrande reminded him, tilting her chin proudly.
|
|
"He was a good Knight," Sir Edward declared. There was no higher
|
|
praise from the Knight Commander, as Marcellon knew well. Edward's
|
|
smile wrinkled near his eyes. "I do remember, however, that that
|
|
particular tourney was Luthias' first. I turned to Sir Lucan--"
|
|
Myrande warmed at the mention of her father. "--and said, 'I do not
|
|
want to meet your squire when he reaches twenty-one.' It is still not
|
|
a pleasant thought." Sir Edward paused and squinted. "As I recall,
|
|
Luthias took third place in that tournament."
|
|
"That's because there were no bloody Bichanese!" Myrande rose as
|
|
if she had been shot from a bow. Luthias, obviously in pain, stumbled
|
|
through the door, supported on one side by his chief aide, Ittosai
|
|
Michiya, and on the other by Michya's older brother, Ito. All three
|
|
wore armor, but Luthias' breastplate hung in three pieces. Derrio,
|
|
nervous and anxious, followed behind.
|
|
Myrande rushed to help. "Lay him down," she instructed quickly.
|
|
"No, on the floor," she corrected as Michiya and Ito moved toward the
|
|
couch.
|
|
"Your excellency, do you think you should attend him?" Sir Edward
|
|
protested, horrified.
|
|
The Countess laughed. "This isn't the first time I've put him
|
|
back together."
|
|
Marcellon entered the fray. "What have you done to yourself this
|
|
time, manling?" He clucked mildly when the Count gave him an acidic
|
|
stare. Luthias would not still be in a temper if he were seriously
|
|
hurt.
|
|
"Broken rib, I think," the young Count groaned as the Bichanese
|
|
gently rested him on the floor. Myrande dropped to the floor at his
|
|
side. "I was sparring with Ito."
|
|
"And I thought you were saving yourself for Beinison," Marcellon
|
|
quipped, moving to the Count's left and kneeling on the floor beside
|
|
him. He reached out his hand and probed Luthias' chest gently.
|
|
"They've had their chance already," Myrande snapped, looking
|
|
coldly at the wizard.
|
|
"My armor exploded," Luthias told them, glancing from his wife on
|
|
one side to Marcellon on the other. "And Ito hit me again. It's on
|
|
Sable's side, Marcellon."
|
|
"I did not see it until after I struck the blow," Ito apologized,
|
|
his Baranurian still somewhat halting.
|
|
"It's no wonder," Luthias agreed, groaning as his wife found the
|
|
injured bone. "Stevene, you Bichanese move like lightning."
|
|
Myrande snatched a knife from her belt and sliced Luthias'
|
|
undershirt open. Ugly purple-brown bruises decorated the Knight's
|
|
strong chest. The High Mage quickly whispered a spell, and Luthias'
|
|
armor fell off. Marcellon tossed the plates to the Knight Commander,
|
|
who shook his head grimly as he inspected it.
|
|
"I'm glad you're on our side, sir," Edward told Ito quite
|
|
1sincerely. The Knight Commander touched the crushed plate in wonder.
|
|
"I would not like to be your enemy." The samurai bowed, and Sir Edward
|
|
looked at his officer. "I doubt it can be repaired, Sir Luthias."
|
|
"That's all right. It was pretty old." The Count tried to take a
|
|
deep breath but found he couldn't. "Stevene, what I wouldn't give for
|
|
Bichanese armor. You can move like the wind in that stuff."
|
|
"And it does not...explode, as you say," Ito added.
|
|
"So you will have your birthday present early," Michiya dropped
|
|
casually. "It will be ready in two days' time, anyway."
|
|
Despite the pain, Luthias grinned at the prospect of new armor.
|
|
Marcellon chuckled at the boyish expression then laid his hand on the
|
|
broken ribs and whispered a spell. Luthias sat up almost immediately.
|
|
"I like you, Marcellon. Last time a broke a rib, I couldn't fight for
|
|
two months."
|
|
"You broke more than one this time," Marcellon informed him, "but
|
|
I certainly couldn't keep you off the battlefield for two months in
|
|
times like these." The Royal Physician and High Mage ignored the
|
|
Countess' glare and continued his prescription. "Two days, Luthias. No
|
|
fighting." The young Count nodded, and his lady wife helped him to his
|
|
feet. "You may, however, be fitted for your birthday gift and dance at
|
|
the Melrin Ball."
|
|
Luthias grinned and turned to Ito. "Rematch, next week."
|
|
The Bichanese turned to his brother, who translated the first
|
|
word. Ito bowed. "Very well."
|
|
"What were you doing fighting with the Bichanese, anyway?"
|
|
Myrande wondered as her husband put an arm around her.
|
|
Marcellon smiled at them, wistfully remembering such times with
|
|
his wife. He quickly supressed the ache.
|
|
"I have a lot to learn from them, Sable," Luthias explained
|
|
easily. "Besides, I needed some way to work that frustration off." The
|
|
young Count scowled. "God, King Haralan's crazy. How can he even think
|
|
of bringing Prince Richard back?"
|
|
"Luthias, wouldn't you bring back Roisart if you could?"
|
|
Marcellon asked gently, and the Count looked away, his expression
|
|
amguished. Marcellon hated to bring up a painful subject--it had been
|
|
a year, less a day, that Roisart had been murdered--but he knew no
|
|
better way to make the young Knight understand his King. "That's all
|
|
the King meant."
|
|
"Why is it that you do not want this Prince to return?" Ittosai
|
|
Michiya, confused, asked Luthias. "Is he an evil man?"
|
|
"No, he's great," Luthias told him, grinning. Marcellon had a
|
|
quick vision of young Richard playing with Luthias and Roisart, and
|
|
smiled too. "He used to teach me strategy by playing toy soldiers with
|
|
me." Funny, that's how I taught Richard, Marcellon remembered. "He
|
|
used to climb trees with us and everything. But," the Count darkly
|
|
concluded, "he was supposed to be King."
|
|
"He didn't want to be King any more than you wanted to be Baron,"
|
|
Marcellon admonished Luthias sternly.
|
|
"Yet King Arneth chose him as heir over King Haralan," Luthias
|
|
reminded the Mage.
|
|
"Why?" Ittosai Michiya asked. "Is not Haralan a good King?"
|
|
"Certainly, and a better one than Richard would have been, but
|
|
Richard was his father's favorite," Marcellon said, pacing. Where
|
|
*was* Haralan? God, if he didn't get here and allow Marcellon to
|
|
dismiss these people, he'd never get that ring done!
|
|
"You are saying that there would be problems if this prince
|
|
returns?" Ito said, his face stern with concentration.
|
|
"There will be no problems. The Prince is dead," Sir Edward
|
|
stated.
|
|
"You wished to see me, Marcellon?" the King asked mildly as he
|
|
1walked blythely into the nest of the Wasp King. The High Mage took a
|
|
step forward, but Luthias, holding Myrande with one arm, beat him.
|
|
"I'm glad to see you, Sir Luthias. I wished to speak with you."
|
|
"I bet," Luthias spat angrily. Sir Edward sent his Knight a stern
|
|
look, which Marcellon knew the Count ignored deliberately. "How soon
|
|
are you starting the civil war, your majesty?"
|
|
The King looked from his Cavalry General to the High Mage. "Is he
|
|
well?"
|
|
"I believe Sir Luthias has misunderstood a remark your majesty
|
|
made about bringing back your brother Richard," Marcellon told him
|
|
slowly, his blue-green eyes steadily holding the King's.
|
|
Suddenly white-lipped, King Haralan inspected Sir Luthias'
|
|
furious face. "I merely wished I could bring him back. I would think
|
|
you would understand me, Sir Luthias, as you have lost a brother,
|
|
too."
|
|
Luthias' anger evaporated into shock and confusion. "You mean
|
|
he's really dead?" he gasped.
|
|
Haralan glanced at Marcellon, who returned the gaze steadily and
|
|
nodded. Shifting his eyes back to Sir Luthias, the King laughed
|
|
hollowly, and Marcellon saw the King's jaw shake. "Marcellon swore it.
|
|
Are you calling him a liar?"
|
|
"No, of course not," Luthias reassured him quickly. "But sire, I
|
|
thought--"
|
|
"Yes," Marcellon interrupted, then he caught the King's eye.
|
|
"Baron Fionn Connall thought perhaps our declaring Richard dead was a
|
|
political ploy to put you on the throne."
|
|
Haralan groaned and put his head in his hands. Marcellon felt his
|
|
despair--and the fear, too. If Fionn Connall had seen, how many others
|
|
had? "Luthias, I can no more bring my brother back than you can bring
|
|
back yours!" the King cried. He seized his tall Knight's shoulders.
|
|
"Can't you believe that?"
|
|
Luthias lowered his eyes. Marcellon sensed the young man's shame.
|
|
"Forgive me, your majesty."
|
|
"Sir Luthias," Haralan said slowly, breathing deeply, "if somehow
|
|
I could bring my brother back and I was planning on doing it, I hope
|
|
you would explode and prevent me. I realize what would happen if..."
|
|
The King looked toward Marcellon. "We all know what would happen."
|
|
"I certainly hope that you would not be so rude about it," Sir
|
|
Edward scolded his Knight harshly. "Courtesy is the virtue of a
|
|
Knight, Sir Luthias."
|
|
"And advising the King is the duty of a Knight," King Haralan
|
|
added softly. "Don't be so hard on him, Sir Edward. I understand the
|
|
anger he feels." The King watched Sir Luthias sorrowfully. "I, too,
|
|
have lost much of my family and would not sit still for someone
|
|
increasing the danger. Besides, Sir Luthias has realized his mistake
|
|
and apologized, and I accept that." With effort, the King smiled.
|
|
"Come, Edward, and you, too, Sir Luthias. We have much to do." Haralan
|
|
scanned the room. "And no one is to speak of this."
|
|
"Understood, your majesty," Ittosai Michiya said, then he quickly
|
|
translated for his brother, who nodded. Derrio covered his mouth.
|
|
"I'll see you later, Sable." Luthias kissed his wife on the
|
|
mouth. "How are the sword and ring coming?" the younger Knight asked.
|
|
"The ring!" Marcellon breathed. "Shoo!" he commanded, waving his
|
|
hands nervously at the King, the Knight Commander, the Count of
|
|
Connall, his squire, and the two, dignified samurais. "I have much to
|
|
do. And Haralan, issue a proclamation if you have to, but I can't deal
|
|
with any more interruptions, unless you want you Fleet Admiral dead!"
|
|
The King smiled and turned toward the door. "Good day, Countess."
|
|
Haralan motioned to her husband. "Attend me, General."
|
|
"As you wish, your majesty," Luthias agreed soberly.
|
|
1 Marcellon heard them no more, and he didn't notice when his
|
|
assistant fairly shoved the Knight Commander out of the room and
|
|
slammed and bolted to door. There wasn't time to waste. The sun would
|
|
be setting in an hour.
|
|
Such an hour. Marcellon had to cast the spell binding the two
|
|
mixtures thrice before it took. Then he boiled the mixed potion and
|
|
salve over a heavy fire, too hot for this day, but necessary. Plunging
|
|
his hands into the scalding compound, the High Mage cried the spell in
|
|
a loud, pained voice. The enchantment sealed over the mixture
|
|
immediately, God be praised, for Marcellon couldn't cast that spell
|
|
more than once a day. The damage to his hands couldn't heal more
|
|
quickly.
|
|
The High Mage cast a quick look out the window. A half hour to
|
|
sunset, perhaps, and the most difficult spell left to do. Myrande
|
|
stood patiently, awaiting his orders like a dutiful seneschal. "Bring
|
|
the burning yellow sand and oil," Marcellon requested as gently as he
|
|
could. He hands burned, and he whispered a spell to speed the healing.
|
|
Myrande retrieved the two substances from a nearby worktable.
|
|
Marcellon nodded toward the combined potions. When the Countess placed
|
|
the two beakers near the cauldron, Marcellon reached out and dipped a
|
|
hand in each. Almost absently, he sprinkled the sulphur and the oil
|
|
over the potion.
|
|
"How does it work?" Myrande asked, watching with avid,
|
|
unconcealed curiousity.
|
|
The High Mage chuckled despite his scalded hands. "It would take
|
|
years of training for you to be able to understand, Lady Sable."
|
|
Myrande considered his words, then inquired, "How do we make it
|
|
work, then?"
|
|
"Lay Luthias' sword and the silver ring on the table," Marcellon
|
|
commanded. While she did so, he explained, "When the mixture cools, we
|
|
will dip the sword hilt and the ring in it, then set them afire. When
|
|
I say the spell, the fire and the potions will be absorbed, and we
|
|
will be done." Marcellon grimaced at the difficulty of this seemingly
|
|
simple process and added, "If it takes."
|
|
"Why wouldn't it?"
|
|
"It's a very difficult spell, Lady Myrande," the wizard tried to
|
|
enlighten her. "Spells are...fixed, and if one syllable is off, one
|
|
bit of rhythm a fraction late, the spell won't work. Like..."
|
|
Marcellon's mind searched for something she could easily understand.
|
|
"Like leaving a potion to boil overlong, or underlong."
|
|
Myrande nodded thoughtfully and looked out the window. "Not much
|
|
time," she commented. Turning back to Marcellon, the Countess
|
|
wondered, "If necessary, could we finish tomorrow?"
|
|
"We'll have to begin at the beginning again," Marcellon told her,
|
|
finishing the delicate mixing. "Give me the ring and the sword."
|
|
Myrande handed both objects to him and watched the High Mage with
|
|
blatant curiosity. Carefully, for his hands still burned most
|
|
wretchedly, Marcellon dipped the silver ring and the sword hilt into
|
|
the mixture of the clotting salve, the hemoragging potion, the
|
|
sulphur, and the oil. After one last glance to make certain that the
|
|
objects were well covered, Marcellon uttered a single word. Both ring
|
|
and hilt erupted in flames.
|
|
"So far, we do well," sighed the mage. He raised his arms and
|
|
closed his eyes. When he began murmering, Marcellon felt his body
|
|
shiver, as it should. He felt power flow down his arms, and the hot,
|
|
white light burned his hands. Marcellon felt the great release when
|
|
the light left his fingers like harnessed lightning and struck the
|
|
ring and the sword.
|
|
Marcellon opened his eyes and watched them burn. If all went
|
|
well, the fire at any moment would be sucked into the silver.
|
|
1 The ring and sword hilt burned.
|
|
"Damn," Marcellon whispered. He scrutinized the worktable. "I
|
|
said the spell rightly..." When his eyes fell on the cauldron, the
|
|
High Mage reached out and touched the side. Too warm. He hadn't let
|
|
the mixture cool enough. Then Marcellon laughed at himself. In his
|
|
anxiety, he hadn't let the mixture cool at all.
|
|
The magician turned to his assistant and smiled ruefully. "I
|
|
suppose patience is not one of my virtues today," he sighed. Marcellon
|
|
marched toward the window and yanked the curtain back. Twenty minutes,
|
|
perhaps, until the sun set for the day.
|
|
"How much does it need cool?" Lady Myrande wondered, placing her
|
|
hand cautiously on the side of the cauldron. "We haven't much time."
|
|
"We'll wait a few minutes, then try again," the High Mage decided
|
|
as he wearily fell into a chair. "I have no wish to repeat this on the
|
|
morrow, Lady Sable. Although," Marcellon continued, his eyes dancing,
|
|
"I doubt we could have more...ah...interesting problems than we had
|
|
today."
|
|
Myrande chuckled. "Don't tempt fate." She handed him a goblet of
|
|
wine. "What if we don't get it done?"
|
|
"We'll do it again tomorrow," Marcellon promised her. She sounded
|
|
so worried, as if Luthias would be killed before her eyes if he didn't
|
|
have the sword by this evening. The High Mage could hardly blame her.
|
|
Roisart had been murdered in a peaceful ballroom, a year from
|
|
tomorrow.
|
|
Still, Marcellon didn't want to wait until tomorrow any more than
|
|
the Countess did. Clifton's life was in danger; he, too, could die at
|
|
any time. And Lauren--
|
|
The High Mage grimaced as he thought of his daughter. Marcellon,
|
|
now that he knew of its existence, felt the danger surrounding Lauren
|
|
like a stench-filled fog. Lauren, if she goes to battle...what if she
|
|
goes to battle?
|
|
"I'm glad to know Prince Richard is still alive," Myrande began
|
|
calmly.
|
|
Marcellon started out of his thoughts and stared at the Countess,
|
|
who was gazing at the setting sun. After a moment's consideration, the
|
|
High Mage answered, "After all that, you think him still alive?"
|
|
The Countess turned slowly and smiled regally. "Why not? He is.
|
|
He must be."
|
|
Marcellon stared at her sharply and quickly reached for Myrande's
|
|
thoughts. 'If Prince Richard were dead, you would have said so,'
|
|
Marcellon caught.
|
|
"I did say so," Marcellon protested, although he knew she was
|
|
right.
|
|
"Sir *Edward* said so," Myrande corrected him smoothly, "but you
|
|
didn't, and neither did the King. Besides, there's no other
|
|
explanation for your anger and the King's fear."
|
|
She read people too well, that one, Marcellon concluded. The
|
|
winter in court had taught her much; Myrande had learned how to read
|
|
eyes and faces and tones when words could not be trusted--too often
|
|
the case at court. Still, the High Mage realized acknowledging her
|
|
assessment was too dangerous.
|
|
"Myrande," the High Mage sighed heavily, for he hated to lie,
|
|
"Prince Richard is dead. He has been dead nearly fourteen years. I
|
|
swore it on the Word of God. Would I be forsworn?"
|
|
She doubted then; Marcellon felt it. Myrande knew well that
|
|
Marcellon never lied--almost never, the Mage reminded himself.
|
|
But she only doubted--and only for a moment. Myrande still
|
|
believed Richard lived. By not pronouncing him dead at the very first,
|
|
the High Mage realized that he had convinced stubborn Sable that
|
|
Richard still lived. Oh, Myrande would say nothing more--in her
|
|
1thoughts, Marcellon gleaned the Myrande's realization of the futility
|
|
of fighting the High Mage--but still she believed. Damn her, she was
|
|
as stubborn as Lauren when Lauren magically knew something.
|
|
Lauren--What would happen to Lauren?
|
|
The mage sprung from the chair impatiently. As soon as this was
|
|
done, he would search his crystal, day and night if necessary, and
|
|
send a warning to his daughter when he sent her husband the ring. But
|
|
the ring must be finished. As for Lady Sable, let her believe what she
|
|
wishes, so long as she remains silent. There was no time to worry
|
|
about it now. Marcellon knew without looking that barely a quarter
|
|
hour of sunlight remained.
|
|
"Come," Marcellon half-invited, half-ordered his assistant,
|
|
"Bring the ring and the sword to me, Myrande."
|
|
Marcellon took them from her and dipped them carefully. He
|
|
immersed the objects in the carefully concocted mixture a second time
|
|
to be sure of their coating. Once again, he placed them on the
|
|
worktable and set them on fire with a word. Marcellon lifted his hands
|
|
in spell and prayer and closed his eyes.
|
|
Marcellon's body quaked gently as the power of the earth and the
|
|
air flowed through his body and gathered at his hands into hot, white
|
|
lighting, pure and powerful. The power began to elongate, lightning
|
|
waiting to strike--
|
|
Lightning in a dark forest, covered with clouds--great wind and
|
|
fire--blood on the ground--Lauren stood within in, calling out words
|
|
of horror and magic.
|
|
And the lightning coursed through Lauren, fell on her from a
|
|
stormy sky and fled from her in many directions to sear as many trees.
|
|
Lauren screamed with the pain of a banshee, but she didn't release or
|
|
banish the lightning as Marcellon had taught her. Seven trees were
|
|
sinking into the earth that spawned them, and more were burning.
|
|
The lightning grew brighter, and Lauren glowed with its power.
|
|
One more levin-strike, and it split a great oak in half. Lauren
|
|
screamed--Marcellon heard himself scream her name--and his daughter
|
|
collapsed on a high cliff amidst the cries of children.
|
|
"Is Lauren all right?" Lady Myrande was asking anxiously.
|
|
Marcellon sensed her arms around him, but the Countess seemed so far
|
|
away. The High Mage tried to open his eyes, but the room swung
|
|
dizzily. "Marcellon? Are you all right?"
|
|
"Lauren," the High Mage murmered, clutching his head miserably.
|
|
"Oh, my baby."
|
|
"Marcellon, the spell," Myrande reminded him. The mage was
|
|
beginning to feel cold stone beneath him. "It didn't work."
|
|
"Lauren," Marcellon groaned. She had to stay out of the battles.
|
|
He had to warn her. Without opening his eyes to the swaying room, the
|
|
High Mage climbed to a standing position. "Lauren," he croaked. "I
|
|
have to warn Lauren."
|
|
"Marcellon, the spell!" Myrande insisted. "There's no time!"
|
|
"I can't let her die," Marcellon mumbled, stumbling blindly in no
|
|
coherent direction. The mage suddenly felt someone supporting him.
|
|
"Myrande, my daughter....the lightning..."
|
|
"We'll warn her," she promised. "I tell you, we'll warn her. But
|
|
Clifton and Luthias--Marcellon, cast the spell!"
|
|
That's right--Clifton and Luthias--but Lauren--and Marcellon
|
|
feared to call the lightning again, lest it kill his daughter. Lauren!
|
|
Lauren!
|
|
"The sun is setting!" he heard Lady Sable scream. "Marcellon! The
|
|
spell! Clifton will die! You told me Clifton will die!"
|
|
Clifton--yes--Clifton, too, must be saved, for Lauren, for the
|
|
King. But the lightning--
|
|
No, Marcellon knew his spell did not--would not--hurt his own
|
|
1daughter. Not his spell, no. But I must warn her! the High Mage
|
|
thought, but even as he did so, he raised his arms and created the
|
|
spark that set the sword and ring afire. I must dip them, he thought
|
|
dazedly, but they burned as if newly immersed in the potions. Slowly,
|
|
breathlessly, the High Mage murmered the words that set the magic in
|
|
motion, that called power from the earth and from the air, and the
|
|
lightning gathered at his hands.
|
|
Marcellon knew when the lightning struck, and as the fire was
|
|
pulled into the sword hilt and the ring, the High Mage collapsed.
|
|
|
|
Marcellon did not raise his head from the table when Luthias
|
|
entered the sitting room well after dark. Marcellon knew it was
|
|
Luthias; he had had plenty of time to aquaint himself with the rhythm
|
|
and sound of Luthias' walk on the ships bound to and from Magnus and
|
|
in the long winter months in Pyridain. Marcellon even knew when the
|
|
young Knight bent to kiss his wife, fast asleep as a kitten on
|
|
Marcellon's plush couch. The High Mage sighed; he had often bestowed
|
|
such a caress on his own, sleeping wife when the King's business kept
|
|
him late.
|
|
Ah, Eliza, my sweet Eliza...
|
|
Marcellon heard the young Count pause before a side table, and
|
|
the High Mage would have smiled if he had the energy. "You may take
|
|
it. It is finished." With effort, Marcellon opened his eyes to see the
|
|
Knight, satisfied, slip the sword into its scabbard. "It will serve
|
|
you well."
|
|
"Clifton's ring?"
|
|
"It is on his hand as we speak." That spell, the one that
|
|
transported the little ring and the warning, finally exhausted
|
|
Marcellon so that even lifting his head from the table where he wrote
|
|
his daughter was nigh impossible. "I could not wait for a messenger. I
|
|
saw Lauren's death."
|
|
"Lauren's?" Luthias questioned. "Maybe you should make her a
|
|
ring."
|
|
"It would not help. She will not die of wounds. I have warned her
|
|
to stay away from battle..."
|
|
"Marcellon."
|
|
And the High Mage knew the time had come. He had known that for
|
|
some time the questions that plagued Luthias Connall, and Marcellon
|
|
had known that sooner or later, the young Knight would confront him.
|
|
Without waiting for the question to be asked, Marcellon answered it.
|
|
"I did foresee your father's death. I knew he would be thrown from a
|
|
horse, and I did warn him, Luthias. To his credit, your father
|
|
believed me. Still, there was no way...the drug Manus used on
|
|
Dragonfire worked through the poor horse's food. There was no way to
|
|
detect its administration until it struck, and when it was over,
|
|
well..."
|
|
"And my brother? You were at the ball, Marcellon. Didn't you--"
|
|
"My visions are imperfect, son. Some are plain, others like
|
|
dreams...and they only function if there is no change. I never foresaw
|
|
your brother's death." Marcellon grasped a breath with tired lungs. "I
|
|
saw yours."
|
|
"Mine?" The Count sounded surprised. "But I didn't die."
|
|
"I tell you, I see things that will happen if nothing changes,"
|
|
Marcellon repeated. "I saw, as if in a dream, your brother invested as
|
|
Duke of Dargon, and he asked me what he should do now. But something
|
|
happened--he saw the assassins, I guess--and he died, not you."
|
|
"Why didn't you save him?" Luthias demanded, his voice grieved.
|
|
"Marcellon--"
|
|
"I could not have saved him," Marcellon admitted heavily. "I have
|
|
great skill in medicine and magic--but not even I can bring back the
|
|
1dead. The poison they used on Roisart was immediate, like ardonatus.
|
|
Roisart was dead before he fell to the floor at your feet. He was dead
|
|
when you reached him, Luthias. I was farther away. There was nothing I
|
|
could have done."
|
|
"Nothing," Luthias whispered. After a long silence, the Knight
|
|
said, "It is past midnight, and it's a year he's been dead." Marcellon
|
|
heard the young man shift toward him. "Do you ever stop missing the
|
|
dead, Marcellon?"
|
|
"No." Tired grief flooded Marcellon's consciousness. "It has been
|
|
six years since my wife died, and there are still nights I wake,
|
|
expecting her beside me and grieving to remember her gone." Marcellon
|
|
wearily turned his head and looked at the Count of Connall. "Do you
|
|
not miss Sir Lucan still and your uncle Clifton?" The Knight nodded
|
|
glumly. "And your brother and father...thank God your wife lives
|
|
still, Luthias, son."
|
|
"She won't be hurt in the war, will she?"
|
|
The thought startled Marcellon; he had never even considered it.
|
|
"I don't know. Now take your wife home, and drink a sleeping potion
|
|
that you both might sleep uninterrupted. And if I can do the same,
|
|
I'll tell you tomorrow."
|
|
Marcellon listened as the Count of Connall took two steps toward
|
|
his wife; again, the young man paused. "I hate to ask, Marcellon, but
|
|
what about me?"
|
|
The High Mage managed a coughing chuckle. "Sir Luthias, they have
|
|
sent assassins for you. They have imprisoned you. They have tortured
|
|
you and drugged you. They sent a Knight of the Star against you- -a
|
|
high-ranking one at that--and you defeated him. I don't think Beinison
|
|
possesses anything that can kill you. You seem to be under the
|
|
protection of God Himself."
|
|
"Well, I'm grateful," the young Knight admitted, chuckling also.
|
|
In a more serious tone, Luthias continued, "And I am grateful for what
|
|
you have given me, Marcellon. You saved my life once, and now you're
|
|
preserving--"
|
|
Before the words were finished, the mage's eyes slid closed, and
|
|
he snored softly. Smiling, the Knight silently lifted the mage and
|
|
carried him to his bed in the next room. "Rest well, Marcellon." Then
|
|
Luthias took his sleeping wife, who cuddled to him as if she were one
|
|
of their newly born daughters, home.
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 **
|
|
****** ****
|
|
** ** **
|
|
**** ** ** **
|
|
**** **** ** ** ** *****
|
|
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
|
|
** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
|
|
** ** ** ** *****
|
|
** ** ***
|
|
****
|
|
**
|
|
|
|
Quanta is the electronically distributed journal of Science Fiction
|
|
and Fantasy. As such, each issue contains fiction by amateur authors
|
|
as well as articles, reviews etc... Quanta is published in two
|
|
formats, Ascii and PostScript* (for PostScript compatible
|
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laser-printers). Submissions should be sent to quanta@andrew.cmu.edu.
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Requests to be added to the distribution list should be sent to one of
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the following depending on which version of the magazine you'd like to
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receive.
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quanta+requests-postscript@andrew.cmu.edu
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quanta+requests-ascii@andrew.cmu.edu
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or
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quanta+requests-postscript@andrew.BITNET
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quanta+requests-ascii@andrew.BITNET
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Send mail only- no interactive messages or files please. Note that if
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you subscribe with a letter sent over BITNET, you will have the
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magazine sent to you as a file over BITNET, whereas if you subscribe
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with a letter sent over the Internet, the magazine will be sent to you
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by mail. Note that all issues are available from the anonymous FTP
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server fed.expres.cs.cmu.edu (128.2.209.58). If you can access this
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server and would therefore only want to be notified when a new issues
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has been released, please specify this in your request.
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Quanta now reaches an international audience of over 1000 subscribers.
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It is produced bi-monthly by Daniel Appelquist (da1n+@andrew.cmu.edu).
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* PostScript is a registered trademark of Adobe Systems Incorporated.
|
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1------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
(C) Copyright November, 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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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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|