1520 lines
85 KiB
Plaintext
1520 lines
85 KiB
Plaintext
From WHITEJL@DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU Tue May 12 10:38:25 1992
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Message-Id: <199205121438.AA26880@eff.org>
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Received: from DUVM by DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU (IBM VM SMTP R1.2.2MX) with BSMTP id 3317; Tue, 12 May 92 10:35:23 EDT
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Date: Tue, 12 May 92 10:35:18 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 5
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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 1
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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 5, Issue 1 03/20/92 Cir 1155 --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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-- Contents --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Sonnet to the Bichanese Wendy Hennequin Yule 4, 1014
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Lessons Wendy Hennequin Yule 8, 1014
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Dummy Bill Erdley Yule 10, 1014
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Pact III Max Khaytsus Yuli 14, 1014
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 Sonnet to the Bichanese
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by Wendy Hennequin
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(b.c.k.a. <HENNEQUI@CTSTATEU>)
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I looked up from the poem I was struggling to write as I heard
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someone enter, and then I lowered my eyes to keep from staring. A
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Bichanese man, one of the samurai the Emperor of Bichu had sent to the
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King by the looks of his weapons, stood in my cubicle, confused. After
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an awkward moment in which he searched my tiny, dank cell with his
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eyes and I didn't dare raise mine, I asked meekly, "May I help you, my
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lord?"
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"Please," he began courteously, to me of all people, and Bichu
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and Dargon flavored his words, "I think I am lost. They said I should
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seek the bastard to translate and transcribe my order, but I do not
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see him."
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My heart seethed. Oh, I didn't mind that the masters had sent
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this Bichanese lord to me--I am, after all, the only translator of
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Bichanese in the city--but they could have sent him to seek *Fionna*.
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I kept my face docile, though, as I had long practiced. This samurai
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hadn't insulted me, and thus I should not insult him with my anger.
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Even if he had been the one to throw my bastard birth in my face,
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I would not show him my wrath. Oh, they can all tolerate-- barely--a
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meek, gentle, unthreatening bastard, but an angry one who fights for
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her own justice, never.
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At least, that is the way of things in Magnus. My mother should
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have stayed in Dargon where she belonged, where bastards and unwed
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mothers are truly tolerated and never shunned. I'll be very glad when
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I have enough money to go there myself and leave Magnus behind me.
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I beckoned the samurai without looking at him. "Come in, my lord.
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I am--" I hesitated to name myself bastard, though it is true. There
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are others enough who so call me. "I am the person you seek."
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The samurai advanced, and when I stole a glance, I saw he was
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smiling, but his eyes were bewildered. "I do not understand. You are
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no despicable man."
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"Despicable man? What do you mean, my lord?"
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"My--" He paused and pondered. "My liege-lord calls despicable
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men bastards. He has never used that name for a woman."
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I tried not to laugh. For the first time in my life, I actually
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wanted to laugh at the word "bastard." "The word does not mean
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despicable man, my lord, though no doubt your liege-lord so uses it.
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Many people do so."
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The Bichanese considered this. "What does the word mean, then?"
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Somehow, I courageously looked the samurai in the face. He was a
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good-looking man, and his slanted, hazel-brown eyes were serious, and
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gentle. I was able to continue looking directly at him as I answered,
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"It means an illegitimate child." He shook his head, still confused.
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"A child conceived or born while his parents were unmarried, my lord."
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The samurai thought for a moment, then, as I lowered my eyes to
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avoid offending with my direct gaze, he asked, "This is an insult
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here, to have unmarried parents?" I nodded glumly and looked away, for
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my eyes had flooded. I had much better control usually. "Why?
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Luthias-sama--my liege-lord the Count of Connall- -he says such things
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often happen in this country, without blame from law or church."
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"Not in Magnus," I told him bitterly, blinking away tears. He
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cares about a bastard, I thought. "The new religions competing with
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the Stevene have made our priests very strict."
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"And people insult you with your birth?"
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"In my case, it cannot be considered an insult," I managed,
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gulping down my sobs. I am a bastard, I have always been a bastard,
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and I must survive despite it. Oh, God, I wish people would just
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accept me despite it! "It is true. My parents were not married, my
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lord. I don't even know my father's name."
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"Do they also taunt your mother?"
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My mother. My face warmed with indignation. Only her mistreatment
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burned me more than mine. "They did, my lord. God rest her, she's dead
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of the Red Plague these six years."
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"But they still call you names, although you were not at fault?"
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I turned toward the samurai and tried to smile. "Is it not like
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that in Bichu? I understood that the Bichanese honor code was quite
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strict."
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The Bichanese returned my smile warmly, and mine drew strength
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from his. "No, in Bichu, it is enough to know one's mother." He began
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to search my face curiously, and I ducked my head. "What is your name?
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They did not tell me."
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Of course, they hadn't. "The bastard" is all they ever call me.
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"My name is Fionna."
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"I am Ittosai Michiya." While I wondered why the name was
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familiar, he seized my hand suddenly and pressed it to his cheek. I,
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astonished, could not move. He sat on the unsteady stool next to my
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table, and when he looked at me, his smile collapsed. "Did I not do it
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rightly? Is that not how a man greets a lady here?"
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"I'm not a lady, my lord," I sputtered, trying to yank my fingers
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from his. "I'm a bastard!"
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Ittosai Michiya's hand tightened on my fingers, and he laughed.
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"I cannot catch it, can I?"
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Completely without my guard, I laughed too. "You'd never tell
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from how the people of Magnus treat me." I stared at him. This
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Bichanese, a foreigner, made me forget myself and laugh. I do not
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remember the last time I laughed. When he let go of my fingers, I held
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the hand out. "What have you brought me, my lord?"
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The samurai gave it to me without looking at it. "My liege- lord
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needs two copies, one in Baranurian for the King and another in
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Bichanese for General Kirinagi."
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I unrolled it and stared. After several minutes of concentrated
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scrutiny, I managed only to make out Connall's signature. Comparing it
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to the rest of the document, I surmised the hurried Count had scrawled
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the words out himself, hastily and impatiently. But then, from what I
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had heard of the Count of Connall, his hurry might well be expected
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and excused.
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Keeping my eyes on the illegible scratches, I said quietly, "Do
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you know what it says?"
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"Yes, of course. Luthias-sama told me as he was writing it."
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"Please tell me."
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When Ittosai Michiya didn't answer, I looked at him through my
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eyelashes. He wore a bewildered expression again. "Can you not read as
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well as write and translate?"
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I have never been bold, but I looked at this samurai and smiled.
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"Only when the writing is legible, my lord. Your liege the Count
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Connall is a great warrior and a fine general from all reports, but
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he'd never make a scribe."
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The Bichanese chuckled. "I am not surprised."
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"What does it say, my lord?"
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He took a deep breath. "It is a request to General Kirinagi for
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my official transfer. I go to war tomorrow with the Count of Connall
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and the cavalry."
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Ittosai Michiya, I remembered suddenly. No wonder the name had
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been familiar; last autumn, he had been tried for treason. I had
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thought, however, that he was Connall's castellan. Why would he need a
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transfer? The obvious answer came: protocol.
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I drew a paper toward me. "I shall have to make my own wording,
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but I have done such things before," I assured him.
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"Wait--I am not interrupting other work?" Ittosai Michiya tapped
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my poem.
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"No, my lord. That is..." I wondered how to explain, and looking
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at the very bad poem, I decided not to. If only I were a great poet,
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people might accept me, but I was not one.
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"It can wait," I told the samurai, dipping a pen and beginning
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the Baranurian order. Translating from Baranurian to Bichanese was
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easier than writing the original order in the foreign characters. "You
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are part of the cavalry?"
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"Yes. My leige-lord is its general, and I am his aide." His voice
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held great pride when he spoke of his lord and his position with him.
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"We ride for Pyridain to held the Knight Captain, Dame Mar..."
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"Martis Westbrook," I supplied. Although the master scribes
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rarely let me work on recent chronicles and the other scribes scarcely
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ever spoke with me, I had overheard conversations. There had been a
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great battle in Pyridain recently, at some village called Oron's
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Crossroads. Baranur had lost, and the Beinison army had all but
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slaughtered Dame Captain Westbrook's troops. I glanced up at this
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samurai who treated me not only as a human, but as a lady, and my
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stomach tightened. Pyridain? He could well die.
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"Yes, Dame Martis Westbrook shall be our chief general.
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Luthias-sama shall be one of her advisors." His eyes searched mine
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curiously. "Why do you look at me like that?"
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"I--The fighting in Pyridain is dangerous, my lord."
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The samurai bowed in the Bichanese way. "That is the way of the
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sword, and I am prepared for death as I strive for life." I shuddered.
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Ittosai Michiya laughed. "Do not think that I wish to die, Fionna. If
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I do, I shall...what is the expression here? I shall pay hell, for I
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promised the Countess that I would see her husband safely home."
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That made me laugh, and I returned to my work. As I wrote my neat
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letters, the samurai held my incomplete and incompetent poem to the
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one small candle that tried to light my cell. I graciously offered,
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though embarrassment squeezed my stomach, "You may read it if you
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wish."
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"I cannot read your language." Ittosai Michiya returned the work
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to my desk and reached for one of the books on my desk. I continued
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writing, quickly and neatly. "Did you do this?"
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I smiled warmly at the awe in his voice and glanced from my
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current work to see what he held. I recognized the bright gold and
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blue illumination of a Fretheod work I had finished translating
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yesterday for the University. "Yes, my lord. I did that."
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"You do beautiful work."
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I actually blushed. I don't believe I had ever blushed before.
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"I--thank you, my lord."
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"Despite their insults, they allow you beautiful things to work
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with."
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"Not usually," I muttered, not meaning for him to hear.
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"What do you mean?"
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I blushed more deeply, this time with shame at my words. "I am
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the only scribe here who knows the Fretheod tongue, my lord, and that,
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and the money from the University, are why they allowed me those
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beautiful things to work with. Usually, I receive the last, plainest
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work."
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"They are fools."
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I said nothing, for I agreed. I continued my work diligently. The
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samurai kept patiently silent.
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"You are not married?" he suddenly inquired.
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I laughed again, but my merriment was bitter. My tongue wished to
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tell him that no Magnus man would lower himself to marry a bastard or
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even to come near her and speak with her. For this, I dared not speak
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at all.
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The samurai had sharp wits. "They think they can catch your
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bastardness? They will not have you?"
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His tone demanded an honest answer. "That is the case, my lord."
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"They, too, are fools, and below you."
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Astonished, I squeaked, "Below *me?* Below a bastard?"
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"Any man who cannot appreciate beauty and talent is certainly
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unworthy of a woman such as you."
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I actually stared at him in acute shock. He could not be serious.
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He smiled at me gently and chuckled at what must have been my
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completely horrified expression. Since there was nothing I could say
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to his comment, I continued working as the samurai flipped through the
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book, pausing occasionally. When I finished the order in Baranurian
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and pushed it aside, Ittosai Michiya again pulled my poem toward
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himself. "Why are there no drawings?"
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"It is only the first draft of a poem, my lord." I had heard that
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great poets' words flowed from them; mine were forced, and they were
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far from good.
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The samurai studied them as I searched my little box for a brush
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with which to write the Bichanese characters. A pen would never render
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them correctly. "What does it say?" he interrupted me.
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"I--it is a very bad poem, my lord," I stumbled.
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Ittosai Michiya passed the paper to me. "Please read it to me."
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I took the paper and set it aside. "It is not a good poem, my
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lord," I repeated. "I--I would be ashamed to have you hear it."
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"Why?" he demanded, and I turned away. For all that I wished I
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were a great poet, I knew that my words were hardly worthy for a
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member of the nobility. I am no great poet. Perhaps someday I shall
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be, but not yet. "Why, Fionna?"
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"It is very bad," I repeated, and I found it harder to ignore
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this foreigner's gentleness than all my countrymen's scorn. "I would
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not have you think badly of me."
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"Of you? You have written poetry?" Because he sounded pleased, I
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looked at him, and Ittosai Michiya was smiling. "Please, read it to
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me. I too write poetry. I would like you hear your poem."
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"But it is so bad!" I protested. I knew how horrid, forced, and
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mismetered the words on that page were.
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"Please," the samurai said again, covering my hand gently with
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his.
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So I read the incomplete verse softly before I turned anxiously
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away to dip the brush and translate Luthias Connall's order into
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Bichanese characters. Ittosai Michiya did not speak, and I knew why.
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That poem was so bad.
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"I do not know the Baranurian forms of poetry," the samurai
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ventured as I began the second vertical line of Bichanese. "Is that in
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keeping with them?"
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"It isn't," I admitted. "I am working very hard, but I can't make
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the words fit."
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"It is not the words," he told me. "It is the poem itself. How
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can something as ignoble and horrible as this jail they give to you be
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made into a beautiful poem?"
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Shocked, I stared at him. "You may be right," I mused softly, and
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then I returned to my work. "Don't the Bichanese write of very common
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things?"
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"Yes, but of things of nature and of beauty--a frog, a tree. They
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do not write of squalor and oppression," he concluded scornfully,
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glaring at his surroundings. "How can this place be worthy of poetry?"
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"But I wish to be a great poet someday, and I will never be a
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great poet if I do not write."
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"That is true."
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I handed the samurai the brush. "Please, my lord, write your name
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in Bichanese." He scrawled the fanciful characters only slightly more
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neatly than his liege lord had scribbled my alphabet, but Ittosai
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Michiya's writing was at least readable. I copied his name onto the
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order and continued.
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"It is true that you will not be a great poet if you never
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write," the samurai was saying as I translated, "but it is also true
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that you will never be a great poet as you are now. A great poet
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writes of great things. Nothing great shall happen to you here."
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"I have nowhere else to go," I protested, turning toward him. "I
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am an orphan, my lord, and alone. I have no money. If I had money, I
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would go to Dargon and seek my mother's kin, and even if I did not
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find them, I would be accepted, for in Dargon, they follow the
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Stevene's teachings more closely. But as it is--"
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"Please, Fionna," Ittosai Michiya soothed, taking my hands
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despite the fact that I painted his palm black, "I do not mean to
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upset you. You will be a great poet, but you must leave. You are too
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fine for this place."
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I yanked my hands from him and quickly finished the order while
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trying hard to forget Ittosai Michiya's presence. Forbidding my own
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tears, I handed the samurai the order in the two languages. "They are
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finished, my lord."
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"You are angry with me?"
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The pain in his voice required me to look him in the face. "No,
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my lord," I admitted as my heart melted before the anguish in his
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eyes. I tried to smile, and the tears oozed into my eyes. How could he
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think me angry with him? How could I be angry with the one person who
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showed me kindness, who treated me as a human instead of a leper?
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I offered him my hand in friendship, for I had nothing else to
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give. "I will not forget you."
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Ittosai Michiya smiled then and took my hand. I should not have
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been surprised when he placed my hand on his cheek once more. Still
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holding my hand, he gazed at me with such a look on his face, as if I
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were a princess in a tower, a beautiful lady worthy of a legend. "If
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only you and I had met earlier," he said, and his voice was thick.
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Ittosai Michiya was a man worthy of a legend; of that, I was
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certain. I stepped closer.
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He kissed me quickly, and before I could recover from my shock,
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the samurai released both my hands. "Forgive me. I must go."
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I can speak only a few words in the Bichanese tongue, but I
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managed, "Sionara, Michiya."
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He smiled at me bravely, a smile that gave hope as well as
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absorbed it, and then Ittosai Michiya was gone.
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I faced my lonely, dark desk and sighed. Once, only once, a man
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looked at me with kindness and caring, and he went to war. I felt as
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if I would never see him again. When the tears threatened, my body
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weakened, and I put a hand on the desk for support. A paper in a place
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where I kept none moved beneath my hand.
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I lifted it and gasped when I realized that it was sprinkled with
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Bichanese characters. For a moment, I thought that perhaps Ittosai
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Michiya had forgotten the orders he had come to get. My stomach
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wrenched at the thought of going to the Royal Quarter to deliver them;
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if the common people were such snobs to me, what would the 'nobility'
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be like?
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Then again, Ittosai Michiya was a noble man, and the characters
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on the paper were in his hand. "I will return for you," the pretty
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lines promised. Following them was a short haiku poem, from which all
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beauty would be lost if the tiny lines were translated, but they spoke
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of my eyes.
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Resolved, I folded the paper gently and put it in my little box
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with my pens. I gathered my one bottle of ink. "I will return for
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you," Ittosai Michiya had written, but he would not find me in this
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place. I had no doubt he would be pleased.
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"Greats poets write of great things," the samurai had said, and I
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knew he was right. There were great things happening, great men
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living, and I would go and see the war and watch Sir Luthias of
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Connall and Sir Edward Sothos--and perhaps Ittosai Michiya--become
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great heroes. And I would write great epics and songs. Nothing so
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wonderful would ever happen here.
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I lifted my pen box and the one, lonely bottle of ink and paused.
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One great thing had happened to me here. Hurried, I sat one last time
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at the unbalanced table, and for once, the words flowed easily, and
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from my heart.
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Thou saids't, "Had thou and I met earlier--"
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And finished not, nor needed to; thy look
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So sad, profound, thy meaning did confer
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Far better than the words in any book.
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Thou saids't thou knews't regret; now I too know
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Thy prophet's vision, wondrous to the eye
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As roses risen from the Deber snow,
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But wrongly timed, were choked by cold to die.
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But still the roots beneath the snow await
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The spring and summer, time enough to bloom
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When winter's done; do not regret the fate
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Which might delay, but not forever doom.
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And I rejoice, that I have lived to see
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A living man who looked that way at me.
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 Lessons
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|
by Wendy Hennequin
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|
(b.c.k.a. <HENNEQUI@CTSTATEU>)
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"It is not your place to lesson my squires in courtesy!" Sir
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Ongis roared, "forgetting" the honorific that courtesy, custom, and
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his superior's rank and title demanded.
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|
Sir Luthias, Count of Connall, Knight Captain of the Northern
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Marche, glared at his officer coldly. "You are wrong, sir." The
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younger Knight's jaw was as tight as his clenched fists, but he
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managed to quote his wife's father, Sir Lucan Shipbrook, who had
|
|
taught Luthias himself the ways of chivalry. "'It is the duty of a
|
|
Knight to correct the behavior of all those who aspire to the chain.'"
|
|
Sir Ongis' eyes narrowed. "My squires behave as I teach them."
|
|
That much was obvious. "As does my squire," Luthias replied,
|
|
keeping his voice even with great effort. "I taught him to give a curt
|
|
reply to anyone churlish enough to taunt him."
|
|
The other Knight snorted, his contempt for Luthias obvious. "So
|
|
your idea of a 'curt reply' is a blow to the mouth?"
|
|
Luthias' fists relaxed as he thought of what Marcellon might say
|
|
to this buffoon, and the young Knight had to conceal a smile as he
|
|
said it. "My squire is mute, sir. He can only speak with his hands."
|
|
"You--!" Ongis growled, taking a step closer to Sir Luthias and
|
|
putting a hand on his sword's hilt. Behind the Knight, Luthias' chief
|
|
aide, Captain Ittosai Michiya, silently grasped his katana's handle.
|
|
"I should teach you a lesson in how to respect your betters!"
|
|
"At your leisure, sir," Luthias invited coolly, keeping his
|
|
temper in check. He had had more infuriating foes than this. "I look
|
|
forward to thrashing you as thoroughly as my squire thrashes yours."
|
|
When Ongis took another step toward him, Luthias looked over the
|
|
idiot's shoulder at his Castellan. "Shall I have you escorted to your
|
|
pavilion?"
|
|
The Bichanese offered a smile and a bow, as if he would enjoy
|
|
such a piece of work.
|
|
When the older Knight didn't move, the young Knight Captain
|
|
walked to the fireside and contemplated the battle plans he had drawn
|
|
in the dirt. Sir Ongis seethed. After a moment, Luthias added,
|
|
"Dismissed."
|
|
Out of the corner of his eye, the Count saw Ongis stalk toward
|
|
his bright pavilion. Michiya smiled, and Luthias returned it.
|
|
The Bichanese released his katana and approached. "A year ago,
|
|
you would not have had such an easy time keeping your temper."
|
|
Sir Luthias chuckled and clapped his aide's shoulder. "A
|
|
Bichanese friend of mine has shown me the advantage of control." As a
|
|
pleasant flush covered Michiya's round face, a dark shadow, angry and
|
|
painful, floated through Luthias' eyes. "The training I got in
|
|
Beinison helped greatly also."
|
|
The castellan set his mouth. "A harsh lesson, that." Then Ittosai
|
|
Michiya smiled again. "It is good to see that the fool does not anger
|
|
you much."
|
|
Luthias flashed a smile, bright as the fire and quite as
|
|
dangerous. "Oh, I am angry, Michiya, and I'd love to drive that
|
|
craven, pompous son of a whore into the ground, but I haven't got the
|
|
time to worry about him." The Knight Captain waved his hand over his
|
|
crude sketches. "I have more important matters to deal with."
|
|
Michiya nodded and squatted over the pictures. "You are still
|
|
certain that the Beinison army goes to Magnus, Luthias-sama?"
|
|
Luthias' certainty knotted his heart. The Beinisons flowed toward
|
|
Magnus as steadily as the Laraka river flowed from it. "They won't get
|
|
there," Luthias vowed, his eyes hard. "If I have to die for it,
|
|
Michiya, they won't get there."
|
|
The Bichanese looked at his leige-lord seriously and said, "You
|
|
may have to."
|
|
Luthias gaze was serious and sincere. "If that's what it takes,
|
|
I'm willing."
|
|
Michiya smiled like a sunrise. "I hope it will not come to that.
|
|
I promised Myrande that I would bring you home safely."
|
|
Luthias actually laughed. "I wonder how many people promised her
|
|
that." The King and Sir Edward knew they could hardly make such
|
|
promises, but everyone else seemed to think themselves qualified to
|
|
reassure Myrande that her husband would return from war alive and
|
|
safe. Marcellon's promise rested in the sword on Luthias' hip.
|
|
Michiya's promise danced in his merry eyes. Luthias' vow burned in his
|
|
heart: *Sable, I'll come home to you.* Their last night before he left
|
|
raced into his mind, recalling the Count's most urgent reason for
|
|
halting Beinison's progress--his beautiful wife. "We have to protect
|
|
Magnus, down to the last man."
|
|
"Yes," Michiya agreed with a nod. "There is much at stake there,
|
|
but do not worry about Myrande and the children. Marcellon put
|
|
protections on his house, he said."
|
|
Luthias laughed shortly. "If she consents to stay in it."
|
|
"Still, she has protection," Michiya reminded him. "But
|
|
Fionna..."
|
|
"Who?"
|
|
"Fionna," Michiya repeated.
|
|
"Who?"
|
|
To Luthias' surprise, his castellan looked away. "A...woman of
|
|
Magnus. She is a scribe."
|
|
A scribe? "Friend of yours?" Luthias wondered, scribbling in the
|
|
dirt.
|
|
"Yes. I--I think I love her." When Luthias' jaw dropped, Ittosai
|
|
grinned up at his lord, and his openness disarmed any teasing words
|
|
Luthias might have been preparing. "That is something that I learned
|
|
from you: how to love a woman."
|
|
The young Knight couldn't decide whether to be repulsed or
|
|
amused. "You'd better find another teacher. I think I've pretty well
|
|
botched it."
|
|
His friend shook his head. "No, Luthias-sama, you always loved
|
|
Myrande well, even when you did not know you loved her."
|
|
Luthias saw about as much sense in that statement as in Ongis'
|
|
behavior. Luthias needed to return to concepts that he better
|
|
understood. "What do you think?" the Knight Captain asked, indicating
|
|
his diagram with the stick he had used to draw it.
|
|
Ittosai Michiya again surveyed the plan. "Well done."
|
|
"If it rains tonight, we might have a little trouble. Mud
|
|
could--" Sir Luthias looked at the figure entering the glow of the
|
|
campfire as noiselessly as a ghost. For that--and his mute tongue--the
|
|
other squires had named him the Silent. "Come here, Derrio."
|
|
The Knight inspected his squire sternly, noting the blood, the
|
|
dirt, and the bruises. "Brawling with Ongis' squires again?" Derrio
|
|
hung his head, but managed to nod. Luthias waited a moment before
|
|
asking, "Did you win?" The boy grinned. "Good. Now come over here and
|
|
look at the plan for tomorrow."
|
|
As the boy settled near the sketch, Luthias used his stick as a
|
|
pointer and explained, "We'll meet Beinison here, and after a while,
|
|
we'll retreat into this meadow. The archers will be hidden in the
|
|
trees around the field. The troops will split into four parts--one to
|
|
protect the archers on each side, and the last to seal off the
|
|
meadow--and the archers will open fire."
|
|
Derrio studied the plan intensely, then looked, astonished, at
|
|
his Knight. The squire cupped his hands, then sprang them together.
|
|
"Yes, of course, it's a trap," Luthias agreed. The Knight laughed
|
|
at Derrio's appalled expression. "What's wrong? Don't you think it
|
|
will work?"
|
|
Derrio shook his head. He pointed an accusing finger at the
|
|
Knight Captain, another at the battle plans, then shook his head.
|
|
"Unlike me?" Luthias didn't understand his squire at all. The
|
|
young Count had been trained in strategy for most of his life. "What
|
|
do you mean?"
|
|
Disgusted and stern, Derrio motioned reproachfully at the trap,
|
|
then made a fist, with the protruding thumb pointing toward the
|
|
ground.
|
|
Luthias stared. The down-pointing thumb was Derrio's signal for
|
|
"bad" or "evil." "It's not evil," Luthias argued. "This is war,
|
|
Derrio. I'm trying to save lives."
|
|
Derrio jabbed a furious digit toward the plan and drew the same
|
|
finger across his neck.
|
|
Luthias had to admit it. "Yes, it will kill many, too, but that's
|
|
the purpose."
|
|
The squire actually snarled. Again, he signaled that Luthias'
|
|
plan was unworthy and evil.
|
|
Luthias seized his patience desperately. Roisart, Luthias'
|
|
year-dead brother, had never quite grasped the concept, either. Now,
|
|
the Knight Captain found himself once again in the frustrating
|
|
position of trying to explain war to an idealist. "This isn't a matter
|
|
of good and evil, Derrio," the Count of Connall attempted. "This is
|
|
war."
|
|
Derrio shook his head angrily, and Luthias rolled his eyes. This
|
|
was all he needed, Roisart's idealism combined with Sable's
|
|
obstinancy. Again, the squire pointed at the sketches, then his
|
|
Knight, then disapproved once more.
|
|
Luthias hurled his drawing stick into the fire in frustration.
|
|
"You can't judge me by my battle plans!" Luthias cried. "A man's
|
|
conduct in *peace* makes him good or evil, Derrio, not his conduct in
|
|
war. The only moral decision in war is whether or not to start one.
|
|
After that, it's survival--kill or be killed, and end as quickly as
|
|
you can."
|
|
Derrio blinked, astonished once more. Slowly, the squire
|
|
indicated the sketch and held out his hands, palms up, as if he were
|
|
weighing something.
|
|
Luthias smiled. "Of course, it's fair. There are no rules in
|
|
war."
|
|
Confusion suddenly rushed onto silent Derrio's face. Slowly, he
|
|
pointed at his Knight, drew his hand across his chest where a Knight's
|
|
chain might fall, then made an odd gesture near his waist. When
|
|
Luthias shook his head--he had yet to understand all of Derrio's
|
|
signs--, the squire tipped his head back as if drinking from his
|
|
curled hand. When Luthias shook his head once more, Derrio grabbed a
|
|
small stick and wrote in uncertain letters, "Lawrence."
|
|
"Oh." Luthias recalled the battle against that noble Knight of
|
|
the Star, who had gifted Luthias with the sword he now wore at his
|
|
side. "That wasn't the same." Derrio shook his head in utter
|
|
bewilderment. "Single combat does have rules. It's not the same as
|
|
war."
|
|
Derrio again shook his head, and Luthias tried to think of a way
|
|
to make him understand. "You used to wrestle Sir Edward's squires,
|
|
didn't you?" Derrio nodded, uncertain. "You were...playing a game of
|
|
sorts, and there were rules. With Ongis' squires, though, you're just
|
|
trying to beat them into the ground." Derrio nodded again, still not
|
|
understanding. "When you wrestle Sir Edward's squires, it's like a
|
|
Knight's single combat. You fight by rules. Thrashing Ongis' boys is
|
|
like a war--the object is to win, and win fast."
|
|
Derrio considered this. After a moment, he pointed to Luthias, to
|
|
the name "Lawrence" scrawled in the dust, then made a gesture of
|
|
killing. He looked at Luthias questioningly, and the Knight nodded.
|
|
"Yes. I would have killed Sir Lawrence if I had to, Derrio, but I
|
|
would have done it under the rules of chivalry."
|
|
Derrio pointed to the name, then at the battle plans, and again
|
|
his look questioned Luthias. "If he's there tomorrow, he'll die by the
|
|
bow, the same as the rest, if all goes well."
|
|
Derrio opened his mouth, pointed at Sir Lawrence's name, then
|
|
made a gesture, same as the sign for evil, except that the thumb
|
|
pointed toward the sky. "He is a good man," Luthias agreed, "but if I
|
|
were in his trap, he would let me die, too. This is war, Derrio, and
|
|
we all do what we must."
|
|
Derrio tapped his chest with both hands and shook his head.
|
|
Luthias smiled sadly. "You'll learn." Luthias gazed down at his
|
|
hands; once feeble and trembling, they had murdered; strong and
|
|
steady, they had killed. "Believe me, Derrio; you'll learn. We all
|
|
do."
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 Dummy
|
|
by Bill Erdley
|
|
(b.c.k.a. <BERDLY@BUCKNELL>)
|
|
|
|
"Hey, dummy! Watch where you are walking!" The angry voice
|
|
startled him out of his daydream. He had been thinking about the
|
|
marches, and about the war, and especially about *her*; and he wasn't
|
|
paying attention to where he was going. The man that he stumbled into
|
|
stopped only long enough to issue the insult, then he trudged off to
|
|
his own business.
|
|
But his words stayed behind.
|
|
'Hey dummy, watch where you are going.'
|
|
It rang in his mind as he crawled into his bedroll for the night.
|
|
'Hey dummy!'
|
|
He was so tired of hearing that word.
|
|
'Dummy.'
|
|
|
|
He drifted off to sleep thinking about the time that he had spent
|
|
with Luthias after he had left the farm. They first went to Pyridain
|
|
City, then they travelled on to Magnus. It was there that he had taken
|
|
to exploring the city when he had the time, which, between his
|
|
training, his schooling, and his chores, wasn't much. He did, however,
|
|
discover several places that he liked: the marketplace, the liveries,
|
|
and the docks. He liked the docks most of all. Coming to the city was
|
|
the first time he had ever seen that much water in one place, so he
|
|
was facinated by it: the ships, the sailors, the cargoes, the waves,
|
|
the smells.
|
|
On one such trip, he was walking back to the castle where he was
|
|
staying when he heard the frightened squeal of a horse. Turning down
|
|
an alley, he saw the horse rearing back onto its hind legs, eyes wild
|
|
and nostrils flaring. On the ground in front of the horse was a large
|
|
snake. He quickly ran down the alley and dispatched the snake with a
|
|
piece of wood that he found on the ground. He then slowly approached
|
|
the horse, and carefully reached for the reins. The horse's eyes were
|
|
still wide with fright, but his motions were smooth and relaxed, and
|
|
his manner non-threatening, so he was able to reach the reins without
|
|
a problem. He stroked the nose of the horse carefully, then worked his
|
|
way to the neck and shoulders. As the horse quieted, he thought to
|
|
look for the rider. She lay face down in a pile of refuse, one of the
|
|
many such piles cluttering the alleyway. Holding the reins of the
|
|
horse low and tugging gently, he turned it in the narrow passage and
|
|
guided it back to the trash heap. He carefully rolled the body over.
|
|
She appeared to be older than he, but smaller in stature. Her long
|
|
brown hair was woven into a thick braid, which was tied at the bottom
|
|
with a jet black ribbon. She had a nasty gash on her chin and a bruise
|
|
under one eye that was already beginning to swell. He picked her up
|
|
and, as gently as he could, draped her across the horse's back. As he
|
|
led the horse back to the keep, he wondered what the she was doing in
|
|
the alley in the first place; and what a small girl was doing with
|
|
such a large animal. He stopped several times to check on her; she
|
|
remained unconsious, although the bleeding from the cut on her chin
|
|
seemed to be slowing. He reached the compound and walked the horse
|
|
directly to the stables where Lasran, the stableboy, was busy cleaning
|
|
the stalls. Lasran, seeing the body draped over the saddle,
|
|
immediately ran off to find help. Soon two men, guards by their
|
|
appearance, appeared and lifted the small form from the horse. As they
|
|
hurried into the main building, he heard one of them say "...gives me
|
|
the creeps. He must be some kind of dummy, 'cause he never says
|
|
anything..."
|
|
|
|
The snake was huge, with six heads and fangs that
|
|
oozed venom. The horse faced away from him, and it's
|
|
young rider was oblivious to the danger.
|
|
"Look out!" he screamed, but the voice was only in
|
|
his head.
|
|
The snake slithered closer to the horse and began to
|
|
raise its head. Even now it was even with the horse
|
|
rider's head.
|
|
He tried to run toward the horse, but several guards
|
|
appeared and grabbed his shoulders.
|
|
"Call to her, dummy. Tell her that the snake is
|
|
coming."
|
|
The guards began to laugh. He tried to pull away, but
|
|
they held him fast. He tried to cry out, but his voice
|
|
was only a wish. The snake now towered over both horse and
|
|
rider, and it's mouth opened as it prepared to strike.
|
|
"Come on, dummy! It's up to you! You'd better say
|
|
something..." The guards were laughing and poking him.
|
|
He looked at them. They had no ears!
|
|
The snake struck, and the rider tumbled from the
|
|
horse. Rolling over and over, she came to rest at his
|
|
feet. As her face came into focus, he recognized the face
|
|
of his sister! Through her tears, she whispered, "Why
|
|
didn't you warn me, you dummy."
|
|
Then she died.
|
|
|
|
He bolted upright, so drenched in his own sweat that he was
|
|
chilled instantly in the cold night air. His heart raced and he
|
|
breathed in short, gasping heaves.
|
|
Just a dream. It was all just a dream.
|
|
Remembering the incident caused a flood of memories to wash over
|
|
him as he tried to go back to sleep. He remembered at sneaking out at
|
|
night; and how he had learned to limit his visits to only an hour or
|
|
two, since losing more sleep than that made too tired the next
|
|
morning. Most of the time she would meet him at a place that they had
|
|
aggreed on the night before. She spent many nights showing him the
|
|
city...
|
|
"Hi, Derrio."
|
|
Hi.
|
|
"Where would you like to go tonight?"
|
|
Water. Boat.
|
|
"To the docks? That's a bad place to be at night."
|
|
Why.
|
|
"It's dangerous. There are thieves and ruffians and drunkards
|
|
there at night."
|
|
I. Afraid. Not.
|
|
"I know, but let's go somewhere else. I know. Some of my friends
|
|
like to go down to an old, abandoned house and tell scary stories in
|
|
the dark. Like to go?"
|
|
Yes. Yes.
|
|
"Ok, follow me."
|
|
As they ran, he thought about how much he liked her, and about
|
|
how much he wanted to tell her, but "hand speak" didn't seem to be
|
|
very romantic.
|
|
Once in the old house, he saw a dozen or so people sitting around
|
|
a lighted candle.
|
|
"Hi, all. This is Derrio." Her voice echoed from the bare walls
|
|
of the empty room.
|
|
"Hi, Derrio."
|
|
"Come in and join us."
|
|
"Yes. We have lots of room."
|
|
"Newbees tell the first story"
|
|
"Derrio tells the first tale."
|
|
I. Talk. Not. I. Listen. You.
|
|
"What's wrong."
|
|
"What are you doing?"
|
|
"He's a witch casting a spell!"
|
|
"Ha ha ha. Look at him, thrashing around like a dummy...
|
|
"STOP IT!! He can't talk! That doesn't mean that he's an idiot!"
|
|
"Easy, Risa. We didn't mean any harm. Here, you and Derrio sit
|
|
over here and I'll start the first story..."
|
|
|
|
"Hey, Dummy!"
|
|
"Dummy, dummy, dummy."
|
|
The children's chant echoed over and over, until the
|
|
voices of the small group sounded like the cries of a mob.
|
|
"Dummy, dummy, dummy."
|
|
Louder and louder the voices grew, until the sound was
|
|
like a physical presence in his head, pounding this way
|
|
and that, looking for an escape but finding none.
|
|
"Dummy, dummy, dummy."
|
|
The pain of the voices was intensifying. His head
|
|
felt ready to explode. He opened my mouth to scream, to
|
|
free this monsterous beast from its prison within his
|
|
brain...
|
|
Nothing came out.
|
|
"Dummy, dummy, dummy."
|
|
"Dummy, Dummy, Dummy!"
|
|
"DUMMY, DUMMY, DUMMY!!"
|
|
|
|
The sound that he made as he flew from his bedroll was loud
|
|
enough to wake most of those around him. Luthias and Michiya found
|
|
themselves standing, swords drawn, before they were consious enough to
|
|
realize that there was no danger. Then, realizing that it was only a
|
|
child's nightmare, they crawled back into their bedrolls.
|
|
But the youth stood still.
|
|
And shook.
|
|
The nightmares were getting worse. He had to find some way to
|
|
clear his mind so that he could get some sleep; but it drifted back to
|
|
Risa. Her smile. Her face. Her hair. Risa...
|
|
|
|
His courage was at a peak. It had been a day off from his
|
|
studies, his sparring with Luthias had gone well, and he had finished
|
|
his chores early.
|
|
Tonight is the night.
|
|
He washed and dressed as quickly as he could. Then he ran out of
|
|
the compound and into the city streets as fast as his feet would go.
|
|
Only when he approached her house did he slow and stop.
|
|
Her parents. How could he reach her without seeing her parents?
|
|
If they saw him, they would talk to him. What would they think when he
|
|
didn't talk back?
|
|
The door opened and a lady stepped out, looking straight at him.
|
|
"Derrio?" Are you Derrio?"
|
|
Yes.
|
|
"Come. Risa is expecting you."
|
|
He moved forward hesitantly.
|
|
"Come, now. Don't be afraid. You needn't be shy about your not
|
|
being able to talk. From what Risa has told us, you talk very well;
|
|
you just use your hands instead of your mouth."
|
|
He froze! They know! Oh no, now what do I do?! They know! "Come
|
|
on in, son, before I find it necessary to come out there and drag you
|
|
in. I'll make you a deal. I won't mind that you talk with your hands
|
|
if you don't mind that I talk with my mouth."
|
|
A hint of a smile snuck onto his face. Some of his confidence
|
|
returned as he entered the house.
|
|
|
|
After dinner he found himself sitting in a small room with Risa
|
|
and her mother.
|
|
"So you came here from the farm."
|
|
Yes.
|
|
"And your parents?"
|
|
Father. Archer. Army.
|
|
Mother. Cook. Army.
|
|
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
|
|
Risa's face held a look of horror as she tried to stop her
|
|
mother's question.
|
|
No.
|
|
"Oh, dear. I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?!"
|
|
Risa jumped in quickly. "Mom, don't ask him about..."
|
|
Wait. No. Fear.
|
|
Sister. Dead.
|
|
Bad. Man. Far. Army. Kill. Sister.
|
|
"Oh. I'm sorry, Derrio."
|
|
No. Sadness.
|
|
"Well, I must excuse myself. There are lots of chores to be done
|
|
tonight. I'll leave you to yourselves."
|
|
I. Help.
|
|
"No, Derrio. I can handle them. You sit and visit." The woman got
|
|
up and walked quickly out of the room.
|
|
I. Ask. You. Question.
|
|
Risa smiled. "Of course you can ask me a question."
|
|
He rose from his chair and knelt before her.
|
|
Marry. I.
|
|
She smiled and spoke his language.
|
|
Yes.
|
|
They embraced for a long moment. Her long brown hair smelled of
|
|
smoke from the fireplace as he ran his fingers through it. Finally she
|
|
broke the embrace and spoke. "I must tell my mother. I'll return in a
|
|
moment..." Then she ran out of the room.
|
|
Yes. She said 'yes!' Just wait until I tell everyone! She said
|
|
that she would marry me! She said...
|
|
"NO!!! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!!!" Risa's mother's voice pierced the
|
|
silence. "RISA, I SAID NO!! I WILL NOT HAVE YOU MARRYING HIM!! YOU
|
|
KNOW WHAT HE IS!! HOW CAN YOU EVEN THINK IT!! I WILL NOT HAVE MY
|
|
DAUGHTER MARRYING A..."
|
|
The rest was lost to him as he burst from the house. But he had
|
|
heard enough to be able to fill in the missing word.
|
|
Dummy.
|
|
'I will not have my daughter marrying a dummy.'
|
|
He ran as fast as he could through the streets by the docks. It
|
|
was late and the normal dock traffic was missing. There were only a
|
|
few drunks to witness his flight. Tears streamed from his eyes and he
|
|
ran blindly on, navigating by instinct more than sight.
|
|
Dummy.
|
|
Dummy, dummy, dummy.
|
|
'He must be some kind of dummy 'cause he never says anything...'
|
|
'Ha ha ha. Look at him, thrashing around like a dummy...'
|
|
'I will not have my daughter marrying a dummy...'
|
|
Dummy, Dummy, Dummy...
|
|
WHAM! The impact made his head spin. He tumbled to the rough
|
|
cobblestones and slid to a halt.
|
|
"HEY!! You should watch where you're going, lad. There are some
|
|
who would see your head roll for such an act." He looked up to see a
|
|
man dressed in a dark cloak sitting beside him on the road. The man
|
|
reached over and took him by the arm. "Now, would you like to tell me
|
|
what you are running from?"
|
|
No.
|
|
"Are you running from the town guard, perhaps?"
|
|
No.
|
|
"Is someone chasing you, then?"
|
|
No.
|
|
"Well, next time you wish to run from no one, try not to run into
|
|
anyone, OK."
|
|
Yes.
|
|
"Why don't you talk?"
|
|
He looked into the eyes of the stranger, and for the first time
|
|
the man could see the tears within.
|
|
"Can I help you?" The man's voice was soft and filled with
|
|
compassion and gentleness, but Derrio heard it as pity. He pulled away
|
|
violently from the man's grasp and ran away, leaving the man sitting
|
|
there, shaking his head.
|
|
|
|
"Aw, poor little dummy. What's the matter, dummy?
|
|
Why do you run? Are you being chased?"
|
|
He turns from the cloaked man to look behind him.
|
|
From everywhere on the docks, people approach. People
|
|
without ears.
|
|
"Dummy..."
|
|
Their words are mere whispers, but the meaning
|
|
tears into his soul.
|
|
"Dummy..."
|
|
They come from everywhere, young and old, men and
|
|
women and children. All without ears. All murmuring
|
|
the same thing...
|
|
"Dummy, dummy, dummy..."
|
|
The cloaked man still holds his arm, and he can't
|
|
seem to pull away.
|
|
Here come the guards, earless and chanting...
|
|
"Dummy, dummy, dummy..."
|
|
Behind him are Risa's friends, laughing...
|
|
"Dummy, Dummy, Dummy..."
|
|
Risa's mother is before him now...
|
|
"DUMMY, DUMMY, DUMMY..."
|
|
He looks to his captor, who looks with pity and says
|
|
"Poor little dummy. Who will help you? Where can you
|
|
turn? Can there be any place to hide for a dummy...?"
|
|
"Dummy, Dummy, Dummy..."
|
|
"DUMMY, DUMMY, DUMMY..."
|
|
"DUMMY!!!"
|
|
|
|
He wakes with a start and cries out, but the sound resembles the
|
|
wail of a beast more than the cry of a man.
|
|
The voice of a dummy.
|
|
He sits there and weeps.
|
|
|
|
Between the memories and the nightmares, the night had not been a
|
|
restful one for the squire. The morning brought the remembrance of the
|
|
previous day's marches, and the realization that this day would bring
|
|
more. Derrio was finishing his morning chores when the man from the
|
|
night before walked by. He noticed Derrio and smiled, "I see the dummy
|
|
has mastered the art of standing still, now if he could only...AWK!
|
|
The man suddenly found the point of Derrio's sword at his throat!
|
|
With his free hand, Derrio signed violently.
|
|
I! NOT! DUMMY!
|
|
The man tried to step sideways to avoid the sword tip, but Derrio
|
|
rapped him on the side of the head with the flat of the sword, cutting
|
|
his scalp slightly.
|
|
I! NOT! DUMMY!
|
|
"Hey... Look, kid. I don't know what has you so mad, but whatever
|
|
it is, I'm sorry. Ok?"
|
|
I! NOT! DUMMY!
|
|
"Derrio!"
|
|
The boy froze at his Knight's voice, but did not remove the
|
|
sword. He heard Sir Luthias' footsteps approach, but did not turn.
|
|
"Put down the sword, Derrio," Sir Luthias said, his voice deathly
|
|
stern. "I don't care what he said--" The Knight Captain glared at the
|
|
cloaked man. "--but a Knight *never* draws steel on someone who is
|
|
unarmed." Derrio's hand wavered. "Am I clear, Derrio?"
|
|
Slowly, so slowly, Derrio lowered and sheathed his sword.
|
|
He. Speak. I. Dummy. He. Laugh.
|
|
Sir Luthias frowned. "I see." He turned to the cloaked man. "Who
|
|
the hell are you, anyway?"
|
|
The cloaked man mumbled something.
|
|
"Isn't Beinison enough for you? Do you have to make enemies of
|
|
your commander's squire?" Sir Luthias asked in that death-calm voice.
|
|
"Your squire, Sir Captain? But he's--"
|
|
"Well trained. I agree. His draw has gotten amazingly quick,
|
|
lately, and if I hadn't said something, you would be dead right now."
|
|
"But he's--"
|
|
"Honorable, too. Like any honorable man, he does not like to be
|
|
insulted."
|
|
"But he's a dummy!" the man finally got out. "An idiot, Sir
|
|
Captain!"
|
|
"He is *silent*!" Sir Luthias roared. "My father used to say
|
|
there was wisdom in silence. Dismissed."
|
|
The cloaked man slunk away.
|
|
Thank. You.
|
|
Sir Luthias smiled. "It is one of my duties as your Knight,
|
|
Derrio, to protect you. That man was a mage, and he could have killed
|
|
you."
|
|
He. Say. I. Dummy.
|
|
"I know." Sir Luthias paused. "Now, about drawing your blade on
|
|
him--"
|
|
Sorry. Angry.
|
|
"I know," Sir Luthias said again. "But that doesn't excuse you.
|
|
You can't control what you feel--nobody can--but you've got to control
|
|
how you act. Your action was wrong, Derrio."
|
|
The boy hung his head.
|
|
"When I drew steel on an unarmed man, Sir Lucan took my sword for
|
|
a month."
|
|
Derrio's eyes panicked. Then: You. Draw. Sword?
|
|
Sir Luthias smiled, then sobered quickly. "Now, I can't do that
|
|
to you in a war zone. But what I am going to do is give you additional
|
|
chores to do. We'll talk further about this later."
|
|
Sadly, Derrio nodded.
|
|
Shortly after the midday meal, a small group of horsemen
|
|
approached. Luthias and Derrio stood as the horsemen rode to a stop
|
|
and dismounted.
|
|
"Sir Luthias, this needs your immediate attention." The leader of
|
|
the group handed Luthias a sealed letter. Luthias accepted it. As he
|
|
opened it, another of the horsemen approached Derrio.
|
|
"A young lady asked if I would give this to the squire of Sir
|
|
Luthias of Connall. Are you said squire?" He held out a small package.
|
|
Yes.
|
|
Derrio took the package and looked it over. Attached was a
|
|
letter, which he opened and tried to read. He could only understand a
|
|
few of the words. As patiently as possible, he waited until Luthias
|
|
finished reading his letter and spoke a few commands to the horsemen.
|
|
As they turned and rode away, Derrio handed his letter to Luthias.
|
|
Read. Please.
|
|
|
|
Derrio,
|
|
|
|
Please forgive my mother for saying those
|
|
terrible things. We have spoken long about this,
|
|
and I understand her fear. My father was a
|
|
member of the militia. He died at Oron's
|
|
Crossroads. My mother didn't want me to have to
|
|
know the same kind of pain that she has known.
|
|
She said 'I will not have my daughter marry a
|
|
warrior', but I asked her if she would keep her
|
|
daughter from marrying a knight! You will be a
|
|
knight someday, Derrio. I know it in the bottom
|
|
of my heart. When you return, I will marry you,
|
|
with or without my mother's blessing!
|
|
|
|
I wait for thee, my knight to be. Be safe
|
|
and be well.
|
|
|
|
Risa
|
|
|
|
He carefully opened the package. Inside he found a thick braid of
|
|
dark brown hair, carefully woven into a small loop and decorated with
|
|
a jet black ribbon. He gingerly removed it from it's wrappings and,
|
|
with trembling fingers, placed it in the small pouch which he carried
|
|
at his side; the pouch which contained his only other treasure in the
|
|
world.
|
|
A small harp.
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 Pact
|
|
Part 3
|
|
by Max Khaytsus
|
|
(b.c.k.a. <khaytsus@alumni.cs..Colorado.EDU>)
|
|
|
|
Ilona had no intentions of showing the note or the gem she
|
|
received during the night to Kalen. Not knowing if he was still at her
|
|
apartment, she carefully pushed open the door and stepped inside. The
|
|
door had the bad tendency to squeak when it was opened or closed
|
|
slowly and she tried to minimize the sound, but there was still a loud
|
|
squeak as the door shut.
|
|
"Shhh..."
|
|
Ilona jumped at the sound of Kalen's voice. He sat in a chair by
|
|
the desk next to the window, looking outside. That desk, a heavy old
|
|
wooden monster, had been a gift from Captain Koren just a few months
|
|
before, when new furniture was purchased for his office.
|
|
"I thought you were supposed to be at work by now," Ilona said.
|
|
Kalen put his index finger to his lips. "Tara's sleeping," he
|
|
whispered. "We were up half the night talking."
|
|
Ilona took a seat by Kalen. She had spent a big part of the
|
|
afternoon of the previous day with Tara n'ha Sansela, Captain Koren's
|
|
niece, talking about her uncle's death, trying to comfort her. She
|
|
turned the young woman over to Kalen when she had to go to her shift
|
|
and hoped the problem would be solved by the time she returned.
|
|
Something in Kalen's manner told her there were still things to do.
|
|
"How is she doing?" Ilona asked.
|
|
"She cried herself to sleep," Kalen sighed. "I wish we could tell
|
|
her, but it would only expose her to unnecessary risks. You know how
|
|
much she'll want to see him."
|
|
"Did you get any sleep?"
|
|
"A little," Kalen motioned to a pillow and blanket in one of the
|
|
corner chairs. "She got me thinking. What if the assassin hadn't been
|
|
stopped?"
|
|
"He was," Ilona said, half promising and half hoping. She did not
|
|
want to think about the alternative.
|
|
Kalen nodded, but did not speak.
|
|
"You best go. I'll watch Tara."
|
|
"All right," Kalen agreed. He kissed Ilona and left after
|
|
gathering his equipment.
|
|
Ilona removed her own sword and weapon belt and hung the dark
|
|
blue guard tabard on the back of a chair. It had been a long day and
|
|
she felt it would last much longer. It was barely noon now. She took
|
|
out the gem sent to her during the night. It was a clear white
|
|
crystal, two fingers wide, carefully cut into a flat oval shape.
|
|
Definitely expensive. In fact, more expensive than she could afford on
|
|
her lieutenant's pay. It could be made into a nice piece of jewelry
|
|
and for a moment she considered keeping it. She knew she could not,
|
|
simply because of who had given it to her. Besides, it was probably
|
|
stolen. She would have to check the reports and return it as soon as
|
|
this case was over, but it was nice to dream.
|
|
The note that came with the gem ominously predicted the direction
|
|
of Ilona's career for the duration of her tenure as one of Liriss'
|
|
people. She understood that, with time, the rewards would become
|
|
smaller and demands of the job would increase. For now Liriss was
|
|
simply luring her into his trap, to get her in deep enough so that she
|
|
would be unable to leave or tell anyone else. She was glad that Kalen
|
|
and Jerid already knew. They would help keep her from falling into
|
|
that trap; the same one too many innocent people had been drawn into.
|
|
Putting everything in the desk, Ilona took a peek in the other
|
|
room, where Tara was sleeping. The Captain's niece was in bed, buried
|
|
deep under the blankets. At least she was resting. The things that had
|
|
happened were the worst for her. About a year ago her own father and
|
|
mother were killed by bandits down in the village of Myridon, in the
|
|
Duchy of Narragan. She had spent weeks finding her way up to Dargon in
|
|
hopes of locating Adrunian Koren, her long lost uncle. It was a big,
|
|
happy reunion when they had finally met and Captain Koren had thrown a
|
|
two day long celebration. Koren's own wife, Talei, died in child birth
|
|
many years ago and the child died not long after. When Tara came into
|
|
his life, he once again had a family and uncle and niece hit it off
|
|
immediately.
|
|
The injuries the Captain received during the invasion of Dargon
|
|
threw Tara into a panic. She was helping with the wounded at the
|
|
castle with Ilona when Adrunian Koren was brought in. It took hours to
|
|
calm her then, while only the skills of the Duke's physician,
|
|
Elizabeth, kept Koren alive. Now it was different. Everyone had to
|
|
believe Koren was dead. Unfortunately this included Tara. In the
|
|
girl's mind she was once again all alone, just like in the fall a year
|
|
ago when her parents were killed. This did not make the conspirators
|
|
feel any better.
|
|
With a sigh Ilona returned to the main room and made herself
|
|
comfortable under the blanket in the corner. She had been up for a
|
|
long time, since the day she went to speak with Liriss, and two
|
|
sleepless nights finally caught up with her. She fell asleep as soon
|
|
as she was settled comfortably.
|
|
|
|
Having knocked twice without receiving an answer, Kesrin opened
|
|
the door and entered Liriss' office. The crime lord stood by the
|
|
window, sipping wine from a goblet, thoughtfully looking at the events
|
|
taking place in the street below.
|
|
"My Lord?" Kesrin said cautiously.
|
|
Liriss did not answer, unblinking eyes still focused on the
|
|
market street below.
|
|
Kesrin coughed. "My Lord?" he said louder this time.
|
|
Liriss turned his head to look at his lieutenant, a scowl on his
|
|
face.
|
|
"I knocked twice, my Lord," Kesrin explained. "You didn't answer
|
|
either time. I thought something was wrong."
|
|
"Sit down, Kesrin," Liriss said harshly. He had no time or
|
|
patience to be disturbed and his temper has been running hot all
|
|
morning, ever since the news from the streets reached his ears. He
|
|
started pacing as Kesrin sat down, passing behind his lieutenant twice
|
|
and making him cringe.
|
|
"I want to know who killed Adrunian Koren," he finally said.
|
|
"Sir?" Kesrin felt sweat forming on his forehead. "Word on the
|
|
street is that you sent a man."
|
|
"I did not send a man!" Liriss bellowed. "I would have told you
|
|
to send a man! I want to know who did!"
|
|
"Sir?"
|
|
"Stop saying that! Get off your ass and find the man who set me
|
|
up!"
|
|
"Yes, my Lord," Kesrin hurried to his feet. He had never seen the
|
|
crime boss so furious and even if he could not provide the man
|
|
responsible, his best option was to get out of Liriss' office while he
|
|
still had the chance. He would see immediately to finding a culprit or
|
|
a fall guy.
|
|
Liriss watched his lieutenant retreat, then slammed the goblet
|
|
down on the table. Red wine slopped onto the rich oak table top,
|
|
quickly forming into bubbles of liquid. "Damn them all!"
|
|
|
|
Rish halted at the far end of the corridor, watching Captain
|
|
Bartol's office door, where Kalen had disappeared as the chronicler
|
|
was making his way to see Jerid Taishent. Now he paced back and forth,
|
|
waiting for his chance to see the castle lieutenant and ask a few
|
|
questions about the assassin's methods and the investigation.
|
|
Quite some time had passed while Kalen and Jerid talked and Rish
|
|
once again had the chance to evaluate his research. It seemed strange
|
|
that he was faced with so many stumbling blocks while trying to make a
|
|
simple historical record. It was as if information was being withheld
|
|
from him on purpose. Everyone claimed not to be familiar with the
|
|
facts. Rish found this to be highly disturbing.
|
|
The door down the corridor opened and Kalen stepped out. He was
|
|
about to close the door behind him, when he stopped to listen. Rish
|
|
listened, too, but could hear nothing coming from the office.
|
|
"Okay, I'll do that," Kalen agreed. "And don't tell Elizabeth
|
|
anything. I don't need her on my case again. It's bad enough Ilona
|
|
knows. She won't let me hear the end of it, but at least she's not
|
|
threatening me."
|
|
Something more came from the office.
|
|
"No, not at all," Kalen spoke again. "A wound's a wound, right?
|
|
You just keep your end up here and give me a yell if there's a
|
|
problem." He closed the door and turned, finally spotting Rish. "Uh,
|
|
good afternoon..."
|
|
Rish forced himself to smile. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant."
|
|
"Stalking the castle again?" Kalen asked carefully.
|
|
"No, I'm just waiting for Lieutenant Taishent to become
|
|
available." The forced smile remained frozen in place.
|
|
"He's in the office," Kalen hurried to say. "Have a good day."
|
|
Before Rish had a chance to answer, Kalen was off. Rish watched
|
|
him go, a bit puzzled and concerned if what he had just overheard was
|
|
a conspiracy. If it was, his own life could be in danger now. He
|
|
hesitated at the door, wondering if he should knock or not, when
|
|
suddenly it was pulled opened from the inside.
|
|
Rish stepped back as Jerid Taishent came face to face with him.
|
|
"Rish... Is there something I can do for you?" Jerid asked. He
|
|
was obviously unprepared for this meeting.
|
|
"I, uh..." Rish had already decided that he would not do anything
|
|
to cast suspicion on himself, but had no idea what he should say.
|
|
"Ah... I came to tell you somebody stole my ink."
|
|
"Your ink?"
|
|
"My ink." The story was still not complete. "I have a box of
|
|
ink." Rish paused for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts, then
|
|
went on. "There were still fourteen full bottles there. This," he held
|
|
up the bottle dangling on a rope off his belt, "is almost empty and
|
|
someone took my box. If it were the quills or the parchment, I
|
|
wouldn't mind so much, but ink is so expensive, there will certainly
|
|
be questions."
|
|
"I have an errand to run now, Rish," Jerid said. "Can I get back
|
|
to you later this evening?"
|
|
"Of course," Rish said agreeably. He needed the time to hide his
|
|
ink.
|
|
|
|
Ilona woke to the sound of splashing water. She rolled over,
|
|
realizing she was on the floor. The sounds came from the adjoining
|
|
room, probably Tara washing up. Ilona sat up with the pillow between
|
|
her back and the wall. She was still tired and sleepy, but it was late
|
|
afternoon and there was no reason to lounge around. There was work to
|
|
be done. She pushed herself up, letting the pillow and blanket fall
|
|
down around her.
|
|
"Tara?" Ilona stepped into the other room.
|
|
Tara stood at the basin of water, wiping her face with a towel.
|
|
"How did you sleep?" Ilona asked.
|
|
"Well, thank you. I hope I'm not imposing on you..."
|
|
"No, not at all," Ilona said. "I'm glad to have you here."
|
|
"I'd like to go back to my uncle's house," Tara said. "Boxter and
|
|
Zed have been alone all day. I need to check on them and feed them."
|
|
"Do you want me to go with you?" Ilona offered.
|
|
"I'd like to be alone," Tara admitted. Ilona could see the red
|
|
and a faint trace of tears in the teenager's eyes.
|
|
"Tara..."
|
|
"I'll be fine," the girl said with a catch in her voice. "I
|
|
should be getting used to this now."
|
|
"Oh, sit down," Ilona said, putting a comforting arm around
|
|
Tara's shoulder. "I don't think we ever finished yesterday and I don't
|
|
know what garbage Kalen filled your head with."
|
|
"He was very nice, really. I don't want the two of you to have
|
|
problems because of me."
|
|
"We won't have problems," Ilona snapped, "Now sit down!"
|
|
Tara sat on the edge of the bed. Ilona brought over a chair and
|
|
sat down across from her.
|
|
"Look, I wish I could make you believe that I understand how you
|
|
feel. I lost my parents many years ago and I know what it's like to be
|
|
alone, and I'm sure it doesn't get easier the second time around..."
|
|
"I'm fine, really," Tara insisted again, wiping tears from her
|
|
cheeks. "You don't need to worry."
|
|
"All right," Ilona agreed, not really believing the Captain's
|
|
niece. "But promise that if you ever need to talk, you'll come to me."
|
|
"I promise."
|
|
"All right, then," Ilona still did not believe Tara was well, but
|
|
she was not about to force herself on the girl. In due time when Tara
|
|
would be ready, the truth would be told, but until then she would have
|
|
to suffer along with the rest of the city. "I'm going to the market
|
|
now," Ilona said. "Be sure you're here for dinner...and I suppose you
|
|
can bring Boxter over and keep him in the stables. I'm not sure about
|
|
having a shivaree prowl the house, though."
|
|
Tara remained after Ilona left and looked out the window for a
|
|
long time. She was once again on her own, having lost her family, but
|
|
this time there was no one else she could go to. This time she would
|
|
have to learn to be self sufficient.
|
|
|
|
A heavy hand fell on Ilona's shoulder as she made her way through
|
|
the crowded market and although the touch was gentle, she jumped and
|
|
grabbed for her sword.
|
|
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," Cormabis laughed. "I meant no harm."
|
|
Ilona took a deep breath, looking at the smiling elderly man.
|
|
"It's all right. I'm just a bit jumpy today. What can I do for you,
|
|
Sage?"
|
|
"Nothing for me, thank you, but I was wondering how you were
|
|
doing. I heard about the Captain."
|
|
In spite of herself, Ilona followed Corambis down the market
|
|
street towards his booth.
|
|
"It's my fault, Corambis. You gave me good advice, but I made the
|
|
wrong decision."
|
|
"Did you?" the Sage asked. "Or did uncontrollable events overcome
|
|
you?"
|
|
Ilona kept silent while they walked past a cloth dealer's stand
|
|
where a crowd had assembled. "What uncontrollable events?"
|
|
"Did you hire the assassin to do the job? Did you encourage him?"
|
|
Corambis' eyes grew bright, almost seeing inside her soul. "Whatever
|
|
you did, the assassin was not your direct doing."
|
|
"How do you know that?" Ilona challenged him. "How do you know I
|
|
didn't hire him to do that?"
|
|
"Because I know you, Ilona Milnor," Corambis laughed, "just like
|
|
I knew Dane Milnor and you are every bit your father's daughter."
|
|
"Am I really that predictable?"
|
|
"You?" Corambis continued walking in silence, a thoughtful
|
|
expression on his face. "To an old Sage like me, you are. You wouldn't
|
|
trust a crook as far as you could spit a mouse and neither did your
|
|
father."
|
|
"I can't spit a mouse all that far," Ilona smiled.
|
|
"Take my advice," Corambis went on. "Bad things happen, but you
|
|
have to be strong and prepared. I'm sure your father wouldn't give up,
|
|
and neither should you."
|
|
"But my father was a merchant!"
|
|
"Even merchants can have strong character," Corambis insisted,
|
|
"as do their daughters who want revenge."
|
|
For a long time Ilona could not answer. "He..." She was not sure
|
|
what she wanted to say. "It's been over two decades! You don't really
|
|
think that's what I'm after?"
|
|
"Only you can answer why you joined the guard, but I know you've
|
|
hated Liriss since the day you learned what really happened to your
|
|
parents."
|
|
Ilona paused to think about what Corambis had said. She always
|
|
had a hidden desire to bring Liriss' empire down, but that was also a
|
|
part of her duty in the Guard. It was her job and she started to
|
|
wonder if that was why she chose this line of work in the first place.
|
|
"No one doubts the need to rid the city of crime," Corambis
|
|
continued before Ilona had a chance to justify herself, "but it will
|
|
have to be a gradual process. Don't let your haste interfear with your
|
|
progress. Adrunian Koren will always live right here," Corambis
|
|
touched his finger over her heart, "he knew the risks. Now you must do
|
|
your job."
|
|
And with those words Corambis shuffled into his booth, which they
|
|
had now reached, leaving Ilona outside to ponder his wisdom.
|
|
|
|
Tara brought Boxter, her horse, under the overhang that served as
|
|
the stables. She secured him to a rail by the wall, making sure there
|
|
was plenty of hay, and returned to the street where Zed, her pet
|
|
shivaree sat waitin g for her, cleaning out the fur on his side.
|
|
"Come along, Zed," Tara called and the animal quickly got up. She
|
|
patted the shivaree as it brushed past her leg on the way to Ilona
|
|
Milnor's apartment.
|
|
Boxter and Zed have been alone at her uncle Glenn's house, where
|
|
she had lived since coming to Dargon a year ago, for an entire day,
|
|
ever since she went to visit her uncle at the castle. Tara had not
|
|
been able to speak with her uncle, the Captain of the Guard, for a
|
|
month now, since the castle doctor had put him to sleep with her
|
|
medicines, but she would come every day anyhow and sit by his side for
|
|
an hour or two and talk to him. The physician always said that the
|
|
Captain could not hear the words in his trance, but Tara believed
|
|
otherwise and continued her daily visits, until the previous day, when
|
|
Lieutenants Milnor and Taishent told her that during the night someone
|
|
had assassinated her uncle. She had cried at the loss, remembering of
|
|
another loss less than a year ago, when her parents had been killed by
|
|
bandits and she had to travel to Dargon to meet her uncle, whom she
|
|
had never seen. Passing through the trading village of Tench, Tara had
|
|
encountered a young woman by the name of Lana who looked very much
|
|
like herself and who tried to kill Tara, believing she was being
|
|
impersonated and her reputation destroyed.
|
|
Tara fled Tench with a few cuts and bruises, together with Zed
|
|
and Boxter. Zed saved her life, coming to her rescue just as her twin
|
|
was about to deliver the killing blow. Zed lost his right ear in that
|
|
fight, but mauled her attacker in his frenzy. Lana was left alive and
|
|
as she staggered off, dripping blood, promised Tara she would come
|
|
back to kill her. At first those words scared Tara, but after a few
|
|
weeks in Dargon Tara relaxed in the safety of her uncle's home and
|
|
even began to doubt that Lana survived her injuries, let alone that
|
|
she could find Tara in Dargon, so many leagues away.
|
|
It has now been almost ten months since Tara came to Dargon to
|
|
live with her uncle Adrunian Koren. They both liked each other and
|
|
lived well as a family. Her uncle taught her to fight and to read,
|
|
although she was still having many problems with both. Then the war
|
|
came and he was grievously injured. If not for a young mage trapped in
|
|
Dargon during the war, her uncle would have died on the battle field.
|
|
Tara paniced at first, when her uncle was brought to the castle.
|
|
She was helping treat the wounded in the Dargon Keep while the
|
|
Beinison fleet pushed wave after wave of soldiers into the city, but
|
|
she was never really prepared for what she saw. The castle physician
|
|
got to him immediately and eased his wounds, although he was still far
|
|
from being in good shape. Now, just when it seemed everything would be
|
|
fine, he was killed, without even the chance to defend himself.
|
|
Tara wiped the tears that had formed in her eyes and reached down
|
|
to hug Zed who kept circling her with anticipation. "You're all I've
|
|
got left," she sobbed. Zed pressed his wet nose against her cheek and
|
|
a grumble came from his throat.
|
|
"It'll be all right," Tara assured him through her sobs, stroking
|
|
his short light brown fur.
|
|
She opened the door and went into Ilona's apartment. The shivaree
|
|
followed her in, carefully sniffing the floor and the furniture. Tara
|
|
watched him look around, knowing full well that he should not stay
|
|
here for long, but she let him prowl around for the time being. She
|
|
did not want to stay long here either. No more than another night,
|
|
until she could prove to herself and the Lieutenant that she could go
|
|
on alone. Then she would go back to her uncle's house and live there.
|
|
She was his only living relative and knew he would want it no other
|
|
way. Then she would have to find a job. She could possibly get on as a
|
|
guard or maybe helping in one of the stores at the market or working
|
|
at the Duke's castle.
|
|
"We're going to have to go soon, Zed, if I'm to be back by
|
|
dinner," Tara said. The shivaree trotted over to her and tried to
|
|
climb into her lap.
|
|
"Oh, Zed, you're getting so fat," she complained, gently pushing
|
|
him down. "City living's too good for you. I'll have to start taking
|
|
you to the forest more often."
|
|
He slipped under the chair Tara was sitting on and reappeared
|
|
under the table. After a moment she heard him licking something. "What
|
|
did you find?" Tara looked down. Zed sat with his rear to her, licking
|
|
at something by the wall. Tara pushed him aside. "What are you doing,
|
|
you trouble maker?" When he looked over at her, she snatched a feather
|
|
quill from under his paws. It probably smelled like a bird before. Now
|
|
it was all wet with shivaree spit. As Tara got back in the chair,
|
|
drying the wet pen, Zed stuck his head out from under the table and
|
|
licked his chops.
|
|
Having wiped the quill on her tunic, Tara opened the top drawer
|
|
and put it there, so Zed could not get to it again. She moved aside a
|
|
narrow strip of paper and put the quill on a small simple wooden box.
|
|
She was about to put the paper on top of that, when some writing on
|
|
the strip caught her attention. She looked at it, careful to make out
|
|
the letters. "You're well on your way," the note said and it was
|
|
signed, "Liriss."
|
|
At first Tara dropped the paper -- she knew who Liriss was -- but
|
|
then picked it up and read it again, ignoring Zed's nuzzling at her.
|
|
There was no doubt that what she read was right. Quickly Tara started
|
|
searching through the drawer. The only thing there that obviously did
|
|
not fit was a large gem stone in the box the note had lain on. Tara
|
|
heard how expensive these gems were and that lieutenants could not
|
|
afford them. Even her uncle, with his pay, would probably have to stop
|
|
and think twice if he could afford to buy something like that.
|
|
"Come on, Zed," Tara got up. She put both the gem and the note in
|
|
her pocket and hurried for the door. Lieutenant Milnor was working for
|
|
Liriss, which meant Lieutenant Darklen probably worked for him, too.
|
|
She knew they were very close.
|
|
Tara closed the door after herself and Zed. The only safe place
|
|
now was the castle where Jerid Taishent stayed. She had to tell him
|
|
what she learned.
|
|
"Come on, Zed," Tara encouraged the shivaree and he bounced down
|
|
the street after her.
|
|
|
|
Corambis shuffled the chips from his casting on the table. "By
|
|
Kurin's beard! Twice!" He gathered the chips in their pouch and shook
|
|
it. "Of all the things to cast!"
|
|
He tossed the bag in a box in the corner and went looking for the
|
|
other, older one he had. "Trissa, my girl, how could you get me an oak
|
|
casting table?" He found the old leather pouch and checked its
|
|
contents. Everything was there, all ten chips. Before casting, the old
|
|
sage walked to the door leading to the waiting room and pushed it
|
|
open.
|
|
"Thuna?"
|
|
His assistant entered the room.
|
|
"Has Madam Labin come by?"
|
|
"Not yet," Thuna said. "I'll let you know as soon as she does."
|
|
"Did you tell her to come for noon?" the Sage did not stop his
|
|
questioning.
|
|
"Yes, I did."
|
|
"Well, rush her in here as soon as she comes!" he shook his head
|
|
and absentmindedly closed the door on Thuna.
|
|
"Now, as for you..." Corambis looked at the casting table. The
|
|
wheel, appearing as a giant eye, almost seemed to look back at him.
|
|
Corambis chanted in incantation, then read another one for the
|
|
chips in the pouch he held. After a minute he was satisfied that the
|
|
ceremony was conducted correctly and emptied the bag on the wheel. The
|
|
chips unceremoniously slid back to the positions he had seen before.
|
|
"Saren's own curse," Corambis muttered again. "Why does it never
|
|
change? Koren is dead!"
|
|
|
|
Jerid Taishent knocked on the door of his father's house and
|
|
waited. A few moments passed before the door opened to reveal Dyann,
|
|
the town mage. The old wizard wore a common blue robe with a silk belt
|
|
tied tightly around his waist.
|
|
"Jerid!" the mage exclaimed, then coughed into his fist. "What
|
|
brings you here?"
|
|
"You do," Jerid came in.
|
|
"I do?" Dyann asked, confused. "I must be getting old, son. Just
|
|
how did I bring you here?"
|
|
"Come on, Dad, you know what I want."
|
|
"I'm just a humble mage. I don't read minds."
|
|
"Dad, I want you to come stay at the castle with Aimee and me."
|
|
Dyann frowned. "I'm a mage and I still have my work to do," he
|
|
snapped. "Just the few days that I lost last month cost me three
|
|
months of work. I have experiments and enchantments going on. I can't
|
|
afford the time!"
|
|
"Dad..."
|
|
"If that's all you're here for, go away. I'm busy."
|
|
"Well," Jerid hesitated, "I'd also like some advice."
|
|
Dyann rubbed his hands together. "Fatherly advice or should I get
|
|
my cards?"
|
|
"Fatherly advice, Dad. I don't believe in that card none sense."
|
|
"Now, don't start that again. You've seen what I do."
|
|
"Dad, you've spent all my childhood trying to teach me and
|
|
nothing came of it. I think I've earned the right to be skeptical."
|
|
Dyann put his hand on his son's back and walked him to the
|
|
kitchen where a meal was set out on the table. "You, my boy, inherited
|
|
all of your mother's bad traits..."
|
|
"I'm happy with them," Jerid interrupted.
|
|
"Bring Aimee to live here with me and I'll teach her. She has it
|
|
in her blood. By the time she's your age, she'll be one of the best."
|
|
"I'm thirty-five, Dad. I don't want you torturing her for the
|
|
next thirty years."
|
|
"Oh, Jerid, where did I ever go wrong with you?"
|
|
"I think it happened when you told me to be who I want to be."
|
|
Dyann started setting another place at the table. "I hope you
|
|
haven't been telling this sort of silliness to Aimee, have you?"
|
|
"Yes, I have, Dad."
|
|
Dyann shook his head, pouring soup into a bowl. "Do you know that
|
|
during the war she left a chamber pot in the chimney to the big room?"
|
|
"A chamber pot?" Jerid asked.
|
|
"A chamber pot and a filled one, at that." He put the bowl before
|
|
Jerid and sat down. "She must've put it there during the invasion, but
|
|
since it's summer, the vent was sealed. I opened it up yesterday to
|
|
get a big fire going to cook a potion. You should've seen the mess."
|
|
Jerid smiled. "Sounds like she's experimenting."
|
|
"It was all so old and dry and decayed that I almost set the
|
|
attic on fire," Dyann drew a deep breath.
|
|
"I'll talk to her about it," Jerid promised.
|
|
Dyann nodded. "Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"
|
|
"I wanted you to know what's going on with me, Dad. And what work
|
|
I'm involved in and what you can expect..."
|
|
|
|
Sitting in the great hall of Dargon Keep waiting for the sergeant
|
|
to return, Tara was beginning to have second thoughts about coming to
|
|
see Jerid Taishent. He did, after all, live in the castle where the
|
|
murder took place and it would be next to impossible for him not to be
|
|
involved in some capacity if outsiders had gained access to her uncle.
|
|
She wanted to get up and leave and pretend that nothing had happened,
|
|
but she did not have that luxury. If she left for no reason, that
|
|
could make the Lieutenant suspicious.
|
|
Tara did not know Jerid very well. She had only met him a few
|
|
times at official functions. She could not begin to guess at what kind
|
|
of a person he was, although he did seem like a nice man.
|
|
She did know Kalen Darklen and Ilona Milnor, or at least she
|
|
thought she did, before she found clues of Ilona's association with
|
|
Liriss. Both the gem and the note now lay in Tara's pocket, waiting to
|
|
be shown to the castle guard lieutenant. But now that she developed
|
|
new doubts about his honesty, Tara did not know what to do. `Maybe if
|
|
I ask him about the funeral,' Tara thought to herself. `Certainly they
|
|
can't have the body just lying around for days doing nothing.'
|
|
But for the longest time neither the sergeant, nor Lieutenant
|
|
Taishent came down the stairs. Just when Tara got up to leave, the
|
|
sergeant who met her at the door returned.
|
|
"Lady, I can't seem to find the Lieutenant anywhere. Perhaps if
|
|
you left him a message, or maybe I can help you with something..."
|
|
Tara shook her head with relief. "Thank you, no. I'll come back
|
|
tomorrow."
|
|
"Very well," the sergeant bowed and escorted her to the Keep
|
|
doors.
|
|
Tara left the building, heading for a post in the yard where she
|
|
left had Zed tied on a leash. Seeing her, the shivaree got up and
|
|
started pulling on the rope.
|
|
"Missed me, did you?" Tara played with her furry friend. She bent
|
|
down to untie the rope and heard an elderly voice behind her.
|
|
"Miss, you're the niece of Captain Koren, are you not?" Rish
|
|
Vogel asked, looking more at the shivaree than at the young woman.
|
|
Tara turned to look at the old chronicler, still holding onto the
|
|
rope. She knew who he was, but little about him and it surprised her
|
|
that he had come to talk to her. The chronicaler's eccentricities were
|
|
widely known and she really did not want to spend the time talking to
|
|
him now about what has happened to her uncle. She was still having a
|
|
lot of problems dealing with it herself and did not need others to
|
|
spoil her mood for her.
|
|
"Yes, I am," she answered politely as Rish came closer.
|
|
"And you're staying with Lieutenant Milnor?" the old chronicler
|
|
went on.
|
|
"Yes..."
|
|
He was now so close that she could hear him whisper, which is
|
|
what he did. "Have you noticed anything strange?"
|
|
"What?"
|
|
"About the Lieutenant, I mean."
|
|
"Uh..."
|
|
"I think your uncle was killed by his own guards," Rish rumbled
|
|
on.
|
|
"Why?" Tara interrupted him.
|
|
"I don't know why!"
|
|
"No, I mean what makes you think it was the guards?"
|
|
"I saw his room after the murder. Everything looked wrong." Rish
|
|
stopped and looked around to make sure they were alone and no one was
|
|
trying to listen in. "And the lieutenants are hiding things. It's been
|
|
a day and a half and no one has seen the body yet and they're not
|
|
talking about what they're doing about it. No one even knows where it
|
|
is. And..." he looked around again, "the guard who killed the assassin
|
|
is missing. The room was cleaned, but I don't think they searched for
|
|
clues."
|
|
That was enough to convince Tara that Rish was on her side. She
|
|
looked around as well, then took the note and the gem from her pocket
|
|
and handed them to Rish. "I found these in Lieutenant Milnor's desk."
|
|
Rish read the note, then examined the gem. His hands shook. "This
|
|
is it...this is the proof," he muttered.
|
|
Tara took a step back, backing into the post the shivaree had
|
|
been tied to. She was not sure where Zed himself had gone.
|
|
Rish suddenly grabbed Tara's hands and put the evidence in them.
|
|
"Thank you, thank you," he rushed off.
|
|
"Wait!" Tara hurried after him, returning the gem and the note to
|
|
her pocket before anyone else had seen them.
|
|
"What?" Rish looked back at her impatiently.
|
|
"What am I supposed to do? I can't stay with Lieutenant Milnor!"
|
|
"You can and you must!" Rish insisted. "Go back and put those
|
|
things where you found them and don't tell anyone. I'll take care of
|
|
everything."
|
|
"But I can't stay with Ilona Milnor!" Tara went on. "If she
|
|
killed my uncle, I can't stay with her!"
|
|
Rish looked around, hoping no one heard the young woman's
|
|
outburst. "If she hasn't killed you yet and doesn't suspect you know,
|
|
she'll have no reason to harm you. Now go back and do what I say!"
|
|
Tara watched Rish hurry back to the castle, his long brown robe
|
|
tangling at his feet. Zed was back, rubbing against Tara's legs and
|
|
she bent down and hugged him.
|
|
"You'll protect me, right?"
|
|
The shivaree nuzzled her cheek and ear and snorted.
|
|
|
|
Rish hurried into his small cubicle of a room and locked the door
|
|
behind him. He had his mystery, his clues and now his proof. Now he
|
|
just needed a miracle to get it all resolved.
|
|
Taking a pen and a sheet of parchment out of his desk, Rish
|
|
started writing furiously. If it was the last thing he did, he would
|
|
bring order back to the town of Dargon.
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 (C) Copyright March, 1992, DargonZine, Editor Dafydd
|
|
<White@DUVM.BitNet>. All rights revert to the authors. These stories may
|
|
not be reproduced or redistributed (save in the case of reproducing the
|
|
whole 'zine for further distribution) without the express permission of
|
|
the author involved.
|
|
|