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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 11
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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 || Number 6
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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 Distributed: 08/01/1998
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Volume 11, Number 6 Circulation: 678
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========================================================================
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Contents
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Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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A Spell of Rain 2 Stuart Whitby Mertz 29, 1016
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Maiden Cloth Sue Donnymouse Vibril 30, 1015
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Deliverance 2 John Doucette 24 Sy, 1014
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========================================================================
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DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
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collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
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We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
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Please address all correspondance to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
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on the World Wide Web at http://www.shore.net/~dargon. Back issues
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are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
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public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
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DargonZine 11-6, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright August, 1998 by
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the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
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Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
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All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
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and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
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without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
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of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
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Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
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========================================================================
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Editorial
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by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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<ornoth@shore.net>
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Battling the sinister force of entropy is a full-time job for any
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Web site that grows and changes over time. As a site evolves, its
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structure needs to gracefully accomodate new information and new
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services, while at the same time continually offering the user
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navigation that is intuitive and painless. That's a difficult job in and
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of itself, made worse when you realize that few popular sites have the
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luxury of "freezing" their sites while new services and navigation are
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implemented.
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In my other life's work as a Web devloper, I often help my clients
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through the struggle of defining their site's structure and navigation.
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Often, an approach that might be intuitive to the designer will be
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frustrating for the end-user, and this is exacerbated by the amorphous
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nature of hypertext, with its propensity for nefariously cross-linked
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documents.
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At DargonZine, we've been able to go for a long time with only
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minimal attention given to navigation. Until recently, our site was
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simple enough that navigation wasn't a major issue. However, as the
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amount of information we offered our users grew, so did the site's
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complexity and our need for better navigational facilities than a single
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"return to home page" at the bottom of every document.
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We knew that the answer to our problem was a site-wide navigation
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toolbar, but it still took us nearly a year to close on a particular
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layout and set of icons. But if you visit the DargonZine Web site today,
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you will see that the nav bar is now a reality. It isn't implemented on
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every single page, but it's well on the way to becoming as ubiquitous as
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Coca-Cola!
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That may not sound like cause for celebration to you, but it marks
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another milestone in the development of our Web site, and hopefully it
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will make our site more attractive and easier to use for everyone. Let
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us know what you think of it!
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This issue contains the second parts of two stories which were
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begun in DargonZine 11-5, our previous issue. Those are Stuart Whitby's
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"A Spell of Rain", and John Doucette's "Deliverance". These are
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accompanied by "Maiden Cloth", a tale which was originally written for
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last year's "Night of Souls" issue, DargonZine 10-7. Unfortunately,
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after its author disclaimed ownership, the story passed through many
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hands on its long and troubled journey toward publication. Finally,
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after many months of counterproductive revisions and occasional
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abandonment, you see it here in these pages in its original form, as it
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was first submitted over a year ago. We hope it has finally found a
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place to call home!
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Stay tuned for our next issue, which will highlight the results of
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our newest writing contest!
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========================================================================
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A Spell of Rain
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Part 2
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by Stuart Whitby
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<StuWhitby@sol.co.uk>
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Mertz 29, 1016
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The netmender's new apprentice sat outside the shop to enjoy the
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cooling breeze on the balmy spring day. In the two months since Jason
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had shown up at the door -- not begging charity, but asking politely
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about apprenticeship -- Martin had not a bad word to say about the boy.
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>From the outset, he had been diligent, hard working, polite, and a fast
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learner. He was much older than Martin would normally have thought of
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taking on, but he was willing and, much more importantly, educated; here
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was someone who could write down the names of anyone who owed him money,
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along with the amounts -- paying a scribe to formalise debts had seemed
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an expensive option on occasion in the past, but had proven cheaper than
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losing the money altogether.
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After only two months of having him make new nets, Martin was
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almost ready to put Jason to work patching rents in the slimy, rotten,
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filth-ridden ones that the fishers brought back from their trips.
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Jason's deft hands had almost recovered from the blisters that working
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with dry rope brought; now he would need to grow new callus to work with
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wet. Yet he had never once complained, and asked nothing more than his
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due: food, lodging and the secrets of a trade in return for work done.
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In truth, Jason liked working for the netmender. It was far removed
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from the work he had previously done trying to work weather-magics in
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his father's tower, and working with his hands rather than his mind
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appealed to him. He could also appreciate the irony of working for a man
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named "Weaver." Jason had been lucky to come at a time when the netmaker
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was without an apprentice, and even luckier to find that the man was
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prepared to take on an untried and unknown youngster.
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The thumb-thick rope ran slowly off the drum behind him. At first,
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Jason had to concentrate hard on the work, but he was now reaching the
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stage where he could let his mind wander as he worked on the nets. The
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edge of this net had already been sealed, and, with the hard part done,
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he could look at the trading end of the docks as his hands continued
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their work. His gaze wandered, skipping over the ships and boats, the
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porters who unloaded bales and pallets, the hawkers -- whose claims of
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superior quality wares almost drowned out the perpetual noise of the
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gulls -- and the fishers who packed the last of their catch in
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salt-filled, blood-stained crates. Slowly, Jason's mind detached itself
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from his surroundings, and his stare became fixed on the waters before
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him. His hands still moved, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a
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voice kept repeating, over and over, "... right over left, loop, and
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through, left over right, loop, through, and pull. Right over left,
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loop, and through, left over right, loop, through, and pull ..."
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Reaching the bottom of the net, he doubled the rope along the
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length of his hand, looped a holed stone onto the rope, and started his
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way back up again. Right over left, loop, and through, left over right,
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loop, and through. His face was expressionless; his breathing, shallow.
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His eyes never moved from the hypnotic surface of the sea before him.
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Right over left. He knew the weave as he knew himself. Loop and through.
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A cacophony of purest silence deafened him to all else. Left over right.
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The water grew darker, drawing him in. Loop. Toward it. Through. Into
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it. Pull.
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"Jason," came a dim voice from far away. "Jason?" Closer this time.
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What was the word he spoke? A spark of recognition lit the darkened
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confines of his mind. A sharp pain made the spark flare.
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"Jason!" A grizzled face came into focus above him, a concerned
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expression upon it. It grunted in satisfaction as the boy returned to
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reality, and to the discomforting fact that he was soaked through. "By
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Gow, boy, that's fast work, but you don't need to sit here in this kind
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of downpour to finish it!" Martin looked down at the pile by his feet
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and frowned at it, before giving up and asking, "Just how much have you
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done anyway?"
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Jason looked down and gasped at the white netting which was piled
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to his left. He did a quick count of the stones, and doubled the result.
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"Looks like almost seventy hands." He reached up to caress the stinging
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handprint across his cheek. "How long have I been out here?"
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Martin peered quizzically at him. "A little over two bells."
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Jason looked at the skies in disbelief, then back at Martin. "I
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must have been here longer than that, surely? I didn't expect any bad
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weather for at least the next two days. There wasn't even a sniff of
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rain in the air when I started!" Martin just stared. Jason's eyes rolled
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back in his head as he realised what must have happened. "Looks like my
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father's in town," he muttered to himself as a troubled frown creased
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his brow.
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Jason's guess was close, but not quite right. Kilan was getting
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nearer, but still had a considerable distance to ride to reach Dargon
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itself. After being directed to Sharks' Cove and spending almost two
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sennights searching, he had come to the conclusion that his informant
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had been mistaken in seeing Jason go that way. Four sennights of wasted
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effort, followed by the long journey to Dargon, had taken their toll.
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Although Kilan had the body of a man in his mid-thirties, he was well
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past fifty, and not used to sleeping rough. Influencing the weather was
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simple, but flattening and warming the ground that he spent much of the
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time sleeping on was beyond him.
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Today though, he could enjoy the sunshine on his back. It was warm,
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but not overly hot, and a gentle breeze shushed through the trees on
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either side of him. Only the sounds of the horse, the birds, and a
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nearby stream broke the silence. For the first time in days, Kilan felt
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almost good about the world.
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Of a sudden, he looked sharply upward, his eyes darting about as if
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the heavens hid assassins who bayed for his blood. A slight breeze had
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come up, and clouds had started to show in the skies ahead of him.
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Although summer storms could be quick to arise, experience told him that
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something was far from normal. A glance down the road behind him
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confirmed this. Clouds were scudding in from that direction too, and
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while his view was blocked by the trees, he would have staked his liver
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on the fact that the weather was closing in from all quarters.
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Grimly, he made a rough approximation of the distance to Dargon.
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Around ninety leagues. Four days' travel. Four days of not knowing if
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this was his son at work. Four days too many.
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Kilan thought briefly about trying to clear his path of the rain
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which he knew would follow, but quickly discarded the idea. Trying to
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create a change in the weather would take time and energy, and the
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results were never (to his great annoyance) guaranteed. Pulling his
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cloak tighter around his shoulders, Kilan set his gaze on the road
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ahead, and dug in his heels.
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As the dawn bell announced the arrival of the first of Firil, Jason
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arose to the sight of clearing skies. The freak clouds of two days ago
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had dumped their contents over land, sea, and Jason's bed, but to
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Jason's trained eye, no strange weather portents remained. His attic
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room over the netmender's shop was cramped, and he had to concentrate to
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avoid touching the damp wooden ceiling as he dressed. Finally, he
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checked again the state of sky and sea, and, seeing no indication of
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further rain, left the shutters open to let his room dry out.
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After setting a fire in the kitchen, Jason cooked a quick breakfast
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of fish and eggs. Since there were plenty of new nets available should
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anyone lose one, he knew that he would be moved on to other areas this
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day. On finishing his food, he scrubbed his plate with clean sand and
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water, then took a second helping of the dish up to Martin, leaving it
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beside his bed as the man struggled to reach the waking world.
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Next, he opened the outside door and took a broom from the back of
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the shop. He proceeded to brush all the lint, salt, dirt and bits of
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frayed rope out of the door. The work served to wake him up fully in the
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mornings as the cool sea breeze swept stale air from the shop and the
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morning mugginess from his head.
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That done, he stood on the step and looked out over the dock area
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of Dargon, leaning easily on his broom. The town was only just beginning
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to wake up, though most of the small fishing fleet had already left. The
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remainder were on their return trip, hoping to catch the fishmongers who
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came down early to buy stock freshly landed that morning. At this time
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of day, only two or three voices announced their wares, and only
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half-heartedly, having no din to compete against. The sun once more
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glinted off rippling waters. Only a slight swell showed that this was a
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sea in front of him rather than a calm, inland lake. A scattering of
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white, feathered clouds moving slowly across the sky above him promised
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that this would be a fine day.
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The weather was probably a major influence on Jason's mood, but he
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was content. He had expected to see his father turn up after the
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unexpected weather some days back, but there was no sign of him, and the
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weather had returned to a balmy normality. Jason's wariness of the past
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few days had faded with the last of the blustery weather, and he now
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felt secure in the knowledge that he would retain the simple pleasures
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that his work brought him. A cooling breeze brought fresh air in from
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the sea, invigorating the senses and clearing the mind on an otherwise
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hot day. Little sound disturbed the tranquility; the lap of the tide
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against the side of the dock in front of him only added to the
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perfection of the morning. This was a day for feeling good.
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Kilan got his first glimpse of Dargon in the early afternoon of the
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third day of Firil as he exited a thin patch of woodland. The land in
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front of him was green and brown, interspersed with low, rocky tors of
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grass-covered granite. It was nearing summer, yet something about the
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feel and smell of the air told him that it should have been raining.
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The granite of the keep shone silver in the sunshine. Kilan had to
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squint to block the sun's wavering reflection in one of the keep's glass
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windows. A number of fishing smacks could be seen against the glimmering
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backdrop of the Valenfaer ocean at the mouth of the Coldwell, and a
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centre of traffic showed the probable location of the market square.
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Drawing his horse to a halt, he looked to the sky. The few visible
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clouds had been dragged different ways by the winds -- something was far
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from ordinary. Dismounting, he moved to an open space to practice his
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arts, free from the obstructions and interruptions which would hinder
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him in town.
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Some time later, Kilan staggered back toward his horse, his face
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pale from the effort of spellcasting. "Ol's piss, that boy must be
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strong!" This would not just be a simple case of wresting control as he
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had expected.
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He hauled himself ungraciously into the saddle and kicked his horse
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weakly in the ribs. The docile animal set off at its usual plodding
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walk, giving Kilan plenty of time to think in weary appreciation on the
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strength of his runaway child. Strength like that could only come from
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the powder that he had added to the rising bread mixture the night
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before the boy left. Kilan wheezed a weak laugh to himself as his
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strength returned and he made his way toward the town, knowing that the
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culmination of the research that he had started on his wife had worked
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in his son.
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Jason looked contentedly at the skies outside. This was the third
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day of near perfect weather. It seemed like it picked up whenever he
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started to weave another net, or even if he touched a rope, but that had
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to be coincidence. He knew that even if the power he supposedly had was
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to manifest, he would have to be concentrating intently on it, and that
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he would have to force the patterns to his will by incantation or
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through a focus. He still could not *see* or *sense* the weather as his
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father could, but after so much study, he did know that the weather of
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the last three days was no natural occurrence. It no longer greatly
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concerned him. There must be other sages nearby, and it could be one of
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them who was the cause of this enjoyable blight.
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Martin was off on a trip to the market for some food and talk.
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There was normally plenty of fish available free to a netmender, but
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many of the fishers were quietly worried about the strangely good
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weather, to the extent that they stayed in port rather than risk
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becalming in such conditions. Besides, they could hardly sail without
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wind, and a lack of wind was an anomaly if ever one existed in Dargon.
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This had, however, kept the shop fairly busy over the last few
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days, with the fishers taking advantage of the lay up in port to get
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their nets repaired or replaced. Now though, most of the work that he
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could do alone had been done, and he had time to sort out the ropes,
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stones and bladders into some semblance of order. Lighting a torch from
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the fire in the kitchen, he returned to the shop area, now able to see
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what he was doing in the dim recesses of the rear of the shop.
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Planting his torch in a wall sconce, he bent to the task of
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clearing up the mess of rope, sorting it into drums by size and
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approximate length, and then stacking it on the wide shelves in the rear
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of the shop. He then bent to the task of sorting the stones into buckets
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and matching the bladders beside them. Eventually, he stood up, task
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complete, as a figure appeared, silhouetted, in the doorway. A leather
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bag hung at hip level from a strap around its shoulder.
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"My my, haven't you grown?" came the man's voice, his words seeming
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to ooze both mirth and hidden meanings. Jason jumped, wide eyed, and
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felt the blood drain from his face.
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"Father!" His eyes darted about, looking for an escape which he
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knew did not exist. "What are you ..." he started, then realised that it
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was a stupid question. "How did you find me?" His heart hammered in his
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chest, and while the shock of discovery lent him energy, there was
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nowhere to run.
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"I figured that your faith in Cirrangill would force you to stick
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with a coastal town. After Sharks' Cove, this was the next obvious
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choice. Besides, anyone with the sense to see it could hardly fail to
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notice where you were." Kilan sounded like he was about to burst into
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joyous laughter.
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Jason rocked back in confusion. "What do you mean? I haven't told
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anyone who I am! Or who you are. I've kept to myself since I got here,
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and haven't done anything but get myself a job that I'm good at."
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"Ah, but the weather *has* turned ... how shall I say it ...
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unusual around here, don't you think?"
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"If I had known you could find me so easily, I would have moved on
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further," Jason replied miserably. "It's not as if I had any way of
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checking where *you* were." He shifted his feet nervously, disgruntled
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at being tracked down. His father's grin was suddenly made visible as
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the sun dimmed behind him.
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"That almost sounds like you haven't tried practicing any magic
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since you got here." Only the tremor of a chuckle betrayed the fact that
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Kilan believed he already knew the answer.
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"Why should I? It didn't work when I was trying. Why should it work
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when I give it up? I think I proved that I have no talent in that area.
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That's why I left in the first place and told you to get another
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apprentice. I certainly didn't expect you to come looking for me."
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Though still breathing hard from the shock of discovery, he was now
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starting to sulk.
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Kilan's eyes narrowed slightly. "You never tried any magic? What
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have you been doing then, mending nets?"
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Jason ignored the sarcasm. "Yes, strangely enough. And cooking,
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cleaning, washing and fetching. You know, normal apprentice stuff." He
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gestured around at the buckets of stones and ropes. Taking a similarly
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flippant approach, he asked, "How have you been?"
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"Culchanan's ghost, boy! How do you think I've been?" The joyous
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exclamation seemed to echo around the room, causing Jason to jump in
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surprise. "Worried sick and looking for you!" Expressions of concern and
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relief battled plainly on his father's face. "Do you realise what you
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could have done, running off when you did? Do you know just how close to
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realising your powers you were? Didn't you know how dangerous it was
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running off when you did? And then you end up learning a trade in a
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place like this?" He gestured around at the clutter of nets and baskets
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which littered the floor as the shop slowly darkened. The torch now
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provided much of the light.
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Jason stood silent for a while, then started to laugh weakly. "At
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least this is something that I can do. I said in the note that you
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should get yourself a decent apprentice. You should have tried, rather
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than coming to look for me." Jason sighed, knowing how much
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inconvenience he had caused. Soon though, he remembered his time in the
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tower, and his resolve hardened. "You know, I haven't failed at *one*
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task here yet. I don't know if you noticed, but there was a certain
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point that I just could not get past when I was trying to become a
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weatherweaver. Here, I'm by the sea, I can let my thoughts drift, and
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yet I still manage to get the work done. I happen to like it here. Even
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my master sticks to things which he can accomplish -- unlike some people
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I could mention."
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A wry smile appeared on Kilan's face. "You may be wrong there, son.
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About accomplishments, I mean. I take it that you have noticed the
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unusual weather that Dargon is experiencing presently?"
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"Yes. I thought that might have been your doing."
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"Well, in a way, but I only arrived here today. Now how do you
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think I found you so quickly?" The weatherweaver paused, but Jason chose
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not to answer. "These are your weaves causing this. Quite impressive
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really, even if I say so myself. I knew you were strong, but I didn't
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realise that you would advance so far, so fast."
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"What do you mean? I haven't even tried any magic, and now you tell
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me I'm at the root of the strange weather we've been having here?" A
|
|
note of concern entered Jason's voice at his father's words, and he
|
|
longed for Martin to return, though that was unlikely for some time.
|
|
"What do I mean?" Kilan asked. "Well, I mean that the bread which
|
|
you took with you from the tower was more than just eggs, flour, water,
|
|
yeast and salt. And seed, in that particular case."
|
|
Jason was near to panic. "You put something in that?" His voice had
|
|
increased in both volume and pitch, stopping just short of a shout.
|
|
"What have you done?" Something flashed over the seas. "What have you
|
|
done to me?" His distress must have been plain as he looked, aghast,
|
|
towards his father.
|
|
Kilan refused to take offense. He knew the boy was just unsure of
|
|
what had been done. Once he knew, his attitude would change. All the
|
|
same, Kilan jumped slightly when the thunder rolled in from behind, but
|
|
it was not enough to raze the smirk of pride from his face. "Well, what
|
|
all did I have in there? Some powders to enhance your concentration,
|
|
some of the brine that Corambis concocted for me some years back from
|
|
lichens and moss extract around the forest here -- that should help you
|
|
align your mind to magic more effectively. What else? A smokeweed
|
|
extract that should stop your emotions getting in the way of your magic,
|
|
a miniscule chip of chrysoline to protect you from any hostile magics
|
|
... There are a number of other ingredients, mostly ones you won't have
|
|
studied yet, but all made to work on different flaws in the human mind
|
|
and body. All bonded together with amaranth and a weave of my own so
|
|
that there should be no problem with effects fading or any of the
|
|
constituents working against each other." He paused for effect. "You are
|
|
unique, my boy ..."
|
|
Kilan would have continued, but the sight of his son thudding down
|
|
heavily into a chair and covering his eyes with his forearm stopped him.
|
|
Kilan burst once more into a grin. "I know. Fantastic, isn't it?"
|
|
|
|
Jason felt physically pained by his father's betrayal. By the sound
|
|
of things, it was too late to reverse any changes that the spell had
|
|
effected. His lips stretched in a rictus across his teeth, and he keened
|
|
softly, mourning his loss of self. Outside, a soft drizzle leaked in
|
|
sympathy from leaden skies -- skies clear only menes before -- into a
|
|
choppy, grey sea. In the distance, lightnings flashed across the clouds
|
|
as they moved low over the sea. The low growl of thunder was becoming a
|
|
constant distraction.
|
|
Kilan frowned, unsure of himself, and annoyed at the lack of
|
|
gratitude his son showed. Then he came to the shocked realisation that
|
|
there had been no focus, no incantation, and not even any concentrated
|
|
effort on his son's part to cause this change in weather. It should
|
|
still have taken *some* work at least to turn sun into rain. He stepped
|
|
closer, reaching a tentative hand toward his son's head, patting it
|
|
gently then holding it to him. The boy sat limp, hardly seeming to
|
|
breathe as sobs racked his chest and shoulders.
|
|
Tears soaked unnoticed into Kilan's tunic as he reached further,
|
|
surpassing physical boundaries, and reaching into his son's mind,
|
|
exploring the changes made. The corners of his mouth turned slightly
|
|
upward at the ease with which he achieved his goal, but the satisfied
|
|
smile turned to a look of concern, then outright horror at what he
|
|
found.
|
|
Breaking his contact, he staggered backward into a table, sending
|
|
items flying from the bag which hung at his hip. The boy flopped back in
|
|
his chair, still keening silently to himself. Kilan turned, and made a
|
|
drunken lunge for the support of the wall. His mouth gaped wide in the
|
|
knowledge of his failure. Somehow, he managed to haul himself outside
|
|
into the rain, and lurched down the street, unable to come to terms with
|
|
the gravity of his mistake.
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
Maiden Cloth
|
|
by Sue Donnymouse
|
|
Vibril 30, 1015
|
|
|
|
"Honey. Honey!! Where are you? Where -- Augh!"
|
|
Cairel jumped as Honey sprang up behind him, out of the darkness
|
|
and grabbed him from behind. She then ran past him down the path and
|
|
sprang back into the dark bushes, giggling the whole time. With a grin
|
|
Cairel ran after her.
|
|
The landscape was well lit by the full moon. In years past neither
|
|
Cairel nor Honey would have dared venture out-of-doors during the Night
|
|
of Souls, but they were both feeling their full fifteen years' age, and
|
|
had decided that they were too old to believe in the fables and tales
|
|
the adults spun by the fireside for the other children. Besides, there
|
|
were other, more interesting things to do.
|
|
Cairel could not see Honey up ahead, but he could hear her excited
|
|
breathing and the sound of her passage through the undergrowth. His own
|
|
breath came out in half-laughs, thrilled at the chase. He always liked
|
|
Honey, but now he felt a certain, special excitement around her. He
|
|
wasn't entirely sure why, but there was something about her that he
|
|
somehow had never noticed until this year. Maybe it was her new height.
|
|
Until this year she was always the smaller of the two. Maybe it was
|
|
loneliness. His older brothers had gone off to war, and half the village
|
|
children were gone, migrated to the cities with their families in search
|
|
of work and food.
|
|
What Cairel wouldn't admit to himself was that suddenly Honey
|
|
wasn't just a girl anymore, and he was no longer a young boy. He
|
|
realized now that there was an attractiveness to the opposite sex, and
|
|
for whatever reason, it seemed to concentrate itself in Honey. The
|
|
mysteries of love were a mere rumor to him, but there were many
|
|
mysteries about Honey, and Cairel knew he wanted to stay close to her,
|
|
in case some were revealed.
|
|
He stopped in a small ravine, panting, holding his breath fitfully
|
|
so he could listen. Where had she gone? The sound of snapping twigs
|
|
brought him around, and drew his gaze up the steep, rocky, slope. There,
|
|
up the hill, with the moonlight shining on her, stood Honey.
|
|
"Up here, snail!!" she yelled, jumping up and down and waving her
|
|
arms. "You sure run slow!! Aren't you going to catch me?"
|
|
"Shhh!" urged Cairel, "They'll hear you back at the house!"
|
|
"Slow ox!" she taunted. "Mole feet!"
|
|
He dashed up the slope, and she ran ahead of him. The higher they
|
|
climbed, the slower they climbed. Finally Cairel paused.
|
|
"Whew!" he exclaimed, pausing and stripping off his shirt. He
|
|
mopped his brow with it, then tossed it on top of a prominent boulder.
|
|
"All this running has me sweating!" Cairel started up the slope again,
|
|
dodging around the boulders.
|
|
"That's a good idea!" she called out. "I'm too hot for this," she
|
|
added, in a tone of voice that caught Cairel's attention. He looked up
|
|
just in time to see her throw her dress up over her head. He stood,
|
|
stunned. She looked down at him with a mischievous grin and laughed at
|
|
his shock. Cairel could do little but stare. He had seen her naked many
|
|
times before, as children playing in the nearby streams, but somehow
|
|
seeing her like this revealed the changes the years had made in them
|
|
both. In the dim moonlight she was a vision of pale white curves,
|
|
unmarked by any darkness save her flowing locks above and the beginning
|
|
of a delta below. For some reason that made his breath shorter, and his
|
|
blood hotter.
|
|
"That's much better," she taunted saucily. "Now I can run even
|
|
faster!" With a hop and a skip she disappeared. Cairel followed, a
|
|
different sort of energy suffusing his legs.
|
|
Cairel knew the slope reached a ridge at the top, then descended to
|
|
the road. She wouldn't risk appearing there unclothed, so she would have
|
|
to go further away from the house. He cut across the slope and crested
|
|
the rise higher up. He ran hard toward the path, listening to her
|
|
giggles ahead. He burst out of the brush at the same moment she did. He
|
|
could see that she was naked, save for her shoes and a band of cloth
|
|
around her chest. She let loose a delighted shriek, and nearly stumbled
|
|
while turning back. He followed, and for a moment more they ran,
|
|
laughing hard. Finally he reached out and seized the cloth, and pulled
|
|
her in. They went down in a tumble.
|
|
Cairel landed on top, pinning his quarry to the dirt. Honey
|
|
squirmed, trying to push him off, laughing. He tickled her, squealing
|
|
with glee. She writhed, shrieking, trying at first to escape, then
|
|
wrapped her legs around his waist. She ran her hands across his smooth
|
|
chest, her eyes wide. Cairel placed one hand on each hip, then slid them
|
|
front and back, touching the forbidden cheeks, fondling the hidden
|
|
treasure. He slid his hands upwards and seized the cloth around her
|
|
chest. It was tight, binding the lower half of her breasts, pushing them
|
|
up and making them look larger than they were. He tugged on the band,
|
|
pulling it down.
|
|
"No!" she exclaimed, laughing. "Not my maiden-cloth!" She grasped
|
|
the band, trying to hold it up. They struggled earnestly until Cairel
|
|
succeeded in lowering it until first one, then the other nipple emerged.
|
|
Suddenly her resistence faded, and the maiden-cloth fell away. Cairel
|
|
tossed it aside and stared in awe at Honey, who lay there, panting,
|
|
waiting. Unsure just what to do, Cairel lowered his lips to her breast.
|
|
"Just a taste of Honey," he whispered.
|
|
"I wouldn't do that," a voice behind them said.
|
|
They both yelped, scrambling to their knees. Honey covered herself
|
|
and cowered behind Cairel. They stared trembling at the stranger who had
|
|
accosted them. He was dressed in dark cloth, with a wide-brimmed hat on
|
|
his head. From its rim dangled wooden rings strung with colored beads.
|
|
The couple couldn't see much of his face, but when he smiled they could
|
|
see only gums, without a single tooth in sight. The moonlight glinted
|
|
off his eyes.
|
|
"Who ... who are you?!" blurted Cairel, pushing back away from the
|
|
man. "What do you want?!"
|
|
"I wouldn't be ... tasting those sweets here at night," the man
|
|
cautioned. "The nosuckle is likely to get you."
|
|
"The what?" gasped Honey.
|
|
"The nosuckle. Haven't you ever heard of the nosuckle?" He leaned
|
|
forward, stepping closer, lowering his head to stare straight into their
|
|
eyes.
|
|
"Many years ago there was a young couple, just like you," he said.
|
|
"They were tasting their spring buds too, just like you, only they got
|
|
just a little bit further. Well, the girl, see, she was ripe, and after
|
|
a while, she had a baby."
|
|
The two started to squirm uncomfortably.
|
|
"Of course," the man continued, "she was really too young. When the
|
|
baby was born, see, her sweets were too hard, and they wouldn't give no
|
|
milk! Oh, how the baby cried and cried, but when she gave her breast for
|
|
it to suck, there was nothing there."
|
|
"Well, after a long while of listening to the baby crying she got
|
|
so angry that she went out and got some butterfly weed milk and gave
|
|
that to the baby to drink."
|
|
"But ... but butterfly weed .. it's poison!!" stuttered Honey,
|
|
protesting.
|
|
"Aye, that it is. She took the baby out into the woods, and wrapped
|
|
it in her maiden cloth," he pointed to the white cloth lying beside the
|
|
path, "and left it to die. Which it did."
|
|
The man took a step closer, the beads on his hat rattling. "Well,
|
|
perhaps I shouldn't say it died. Let's just say it wasn't a baby
|
|
anymore. For, you see, a bit later that same two was out in the woods
|
|
again, stirring the soup as it were. The nosuckle, for that's what the
|
|
baby had become, saw the man and woman, you see. It thought that the man
|
|
was attacking its mother, for being a baby it didn't understand such
|
|
things as you do now. So it grew claws and teeth, and it tore the throat
|
|
out of that young man, who was actually its own father."
|
|
Cairel wrapped his hand uncomfortably around his neck.
|
|
"After that it saw its mother there, with her lovelies exposed,
|
|
just as if to give it suckle. Well, it was forever hungry, cursed as it
|
|
was, and it tried to suck. But her tits were still just as hard: about
|
|
as flat as your own, if you please."
|
|
Honey wrapped her arms around her bare chest.
|
|
"Well, it sucked and sucked, but nothing came out. So it sucked
|
|
even harder, and finally sucked the life right out of her. So you see,
|
|
that's why you ought not be tasting those sweets tonight, here in the
|
|
woods. For the nosuckle is still out there," he swept his arm around at
|
|
the darkness, "looking for a breast to suck. And if it saw yours, well,
|
|
you wouldn't like it."
|
|
The man leaned forward, stepping even closer to the frightened
|
|
pair.
|
|
"Now you better be getting your clothes back on and be getting back
|
|
home. If you know what's good for ya." When they just sat there,
|
|
paralyzed, he thrust his head forward with a jerk. "Go!"
|
|
Cairel and Honey jumped to their feet and ran. They ran back up the
|
|
hill the way they came, holding onto each other's hand and not looking
|
|
back. They reached Honey's dress and she snatched it up, then they
|
|
passed Cairel's shirt and he did the same. They ran until they reached
|
|
the path, where they collapsed to their knees, laughing.
|
|
"Who was that?" asked Cairel finally, shrugging his shirt on.
|
|
"I ... I don't know!" Honey replied as she slipped her dress back
|
|
over her head. Cairel watched her secret parts disappear from view,
|
|
wondering when he would see them again. They fell into each other's arms
|
|
and laughed a longwhile. Then, holding hands, they started back toward
|
|
the house. Suddenly Honey stopped, her hands flying up to clutch her
|
|
breasts.
|
|
"What?" exclaimed Cairel.
|
|
"My maiden-cloth! I left it back there!"
|
|
"Get it in the morning," urged Cairel. Suddenly the woods seemed
|
|
darker than they had before. Though he wouldn't admit it to her, he had
|
|
a strong desire to be out of the dark, inside with the others.
|
|
"No, no, you don't understand!" Honey insisted. "If I come back
|
|
without it, my mother will see when I undress tonight. She'll know I've
|
|
been up to something!! We have to go back and get it!"
|
|
Together they turned back and ran up the path, always looking ahead
|
|
for the dark form of the stranger. They reached the spot where they had
|
|
met him, but he was not to be seen.
|
|
"It's around here somewhere," Honey said. "Look at the side of the
|
|
path."
|
|
They scouted about. Suddenly Honey spotted a clump of white in the
|
|
undergrowth.
|
|
"Here it is!" She bent down to pick it up as Cairel stepped over to
|
|
her side. What she lifted was not her maiden-cloth, however, but a
|
|
bundle. It fell apart as she lifted it. Out rolled an infant's toothless
|
|
skull. As they stared in horror, a wooden ring strung with beads fell to
|
|
the ground. It was a baby rattle. With a howl of unreasoning terror, the
|
|
two turned, and ran straight home, without stopping.
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
Deliverance
|
|
Part 2
|
|
by John Doucette
|
|
<jdoucet@cycor.ca>
|
|
24 Sy, 1014
|
|
|
|
Magnus, Royal Duchy, Baranur
|
|
24 Sy, 1014 B.Y.
|
|
|
|
The woman stepped through the gate of the elegant house and stopped
|
|
on the street, gazing up at the night sky. She shivered -- the time was
|
|
very late and the air was cool -- and drew her cloak about her. She
|
|
stood there for several menes, simply gazing up at the stars, her
|
|
breathing slow and regular. She had always loved looking at the night
|
|
sky. Some of her most prized memories of her early childhood were of
|
|
lying on the grass or sitting on the low stone wall near her parents'
|
|
small house, staring up at the night sky, losing herself, escaping from
|
|
the world for a time.
|
|
Tonight -- for a great many nights of late, actually -- she was in
|
|
sore need of the solitude the night sky could bring. The cowl on her
|
|
cloak partially obscured her vision, so she pushed it back, exposing her
|
|
long brown hair to the light of the moon. She stood there for perhaps
|
|
half a bell -- perhaps more, she wasn't certain -- before reluctantly
|
|
lowering her gaze from the quiet sky. She looked about the broad street.
|
|
Other than herself, the street was deserted. She preferred it that way.
|
|
It made her task so much easier.
|
|
She turned to her left suddenly and began walking with quick,
|
|
decisive strides up the street, which was already beginning to slope
|
|
upwards on its way towards the Royal Quarter and Crown Castle. She had
|
|
no such lofty destination in mind, however. Keeping her cloak wrapped
|
|
around her, her boots thudding softly against the cobblestones, she kept
|
|
close to the buildings, houses of the wealthier of the residents of the
|
|
Merchants' Quarter. She chose to leave the cowl of her cloak down, both
|
|
to provide better visibility and hearing, and because she simply wanted
|
|
to.
|
|
She had been walking briskly for several menes when she spied her
|
|
first major landmark, a moderately-sized plaza at the junction of five
|
|
streets. She slowed, hearing voices, one hand moving under her cloak to
|
|
grasp the hilt of the dagger riding in a scabbard on her left hip. As
|
|
she approached the plaza, she slowed even more, her face a mask of
|
|
intense concentration as she struggled to listen, trying to determine
|
|
the danger, if any, the voices posed.
|
|
The voices were much louder now as she approached the corner of the
|
|
streets leading into the plaza from the north and east. She crept up to
|
|
the corner of the building and risked a glance into the plaza. What she
|
|
saw caused instant alarm -- two of the town guard not ten feet away and
|
|
moving toward her. She drew quickly back and partially turned to face
|
|
north, back the way she came, looking for a place of concealment.
|
|
Nothing readily presented itself and she knew that to run would spell
|
|
disaster -- the town guard would surely pursue someone fleeing down a
|
|
city street this late, especially in time of war. She could not afford
|
|
that, not now, not after all she had done and had suffered through these
|
|
past months. The guards were almost at the corner now. She turned to
|
|
face the corner, briefly flirting with the idea of using her dagger.
|
|
That would not help matters either; would, in fact, only serve to make
|
|
things much, much worse. She had only one option remaining to her, and
|
|
she was loathe to use it. Uttering an oath, she let her hand slip from
|
|
the dagger's hilt, her arms falling to her sides, the cloak opening
|
|
somewhat to reveal the white shirt, green vest, and dark trews. Then she
|
|
waited.
|
|
The glow of a lantern preceded the arrival of the guardsmen. The
|
|
two men rounded the corner and stopped short as they were confronted by
|
|
the sight of a rather nice-looking woman of medium height, moderately
|
|
well-dressed, wearing a dark cloak, and standing there looking as if her
|
|
presence on a deserted street in the middle of the wee bells in a
|
|
capital nearly under siege was as natural as rain on a spring day.
|
|
The older of the two men narrowed his eyes and quickly took in the
|
|
surroundings. His partner, he noticed, was taking in other, more shapely
|
|
sights. "And what might you be doing out here all alone at this time of
|
|
night?"
|
|
The woman answered in an oddly-accented voice, her speech
|
|
formal-sounding. "I am new to the City," she said, "and have lost my
|
|
way. I had been enjoying the hospitality of a tavern recommended to me
|
|
by friends. Friends whom, I might add, left me to my own devices some
|
|
time ago." She smiled, a dazzling smile in the light of the lantern.
|
|
"Would you be so kind as to guide my way to my lodgings?"
|
|
The younger man started forward almost immediately, only to be
|
|
stopped by a hand on his arm. "Hold it, lad. Not so quick. You, lass,
|
|
where is it you are staying?"
|
|
The woman -- youngish, the older guardsman judged -- turned her
|
|
attention full on him and answered in that odd-sounding voice of hers,
|
|
"I am staying at the Bardic Hostel, doing some scribe work for the
|
|
College. As I have said, I have only just recently arrived in the City
|
|
and I am not entirely familiar with it yet. Doubly so after dark."
|
|
The older guardsman appeared to consider the answer until his
|
|
deliberations were interrupted by his younger colleague. "Come on,
|
|
Coros, what harm can she be? She's just a woman and unarmed." At that,
|
|
the woman brought her hands out fully into the light, holding them out,
|
|
palms up. Coros pondered for a few moments more before finally deciding,
|
|
apparently, that his younger colleague's assessment was partially true.
|
|
Her being a woman had no bearing on how dangerous she was, but the fact
|
|
she bore no steel he could see went a long ways towards helping him make
|
|
up his mind. Coros grunted and nodded, motioning for the younger
|
|
guardsman to fall in on the woman's right while he moved to her left
|
|
side.
|
|
As the two men approached, the woman made certain to keep her hands
|
|
out in the open. Just as they reached her, she suddenly reached out to
|
|
touch each man on the forehead. She whispered a single word, and both
|
|
men fell to the ground with a solid thud. She narrowly managed to catch
|
|
the lantern before it, too, hit the ground. A fire was the last thing
|
|
anyone needed.
|
|
She stood straight, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she
|
|
had been keeping in. She gazed down at the immobile bodies of the
|
|
guardsmen for several moments before satisfying herself they would
|
|
trouble her no more. She again glanced around the street, looking for
|
|
witnesses, before extinguishing the lantern and setting it on the
|
|
cobblestones between the two men.
|
|
The woman drew her cloak about herself once more and stood there
|
|
until she could see well enough to travel quickly if need be. When her
|
|
eyes had fully adjusted to the light of the moon, she set off, treading
|
|
briskly across the plaza, heading for the street that led west and
|
|
slightly south off the plaza. As she stepped out into the plaza, she
|
|
took the opportunity to look down the street from which the guardsmen
|
|
had come. What she saw brought her to an awkward halt. The sky to the
|
|
east was lit with an angry orange glow. She stared towards the eastern
|
|
sky, turning her head slowly to look fully upon the spectacular and
|
|
chilling sight. "Nehru's Blood!", she whispered in awe.
|
|
There were gaps in the orange glow, clearly a fire. The fire seemed
|
|
some distance away and it took her a moment to realize that the reason
|
|
there were gaps in the glow was that the large, closely packed -- and
|
|
expensive -- buildings that characterized much of the Merchants' Quarter
|
|
were obscuring her line of sight. She now realized that the glow from
|
|
the fire, if indeed that was the source of what she was seeing, covered
|
|
nearly the entire eastern horizon. Perhaps the Beinisonians had begun
|
|
their assault upon Baranur's capital. If so, she thought, she must move
|
|
her plans along more rapidly than she had ever conceived and in a
|
|
totally unanticipated direction. She did not relish the prospect of
|
|
either option.
|
|
She turned and hurried west, jogging along the dark street in her
|
|
haste. Contrary to what she had told the guardsman Coros, she knew
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Magnus very well, day or night. She had spent the last three months
|
|
getting to know the lay of the streets, among other, less desirable
|
|
things. The nature and cost of the buildings changed as she moved west,
|
|
generally becoming larger and more expensive. The part of the city she
|
|
was entering was home to most of the more-powerful merchant families.
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Large manors abounded, intricate gardens on display both in and outside
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homes, status symbols in the game of wealth and power. Quite vain, but
|
|
quite lovely in daylight, she thought as she hurried along, occasionally
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glancing over her shoulder to see if she was being followed.
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She jogged west for about half a bell before slowing to a brisk
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walk. She had spied her destination, a large, semi-fortified stone manor
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on the south side of a small square with a fountain in the centre. She
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slowed her pace somewhat as she approached the large door of the manor,
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wanting to bring her breathing under better control before entering. She
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|
must not seem anxious.
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The woman, her breathing now unhurried, walked up to the large
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wooden door. She reached out for a rope hanging in front of the door and
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to her left, tugging on it three times. She waited for a time, enjoying
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|
the quiet, formulating her thoughts and plan of action for the night's
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|
main task. Presently, the sound of a latch being undone came to her ears
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and shortly thereafter, a panel in the centre of one of the doors slid
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open to reveal a man's face. Light spilled out onto the street from a
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lantern the man was carrying. Immediately-apparent recognition dawned in
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the man's eyes. "Ah. They are expecting you, my lady." Not waiting for
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the woman to respond, the man closed the panel, plunging the street into
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|
darkness once more. The woman heard the sound of a bar being withdrawn
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and the door opened inward. The man was standing there, his lantern
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|
tightly shuttered to prevent as little light to escape as possible. The
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woman stepped through the door and past the man, who wordlessly closed
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the door and replaced the bar before opening his lantern.
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|
The man walked past the woman, leading the way up to the second
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|
floor, a journey both had made many times together in the past months.
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|
The man carried the lantern in his left hand, as he always did, holding
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it level with his eyes and out to the side, again as he always did. The
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woman, for her part, followed a pace or two behind and to his right, as
|
|
she always did. The pair walked down a darkened hallway until the man
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|
halted before a door. He turned and nodded, as he always did, before
|
|
walking off back the way he had come. The woman waited until the man and
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|
his lantern had disappeared, as she always did, before opening the door
|
|
and stepping into the well-lit room beyond. She smiled slightly to
|
|
herself as she entered, reflecting on how such a simple series of
|
|
actions could take on the effect of a calming and even anticipated
|
|
ritual. She would have been even more amused to find that the man
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|
thought the same way.
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|
The room was richly-apportioned, several expensive tapestries and
|
|
even a few books in evidence. Four men were seated around an
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|
exquisitely-crafted table in the centre of the room. A fifth stood at a
|
|
window, gazing east at the glow from the Fifth Quarter's death throes.
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|
It was this fifth who turned when the woman entered the room. "Ah.
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|
Celeste. We have many matters to discuss."
|
|
Celeste closed the door without turning away from the man who had
|
|
spoken. She nodded briefly. "We doth, indeed, my Lord," she said,
|
|
gratefully resuming the archaic usages normally common to her speech.
|
|
The man at the window, modestly dressed, walked over to sit in one
|
|
of the two empty chairs at the table, a slight smile on his face. As he
|
|
sat, he indicated with a gesture for Celeste to take the remaining
|
|
chair. Celeste took the proffered seat with grace, pausing to slip her
|
|
cloak off and drape it over the back of the chair.
|
|
The man folded his hands in his lap and asked, again smiling, "What
|
|
news of Master Cheldrith? Have you won him over? Will he throw in with
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|
us?"
|
|
"Aye, Lord Enion," Celeste responded, "he hath indicated that he
|
|
shall." That was news clearly to gladden Enion's heart; and the others
|
|
present as well, to judge from their reactions. They have not as secure
|
|
a position as they do publicly acclaim, then, Celeste thought.
|
|
Enion nodded in salute to Celeste. "Your talents," he said in his
|
|
rich, deep voice, "are truly astounding."
|
|
Celeste nodded in acceptance of Enion's compliment, smiling
|
|
slightly. An outward mask, that; her true reaction was one of disgust
|
|
and loathing, not all of it directed outward. For certes shall I enjoy
|
|
*your* death, Enion, she thought, both in the length and manner of the
|
|
doing.
|
|
He directed his next comment to the room as a whole. "Well, now
|
|
that Celeste has brought us such good news, I think we can safely move
|
|
on to the end game."
|
|
Celeste interrupted the murmurs of assent and joking suggestions of
|
|
what to do with their quarry once he was brought down. "My Lord,
|
|
doubtless thou hast observed the flames even now devouring that part of
|
|
the city on the far bank. Is it not somewhat early to be thus
|
|
congratulating ourselves on the further success of this, our plan?
|
|
Surely the flames doth herald the final onslaught of the Beinisonian
|
|
host in their siege camp?"
|
|
General laughter swept round the table. It was one of the others
|
|
who imparted the source of their laughter to Celeste. "Not to worry. It
|
|
is only the Fifth Quarter that burns. Good riddance, say I."
|
|
Celeste responded, speaking as if to a particularly slow student.
|
|
"Mayhap that is so, Gerrans, but think thou the Beinisonians shalt
|
|
content themselves with the Fifth Quarter only? True it is they may not
|
|
be assaulting the city walls even now, but it is just as certain that
|
|
they shalt not be leaving anytime soon. Not possessing a host that
|
|
overmatches that within the walls two for one. The Beinisonians shall
|
|
assault or shall siege the entire city and then shalt we find ourselves
|
|
forced to deal with the question of how, or even if, we should proceed."
|
|
Gerrans made as if to respond, his face hot with anger, but Enion
|
|
was there first, laying a restraining hand on the younger man's arm. "A
|
|
valid concern, Celeste, but my man inside the Castle has informed me
|
|
that the foreigner has a plan should that happen." Enion paused then
|
|
added, a faint note of surprise in his voice, "It actually might
|
|
succeed, too, which would be a refreshing change."
|
|
Celeste posed another question, inwardly marveling that these men
|
|
should so casually dismiss Edward Sothos as nothing more than an
|
|
incompetent amateur. "And is this man of thine reliable, my Lord Enion?"
|
|
"Very," Enion responded in a crisp voice. "His loyalty to House
|
|
Northfield is unquestioned." Enion sat straighter, his hands on the arms
|
|
of the chair, radiating authority. "Now we must turn our attentions to
|
|
exactly how we shall accomplish our goal; the removal of the foreigner
|
|
and the installation of our own candidate in his place." Enion smiled, a
|
|
feral glint in his eye. "And *then* we shall see to the restoration of
|
|
House Northfield to its place of prominence among the Great Houses."
|
|
And then, thought Celeste, once the Sothos is freed of his duties
|
|
and responsibilities here, then shalt I be thus able to depart this
|
|
wretched land. She smiled and let the others think what they may. But
|
|
not before I am well recompensed for my service, nay, not before then.
|
|
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========================================================================
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