textfiles/magazines/DARGONZINE/dargon.v12n3

  DDDDD                              ZZZZZZ                //
  D    D  AAAA RRR  GGGG OOOO NN  N      Z  I NN  N EEEE  ||
  D     D A  A R  R G    O  O N N N     Z   I N N N E     || Volume 12
-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
  D    D  AAAA RRR  G GG O  O N N N   Z     I N N N E     || Number  3
  DDDDD   A  A R  R GGGG OOOO N  NN  ZZZZZZ I N  NN EEEE  ||
                                                           \\
                                                             \
========================================================================
 DargonZine                                     Distributed:  3/27/1999
 Volume 12, Number 3                            Circulation:        700
========================================================================

                                Contents

 Editorial                    Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
 When Things Get Woolly       Mike Schustereit       Firil 7-13, 1016
 Once Upon a Winter's Night   Cheryl Spooner         Janis 18 1017
 Talisman Zero 3              Dafydd Cyhoeddwr       Mid-fall, 2216 ID

========================================================================
 DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
 collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
 We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
 Please address all correspondance to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
 on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/. Back issues
 are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
 public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.

 DargonZine 12-3, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright March, 1999 by
 the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
 Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
 All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
 and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
 without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
 of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
 Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================

                               Editorial
                         by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
                           <ornoth@shore.net>

     For those of you who haven't checked our Web site's "What's New"
page recently, DargonZine was recently reviewed by Todd Kuipers' "Open
Road" newsletter. I mention this not to promote ourselves, but because
his review contained a point I'd like to address. Todd wrote: "The
organization and consistent level of publication (sic) needed to drive a
publication like this is amazing, especially given that it is, I assume,
volunteer based."
     To address the question, DargonZine is in fact completely volunteer
based. Our writers receive no financial reward for contributing their
works, nor do any of the production staff receive any payment for their
time and effort. We have never charged our readers any fees, nor do we
have any plans to do so in the future.
     With that as a premise, a commercial-minded person might ask how
and why we do what we do. The 'why' is easy: we love doing it. We are
passionate about writing. The question of 'how' is a little more
difficult.
     At the present time, producing and distributing DargonZine costs a
couple thousand dollars each year. That money goes primarily toward the
fees incurred in maintaining our Web site. Until recently, I paid these
fees out of my own pocket, because DargonZine is very important to me; I
consider it my life's work.
     However, about a year ago our writers decided that they wanted to
help bear some of the financial burden for running the zine, and have
since begun contributing funds to offset our production costs.
DargonZine is, after all, vanity publishing, and as Alan Lauderdale once
put it, our writers thought it wrong to expect me to underwrite their
vanity!

     There are, of course, other ways of bringing in money. However,
because DargonZine was founded in the early days of the Internet, we
retain some of the old values which characterized life in those pioneer
times. One of the strongest themes of the early Internet was that it was
aggressively noncommercial, and its evolution into an exclusively
commercial venue is both outrageous and insulting to those of us who
freely volunteered our time, skills, and labor to grow the Internet from
its prosaic beginnings.
     While many sites these days squeeze pennies out of flashing banner
ads and link exchanges, DargonZine has remained firmly noncommercial and
avoided self-promotion. We do not accept advertising of any sort, nor do
we participate in banner ad exchanges. We do not place ads, and our
promotional efforts have been limited to occasional brief posts to
relevant forums. We do not spam newsgroups or send unsolicited email to
anyone. We will not exchange hyperlinks with other sites; in fact, we
are questioning the value of our "Links" page, and may delete it
altogether. And as Mr. Kupiers discovered, we will make little or no
mention of awards we receive, because we consider it shameless
self-promotion, and most Web awards are merely ways for the award sites
to self-servingly generate more traffic for themselves. We do not share
our distribution list with anyone, and have a published Privacy Policy
that we live by. Like I said, we're firmly noncommercial.

     However, the strength of this conviction has the potential to
become our undoing. When DargonZine was founded, there was very little
interesting content to be found anywhere on the Internet, and it wasn't
difficult for readers to find us. Today the Internet is the world's
biggest entertainment venue, and the currency of the Internet is
people's attention. Not only are we competing with hundreds of other
fantasy fiction Webzines, but we are also competing for your attention
with online versions of traditional magazines like the New Yorker,
online broadcasts of professional sports like the NBA, online gaming
from Yahoo Games to Quake, online pornography, and every other site on
the planet that wants to capture your attention and turn it into a
profit.
     DargonZine isn't after a profit, but we do need readers to survive.
Part of our mission as aspiring writers is to write for a broad,
representative audience and receive feedback from our readers. But
because of the increased competition for your attention, there is no
question that unless we begin to more aggressively promote ourselves,
our readership will dwindle and fall off. For that reason, we are
looking into things like purchasing advertising space, putting out press
releases, and so forth.
     However, we will pursue this course without participating in
commercial ventures, charging fees, or displaying banner ads on our
site. You can rest assured that DargonZine will always remain a
volunteer-based organization that is wholly noncommercial and will never
be motivated by profit. Our goal is to get the word out about the great
things we have accomplished and build our readership, while remaining a
self-supporting organization that publishes great fiction not because it
brings us profit, but because we enjoy writing and publishing great
fiction and making an unselfconscious contribution to the richness of
the Internet.

========================================================================

                         When Things Get Woolly
                          by Mike Schustereit
                           <mschust@tisd.net>
                            Firil 7-13, 1016

     It was a bright night with both the moon Nochturon and Regehr the
sailor's star shining their light down upon Makdiar. This unimpeded
light gave the two men on the hillock a good view of the animals grazing
around them. From somewhere down below a predator howled, as if telling
the two men that he knew they were there. Even as the last of the rain
clouds emptied its contents, the sheep continued to graze peacefully.
     One of the sheep drifted close by. "Come here you pale skinned
beast," called out one of the shepherds. The ewe bleated in return but
held her ground.
     "Mefin," the other man spoke, "leave them alone. I doubt if even
the sheep want to listen to you ramble."
     "But I miss my women," Mefin replied. "I have no one to keep me
warm." He crossed his arms and faked a pout.
     "Don't you think it is time you settled down?" Doth asked.
     "And rob all the women of Dargon of a chance to sample my charms?"
Mefin said with a grin.
     "Baaah," said the ewe.
     Mefin grimaced and asked,"Why did I agree to watch over these
creatures?"
     "So that our shepherd could be there at the birth of his child,"
the other man replied.
     "I was kidding, Doth," Mefin interrupted. "I was there when he
asked."
     The ewe wandered closer to the two men, intrigued by their banter.
Doth patted her head, causing her to lean into the touch of the larger
man and receiving a good scratch in return. Satisfied, she bleated
quietly and went on her way. Doth rubbed his hands together, working the
lanolin into his skin. He closed his eyes and leaned against the tree
and waited for sleep to come.
     "Ever wonder what sheep think?" Mefin asked, his words piercing the
veil of sleep that was lowering over Doth.
     "Probably that you talk too much," Doth replied. "Now go to sleep."
     Mefin whined, "I'm trying."
     "Then try harder," Doth sleepily said. "We have to be up with the
dawn."
     "Don't shepherds usually stay up and guard the sheep?"
     Doth glanced over at Mefin. It was useless to remind him of the
dogs sleeping amongst the sheep. They were the best protection from the
creatures of the night.
     "You do it then. And when you get tired, wake me and I'll watch
them."
     "Fine," Mefin said. "You sleep while I protect our charges from the
evil wolves of Beinison. Let them charge and I shall rally my woolly
soldiers and rout them from this pristine pasture."
     Doth gave a sleepy smile. "Don't forget about the shivarees."
     "Let them come," Mefin boasted. "I am strong of arm and full of
spirit. My companions ..."
     Doth was starting to get irritated. "Would you shut up?"
     "Oops, sorry Doth."
     For a while it was quiet. Then, somewhere off in the night an
insect chirped a curious song, causing Mefin to join it. He was well
into the climax of a great composition when Doth reached out and slapped
his leg. The whistle died on his lips.
     Sheep passed by, looking for better grass or merely following the
lead of some other member of the herd. Occasionally a yip could be
heard, but it was far off in the distance. Doth squinted, watching Mefin
trying to relax but not go to sleep.
     It was in those passing moments between consciousness and sleep
when the rains finally stopped and sky cleared. Mefin blinked. He rubbed
his eyes and look again. A bright light was shimmering in the sky where
none had been before.
     "Well lop off my head and call me a prophet," Mefin quipped. "Doth,
wake up. Wake up man, something is happening in the sky."
     Doth jumped to his feet. He grabbed for his sturdy wooden club but
Mefin grabbed his arm and raised himself up by it.
     "Not someone," Mefin said, pointing to the sky, "some thing!"
     Doth followed the path made by Mefin's arm until he could see the
object of excitement.
     "What is it?"
     Mefin shrugged his shoulders, for once unable to talk. Doth looked
from the sky to his friend and back again. Whatever it was, it was
bringing more light to the already bright night. Doth looked out across
his herd and watched as the sheep calmly carried on with their late
night grazing.
     "I'm sure this bodes ill," Mefin said.
     "It is too far away to cause any problems," Doth said. "Probably
walk half of 'diar and still not touch that thing."
     "Let's gather the flock and move them closer to home."
     Doth looked over at his friend, asking, "For what reason?"
     Mefin replied, "I don't know; just a feeling I have."
     "You're just upset over nothing," Doth said.
     "And why is that?" Mefin asked.
     Doth held his arms out over the flock. "They aren't afraid. Can't
be too important if they didn't get scared."
     "Simple creatures like that have nothing to fear," Mefin said. "We
humans on the other hand, should watch what we make of this. A little
too much of the natural can become supernatural."
     Doth slowly digested the meaning of those words while he watched
Mefin. The smaller man clearly wanted to find something to be humorous
about, but the strange light in the sky had him unusually subdued.

     The wagon crossed the causeway, creaking and groaning all the way
across. All around them people hustled to and fro, making their way.
     "Busy for this time of the week," Mefin said.
     "Too busy if you ask me," Doth replied. "It's times like this when
I wish they had built some rails on this thing. One day somebody is
going to get run off into the Coldwell."
     "Probably wash up in Bichu," Mefin agreed. They both got quiet,
looking over the edge of the causeway at the river passing beneath them.
As if in response the horse moved a little further toward the center of
the stony bridge. Doth glanced at the reins in the hands of his partner
and snickered. Mefin shrugged in response.
     "Doesn't hurt to be safe," Mefin said.
     Doth nodded in agreement.
     As they got closer to the end of the causeway Mefin said, "Hey
Doth, look at the crowd."
     The gate into Dargon was usually crowded with people coming and
going, but today was worse than normal. While there were places for
guards to stand watch over the people coming into the town, they
remained empty. Today would have been a good day to have someone keeping
the gate free of loiterers.
     Over the noise of the people waiting for their chance to enter,
Doth could make out someone speaking, no, preaching. He listened in
order to understand the tone of the voice correctly.
     "Listen," he said to Mefin.
     "... listen all of you," the speaker said. "This event was foretold
to us by our great prophet. Each of you needs to repent to keep the
angry god of the sky from coming down and punishing us."
     "Great," Mefin said. "Last thing I wanted was to hear someone
speculate about the light in the sky."
     "Repent," the man said, "for there is not much time left. Offer
something so that the god might overlook the things you have done."
     Doth started to say something but Mefin spoke up first. "I'm
probably going to regret this."
     He jumped off of the wagon and waded through the people. By the
time Doth had recovered the reins and got the pony to come to a halt,
Mefin was at the foot of the hastily erected pulpit.
     A man passed by the cart. "Better get home, tomorrow the god is
coming to destroy us all."
     "You are fools," Mefin yelled at the preacher. A few people turned
their heads at the intrusion. Most still milled about, still engaged in
individual conversations. Doth watched as Mefin drew himself up for a
tirade.
     The preacher ignored Mefin and continued his to preach by saying,
"We have survived the onslaught of the marauders from Beinison but the
gods are not happy with the way we have behaved. Rather than being
thankful and giving them the sacrifices due to them, we have coveted our
goods and earned their disfavor."
     A murmur went up from the crowd. Then Mefin shouted out, "And why
is it that the gods cannot fend for themselves? We have struggled to
recover from the war. Isn't that enough?"
     The preacher lowered his eyes to rest on Mefin. He paused, as if in
thought. Then he said, "Brother, you are wrong. We would not have
suffered if we had given willingly."
     "I'm not your brother," Mefin shouted. He turned to face the crowd
around him. "Go home people. Feed your children and take care of your
loved ones. This fool knows nothing."
     There was silence. It took a moment for the preacher to recover. He
started to get red. His hands gripped the pulpit as he said, "I knew of
the coming of the god. These people have heard the truth of my words and
know that my story is the one true explanation. Turn your back on the
truth and you shall be one of the first to feel the rage of the god in
the sky."
     "Rage," Mefin said. "You want rage? What about the mother who feels
rage when she reaches for her husband and then remembers that a Beinison
sword cut him down? What can your god in the sky do to her?"
     "You must believe," the preacher said, at first speaking to Mefin
and then raising his gaze to the rest of the crowd. "You must believe or
the god in the sky will come down and destroy you."
     Mefin asked, "Why were you chosen to deliver this word?"
     "I have been faithful," the preacher said. "I did not take from the
gods and instead I gave to them willingly." He lifted his arms to
emphasize this. "I have nothing but myself to give and this is what the
god in the sky asks of me."
     The crowd cheered him. Mefin clenched his fists, his face getting
redder with every word that the man said.
     "There is nothing to fear," the preacher said, "for I have the key
to turning away the god in the sky."
     Doth watched as Mefin tried to climb upon the pulpit to push the
man out of the way. A few members of the crowd grabbed Mefin and pulled
him down. He fought as much as he could but they overwhelmed him. Soon
he was pushed back and he found himself a short distance from the wagon.
     He walked up to the wagon and looked up at Doth. "Somebody needs to
beat some sense into that man."
     "Oh fark," Doth said. "Don't let him get to you."
     "You are right my friend," Mefin replied. He clicked the reins and
the horse picked up his pace. "I have been away from Dargon far too
long. There are tavern wenches whose lust has gone unfulfilled. Let the
false prophecies increase their need for my company in these last days.
While the prophets of doom fill the streets, I'll take my rolls between
the sheets."
     Doth started to say something and then stopped. He shook his head
at the grandiose talk that Mefin spewed.
     "Perhaps I overdid it a bit," Mefin said.
     They passed through the gate and Doth turned to watch the speaker,
so impassioned in his pleas, imploring the people to help turn away the
angry spirit. He shook his head again.
     Doth said, "They should be in the temples asking for understanding
instead of waiting for doomsday to occur."
     Mefin was still pondering his last soliloquy. "Did you think it was
a bit much?"
     Doth asked, "What was too much?"
     "My statement," Mefin grinned.
     Doth sighed. "I don't think that the tavern girls are as lusty as
you say. Besides, describing a night with you as fulfilling is
stretching the truth further than I can stand."
     Mefin winked at Doth causing him to laugh. Mefin feigned being
slighted. "I beg to differ. My name is spoken in hushed whispers amongst
the girls who tote ale to patrons of taverns around the town."
     Doth laughed, saying, "They are afraid to say it any louder in case
you are within earshot."
     "Do I really talk all that much?" Mefin asked. "I always try and
keep things to a minimum."
     "But you never listen when someone tells you to shut up," Doth
replied.
     "Not true," Mefin said, "I remember the time we were in Magnus
during the war and you were listening to a story of mine. Some big lout
from Beinison jumped a bulwark and came crashing down ..."
     "Shut up," Doth said.
     "... but, you pushed me out of the way and ..."
     Again Doth said, "I was forced to serve my time in the levy with
you. But now I can tell you to shut up. So do it."
     They rode in silence for a few moments and then Mefin asked, "What
do you think it is?"
     "What?"
     "The thing burning in the sky," Mefin said.
     "Oh," Doth replied, "I don't know. I've thought about it much since
it appeared and I still have no better understanding."
     "Perhaps it is a god," Mefin said, "and we are doomed."
     "Then you should join him on his pulpit," Doth said, pointing
behind them with his thumb.
     "I don't believe that," Mefin said, "but it might be what people
will choose to believe."
     "So the sailor who watches stars to navigate is going to see a
moving light in the sky and think that it is a god?" asked Doth.
     "I can't answer that," replied Mefin. "I have never been a sailor
and the only time I use the stars is to woo some woman with feelings of
sincerity."
     Doth laughed. "You always come back to a common theme."
     "Well," asked Mefin, "what else do I have to think about?"
     "You could worry about the flock."
     "Now why would I need to do that when you do it so well?" asked
Mefin.
     Doth laughed again. As he finished he pointed to the warehouse that
they were fast approaching. A boy lounging in a chair jumped up at the
sight of them and ran inside the building.
     "I guess it is time to get down to business," Doth said.
     "Just be careful," Mefin said, "I trust this man about as far as I
can spit a mouse."
     They slowed the horse to a halt. Mefin took the reins and tied them
through a ring built into the wall. The boy returned with the man whom
they had started dealing with.
     "Good day, sirs," he said, slightly bowing his head. "What wondrous
fleeces do you have for me today?"
     "It was a good winter," Doth said.
     "Ah," the man said, "I can see as much. What, two bags more than
the previous harvest?"
     "You have a good memory."
     Mefin snorted. Doth let it go, preferring to lead the merchant to
the wagon for a sampling of the goods they had brought. Though the
merchant appeared to be in a good mood, Doth knew this would change as
soon as coin was discussed. Whether it was tactic or genuine distress
Doth did not know. He did not intend to go away without a profit, so the
theatrics had better dissolve early in the bargaining process.
     Mefin must have read his mind. "I'm going for a drink," he said.
The merchant watched Mefin leave and then asked, "Not much of a head for
business, eh?"
     "Mefin prefers to lead a simple life," was Doth's reply.
     "No wife?"
     "Not to my knowledge," Doth said.
     "Ah, those were the days," the merchant said, letting out a small
sigh. "And you?"
     Doth said, "Happily."
     "Well," said the merchant, "let us go get a drink and talk about
what I'm able to spare for your goods."

     The selling had gone well and Doth counted himself wiser in the
ways of bargaining after dealing with the man. Wool was harder to trade
after winter than before it, but he felt comfortable with the jingle in
his pouch.
     Trying three different taverns had produced no sign of his
companion and Doth was faced with the prospect of spending a night away
from Ilsande. However, Mefin was entitled to spending his part of the
profit, even if he chose to spend it on women and drink.
     He listened as he walked up to the door to the sounds of the people
in Belisandra's tavern. Somebody was angry. Doth pushed against the door
and walked into the smoky tavern. He immediately found Mefin. He was
shouting some warcry learned in Westbrook.
     The two men opposite him looked amused. Doth walked up behind his
friend and held up his hand to the two men. They straightened at the
sight of a hand as big as Mefin's head. Doth held a finger to his lips
indicating they should keep quiet. One man started to nod but a frown
from Doth ended it.
     "You ignorant savages," Mefin said, once he regained the air
expended on the warcry. "I'll say what I want in this tavern, and if you
don't like it you can move."
     One of the men moved forward and Doth stepped back, crossing his
arms. As long as the fight was fair he would not interfere.
     "Ah," said Mefin. "a foe emerges. At least one of you isn't a
coward as well as ugly."
     The second man started forward, appraised the size of Doth and
decided to keep his place. Mefin kept talking and the first man decided
to end it with a punch. Quick as a shivaree, Mefin shot forward and hit
the man squarely in the stomach. As the man bowed from the pain, Mefin
smashed him in the face with a mug. Doth winced and reached up to feel
his own mug scar. Sometimes getting introduced to Mefin was hard going.
     "Now," Mefin said, "do you want a little of what your friend got?"
     The second man took the look on Doth's face as disinterest and
grinned, moving forward to try and do better than his companion. Mefin
looked over his shoulder at Doth.
     "Howdy Doth," Mefin said, grinning, "I'll be with you in a moment."
     Doth shrugged and watched as Mefin turned back and raised his
fists. The second man, a little better prepared, came in swinging and
scored on a shoulder. Mefin bounced around the inn, feigning pain and
managing to pick up a drink intended for another patron.
     "That hurt," he said.
     The man smiled and stepped forward. Mefin's leg shot out and
smacked the man against the outside of his knee joint. The man went down
howling.
     Mefin brushed his hands together and said, "And that does it, I
think. Doth, I'm sure I'm liable to owe a few coins for this ruckus, so
would you be so kind?"
     Doth shook his head and made his way to the bar. Everyone expected
him to be the violent one and Mefin proved them wrong every time. Mefin
joined him as he was paying and patted him on the shoulder.
     "I'm glad you got here," Mefin jovially said, "I was thinking that
the whole place was going to jump on me at once."
     "Fark. I should have stopped and gotten something for Ilsande,"
Doth chuckled.
     "Very funny," Mefin replied. "What do you think you would do if I
got killed?"
     "Well," said Doth, jingling his purse, "I would probably see an
increase in profit."
     "Fighting makes me thirsty," Mefin said. "Would you like something
cool?"
     Doth held up a hand, saying, "Perhaps you should tell me what
happened before we get too comfortable."
     "A difference of opinion."
     "And you resorted to beating someone to resolve the difference?"
     "Look," Mefin said hotly. "I merely mentioned the fact that money
tossed at the preacher at the gate was coin ill-spent. Is it my fault
that they felt embarrassed by the truth I told?"
     "Perhaps you could use some tact," Doth said.
     "I tried it once," said Mefin. "I recall that the noble was less
than flattered by my attention on his wife."
     "I take it back," Doth replied. "You need a leash."
     Mefin ignored the remark and grabbed for the frothy mug that the
barkeep placed in front of them. Doth savored his own drink. He was
about to tilt the mug back to finish it when a man burst in the door.
     "The burning god will not go away," said the man.
     He stumbled into a table and drinks flew. One of the people at the
table picked the man up roughly and said, "What is wrong?"
     The man said, "We tried to pray and end it, but the god still
glares down at us. You must abandon your drinking and carousing and join
us so that the god will turn away."
     Mefin thumped his mug against the bar. "*Fark*."
     The man pushed away from the people who held him up and wandered
back out the door. A few people followed him outside but most returned
to their drinks. Doth was curious and started for the door with Mefin
close on his heels. As he stepped across the threshold, Doth was amazed
by the amount of people standing in the streets and staring skyward. He
looked to the sky and for a moment held his breath. It was still there.
     "I'm puzzled," said Mefin.
     "Perhaps it is time to seek guidance from the gods," Doth replied.
     "Maybe," Mefin said, "but I wouldn't hold my breath for any
answers. At this point though I am ready for some kind of explanation."
     Doth nodded in agreement. He was not the most devout follower, but
there were times when it was best to seek advice from a higher being.
Even if the interpretation had to come through another man.
     "Are you afraid?" he asked Mefin.
     "Of what I don't understand," Mefin replied. "But I do know that
the light in the sky didn't hurt me the last time I saw it, so I feel
safe walking the streets."
     "No," Doth said, "I meant what if it is a sign of the gods?"
     "What do we need a sign for?"
     "I don't know," Doth answered.
     Mefin placed his hand on Doth's arm. "You live a good life and have
nothing to fear. I, on the other hand, have to hope for a less sinister
outcome."
     "Could it be another moon?" Doth asked.
     Mefin said, "I don't know."
     "I don't want to die," Doth said in a whining tone.
     "If we go to your church," Mefin asked, "and he tells you that you
only have a limited time to live, what shall you do?"
     "Go home to my wife and child," Doth replied.
     "Then go home," Mefin said, "and save yourself some more time. Do
you think that the gods have given the priests of Dargon some special
wisdom that will help you?"
     Doth kept quiet, not yet sure of what his friend was saying. He had
faith in his god and it allowed him to believe that the priest always
had the answers. He did not need a miracle to confirm what he already
felt. Unlike the Stevenes, he did not believe in a god walking through
Dargon, but he did believe that the gods did give information.
     Doth fished out a coin from his pouch. He turned it before Mefin
and said, "Except for this Round, the rest of the money is already
accounted for. Take it and spend tonight in luxury."
     "I thought we were going to visit the temple of your god?" Mefin
asked.
     "You would only cause trouble," Doth said, sighing, "and I do not
want you to do that in the presence of my god."
     "Well," Mefin said, "it is a Round more than fills my purse at the
moment. Are you sure that you do not want me along?"
     Doth nodded.
     "Then I shall be on my way," Mefin said. "I may even pay a visit to
my long lost relatives."
     Doth was happy to see a smile on Mefin's face. It meant the man was
not in as bad of humor after all. "Good luck to you," he said.
     "I have all the luck I will ever need," Mefin said.
     "Be good," Doth said, "or I will worry about you."
     "Worrying about me is like worrying that the sheep won't grow
wool," Mefin replied. He turned and started walking back into the
tavern. "Oh, Doth," Mefin said.
     "Yes?"
     "Say a prayer for me just in case."
     Doth nodded and said, "I already had something in mind."

     It was a few days later when Doth again thought of his prayer for
Mefin. The light in the sky still showed up at night causing confusion
amongst the people of Dargon. Still, it disturbed Doth even more that
his friend had never shown up at the farm.
     "Doth," a quiet voice called out.
     "Over here, Ilsande," he said.
     "One of the hounds showed up with a hare," she said as she walked
up to him. "Would you mind cleaning it?"
     "Of course not," he replied. He dropped the pickaxe and nudged the
stone he was trying to repair in the fence.
     "What's wrong?"
     "Nothing my dear," he said, "nothing at all."
     She touched his face. It made him realize that he had not taken the
time to shave in the last day or so. Her soft hand against the roughness
of his face had a calming effect on him.
     "I'm worried about Mefin," he finally sighed.
     "Is he sneaking around with that girl again?" she said with a
tease.
     Doth shook his head. "Not even Mefin would ignore a man who said he
would have him pulled apart by horses if he ever saw him again."
     They both had a good laugh. Before long the smile disappeared from
his face.
     "He promised to meet me at the tavern after I went to the temple
and when I returned there was no sign of him."
     "And what is unusual about that?" Ilsande laughed.
     "The light in the sky was making him act strange," Doth replied.
"He kept getting upset with people."
     She grabbed at a strand of her hair and twisted. They stood
together in silence until the sound of the baby wakening pulled them
from their thoughts.
     "Doth, Paeya is crying," Ilsande said. "Come to the house when you
are done."
     He smiled at her. She knew him so well. He rubbed his hand through
her hair and watched her as she went to get their little girl. He
returned his attention to the stone.

     After mending the fence he went to the house. There were other
chores to do and of course, the hare to be cleaned. Cleaning it took his
mind off of his friend for a while and then entertaining Paeya occupied
some more.
     It was only by glancing out the window that he realized that the
day was slowly coming to an end. He set his daughter on the floor and
stood. Ilsande came to stand by him.
     "Going out to work again?" she asked.
     "Just for a little while," he replied, lifting her chin and looking
into her beautiful eyes. "I've got to finish repairing some bags and
then I'll come back in and sit with you."
     "Take your time, my love," she said softly.
     He walked down to the barn, Farrell in tow. The dog was feeling
playful, clamping his jaws around Doth's hand and dragging him around.
Doth stopped and picked up a stick, throwing it out as far as he could.
The dog took off.
     Farrell reminded Doth of Mefin. The dog was quick to play, but
there was no more reliable an animal to be found. Mefin was the same
way. That was why it bothered Doth so much that Mefin had not shown up
to meet him.
     He looked to the sky. There, off in the distance, was the cause of
all of the trouble. Doth stopped and sat on the stone wall, trying to
examine the peculiar light in the sky.
     "Kurin," he prayed. "If this is a sign, could you let me know what
kind of sign it is?"
     But there was no answer, which was typical of the way gods behaved.
He waited a moment longer only to be brought back from his thoughts by
the dog bringing back the stick. He looked down at the hound. "Wrong
stick," he told the dog.
     As usual, Farrell accepted the criticism with glee. Doth chuckled
at the dog and threw the stick out into the night. In one swift turn,
the dog was gone again.
     They were so much alike, Mefin and that dog. Like Farrell, Mefin
would disappear for days on end, but he always managed to come back. He
shook his head and headed for the barn. There were bags to mend and that
was something that he did not have to speculate upon.

     Night passed into morning and Doth awoke without troubling
thoughts. Paeya woke them. She was ready to be fed and Ilsande crawled
over Doth to give the child what she wanted.
     "Better go and check that ewe," Ilsande said.
     Doth nodded and put down the brush. He patted Paeya and pulled on
his britches. He pulled on his boots and stood. "I'll be back in a
little bit."
     It was brisk outside, but not cold enough to require a jacket. He
walked down to the pen and stood there watching a ewe as she waddled
around the pen, heavy with lamb. He thought of Mefin and looked to the
sky. To his surprise, the bright light in the sky was gone.
     For a moment he stared in shock and then he turned to scan the sky.
It wasn't there. Not anywhere.
     "Ilsande," he yelled, "come look."
     He turned and ran for the house.
     "Ilsande."
     She appeared in the door still nursing Paeya.
     "What is it?" she asked.
     "Look," he panted, "in the sky. The light is gone."
     She looked and a visible expression of relief crossed her face.
When Doth reached her, she was crying. He held her close for a moment
and then held her at arm's length.
     "It's gone."
     "I know," she said.
     "No," Doth said. "I prayed to Kurin last night and this morning the
light is gone."
     "We should thank Kurin for this then," Ilsande said. "I only hope
that it is a good sign that the light has gone." She shivered from the
chill of the morning. "Doth," she said, "It's cold. I'm going inside."
     He followed her and sat on the bed as she finished feeding their
daughter. He wondered if it was really true. Did Kurin truly listen?
     As Ilsande fed her, Doth brushed her hair and thought about the
townspeople. He wondered what kind of tale the prophet was telling now.
After so many days of forecasting doom, surely he was running out of
excuses for why it had not happened yet. He smiled at the thought of the
man being discredited.
     There was little to do on the farm so he said, "Ilsande, would you
like to go with me to Dargon?"
     She looked up and said, "Of course."
     He smiled and got up from the bed. He got dressed and walked out to
the barn, preparing the wagon for the journey. He looked forward to
these trips because every trip with Paeya opened his eyes to the world
around him. She looked at everything with fresh eyes, not knowing that
the things she took delight in were overlooked by the grownups around
her.
     Watching her as they passed over the causeway and listening with
delight to her squeals of joy helped to relieve some of the tension Doth
felt.
     He left them near the market and took a walk about the town, trying
to find some sign of his friend. Time passed by and Doth kept looking up
and finding it strange that the light was no longer in the sky.
     He stopped in Kurin's temple. The old priest assured him that while
Kurin was aware of the distress the light had caused, the disappearance
of the light was not of his doing. Doth left some coins with the priest
and left the temple.
     "I thought I would find you here," Mefin said.
     He was leaning against the wall of the temple. Doth joined him
against the wall.
     "How did you know that?"
     "I saw Paeya terrorizing some vendors in the bazaar," Mefin said
with a laugh.
     "Let's go find them," Doth said.
     They started down the street. Doth waited as long as he could and
then spoke. "Where have you been?"
     "Spiritual reconciliation," Mefin said.
     "Recon ..." Doth tried to say.
     Mefin said, "I tried to decide what it was that was making me so
against the light in the sky having a religious meaning."
     "I prayed to Kurin last night," Doth said.
     "And you want to believe that it is because of you that the light
has gone away?" Mefin asked.
     "That is what I wanted," Doth said, "but the priest told me
otherwise. It must have been caused by some other god."
     "Perhaps," Mefin said slyly.
     "What," Doth asked, "do you know something?"
     Mefin laughed. "Only that it has happened before."
     "How do you know?"
     "A scribe told me," Mefin said. "Told me that there are scrolls
describing similar events."
     "Then why don't the people know?"
     "I don't know," Mefin said. "The scribes know and they have more
important things to do than to worry about educating every fool who
cries out doomsday."
     "I didn't know you could read," Doth said.
     Mefin said, "You never asked. Did you miss me?"
     Doth smiled, "How could I? It was quite peaceful without you lying
about everything that ever happened to you. Although it was kind of hard
to get Paeya to sleep."
     "At least somebody noticed I wasn't there," Mefin said.
     Doth held out his hand. Mefin grabbed it and shook it vigorously.
     "I thought so," Mefin said.
     Doth said, "If you knew that it was merely nothing, then where have
you been?"
     "Praying," Mefin smiled. "Just in case they were wrong."

========================================================================

                       Once Upon a Winter's Night
                           by Cheryl Spooner
                     <cheryl@towngate.force9.co.uk>
                             Janis 18 1017

     Snowflakes, big as a baby's fist, fell thick and steady past the
window. Illuminated by the lamp that stood on the sill, they seemed to
Carl Sandmond akin to feathers, as though someone were emptying pillow
after pillow out of an upstairs window. They had been falling like that
all day, blanketing the street outside so that even the sound of a
passing cart was muffled.
     Carl let out a bored sigh. He hadn't had a customer since midday.
There was no ship in the harbour -- hadn't been for a sennight thanks to
the storms that had plagued the coast. Even without the sailors, there
would normally have been his regulars and passing carters, but as the
snow had deepened the customers had become fewer and fewer, until even
the hardiest had decided that they'd had enough. He looked around at the
empty inn and sighed again. He'd given the barmaids the rest of the day
off -- with no customers for them to serve, their being there was
pointless -- then he'd cleaned the tables and the chairs and benches,
swept the floor and put down fresh sawdust. He'd been so bored that he'd
even scrubbed the privvy out back, a job he normally left to his wife.
     Even his wife had deserted him, he felt, having gone to visit their
daughter and her husband in Barel a few days earlier. The birth of their
first child was imminent, so Aileen probably wouldn't be back for at
least another sennight. Carl groaned, realising that it might be even
longer if this weather kept up. He picked up a mug and crossed the room
to fill it with spiced wine from a large, blackened pot that hung over
the fire. Another pot, full of stew, hung beside it. It seemed that the
preparation of both would likely prove to have been a waste of his time.
He sat down at the nearest table and let out another sigh. It was going
to be a long night.
     He was beginning to snooze, resting his head on his forearms, when
the door opened, startling him so that he nearly upset the half-full mug
of wine. He hurried to take the tall stranger's coat, collecting his
senses and offering a cheery greeting on the way. He shook the cloak to
rid it of its crusting of snow, then hung it near the fire as the man
stamped snow from his boots. Carl watched the stranger as he settled at
the same table from which the innkeeper had himself been startled
moments earlier. He hadn't seen him in Dargon before, but that was the
case with a great many of his customers. The man was tall and thin and
Carl thought that he must be somewhere around his own age. The
almost-black hair was greying and the face was heavily lined, although
there was a youthful intensity to the brown eyes that watched Carl's
approach. The stranger didn't look too well off: his clothes were
patched and faded and his boots looked as though they would fall apart
at any time. Then again, no one travelled in their finest clothes, not
in this weather, so his shabbiness didn't necessarily mean that he was
poor.
     "A mug of spiced wine, sir? A bowl of hot stew to warm your belly?"
Carl offered cheerfully, picking up his own mug and wiping the table-top
with the corner of his apron.
     "The wine sounds inviting," the man nodded with a tired smile, "but
my purse won't stretch to the stew, not unless you'd trade a bowl for a
story."
     Carl frowned. So the stranger *was* poor. Carl didn't usually trade
anything for stories -- he heard enough for free usually, especially
from the sailors. He sometimes traded for meat, or other commodities and
he'd once accepted a bolt of fine cloth in return for a night's lodging,
but never stories. Still, the pot of stew would go to waste if the
weather didn't pick up over the next day or two, so he supposed it
wouldn't hurt to give a bowl away. And he *was* bored.
     "Well," he said, "I don't usually, but since it's so cold out, and
you look hungry, I think I can break my own rule for once. Just as long
as you don't tell anyone ... If word got around that I gave food away
for stories, I'd have every bard and talespinner from here to Magnus
trying their luck."
     The stranger laughed, a deep, melodious sound, and held out a
large, weathered hand to Carl.
     "You have my word innkeeper," he said with a broad smile. "No one
will hear of your generosity from Bran Farnath's lips."
     "That'll do for me," Carl grinned back as he shook Bran's hand,
"and the name's Carl, Carl Sandmond."
     As he ladled a generous portion of stew into a bowl, the door
opened again, and he glanced up to see a slight figure enter.
     "Be with you in a moment," he called as he tore a hunk of bread
from one of the loaves in a basket that stood next to the hearth. He
hurried over to Bran and placed the bowl and the bread before him, along
with a wooden spoon that he took from the pocket of his apron.
     "Get that down you," he said briskly, "and I'll be back with the
wine in a few menes. I'll hear that story of yours when you've eaten."
     Bran, who had started eating as soon as the bowl had been set
before him, nodded as he chewed and Carl hurried off to see to the
newcomer. It was a young woman, probably about nineteen or twenty years
old: his daughter's age. She was wrapped up in a heavy cloak, although
she shook her head when he offered to take it from her.
     "You'll not feel the benefit when you go back outside if you keep
it on in here," he admonished with a friendly smile, but the woman shook
her head again.
     "I might take it off when I've warmed up a little," she said with a
shiver, as though to emphasise how cold she felt, "but not until I get
the feeling back in my body."
     Carl shrugged and waited until she had knocked off most of the
snow, before leading her towards the crackling log fire. She didn't sit
at the table with Bran, but instead perched on a bench close to the
fire.
     "Is this spiced wine?" she asked, leaning over the pot and peering
in, sniffing the aroma.
     "Finest in Dargon," Carl nodded proudly as he filled a mug and
placed it before Bran. "And this stew's the tastiest you'll find from
here to Magnus."
     "Then I'll have a mug of the wine and a bowl of the stew," she
said, pulling back the cowl of her cloak with her left hand to reveal
short, curly brown hair and a face full of freckles.
     Carl picked up another bowl and filled it with stew: another
generous portion and more than he would usually give, but he reasoned to
himself that there would be less to waste this way. He placed the bowl
on the table next to the one at which Bran sat and gestured for the
woman to take her place as he bent to tear another piece of bread from
the loaf. He felt in his pocket for another spoon, then filled another
mug with spiced wine and placed both before her.
     His own mug of wine had gone cold, so he took a poker from the fire
and placed inside the mug for a few moments to warm the liquid before
taking a seat at Bran's table, just as the other man was mopping up the
last of his stew with the remains of the bread.
     "So, friend," he said after gulping a mouthful of wine, "How about
this story?"
     "Certainly," Bran smiled, taking a swig from his own mug. "And a
fine story it shall be, in return for a fine meal."
     Carl gave him a look of warning, gesturing towards the girl who was
busily spooning stew into her mouth with her left hand. Bran grimaced
apologetically as he fished in his pocket and brought out a pipe, which
he lit from the flame of the candle that sat in the middle of the table.

     "This is a true story," he began, "as true as you and I are sitting
here over this marvellous spiced wine. It was a cold night, so cold that
the frost was glittering on the road in Nochturon's light as I passed a
small hamlet to the south of Shireton. There was no inn to be found and
I was faced with the choice of continuing to Shireton or sleeping rough,
neither of which appealed to me as I was exhausted from walking all day
and the cold was freezing my blood. Well, there was a small house on the
edge of the hamlet, with a good sized barn and I had the idea of asking
the owners if I could shelter there. As it turned out, they were as kind
and hospitable as your good self, and offered me a cot in the larger of
their two rooms, as well as some food and a mug of ale.
     "They were a pleasant couple, or so it seemed to me as I sat at
their table and ate their food, although the woman seemed a little
distant, staring into nothingness half the time. No, it was more like
she was listening to something. I'd speak to her, out of courtesy, to
tell her how grateful I was for them taking me in and it was as though
she had to tear herself away from something to answer me. This went on
for some time, and I could see that her husband was growing anxious
about her as she slipped further and further away from us. Then, when
she no longer seemed to hear anything I said, he stood up and announced
that it was time for bed. I didn't see anything wrong in that at the
time, after all they were peasants and most likely had to be up with the
sun. Mind you, I did think it a little strange that he had to pull her
to her feet and more or less guide her through to the other room as
though she was blind. I knew she wasn't -- she had managed to move
around on her own earlier -- but I was so tired that I put it out of my
mind as I settled down on the cot and let the flickering of the dying
firelight lull me to sleep.
     "I woke to find it still dark, except for Nochturon's steady light
shining through the window, but I had the sense that something wasn't
quite right. Then I heard it. I thought at first that they must be
having an argument, the shouting was so loud, but after a few moments I
realised that only the woman was shouting. She was carrying on something
terrible, moaning and crying, even screaming at times and the man was
making soothing noises, but nothing he said would quiet her. I tried to
go back to sleep, thinking that whatever it was, it was none of my
business, but her cries were so loud and pitiful that I couldn't shut
them out. Eventually, I decided to go and see if there was anything I
could do to help."

     At that moment, movement caught Carl's eye and he turned his
attention away from Bran to see that the young woman had risen from her
seat and approached their table.
     "Do you mind if I join you?" she asked. "Only, I couldn't help
overhearing and the story is so interesting."
     "Please," Bran gestured expansively, "I am only too happy to share
my tale with a fellow traveller. Please join us."
     Carl smiled as the woman pulled back the chair, then she turned and
picked up her mug of spiced wine from her table with her left hand and
sat down, her cloak still wrapped tightly around her.

     "Well," Bran resumed his story, "I knocked on the door of the
adjoining room, not wanting to barge in on something I shouldn't, and
the man called out that he would be out in a moment. I couldn't help but
look into the room when he opened the door and I caught my breath at the
sight I beheld. The poor woman was tied to the bed! There were ropes
around her wrists and ankles and she was struggling like a crazed animal
and crying out for him to let her go. I must admit that the scene shook
me and as the man came through the door, closing it behind him, I
stepped back for fear of what he might do to me.
     "He must have seen the horror in my eyes, because his own were full
of sadness as he shook his head and placed a trembling hand on my
shoulder.
     "'I'm sorry you had to see that, friend,' he told me, 'I suppose I
had better explain.'
     "He led me back into the other room and lit the lamp. While he
busied himself lighting the fire again and placing a kettle of water
over it, I studied him. He seemed an ordinary man in every respect. He
was losing his hair, and had started to grow a little stout around the
belly, a little like yourself, friend Carl. His face was a kindly one,
if a little careworn and he seemed hardly the type who would tie his
poor wife to the bed, for whatever reason. When everything was done he
sat himself down at the table and gestured for me to do the same. I did,
perplexed by the pain in his eyes as he faced me over the glow of the
lamp.
     "'What you saw just then is not what you think,' he said to me at
last, the words leaving his mouth on a heavy, sorrowful breath. 'My wife
is a good woman, and means everything in the world to me. It breaks my
heart to have to tie her down like that, but if I don't, then who knows
what harm will befall her.'
     "'Whatever do you mean?' I asked him, dumbfounded.
     "'It all started twenty years ago this very night,' he began, pain
darkening his hazel eyes as he remembered. 'Lileth, my wife, was in the
throes of childbirth. Things were not going well for her and I was
afraid that I would lose her. We had tried so long to have a family, but
to no avail, and by now she was coming to the end of her childbearing
years. Anyway, the midwife gave her some potion or other to ease the
pain, and eventually she gave birth.'
     "By the tears in his eyes I could tell that his story would end in
tragedy, and I was not wrong. Tell me Carl, could I impose on your
hospitality to ask for another mug of wine? My mouth is so dry with the
telling of the story."

     Carl frowned. He had been lost in the story, wondering what
terrible thing was going to come next. He was also dismayed that the
teller of the tale wanted another mug of wine, for which he obviously
wasn't in a position to pay. Nevertheless, he took Bran's mug with a
forced smile and filled it, because he wanted to hear the rest of the
story. While he was up he filled his own, and that of the young woman,
so that there would be no more interruptions before the tale was
finished. When she rummaged under her cloak and came up with a silver
Round to pay for her food, drink and a night's lodging, sincerity
returned to his smile. At least one of his customers could pay their
way.

     "Now," Bran mused, scratching his long, straight nose as Carl
resumed his seat. "Where was I? Oh yes. Well, according to the man, the
child was born and at the same moment his wife lost consciousness. He
tried to rouse her, but in vain and he thought her lost to him until the
midwife told him that his wife's deep sleep was a result of the potion
and that he should let her rest. It was then that he turned his
attention to the child and saw that it was a pale, sickly-looking thing.
Worst of all, its right arm was withered and useless. The midwife told
him that it wouldn't last more than a sennight and Faren, my host, was
distraught. Here was their last chance to raise a child of their own and
it was unlikely to live more than a few days. How could he watch his
Lileth care for her child, knowing that soon she would have to bury it?
How could he watch Lileth's heart break like that?
     "The midwife told him that what he should do was expose the child,
that night before Lileth woke and tell her that it had been born dead,
so that she would be spared the ordeal of caring for a child that would
soon be lost to her. Faren was torn. Part of him wanted to ignore the
midwife's advice, after all, she might be wrong, the child might live
and grow strong. Then he looked down at his child, at its frail, still
body and its poor withered arm. It looked to him as though the effort of
drawing in breath was something that it would be unable to sustain and
it had not cried once. How could he stand by and watch it suffer?
Without another thought he picked up the child and carried it out of the
house, hardly able to see where he was going for the tears in his eyes.
     "He carried the babe to the top of a nearby hill and laid it,
naked, on the frost-covered earth. Then, before his resolve broke he
hurried away, leaving it to the mercy of the elements, telling himself
over and over again that he had done the right thing. But it was no use.
He had hardly reached his door when he heard a sound that had him
running back up the hill. That sound was a baby's cry. His child had
cried for the first time, a long, plaintive wail and he suddenly didn't
care whether it lived only a week or a lifetime. His child needed him.
He ran faster than he had ever done before, up the hill, not even
stopping to catch his breath when a pain in his side doubled him over.
When he reached the top of the hill he was on the point of collapse, but
it had all been in vain. His child was gone."

     "What do you mean *gone*?" the young woman interrupted.
     Carl looked at her, jolted out of the story by her outcry. He could
see that she had been moved by the story. She was clutching the folds of
her cloak around her, and her eyes were bright as she bit her lower lip.
It seemed odd to him for a stranger to be so affected by another's
story, no matter how sad, and he wondered if she knew the couple in
question.
     Then something else occurred to him. It was something he had been
noticing ever since she had walked into the inn, something that until
now had seemed unimportant. He had not seen her right hand. For
everything, from eating to running her fingers through her short brown
curls, she had used her left hand. Even now, as she questioned Bran, her
right arm was hidden somewhere under that heavy cloak. Could she be the
child from the story? Then he smiled to himself, shaking his head and
grinning at his own foolishness. Of course she couldn't be that child;
it would not have survived.

     "Gone," Bran confirmed. "There was nothing to be seen of the child
on the hilltop. Faren dropped to his knees on the spot where he had left
the child only moments earlier and he wept. What had he done? He had
thought he was doing what was right, giving the child a swift and
painless escape from its suffering, and preventing the further suffering
of his beloved Lileth. The keening of a wolf in the forest nearby
confirmed his suspicions. He had damned his only child to be food for
the wolves.
     "He stayed there on that hilltop until the sun began to rise, then
when all his tears were shed, he returned home to his wife. He told her
the story that the midwife suggested, that the child had been born
lifeless and that he had buried it as she slept. His wife -- as he had
known she would be -- was inconsolable at first, but through time she
came to accept the story, along with the fact that they were destined to
be childless. They went on with their lives as normal, despite the
sadness that they both felt whenever they saw families with children.
Everything seemed fine, until a year to the day after the child's
birth."

     "What happened then?" It was Carl's turn to interrupt. He couldn't
help himself. He had been listening to the story and watching the young
woman from the corner of his eye, unable to quell the thought that she
still hadn't used her right hand.

     "Well," Bran replied, his expression slightly vexed at the
interruption. "He woke in the night to find Lileth gone. It was cold; in
fact the weather was much as it is tonight, with deep snow covering the
land and a strong wind that stung his flesh through his clothing as he
went out to search for her. She wasn't difficult to find -- all he had
to do was follow the footprints in the fresh snow -- and before long he
found her, cold and still at the top of the hill: the very hill where a
year earlier Faren had abandoned his only child."

     "Was she dead?" the young woman asked fearfully, and Carl noted
that she was chewing the nails of her left hand, while her right was
still nowhere to be seen.

     "No, she wasn't dead," Bran continued. "She was asleep, with a
smile on her face as serene and peaceful as a well-nursed babe. Faren
tried to wake her, to ask what on Makdiar she was doing, but it was as
though she was in thrall because he couldn't rouse her. He tried
everything, from shaking her and calling her name, even to gently
slapping her face, but nothing would work. Eventually, fearful that she
would die from the cold, he picked her up and carried her bodily back to
their house. There, he laid her by the fire and wrapped her in the
blankets from their bed to keep her warm. When she awoke the next
morning she could remember nothing of the previous night.
     "After that, things went on as normal once more, until the night of
the second anniversary of the child's birth. Once again, Faren woke to
find his wife gone and once again, he found her atop that very hill. On
the third year, he waited up, watching her and sure enough, at roughly
the same time that Faren had carried the child to the hill, she got up
out of their bed and headed towards the door. Faren was ready and he
stopped her before she reached the threshold. He picked her up and
carried her back to the bed and it was then that she seemed to wake. She
began to scream and carry on something terrible, kicking out at him and
raking him with her nails as he tried to restrain her. She had to go,
she kept telling him, someone was calling her and she had to go.
Eventually he had to tie her down to the bed itself, and that is exactly
what he has done every year on that same night. This year, however,
things had grown worse. For the whole year, whenever Nochturon is at his
fullest wax, the thrall has come upon her.
     "When he had finished telling his awful tale, Faren looked almost
relieved, as though he had released a heavy burden by sharing the
knowledge that he had kept locked within him for twenty years.
     "'I suppose you think me a monster now,' he sighed as he rose from
the table to make the morning tea. Yes, it was morning by now -- the
pale winter sun was shining through the window -- we had talked the
night away.
     "'I am no judge,' I told him, 'but if you would have my advice I
would gladly give it.'
     "Faren nodded, his hazel eyes hopeful, no, desperate. I could see
that he would give anything to end the curse that had blighted his
marriage.
     "'You must tell Lileth the truth,' I told him, noting the sudden
bleak look that entered his eyes. I could see that he had considered
doing exactly that on many occasions.
     "'But she will leave me!' he cried, tears rolling down his grizzled
face. 'If I tell her that I killed our only child she will hate me.'
     "'Maybe,' I told him honestly, 'but it is the only way to break the
spell. The child's spirit is obviously calling her, wanting her to know
the truth and it will keep on doing so until you tell her. One night she
might escape and you may not find her in time. She might die of
exposure, or worse. She could even suffer the same fate as her child. Do
you want that Faren?'
     "No, Faren didn't want that. He shook his head miserably. I could
see that my words had found their mark, and with a heavy sigh he went
through to the other room. I didn't follow, it was a time they needed to
be left alone. I tried not to listen to their voices, but it was
difficult, especially when Lileth's became shrill and angry. Soon Faren
came out of the room. He joined me at the table and his eyes were dead.
     "'She hates me,' he said flatly and despite my resolve to remain
aloof I could not help but place a hand on his shoulder in a futile
effort to comfort him.

     "Did she leave him then?" the young woman asked, and Carl was
astonished to see that she was actually weeping; tears rolled down her
freckled cheeks, sparkling like jewels in the candle-light. Why was the
story affecting her so? Yes, it had brought a lump to his own throat at
times, but it was just a story, wasn't it? It shouldn't make anyone
weep, should it? Unless it was true?

     "No," Bran smiled, "She didn't leave him. She came out of the
bedroom and placed her hands on his shoulders.
     "'I should hate you for what you did, Faren,' she told him sternly,
her own eyes red with crying. 'But I know you did what you thought was
best and I know you were trying to protect me. I've loved you for
thirty-five years and no matter how angry I try to be, or how much I try
to hate you, I can't.'
     "'You ... you're not going to leave me?' Faren's eyes blazed with
hope as he turned to look up at her.
     "'No,' she sighed, 'I'm not going to leave you, but I want you to
do me one favour.'
     "'Anything!' Faren cried, jumping to his feet and holding her to
him. 'I would do anything for you Lileth, you know that.'
     "'Good,' she smiled. 'The next time I get the calling I want you to
let me go. You see I know now. My child is still alive somewhere. It
wasn't eaten by wolves. Someone found it and cared for it and now it is
alive and looking for its mother. That's why the calling has come more
often this year, don't you see, Faren? My child is looking for me and I
must follow where it leads.'
     "Faren sighed and shook his head. I could see that he didn't
believe that his child lived, but he would agree to her request; he
couldn't do otherwise. All he could do was to let her go, and follow her
to make sure no harm befell her."

     As Bran finished his story, Carl felt tears sting his own eyes. He
could see poor Faren following his wife as her trance took her
who-knows-where. Maybe they *would* find their child, maybe it *was*
still alive. At that thought he turned again to the young woman, his
suspicions heightened to fever-pitch by the story and her unseen right
hand. Maybe she *was* the child. Perhaps that was why the story had
affected her so badly. As he watched she began to unfasten the clasp of
her cloak with her left hand. Now he would find out! When she took off
the cloak the withered right arm would be exposed and he would know the
truth! He jumped to his feet, eager to take the cloak from her, eager to
see what malformed limb the poor girl kept hidden under there. As he did
so, the door opened again and he almost cried out his disappointment.
     With a sigh he turned towards the door and began to walk towards
the newcomer, forcing himself to become the cheerful innkeeper once
again. As he approached the young man who had entered, he turned to take
one last look at the girl, who was busy rummaging in her pack, with both
hands. Both hands! Both, perfectly formed, slender-fingered hands! He
almost laughed aloud at his own stupidity. How could he have let himself
get so carried away? Bran was obviously a seasoned talespinner, so the
story couldn't be true. How had he let himself be taken in by such a
story, to the point where he suspected a young girl of being the tale's
subject, just because she was left-handed?
     "You old fool!" he scolded himself, shaking his head and smiling as
he went to take the young man's cloak. The smile, however, froze on his
lips as the young man's withered right arm was brought into view.

========================================================================

                             Talisman Zero
                                 Part 3
                          by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
                        <John.White@Drexel.Edu>
                           Mid-fall, 2216 ID

          Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 12-1

     Kendil was waiting his turn somewhat impatiently to rinse down
after morning sparring practice. It had been a week since Captain
Eldinan's plan to try to cheer up Nikkeus had been turned by the
teraehra musician into the beginning of a trio that was working out
better than any of the three of them could have dreamed. And he was
anxious to get back to the captain's cabin before Eldinan's daily duty
began.
     Of the three of them, Elin had the most claims on her time each
day. As captain of the _Typhoon Dancer_, she had no official duties
except in times of danger. However, sailing the Valenfaer Ocean in
mid-fall meant that times of danger were seldom far away. The _Typhoon
Dancer's_ mission was to transport her cargo of supplies and personnel
to Wudamund, a watch-keep on the northern point of the continent of
Cherisk. Not very long ago, that mission would have been as safe in
mid-fall as in mid-summer, but no longer, not since the civil war. So
Elin felt that her place was on deck with the crew throughout the day.
     Kendil's only daily obligation was morning drill. He was part of
the alkaehran squad posted to the _Typhoon Dancer_ as protection. The
soldiers drilled amidships at the tail end of the night watch in order
to keep out of the way as much as possible. The twenty alkaehran of the
squad tended to be crowded in the limited open space amidships. But
Jenkil, their commander, was adamant that they practice every day so
that they would be familiar with the ship and fighting at sea should
their skills be needed.
     Nikkeus had no duties. He usually spent the day serenading the ship
from his position in the bow, switching often between the half-dozen
instruments that he had brought with him, including those of his own
construction.
     All three of them spent the evening and night in the captain's
cabin. Kendil marveled at what went on in there each night. He had
thought he had reached complete satisfaction with Elin, but the addition
of Nikk compounded his delight in ways he had never contemplated before.
And it wasn't just the sex, either. Sometimes they just sat around
Elin's table and talked, and Kendil was amazed to find that activity to
be deeply fulfilling as well.
     Finally, it was his turn in the small enclosure set up in the
corner between the gunwale and the quarterdeck wall for showering. He
closed the door behind him and looked up at the wooden tub set on the
quarterdeck itself. Through the single stave in the front that had been
rendered transparent by magic, he saw that there wasn't much water left.
He would be stuck helping heave more water up from the ocean in buckets
to refill the tub unless he was very careful how much he used. The whole
process of refilling the tub, then tracking down Gerr-ap, the alkaehran
squad's magician, to purify and heat the water, could take a quarter of
the morning watch. Which would mean that he would not make it back to
the cabin before Elin went on duty.
     He had stripped out of his drill kirtle and was reaching up for the
tap in the side of the water tub when the door opened behind him. He
turned around, an angry remark ready on his lips for Leilan, who was
next in line for the shower and obviously trying to hurry him up. But
when he saw three of the regular crew crowding through the door, dark
looks on their faces, he changed his remark to, "What do you want?"
     Burrilain, the _Typhoon Dancer's_ first mate, moved quickly behind
Kendil and grabbed the alkaehra's arms, immobilizing him. Corrik, one of
the other interlopers, shoved a piece of parchment into Kendil's mouth
and wiped it on his tongue. Kendil tried to spit it out, but the sailor
removed it quickly. Then Geziir, the third intruder, produced a knife
and waved it in front of Kendil's face. Corrik turned Kendil's head
aside, and the soldier felt the knife jab lightly at his earlobe. Kendil
thrashed around, trying to kick his assailants and get free. But with
four people in the shower enclosure, there just wasn't enough room for
him to move. Corrik lifted the parchment, wet with saliva, and Kendil
felt it rubbed against his bleeding ear.
     All three crewmen stared at the parchment that Corrik held in front
of himself. Kendil looked too, wondering what they expected to see
besides blood and saliva. Suddenly, the surface of the paper started to
glow and then, with a tiny pop, the fluids vanished and the parchment
turned a pale violet.
     The three intruders seemed pleased by this result, except maybe
Geziir who muttered what sounded like an oath under his breath.
Burrilain let go of Kendil's arms and came out from behind him. The
first mate said, "Sorry there, Kendil me lad, but we had to be sure. The
paper proves it -- you've not spellbound the cap'n. She's our cap'n, you
know, and it was important. You understand?"
     Kendil nodded, and the two crew members that were holding him let
go. They shuffled away from him as far as they could, which wasn't far
in the small stall. Kendil started to ask why they had done this, but
Burrilain interrupted him.
     "It's just that she's acting odd. Oh, not every day, no. But with
you in her cabin for so long, and then to take that teraehra in as well
... But if there be no magic holding her unnatural-like, then all is
well.
     "You just remember, we all care for her. Hurt her, and we hurt you.
Understand?"
     Kendil nodded, and all three nodded back. Kendil knew by the
intense looks on their faces that they were perfectly serious.
Fortunately, he knew that he wasn't out to hurt Elin. She was, as far as
he knew, just as ecstatically happy as he was himself.
     "Right," said Burrilain. "We'll be going then. But you remember!"
     Geziir opened the door and slipped out. Burrilain followed. Corrik
stopped in the door, and groped Kendil briefly. He leered, and said, "If
I had known, Kendil, I would have told the others that it wasn't magic
that kept you in cap'n's bed." He winked, patted Kendil's cheek, said,
"Be good to her," and left.
     Kendil slumped against the quarterdeck wall and panted as the
excitement and fear from the encounter faded. He lifted a hand to his
cut ear, but it didn't even hurt though it turned his fingers red with
blood. Having recovered somewhat, he shook his head and turned back to
the shower tap. He reached up again and opened it, letting the lukewarm
water flow over his whole body.
     He turned the water off and reached for the soap, and he heard the
door open behind him again. He whirled around, and found that two of
Nikk's fellow teraehran had entered the shower enclosure. Both were
female, and both were holding swords pointed at his middle. He backed
against the quarterdeck wall, raising his hands defensively, and said,
again, "What do you want?"
     One of them held out a small glass tube containing a greenish
liquid. "Drink this," she said.
     "Why?" Kendil asked.
     "Drink it, or we'll feed it to you. It won't hurt you, but we
might, accidentally." They pushed their swords forward until the points
were touching his stomach.
     "All right, I'll drink it." Kendil took the glass tube, removed the
stopper, and gulped it down. It didn't taste like anything but water and
he wondered what it was supposed to do until he felt his head start to
tingle.
     "Open your mouth," the other teraehra said. Kendil complied, and
the woman stared for a moment then frowned. "Stick out your tongue."
Kendil shrugged, and did so. He looked down, crossing his eyes, and saw
that his tongue was a familiar shade of violet.
     The two women withdrew their swords. The second speaker said,
"Well, I guess everything is okay. No magic bindings present. We were
just worried about Nikkeus, that's all. He's one of ours, you know, so
we felt obligated to look after him. No hard feelings, eh?"
     The first speaker said, "But just remember, alkaehra, that if you
hurt Nikkeus, we'll hurt you. Got it?" Kendil nodded.
     The two of them saluted him, and turned to leave. The first speaker
was the last to leave, and she glanced back from the door. Her eyes
dipped below Kendil's waist, and she smiled. She looked back up into his
face and said, "Nice tongue, among other things. Lucky Nikkeus. Lucky
captain." She winked, turned, and left.
     Kendil sagged against the wall again, though his recovery was
quicker this time. His lovers certainly had some forceful friends. He
hoped that the two groups spread their news everywhere. He certainly
didn't need anyone else trying to ensure the wellbeing of Elin and Nikk.
     He turned back to his shower, and realized that he was almost dry
again. As he reached up for the shower tap, he heard the whistle of day
watch beginning, and slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.
Well, it was too late for a morning cuddle with Elin now, but he still
didn't want to have to refill the water tub. Taking another estimate of
the water left, he twisted the tap to on just as the door opened behind
him again.
     Without turning the water off, he turned beneath the stream and
shouted, "Oh, by Aelther's lazy eye, what now!"
     It was only Leilan, who said, "Are you just about done? Do you have
any more appointments this morning in the shower? Because there are
still five of us waiting."
     And as the last of the water gurgled out of the tap, Leilan grinned
and said, "And it looks like we'll be waiting a bit longer, eh Kendil?
Why don't I go hunt up Gerr-ap while you start working with the bucket
and rope to refill that tub?"
     Kendil just shook his head as the young alkaehra walked away
laughing loudly. "At least," he thought, "my two lovers are worth all
this trouble!"

     Nikkeus knelt in front of his locker in the teraehran's hold and
tried to decide which instrument to play today. He was somewhat
disappointed that Kendil hadn't made it back from drill before Elin had
to go on duty, but it was only a minor thing. Nothing worthy of
upsetting their relationship.
     He pulled out his vibrolin first, plucked a string, and set it back
in its place. The vibrolin was too innately sad for him to be playing
today. The trio he had suggested had been together for a whole week, and
he was far too happy to be playing such a mournful instrument.
     He reached for the five-valved sakbut and nodded. He was already
composing tunes in his head as he closed his locker, when he heard the
door to the room open and close. He stood up and turned around, and
found two men standing by the door looking at him with strange
expressions on their faces. He didn't know their names, but he
recognized them as being part of the alkaehran squad assigned to the
ship.
     Something about the way they were staring at him frightened him,
and he condensed the question he wanted to ask into one word, like he
usually did. "What?" he asked as strongly as he could.
     "'What?'" the dark haired one mimicked. "Can't even ask a proper
question, can he, Quell? Can't talk, but he's damn cute, huh?"
     The pair started advancing toward Nikkeus as the dark haired one
continued, "What does 'what' mean? What are we doing here? What do we
want? Answer's the same. You. We want some of what ol' Kendil's got, and
since we can't do this to the captain, we'll get what we want from you
instead."
     "Yeah," said the one named Quell. "Kendil always did act too big
for his kirtle, too good for the likes of us simple alkaehran. And now
he sleeps with the captain, *and* a little teraehra. That's one too many
for Kendil, ain't that right, Odonbar? We're just gonna take our share,
that's all. Just take our share."
     Nikkeus gripped his instrument as he looked around for a better
weapon. There was something wrong with these two, something about their
eyes, about the way they moved, haltingly and strange. He instinctively
knew that trying to talk them out of their intentions was just a waste
of time. So he steeled himself, and prepared to defend himself.
     Quell seemed to decide that getting naked should come before
subduing his prey, but Odonbar just kept stalking toward Nikkeus. All of
a sudden, he lunged at the musician, who reacted as he had been trained.
Nikkeus tightly gripped the sakbut, a coil of brass tubes he had
modified to use valves instead of the normal slide, and when Odonbar
leaped, Nikkeus swung the instrument as hard as he could into the
alkaehra's face.
     Metal impacted Odonbar's nose, and the man gave a cry and crumpled,
blood streaming from his nostrils. Quell looked up, his tunic half
unlaced, and growled, then charged. Nikkeus lifted his bent instrument
and tried to use it like a club again, but Quell ducked the swing and
tackled the musician, knocking the sakbut out of his hand.
     Nikkeus tried to roll out from under Quell, but the other man
quickly grabbed him tightly, keeping him in place. Nikkeus tried to
batter his way free, but the alkaehra was in a better position. As a
last resort, Nikkeus shifted his hips and slammed his leg upward,
catching Quell perfectly between the legs. The alkaehra screamed and
clutched at his groin, and Nikkeus rolled out from under the groaning
soldier.
     Nikkeus scrambled to his feet and started for the door, but Odonbar
had recovered somewhat and blocked his way.
     The bloody-faced man growled, "You'll be a more willing partner
once I've cut you some." He drew his knife and started brandishing it
menacingly.
     Nikkeus knew he was in trouble. Unarmed against a knife was a bad
position to be in, and the hurt and crazed condition of this man only
made it worse. Nikkeus swiftly glanced around again for a weapon, or
even a shield, but the teraehran were too neat and there was nothing
lying around that suited his purposes.
     He tried to dart around Odonbar, but wasn't fast enough. He had
just decided to try to gain some room by retreating into the depths of
the room when Quell, who had stopped groaning some time before, lunged
at his ankles and knocked him to the deck.
     With animal-like growls, both men leapt on top of him. Odonbar kept
his knife flickering in front of Nikkeus' face while Quell started to
reach up under the musician's tunic to pull down his undergarments.
     Nikkeus made a few futile grabs for the knife, and then realized
that Quell was so busy trying to get him naked that both of Nikkeus'
legs were completely free of restraint. He didn't waste his opportunity,
and once again kicked Quell hard, this time in the side. The alkaehra
grunted and rolled away, which distracted Odonbar. Nikkeus again took
advantage, and heaved his torso up, throwing Odonbar off.
     Leaping to his feet, Nikkeus dashed for the door. He heard both of
his assailants close behind him and he wondered whether he could run
fast enough to get up on deck. He had just about decided that he
couldn't, since they were almost upon him and he hadn't even reached the
door, when that same door opened, admitting a handful of his fellow
teraehran.
     "Help!" he gasped breathlessly as he stumbled into them.
     Neither Odonbar nor Quell reacted to the new presences, but just
dove after Nikkeus. They didn't stand a chance. They were tackled
immediately, and even their crazed struggling wasn't enough to overcome
the efforts of three people holding each down. Both assailants were
wrestled to their feet, still held securely, and the lot of them trooped
toward the deck.
     Nikkeus called out, "Deck command!" as soon as they arrived on
deck. There was a scramble of people toward them, including the crew
member designated deck commander. Nikkeus told his story to Geziir, who
examined the two attackers briefly and then summoned the ship's healer
and chirurgeon.
     Kendil arrived before Telfra, the healer, and he immediately hugged
Nikkeus tightly. "Are you all right, Nikk?"
     Nikkeus hugged Kendil back, and eventually said, "Yes. Fine." It
felt good to be in Kendil's arms. Comfortable and safe. He just rested
there, head on Kendil's shoulder, until the healer arrived.
     Geziir muttered something to Telfra when she walked up, and she
started examining the two captives. She said, "You were right, Geziir.
They are drugged. By the signs, it was crystallized Jur-fish." She
stared at them for a while longer, holding her hands over various parts
of their bodies. Finally, she shook her head and turned back to Geziir.
"The drug is everywhere in them, so they've been taking it for at least
a fortnight. You know as well as I that they couldn't have smuggled it
on board before launch, so they must have caught some Jur-fish along the
way and processed it themselves."
     The captain arrived then, and hugged Nikkeus to herself. She also
asked, "Are you all right?" Nikkeus nodded, and hugged her back, and he
found himself equally comfortable and safe in her arms.
     She passed him back to Kendil and took a step toward the prisoners.
She said, "Report, deck commander." Geziir gave her a condensed version
of Nikkeus' story, as well as the pronouncement of Telfra on the
prisoners' condition.
     "Jur-fish, huh?" the captain said. She shook her head, and said,
"Take them below and put them in lock-up. Sentence will be delivered
later. Back to stations, everyone. We can't let these scum disrupt the
ship's operation totally."
     The crew dispersed, two of them leading the teraehran who were
restraining the captives to the brig. Soon, only Kendil and the captain
still stood by Nikkeus. She said, "Come on, let's all go back to the
cabin."
     Nikkeus had no problem with that, and the three of them started
across the deck. As they walked, Eldinan called out, "First mate, I'll
be in my cabin if I'm needed."
     Nikkeus became the center of hugs and kisses and tender endearments
as soon as the cabin's door closed behind them. Both Kendil and Elin
were touching him, kissing him, trying to comfort him and make him feel
better. They dragged him over to the bed and sat him down, trying to
ease him, make him comfortable, feel safe and loved.
     And he did feel safe and loved, and comfortable for a little bit.
But very soon, their overly dramatic attentions began to smother him
instead of making him comfortable.
     Finally, he had had enough. "Stop! I'm not a child!"
     They both pulled back, puzzled and hurt looks on their faces.
     "What?" asked Elin.
     "I don't understand," said Kendil.
     "I am not a child. I am trained to fight, and have been in imperial
service for nine years. Those two were not the worst I've faced in
combat, and they didn't hurt me, only scared me a little. You two need
to stop treating me like a baby! Would you smother Kendil with worry
like this if he were attacked, Elin? Then give me the same respect. I am
a year older than he is after all."
     Kendil and Eldinan looked sheepish and repentant. "Sorry, Nikk,"
said Kendil. "I respect you, and I'll remember that you're not my kid
brother next time."
     Nikkeus laughed at that, and hugged the alkaehra.
     "I apologize too, Nikk," said the captain. "Ever since that first
day, when I asked you why you were playing such sad music, I've felt
like you needed protection. But you can take care of yourself, which
should have been obvious. The empire doesn't employ musicians -- at
least, not ones who can't also fight -- and you are a teraehra after
all.
     "Come and give me a hug, and I'll get back on duty."
     Nikkeus hugged her. He felt better for having asserted his
independence, and was glad that Elin and Kendil had accepted it. Even
so, he realized that he wasn't quite ready for Elin to leave just yet.
     "Do you absolutely *have* to leave so soon, Elin? I ... ah ...
well, we ... we don't get time together during the day very often, and
..."
     The captain smiled gently, and patted Nikkeus' back. "No, Nikk, I
don't have to go quite yet." She led him back to the bed, where he
settled back between his lovers, happy and feeling independently
protected.

     Eldinan stepped out of her cabin and paused a moment, listening to
Nikk and Kendil still chatting away. With a soft sigh at the call of
duty, she closed the door softly and strode up on deck.
     She reflected on the conversation the three of them had shared.
Kendil had related his experiences in the deck shower. He had been
slightly indignant that both her crew and Nikk's fellow teraehran had
suspected him of using unnatural means to coerce his partners into a
relationship. She had done her best to reassure him that it was only
over protectiveness. In the case of her crew, the over protectiveness
was out of loyalty. And in the case of the teraehran, it was because
Nikk just seemed so vulnerable.
     What she hadn't done was voice her thought that part of their
actions might have had to do with the way he held himself aloof from the
rest of the ship's alkaehran, and everyone else on board. No one had
really known him well enough to be sure that he wasn't doing something
unnatural. In the absence of anyone to vouch for his character, the two
groups had used variations of the same magical test to be sure that his
involvement in the trio was clean.
     She emerged from the other end of the passage from her cabin into
sunlight and a fresh wind. She checked conditions on deck with a
practiced sweep of her gaze, then walked over to the ladder and climbed
onto the quarterdeck. The first mate was standing at the rail, and she
went over to stand beside him.
     "I'm back, Burrilain. I see that there's been no excitement in my
absence."
     "Aye, Captain. Calm and steady." He paused, then continued, "Ah, if
I may suggest ...?"
     "Go right ahead, First Mate."
     "Well, Captain, I've been thinking that you might want to assign
the punishment of the two alkaehra to me. To remove yourself from any
hint of trouble, since you are so close to the situation."
     She had been avoiding thinking about the two assailants ever since
leaving the deck earlier, but it was time to deal with them. She thought
about Burrilain's suggestion, and didn't have to think very hard to know
what he meant by 'hint of trouble.' She *was* very close to the
situation, and she couldn't be sure that her judgment wouldn't be
affected. When she had heard that Nikkeus, her little Nikk, had been
attacked, she had been *so* worried! And then, an instant later, she had
been so angry she could have chewed rocks! When she had heard the deck
commander's report, she had been ready at that point to draw her sword
and behead the two assailants right then and there. So, actually, there
was no question that her judgment was impaired.
     And her first mate had offered an elegant, and perfectly
permissible, solution. She finally said, "You thought right, and right
well, Burrilain. There's a reason you're first mate, isn't there?" She
clapped him on the shoulder. "You know the rules as well as I do.
Undertake the punishment of the prisoners, Burrilain. I leave them in
your charge."
     "Very good, Captain. I'll attend to them at once."
     Eldinan watched as Burrilain strode down to the main deck, and
ordered the prisoners brought up. She was looking forward to this,
perhaps a little too much. True, Nikk hadn't been hurt, and it was true
he could take care of himself. But Nikk had told both of them exactly
why the alkaehran had attacked him, and she knew that scum like that
deserved just what they were getting.
     It only took two crew members to bring the prisoners back on deck,
as they had been locked into irons. They presented little threat, even
though they were still under the effects of the Jur-fish drug. They
scowled at everyone around them as they stood there shackled hand and
foot.
     Burrilain stood in front of the prisoners and raised his voice for
everyone to hear. "You stand accused of two crimes. The first is assault
on a passenger of the ship. The proof is incontrovertible, and the
punishment is ten lashes. This punishment will be postponed for the
moment."
     Eldinan gave the first mate a silent "Excellent" for the way he
dealt with the first matter. He got it out of the way quickly, gave it a
medium sentence, and then set it aside. That way, it would be forgotten
quickly as the subsequent charges were brought up. Nikk wasn't even
mentioned by name, which kept his association to her from being directly
brought up, which was all to the better. Either Burrilain had been
planning this out very carefully, or he was a natural barrister.
     The first mate continued, "Your second crime is that of use of a
proscribed drug, compounded by the production of that drug in a
proscribed location, namely on board this ship. The apparatus for
crystallizing Jur-fish was found in your lockers, and Chirurgeon Telfra
avers that it has been used."
     Another perfect move, thought Eldinan. Burrilain must have ordered
the search earlier. She looked around at the crew on deck, and almost
everyone was frowning or shaking their heads. There would be no sympathy
for those two among her crew.
     "By imperial law and ship's law, use of a proscribed drug carries
the maximum penalty by reason of being incapable of carrying out your
duties. Your dereliction of duty could endanger the lives of everyone on
board this ship, and that must be punished. There are circumstances that
might commute this sentence, but the fact that you procured the drug for
yourselves seals your fates. You are responsible, and you will pay that
price.
     "Deck command, open the gunwale."
     Geziir walked over to the railing on the port side of the ship and
opened the gate. Burrilain said, "You two, Alkant Quell and Alkant
Odonbar, are consigned to the mercies of the sea. May you find your just
reward.
     "Carry out the sentence!"
     The two alkaehran began to struggle as the crew members pulled them
toward the open rail. More of the crew joined in, restraining the
prisoners further and shoving them closer and closer to their fate.
     Except for the grunts of the prisoners as they struggled, there was
silence on the deck. Eldinan looked out over her crew, and saw grim
faces everywhere. They knew that what the two alkaehran had done was
wrong, and they knew that the sentence was just. But the one thing every
sailor feared was death in the sea; death by drowning. Only the fact
that the two had brought it on themselves mitigated that shared
nightmare.
     Face after face turned to look up at her and nod, then return to
the morbid spectacle of the prisoners. Her crew understood, and she felt
better.
     With a final, wordless cry, first Odonbar, then Quell, was pushed
out the gate. The two splashes sounded moments later, and a faint,
unanimous sigh swept over the deck. Geziir closed the gunwale gate.
     It was done. Eldinan turned from the rail of the quarterdeck, and
walked to the pilot house, displacing Corrik again. She took up her
position behind the unmoving wheel, and stared out over her ship.
     It happened slowly, but presently the _Typhoon Dancer_ bustled
again with normal activity. Eldinan found it almost impossible not to
think of the two men they had left behind, sinking slowly into
unmeasured depths ...
     Just then, a cry came down from the weather watch. "Storm on the
starboard horizon, Cap'n!"
     Automatically, her hand reached out and touched her anhekova, but
of course there was no tingle, no contact with that extra sense. She
would get no sense of the size or strength of the storm, or of how far
it might blow them off course. She sighed. Only one more week, and they
would dock at Wudamund.
     She stepped out of the pilot house to start readying her ship for
the storm. They had had calm weather for two weeks, so a storm was
almost inevitable. But how many more would there be before they reached
Cherisk? And would they survive?

========================================================================