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DDDDD ZZZZZZ //
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D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE ||
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 12
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-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 5
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DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
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\\
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\
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========================================================================
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DargonZine Distributed: 5/8/1999
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Volume 12, Number 5 Circulation: 713
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========================================================================
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Contents
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Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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Talisman Zero 5 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Winter, 2216 ID
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On the Prowl 2 Max Khaytsus Yuli 4-5, 1013
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========================================================================
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DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
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collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
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We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
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Please address all correspondance to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
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on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/. Back issues
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are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
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public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
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DargonZine 12-5, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright May, 1999 by
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the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
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Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
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All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
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and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
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without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
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of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
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Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
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========================================================================
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Editorial
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by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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<ornoth@shore.net>
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Since our last issue hit the streets a mere three weeks ago, there
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hasn't been a whole lot of news to share, so I'll be mercifully brief.
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The first thing to remind you of is the vote which is currently
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going on about whether or not to continue sending out advance notices to
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email subscribers a week before we send out full issues. Current results
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appear to indicate that people really don't seem to mind those advance
|
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notices. However, we'll keep the voting application active until the end
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of May. You can find more details about the vote in the Editorial for
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DargonZine 12-4, and you cast your vote or check the current results at
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the URL <http://www.dargonzine.org/ping_vote.shtml>. We'll announce the
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final results in our next issue, DargonZine 12-6.
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Speaking of 12-6, there are two things I need to mention about that
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issue. The first item is that we are currently planning to distribute
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that issue the weekend of June 20th, six weeks from now. The reason for
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the long delay between issues is our annual DargonZine Writers' Summit,
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which will be taking place during that time. We'll have a full debrief
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for you when we get back!
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And that issue will be worth waiting for, because it will contain
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the final two climactic chapters in Dafydd's seven-part "Talisman Zero"
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storyline. The editorial will also highlight Dafydd and his Talisman
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saga, which after seven chapters is, believe it or not, only just
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beginning!
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But for now, we have Part 5 of "Talisman Zero", and the conclusion
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of Max's two-part "On the Prowl". Enjoy!
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========================================================================
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Talisman Zero
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Part 5
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by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
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<John.White@Drexel.Edu>
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Early Winter, 2216 ID
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Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 12-1
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Orlebb had hoped that the extra tenants at Wudamund this winter
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would offer him some opportunities for interesting diversions, but he
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had been wrong. Perhaps he shouldn't have set his sights on that
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interesting trio of Captain Eldinan, Alkant Kendil and Terant Nikkeus.
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As soon as they had taken up residence together in the master suite
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of the Green Tower, Orlebb had set his network of spies to gathering
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information for him. Of course, his network of spies was only his staff
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of pages and aides, cleaners and cooks, and the few artisans and
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crafters who worked for the Lord Keeper and thus for him, but they were
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still effective. Spread throughout the keep doing menial tasks, they
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were most often treated as though they weren't there, and therefore they
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overheard all kinds of things.
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This overheard information was one of the things that made Orlebb
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such a superb castellan. Sometimes his spies heard plans being made and
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so was able to ensure that provisions and supplies were ready and
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available when requisitioned. He learned everything there was to learn
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in the keep and the village beyond it, and he used that information to
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make himself indispensable to everyone. Unfortunately, indispensable
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didn't mean well liked. He might have been the most well informed person
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in the keep, but sometimes he was sure he was the loneliest as well.
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As if the request for the bed that Captain Eldinan had made wasn't
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enough confirmation, his spies made it clear that the three people in
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that master suite were sleeping together. When he'd heard about them
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using food in their sex play, he'd been sure that with the right moves
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he could get himself invited into their group. They seemed more than
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open-minded and experimental enough to extend their companionship to a
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worthy fourth, right?
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And so he had attempted to make some overtures to the captain when
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he had found her alone in the great hall. He'd gotten her to blush a few
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times, but he had done his best to reassure her that he hadn't been
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trying to embarrass her, just point out his interest in her and her
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lovers. He had walked away absolutely sure that it was but a matter of
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time before he'd be spending his evenings on the sixth floor of the
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Green Tower.
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And then the next day while he had been disciplining one of his
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pages, Eldinan had intervened and defied his authority over the children
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in his employ. While he knew that she was technically overstepping her
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bounds, she had enough rank and enough support, if only from her own
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crew, to make her threats real. It didn't help that the Lord Keeper was
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more interested in fantasies of fighting off invasions with her toy
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armies than in running the keep, because that left him with no higher
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power to appeal to.
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Angry and frustrated, he had let her win the confrontation. But he
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knew that she wouldn't hold his professional manner against him
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personally. So he was fond of the lash, that was only part of his job.
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He continued to expect an invitation into their room, or at least some
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exploration of his interests.
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But the days passed, and nothing happened. He kept his informants
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on the job, gathering every tidbit of knowledge about the trio that
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could be wrangled from anyone. He learned about how the three of them
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had met aboard Captain Eldinan's ship, _Typhoon Dancer_, first Nikkeus
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and Kendil, then Kendil and Eldinan, and then, to the amazement of
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everyone on board, all three of them together. He learned of the
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multiple times Kendil had been intruded upon in the ship's shower by
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people attempting to ensure that elements of the trio weren't being
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coerced into their relationship by magic. He also learned about the
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assault upon Nikkeus by drug-affected alkaehran, and what had happened
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to them.
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He delved into the pasts of the trio, learning where they had been
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born, where they had grown up and entered service, who their families
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and friends back home were.
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He spent so much time in his research, devising methods for his
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servants to extract more information from the various people in the
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keep, that he forgot all about the solstice krovelathan ceremony until
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the morning before it was supposed to happen. It was a tribute to his
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organizational skills that the ceremony came off without a hitch, even
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if it was somewhat simplistic. As a compensation, he made sure that the
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post-ceremony party was well supplied with food and especially drink,
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using up all of the supplies that wouldn't keep over the winter and even
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dipping into the winter surplus stocks.
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But even that potential disaster couldn't shake him out of his
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growing obsession. He'd had six of his people assigned to do nothing
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else at the party but watch the trio, two to a person. He had a list of
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everything each of them had eaten and drunk, and another list of
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everyone each had talked to. He circled the names on the second list of
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people whom he thought to be attractive, and did his best to make sure
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that none of those people were in a position for continued contact with
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his trio. If a fourth was going to be added to the set, that fourth was
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going to be him!
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As obsessed and single-minded as he was about his trio, he was
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almost knocked back to reality by the news that began to filter back to
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him a couple of days after the solstice ceremony. Against all accepted
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tradition, and against explicit imperial law, his trio had gone and
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gotten bond-promised. He had been brought some discarded sketches by the
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cleaning staff. Scribblings on the sketches revealed that they were
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designing a krovelathad of impressive dimensions. The drawings showed a
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large, tripartite disk that looked more like a talisman of nature fit
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for a temple wall. It didn't have much in common with the simple, small
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krovelathads that were usually exchanged at a krovelathan ceremony.
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Bonded! His trio, securing their relationship together! He could
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hardly imagine it, especially as it didn't include him. He didn't have
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much time to work his way into that group. The spring equinox was three
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months away, but his deadline was the completion of the talisman. If
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they finished it without him, he was out of luck. He had plans to put
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into motion, starting now!
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Kendil closed the door to the quarters of Zawk behind him as he
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left and slumped against it in relief. Zawk was the local erlantrielk;
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the Clear Fire Weaver for Wudamund Keep. The erlantrielk were some of
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the most feared people in the empire due to their mastery of the most
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powerful magics known. That Wudamund had one was somewhat unusual, but
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fortunate. Without the services of Zawk, which Kendil had just secured,
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the creation of the talismanic krovelathad that they were designing
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would have been much, much more difficult.
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And that design was surely grand, Kendil thought as he began to
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walk back toward the Green Tower to let Elin and Nikk know that Zawk had
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agreed to the challenge. It was to be patterned after the nature
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talismans of Nikkeus' own people, though somewhat smaller. Instead of
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being painted onto the side of a building to bring fortune to those
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inside of it, this would be something to be held in the arms, a talisman
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of depth and weight, made of stone and metal and glass. A work of art as
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well as a work of love.
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Zawk's part in its creation was twofold. The most basic part of the
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talisman would be a disk three feet in diameter and nine or so inches
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thick at the center, somewhat thinner at the edges. The material it
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would be made out of would be mostly stone, but their intention was to
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add various other elements to the stone to make it unique. Zawk had to
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make a magic crucible that would melt stone as well as any other
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material they intended to add to the mix, and then make a mold out of
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magic or reinforced by magic that would receive the melted mix from the
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crucible and form it into its disk-lozenge shape, where it would cool
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and harden.
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Zawk had taken some convincing, but Kendil got the impression that
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the white haired man was just playing with him. Kendil had been rather
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bored before this krovelathad project had come up, and he imagined that
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Zawk was as well. Zawk had at first refused such a paltry challenge as
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beneath his talents, but even then there had been a glimmer of interest
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in his face. A little bit of haggling over an exchange of gold, then
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some more haggling about the specifics of the mold, and the deal had
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been made. In about a week, everything would be ready.
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Kendil was thinking about some of the talisman's design elements,
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when he heard a voice say, "Pardon me, Alkant Kendil?"
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He stopped and turned, to find Orlebb walking toward him from a
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connecting corridor. He frowned for a moment. Elin had told him about
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her two encounters with the man, and he had formed an unfavorable
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impression of the castellan. Then he figured that he had no actual
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reason to be rude to the man who ran the keep, so he smiled a bit and
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said, "Yes, Castellan?"
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The tall man appeared to be a bit overdressed for the middle of an
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average winter day. His tunic was of a rich fabric, and he wore a
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heavily embroidered undershift beneath it. His belt buckle shone like a
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mirror, even though the belt it fastened squeezed the slightly plump
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middle of the man somewhat unflatteringly. He wore fine hose that were
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tight about well-turned legs, and his boots were well polished and
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fashionably ankle-high. A chain bearing the key of his office hung about
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his neck, and the only other jewelry he wore was an ornate ear-cuff on
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his right ear that extended some kind of figure along his temple almost
|
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to his eye, and another figure -- or part of the same figure? -- below
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the ear along his jawbone. His raven black hair was swept back tightly,
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showing the squareness of his face, again somewhat unflatteringly, and
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there was the beginnings of a moustache and beard, almost more grey than
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black just yet, around his mouth and chin. A somewhat hooked nose
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separated those mismatched eyes, blue and brown, that had disconcerted
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Elin. And that thin-lipped mouth that didn't smile, even though every
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other feature of his face seemed to be doing so.
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All taken together, the man didn't look all that bad. His fashion
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sense might need some work, but overall, he presented an interesting
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image. Someone that Kendil might have taken the time to get to know if
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not for Elin's assessment of his character.
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"Ah," began Orlebb, "I found something that I thought you might
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find of use. It is a set of carving chisels." He slipped a small, flat
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leather bundle from the back of his belt and handed it to Kendil. "It
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turned up when we were inventorying a storeroom. It must have been left
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by a former resident. It doesn't belong to the keep, at least."
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Kendil opened the bundle to reveal a set of woodworking knives and
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chisels of all different shapes and sizes. This was a master crafter's
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toolkit, like the one that his father used. He had always wanted one,
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and knew that someday his father's would be his, but now he had one in
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his hands and he just wanted to go carve something with it.
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"Thank you, Castellan. You don't know how much this means to me!
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These tools are works of art in themselves. I can only hope that my
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skill can live up to their potential. You are sure that they belong to
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no one? It would be a tragedy to lose tools of this quality."
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"No, no, I assure you that they belong to no one now resident here.
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Except you, if you accept them."
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Kendil looked at the castellan, who was still not smiling with his
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mouth, but was in all other ways looking happy and eager to please.
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There was something about that voice, though. Well, no matter. "I thank
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you for this gift, Castellan. Perhaps I could find the time to carve you
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something in return."
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"Oh, only if you wish to, Alkant Kendil. I'm glad you find pleasure
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in my gift.
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"And now, I must return to my normal duties. Farewell."
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That voice again! Was he really hearing that emphasis on 'pleasure'
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or was it just the castellan's accent?
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In any case, Kendil knew he needed to get the feel of these tools,
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and that they might be of use in constructing the talisman. So, a
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practice figure or two was in order, after he gave Elin and Nikk the
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news about Zawk. As he continued his journey toward his quarters, he
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chuckled at an odd coincidence; he had just been talking about his
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father's crafting tools the other day with one of the keep's carpenters.
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The next day, Kendil found himself with some free time, so he took
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his new tools down to the woodworking room. He was surprised to find it
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empty -- usually at least one of the staff carpenters was at work in the
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large room. He had just selected a block of wood that felt right for
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carving when Orlebb walked into the room.
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"Ah, you have found that time to practice with your new tools I
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see," the castellan said. Kendil noted that he was wearing almost
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exactly the same thing as yesterday, save that each article of clothing
|
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was a different color. Except the undershift, which was still white, but
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which had a different pattern and color of embroidery on it.
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"Well, yes. They were calling to me, in a way. So, where are the
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carpenters today?"
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"Oh, called away. Some repair or other in the village I believe.
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Did you have anything in mind to carve first?"
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"No, actually. This block wants to be something else, but I don't
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yet know what."
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Orlebb had come up to stand right next to him, and Kendil caught
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the hint of some kind of perfume from the man: faint, musky, masculine,
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but still a little odd. He had never taken to the Child of Aelther
|
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custom of wearing scent, and he was surprised that Orlebb, conquered
|
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native of Cherisk that he was, had done so. Still, it was a nice enough
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scent, all in all.
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The castellan reached out and touched the block of wood without
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quite touching Kendil's fingers. He said, "Do you do figures?
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Statuettes?"
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Kendil nodded, and Orlebb continued, "From life?" Kendil nodded
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again. "Do you think you could carve me?"
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Kendil looked thoughtfully at the block, and then at the castellan.
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A glance at those tools decided him. "I think so, but those clothes
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would be a little complicated to put into a practice piece like this."
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Before Kendil could continue, Orlebb spoke up. "You mean, you would
|
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prefer to do a nude statuette of me?" There was an odd eagerness in his
|
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voice, and his mismatched eyes gleamed, but his mouth never moved upward
|
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from its straight across line.
|
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Kendil took a step back from the man standing right next to him,
|
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startled by that eagerness. "Uh, ah, n ... that is ... if ... no. No, I
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don't think I'm up to that. How about a bust instead?"
|
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Kendil didn't wait for an answer, but went back to the bin to
|
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search for a larger piece of wood. He found it, a nice blond type of
|
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wood that would match Orlebb's pale skin nicely. He returned with it to
|
|
the work bench and said, "If you could just stand there, I'll rough this
|
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in quickly. Then you can get back to your duties while I put the
|
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finishing touches on it. Good?"
|
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"You could carve the details of my face from memory? How
|
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flattering," said Orlebb as he struck a pose.
|
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Kendil was about to say something about the pose, since the bust
|
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would only be of the head and shoulders, but that remark struck an odd
|
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note with him, and so he let the castellan posture and started to carve
|
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away with his largest chisel.
|
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He chipped away at the block of wood. It was somewhat soft, so he
|
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made rapid progress, working down through two smaller chisels before he
|
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turned to the still posing castellan, and said, "There. I think that's
|
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enough detail to let you get back to your duties."
|
|
Orlebb relaxed, and looked over at the carving. Kendil's gaze
|
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turned to it as well. The block of wood had been turned into a
|
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reasonable, if rough, facsimile of the castellan's face and shoulders,
|
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minus the ornamentation of the tunic and undershift, and that ornate
|
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winged lizard he wore as ear jewelry. "My health, that is an amazing
|
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likeness, Kendil, and in such a short time! Those tools belong in your
|
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capable hands if that is the kind of work you can do."
|
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Kendil almost blushed at the praise. He thought he had done a
|
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pretty passable job of capturing the man in wood, but it wasn't a piece
|
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to sit in a palace entrance hall even with the finishing touches he knew
|
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it needed. Still, it was good to hear praise like this, and it had a
|
|
different quality coming from a relative stranger rather than his
|
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lovers.
|
|
That musky perfume came to his nose again, and the castellan was
|
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suddenly next to him and clapped an arm around his shoulders. "Keep up
|
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the good work, Kendil. Maybe when you lay down your sword when your
|
|
service is over, you can become some princeling's master woodworker.
|
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Maybe even the Lord Keeper's."
|
|
Orlebb slapped him on the back as he drew away from the somewhat
|
|
astonished carver. As he walked to the door, he continued, "And if you
|
|
are ever *up* to carving that nude statue we spoke of, just let me
|
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know."
|
|
Kendil stared after the retreating castellan and wondered if that
|
|
was what Elin had meant by 'smirking voice'. That last comment had
|
|
certainly sounded sexually suggestive to him.
|
|
He turned back to the bust and wondered if he should finish it. He
|
|
was worried about what the castellan might be thinking. Still, he hadn't
|
|
actually given the man any encouragement, and if Orlebb had fantasies
|
|
about him, that wouldn't do him any harm, would it?
|
|
Taking out one of the finer chisels, he started working on refining
|
|
the features of the bust. No, the castellan's fantasies were none of
|
|
Kendil's business. Idle thoughts and innuendo couldn't hurt him, or Elin
|
|
or Nikk either. Could they?
|
|
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|
Eldinan looked at the drawing laid out in front of the fireplace
|
|
and sighed. Part of the sigh was at the beautiful elegance that Nikkeus
|
|
had sketched out, with help from her, and, to a lesser extent, Kendil.
|
|
But more was a sign of the misgivings she was beginning to have about
|
|
this.
|
|
The talisman, as Kendil had started calling the krovelathad, was
|
|
going to be beautiful, one of the most beautiful krovelathads ever
|
|
created -- and she had seen the krovelathad display in the Royal Museum
|
|
in Frethemak. Krovelathad were usually hand-crafted by the couple
|
|
forging the bond, but often when royalty was involved, some help was
|
|
permitted. Thus, the krovelathad in the museum were more often the work
|
|
of Master Crafters and Artisans. But those works of art were going to
|
|
pale next to this talisman. In her estimation, anyway.
|
|
But this talisman was more than a thing of beauty. If it was a
|
|
symbol of the love between Kendil, Nikkeus, and her, it was also a
|
|
symbol of the way their love defied tradition, convention, and law. Its
|
|
size, for instance, was larger than normal. And the design to be etched
|
|
into its upper surface was all in threes. Two sets each of three
|
|
different stylized animals in three different pairs, worked into a
|
|
three-strand design of Geronlel knot-work. Three, three, three.
|
|
Everything said there should only be two: two bonded by a traditional
|
|
krovelathan ceremony; two totem items customarily represented in some
|
|
fashion on the krovelathad. Two, two, two. It was the law ...
|
|
Eldinan was pure blooded Fretheod, and as much as she tried to
|
|
separate herself from that heritage, at times it wrapped itself around
|
|
her like a smothering blanket. This was one of those times. She loved
|
|
Nikkeus. She loved Kendil. She loved them both, but her upbringing told
|
|
her that she could only have one, that she had to choose between them.
|
|
And she really, truly, could not.
|
|
Suddenly restless, Eldinan stood up, looked down at the design
|
|
again, and then turned away. A need to move, to be away from here,
|
|
filled her, and she dashed out of the room, down the staircase, and out
|
|
of the tower. She needed someplace neutral to think; someplace within
|
|
the keep since she hadn't brought her cloak and it was snowing outside,
|
|
as well as bitterly cold. She was standing in the antechamber to the
|
|
tower, in front of the green door that gave the tower its name, when she
|
|
saw Castellan Orlebb walk through the archway into the room. He was
|
|
carrying a small covered box in front of him, and his face brightened
|
|
when he saw her standing there. Of course, his mouth didn't participate
|
|
in the smile.
|
|
"What good fortune, Captain Eldinan. I was just coming to find
|
|
you." He paused for a moment, but she didn't say anything in return. He
|
|
continued, "Ah, I discovered this while clearing out the house of one of
|
|
the casualties of the season down in the village, and I thought you
|
|
might have some use for it."
|
|
He had continued to approach her, and she stared at him almost
|
|
blankly as he approached. He was dressed very well, better than he
|
|
normally did except for ceremonial occasions. His tunic was no more than
|
|
waist length and made of stripes of different material. The long-sleeved
|
|
undertunic he wore was made of softer hued, complementary colored
|
|
stripes. He wore particolored tights in the two main colors of his
|
|
tunic, and it was short enough that his codpiece, a triangular flap of
|
|
cloth, was revealed to be particolored in the opposite pattern. The
|
|
combination wasn't as unattractive as it might have been on him --
|
|
perhaps it had been fitted by a very talented tailor. He wore slippers
|
|
covered with cloth that was also counter-particolored to his hose.
|
|
His hair was down and was longer than she remembered it from their
|
|
previous confrontation, still well styled and suiting his face better.
|
|
He had grown a trim moustache and beard -- just around his mouth, down
|
|
to the point of his chin -- but it had the effect of making his face
|
|
just slightly more sinister than if it had been clean shaven. Still, it
|
|
added some character.
|
|
She continued to stare, somewhat befuddled by the situation. Orlebb
|
|
seemed to think her silence was a result of their earlier confrontation,
|
|
and he said, "Please, Captain, I regret our previous encounter. I admit
|
|
that your disciplinary practices have kept things running adequately. I
|
|
will not return to the lash when your protection is withdrawn upon your
|
|
leaving in the spring. However, this is more than just a conciliatory
|
|
gesture. I would have given this to you were we still enemies. I think
|
|
it belongs in your hands."
|
|
He was standing right in front of her now, and she noticed that he
|
|
was wearing perfume, some kind of spicy scent, somewhat rugged, but
|
|
rather nice. She looked into his eyes, wondering if she had been wrong
|
|
about him, and those mismatched eyes jarred her. A bit of traditional
|
|
Fretheod superstition surfaced in her mind: it dealt with odd-eyed
|
|
individuals, who were supposed to be able to cast curses. It was a
|
|
stupid superstition though, and she knew it. And she didn't want to be
|
|
ruled by stupid superstitions, or any traditions for that matter!
|
|
She took the box from Orlebb with a subdued, "Thank you." She
|
|
cleared her throat, and continued with a stronger tone, "And what is it,
|
|
Castellan?"
|
|
"Oh, open it, Captain. Open it yourself."
|
|
She balanced the small box on one hand, and lifted the cloth cover
|
|
over the top of it with the other. She gasped when the small ship was
|
|
revealed. She lifted the box, just a frame of wire over a wooden base,
|
|
closer to her face and looked at the exquisite detail on the small
|
|
model. Everything was there -- all the rigging, all the hardware. She
|
|
looked into the pilot house and saw a small wheel in there. Small
|
|
belaying pins ringed the main mast. This was fantastic!
|
|
She lifted the box further and looked at the bow. Sure enough,
|
|
there was the name, picked out in miniature. She gasped again. It read,
|
|
_Celene's Fire_. This was her grandfather's ship!
|
|
She looked again, and noticed details that confirmed it. The shape
|
|
of the poop deck, and the design painted on its deck. The lack of a
|
|
top-mast perch. The extra rigging between the bow and the foremast her
|
|
grandfather insisted on adding to every ship he sailed. This *was*
|
|
_Celene's Fire_ in miniature!
|
|
"You ... how ... This is a model of my grandfather's ship,
|
|
Castellan!" Eldinan's voice contained her astonishment at her discovery.
|
|
"How could you possibly know how much this means to me? Thank you,
|
|
Orlebb, thank you for delivering this to me. Where was it?"
|
|
The castellan's face was practically glowing, though, as usual, he
|
|
was not smiling. "As I said, Captain, it was part of the effects that I
|
|
was sorting through from the house of one of the poor unfortunates who
|
|
died recently from the weather. Some people refuse to ask for help in
|
|
bad weather, and some end up dying. I understand that he was the son of
|
|
one of the crew of _Celene's Fire_ who settled here upon their
|
|
retirement. When I saw the model I ... ah ... remembered the connection
|
|
between its captain and you, and so of course it had to come to you."
|
|
"Yes, thank you, Castellan. Thank you again." Eldinan was barely
|
|
thinking about anything but the model and her grandfather as she leaned
|
|
forward and gave Orlebb a kiss on the cheek. She turned around and
|
|
dashed back into the Green Tower, leaving the castellan standing wide
|
|
eyed and stretching his attire slightly out of shape.
|
|
Eldinan returned to her quarters and set the model on the mantel
|
|
over the fireplace. Her grandfather, owner and captain of _Celene's
|
|
Fire_, had been a risk taker all of his life. He had sailed all over
|
|
Makdiar, and had remained at his ship's helm for years after retirement
|
|
age. Because he actually owned the ship, he was able to do that, though
|
|
the empire made him relinquish his anhekova eventually. Her grandfather
|
|
had just sailed away one day when he was in his eighties, and was never
|
|
heard from again, nor was _Celene's Fire_ ever seen again either.
|
|
Thoughts of her grandfather bolstered Eldinan's confidence. She was
|
|
in love with two people, and she was going to do something about it.
|
|
Fretheod custom, tradition, and law could go hang. The talisman would
|
|
bind her and her lovers together, and that was all that counted. Three
|
|
was a perfect number, perfect for her and Kendil and Nikk, and for the
|
|
talisman that would symbolize their union come the equinox.
|
|
"Thanks, grandfather," she whispered. "Thanks, Orlebb." She smiled,
|
|
looked at the sketch of the talisman's design, and sighed again, but
|
|
this time there was no fear, no regret in that sigh. Just an
|
|
appreciation of the beauty before her on the floor, and the love it
|
|
symbolized.
|
|
|
|
Nikkeus was methodically rummaging through the waste bins of all of
|
|
the craft rooms, searching for suitable materials for the talisman.
|
|
Their plans might have been grandiose, but he was sure that Kendil,
|
|
Elin, and he wouldn't have any problems completing it. These waste bins
|
|
were providing all sorts of useful odds and ends. He had already
|
|
collected plenty of chips of stone -- marble, granite, even the kind of
|
|
gravel that paved paths in the village. More material would be needed
|
|
for the basic disk of the talisman, but he was working on that.
|
|
He was working now on metals for the banding of the knot work. The
|
|
totem beasts would be carved out of the material of the disk, but
|
|
instead of carving the knot work banding into the stone, he was planning
|
|
that indentations would be carved where the bands would go, sort of a
|
|
reverse image of them, and then each of these tracks, or channels, would
|
|
get filled in with different metals. Common metals for him, precious
|
|
metals for Kendil, and, if they could manage it, a glass band for
|
|
Eldinan. Grandiose plans, but the bins were providing all kinds of
|
|
starting materials.
|
|
He levered himself up out of the iron bin and dropped a few scraps
|
|
of that metal on the sledge he was using to collect his bits and pieces.
|
|
When he looked up Orlebb was standing in front of him with one hand
|
|
behind his back.
|
|
"Greetings, Nikkeus," he said. "Hard at work, I see. I hope you
|
|
have some time for a little diversion I have uncovered."
|
|
Nikkeus had heard the stories both Elin and Kendil had told, but
|
|
felt he should form his own opinion. He found that the man was dressed
|
|
well in an over-robe that went from shoulders to the floor, with a large
|
|
opening in the front that revealed the cushion embroidery on the front
|
|
of the tunic underneath the robe. He wore a hat that covered most of the
|
|
sides and back of his head -- not even his ears were visible. The dark
|
|
coloring of the clothes -- reds, browns, and blacks -- emphasized the
|
|
pale coloring of his hands and face. Those eyes were intriguing -- in
|
|
Nikkeus' homeland, odd eyes were a sign of good fortune, though he had
|
|
never seen a pair that were blue and brown.
|
|
Nikkeus said, "Diversion?"
|
|
Orlebb nodded, and brought his hand out from behind his back. In it
|
|
was a lute that was so highly inlaid and carved as to almost be
|
|
something to hang on a wall, not play music on. But to never play that
|
|
instrument would be a crime against nature; Nikkeus instantly saw that
|
|
it had all the hallmarks of an original work of Hrothgrim, one of the
|
|
greatest skaldrics of the empire.
|
|
Nikkeus reached out reverently and took the precious instrument
|
|
from the castellan. His hands moved into position on the neck and over
|
|
the bridge, and he gave it a tentative strum. It was perfectly tuned,
|
|
and the music that came from the sound box was astounding in its
|
|
clarity.
|
|
He didn't look up, but said a heartfelt, "Thank you, Castellan,"
|
|
before beginning to move his fingers across the strings in a sprightly
|
|
ayre. Music filled the room with happiness, every note clearly audible
|
|
equally across the entire room.
|
|
His fingers stopped moving as the song was completed and he looked
|
|
up. Orlebb was staring at the lute, and the corners of his mouth were
|
|
turned just slightly upward. The echoes of the music faded slowly, but
|
|
when they were gone, the castellan blinked and raised his eyes to
|
|
Nikkeus' face, his mouth a straight line again. "Masterful, Nikkeus. You
|
|
play that instrument like a reincarnation of Hrothgrim himself. I was
|
|
right that it belongs in your hands."
|
|
All Nikkeus could do was say, again, "Thank you." His hands moved
|
|
over the instrument, caressing the inlays, the carvings, the strings,
|
|
but his eyes stayed fixed on Orlebb.
|
|
The castellan stared back, and then moved closer. Nikkeus thought
|
|
he could smell a familiar perfume, a special scent of certain Nirmalel
|
|
flowers that he remembered Lessik wearing. Nikkeus just stood there as
|
|
Orlebb got closer and closer, and then he felt the robe pressing against
|
|
his hands on the lute, and the perfume was strong in his nose, and there
|
|
were lips on his, pressing ...
|
|
A moment of confusion and indecision passed, and Nikkeus stepped
|
|
back and said, "No."
|
|
Orlebb looked confused. He said, "No? But ..."
|
|
Nikkeus said, "No. Ah ... thank you for the lute. It is a wonderful
|
|
gift, I'm barely worthy of it. But now I have to get back. Elin and
|
|
Kendil will want to see this. Thank you again, I can't say it enough,
|
|
and good bye."
|
|
Nikkeus raced out of the room, leaving his sledge of iron scraps
|
|
behind. As he traced his way back to his quarters, he reviewed the
|
|
incident in his mind. Orlebb kissing him, how strange. But it was
|
|
probably just the music. The lute had sounded so good, so happy to be
|
|
played again, that the music had just affected Orlebb strangely. The man
|
|
couldn't possibly think that he would want anyone else when he already
|
|
had Elin *and* Kendil! No, it was just the music, just a one-time thing.
|
|
Nothing to worry about, nothing that the others need know.
|
|
Nothing they need know at all.
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
On the Prowl
|
|
Part 2
|
|
by Max Khaytsus
|
|
<khaytsus@cs.colorado.edu>
|
|
Yuli 4-5, 1013
|
|
|
|
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 12-4
|
|
|
|
Note to the Reader: This story takes place in Magnus in the
|
|
summer of 1013, before the beginning of the Baranur-Beinison
|
|
war. This is a prequel to "Rifts" (DZ v7n6). For a better
|
|
understanding of the Bardic College and the bards, it is
|
|
recommended the reader explore John White's "A New Life"
|
|
(FSFnet v5n3) and "Treasure 1" (FSFnet v7n5). The history of
|
|
Codex Araltakonia can be followed in Carlo Samson's "Unwelcome
|
|
Encounter" (DZ v2n3), "Reluctant Revelation" (DZ v3n9), "Take
|
|
From the Tower" (DZ v6n2) and "Resolutions" (DZ v6n5).
|
|
|
|
Yuli 4, 1013 -- Bardic College, Magnus
|
|
|
|
The whole idea of breaking into the Bardic College was absurd. It
|
|
was the type of place that no one contemplated pilfering. The few who
|
|
had, it was rumored, still rested in the catacombs of the compound.
|
|
There was a rumor, though, among the thieves, of a man who just a year
|
|
ago had come and left and carried out a magnificent treasure in the
|
|
process. Pike had no idea who that had been, but if there was indeed
|
|
such a man, he was idolized by Pike, having embodied the traits that he
|
|
now needed.
|
|
Worse yet, unlike his other jobs, Pike could not afford to have
|
|
anyone find out what he was doing here. Not only could he not be
|
|
discovered in the College, but even after he left -- which he hoped to
|
|
do in one night -- no one could ever know who conducted the theft. The
|
|
bards of Baranur were legendary and with their skill and power came lore
|
|
that, blessed by M'Kivar himself, they were invincible. Lore aside, Pike
|
|
knew that the College as an enemy would be rather damaging to his
|
|
career. For that alone, he needed to remain invisible.
|
|
The scaling of the wall was trivial. Since the College was crushed
|
|
between the crowded streets of the Royal Quarter, there was plenty of
|
|
concealment to enable him to challenge the walls. And with the College's
|
|
reputation, no one dared enter the compound with so bold a plan.
|
|
Besides, the secrets were in the buildings, not the gardens, and with
|
|
them, the traps to deter intruders.
|
|
Lying flat on the top of the three foot wide wall, Pike glanced
|
|
into the bardic garden. It was dark, but the light of the moon allowed
|
|
him to see all that he needed. Rows of apple trees lined the walks and
|
|
flowering plots marked the intersections of paths below. A fountain
|
|
gurgled in the distance, with a pale blue light emanating from beneath
|
|
the pool of water at its base. There were only two large buildings that
|
|
Pike focused on. One was the Great Hall, where shadows danced along the
|
|
windows, even at this late hour of the night. If nothing else, Pike knew
|
|
the bards were a celebratory bunch.
|
|
The other building was the library, on the north side of the
|
|
compound. It was far enough from the wall that he would have to climb
|
|
down to make his way there, but climbing down at the base of the wall
|
|
was something he superstitiously wanted to avoid. On his hands and
|
|
knees, Pike crawled the length of the wall, coming to a stop across from
|
|
a small building. The two-story structure stood just a few feet lower
|
|
than the wall and given a good leap, its flat stone roof would make a
|
|
perfect invasion point.
|
|
Up to now, Pike had merely been a curious citizen of Baranur,
|
|
having climbed a wall to look in. No real crime, except the lack of
|
|
common sense, but with one leap, he changed all that. His feet landed
|
|
solidly on the small building's roof and he tucked and rolled, coming to
|
|
a rest not far from the opposite edge of the roof. Getting caught now
|
|
would be a bad thing.
|
|
Pike took a moment to study the garden. It was dark and quiet
|
|
below, with the exclusion of the fountain in the center of the garden.
|
|
The glow emanating from the water attracted Pike's attention, but he
|
|
knew he hadn't the time to play that game. Each moment he took to do
|
|
something other than his job was a moment he risked being discovered. If
|
|
he was caught, he knew he would never leave these walls again.
|
|
Another short building sat across the walkway below. It was maybe a
|
|
little over a dozen feet away, risky if he missed his footing, just fine
|
|
if he did not. Taking a deep breath and several running steps, Pike made
|
|
another leap through the air, landing on the other building. He was now
|
|
well into the garden and still undetected. Now he would need to climb
|
|
down to make his way to the library. Grasping at the rough stones that
|
|
made up the wall, Pike descended to the ground and took a few moments to
|
|
look about, making sure he was indeed alone. The sound of the fountain
|
|
had masked his leaps and descent and continued to aid him as he rushed
|
|
across the garden to the library wall.
|
|
The library was tall -- about fifty feet for the building. Perhaps
|
|
seventy feet tall at the tower. Going in, as he understood it, was best
|
|
accomplished through an indirect approach. Having checked his gear, Pike
|
|
started his climb up the stone wall. Like his descent menes before, he
|
|
climbed without ropes or special precautions. That increased his risk,
|
|
but also enabled him to move faster and be less visible. A rope hanging
|
|
the length of a building was far more a marker than a man in black
|
|
clothes clinging to a wall high in the air. Pike was thankful he was a
|
|
good climber and had no fear of heights. Perhaps if he did, he would
|
|
have chosen a safer, more reputable career, but with this job came
|
|
adventure and he quickly discovered that he needed to live with the
|
|
thrill and the risk. Or rather, he could not live without them.
|
|
The ascent of the Memorial Hall took more time than the rough wall
|
|
of the compound. But this wall was also rough, with stone mortared into
|
|
place exhibiting jagged edges that could be grasped and offered a
|
|
multitude of footholds. The roof, when he reached it, was sloped,
|
|
decorated with colorful windows that looked in on the interior of the
|
|
Memorial Hall.
|
|
"Perfect," Pike muttered. This was the place he wanted to be and
|
|
since the Library was uniformly tall, finding the right section left
|
|
some doubt in his mind as to where the right place to climb was. He
|
|
checked the garden below, then crawled up along the sloping roof to the
|
|
nearest window, where among the multicolored pieces of glass, several
|
|
clear ones offered a view into the building. The white marble floor and
|
|
walls disclosed no people. An advantage in his plan, should the area
|
|
remain unoccupied long enough.
|
|
Pike fished in the pouch on his hip and produced a waxy ball. If it
|
|
did its job, he would make it in.
|
|
Since the picture windows all looked much like the others, Pike
|
|
chose to enter through the one he had perched on. He spread the wax on
|
|
the glass, then lit it. In a few moments, the glass started to melt
|
|
away, producing no drops, but only upward bound vapors. The unburned
|
|
edges remained cool to the touch and the flame itself was never any
|
|
brighter than the moon. If anyone, only the bats would notice his
|
|
presence.
|
|
Anchoring a pin in the roof, Pike slipped the loop of a light cord
|
|
onto it and dropped the other end down. The cord was long enough to
|
|
reach the Memorial Hall floor and just strong enough to carry his
|
|
weight. Pike checked the loop cast over the metal spike one last time
|
|
and lowered himself into the empty corridor. The descent was rapid and
|
|
once he was down, he flipped the rope, allowing the loop to slip off the
|
|
spike and fall down to him. He would use a different escape route, as
|
|
was customary in his trade. Now, unless someone looked directly to that
|
|
picture window, no one would know he was in, and the chances of someone
|
|
studying colored glass against the night sky were relatively slim.
|
|
Pike took residence behind one of the marble sarcophaguses and
|
|
stripped off the black clothes he had worn to blend in with the night.
|
|
The black made for a sharp contrast against the white marble and now
|
|
that he was inside, he needed to make sure he did not stand out. A rich
|
|
blue tunic and a green cloak soon replaced the black clothes. Unless
|
|
someone was to look closely, he seemed much like any bard this late at
|
|
night. Tossing his small pack behind one of the sarcophagus platforms,
|
|
Pike proceeded down the corridor, towards the reading rooms at the south
|
|
end of the building. This late at night they would be relatively empty,
|
|
but because of the nature of the College, he expected to see students
|
|
and attendants even at this late hour.
|
|
The vast Memorial Hall came to a doublewide door -- a good five
|
|
feet wide in each panel and no less than ten feet tall. "About right to
|
|
move a sarcophagus through." Pike glanced back. "What did people have to
|
|
do to deserve being entombed in such a public place, their rest
|
|
eternally disturbed by passing strangers?"
|
|
Adjusting his cloak to hide the lack of a rank pendant, Pike pushed
|
|
on one of the door sections and walked through into a much smaller
|
|
hallway. A sleepy young man shifted in place, casting a glance at Pike.
|
|
His eyes widened and he drew himself to his full height, slightly
|
|
shorter than Pike. His lack of a cloak indicated he was an apprentice,
|
|
unlucky enough to have drawn night duty in the library.
|
|
"Sorry, my lord."
|
|
Pike paused making sure his cloak did not shift out of position. He
|
|
smiled, approaching the young man. "I was a student once, too. Learning
|
|
during the day, doing chores at night. I won't lie that it's easy." He
|
|
glanced up and down the corridor. "The secret is tea leaves. Take the
|
|
whole leaf and chew it while you stand here. It'll help you stave off
|
|
sleep."
|
|
"Thank you, my lord," the apprentice replied.
|
|
"My pleasure." Pike turned and walked to the right, where the
|
|
corridor entered the archive section. This wing, he understood, had
|
|
three floors above ground and at least that many below. The top floors
|
|
held the common books, with some recent historical chronicles. The
|
|
floors below held the rare collections, the archives and the special
|
|
manuscripts that so many outside scholars only dreamed of accessing. He
|
|
needed to reach those lower levels where the tome he was after would be
|
|
kept.
|
|
The echoes of his footsteps stopped at the main Library door and he
|
|
stepped through onto a soft rug. Before him, reaching into the depth of
|
|
the dimly lit room, were rows upon rows of bookcases, some shelves
|
|
bowing under the weight of the texts sitting atop them. He glanced
|
|
about.
|
|
On a balcony above the chamber, toiling below dimly burning oil
|
|
lamps were a dozen scribes. Rumor had it that they were always there,
|
|
working day and night, year round, copying histories and manuscripts for
|
|
wealthy clients, every day of the year, except for the King's Birthday.
|
|
That one holiday of all others was a covenant that indicated the
|
|
College's support of the Crown.
|
|
Pike walked down a row of shelves closest to the wall, glancing
|
|
into the alcoves where researchers would study. He had no hopes of
|
|
finding what he needed and was pleasantly surprised when he discovered a
|
|
sleeping man draped in a green cloak. Smiling at his fortune, Pike
|
|
carefully approached, produced a small white capsule from a pouch on his
|
|
belt and crushed it before the man's face. The sleeper snorted, but did
|
|
not wake up. Rather, Pike knew, he would be sleeping for bells to come.
|
|
Ever so carefully, Pike picked up the man's head and removed his
|
|
rank pendant. This was a Fifth Stave Journeyman, a midway bard, equally
|
|
distant from the apprentices as from the masters. Adding the rank to his
|
|
own costume, Pike proceeded down to the central chamber of the Library,
|
|
where he located a penman arranging books.
|
|
"Brother?" he stopped a few steps short of the man, who must have
|
|
been a senior apprentice, well on his way to becoming a Journeyman.
|
|
"How may I serve you, my lord?" the man stood up, dusting himself
|
|
off from sitting on the floor. "I apologize for my attire."
|
|
"I've just returned from the Harbor Master's office," Pike said. "A
|
|
fortnight ago a thief took a Chalice of Kiliaen that was to be presented
|
|
to the King. The militia requested our aid -- they wanted to know how
|
|
many of the cups are still about and a description to aid in their
|
|
search."
|
|
"I heard about that," the man said. "It was a rather bold theft. I
|
|
imagine the only way to outdo it would be in daylight."
|
|
"Needless to say, the public nature of the theft has encouraged the
|
|
Harbor Master and the militia to request our aid," Pike went on. "We,
|
|
likewise, intend to show a public face and keep the Crown in our debt.
|
|
If you show me where to look, you can return to your ... dusting?"
|
|
"Sorting, my lord. The Master Chronicler is always improving on the
|
|
contents of the Library and the placement of the tomes. This way, if you
|
|
will."
|
|
Pike followed the young bard through the stacks to a downward
|
|
stairway. The young man produced a set of keys that hung on a chain
|
|
around his neck and opened the door. From this point on, Pike was
|
|
venturing into the unknown.
|
|
"Is there anyone I can count on if I need help?"
|
|
"At this time of the night? No. There are just three of us here
|
|
this late, but we're all upstairs. If you need something, come get me."
|
|
"What about the door?" Pike asked. "I have no key."
|
|
"That's right," the apprentice sighed. "You're one of the
|
|
representatives to the Crown." He looked at the rank pendant, thinking
|
|
all the while, then shook his head. "No. I'm afraid I can't loan you my
|
|
keys. Knock on the door when you're ready and I'll come and unlock it.
|
|
I'll try not to stray far from this area."
|
|
"I suppose that will work," Pike agreed.
|
|
They proceeded down into the lower levels of the Library, through
|
|
rooms overcrowded with shelves and busy with works of art. Pike made a
|
|
mental note of remembering where everything was, but suspected that
|
|
smuggling a single book out would be hard enough.
|
|
All of the rooms and corridors were dimly lit by wall candles and
|
|
Pike had to wonder if this was common lighting or what was done for the
|
|
night, since there was clearly little traffic through these parts at
|
|
such a late hour.
|
|
Two levels down, they came to a large room. The plaque on the wall
|
|
read "Baranurian Histories".
|
|
"Any particular method I should use for searching?"
|
|
"The archive list is here," the young bard pointed to the first
|
|
bookcase on the left. "The volumes with the gray spine are catalogs from
|
|
two years ago. The blue spines are ten to fifteen years old. Until the
|
|
scribes are caught up, the two sets complement each other, but neither
|
|
is precise in its content. Be sure you replace everything where you
|
|
found it. The extra candles and torches will be in the containers along
|
|
the walls. And, although I'm sure you've had this lecture many times,
|
|
make sure you don't catch any of the books on fire, my lord. You know
|
|
the consequences as well as I do."
|
|
"Of course," Pike answered, although he had no idea what he was
|
|
being threatened with.
|
|
Left alone in the Histories room, Pike went through the archive
|
|
list books, trying to understand how books were referenced. In most
|
|
libraries he had visited, the works were simply put into sections by
|
|
category -- histories on one wall, sciences on another, fiction, if any,
|
|
in a small box by the fireplace. Here, there were books to say where
|
|
other books were stored. It took some time to understand the method, but
|
|
time was something Pike had plenty of right now. This far underground,
|
|
he could only guess at which bell of night it was in the city, but
|
|
having entered the library in the fourth bell, he knew there was plenty
|
|
of time to get the job done, one way or the other.
|
|
Having deciphered the system used to catalog books, by floor and
|
|
room and row and shelf, Pike located several Kiliaen histories and tithe
|
|
listings and spread them out across a table, leaving the impression of a
|
|
researcher at work. Then he picked up a stack of archive list books and
|
|
went to work on finding the location of Codex Araltakonia, his ultimate
|
|
goal this night. He knew that since the book arrived here only a few
|
|
days before, it could not have possibly been listed, but he knew the
|
|
subject he was after and assumed that finding the right area would make
|
|
for an easier search.
|
|
He returned to the table, sat back in the chair and having kicked
|
|
his feet up on the table, started flipping through the archive lists. By
|
|
the looks of things, Pike needed to make his way one floor down and
|
|
research the Ancient Histories collection. At least that was the place
|
|
the lists indicated books on the Mystics and pre-Fretheodean history
|
|
would reside.
|
|
Leaving the mess of things on the table, Pike returned to the
|
|
stairs and proceeded one level deeper in to the dungeon. He understood
|
|
this third level was the lowest one in the building and the most
|
|
important of books were kept here, under lock and key. Rumor had it that
|
|
the unspoken histories, the mystical truths and the outward lies were
|
|
all safely deposited here, safe from the prying eyes of the outside
|
|
world, beyond the reach of the Crown and the scholars of Baranur. With
|
|
the door locks of each successive level he was taken through becoming
|
|
more complicated, Pike assumed that the very bottom was going to be the
|
|
toughest of them all. He was not disappointed.
|
|
The stair widened at the bottom, opening to what appeared to be a
|
|
metal door. The floor between the last step and the door was a checkered
|
|
pattern of black and white, making no particular design that could be
|
|
understood. This was a deviation from the simple stone and marble floors
|
|
in other areas.
|
|
Pike stopped on the last step. If there really were mystic truths
|
|
and conspiracies that found a home so far underground, with so easy an
|
|
access to the two levels above, a smart master would create complicated
|
|
systems of locks for the actual treasure. Granted it would be hard
|
|
enough for a bard to get here and probably impossible for a non-bard to
|
|
even get into the library, but there was always that enterprising thief
|
|
who would defeat all expectations and for that an architect needed to
|
|
learn to think like a thief.
|
|
Pike knelt, examining the floor. "And the thief will have to learn
|
|
to think like an architect." Nothing in the pattern stood out, but the
|
|
floor was just wide enough that it had to be stepped on to reach the
|
|
door. Pike looked up. No handholds on the walls or ceiling, no way to
|
|
reach the door by other means. How, then?
|
|
He lowered the candle to illuminate the stairs. They were perfect,
|
|
as if cast from a single mold. Each smooth and straight and flowing
|
|
across one another, like a waterfall. Except for the last. The
|
|
bottommost step held a seam in its edge. A possible crack due to age or
|
|
... Pike prodded the stair, then the wall, being careful not to touch
|
|
the floor. In moments, he found an imperfection in the stone that turned
|
|
into a groove, which turned into a lock. He studied the lock. It was
|
|
narrow, slotted. Nothing like the string of keys the bard who took him
|
|
here had carried. Perhaps even he had no access here.
|
|
Pike took the extra fine picks he hardly ever used from his belt
|
|
and inserted them into the lock. With some effort, the pins caught and
|
|
the picks turned the cylinder and the bottom stair slid forward, nearly
|
|
making Pike fall onto the floor.
|
|
Although the extended platform did not reach all the way to the
|
|
door, it was now close enough for Pike to place his picks into the next
|
|
lock and open the door into the last level of the Library.
|
|
The dim corridor inside had the same checkered floor, but no
|
|
visible ledges or footholds or wall breaks to allow someone to walk
|
|
across. Another deception? Pike hesitated, then moved to step on the
|
|
threshold to take a closer look. He considered himself a clever thief,
|
|
but one trap was never enough to deter someone who was truly determined.
|
|
A false trap, though ... His foot froze just short of the threshold. The
|
|
floor was the same, but if there was a trap, it would have to be
|
|
different. The pattern in the floor was merely a design, not the
|
|
mechanism of invocation.
|
|
Pike leapt over the threshold, landing on the checkered floor
|
|
inside the door. Besides the soft echo of feet landing on the floor, no
|
|
other noise disturbed the corridor. Pike turned and examined the
|
|
threshold. It was normal, except for a seam that ran down both sides of
|
|
the frame. Whatever was behind those seams could easily have been
|
|
activated by a careless step.
|
|
Pike studied the corridor on this level. The pattern of the floor
|
|
was a distraction that made his eyes throb even in this dim light. He
|
|
could clearly see several doors on both sides of the corridor. What
|
|
traps did they hold?
|
|
He closed the door to the stairwell. No point to giving away that
|
|
he had made his way this far down. He carefully proceeded down the
|
|
corridor, examining the floor and the walls as he went along. Each door
|
|
had a plaque on it, written in a language he did not know. Some sort of
|
|
runes, perhaps the language that bardic ceremonial speech evolved from.
|
|
Perhaps Fretheod, perhaps some other ancient tongue. Pike did not care.
|
|
Did not really want to know. The problem now was solving which of the
|
|
eight doors was the one he was after. The runes on the doors were his
|
|
only clues and although he could try to open all of the doors and
|
|
explore what was inside, he hadn't the time to do that, nor did he want
|
|
to take the unnecessary risk of activating a trap.
|
|
Opening the small list book he had brought down with him, Pike
|
|
looked at the description of where the books would be. While some
|
|
symbols were runic, forming a pattern was hard. Placing the candle on
|
|
the floor, he sat down to read in more detail. Histories. He was after
|
|
histories. The ones marked with runes appeared to be all different.
|
|
There must be a different filing system on the inside, he guessed, one
|
|
that uses the runes. That, too, was a disadvantage. The book he was
|
|
after he could only reference by the runes on its face, and not being
|
|
able to read them created a serious dilemma.
|
|
But he still had plenty of time.
|
|
Runes, Pike recalled, were to some extent an improvement on the
|
|
ancient practice of communicating by drawing pictures. The runes could
|
|
be grouped into ideas or concepts or things and sets of them represented
|
|
a stream of speech. It was from this ancient intermediate that modern
|
|
language had evolved. He tried to think back to his schooling, to
|
|
remember more, but for now that was it. Conceptual sets. He again
|
|
reviewed the doors. It seemed feasible, but he might as well have been
|
|
looking at a modern foreign tongue. Again he opened the book and studied
|
|
the runes and compared them to the writing on the doors.
|
|
"If I were a mage, I'd put my things here," he confidently
|
|
declared, standing before a door. "And art," he turned to the door
|
|
behind him, "would go behind you." It was all a guess, but it was his
|
|
only chance. Eventually, Pike felt confident he had identified the eight
|
|
categories of the world as a bardic scholar might view them. He came to
|
|
the door behind which he suspected the Codex would be and carefully
|
|
examined the frame. There were no evident keyholes. There was no handle
|
|
and no grip. Just a metal plate set into a carved stone frame. He'd seen
|
|
door designs like this before. They were to trick the careless, not the
|
|
smart. There was a method to use and patience to practice.
|
|
Many years before, Pike's father had given him as a present a small
|
|
Bichanese puzzle box that would come apart into dozens of slivers of
|
|
wood. A careful man who could picture the puzzle in his mind could
|
|
easily put the puzzle together again. The trick was to visualize the
|
|
pieces and it took Pike many years to solve this simple mystery to the
|
|
way things worked.
|
|
The world could also be treated like a puzzle box, but one with
|
|
many more pieces to assemble. Likewise, this door. There could only be
|
|
one lock that held it in place. Anything else would be a trap.
|
|
Similarly, since there was no keyhole in the door, it would have to be
|
|
in the frame. That was an old castle trick used to conceal secret
|
|
passages. Pike ran his fingers up one side and down the other, feeling
|
|
for indentations in the frame that would give access to a lock. He found
|
|
two on his first pass. Two more on the second. The third yielded one.
|
|
When no more locks could be found, Pike studied their placement. In
|
|
order to open a door, the lock had to move a bolt. If there was no bolt,
|
|
the lock was a fake. The trick was finding where the bolt entered the
|
|
door. That was more complicated, since the seam between the metal plate
|
|
and the wall was so tight. If he had time, he could use the flow of
|
|
water or the direction of a draft to identify the right spot, but he had
|
|
neither the time, nor the proper tools. But he did have an advantage.
|
|
The door was metal and a hollow in the metal, where the bolt would fall,
|
|
would echo. At least that trick worked with rock.
|
|
Pike took a lockpick from his pouch and using the metal tip, tapped
|
|
on the door. The center was solid. So were the sides. He slowly tapped
|
|
his way across the door, just inside the frame, listening for any
|
|
changes in the sound. On the right side, at chest level, he heard a dull
|
|
tap, indicating a hollow space. The spot he found coincided with one of
|
|
the locks.
|
|
"Thank you, father!" he said with a laugh.
|
|
He placed the pick in the concealed slot and slowly worked on the
|
|
lock. It was a tough lock, one many experts would have given up on, but
|
|
Pike hadn't the luxury, now that he had gone so far. Menes slowly
|
|
passed, until he heard a barely audible click and was able to rotate the
|
|
pick and the cylinder it now grasped. As he completed the rotation of
|
|
the lock, a knob sprang from the door, aligned with another lock in the
|
|
frame. Pike exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath. Had he
|
|
sounded the door in the other direction, he would have found the trapped
|
|
lock first.
|
|
The knob also required a key, but it was a smaller lock, less
|
|
complex. It took no time to pick. Pike stood up, looking over the door
|
|
one last time. It was a complicated trap, but not beyond his abilities.
|
|
Replacing the pick in his pouch, Pike turned the knob and pulled open
|
|
the door.
|
|
The room inside was dark, barely illuminated by the candle he held.
|
|
There was a table and a chair and further back and above them, a pair of
|
|
golden eyes, looking back at him. He gasped, stepping back, ready to
|
|
slam the door closed. The eyes also gasped, blinking once and tilting a
|
|
little to the side.
|
|
Pike decided to stand his ground. He lifted the candle higher and
|
|
advanced into the room. A sword would have been good to have right now,
|
|
but the nature of this job required that he not be armed. The light
|
|
slowly revealed a worktable with bottles and jars and flasks. A crucible
|
|
stood on the corner of the table next to a small metal case. As he
|
|
advanced a few steps, the light of the candle reached the back wall and
|
|
revealed a dog-sized animal with leathery skin in a cage it could not
|
|
possibly have been comfortable in. The animal sat upright, like a man,
|
|
looking back at Pike, as if waiting for him to do something. Its face,
|
|
far from human, expressed no readable emotion, merely offering a stare
|
|
of anticipation. Rather than a pet cat, Pike had found some kind of an
|
|
imp.
|
|
"What the ..."
|
|
The creature's head rose and it blinked. In a raspy voice, it
|
|
repeated, "What the ..."
|
|
That was more than enough for Pike. The room was clearly not a
|
|
library and the beast was far more than he wanted to deal with. In fact,
|
|
he would have been happier to find a guard with a sword. Pike backed out
|
|
of the room and closed the door, having pressed the knob back into the
|
|
body of the door.
|
|
Given a choice, Pike would have abandoned the job then and there,
|
|
but he had gone too far, was too close. He could not afford to back away
|
|
from the job now. Having wasted the better part of a bell eliminating
|
|
one of the doors, Pike returned to the archive lists. He again tediously
|
|
sifted through the listings, trying to match the runes to the labels on
|
|
the doors. Eventually, he settled on a different plaque and again got to
|
|
work on the door. This time, he knew what to look for.
|
|
First, he tapped out the door, finding the two spots that sounded
|
|
hollow. One was the bolt slide and the other the knob. Each had a
|
|
concealed lock in the frame of the wall, but there was no way of telling
|
|
which was which and with these two in different positions than the two
|
|
on the previous wall, Pike was not going to tempt fate by trying one
|
|
randomly.
|
|
Returning to the first door, Pike studied the section where the
|
|
knob had appeared. It was nearly impossible to see, but a seam in the
|
|
metal, ever so faint, formed a circle in the body of the door. Pike
|
|
traced the same circle on the second door and confirmed the placement of
|
|
the lock. Again, he took the time to pick it, slowly placing the picks
|
|
in the lock, so that the pins remained in position to allow the cylinder
|
|
to rotate. The lock clicked and once again, a knob popped out from the
|
|
door.
|
|
"These bards aren't as mystical as they want the outside world to
|
|
think," Pike chuckled.
|
|
A few more moments and the lock in the knob was undone. Now it was
|
|
time for another moment of truth and Pike was hoping that this dungeon
|
|
was limited to a single imp, restricted to the room he had already
|
|
tried. Granted the creature probably wasn't the worst thing that could
|
|
happen to him here, but it was sufficiently startling to force Pike to
|
|
hesitate. Having mentally prepared himself for another surprise, Pike
|
|
opened the door. Again, it was a dark room, but this one clearly
|
|
containing shelves loaded with books.
|
|
"Please, Rozaquay," Pike sighed and stepped inside, allowing the
|
|
door to close behind him. To his surprise, the metal body of the door
|
|
turned transparent, allowing him to view the dim corridor outside.
|
|
"Perhaps there is still some mysticism left to the bards," Pike
|
|
muttered.
|
|
Picking a torch in a wall sconce, Pike held the candle to it,
|
|
allowing its head to catch fire. The increased light illuminated the
|
|
room, but not enough to reasonably see past the first few rows of
|
|
shelves. On the left wall stood several tables and chairs, with books,
|
|
parchment and ink bottles scattered across the tabletops. Pike cast a
|
|
cursory glance at the books, then proceeded into the stacks, taking the
|
|
first volume he reached off the shelf and flipping it open. The
|
|
lettering was not runic, but it was a language Pike did not understand.
|
|
He tossed the book aside and took another one off a different shelf. The
|
|
embossed title on the rich cover read "History of the Ancient World".
|
|
Pike flipped it open to the middle and reviewed the text.
|
|
|
|
In the second month of the war, the Queen died. Osgeofu
|
|
crowned himself, and declared Tilgeofu's followers outlaws.
|
|
The war began to go against the rebel brother, but Fretheod
|
|
was suffering more.
|
|
|
|
He wanted to read further, but Pike realized he had not the time to
|
|
make his way through all the books. If this tome was any indication, he
|
|
had found the histories. Now he needed to locate the Codex Araltakonia.
|
|
And keeping the size of the room in mind, doing that was going to be a
|
|
chore.
|
|
Tossing aside the volume he held, Pike ventured into the shelves in
|
|
search of his target. He hoped that the collection was organized in some
|
|
sensible way. His own grandfather used to arrange books by title, but in
|
|
later years he changed the ordering, having preferred to arrange the
|
|
works by the names of their authors. Pike had never really took an
|
|
interest in how books were best stored, but now he hoped the bards were
|
|
good at making this complicated system an easy one to explore.
|
|
What complicated matter was that the Codex was not written in the
|
|
Baranurian tongue. He had with him a copied image of the front cover, a
|
|
series of runes that looked much like anything else he could not read.
|
|
Pike checked the first bookcase by the door, in hopes of finding
|
|
the archive list, but there was no indication that such records had been
|
|
kept in this room and the only hope of finding the Codex Araltakonia was
|
|
to understand the shelving system in this room. A quick search revealed
|
|
that the individual bookcases were ordered by eras of the world,
|
|
covering specific wars, events and countries, but Pike knew nothing
|
|
about the nature of the Codex Araltakonia and in this assortment of
|
|
shelves and books, it could be anywhere. Perhaps it wasn't a history at
|
|
all. Its name sounded mystical. Could it have been a tome of magic
|
|
rather than history?
|
|
In an act of desperation, he ventured back into the stacks, pulling
|
|
books off the shelves one at a time, trying to find his target volume.
|
|
Anything that was titled in Baranurian was ignored. Titles in Galician
|
|
and Benosian, which Pike could not read, but could recognize, were cast
|
|
aside. Same was the fate of any other book that did not have runes on
|
|
the cover. The task was monumental and as time passed, Pike stopped his
|
|
furious, fruitless search. The only thing he found that seemed
|
|
interesting was a book titled "Chronicles of Voldronnai" and the only
|
|
reason that title had caught his eye was because Mount Voldronnai was in
|
|
his native Arvalia. In either case, the book was an excellent symbol of
|
|
his lack of progress.
|
|
At the rate he was progressing through the room, Pike figured a
|
|
complete search would have him here for the better part of Yuli, and his
|
|
original plan didn't have him here later than the eighth bell of the
|
|
night. He needed a new strategy for resolving this impasse.
|
|
He returned to the doorway and looked out into the corridor. The
|
|
transparent door was novel. It gave him a sense of security, locked away
|
|
in the bowels of the Bardic College. He hoped no one would show up in
|
|
this level of the dungeon and try coming in, although he would certainly
|
|
have plenty of warning. He hoped, as he admired its appearance, that the
|
|
invisibility on the door was not bi-directional.
|
|
Pike turned to the three reading tables next to the door. Just by
|
|
looking at them it was easy to tell that this room saw a fair amount of
|
|
traffic. Pike had hoped that that traffic had already delivered the
|
|
Codex. The information he was given indicated that the book came to
|
|
Magnus aboard the _Storm Challenger_, the same ship whose sail helped
|
|
him escape from Fort Point a fortnight ago. Ironic that he and the book
|
|
were in the same place at the same time, but he had no idea this job
|
|
would be offered to him the following morning.
|
|
That same night, the book was taken off the ship and transferred to
|
|
the scholars at the Bardic College, perhaps the only place the Crown
|
|
felt the book could be properly appraised. The High Mage Marcellon, Pike
|
|
was told, was visiting friends in Dargon. Otherwise, Pike would have
|
|
been breaking into the Crown Castle, on the far side of the Magnus
|
|
garrison. In a way, being a room away from a demonic imp seemed far
|
|
safer than stalking the High Mage of Baranur.
|
|
If the Codex was not here, where would it be? Pike was specifically
|
|
told to look among the ancient histories collection. This was the place.
|
|
The question was where was the book?
|
|
He sat in one of the chairs and, kicking his feet up on the table,
|
|
opened the book on Mount Voldronnai. Perhaps a page or two would be
|
|
sufficient to distract him. True to personal tradition, he started
|
|
reading the book from the middle.
|
|
|
|
With Fretheod poised for even greater accomplishments
|
|
came contact with the Eelail of Zinisjebirma. As fate would
|
|
have it, the contact occurred at the trouble-besieged
|
|
Wudamund. A party of Dopkalfar warriors exploring the northern
|
|
frontiers of their land came upon the Fretheod watchtower. The
|
|
Emperor had personally charged the commander of the tower with
|
|
the task of protecting it from any imaginable harm. The
|
|
commander did not know what made the tower so important to His
|
|
Majesty, only that the Emperor had said, "If Wudamund falls,
|
|
so does Fretheod."
|
|
The commander, seeing an armed party advancing on his
|
|
tower, issued two orders. The first, to attack and kill the
|
|
hapless 'invaders'. The second, to send word to the Emperor
|
|
that Wudamund was under attack.
|
|
Fretheod reacted swiftly. Seeing the base of Fretheod
|
|
power endangered, the Emperor took no chances. Nearly all of
|
|
Fretheod's military might was brought down on the Eelail
|
|
kingdom in the depth of Cherisk's Darst.
|
|
For their part, the Eelail were confused by this
|
|
unprovoked attack. The Ljosalfar wanted to escape from the
|
|
invading hordes and hide in the trackless wilderness. Their
|
|
Dopkalfar cousins were much less willing to give ground.
|
|
Tension between the two groups reached such a high level that
|
|
for a time it seemed as if the Eelail would be fighting one
|
|
another as well as the Fretheod.
|
|
|
|
This was a history new to Pike. He sat upright, placing the book on
|
|
the table. He was familiar with the story of the Fretheod, but he had
|
|
never heard of the Eelail kingdom and for a moment found himself
|
|
enthralled by the book. He remembered childhood stories of the Eelail,
|
|
the spirits of the night that were brought upon the land as punishment
|
|
for dishonoring the gods, but Dopkalfar and Ljosalfar were names
|
|
unfamiliar to him and the concept of Eelail countries and armies was
|
|
completely foreign. Spirits, he imagined, wouldn't organize themselves
|
|
into proper societies. And he had no reason to believe in the spirits
|
|
themselves. They were a fiction fabricated to scare troublesome
|
|
children, such as he was, into cleaning up after themselves and not
|
|
going outside at night. Yet, the text had caught his attention. Flipping
|
|
the pages to the beginning, Pike continued reading.
|
|
|
|
When the All Creator had formed Makdiar, He ordered
|
|
Thyerin, the master of elements, to cast the molds that would
|
|
give it character. Thyerin first gave weight to the earth and
|
|
lightness to the air and let them separate the dimensions of
|
|
the Creation. He then dug deep pools to allow the waters to
|
|
hug the earth and flow through the crevices in the Creation's
|
|
face and as the All Creator punctured small holes in the
|
|
fabric of the sky, Thyerin punctured identical ones in the
|
|
earth that He molded. From these lacerations came the fire
|
|
that gave warmth. The fire reached for the sky as the water
|
|
seeped into the ground. They were the shapers of the land and
|
|
the architects of its features.
|
|
The water cut the rock and refreshed the earth. It gave
|
|
life to the plants that covered the Creation. It gave shelter
|
|
to the fish and nourishment to the animals. And the gods cast
|
|
man and woman into the land that they forged.
|
|
The fire reached upwards, covering the Creation in
|
|
warmth. Its brightness cut the night from day and staved off
|
|
the cold. And using it, the gods created a great ball of flame
|
|
that would stand in the sky, casting its warmth and light on
|
|
all the creatures below. And Makdiar thrived and flourished
|
|
and grew so fast that the gods could no longer control it.
|
|
They forced the wind to carry the fire and had it move across
|
|
the land, so that no part of Creation would be allowed to grow
|
|
unchecked. And they let the darkness bring cold and from the
|
|
darkest magic of all, They created the Eelail spirits to own
|
|
the night as man owned the day.
|
|
|
|
This was a legend that Pike was already familiar with and flipping
|
|
a few pages ahead, he continued reading from the beginning of the next
|
|
section.
|
|
|
|
The first recorded history on Makdiar is that of the
|
|
Eelail civilization on Cherisk. While humans the world over
|
|
were barely entering the beginnings of a structured tribal
|
|
culture, the Eelail flourished. For three millennia the Eelail
|
|
advanced in society, magic and science, ultimately rising to a
|
|
position from which they dominated all facets of life on
|
|
Cherisk.
|
|
The Eelail kingdom was not as stable as outward
|
|
appearances indicated. Long-standing friction between the two
|
|
tribes of Eelail, the northern Ljosalfar and the southern
|
|
Dopkalfar, made the governing of the kingdom increasingly
|
|
difficult as each tribe sought to take the kingdom in its own
|
|
direction, the isolationist Ljosalfar wishing to let the rest
|
|
of Cherisk develop on its own, the aggressive Dopkalfar
|
|
favoring a direct method of influencing society on the
|
|
continent. Somehow, the kingdom of the Eelail successfully
|
|
maintained its hold on Cherisk, the internal bickering
|
|
strangely lending energy to all the kingdom's activities. Thus
|
|
did Zinisjebirma, continue for the next millennium.
|
|
An event then occurred that was to have far-reaching
|
|
consequences. A group of people who called themselves Azannoi
|
|
arose in northern Duurom. The Azannoi civilization grew
|
|
rapidly, from a tribal level to that of a highly-advanced
|
|
kingdom, in the space of only three decades.
|
|
The Azannoi spread across Makdiar, studying instead of
|
|
conquering wherever they went. What knowledge they must have
|
|
amassed before their disappearance can only be guessed at. In
|
|
their millennium of existence, the Azannoi forever altered the
|
|
course of history on Makdiar. It is widely believed that magic
|
|
as it is known at present, particularly mind sourced magic, is
|
|
largely the legacy of the Azannoi that intermarried with the
|
|
native populations they encountered during their journeys ...
|
|
|
|
Pike lifted his head, trying to absorb what he had read. Arvalia,
|
|
this book claimed, had roots on the other side of the world. He
|
|
contemplated the text he had read. Did this mean anything to him
|
|
personally? This could be just fiction. Reflexively, Pike glanced at the
|
|
spine of the book, trying to determine if this was one of the ones that
|
|
would grace the big bin just beyond the fireplace in his grandfather's
|
|
library. The black leather cover gave away nothing but the name of the
|
|
work. He looked at the other books on the table before him. All leather
|
|
bound, thick with yellowing pages and ...
|
|
Realizing that his gaze was focused on a familiar seal in the spine
|
|
of a book lying on the table, Pike jumped to his feet and flipped the
|
|
book over. The front cover was labeled with runes, surrounding a large
|
|
gold symbol in the center. Pike took out the parchment with the sketch
|
|
that represented the binding of the Codex. The comparison of the two
|
|
left nothing to be desired.
|
|
"I should have realized they'd want to look at it first," Pike
|
|
reflected.
|
|
He was now ahead of his schedule and ready for the next part of the
|
|
plan. Taking out a knife, he carefully cut the tome from its binding,
|
|
placing the two parts of the book to the side. He needed another book of
|
|
a similar size. The Chronicles of Voldronnai, which had fallen to the
|
|
floor, was about right. Pike picked up the book, glancing at the text on
|
|
the pages that were opened by the book's fall.
|
|
|
|
It took a full cycle of the moon for the Eelail to
|
|
complete their escape. The cost was enormous. Fully half the
|
|
Ljosalfar and two-thirds of the Dopkalfar had perished. The
|
|
trauma of five years of bloody warfare totally destroyed the
|
|
Eelail civilization. No longer would the Eelail Council chart
|
|
the course of the Eelail people. Seeking safety in anonymity,
|
|
the Eelail broke up into small family groups and established
|
|
villages throughout northwest Cherisk in what is now Baranur's
|
|
northwest. With good reason, the Eelail turned their backs on
|
|
the world and would have nothing to do with anyone, least of
|
|
all humans.
|
|
With the victory over the Eelail, the Fretheod army came
|
|
home and things began to return to normal, but five months
|
|
after the victorious return of his legions, King Althweil died
|
|
suddenly, leaving the empire to his pregnant wife, Queen
|
|
Earnfled. Thus were the seeds of Fretheod's demise planted.
|
|
|
|
In spite of wanting to read more, Pike picked up his dagger and
|
|
carefully cut the leather binding from the pages inside. Personal
|
|
desires conflicted with the job and only one right thing could happen
|
|
now.
|
|
He placed the Chronicles of Voldronnai in the binding of the Codex
|
|
Araltakonia and replaced the book on the table, among the other volumes
|
|
there. He then quickly tidied up the bookshelves where he had conducted
|
|
his search and, finally inserting the body of the Codex Araltakonia into
|
|
the bindings of the Chronicles of Voldronnai, headed for the door. The
|
|
puzzle that he had to solve to get into the room was easy to solve from
|
|
this side. The knob was on the inside of the door and pressing it back
|
|
into the transparent body forced the door to become opaque and open.
|
|
Casting one last glance inside the room, Pike exited into the corridor
|
|
and allowed the door to close behind him. It blended back into the wall,
|
|
becoming a seamless metal plate.
|
|
At the stairwell door Pike paused again. Did traps coming out match
|
|
traps coming in? Paranoid bards would want it that way. Pike examined
|
|
the door, then satisfied that it was not trapped, pulled it open. The
|
|
lip of the bottom stair extended part way across the landing and Pike
|
|
stepped onto it, pulling the door behind himself closed. The stair
|
|
retracted on its own, placing the wide moat between him and the inner
|
|
sanctum of the Bardic Library.
|
|
"They certainly don't want people to linger, do they?" Pike asked
|
|
no one in particular.
|
|
He walked back up the stairs to the room he had started in. He had
|
|
what he needed. Now it was a matter of carrying it out. He had not heard
|
|
the bells of Magnus since he entered the Memorial Hall and ultimately
|
|
that complicated things. But that wasn't a big problem, either.
|
|
Pike quickly cleaned up the mess of books he had left spread out on
|
|
the table, saving one for last. Again, using his dagger, he cut the
|
|
binding off the Kiliaen book and switched its cover with the Chronicles
|
|
of Voldronnai cover, containing the Codex Araltakonia. This muddled the
|
|
trail even more, but not for more than a day and he still needed to
|
|
leave the Bardic College before the switch was discovered. Long before
|
|
sunrise, so that his wellbeing could be assured.
|
|
As Pike had feared, the Codex Araltakonia was far too big to
|
|
conceal comfortably anywhere without drawing too much attention as he
|
|
exited the reading rooms. Getting the book out would have to be done in
|
|
a more forceful manner. Pike left the volume on a shelf, then walked
|
|
back up the stairs and knocked on the locked door. Shortly, the penman
|
|
who had let him in opened the door.
|
|
"Are you done, my lord?"
|
|
"Just about. I needed some help tracking down another reference and
|
|
then I should be able to retire for the night."
|
|
"More like morning, my lord. We're just past the seventh bell now."
|
|
Pike sighed. "I'd like to take that as a sign of getting a lot
|
|
accomplished."
|
|
"Have you, my lord?"
|
|
Pike turned back down the stairs, shaking his head. "I tell myself
|
|
that, but I haven't all the answers."
|
|
"What exactly were you hoping to discover, if I may?" The scribe
|
|
hurried to catch up to him.
|
|
"Things are traditionally stolen for two reasons -- monetary gain
|
|
or a personal collection. If stolen for money, there must be a market
|
|
for the item. In this case, most likely a private collection." Pike
|
|
paused, looking at his companion. "Makes sense?"
|
|
"I suppose, my lord," the man answered. He was clearly one of those
|
|
that never saw the light of day over the books. There was absolutely no
|
|
sign of street knowledge in him.
|
|
"A collection, as I'm sure you realize, must belong to someone who
|
|
will meet two qualifications. First, they must have the money to make
|
|
the purchase or theft of the item possible. Second, and perhaps more
|
|
importantly, they must have an interest in what they have stolen or had
|
|
stolen for them. No one would collect things they are not interested
|
|
in."
|
|
"So you're looking for someone with cause and means," the penman
|
|
guessed.
|
|
"Exactly! But there is more here. Kiliaen was once a part of
|
|
Quinnat. If you look at the maps, you'll see where the border was cut.
|
|
Three hundred years ago, Sir Duncan Tallirhan, the very first Duke of
|
|
Quinnat and brother to the then King Stefan Tallirhan, was giving his
|
|
daughter away in marriage. It was a political alliance with a tribal
|
|
lord who did not recognize the Kingdom of Baranur. The marriage carried
|
|
a dowry of land and with it the status of making the enemy an equal and
|
|
a Duke. Over the years, each time a child was born to this alliance, a
|
|
new chalice was commissioned to bind the ties for the two powers. There
|
|
were eight." Pike paused as they entered the Baranurian Histories room.
|
|
He was rather pleased with himself for having gotten the bard's ear. He
|
|
indicated for the penman to sit.
|
|
"Over the last three centuries the Chalices became a symbol of
|
|
Kiliaen and that placed them in high demand. It's not really known when,
|
|
but two of the Chalices were sent to Magnus early on. Two more
|
|
disappeared during the Great Houses War. Now a third Chalice was to be
|
|
given to the King. This would have given Baranur and Kiliaen an equal
|
|
number. Instead, three are now gone."
|
|
"So who'd want to do that?" the young bard asked.
|
|
"That's the big secret," Pike said. "And the answer is most
|
|
interesting." He reached into his pouch and took out another capsule.
|
|
"In fact, this will go a long way ..." He crushed the capsule before the
|
|
bard and the man slumped forward.
|
|
"This will go a long way," Pike repeated, "towards helping you not
|
|
trust people you don't know." He pushed the bard back in the chair,
|
|
making sure he would not fall over. "I'm sure someone will find you in a
|
|
couple of bells and you can spin quite a tale for them. I'm sure you're
|
|
much better at this than I. Good night."
|
|
Retrieving the bard's keys and the book, Pike headed back up the
|
|
stairs. He made sure that every door with a lock along the way was
|
|
closed and when he entered the main stacks of the library, he placed the
|
|
large tome under his arm and calmly walked out. The only witnesses were
|
|
the scribes copying books and with all the squinting they did in the dim
|
|
light, he did not think they would be credible in the morning.
|
|
In the outer corridor, Pike again ran across the sleepy guard.
|
|
"Good night," he said calmly.
|
|
"Good night, my lord. Or rather, good morning."
|
|
Pike gave the young man a smile and hurried down the corridor,
|
|
deliberately passing the entrance to the Memorial Hall. He could no
|
|
longer use that chamber as a means of escape. The window above the hall
|
|
was too high for him to reach and the large door on the other end exited
|
|
directly in front of the Great Hall of the main building and Pike did
|
|
not want to have any unnecessary encounters. He felt comfortable
|
|
confounding bards one at a time, but faced with a large group, he did
|
|
not believe he could sell them on who he was pretending to be.
|
|
The plan to get the book out involved a simple escape, assuming
|
|
Rozaquay had been humored by his exploits in the night. As planned
|
|
earlier, Pike had come in over the west wall, from a residential area,
|
|
and his escape was to take him south, through the market, where getting
|
|
lost in a mazelike environment was hardly a challenge at all.
|
|
The corridor Pike was in exited in the garden on the east side of
|
|
the library. That put him behind the Great Hall and, with any luck,
|
|
concealed from any prying eyes. He spun about, looking for anyone who
|
|
might chance upon him in this early morning hour. Nothing moved in the
|
|
garden, leaving only the gurgling of the glowing fountain and the
|
|
rustling of the leaves on the trees. Not having had the opportunity to
|
|
do so on his way in, Pike pulled an apple off one of the trees leaning
|
|
over the path. It was a young, green apple, still a touch bitter and
|
|
hard, but curiosity satisfied, Pike continued on to the wall. He would,
|
|
he thought, leave the fountain for another day, so that he had reason to
|
|
return to the Bardic College. For now, with his task accomplished, he
|
|
needed to escape while he had the protection of darkness.
|
|
After the sun rose and the bards in the library started waking up,
|
|
they would no doubt discover that they had fallen victim to a thief in
|
|
the night. There would be plenty of witnesses and sufficient evidence,
|
|
ranging from the pack left behind in the Memorial Hall, to the missing
|
|
window, which would no doubt stand out as soon as the rays of the sun
|
|
fell on the Memorial Hall. And then, they would find that he took a
|
|
book. The Bardic College would be an interesting place to watch then,
|
|
but by the time they discover what he had taken, he would be closer to
|
|
Gateway than to Magnus.
|
|
Pike climbed the rough stone wall with perfect ease, reaching the
|
|
top of it as the Stevenic Church down the street marked the eighth bell
|
|
of the night. Before descending into the market, Pike turned and gave
|
|
the Bardic College a parting glance. If there had been no others, he was
|
|
the first man to break into and out of the College. If there were
|
|
others, then he was in the company of a select few, whose tales would
|
|
never be sung by the bards inside.
|
|
With a soft chuckle, he descended the other side of the wall and
|
|
fled into the night.
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|