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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 13
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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 8
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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: 8/31/2000
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Volume 13, Number 8 Circulation: 756
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========================================================================
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Contents
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Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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Magestorm 3 Mark A. Murray Sy-Ober 1017
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Talisman Five 3 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Sy 27-28, 1010
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Loren Armare 1 Max Khaytsus Yuli 4-5, 1014
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========================================================================
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DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
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collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
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We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
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Please address all correspondence 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 13-8, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright August, 2000 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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Once upon a time, DargonZine had a problem: we had a surfeit of
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really long stories, and had to figure out how to publish them.
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|
Unfortunately, we couldn't increase the size of our issues without
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having some email systems reject them due to their size. In order to
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print these larger stories without increasing issue size, we had to
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either print issues which contained just one story, or serialize those
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longer stories into several chapters which could share several issues
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with other stories.
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Prior to 1994, we generally opted for the former, and a number of
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stories were printed that filled an entire issue. However, those
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monolithic issues weren't very satisfying and didn't portray the
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diversity of Dargon stories and writers. Therefore, in 1994 we decided
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to stop printing single-story issues. Since then we've tried to fit two
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or three stories into every issue, and broken longer stories up into
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smaller parts that spanned multiple mailings. The thinking behind that
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change was validated by the feedback we received from our readers. Our
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Web site's questionnaire indicated that 57 percent of our readers
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favored serializing long stories, 32 percent favored printing longer
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stories unbroken, and 11 percent had no preference.
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However, today we're facing a different problem: too many serials.
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This issue is a case in point; it contains the first chapter in a
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three-part series by Max Khaytsus, the third in a five-part series from
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Mark Murray, and the third in a three-part series from Dafydd, which is
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in itself just one chapter in his Talisman story arc that has now
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spanned an amazing twenty issues. While serialization seemed like a good
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way to handle the occasional large story back in '94, we have to admit
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that we have a problem today, when only three of the 21 stories printed
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this year haven't been part of a serial.
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While longer stories give the author the opportunity to develop a
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more intricate plot and establish more depth in their characters and
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their relationships, a preponderance of serials can make the magazine
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less accessible and enjoyable. Our new readers receive their first issue
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of DargonZine, only to discover that it contains three ongoing
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storylines that cannot be fully enjoyed without going back and finding
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several prior installments. That's discouraging. To address that, we as
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authors have tried to provide enough background information within each
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installment so that it can be enjoyed even if you didn't read (or don't
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remember) prior chapters. But that's only a partial solution, and it
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comes at the cost of potentially annoying other readers who are familiar
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with those prior works and don't want that background material repeated
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in every story they read. And no matter how familiar you are with the
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milieu, an issue where none of the stories reach their climax and
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conclusion tends to feel incomplete and unsatisfying.
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Fortunately, this year's bumper crop of serialized stories is just
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a temporary divergence from the balance we try to maintain between long
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and short works. One of the big reasons for the recent prevalence of
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serials has been Dafydd's Talisman series, which is a huge story arc,
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the likes of which we're unlikely to see again soon. And Max's "Loren
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Armare", which begins in this issue, is less like an ongoing series and
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more like three standalone tales which are linked only peripherally.
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Finally, there are a number of single-part short stories currently in
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the works that will soon bring our issues back into balance. I'm excited
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to bring those to you because it will give us the opportunity to bring
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you stories from more writers, and make each and every issue a more
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rewarding and enjoyable read.
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So while it's true that we've been printing an awful lot of
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multi-part serials lately, we will shortly be bringing you a more
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diverse lineup that includes both short stories as well as longer works
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from writers both familiar and new. But in the meantime, enjoy these
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lengthier stories for the kind of fiction they can provide. We hope to
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be mixing things up again real soon!
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========================================================================
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Magestorm
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Part 3
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by Mark A. Murray
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<mashudo@netzero.net>
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Sy-Ober 1017
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Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 13-6
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The dust blew up and over and around the wagon. At times, the dust
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seemed thin and light while at other times, it was thick and gritty. The
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lead wagon in the caravan caught part of it, the second wagon caught
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more, while the third and last got all the dust.
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"I'm beginning," Lylle choked out, "to hate traveling." He was in
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the third wagon and no matter which way he twisted or turned his thin,
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wiry-framed body, he couldn't escape the dust.
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"Sit still!" Niatha yelled, then coughed as the dirt-filled air
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rushed into his mouth. He was sitting next to Lylle and every time Lylle
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leaned his way, he got crushed between Lylle and the seat. Niatha looked
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like a large cat with glistening velvety fur and a long tail. What he
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had that no cat had was a pair of wings. Lylle, Raphael, and Merrif were
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the only ones who could see Niatha as he truly was. Everyone else saw a
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common black cat.
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"Did you say something?" Merrif asked, riding up next to the wagon.
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He was riding an old mare that would stop every so often and munch on
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some grass until Merrif could get her head up and get her moving
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forward. The dust didn't seem to faze the mare at all, but Merrif wasn't
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so blessed. He moved her away from the wagon to escape the dust.
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"I said that I hate traveling!" Lylle answered.
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"Not you," Merrif said. "I was asking Niatha." Lylle started to say
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something, but instead he sucked dust into his mouth and choked.
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"He's crushing me," Niatha complained. "Why can't I ride with you?"
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"Because Rilla would get upset," Merrif explained. "Wouldn't you
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Rilla?" He bent forward and patted the mare's neck.
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"She wouldn't get upset if you shot her full of arrows," Niatha
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retorted.
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"Merrif!" Raphael called. He was riding a horse, also. His horse
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was larger and more energetic. It was so energetic that Raphael had his
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hands full controlling him. "We'll stop soon."
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"So soon?" Merrif asked. "We aren't getting anywhere with stopping
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all the time," he complained. His long brown hair whipped around in the
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wind and dust while his scraggly and bushy beard protected part of his
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face. He was tall and skinny, but against the wind, he slumped forward.
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Merrif was impatient because at the end of this journey he was hoping to
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find the goddess Illiena.
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"Straight," Lylle choked out. "I can't wait to stop," he said.
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"Get this human off of me," Niatha complained.
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"The caravan has a set route, Merrif," Raphael answered. "They
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don't deviate from it unless they have to. We stop soon."
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"Thank Illiena!" Niatha spouted. Merrif whipped his head toward
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Niatha and in the process lost his balance. He nearly fell off Rilla,
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barely managing to grab her mane in a last, desperate attempt at holding
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on to something. "Wha ... what did you say?" he asked after he righted
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himself.
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"I didn't say anything," Niatha replied.
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"No, I heard you say something. Was that a prayer to Illiena?"
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"No, it was --" Niatha was interrupted as the wagon bumped and
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bounced. Lylle was tossed in the air and bounced back down, landing
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partially on Niatha. "Ouch!" Niatha yelled. "Stop this wagon! Anything
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has to be better than this!" The wagon stopped. "What?" Niatha asked,
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surprise showing on his face.
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"They've stopped," Merrif said.
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"So they have," Niatha replied sarcastically. "I'm glad you pointed
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that out. I might not have noticed."
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"Get down and shake the dust off," Raphael told Lylle and Niatha.
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"I've got to help set up camp." He turned his horse and rode to the
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front of the caravan.
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"Get down," Lylle mocked Raphael in a high pitched voice. "And
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shake the dust."
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"Quit whining," Niatha retorted. "You weren't crushed most of the
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way."
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"He can't hear you Niatha," Merrif said.
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"I know that," Niatha hissed. "So tell him to move so I can get
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down off this wagon!"
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"Niatha wants you to move," Merrif explained. Lylle turned and
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looked down. Niatha's brows were drawn down and his eyes were narrowed.
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The tip of his tail was flipping back and forth and his ears were laid
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back.
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"He looks angry," Lylle said. He turned back towards Merrif and
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started to climb out of the wagon. Niatha stood slowly, letting each leg
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stretch out before putting weight on it. Lylle grabbed onto the wagon
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tightly as he climbed down, groaning with every move.
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Merrif leaned over and swung his leg around as he got off Rilla. He
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held onto the saddle to make sure his legs would support him. While it
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hadn't been a long day of riding, it had been a while since they'd left
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Dargon, and he still wasn't used to the traveling.
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"I recall riding being easier," Merrif groaned as he took Rilla's
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reins and patted her neck. She enjoyed the attention and stepped closer
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to Merrif, pushing him back a step. "Easy Rilla. You'll knock me over."
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"How much longer did Raphael say this trip was going to be?" Lylle
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asked.
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"It's already one sennight too long," Niatha replied.
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"I thought you wanted your answers," Merrif teased. "Giving up so
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early?"
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"No!" Niatha said emphatically. "We'll get to your tower and then
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you'll tell me where you conjured me from, why, and what I am."
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"I don't know what you are," Merrif answered. "I told you that. The
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rest I'll tell you when we get to the tower."
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"I know what he is," Lylle said, a small smile on his face. "He's a
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cushion."
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"This 'cushion' is going to bite you next time," Niatha promised,
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hopping down from the wagon.
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"He said he's going to bite you the next time you use him for a
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cushion," Merrif told Lylle.
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"It'd probably not hurt as much as riding in the wagon," Lylle
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laughed.
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"At least with our paid passage, we don't have as many duties as
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the rest," Merrif said.
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"That's only because they don't trust us," Lylle told him. "If they
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knew us, we'd be helping with a lot more chores."
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"Not me," Niatha grinned.
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"I'd send you out hunting," Merrif stated. "And not let you back
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into camp without something bigger than a tree rat."
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"Have you seen some of them?" Niatha said, sitting up and eyes
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wide. "Some of those tree rats are twice the size of Dargon's rats. I'd
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love to go hunting them." He smiled, showing his fangs.
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"I'm going to take Rilla to get some water and then rub her down,"
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Merrif said. "I'll be back after that." Lylle and Niatha watched him
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walk away, Rilla in tow.
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"This would be better if I could hear you," Lylle said, looking
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down at Niatha. "But at least you can hear me and understand what I'm
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saying." Lylle stepped away, stretching his legs in the process.
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"That's a good thing?" Niatha remarked dryly.
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"Ah," Lylle groaned as he stretched his arms above his head.
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"Niatha?" he asked when he saw Niatha walking away. "A walk sounds like
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a great idea."
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"What is this?" Lylle asked, munching on a biscuit.
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"It's a biscuit," Raphael answered, eating one also. He was seated,
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his legs stretched out in front of him.
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"I know that! What's in it?"
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"Breb," Merrif answered, a whole biscuit stuffed in his mouth.
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"Huh?" Lylle said. "Oh, bread. Well, why does it taste different
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than last night's or the night before that?" Lylle asked, exasperated
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with the two of them.
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"From what I understand," Raphael explained, "each family makes
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food for the journey. We get to eat something from each family every
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night. When they've gone through all of the families, they start over
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again."
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"I liked last night's food better," Lylle said.
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"Get used to it," Raphael smirked. "We'll have it again and again
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until it's all gone."
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"How much farther do we have to go?"
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"We should reach Valdasly sometime in early winter."
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"Winter!?!" Lylle exclaimed.
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"We'll be climbing higher and will probably see snow before we get
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to Valdasly."
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"We could double up and go on our own," Merrif suggested.
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"Yes, why don't we?" Lylle asked.
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"Because we paid for passage," Raphael said.
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"Why did we have to go by caravan?"
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"We didn't have to. It's safer and easier."
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"Easier?" Lylle asked, shock on his face. "You call riding in that
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wagon easier?"
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"Yes. Easier than walking and easier than riding double."
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"I guess it would be easier than walking, but not by much."
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"It's our turn to clean up," Merrif said. "Finish up, Lylle and
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let's get it done. I'm tired and would like to turn in early."
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"Maybe someone will actually strike up a conversation with us this
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time," Lylle remarked.
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"They're a close group," Raphael told him. "They don't usually let
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strangers travel with them. It's only because May arranged for us to be
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here that they agreed."
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"She's an amazing woman," Lylle said, finishing the last of his
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food. "She knows all kinds of people. I heard the duke stops at her
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place every so often."
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"Wouldn't you?" Raphael chuckled. "She's probably got the best food
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around. Not to mention the cleanest place."
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"What place is that?" Merrif asked, standing up.
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"Spirit's Haven," Raphael said. "One of the finest inns in Dargon."
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"I don't think I've been there," Merrif replied. "When we get ..."
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"Merrif?" Raphael asked after Merrif didn't finish his sentence.
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"Are we going back?" Merrif asked, his voice quiet and soft.
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"Where else would we go?" Lylle asked as he collected plates.
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"I don't know. I didn't think of what we'd do after we got to the
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tower."
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"There will be plenty of time to think of that. If you don't go
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clean up, you won't get any sleep tonight," Raphael warned.
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"He's right," Niatha yawned. "Besides, I'm trying to sleep and
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you're too noisy."
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"Come on Lylle. It seems we're keeping Niatha awake." Lylle looked
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down at Niatha, started to say something, but turned and walked away
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instead. Merrif followed him.
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"You didn't say it would get this cold!" Lylle yelled from the
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wagon. His hands were in front of his face, trying to block the wind.
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The wind, though, was howling down upon them all with a chilling
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ferocity that threatened to freeze them solid.
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"Pray that it doesn't start snowing. You'll get wet, cold, and
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freezing," Raphael yelled back. He was on a horse riding next to the
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wagon. A scarf was pulled around his chin and neck, a coat covered his
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upper body, and wool breeches covered his legs. A cap covered his head,
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but where his brown hair was blown back away from his forehead, the wind
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reddened his face. He blinked constantly.
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"Sometimes it's good to have fur," Niatha replied from beside
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Lylle.
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"It won't be too much longer," Raphael said. "We'll stop at an inn
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this time."
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"An inn?" Lylle asked. "A real inn? One with walls, a fire, and
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beds?" He crossed his arms, placing his hands in his armpits in an
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attempt to warm his hands. Although he wore mittens, the cold seeped
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through them. The wind, unblocked now, blew into his face.
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"Is there any other kind?" Raphael laughed.
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"It won't be soon enough," Lylle gritted through chattering teeth.
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"It's too late," Raphael corrected him. "Look," he said, pointing
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ahead of the caravan. The horizon seemed darker and it looked as if the
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air swirled with something.
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"What is it?"
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"Snowstorm," Raphael said. "I can't tell if it's headed our way or
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moving along in front of us, though."
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"How soon is that inn?"
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"The other side of that snow, I think," Raphael answered, his hands
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over his eyes trying to keep the wind out of them.
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The three wagons moved slowly, even though the road was fairly
|
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smooth. The snowstorm was moving ahead of them, but slower than the
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wagons. They traveled into the edge of the snow before they reached the
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inn. Everyone worked together to unhitch the horses and then two boys
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took the horses to stable them.
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"I'm cold and hungry," Lylle said, heading for the inn. "I hope
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there's a warm fire and some hot food." Raphael and Merrif were behind
|
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him a few steps. Jeth, one of the leaders of the caravan, stepped in
|
|
front of Raphael.
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|
"Aye, boy, there will be both of those things in the inn," Jeth
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said, slapping a hand on Lylle's shoulder. "My thanks for the help
|
|
unhitching the teams." He stepped ahead of Lylle, opened the doors, and
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|
went inside. Lylle stopped and watched him go.
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|
"Is the cold getting to me, or did he just thank me?" Lylle asked.
|
|
Raphael and Merrif walked past Lylle.
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"The cold will get to you if you stand there until night," Raphael
|
|
replied. Merrif said nothing as he hurried inside to the warmth of the
|
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main room. Lylle watched as a couple more people from the caravan walked
|
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around him. "He thanked me," Lylle muttered before going inside.
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The inn was getting crowded as the people from the caravan slowly
|
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filtered in from outside. There was a fire going in the fireplace.
|
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People were taking off cloaks and coats before sitting down to a table.
|
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Several women and one boy were bringing in bowls of food and mugs of hot
|
|
liquid.
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|
"Hot cider," Merrif said, sniffing the air. "Smells good, too. I
|
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don't know what's in the bowls, though." He was seated at a table,
|
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rubbing his hands together to warm them.
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"Food," Lylle said. "It doesn't matter what it is as long as it's
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food." He took off his tattered, thin coat and then sat down at a table.
|
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Raphael unwrapped his scarf, took his coat off, and joined Lylle at the
|
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table.
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"I see Niatha," Raphael said, nodding toward the fireplace. Niatha
|
|
was sitting in front of the fire, warming up. "So much for his fur
|
|
keeping him warm." Merrif chuckled and nodded his head in agreement. The
|
|
serving boy was headed their way with mugs of cider.
|
|
"I don't think anything could keep warm out there for long," Merrif
|
|
said.
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"Does it always snow this hard around here?" Lylle asked. The boy
|
|
set two mugs on the table.
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"This hard?" the boy asked. "This is a light snow. I'll be back
|
|
with another mug." He left to get the cider.
|
|
"This is a light snow?"
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|
"It snows like this in Dargon," Merrif said, sipping his hot cider.
|
|
"Yes, but it isn't this cold and the wind doesn't blow this hard,"
|
|
Lylle replied, waiting on his cider.
|
|
"You've been out in the wind and cold and snow for days now,"
|
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Raphael said. "That's why it feels worse than in Dargon. Once you're
|
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cold, it's hard to warm up fully."
|
|
"The fire helps," Niatha said, from below the table. "Fire helps."
|
|
"Niatha?" Merrif asked, looking down under the table. "I didn't
|
|
hear you come over."
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|
"I'm hungry," Niatha said.
|
|
"We all are," Raphael told him. "Have some patience. They're
|
|
bringing food and cider around."
|
|
"Cider?" Niatha asked, curling up on the floor. "Tired, too," he
|
|
added.
|
|
"We're over halfway there, Niatha," Raphael said. "We traveled
|
|
south from Dargon, through Kenna, skirted the Darst range just a bit
|
|
before turning into it and climbing higher into the mountains. Some of
|
|
the forests around here have legends about them and so are avoided.
|
|
That's why we climbed into the mountains. It's slower and colder, but
|
|
according to some of the legends, it's a lot safer. We'll stay in the
|
|
higher mountain area until we get closer to Valdasly."
|
|
"We're halfway there ..." Lylle muttered. He was watching the boy
|
|
bring his cider.
|
|
"Here's the cider and a bowl of stew," the boy said, placing both
|
|
items on the table. "Where are you headed?"
|
|
"Valdasly," Lylle answered.
|
|
"You're not going all the way to Hawksbridge with the caravan?" the
|
|
boy asked.
|
|
"We're looking for a tower in the mountains," Merrif said, taking
|
|
the stew. Raphael looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't.
|
|
"A tower? There aren't any towers around this inn that I know of.
|
|
You're going in the right direction, though. The closest place that
|
|
would have a tower is Valdasly. I've only heard about it. Never been
|
|
there, so I don't know for sure."
|
|
"We're each searching for different answers," Merrif replied.
|
|
"And the tower?" the boy asked.
|
|
"It holds them," Merrif said. "At least our hopes are that it
|
|
does." Merrif sipped some more cider.
|
|
"When we get to the tower," Niatha whispered from below. "It will
|
|
reveal all." He yawned and closed his eyes. The boy left to bring more
|
|
food out to the people.
|
|
"I hope that this tower does hold all our answers," Raphael said,
|
|
looking down into his mug.
|
|
|
|
Scattered throughout the warm inn, most everyone was asleep on the
|
|
floor. With the rooms full, most of the people from the caravan were
|
|
camped in the main room. And outside, winter dropped snow down upon the
|
|
ground in small, fragile flakes.
|
|
"Do you really think she'll be there?" Lylle asked. He was lying on
|
|
his back with a blanket covering the lower half of his body. His arms
|
|
were crossed above his head as a makeshift pillow.
|
|
"It's my hope, yes," Raphael replied. Sitting up, legs crossed
|
|
under him, Raphael was leaning back against the wall of the inn. "If
|
|
she's not there, then I'll search elsewhere."
|
|
"She must be something special," Merrif said. He was lying on his
|
|
side. His arm was propped under him, holding his head up.
|
|
"Megan is," Lylle replied, smiling.
|
|
"You'd steal her away from me if you had the chance, wouldn't you?"
|
|
Raphael asked, a small smile on his face.
|
|
"If I thought I had a chance," Lylle said. "But she loves you too
|
|
much."
|
|
"Why do Megan and I fight so much, then?" Raphael asked, but to no
|
|
one in particular.
|
|
"Hmmph," Merrif snorted. He turned over on his back and relaxed.
|
|
Niatha, curled up next to him, unconsciously shifted his body to adjust
|
|
to Merrif's move. "If men knew that answer," Merrif continued, "we
|
|
wouldn't ever have any problems with women."
|
|
"That's a bad thing?" Lylle asked.
|
|
"Ha!" Merrif chuckled. "I don't know. It would be a very different
|
|
world, though."
|
|
"I think we enjoyed the fighting," Raphael mused.
|
|
"What's she like?" Merrif asked. Niatha pushed a paw out and
|
|
muttered something in his sleep. Merrif reached down and stroked
|
|
Niatha's fur.
|
|
"Megan is all fire and energy. Her hair is red and sometimes, when
|
|
we're fighting, her eyes are red, too."
|
|
"Red eyes?" Merrif asked.
|
|
"She's got green eyes," Lylle said.
|
|
"Yes, she's got green eyes. But get her mad and you'll believe her
|
|
eyes are red, too. She isn't as tall as I am ... about to my nose. And
|
|
I've seen fairer women in Dargon, but Megan ... well ... she's just
|
|
Megan. She won't back away from anyone or anything. She has a temper,
|
|
yes, but she can be tender and caring, too. Especially for things that
|
|
can't take care of themselves. Unless that thing is feeling sorry for
|
|
itself," Raphael said, closing his eyes. "Unless that thing is being a
|
|
stubborn fool." Merrif and Lylle said nothing and waited for Raphael to
|
|
continue.
|
|
"It's strange how life can turn on you. There was a time when she
|
|
was cursed. She couldn't move of her own free will, but she could still
|
|
see everything that was going on around her. She couldn't talk either,
|
|
but her body functioned to keep her alive.
|
|
"I cared for her when she was like that. It wasn't easy at first.
|
|
It was the hardest thing I'd ever done. I fed her, cleaned her, put her
|
|
to bed, did every little thing you do unnoticed and don't ever think
|
|
about. I don't know how she lived through that, not being able to say or
|
|
do anything.
|
|
"And then, when I killed the mage that cursed her, I lost the use
|
|
of my legs in the fight. Megan was cured, though. But now, I couldn't
|
|
walk and she had to take care of me. It was a tough time for me. I
|
|
thought taking care of Megan was the hardest thing I'd ever done. I was
|
|
wrong. Living without the use of my legs was harder. I was used to doing
|
|
everything and suddenly, I couldn't do anything.
|
|
"She cared for me as I'd cared for her, except I could still talk
|
|
and move. I didn't like feeling helpless. We started arguing. The
|
|
arguments got worse and one day she left. She told me she was leaving,
|
|
too. Told me to come get her when I was ready. I think she knew that I
|
|
wasn't going to get better with our arguing. I think she knew that by
|
|
her leaving, I'd have reason enough to walk. At least I hope so."
|
|
"How did you start walking again?" Merrif asked.
|
|
"By pain and sweat and more pain and hard work. At first, I was
|
|
outraged that she left. I used my anger to push me along. When I
|
|
couldn't move because of exhaustion, I'd think more about what happened
|
|
and get angrier. I crawled and fell more than anything in those first
|
|
few days, but slowly, and it was slow, I began to walk.
|
|
"In the end, I did walk. That's when I asked May about Megan. May
|
|
told me that she'd gone to visit family near Valdasly. I couldn't
|
|
believe what I'd heard. I'd thought she'd just left the inn and was in
|
|
Dargon somewhere waiting.
|
|
"But she wasn't. She'd left Dargon and me in it. I think I lost
|
|
most of my will and strength in my efforts to walk. The news that she
|
|
wasn't in Dargon hit me hard and I left the inn. I lost touch with May
|
|
and Lylle. I was almost living on the streets. But I was fortunate that
|
|
Lylle found and helped me. And that wasn't too long before we met you."
|
|
"It sounds like you really care for her," Merrif said as he rolled
|
|
onto his back and relaxed. "I hope she's at the tower."
|
|
"It's been a long day," Raphael sighed. He had heard Merrif move
|
|
and guessed that he was nearly asleep. Opening his eyes and looking, he
|
|
saw that he was right. Lylle was already asleep. Niatha had been for a
|
|
while. Raphael slowly slid sideways down the wall until he was lying on
|
|
the floor. He yawned and pulled his cloak over himself.
|
|
|
|
"Wake up," Niatha said, nudging Merrif. "It calls."
|
|
"Wha ...?" Merrif yawned. Raphael opened his eyes, as he had heard
|
|
Niatha also.
|
|
"We must go," Niatha urged.
|
|
"What are you talking about, Niatha?" Merrif asked, then groaned as
|
|
he moved to sit up. Lylle was turning over to see what all the noise was
|
|
about. Raphael stretched slowly.
|
|
"I heard them calling me," Niatha said.
|
|
"Heard who?" Merrif asked. He was sitting up, all groans gone. His
|
|
attention was fixed on Niatha. Raphael was also sitting up, attentive.
|
|
"They said they are sending a guide," Niatha continued.
|
|
"Who said, Niatha?" Merrif asked. "Are you all right?"
|
|
"I saw them last night in a dream." Niatha was standing, looking at
|
|
Merrif. His tail was swishing slowly back and forth. His wings fluttered
|
|
briefly, but did not open fully.
|
|
"You dreamt?" Merrif asked. "You don't dream. I'm the one who
|
|
dreams ..." Merrif stopped talking and left his mouth open. "I haven't
|
|
been dreaming," he said, closing his mouth. "I haven't dreamed anything
|
|
since --"
|
|
"I was outside the tower," Niatha interrupted. "The door was open
|
|
and I saw two men standing inside. They were tall, with long,
|
|
light-colored hair. There was a shimmering in the air around the tower.
|
|
It wouldn't let me inside, but the two said they were sending a guide to
|
|
bring me to them."
|
|
"A guide?" Raphael asked. "Who?"
|
|
"They were familiar, Merrif," Niatha said, ignoring Raphael. "I've
|
|
seen them before."
|
|
"What are you talking about?" Lylle asked as he got to his feet. He
|
|
looked around the room and saw that other people were slowly stirring.
|
|
It was morning and he could see some light streaming in around the door.
|
|
"Where did you see them?" Merrif asked, recovering from his
|
|
amazement at not dreaming. He usually dreamt about the goddess Illiena.
|
|
His long hair was a tangled mess and he ran his hands through it
|
|
carefully in an attempt to straighten it out. His bushy beard was
|
|
slightly flat on one side where he had slept on it.
|
|
"I don't know. They just seemed familiar." Niatha sat and used his
|
|
front paw to scratch behind his ear. "The first thing I thought when I
|
|
woke up was that I didn't see Illiena."
|
|
"You had that as your first thought?" Merrif chuckled. "I didn't
|
|
know you cared so much about her."
|
|
"I don't," Niatha retorted, flicking his tail in irritation. "It
|
|
was just something that came into my mind when I woke. Just as I
|
|
remembered the dream."
|
|
"Who is the guide?" Raphael asked again.
|
|
"I don't know," Niatha answered. "They just said they were sending
|
|
one."
|
|
"Will someone tell me what's going on?" Lylle asked.
|
|
"Niatha's had a dream about the tower and two people in it,"
|
|
Raphael explained. "He said that the two people are sending a guide."
|
|
"Convenient," Lylle replied. "It sounds like someone wants us to
|
|
get there, desperately."
|
|
"We all have choices," Raphael said. "We can turn around now and
|
|
leave the tower behind us."
|
|
"You could do that?"
|
|
"No," Raphael sighed. "But it is a choice that each of us has."
|
|
"Illiena is at that tower," Merrif said. "I won't turn back."
|
|
"Those two were familiar," Niatha added. "I don't know why or how,
|
|
but even if I don't find out, I will get my answers from you. You'll
|
|
tell me how and why you brought me here."
|
|
"Yes," Merrif agreed. "Once we get there."
|
|
"I came this far," Lylle said. "If Raphael goes to find Megan, I'll
|
|
go too. If it's stopped snowing, that is. If it's snowy and cold, I'm
|
|
going to stay right here until next summer."
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
Talisman Five
|
|
Part 3
|
|
by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
|
|
<John.White@Drexel.Edu>
|
|
Sy 27-28, 1010
|
|
|
|
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 13-6
|
|
|
|
A great deal of attention had been paid to the fashioning of the
|
|
entrance hall of the College of Bards in Magnus. The outer doors were
|
|
massive: tall, wide and thick. Their inner faces were intricately carved
|
|
with figures of dancing musical instruments interspersed with fruits and
|
|
vines. The space they opened onto was in scale with those doors; the
|
|
expansive floor was patterned with the star-and-harp symbol of the
|
|
college surrounded by the twelve symbols of rank, from apprentice to
|
|
master bard, and all ten journeyman ranks in between. Overhead hung a
|
|
large chandelier consisting of a metal wheel which supported translucent
|
|
globes of glass in various sizes and colors, all glowing brightly.
|
|
The walls of the vestibule bore pillared arches that almost reached
|
|
the ceiling. Within each arch was an intricate mosaic of rolling
|
|
countryside, forever locked in springtime, with flowering orchards,
|
|
blooming gardens and country estates in the distance. The effect was
|
|
that the room was actually a porch in some bucolic location which, by
|
|
inference, transported the entire college there as well.
|
|
The single door that allowed access to the college itself was much
|
|
smaller than the exterior doors it stood opposite, much more human-sized
|
|
and less ornate, bearing only the star-and-harp symbol carved into its
|
|
surface.
|
|
When the outer doors swung open, SongWarder Jepar didn't have far
|
|
to go to come to attention. Jepar took his reception duties seriously,
|
|
especially when stationed in the Bardic College's vestibule. He always
|
|
made sure that his blue tunic was draped perfectly over his large frame
|
|
and that his white hose were never wrinkled. His red sash of office was
|
|
always smooth, cutting a straight line from his right shoulder to his
|
|
left hip. He was the first person someone entering the college would
|
|
see, and he was determined to be worthy of the setting.
|
|
The man walking through the massive outer doors was tall, with
|
|
sandy-brown hair swept back from his heart-shaped face. His eyes were
|
|
wide and brown, his cheek bones were high, and his mouth and chin were
|
|
both narrow. He wore the green cloak of a bard, and Jepar could see the
|
|
strap of what was probably an instrument case across his chest. As the
|
|
man strode confidently toward him, the cloak opened and Jepar saw the
|
|
rank pendant hanging from his neck.
|
|
Satisfied that the man was allowed to enter by that single
|
|
credential, Jepar bowed and said, "Welcome to the College in Magnus, my
|
|
lord." He shifted his weight onto the pressure plate in the floor that
|
|
caused the inner door to open, and continued with the ritual phrase,
|
|
"Enter, and may all your needs be fulfilled within."
|
|
The bard began to walk through the inner doors, but paused and
|
|
turned to Jepar. "Perhaps you can assist me, brother," he said. "A
|
|
friend of mine, a traveling companion for a time, said she might be here
|
|
this month. I was wondering if you knew whether Je'lanthra'en was,
|
|
indeed, here?"
|
|
Jepar's properly formal expression wilted into one of sorrow.
|
|
Another one who hadn't heard, and a fellow eighth-staver too, by his
|
|
rank pendant.
|
|
He said, "I am sorry, my lord, to be the one to tell you this. Lady
|
|
Je'en is in the city, but she has suffered an accident. Not quite a
|
|
sennight ago, in the Fifth Quarter. Her injuries were severe, and she is
|
|
being tended by Master Enowan at Crown Castle. Did you know her well?"
|
|
Jepar watched the bard's face display sorrow as well. The man said,
|
|
"Yes, brother, I knew her well. I am sorrowed to hear of this. I leave
|
|
again on the morrow, but perhaps I will delay long enough to pay her a
|
|
visit. Thank you for the news, brother."
|
|
The bard walked into the college, shaking his head in sorrow. Jepar
|
|
let the inner doors close behind him, shaking his own head at the
|
|
astonishing attack. How could the streets of the Crown City of Baranur
|
|
not be safe for a bard to ride? Jepar unconsciously smoothed his tunic
|
|
and sash, and resumed his ready stance, waiting for the next visitor to
|
|
the College of Bards.
|
|
|
|
The seneschal of the College of Bards was in charge of the mundane,
|
|
day-to-day details of keeping the college working. These included
|
|
overseeing the staff, keeping track of the stores, and assigning rooms
|
|
to scheduled classes and sudden guests. A thousand and one routine
|
|
details a day, and at times two thousand and two unexpected details as
|
|
well.
|
|
Seneschal Efezha thrived on the challenge. She was methodical,
|
|
organized, confident, and had been seneschal for twenty-five years. Her
|
|
office was small and surprisingly uncluttered, containing only a desk
|
|
and two chairs. On the wall hung a small plaque, presented to her by the
|
|
head of the college upon her twentieth year of service. It was the only
|
|
personal possession in the office.
|
|
When the bard entered her office, Seneschal Efezha looked up to see
|
|
a tall young man with high cheekbones and wide brown eyes. His hair was
|
|
light brown, almost blond, and pulled back from his forehead. Efezha's
|
|
eyes automatically went to the rank pendant hanging from his neck, since
|
|
she didn't recognize him as a resident. Assured of the propriety of his
|
|
presence, she efficiently waited for him to make his request rather than
|
|
trying to guess.
|
|
"Greetings, madame seneschal," he began in a smooth, cultured
|
|
voice. "My name is Kethseir. I have just arrived, and would like a room
|
|
for the night. My duties will take me away again tomorrow, so no long
|
|
term arrangements are necessary."
|
|
Efezha opened the single book that rested on the desk. She flipped
|
|
through the pages until she found the right section. She said, "A room
|
|
will be no trouble; such a request seldom is. Still, had you arrived in
|
|
time for your meeting, there would have been less of a choice. Delayed
|
|
on the road, eh Kethseir?"
|
|
She glanced up, puzzled by the bard's silence in response to her
|
|
idle question. Kethseir looked puzzled, as if groping for an answer to a
|
|
question he didn't understand. "Perhaps the word never reached you then.
|
|
The annual meeting of eighth-stavers was three days ago. Little business
|
|
transpired, and the gathered bards began departing yesterday. I hope you
|
|
had no business to transact."
|
|
Understanding flowed onto Kethseir's face. "Oh, yes. That was this
|
|
month? I thought it was in Seber! And yes, I was delayed, else I would
|
|
have arrived in time to be surprised by my own lack of memory." He
|
|
chuckled, and Efezha went back to checking for rooms.
|
|
"Room 214, in the guest wing," she said finally. "No one else is on
|
|
the second floor, so you have the bathing room to yourself. Dinner is at
|
|
ninth bell, so you have time to refresh yourself beforehand. As always,
|
|
if you need anything, just ring the bell. Do you require anything else?"
|
|
Kethseir shook his head. "No, madame seneschal. All I need is a bed
|
|
for the night, though a meal would be welcome too. Thank you."
|
|
As Kethseir left, Efezha took a charcoal stick from the drawer of
|
|
the desk and made the notation that room 214 was occupied. Organization
|
|
was the key to keeping things running smoothly, organization and
|
|
attention to details. She shook her head briefly at the idea that a bard
|
|
would forget the month of his rank meeting like that. She had a
|
|
suspicion that Kethseir hadn't misremembered the date of his meeting.
|
|
Perhaps he had not wanted to attend for some reason. Still, that was
|
|
none of her concern. If Kethseir was in trouble with his rank, it was
|
|
for someone else to deal with.
|
|
|
|
The dining hall of the College of Bards was vast, and largely
|
|
undecorated. This allowed it to be dressed according to any special
|
|
occasion that warranted it. No such occasion loomed, so the room's bare
|
|
wooden walls and stone pillars were visible.
|
|
The quarter of the room closest to the kitchens was divided from
|
|
the rest by curtains. Only in that quarter of the room were the lamps
|
|
and chandeliers lit. Tables were arranged in the room to form two rough
|
|
horseshoe-shapes set perpendicular to each other, open mouth toward open
|
|
mouth, leaving a large space empty for performing in. Tables also lined
|
|
one wall, upon which the kitchen staff placed the food and wine. The
|
|
diners then served themselves on informal occasions such as this one.
|
|
Seated at one outer corner of the right-hand horseshoe was a young
|
|
man with short, ash-blond hair, pale skin, grass-green eyes and a large
|
|
nose. Despite the nose, he was very handsome, and despite his youth, he
|
|
had become very used to being very handsome.
|
|
He was dressed to show himself off. His tunic was well cut, with
|
|
embroidery at the collar and elaborately faced dagging at the sleeves.
|
|
The tunic was short, ending just barely below his waist in more, if
|
|
shorter, dags, revealing his long legs clad in elegant hose, with a
|
|
codpiece that was only slightly stuffed.
|
|
He had more to be proud of than his looks and his semi-stuffed
|
|
codpiece. He was only twenty-one summers old, and already he wore the
|
|
rank pendant of a sixth stave journeyman bard, more than halfway to the
|
|
tenth and highest rank before mastery was granted. His talent seemed,
|
|
even to him, almost supernatural. He could play any instrument within a
|
|
bell of picking it up for the first time, and his voice had made master
|
|
bards take notice. No one doubted that one day Nakaz would be numbered
|
|
among the ranks of those master bards.
|
|
Sitting next to Nakaz, and just as often in his lap, was Shorel, a
|
|
fellow bard. She was ten years older than Nakaz and one rank higher than
|
|
him. But she cheerfully admitted that she was not more talented than
|
|
him. Shorel was half a foot shorter than Nakaz's six-foot, half-a-hand
|
|
height, with long, lustrously brown hair that hung down her back. The
|
|
eyes in her narrow face were brown and her nose was small, but her lips
|
|
were very full and red. Her body was fit and lushly curved, as her own
|
|
tunic and hose revealed. She had never been as pretty, even ten years
|
|
ago, as Nakaz was now, but her self-confidence made her equally
|
|
attractive.
|
|
The first serving trays of dinner had been set out not long before,
|
|
and Nakaz and Shorel were busy switching between kisses and bites of the
|
|
appetizers. They talked as well, to each other and to their neighbors at
|
|
table, with the easy camaraderie of life-long friends, though Nakaz had
|
|
not known most of those he conversed with for more than three days.
|
|
Shorel was the exception; he had known her for two years, and relished
|
|
the times their paths crossed long enough for them to be together.
|
|
Nakaz loved Shorel in his own way, but he certainly wasn't in love
|
|
with her. He couldn't imagine committing to a family with her, for
|
|
example. There was something missing in their relationship: nothing he
|
|
could put into words, but definitely something missing. She was fun to
|
|
be with, good in bed, a talented bard ... but not someone he could spend
|
|
the rest of his life with.
|
|
He'd had other lovers; quite a few, despite his meager years. None
|
|
had ever been more than temporary pleasure, no matter how long the
|
|
relationship had lasted. None had ever satisfied that certain longing
|
|
inside of him, that something that would take him beyond momentary
|
|
pleasure into life-long satisfaction.
|
|
Nakaz sighed momentarily, wondering what it was he was searching
|
|
for. Then he put it out of his mind to concentrate on the moment. He
|
|
leaned over against Shorel, who was talking to her neighbor about an
|
|
instrument maker she knew of. She leaned back without a pause in her
|
|
conversation, and Nakaz smiled. He put his hand on her thigh and started
|
|
sliding it slowly, teasingly, up and up and up. Which was when the man
|
|
walked into the room.
|
|
That man was tall, thin, and good looking. He had light brown hair,
|
|
wide brown eyes, and a narrow chin that set off his high cheekbones. He
|
|
wore a white linen shirt under a tightly-laced leather jerkin that
|
|
showed off the development of his chest and waist admirably. He wore
|
|
tight riding trousers, with leather from waist to crotch, and then only
|
|
on the inside of the legs down to the high boots he had on. The lower
|
|
body that those trousers displayed was as impressive as his chest and
|
|
abdomen. The only jewelry he wore was a pendant of rank, but he was too
|
|
far away for Nakaz to tell what stave it represented.
|
|
Nakaz's hand ceased to move on Shorel's thigh. His eyes tracked the
|
|
towheaded bard as he walked over to an empty chair at the end of the
|
|
same horseshoe Nakaz sat at. The newcomer just sat there for a moment,
|
|
as if resting, before rising again and moving toward the trays of food
|
|
on the sideboard.
|
|
As Nakaz watched the confident stride of the newcomer, he faintly
|
|
heard a "Hey!" from next to him. Then, the word was repeated,
|
|
accompanied by someone taking hold of his chin and turning his gaze away
|
|
from the man. He refocused on Shorel, who was chuckling ruefully.
|
|
"Hey, boyo, you're with me tonight, straight? Stop that drooling!"
|
|
She glanced over toward the object of Nakaz's sudden interest and said,
|
|
"Yes, he's cute, and if you weren't going to be spending the night in my
|
|
room I'd go after him too. But you promised me one night, and I leave
|
|
tomorrow. So you'll just have to do without him for now."
|
|
Nakaz kissed Shorel, closing his eyes to prevent them from ogling
|
|
the man as he walked back toward his seat. Leaning forward almost out of
|
|
his chair, nose to nose with her, staring her earnestly in the eyes, he
|
|
said, "Yes, I promised, and yes I will be in your bed tonight. I
|
|
wouldn't miss it for an early mastery-test!" He kissed her again, and
|
|
then, with a twinkle of mischief in his eye, said, "I don't suppose you
|
|
might consider a threesome?"
|
|
She growled at him, and swatted him back into his chair. She
|
|
grabbed for her cup and tipped it threateningly over his head. "Maybe
|
|
this will cool you down enough to be satisfied with only me tonight!"
|
|
she said with a laugh in her voice and in her eyes.
|
|
"No, no! This is my best tunic!" he said in mock-horror, just as
|
|
much laughter in his own eyes. Even as young as he was, he knew better
|
|
than to offend someone as dear to him as Shorel over someone he knew
|
|
nothing about. He guided her cup back to the table, and kissed her once
|
|
again, murmuring racy promises in her ear. As the kitchen staff brought
|
|
out the next course amid a swell of noise and clattering serving trays,
|
|
he and Shorel settled back down to dinner.
|
|
Despite his promises, which were heartfelt, he couldn't bring
|
|
himself to totally ignore the man who had so captured his attention. He
|
|
learned that the man was named Kethseir, and was an eighth-stave bard.
|
|
He was too far away to overhear any of the conversation the man made,
|
|
but later in the evening when it was Kethseir's turn to perform, Nakaz
|
|
found himself disappointed by the level of vocal talent he displayed.
|
|
His first thought was that this man was no eighth-stave bard! His second
|
|
thought, swift on the heels of the first, was that perhaps his talent
|
|
was in other areas. Nakaz had also learned early on not to try to
|
|
measure someone's abilities against his own. Nearly every performance
|
|
Nakaz had ever heard had contained some flaw or other that he had felt
|
|
no one could possibly miss, only to find that no one else noticed.
|
|
Perhaps this was another such case.
|
|
The residents and guests at dinner seemed to appreciate Kethseir's
|
|
voice more than Nakaz could, and he was given much applause and cheering
|
|
when his song was finished. Nakaz continued to woo Shorel, and to
|
|
intermittently stare at Kethseir hungrily. It was a hunger he had felt
|
|
before, and he knew it was nothing more than idle lust. He knew he could
|
|
put that aside easily enough, and had done so before when circumstances
|
|
didn't allow him to pursue the objects of his fancy the way his promise
|
|
to Shorel bound him now.
|
|
Nakaz was disappointed when, shortly after the fourth and
|
|
penultimate course was served, Kethseir rose somewhat unsteadily from
|
|
his chair and left the dining room. He learned that the man had been a
|
|
little drunk and tired from his journey, which would resume the next
|
|
day. Nakaz made himself a promise to rise early and contrive to meet
|
|
Kethseir as he was leaving, to try and make an impression on him if he
|
|
could. Then, he returned his attention fully to his partner for the
|
|
night, lavishing on her all of the passion she deserved, and much that
|
|
Kethseir had aroused in him as well.
|
|
|
|
Much later that night, Nakaz followed Shorel into room 332 of the
|
|
guest wing. His arms were around her waist and he was kissing her neck,
|
|
to much giggling and sighing. Once they were inside, she slipped out of
|
|
his arms, shut the door, and flung her arms wide, saying, "Welcome to my
|
|
domain!"
|
|
The rooms in the guest wing were all almost alike. They were large
|
|
enough for the bed, flanked by two armoires, and a sitting area by the
|
|
fireplace that consisted of two chairs and a small table between them.
|
|
One of the armoires was meant for clothes, the other for instruments. A
|
|
washstand was situated between the two small windows opposite the door,
|
|
even though there was a bathing room at the end of every hall.
|
|
Shorel had taken the time to personalize the room, even though she
|
|
had only spent a sennight in it. Two small figurines of birds sat on the
|
|
mantelpiece between a matched set of candlesticks made from antlers.
|
|
There was an intricately embroidered and quilted blanket thrown over the
|
|
back of one of the chairs. A portrait of a handsome man and a dog, made
|
|
out of shaped wood, hung on the door of one of the armoires.
|
|
Nakaz knew which decorations belonged in the room because his own
|
|
room at the other end of the hall had them too: the lit lantern on the
|
|
mantelpiece, the bowl of fruit on the table, the vase on the washstand.
|
|
There were no personalizing touches in Nakaz's room. He preferred to
|
|
remember that this wasn't home, no matter how many years he had spent
|
|
here long ago as student, apprentice, and journeyman bard. It made it
|
|
easier for him to leave.
|
|
He looked around the room, taking inventory of the items he
|
|
remembered, and noticing the new ones. He had just noticed a large,
|
|
wedge-shaped, oddly-carved stone on the table by the bowl of grapes when
|
|
he was grabbed and hugged from behind. He squirmed and wriggled his way
|
|
around and grabbed back, to find his arms around a completely naked
|
|
Shorel.
|
|
He squeezed, hugging her tight. She returned the hug, and giggled
|
|
in his ear, then danced backward until they were a double-arm-length
|
|
apart, just holding hands. Nakaz ran his eyes over her revealed charms,
|
|
tracing the hills and valleys made more mysterious by the shadows cast
|
|
by the lantern. Her teeth glinted in her smile as she stepped back two
|
|
more paces, dropping his hands and striking a pose. She ran her own eyes
|
|
appraisingly across his still-clothed form, then asked, "Do you like?
|
|
Ah, I see you have either stuffed another stocking into your cod-piece,
|
|
or you *do* like! What are you waiting for, boyo? Get those rags off!
|
|
You're wasting time!"
|
|
Nakaz laughed, charmed as usual by her casual attitude. He undid
|
|
the buckle of his leather belt and tossed it aside. But as his hands
|
|
went back for the cloth belt that held up his hose, he found himself
|
|
increasingly distracted. For while the utterly displayed, undeniably
|
|
lush charms of Shorel were in front of him, there was something behind
|
|
him that was calling to him even louder.
|
|
Unable to resist the strange urge, he turned around and took a
|
|
closer look at the stone on the table. He first noticed that it wasn't
|
|
just a carving, it was some kind of amalgamated sculpture; it also
|
|
seemed to be broken. It looked like the original had been circular, and
|
|
this was a wedge-shaped third of it as indicated by the two straight
|
|
sides angled from each other, and the curve of the single rounded side.
|
|
On the flat upper face of the object were interlaced bands of
|
|
silver and gold metal, and one band of glass. The interwoven bands
|
|
seemed to take up what had been the center of the original whole, while
|
|
along the curved edge were carved two animals, a cat and a fox. Two of
|
|
the types of bands seemed to originate from the center of these animals,
|
|
the silver and the gold respectively.
|
|
Nakaz felt Shorel snuggle up against him again, as he gazed at the
|
|
stone. She said, "Do you like it? I just received it recently. It has
|
|
been in my mother's family for some time. When I went home for her
|
|
funeral two months ago, I found that she had left it for me. It must
|
|
have been important to her, but I'd never seen it before. I wonder what
|
|
it used to be?"
|
|
Nakaz had slipped his arm around Shorel's naked waist. When she
|
|
mentioned her mother's funeral, he had given her a supportive squeeze,
|
|
and made appropriate mutterings. They had caught each other up on their
|
|
time apart days ago, and he had learned then of her mother's death. He
|
|
had made all of the appropriate, and heart-felt, responses of affection
|
|
and support at that time, which was just as well as his response now was
|
|
automatic and he didn't even realize he had made it.
|
|
Nakaz reached out to touch the carved cat, and then trace several
|
|
of the silver bands as they looped over and under the gold and glass
|
|
bands, and then up to the broken edges of the fragment. He wondered what
|
|
it had been, too, and he wondered why it seemed so important to him.
|
|
There was something about the fragment, like he had seen it before, like
|
|
it was part of him somehow. It pulled at him, insisting that he pick it
|
|
up and take it away with him. As much as he wanted to do that, he knew
|
|
he couldn't. It was Shorel's, something of her recently departed mother.
|
|
It wasn't his, and he could neither take it nor ask for it. But, as used
|
|
as he was to resisting temptations, this time it was much, much harder.
|
|
Suddenly, Shorel was between him and the stone, staring into his
|
|
face with an expression of mixed hurt and puzzlement. Nakaz realized
|
|
that he had been completely ignoring her for far too long, especially
|
|
since she was naked. He leaned forward and kissed her, pulling her
|
|
toward him and running his hands down her back to her taut behind, which
|
|
he gave a playful squeeze, making her squeal, then laugh. He whispered
|
|
in her ear, "I'm sorry, dear, I've been ... distracted."
|
|
She pulled away and said, "I should say so, boyo. At least I could
|
|
understand when it was that pretty Kethseir dragging your awareness from
|
|
me, but distracted by a stone? That's a little insulting, don't you
|
|
think?"
|
|
Nakaz realized that she was right, and there was no way he could
|
|
explain the strange attraction he felt toward that stone. He sputtered,
|
|
trying to come up with some placating words, but was rescued by Shorel.
|
|
"So," she said in a tone that told him to forget everything but
|
|
this moment. She continued, "Are you going to strip, or should I just
|
|
unfasten your codpiece and you can do me up against the wall like some
|
|
Melrin festival assignation?"
|
|
Nakaz laughed loudly, relieved that his inattention had been
|
|
forgiven. He shrugged himself out of his tunic, and found his hands
|
|
joined by Shorel's at his waist, fumbling at the hose's cloth belt. Soon
|
|
the hose lay with the tunic and leather belt in a corner of the room,
|
|
along side only a small codpiece-stuffing stocking. Shorel exclaimed, as
|
|
she usually did, about the purely natural codpiece stuffing now
|
|
revealed, and Nakaz laughed again. Then he picked her up, carried her
|
|
over to her bed, and threw her into it. He paused, looking at her
|
|
fetching disarray. He almost glanced back at the table before joining
|
|
her, but he resisted the urge, not wanting to hurt her again.
|
|
Fortunately for both of them, the demands of their coupling were
|
|
enough to keep Nakaz's mind focused on the activity at hand. It couldn't
|
|
stop, however, the image of a carved cat and silver bands eclipsing the
|
|
sight of her beneath him from time to time.
|
|
|
|
In the darkest part of the night, a man dressed from mask to boot
|
|
in black slipped out of room 214 in the guest wing. Silent as a ghost,
|
|
he made his way to the cellars of the College of Bards. Using
|
|
information supplied by his employer, he located one specific vault.
|
|
Using the keys also supplied, he worked the complicated mechanical
|
|
ritual that found him the correct keyhole, and he opened the door and
|
|
entered the vault that had not been entered in decades.
|
|
The room was filled with chests, but he only had keys for one. He
|
|
found that chest, and, using the secret keyhole, opened it as well. He
|
|
removed tray after tray of books until the chest seemed empty. Knowing
|
|
better, he revealed the hidden compartment and used the last key to set
|
|
free the books secured there.
|
|
He needed only one of the books he had revealed. He picked up the
|
|
one bound in light-colored leather. Comparing the flowing drawings with
|
|
the image that his employer had supplied him with, he made sure they
|
|
were the same. He had been informed that the drawings, vaguely
|
|
sticklike, were some kind of ancient language, and that they spelled out
|
|
"The Tome of the Yrmenweald". He had the right book, but the name meant
|
|
no more to him than the copulating-rat drawings had.
|
|
The thief, who had masqueraded as the bard Kethseir, placed the
|
|
trays of books back in the chest and closed it. He left the vault,
|
|
closing it behind him, and ghosted back to his room. He dressed again in
|
|
his leather riding clothes, placing the black clothing and the book in
|
|
his empty harp case. Then he waited.
|
|
Half a bell before dawn, bard Kethseir left his room and then the
|
|
college. Only a couple of servants noted his passage, but did not remark
|
|
upon it, as it was common for bards to travel at need or whim, at any
|
|
bell, day or night.
|
|
Nakaz was sorry to have missed his hoped-for rendezvous with the
|
|
handsome bard, but decided that the meeting was fated not to be.
|
|
The theft went completely unnoticed.
|
|
|
|
Skar didn't often spend time in the Fighting Unicorns. Not because
|
|
he couldn't afford it -- Sir Hawk's "philanthropy", as many called it,
|
|
meant that almost anyone could afford a decent meal there -- but because
|
|
it wasn't his kind of place. It had too clean of a reputation, despite
|
|
the kinds of transactions that went on there. Skar didn't really feel
|
|
comfortable in a bar unless there were wood splinters of broken chairs
|
|
and tables on the floor, and at least one bloodstain on the wall.
|
|
He was there now because a friend had told him that Baron Kanning
|
|
had returned and was staying there. Baron Kanning had been away for a
|
|
few days, and Skar thought he knew why and, what's more, why he had
|
|
returned.
|
|
Five days past, Bellen, one of Skar's little band of cutthroats and
|
|
thieves, had come up with the idea to waylay a traveler in the Fifth
|
|
Quarter. By happenstance or ill-luck, Principine Avenue had been
|
|
singularly deserted that night until the singer had happened along.
|
|
It wasn't until they had ambushed and disabled her that Skar
|
|
learned why Bellen had urged them to continue with the attack. It had
|
|
all been for the rank pendant she wore.
|
|
Skar had had no trouble slitting the girl's throat. He had never
|
|
liked singers, who seemed to have privilege denied honest working folk
|
|
like him just because they could manage a tune, or pluck the strings of
|
|
an instrument. But he had never really thought to attack one as they
|
|
also enjoyed noble protection, another perquisite they got that he
|
|
didn't. But as much pleasure as killing her had been, the five Cues that
|
|
Bellen said he could get for the rank pendant was worth even more.
|
|
Bellen had told him that it was Kane wanted the pendant. Kane, who
|
|
sometimes pretended to be Baron Kanning. Kane, who played roles, and put
|
|
on airs, who thought himself better than the likes of Skar. Kane, who
|
|
had been away for some few days, likely planning whatever escapade he
|
|
needed the pendant for. If Kane had been willing to pay five whole
|
|
Crowns for the pendant, then he had to be getting much, much more for
|
|
whatever he had been hired to steal. Skar was as sure of all of that
|
|
supposition as he was that Kane was here now to deliver the goods and
|
|
receive his payment. Which explained Skar's presence.
|
|
Kane, in the role of Baron Kanning, had descended the stairs from
|
|
the inn's upstairs rooms some time ago, carrying a satchel. He had taken
|
|
one of the privacy booths at the back of the taproom, and had been there
|
|
since. Skar sat, sipping his ale slowly, and waited for the inevitable
|
|
to happen.
|
|
Everyone noticed when the prostitute walked in. Male eyes followed
|
|
her as she walked across the room, Skar's included. A few appreciative
|
|
whistles sounded from the corners, but no one accosted her as they would
|
|
have in one of Skar's preferred haunts. She slipped into Kane's booth,
|
|
and closed the curtain across its front.
|
|
As the normal chatter of the room started up again, Skar's first
|
|
thought was, "Lucky cur!" And then he reconsidered. Maybe Kane wasn't
|
|
the only one playing dress-up, eh? He decided to keep his eyes on that
|
|
booth.
|
|
After a short while, the curtain slid open again, and the woman
|
|
slid gracefully out, stood, and then leaned back in to give Kane a
|
|
little kiss. As she walked to the door, throwing a "See you later," back
|
|
over her shoulder, many eyes followed her swaying hips out the door.
|
|
Skar was tempted, but he kept his eyes fastened like the proprietor's
|
|
namesake on Kane's booth.
|
|
Skar's perseverance was rewarded. As Kane stared in a daze, Skar
|
|
saw an open bag of gold coins sitting on the table in front of him. Skar
|
|
smiled a mean little smile as Kane recovered himself and quickly
|
|
snatched the bag off of the table. Skar slowly drank the rest of his
|
|
ale, and then rose from his table. He strolled across the taproom and
|
|
slid into Kane's booth just as the prostitute had.
|
|
"Greetings, Kane," he said. "Any good business come your way
|
|
lately?" Smugness seemed to drip from his every word.
|
|
Kane maintained his put-on noble air as he replied, "What business
|
|
might it be of yours, Skar?"
|
|
"Well, friend Kane, perhaps we could share a little of that gold
|
|
you just got from that fancy whoor as just left. You know, share the
|
|
wealth, yes?"
|
|
Skar watched Kane's pose slip a little as he realized he had been
|
|
foolish. It was only a matter of time now, but Kane would probably put
|
|
up a little more fight.
|
|
"What makes you think that she brought me that gold, and why should
|
|
I share it in any case?"
|
|
Just as predicted, thought Skar. He had been rehearsing this part
|
|
of the encounter all night. "I know she brought it because you didn't
|
|
have it when you came down them stairs earlier. And, 'cause if you had
|
|
that much money, you wouldn't be staying here, now would you?
|
|
"And, we should share, 'cause I know something that the town guard
|
|
just might like to hear. I don't know just what that tart wanted you to
|
|
do in the singers' school, but I know that you bought a singer's pendant
|
|
from Bellen. And if they check real careful, I bet they find something
|
|
missing, eh?
|
|
"'Course, my yearning to do my civic duty just might be subverted
|
|
with enough gold ..."
|
|
Kane seemed to realize that Skar had the upper hand. There was only
|
|
one sane thing for the caught thief to do. Skar gave his ultimatum. "I
|
|
think about half of what's in that black bag there should keep my mouth
|
|
shut -- for a while at least, eh?"
|
|
Resignation filled Kane's voice as he capitulated. "I guess I have
|
|
no choice, friend Skar. How about a little privacy though, so no one
|
|
else decides that they need a little of my hard-won gold?" Kane reached
|
|
over and pulled the privacy curtain closed again, shutting them in
|
|
together. That suited Skar; he didn't want to share with any more people
|
|
than he had to either.
|
|
Kane lifted the bag of coins back onto the table and began to count
|
|
them out slowly. Skar just had to touch those Cues, and he reached over
|
|
to grab some to keep himself occupied while the royal sum was divided.
|
|
As he grabbed a few of the gold coins, Kane's hands passed over his
|
|
hands and he felt something brush across the back of his fingers. It was
|
|
such a slight sensation and the Cues glittered so enticingly that he
|
|
forgot about it immediately.
|
|
As Kane continued to count, Skar watched the pile that was his grow
|
|
larger and larger. He tried to imagine what he could do with that many
|
|
Cues -- maybe buy a castle for himself, and become a bandit-baron or
|
|
something. As he fondled the few Crowns he had grabbed early, he
|
|
realized that whatever grand dreams he might be able to realize with
|
|
half of those Cues, he could do twice as good with all of them. He then
|
|
began to work out just how he was going to extort the rest of Kane's
|
|
bounty from him.
|
|
Then something strange began to happen. Kane's words seemed to slur
|
|
and be drawn out. He was counting slower and slower. Skar then felt a
|
|
tingling all over, and he found that he couldn't move his feet at all,
|
|
nor his hands.
|
|
Sudden realization dawned -- Kane had surprised him. Kane, the
|
|
proper gentleman thief, the player of genteel roles -- Kane had poisoned
|
|
him! His head jerked up and he tried to force out a sentence through
|
|
already stiffening jaws, but all the farther he got was "What did y ..."
|
|
before his muscles wouldn't obey him any more.
|
|
Skar knew this poison. He knew he was in for a lingering death. His
|
|
eyes, frozen open and beginning to burn, watched as Kane retrieved his
|
|
coins and stashed them back in his bag. Then, Kane took his own tankard
|
|
and put it between Skar's hands, placing his hands around it, settling
|
|
his fingers properly as if he was actually gripping the vessel. As Kane
|
|
bent Skar's neck so that his eyes now only looked into the tankard, the
|
|
gutter-thief was surprised to note the look of disappointment on his
|
|
killer's face, and he realized that Kane was sorry he had been forced to
|
|
this extreme.
|
|
Somehow, the thought didn't comfort Skar as he died.
|
|
Ka'lochra'en, however, might have been comforted if he had known
|
|
that the man his hidden, poisoned dagger had killed had been the man who
|
|
had slit his cousin Je'en's windpipe, ending her bardic career and
|
|
forcing her into a new life.
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
Loren Armare
|
|
Parte 1
|
|
by Max Khaytsus
|
|
<khaytsus@cs.colorado.edu>
|
|
Yuli 4-5, 1014
|
|
|
|
Note to the Reader: This story is a long overdue segment of the
|
|
Beinison-Baranur war. Select reading will assist the reader in
|
|
understanding the events leading up to this series. "Loren Armare" is a
|
|
three part sequel to "Place Unto Wrath" (DargonZine v6n1). It follows up
|
|
on the events from "Campaign on the Laraka, part 2" (DargonZine v3n10)
|
|
and precedes the siege of Gateway in "Campaign on the Laraka, part 3.1"
|
|
(DargonZine v7n1). The last part of this series will use characters that
|
|
later appear in the already published story "A Rogue's Gambit"
|
|
(DargonZine v8n3).
|
|
|
|
Moreover, as I chronicle the bleak patterns of human deportment
|
|
from one frontier of Cherisk to the other, it becomes presently
|
|
evident that the only people to equal my own countrymen in the
|
|
inhuman and often barbaric rituals of conquest are those the
|
|
conquest is against.
|
|
|
|
"Videre Virile" (unfinished)
|
|
Lord Bistra Scire Deriman,
|
|
College Guild of Khronica
|
|
|
|
A bird call disturbed the normal night sounds of the forest and
|
|
echoed among the trees until another voice picked it up and carried it
|
|
further into the gloom of the night. A frightened rodent rushed between
|
|
the roots of an old oak, dodging some unseen danger. Quiet again settled
|
|
on the woods, only to be disturbed by distant voices.
|
|
"That was a wolf. I know that was a wolf."
|
|
"I can't believe you wanted to move camp because of a wolf."
|
|
"There were three, at least three!"
|
|
"Oh, please! They were more frightened to find us than we were to
|
|
see them."
|
|
"You sure didn't look that confident when it sank its teeth into
|
|
your pack."
|
|
A shrill whistle abruptly ended the argument as soldiers in dark
|
|
clothes dropped from surrounding trees to the ground around the small
|
|
party that was travelling in the night.
|
|
"I wouldn't if I were you!" a soldier warned as one of the
|
|
travellers reached for a weapon. A lantern appeared from nowhere,
|
|
illuminating the apprehended party of six, who were all wrapped in
|
|
cloaks and carrying packs.
|
|
"Drop your weapons," a woman's voice sounded from behind the
|
|
lantern. The light moved forward, focusing on the figure among the group
|
|
-- probably a man -- who was reaching beyond his cloak for a weapon.
|
|
Armed soldiers surrounded the small group.
|
|
"Baranurian. You're Baranurian!" One of the travellers advanced
|
|
forward in spite of the soldiers surrounding him and his companions. He
|
|
brushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing an aged face with dark,
|
|
thoughtful eyes. His gray hair seemed silver in the flickering light and
|
|
he raised his hand to shield his eyes from the lantern.
|
|
Two soldiers closed on him, creating a barrier between him and the
|
|
woman holding the lamp. The man paused, but did not back off. "I'm
|
|
Quillien Thorne ..." he tried to explain. "We're Baranurian."
|
|
"On the ground, all of you!" one of the soldiers ordered. "Now!"
|
|
The circle of armed men tightened, confining the small group to
|
|
their midst.
|
|
"Now, I say!" the voice sounded again. "Hands where we can see
|
|
them. We'll take care of your weapons."
|
|
The cloaked travellers slowly began to obey, confronted with the
|
|
weapons of their assailants. One, clearly an older woman, accepted the
|
|
hand of another to get to her knees.
|
|
"Remain standing," the woman behind the light said. The light
|
|
focused on the older woman. "You too, Lord Thorne."
|
|
The older man rose from one knee. "You know me?"
|
|
"I know the name of Quillien Thorne. I don't know you."
|
|
"I wish I could prove my claim," the man answered, "but our hasty
|
|
departure from Port Sevlyn did not permit us to carry out more than what
|
|
you now see."
|
|
"Matrosov, check for weapons," the woman ordered.
|
|
A large man closed to arm's reach with the cloaked people and
|
|
walking among them, pulled back their hoods one by one, checking them
|
|
for weapons as he did so. They were four women and two men, all dirty
|
|
and clearly tired. None resisted the search. He came away with a sword
|
|
from the younger man and a highly decorated dagger from the man claiming
|
|
to be Quillien Thorne.
|
|
"Get up," the soldier told everyone, standing among them. He held
|
|
on to the weapons as everyone around him rose. "They're not soldiers."
|
|
The lantern light shifted. "Did you get all the weapons?" the woman
|
|
asked. A sword and a dagger retrieved from six people well behind enemy
|
|
lines did not sit well with her.
|
|
"Not much of a threat, ma'am," Matrosov paused to challenge with
|
|
his gaze the young man from whom he confiscated the sword. The man set
|
|
his jaw, but did not answer and permitted the young woman next to him to
|
|
pull him back.
|
|
"Here." The weapons were handed to one of the other soldiers.
|
|
"Can you prove to me you're Thorne?" the woman asked again.
|
|
"I wear his clothes, travel with his wife and friends ... The
|
|
signet had to be left behind when we abandoned Port Sevlyn. I could not
|
|
risk our discovery by the Beinison troops."
|
|
"Lieutenant Catalin Bellen," the woman introduced herself,
|
|
"Valdasly Garrison, Arvalia. You will be my prisoners until my men can
|
|
deliver you to my captain. I hope you can prove to him who you are."
|
|
|
|
"Magnus under siege," said a soldier, elbowing another as they
|
|
observed the shadow cast by their lieutenant as he crawled through the
|
|
brush between two campfires of a Beinison scouting party.
|
|
"Shh!" The success of the Baranurian raid on the Beinison camp
|
|
hinged on their ability to get all the men into place before alerting
|
|
the enemy.
|
|
The whispers ceased and the men turned their attention to the
|
|
clearing where three Beinison soldiers sat around one of the fires,
|
|
roasting a piece of unappetizing looking meat on the hot coals. They
|
|
were saying something in their native tongue and occasionally laughing
|
|
over jokes not understood by the Baranurian troops. A second shadow
|
|
twisted in the brush and rolled between two bushes. A glitter of metal,
|
|
barely visible in the dim light of the fire, revealed the presence of a
|
|
second man. He crawled to where a fourth Beinison soldier slept and
|
|
carefully removed the man's sword from the scabbard at his side. The
|
|
soldier stirred, but did not wake.
|
|
"Skoji's getting good, too," one of the hidden soldiers whispered.
|
|
"Let's give them a hand," someone suggested from behind the
|
|
whispering soldier and more shadows slowly moved along the ground,
|
|
closing off the only remaining escape route. The small troop slowly
|
|
dispersed along their side of the camp, settling into positions around
|
|
the four Beinison soldiers.
|
|
A rock thrown from somewhere in the darkness landed in the
|
|
campfire, forcing upward a cloud of embers and ash, and as the three men
|
|
around it got up, coughing and waving away the ash, a shadow jumped from
|
|
the bushes, tackling two of the soldiers and scattering the burning wood
|
|
of the fire across the clearing. There were more noises as the man by
|
|
the other fire awoke and was jumped on by the soldier who had already
|
|
removed his weapon. The rest of the small troop charged into the
|
|
clearing, quickly subduing the Beinison soldiers without shedding a drop
|
|
of blood.
|
|
Lieutenant Hakan Magnus brushed the dust off his tabard and picked
|
|
up his sword, which had been dropped in the struggle-turned-fistfight.
|
|
His men held on to their newfound prisoners as he walked once around the
|
|
clearing, checking the edge of his blade. "Sergeant, is it?" He glanced
|
|
at the Beinison soldier who appeared somewhat older and more grizzled
|
|
than the other prisoners. The man looked away, indicating he had no wish
|
|
to talk. Magnus sheathed his sword. "Are we going to discuss your unit
|
|
here, or do you wish to see my camp first?"
|
|
|
|
Baron ReVell Dower shielded his eyes from the sun, its glare coming
|
|
down from the high point in the sky. His tabard fluttered in the light
|
|
breeze, mimicking the motion of the leaves in the trees. From his high
|
|
point on the north bank of the mighty Laraka, he could see the canopy of
|
|
the forest reaching far to the south. There were no settlements here,
|
|
halfway between Port Sevlyn and Magnus. There were the occasional
|
|
village or town here and there, along the river, but from this remote
|
|
spot along the Laraka, he had an unobstructed view of nothing. Before
|
|
him, at the bottom of the cliff, the river ran rapidly to the west,
|
|
rushing the free waters of Baranur into the enemy's hands.
|
|
The war was not going well for Baranur. Rumors from the eastern
|
|
front hinted that duchies were falling as quickly as Beinison troops
|
|
marched through them. Pyridain, Westbrook, Leftwich, Equiville were all
|
|
rumored to be in the enemy hands, hinting that in six months the enemy
|
|
had walked halfway across Baranur.
|
|
Now the western portion of the country was threatened. From their
|
|
landing in Sharks' Cove during Melrin, the advancing force had taken
|
|
almost the entire Duchy of Quinnat. And all in a fortnight. At this rate
|
|
of advance, the Beinison force would march into the Royal City of Magnus
|
|
before Yuli was half over. Baranur was unprepared and ReVell knew it
|
|
well. The military command in the Royal City was more impressed with
|
|
show than method. They flew their colors high and placed green troops on
|
|
the front lines, but these images of readiness could not stand up to the
|
|
onslaught of bows and swords, pikes and axes wielded by the enemy.
|
|
ReVell turned to Kamerad Bonhan, who was patiently waiting for
|
|
orders, occasionally glancing back to the group of men standing in the
|
|
distance. Unlike his baron, the old soldier wore light armor, eternally
|
|
ready for a battle that might not come for days.
|
|
"They've been here," ReVell stated flatly.
|
|
"Without a doubt."
|
|
"A while back ..."
|
|
"But by no means a fortnight," Sir Bonhan agreed. "I'd guess a half
|
|
dozen regiments in the least. Plain troops, mostly. Footmen. Not a lot
|
|
of indication of horses. Not good territory to take them through."
|
|
"Horses and catapults would have to go by water," ReVell agreed.
|
|
"That's the only way in this forest."
|
|
"But could they spare the ships?"
|
|
ReVell thoughtfully looked up-river. "Why not? They have Sharks'
|
|
Cove, Port Sevlyn. The only fleet they have to fear is in Magnus. The
|
|
nearest help would come from Armand, but Narragan has already committed
|
|
his ships to Pyridain. The next closest major port is Dargon and if they
|
|
bother to come, they're at best a month away. Probably two."
|
|
"But the Laraka's a big place to patrol. Navy isn't the only
|
|
threat, nor the most effective at this point. They'd be foolish not to
|
|
expect extra land troops attacking their flanks."
|
|
"Like us?"
|
|
"Exactly like us!" Sir Bonhan raised his voice.
|
|
Both men realized all too well that their intrusion did not fit in
|
|
the plans of the Beinison generals. The path of the Arvalian reserves
|
|
took them almost directly south from Arvalia, in hopes that their rapid
|
|
advance would aid the Quinnat and Royal Duchy troops, but instead, they
|
|
discovered themselves far behind the enemy lines, after the enemy had
|
|
marched through the duchy.
|
|
"I imagine that if Sothos still has his wits about him, he'll try
|
|
to make a stand at Gateway. It's the last remaining garrison before
|
|
Magnus," ReVell declared. "They have maybe two regiments there. Plus
|
|
those that retreat from Quinnat and any that come up from Magnus. The
|
|
only question I have is if there is time. If Sothos over-committed his
|
|
forces expecting an eastern assault, he'll have nothing to reinforce
|
|
Gateway. I see only one solution, my friend."
|
|
Bonhan glanced at the river. "Nothing heavier than men on shore.
|
|
That means there are ships. Many ships. And there are two goals.
|
|
Supplies and provisions. We cut their supply lines."
|
|
"Gather the troops, Captain. Trade on the Laraka has come to an
|
|
end."
|
|
Kamerad Bonhan turned on his heels in his stiflingly military
|
|
manner and headed away from the cliff. Behind him, the gray waters of
|
|
the Laraka, muddy from the spring run-off, continued to flow as if no
|
|
war had ever been fought on its shores. It was a river much like the Ty
|
|
in his native Arvalia, oblivious to politics or war, to knights and
|
|
men-at-arms, to the agonizing cries of Beinison and Baranur locked in
|
|
the bloodiest war that had ever been fought in the history of Cherisk.
|
|
His military background and life-long training were the tools and
|
|
preparation for an invasion just like this, but with the dark days now
|
|
here, with the fall of Sharks' Cove and Port Sevlyn, there was little
|
|
hope for Magnus and there was no hope for him to get his troops to the
|
|
front lines in time. The stand against the enemy had to be made here,
|
|
some one hundred leagues behind the enemy lines. If the battle was
|
|
played right, there was just the shadow of a chance that his troops
|
|
could be the boot to stand on the back of the invading serpent and give
|
|
Baranur a chance to push back the aggressors.
|
|
"My Lord," a man-at-arms rushed up to Sir Bonhan as the old captain
|
|
headed away from the edge of the cliff. The senior captain paused.
|
|
"Yes?"
|
|
"Sir, forward guard reports a squad returning with captives."
|
|
"Good," Bonhan nodded. "They're just in time for my briefing. Is
|
|
Captain Binu with them?"
|
|
"I believe it's Lieutenant Bellen's men, sir. Captain Binu took his
|
|
men to the south shore this morning."
|
|
"Then inform Lieutenant Bellen to represent her captain at the
|
|
meeting."
|
|
The soldier returned the way he came and Bonhan turned back to the
|
|
party gathering up on the cliff. "One of the squads is back!" he called
|
|
to ReVell.
|
|
The baron waved in acknowledgement.
|
|
|
|
"Baron Dower in camp?" Hakan Magnus questioned a sentry at base
|
|
camp, having split from Lieutenant Bellen's and his own squads after
|
|
they arrived back at the heavily forested stretch of hills the four
|
|
Arvalian regiments had been using as a temporary base. Magnus was a
|
|
tall, broad-shouldered man with sun-bleached brown hair. He spoke with a
|
|
slight accent, indicating he was not native to northern Baranur. His
|
|
face and clothes were dirty from his nighttime patrol and he gave the
|
|
distinct impression of not really wanting to talk to the baron.
|
|
"Yes, sir. He's holding council at the overlook. They were looking
|
|
for you."
|
|
Magnus nodded. His return was well timed, if not convenient, and
|
|
having prisoners from the patrol was not bad news to bring back. He had
|
|
been with the militia for many years, having advanced from a man-at-arms
|
|
through squirehood and eventually to knighthood. He was a veteran of
|
|
many duchy patrols and confrontations with lowbrows and brigands and
|
|
now, after all these years, he was in his first war. "Cat," Magnus
|
|
called his companion over, "they're waiting for us."
|
|
"Already?" the woman trailing behind him hurried up. She was a full
|
|
head shorter than he was and of a slighter build, but without a doubt a
|
|
soldier. Like him, she wore light field armor and around her neck, a
|
|
small stone tear, representing her knightly order. "I was hoping we'd
|
|
deliver the news first," she added.
|
|
"I think it's the Baron's regular war council," Magnus answered.
|
|
"I've got half a mind to go on another patrol just to avoid it, even if
|
|
it costs me another night of sleep."
|
|
"We're fostering communications between the regiments," Catalin
|
|
laughed. "Our seasoned troops need to share their wisdom with the
|
|
peasants in the other regiments. Besides, I really want to know what
|
|
Bonhan is planning. It's coming down to getting our swords ready for
|
|
battle and strategists like him don't come along every day."
|
|
"After you," Magnus indicated, "but beware, I won't let you go
|
|
first on the battlefield."
|
|
The two lieutenants made their way to the top of the cliff
|
|
overlooking the river that had been their target for the past several
|
|
days. Their troops had taken the hard path in, down the Windbourne
|
|
Mountains through valleys so rough and narrow that no road would ever be
|
|
laid through them. They had entered behind the enemy lines, four
|
|
regiments total, on an unprotected flank, and cut through some of the
|
|
densest forest in Baranur to come to their country's major waterway and
|
|
the Beinison army's lifeline. Now the time was coming to confront the
|
|
enemy and in a matter of days they would be taking on the Beinison
|
|
troops from behind.
|
|
"... and if the patrol reports this area clear," Sir Hardin's voice
|
|
fell into hearing range, "we'll be able to advance sufficiently close to
|
|
be within striking range of Gateway, no more than a two bell's march."
|
|
He paused, glancing at the newcomers. "And that would be Captain Binu's
|
|
job ..."
|
|
Catalin and Magnus saluted Arvalia's military commander and took
|
|
their positions among the other regimental and company representatives,
|
|
forming a semi-circle at the edge of the cliff.
|
|
"We understand you brought back captives?" Sir Hardin asked. He
|
|
stepped into the center of the semi-circle, letting Baron Dower back
|
|
away to the very edge of the cliff. "You may as well report now with
|
|
everyone here."
|
|
Catalin Bellen took a step forward. "As planned, sir, we scouted
|
|
the Laraka ten leagues upstream. There is sufficient evidence that a
|
|
large military presence passed this way recently on both banks of the
|
|
river. I would estimate ten to fifteen regiments, but they crossed the
|
|
river multiple times, often marching on both banks. It's hard to tell,
|
|
other than that there were many.
|
|
"We recovered two independent parties. One consisted of six
|
|
individuals of Baranurian origin. They claim to be nobility out of Port
|
|
Sevlyn. The other consists of four Beinison soldiers, apprehended by
|
|
Lieutenant Magnus shortly before we turned back."
|
|
"Magnus?" Sir Hardin asked, turning to the other knight.
|
|
Hakan Magnus was the senior lieutenant in the regiment and by all
|
|
rights should have been making the report to start with, but he often
|
|
remained a silent representative of his captain, having more input on
|
|
what had yet to be done over what had already happened.
|
|
"The soldiers, sir, are a part of a Beinison regiment holding a
|
|
rear flank. They were neither prepared for us, nor organized enough to
|
|
offer resistance. There were four men. We brought three back. The last
|
|
one chose to resist rather than cooperate. Based on their answers, the
|
|
main body of the army believes this area to be secure, which is the
|
|
reason for a small and irregular rear guard."
|
|
"How large a force are they with, Magnus?" Baron Dower asked. His
|
|
tone indicated he had a plan before hearing the answer.
|
|
"Ten regiments marched up a sennight ago," Magnus responded.
|
|
"Several more followed, although we have no numbers. We did not perform
|
|
a detailed interrogation. I felt it was more critical to return the
|
|
scouting information than to take the time required for an
|
|
interrogation."
|
|
"You marched them ten leagues back?" Sir Bonhan asked.
|
|
"Actually, sir, I had them carried. Their pace would not have
|
|
permitted our scheduled return."
|
|
Sir Bonhan and Baron Dower exchanged a look that must have carried
|
|
some meaning because Sir Bonhan nodded and the Baron went on.
|
|
"Have the Benosians transferred to Captain Bonhan's staff and the
|
|
nobles to mine. We will conduct the interrogations.
|
|
"Captain Hardin, I want you to take your regiment east and set camp
|
|
at the ten league mark. You have one day to accomplish that. The other
|
|
two regiments will be joining you shortly. Captain Binu's regiment will
|
|
be doing the same on the south shore. Questions?"
|
|
No one asked any.
|
|
"Dismissed."
|
|
|
|
Quillien Thorne faced off with Garrett Covington, his gray eyes
|
|
turning darker at the contempt from the younger man. He could afford the
|
|
luxury of an argument here in the tent, away from the prying eyes of
|
|
their captors. Garrett had been belligerent towards the soldiers that
|
|
captured them in the forest and this had to stop before things were made
|
|
irreparably worse. His daughter kept an eye on the activity outside
|
|
while he attempted to argue Garrett into submission.
|
|
"Please Garrett," his wife, Tassy, pleaded, getting between the two
|
|
men. "Lord Thorne got us this far, out of Port Sevlyn. Let him get us
|
|
out of this, too."
|
|
"Covington, listen to me," Thorne said. "My social status has no
|
|
standing with these soldiers. Yours is even more trivial than mine.
|
|
Unless you can produce an uncle who just happens to be a duke, any
|
|
demands you wish to levy will be thrown out and you'll be lucky if they
|
|
dump you in the wilderness to fend for yourself rather than handing you
|
|
a sword and sending you into battle. Your healer training will merely
|
|
inspire them to use your skills on the front lines where you are bound
|
|
to get killed. Look at your wife. Do you want her to be a widow at her
|
|
young age? Or would it be better if she was handed a sword, too?"
|
|
"I'm not going to --"
|
|
"Garrett, please!"
|
|
"Don't stress yourself, dear," Rolanda Thorne pulled Tassy away
|
|
from the two arguing men. "The last thing I want is you in the middle
|
|
when they come to blows." She guided Tassy away, then cast a fierce
|
|
glare at Garrett. "Sit down and shut up, if you know what's good for
|
|
you."
|
|
Garrett glanced over at the two women, momentarily losing eye
|
|
contact with Thorne. And that was all it took for him to lose ground in
|
|
his debate.
|
|
"Now sit there and let me do the talking." Thorne persisted until
|
|
there was no doubt that he had won.
|
|
"Father, the guard's returning," Jannis Thorne warned. She let the
|
|
flap to the tent close as she retreated away from the entrance.
|
|
"I'm ready," he answered, without turning to look. He glanced at
|
|
his wife, knowing she wanted to go with him. "Rolanda ..."
|
|
"I'm ready."
|
|
"No, no." He stepped towards her, placing his mouth to her ear.
|
|
"Garrett's a hothead. If we don't rein him in, he'll just pick a fight
|
|
with the guards and we're all going to be blamed."
|
|
"Quillien," Rolanda turned to face him, starting to protest his
|
|
decision.
|
|
"You're the only one I can trust to do this right," he said.
|
|
She nodded, reluctantly.
|
|
"Keep them calm, Rolanda. I will talk to the commander of this
|
|
regiment. Jannis, you'll be coming with me. Remember, all of you are
|
|
working for me."
|
|
The flap of the tent was pulled open just as Jannis moved away and
|
|
two guards entered. "Lord Thorne, the Baron will talk to you now. Please
|
|
attend us."
|
|
"With pleasure," Thorne answered. He threw one last warning glance
|
|
to Garrett and stepped to follow the guards. "Jannis, come with me."
|
|
The guards stopped. "Just you, sir."
|
|
"My daughter is studying to take over my business. She will come
|
|
with me to see the baron." His gaze remained fixed on the lead guard and
|
|
he used the advantage of his height to intimidate the smaller man.
|
|
"Very well," the guard gave in. "Just two."
|
|
Thorne and his daughter were led across the military camp to a
|
|
large tent that appeared to be the center of all activity. There were
|
|
few tents at the camp -- only a half dozen could be seen, including the
|
|
one they were led to and the one where Thorne and his family were kept.
|
|
The guard brushed aside the flap of the tent, then followed Thorne and
|
|
his daughter in.
|
|
Inside were two men. One, about Thorne's age, sat at a small table.
|
|
He was comfortably dressed and visibly stressed. No doubt the baron. The
|
|
other, a significantly younger man, stood next to him, looking at what
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appeared to be a roughly-sketched map. He was wearing armor and a sword
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hung at his side.
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"My liege," the guard said, "Lord Quillien Thorne and his daughter,
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Lady Jannis Thorne."
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"Thank you," the older man responded to the guard. "Please leave
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us. Lord Thorne, would you care to sit?"
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"I'm fine," Thorne answered as the guard silently departed. Sitting
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would put him in a submissive stance and he wanted to have a firm grasp
|
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on any negotiations.
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"And you, lady?"
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"I'm fine as well," the young woman answered.
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"Very well." The older man stood up, clearly understanding the
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|
tactic. "I'm ReVell Dower, Baron of Valdasly of the Duchy of Arvalia.
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This is Ariam Brand, my aide. I trust my men treated you well?"
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"Somewhat better than a common thief, I imagine," Thorne answered.
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"Better than the three Beinison soldiers that were brought in with us."
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ReVell smiled. "I am pleased to hear that my officers are also
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|
gentlemen. But I have a more significant issue to address. Lord Thorne,
|
|
you stand before me dressed in peasant rags, dirty and tired. You are
|
|
clearly Baranurian as you have perfect command of the language and no
|
|
sign of an accent, but how can you help me identify you for who you
|
|
claim to be?"
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"I don't believe I have a proper means of validating my claim,"
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Thorne said, "but I can share information with you that may help it."
|
|
"Very well."
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|
"I don't know if you've heard my family name before, but I am the
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|
owner of Land's Rim merchant house, the largest in all of Port Sevlyn.
|
|
My older daughter, Brynna, is the captain of the _Vanguard_Voyager_, one
|
|
of my ships. The Baranurian navy is very familiar with my small fleet
|
|
and perhaps with me, if you have any naval officers present, I am sure
|
|
they could confirm this."
|
|
"I do not," ReVell answered, "but go on." The names and places rang
|
|
familiar to him and for the time being that was enough.
|
|
"The eve of Yule nine the Beinison forces came in sight of Port
|
|
Sevlyn," Thorne continued his story. "They laid siege to the city and
|
|
three days later broke through. The town guard and the few troops that
|
|
retreated from Sharks' Cove were slaughtered before the night was over.
|
|
Then the enemy forces proceeded to burn and loot the city. My family and
|
|
staff took refuge in a vault inside my house until the worst of it was
|
|
over, then under the cover of darkness, dressed as you see us now, we
|
|
walked out to the gate and requested passage. Rayna, my assistant, had
|
|
suggested we pass ourselves off as pilgrims of the Stevene. The Stevene
|
|
must have been smiling on us that moment, because the Beinison
|
|
commander, Vasquez, in a moment of compassion, let us through while his
|
|
men continued to destroy the city."
|
|
"Joachim Vasquez?" ReVell asked. "Describe him."
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|
"I don't ..." Thorne paused. "Very tall. Black hair. Sharp
|
|
features."
|
|
ReVell nodded. "Go on."
|
|
"There isn't much more," Thorne said. "We spent a fortnight in the
|
|
forest moving east. We hoped to get to Magnus. Your men found us and
|
|
brought us here."
|
|
"East isn't the way you want to go," ReVell said. "You're following
|
|
the advancing Beinison army. Would information on their strength be too
|
|
much to ask for?"
|
|
"I'm afraid so," Thorne answered. "We only saw some of the looting.
|
|
Our lack of apparent interest in the war was an element in our being
|
|
able to leave the city."
|
|
"Very well, Lord Thorne. I want you to gather your family and
|
|
associates. I will supply you provisions and an escort to safety."
|
|
"I would greatly appreciate that, Baron," Thorne said. "I would
|
|
also like to request that the items confiscated from us be returned.
|
|
And, of course, if there is any message you wish to send with us, I
|
|
would be happy to render that service."
|
|
ReVell nodded, then called for the guard to take Thorne and his
|
|
daughter back. "Ariam." He turned to his aide once the merchant was
|
|
gone. "I want you to select three men-at-arms and lead the Thorne party
|
|
to safety. Take them to Arvalia. Go to Wachock or, if you can, up to
|
|
Hawksbridge. And track down and return whatever Bellen took away from
|
|
them."
|
|
"I'd rather fight at your side, sir," Brand answered. "Foot
|
|
soldiers should be able to get them to safety. We don't even know if
|
|
they are who they claim to be."
|
|
"I'm fairly confident that they are telling the truth, Ariam. And
|
|
Lord Thorne would deserve nothing less than a knight as an escort. I'd
|
|
rather have you at my side, too, but this is about alliances and the
|
|
great houses of Baranur. Four men won't make a difference where four
|
|
regiments are concerned. Us treating Thorne well would benefit our
|
|
duke."
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========================================================================
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