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 DargonZine                                     Distributed: 04/07/1996
 Volume 9, Number 3                             Circulation:        588
========================================================================

                                Contents

 Editorial                    Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
 Intentions 2                 Dan Granata            Yule 1015
 Shadowstone 2                Dafydd Cyhoeddwr       Naia 12, 1014
 Friendships Bloody Tear 2    Mark A. Murray         Yuli 1015

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

 DargonZine 9-3, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright April, 1996 by
 the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>.
 All rights reserved. All rights are reassigned to the individual
 contributors. Stories may not be reproduced or redistributed without
 the explicit permission of the author(s) involved, except in the case
 of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
 Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================

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

     If you've visited the DargonZine Web page yet, you've experienced
our design aesthetic firsthand. While the Web gives us the ability to
really go nuts with our graphic presentation, we've gone with a very
basic parchment design with sparse graphics.
     We've done this for a few reasons. One of our principles was to
make the site both usable and appealling, even over a 14.4 Kb modem
line. We've accomplished this by using images sparsely, using them
repeatedly (to take advantage of local caching), and designing our
graphics to take up minimal storage space. Another principle is
simplicity -- our use of black text on a parchment background maximizes
readibility, without sacrificing the medieval "feel" of the
presentation. We'll leave the funky, hard-to-read, graphically intense
design to others.
     Which brings me to our most important principle. The Dargon Project
is all about text, and those of us who write for the magazine are very
focused on its textual contents. The fact that the site is visually
appealling is due in great part to one or two of our writers (most
notably, Carlo Samson and myself) contributing even more of their free
time. But although spending hours developing slick graphics for the Web
site may be fun, it's also a distraction from our real job: writing
stories.
     And so we're putting the word out that we need graphic artists who
are willing to volunteer their work to be used on the Web site. Typical
work would include illustrations for stories and the rest of the site
(browse around to see examples of what we've done so far). If you are
interested, or know someone who might be, please drop me email at
<dargon@shore.net>.
     Since day one, back in late 1984, this magazine has survived and
prospered because of the contributions of its readers. It'd be really
great to have someone step up and help us make the magazine that much
better than it is today.

     This issue could well be subtitled "DargonZine 9-2, Part 2", since
all the stories are second chapters to storylines which were begun in
our last issue. So I'd encourage you to go back and read DargonZine 9-2,
if you haven't already. Here's a quick reminder...
     In Dan Granata's "Intentions", Balor the entertainer arrived in
Dargon and was reunited with his childhood friend, Dalis.
     Dafydd's "Shadowstone" series brought an unexplained fateful
mission to a thief named Chandras, leaving him trailing the victors in a
battle between his brigand friends and an unknown group of horsemen.
     And we continue to learn more about the main characters in Mark
Murray's series: Raphael, a jaded wanderer, and Megan, his seemingly
catatonic charge.

    As ever, feedback is welcome, keep spreading the word, and thanks
for your continued interest!

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

                               Intentions
                                Part II
                             by Dan Granata
                        <dgranata@glasscity.net>
                           Dargon, Yule 1015

     The sun had long since set on the strangest day of my life. Well,
the strangest day of my life *so far*, I corrected myself. I was
beginning to realize that things change very quickly sometimes, and this
was one of those times. I am beginning to sound redundant even to
myself, but these things happen when you're lying on a bed late at
night, with nothing to do but think.
     I sat up, the rustling of the covers sounding like thunder in the
silence. That is another one of the signs of boredom, when you notice
meaningless occurrences. I guessed that my boredom was a direct result
of the excitement earlier that day. I had entered Dargon, embarrassed
myself several times, tried to steal a noble's purse and nearly got
myself arrested, only to be reunited with a childhood friend.
     And now I am sitting on a bed in an inn that I couldn't even recall
the name of, tossing and turning while my dear friend Dalis sleeps like
a child. I shrugged my shoulders and set my elbows on my knees. With a
sigh, I put my head in my hands. Trying to make sense of things only
made my head hurt.
     Standing up, which is not an easy task for a fatigued person, I
walked over to the window. Looking out, I couldn't keep myself from
laughing. "An alley," I thought. Perfect scenery.
     Strength returning to my weary body, I tried to figure out what I
wanted to do. So I stood in the middle of the room for a moment,
weighing sleep against insomnia. Logic left and insomnia won. I shuffled
over to the small basin of water that was in a corner of the room.
Dipping my hands in, I splashed the lukewarm liquid onto my
sleep-deprived face. Staring into the wall, I thought: "Balor, Balor.
How did you get here? What went wrong?"
     I decided that I'd rearrange my things. It's a strange habit that I
have, when I'm bored I sort my belongings.
     My pack opened easily and I laid everything I owned out onto the
bed. As I did so, I couldn't help but wonder what had become of my
pursuers. They had followed me closely for quite some time, then
suddenly they were gone. Was that how the guard operated in Dargon?
"Strange," I thought again. I shrugged off the ideas and went about my
chore.

     What had to be several bells later, I woke. This startled me
because I hadn't remember falling asleep. I started to pull myself up,
and it was then that I noticed the weight on my chest. Looking down, I
saw the source. A large, leather bound book was lying on my chest. Still
half asleep, I was puzzled as to where the book came from. Suddenly, I
remembered. Before I fell asleep, I had found the large book in my pack.
I thought it strange because it hadn't been there the last time I
checked, which was only that morning. Maybe someone slipped it in during
my performance, I thought, or maybe it was Dalis's.
     I picked up the book and studied its cover. I tried to draw upon my
experience with the formal texts, no matter how small. No, I'm literate;
it's just that books are hard to come by. Thinking of that fact made me
wonder more about how this volume just appeared in my pack. I examined
it more closely. It appeared to be well-bound, and a title was on the
outer cover. "Personas Remedian". I sat back, trying to remember my
ancient texts. My memory seemed to be hazy here, although the fact that
I had very little training in the language didn't help, either.
"Personas", I remembered, had to do with "self or "personal". "Remedian"
didn't stir the stew, so to speak.
     I opened the book to the first page. I sighed when I noticed it was
completely in ancient form. Translation restricted my reading
considerably. I began.
     "Personal worth, above all else, should be recognized by an
individual who wishes to do well. To achieve ... "
     I had to stop. After that the words ceased to make sense. Well, I
thought, I found the title. I wondered again who gave me the book.
     A stirring from the direction of Dalis's bed brought me out of my
thoughts. It seemed that my friend was waking. I closed the book and
tossed it onto the bed, next to me, giving it no more thought.

     That morning Dalis and I decided, although I should have been the
wiser, to skip breakfast. "The guard might still be about," he had
rationalized. My head agreed but my stomach hated him.
     To take my mind off food, we resolved to continue the conversation
that we had begun last night, a conversation that was cut short by
fatigue; to catch up on each others' lives. A lot can happen in ten
years.
     "So you've been traveling all this time?" Dalis said, marveling at
my stamina, or possibly my stupidity.
     "For all of ten years. I have to admit though, it isn't as easy as
I thought it would be," I said shaking my head slowly, remembering.
     "You thought it would be *easy*!" Dalis exclaimed. "What were you
thinking?"
     "I was young and stupid. You knew me then; you remember how I was.
A fool's fool."
     Dalis just laughed. I couldn't help but see the humor in it too. I
could recall the time when Dalis and I were fishing, and I fell in the
Coldwell trying to leap it. I had thought *that* would be easy too. It's
strange how things seem more impossible the older you get. I longed for
those younger days ...
     "Dalis, let's go fishing," I said, leaping from my seat.
     "What?"
     I started over toward him. "Fishing, just like we used to. We could
set up a camp and make a day of it. Just like we used to. What do you
think?" I could barely contain myself.
     "I suppose we could, but not now. Now, duty calls."
     I didn't understand what he meant, and I told him. He silently
revealed his left hand. On it was a ring.
     My first thought was that my friend had gone and got himself
married. Duty, my right foot. But that idea was banished in seconds when
I examined the ring more closely. On it were several symbols. A book, a
quill pen, the words Mae Gwybodaeth Gallu, meaning "Knowledge is Power".
I couldn't believe it.
     "You're a member of the Guild!"
     Dalis merely smiled and nodded. I couldn't contain my joy. I
started to spout off every congratulatory phrase I could think of. But
deep inside, I couldn't help but feel that twinge of regret and envy. I
should be a member of the Guild, too. But then I stopped myself. No, I
didn't have the patience, the determination to spend years in study to
become a member of the College of Bards. I knew that when I left. The
pauper and the merchant.
     "So what's your 'duty'?" I asked, allowing no hint of my secret
thoughts leaking into my voice.
     "I'm here doing research on a particular ancient text that we have
just discovered. It was found in the area and the Guild likes to know a
history of the works it holds. I have a meeting with a local named
Corambis Desaavu. It's been said he knows quite a bit."
     I tried to act as if I cared, out of politeness and courtesy,
adding over-exaggerated "Is that so!" and wide-eyed stares of surprise.
However, my patience wore thin rather quickly, and I managed, only under
great restraint, to stifle a few yawns. Finally, with the risk of
unconsciousness seemingly looming about, I decided to change the
subject. "Dalis, do you ever have fun?" I asked, a twinge of sarcasm
entering my voice.
     "Excuse me?"
     "Do you ever do anything besides research? I bet you don't. You
didn't when we were kids, either. I had to force you to go fishing,
although you admitted you liked it. I'll bet you're still shy, too. When
is the last time you saw a girl? Socially, I mean."
     Dalis was silent. I knew it. Then an idea hit me. I picked up the
book that lay next to me.
     "Here, read this," I handed the book to him. "I don't need it, and
you seem interested enough in ancient texts. Besides, I can't read it."
I stopped and shot him a glance. "Who knows, it may even do you some
good."
     He read the title, looked at me, and smiled. "Maybe," he said, and
he started to laugh.

     The rest of that day I spent sleeping, because there wasn't much to
do. Dalis had told me that he would be back within a bell or so, so I
thought I could make up for the rest I missed the night before.
     Dalis didn't return until well after dusk. He seemed very excited,
and most of that evening I spent in forced anxiety, listening to him as
he rattled off some odd facts about history. While I admit history does
interest me somewhat, I believe Dalis passed my boundary. M'Kivar, I
thought, I hope that book does something for his personality. I would
better enjoy a hearthstone!
     It seemed like days had passed; finally Dalis decided to turn in
for the night, I eagerly agreed.

     The next few days were spent similarly, I would waste the day in
our room while Dalis would go out chasing after some bit of history. At
first I took the opportunity to practice my act. This stopped when the
proprietor of the inn complained, rather loudly, too.
     I really began to wonder about Dalis. How could he exist solely on
research?
     Finally one day, Dalis was home a little before dusk. We decided
that we would spend the evening in the tavern below, quite convinced
that it was safe.
     "How's the research coming?" I asked after we ordered our meals.
The moment I said it I regretted it, and steeled myself for another
history lecture. To my surprise, Dalis wasn't even listening. He was
staring off somewhere behind me, in the direction of the bar.
     I followed his gaze, and what I saw surprised me. It did seem that
my good friend had an interest in one of the barmaids!
     "Talk to her," I said, trying to coax him out of his shell.
     "What?" he said, obviously not hearing me fully.
     "Talk to her."
     "I couldn't."
     "You mean you won't," I said as I threw a piece of bread at him.
     "Well," he started, staring at her with a bit of longing. I felt
sorry for him at that moment.
     The rest of the meal lacked for conversation, as I was starved and
Dalis was infatuated. Afterward, as we adjourned to our room, I noticed
my friend was looking depressed, or at least ill. I asked him about it.
     "Oh, I'm fine," he said. He always was a horrible liar.
     I asked him again, and this time he confided to me that it was the
barmaid from the tavern. I couldn't help but smile.
     "I *told* you to talk to her, but *you* wouldn't listen!"
     "I know, I know," he said, shaking his head. He looked as if he was
going to say something, then thought better of it. He simply rolled over
onto his side.
     I watched him for a few more moments, then I laid down as well. As
my mind drifted, (I was drowsy from so much food), I swore I heard
rustling pages. I smiled a bit to myself. Now, he'll get somewhere ...

     The next morning I saw quite a change in my old friend. Aside from
the bloodshot eyes and withdrawn face that displayed a lack of sleep, I
saw what could only be described as determination. That's what it was,
because the first words out of his mouth were: "Balor, let's go get
breakfast!"
     Now, don't get me wrong; Dalis wasn't in the mood for eating. His
mind was on other things -- people, actually. I convinced him to at
least make himself more presentable -- splash some water on his face,
change clothes, anything so as not to embarrass himself. He reluctantly
agreed.

     Down in the tavern I saw my old friend as I had never seen him
before. He strode straight up to the barmaid, who's name I later found
out was Kessia. She seemed surprised at his boldness at first, then
relaxed. Of course, I was viewing this all from across the room at my
table.
     Their conversation soon escalated to the point were they sat down
at a nearby table. I was surprised at myself for not feeling even a
twinge of jealousy -- Kessia was rather fetching. I credited it to
elation for Dalis's newfound confidence.

     All that morning and a good part of that afternoon was spent in
that tavern, Dalis talking to Kessia while I ate like a wharfman. It
wasn't until about the seventh bell that the barmaid was called back to
work and the conversation ended. A good thing, too; I was beginning to
swell with indigestion.
     "Well," I said to Dalis as we headed back up to our room, "what
caused this sudden burst of confidence?"
     "It was that book, Balor! I picked it up last night, in order to
get my mind off Kessia -- that's her name, by the way -- and I started
reading. It really made sense to me. I think you may have changed my
life!" The last he said with a smile. I couldn't help but share his
enthusiasm.
     "So," I said, "now that you have all this confidence, I suppose you
wouldn't mind taking off a little research time to go fishing, would
you?"
     "No, I wouldn't mind."
     "*Finally*," I thought. Then he added: "Not today, though, all
right? I'm going with Kessia for dinner tonight."
     "You're seeing her again?!" I reeled. This was amazing! Dalis
barely ever talked to his mother when I saw him last, let alone seeing a
girl steadily. I stopped myself, realizing that I was a little ahead of
things.
     "Well, of course! Go! It'll be good for you!" I remarked, smacking
Dalis on the back.
     "Thanks again, Balor," he said, and bounded up the staircase to
prepare for his outing, still bells away. I started to follow, but then
I realized that Dalis would probably want to be alone.
     "Back to the tavern," I sighed, as I walked back down the stairs.
The whole rest of the day I was trying to suppress nagging thoughts
about Dalis's sudden change.

     I took up cleaning the room as a hobby to pass the time over my
next few days of solitude. Dalis was now spending most of his time with
Kessia and some new friends, whom he never wanted to introduce me to. I
dismissed that thought. I had been dismissing thoughts quite a bit the
last few days, regarding Dalis's behavior.
     You might wonder why I was still cooped up in that room. That is on
the account of Dalis overhearing something on one of his increasingly
frequent outings.
     "I swear to you, Balor, I heard the guards talking. They said 'So,
we start the sweep tomorrow?' and the other one said 'Yeah, we'll find
that thief.' So you see, Balor, I'm just protecting you. It's not safe."
     You might think I'm a moron for believing him, but I figure if
Dalis wants me here so badly, he must have good cause, right? He's never
lied to me before. And yet ...
     My thoughts were cut short by a sound in the alley below. I was
moving to investigate when suddenly something flew through the window,
the sheer surprise knocking me to the ground. The sound of my body
hitting the ground mixed with the sound of something else embedding
itself elsewhere.
     As I lay there, I heard the scuffling in the alley, again. This
time it moved away. I lay on the floor for a few moments more, trying to
discern exactly what had just happened.
     Thoughts secured, I picked myself up. I looked around for the
projectile that had invaded my room. It didn't take me long to find the
arrow that jutted out of the ceiling. I pushed a chair over, climbed on
top of it, and removed the arrow, which was no little task. It only took
me another moment to notice the note tied onto the shaft. I undid the
note, thinking all the while who would go to all this trouble just to
send me a message. Maybe, I thought, it wasn't for me. Visions of death
threats, written in blood, demanding payments from Dalis entered my
mind. These were dispelled when I read the note, written in the artistic
hand of a scribe:

     Balor,
          I know this is a strange way to inform you, but I am pressed
     for time. I have a free moment, meet me down at our old spot.
                                 Dalis

     The note caused a cascade of pleasant memories. Sunny days spent on
the banks of the Coldwell, laughing, swimming, and skipping stones. I
couldn't help but smile. Memories of our "border wars" with other
children in the neighborhood for "rights" to the spot. It was even the
spot where I had first told Dalis that I was leaving. He tried to be
supportive, but I could see that he was upset ...
     I packed up a few things and left for the spot that Dalis and I had
frequented as children. I still found myself having to disperse
apprehensions about my old friend. I just couldn't help but wonder where
he got the arrow.

     It seemed like no time at all had passed when I arrived at the
banks of the Coldwell, although the sun was nearly down. The fact that
it was an awkward time for fishing didn't enter my mind. I should have
known then. My mind was clouded when I ran over the hill and saw a sight
I hadn't seen in years, the second in nearly a week. There was Dalis,
busy putting the finalized touches to a makeshift camp, a camp exactly
like the ones we built ten years ago. I don't mind saying I was near
tears.
     Dalis noticed me and waved. I waved back and ran down to meet him.
     "It looks great," I said when I reached him.
     "I know," he said with a smile, and we both set to work, preparing
fishing poles and bait.

     We fished for what seemed like forever, but in reality was about a
bell. It was then that Dalis told me.
     "Balor, I think I'm in trouble."
     I asked what he meant; what kind of trouble?
     Then came the shock. Dalis had been with Kessia when they got into
an argument over "nothing" so Dalis had said. The argument got worse and
Kessia threw something at Dalis "like a mad woman." Dalis had "defended
himself" when Kessia "threw herself at him" and the barmaid was injured.
     "It all happened so fast," Dalis whined. "Suddenly my knife was out
and Kessia ..."
     I was appalled. How could this have happened? Nothing made sense to
me, and then everything was perfectly clear. I told Dalis he had to turn
himself in.
     "Are you insane? Are you *mad*?" he screamed. "Do you know what
they do to murderers?"
     "Murder?!!" I screamed back. "You said she was injured!"
     "Injured, dead, what's the difference? C'mon, Balor, I need your
help!"
     "What's the difference? *What's the difference!?*" I screamed, "One
is hurt, the other is *dead*, Dalis! I can't help you then, *friend*.
Since when did you start carrying a knife anyway? And what threat could
that girl have posed to you that you felt you had to run her through?!"
He remained silent. M'Kivar! "Answer me!" I heard my voice echo off the
water.
     "By the gods, Balor! I come here for your help, thinking you'd be a
friend. Now you've already got me put away!"
     With that, he stormed off.
     My mind reeled. I couldn't believe this at all. My life had been
relatively normal until I returned to Dargon, and suddenly my oldest
friend was a murderer. I couldn't help myself. I sank to the ground and
cried. Partially from exhaustion, the rest from agony and confusion.

     I woke the next morning to a crackling fire and the smell of
roasting fish. I knew without having to look. Dalis was back.
     I got up and went over to a corner of the camp to relieve myself.
When I went back the fish was done, so I ate some, all while keeping
silent.
     "I'm turning myself in, Balor," he said simply.
     I couldn't believe it. This was more like the old Dalis. I supposed
that he was still the same man inside.
     "That's great. You know, when it comes time, I'll vouch for you,
Dalis," I told him sincerely. I still don't know why.
     "I knew you would," he said. "Right now we have to get going. I
don't want them looking for me for longer than they have to. It will
only make me look worse. Here's what I need you to do. I'm going to go
ahead to the guardhouse and turn myself in. You clean up here and then
go collect my things from the inn. Will you do that?"
     I said "of course," and began right away. Dalis left in the
direction of Dargon City.

     I paced back and forth across the room, anxiety causing me to
shudder every so often. Why had Dalis told me to wait? Wouldn't he need
me there to testify on his behalf? And should things go wrong, wouldn't
he need his things? Why not beat the flood and bring them to him now?
     I was so preoccupied that I barely noticed when Dalis returned. At
first I was overjoyed to see him, the curiousness of the situation not
striking me until moments later.
     "Dalis," I started, "why are you here?" Reasons for his presence
began to form in my mind, and I felt anger swell up. "I thought you were
going to the guardhouse. If you are lying to me -- " I was cut short by
my friend's shaking head.
     "Balor, Balor ... You have to trust me more." He smiled. It was a
very disarming smile. "I went to the guardhouse. They allowed me to come
back to collect my things. Everything's fine."
     Relief washed over me. "Oh good, " I sighed, walking slowly to the
window, for a breath of fresh air. "I'm glad ... " Then it struck me
like the wrath of the gods. "Dalis, why would the guards let you return
alo -- " I stopped short as my gaze rested on an approaching contingent
of guards. I had hoped for a moment that they would pass us by, that
perhaps they were only on a night patrol. This hope buckled as the man
who appeared to be the leader pointed at the inn and started to issue
orders.
     "Oh no," I thought, "Dalis, why?" I whirled around to face my
friend, who seemed remarkably calm.
     "Dalis, what's going on? Why didn't you turn yourself in? You swore
to me ... M'Kivar! What are you doing?" I watched, stunned, as Dalis
Benn, my closest friend, calmly walked to a chair, and sat down.
     I looked fleetingly out the window again, seeing the guardsmen
talking to the innkeeper. I slowly began to understand what was
happening. I looked to Dalis, and his face confirmed my fears.
     "Dalis, I don't ... Why?
     "Come now, Balor. Don't be an imbecile! You must have known that I
wouldn't really turn myself in? You *must* have!" His smiling face
seemed to turn sinister, though his expression never changed. The he
laughed. The wind rushed out of me, and I suddenly felt very sick. No,
no, no, no, my mind repeated it. This couldn't be happening. I was
verging on hysterics. It was a joke! That was it! Sweat poured over my
face, and I suddenly felt very weak.
     "You didn't know! By the gods Balor, you should be glad the guard
is here for you. You never would have survived on your own, as naive as
you are!"
     His words drowned out in a swirl of sound. My reality seemed to
fall apart before my eyes. And then, as it often does, everything became
painfully, horribly clear. "How could I have been so stupid," I
whispered to myself, "So blind, to see what Dalis has become; what he
*is*?" The events of the previous days made sense now. Keeping me in my
room, the unexpected outing, everything. "He *used* me!" I wanted to
scream. Anger swelled in my gut. The guards' footsteps grew louder as
they approached. I had to act. I ran toward Dalis, full force.
     "Balor, what are you *doing*?!" he shrieked as he jumped to his
feet, just before my shoulder slammed into his gut. I felt him double
over onto my back. Using my momentum, I picked up Dalis and threw him
behind me. As he hit the ground, I noticed a knife clatter away from his
tumbling figure. Moving with speed that was fueled by anger, I snatched
up the knife and pounced upon Dalis, holding his now-prone body down
with my knee. "I'm going to kill you," I growled, and I saw fear --
genuine fear -- in his eyes.
     "Balor!" he squeaked, "don't do it! Please! Gods Balor! Don't kill
me!" His voice gradually worked it's way up into shrieks or terror, but
I didn't care. "Good-bye, you bastard ... " I growled again as I brought
the knife slowly down toward his skull. And then, something unexpected
happened: I smelled flowers.
     I later recalled that the sensation was in my head, but that was
after the fact. I knelt there, pinning Dalis's screaming and wriggling
form, recalling a decade before, when Dalis and I were boys, wrestling
in the fields outside of Dargon. I remembered how I had beat him and
pinned him down, just like now, and how he looked up at me and told me
we'd be friends forever. As I recalled all of this, I felt tears well up
in my eyes, and I looked down at Dalis. He was trying to wriggle his
hand free, toward the knife in my hand. All memories faded.
     I raised the knife again, but as I did, there was a pounding
outside the door, and I knew the guard was there. I took one final look
at my "friend", then slammed fist and hilt full force into his head. A
small trickle of blood seeped out of his nose as his body went limp.
     I figured that I had a few minutes before the guard found my
whereabouts and even then the doors to the room seemed sturdy enough. I
jumped up, leaving Dalis where he lie and began a hasty search of the
room. "I'm going to find it," I repeated to myself. Then, as I searched
Dalis's bed, I saw it: a large, leather bound book. Gathering the flint
and tinder that was in my bag, I moved quickly to start a fire in the
hearth. It caught quickly enough, and the good quality of the wood there
coaxed the flame even higher. I wasted no time offering my sacrifice,
and tossed the book into the heart of the fire. Smoke rose and a strange
scent filled the room. As I waved my arms to fend off the onslaught, I
heard footfalls in the hallway, and voices approaching my door. I took a
last look at the fire, and I nearly fell dead on the spot. The book had
not caught! The flames raged all around it, but the leather-bound tome
was unscathed. I frantically tried to push some of the burning embers
onto the cover, but it was no use. The embers burnt but the book would
not catch. My fear and anxiety peaked as pounding emanated from the
door. I tried to figure out what was wrong; what I could do. The banging
on the door became more intense, and it didn't take me long to realize
that the Guard were trying to force their way in. I looked at the book
once more, stuck the knife into my belt, grabbed a few of my things, and
hopped out the window, landing on the roof below just as the door
splintered and caved in with a crash.
     "Nehru's blood!" a gruff voice shouted from inside, "What happened
here? DeBec, search the room; Jyphis, I want you to get the others
around the building. Tell them to stop anyone who wants to leave the
area, and to retain them. This Hardwin won't get far."
     I rolled down the slanted surface of the roof pushing my arm out at
the last second I pushed my arm out to give myself lift. I performed two
complete tumbles before landing squarely on the ground, much to my
discomfort.
     I looked up and down the alley I now stood in, and decided on a
direction. The alleys flew by as I made my way toward the gates of
Dargon. I wondered where I would go. I saw something on a building that
caught my eye. It was one of my signs. Barely stopping, I grabbed the
sign and stuffed it in my pack. Then I ran again, this time not stopping
until I was out of town.
     It was then that I wondered what makes things happen in this world.
I thought, isn't it strange how the biggest events of our lives can
start with the most incidental of things, with no foresight or intention
from us. I still haven't gotten over that.

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

                              Shadowstone
                                Part II
                          by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
                      <white@duvm.ocs.drexel.edu>
                             Naia 12, 1014

Naia 12, 1014.
Mid day.
The Hills outside of Port Andestn, Duchy Monrodya.

     Kimmentari appeared high on the hillside she had been aiming for,
next to a large tree whose shadow served to disguise the blue-violet
scatter of light that normally accompanied her departure from the travel
spaces. She looked around briefly, noting the large camp in the valley
below, then closed her eyes and hummed quietly to herself to confirm her
position in space and time. She opened her eyes and nodded: she was
where she needed to be.
     Her journey had been swift, but not instantaneous. She had, as was
common among her people, used the travel spaces, which her race called
the Merstaln. These were a set of dimensions, or orders of form, that
facilitated rapid travel because of the way that short distances within
the Merstaln translated into much greater distances in the normal
physical dimension, or first order of form. But the Merstaln weren't a
friendly or healthy environment, which discouraged long exposure. And
the topography (if it could be called that) of the Merstaln only
permitted certain distances to be traveled in specific directions from
any entry point. Which meant that she was not able to step into the
Merstaln in Castle Pentamorlo and step out on this hillside as one trip.
And so her trip had taken almost a full day, and many passages into and
out of the Merstaln. But it hadn't only been the physical realities of
the Merstaln that had forced her journey into stages: from within the
travel spaces, she couldn't sense the Dance well enough to follow the
threads of her Dream and she hadn't known her path would lead her to
this hillside until the raveling threads' Dance had revealed it to her.
     As her path had taken her somewhat erratically away from Castle
Pentamorlo generally but not always south and a little east, the threads
guiding her had begun to make themselves clear within the larger weave
of the Dance. As yesterday had become today in the reckoning of the
humans, she had seen the first nexus point of her quest: here, on this
hillside. As she had approached that nexus in both space and time, she
had been able to see further and further beyond the nexus in the several
directions the quest could take. It had startled her to realize that the
quest wasn't primarily hers, though. Since the dream had been so vivid,
calling to her and all but forcing her out upon the quest, she had
imagined that she would have a larger part than message bearer in it.
But she reminded herself that each strand in the Weave was equally
important. And somewhat later, she had seen some of the possibilities
the Dance was taking, and she knew there could well be more for her to
do.
     She looked around again. Down in the valley, the camp seemed to be
going about its daily business normally. A little way to the east,
around two bends and a high peak, she could see a small dust cloud
approaching the camp. Things were moving along as they should. She moved
a little higher up the hillside, into the shade of another tree, and
turned to the south to await the nexus.

     Chandras walked easily along the faint trail, following Haroned's
verbal instructions to the letter. He paused and looked around, and
figured that the Raider camp would be just over the hill in front of
him. As he resumed his journey, he wondered if the Raiders had people on
watch around the camp, and what kind of response he would need to give
in order to convince them that he sincerely wanted to join them, and
wasn't some kind of spy.
     He was just coming over the crest of the hill when he heard shouts
and the clash of arms from the other side. He hurried toward the sound
until he could see the camp laid out in the valley, and the body of
mounted people riding into the camp from one side, weapons flashing,
shouting, some splitting off the group to go after those in the camp who
were trying to run away.
     Chandras gasped as he watched the Raiders' camp being attacked. His
only chance of refuge was being very efficiently destroyed, right before
his eyes. His hand went to his dagger and he thought seriously about
charging down there and getting involved -- after all, he had more in
common with the Raiders than with anyone who would attack them. But he
reconsidered as he saw each and every one of the riders wielding their
swords, maces, and axes with what seemed like deadly accuracy and ease.
Each slashing motion seemed to fell at least one of the Raiders, and
even though they fought back fiercely, not one of the riders had so much
as been pulled from their horse.
     Suddenly, he detected movement under a nearby tree, and he drew his
dagger and went into a crouch as he turned his attention from the
slaughter below to the potential danger right here. He expected either a
Raider sentry, or one of the attackers patrolling the perimeter of the
camp to make sure that no one got away. What walked out of the shadow of
the tree was very definitely neither.
     The woman was tall and thin and beautiful, and unhuman. Her pale
green clothing looked normal enough, but her long hair was pale blue.
And her most arresting feature was the color of her eyes: deep, ruby
red!
     When she spoke, her words, while perfectly understandable, seemed
to be accompanied by music that didn't have a source yet added meanings
to her speech as if she somehow made the music just for that purpose.
She said, "My name is Kimmentari, and I have been bidden to come here to
give you a choice, Chandras."
     Almost unbidden, Chandras said, "That would be a change." He was
surprised at the bitterness he heard there.
     The woman had paused for his outburst, and resumed without comment,
"The choice before you is thus. You will find a horse back over the
crest of the hill. You can capture it and use it for one of two things:
either ride after those who attack the camp below, those who are called
the Minions, when they leave, and find out where the one who controls
them resides, or take yourself away from this area and forget about your
home and friends."
     Chandras frowned, and stood up out of his fighting crouch. He slid
his knife back into its sheath and said, "That's it? I mean, that's not
exactly a lot of information to base a decision on, don't you think?
     "The smart thing would be to leave. Obviously. Why should I follow
those people? I don't know anyone down there, Raiders or Minions. Maybe
I don't care who the Minions are, who 'controls' them, or why they're
attacking the Raiders. Why shouldn't I just leave?"
     The woman had an answer ready, as if she had expected his questions
and objections. "This is a nexus point, a place where the Dance has two
basic directions it could go. The result of your taking the horse and
leaving is that the Dance turns toward its worst resolution, which is
why I say you should forget about your home and friends. While what I
can see of the Dance suggests that this worst resolution might be
ultimately prevented in either case, your leaving now will doom Port
Andestn."
     Chandras was stunned by her words. On the face of it, she was
spouting nonsense: Doom, indeed! She sounded like some kind of
market-place soothsayer but without the props that tended to influence
people to believe such ravings -- no cards, no Wheel, nothing. Except
for the music.
     That music penetrated into Chandras, seeming to bypass his ears and
touch his soul directly. It was almost a physical sensation, starting in
his right hand and tingling right into the center of his being. And the
music, once there, added layers and layers of meaning to her simple
words. The music built in Chandras' mind's eye a picture of the Dance
she spoke of -- a tapestry composed of threads coming together and
weaving themselves into a tale that was not just a story. He could see
the part of the Dance that was the past, what had already happened, and
he could see the strands of the future forming, getting ready to take
their place in the Dance. He saw the choice point: a place very close to
'now' in the tapestry, where two very distinct groupings of threads
waited to join the Dance. One group, one direction the Dance could flow
from the nexus, did indeed foreshadow a doom of some kind for the area
around the Port -- a darkness that suggested an ending, not just for the
Port but for far more. The music didn't clarify further for him what the
threads actually represented -- he couldn't tell which was him, which
was the unhuman woman, which was the Minions, for example -- but in
general terms it was clear. One choice was clearly worse than than the
other, if he could accept that that darkness was really some kind of
doom.
     In the other direction from the nexus there was no such clear path.
He could see further branches, further choices, the webbing getting more
and more complicated the further he went from this choice. And while
there were branches from most of these future choices that led to the
same kind of doom for the Port, he also could see that making the right
choices in the future would save his home.
     As he digested this non-verbal information, questions flooded him.
Were those future decisions also his? Would he have her to help him see
these choices so clearly when it came time to make them? (If he had had
this kind of laying out of his options when he decided to do what
Delebye told him to, would he have still done it?) And what form would
this doom take? Was it escapable or resistible, say, an attack like the
one going on in the valley below him? Or was it inevitable, like a
plague, a sickness that couldn't be hidden from or ridden away from? (Or
was that really necessary for him to know to make his decision?)
     He shook himself, and his vision cleared, the music fading away,
taking the myriad threads of the dance with it. He opened his mouth to
ask the mysterious woman his questions (not really expecting an answer),
only to see that she was gone. A flash of violet light from under that
tree startled him, but when he went to look, there was nothing there.
     While she had been standing there, the music and her words still in
his ears, he hadn't had any doubts. Now, as he looked down into the
valley and watched as the Minions rode down the last Raiders in the
camp, while their fellows tied previously downed Raiders hand and foot
and tossed them over the saddles of the Raiders' own horses, he began to
wonder again. Stories were just stories, no matter how convincingly
told. And how could Port Andestn be doomed?
     He turned and walked back over the crest of the hill, and sure
enough there was a horse standing there, cropping grass. Probably one of
the Raiders' horses that got loose, he figured. The horse didn't shy
away from him as he walked up to it and stroked its neck. His eyes
unfocused, still considering, he lifted himself into the saddle and took
up the reins. Suddenly coming to a decision, he turned the horse and
rode to the top of the hill. Looking down, he noted where the main
pathway that entered the valley ran, and also traced a way for him to
join up with it from here. Then he walked his new horse down and waited
for his chance to follow the Minions.

     Chandras wasn't used to tracking on a horse, or in the wilderness
-- he was much more used to city streets and rooftops, and in fact
hadn't ridden a horse since he was a child (thankfully, he hadn't
forgotten too much since then). Fortunately, the Minions were very easy
to track. In fact, they didn't take any precautions at all to avoid
detection, and that worried Chandras. He wondered how powerful they
were, that they didn't fear being tracked? At the very least, what if
some of the Raiders had survived?
     But he kept with it. And after what had to be at least a two bell
ride, they arrived at their destination which turned out to be a walled
enclosure at the end of a box canyon. Chandras realized that it must be
one of the old silver mines that Port Andestn had been founded to
supply. It made a better base of operations than the Raiders' camp had,
thought Chandras. The compound had a wall, complete with fancy gatehouse
and watch towers, and was built in an angle where two cliffs came
together, which meant that they only had to guard on two sides because
the cliffs guarded the other two sides, not to mention that the box
canyon, by definition, only had one entrance. And there were buildings
inside the wall, so that the inhabitants didn't have to sleep in tents.
     Chandras had left his borrowed horse in a little side canyon when
he had first sighted the compound's walls. He had then crept back to
survey the end of the box canyon more closely. And now he was hiding
behind some rocks in the broad, open area in front of the compound's
walls, and wondering what he was supposed to do now. He tried to recall
the Dance he had been shown, but as time passed, the complicated image
was fading from his memory. Was this the next nexus point in the Dance?
Had one of those branchings of threads represented the choices he
thought he had now: to go find help, to work his way inside the compound
and find out what was going on, or to sneak as close as he dared and
just watch? He basically had no idea.
     He was half waiting for Kimmentari to reappear and tell him what to
do next. Or at least show him the consequences of the choices he had.
What a wonderful ability to have, to be able to see consequences like
that, so completely. It had to make choosing so much easier, he thought.
And as he found himself unable to make a choice now for worrying about
consequences he couldn't possibly see the sources of, he began to wish
that she had never appeared to him on that hill in the first place. Then
at least if he had chosen of his own accord to take that horse and ride
away, he wouldn't have known enough to feel responsible for the 'doom'
of Port Andestyn.
     Finally, as the sun sank slowly behind the cliffs behind the
compound, he left the lengthening shadows of the boulder and crept
carefully up to the compound wall. He saw the glints of the last rays of
the sun on weapons on the tops of each of the gatehouse towers, but he
knew he could easily get right up to the wall through the shadows. Where
the wall met the cliff, he found easy hand and foot holds, and was soon
peeking through the crenelations on the top of the compound's wall.
Still unseen, he slipped onto the walkway atop the wall, and from there
onto the roof of a building that abutted the wall and cliff. Peeking
over the edge of the parapet that ran around the flat roof of the
building, he changed his mind about trying to infiltrate because of the
ceremony he saw going on.
     The center of the compound was completely open, the buildings of
the compound having been built against the walls and the cliffs. A large
round dais had been built a little back from center with a strange,
intricate pattern painted onto its surface. Around the dais stood about
50 people, men, women and children, each carrying a torch and
illuminating the compound quite well. At the back of the dais was an
ornate chair, and sitting in it was a person who looked almost familiar.
Chandras stared hard, and found himself reminded of Kimmentari. Her
features were different -- rounder, shorter, her mouth larger than
Kimmentari's had been. He couldn't see her eyes well enough to be sure
but he didn't think they were the red of Kimmentari's, and they seemed
to be shaped differently too, rounder to Kimmentari's lozenge-shaped
eyes. And her hair seemed almost green, but maybe that was the
torchlight.
     In the center of the dais was a carved wooden stand supporting a
strange object. Chandras couldn't tell if it was a gem of some kind, or
just a stone that had been irregularly faceted, maybe even broken off of
a larger piece of material. It was dark, and from what he could tell,
opaque, but he thought he could see a faint light glowing inside of it
anyway, and there was a gash in the uppermost facet of the stone that
looked as if it was a wound in flesh and that pulsed in a deeply
disturbing way.
     There was purposeful movement then, and Chandras saw two people who
seemed to be dressed in ceremonial armor leading a bedraggled and
injured man from one of the buildings behind the dais. The knights
brought the man to the stone at the center of the dais and forced him
none too gently to his knees next to it, taking his hand and placing it
over the top of the stone. The woman sat up straight and said some words
not quite loud enough for Chandras to understand, but he could detect a
hint of the music behind the words, not as clear or as full of meaning
as Kimmentari's but that might have been a factor of the distance.
     A third person, a woman this time, in the same kind of ceremonial
armor stepped up next to the seated woman and took a dagger from her.
She walked over to the ensemble at the center of the dais, and as the
seated woman's voice rose in volume and Chandras heard the words, "...
and join the ranks of my Shadow Army!" she plunged the knife through the
bedraggled man's hand and into the stone.
     Oddly enough, the man didn't cry out at all. He didn't even seem to
notice what had been done to him. He seemed to be trying to say
something to the woman in the chair, but his words were too faint to
carry to where Chandras was lying. The rooftopper had expected there to
be blood everywhere, but he didn't see a single drop come from the
wound.
     Yet, something was happening. The glow he hadn't been sure about
earlier began to grow stronger (it couldn't quite be called 'brighter'
after all), and the man's hand began to glow as well, a reddish glow
that slowly faded to the same grey as that of the stone's light. As the
glow changed shade, the man seemed to get weaker and weaker, until he
finally slumped down, head lolling to the side and he would have fallen
on his face if the first two knights weren't still holding his arms.
     The female knight removed the knife, and the glow of the stone and
hand faded slowly away. The man was carried to the edge of the dais and
handed to two of the people standing there. They carried the limp form
toward an opening in the cliff face opposite the building where Chandras
hid, while the two knights went back to the building he had first seen
them come out of. He wasn't really surprised to see that when they came
out again, they had another bedraggled person between them.
     Chandras watched while this person was led to the dais and wondered
if he had seen enough. He certainly didn't know exactly what was going
on, or who these people were, but he at least knew that something was
amiss. He didn't think he had quite enough details to convince any one
of the danger in the hills, but he also didn't expect to get many more
details from this roof, and he had no desire to get any closer. And
then, there was the problem of who to take these details to ...
     As he mused on that difficulty, watching the second person going
through what the first had, he heard a voice behind him sneer, "So, what
have we here? A sneaking little rat, huh? Well, looks like the Mistress
will have another convert before long. You won't even have to wait,
since the ceremony is already set up for the Raiders we captured."
     Chandras rolled over as the voice laughed, and he saw another
knight standing between him and the wall, holding his sword casually,
but pointed at Chandras' middle. The thief considered his chances of
darting around the knight, but knew that it would be next to impossible.
     "Stand up, little rat. Good. Now walk slowly back to the wall, and
then go toward the gatehouse; that's where the stairs are. And don't try
anything -- my sword and I will be right behind you. In fact, I should
just hamstring you right now -- you only need to be alive for the
Mistress to claim you -- but I don't feel like carrying you all the way
to the platform. So, move!"
     When Chandras had gained his feet and could see the knight a little
better, he was shocked to see that the man's irises were surrounded by
that same smoky grey as Malkhas' and the people chasing him had been.
Were they connected with these people? Come to think of it, that grey
was awfully close to the color that that strange stone had glowed,
wasn't it?
     He followed the directions of the knight, and followed the wall
walk to the stairs that led down into the compound just before the
gatehouse tower's door. He could almost feel that sword poking into him,
so he moved steadily toward the dais, but he did keep his eyes open,
hoping for a chance to get away.
     As he neared the ring of people around the dais, the knight
escorting him said, "Make way, make way! I've got another one for the
Mistress!" The people moved aside and looked at him, and Chandras saw
that every single person standing there had smoke-grey eyes. As the way
to the dais cleared, he could see that a new person, a woman this time,
was just being forced down next to the stone. All three knights on the
dais had grey eyes, but the woman in the chair didn't -- her eyes, now
that he could finally see them clearly, were actually very blue, though
as she began her speech, he thought he could see flashes of ruby red in
them.
     The knight who had captured him pushed him right to the edge of the
dais, so that Chandras had a very clear view as the knife pierced the
woman's hand and slid into the stone beneath it with ease. Once again,
the victim didn't seem to feel the knife, or realize that something
strange was going on. She was babbling about how she shouldn't have been
captured with the Raiders, that she wasn't one of them and she shouldn't
be punished with them. The female knight said quietly, "My dear, you are
not being punished. The Raiders were a target, but not for retribution.
You are being inducted into the service of the Mistress: you are being
rewarded for being captured by us. You may not rejoice now, but once the
Stone has fully claimed you, you will be one of us. By this time
tomorrow, you will be able to form a shadow body, like the one each of
us wears, and you will know the reward you have received."
     By that time, the Stone had done its work and the woman was
unconscious. The female knight removed the knife and the other two
knights carried the woman away. Both women on the dais turned toward him
then, and after she had returned the knife to the Mistress (or so
Chandras presumed the woman in the chair to be) the knight walked toward
them and said, "So, Ehrve, what is this you have brought us?"
     Chandras' captor, Ehrve it seemed, got only as far as, "Mistress
Olmehri, he's just this sneaking rat I ..." before the sound of a large
explosion turned everyone's attention back toward the gatehouse.
     Chandras turned in time to see fire engulfing the top of the left
hand gate tower, and its rear parapet falling into the compound.
Everyone around the dais reacted exactly the same way -- they all dashed
for the wall, totally forgetting about Chandras; the two knights who
were escorting the next Raider victim to the dais dropped him and
likewise ran toward the wall to defend the compound from the obviously
impending invasion.
     Chandras ran in the opposite direction, toward the cliffs. Once
there, he looked around and saw that everyone's attention really was
focused outward. So, he slipped along the cliff to where the wall
connected with it, again scaled it easily, and soon found himself atop
the wall at one of its ends.
     He looked out across the area in front of the compound and saw that
no one had yet left the compound. He couldn't see any signs of whomever
had caused the explosion on the tower, either. No charging hordes, no
flights of arrows, no siege equipment. He wondered if there really was
an attack in progress, but he knew that there was only one way into or
out of this box canyon and one way or another, once those Minions got
organized and came through the gates, they wouldn't have to make any
choices about which direction to search for attackers or escaped
'sneaking rats'. So he decided he needed to get as much of a lead on
them as possible.
     Chandras climbed down the wall and ran cautiously along the edge of
the canyon until he reached the exit point. Checking the compound, he
could see that the gates were beginning to open, and the tower fire was
almost out. Checking the exit valley, he didn't see anyone, so he raced
away. But he had barely turned a corner out of direct sight of the
compound before a shape loomed up out of the shadows in front of him. He
tried to dart around it, tripped, and hit the ground, knocking himself
unconscious.

     Twenty people gathered around the unconscious form. All were
dressed in darkened armor and their weapons had been rubbed with dirt to
cut down on stray flashes of light. One woman, tall, thin, hard, but
handsome, said quietly, "Who could this be? Why was he running away from
the camp, and what should we do with him?"
     "Whoever he is, our attack is ruined," said another of the score.
"We need to get away from here. Let's take him with us, and we can
question him later. Maybe he knows something about what's going on."
     "That seems reasonable," said a third. "What do you say, Thornodd?"
     The first woman said, "All right. You two pick him up, and we'll
put him on your horse, Jerek, since you're the lightest. We may be the
only Raiders left, but I think we can deal with one runaway between us.
Lets go!"

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

                        Friendships Bloody Tear
                                Part II
                           by Mark A. Murray
                          <mmurray@uoknor.edu>
                           Dargon, Yuli 1015

     The day was beautiful and Raphael had taken Megan's cape off to let
her enjoy the sun. He wasn't sure if she was aware of her surroundings,
but the episode when they had first found Anam gave him hope. They were
strolling through the woods while Anam was chasing anything that moved.
Raphael stopped and watched as the wolf pup flushed a hare. Anam gave
chase and Raphael laughed as he watched the rabbit lead the wolf. It was
a game of how fast can one go and still make sharp turns. Anam soon
realized he was outmatched in this game and decided to change the rules.
He tried to predict when the rabbit would turn and where so that he
could get there first. The rabbit started to turn to the right and when
Anam cut sharply to the right, the rabbit bolted to the left leaving
Anam behind. Anam stopped and watched the rabbit disappear from sight
before he returned to where Raphael stood. The pup gave a huff and
plopped down at Raphael's feet.
     "I guess here is as good a place as any for camp, eh Anam?" Raphael
asked but the pup gave no indication that he heard. After building a
small hearth for the fire, Raphael cleared an area for the bed-roll.
Before he could unpack it, Anam was sitting by the cleared area waiting.
     "I thought you were too tired to go on," Raphael said as he
unrolled the bed-roll. Anam jumped onto it before Raphael could get it
all the way undone. A struggle ensued when Raphael tried to get Anam off
of it. Rolling and playing with Anam, Raphael managed to get the
bed-roll undone but not quite the way he wanted. Working around Anam,
Raphael straightened the blankets as best he could. With that finally
done, Raphael put a pot of water on the fire and went to Megan. He led
her over to the blankets and sat her down next to Anam. Anam curled up
next to her while Raphael fixed their meal. Night came quickly and it
was late when Raphael finished washing Megan. He laid her down and told
her to sleep. Anam moved closer to her and Raphael got as comfortable as
he could with Anam between them. "If he gets much bigger," Raphael
thought, "one of us is going to have to sleep somewhere else."

     Raphael and Anam watched as the sun rose over the horizon and
brought the new day with it.
     "It's always beautiful, Anam. It gives me hope. No matter how dark
the night gets, the sun always rises and brightens the world. Always. It
makes me feel that no matter how long Megan and I endure this, there
will be a dawn to brighten our lives."
     After a quick morning meal of bread and smoked meat, the three of
them were on their way. Raphael had no idea where he was going, except
that it was in the general direction of Magnus. He had heard that
anything could be found there as it was *the* largest town anywhere. He
was lost in thoughts of Magnus when he stumbled into an open grove in
the forest. In the center of the grove stood a wooden cabin. It was
ringed by a small stone fence, that was not completely finished. A
stream of smoke drifted upwards from the chimney and through the open
window Raphael saw a figure inside. As Raphael made his way down to the
opening in the stone fence, the figure opened the door and came out. The
figure turned out to be an old man. His face was wrinkled and weathered
from many days in the sun. His hair was grey and unkempt and he walked
with a limp.
     "Come in, come in," the old man said. His voice was ragged and
hoarse. "I've been waiting for you. You're late, you know. Should've
been here hours ago," the old man said, but when he saw the wolf pup he
laughed. "So you've taken in another charge," he mumbled as he went back
inside.
     "How ... " Raphael started to reply, but the old man was already
inside. "How did he know?" he wondered. "I'm not getting any answers
standing here." Raphael followed him into a one room cabin. Looking
around, he saw nothing hanging on the walls to decorate it. The inside
of the cabin looked much like the outside -- bare log walls. A small cot
was in one corner next to a table with a wash basin on it. A bucket was
sitting underneath the table. A simple cupboard stood in the middle of
one wall. In it were jars, bottles, plates, cups and pouches with
various amounts of stuff in them. Across the room from the cupboard was
a writing desk and chair. Scattered across the desk were scrolls, maps
and books.
     "I've heard that you're looking for help," the old man said. "That
you're trying to remove a curse of some sort. Am I right?"
     "Who told you that? Who are you?" Raphael asked defensively. "How
do you know so much about me?"
     "I have friends in various places and they tell me many things. My
name is Emmet, and how I know what I know isn't really important, is it?
You have a problem with a curse and I think that I can help," Emmet
rasped.
     "You can help?" Raphael asked. He didn't like to be in anyone's
debt, but he had reached a point where having Megan cured meant
everything to him. When Emmet nodded yes, warnings and hesitations
flared in his mind, but the thought of having Megan back overcame them.
     "If I can help you, then you must do me one favor," Emmet added.
     "Agreed," Raphael said without ever asking about the boundaries of
the favor, "if you can make her whole." Warnings were still echoing in
his mind. "This is for Megan," he thought as he stilled them. The old
man went to the cupboard and brought down a jar of dark liquid.
     "Herbal tea for afterwards," he said and set the jar next to the
cot. He showed Raphael where to sit Megan and then told him to sit
opposite her. After Raphael had Megan sitting, Anam trotted over and
plopped down into her lap. Raphael took a seat opposite her just out of
arms reach. The old man shooed him back further before setting a device
between them. It was an odd looking thing made mostly out of metal wire
with a thin, flat base. It had four triangular sides which came to a
point on the top of it. The triangles only had metal wire as their
outlines, though, and one could see into the center of it. At the top,
there were two circular wires. They were balanced carefully on the top
and intersected each other to form a rough outline of a sphere. Inside
this sphere was a crystal cut with many facets. The old man lit a candle
and set it inside the device. The two circular wires slowly started to
rotate. The inner sphere reflected a myriad of colors from the candle.
     "Amazing, isn't it?" Emmet asked Raphael. Done inspecting the
device, the old man drew a circle on the floor around all of them with
chalk. He inscribed different signs around the circle. Raphael
recognized a few of the runes from his earlier days. Anger and fear
coursed through him as one word overtook his mind -- Kell. He started to
rise, but his eyes focused on Megan. He would have to trust this old man
and see what happened. Yes, he would trust him but he would still be
wary.
     "Now, look at the crystal in the sphere," the old man instructed.
"Let it fill your world." Raphael found himself drawn into the
glittering light. Megan was his last coherent thought for awhile.

     Something snapped him back to consciousness. A movement, he
thought. Shaking his head to clear his vision, he watched as the world
began to focus. Megan was still sitting across from him with Anam in her
lap. Raphael looked to his right and saw that the old man was in some
kind of trance. Although the old man's eyes were open, Raphael noticed
that they weren't focused on anything in the room. Then he caught
movement out of the corner of his eye. Anam must be moving, he thought.
Turning his head he saw that Anam had not moved, but that Megan's hand
was on top of the pup's head. Raphael froze and waited. When Megan's
hand started to caress the pup's head, he didn't know what to do and
before he could move, Megan's body jerked and spasmed. Her head tilted
back and she drew in a large breath. With another spasm, she let the
breath out. She bent forward and her free hand closed into a tight fist.
When she sat upright again, there were tears in her eyes. Raphael
watched through her tears as her eyes changed from the dull grey to
sparkling green. She opened her mouth and only a whisper escaped, but it
was enough for him to hear. The first word she had said in years had
been his name. He found himself beside her without knowing he had moved.
She flung her arms around him and collapsed into his chest. Anam gave a
yelp and squirmed out of her lap. Megan moved back from his chest to let
the pup go. A smile crossed her lips and she looked into his eyes.
     "I love you," she whispered. Raphael looked into the loveliest face
he had ever seen and echoed her words. She leaned in and started to kiss
him when a spasm racked her body. She clutched his arms and another
spasm swept through her. Her movements stopped and her body went
dormant.
     "I can not give you much more," the old man coughed. Raphael turned
to the old man.
     "Just a little longer. Please, I beg you," Raphael implored. The
old man just nodded. Megan jerked.
     "No!" she spat. "I don't want to go back! Please, Raph. It's a
never ending nightmare. I can see everything but I can't do anything.
Help me," she pleaded. Raphael wrapped his arms around her and pulled
her closer. Megan broke the embrace and tears flowed down her face. She
reached up and caressed his cheek. "I'll always love you," she said as
she slipped away. A single tear escaped his eye and ran down his cheek
to land softly on her hand. He slumped back and spasms wracked his body
now as he fought for control of his emotions. Despair raged while anger
and fear built up. I don't want to lose you. Sadness crept in to replace
despair as he realized that he had lost her again. He was finally able
to throw his emotions into a room in his mind and bolt the door.
     Opening his eyes, he caught movement from the old man. Looking
over, he saw tears of blood running down the mage's face. Raphael
watched as the old man wiped the tears away and then bent forward to
blow the candle out. Only when the old man had painfully moved to the
cot did Raphael shift his focus. He turned and looked at Megan. She was
still sitting there with her hand in the air where it had lain against
his cheek.
     "I am sorry," rasped the old man. "It is too great a task for me.
There is more than one hand in the curse that binds her." Raphael jerked
his head to the old man.
     "More than one?" Raphael echoed.
     "Yes. There is a predominant trace of someone and there is a slight
overlay of another presence, a stronger one. Then there is a presence
that is throughout the whole curse. It's as if the curse has a life of
its own," the old man explained.
     "If you can't break it, do you know who can?"
     "There are no sureties in life, but I think that by killing the
person with either the predominant trace or the stronger presence, you
may gain enough to break the curse. If she's strong enough, that is,"
the old man answered. "If she isn't, then your best chance would be to
kill the stronger presence. Now go, I am weary and have done all I can."
Traces of the tears of blood he had shed still lingered on his face.
Sitting on the cot, he poured some tea.
     Raphael went to Megan. He took her arm and stood her up.
     "What do I owe ... ," he started to ask the old man but was
interrupted.
     "I said go! I did nothing for her and you owe me nothing," the old
man rasped as he lay on the cot.
     Raphael led Megan out the door with the pup silently trailing
behind. The old man had given him some small glimmer of hope and Raphael
had decided to grab for it. Up until now he had feared that with the
death of Kell, Megan's fate would be sealed forever, but the old man had
shaken that fear. There were no sureties in life, he had said, but by
killing Kell, Megan could return to normal. "I can't kill Kell," he
thought in anguish. "For all that he's done, we were friends. That meant
something to both of us at one time. Oh, Kell, why?"
     He had also said there was another's hand in Megan's imprisonment
besides Kell's. Someone who was stronger than Kell. Killing this person
could also free Megan, and it might be her best chance. Raphael could
only think of one person who fit the description -- Kell's mentor, Loth.

     The old man watched as Raphael and Megan left. Once they were out
of sight, he sat down on the cot and sighed. He reached up and fumbled
with something at the nape of his neck. Scratching and digging at his
neck, the old man finally managed to tear his skin. He pulled the skin
around to the front of his face where it tore. Setting a mirror up, he
cleaned the rest of the false skin off of his face and neck. Next came
the wig. It came off only after pulling out some of his original hair.
Where there was once an old man, now stood a younger man in his late
twenties. The only real thing left were the stains of blood left by his
tears.
     "What a mess I've made of things my old friend," Kell said to
himself. "I've cursed you and Megan for years and now I've probably
sealed my doom, but it's my only hope in being free of Loth. He'll find
me soon, I can feel it. Back I go to being slave and subject for his
experiments. I've done you many wrongs my old friend, but maybe together
we can fix one of them and free Megan. And just maybe, with your
unwitting help, I can break free of Loth." Kell settled back onto the
cot, closed his eyes and waited for his master to find him. He knew his
punishment would be great, but it was worth it. Even though his chances
of success were small, it was worth it.
     Thinking of Raphael and himself when they were younger, Kell cried
himself to sleep.

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