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+-+--+-+--+-+ VOLUME SIX NUMBER FIVE
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+___________+ FFFFF SSS FFFFF N N EEEEE TTTTT
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| ++ | F S F NN N E T
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| ++ | FFF SSS FFF N N N EEE T
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| | F S F N NN E T
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|_________| F SSS F N N EEEEE T
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/___________\ ==========================================
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| | BITNET Fantasy-Science Fiction Fanzine
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___|___________|___ X-Edited by 'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>
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CONTENTS
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X-Editorial 'Orny' Liscomb
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*A Reintroduction to Atros Joseph Curwen
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*Growing Concern: Atros 4 Joseph Curwen
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*Gasmelyn Llaw: Part 1 of 2 John White
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Date: 121986 Dist: 227
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An "*" indicates story is part of the Dargon Project
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All original materials copyrighted by the author(s)
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X-Editorial
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Hello, all! This is the last issue of the 1986 calendar year,
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and the last issue of volume six. It contains only two stories,
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although I'm sure that you will find the issue highly enjoyable.
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Issue 7/1 will be out soon after the New Year, and will contain the
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second half of John White's story, as well as an interesting piece
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by Glenn Sixbury. That issue will also mark the second anniversary
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of FSFnet, and it will be our 28th issue. I'll be sure to write an
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appropriately verbose editorial, of course.
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For those of you who have not received 6/4 (due to a network
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problem), you may request it from CSNEWS at MAINE or TCSSERVE at
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TCSVM. I have (hopefully) corrected the problem for this issue.
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I'd like to welcome our new subscribers, and wish all and sundry
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a joyous and fulfilling Yuletide. Onwards!
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-'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE @ MAINE>
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A Reintroduction to Atros
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My good friend Orny (well as far as it is possible to call an
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editor a friend) has been so kind as to point out the slight
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difficulties in following a serial which has been running
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intermittently in FSFnet for nearly a year now, especially when the
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last installment appeared six months ago. Also, I'm fairly sure that
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several of you haven't been reading FSFnet for that long. This, of
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course, presents a problem. The usual solution to this sort of
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predicament is to remind or update the reader through providing
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clues of previous events in the story line itself (e.g. some
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character explains the situation to a new character arriving on the
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scene.) Well, in my opinion that sort of thing is awkward and
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boring, particularly for those who don't need a review. So, at this
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particular point in time, I refuse to do it. You'll all just have to
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bear it and be lost. Touch luck. No, I'm just joking. The purpose of
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this introduction is to provide you the reader with a summary of the
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previous installments in the Atros serial. This is intended
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primarily as a review for those who've read stories. If you haven't,
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I'd suggest if at all possible that you do so. Previous installments
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are "Rendezvous" (VOL4N01), "Dreamer's Holiday" (VOL4N02), and
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"Calls of Courtesy" (VOL4N04). All of these back issues are
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available from TCSSERVE@TCSVM (preferably) or from CSDAVE@MAINE (if
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you're off Bitnet or have other difficulties). So having cleared
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that up, I'd best get on with it.
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WARNING SPOILER FOLLOWS:
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The first of "Rendezvous" introduces the character of Gilman, a
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first rate alchemist who is a little down on his luck financially.
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At the opening he is awaiting the arrival of Atros, a mysterious
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street youth who has arranged for Gilman to prepare a nepenthe of
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Mahedeos, a powerful drug which prevents dreaming of all sorts.
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Atros arrives in the late in the night and asks for the nepenthe,
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but is unable to provide the final payment. Gilman refuses to hand
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over the drug and is killed by Atros in a moment of anger. Atros
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robs Gilman, takes the nepenthe, and leaves the city of Magnus for
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the port city of Dargon. During the trip, Atros refrains from using
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the nepenthe and experiences a remarkable dream which symbolizes his
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future. While he sleeps, Atros is watched from the shadows.
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In "Dreamer's Holiday" Atros is enjoying the life of a upper
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class merchant in Dargon's autumn festival. He has assumed the
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identity of Raffen Yeggent, a traveling merchant who unsuccessfully
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(and fatally) attempted to rob him during his journey to Dargon. In
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Dargon, he is forced to attend stuffy noble balls and ceremonies. He
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is adopted by the courtly couple Kite & Pecora (who spun off for
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their own series in Orny's "Respect thy Elders" VOL5N02, VOL5N03, &
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VOL6N01). At a ball, they introduce Atros to Pravo, a local scholar,
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who is working on a book about creation myths. Atros' responses to
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Pravo's questions intrigue and upset the scholastic, who cuts off
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the conversation. Later that evening on the journey home, Atros
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glimpses a man who resembles Gilman, the dead alchemist, but due to
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being separated by a crowd, is uncertain if it truly is Gilman. The
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rest of the story is spent on Atros' speculations on the survival of
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Gilman and his purpose in Dargon.
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"Calls of Courtesy" begins with Atros awakening some weeks later
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to find the body of Thad, an old acquaintance and hired assassin,
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draped over his bed. Thad has been cleanly murdered by having his
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neck broken, probably in the act of killing Atros. Again, Atros is
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at a loss to explain this. In Orny's story, "Hands of a Healer", in
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the same issue, it is revealed that Thad was involved in a plot to
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assassinate Lord Clifton Dargon, which was first detailed by Roman
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in "The Essence of Ur-Baal" (VOL4N02) and "Ur-Baal Magic" (VOL4N04)
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(a soon to be finished trilogy). The plot springs from high placed
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Dargon merchants who wish to subjugate the newly discovered land of
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Bichu for their own profit against the wishes, and foreign policy,
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of Lord Clifton. After Atros disposes of the body, Thad's
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disappearance cause some concern in the conspirators, whose ranks
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included the Royal Physician/Healer, all of which is detailed in
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"Hands of a Healer". As the series currently exists, Atros is as
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unaware of the conspirators, as they are of him, but this is soon to
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be remedied. Later in "Calls of Courtesy", Darla, a old friend of
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Atros' arrives from Magnus bringing some of Atros cached rare books.
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She tells Atros that Gilman does appear to have survived. He left
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Magnus for Dargon, soon after Atros fled. Not wanting another
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another Thad like incident, Atros takes Darla into his confidence to
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watch over him while he takes his drug controlled sleeps. Without
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his knowledge Darla browses through his diaries and papers during
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his sleeps. The papers tell of the full lives that Atros has lead
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during the passing of a single dream. Again and again, he has led
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tragic existences in a variety of lives, all of which he suspects to
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be as real as this. He has sought out the nepenthe, and other drugs
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like it, as his only method of controlling these tormenting dreams.
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Atros fears that this life to is only a dream and stays distant from
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everyone because he is afraid of yet more pain. Secretly, Darla
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loves and pities him.
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Well, that pretty much concludes my interruption of the real
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submissions to this issue. If you have any complaints about the
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series or the entire Dargon cycle, do not fear to write me directly
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or all the writers through LISTSERV. I sincerely hope I haven't
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created more confusion than good.
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-Joseph Curwen <C418433 @ UMCVMB>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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Growing Concern: Atros 4
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A sudden draft of late autumn air set the handful of tallow
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candles illuminating the interior of the Inn of the Hungry Shark to
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fitful flickering. As the tavern's inhabitants at a few hours after
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midnight consisted of only the sleepy-eyed staff and a few groggy
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stragglers, no one had noticed the soundless opening of the heavy
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oak front door. But the prolonged change in temperature eventually
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drew stares. For several moments, the gray cloaked figure of a
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motionless Atros stood in stark contrast to the overcast night
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beyound the entrance way. A change had overcome his appearance. He
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no longer bore the guise of Raffen Yeggent with its white facial
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talk and near foppish stylings. Atros' long brown hair and somber
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gray floor-length cloak fluttered in the draft. But more subtly
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Atros' eyes seemed gripped by determination and touched by a quality
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of madness. It was certain that most of the tavern's clientele would
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give Atros a wide berth and continual observation.
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Finally, Atros entered and quickly located the night shift
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innkeep, a portly war veteran whose strength and firmness earned him
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respect in an establishment frequented by roughens and cut throats.
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"I would like to speak with you in private," Atros began in a
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low volume.
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"I'm working. 'Sides, if I turn my back for a shake, I'll be
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robbed blind by customer and lackey alike," the innkeep answered,
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clearing the bar counter of dirty mugs.
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"Perhaps that table in the corner, you could watch the room from
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there," Atros suggested a bit impatiently.
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"Look here, I haven't time to spend with every lonely thug who
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wanders in. Find someone else to bugger!" The innkeep's temper began
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to show.
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"You..." Atros began to raise his voice, then thought better of
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it. "Perhaps I should begin again." Atros hefted a small satchel of
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coins onto the counter but kept his hand on the bundle. "Now, will
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you talk?"
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"This way..." The innkeep led Atros to the corner table and and
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took a chair with his back to the wall. After collecting the
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satchel, Atros selected the opposite wall.
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"What is this about?" the innkeep whispered.
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"I know a man named Thad frequented this place for a few days
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about two weeks ago."
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"There's many a jack who muster through that door. I don't let
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names bother me much."
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"He was exceptionally tall and broad, dark black hair, boyish
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face with a permanent sneer. A single scar here," Atros added
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pointing at his right temple.
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"Him. A bad sort, I hear rumors."
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"Whom did he talk to here? Did he met anyone? Get any messages?"
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Atros asked eagerly.
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The innkeep seemed to mull this over for a time in his mind then
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said "Let's see your coin. This'll take gold."
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Atros spread the contents of the satchel and added a few gold
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coins from somewhere beneath the table. As he was doing this, Darla
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entered the tavern. Atros glanced once at her and once at a distant
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empty table. Darla ducked over toward that table trying not to
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attract attention. The innkeep was so lost in counting the coins
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with his eyes that he missed this exchange.
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Seeming satisfied, the innkeep began, "He spoke with no one
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'cept the whores...and some men who let a room upstairs for a time,"
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he concluded in a whisper.
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"Who were they?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from carrying.
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"Like I say, I don't know names...except maybe one... It'll take
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the pile," the innkeep pointed at the coins, "those men are
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dangerous and kept to themselves."
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"Fine. What was the name?" Atros answered quickly.
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"That one didn't come much. He was always trying to slip past
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but his fine clothes made him odd enough to notice. I'd seen him
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before...had him pointed out to me at any rate. He was," the innkeep
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hesitated and looked uncomfortable, "Dargon's High Wizard...Griswald
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Butsum or somethin' or other." His whisper was nearly inaudible.
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Atros could not contain a surprised expression as he pushed the
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coins across the table to the innkeep, who eagerly gathered them
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into a pouch hidden inside his cloak.
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"These men, what did they look like? How many were they?"
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The innkeep delayed before answering. "I'm already deep into
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somethin' big. Somethin' I don't understand. No more answers." He
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began to get up.
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"Wait!" Atros caught him by the wrist. "I'll double that amount."
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"What use is gold to a dead man?" the innkeep pronounced, broke
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free forcibly, and hurried into the kitchen.
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Atros stood, crossed the room, and motioned for Darla to follow.
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Once they had left the tavern and were safely walking the
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darkened streets side by side, Darla asked "So what's this
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tremendous thing you've learned?"
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"How do you know I learned anything at all?" Atros asked.
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"You wouldn't have given up a small fortune for nothing."
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This remark broke Atros' stride for a moment but he was quick to
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recover. "Be that as it may, everything seems to becoming more
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complicated." As they walked, Atros quickly and precisely informed
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Darla of his discussion with the innkeep.
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"You haven't any enemies in Dargon that I don't know about, do
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you?" Darla asked playfully.
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"No, not that I know of," Atros answered, "I'm worried that the
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high wizard was contracted to finish the task that Thad failed. I
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generally avoid tangles with wizards of all sorts."
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"Seems to be a good policy," Darla responded.
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"You've been around me too much these past few weeks, you're
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starting to pick up my dry sense of humor," Atros observed chidingly.
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"Perhaps," Darla agreed solemnly.
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Atros stopped walking and waited until Darla turned back to face
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him. "Are you mocking me?" His voice was steady, betraying neither
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anger nor humor.
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"No! Of course not. I wouldn't do a thing like that." Darla was
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perhaps over quick to reply. "I've just learned so much from you. I
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pick up things quickly," she finished weakly.
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Expressionless Atros began walking again. They continued
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together some distance in silence.
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"If you are so quick to learn, why have your reading lessons
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gone so slowly?" Atros asked looking forward.
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Darla gasped quietly then said "I haven't the patience or the
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time. I just can't see what use it all is."
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Atros began, "Books are any culture's, or any man's, sole means
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of preserving themselves. They are reservoirs of information that
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would otherwise be lost..." He continued in the same vein.
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The rest of the lecture was lost on Darla. She was overcome by
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relief for managing to distract Atros from her deception. It was a
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small thing really. But she felt that if her ability to read was
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discovered, Atros would lose all trust in her. She felt guilty about
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reading Atros' personal papers and diaries but couldn't resist. She
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was worried that her knowledge showed. She had made several near
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slips over the past two weeks and had thought that Atros' question
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about her lessons might have arisen from well founded suspicions.
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But apparently her answer had placated him. Caught up in her own
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thoughts, she listened to Atros' voice drone with an occasional nod.
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Thus both were being slightly incautious when suddenly a bright
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light from the alley way before them stung their eyes. The surprise
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was complete, their response predictable. They threw up their arms
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to block the blinding rays of a phosphorus lamp and were momentarily
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stunned into inaction. A disembodied voice to the right called
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Atros' name and he turned removing his hand from is face. An instant
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later he was tackled from the rear. An armored man seized Darla
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while another attempted to bind her hands. As her vision cleared,
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she screamed and fought, kicking indiscriminately with her feet
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while trying to break her arms free. Atros was having trouble of his
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own. Through more accident than skill he managed during his fall to
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break free of the arms clinched about his waist and to roll to his
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feet. Atros' assailant landed face first on the cobblestones and was
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slow to recover.
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Atros took the opportunity to draw his rarely used sword and
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survey his opponents. There were three, all armed, all armored, and
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all somewhat experienced. Atros felt a sinking feeling his stomach
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but managed a quick flourish and charged his assailant, who now
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stood between Darla and himself. The tackler had apparently been
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chosen more for mass than for quickness. Still his armor would turn
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all but Atros' best placed thrusts. Atros seemed doomed to fight a
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war of attrition with the giant, who now bore a hand and a half
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sword, a weapon capable of splitting the unarmored Atros in half. It
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was times like this, that Atros wished he'd taken real sword
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wielding lessons or at least bothered to select a religion. Atros
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cursed himself, distracted by that thought he had missed a critical
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opening. Atros resolved to fight instinctively and cut off thinking
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so much. He allowed his anger to flare. He must make it to Darla.
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After several moments of futile effort, the onslaught that was
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Darla relented. Without a weapon, she could only inconvenience, not
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harm, her two armored opponents. It occurred to her that perhaps a
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more subtle strategy might be called for. Almost as soon as her fury
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subsided, one of her assailants, noticing his companion's
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difficulties with Atros, pronounced "Here, take her", shoved Darla
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into his partner, and strode toward the more active melee.
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Atros was tiring rapidly now. He was out of condition and the
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nepenthe seemed to drain his endurance. He met the entrance of a
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second opponent into the fray with mixed emotions. He seemed
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certainly doomed now, but perhaps Darla could find a chance to
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escape. She'd done nothing; it must be him they wanted.
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The outcome of the battle had long been decided. Atros' two
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opponents began to jeer and taunt him, as he grew steadily more
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helpless. Atros' anger gave him some strength, but it would not be
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enough. He fought on, knowing he appeared awkward and comical now.
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He almost wished they'd end it quickly, if only to save his pride.
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At long last, the obvious occurred to the ruffian who held Darla
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captive. "Wait," he called out to his companions, "we have the girl.
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We can make him stop fighting." He held one of Darla's arms in a
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painful hold behind her back. Still, she did not struggle. Like
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Atros, she seemed to have accepted her fate.
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"Why? It's just becoming fun," the taller opponent responded
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while swinging his sword in a wild, wide arc.
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"We can take them alive. We'd get more gold for it," Darla's
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captor suggested. Distracted by the conversation, his hold on
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Darla's arm was loosening.
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"What makes you think that? Nobody said anything about bringing
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them in alive," snapped the third finishing in a child's rendition
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of a fiendish grin.
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Darla saw her opportunity and took it. She clutched a short
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dagger from her captor's belt and attempted to drive the blade into
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his exposed neck. Her aim was poor but she did manage a painful and
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bloody gash to the base of his chin, just left of his Adam's apple.
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He whirled, cried "Bitch", and struck her across her right
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temple with his gauntleted hand. She never noticed that a small
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punch dagger was affixed to the back of his gauntlet. The blade
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scraped bone and Darla went down in a slight spray of blood. She
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lapsed into unconsciousness.
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Atros let out a piercing shriek and tried to break through to
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Darla, but was prevented by his two opponents. Confusion reigned as
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the combat became a scuffle. After a few long moments of wrestling
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on the darkened cobblestones, Atros felt the weight of his larger
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attacker lifted from him and heard a resounding crash some distance
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away. He looked up to see the outline of a short cloaked figure
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leaning over tussle. The man took hold of his remaining opponent by
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the head and quickly snapped his cervical vertebrae. With a
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momentary feeling of deja vu, Atros pushed the corpse off himself.
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His rescuer extended a hand to help Atros to his feet. Atros noticed
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that the hand was large, coarse, and cool. The distant sound of
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fleeing footsteps could be faintly heard.
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"They're gone?" Atros inquired shaken.
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The cloaked man nodded and walked over to Darla's motionless
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body. Atros had enough sense to fetch the overturned phosphorous
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lamp to aid in examining her wounds. He stumbled a bit, obviously
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exhausted, but he couldn't ignore Darla's need now to rest.
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For the first time, their rescuer's face was illuminated by the
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light of the lamp.
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"Gilman!" Atros shouted, unable to control his surprise.
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"Gilman no longer..." He spoke softly in monotone. "Though I
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remember being Gilman once." Looks of fear, comprehension and awe
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swept across Atros' features. He stood stunned while Gilman began
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binding Darla's wounds with strips of fabric from his tunic.
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"Who...What are you now?" Atros inquired softly, hesitantly.
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"A servant of our master, yours and mine," Gilman pronounced
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ominously. "You understand." It was not a question.
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"My tormentor," Atros whispered under his breath.
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"Yes that too... You must go quickly now. I will hold off
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pursuit." Though the opponent had been repelled, both instinctively
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knew they would return soon in greater numbers.
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"I have so many questions," Atros began.
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"They will wait," Gilman cut in. "I have a message for you."
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Atros hesitated, reluctant to ask. Finally, he nodded.
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"All of your preparations are unnecessary. To meet the master of
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your dreams you need only to hold the desire and to sleep." Gilman's
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words rung like a muffled bell to Atros' ears.
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Drawing into himself, Atros' only acknowledgement of the message
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was a soft grunt or moan. He had hoped that he was wrong.
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"Go now...quickly," Gilman advised, lifting the partially
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conscious Darla to her feet. Atros supported her and began hurriedly
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limping away.
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After a short distance, Darla could walk no farther even with
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Atros' support. Her mind wasn't lucid then. She hummed softly to
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herself and spoke in fragments of remembered conversations. No tears
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stained Atros' cheeks as he lifted the semiconscious Darla in his
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arms and staggered under his burden, but only because Atros had
|
|
forgotten how to cry long ago. Atros knew that she needed a place
|
|
where she could receive immediate medical help and much rest, but no
|
|
such haven existed in this neighborhood. It would be foolish to
|
|
return to the flophouse now as well. His best hope for a healer lay
|
|
in the wealthier areas nearer The Keep. He was well past his normal
|
|
physical limits of endurance and he knew that he would require
|
|
several days recuperation himself. Trying to block out his own pain
|
|
and exhaustion, Atros carried Darla though the empty, darkened
|
|
streets of Dargon for a time that seemed to stretch into hours.
|
|
Atros' own mind began to lose clarity and he lost his direction. He
|
|
wandered aimlessly for some time, occasionally calling out to empty
|
|
alley ways or vague shapes.
|
|
As he grew weaker and his thoughts more primitive, his only
|
|
desires were flight and safety. The weakness and pain blurred his
|
|
senses. It was in this condition that Atros, with Darla in his arms,
|
|
staggered into a darkly dressed gentleman stepping out of a darkened
|
|
doorway. The man cried out in surprise as Atros sank to his knees
|
|
still supporting Darla.
|
|
Seeing the blood and bandages, the man exclaimed "She's hurt.
|
|
Quickly inside, in the light," and helped Atros carry Darla through
|
|
the entrance way into a dimly lit foyer They placed Darla on a hard
|
|
wooden bench cushioned with woolen cloaks from pegs on the walls. As
|
|
soon as this was finished, the gentleman turned up the oil lamp and
|
|
turned toward Atros and Darla. Without the facial talc it took a
|
|
moment for recognition to dawn on him. "Raffen!?! Raffen Yeggent?"
|
|
he exclaimed.
|
|
Atros looked at the gentleman's face for the first time and
|
|
dimly remembered speaking to the man once at dance hall during the
|
|
festival. Could it have been only a few weeks ago? Atros' thoughts
|
|
cleared and he remembered the scholar who studied myths and legends.
|
|
"Pravo" he said weakly.
|
|
"Who is the girl? No, never mind that now. It doesn't matter. A
|
|
friend of yours, I suppose?" Pravo asked.
|
|
Groggily, Atros nodded. He couldn't keep up with Pravo's words.
|
|
"Don't worry. I'll take care of her. She'll be alright. You
|
|
rest. You look exhausted." Pravo's tongue seemed hyperactive.
|
|
Once again, Atros nodded.
|
|
Pravo set to examining Darla's wounds while Atros slumped
|
|
against the base of the opposite wall. Pravo's hands worked quickly
|
|
and efficiently. He seemed to know what he was doing and at the
|
|
moment that was good enough for Atros who slid into a stupor.
|
|
But Pravo wouldn't let him rest. "How did this happen?" he asked.
|
|
"Muggers in the street," Atros answered barely conscious.
|
|
"Where?" Pravo inquired.
|
|
"Down by the wharves near the Hungry Shark," Atros smiled with
|
|
his eyes closed, seeming amused, but Pravo never looked back at him.
|
|
"They take your purses? Why'd they hurt her? What's her name?"
|
|
"Darla," Atros answered, slightly amused.
|
|
"The initial bandaging was done quite skillfully. She hasn't
|
|
lost much blood. She'll be fine in a few days. Maybe a scar though."
|
|
"Good." Atros began to chuckle quietly to himself but stopped
|
|
when he realized it wasn't really funny. After a few moments he
|
|
drifted into unconsciousness.
|
|
|
|
Atros awoke a few hours before dawn on the entry way floor with
|
|
a coarse blanket over him. He was confused and slightly frightened.
|
|
But after several moments of sitting in the dimly lit room, the
|
|
events of last night came to him. Darla no longer lay on the bench
|
|
and Pravo was no place to be found. Atros' arms and legs were sore
|
|
beyound imagining. He got up slowly, stiffly and wandered further
|
|
into the house. The second door he came to was open. A short tallow
|
|
candle burned on a high shelf. Darla lay in a large comfortable bed.
|
|
In the soft glow she looked very beautiful, very vulnerable. Seeing
|
|
the bandages covering her temple, Atros felt a surge of guilt. He
|
|
knelt beside the bed and took her hand into his own.
|
|
"I'm sorry Darla, I never meant for anything to happen to you,"
|
|
Atros began. Darla moved slightly in her sleep.
|
|
"They wanted me and you were a convenient tool." His breathing
|
|
was irregular, his voice hoarse. Darla stirred slightly.
|
|
"You must forgive me. I've failed you. I let them hurt you,"
|
|
Atros went on weakly, eyes cast downward.
|
|
"Shhhh. Be quiet, Atros....You have nothing to be forgiven for.
|
|
You don't don't have to protect me. I've always taken care of
|
|
myself." Darla reached out to Atros and gently stroked his dark hair.
|
|
"I'm no swordsman...no hero. A quick jab of a blade in surprise
|
|
maybe, but not a real fight." Atros' voice cracked. Still, he could
|
|
not face her.
|
|
"I know, Atros. I know. But you are a hero. My hero. You saved
|
|
me and provided for me. My wounds are my own fault. You have cared
|
|
for me. You have nothing to be ashamed of." She was gentle, motherly.
|
|
There was a long silence.
|
|
It was broken finally by the entrance of Pravo. "I thought I
|
|
heard talking," he said entering in a nightshirt. "You should be
|
|
both be asleep," he said accusingly. "There will be time for talking
|
|
tomorrow. Darla needs her rest." Pravo sounded annoyed though
|
|
inwardly he was happy to find Darla awake, it was a good sign. "Oh,
|
|
yes Darla, we haven't been formally introduced. I'm Pravo, a friend
|
|
of Raffen, and master of this house. You are welcome here until you
|
|
are well again. The healer has gone now, but will return tomorrow
|
|
and guarantees that you will be well soon. Provided you rest, of
|
|
course." Pravo said smiling. "Now, if you excuse me, I will show
|
|
Raffen to his room."
|
|
Pravo took Atros by the hand and escorted him down the hall to
|
|
another bed room. Atros tried to as if he were totally well, but
|
|
Pravo could not avoid noticing his stiff gate. The room which Pravo
|
|
gave him was not nearly as grand as Darla's, which Atros now
|
|
realized must be that of the lady of the house. Atros inquired.
|
|
Pravo said, "That room is vacant. I live alone now."
|
|
Atros was surprised, to live in such a large house without
|
|
servants was unusual. He asked, "You are widowed?"
|
|
Pravo answered obviously painfully,"No. My wife left me many
|
|
years ago. I dismissed the staff."
|
|
Atros was sorry that he had asked.
|
|
Pravo changed the subject. "There is water is the pitcher, linen
|
|
in the chest, as well as some clothing that might fit."
|
|
Pravo turned to Atros, seemed to consider for a moment then
|
|
said, "She calls you 'Atros'....There was an 'Atros' in Arbor two
|
|
years back... Who are you?" Pravo asked, facing Atros.
|
|
"What do you know of that man in Arbor?" he responded cautiously.
|
|
"Very little really. He stayed with a colleague of mine named
|
|
Baughis. Baughis wrote a letter praising his Atros' scholastic
|
|
talents and congratulating himself for the find of such a remarkable
|
|
young talent in the slums." Pravo paused a moment. "The next letter
|
|
was filled with curses upon an ungrateful runt who relieved Baughis
|
|
of half his library and departed unexpectedly." Pravo straightened
|
|
his stance and looked Atros in the eye. "You are that Atros, no?"
|
|
"No.." Atros said obviously lying. But after a moment "Yes, I am
|
|
that Atros....You must forgive me. Those books were very important
|
|
to me at the time. I took them only because my need was very
|
|
great...You must understand." A distraught Atros plead. If only he
|
|
could justify himself to someone just this once.
|
|
"Understand?" Pravo watched the youth, made some decision, and
|
|
chuckled. "I nearly laughed myself to death reading that second
|
|
letter." Pravo continued smiling, "Baughis is a pompous old fool who
|
|
never finished a book in his life. It just pleases his ego to play
|
|
at being a great mind. He buys rare books with inherited money and
|
|
then gets great pleasure form having more renown and less wealthy
|
|
scholars beg to borrow some unique tome. No, I have no qualms about
|
|
that incident...But Raffen, Atros rather, who are you really?"
|
|
A moments silence passed. "It's been so long...I really don't
|
|
know anymore," Atros replied weakly.
|
|
"Come now, you are still young. It could not be so long a story."
|
|
"But it is. A very long story filled with lifetimes of
|
|
memories...They all begin to run together...I am uncertain. I no
|
|
longer know truth from lie, reality from dream." Atros mind drifted.
|
|
"You are still tired," Pravo says sounding concerned. "We will
|
|
talk when your mind is cleared. Sleep now." Pravo left the bedroom.
|
|
Atros retrieved the bottle of nepenthe from his satchel, began
|
|
to unstopper the cork, and then hesitated for a long moment.
|
|
"No, despite what Pravo thinks, I am still strong...Strong
|
|
enough for this." Atros whispered to himself, then returned the drug
|
|
to the satchel. He laid down on the firm straw pallet and quickly
|
|
fell asleep.
|
|
-Joseph Curwen <C418433 @ UMCVMB>
|
|
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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|
|
Glasmelyn Llaw
|
|
Part One: The Tower
|
|
Deep in the forestland south of Dargon there stands a Tower, far
|
|
from anywhere, off all beaten paths. Sixty feet high it stands, and
|
|
it bears five "finger" turrets that rise, one from each of the
|
|
above-ground floors, sixty feet themselves - lifting the roof of the
|
|
highest turret 110 feet above the leaf-covered ground.
|
|
The Tower is a marvel of architecture made from smooth-cut,
|
|
dry-set, green crystalline stone which, with its turrets, gives it
|
|
its name - Glasmelyn Llaw: The Emerald Hand. It is obvious to any
|
|
casual observer that it was not erected by mortal hands: its lines
|
|
have an ethereal, otherworldly beauty and grace that summons images
|
|
of equiraptors and gryphons flying about and roosting on its turrets.
|
|
The Tower has stood for a very long time; since the plains of
|
|
the northwest become carpeted with forest; since the land was
|
|
colonized by a sea-faring nation, who built a fortress at the mouth
|
|
of the only navigable river to safeguard its cities from invasion;
|
|
since that colony eventually died out as support was lost after the
|
|
parent nation was besieged and conquered; since the re-colonization
|
|
of the land by the youthful, growing kingdom of Baranur, and the
|
|
founding of a new duchy, given to an accomplished young commander
|
|
named Anton Dargon who turned an old watch-fort at the mouth of the
|
|
Coldwell into the ducal seat. And, the Tower has stood, unnoticed,
|
|
while Dargon (the duchy) has grown, and Dargon (the city) has spread
|
|
across the mouth of the river it sits upon.
|
|
Its builder was a wizard in the days when wizards were as common
|
|
as fleas on a wild dog, if a little more feared. His name was
|
|
Tarlada, and he was very powerful among his kind, mostly because of
|
|
the extensive research and collecting he had taken the time to do.
|
|
His ability made others jealous, and they imagined that they, too,
|
|
could be as powerful as Tarlada, and without the time he had taken,
|
|
if they managed to kill him, and take the fruits of his labors as
|
|
their own.
|
|
Tarlada was more than just a scholar of magic - he was adept at
|
|
his craft. Because of this, he managed to survive three surprise
|
|
attacks by his fellow wizards who wanted his grimoires and
|
|
artifacts. But he knew that he couldn't hold out forever. So, he had
|
|
his tower built by magical means (untouched by human hands, it was),
|
|
and hoped that living in it would be safer than where he had lived
|
|
before. He was wrong. Two more attacks made him angry, and just a
|
|
little afraid. Afraid enough to take a rather drastic step.
|
|
He knew that eventually his attackers would catch him totally by
|
|
surprise, or asleep, and get the best of him, taking all of his
|
|
hard-earned spell-lore as their own. So, he began to do some
|
|
research into several large iron-bound volumes for a certain spell
|
|
that he had heard of once.
|
|
It was there, and it would do what he needed it to. He gathered
|
|
the materials necessary, which took several months, and then he
|
|
began the rituals necessary to activate the spell. When he was done,
|
|
several more months later, he had instilled into his tower a
|
|
purpose. Not life, but just a purpose - to protect him from harm in
|
|
any way necessary. The spell gave the Tower enough intelligence to
|
|
carry out its job, and the means to as well, in the form of several
|
|
magical weapons, and the ability to adapt several energy stores to
|
|
contingency uses, as it saw fit.
|
|
Tarlada was well pleased with his work, and he showed it off to
|
|
any and all. He was now secure from outside harm, and finally able
|
|
to return his life to normal.
|
|
But, his enemies weren't so pleased. They found his enchantment
|
|
to be very successful - anyone who attacked the tower found
|
|
themselves absorbed into the energy reserves for future use.
|
|
Eventually, the greedy ones began to leave him alone, for which
|
|
Tarlada was glad.
|
|
Tarlada was a solitary sort of person. He had friends, but he
|
|
had built his tower so far away from everything that he seldom had
|
|
visitors, especially since the attacks stopped. Many years passed,
|
|
and Tarlada barely noticed them, so wrapped up was he in research.
|
|
And then, one day he was in the laboratory when the door-chime
|
|
rang. He hurried down stairs and opened the door, and saw Lars'n,
|
|
his very best friend and companion all during his apprenticeship to
|
|
his master K'am. But, Lars'n appeared ancient, all bent and grey,
|
|
and they had been of an age when studying under K'am and Tarlada
|
|
both felt and looked no more than mid-thirty or so.
|
|
Lars'n's voice was as old as his appearance. "Ah, my friend," he
|
|
rasped weakly, "this is indeed a marvel. You haven't aged a bit
|
|
since last I saw you, what, sixty or seventy years ago? Remember,
|
|
just after Red Mergan tried to attack your tower? He was the last,
|
|
wasn't he? So, tell me how you manage to look so young?"
|
|
Tarlada was stunned. Eighty years? It was impossible! What was
|
|
going on?!? He invited his old friend in, and they chatted.
|
|
Eventually, Tarlada told Lars'n that he had no idea that so much
|
|
time had passed. Lars'n looked thoughtful, and said, "I feared this.
|
|
I think it was unwise of you to use that particular spell. It seems
|
|
to be doing its job rather too well. Tell me, friend, when was the
|
|
last time you left this place?"
|
|
Tarlada thought, and said, "Well, I don't rightly remember. Some
|
|
time ago, I think. It was when Jiil wanted me to come to her
|
|
wedding, I think. Just last year, wasn't that?"
|
|
Lars'n said, "Tarlada, Jiil was married seventy-one years ago,
|
|
and died eight years ago. She outlived her children, and her
|
|
grand-children. I met one of her great-grand-children in Rihls on
|
|
the way here, and he is thirty-three years old. Come with me back to
|
|
Irlenda, just for a visit. My own great-great-grandchildren have
|
|
heard stories about you - I'm sure that they would enjoy meeting you."
|
|
Tarlada was more than a little frightened by what Lars'n had
|
|
told him, and what he was implying. So, he agreed. Without even
|
|
packing, he helped Lars'n to the door, and tried to leave with him.
|
|
But, he couldn't pass the door. Lars'n was on the step outside,
|
|
watching Tarlada's attempts to pass through the door, shaking his
|
|
head sadly. "I'll try to help you, my friend," he called. He turned
|
|
away, and began to move surprisingly swiftly down the very faint
|
|
path that led up to the door of the Tower. And that was the last
|
|
time anyone left the Tower for a very, very long time.
|
|
|
|
Part Two: The Prey
|
|
"Are you sure that this is really a short-cut, Maks?" Syusahn
|
|
asked. She really didn't like the look of the trees hereabouts, even
|
|
apart from her natural distrust of enclosed spaces. Being from the
|
|
south-eastern steppes, she was used to being able to see the
|
|
horizon, and traveling through this forest was unnerving. She had
|
|
grown used to it a little after the last five days of travel, but
|
|
the forest had lately changed character. It now seemed almost
|
|
brooding, or even sinister. Perhaps that was due to the strange,
|
|
almost iridescently green, yellow, and blue vines that were
|
|
everywhere, intertwined between the trees, across the top of the
|
|
trail, and even among the grasses of the trail itself. Very little
|
|
sun managed to filter through the vines. The horses' hooves and the
|
|
wagon's wheels made very little noise as they moved over the trail,
|
|
and the normal forest sounds - insects, wind in the leaves, and the
|
|
like - were very muted. It all made Syusahn nervous and anxious, a
|
|
feeling she disliked: ordinarily, she feared little.
|
|
She looked at Maks, her betrothed, who was looking a little
|
|
uncertain. Maks was one of the Rhydd Pobl, commonly called gypsies.
|
|
He was five foot seven, thickly built, but not fat, with dark brown
|
|
longish hair and full beard and moustache. His eyes were very black,
|
|
his nose very large, and his face rather squarish, but in
|
|
combination, he was very handsome. They had met four months before,
|
|
when his tribe was moving through her homeland, and had fallen
|
|
immediately in love. It had taken a while for his family to accept
|
|
one of the Gwynt Gyrun - Wind Riders - as Maks' betrothed, but she
|
|
finally convinced them that she and Maks belonged together. The
|
|
first banns had been cried in the camp of her people, and Maks'
|
|
tribe had sworn to cry the second banns when they reached their
|
|
spring camp. She and Maks had tarried in her homeland for several
|
|
weeks, and then had taken to the road more slowly than was the norm
|
|
for a gypsy caravan, but when they finally arrived at the spring
|
|
camp in the northwest part of the Kingdom of Baranur, near a city
|
|
named Dargon, the banns would be cried for the third time, and they
|
|
would be wed at the mid-summer gathering of tribes.
|
|
Maks finally said, "The maps of my people say that this is the
|
|
shortest way to the camp site. We are children of the road - our
|
|
maps do not lie. This is the right way." But he wasn't truly so
|
|
certain. The maps of the Free People never lied, but the one he was
|
|
following made no mention of this strange patch of forestland. What
|
|
really worried him, though, was the fact that his map had an area
|
|
marked as dangerous just a few miles to the west of where they were,
|
|
and the description matched how these woods looked.
|
|
Maks glanced at Syusahn, and noticed the worried look on her
|
|
face. He knew how she felt about the forest, and had thought she was
|
|
over it, but the strange feel of the forest here probably brought
|
|
all of her fears back in full.
|
|
For Maks, the happiest day of his life was the day he met
|
|
Syusahn. She had come charging up to the caravan on a wild black
|
|
mare, riding bareback and brandishing a slim sword and looking as
|
|
deadly as the fifteen other youths - mostly male - who were also
|
|
test-charging the band of gypsies "invading" their territory. Maks'
|
|
people knew the ways of the Gwynt Gyrun and held their ground, and
|
|
the charging riders veered off at the last minute. Syusahn had come
|
|
back almost immediately, as intrigued with the young wagonmaster as
|
|
he was with her. They had been much together during the southern
|
|
trading season, and had very swiftly declared their love, and had
|
|
taken the matter to their elders. Syusahn's father, khan of a small
|
|
but fierce khanate, had immediatly given his permission for them to
|
|
wed. Maks' own people were more reluctant, but eventually gave in.
|
|
They made the Four-Ring Promise to her people, and the
|
|
Knife-and-Wheel Pledge to his, and plans were made for the wedding.
|
|
Maks was sure he could not have done better for a wife. Syusahn
|
|
was short - only five foot two - but not tiny in any way. She had
|
|
long, flowing raven-black hair, and an almost elven face: oval,
|
|
fine-boned, with high cheeks, arching eyebrows over green,
|
|
silver-flecked eyes, a short nose, and a full, sweet mouth that
|
|
flashed gleaming white teeth whenever she laughed, which was often.
|
|
Her body was surprisingly full at chest and hips for so short a
|
|
woman, and her waist was very narrow - features she liked to show
|
|
off by wearing very tight clothes, usually in red and black, and
|
|
lots of leather at waist, wrists, and feet. She also went heavily
|
|
armed, though with more than the slim sword at her waist - she had
|
|
at least a dozen small, sharp knives secreted about her person, and
|
|
she was an expert in either throwing them, or close in-fighting with
|
|
them. In all, she had such energy, such a joy in life, that Maks was
|
|
sometimes amazed that she would choose to settle down with him - but
|
|
then, a gypsy's life is seldom dull, either.
|
|
They rode late into the night, the lamps on Maks' wagon-home
|
|
lighting the way long before the sun actually set due to the gloom
|
|
of the overhanging vines. Also, they were anxious to make good time
|
|
through this strange forest, and so didn't stop like they usually
|
|
did at the first sign of red sky in the west. They finally found a
|
|
clearing in which to camp not more than two hours before midnight,
|
|
and ate a hasty supper, then retired to the single bed together and
|
|
tried, with some success, to blot out their individual uneasiness in
|
|
the joy of merging.
|
|
Syusahn awoke about an hour after the two of them had finally
|
|
fallen asleep, feeling the call of nature. She hesitated for a
|
|
moment, not relishing the prospect of going into the woods alone,
|
|
but then she steeled her courage, muttered a prayer to Karoga, the
|
|
Wind God, to keep her safe, dressed fully, and went outside.
|
|
She was returning to the warmth and safety of the wagon, when
|
|
she thought she saw a light flickering between the trees. Curiosity
|
|
got the better of her, and she tried to get a better view, promising
|
|
herself that she wouldn't go far.
|
|
Meanwhile, Maks awakened alone, and wondered where Syusahn was.
|
|
He pulled aside the curtain on one of the windows, and looked
|
|
outside in time to see Syusahn disappearing into the trees across
|
|
the clearing. He hurriedly threw on his pants and a cloak, and
|
|
dashed out after her.
|
|
Syusahn found it surprisingly easy to move through the trees
|
|
after the light, but she couldn't seem to get any closer to it. In
|
|
the heat of the chase, she forgot all about her promise not to go
|
|
far. She didn't even think about getting lost - it was very hard for
|
|
a steppes-rider to get lost if the sky was visible.
|
|
Maks was having more difficulty. The vines seemed not only to
|
|
block his way, but to actively hinder him by catching him, tripping
|
|
him, making it very hard to follow his love. He called out to her,
|
|
but she didn't seem to hear. So, he drew his knife, and began to
|
|
blaze his own way to her.
|
|
Syusahn did hear him, once, but as she began to turn to answer,
|
|
the light seemed to take a wrong turn, and it got almost close
|
|
enough to see clearly, and she took up the chase again. She didn't
|
|
hear any of his cries after that - in fact, she began to forget
|
|
about everything but the light and the trees between it and her.
|
|
Maks managed to get close enough to his love to see the light
|
|
she was following. She saw it as a flickering, yellow-red,
|
|
torch-like blob, but he saw that it was really a pale green-yellow
|
|
globe of light floating about head-high above the ground. He
|
|
recognized the will-o-the-wisp, and called out even louder, but
|
|
Syusahn was deeply ensnared and she didn't hear him. He fought the
|
|
vines harder, trying to reach her, but the vines were fighting back,
|
|
and now the trees themselves were joining in, throughsting up roots
|
|
to trip him, and waving branches in his face. He fought on,
|
|
following Syusahn as she followed the light, for a very long time.
|
|
He was nearly exhausted when he came to the end of the trail.
|
|
And that was a tower. Huge and menacing, it was surrounded by
|
|
vines as thick as trees twined utterly impassably save for a narrow
|
|
pathway that led up to the door. He saw Syusahn enter the tower, and
|
|
the door close. He ran up the path to the door, but it had no
|
|
handle, no way of opening it. He beat on the door, calling for
|
|
whoever was within to open it and face him, or give back Syusahn,
|
|
but there was no answer, at least not from within. But, the vines
|
|
that formed walls that framed the path began to close in, reaching
|
|
out for him, pulling and whipping at him. They eventually got so
|
|
violent that he had to run, fleeing before increasingly violent
|
|
vegetation that was driving him away from his love, trapped in that
|
|
strange, five-turreted tower.
|
|
|
|
Part Three: Employment
|
|
"It was an experiment," said Cefn in response to the question
|
|
that Je'en finally got up the nerve to ask. They were sitting in the
|
|
common room of the Inn of the Panther, at one of the rear tables.
|
|
Though they were a rather strange couple, they had spent enough time
|
|
there that they had become almost a fixture and the patrons barely
|
|
noticed them anymore.
|
|
Cefn was wearing his dark hood, as usual, and, while no one
|
|
could see into the recesses of the cowl, he could see out perfectly
|
|
clearly. It had taken several powerful spells to contrive the
|
|
special darkness that filled his hood: it allowed him to see in
|
|
ordinary light, a simple feat that he would have found impossible
|
|
without it. He stared at Je'en while he told her of a research
|
|
project that had gone wrong, cursing him with his glowing blue eyes
|
|
and a total intollerance for normal light of any kind. She, of
|
|
course didn't notice his staring, not being able to see his eyes. In
|
|
that, they were evenly matched: her silver half-mask hid her eyes
|
|
almost as effectively as his hood did his.
|
|
He found her fascinating. He knew much - if not most - of her
|
|
past, and he knew that she had an indomitable spirit. Few others
|
|
would have been able to start again in a whole new life as readily
|
|
and easily as she had done. And, being a swordswoman suited her as
|
|
well as being a Bard.
|
|
He also found her attractive. She was tall for a woman, almost
|
|
taller than he, and very sparely built. She had sandy-blonde average
|
|
length hair framing a longish, well-formed face. If trying to find
|
|
faults, he could have listed her nose, which was too long, or her
|
|
mouth, which was too thin, but he liked her hazel-grey eyes (when he
|
|
could see them, which was rarely). Her arms and legs were strong and
|
|
supple, and she was long-fingered and graceful (with allowances made
|
|
for her near-crippled right hand). She was wearing a flatteringly
|
|
cut green and silver tunic, and leather leggings with knee-high
|
|
boots. She was armed, with sword and knife both worn on the right
|
|
side of her belt. And, of course, there was the face mask, and the
|
|
scar it hid. Cefn was sure that she still wore the mask more out of
|
|
habit than necessity: she had built up a fine reputation in town,
|
|
and no longer had to worry about being taken for a "poor, disfigured
|
|
woman". Still, it added to her charm and mystique, and it was no
|
|
odder than the hood he was forced to wear.
|
|
Je'en listened to Cefn's tale intently. He seldom talked much
|
|
about himself, but then, neither did she, which made for many long
|
|
silences when they were together. She had always wondered about his
|
|
eyes, though, ever since she saw the way they glowed so strangely
|
|
when he had rescued her from that strange limbo place. She had
|
|
seldom seen them since then, except at night, or in a very dark
|
|
room, or when he had taken her to visit his mansion-like home, and
|
|
he had used those strange golden globes to light the rooms. She had
|
|
been rather nervous about asking him about them, but finally decided
|
|
that she wanted to know more about this mysterious magician who was
|
|
her partner.
|
|
And, perhaps there was something more. The few times that she
|
|
had been able to see his face, she saw that he was very handsome in
|
|
an aristocratic way. He had short black hair, and a long moustache
|
|
beneath a perfect nose and above a perfect mouth. She had yet to get
|
|
close enough to tell what the crest on his earring was. He was tall,
|
|
six feet or more, but not quite as tall as her. And, he had a
|
|
games-man's body, sleekly muscled, not like what she thought of as a
|
|
magician's body. She had felt an attraction to him from that first
|
|
day, but she was wary of him, of his strangeness, and of his powers.
|
|
She was glad that he had offered to be partners with her - it would
|
|
allow them to get better acquainted.
|
|
Much had happened between that first day and now. The first
|
|
thing they had done as a team was destroy Lladdwr, the sword that
|
|
the Cult of Jhel had so desperately wanted. That was after Cefn had
|
|
gone to a secret meeting of the Septent disguised as Brother Tri,
|
|
using the theryum to help his masquerade. He had destroyed the
|
|
entire Septent, managing to take them by surprise, and had then
|
|
given the names of the other cultists to Dargon authorities.
|
|
Destroying Lladdwr should have been easy, except that the being
|
|
trapped within the sword knew what was going to happen to it, and it
|
|
did its best to thwart them. But, they eventually succeeded in
|
|
breaking the spells on the blade, banishing the being within it, and
|
|
melting the shards into a surprisingly small ingot of very impure
|
|
iron. And, the journey back was delayed by bad seas, and an early
|
|
winter. But, return they did, and safely.
|
|
After that, they advertised by word of mouth their availability
|
|
and willingness to solve problems and right wrongs in and around
|
|
Dargon. They were hired to hunt down some wild animals, and two
|
|
outlaw bands that were making the frontier life even more difficult
|
|
- nothing too taxing to their abilities. But, the last of those had
|
|
been last month, and they were getting bored - or at least Je'en
|
|
was. She wished for something to do as Cefn finished his story and
|
|
went back to sipping at his mug of ale.
|
|
She happened to glance at the door as a very colorful fellow
|
|
entered the Inn. He was dressed in a loose brown vest over a loose,
|
|
multi-colored tunic, and strange, flare-legged black pants. From
|
|
that, and his patterned sash, she recognized him as being a gypsy,
|
|
probably here for the annual gathering that occurred just west of
|
|
the city.
|
|
He looked worried as he scanned the common room. His gaze
|
|
settled on the strange pair at the back table and he hurried over.
|
|
"You are Je'en and Cefn, the troubleshooters?" he asked.
|
|
Cefn spoke, somewhat eeriely, from the recesses of his cowl.
|
|
"Yes, we are. Please, be seated. Can we help you?"
|
|
The man introduced himself as Maks, and then he explained his
|
|
problem. "Less than a week passed, my betrothed was taken captive by
|
|
someone who lives in an old, vine-covered tower in the forest to the
|
|
south and west. I tried to rescue her, but the forest began to
|
|
attack me and drove me away. I rode fast and hard for the spring
|
|
camp, to get help, but my people had also had several losses from
|
|
traveling that track and didn't know what to do. The elders
|
|
eventually decided to send for help into Dargon, and I was elected
|
|
to go. Please, can you help? We have heard about you both, even
|
|
things that the gossipers do not know, and the elders are sure that
|
|
you are the only hope for my Syusahn and the others who vanished
|
|
into the forest."
|
|
Je'en was immediately interested. She and Cefn had commented
|
|
earlier on a few vague rumors that had been coming in from the south
|
|
for a few months about strange goings on in the forest. And, here
|
|
was an opportunity to investigate them, as well as several
|
|
disappearances in the area as well. It sounded like fun.
|
|
She said to Cefn, "What do you think?" while nodding her head.
|
|
Cefn caught her signal, and said, "We will do our best. Do you
|
|
have a place to stay tonight? We will start at first light, tomorrow."
|
|
|
|
Part Four: Suspicions
|
|
Food for the journey was the hardest to get hold of before the
|
|
departure time set by Cefn. But, with some help from Jann, the
|
|
innkeeper of the Panther, Je'en and Cefn managed to get enough for
|
|
about a month on the trail, just in case. The other equipment they
|
|
planned to take came from their personal stock, which wasn't all
|
|
that large - Je'en hoped that they were adequately prepared.
|
|
They all met at the Inn shortly after sunrise. With a minimum of
|
|
discussion, mainly about their initial heading, the three
|
|
distributed the equipment between their horses, and set off quietly
|
|
through the silent streets of Dargon to the south.
|
|
Je'en rode the chestnut mare that had been Mahr's. Mahr had
|
|
named it Chestnut, but Cefn had assured Je'en that the young
|
|
apprentice had had more imagination than the simple name implied.
|
|
Cefn rode a big white gelding called Streak, for the red-brown blaze
|
|
between its eyes. And Maks rode a bay stallion that didn't have a
|
|
name - it was one of his tribe's messenger horses, not his.
|
|
They encountered the strange part of the forest four days
|
|
southwest of Dargon, and all three of them immediately noticed the
|
|
change as they entered it. Sound seemed to be swallowed up by the
|
|
ubiquitous vines, and sunlight was filtered almost to nothing.
|
|
Another day, and they found the trail that Maks had been
|
|
following, and shortly after that, they found the clearing. They
|
|
tethered the horses there, shouldered hastily made packs of
|
|
equipment, and pressed on on foot, using long, sturdy knives to make
|
|
their way through the underbrush and vines to where Maks remembered
|
|
the tower to be.
|
|
It was difficult going, and Maks commented that the vines were
|
|
even thicker now that they had been before. Cefn was very silent,
|
|
and spent a lot of time examining the vines.
|
|
That first day afoot finally ended without the three reaching
|
|
the tower. They debated continuing on, but finally decided to camp
|
|
and wait for the return of the meager sunlight.
|
|
Cefn set wards around the little space that they had cleared of
|
|
vines while Je'en and Maks gathered wood and built a fire. He
|
|
assured the other two that the wards would keep out the vines, and
|
|
any luminary visitors, but they remained a little wary of sleeping
|
|
in the midst of the strange forest.
|
|
Cefn had long since demonstrated that he was an excellent trail
|
|
cook, and he again managed to produce a hearty meal from what seemed
|
|
to be very unappetizing ingredients. Je'en envied him that skill,
|
|
and she was taking lessons, but she wasn't very good just yet. Of
|
|
course, Maks was also able to make meager rations into a feast as he
|
|
had demonstrated once at an earlier camp, but he praised Cefn for
|
|
his skill, and said that he didn't mind not having to cook to get
|
|
good food on the road, as he usually did.
|
|
When the meal was over, and the dishes rinsed and repacked, the
|
|
three of them sat for a long time staring at the fire. They were all
|
|
wrapped up in their own thoughts, and stalling before going to
|
|
sleep. Maks began talking, almost to himself, still looking at the
|
|
fire, a haunted, pained look on his face.
|
|
Je'en noticed him speaking and started listening. He was telling
|
|
of how he had met Syusahn. He described their time together with
|
|
such emotion and such clarity that Je'en was both moved, and
|
|
conscious of the fact that Maks would have made a great Bard.
|
|
Then, he told of the night he had lost Syusahn. The light, the
|
|
vines, the tower. He made her feel his fear and concern for his
|
|
love, and his helpless rage when the door closed on her and refused
|
|
to reopen. Je'en noticed that Cefn was listening as intently as she,
|
|
but the expression on his face was not one of sympathy for Maks'
|
|
loss, or admiration for his skill with words, but one of thought, as
|
|
if he were trying to understand just what had happened and why. She
|
|
got the impression that he had a fairly good idea of what was going
|
|
on, but she knew that he wouldn't tell anyone until he was sure. She
|
|
hoped that he would be sure before it was too late.
|
|
Eventually, when Maks had been silent again for a long time,
|
|
Je'en decided that she needed sleep if she was going to be any good
|
|
for anything tomorrow. So she decided to trust Cefn's magic wards,
|
|
said goodnight to her traveling companions, went over to her
|
|
makeshift bed of green leaves, pine needles, and blankets, and went
|
|
to sleep. The other two soon followed suit.
|
|
After a light breakfast next morning, they packed up and set on
|
|
their way again. Je'en noticed that the vines grew thicker and
|
|
thicker, and were tougher to cut, as they moved south. She also
|
|
noticed a strange feeling in the air as they proceeded, almost like
|
|
a presence that was everywhere, but not quite aware of them. It was
|
|
very disconcerting.
|
|
Around noon, after breaking through what was an almost solid
|
|
wall of vines, the three came to a clearing, and saw the tower. It
|
|
was an impressive and disturbing sight. It rose majestically from a
|
|
solid matting of vines that covered most of its first floor, sloping
|
|
away from it into the trees of the perimeter of the clearing almost
|
|
50 feet away from the sides of the tower. It was a brilliant green,
|
|
and it had five turrets rising to various heights around its
|
|
circumference. The narrow windows that Je'en could see looked dark
|
|
and sinister.
|
|
They pushed through waist-high vines around the edge of the
|
|
clearing until they saw a higher mound of vines that probably
|
|
indicated the wall around the path to the door. After much hacking
|
|
and straining, they managed to push through the wall, and indeed
|
|
found the entrance pathway.
|
|
The presence Je'en had felt earlier was much stronger now, but
|
|
Maks commented that it felt different now than it had when he was
|
|
here before. Less aware, less active. Je'en worried that their
|
|
damaging the vines would alert the presence, making an intuitive
|
|
connection between the two, but that didn't seem to be the case.
|
|
They walked up to the door, and, while Je'en and Maks tried to
|
|
force it, Cefn carefully examined the glittering tower walls,
|
|
particularly where the vines came into contact with it. After a few
|
|
moments, he said, "Je'en, Maks, come look at this." They joined him
|
|
at the edge of the door, and saw what he indicated - the vines
|
|
seemed to actually be growing from the tower itself. They could see
|
|
dozens of tiny green crystal nodes dotting the tower wall, and from
|
|
each node grew four to six blue, yellow, and green vines, each
|
|
thickening swiftly from it's root and twining into the mass of vines
|
|
that walled in the path. Having made that discovery, Cefn turned to
|
|
the door, and took a little red pyramid from his belt pouch. He
|
|
touched a flat side to the door just below the ornately cast iron
|
|
knob. It glowed briefly, and the door opened just a crack.
|
|
Before entering, the three armed themselves. Maks drew his boot
|
|
knife, and went in with both knives at the ready. Je'en sheathed her
|
|
vine-cutting knife, and drew her sword. Cefn fished for a moment in
|
|
his belt pouch, and finally came up with a short, pale-blue rod
|
|
that, for all its shortness, could not possibly have fit in the
|
|
pouch. Je'en looked at him a little strangely, and then entered the
|
|
tower, with Cefn hard on her heels.
|
|
The interior wasn't as dark as Je'en had assumed it would be: it
|
|
was dimly lit by a pellucid greenish light that cast no shadows
|
|
whatsoever. Moving cautiously, the three of them began prowling
|
|
around the first floor. The oppressive atmosphere was even more
|
|
intense inside, but still there was no feeling that they were noticed.
|
|
The first floor was a well kept common living area. The
|
|
furniture was in excellent repair, and there was no dust anywhere.
|
|
The walls were hung with beautiful tapestries, and Je'en recognized
|
|
the style of a few of them as very ancient, and very valuable.
|
|
Around the wall were about a dozen statues of men in various forms
|
|
of war gear, from what looked like many different ages and
|
|
countries. They were made of a strange, flakey stone that none of
|
|
them had ever seen before. There were candles in wall sconces, and a
|
|
huge chandelier in the center of the main room that looked like it
|
|
burned oil from a score of prism-enclosed wicks. But, there was no
|
|
sign of use, and there was something about the way everything looked
|
|
that made it seem as if nothing had been used in a long time.
|
|
They climbed to the second story, and then the third, before
|
|
finding more than dusted furniture and statues. Cefn was exploring
|
|
the alcove entrance to this floor's turret, and so saw the body
|
|
first. It was dressed in much the same manner that Maks was, but the
|
|
body itself was dessicated to the point of looking like an ancient
|
|
mummy. The other two noticed Cefn examining the body, and joined him
|
|
in the alcove. Maks said, "That was Neika, one of those that I was
|
|
told had gone missing in the forest. See, that is his ring, and that
|
|
badge on his sash shows that he was horsemaster for his tribe. But,
|
|
he vanished not more than three weeks ago. How could he have come to
|
|
look so...so long dead?"
|
|
Cefn shook his head, and said, "I imagine that would depend on
|
|
just how he died." Then he turned his back on the corpse, and
|
|
continued to explore.
|
|
Je'en and Maks spent a moment more with the body, long enough to
|
|
be sure that Neika bore no visible wounds. Puzzled by the content
|
|
and tone of Cefn's last comment, Je'en led Maks up into the third
|
|
floor turret after the wizard.
|
|
That turret was empty, as had been the one below. The three
|
|
continued up, to the fourth floor, and then the fifth, where they
|
|
found two more mummified bodies, again identified by Maks as the
|
|
gypsies that had disappeared on the trail. On the sixth floor, they
|
|
found another, and Cefn appeared to come to a conclusion. He said,
|
|
"Come on, it must be at the top of this last turret."
|
|
-John L. White <WHITE @ DREXELVM>
|
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