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+-+--+-+--+-+ VOLUME EIGHT NUMBER TWO
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+___________+ FFFFF SSS FFFFF N N EEEEE TTTTT
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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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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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CONTENTS
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X-Editorial 'Orny' Liscomb
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*Winds of Change Becki Tants
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*Reunion Ed Murphy
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*The Treasure: Part 2 of 4 John L. White
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Date: 071587 Dist: 385
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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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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X-Editorial
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While there isn't a great deal of news to report, that is most
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probably due to the fact that this issue is being sent out no more
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than a week after the previous issue. For the most part, the news
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which was reported in the xeditorial for 8-1 is still current. We
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are still working on getting a mailing out to prospective postal
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subscribers, which is late due to the fact that I exploded my
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printer in the heat of our apartment. I have received some responses
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from readers who will be attending Pennsic, and also some responses
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from FSFnet writers who will be there. The only truly new news is
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that there has been a change in issue naming conventions. All issues
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now have the filetype of VOLxxNy, where 'XX' is the volume number
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and 'Y' the issue number. This change has been made on files on
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LISTSERV at TCSVM and CSNEWS at MAINE as well. When requesting files
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from those sources, please be careful to get the proper filetypes.
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In this issue we have part two of John White's "Treasure" story
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which was begun in issue 7-5, and two short stories from two new
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Dargon Project authors, Ed Murphy and Becki Tants. The next issue,
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8-3, should be out near the end of July or early August, and will
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contain some startling information, as well as the long-promised
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(but is it long-awaited?) "Legend in the Making" which I've
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tantalized you with since February!
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-'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>
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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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Winds of Change
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Ariel awoke that morning in a bed for the first time in weeks.
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It was a welcome, warm feeling that had almost caused her to forget
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the knock on the door that had awoken her in the first place. She
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blinked as the knock came again. In a brief moment of panic, she
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realized that no one should know that she was here. She knew no one
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in this city. Drawing her dagger, she moved silently over to the door.
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She was about to open the door when she heard the innkeeper
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outside it, saying "Ma'am, 'tis mornin'. Breakfast is ready fer ya
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down in the common room if yer up."
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Relaxing a bit, she listened as the footsteps went on down the
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hall and began the same strange procedure again. It occurred to her
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that this was not something that had ever been done in her father's
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inn, but she was quickly distracted from the thought as she looked
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around the room for the first time. Her quick flight there late last
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night and almost immediate collapse from exhaustion had given her no
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time to examine her rather rich and elegant surroundings. The carved
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wood furniture, beautiful wall hangings, painted ceramic wash bowl
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and pitcher, and the call to breakfast by the innkeep all led her
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quickly to the conclusion that she would have to find a job soon to
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pay for the place.
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She poured some water into the bowl, rinsed off her face to hide
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the tell-tale signs of her long, hard journey, and dressed quickly.
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Looking up at the polished mirror on the wall, the surest sign of
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how expensive the place was that she had seen so far, she realized
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just how much her defense these last few weeks had taken out of her.
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Her skin looked well tanned, but pale below the tan, a sure sign of
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the exhaustion she still was recovering from. The area underneath
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her eyes had some uncharacteristic lines caused by the stretching of
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her powers beyond her own limits of endurance in an effort to save
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her own life. Worse yet were her eyes. They still held the look of
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one hunted, betrayed, and forsaken in her direst time of need. The
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change was depressingly obvious, and had the effect of making her
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look much older then her mere 18 years. She quickly turned away from
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that other face in the mirror, but the thoughts of all she had been
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through still followed her. With her eyes not quite focused out the
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window into the early morning light, she began to think of all the
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things that had happened to her in the short 6 months that had
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passed since her 18th birthday.
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She had been working at the time for her father. He owned an inn
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in a small village and had eked out a meager living this way for
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many years. She did his books, waited upon the customers, and
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generally did whatever was needed. She provided 'services' for the
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more wealthy customers, as well as amusing herself by opening the
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locks on things without the keys. A very simple life, but not
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satisfying. At 18, she wanted to see more of the world. When a rich,
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handsome young man came into town, she was immediately very
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attentive. This one's name was Stefan. The rumor about town was that
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he was a mage of some sort and her father, hearing this, advised her
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to stay away from him. This just whetted her curiosity more. They
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spent much time together and soon, as he was leaving, he invited her
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to join him, saying that a young lady of her particular 'talents'
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could be very successful in a big city such as Dargon. Charmed by
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the young man so thoroughly, she left without a word to her father
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or a thought to the consequences.
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She quickly found the rumors of his magic to be true and
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convinced him to teach her. He agreed, thinking it a good chance to
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practice for him and an amusement for her. As they traveled he began
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to teach her the powers of the air. He soon realized that she had a
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strong streak of talent for this running through her, and sped up
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the training. As they traveled, practiced, and slept together, their
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relationship grew. Soon Ariel began to think she was in love with
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Stefan and he seemed to reciprocate this feeling. She began to hold
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great hopes for her life in a new city, a big city full of
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opportunities, and her life with Stefan.
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All too soon, however, the training was halted and her dreams
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were smashed. The cult of the earth god, Haargon, found out about
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the existence of the two mages and made their plans to attack. The
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rivalry between Haargon and Iliara, the goddess of the air, had long
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been fierce, but only recently had it escalated to such huge
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proportions. The cults had escalated it to blood-shed. Haargon's
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followers had acted first, killing one of the air goddesses high
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priests, saying naught but that he had blasphemed their god beyond
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permissible levels. The cult of the air goddess was quick to take
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its revenge. Of the existing earth mages, over half were murdered
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one night in their sleep. Since that night, the cult of Haargon had
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been killing any air mages found in an attempt to "even the score".
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Stefan had told Ariel about this cult before, so when they attacked
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in the middle of the night, she recognized them. Before she even
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awoke, Stefan was dead by the hand of their leader and they were
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coming for her. Calling all her fury and grief to play, she used
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everything she had learned so far to call up a wind strong enough to
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blow about the pine needles on the ground and pull the ones from the
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trees, giving her the cover to escape. She ran, but only far enough
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to find a place to hide before she collapsed in utter exhaustion.
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She had slept after that for almost 18 hours. When she awoke, still
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exhausted and emotionally drained by the death of her lover, but
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she found a bit of food and then began to travel toward Dargon.
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The face in the mirror told her that she had still not
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recovered. Since that night, almost 2 months ago, she had rarely
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been able to call anything more then a light breeze. Slowly, though,
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her power had been improving. For the first month after the fight,
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she had not even been able to stir the breeze. "Soon," she thought,
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"soon, I will be my old self". But this thought had been losing its
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power to console her. She was beginning to think that she might
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never regain what she had lost. Still, the cult continued to follow
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her. Not as viciously, but they were watching, and she had to keep
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her eyes open.
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"But first I must eat." she said to herself out loud. Splashing
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her face with water once more, quickly, to get the dreamy look out
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of her eyes, she headed down to breakfast.
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As she came down the stairs, she was all but overwhelmed by the
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smell of the fresh cooked bread. She hadn't smelled anything that
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good since she had left her father's inn. It seemed like ages ago.
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"It was." she told herself. But the scent was strong enough that she
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hurried the rest of the way to the common room, her mouth watering.
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The meal was plain, but wholesome. Ariel hadn't realized how
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hungry she'd been until the innkeep put the fresh, warm bread, ripe
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apples, and sharp cheese before her. The food tasted fantastic.
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After so long on the road, any fresh, warm meal was welcome.
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She was just finishing up when a small child, approximately 6
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years old, wearing dirty, torn clothing and no shoes, came running
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in from the street. He scanned the room and, spotting Ariel, came
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running over. He looked her over carefully for a moment, then,
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without a word, dropped a note and a leather pouch before her and
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ran out of the inn.
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Startled, Ariel reached for the note and the pouch. As she
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opened the pouch and emptied it's contents, her face went white.
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Stefan's ring, the one that he said helped him to concentrate, lay
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there on the table before her. Dragging her eyes away from the ring,
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she opened the note.
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"Ariel; Air Mage.......
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This ring belonging to your friend will help you
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to overcome those who still watch and follow you...Be
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wary, for they will not give up easily. I cannot
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interfere directly, so you must have faith in your
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own abilities. Stefan has taught you well. Overcome
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this obstacle and you will be brought into our
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fellowship. Until then, take care, and trust in your
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own strength.
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Cyrrwiddyn; Priest of Iliara......."
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As she read the last words in amazement, the writing on the
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parchment disappeared. Startled, she sat with the now blank
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parchment in her hands, wondering how these people had found her and
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where she could find them. She had so many questions. But the letter
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had given no clue. She had no ideas on how to find the Priest.
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Soon her attention turned back to the ring. Placing it upon her
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finger, as one would a wedding ring, she was surprised to see it fit
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perfectly. Stefan's fingers were nowhere near her size. Quickly
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however, she realized that there was magic involved here and that
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she should not question the ways of the Gods.
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"Stefan," she whispered, "They took you away from me too soon. I
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will extract a price on them for this. But please, give me the
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strength to live long enough to do it."
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Finishing the last of breakfast, she got up and left the inn,
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heading out in search of a job, but with the words of the letter
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still buzzing around in her mind. So occupied was she that she
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failed to notice the shadowy figure that moved away from the wall as
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she went by and began to follow her.
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-Becki Tants <RETANTS@SUNRISE>
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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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Reunion
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Gellan left the forest just after dawn. The dew was still
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dripping off the trees but the chill was leaving the air as he
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strode across the meadow just outside the city. He stood for the
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moment at the crest of a small hill and looked over the expanse to
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the city walls of Dargon. Dargon. It had been a long while since he
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had seen Dargon and its high buildings and crowded marketplaces. The
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first time he saw Dargon, he was a young lad, not even had he seen
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his tenth year. He dimly remembered looking in wonder at the great
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colorful banners of the duchies and kingdoms, for it had been the
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time of the great Festival that was given in Dargon every year. His
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view now was not one of awe, however. He had been through much in
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the seventeen years since his innocent days of childhood. He shifted
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the pack that was slung over his shoulder and settled into a steady
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gait made his way to the main road that led into Dargon. The morning
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traffic had picked up while he had been approaching. As he walked
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along the side of the road he drew stares from the coaches and
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wagons that passed. He chuckled softly to himself as he thought that
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they probably considered him some type of barbarian due to his
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homemade clothes and unkempt hair and beard. But he had never really
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cared about others or what they thought about him. That had been one
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of the reasons he had left his village, family and all the security
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that those things implied. If only they'd understood... if only...
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ah, well. He had come to the archway of stone that was the entrance
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to Dargon. He walked through the high entranceway and was astounded
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by the density of the people and the buildings. The people! It had
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been so long since he had seen so many people bustling and crowding
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in one place. He walked down the streets and alleys of Dargon and
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was only able to gaze in wonder at the large city. "Well, " he
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thought to himself, "I'd better take care of business first. I'll be
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here quite long enough to sightsee...". Then he was off to look for
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a place to live during his stay in Dargon...
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Night was falling over the city of Dargon, and most of the
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businesses in the lower part of the city were closing. The 'most'
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however didn't include the bars. The city was going through the
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metamorphoses that happened every night around dusk. The nooks and
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alley-ways used during the day to get from place to place in the
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city were now shunned at all costs. A man could lose much more than
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his purse at night in Dargon, especially in this district. Merntik
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was making his way to Belisandra's for a night of general debauchery
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and ruthlessness which was usually what he did, when he wasn't
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planning on taking some poor merchants livelihood. The salt air was
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drifting in from the water as always. Merntik entered the pub and
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immediately grabbed the first serving girl that came within reach.
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There were cries and whoops from all around. "Hi Mern!", a group
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called from the end of the bar. He waved and made his way to the
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counter. "Ale!, the strongest and darkest you got, lady!" he yelled
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and then turned with a twinkle in his eye. That, among other things
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is what had made him famous. Nobody knew just exactly how he did it,
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but there are those who say that he could make his eyes sparkle in
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pitch black darkness. After reciving his mug he pushed his way
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through the crowd at the end of the bar.
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"So, you are looking as ratty as ever, Gauld!", he said and
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delivered a resounding slap to his comrade. "What has the night
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brought this way?"
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"Bah, only you, you old abandoned horse," Gauld said with a
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grin, and then continued, "but, nothing else as yet. It has been a
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slow night thus far. And how have you faired today? I saw you
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earlier on Ramit Street talking to a couple. I assume you were
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'helping them'?", and then his grin broadened.
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Merntik let a little twinkle enter his countenance and replied,
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"Well, they were lost! And not from this city, I had pity on them.
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And besides, I had no idea how well they would pay for a guide to
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get them to their hotel", he took a gulp of the dark ale, "as a
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matter of fact neither did they!" He laughed loudly as he ordered
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another round for the group and threw the gold coin on the counter.
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Time went on as he and the men drank, laughed and played games. The
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serving maids knew enough now to stay out of reach of the group as
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the night wore on but always managed a tease now and then by coming
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just out of reach. The night wore on and Merntik decided that he had
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had quite enough frolic to sustain him for this night. "Besides," he
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thought to himself, " I do have an early day tomorrow, no telling
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how many people I will have to 'help'." And with a chuckle to
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himself, he rose, said his goodbyes and left. The cool night air did
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little to raise him out of his drunken stupor. He didn't even notice
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the small dark figure that followed him from the front of the tavern.
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Merntik turned to walk down a side street that led to his living
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place and that was when the man appeared in front of him. "Stop
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there Merntik...". That voice was as familiar to him as any ever
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would be.
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"Jernan, what finds you here this late at night? Scraping for
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your dinner in the gutter?". As any could guess, Jernan and Merntik
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did indeed know one another, and they held more hate towards the
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other than any thought possible.
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"Ahh, Merntik. You're tongue still has a fork I see. I have so
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missed your conversation. And will forever, after you are dead."
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Every once in a while Jernan had tried a futile attempt to kill
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Merntik. They had studied under the same master when they were
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young, but Jernan became impatient with what he thought were
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monotonous studies and left long before he was ready to face the
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world that a thief must face. And as could be expected, he was soon
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arrested and imprisoned for a number of years. After he got out of
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the Lord's prison he once again delved into the criminal element
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where he found that Merntik had made quite a name for himself. The
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jealousy that he harbored toward Merntik along with a few meetings
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since then was what caused Jernan's obsession with the elimination
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of Merntik.
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Merntik, tired and not wanting to allow Jernan first blood
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feinted to the left and produced a dagger from beneath his cloak. He
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then did a quick recovery and lunged after Jernan. But missed. He
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ended up going tripping over his cloak. As quickly as he could, he
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got to his feet and managed to strip his cloak off increasing his
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maneuverability. Jernan had already drawn his knife and whirled
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around. Jernan stabbed at Merntik. If he had been a bit faster,
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Merntik might had taken it in the stomach. As it was, he felt the
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steel enter his leg. Jernan gave the knife a twist and the shock was
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too much for Merntik. His knees buckled under him, and he was
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suddenly on his back facing up at Jernan. Jernan walked over slowly
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and kicked Merntik's dagger further down the alley.
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"I would have thought that when this time had come you would
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have given me more of a fight. Tsk.... It seems that you slipped
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once too often, Merntik." He walked over and Merntik saw him take a
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foot long steel pipe from the ground nearby. "There is really no
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need to be gentle about this I guess..." and with that he grabbed
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Merntik by the collar of his tunic, lifted him up, and hit him in
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the stomach. The pain was almost to much for him as he tottered on
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the brink of unconsciousness. His drunken state and the loss of
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blood had left him unable to focus. He never should have travelled
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alone on this night. His mistake might have just cost him his life.
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Jernan pulled back for another blow when a hand came out of the
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shadow. The third man grabbed the pipe and wrenched it from Jernan's
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hand in one swift move. Jernan whirled around redrawing his dagger
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and jumped for the man but his hold on the blade was broken as the
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stranger brought the pipe down with blow that could have only broken
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Jernans hand. The stranger then brought the pipe down on Jernans
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neck and the would be murderer crumpled, like paper, under the blow.
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Merntik had seen this all from the ground where he had fallen
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when Jernan released him. The stranger, his face hidden in shadow,
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walked over to Merntik and knelt down beside him. Merntik could only
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mutter, "Thanks..." before he was overtaken by unconsciousness.
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The young thief awoke an unmeasured amount of time later. His
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wounds had been cared for and he was bathed and lying on a cot. He
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tried to sit up on his elbows to further survey the room but his
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body had already decided that it was in control at this particular
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time, and his stomach, bruised from the previous skirmish, had
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knotted together. He could only groan and fall back in the cot. He
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heard a movement from across the room and turned as far as he could
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and said, "Hello? Who is there?". He was silently wishing he had so
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much as a bobby pin for protection. Then he heard the clinking of
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dishes and the smell of an obviously strongly seasoned stew waifted
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over from somewhere. He was suddenly ravenously hungry. Still the
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man had not yet come into view, so Merntik thought to get him to
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speak. "Who is there? I want to thank you for you help, I was sure
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that I had had my last drink.... Hello? Please, I would like to pay
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you for your help....". At last he heard steps coming toward him and
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his eyes opened wide as a look of recognition came over his face.
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"Mern. Now how would it look if I took money for helping you....
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brother", Gallen said as he knelt down beside his brother with the
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steaming bowl.
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"Oh my God...", was the only Merntik could think to say. Then he
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smiled and reached out to hug his brother, but fell back in agony
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once again.
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"You always were headstrong when you were sick", Gellan said, as
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he offered a spoon on the stew.
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"Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why did you not
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come home?" Merntik asked, "I mean, Gellan... Seventeen years!...."
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"Shhhhh.. Mern. I am here now. I will tell you everything but
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first you must eat. Then we will talk of me."
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-Ed Murphy <MEMCR@UNO>
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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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The Treasure
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Part II
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The Magician
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Roharvardenul walked away from the Fighting Unicorns well
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pleased with the deal he and Ka'en had made. Patting his side, where
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the book rested in the folds of his cloak, he walked slowly to the
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shadows of a side alley. Once hidden from casual observers, he let
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the 'whore' illusion that hid him fade, as well as the 'man in
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brown' one he wore under it. And he smiled in the knowledge that
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even should the missing book be somehow traced to that most capable
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thief he had hired, it could not be traced further - he did not
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believe in taking chances.
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Vard (a name he much preferred to his given one for its
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simplicity - Roharvardenul was very difficult to pronounce correctly
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for one not raised with it, and he hated it when people
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mispronounced his name) moved even deeper into the shadows until he
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was sure that no one could see him. He began to concentrate on
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building up yet another illusion. This would be very difficult -
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invisibility was hard to achieve, and even harder to maintain,
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especially when moving. Vard had practiced long and hard under his
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erstwhile masters, and he knew his craft. Soon, even careful
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scrutiny of the shadows wherein he hid would not have revealed
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Vard's presence - he was invisible.
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When he had reached an equilibrium within himself, and he knew
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that he was ready keep the spell going as he moved, he inched his
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way out of the alley and around to the rear of the Fighting
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Unicorns, studiously avoiding the infrequent torch- or lantern-cast
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pools of light that were scattered about - hiding himself was hard
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enough; hiding his shadow as well would be nearly impossible.
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Placing his steps as noiselessly as possible, Vard crept into the
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Fifth Quarter and its concealing darkness.
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Feeling more secure once he was three streets deep into the
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Fifth Quarter, Vard began to move faster, but kept up the
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invisibility. He knew that he couldn't hold the spell much longer.
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He wanted to be as far as possible from the fringe Inn before he
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became visible again. He was already weaving the illusion that would
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replace the invisibility - he tried to be himself as little as
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possible outside the walls of his fortress home.
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Curiosity has killed more than cats in the Fifth Quarter, but
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anyone with a little left might have seen a child, an urchin, appear
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running from nowhere, clad in scant rags and bare feet. An urchin
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was a common sight in the Quarter, the sudden appearance was not.
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Still, had it been seen, the incident wouldn't have passed the lips
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of the observer, for the insane are dealt with even more severely
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than the curious in the alleys of the Fifth Quarter.
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Threading his way through the maze-like inner streets of the
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Fifth Quarter, Vard eventually reached a blank, wooden wall at the
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end of a particularly narrow alley. The hidden catches were both
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difficult to find, even for him, and hard to press all at the same
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time (to prevent accidental discovery). Finally, the wall parted
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just enough for him to slip through, then slammed shut seconds after
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its opening, leaving Vard in total darkenss.
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He stood in the darkness for several moments, letting the
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disguise he wore fade away. Here, he needed to be himself, for he
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had set traps to protect this secret way into the heart of his home
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from strangers. Filling his mind with the patterns the traps
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expected, he strode confidently through the utter lightlessness
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towards the inner sanctum. It seemed that hours passed in the
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minutes it took him to reach the final curtain, but finally he
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stepped into light.
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The small room he had stepped into was deep below the streets of
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the city, although the gradual slope of the corridor was only barely
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detectable as one walked it. An ornate chair was set against one
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bare wall. There was a soft carpet on the floor, but the only other
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decoration in the room was a large pattern of lines surrounding what
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looked like a stylized door on the wall opposite the curtained real
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door. The decor of the room was completed by two lamps flanking the
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door, and a medium sized chest resting near the wall pattern.
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Vard took a deep breath and relaxed - walking the gauntlet of
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that corridor made even him nervous. He walked over to the pattern
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which was more than a decoration. It was, in fact, a portal into the
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cellars of Aahashtra, his fortress home. With it, he could make the
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40 league trip to and from Magnus in one step. It had taken a lot of
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effort to create the portal, but his frequent trips to the Crown
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City made it necessary.
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Laying his hands within the terminal-circles at the edge of the
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pattern, Vard began to prime it, readying it for the activation
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spells. It was just beginning to glow faintly when he heard someone
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enter the room behind him. He whirled, fire beginning to limn his
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hands as an attack spell filled his mind, but he let it slip away
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when he saw that it was only his servant Qrun returning from his
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errand. Qrun bowed to his Master and took the wrapped bundle that he
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carried over to the chest. Opening the lid, the servant carefully
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placed the bundle on top of the many other oddments that filled the
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chest. He turned and bowed to Vard again.
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"Ah, Qrun, what did you find today? Anything of special
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interest? Have you completed your rounds?"
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"Master, yes, I have visited all the shops you told me to. These
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last items are the most interesting I found. They registered eight
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on the meter." Qrun unwrapped the bundle in the chest, displaying a
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leather-cased harp and a slim-bladed sword. "See, Master, even a
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little above eight."
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The servant produced a strange device from the pouch hanging at
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his belt and held it next to the harp and sword. It was a simple
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rectangle of black wood, with a tube of glass set into a little
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trough on one side. There were lines etched across the glass at
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regular intervals, and a number was graven into the wood next to
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each line. As the device neared the two objects in the chest, a
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bright bar of yellow light began to move up the tube from below the
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mark labeled '1'. When Qrun held the device almost touching the harp
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and the sword, the yellow bar had pushed past the mark labeled '8'.
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"Very good, Qrun, very good. These items will serve me well!
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Let's see if they have any identifying markings, eh?" Vard lifted
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the harp case from the chest and examined the silver-decorated
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leather carefully. He opened the case and removed the beautifully
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wrought harp and examined it. Plucking a few strings that sounded
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marvelously in tune, he said, "It names itself 'Soft-Winds'.
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Beautiful name, eh, Qrun? Wonder who the owner was? Belike some
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bard, down on his luck. Well, his loss is my gain, right?" He placed
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the harp back in its case and set it back in the chest. He picked up
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the sword. "Matched set, these were," Vard said. "I can feel they
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had the same owner. Wonder what could have parted a bard from both
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his livelihood and his protection?" He peered closely at the
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carvings on the sheath and drew the blade after unfastening the
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peace-bond. He read the runes etched among the delicate leaf pattern
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that chased up and down the center of the well crafted blade. "And
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this weapon hight 'Leaf-Killer': an odd name for a very fine blade.
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It belonged to a south-western family at one time, and was
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transferred from son to daughter last, if I read my runes correctly.
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So, the bard who lost these was a woman! No matter, they will serve
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as well in any case."
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Vard placed the re-sheathed sword back in the chest beside the
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harp, and bade Qrun secure the chest for travel. While his servant
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attended to that, Vard returned to the task of activating the
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portal. Presently, the pattern built of special tiles and set into
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the very fabric of the wall began to glow strongly, with a slight,
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pulsing beat. The portal was open.
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Vard took one last look around the room to be sure that it was
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empty. With a wave, he extinguished the lamps by the door, and by
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the light of the pattern he followed his servant into the portal and
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vanished from Magnus. Immediately after his form vanished into the
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pattern, its light went out, leaving the secret room in darkness
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until the next time Vard had to come to the Crown City.
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The Book
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Lights sprang on of themselves in the room in Aahashtra that
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mirrored the one hidden under Magnus as first Qrun and them Vard
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stepped through the center of the glowing pattern. Vard said, "Take
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that to the sorting room, Qrun, and take care of its contents. Tell
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Eirul to bring me something to eat in my study, if she hasn't
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already." As Qrun carried the chest through the curtain at the far
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end of the room, Vard followed him as far as the first side door.
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There, the magician turned aside from the long hall and went through
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the door and up the stairs behind it that led to his study.
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He found a bright and cheery fire burning behind its screen in
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his study and a tray of tarts on a table in front of it. He bit into
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one and smiled. Eirul was a superb cook. The tarts were a specialty
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of hers and a favorite of his.
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Vard removed the Book from the folds of his robe and set it
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reverently on his reading desk. After lighting several of the lamps
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that stood around it he went over to a tall bookcase to get down
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some reference volumes. He settled into the stiff-backed chair at
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his reading desk and opened the book to the first page. He was
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pleased to find that it was written in what was called Middle, or
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Pure, Fretheodan, the language of that empire's most productive
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period. He was conversant in the language, so he began to read, not
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taking the time to look up words or usages he didn't understand. He
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wanted to get an idea of what was contained in the book before
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analyzing it.
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Pausing only to nibble at the food he never saw Eirul bring, he
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read the book from cover to cover. By the time he had finished it,
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almost a full day had passed and he was sure that the Tome of
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Yrmenweald was exactly what he had hoped it was. It contained the
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secrets of a vast powersource that the Fretheod Empire's wizards had
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managed to harness. It gave details on how to duplicate the feat,
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and exactly what could be accomplished with the harnessed power.
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Vard was sure that he could put the Yrmenweald to as good a use as
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had the Fretheod. He had always dreamed of being the most powerful
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wizard in the world, and with this book he could be.
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But, first things first. Vard had gotten the gist of what the
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Tome contained. Now he wanted to know exactly. It was essential that
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he understand, word for word, the instructions left by the wizards
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who had harnessed the Yrmenweald the first time. Patience was
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something Vard had learned long ago, along with thouroughness, and
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now he put both to work studying the Tome.
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First, he translated the Tome into the trade language that the
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Fretheod Empire had created. It was a language that was able to
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express complicated ideas very clearly while still being easy to
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learn because of its logical structure: its rules had no exceptions
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since it was not a naturally evolved language. He was able to
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clarify to himself what certain passages meant by the way they read
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in the trade tongue. Then he translated the trade version into his
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own native tongue, gaining even more insights into the text. The
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last step was a detailed examination of all three versions,
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comparing them and finalyzing the exact meaning of the Tome. He was
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aided here by his collections of material from the Empire's history,
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including maps, journals, and books written by Fretheod scholars.
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This helped him pin down geographic references and fit them into his
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own frame of reference. It also helped to clear up idiomatic usages,
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obscure (to him) literary references, and the other little things
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that kept him from total understanding of the Tome.
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He learned that the source of the Yrmenweald had been found by a
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team of explorers who were charting the continent they called
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Gereon, which was south of their homeland and east of Vard's. One
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day, the native guides they employed showed them a taboo area where
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a stone had fallen from the sky. They were told that the first
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people to go near the place, soon after the sky-stone had come down,
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had been burned to death by the heat of the earth. Several weeks
|
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later, when the earth had cooled, another group of people had tried
|
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to get to the sky-stone. These had been driven off by strange lights
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in the pit where the sky-stone rested. When they died later of a
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strange, wasting sickness, the area had been declared taboo.
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However, the Fretheod explorers insisted on seeing for
|
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themselves. The tales of the sky-stone were several years old, and
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they persuaded their guides to stay with them by suggesting that
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perhaps the 'evil spirits' inhabiting the place had gone by now.
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Jarl Hremon, the leader of the expidition, entered the
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depression created by the sky-stone first. Burried in the earth, he
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found a wall of silver metal that sparked feebly when he neared it,
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then went out. He tripped on a clod of dirt and fell against the
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metal. When he did, the entire wall shimmered and faded into
|
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nothingness, revealing a large, dark cave.
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Hremon got a torch and led his men into the strange cave. They
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found much that they could not describe or understand, but they did
|
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find - well, something. The Tome used a strange symbol for what they
|
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found that seemed to be enough description for them. No mention was
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made of exactly what it was, or what it looked like, or where the
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symbol came from. Vard could find no other reference to a symbol of
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that type anywhere in any of the books he had collected. For his own
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convenience he assigned a sound to the symbol. He called it 'keseth'.
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Somehow, Hremon had recognized that there was potential in the
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keseth. He had a permanent camp set up around the pit, and sent a
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man back to the capitol with a message informing the King of their
|
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discovery and suggesting that the Court's wizards send someone back
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to further examine what had been found.
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The King sent a full legion of his army to Gereon, escorting
|
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most of the Weavers in the capitol including Swithwald, their
|
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master. It was Swithwald who closeted himself with the keseth for
|
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many days. When he emerged from the cave, he knew what the keseth
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was capable of, and to what use it could be put to.
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Swithwald left for the capitol after instructing his wizards in
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what preparations to make for the keseth's transportation. When the
|
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Master Weaver was home, he set about building a place for the keseth
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deep in a long disused mine. He had the full support of the King
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once he had informed the monarch of his plan, and being able to draw
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on the resources of the whole Empire made the work go quickly. Soon
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the vault was ready. In an exhausting exhibition of magic that
|
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required the services of every Weaver and a good many of the lesser
|
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mages, the keseth was transported from the pit on Gereon, into the
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vault that Swithwald had made where it would be safe and available
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for study.
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Years went into that study. Swithwald bent all his energies on
|
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harnessing the power that the keseth held. Finally, he found a way
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to keep the keseth bound while allowing it access to its power. The
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discovery of cwicustan by another exploration team probing into the
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northern wastes of their own continent was the deciding factor in
|
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harnessing the keseth's abilities. After much research into the
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strange, almost living, crystal called cwicustan, it was discovered
|
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that any part removed from the whole was still affected by some
|
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things that happened to what remained. It was thought by the
|
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researchers to use cwicustan as a magic channel, for a spell cast at
|
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the heart-lode would emanate from any and all fragments of that
|
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lode. Swithwald heard of its properties, and set teams of
|
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researchers to finding out how to apply that ability to the keseth.
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Finally, the connection was made, and the Master Staff was formed.
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The Son Staves that were formed from the master were linked to it,
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and the Master Staff was linked to the keseth enabling anyone with
|
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access to a Son Staff access to the power of the keseth.
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And that power was, in the main, farseeing with incredible
|
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clarity. Commanders could keep an eye on enemy movements from a
|
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considerale distance. Explorers could view the terrain they would be
|
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crossing well before reaching it. Ship captains could spot land from
|
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afar, as well as keep an eye on weather patterns using another minor
|
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ability of the keseth. And it was the power of the keseth that
|
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turned the agressive and formidable Fretheod Nation into a
|
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world-spanning, invincible Empire.
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Finally, both Swithwald and the King decided that they needed to
|
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safeguard the core of their newfound power. Once Swithwald was
|
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certain that the keseth was safe and secure in its vault, he sealed
|
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it and took a map, one of his servants, and the key across the sea
|
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to one of the nation's outposts. In the cellars of a watch-keep
|
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named Wudamund he he burried for safekeeping the map to the vault,
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the key to enter the vault, and the servant who knew the traps
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guarding the vault. He then instructed the Tome to be written, to
|
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hold all of the knowledge of the Yrmenweald (as they came to call
|
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the power that the keseth gave to Fretheod), the keseth, and the
|
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Staves. And lastly, he and the Weavers worked a greater magic than
|
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the one that had moved the keseth. All knowledge of the keseth, its
|
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whereabouts, and the source of the Staves' power was removed from
|
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the minds of all the Fretheod people. Only those with access to the
|
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Tome would know the real power behind the staves, and only someone
|
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able to raise the dead could gain access to the vault where the
|
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keseth was bound. With the Tome entrusted to the royal bards, both
|
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Swithwald and the King were sure that the secrets would be kept
|
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safe. No one imagined that treachery from within would finally end
|
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the Empire.
|
|
It was almost by chance that Vard had come across the one thing
|
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that would enable him to take the Yrmenweald for himself. He had
|
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purchased what turned out to be the seachest of Tarhela, the last
|
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Skaldric of Fretheod, from an illiterate hoarder who didn't know the
|
|
value of what he had sold. Among the shreds of rotted clothing, and
|
|
more intact books, he found the Skaldric's journal. Within the
|
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journal was the only written reference to the Tome of the Yrmenweald
|
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in existence.
|
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Vard immediately began a magical search for the tome. He traced
|
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its path through history from the shipwreck of Tarhela's ship, to
|
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its final resting place within the walls of the Bardic College in
|
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Magnus. Trickery, magic, and a lot of favors had eventually gotten
|
|
him the keys to the vault where it was stored. It only remained to
|
|
hire Ka'en to steal it from under the noses of the Bards without
|
|
their knowing.
|
|
And now, Vard was even closer to ultimate power. He knew that
|
|
Dargon Castle had been built on the partial ruins of the watch-keep
|
|
that the Fretheod had called Wudamund. With a little research of his
|
|
own, he knew he would have no trouble unlocking the secrets hidden
|
|
in the cellars of Clifton Dargon's home. The more difficult task
|
|
would be to find some cwicustan, for he knew that he would have to
|
|
begin from scratch in constructing a Master Staff of his own and
|
|
that required his own supply of the living crystal. He decided to
|
|
make that his first priority.
|
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|
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Crystals
|
|
It was only an hour from sunset as the good ship Morcyfaill
|
|
dropped anchor in the harbor of a small fishing village called
|
|
Hadrom on the east coast of Duurom, the present name of the
|
|
continent that was once the center of the Fretheod Empire. The
|
|
longboat was lowered over the side. Owain Garothsson took his leave
|
|
of Captain Camarond, and he and his men climbed down into the boat
|
|
and were ferried ashore. No amount of gold Owain could offer would
|
|
get Camarond to sail farther north. Owain was resigned to making the
|
|
rest of the trek afoot.
|
|
|
|
Vard watched the disembarkation from a special room in his
|
|
fortress. It was a small chamber at the top of a squatly conical
|
|
tower, with barely enough room for himself and a chair and table.
|
|
The only light in the room came from an oblong of translucent stone
|
|
that rested between two silver plates on the table and glowed with a
|
|
faint turquoise light. Vard's hands rested lightly on the silver
|
|
endplates and his eyes were closed. He watched the far off scene in
|
|
Hadrom in his mind, checking on the progress of his pawn. The
|
|
blue-green bar of glowing stone bound Owain to Vard's will by means
|
|
of a property of magic known as Contagion. Stated formally, the Law
|
|
of Contagion stated that 'Things once in contact continue to
|
|
interact from a distance after separation'. This allowed Vard to use
|
|
control magic on an object that had once been in Owain's possession,
|
|
and thereby control Owain.
|
|
Of course, this ordinarily wouldn't have been enough for him to
|
|
completely control a person from such a distance. The Law alone
|
|
wasn't strong enough to allow him to control someone who was just
|
|
across the room from him. But Vard had discovered more about the
|
|
intricacies of the Law of Contagion than any other mage whose works
|
|
still survived. He had learned that the stronger a person's
|
|
emotional bonds were to the object, the stronger the Law bound the
|
|
two. Once he had isolated that property in the object, he had found
|
|
a way to magnify that property so that he could use his control
|
|
magic on the object with an almost overwhelming effect on the
|
|
subject. The strength of the modified control depended on the degree
|
|
of the initial attachment, but if that attachment was strong enough
|
|
Vard could be assured of complete control with a minium of effort.
|
|
At some point in his career, Owain had lost a bamboo transverse
|
|
flute that had meant a great deal to him. Vard had invented a
|
|
measuring device that codified the degree of attachment between
|
|
object and former owner. The tube of yellow light in the black wood
|
|
rectangle had reached midway between the marks labeled '7' and '8'
|
|
when held next to the flute. Once Vard had located the flute in his
|
|
sorting rooms, where all of the items he and his servants collected
|
|
were stored, he had processed it to magnify the attachment property
|
|
to usable levels. The result was the turquoise bar that rested on
|
|
the table before him in his control room.
|
|
More than eighteen months had passed between the time Vard
|
|
resolved to obtain some of the cwicustan and the day he sat watching
|
|
Owain and his band disembark from the ship that had carried them to
|
|
Hadrom. The time had been spent first finding a cache of cwicustan,
|
|
and then finding a way of getting hold of it. Vard never did such
|
|
things for himself as they were far too dangerous and there were
|
|
easier ways of getting them done. Even if he had desired to venture
|
|
into the northern wastes of Duurom himself, he had no patience with
|
|
traveling the hard way. And there was no way to use his magic to
|
|
travel the distance with ease. Teleportation was a difficult spell
|
|
and it required either vast amounts of power and strong
|
|
enchantments, or precise and exacting knowledge of the destination.
|
|
Vard had neither at hand, although one of the uses he could forsee
|
|
for the Yrmenweald when he had harnessed it was as an aid to
|
|
teleportation. With the ability to view distant places in amazing
|
|
detail he would be able to transport himself anywhere on the face of
|
|
the globe with little more than a thought. He would be revered and
|
|
respected for having such power.
|
|
The thought crossed his mind to hire an adventuring team to
|
|
retrieve the magical stone, but he knew that wouldn't work. He
|
|
couldn't afford to pay the team enough gold to insure that they
|
|
would return the stone to him. Cwicustan had enough visibly strange
|
|
properties to give an experienced adventurer ideas about selling it
|
|
in a better market. When he had hired Ka'en to steal the Tome, Vard
|
|
knew that the thief would have no use for an old book, and so would
|
|
not try to double-cross him.
|
|
Vard had to search for someone whom he could control. Where
|
|
money might fail, his magic wouldn't. Using specially developed
|
|
future-scanning spells designed to locate an object that fulfilled
|
|
the requirements of the castor, he had searched his storerooms,
|
|
eventually finding the flute belonging to Owain. The process of
|
|
refining the flute into a useable form took six months. Fortunately,
|
|
he had no trouble taking control of Owain once his aparatus was
|
|
ready. Ocaisionally, a very strong will could put up a fight, and he
|
|
had to take care (and much time) to insinuate his control carefully
|
|
into the subject's body and mind.
|
|
The rest of the elapsed time was taken up in waiting for the
|
|
expedition Vard had caught Owain in the middle of preparing for to
|
|
be diverted to Duurom, and then for the two month sea voyage to
|
|
Hadrom. He had had no trouble getting Owain to change the object of
|
|
his adventuring, even over the objections of his fellow explorers.
|
|
He was also able to keep the man from revealing the reason that they
|
|
were suddenly going north into Duurom, instead of south on Cherisk
|
|
into the Skywall Mountains (which wouldn't have involved any sea
|
|
voyaging at all). He didn't have the materials to control all eight
|
|
of the adventurers, so he had to keep the cwicustan a secret.
|
|
|
|
As the longboat was rowed to shore by ship's men, Owain looked
|
|
over the seven he had with him. Two of them had been with Owain on
|
|
other adventures. In fact, Auvgin and Telrmun were two of his
|
|
closest friends. But not one of the adventurers was quite sure just
|
|
what they were doing in a boat bound for a fishing village.
|
|
Sometimes, that included Owain.
|
|
Owain was an adventurer. That wasn't the only thing he had ever
|
|
done: only the lucky or short-lived could make adventuring their
|
|
life's work. Owain had held many jobs, from guarding merchant's
|
|
caravans to hauling goods in a warehouse. He did those other things
|
|
to amass enough money to go adventuring. He hoped one day to bring
|
|
back such a big find from some ancient temple or ruined city that he
|
|
could retire with his riches and be remembered forever for his final
|
|
accomplishment.
|
|
Six months previous, Auvgin had come to Owain with enough money
|
|
saved up to fund almost half of the stake required to outfit an
|
|
adventure to investigate some maps and tales of strange happenings
|
|
in the heart of the Skywall mountains. After some negotiations, it
|
|
had been agreed that Owain would put up the rest of the money needed
|
|
to investigate the rumors of vast treasure that Auvgin had heard.
|
|
With the skill of much practice, Auvgin and Owain had soon put
|
|
together a band of people and the necessary supplies to follow
|
|
Auvgin's plan.
|
|
And then, almost on the eve of their departure, Owain had
|
|
changed that plan. Now they would be traveling to the northern
|
|
wastes of Duurom. He had refused to tell them why, except that he
|
|
had heard even better rumors than Auvgin had brought of easy
|
|
treasure to be had there. Since he had the most money invested, it
|
|
was easy for him to quell the grumblings of Auvgin and the others,
|
|
and they headed for Duurom.
|
|
The reason Owain hadn't told the others why he had changed their
|
|
plans was because he couldn't. Something had told him to go north
|
|
into Duurom, enticing him with visions of a strange crystal that
|
|
grew there. What was really frightening was that he couldn't resist
|
|
the order. He had no choice. He would have gone alone if the men in
|
|
his expedition had refused to go. But, he couldn't even tell anyone
|
|
that he was being forced to go north. Whatever was cooercing him was
|
|
preventing him from talking about it.
|
|
As the longboat manuevered alongside the dock, Owain looked
|
|
first back at the Morcyfaill and then north beyond Hadrom. He
|
|
wondered if whatever was forcing him after the crystal would let any
|
|
of them come back alive.
|
|
Hadrom was well prepared to outfit travelers going north. It was
|
|
the northernmost village on Duurom's east coast, a week away by ship
|
|
from its southern neighbor due to an archipelago that contained too
|
|
many shifting shoals and shallows to chart, forcing ships to go
|
|
around, and a month away overland due to the mountains that grew
|
|
from the sea along the line of the islands and continued inland
|
|
across half the continent. The only pass thru the mountains was two
|
|
weeks away from each village, although a desperate man could find a
|
|
shorter though much more dangerous route.
|
|
The self-sufficient fishing village also served as an outpost
|
|
from which to explore northward. It offered goods and services
|
|
needed for an expedition at reasonable prices, enabling explorers to
|
|
travel light until they reached Hadrom.
|
|
Owain and his band spent a day and two nights in Hadrom getting
|
|
supplies and information for their trip. When Auvgin suggested
|
|
hiring a guide, Owain flatly refused. The force driving him informed
|
|
him that it would be their guide to the cwicustan, but it left it up
|
|
to Owain to provide a reasonable explanation to his followers.
|
|
They left Hadrom on the second dawn since their arrival on
|
|
Duurom. Day after day, which became week after week, they walked,
|
|
ever farther north. Duurom was no longer settled much above Hadrom.
|
|
Owain saw no indication that it had ever been inhabited save for the
|
|
occasional rune-marked obelisk which were identical to several he
|
|
had seen at home. When six weeks had passed, the grumbling among his
|
|
men was getting dangerous. It got worse when Owain informed them
|
|
that they were still at least a month away from where they were
|
|
going. And then, as they were gathered around the camp's fire, the
|
|
bird-thing attacked.
|
|
It took everyone by suprise. Having spent six weeks traveling
|
|
with not the slightest problem had dulled their reflexes enough for
|
|
the bird-thing to stoop down on them unawares, its long and sharp
|
|
talons grabbing hold of Telrmun and piercing his body as it lifted
|
|
the screaming man off of the ground a short ways then dropped him.
|
|
Telrmun gave out a little cry as he hit the ground, then lay still
|
|
and soundless, splashes of red dotting the front of his tunic.
|
|
The rest of them were slow enough drawing steel and nocking
|
|
arrows that the bird-thing, its beak now open and producing a noise
|
|
like no normal bird any of them had ever heard, was able to latch
|
|
its talons into Druorn. That young man was able to take a swing, the
|
|
first of the party, but his blade didn't even nick the glistening
|
|
silvery hide of his attacker.
|
|
Owain tried to get an idea of what the bird-thing looked like as
|
|
he attacked it during its screeching swoops. It was huge, larger
|
|
than a man by half. It had no feathers, but rather thick pebbly skin
|
|
that protected it from all but the strongest and truest of blows.
|
|
The bows of Maloc and Eergna were useless - their pull wasn't strong
|
|
enough to drive their arrows into the hide. Its wings were stiff and
|
|
didn't seem to move at all. Its head was long and pointed at both
|
|
ends, and it had large intelligent-looking eyes. Owain was sure that
|
|
it wasn't a natural creature.
|
|
Owain and his men were able to finish off the bird-thing without
|
|
losing anyone else. After burying Telrmun and Druorn, the six
|
|
remaining decided to put their grumbling behind them and continue
|
|
the expedition in a more careful manner.
|
|
The remaining weeks passed with no more arguments about where
|
|
they were going or why. The far northern wastes were populated with
|
|
all kinds of strange beasts and birds, none of which seemed quite
|
|
natural, so that they were kept too busy staying alert for trouble
|
|
and defending themselves to argue. Owain was reminded by them that
|
|
the Empire which had once spanned all of the land they were
|
|
traveling through had been well supplied with magicians and wizards.
|
|
He supposed that the monsters were byproducts of magical
|
|
experiments. He might even have been right.
|
|
Finally, they came to a rather small range of mountains that the
|
|
voice in Owain's head indicated was their destination. The six spent
|
|
a night at the foot of the smallest mountain in the chain, and were
|
|
up bright and early the next morning to find the treasure.
|
|
Owain led the way up and over the mountain that was really a
|
|
medium sized hill. On the other side was a valley that ran down the
|
|
center of the whole range. It looked just the sort of place for a
|
|
hidden temple or ruined city - always sources of fabulous wealth. It
|
|
was heavily forested, mostly by conifers which meant that the valley
|
|
floor was carpeted with green even in the semi-eternal winter of
|
|
this frozen land.
|
|
They soon reached the floor of the valley and turned east at
|
|
Owain's lead. The valley was full of ordinary sounds as the
|
|
adventurers moved silently through it. Birds cried in the trees, and
|
|
there were rustles in the undergrowth indicating small animal life.
|
|
There was absolutely no evidence of man in the valley, not even an
|
|
obelisk anywhere. The small fauna seemed to have no fear at all of
|
|
the six humans slipping through their forest. Owain even saw
|
|
something that looked remarkably like a deer just standing in the
|
|
shadow of a tree, and it didn't flee when they walked by.
|
|
It took two hours to reach the east end of the valley. The
|
|
forest grew right up to the foot of the tallest mountain in the
|
|
range and no further. The slopes of the mountain were bare of
|
|
everything but rock. Owain pointed at a dark hole in the mountain's
|
|
flank and said, "That's where we are going."
|
|
The voice in his head told Owain that the crystal grew in the
|
|
back of the cave, but it also said that there was danger in the
|
|
cave. It still refused to let him tell about the crystal. As he
|
|
hesitated about just how to get into the cave while avoiding the
|
|
danger in it, the voice commanded him to order the others into the
|
|
cave. This would lure out the danger, and allow him to slip in and
|
|
get the crystal. He had no choice. Even as the commands entered his
|
|
head, his mouth was giving them voice.
|
|
He followed his companions up the side of the mountain, slipping
|
|
to the side as they reached the mouth of the cave. He listened to
|
|
the others march confidently into the darkness; the voice had
|
|
assured them through his lips that there was no danger at all within.
|
|
The footsteps had almost died away when there came a cawing
|
|
roar, somewhere between the sound of a lion and that of a huge
|
|
eagle. On the heels of the sound came startled yells, one scream of
|
|
mortal pain, and then running.
|
|
Four of the five who had gone into the cave now came tearing
|
|
out. They scattered as soon as they were in the open and turned back
|
|
to face what they had found within the cave. As it bolted into the
|
|
sun and spread its huge wings, Owain recognized one of the fabled
|
|
gryphons of legend. Half lion and half eagle, it was majestic and
|
|
terrible as it took to the air cawing its rage and lashing its
|
|
lion's tail. There was blood on one of its taloned fore-feet and at
|
|
the tip of the beak.
|
|
Although Owain would have rather gone to help his companions,
|
|
the voice had clamped down on him in total control. He could only
|
|
look back as he was forced into the darkness of the cave to see the
|
|
gryphon land amid the four men who were now armed. He didn't see the
|
|
battle begin, but he could hear it as he went deeper into the
|
|
darkness - the battle shouts of the men, the roaring caw of the
|
|
gryphon, the sounds of wounds on both sides.
|
|
Owain finally reached the nest of the gryphon. He was suprised
|
|
to find that there was light, provided by a mass of strange-looking
|
|
crystal against the back wall. In the dim light, he saw the dead
|
|
body of Tellor lying where the gryphon had left it.
|
|
The voice that had control of him cared not at all for Tellor,
|
|
alive or dead. It directed Owain's body over to the glowing crystal,
|
|
and had him remove a hammer and a delicate chisel from his belt
|
|
pouch that he didn't even know was in there. After carefully
|
|
examining the growth of crystal, he was directed to place the chisel
|
|
carefully in two places near the base of one large mass and tap it
|
|
lightly with the hammer. Placing the tools back in the pouch, Owain
|
|
was then made to take hold of the mass of crystal and pull. Much to
|
|
his suprise, it came away from the wall with no trouble at all. It
|
|
was also very light for its size. Measuring three feet long by one
|
|
around, it weighed no more than five pounds; an easy if awkward
|
|
burden for the trek home.
|
|
A bag was fished out of Owain's pack by his own unwilling hands.
|
|
He could feel the voice's intent to leave the other four to the
|
|
mercy of the gryphon. But, though he wanted to help in the fight
|
|
with every fiber of his being, the voice's control was too strong.
|
|
He had no choice but to place the crystal in the bag, secure it to
|
|
his pack, and then make his way back out of the cave.
|
|
When he reached sunlight, he saw that the battle was still going
|
|
on. Telkor, who was Tellor's twin, had not survived his brother by
|
|
much. Lorth was limping on a bloodied leg, and had hooked a crooked
|
|
bleeding arm in his swordbelt. Of the three remaining fighters, only
|
|
Auvgin was unmarked. The gryphon was faring better than its
|
|
opponents, but it too bore wounds. Someone had managed to disable a
|
|
wing, preventing the half-bird half-lion from taking to the air
|
|
again. Owain hoped that his three remaining companions would
|
|
vanquish the monster. As the voice controlling him forced him toward
|
|
the saddle between this mountain and the next, he sent a silent
|
|
'good luck' back to the battle. It was a long time before the sounds
|
|
of the conflict faded into the distance.
|
|
The walk back to Hadrom was a nightmare for Owain. The voice was
|
|
no longer in his head constantly, but it had laid a conpulsion as
|
|
strong as a geas on him to return to the fishing village where a
|
|
ship would be waiting to take him back to Cherisk. Detailed
|
|
instructions filled his mind about how and where to go once reaching
|
|
Marrak, the ship's first port-of-call on Cherisk. He finally knew
|
|
that he was to deliver the crystal to a wizard named Vard. He
|
|
secretly cherished a wish to be able to make the wizard pay for
|
|
forcing him north, and leaving the three to make it home alone
|
|
assuming they survived the gryphon.
|
|
|
|
Vard was sitting in a rear booth in the Fighting Unicorns
|
|
disquised as a somewhat tattered merchant when Owain strode into the
|
|
bar. Vard had chosen this as a rendezvous again because Baranur was
|
|
the closest city to Marrak wherein he had a hidden portal.
|
|
Owain had been ordered to take a room near the river and clean
|
|
up a little before coming to the 'Unicorns. It was a very
|
|
presentable adventurer who settled himself across from the merchant.
|
|
Only his eyes bore evidence of the six month plus trek he had
|
|
undergone, half of it alone.
|
|
False small talk was made about Owain wanting to hire out with
|
|
the merchant on a caravan while one of the barmaids took their order
|
|
and came back with their drinks. Once they were alone, Vard asked
|
|
for the bag with the crystal to be passed under the table. Keeping
|
|
up the chatter, Owain did so. Vard hastily checked the contents of
|
|
the bag. Satisfied, he fingered two phials he was carrying in an
|
|
inner pocket. One contained slow poison, and the other was a
|
|
powerful potion that induced amnesia. He wasn't sure which to give
|
|
the man who sat talking across the scarred and dirty table from him.
|
|
Finally, he shuffled them around and took one at random. With the
|
|
ease of a practiced prestidigitator, he slipped the contents into
|
|
Owain's bell shaped stein of ale. He proposed a toast to seal their
|
|
fake bargain, and Owain drained his cup in one swallow. Without
|
|
waiting around to see which phial he had selected, Vard got up and
|
|
left the inn, slipping with his usual ease into the depths of the
|
|
Fifth Quarter and back to his fortress.
|
|
|
|
Owain ordered and drank another ale before leaving the
|
|
'Unicorns. He made his way back to his own inn and collapsed on the
|
|
bed in the room he had rented. Sometime in the night, two things
|
|
happened. First, the control that Vard had exercised over him
|
|
vanished as the wizard destroyed the transformed flute. And, all
|
|
memory of what had happened to him from the time Auvgin first
|
|
approached him about an expedition he was planning vanished. When he
|
|
awoke next morning, he was very puzzled about why he was in Baranur
|
|
and where the past year had gone.
|
|
|
|
Vard set about preparing the cwicustan as the Tome instructed so
|
|
that it would be ready for use when he finally found the keseth.
|
|
When that was finished, he turned his attention to the next two
|
|
phases of his quest for the Yrmenweald. First, he had Qrun delve
|
|
into the deepest vaults of the fortress wherein were kept the most
|
|
dangerous and powerful books of lore he had managed to acquire by
|
|
fair means or foul. While his servant was so employed, he went into
|
|
the Sorting Rooms and prepared a location spell to help him find an
|
|
object he could use to control someone who could get the treasure
|
|
out of the hidden vault in Dargon Castle.
|
|
The ball of light he formed between his hands began to drift
|
|
around the room when he said the last words of the spell. It looked
|
|
like a drunk wil-o-the-wisp as it darted erratically around the
|
|
room, from shelf to shelf, object to object. After making the rounds
|
|
of the room three times, it finally settled around something. When
|
|
Vard looked at the objects, he smiled. He picked up the sword named
|
|
'Leaf-Killer' and the harp named 'Soft-Winds' and took them upstairs
|
|
to be processed.
|
|
-John L. White <WHITE@DREXELVM>
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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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