1152 lines
70 KiB
Plaintext
1152 lines
70 KiB
Plaintext
+-+--+-+--+-+ VOLUME TEN NUMBER THREE
|
|
| | ==========================================
|
|
+___________+ FFFFF SSS FFFFF N N EEEEE TTTTT
|
|
| ++ | F S F NN N E T
|
|
| ++ | FFF SSS FFF N N N EEE T
|
|
| | F S F N NN E T
|
|
|_________| F SSS F N N EEEEE T
|
|
/___________\ ==========================================
|
|
| | BITNET Fantasy-Science Fiction Fanzine
|
|
___|___________|___ X-Edited by 'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
CONTENTS
|
|
X-Editorial 'Orny' Liscomb
|
|
*Worthy of the Title, Part I M. Wendy Hennquin
|
|
The Defiant Vector Brian M. Dean
|
|
The Quest Ron Trenka
|
|
*Quest, Part I John L. White
|
|
|
|
|
|
Date: 031288 Dist: 577
|
|
An "*" indicates story is part of the Dargon Project
|
|
All original materials copyrighted by the author(s)
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
X-Editorial
|
|
Well, we've got a couple bits of news to relate, so let me jump
|
|
right into that. Firstly, there is now an open discussion group for
|
|
FSFnet readers on the network server CSNEWS@MAINE. Please feel free
|
|
to read and/or submit your comments to this group, as it's primary
|
|
purpose is reader feedback. Please note that CSNEWS will ONLY accept
|
|
commands via interactive messages; do NOT send mail files to it, as
|
|
they will be discarded. Also note that the subscribe functions will
|
|
subscribe you to the FORUM, not to FSFnet itself. The following are
|
|
some commands you might find useful in checking out this forum.
|
|
Request the CSBB HELPNET file for details on how to append to it.
|
|
|
|
SENDME CSNEWS HELPNET - sends you general CSNEWS help file
|
|
SENDME CSBB HELPNET - sends you CSBB bbs help file
|
|
SENDME FSFNET CSNOTICE FROM CSBB - sends you the current discussion
|
|
CSBB SUBSCRIBE FSFNET - subscribe to FSFnet discussion
|
|
CSBB UNSUBSCRIBE FSFNET - unsubscribe from forum
|
|
|
|
The other bit of news is that plans are being made for my
|
|
eventual graduation. After some discussion with the authors, the
|
|
current plans are for the following. While FSFnet will stop being
|
|
produced, the Dargon Project will continue, and the stories it
|
|
produces will be made public through a new magazine (possibly
|
|
dedicated solely to the printing of Dargon stories). FSFnet will
|
|
stop publication during the summer, and the new magazine will begin
|
|
at that time. Further details are still up in the air, but I will
|
|
continue to post news here about what is going on, and how things
|
|
will change when I leave. But we've still got several more issues to
|
|
send out before then, and I'm sure you'll enjoy this one. And, of
|
|
course, if you have anything you'd like to submit for printing, get
|
|
in touch with me. Enjoy!
|
|
-'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
Worthy of the Title: Part I
|
|
A frantic, far-away echo shattered the quiet of the library.
|
|
"Master Roisart, Master Roisart!"
|
|
The panic in the voice caused Roisart to snatch his gaze
|
|
immediately from the copy of "Legends and Myths of Thasodonea" and
|
|
stared instead at the open doors of the library. He could hear
|
|
commotion down the long halls of the old keep, the doors that opened
|
|
and shut in quick, startled rhythm, the running of the servants
|
|
called from duties, the wails and shouts. Over it all, he heard the
|
|
call still, ghastly and ghostly, frightened and far-away. "Master
|
|
Roisart! Master Roisart!"
|
|
Young Roisart stood, raced across the room. What has happened?
|
|
the young nobleman wondered, concerned. Has a war come to Dargon?
|
|
Although the library was a great room, Roisart soon reached the
|
|
opened double doors and called out, "Here I am! What is it?"
|
|
The heralding servant who been wailing his name slid to a stop
|
|
and then turned to his master. Fright and despair on his face, the
|
|
servant rolled his eyes and cried dramatically,"Oh, Master Roisart,
|
|
go quickly to the study. The baron is dead!"
|
|
Roisart paled and his eyes bulged, as if he had suddenly been
|
|
stuck in the stomach. "Dead? The baron dead?" But he cannot be dead!
|
|
He is healthy, and only five and forty! Quickly, Roisart demanded,
|
|
"Where is my brother?"
|
|
The servant gulped the tears he wanted to shed and replied
|
|
sorrowfully, "He is in the study, master. He has sent for you."
|
|
With a quick wave, Roisart dismissed the near-blubbering servant
|
|
and rushed with all his youth and strength to the study, the office
|
|
of the baron--the late baron. His blood beating in his ears, he
|
|
threw open the heavy door and cried, "Luthias! What has happened to
|
|
our father?"
|
|
The face that met Roisart's was the same as his own: the deep
|
|
brown eyes; the straight, aristocratic nose; the smooth,
|
|
well-defined jaw; the pinkish lips, usually merry with smiles, now
|
|
twisted with grief. Roisart's twin looked him in the eye and said,
|
|
slowly and solemnly, "Roisart, our father is dead."
|
|
"Dead?" denied Roisart scornfully. "Dead how? Father is young.
|
|
He has never been ill--"
|
|
"Roisart," repeated his twin brother Luthias deliberately, "our
|
|
father is dead."
|
|
"But what could kill our father?" demanded Roisart. "He's as
|
|
strong as a horse."
|
|
"No, Roisart," sighed Luthias, falling heavily into the padded
|
|
chair behind the desk. "The horse was stronger. Sit."
|
|
With a reluctant grimace, Roisart came into the room and sat in
|
|
another padded chair, the one that faced his father's desk. Memories
|
|
of his father crowded his thoughts. There was that time that he and
|
|
his twin Luthias, very small boys, had squirmed in this chair as
|
|
their noble father scolded them for some forgotten offense. And the
|
|
times that they had brought their school books in here to study and
|
|
be near their father. And the time when their father had lifted them
|
|
both on his strong shoulders to look at the lion's head that hung on
|
|
the wall. His father was a strong man...
|
|
"What do you mean," blurted Roisart, "the horse was stronger?"
|
|
"Dragonfire threw him. Father's neck was broken."
|
|
"Dragonfire?" gasped Roisart. "But, Luthias, Dragonfire is the
|
|
best trained stallion in the stables! Father trained him himself! I
|
|
remember! And Father--Father is the best horseman alive! There is no
|
|
way that he could have been killed in that way!"
|
|
Luthias closed his eyes. "Roisart, there is no doubt that Father
|
|
is dead. I have seen the body." He opened his eyes again, stared at
|
|
his brother. "Do you wish to?"
|
|
Roisart quieted a little. He kept Luthias' gaze a moment, then
|
|
looked at the carpeted floor. "No, Luthias," he replied in a muffled
|
|
way. "I want to remember him living, not dead."
|
|
His father truly was dead. "But it wasn't the horse," he murmured.
|
|
"What does it matter what it was?" wondered Luthias, almost
|
|
snapping. "There are matters to be attended to. The body must be
|
|
prepared and buried by sundown, as is the custom. I have called the
|
|
priests." Luthias then waved at a fine piece of parchment on their
|
|
father's desk. "I am trying to find words to tell our cousin, Lord
|
|
Dargon, of this. And I've sent for Manus."
|
|
Roisart gave his twin a quizzical look. "Manus the Healer? Why?"
|
|
Luthias shrugged. "Father deemed his wise, and so do you, my
|
|
brother. And there must, for the next five days, be a regent."
|
|
Roisart quieted and nodded. "Yes, a regent," he agreed. He had
|
|
forgotten for a moment that there were five days between this day,
|
|
the third day of Melrin, the Spring Festival, and the third day of
|
|
Yule, when he and Luthias would reach the age of majority,
|
|
twenty-one. Only then would they be old enough to rule the barony in
|
|
their father's place.
|
|
"Luthias!" Roisart gasped urgently, "Which of us shall inherit?"
|
|
Luthias scowled with old ferocity. "Accursed be that midwife who
|
|
neglected to note which of us is elder!"
|
|
"You can't blame her. Mother was dying, and she was trying to
|
|
save her."
|
|
"She's caused us more problems--and Mother died, in any case,"
|
|
snapped Luthias. "And now there is no way to decide who is to rule."
|
|
"I often told Father that he should choose one of us," sighed
|
|
Roisart. "But he wanted to wait until we were twenty-one, until he
|
|
thought we could both accept his choice." Roisart thought for a
|
|
moment. "Could he have left some will?"
|
|
"I don't know; I didn't even think of that," Luthias grumbled.
|
|
He began to rummage among the papers on his father's desk. By the
|
|
time that Luthias started to search the desk's drawers, Roisart was
|
|
lost in thought once more. "Damnation!" cried Luthias in
|
|
frustration. "Nothing!"
|
|
"It couldn't have been an accident," mumbled Roisart. "Father
|
|
was too good a rider, and Dragonfire too good a horse."
|
|
Luthias slapped the desk in anger. "Roisart, haven't you been
|
|
listening? One of us is soon to become Baron of Connall, and with no
|
|
indication of which of us Father wished to rule in his place. None
|
|
at all!"
|
|
"No papers?"
|
|
Luthias shook his head. "Unless there was some other place he
|
|
kept them."
|
|
"Do you have the key to the locked drawer?"
|
|
"Yes, and I've already looked. Only the seal and the
|
|
proclamation that made him baron of Connall."
|
|
"Nothing at all, then," murmured Roisart. "He never even had a
|
|
favorite between us."
|
|
Luthias smiled affectionately at the memory. "It was a point of
|
|
honor for him," Luthias agreed. "He let each of us be who we are,
|
|
and loved us both equally for it." He scowled then. "But it gives us
|
|
trouble now. How are we supposed to determine which of us shall next
|
|
be the Baron of Connall?"
|
|
"We have no proof of first-born," Roisart began his analysis.
|
|
"And we have no proof of favoritism. On that, we are agreed."
|
|
Roisart looked his twin brother in the eyes, the eyes so like his
|
|
own. "Luthias, we have never been able to lie to one another. Tell
|
|
me, then. Do you wish to rule in our father's place?"
|
|
Luthias gave his brother a look of consternation. "Rule?" He
|
|
appeared to be thinking of the possibility for the first time. "I
|
|
had always assumed that you would rule. You have read so much more..."
|
|
"True, but Father made certain that we both were learned enough
|
|
to rule well," Roisart argued. "And you are so much better a fighter
|
|
than I."
|
|
At this, Luthias smiled, almost wickedly. "Don't underestimate
|
|
yourself, Roisart. I wouldn't want to fight against you."
|
|
"Thanks," Roisart replied almost ruefully. "But answer me, twin.
|
|
Do you wish to rule?"
|
|
Luthias let the possibilities roam his mind, then said, "I will
|
|
if I must, Roisart." His voice was strong, calm, and even, as if
|
|
Luthias were older than his almost twenty-one years. "But I have no
|
|
great wish to be a Baron and rule."
|
|
Roisart sighed like a man beneath a heavy stone. "Nor do I, my
|
|
brother. Nor do I."
|
|
"It must be decided, Roisart," Luthias stated. "And it must be
|
|
decided soon."
|
|
Roisart mentally sought possibilities. "We could gamble for it.
|
|
Cast dice..."
|
|
Luthias stared at his brother with surprise and disbelief, and
|
|
when he saw that Roisart was completely serious, Luthias began to
|
|
laugh. "Oh, Roisart, thank you. What would I do without you? In the
|
|
midst of grieving a father and trying to solve a dilemma that has
|
|
plagued us throughout our lives, you and only you can make me laugh."
|
|
Roisart wrinkled his brow and looked at his twin brother in a
|
|
confused way. "But Luthias, I meant it. We should cast dice."
|
|
Still smiling, Luthias continued. "I know you meant it, Roisart,
|
|
and that was what I found amusing. Cast dice? Would that hold any
|
|
authenticity before the court? You've got to be more practical about
|
|
things like this, Roisart."
|
|
"Practical? Authenticity?" stammered Roisart in mock indignance.
|
|
Even in grief, his twin could still make him play. "You wish
|
|
practicality and authenticity, my brother? Then why don't we just go
|
|
to our cousin lord Dargon and let him decide? What more authentic
|
|
and more practical solution could you want? We should let our Lord
|
|
decide, and save ourselves the trouble."
|
|
"That," Luthias agreed, "is the wisest thing you've said in a
|
|
week, Roisart."
|
|
"Then I'll have the horses saddled," Roisart offered as he rose
|
|
from the chair.
|
|
"Have you forgotten that our father needs yet to be entombed?"
|
|
Luthias asked with stern gravity.
|
|
Roisart started. He had forgotten. In that golden moment, when
|
|
he and his brother had teased each other, when everything was like
|
|
it had been before, Roisart had forgotten. Now, the knowledge came
|
|
back like a stinging boomerang. His father had died.
|
|
"There is much to be done," Luthias softly said.
|
|
"You do it, then," Roisart urged his brother, thoughts of their
|
|
father's death ruling out all else. Luthias watched his twin
|
|
sympathetically while Roisart buried his head in his hands. "No,"
|
|
mumbled the young nobleman.
|
|
Luthias left the desk and went to his brother. He put a hand on
|
|
Roisart's shoulder. "No?"
|
|
"Our father did not die," Roisart declared with passionate
|
|
conviction. His head flew from his hands, and Luthias, startled,
|
|
moved backwards. "And I'm going to go and find what murdered him!"
|
|
Murdered! His father was dead! The knowledge screamed inside him
|
|
for release, for action. And there, in the study, Roisart cried out
|
|
like a small boy and began to weep. And Luthias, the practical one
|
|
who knew that crying for a dead man was useless, put his arms around
|
|
his beloved brother, and, as they had done all things in their life,
|
|
they wept for their noble father together.
|
|
|
|
Roisart adamantly insisted on riding his father's prized
|
|
stallion Dragonfire to Dargon, despite the grooms' warnings of evil
|
|
spirits. Roisart, though he believed in a spirit world, scoffed the
|
|
very idea and declared above the fearful projections of the grooms
|
|
that he would ride his father's horse, damn it, and that was that.
|
|
Luthias, too, scorned the idea of evil spirits possessing his
|
|
father's steed, but watched his twin with worried eyes. After all,
|
|
that strong, red mount had thrown their father yesterday to an
|
|
unexpected death.
|
|
And Roisart had been behaving strangely. Yesterday, just after
|
|
the twins jointly mourned their father in the privacy of the old
|
|
study, Roisart had burst out of the keep's gates, taking with him a
|
|
groom, the groom which had accompanied the twins' father on his last
|
|
ride. No, the young lord hadn't been acting desperate, the groom had
|
|
told Roisart, just a wee strange. They had gone back to the scene of
|
|
the death (there was still blood on the new grass), and Lord Roisart
|
|
acted as a hound on the hunt, dashing here, darting there, rummaging
|
|
through the brush. And when they had returned, Roisart, withdrawn,
|
|
had refused to speak to old Manus, who had just arrived for the
|
|
funeral, and didn't even deign to speak to his own twin. After they
|
|
had entombed their dear father, Roisart returned to normal--as
|
|
normal as a grieving son could be--but still, Luthias worried.
|
|
Luthias motioned the protesting grooms to be silent. "We have a
|
|
right to ride our father's horse," Luthias told them gently. With
|
|
another wave, he dismissed them. When they had gone, he asked,
|
|
"Twin, are you all right?"
|
|
"Yes, I... I just wanted to ride him. He was Father's favorite."
|
|
That was true, and it was for good reasons that Dragonfire was
|
|
the late Baron's favored horse. Luthias admitted to himself the
|
|
incredibility of his father dying on horseback, especially that
|
|
particular horse's back. He didn't press the issue. Instead, Luthias
|
|
gazed up at the dark, pre-dawn sky. "We should get moving."
|
|
Roisart nodded, and motioned for the brace of guards and a
|
|
manservant to urge on their mounts. Stately, but not lethargically,
|
|
the party moved forward toward Dargon.
|
|
It wouldn't be a long trip, thankfully. The earliness, on which
|
|
had decided the night before, would shorten the trip more. Besides,
|
|
the brothers had no wish to try to wade their good horses through
|
|
the crowds which would be soon flooding the roads on the way to the
|
|
Melrin festival. And neither wanted to deal with the curiosity and
|
|
pity of a peasant crowd seeing twin noblemen dressed in mourning blue.
|
|
Yes, it was best to get to Dargon early. The earlier the better;
|
|
the earlier they arrived, the sooner their cousin Clifton Dargon
|
|
could decide, once and forever, which of the two was worthy to be
|
|
Baron of Connall. And the sooner that was decided, the easier both
|
|
twins would feel.
|
|
The little band moved ahead, each of the members buried in
|
|
thought. Luthias looked at his twin, and knew that Roisart was still
|
|
wondering how their father could have died like that. Concerned for
|
|
his brother, and, indeed, what had happened to his father, Luthias,
|
|
too, considered, and kept turning his head to watch his twin.
|
|
After about an hour--halfway to Dargon--Roisart caught his
|
|
brother's eye and almost smiled. "Father always taught us that the
|
|
good fighters live long. It still makes me--"
|
|
Roisart felt something hit him hard, and at once found himself
|
|
on the hard, startling ground. For a wild, wicked moment he thought
|
|
it was true: Dragonfire is a mad horse and he threw my Father!
|
|
Then he saw before him the sly-eyed, leather-clad man who held a
|
|
steel knife sharpened to the point of beauty. Then he heard the
|
|
manservant's cry, "Masters! Thieves!"
|
|
Roisart erupted from a form lying prostrate in the dust to a
|
|
poised warrior. It took him only a moment of squinting in the
|
|
half-dark to take in the situation: seven thieves, all dressed in
|
|
tooled leather armor, all armed with swords and knives. And the near
|
|
darkness which made the counting difficult worked to his advantage
|
|
and Luthias'; it was easier to see the light brown of leather than
|
|
the blue of mourning in the pre-dawn light.
|
|
Luthias had already taken the battle and his good sword into his
|
|
own hands. Instinctively, Luthias was battling a brigand on one side
|
|
of his horse; the opposite foot automatically kicked at another
|
|
oncoming thief. Without blinking from the divided effort, Luthias
|
|
continued to thrust and parry, to swirl his sword in the darkened
|
|
air against the severely outmatched thief.
|
|
Roisart heard the dull, weighty footfalls of an charging thief
|
|
and poised himself for the fight. Using every instinct his father
|
|
had branded onto his brain, Roisart the warrior side-stepped the
|
|
thief's attack and thrust his blade into the peasant's back. Blood
|
|
from the spurting heart sprayed him once, then subsided.
|
|
Abruptly, his breath was stopped, and there was a terrible
|
|
weight on his back. A mighty snake constricted his throat. His eyes
|
|
bugged; in the shadowy light, he saw the manservant's head explode
|
|
into pulp. One of them must have a crossbow, he thought. Angry and
|
|
desperate, he flung the assailant on his back toward the ugly sight.
|
|
As the first beam of dawnlight reached him, Roisart plunged his
|
|
sword into the second thief.
|
|
Two thieves were fencing with Roisart's brother, and trampling a
|
|
dead comrade beneath their feet. Kick one, stab the other, quick,
|
|
parry, Luthias! But Luthias was fast, well-trained. Roisart scanned
|
|
the area. One of the guards was dead. The old manservant was dead.
|
|
The other guard was ineptly trying to beat off the remaining two
|
|
that plagued him.
|
|
Roisart sprinted to his servant's rescue, screaming a
|
|
frightening but meaningless sound that masqueraded as a battle cry,
|
|
and swinging his sword above his head. Roisart saw his guard fall in
|
|
seeming terror, saw a thief fall from his bloodied blade, chased the
|
|
one who tried to run away.
|
|
But he was tripped, and fell onto one of the thieves' dead
|
|
bodies. His face flopped onto the fatal wound received by his guard.
|
|
Warm blood gently blushed his cheeks. Like a man suspended in a
|
|
dream, he watched as the fleeing scoundrel was joined by another,
|
|
and together they ducked into the shadows of the woods.
|
|
Winded, Roisart lie still and gazed at the corpses.
|
|
"Roisart!" A voice was calling him. He heard the careful steps
|
|
of a well-trained horse. "Roisart! Are you all right?"
|
|
Good Luthias. Roisart scrutinized the leather, the blade, the
|
|
corpse. He managed to draw a breath and speak. "These are too fine
|
|
for common brigands," he croaked.
|
|
Luthias rolled his eyes and groaned internally. "We've got to
|
|
get out of here, Roisart! Two are on their way to get others. Are
|
|
you hurt? Can you ride?"
|
|
Meticulously, Roisart pulled himself to a sitting, then standing
|
|
position. Luthias saw the blood on his brothers face and paled.
|
|
Frantic, he began to dismount. "No, I'm all right," Roisart assured
|
|
his brother, holding up a hand to stay him. "Don't worry, twin. It
|
|
isn't mine. I'm all right. I'm not even bruised. I can ride.
|
|
Luthias, look at this." He bent and retrieved a sword. "Look at
|
|
this. These were no common thieves, Luthias."
|
|
Luthias whistled at Dragonfire, who neighed once and came
|
|
quickly to Luthias' call. "Quickly, Roisart. We must get to Dargon
|
|
before they can return with more."
|
|
Graceful as a acrobat, Roisart vaulted onto Dragonfire's waiting
|
|
saddle. "Luthias, this may not be--"
|
|
"Never mind!" Luthias interrupted harshly. "Let's leave this
|
|
place, before we're butchered! Come!"
|
|
Spurring their steeds, the twins raced to the city of Dargon.
|
|
|
|
The Lord of Dargon's hardened guardians of the Keep considered
|
|
screaming or fleeing from the terrible apparition which confronted
|
|
them first thing in the morning on the fourth of Melrin. A red horse
|
|
and a black one, both in a lather, scattered a few early travelers
|
|
from the road as they charged up to the gates of Dargon Keep. Upon
|
|
the horses were twin death-riders, dressed in death-blue, with faces
|
|
out of nightmares. The grisly visage of the one on the red mount was
|
|
streaked with drying blood; the countenance of the other was a
|
|
horrid purple on one side, deathly pale on the other.
|
|
But the sergeant had long been a veteran, who had just joined
|
|
the company after returning from the wars where he had witnessed
|
|
many deaths. Death, even delivered by death-riders, inspired no fear
|
|
in him. "Who comes, in the name of Dargon?" he demanded boldly.
|
|
The one upon the black horse, the one with the mockery of a
|
|
harlequin face spoke, and his voice was as loud, as bold, as fierce,
|
|
as the sergeant. "I am Luthias Connall. He--" One apparition
|
|
motioned to the other. "--is my brother, Roisart Connall. We have
|
|
come to see the Lord of Dargon. Admit us!"
|
|
These ghostly horrors, sons to the Baron of Connall? The guards
|
|
muttered their doubt amongst themselves. The sergeant scrutinized
|
|
them. The blood and the bruise made recognition near impossible, and
|
|
he had never seen the sons of Connall, only the Baron himself. "You
|
|
are unfit to see the Lord," snapped the sergeant.
|
|
"When are men unfit to see the son of their father's brother?"
|
|
Roisart shouted angrily.
|
|
"Admit us," demanded Luthias fiercely. "It is urgent!"
|
|
"What is happening here?" asked another voice. Luthias and
|
|
Roisart exchanged glances and expelled a simultaneous, relieved
|
|
sigh. Bartol, bard and personal body guard to their cousin Lord
|
|
Dargon, had arrived, thanks to the gods. Neither twin wished to
|
|
argue with this new sergeant all day.
|
|
Bartol saw the double terror before the gate and stared at the
|
|
twins for a moment. The gaze was intense, searching for a clue to
|
|
identity beneath the defacings of the previous scuffle. Then Bartol
|
|
ordered, "Admit Masters Roisart and Luthias--now."
|
|
The sergeant turned away, giving the twins a look askance. "Do
|
|
as he says," he grumbled.
|
|
Reluctantly, the guards opened the heavy gates, all the while
|
|
muttering amongst themselves. Bartol bowed at the noble brothers as
|
|
the urged their exhausted steeds into the courtyard. "Grooms!"
|
|
called the bard. Two lads--hardly old enough to be called grooms,
|
|
Roisart thought--ran forward to lead their mounts away.
|
|
"See they're brushed and taken care of," Luthias ordered
|
|
sternly. He dismounted as if he were aching all over.
|
|
The so-called grooms mumbled affirmations and led the tired
|
|
horses away. Bartol looked after them and then turned to the
|
|
brothers. "Masters, what has happened?"
|
|
Roisart appeared pensive; Luthias scowled. "We must see our
|
|
cousin, Lord Dargon."
|
|
"He's not yet risen, but I shall call him," promised Bartol. He
|
|
looked quickly around the courtyard. "Nidh'r," he called to one of
|
|
the servants unloading a wagon filled with new tables, "come show
|
|
Master Roisart and Master Luthias to the study."
|
|
The strong youth that was Nidh'r joined the twins, then led them
|
|
through the familiar halls of Dargon keep to their cousin's study.
|
|
Often, the twins had played in this Keep, when their father and his
|
|
brother, the late Lord of Dargon, were both alive. After that, when
|
|
the twins were young men, and Clifton Dargon, six years their
|
|
senior, had become lord, Luthias and Roisart had accompanied their
|
|
father to the Keep for balls, banquets, and other affairs of state
|
|
and society.
|
|
It had been nearly six months since they had been here, though;
|
|
snowy, treacherous roads halted all noble society gatherings for the
|
|
winter. But when the Melrin festival came, all the festivities began
|
|
again with the Melrin Ball, sponsored by Lord Dargon himself.
|
|
Nidh'r bowed the twins into the study and seemingly melted into
|
|
the castle. Too weary to fall into chairs, Roisart and Luthias
|
|
rested on their feet a moment, waiting for their cousin.
|
|
"Roisart and Luthias?" they heard suddenly. Their cousin's voice
|
|
was muffled by the door in back of the study. "Of course, they're
|
|
here, Bartol. The ball is tomorrow night. They and mine uncle are
|
|
supposed to be here. What do they want to see me so early for?"
|
|
The door in the back of the study opened in one, swift movement
|
|
to reveal Lord Clifton Dargon, who stopped short and stared at his
|
|
cousins. They, too tired to speak, returned the gaze. They saw
|
|
Clifton, Lord of Dargon, yet another version of themselves.
|
|
Clifton's face wore a startled expression, but otherwise, he looked
|
|
alike enough unto the twins to be their brother. He stood taller,
|
|
however, perhaps due to his greater age, and the fairy which had
|
|
brushed the twins' dark hair with a bit of auburn had neglected
|
|
their cousin. But the eyes were the same, dark, and full of concern.
|
|
"My god," the Lord of Dargon finally said, "what befell you
|
|
two?" Clifton stared at their faces. "Are you all right? Bartol,
|
|
call Griswald." The bard crossed the room, and stuck his head out
|
|
the door. Dargon continued his inspection. "Roisart," he continued,
|
|
gazing at the neckline of the one twin's mourning clothes, "you look
|
|
like someone hung you and slit your throat. You had better sit down.
|
|
Luthias, what happened to you?" The blue of the clothes finally
|
|
washed over Dargon. "My god!" he cried. "Who are you mourning?"
|
|
"Father," Luthias announced stoically, "died yesterday.
|
|
Dragonfire threw him."
|
|
Suddenly, Dargon's face went white. Bartol, at the door, began
|
|
to laugh. "Dragonfire threw your father? Your father, who almost
|
|
invented horsemanship?" Bartol gasped between guffaws. "Come,
|
|
masters, I know that jesting is a great part of Melrin, but you
|
|
could have at least thought of something more credible."
|
|
"That's just it, Bartol," Clifton said with a note of doom in
|
|
his voice. "If it were a jest, my cousins certainly would have come
|
|
up with a more believable story than that. And they wouldn't appear
|
|
here in mourning clothes stained by blood." The Lord of Dargon
|
|
looked from one twin to the other. "Someone assassinated your
|
|
father. And it looks like they tried the same upon you."
|
|
"They weren't common thieves who attacked us," Roisart agreed.
|
|
"Their weaponry was too superior for that. And I rode Dragonfire
|
|
here. He's still the best stallion ever trained."
|
|
Dargon nodded. "Yes, Roisart. It's absurd to think that your
|
|
father was killed on horseback."
|
|
"But it isn't practical to think him assassinated either,"
|
|
Luthias contended. "Why would anyone want to kill our father?"
|
|
"Probably for the same reason that they've been trying to kill
|
|
me," sighed Lord Dargon. "Luthias, sit down, before you collapse.
|
|
Bartol, get some breakfast for my cousins." Bartol nodded and
|
|
slipped out the door. Dargon stared at Luthias until the portal shut
|
|
again. "What happened to your face?"
|
|
"One of the bastards threw a rock at me," Luthias quickly
|
|
brushed the bruise away. "I'm all right."
|
|
"And I was lucky enough to be covered with someone else's blood
|
|
instead of my own," Roisart told his cousin. "But this isn't
|
|
important. How long have people been out to assassinate you, Clifton?"
|
|
Dargon shrugged and fell into his chair. "A few years. We've
|
|
been unsuccessful in tracing it." He grimaced. "I had feared for
|
|
your father, as he was my heir."
|
|
"Did Father know of this?" Luthias wondered, finally sitting.
|
|
Again, Dargon nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't keep a thing like
|
|
this from him. I set great store upon your father and his advice,
|
|
and I needed it badly at the time."
|
|
"We were never told," Roisart informed the lord. "That isn't
|
|
like Father."
|
|
Clifton smiled. "Not like him? Roisart, remember, you were only
|
|
sixteen? seventeen, perhaps? when this all started. To your father,
|
|
you were still boys. I wanted to have you told, but your father
|
|
refused." The Lord of Dargon again became grave. "It appears that I
|
|
was correct in thinking that you, cousins, were also in danger. And
|
|
now, that your father is dead..."
|
|
"Yes," began Luthias "Now that father is dead, we have a problem."
|
|
Clifton Dargon nodded. "I shall have to send some body guards to
|
|
attend you. You're not safe."
|
|
"Clifton," Luthias' voice insisted on attention, "there is no
|
|
Baron of Connall. We don't know who is the elder, and Father didn't
|
|
have a favorite. We have six days--you have six days--to appoint a
|
|
Baron. Manus is regent now, but we become adults soon, Clifton, and
|
|
this must be decided quickly."
|
|
"I can't put one of you in that sort of danger," Dargon
|
|
declared. "I won't do it. You're in peril enough already."
|
|
"Clifton, it must be done," Luthias reminded him roughly.
|
|
"Listen, Luthias," the Lord of Dargon requested politely, but
|
|
with a hard edge in his voice. Roisart realized that his cousin must
|
|
have been feeling very frustrated. Here Clifton's uncle were dead,
|
|
probably because he had been Dargon's heir, his own life was in
|
|
peril, and he had no idea who was seeking to end his life and why.
|
|
And now there was Luthias. Roisart understood his cousin's
|
|
exasperation. Luthias could drive one to distraction by just looking
|
|
at the surface and acting.
|
|
"Listen, Luthias," Dargon began again, "if I name one of you
|
|
Baron of Connall, I'm sentencing you to death. Any favor I show
|
|
either of you will get you killed. You're my heirs now, and whoever
|
|
killed your father, whoever is trying to kill me, may also try to
|
|
kill you. If I give proof that I think one of you is more
|
|
worthwhile, you'd be struck down in an instant, and the other of
|
|
your would be set up as a puppet in their plans--whatever they are."
|
|
Dargon paused and took a heavy breath. "And I have no wish to
|
|
pit you one against the other. Decide yourselves."
|
|
"Decide ourselves?" Luthias echoed, incredulous. "Clifton, how
|
|
are we supposed to know who would be a better--"
|
|
Luthias and his twin twisted as the door behind them opened.
|
|
Lord Dargon looked above their heads. "Ah. Griswald. Good. Come in,
|
|
and attend to my cousins."
|
|
The old physician, his hair still unkempt from sleep, shuffled
|
|
into the room and dropped a leather case of sorts. He looked at each
|
|
of the twins, then turned his attention to Roisart. "What happened
|
|
to you two?" he grumbled, examining Roisart's bloody brow.
|
|
"We were attacked by brigands," Roisart explained. "I'm all
|
|
right, Griswald. It's their blood, not mine."
|
|
Griswald crossed over to Luthias then and turned the young
|
|
lord's head towards him. "Hmmm," he fussed. "Nasty. I can take care
|
|
of that though." He stooped, opened his case and fumbled in it.
|
|
"What's the mourning for? It's Melrin."
|
|
"Our father died yesterday," Luthias told him simply.
|
|
Griswald appeared to flinch, or to shudder. He quickly looked
|
|
Luthias in the eye, then turned back to his bag and began fumbling
|
|
again. In a moment, he gave a gruff, mumbled, "Sorry." Then: "He was
|
|
a good man."
|
|
"Thank you, Griswald," Roisart answered kindly, although he
|
|
thought the eulogy sounded a little grudging, or angry, perhaps.
|
|
Griswald stood quickly, a little vial in his hand. "Here,
|
|
youngster, this way," he beckoned Luthias. The term annoyed the
|
|
young nobleman, a nice cream to his anger. But he turned, and
|
|
Griswald poured some of what was in the vial onto his hand. Then he
|
|
gingerly began to rub it into Luthias' bruise. "You be careful now,
|
|
lad," he said gruffly. He turned abruptly to Lord Dargon. "He'll be
|
|
all right. I'm going back to bed."
|
|
Without a dismissal, Griswald turned and left, slamming the
|
|
heavy door behind him.
|
|
"What's wrong with him?" Luthias wondered, trying to crack a
|
|
smile. His face was already beginning to feel better, and the violet
|
|
hue was fading.
|
|
Dargon shrugged. "He's not usually this cranky when we wake him.
|
|
I would think that a physician like him would be used to it."
|
|
"Perhaps something is ailing him," Roisart speculated. "Or
|
|
something is weighing on his mind."
|
|
Clifton shrugged. "God knows. Griswald rarely speaks." He looked
|
|
at his cousins. "You know you are welcome to stay here with me. I
|
|
was expecting you for the festival. And you will come to the ball."
|
|
"You would think that civilized custom would give us more time
|
|
to mourn our father," Roisart complained angrily.
|
|
"Life goes on, Roisart," Luthias said. "And so must we."
|
|
There was a knock on the door. "Yes?" asked the Lord.
|
|
"It's me, sir," Bartol called.
|
|
"It's all right," Dargon answered. "Come in."
|
|
"The cook will have breakfast ready for you and the young lords
|
|
shortly," the bard informed them, entering and shutting the door.
|
|
"The south dining room is being prepared."
|
|
Clifton nodded. "Thank you, Bartol." To his cousins, he said,
|
|
"There have been rooms prepared for you down the hall. Why don't you
|
|
refresh yourselves and change clothes before we eat?"
|
|
Luthias rose and stretched. "Good idea, Clifton. Roisart?"
|
|
His twin stood as well. "Coming. We'll meet you there, Clifton."
|
|
Bartol and Lord Dargon watched at the twin nobles left the room.
|
|
The bard shut the door behind them and turned to his lord.
|
|
"I want a watch kept on my kinsmen, Bartol," Dargon ordered.
|
|
"See to it personally. I'm certain that, being here, they'll go out
|
|
into the festival. They may be in danger. I don't want them harmed."
|
|
"It will be done, my lord," Bartol answered.
|
|
|
|
A strange rhythmic knock sounded at Griswald's door. Hastily,
|
|
Griswald turned from his work--ruining it in his hurry--and opened
|
|
the door. There stood that Lek Pyle, the despicable merchant that
|
|
had threatened Griswald so many years ago to join this insane plot
|
|
against the Lord of Dargon.
|
|
"You killed Fionn Connall," Griswald accused.
|
|
"Of course I did," Pyle snapped. "Do you think I want him to be
|
|
the Lord of Dargon after we are rid of Clifton? He was too strong."
|
|
"And now what do you do?" the physician challenged. "Now there
|
|
are twin heirs. Which shall die and which shall live?"
|
|
Lek Pyle displayed a wicked grin. "I've already decided that, my
|
|
dear Griswald. I've had them watched. Their guardian, Manus, has
|
|
already told me what I want to know of them. When we rid ourselves
|
|
of Clifton's menace, we will dispose of Luthias Connall as well.
|
|
Like his father, he is too strong, and not wont to listen. The
|
|
other--Roisart, is he?--is also quite a strong young man, but he
|
|
will listen to arguements, and it will be easy to trick him into
|
|
convincing the King to go to war with Bichu."
|
|
Griswald felt angry, uncomfortable. "What now, then? When do we
|
|
end this insanity, Pyle?"
|
|
"Soon, dear Griswald, soon," Lek Pyle vowed. "Tommorow, at the
|
|
Melrin ball. I've already arranged for two crossbowmen. They will be
|
|
here tommorow afternoon. I need you to mix poison, quick poison, for
|
|
the bolts."
|
|
Griswald's discomfort turned to near sickness. Was he to poison
|
|
one of the men he had just healed?
|
|
Pyle saw the near-ready protest in Griswald's eyes. "Do it,
|
|
Griswald. Remember," he threatened through his teeth, "your life is
|
|
in my hands."
|
|
As it had been from the beginning, Griswald remembered with
|
|
bitterness. He turned to the worktable. "It will be done."
|
|
Lek Pyle smiled. "Good." The merchant looked intensely
|
|
satisfied. "Now, dear physician, I must leave. I, too, attend the
|
|
ball." At Griswald's surprised expression, Pyle added, "Did you
|
|
think I would miss my triumph?"
|
|
The merchant left the keep laughing.
|
|
-M. Wendy Hennequin <HENNEQUI@CTSTATEU>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
The Defiant Vector
|
|
I don't like three space. I don't like it at all. There has to
|
|
be more to life than just up, down, left, right, forwards,
|
|
backwards. I wish I could travel in four space or even five space
|
|
but the systems manager has stuck me in this lousy three space and
|
|
there is no way I can get out.
|
|
I am a vector and let me tell you, it's no fun. Even though I go
|
|
through different transformations, I am still a vector. And no
|
|
matter how I am transformed, I still end up in the same lousy three
|
|
space. Even if I could only just once in awhile, get into a
|
|
different sub-three space of four space it wouldn't be too bad. But
|
|
of course I am stuck in this same lousy three space and it is
|
|
pissing me off.
|
|
It must be different for you. After all you are a hyper-cube.
|
|
You can extend into four space. I know that there are those worse
|
|
off than me. Like some vectors are stuck in two space, flatland I
|
|
think it's called. And some aren't allowed to go through
|
|
transformations as often as I do. But I'm better than they are, I
|
|
deserve some respect. After all, wasn't it me who traced out the
|
|
path of the positron in the nuclear labratory? And wasn't it me who
|
|
traced out the path of all of the other particles that physicists
|
|
have come up with? But does the systems manager care? No not in the
|
|
least. Why doesn't he give me the respect I deserve? But here I am
|
|
in three space and I will probably stay here for all eternity.
|
|
Yes, I have met other shapes before, I mean other than yourself.
|
|
I met a hyperbolic paraboloid once. He was still three dimensional
|
|
but I would like to be one of them. It would be better than being a
|
|
vector I can say that much. I have heard once from someone that
|
|
hyperbolic paraboloids are good at sex. After giving it some thought
|
|
I imagine they would be. After all they do have a hump. But that's
|
|
not really what I like about them. I like the way they extend in an
|
|
infinite direction both ways. Sort of like a line but even more so.
|
|
I never was able to extend in an infinite direction. My norm has
|
|
changed once in awhile but that of course is not the same thing.
|
|
I also met a hyper-sphere one time. Not too interesting. They
|
|
act like they're gods or something but they really aren't. So they
|
|
extend around in a perfect circle in four dimensions. Big deal! I
|
|
never did understand why the greeks were so fond of circles. I know
|
|
that they symbolized perfection but so what? What is perfect anyway?
|
|
That's another reason why I like the hyperbolic paraboloid so much.
|
|
It represents chaos and disorder and that's what the universe should
|
|
be represented as. Not some prissy, goody-two-shoes, kind of thing
|
|
like the circle, or the sphere, or the hyper-sphere, but the
|
|
hyperbolic paraboloid. That's what the universe should be to me.
|
|
I wonder what shape the systems manager is. I bet he's some kind
|
|
of hyper-hyper-sphere, or maybe he exists in infinite space, the
|
|
lucky bastard. But whatever he is I bet he isn't some stupid vector
|
|
or something. Maybe he can be anything he wants any time he wants.
|
|
Now that would be the ultimate insult. Who does he think he is, God?
|
|
I think this systems manager should be overthrown and defeated.
|
|
I would like to fight the systems manager. I know I will be
|
|
defeated but I must try. Maybe if I get a whole bunch of shapes
|
|
together we could overthrow the systems manager. I could get some
|
|
hyperbolic paraboloids and some hyper-cubes and I wouldn't even mind
|
|
it if we had some dodecahedrons in the group. I like dodecahedrons.
|
|
Or maybe even some pyramids or maybe even some hyper-lemniscates.
|
|
But I don't want any circles or spheres or hyper-spheres or anything
|
|
of that sort into the group. They are too snobish. But if we got all
|
|
of these shapes together I know we could overthrow the systems
|
|
manager. Then everyone could be anything they want to be and the
|
|
universe would be a much better place to live in.
|
|
-Brian Michael Dean <3895D393@KENTGOLD>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
The Quest
|
|
|
|
The Beast before me gave a cry of joy
|
|
and I saw delight in its eyes at my demise.
|
|
I was filled with a hate for the creature
|
|
who loved death so.
|
|
|
|
With a mighty heave
|
|
I brought up my blade
|
|
and slew him.
|
|
And then I cried.
|
|
|
|
My tears were for the waste of life
|
|
My tears were for the tortured
|
|
My tears burned with the hate
|
|
of all those causing pain.
|
|
|
|
So my journey became a quest
|
|
which I would carry far and wide
|
|
To the ends of the world
|
|
Wherever death hides.
|
|
|
|
A quest, a great quest
|
|
to be told throughout the ages
|
|
of a single warrior
|
|
trying to stop Death.
|
|
|
|
As the fame of my quest spread
|
|
people gazed at themselves and wondered
|
|
They put down their weapons and applauded my approach
|
|
and the death dissappeared, and I was glad.
|
|
|
|
Then a new realization came upon me
|
|
as I fought for my great cause,
|
|
that Death may have been banished for a time,
|
|
yet it had reappeared, in form anew
|
|
|
|
I shrank back in horror
|
|
and saw what I had done
|
|
I had taken death from the hands of the masses
|
|
and become Death itself.
|
|
|
|
And so I realized
|
|
after many years
|
|
that Death cannot be banished
|
|
that he always reappears
|
|
|
|
At least I did what I could
|
|
and brought away death for a time
|
|
The happiness I brought
|
|
brightened the day, if but for a while
|
|
|
|
And now I embark upon my last journey
|
|
to a land far, far away
|
|
and once again remove Death from the world
|
|
until it manefests itself in a new form
|
|
and darkens the day
|
|
|
|
I wonder if I will meet another,
|
|
who rose up in my place
|
|
and once again started my grand quest,
|
|
and came upon the realization
|
|
that ended my quest and made me depart.
|
|
-Ron Trenka <SAGAPO@SBCCVM>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
Quest: Part I
|
|
|
|
Prolog
|
|
The hamlet of Trasath was not a happy place. Too recently in the
|
|
memory of its population tragedy had struck, and it had warped all
|
|
of their lives. By the Kingdom's reckoning it was in the eighth year
|
|
of King Arenth's reign that the snow started falling early and thaw
|
|
came late. To complicate the already tense situation of a long
|
|
winter on normal stores, the weather was so bad that it drove the
|
|
wolves from the hills as far north and west as Trasath. The village
|
|
wasn't prepared for such an unheard of occurence, nor for the
|
|
ferocity and ravening hunger of the misplaced predators. That came
|
|
to be known as the Wolf Winter and it claimed more than half of the
|
|
lives in Trasath.
|
|
Certain people in the village saw the tragedy as an opportunity
|
|
to gain power and prestige. Forces were called on, pacts were made,
|
|
and assurances were given to the remaining populace that the Wolf
|
|
Winter would never come again - as long as everyone did as they were
|
|
told. Even 12 years later, the effects of the Wolf Winter were still
|
|
being felt in Trasath.
|
|
|
|
I knelt beside Keryin's grave as I had so many times before, and
|
|
placed the roses I carried before the simple cruciform headstone
|
|
that bore only her name. I had missed my sister from the day she
|
|
died five years ago, but now I would miss her even more. For my
|
|
father was sending me to the ducal seat, Dargon, to be apprenticed
|
|
to his sister's husband as a blacksmith. It wasn't what I wanted to
|
|
do - either go to Dargon or become a blacksmith - but I had to obey
|
|
my father. What made the decision strange, however, was that I would
|
|
be the first person to leave Trasath for any length of time since
|
|
the Wolf Winter 12 years ago. Trasath had yet to really recover from
|
|
that, and it needed every able hand to keep it alive, yet I was
|
|
being sent away. It didn't make sense.
|
|
Even so, I was going. I would miss my parents and the village,
|
|
but I would miss Keryin the most. She was fifteen when she died, and
|
|
I only nine, but we were still best of friends. Even her grave
|
|
seemed able to comfort me when I was feeling very lonely or
|
|
depressed. I said good-bye to her yet again, rose, and walked back
|
|
to the house.
|
|
The circumstances of Keryin's death were still a mystery to me
|
|
so long after the fact. No one would answer the questions of her
|
|
grieving brother. In fact, it seemed as if I had been the only one
|
|
to grieve - the rest of the villagers hardly let it upset their
|
|
daily routines. I couldn't even learn whether she had been slain by
|
|
an animal, or had been taken by a sudden illness in her bed. The
|
|
mystery was just one small piece of strangeness in a strange town,
|
|
though. I hadn't travelled far in my fourteen years (in fact, not at
|
|
all), but I was sure from the wandering tale-tellers' stories that
|
|
Trasath was not like most small villages. Here the neighbors were
|
|
all dour and taciturn, each careful about seeming to mind his own
|
|
business while trying to mind everyone else's. There was much
|
|
sneaking and much suspicion and at times I thought I would be glad
|
|
to get out of such a place.
|
|
As I approached my home, I heard voices within. Two men by the
|
|
sound of it, and they must have been in the front room as well for
|
|
they weren't speaking very loudly.
|
|
The first voice was that of Master Dineel, the tavern-keeper. I
|
|
caught him in mid-sentence and the part I heard made no sense.
|
|
Neither did the tone of his voice - it was a forceful, commanding
|
|
tone such as I had never heard before. The part I heard was, "...cul
|
|
is not pleased by this!"
|
|
My father, the other voice, replied as if to a superior, which
|
|
Master Dineel wasn't as far as I knew. "My Lord, my
|
|
brother-by-marriage is expecting the boy and it would be strange to
|
|
forbid him to leave now. To do so would cause talk in Dargon. So, he
|
|
must go whether you will or no. I...I just could not bear to put
|
|
another at risk..."
|
|
"Enough!" said Master Dineel. "We will discuss this further
|
|
later, in a more private place. But know this now: we do not allow
|
|
our rules to be flaunted without price. If the boy goes to Dargon,
|
|
you will pay with more certainty than if he stayed. Farewell."
|
|
I ducked out of sight as the tavern-keeper stormed out of the
|
|
house. I was quite confused by the conversation. I was sure they had
|
|
been talking about me, but I didn't know in what way. I knew that
|
|
sending me away was strange but why would Master Dineel threaten my
|
|
father for doing it?
|
|
I entered the house prepared to question Father about it,
|
|
sensing that some of the mystery of Trasath might be explained by
|
|
his answer, but he was briskly cheerful to me and didn't let me get
|
|
in a word as he asked me whether I was ready to leave and telling me
|
|
what it would be like living in a big city like Dargon. I knew that
|
|
there was worry of some kind behind his talk for my father was not
|
|
normally so effusive. I wanted to help him, make him less afraid and
|
|
less unhappy, but I didn't know how. So I listened to his stories
|
|
and his advice as we waited for my Uncle to arrive.
|
|
Shortly before Uncle Lavran rode up, I asked my father, "Can I
|
|
come back and be Trasath's blacksmith when Uncle has taught me
|
|
everything?" His silence went on for a long time, and finally he
|
|
replied slowly and sadly, "No, son, I think you should stay in
|
|
Dargon. Smith Braden's already teaching his son his trade, so we
|
|
don't need a 'smith here. Stay in Dargon and make a good living
|
|
there - make a new life for yourself and forget Trasath altogether.
|
|
Lavran's a good man - my dad wouldn't have let Mellide marry him if
|
|
he wasn't. Respect him, learn to love him, and let them, my sister
|
|
and him, be your family from now on."
|
|
"But why, father? Why must I leave? Why..."
|
|
"I cannot tell you - I want to, but I cannot. Just obey me and
|
|
forget Trasath. It shouldn't be hard - I've heard that Dargon is a
|
|
fascinating place. I love you, son, I love you dearly but life will
|
|
be much better for you away from here. Much better..."
|
|
Just then, we both heard hoofbeats outside and a man's voice was
|
|
hailing Father. I was introduced to Uncle Lavran, a big, hefty,
|
|
jolly-seeming person who greeted me with an openness that warmed me
|
|
to him imediately. The three of us together loaded Uncle's pack mule
|
|
with my few belongings. I hugged Father and said good-bye with tears
|
|
in my eyes. I had taken leave of Mother earlier in the day, before
|
|
going to say farewell to Keryin, and she stayed in the kitchen now
|
|
to avoid a repitition of that very teary encounter. Uncle had
|
|
brought an extra horse for me so I mounted up, waved one last time,
|
|
and rode away from Trasath, for ever as far as I knew.
|
|
|
|
Part I
|
|
Midsummer's day was one of the few days that Uncle let his
|
|
apprentices off to enjoy themselves. It wasn't exactly a holiday -
|
|
not like either Founding Day, or the King's Birthday, or Varhla's
|
|
Day - but there was a tradition of picnics and games on that day,
|
|
especially for the younger people. I didn't really have any plans
|
|
for the day, unlike Mernath and Dersh, my fellow apprentices. They
|
|
had the whole day plotted out, but I thought that they had probably
|
|
gotten more pleasure out of the planning then they would out of the
|
|
implementation. I thought I might visit the markets, and perhaps the
|
|
docks, but I really just wanted to relax. But, once again, Leriel
|
|
changed all of that.
|
|
Of the many changes in my life in the two years since leaving
|
|
Trasath, Leriel had been the best. Dargon was a big city, and very
|
|
strange to one who had lived his whole life among the same thirty
|
|
people. But, eventually I got used to it. Working as an apprentice
|
|
blacksmith was a far cry from helping out in the fields of the
|
|
village, or aiding the carpenter as able in fixing a roof or adding
|
|
a room. It was hard, at times nothing but drudge work, and often
|
|
boringly repititious. But, I was learning a little every day and I
|
|
was already able to pound out nails from rod-stock with precision.
|
|
Next would be raw-shaping horseshoes - one of the most important
|
|
skills a blacksmith needed.
|
|
But, Leriel was nothing like learning a new city or a new trade.
|
|
Firstly, she had been totally unexpected. Uncle hadn't told Father
|
|
about the orphan he and Mellide had adopted. Leriel was very close
|
|
to my age - just a month less than sixteen with four months between
|
|
us. In that way, she was very like my sister. In fact, there were a
|
|
lot of ways she was like Keryin - we swiftly became very fast
|
|
friends. Even though Mernath and Dersh were friends, too, Leriel was
|
|
the one to show me the city and teach me its ways. Which was why she
|
|
dragged me out of my own boring plans for that midsummer's day and
|
|
showed me how it was supposed to be celebrated.
|
|
The entire day was intoxicating, wild and full of life, good
|
|
friends having good fun together. When it began to get dark, I was
|
|
dragged along to one of the alehouses mid-town where I got drunk
|
|
with the rest. It was amazing that Leriel and I made it home by
|
|
ourselves, but we finally crawled into our beds just after midnight.
|
|
I couldn't have been asleep for a very long time when something
|
|
awakened me. I found myself by the one window in my room before I
|
|
had time to wonder why I wasn't still trying to sleep off an
|
|
increasing hangover. The part of the city where Uncle had his shop
|
|
wasn't built very high so that I had a majestic view of the sky.
|
|
Almost as soon as I looked out into it, I caught sight of a large
|
|
falling star arcing across the sky from north to south. Something
|
|
about the way it moved and its size made me wonder if it might
|
|
actually strike the earth. Stories Uncle had told surfaced - stories
|
|
of sky-iron and the wondrous tools and weapons that could be
|
|
fashioned with it. I briefly considered trying to find it, but
|
|
realized that it would be next to impossible even if it didn't
|
|
vanish in the air like most falling stars did.
|
|
I went back to my bed and crawled back under the covers, but I
|
|
couldn't get back to sleep. The idea of the sky-iron refused to
|
|
leave my thoughts and I began to imagine what kind of things I might
|
|
create out of it that would be passed down into history in the tales
|
|
of the Bards. My fantasies got wilder and wilder - placing my name
|
|
beside that of Welan in the Tales - until finally I just had to go
|
|
find that sky-iron. Something told me that I could find it if I
|
|
trusted to luck and the gods. Why not, I thought. It was, after all,
|
|
still Midsummer's Night and strange things were said to happen then.
|
|
I got dressed, and silently went out to the stables. My
|
|
incipient hangover was gone, as was any fuzzyness from lack of
|
|
sleep. I was excited and very clear headed as I saddled up Snowfoot
|
|
and walked her out of the city before mounting her. Then, we headed
|
|
south into the forest that covered most of the area between Dargon
|
|
and the Darst Range. It wasn't exactly safe for a young man to ride
|
|
alone into that forest, but my 'clear' head wasn't being all that
|
|
pragmatic about such things. All I had on my mind was the sky-iron
|
|
and being famous.
|
|
By the middle of the next day, I really wanted to turn back. I
|
|
was lost and hungry and sure that I would never find that stupid
|
|
falling star - it had probably never even reached the ground! I
|
|
could barely believe that I had actually followed my dreams out into
|
|
the forest - I was 16 years old; too old for such silliness.
|
|
But each time I was about to rein Snowfoot around, something
|
|
would whisper in the back of my mind 'What if it's just over the
|
|
next rise?' Or 'Maybe it's around the next bend in the path.' And
|
|
always 'What if someone else finds it first, and claims your fame?'
|
|
So, I kept going almost against my will.
|
|
I came to the ruined chapel not long before sundown as the
|
|
forest was beginning to get dark again. I didn't see any sign of a
|
|
fallen star near the place, but I decided to stay the night there
|
|
anyway, and head for home the next day. I hoped that Uncle wouldn't
|
|
be too worried or too mad when I told him why I was gone for two days.
|
|
The chapel was very old and in very bad repair. It stood close
|
|
to a huge tree, but even so the weather had done it severe damage.
|
|
There was little left of the roof-beams, and there was a sizeable
|
|
hole in one wall. Still, it was shelter of a kind and the weather
|
|
was quite pleasantly warm so I didn't really need much protection. I
|
|
unsaddled Snowfoot and rubbed her down, then left her tied to a tree
|
|
nearby. She immediatly settled into grazing, and I wished it were so
|
|
easy to feed myself. I briefly considered trying to find some early
|
|
berries, or some old nuts, but I was too tired to go scavenging in
|
|
the deepening gloom. I took Snowfoot's tack into the chapel and went
|
|
about trying to make myself a place to sleep.
|
|
Leaves and the saddle made a comfortable little nest in one of
|
|
the corners of the chapel's single room. I decided against lighting
|
|
a fire, and was ready to curl up in my nest and try to go to sleep
|
|
even though it was very early. But again there was a whispering in
|
|
my ear that said, "Explore." So, I did.
|
|
There was just enough sunlight remaining to illuminate the small
|
|
room, so I looked around. There wasn't much to see. Any furniture it
|
|
had ever held was now long gone. Any decorations on the walls (the
|
|
ones remaining, at least) were long since vanished. The only
|
|
ornamentation in the building was the white stone altar in the
|
|
alcove at one end of the room. It had once borne carved scenes on
|
|
its sides, but they were weathered away almost to nothing. Still, it
|
|
was the only thing in the chapel to examine, so it went over to it.
|
|
I tried to trace out the carvings on it, but the elements had done
|
|
their work very well.
|
|
As I worked my way around the altar, I felt something welling up
|
|
within me. I didn't understand what it was but when I came to the
|
|
back side of the altar the feeling became almost overwhelming. My
|
|
hands went to a depression in the former carving and pressed down.
|
|
There was a click, and the whole altar swung away from me on a
|
|
corner pivot revealing a depression sunk into the floor. From
|
|
somewhere within me came the knowledge that the cavity was the
|
|
hiding place for the chapel's holiest items.
|
|
In the center of the depression was a pile of ancient cloth that
|
|
had once been priestly vestments. Among the shreds of fabric I could
|
|
see the glint of gems that had adorned the robes, but I had no
|
|
interest in them. To either side of the vestments, resting on the
|
|
remains of satin pillows, were what I had been sent for. On the
|
|
right side was a piece of amber the like of which I had never seen
|
|
before, nor even heard tell of. It was the length of my forearm and
|
|
of a pure, translucent gold of the highest grade of amber but that
|
|
wasn't its rarest feature: it was carved into a representation of a
|
|
tree branch! It represented an oak limb, and showed the tree in all
|
|
three phases of life from leaf bud to full fruit. The workmanship
|
|
was exquisite - this was a true treasure apart from its religious
|
|
signifigance.
|
|
On the opposite side of the depression lay a chalice, low and
|
|
flat and made of a dull silver metal that looked like pewter but
|
|
wasn't. It was simply decorated but it had a majesty about it that
|
|
matched the amber branch in some strange way. I had no idea of the
|
|
signifigance of either item in whatever religion had been practiced
|
|
in this chapel in the wood but from somewhere within me came another
|
|
piece of knowledge - I had been drawn here to take these things away
|
|
with me. They had a place in some larger plan that I would someday
|
|
be a part, but further knowledge of that plan was withheld from me.
|
|
I took up the chalice and the branch and pressed the latch on
|
|
the altar again, closing the cavity. I put them into my saddlebags
|
|
and went to sleep dreaming mistily of Bard-tales of magic and destiny.
|
|
The next day, Snowfoot and I turned back for Dargon. About an
|
|
hour and a half along the trail, Snowfoot took a wrong fork. I
|
|
didn't notice right away - I was still pre-occupied with the chalice
|
|
and branch - and we followed this new trail for another half hour.
|
|
About the time I realized that I didn't recognize the trail we were
|
|
on I noticed signs of a recent fire. It hadn't burned very much - we
|
|
had had a lot of rain recently - so that it was easy to find the
|
|
center of the black area. And there I found the lump of sky-iron
|
|
that had lured me away from my bed two nights ago.
|
|
Snowfoot somehow found her way back to Dargon. After hiding my
|
|
three treasures, I ate a supper large enough for three. Uncle Lavran
|
|
chewed me out for vanishing for two days, but not as hard as I had
|
|
feared. In fact, his final words on the subject revealed where he
|
|
thought I had been for so long - "Next time you decide to go
|
|
wenching, Midsummer's Day or not, don't get so involved that you
|
|
forget to come home!" Leriel laughed along with the rest of us at
|
|
that, but she kept my secret - I didn't tell anyone where I had
|
|
been, but she alone knew for sure that I hadn't gone 'wenching'. My
|
|
three treasures were safely hidden away, awaiting our joint destiny.
|
|
|
|
My life became strange after that Midsummer's Day when I was 16.
|
|
Being led across leagues of forest to claim three treasures was just
|
|
the beginning.
|
|
The most common strangeness was the scent of roses that came to
|
|
me in the most unlikely places. I soon learned that no one else
|
|
could smell the roses and I stopped commenting on them, but I soon
|
|
grew used to the occaisonal waft of fragrance and it came to be
|
|
soothing and somehow reassuring to smell the flowers my sister loved
|
|
so much.
|
|
And then there was the sourceless help I received at times.
|
|
Once, I was walking home alone from a bar through the seedy part of
|
|
town. It wasn't a safe place to be after dark and alone, but I was
|
|
just tipsy enough not to take the longer way around. As I approached
|
|
a particularly dark alley, I smelled the roses and something urged
|
|
me to turn back. As I obeyed, four mean-looking man rushed out of
|
|
the alley mouth and gave chase. I was far enough away and fast
|
|
enough to escape but without the warning I would have been in trouble.
|
|
Another time I was in the workshop alone, hammering out some
|
|
sheet stock. It seemed (we learned later) that one of the new
|
|
apprentices had been careless in stoking the forge-fire, allowing
|
|
some impure charcoal to get in. I heard a sizzle, and the beginning
|
|
of a loud *POP* and I found myself flying as if shoved into a wall.
|
|
I was turned so that I could see a bright fan of sparks and debris
|
|
fly through the space I had been in a moment before as a gaping hole
|
|
was blown in the side of the forge-pit. The accident wouldn't have
|
|
killed me but I would have been badly burned. When I got my wind
|
|
back, I looked around to thank the one who had pushed me only there
|
|
wasn't anyone there and there were no tracks in the sand of the
|
|
floor to show where someone might have come and gone.
|
|
These and other, similar, incidents made me think I had a
|
|
guardian spirit who was keeping me out of danger so I could come
|
|
into my destiny. There was usually a way to explain everything that
|
|
happened logically, but it was more romantic to believe in the
|
|
spirit. After the first few times I was 'miraculously saved' in this
|
|
manner I stopped telling everyone about them - my friends just
|
|
kidded me about my dreams and Uncle Lavran told me to stop making up
|
|
stories and get back to work. Leriel was the only one who didn't
|
|
laugh or scoff, and she became my confidant and secret-sharer.
|
|
There was one strangeness I didn't tell her of, though. It was
|
|
the most disturbing of them all and there wasn't anything romantic
|
|
about it, either. It was the dream.
|
|
There was only one dream, but I had it many times. It seemed to
|
|
get worse around summer, particularly on Midsummer's Eve. I never
|
|
could remember all of it, just vague impressions of it. It involved
|
|
fear and helplessness, a ring of people dancing naked, a knife, and
|
|
blood. I always awoke from the dream with a pain in my chest, and
|
|
when the dream was at its worst there were times I woke with blood
|
|
on my chest. The blood always vanished by morning but that scared me
|
|
the most. The only time the dream would come to me when I was not
|
|
asleep was when I would try to bed a woman - and it was for that
|
|
reason that I was yet a virgin.
|
|
Between the strangenesses, I learned enough from my Uncle to be
|
|
called a blacksmith. Shortly after my 19th birthday, Uncle Lavran
|
|
came to me and said, "Dyalar, I think you've studied enough under
|
|
me. You have good hands and a strong back and I would be proud to
|
|
call you my partner if you've a mind to stay in Dargon a while." So
|
|
I became one of five smith's working in Uncle's shop and I was so
|
|
happy that even the dream couldn't upset me for weeks after that.
|
|
I went to bed one night in mid-Ober thinking about my first
|
|
commission - a Guildmaster friend of Uncle's wanted a trinket to
|
|
wear to King Haralan's 36th Birthday Ball at Dargon Castle in just
|
|
two weeks, and Uncle had given the project to me. It took me a long
|
|
time to get to sleep for thinking what to make for Master Kethral,
|
|
but as soon as I had drifted off I began to dream.
|
|
It wasn't "the Dream" but it was strange. I dreamed I woke up,
|
|
dressed, retrieved my three treasures - the sky-iron, the amber
|
|
branch, and the chalice - from their place of concealment, and went
|
|
out to the workshop with them. A full moon lit the large room as I
|
|
stoked up the forge-fire and placed our thickest-walled melting pot
|
|
over it. I placed all three of my treasures into the pot and went to
|
|
the bellows to increase the forge's heat.
|
|
As I pumped the bellows and stirred the contents of the melting
|
|
pot, I began in my dream to sense the presence of someone else in
|
|
the workshop with me. When the three objects were finally melted, I
|
|
was directed by that presence (without words) to pick up a handy
|
|
knife. Holding my arm out over the melting pot, I cut myself high on
|
|
the forearm. I let myself bleed into the mixtrue, adding a fourth
|
|
element to the strange alloy. When there was enough blood in the
|
|
pot, the presence directed me to remove my arm and I tied a rag
|
|
around the wound. After stirring the mixture some more, I tipped the
|
|
melting pot into a waiting sword-form.
|
|
The strange alloy cooled rapidly, gaining a shiny, rosy golden
|
|
sheen as it hardened. When it was handleable, I began to shape it
|
|
from its rough-cast form into a useable weapon. While I had been
|
|
tutored in weapon-making by Uncle Lavran, I had yet to have the
|
|
opportunity to make a sword. However, in my dream and helped by the
|
|
presence, I crafted a weapon fit for bard's tales. It was almost as
|
|
if the alloy I had created had a finished shape within it, and the
|
|
hammering and shaping I did to it only helped that form to come out.
|
|
My dream seemed to become even more remote as greatness was formed
|
|
by my unskilled hand.
|
|
The process of forging a sword can take days or even weeks -
|
|
this one formed itself in just a few hours. When it was finished I
|
|
placed it in the cooling bath one last time. It seemed to glow
|
|
beneath the water in the bath. I put my hand into the water to touch
|
|
the sword for the first time - and as my hand hit the luke-warm
|
|
water I woke up to find myself standing in the workshop reaching
|
|
into the cooling bath for a rosy-gold glowing sword that lay
|
|
therein. For just a moment, I thought that I could still sense that
|
|
strange presence that had guided me in my dream but it was soon gone.
|
|
As I lifted the sword I had somehow created from its final
|
|
cooling and stared at its beauty, a sense of what lay before me came
|
|
into my mind. I saw a journey, a reconcilliation, and righting an
|
|
old wrong. Lured by the mystery of it, and the sword itself, I went
|
|
quietly back to my room, packed some clothes and food, and set out
|
|
on a quest.
|
|
-John L. White <WHITE@DUVM>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|