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          +-+--+-+--+-+     VOLUME NINE                   NUMBER TWO
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          |           |      BITNET Fantasy-Science Fiction Fanzine 
       ___|___________|___  X-Edited by 'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>

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                                 CONTENTS 
             X-Editorial                          'Orny' Liscomb 
            *Treasure 3                            John L. White

           Date: 112387                               Dist: 494 
           An "*" indicates story is part of the Dargon Project
           All original materials  copyrighted by the author(s) 
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                               X-Editorial
     Greeting. Apologize for  lateness of issue. Promise  that the next 
 issue  will  be more  prompt.  Plug  stories  in current  issue.  Plug 
 stories in next issue.  Welcome new subscribers.  Close. 
     Actually, I  could try to pawn  the lateness of this  issue on the 
 fact that the  Dargon Project had a minor contradiction  come up which
 had to be  addressed, but the truth is that  I procrastinated bringing
 it up  to the authors,  so it's  still my fault.  O well. This  time I 
 also have  to apologize for  the size of  this issue, although  THAT I 
 can slough off onto someone else's conscience! 
     Two items of  news to report. Firstly,  the procurement department
 is having difficulty  obtaining the prizes for the  SF writing contest 
 (see last  issue's announcement). I  am hoping to purchase  the prizes 
 soon, and  I hope that  many of you  are considering entering  a short 
 story. The  other item  of news  is that  although WISCVM  is shutting 
 down effective December  15, FSFnet should be able to  get through the 
 replacement local  gateway, and  I forsee  no interruption  of service
 to our internet subscribers. 
     But, this editorial  must be kept short and sweet.  The next issue
 will  be out  very soon  ("No, *really*!"),  and will  contain a  good
 mixture of Dargon and non-Dargon works.
                     -'Orny' Liscomb  <CSDAVE@MAINE>

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                               The Treasure
                                  Part 3 

                                  Je'en
     "To marriage!"
     The toast was  heartily echoed by those around the  table, and all
 lifted their flagons  and drained them. Congratulations  came from all
 over  the taproom  of the  Inn of  the Panther  causing Kroan  to beam
 brightly and toss appropriate replys back. 
     Je'lanthra'en  leaned  back against  the  wall  and thought  there
 must be something  in the air. Just  a month or so ago,  she, Cefn and 
 Kroan had  attended the  gypsy wedding  of Maks  and Syusahn,  who was 
 none  the  worse for  her  imprisonment  in  the Emerald  Hand.  Je'en
 remembered  the  ceremony with  fondness,  all  barbaric splendor  and
 exaggerated  pomp  and  solemnity.  The party  afterwards,  which  had 
 lasted a good  three days, was wild  enough to make up  for the almost
 staid wedding. 
     And now,  her brother was  engaged to  be married. The  lucky lady
 was named  Anorra. She  was the  daughter of a  widower baker  and was 
 due to  take over the family  business. Kroan and Anorra  had met over 
 a shipping dispute six months ago, and it was love at first sight. 
     Je'en was  quite happy for  her brother.  She had met  Anorra, and
 they got  along famously.  Anorra was  a small  woman with  long brown 
 hair  and a  wide,  expressive  face, full  of  energy  and life,  and 
 already a better  baker than her father, who insisted  he was proud to
 be  leaving the  family  business  to her.  Anorra  and  Kroan made  a 
 beautiful couple, and Je'en echoed the toast again in her mind. 
     Cefn asked, "Why did  you set a date so far  away? Three months is
 a long time to wait, isn't it?" 
     Kroan said,  "I wanted Mother  and Father to  be here, and  it's a 
 long  way from  Derenten to  Dargon. I  got their  return letter  just
 last week  saying when they would  be able to  get here. As soon  as I
 knew that, I talked to Anorra and we set the date. It's..."
     Je'en broke  in with, "Wait!  Mom and Dad are  going to be  at the
 wedding?  Wonderful! Its  been  so  long since  I've  seen them."  Her 
 smile faded after a moment, and she said, "Oh, no." 
     "What's wrong?" asked Cefn. 
     "My parents don't  know about my accident, or that  I'm not a bard 
 anymore.  I was  meaning  to  tell them,  but  I  just haven't  gotten 
 around to it. So, they probably won't even recognize me as I am now." 
     Kroan said,  "Well, actually,  they do  know. I  told them  when I
 wrote  about   Anorra.  They  know  everything:   the  accident;  your 
 retraining; and  the adventures you've  had here in Dargon.  They both 
 send  their regrets,  and wish  you good  luck in  your new  life. I'm 
 sure that they will be very happy to see you again at the wedding."
     "Oh, uh,  thanks, Kroan. I'm glad  they know now, and  I'm looking 
 forward  to seeing  them  again." Je'en  let the  topic  be turned  to 
 wedding  plans, then  dropped out  of the  conversation. She  slouched
 back in her chair and turned her thoughts inward.
     She  summoned  up a  mental  image  of  herself  just as  she  saw
 herself every day  in the large piece of polished  silver she used for 
 a mirror.  It was as complete  and detailed as a  painting: her bardic
 training had sharpened  her powers of recall, and she  was quite adept 
 at seeing concrete images in her mind.
     She  looked at  the  picture  of herself,  clad  in a  comfortable
 leather tunic and  breeches that went into knee-high  suede boots. She
 still bore  the marks of  her 'accident'  more than three  years after
 the  incident: a  dark  ribbon circled  her throat  to  hide the  scar 
 there; her right  hand hung uselessly from a  black-wrapped wrist near 
 the  hilt of  her  sword, right-hung  within easy  reach  of her  good 
 hand; and,  most visible, the silver  half-mask that hid the  marks on 
 her  face.  She  presented  a  unique,  mysterious  figure,  one  that 
 belonged in fantastic adventures that, perhaps, a bard would tell. 
     Then, she  did something she  seldom did.  She called up  an image
 of herself  as she had been  before the accident. No  scars, no masks,
 Leaf-Killer on  her left hip and  Soft-Winds hanging at her  back. She 
 set the  picture next to her  present-day self, and compared  the two.
 The  one  that went  bare-faced  was  the  one  her parents  would  be 
 expecting despite Kroan's  letter informing them of the  events of the 
 past three  years. Briefly,  Je'en wondered what  she would  look like
 now, without  the mask. But  she found  herself backing away  from the 
 thought  hurriedly. The  silver mask  had become  a badge  of her  new
 life to her, and to cease wearing it was unthinkable.
     As she  sat comparing the two  images, she began to  feel strange.
 At first,  she couldn't identify  how or why.  Then, as it  got worse,
 she  was able  to describe  the  sensation -  it was  like someone  or 
 something was  pressing on  her mind.  It took a  few more  moments to
 realize that the sensation was almost familiar.
     Instinctively, she  began pushing  back, concentrating  on holding
 her  mind  together  and  resisting  the intrusion.  As  soon  as  she
 started to resist, she felt the pressure lighten and then vanish. 
     The pressure  had barely  vanished when  Je'en felt  someone nudge 
 her arm. She  opened her eyes and  sat up with a  startled 'Huh?' that 
 caused the others at the table to laugh. 
     Cefn said,  'Wake up, sleepy head.  Kroan has to get  back to work 
 and I  thought we should toast  him once more." The  cowled man lifted
 his  flagon and  said,  "To Kroan  and  Anorra -  a  long, happy,  and 
 profitable life!"
     Je'en reached  for her  mug of  ale to  join in  the well-wishing. 
 She found it  difficult to get a  grip on the thin handle  of the mug,
 but finally  she closed  her fingers  around to and  raised it  off of
 the table. As  soon as she did  so, she knew something  was wrong. She
 felt  the odd  pull in  the wrist,  the pain,  and then  the splashing 
 noise of ale sloshing all over the table. 
     She  focused on  the mug,  and then  on the  faces of  her friends 
 around the  table. She noticed that  they were all staring  at the mug
 dangling  from her  hand in  shocked  disbelief. She  started to  say,
 "Sorry..." but  stopped when she  realized why they were  staring. She
 finally realized  that the mug  was dangling  from the fingers  of her
 right hand! 

                                Kimmentari 
     An  ornate stone  corridor shapes  itself out  of the  greyness as 
 she  steps  from  the  between-ways   into  the  hallway  outside  the 
 quarters  of the  man once  known as  Kyle BlueSword.  She senses  the 
 pain emanating  from the  room before  her, and  she knows  its cause. 
 Slowly, almost  reluctantly, she walks  into the room and  sees Morion
 writhing  in pain  on the  bed.  His arm  throbs fiercely  red in  her
 ihr-sight,  revealing the  fact  that the  perenidth  has invaded  his
 body as  far as  his elbow.  She can  also trace  the poison  with her
 sun-sight, which reveals the greenish cast of the skin on his arm. 
     Concern and guilt  flood into and over her as  she watches by both
 ihr- and  sun-sight the  poison advance quickly  up Morion's  arm. She 
 walks across  the room  to him,  and feels  something break  under her
 heel.  Awareness comes  to her  that  she has  crushed the  egg-focus, 
 which will make closing the gate that much harder.
     Before  she reaches  the  bed, she  sees  consciousness fade  from
 Morion's  body, but  she  can  also see  that  his  life force  hasn't
 slackened its fight against the drain of the perenidth.
     She stands next  to Morion's now still form, and  tries to examine
 the things  she is feeling.  She feels  concern because she  likes the
 fierceness of  spirit of this  fast-liver, and  she does not  wish him
 pain.  He attracts  more than  her curiosity,  and she  has been  hard 
 pressed not to  think of him ever since their  first meeting. Now, her
 concern shades  to fear; fear that  she might be feeling  what was the 
 bane of  her race - hoftanau,  the fire love. Only  a fast-liver could 
 inspire the fire  love in the slow living, slow  feeling hearts of her
 people.  When that  emotion was  ignited, it  was usually  fatal. That 
 was where the  guilt came from. She wasn't sure  that her last warning
 to  Morion had  been cryptic  according  to the  pattern of  Thyerin's
 Dance, or if she wanted to avoid the destructive force of hoftanau. 
     Now she  must decide whether to  save Morion or to  let the poison
 do  its work.  She reviews  the  last glimpse  of the  pattern of  the
 Dance  she had  been given  by  Thyerin and  tries to  puzzle out  the
 meaning  of the  threads that  govern this  part of  the Dance.  It is
 difficult. Finally  she gives up -  the strands are too  tangled - and
 attempts to make the decision on her own. 
     She doesn't  have time to  agonize, though.  She can see  that the 
 poison  has almost  reached Morion's  shoulder, with  tendrils pushing
 ahead of the  mass of the evil  substance, almost as if  it is eagerly
 searching for  the man's heart.  She knows  that he doesn't  have much
 time. If  the perenidth reaches Morion's  heart, she won't be  able to 
 work  fast enough  to  stem  the flow  of  the  poison throughout  his
 entire body. If  that happens, he will be lost  forever, his body dead 
 and  his immortal  self trapped  in  the other-space  from whence  the
 demon-poison had been drawn.
     She  looks into  Morion's tortured  face and  decides. She  kneels
 beside the  bed and takes Morion's  arm in her hands.  As she prepares
 herself  for the  effort it  will take  to battle  the perenidth,  she 
 feels the presence of  Thyerin in her mind and she sees  a part of his
 Dance made  clear. She sighs  with relief as  she sees her  strand and
 Morion's entwined  and continuing beyond  the scope of the  Dance. She 
 has made the right decision.
     She  turns  back  to  her   task.  Placing  her  hands  about  his 
 shoulder, she  concentrates to place  a barrier within  Morion's flesh
 that  the  perenidth  cannot  pass.  She first  makes  sure  that  all
 vestiges of the  poison are on the  arm side of the  barrier, then she
 begins to  force the  barrier, and  with it  the perenidth,  back down 
 and out  of Morion's arm.  It isn't  easy. The perenidth  seems almost 
 to fight back,  to resist being expelled from the  body of its victim. 
 She struggles  tenaciously until  finally Morion's  hand cups  a small 
 pool  of the  vilest looking  fluid imaginable,  much more  than could 
 have been stored within the tiny egg.
     She relaxes  for a  moment, gathering her  strength for  the final 
 effort. When  she feels herself  ready, she again concentrates  on the 
 barrier  that  now  protects  Morion's  hand  from  having  the  fluid 
 re-enter it.  The barrier, invisible  to sun-sight but  barely, bluely 
 visible to  ihr-sight, closes  around the perenidth,  sealing it  in a
 bubble. The  bubble begins to  rise, floating slowly up  from Morion's 
 hand. When it  is a safe distance  away from him, she  begins to force
 the  bubble to  shrink. This,  in turn,  forces the  demon-poison back 
 through the  gate to where it  came from. When the  bubble disappears,
 she  turns her  energies  to closing  and sealing  the  gate that  the 
 egg-focus had housed. 
     When the  gate is permanently  closed, she slumps back  and closes
 her eyes, nearly  exhausted. But, she knows that there  is more to do.
 The perenidth had  been removed from Morion's body, but  the damage it
 did while it was there must still be repaired.
     Wearily, she  opens her eyes and  tries to guage how  long it will
 take to  properly heal  the fast-liver. She  estimates at  least three
 weeks of  deep, healing  sleep should suffice,  which will  leave very 
 little  time to  deliver  the  circlet. As  she  worries,  she sees  a 
 possible solution  in the pattern of  the Dance. The King  of the land
 that Morion  calls home  will celebrate the  anniversary of  his birth
 just  a few  days  before the  deadline. Such  an  event should  bring 
 enough power-users together  that, with her help, they may  be able to 
 find a way to send the circlet in time.
     She  decides  to leave  speculation  for  later. She  thinks  that
 Morion  will know  more about  who  will likely  attend his  Monarch's
 36th birth  anniversary. She  needs to start  the healing  sleep soon,
 before the damage increases and destroys their chances. 
     She  arranges   the  still  slightly  suffering   fast-liver  more 
 comfortably on  the bed,  and then  settles herself  next to  him. She
 places  her hands  on his  temples and  tries to  communicate directly
 with his  mind. She finds it  easy, and pleasurable, to  read his mind
 but she  must go  deeper. She  probes for the  healing centers  of his
 brain, and  finds them.  She stimulates them  to increased  effort and
 ties  the  energy generation  areas  of  her own  body  in  to his  to
 provide the  necessary building  and healing  energies. She  feels the
 drain,  and allows  herself to  fall into  the same  healing sleep  as 
 Morion.  Now, even  should she  wish it,  there is  no way  to prevent
 hoftanau between them.

                                  Ka'en
     Ka'lochra'en  kissed Gillin  one  last time  before  giving her  a
 hand up  onto her horse.  He stared after her  as she rode  back home, 
 and reflected  that she  was probably  the best thing  to come  out of
 this, his latest assignment.
     Ka'en had  come to  this northern  corner of  Baranur when  he had
 heard news  on the grapevine  that one of  the border Barons  of Duchy 
 Dargon was looking  for someone discreet to do a  job. Ka'en's pockets 
 were nearly empty, so he decided that he would look into the venture. 
     Ka'en had  travelled to  the Barony of  MountainSpur in  the guise
 of a  minor, unlanded noble  name of Lord  Kennet'. It had  taken some 
 convincing to  get Baron Kayden, the  man looking to hire  a thief, to
 believe that  he was suited to  the job. It  wasn't as if Ka'en  had a
 detailed  history of  past accomplishments  to expound  on, especially
 since most  of his best  work had yet to  be detected. Ka'en  had been 
 forced  to  extract a  few  choice  items  from the  Baron's  personal 
 treasury to  convince the man that  he had the necessary  skills to do
 the job. 
     So convinced,  the Baron  had confided  in Ka'en.  Kaydin intended 
 to  annex  the  lands  of  his  neighbor,  Baron  Rombar.  Rombar  had
 insulted Kaydin  some years before  by refusing to allow  his daughter 
 to marry Kaydin's  eldest son. To get even, Kaydin  intended to depose
 Rombar by  discrediting him and having  him and his family  removed as
 rulers of  the barony  by Clifton  Dargon himself,  acting as  the due
 representative of  the Crown  of Baranur.  The method  of discrediting
 was  devious   and  complicated.  Ka'en's  part   involved  some  very 
 important  documents  stored  in  the very  lowest  vaults  of  Dargon 
 Castle. The  ones Ka'en  was to  steal were  both the  Primary Charter
 for the  Barony of  Fir Lake,  and the High  Charter for  Duchy Dargon
 itself. Baron Kaydin  would provide a doctored version  of the Primary 
 Charter  of Rombar's  Barony that  would remove  Rombar's family  from 
 the  Barony.  Taking the  High  Charter  to  the  Duchy was  a  little 
 insurance  on  Kaydin's part  since  without  that specific  piece  of 
 parchment,  Clifton  could, legally,  be  removed  from the  Duchy  as
 easily as  Rombar from  his Barony. Kaydin  intended to  force Clifton
 into supporting  him in  his claim to  the land of  Fir Lake  when the 
 Barony was disolved. 
     It  was all  just  too  much politics  and  legalisms for  Ka'en's
 tastes, but he  agreed to do the job. One  of the convincing arguments
 was  Kaydin's youngest  daughter, Gillin.  There was  a strong  mutual 
 attraction  between   them,  and  Ka'en  had   recently  begun  having
 thoughts  about settling  down.  Gillin was  pretty, intelligent,  and
 excellent  company. Ka'en  hoped that  she wouldn't  mind moving  away 
 from MountainSpur,  since he refused  to live anywhere that  there was 
 danger of him  being exposed as a thief and  Gillin's father certainly
 knew who he was now.
     Ka'en cleaned up  the little glade wherein he and  Gillin had said 
 good-bye, repacking  his bedroll and  the now severly depleted  bag of
 rations  he had  brought along  for his  trip to  Dargon. Fortunately,
 the Ducal city wasn't  more than four days away and  Ka'en was sure he
 could make  the remnants of his  food last that long.  Besides, it had 
 been well worth  wasting the time and food to  say farewell to Gillin. 
 Well worth it. 

     Ka'en  spent  a  week  researching  a  way  to  infiltrate  Dargon
 Castle. Baron Kaydin  had offered a few suggestions, but  no real help 
 in getting him near the secret vault. The details were up to Ka'en.
     It didn't take  him long to decide  on a course of  action once he 
 had explored all  the possibilities. He had even been  given a tour of 
 the Castle in  his masquerade as Lord Kennet'. He  had determined that
 there was  no possible way  for a guest or  resident of the  castle to
 penetrate  the dungeons  - there  were just  too many  guards. So,  he
 decided to be a guard.
     Given  enough  time, it  was  conceivable  that Ka'en  could  have 
 become a  Castle Guard  by the  normal route. But  he didn't  have the 
 three years  or so  that that  would take. Instead,  he would  have to 
 fake it.  And the first order  of business was  to make a copy  of the 
 Castle Guard's uniform. 
     The  uniform   was  a  simple   one.  The  Guards  wore   a  black
 thigh-length  tunic   over  black   trousers  that  went   into  black 
 knee-high  boots. Silver  and  gold  bands added  color  at the  neck,
 cuffs, tunic  hem, side seams of  the trousers, and the  saddle of the 
 boots. A sash  of silver and gold triangles was  fastened to the right 
 or left  shoulder by  a pin  of the Baranur  Star. Rank  was displayed
 within a small  red square on the chest.  Additional ornamentation was 
 provided by  small black buttons  bearing a gold caltrop  at strategic
 places on the outfit. 
     Ka'en didn't  want to buy enough  fabric at any one  store to lead 
 an inquisitive  mind to link the  purchase with an extra  guard at the
 Castle. So,  he searched the  second-hand stores for cloth,  either in
 old clothes  or in bolts, and  for the various decorative  elements he
 would need. 
     He  was  in  a  slightly   seedy  but  well  stocked  little  shop 
 bargaining  for a  child's show  cape  made of  cloth-of-gold that  he
 could  cut  up  for  the  sash,  when  he  heard  the  door  open.  An
 almost-familiar voice  said, "Mergant, did  you get in  any....Oh, I'm
 sorry, I  didn't realize you  had a  customer. I'll wait  until you're 
 through. Pardon me, m'lord."
     Ka'en turned  to look at  the person who  had spoken. He  was sure 
 he knew the  voice, but when he  saw the speaker, he was  just as sure
 that he  was mistaken. He didn't  know any left-handed women  who wore 
 silver masks, of that he was definite. 
     Ka'en was  concluding his  business with  the shopkeeper  when the
 woman stepped  up to  the counter  next to him  and said,  "Excuse me,
 but aren't you Ka'lochra'en?"
     Ka'en turned and  stared into the eyes that  were partially hidden 
 within the mask,  wondering how this woman knew him.  It was rare that
 he went  by his contracted name  in Baranur, much less  his full name. 
 Finally, made slightly  uneasy by the blankness of the  mask, he said,
 "That depends to whom I'm talking."
     "Of course,  you don't  recognize me. How  could you,  after all,"
 said the  woman. "I looked  quite different the  last time you  saw me
 in Derenten. I'm your second cousin, Je'lanthra'en." 
     "By the  Blood of  Argan, you are!"  Ka'en finally  recognized the
 voice, the  figure, the bearing,  and even the  set of the  jaw. "What 
 happened to you, Je'en? You're not a bard any more?"
     "Oh, its  a long  story, Ka'en.  Much too long  to tell  without a
 tankard of ale to  ease the telling. But, no, I'm  not a bard anymore. 
 I am an adventurer  along with my partner, Cefn, who  is a wizard. Why
 don't you  come down  to the Inn  of the Panther  tonight, and  we can 
 talk then,  okay? Good. I'll  be there  around dinner time  and after. 
 See you then."
     Ka'en took  the cape he had  just purchased and left  the store as
 Je'en  asked Mergant  about some  special lanterns  for which  she was 
 looking. He wondered  what had happened to Je'en. She  was so changed. 
 The mask,  her voice, the strange  bracer she wore on  her right hand.
 An  adventurer,  eh?  They  could  be  problems.  At  least  the  only 
 adventurers  that Ka'en  had ever  dealt  with had  been problems.  He 
 wondered if her presence in Dargon would complicate his business.

                                  Blood 
     Moonlight filters  into a shuttered  and dark shop  through warped
 boards and  air vents. The silvery  light glints off large  glass jars 
 filled with herbs and potions revealing the shop to be an apothecary. 
     A  shadow among  shadows moves  slowly and  cautiously. It  inches
 its way over  to the jars and, after  a pause to be sure  it is alone, 
 it begins to fill several cloth bags from the large glass jars. 
     Suddenly,  its movements  lose their  fluidity, like  a marionette
 whose operator  has just sneezed.  An elbow strikes and  dislodges one
 of  the jars  and  it crashes  to the  floor,  shattering. The  shadow
 freezes, and then,  under control again, begins  to hurriedly complete 
 its mission. 
     The owner  of the shop,  who lives on  the second floor,  has been
 awakened by  the noise. He  comes down the  stairs armed with  a large 
 club.  The shadow  seeks a  way  out, its  mission now  done, but  the
 stairs are closer to the door that it is.
     The owner opens  a shopfront shutter, flooding the  tiny shop with 
 moonlight,  and catches  sight of  the  shadow, formless  and dark  no 
 more.  Light  glints off  of  a  silver  mask,  the owner  gasps  out, 
 "Je...", and  a sword weilded  sinisterly slides between ribs.  As the 
 owner slumps on  the stairs, the shadow closes the  shutter, wipes its
 sword on the owner's nightrobe, and slips stealthly out of the shop. 

                                   Cefn
     "So, where is Je'en, anyway?" asked Ka'en.
     Cefn  said, "I  don't know.  She's usually  here by  dinner unless
 she has something  else to do, and she didn't  mention anything to me.
 Still,  she has  been acting  strange  lately.... I'm  sure she'll  be
 around  eventually. Could  you explain  again, Ka'en,  why the  middle 
 part of your name isn't the same as Je'en's if you're related to her?" 
     As Je'en's  cousin tried to  explain the complexities  of southern 
 family  trees  and their  special  naming  conventions, Cefn  wondered 
 with more  concern than had  been in his  voice just where  Je'en was.
 If Kroan hadn't  recognized Ka'en when he entered, the  poor man would
 be sitting  in a corner  wondering where  his relative was.  It wasn't 
 like Je'en  to invite  someone to  meet her at  the Panther,  and then
 not show. 
     Ka'en's dissertation  was interrupted  by the  bells on  the door,
 and  a few  shouted greetings  that indicated  that Je'en  had finally
 arrived. When  she finally  reached their table,  Cefn noticed  by her 
 manner  that she  was  a  little distracted.  She  said  hello to  her
 cousin,  appologized for  being late,  and yelled  her dinner  order - 
 "The usual!"  - to the  cook. She took her  seat, and joined  Ka'en in
 trying to explain the name thing. 
     Cefn  listened with  far  more interest  now,  but eventually  the
 conversation  returned  to  Kroan's coming  marriage.  Cefn  retreated
 from the  discussion for the  same reason  he had tried  to side-track 
 it earlier: the topic made him nervous.
     Yet, his  mind refused to let  him just forget the  word. He tried
 to deflect  the thoughts of  being tied for  a lifetime to  one person 
 with thoughts  of Je'en and  her increasingly odd behavior.  But, that 
 tactic didn't work,  because Je'en was the reason that  the thought of
 marriage disturbed him.  Perhaps not marriage itself,  but rather what 
 went  with  it: love.  Cefn  was  even  more  disturbed by  love  than 
 marriage, and  thinking of Je'en  in that  context just made  him even 
 more nervous. 
     Cefn  had been  in  love once,  long  ago while  he  was still  an 
 apprentice. The  relationship had lasted  for almost a year  before it
 disintegrated messily.  The breakup  also resulted in  the destruction
 of their partnership, which had almost been worse than the breakup. 
     Now, Cefn  was feeling the beginnings  of what could well  be love
 for his  partner Je'en. And he  didn't want anything at  all to happen 
 to  their friendship,  which was  why  thoughts of  marriage made  him
 nervous -  he had recently  been daydreaming  of spending the  rest of 
 his life tied to Je'en.
     Conversation  soon  turned  to   the  celebration  of  the  King's 
 Birthday three days  hence. The celebration in Dargon  would be token,
 with  the Court  Ball  held  by Duke  Clifton  being  the most  lavish
 demonstration  scheduled  to  take  place.   Je'en  and  Cefn  had  an
 invitation,  and they  discussed what  they would  wear to  the event.
 When Cefn  offered to wangle Ka'en  an invitation, too, the  young man 
 declined  politely,  saying  that  the  atmosphere  would  be  far  to
 rarefied in the Ballroom for him to be comfortable. 
     Eventually, Kroan had  to leave as it was getting  late and he had
 work the  next day.  As Kroan  left, Ka'en also  took his  leave. Cefn
 expected  Je'en to  stay with  him for  a little  while, but  she rose
 from the table  directly after her cousin and bade  Cefn farewell very 
 distantly. Cefn  looked after her  as she  left the Inn,  and wondered
 what had gotten into her lately. 
     Feeling uneasy,  Cefn bought a  bottle of  wine and went  home. He 
 activated the  golden globes he  had had  installed in the  town house
 he had purchased  and made sure that all of  the windows were properly 
 sealed. He then  removed his protective cowl  and hung it on  a peg by 
 the front  door. He took  the bottle, got a  glass and his  cards, and
 went to the study to do a reading on Je'en to relieve his uneasiness. 
     He shuffled,  cut, shuffled again,  and was ready. The  first card
 turned  over was  the  Twelve  of Swords  reversed.  Trouble from  the
 start.  He swiftly  layed out  the rest  of the  Bent Star,  the frown
 deepening on  his face. When  the layout  was complete, he  filled his 
 glass, drained it,  filled it again, and drained most  of it. Then, he 
 looked at the layout again. Nope, it hadn't improved.
     It was  one of  the worst  yet non-commital  readings he  had ever 
 seen.  It indicated  danger  - disaster,  even -  all  around, but  it 
 couldn't identify  the source.  Every bad card  or position  had shown
 up in that reading, but in such a way that it told him little.
     Topping off  his glass again,  Cefn reshuffled the cards.  It took 
 some  time before  they felt  right,  and when  he layed  them out  he 
 found out  why -  the entire layout  was, card for  card, the  same as
 the first one.
     Eyes wide, Cefn  sat back in his chair and  drank from the bottle, 
 leaving  the glass  on the  table. He  had never  heard of  an exactly 
 duplicated  layout  actually happening  before.  He  wondered what  it 
 meant and whether Je'en would survive the forces gathering around her.

                                 Emissary
     Tanandra  en'Elerch  lifted  the  simple  brass  door-knocker  and 
 hesitated a moment.  As she finally let it fall  to strike against the 
 shiny plate it  was hinged to, she  wondered what it would  be like to
 see Cefn again. It had been so long since the last time...
     She waited for  several minutes before taking the  knocker in hand
 again,  but as  she did  so,  she could  hear noises  just inside  the
 door. Hastily stepping  back, she composed herself and  waited for the
 door to open.
     When it  finally did open,  there was  a moment of  silence before
 Cefn spoke. "It's... good to see you, Tanandra. Come in, please."
     Tandi  wished she  could  see inside  the cowl  that  Cefn had  to 
 wear. She  couldn't quite fathom  the tone in  his voice, and  she was 
 sure  that if  she  had been  able  to  see his  face  she could  have 
 interpreted it. 
     She stepped  into the entry hall  of Cefn's town house  and turned
 as he  shut the door. With  a gesture, the single  candle lantern that 
 had been  shining in the  little hall went  out, and the  golden globe
 at the  ceiling took over  illumination duties. Cefn removed  his cowl
 and hung it on a peg by the door, then led her into his study. 
     Tandi took in the  scene in the study while Cefn  asked her if she
 wanted  anything to  drink. She  noticed the  spread of  cards on  the
 table,  and even  though she  knew  little about  their meanings  (she 
 hadn't chosen  to study them),  she could tell  that the layout  was a
 bad one.  She also noticed  the bottle on  the table, and  wondered at
 it since she knew that Cefn didn't do much drinking at home. 
     As Cefn  handed her a  glass of cider,  he asked, "Well,  how have
 you been, Tandi?" 
     Before  answering, Tandi  took a  good look  at Cefn.  She decided
 that time  had treated  him well  - he  still looked  as good  as when 
 they  had  been  ...apprentices  together, if  not  better.  She  also
 realized  that  she  still  has  some  deep  feelings  for  him  which 
 suprised her; she thought she had left him behind all those years ago. 
     Firmly  pushing  her  uncertain  feelings  out  of  the  way,  she 
 recalled the  reason she  was visiting  Cefn. She  set the  glass down
 and  placed  her forefingers  and  thumbs  together, forming  a  crude
 circle.  She hummed  a  low note,  and the  space  within that  circle
 began to  glow with  a swirling  green-blue light.  She said,  "I have 
 come on business from the Council, Cefn."
     The blue-eyed  mage's smile  of welcome vanished  at the  sight of
 the  sigil  that  the  swirling   light  had  formed  between  Tandi's
 fingers. Cefn  said, "I no longer  serve your masters, Tandi.  You are
 wasting your time." 
     Tandi had expected  this reaction, and was  prepared. Sternly, she 
 said,  "The  Elders   never  acknowledged  your  debt   as  paid.  You 
 performed  a   great  service  for   the  Council  when   you  finally 
 eliminated the  last followers of  Jhel and  the Sword of  Cleah. Even 
 so, the services they have rendered you have not yet been repaid." 
     Before  he  could  interrupt,  she  continued,  "The  Council  has 
 detected certain experiments  into the Forbidden Art. They  lay to you 
 the task  of finding who is  learning the Art and  stopping him. There 
 is every indication that the experimenter is Vard." 
     Cefn paused  a moment, pondering the  situation, before answering. 
 He said,  with a forced calm  that Tandi could see  through with ease,
 "I cannot help.  I...I am otherwise occupied. Something  is wrong here 
 in   Dargon.   There  is   a   threat   hovering  over   my   partner,
 Je'lanthra'en. She's  been acting strange  lately - out  of character. 
 I must stay and help her - after what I have already put her through."
     He turned  away, but not before  Tandi read the love  in his face,
 and the  pain of  that secret.  She reflected  that going  around with 
 one's  face hidden  by  a magically  dark cowl  didn't  give one  much 
 reason  to learn  to control  one's facial  expression. Cefn  probably
 didn't even  realize how open his  face was. She felt  the remnants of 
 her own love crumble in the face of his deep feelings.
     Sadly  but   forcefully,  Tandi  said,  "Cefn,   the  Council  has 
 empowered me to  order you into this;  even to lay a gorfodd  on you -
 they knew  you would resist. But,  I don't want to  force you. Listen,
 I know  what Je'en has  been through.  You were monitored  during that 
 mission, as were  the events you set in motion.  But, she has survived 
 admirably. She redirected  her life without any help at  all, which is 
 remarkable considering  the loss  she sustained. She  will be  able to 
 cope with whatever awaits in her future.
     "Cefn,  you  are the  only  person  currently available  for  this
 mission. The  others are all  elsewhere, or not of  sufficient ability 
 to deal  with someone  able to  delve into  the Forbidden  Art. Please 
 reconsider.  This  IS important.  You  know  the possibilities  of  an 
 adept of the Art. Remember Ciraledwen."
     In   the  silence   that  followed,   Tandi  knew   that  he   was 
 remembering. The  story of the most  infamous Elder in history  was an
 early  lesson, and  one that  was drilled  into every  student of  the 
 Council.  Ciraledwen had,  through study  of the  Art, become  able to
 reanimate whole  armies of the  dead -  an invincible force.  The only 
 limit to her power  had been the number of lives she  could tie to her 
 focus  - humans  enslaved  to her  will  body and  soul,  and used  to 
 infuse the  corpses with  artificial life. It  had taken  a tremendous 
 combined  effort of  the normally  reclusive Elders  and all  of their 
 students  to finally  breach  the  shields she  had  built to  protect
 herself and destroy the evil Ciraledwen.
     When Cefn  finally turned back  to face  her, Tandi could  see the
 struggle he  was undergoing on  his too-expressive face.  The concrete
 threat of  a practicioner of the  Forbidden Art had to  be balanced by
 the vague threat against his partner and love. 
     Finally, he decided.  He said, "I...I cannot."  His resolve firmed
 as he continued,  "Je'en is more important to me  than a vague threat.
 You are  easily powerful  enough to  go against Vard,  if he  is truly 
 involved and  his name wasn't  used just to try  to lure me  into this 
 mission. After  all, you have been  under the tutelage of  the Council 
 for all these years  since I left. You must be  far more powerful than 
 I by now. 
     "Please understand me,  Tandi. I will not go of  my own free will,
 and I cannot allow  myself to be forced by either  you or the council.
 It's been good to see you again, Tanandra. Good bye."
     Cefn  turned away  again and  went over  the the  table where  his 
 bottle  still sat.  Tandi  watched  him pour  another  glass full  and
 drink half  of it in one  gulp. Sorrowfully, she began  to concentrate
 on  the  sheet  of  light  filling the  circle  still  formed  by  her
 fingers. The  identifying sigil had  been given  to her by  the Elders 
 of the  Council, and with  it had come a  latent spell, a  gorfodd, or
 compulsion.  It  was  far  more  powerful  than  one  she  could  cast 
 herself and (so the Elders hoped) more powerful than Cefn could break. 
     As she concentrated  on the sigil, the light that  formed it began
 to change from  green-blue to red-purple. She watched  the spell focus 
 as it  strengthened. She considered  Cefn's suggestion that she  go in
 his place.  She had offered  herself to the  Elders, a fact  that Cefn
 couldn't know.  And she had  been rejected  as not able  enough. True,
 she had spent  the years since Cefn  had gone out on his  own with the 
 teachers of  the Council but  she still was  not as powerful  as Cefn.
 It  wasn't  her  fault.  She  just didn't  have  Cefn's  ability.  Not 
 everyone could  master the  forces of  magic to  the same  degree, and
 she just  couldn't do as  well as some.  Certainly not well  enough to
 combat someone  able to delve into  the forces required to  master the 
 Forbidden Art. 
     The  spell was  ready.  Cefn hadn't  turned around  yet  - he  was
 filling  his glass  again. Tandi  said, "Cefn,  forgive me  but I  was 
 ordered." And, with a Word, she released the spell.
     Cefn  may not  have  turned  around, but  he  must have  suspected
 something. He whirled  at the sound of her voice,  and Tandi gasped at 
 the sight of  the hoop he held  between his hands. He  stretched it to 
 about three feet  in diameter, the silvery strands  threaded across it
 actually weaving  closer together  as the  hoop grew.  By the  time he 
 faced her, the hoop was a shiny mirror held before Cefn's head.
     The  purple-black   sphere  of   the  gorfodd  spell   struck  the
 hoop-mirror and bounced.  Tandi gasped again when she saw  that it had 
 been  perfectly reflected,  and  would strike  her.  Before she  could 
 react,  the  spell hit  her,  and  she felt  the  cold  tingle of  the
 compulsion magic  settle over her  body and mind. She  immediatly felt
 the compelling  need to  go find the  person practicing  the Forbidden
 Art.  It was  like  a physical  presence inside  her,  forcing her  to 
 move. Its little voice whispered to her, 'Get moving, find the man!'
     As she turned  to leave, she heard Cefn say,  "Tandi, I'm sorry! I
 didn't mean for the spell to return to you. Will you be all right?" 
     She  opened Cefn's  front door,  knowing that  he couldn't  follow
 her because of  the moon- and lantern-light on the  street. She called
 back, "Of course  I'll be fine. Good bye, Cefn.  Good bye." She didn't
 close  the door  behind herself,  hoping that  that tactic  would gain 
 her enough time to  get away. Now that she had  taken the gorfodd, she 
 wanted no  help or hindrance to  her mission. She would  find the man, 
 and she would destroy him, all by her self. 
     She didn't even  hear the other tiny voice in  her mind, the voice
 of her reason, saying, "I'm dead if this quest succeeds." 

                                  Morion 
     He  awoke feeling  totally disoriented,  almost as  though was  in 
 two  places at  once.  Slowly,  almost painfully,  he  sorted out  the
 sensations and  realized first that  he wasn't dead. He  wondered why,
 considersing the vivid  memory of the pain the poison  had caused him. 
 Morion could  still feel slight twinges  from his arm, and  it hurt to
 close  the hand  that had  held the  tiny, lethal  egg. Of  course, he 
 couldn't account  for the general  stiffness of  the rest of  his body 
 by the  effects of the  poison - if its  effect had reached  that much 
 of him, he wouldn't be around to notice the results. 
     Then he  realized that he  wasn't alone  on Kyle's bed.  He looked
 at the sleeping  form of the strange blue haired  woman who had called 
 herself Kimmentari and  realized that there was now  a rapport between
 them that had  been instrumental in saving his life.  Somehow, he knew 
 things about Kimmentari  that he couldn't possibly know  - things even
 lovers  wouldn't   tell  each  other.   And  he  knew  that   she  was 
 helplessly, perhaps fatally, in love with him.
     The  first stirrings  of  returned feelings  propelled Morion  off
 the bed in fear  and confusion. How could he possible  be in love with
 such an  alien creature? He had  never even heard of  her kind before. 
 He...he  just  couldn't   really  be  in  love,  could   he?  She  was 
 beautiful, in an exotic way, and she had saved his life. Still... 
     Thoughts  came to  him,  memories and  dreams.  They weren't  his,
 weren't  even human,  but they  were entrancing.  He saw  Thyerin, the
 god Kimmentari's  people worshipped, and  the Dance  he laid out  as a
 pattern  for his  followers. He  saw what  hoftanau meant  for one  of
 Kimmentari's race,  and how  deeply the fire  love had  already burned
 into her.  The thoughts  were remnants  of the  healing bond  that had 
 followed her ridding  his body of the poison, not  actual mind to mind
 contact.  But,  Morion  remembered  the  instant  of  his  waking  and 
 seeming to  be in  two places  at once.  And he  knew that  if someone
 could know  him on  so intimate a  level as to  have actually  been in 
 his mind, and  they still cared or loved him,  he wouldn't refute that
 love. And, he knew that he loved Kimmentari. 
     He looked  for a long  time at the  silken-clad body of  the alien 
 woman,  then reached  out tentatively  to touch  her shoulder.  As his 
 hand touched  her, he  felt a  brief reprise  of the  joined sensation
 and she  opened her  eyes. He stared  into the deep  red of  her eyes,
 willingly getting  lost in  their depths. He  settled slowly  onto the 
 bed,  bent over,  and lightly  kissed his  saviour on  the mouth.  Her
 response  was  slow  and  hesitant,  as if  she  didn't  know  how  to
 respond.  But soon,  as  their mental  rapport re-established  itself, 
 her reactions took on more passion. 
     Several hours  later, Morion again  awoke to the now  familiar two 
 places  at once  feeling. He  looked  up into  Kimmentari's ruby  eyes 
 where she was  leaning over him staring at his  face. He wouldn't have
 minded taking a  few hours more to  get to know his  love even better,
 but  Kimmentari  laughed at  his  thought  with  a sound  like  silver
 bells, and  said, "There  will be  time enough and  more for  that, my 
 love, when  we have  danced our part  of the Dance  done. Or  have you 
 forgotten your mission here - the circlet?"
     In fact, Morion  had done just that.  It took a moment  for him to
 recall just how  he had ended up  where he was: the  challenge by Kyle
 BlueSword, meeting  Kimmentari on the  road to Belliern, the  fight in
 the  village square,  Kyle's  story of  possession,  Morion's task  to
 deliver the  crystal circlet to  his former pupil  Je'lanthra'en, and,
 finally,  the tiny  poisoned  egg that  had been  the  revenge of  the
 demon-thing that had possessed Kyle.
     "Souls and  swords, what  day is  it, anyway? How  much time  do I 
 have to finish my task?" 
     "Calm yourself,  my love,"  said Kimmentari.  "My thread  has been 
 joined to  yours in this  Dance - the  task of delivering  the circlet 
 has become  mine as well. This  day is AvansDay of  Harvest, just nine
 days from the deadline."
     "But,  I...we'll never  be able  to get  to Dargon  in nine  days,
 that is unless you..."
     Kimmentari  smiled as  she said,  "I cannot  move over  such great
 distances any faster  than you, my love. Alone, my  magic cannot solve
 the problem. But I saw something in Thyerin's pattern that might help.
     "Just  six days  from now,  your King  Haralan will  celebrate his 
 six and thirtieth  year of life. As  I understand it, this  is a cause 
 of much  celebration, and many  people will  gather in Magnus  to help
 him commemorate the  event. Among those present, there are  sure to be 
 enough  persons skilled  in  the  shaping of  Power  to  enable us  to 
 devise  a method  to deliver  the circlet  in time.  It seems  that we 
 should be able to reach the Crown City before the celebration, right?" 
     Morion  said, "That  depends on  just where  this citadel  is. Or, 
 will that 'lens' thing that Kyle used still work?"
     "Its  power has  dissapated with  the  passing of  the demon  from 
 this  plane.  We  shall  have   to  use  more  conventional  means  of
 transportation, I'm  afraid. Still, I  think we  can make it.  We have 
 no choice, really. 
     "To be sure, we should leave as soon as possible." 
     "Surely a little more...rest...wouldn't hurt?" asked Morion.
     Kimmentari  laughed  again,  and  answered,  "Well,  maybe  not  a 
 little more...," and kissed him. 

     Near  sunset of  the day  before the  King's Birthday,  Morion and
 Kimmentari rode into  Magnus on wild horses she had  called out of the 
 forest around  Kyle's citadel. The  ride had  been long and  hard, and 
 they had made it  in just five days by leaving  an hour before sunrise
 and  riding for  an hour  after sunset  every day.  That didn't  leave 
 much time  for sleeping,  much less other  nighttime games,  but their 
 mission was  serious. Morion's rapport  with Kimmentari had  given him 
 as much  of an  understanding of  Thyerin's Dance  as he  could grasp, 
 and he  saw what  the Dance had  planned out for  Je'en if  she didn't 
 receive   the  circlet   in  time:   full  mental   possession  by   a
 power-hungry wizard.
     Morion  pondered  what to  do  when  they  arrived in  Magnus.  It 
 wouldn't  be easy  to  put  Kimme's plan  into  practice: unless  very 
 powerful,  those persons  able to  harness  the Power  seldom made  it 
 generally  known that  they could,  as magic-use  wasn't (in  general)
 looked upon  with much  favor. Morion  no longer  had the  contacts he 
 once had in the  Crown City. He had been away too  long. He thought of 
 just going to  the Castle with the  vague hope of meeting  some of his
 old  military  friends when  he  hit  upon  the perfect  solution.  It 
 wouldn't  be very  nice to  put  an extra  load on  Coridan, since  he 
 would  certainly be  having a  busy  day as  the Falcon  Herald at  an
 official  Baranur function,  but the  young  man was  the only  person 
 that Morion was sure to know at Court. 
     He  decided not  to  intrude  on whatever  last  minutes of  peace 
 Coridan  was likely  to be  having this  celebration-eve, and  he took 
 Kimme to the Inn  he stayed in whenever he was in  Magnus. They made a
 noticeable pair  as the warrior and  the alien woman rode  through the 
 streets. At  the Inn, Kimme  drew some  long stares, but  the presence
 of Morion  prevented any  overt hostility  her strangeness  might have 
 precipitated. The  Inn had  changed hands  since Morion's  last visit,
 but  its quality  hadn't suffered  in the  exchange and  he and  Kimme
 spent a  very restful  night making  up for all  the shortage  of rest
 they had had on their ride. 
     Morion and  Kimme set off  to the  Castle early the  next morning: 
 so  early  that  the  kitchen  of   the  Inn  hadn't  yet  opened  for
 breakfast,  forcing the  pair  to leave  without  eating. Despite  the 
 hour,  there  were  a  good  number of  people  up  and  about  making 
 preparations for the  Celebration Parade that wouldn't  even start out 
 from the  Castle until high noon.  It was dark enough  in the pre-dawn
 gloaming that Kimme  received no undue attention.  Morion was careful,
 however, to go out  of his way to stay out of even  the fringes of the 
 Fifth Quarter  - he  had no intention  of risking his  life for  a few
 less minutes walking time. 
     Magnus was  a huge city.  Morion knew  that it had  no competition 
 for the  title of Largest City  of Baranur. It could  hold an infinite 
 number of  villages the  size of  Tench, and even  cities the  size of
 Dargon or Endeirion  would vanish two or three times  worth within the
 limits of  Magnus. Morion and  Kimmentari had several miles  walk (not 
 including the  detour), and the  sun was  just beginning to  peek over
 the  horizon by  the time  they reached  the outer  wall of  the Crown
 Castle itself.
     The walk  around and around  the rings surrounding the  Castle was
 as tiring as the  walk from the Inn, and the sun was  well up into the
 sky by  the time Morion and  Kimme reached the entrance  to the Castle 
 itself. More than  an hour later, after bullying his  way through more 
 minor court  functionaries than he  could count, Morion  finally found 
 himself  in  the  reception  room   of  Coridan's  quarters.  He  made
 personally sure  that a page  had been  sent to summon  Coridan before 
 allowing himself to relax and calmly await the Herald's arrival. 
     After  what seemed  like days  but was  only about  half an  hour,
 Coridan appeared. It  took a moment for Morion to  be certain of that,
 though  - the  young Herald  was dressed  in a  plain brown  tunic and 
 leggings,  dress more  suited  to  a page,  or  rather a  house-squire 
 because of  his age. As  Morion rose to  greet him, the  question must 
 have  been  on  his  face  because Coridan,  after  glancing  down  at
 himself  and smiling,  answered, "I  am dressed  like this  because it
 makes it  easier to  spy. While most  of the castle  staff know  me on 
 sight, we  have almost doubled the  number of servitors in  the castle
 for the  celebration, and  most of  the new staff  don't know  me from
 the  king. So,  I go  around  and make  sure that  things are  getting
 done, and  nothing is getting stolen.  The guards are looking  out for
 that sort  of thing as well,  but it makes  me happier to see  to some
 of it myself.
     "Besides,  you should  hear the  staff gossip  when they  think no 
 one is  listening! I get  more news in this  disguise than all  of the
 king's spies  can ferret  out. Why,  I just  heard that  Lady Merritan
 had been seen...
     "Sorry,  Lord Morion.  I forgot  myself, please  forgive me.  Now,
 what  brings you  here  with such  urgent business,  and  who is  your
 lovely companion?"
     Morion said,  "Master Coridan,  allow me to  introduce you  to the 
 Lady  Kimmentari,  a highborn  of  the  Araf.  My Lady  Kimmentari,  I 
 present to you Master Coridan, Falcon Herald of Baranur." 
     Coridan and  Kimme bowed to  each other, then Kimme  stretched out
 her hand,  and Coridan  properly kissed it  in greeting.  Morion could 
 see that  Kimme's strangeness  fascinated the herald  - the  young man
 could hardly tear  his eyes away from  her when he said,  "The Araf? I 
 don't believe  I've ever  heard mention  of them.  Where did  you meet
 her, Morion?"
     Kimme answered, "My  people are a very secretive race  who live in
 tune  with the  Dances of  Thyerin.  It was  one such  dance, that  of 
 Ahar'yKinel, that  crossed the  paths of Morion  and myself  and which
 brings us here." 
     Morion continued, "I  met Kimmentari on that quest  you brought to
 my door  so long ago. She  appeared out of the  rain one day as  I was 
 going to meet  Kyle's challenge, and told me about  Belliern. She also
 said  that there  was  a further  purpose in  my  meeting Kyle  beyond
 freeing him from  the demon that had possessed him  and protecting the
 villages  of Baranur  from his  ravages -  namely, that  I retrieve  a
 crystal circlet  from his citadel and  deliver it to one  of my former
 pupils, Je'lanthra'en. 
     "When  I had  defeated Kyle,  she  appeared again,  got the  dying 
 Kyle to  explain what had  happened to him.  Then, she reminded  me of 
 my secondary  mission and tried  to warn me to  be careful. I  went to
 Kyle's citadel by the  same means that he had used to  get in and out,
 and eventually  found the  circlet. But the  demon that  had possessed 
 him had  also laid  a trap  for anyone going  after the  circlet. That
 trap almost killed me, and would have if not for Kimme's intervention.
     "The healing sleep  she had to put us into  wasted more than three 
 weeks of  the time before the  deadline established by the  pattern of 
 the  Dance to  get the  circlet to  Je'en. That  deadline is  just two
 days hence:  far too long  to get to Dargon  even by the  fastest mode 
 of transport  available. And so we  came to you, because  Kimme had an
 idea  about how  to  get the  circlet to  Je'en  without us  traveling 
 there. Kimme?"
     "I know  an enchantment that  will enable  us to send  the circlet
 by  magical means  to Je'lanthra'en,"  said  Kimme. "But  to send  the
 artifact  so far  will  require far  more effort  than  I, alone,  can
 muster. In  fact, it will take  at least a score  of human power-users
 to put forth enough effort to get the circlet to Dargon."
     "And," said  Morion, "I decided to  come to you for  help, because
 I figured  that you  know all  of the magicians  and sorcerers  in the 
 Kingdom, or  at least  who would know  them. If you  will help  us, it
 will save  valuable time in  gathering enough people to  power Kimme's
 spell. So, will you?" 
     Coridan took his  time pondering the story and what  help he might 
 possibly be. He  believed it - Kimmentari's appearance  alone gave all
 the credence  necessary to  Morion's tale.  But magicians  were mostly
 reclusive, and wary  of letting knowledge of their  abilities get out. 
 In  some parts  of  the kingdom  sorcery wasn't  as  frowned upon  but 
 here, in  the Crown City, magic  was looked down upon  except where it
 was always  beneficent, like the healers.  For some, if the  fact that 
 they  were users  of magic  became known,  it would  destroy them  and 
 their  businesses. So  Coridan thought  long and  hard before  finally
 agreeing to help.
     A  discussion  of details  kept  Coridan  from  his duties  for  a 
 further hour.  It was finally  decided that  a message would  be given
 discreetly to  all of  the 'power-users' (as  Kimmentari put  it) that 
 Coridan knew  of to meet  at Coridan's rooms in  the last hour  of the 
 day. Coridan  would also distribute the  message to the few  people he 
 knew that  would have a broader  acquaintance with users of  magic. In 
 all,  Coridan assured  Morion  and Kimmentari,  there  should be  well 
 over a score of people to aid in the conjuring. 
     The time  between Coridan's leaving  and the arrival of  the first 
 of the  magic users late that  night was occupied by  three things for
 Morion  and  Kimmentari: eating  (first,  a  large breakfast,  then  a
 moderate lunch  not too long  after the  breakfast, a dinner  at about 
 the proper time,  and intermittent snacks, mostly as  the evening wore 
 on and  there was little  else to  do); preparing for  the enchantment
 (which  consisted of  Kimme  listing  the things  she  and the  others
 would need, and  Morion sending pages looking for the  items so listed
 in what, at  times, amounted to a treasure hunt  all across Magnus for
 the more esoteric  needs); and, by far the  most pleasurable pass-time 
 for the  pair, just being  together. What with  all of the  travel and
 worry of  the past  days, the  two hadn't  had much  time to  be alone
 together. Of  course, they were  more tightly joined than  was humanly 
 possible for a  couple under normal circumstances:  Morion could still 
 feel  the  resonances  of  Kimme's   mind  within  his  own  when  the
 conditions were  just right.  But it  was still nice  to just  sit and
 touch and talk at times.
     It was after  midnight when Coridan arrived in  his apartments and 
 announced that  there would be  no one  else coming. He  joined Morion 
 as the  only other non-participant in  the room over next  to one wall 
 where they  would both out  of the  way, and watched  the thirty-seven
 users of power,  directed by Kimmentari of the Afar,  begin the ritual
 that  she had  explained  to  the first  few  arrivals,  who had  then 
 instructed those who came later.
     The  ritual  was  taking  place   in  the  largest  of  the  rooms 
 belonging to Coridan,  which had been cleared of furniture  as part of
 the  preparation  that  Kimme  and  Morion  had  engaged  in  earlier.
 Cushions on  the floor, and two  chairs against the far  wall were the
 only non-magical  trappings left  in the room.  The 37  magicians were
 arranged  in three  patterned  rings around  Kimme.  Within the  inner 
 ring where  Kimme sat slightly  off center  was a forked  candle stick 
 mounted with  a tall  red candle  and a much  shorter purple  one. The
 red candle  had come  out of  the castle's stores,  but the  making of
 the  purple  one  had  taken  much   time  and  many  of  the  strange
 ingredients the pages had been forced to hunt for.
     When everyone was  seated comfortably, Kimme said,  "The object of
 this conjuration has  been relayed to each and every  one of you. Most 
 of the  detailed effort  shall be handled  by me, as  I have  the best 
 knowledge  of the  enchantment  required,  and I  have  as accurate  a
 mental  picture as  is possible  of the  target, one  Je'lanthre'en, a 
 former pupil  of my Lord  Morion. The rest  of you are  to concentrate 
 on the two candles  before me. Try to keep both of  them in focus, but
 of the  two, the shorter  one is the more  important. I shall  start a 
 chant to get us  all in rhythm - from there, each  of you use whatever 
 method you prefer to pool your power around the candles. 
     "Is everyone ready? Then, let up begin. Hmmmmm..." 
     Morion  watched as  the  37  magicians began  to  chant and  sway.
 Slowly, they  all began to  speak and move as  one. When they  were as
 attuned as they  could get, Kimme eased herself out  of the chant-meld 
 and began to  conjure. She huddled over the silk  pillow that bore the 
 circlet.  The  pillow  contained  even weirder  things  than  did  the
 purple  candle, and  it was  from those  strange stuffings  that Kimme
 was attempting to  produce what she called an awyrdyn  - a creature of
 another  plane  that  could  be  bound to  this  one  for  a  specific
 duration,  such  as  'until  the  completion of  a  given  task'.  The 
 necessity of  the pooling of powers  was that it was  draining to open
 a  planar  gate  (which  was  the  function  of  the  pillow  and  its
 stuffings), and  even more draining  to bind the creature  so summoned
 to its  task (in  which the  purple candle would  aid). Kimme  and her
 kind  were strongly  steeped  in  the useage  of  the  power, but  she 
 needed to be sure  that both the gate and the  bond lasted long enough
 to get the awyrdyn  all the way to Dargon safely  with the circlet. It 
 wouldn't  help  the  spell's   effectiveness  any  that  the  clearest
 impression/image  of Je'en  that Kimme  could get  from Morion's  mind 
 was very vague and  could almost as well be applied  to any of Je'en's 
 family at least by the criteria that the awyrdyn was capable of using.
     Time  seemed to  slow down  for the  two watchers.  So little  was 
 happening,  and what  was was  so  boring. Coridan  almost nodded  off
 several times - but  then, he had been up since very  early and it was 
 very  late. Morion  had had  enough rest  that he  was able  to resist 
 closing his  eyes, but  the sameness of  the ritual  almost hypnotised
 him into  unconciousness at least  as many  times as Coridan.  A rough 
 estimate  of the  time told  Morion that  more than  half an  hour had
 passed  before  he  finally  noticed the  faint  blurriness  that  was
 hovering like a small cloud around the small pillow.
     After  rubbing his  eyes  to  be sure  that  they weren't  playing
 tricks  on  him,  he  began  to   pay  close  attention  to  what  was 
 developing on  and around  the circlet.  The wavering  cloud thickened
 until it  almost blotted out the  pillow and circlet, both  visible as
 wavery  outlines  within the  form  of  the wraith-like  thing  formed
 around them.  It was vaguely human  in shape, but there  was no detail 
 to its  body - it  looked like a wax  shop mannequin before  it's been
 sculpted to look a little more natural.
     The chant  began to speed  up a little  as Kimme began  the second 
 part of  the ritual, that of  impressing the task on  the awyrdyn, and
 she started  drawing power  faster. The red  candle had  burned rather 
 rapidly until  it was the  size of the  purple candle, at  which point
 both began  to melt at  about the same rate  (which was faster  than a 
 normal  candle  would  melt).  As the  purple  candle  shortened,  the
 awyrdyn seemed  to grow darker  in shade, from the  milky translucence 
 it began as  to a deeper and  deeper violet. Adding color  to its form 
 didn't help  its definition,  though -  in fact,  making it  easier to 
 see   was  definitely   disturbing.  When   it  was   indistinct,  its
 formlessness  could be  accepted. Now  that it  was fully  visible and
 purple, the utter lack of features was unnerving.
     As  the ritual  continued, signs  of fatigue  began to  show among
 those supplying  the power  for it.  Sweat beaded  the brows  of most,
 and some  were dripping  from the  exertion. A  few of  the marginally 
 talented who  had come only to  show off their ability  were seriously 
 straining to  keep up  with the  rest - they  would have  dropped out,
 but they  all knew  what that  would do  to the  rhythm that  had been
 built up. 
     Finally, both  the red  and purple candles  were little  more than 
 stubs in the  candellabra. Kimme uttered a command that  grated on the
 ears  of  all  who  heard   it  -  a  decidedly  unpleasant  sensation 
 especially from one  whose voice was normally so music-like  - and the
 awyrdyn began  to rise to  the ceiling of  the room. The  circlet rose 
 with it,  held within its  body somehow. Of  the pillow that  had held
 the circlet,  there was  no sign. When  the wraith-thing  had vanished 
 from  the room,  Kimme gave  another, more  pleasant command,  and the
 chant  stopped  even  though  no  one  present  could  understand  the 
 language  she  used. The  candles  also  extinguished themselves,  and
 there was silence in  the room for almost half a  minute, until one of 
 the magic users moaned loudly and collapsed.
     Quiet chaos  reigned in  Coridan's room  as the  overcome magician 
 was taken  away to be tended  and the other power  users filtered away
 to  rejoin the  celebration below.  Finally, only  Morion, Kimme,  and
 Coridan were left in the room. Coridan said, "Did it work?" 
     Kimme,  who  looked tired  but  not  exhausted, said,  "It  should 
 have. There was  enough power present, and enough time  to prepare the 
 enchantment properly.  But I have  not been  able to see  whether this 
 will work within the weave of Thyerin's dance, so we can only hope."
     Morion said,  "Thank you, Coridan,  for letting us use  your rooms 
 for this, and for  all your help in gathering the  people we needed to 
 make it  work. Do you  think there are any  free guest rooms  we could
 sleep in? It's a long way back to the Inn..."
     "Don't even  think of  moving from  this room,  you two.  You have 
 done enough  for one day,  and you'll take  your rest right  here. You 
 know where the  bed is - use  it. I have duties elsewhere  that I have
 shirked to  be here to  watch your  Lady work. I  have to get  back to 
 them now,  so go  ahead and  sleep. And don't  worry about  me -  if I 
 need a rest,  I can find places  more suited to a busy  and single man
 than to a couple  who want to sleep for hours. See  you in the morning 
 - or rather, later this morning. Pleasant dreams."
     As Morion  lay letting sleep  overcome him, arms around  Kimme who
 was  already asleep,  he  wondered whether  Kimme's enchantment  would 
 prove  effective. Finally,  he  decided that  it had  to  - there  was 
 certainly nothing  he or  she could  do about it  now anyway.  Time to
 stop  worrying about  his old  mission, and  start thinking  about his 
 future  with  Kimme  at   Pentamorlo.  With  those  pleasant  thoughts
 running through his mind, he fell asleep. 

                                  Theft 
     Je'en  stood in  front of  the mirror,  a battle  going on  in her
 mind.  Her body  trembled from  the effort  she was  putting into  the
 fight. Her  left hand was locked,  white knuckled, on the  edge of her
 mask, and much of the battle going on was over how to move that hand. 
     The room she  was in was one  of the lesser guest  rooms in Dargon 
 Castle. Sounds of  merriment came faintly to her from  the Ball in the 
 High Court,  and from the  smaller celebrations that had  been brought 
 to some of  the rooms in the  guest wings. She was alone  in the room, 
 and no  one knew she  was there,  which was as  the thing in  her mind 
 commanded. The  thing that had forced  her there, and that  was trying
 to force her to remove her mask.
     The thing -  the presence - in her mind  had been gaining strength
 ever since  that day  that she  had learned of  her parents  coming to
 Dargon for  Kroan's wedding.  It had  finally been  able to  force her
 into Abernald's  Apothecary just a  few nights ago. Abernald  had been 
 killed  that night.  She  wasn't  quite sure  that  she  had done  the 
 killing - she  didn't remember. Perhaps someone might  have slipped in 
 through  a door  left open  by her  to do  it. But  she had  a sinking
 feeling that the deed had been done by her - or the thing in her mind.
     She knew  that Cefn was worried  about her. She had  been aware of
 his concern for a  long time, but the thing had  enough control of her 
 mind to  force her not to  react. She turned aside  his questions, and 
 simply ignored him when he got too insistent. 
     He had  put on a  good show of normalcy  earlier that day  when he 
 had arrived at her  house to escort her to the  Ball. They were almost 
 normal  together.  But she  knew  what  she  had  in the  satchel  she 
 brought, and had a  vague idea what the thing intended  for her to do.
 She knew that the Ball would be far from normal for her. 
     Somewhere around the  10th hour of the night, she  broke away from
 Cefn at the  command of the thing  in her mind. She  had been covertly
 eyeing all of  the unattached males at the Ball,  as per instructions, 
 and  had selected  the perfect  specimen for  her deception.  When she
 left Cefn without  a word of explanation and latched  onto her choice,
 she saw  the hurt  in Cefn's  stance -  she had  become very  adept at 
 reading her  partner in ways that  didn't involve the face  (which she 
 seldom saw much  of). His hurt hurt  her, but she had  her orders, and
 she didn't seem to be able to disobey them. 
     The  young  knight, resplendent  in  his  green jeweled  belt  and 
 golden spurs, was  much flattered by Je'en's  attentions. He willingly
 let her  lead him  around, especially  when she led  him away  to what 
 she said was her  room. As soon as they were alone  in the empty room,
 Je'en slipped  from her belt  pouch one of  the small spheres  she had 
 made  from the  things taken  from the  Apothecary. It  broke properly 
 when  dropped, releasing  a  fast-rising cloud  of  white powder  that
 soon had the knight sleeping peacefully on the bed.
     Je'en then  slipped unnoticed out of  that room, and made  her way
 to another.  She slipped  into dark clinging  clothing from  her pack,
 and donned a  hood. And then came  the moment when she  stood in front 
 of the  mirror fighting the presence  in her mind's command  to remove
 her mask.  Everything she had  done at its  command so far  she hadn't
 been able  to resist,  no matter  how repellent  to her.  But removing
 her mask was too much of a violation of her self. She had to fight it. 
     The  presence again  commanded  her to  remove  the bright  silver 
 mask.  It  was  easily  recognized,  and hard  to  hide.  Je'en  again
 refused. It  was her strongest link  to her new self,  and without it,
 she felt she would  just be a songless bard with  a maimed right hand. 
 The presence insisted,  and Je'en could feel the pressure  on her mind
 increasing  until she  could no  longer bear  it. With  a satisfyingly
 final gesture,  her left hand moved  away from her face,  bringing the 
 mask  with it.  A  casual  toss relegated  the  silver  object to  the
 shadowy corners of the room, where it was forgotten. 
     The once  again fully controlled  Je'en pulled her hood  down over 
 her face,  hefted her satchel,  and slipped  out of the  room, heading 
 for the depths of Castle Dargon. 
     Three-quarters of  an hour later,  Je'en stood before a  huge door 
 in  the deepest  and oldest  part of  Dargon Castle.  Few people  knew
 about the sub-dungeons  she now stood in, or that  they had been built 
 long before  the Castle  itself had. The  somewhat faded  Dargon Crest
 painted on the  vault door before her covered, but  did not well hide, 
 the original  markings on the  door - markings  in the runic  style of
 the Fretheod Empire.
     Six people  normally stood  guard around  this most  secret vault.
 All six had  been taken care of  by the dust in the  spheres as easily 
 as all  of the  other guards  Je'en had  passed on  her way  down. She
 walked up  to the next  obstacle in her  path and examined  the series 
 of locks  that bound the  vault closed. From  a separate pouch  in her 
 satchel, she  removed a  small wineskin that  was filled  with another
 special  mixture. Placing  the nozzle  in the  largest keyhole,  Je'en
 gently  squeezed  the  fluid  into the  locking  mechanism.  When  the
 wineskin was empty, she stepped back and waited.
     Soon,  thin white  smoke  began issuing  from  the keyhole.  Je'en 
 still  waited, until  the smoke  turned black,  then ceased.  She went
 back over  to the vault door  and lightly touched the  handle. Finding 
 it hot,  as expected,  she used  the wineskin to  protect her  skin as
 she pulled  the door open  with ease. As it  came open, a  grainy grey 
 powder began to leak  out of the bolt hole - all that  was left of the 
 locking mechanisms. 
     The  vault itself  was  huge,  but mostly  empty.  Along the  wall
 opposite  the door  was a  small locked  cabinet and  there were  some
 shelves on  the left hand  wall that  bore some decrepit  antiques, so 
 poorly maintained that  there was no telling what they  had once been. 
 But  Je'en wasn't  interested  in what  was  in the  vault  - she  was
 looking for what was under the vault.
     In the  very center of  the vault's floor  was an ornate  inlay of 
 what  seemed to  be a  compass rose,  save that  the four  main points
 were  lettered in  runic  Fretheodan,  and they  didn't  point in  the 
 normal directions.  Je'en didn't even  notice this, but went  to stand 
 on one  of the lesser points.  She gave the passwords  that would open
 the   vault-within-a-vault,   three    nonsense   syllables   in   Low 
 Fretheodan. The words  came to her from the presence  in her mind, and 
 she repeated  them out loud. When  the last echo had  died, a rumbling 
 began. Slowly, the  main axis of the 'compass' began  to rise, bearing
 with it  the treasure Je'en  had been directed  to retrieve -  the map
 to  the hiding  place of  the keseth,  the key  to unlock  that hiding
 place, and  the skull of the  only person who  knew how to get  by the
 traps guarding that hiding place.

                              Another Theft 
     Ka'en  changed  into  the  Castle  Guard  uniform  he  had  pieced 
 together  after entering  an empty  guest room  as close  as he  could
 find to  the servant's  wing of  the Castle.  Getting into  the Castle
 hadn't been  as difficult as  he had feared  - he still  retained some 
 of the sneak-thief skills his first master had taught him.
     He  had spent  as  little time  as possible  at  the Ball  itself,
 mostly  from fear  of meeting  his cousin  and her  friends and  being
 recognized.  He hadn't  accepted their  invitation to  go to  the Ball
 with them  because it would  have complicated  his mission to  have to
 alibi himself to  them when he vanished. He put  the finishing touches
 on his disguise and slipped out of the room and down into the cellars. 
     Once  into the  under-levels of  the castle,  Ka'en began  to walk 
 purposefuly  through the  hallways,  as  if he  were  on an  important 
 errand. He came  to the first set of stairs  leading into the dungeons 
 proper and was  astonished to see the posted guard  lying on the floor 
 next to  the portal.  He knelt  next to  the prone  man and  noticed a
 light dusting of fine  white powder on and around him.  A touch to the
 side of the  throat assured Ka'en that the man  was just sleeping even 
 though  he was  breathing  so shallowly  that he  seemed  dead to  the 
 casual glance.  Ka'en wondered  exactly who and  what had  happened to
 the man as he continued onward and downward. 
     By the  time he  reached the  second sub-level,  which was  as far
 down  as  most people  thought  the  Castle  went, Ka'en  was  getting 
 annoyed. Someone  had preceeded him  into the depths of  Dargon Castle
 and without  a shread  of the subtlety  that he had  taken so  long to 
 insure. Each  and every guard Ka'en  had passed had been  lying on the
 floor, covered in  white powder, asleep. It was a  crude but effective
 way to  gain access  to the lowest  levels of the  castle and  it made 
 Ka'en's guard disguise utterly useless. 
     He  entered  the  foundation  levels of  the  castle  quietly  and 
 cautiously, wary  of whoever had  drugged the guards since  they could 
 still be down  there. The age and style of  the architecture he passed 
 through was lost  on him - he didn't have  the experience to recognize 
 ancient Fretheodan  ornamentation or  construction techniques  nor the
 concentration  to spare  even if  he had  the knowledge.  He began  to
 hear noises  from up ahead,  strange sounds like conversation  but not 
 in  any language  he understood.  He finally  came to  the end  of the 
 hall he  had been  following and  saw the open  vault door,  the vault 
 that  was his  own reason  for  being here  this evening.  He saw  the
 small vault within  the larger vault that held the  papers he had been 
 hired  to  procure;  he  saw  the shelves  on  the  walls  with  their 
 strange,  incomprehensible contents;  and  he saw  someone dressed  in
 black standing on  the design in the center of  the floor and watching 
 a portion of that design rise slowly into the air. 
     When the  hidden crypt  had fully revealed  itself, the  person in 
 black pushed back his  - no, her - hood and  squatted down to retrieve 
 the contents. It  took Ka'en a moment to place  the familiar face, but
 when  he finally  recognized  Je'en  (the scar  threw  him  off for  a 
 moment), he  gasped involuntarily, realizing  that she must  have been
 the one  to drug the  guards. He wondered  what was so  valuable about 
 the contents of the hidden crypt that would draw Je'en to steal them.
     Je'en heard Ka'en  gasp and whirled and straightened  with a grace 
 and fluidity that  again astonished Ka'en. He knew that  she was now a 
 warrior but  to see the  skill in her  stance and bearing  proved what 
 he had  been told. She  scanned the room  looking for a  weapon, since
 she hadn't  brought her  own. Her  eyes fell on  one of  the antiques,
 and she dashed  over to it. Drawing it left-handed,  she continued her
 dash right  over to  Ka'en. When he  saw the murder  in her  eyes, his
 instincts overcame his confusion, and he drew his steel to meet her.
     But Ka'en  was a  thief, not  a warrior.  He could  defend himself 
 against the types  he was likely to  meet in his job,  but not against
 one who  made a  living by the  sword. Also, there  was the  fact that
 Je'en  was  family to  restrain  his  reactions.  On her  part,  Je'en
 wasn't pulling  her blows for any  reason, and Ka'en wasn't  even sure
 that she  recognized him at  all. He parried  like mad, and  tried the
 few disarming tricks  he knew, but Je'en's skill was  too great. After
 only a few  minutes of frantic battle, she slipped  her borrowed blade 
 deep into her cousin's side. 
     Ka'en  knew intense  pain and  his blade  clattered to  the floor, 
 his  body following  it  seconds  later. His  wound  bled freely,  and 
 Ka'en could feel  the warm pool growing against his  side. He watched, 
 too weak  to protest  or call for  aid, as Je'en  calmly pulled  a bag
 from  her satchel  and  filled  it with  the  three  objects from  the
 hidden crypt. Then, she  put the bag back away and  walked over to the 
 vault door, without even a glance for her cousin and victim. 
     The  blood  that  drained  from  Ka'en's  side  also  drained  his 
 strength. He  tried to  pull himself  after her,  but he  could barely
 even  move his  arms, much  less his  whole body.  And then  something 
 happened  to assure  him that  he was  on his  way to  death. Just  as 
 Je'en  reached  the  vault  door,  there  was  a  faint  *pop*  and  a
 beautiful  silver and  white  circlet appeared,  hovering about  three 
 feet  off the  ground. It  wavered back  and forth  between Je'en  and
 Ka'en,  but she  didn't  even notice  it and  kept  walking. When  she 
 turned the corner  to head for the stairs, the  circlet seemed to make
 up its  mind. It drifted quickly  over to Ka'en and  settled gently to
 the floor  right in front of  him. His efforts  to touch it to  see if 
 it was real sapped the last of his strength, and he fainted dead away.

                                 Mystery
     Cefn was getting  ready to leave when the guards  came to get him. 
 He had only stayed  as long as he had because  of a conversation Kroan
 had  gotten him  into with  a visiting  Countess -  he had  managed to 
 forget  about  Je'en's  peculiar  behavior  until  Margreth  had  been 
 called away.  He was on his  way to say good  bye to Kroan when  a man 
 and a  woman dressed in  the uniform of the  Castle Guards came  up to
 him  and  asked him  if  he  would come  with  them.  Puzzled but  not
 worried,  he followed  them as  they led  him down  into the  cellars,
 then the dungeons,  then the sub-levels, and finally to  a part of the
 castle  he had  never known  about, a  part obviously  older than  the 
 rest. They had  passed little groups of guards and  other castle staff
 clustered  about  apparently sleeping  guards  on  the way  down,  and
 there  was a  much  larger congregation  of guards  and  staff on  the 
 lowest level  of the castle.  Cefn was  lead through the  confusion of
 people  and into  what appeared  to be  a huge  vault. He  noticed the 
 strange  contents as  he  was  lead through  it  and  over to  another
 cluster of people near one wall. 
     One of  his guides said,  "Sergeant Hammin,  here is Lord  Cefn as
 you requested."
     A woman  rose from the  cluster of people and  smiled. "Greetings, 
 Lord Cefn. We seem  to have a little problem here.  None of the Castle 
 healers can be reached  right now, and this man is  very near death. I 
 was wondering if  you might be able  to help him pull  through so that 
 we can find out just what went on here?" 
     As Hammin was  speaking, the cluster of people  broke up revealing
 to  Cefn the  bloody body  of Ka'en.  He immediatly  stooped down  and 
 made sure  that Je'en's cousin was  still alive. Cefn wasn't  a healer 
 -  his talents  didn't run  in that  direction. But  he was  good with 
 artifacts, and  he made  sure that  he kept  some healing  crystals on
 his person  for emergencies. He quickly  fished in his belt  pouch and 
 drew out three  long green rods. He carefully  rearranged Ka'en's body
 so that he could  get to the wound, and touched the  first of the rods
 to  it. It  began  to glow,  and  the blood  stopped  oozing from  the
 wound.  When the  rod began  to shorten  as if  it was  being absorbed 
 into  Ka'en's body,  Cefn grasped  the hilt  of the  sword firmly  and 
 drew it out of  the wound. The first rod was soon  gone, and Cefn used 
 his knife to  cut away Ka'en's tunic from the  wound. Then, he applied 
 the  second and  third  rods one  after  the other.  As  each rod  was 
 absorbed, the wound  closed more and more, and  Ka'en's color improved
 from the  deathly pale of  heavy bloodloss,  to an almost  healthy (in
 comparison) slightly wan. 
     By the time  the last rod was gone, Ka'en  had begun stirring. The 
 properly fatal wound in  his side had been reduced to  a bad slash and
 nothing more.  Enough of his  vital fluids  had been replaced  that he
 was in no  danger of death -  at least from his wound.  From the looks 
 of the guards,  though, Ka'en had better have a  good reason for being 
 in the vault wearing a makeshift guard's uniform.
     Cefn left Ka'en  to the care of  Hammin for a moment,  and went to
 examine  the crypt  that stood  open in  the center  of the  vault. He 
 looked in  the holding  tray and  saw that it  was empty.  He examined
 what he could  see of the mechanisms, but could  tell little save that
 they were very old  and very well made. He could  sense a subtle magic
 around  the  crypt,  but  it  wasn't a  strong  enough  impression  to
 determine type or purpose. 
     His attention  was drawn  to a  knot of people  around one  of the 
 sleeping guards, who did  not seem to want to wake  up. Cefn went over 
 to  where the  guard lay,  and noticed  for the  first time  the white
 powder that covered  him and the wall and floor  around him. Searching
 carefully,  he  produced  shards  of what  seemed  to  be  unnaturally 
 brittle wax.  He brushed  his finger through  the powder,  and sniffed
 it. Sleeping dust.  He isolated the main ingredients in  his mind, and 
 realized  that  the most  important  one  could  only have  come  from 
 Abernald's - the  shop whose owner had been killed  not long ago after
 a break in. He  told a guard what would act as  an antidote, then went
 back to check on Ka'en.
     Je'en's  cousin   had  recovered  even  further   as  the  healing
 elements of  the green  rods continued  to do  their work  even inside 
 his  body. Ka'en  was sitting  propped up  against the  wall, drinking
 from a wineskin  someone had brought with them. Cefn  checked him over
 again  to make  sure  that  he would  be  alright,  and then  Sergeant
 Hammin asked  him just  what he was  doing dressed as  a guard  in the
 most secret vault in Dargon. 
     Ka'en  circumvented the  direct question  by telling  them instead 
 about how  he had  seen Je'en open  the hidden crypt  and how  she had 
 attacked him and  left him for dead, taking the  contents of the crypt
 when she left.  No one had even  known that the crypt  existed, and no
 one knew  what signifigance the scroll,  key, and skull might  have to 
 anyone. Then,  Ka'en told  about the appearance  of the  circlet. Cefn
 examined it as  he had the crypt and again  found faint but unreadable 
 traces  of magic,  both on  it and  in it.  From what  he could  tell, 
 though, the magic he  could sense on it was whatever  had been used to 
 make it  appear in the  vault. The magic  within the circlet  was like 
 nothing Cefn had  ever sensed before though if there  had been more of
 it he might have been able to figure it out. 
     Cefn eventually managed  to talk Hammin into letting  him go after 
 Je'en. He  reasoned with  her that  he had  more experience  in chases 
 like this would be,  and that he had another motive  for finding her -
 Je'en  didn't normally  go around  stealing  things that  no one  else
 even knew  existed. Something  strange was going  on, and  Cefn wanted 
 to find out what,  and help Je'en out of whatever  trouble she was in.
 Ka'en  had more  difficulty getting  himself  out of  trouble, but  he
 hadn't  even taken  anything  after all.  When  Hammin pronounced  him
 free, he  stated that  he wanted  to help Cefn  help Je'en.  They left
 the Castle together, both trying to figure out how to find Je'en. 
                       -John L. White  <WHITE@DUVM> 

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                       -John L. White  <WHITE@DUV