1141 lines
67 KiB
Plaintext
1141 lines
67 KiB
Plaintext
From WHITE@DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU Tue May 12 10:35:49 1992
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Received: from DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU by eff.org with SMTP id AA26851
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(5.65c/IDA-1.4.4/pen-ident for <RITA@EFF.ORG>); Tue, 12 May 1992 10:35:38 -0400
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Message-Id: <199205121435.AA26851@eff.org>
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Received: from DUVM by DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU (IBM VM SMTP R1.2.2MX) with BSMTP id 3310; Tue, 12 May 92 10:31:37 EDT
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Date: Tue, 12 May 92 10:31:27 EDT
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From: "Avid Reader - Fledgling Writer" <WHITE@DUVM.OCS.DREXEL.EDU>
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To: RITA@EFF.ORG
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Status: OR
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1 /
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DDDDD ZZZZZZ //
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D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE ||
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 3
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-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Issue 7
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DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
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\\
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\
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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-- DargonZine Volume 3, Issue 7 05/11/90 Cir 970 --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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-- Contents --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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DAG Dafydd Editorial
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The Bronze Horseman I Max Khaytsus Sy 10-Seber 22, '13
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Hunting of the Red Tiger II M. Wendy Hennequin Neber 1013
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A Night Off the Town M. Wendy Hennequin 15 Mertz, 1014
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 Dafydd's Amber Glow
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by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
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(b.c.k.a. <white@DUVM.OCS.Drexel.Edu>)
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Okay, here is, as promised, the scoop on the DargonZine back
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issue archives:
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Back issues of DargonZine are available from the Archive Server
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run by Mark Seiffert. DargonZine has its own section of the Archive in
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the directory called other/digest/DargonZine, with each volume having
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a separate sub-directory for it's issues. There are two auxillary
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files available from the DargonZine directory: the file "index" lists
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the file names and the descriptions of what is in the files; and the
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"list" file is a Unix-style ls-lR file of the files available.
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Back issues are requested from the machine "Archive@mgse" (which
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may have to be translated to "archive%mgse@rex.cs.tulane.edu" from
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some machines) by sending it mail. An example of the commands required
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to get the help file, the index and list files, Volume 1 Issue 1, and
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Volume2 Issue 1 of the magazine is below:
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- cut here ----------------------------------------------------------
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help
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send other/digest/DargonZine/list
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send other/digest/DargonZine/index
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send other/digest/DargonZine/vol01/issue01
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send other/digest/DargonZine/vol02/issue01
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- cut here ----------------------------------------------------------
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The files are also available for anonymous uucp at 504-467-1069,
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2400 baud, login 'archive' in the directory
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"/archive/other/digest/DargonZine/". Callers at 300 or 1200 baud will
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have to send a break.
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If you have any problems or questions, please contact Mark at
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"archivea@mgse" (or "archivea%mgse@rex.cs.tulane.edu" - Mark is the
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administrator of the Archive and I have little to no knowledge of just
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|
how it works. Please be sure to send your mail files to the right
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place: questions/problems to archivea@mgse, requests for files to
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archive@mgse. Thank you, and thanks to Mark for the service and for
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much of the above explanation.
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The above presented documentation is right out of the DargonZine
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Info file, and, as noted, was culled from the documentation that Mark
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provides for his Server. As I said last issue, I have tested the
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Server and it works. However, it seems to only accept one command at a
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time. So, if you want multiple issues, it would seem that you have to
|
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send multiple mail messages to the machine. But that's no bad thing -
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it will help distribute the load on the network if you don't request
|
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all 13 back issues at once anyway!
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I just have two more things to make note of. Its probably a
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little late for this (should have been in the last issue), but I would
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like to remind those students who receive DargonZine and who are
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leaving school for the summer to unsubscribe (just send me a message
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-its that easy) to save the bandwidth it will take to send your
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account an issue of DargonZine and have it bounce because your account
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is no longer active. When you return in the fall, just send me another
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message and I'll resubscribe you, and you can get the issues you
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missed from Mark's Archive Server! Thank you for the consideration.
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And, lastly, there are a few addresses out there that seem to be
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reachable from the ListServ network that distributes this magazine,
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but not from my personal account. I would like to reassure these
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people, most particularly Cathy Newberry (who is the only account I am
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sure I cannot reach by mail - but there must be others), that I am not
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ignoring their requests for further information. Cathy, I tried to
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send you back issues, and this week the DargonZine Info file so you
|
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could get them yourself. But, no matter what I tried (and that wasn't
|
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as much as it could have been maybe, but I'm no mailer-daemon), our
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Mailer refused to believe that your node exists. I'm terribly sorry
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that I couldn't respond directly to your requests, but I did try.
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Fortunately, I know that the issues make it to you, so above is the
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back issue information.
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Thank you and enjoy DargonZine.
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Dafydd, Editor DargonZine
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 The Bronze Horseman
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Part 1
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by Max Khaytsus
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<b.c.k.a. khaytsus%tramp@boulder.colorado.edu>
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A brigand with a large gap between his teeth handed the lance to
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the young knight on his horse. "He's giving you a chance to die
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fighting, but if you win, the rest of us will kill you." He smiled
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savagely. "You went after the wrong people, boy."
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The knight backhanded the brigand and brought the lance up over
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the saddle. "I see I killed the wrong three. Get out of my way or I'll
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skewer you."
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Another brigand drew his sword. "You be careful what you say or
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you may have to fight without a tongue."
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The knight lowered the tip of his lance to point at the speaker.
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"If I die here today, more will come. Your kind will _not_ rule this
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land." He thrust the lance forward, hitting the brigand in the chest
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hard enough to knock him over. "If I die today, I will do so for a
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good cause and people will remember my name."
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"Now, now, Sir Arvel," someone said behind the knight and he
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turned to face a man dressed in full plate made of bronze, sitting
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atop a night black mount. "Enough of this bragging," the rider went
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on. "I am giving you this chance because you did earn the chain you
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wear and I wish to remove it from you the same way you earned it -- in
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combat."
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"Quinn," Arvel answered, "killing me won't make your life easier.
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You are still an outlaw."
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"Until I am removed by a tribunal, you will refer to me as Sir
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Garwood Quinn."
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"Baron Bankroft already revoked your knighthood!"
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"Baron Bankroft is dead!"
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Arvel glared at the man in the bronze armor.
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"Are the peasants ready?" Quinn asked one of his men.
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"They are all in the field, Sir."
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"Good. If you will, Sir Arvel," Quinn turned to his opponent. "My
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men will escort you to your starting position."
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The gap-toothed brigand took the reins of the horse and lead it
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away. Quinn kicked his horse to a gallop, going to the other side of
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the meadow.
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Arvel's horse was led to a red marker on the edge of the field
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and turned to face in Sir Garwood's direction. The brigand walked away
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and Arvel raised his head to the sky in a silent prayer. As the first
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horn sounded, he leveled his lance. On the second he kicked the horse
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into a trot. Across the field Sir Garwood did the same. The two horses
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gained speed on their charges and the knights collided with a clash.
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Arvel's shield received a great dent in its face. He was not sure if
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it could take another hit like that, but he suspected he did at least
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as much damage to Quinn. He turned his horse and looked to find Quinn.
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The renegade knight adjusted his shield and charged back. Arvel
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shifted his weight in the saddle and urged his own horse forward. Once
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again the two knights collided, but this time Arvel fell from his
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saddle to the ground and Quinn rode back. He dismounted and knelt
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beside the fallen man.
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"See how combat before the gods works?" he asked and took the
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chain of knighthood into his hand. Arvel gasped at the force with
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which the chain was torn off. "You're no knight," Quinn declared and
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slit the fallen man's throat.
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Rien embraced Kera one last time and whispered "Have a safe
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journey," in her ear. Kera pressed harder against him. "I'll miss
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1you."
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After a minute or so they released each other and Kera remounted
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her horse. Rien watched her ride away until she reached the curve in
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the road, where she turned back and waved. He waved back and soon she
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disappeared from sight.
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Rien got back on his horse and kicked it into motion. There was a
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month long trip ahead of him to do a job that should have been taken
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care of months ago. It was to bring to justice, one way or another,
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Sir Garwood Quinn, one of the knights of Baron Bankroft, or rather the
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late Baron Bankroft, who was murdered in cold blood by the said
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renegade a few days before the Melrin festival. Quinn, in his festive,
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pre-holiday spirit, took a few of his men and went out to pillage and
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plunder his baron's lands and set up camp somewhere near the village
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of Phedra, after permanently releaving the local constable.
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That was the report Rien received three weeks ago at the inn,
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telling of something that took place almost two months before that.
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Now Rien's task was to find the renegade knight in the lands he's been
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despoiling and one way or another to take care of him and his dozen or
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so men. Of course by the time Rien arrived, it would be well over
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three months since the initial event and in that time anything could
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have happened. The problem might have already been resolved by the
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local authorities, which was doubtful, as any organized process in the
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Duchy of Quinnat would be unlikely at best. On the other hand, the
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problem also had had a chance to grow, which was the more likely
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event. Rien only hoped it had not grown too much.
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He sent Kera to Sharks' Cove specifically for that reason -- what
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he was about to do was going to be very dangerous. She would be much
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safer on the road than in a fight. She was to go to Armand and take a
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boat to Sharks' Cove to deliver his message that said he had finally
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gotten around to the job. The note also requested his horse and
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equipment and a mount for Kera. Rien had initially left his horse and
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gear behind to assure his co-workers that he would indeed take a break
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this time. All he ended up proving was that he did not need anything
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extra to run into more problems. The vacation became nothing more than
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a disorganized job, but no one would ever hear about that. Rien was
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more restless than Kera showed herself to be in their week long stay
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at the inn in Dargon, but he controlled it better than she. Being
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forced to "relax" and do nothing was sheer torture for him.
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Instead of dying of boredom, Rien managed to obtain an obligation
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to the High Mage (who hopefully still knew nothing of the
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troubleshooters), get a witches coven upset with him (upset enough to
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try and kill him), anger the provincial Dargon mob (which hired an
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assassin to hunt him down) and on top of that, get himself an
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apprentice! Apprentice for what? He worked alone! His association with
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Kera made him wonder about their relationship now that he was finally
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alone and had the chance to think. Was it because he felt sorry for
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her? Was it because he felt responsible for the disease? And why has
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their relationship turned sexual of all things? She didn't even have a
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drop of elven blood. His mate...ex-mate was at least an elf.
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One thing was for sure, Kera lead the type of lifestyle he lead.
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Despite this tie between them there was still a problem. He was more
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than seven times her age and would easily live to see ten times that
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amount. She, at best, would live to the end of the century. In fifteen
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or twenty years she would be on the decline, no longer as strong or as
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agile...and twenty years past that, the same would start happening to
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her mind. Rien was not happy about human mortality. It was the cause
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of the initial conflict between his people and the human race. In a
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matter of two centuries, a few millenia ago, elves almost became an
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extinct race because of their inability to die a natural death. They
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were virtual pacifists back then, permitting themselves to be
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1slaughtered almost to the last.
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To date, Rien knew of only four tribes in existence, all living
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in the same place, Wildwood, in the valley of the Windbourne
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mountains, or Charnelwood -- Darkling Forest -- as the superstitious
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humans in the area preferred to call it. Two of the tribes were
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Ljosalfar. The one he was from and another, of which his ex-mate was a
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member. The other two were Dopkalfar and Rien knew little of them. He
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could find them if he wanted to, but there was never a reason to. The
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Dopkalfar were the ones who insisted that the human lust for elven
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blood should be repaid in kind and it was this desire to survive that
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almost singlehandedly saved the entire race. It was this desire that
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separated the two groups into the broken race they now were. One
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remained peaceful and the other became warriors. The conflict lay in
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the issue of revenge and question of superiority. Did a more civilized
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race have the right to condemn another?
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For the most part Ljosalfar strongly believed that they should
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not fight a war and should simply be ready to leave if the humans ever
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come again. The philosophy of the Dopkalfar was to be ready at all
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times to take on the challenge of a war and win. There were naturally
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all sides to the issue in each of the tribes and this was a source of
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great debates for many centuries.
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To Rien it was all ancient history, now no more than a racial
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conflict he believed to be wrong. There were less than two hundred
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elves that he knew existed and their growth was stunted by humans on
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the outside and internal conflicts at home. If Ljosalfar and Dopkalfar
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ever met for reasons other than to decide their future, it was to have
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as big a fight as they could, although no elf ever died by another
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elf's hand.
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There were some human tribes in the mountains and in the forest
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that did not hate elves and some that even revered them, but on the
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whole, Makdiar was now a human world and the elves could no longer lay
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any claim.
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Rien left his tribe to see the world his father was from, the
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world no elf had visited for over two millenia. Most in the tribe were
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against it, but Rien managed to convince a good portion of them that
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it would be good to know where they stood in the minds of the humans
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and that he, of mixed heritage, was the best person to find out. To
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his surprise, he learned that his species was a thing of legends and
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most, save scholars and mages, did not realize that these legends were
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often based on facts. Elves were as forgotten as the empires that rose
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to defeat them.
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During his time in the human dominated places, Rien learned that
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humans feared things they did not understand and often tended to rid
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themselves of these inconveniences any way they could. Maari and
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Terell were both in this category, but many others were not. Perhaps
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because time erased the memories of the wars, perhaps because now
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people were more tolerant. Those like Marcellon and Taishent and
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Connall, who had no problems with what he was.
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And neither did Kera, a fact that, oddly enough, pleased him. On
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his fourth day in Dargon, just three days after they came to an uneasy
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truce, she saved his life. Perhaps she realized he was not human then,
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perhaps not. She certainly had the opportunity, but more importantly,
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she had no reason in the world to save a man who could just as easily
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have turned her over to the town guard. She could have abandoned him
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or killed him or given him to Liriss, but instead killed for him and
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remained at his side. That was the type of people who could live
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peacefully side by side with elves and that's why he developed respect
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for her...
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Rien could not tell if that was the reason for the growth of
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their physical relationship and did not assume that he would find out
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1soon. For now he was glad she had decided to stay with him and more so
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that she agreed not to face the dangers he expected to encounter.
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Their plan was, that since Kera would reach Sharks' Cove a lot quicker
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by ship, she would pick up the equipment and travel on to Phedra, a
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week long journey, where she would meet up with him again. By then he
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would have had a good week to take care of the job...or not.
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Rien caught sight of Phedra in early morning. It lay in a shallow
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valley, backed by a forest on one side and open to farming fields on
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the other. In spite of the hour, there was no evidence of life either
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in the village or in the fields.
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Rien stopped his horse on the hillside and scanned the area. The
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village appeared well cared for, but still empty. The fields were also
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in good shape, but like the town, there were no indications of life.
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Rien encouraged his horse forward. Up ahead on his left he noticed
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some motion behind a large bush, whose leaves were beginning to turn
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brown from lack of water.
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Unhooking his foot from the stirrup, Rien placed it on the arc of
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the crossbow, which hung off the saddle to his right. He bent down and
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grabbing hold of one of the two strings, pulled it back. Not an action
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that should be done while riding, but better than not being prepared
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at all.
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Rien looked ahead again. The bush was still. Across from it was
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an old tree with branches extending over the road with too many leaves
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to betray anyone hiding in it.
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The horse was now about twenty feet away from the tree. At the
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current rate he would be passing under it in a few moments. Rien
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looked at the crossbow, but it was impossible to place a bolt in it,
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not only because of lack of cover, but also because it was pointing
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straight down and would not hold the missile. Rien grumbled silently
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for a second and with his left hand undid the strap binding the hilt
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of his sword.
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He was passing under the first branches of the tree and looked up
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just in time to see a net falling onto him. The horse stopped and with
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a yell someone leaped down. Rien caught the man with his long dagger
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in mid-air and his assailant landed on the ground with a thud, the
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weapon lost somewhere under him. Rien was also in a bad position. The
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horse would not move while the net was around it and he could not draw
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his sword to cut himself out. As he considered his situation, an arrow
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from behind the bush penetrated his leg with enough force to secure it
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to the horse's body. The animal reared up in surprise and pain,
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breaking the arrow and throwing Rien off, as a second arrow hit it in
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the shoulder, right were Rien's head had been a moment before.
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The net caught on the horse and the saddle and Rien more slid
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than fell to the ground. He grabbed the dagger on the ground and cut
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the net open. When he finally struggled free, he encountered a man
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with a drawn sword. The first swing would have surely made contact
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with his head, except he timely realized that his left leg could no
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longer support him and collapsed to his knees. The sword went barely
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over his head and he hit the swordsman with his dagger.
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The man staggered back and Rien awkwardly drew his sword. His
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eyes were now silver-grey with anger, matching the color of the steel.
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Before the brigand could recover for the next attack, Rien swung,
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slicing his opponent's stomach open. The brigand dropped his weapon
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and collapsed on top of it, a pool of blood spreading under him.
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Rien staggered up, the pain in his leg becoming unbearable, but
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went on to face the two new challengers who appeared from beyond the
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bush. He parried both their strikes, then attacked one man's weapon,
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sending it to the ground. The second man swung at Rien, connecting
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loosely with his side. Rien returned the favor, but instead of pulling
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1his sword back, forced it forward. Panicing, the brigand dropped his
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weapon and tried grabbing his sword, but Rien pulled it back, leaving
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bloody streaks on the man's hands.
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Rien turned on his second opponent, again knocking his sword to
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the ground. The brigand tried punching him, but Rien swung again,
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cutting his forearm off. The man stared in shock and horror and Rien
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put the sword through him for the last time.
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When Rien turned to face the last man, the brigand was sitting on
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the ground, nursing his hands and side, the sword laying a few feet
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away, where it had landed. The brigand yielded and Rien put his own
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weapon away. He leaned on his horse, still covered by the net, for
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support. A dark pool of red appeared where he stood and his leg was
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soaked with blood from the calf down. He pulled out a dagger from the
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saddle bag to cut the net off when hoof beats sounded up ahead on the
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road. Rien looked up.
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Riding towards him were three men. The one in the lead rode a
|
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black stallion and wore bronze plate armor. The other two rode at his
|
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sides and were dressed in chain. Each man wielded a cocked and loaded
|
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crossbow. They stopped less than twenty feet away from Rien and the
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man in the middle surveyed the scene with calculated interest. The
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brigand sitting on the ground rose, holding on to his injured side.
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His effort was rewarded with a crossbow bolt in his chest and
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collapsed to the ground, probably dead.
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"Is this your doing?" the man asked in an aristocratic voice.
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Rien nodded, studying the man silently. He believed himself to be
|
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speaking with Sir Garwood Quinn.
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"Those were my men," Quinn motioned to the four bodies. "I think
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it'd be best if you joined them..." A new bolt was inserted into the
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crossbow.
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 Hunting of the Red Tiger
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Part II
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by M. Wendy Hennequin
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(b.c.k.a <Hennequi@CTStateU>)
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Donegal na Valenfaer laughed as he watched the Beinisonian slave
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ship burn blue with hellfire. "Well, that wasn't so hard. The
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Beinisonians aren't as tough as they think they are. We've had more
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trouble pirating some rowboats."
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"Getting the others will be more difficult," Richard warned him
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sternly. "Those girls they bought will be in the way." He gazed at the
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blazing Beinisonian ship and frowned. "You know, it'll be much more
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difficult for me to pick them off. Here we had nothing to be careful
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of."
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"Don't worry, Rich," Donegal reassured him cheerfully. "I'll stab
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a few in the back, slit a few throats...it'll be easy."
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"Has anyone ever told you that you're too optimistic?"
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"You've told me a dozen times."
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"Why doesn't it sink in?"
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"Because I'm too optimistic, Rich," Donegal answered innocently.
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"You're also a pain," Richard growled playfully, making his way
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to the path the Beinisonians had taken. "Let's get moving, Donegal.
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Maybe we can catch them at supper."
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"Did you bring any poison?" the leech wondered, only
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half-jokingly.
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The archer abruptly stopped and turned to his friend. "Poison?
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Why would I bring poison on a hunting trip?"
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"Hey, why would you bring hellfire?" Donegal countered with a
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knowing smile.
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Richard flushed slightly, but he returned the smile and continued
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down the path. "Last time I was here," the archer explained, "I had a
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little trouble with the Sun People. A young lady and I were enjoying
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ourselves, and a few of the men became rather irate." Richard chuckled
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softly. "Luckily, I had a little hellfire on me; my sword couldn't
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have fought their spears."
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"Sounds like a close call."
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"It was worth it. She was a fine woman." Richard retrieved the
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spying glass from his belt and surveyed the path in front of them.
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"All clear ahead," he reported in a low voice. He crouched. "Still,
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we're getting pretty close. Can you hear them?"
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Donegal listened; music and laughter floated merrily through the
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jungle. "Maybe we can get them now, while they least expect it."
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Richard shrugged at the possibility and crept along the path.
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When they neared the clearing, Donegal stepped into the shadows at the
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edge of the brush; seeing him, Richard did the same. The volume of the
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music grew.
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Finally halting, Richard parted the underbrush and motioned
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Donegal to join him. The archer was grimacing.
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About two hundred People of the Sun--men, women, and at least
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fifty children--filled the clearing. Despite the carnival
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atmosphere--large groups were dancing, and a huge carcass cooked over
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a spit--each man bore a spear, and some also had strung bows set
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carefully beside them. A few even had iron swords. In a moment,
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Donegal, too, was frowning. So much for getting them out while they
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were off their guard.
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Richard reached for the spying glass and unfolded it. "Do you see
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the Beinisonians?" the archer rasped.
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Donegal quickly scanned the jubilant tribe while Richard
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meticulously searched with the spy glass. "There they are." The
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surgeon pointed to four men; three were Beinisonians, and one was an
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1older, elaborately dressed Sun Man. "At least three of them. Weren't
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there five?"
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"That's what I thought." Richard compressed the glass and
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attached it to his belt. Turning his back on the festival, he said,
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"We have some time to kill. It'll be a while before that beast is
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cooked fully."
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"Do the People of the Sun eat their meat fully cooked?"
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Richard made a face. "Raw meat? Don't make me sick." He rose.
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"Want to search for the other..." His voice trailed off, and he stared
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over Donegal's shoulder.
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The leech whirled. Calmly and patiently standing, not ten feet
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from them, was the Red Tiger.
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"Or," Richard continued softly, "we could go hunting a different
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animal." Slowly, he rose and drew an arrow from his quiver.
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The Lowenrote waited.
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Donegal began to stand. Richard placed the arrow on the bow. The
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surgeon straightened. Richard drew the arrow back.
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And the Red Tiger leapt, laughing, into the jungle. "Let's go!"
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Richard urged, and in a split second, he crashed after the animal.
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Donegal rolled his eyes, sent a brief prayer to Gow, and plunged into
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the jungle after his friend.
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Once again, he collided with Richard abruptly. Richard raised his
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hand swiftly and sharply to still Donegal's question. It didn't
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matter; Donegal understood what was happening in a matter of moments.
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While the Lowenrote stood patiently--no, expectantly--on the
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other end of the small clearing, two men--two Beinisonians--were
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chasing two desperately frightened native women. The farther man
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reached out to snatch his prey--
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And fell to the moist ground, an arrow in his neck.
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The second, running past Donegal, paused as he heard his
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companion's cry. Donegal leapt upon him, forcing him to the ground,
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and in a moment, the surgeon had buried his knife in the Beinisonian's
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back.
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When he rose, Richard was slitting the other man's throat for
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security's sake. The women--and the Red Tiger--were gone.
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"Well," Richard began softly, "it won't be long now. When those
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girls return to the party, one of two things will happen. Either
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they'll tell how they were nearly raped, and the Sun People will
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slaughter the other three Beinisonians, or they'll tell how these two
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were killed, and we'll have an entire tribe on us." Richard turned to
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his friend. "Well, Donegal, which do you think?"
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The surgeon grinned. "I think we may be in for it, Rich."
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The Baranurian smiled ironically. "You're probably right." He
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loaded an arrow. "You know, it might be best if we took off and left
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this island right now. The Beinisonians can't come after us, and they
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certainly can't take those women any place."
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Donegal glared at his friend. "We started this, Rich, and we're
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going to finish it," the surgeon commanded. Richard raised an eyebrow
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at Donegal's tone of voice, but he said nothing. Donegal saw this and
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grinned gratefully. "Besides, Rich, it's much more fun this way."
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"That's a fact," Richard agreed good-naturedly. He stepped back
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into the brush. "Well, in any case, they'll likely bring the entire
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tribe on us. We're going to need surprise on our side, Donegal. We
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don't have much else." The archer took two more steps backwards, and
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then Donegal could not see him at all.
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Donegal glanced about the clearing and quickly moved to the
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shadiest spot he could find. He hid the backpack under a nearby bush,
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carelessly flung his white shirt into the jungle--let them look in the
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wrong spot!-- and hid himself in the shadows. Donegal smiled wickedly.
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No one would spot him in the murky shade.
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1 "The band!" Richard hissed, and Donegal remembered and panicked.
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Remove his headband? But that bright red and yellow band hid the mark
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of slavery! If the Beinisonians saw it-- No, he
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wouldn't--couldn't--risk it.
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"You stupid ass!" Richard's voice harshly mocked the surgeon's
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hesitation. "Why don't you just wear a target on your head?"
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Donegal scowled, furious at Richard for stupidity that was the
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surgeon's own. With a growled oath, Donegal reached for the Bichanese
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band and hurled it from him with a vengeance.
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A crash sounded nearby. "A black angel and a golden one?" scoffed
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a voice in drunken accents. "The woman has had too much wine!"
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A couple of loud guffaws seconded the opinion. Another Beinison
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voice said, only half-jestingly, "Don't be so sure of your mocking.
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This is the year of the Incarnations. It could be Braigh and Alana,
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you know, and I wouldn't want to anger them!"
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The laughs became louder. "Don't be silly," a third voice
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ordered. "They were probably just attacked by some jungle animals;
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that Lowenrote that we hear of might well be the golden angel--or
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demon--the women spoke of."
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"Exactly," the first of the voices agreed. A heavy-set,
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half-drunken man parted the vegetation on the north side of the
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clearing. "The women had too much to drink."
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"I don't think so," the third voice argued, stepping into the
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clearing. This man was younger and cheerful, and reminded Donegal in
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some ways of himself. "Look there." He pointed to the man Richard had
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slaughtered. "Angels don't use bows. And look there." He indicated the
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discarded shirt.
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The first retrieved it while the owner of the second voice, a
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strong- looking man with a scar across his bare chest, entered the
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clearing. "It's a shirt," the heavy-set slaver said. "They weren't
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lying."
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"Exactly. An angel wouldn't leave a shirt be--" the youngest man
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started, but the arrow that went through his eye stole his final word.
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The heavy man jumped backwards; the strong man burst into the jungle
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in pursuit of whoever shot his friend.
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And that, Donegal decided, leaves one for me. Screaming the
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Highlander war cry, Donegal leapt onto the heavy man's back and
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slammed the knife into his back. The heavy man yelled his pain, and,
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cursing, he threw Donegal to the ground. Turning, the enraged man, the
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blade still in his flesh, now leapt for the surgeon.
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Donegal swiftly rolled to the right, and the husky Beinisonian
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fell onto the ground. Quick as levin, Donegal drew his Bichanese sword
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and stabbed again.
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Again, the man let out a roar more bestial than the Lowenrote's.
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He sprung to his feet--how can a man that big leap like a deer?
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Donegal wondered--and charged the leech.
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Donegal lowered his sword instantly, and, thank Gow, at the right
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moment. The heavy man impaled himself.
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Donegal stared, disgusted, at the surprised corpse. After a few
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minutes, the surgeon mentally shook himself out of his stupor and slid
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the heavy man from his sword, lest the weight damage the blade.
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Sighing in relief, Donegal wiped his blade on some nearby vegetation.
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It was over, aye, and they were successful. All the Beinisonians dead,
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thanks to him and Richard.
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Richard!
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The jungle was silent.
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"Rich!" Donegal shouted, frantic. "Rich!"
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The jungle was silent.
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"*Rich!*" Donegal cried. If he had gotten his best friend killed
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in this stupid crusade, Donegal would never forgive himself.
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1 "Don't get excited," the Baranurian counseled drying, stepping
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out of the jungle behind the surgeon. "I'm all right."
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Donegal turned. The statement was true, to a point; Richard was
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well and whole, but a nasty cut decorated the archer's chest. "Let me
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take a look at that," Donegal ordered.
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"Are you all right?" Richard wondered as Donegal scrutinized the
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wound. "It's just a scratch; don't worry."
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"You're right, Rich. It isn't bad." But Donegal went to the
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backpack anyway and returned with some gauze and whisky. "Did you get
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him?" Donegal asked as he cleaned his friend's wound.
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"Yes. The arrow hit him right in the heart. The blood was
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incredible."
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"How'd you get this, then?" the confused surgeon asked.
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"You're not going to believe this," Richard warned, "but a tree
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branch leapt out in front of me, and--"
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"There's some weird things on this island," Donegal admitted as
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he finished his task. He capped the whisky flask and looked at his
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friend. "Now what?"
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"Well, now that we've finished with the Beinisonians, I thought
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we might go hunting the tiger," Richard suggested.
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Donegal, suddenly weary, sank to the ground, but he found himself
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unable to protest. After Richard had helped him, it seemed to Donegal
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that he would be unfair or ungrateful to refuse to help Richard.
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"But I'm tired, too," Richard added, smiling calmly at his old
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friend. "What do you say we go back to Port of the Sun? We can come
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back next week; I'm sure that no one will kill the Lowenrote between
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now and then."
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"Sounds great," Donegal agreed with all the tired enthusiasm he
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could muster. He slowly rose, donned his shirt and backpack, and
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retrieved his knife from the back of the heavy man he had killed. He
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stared at the corpse for a moment, then said, "Let's take care of one
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thing first." He bent and severed the head from the body.
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"What are you doing?" Richard asked, appalled. "Why are you doing
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it?"
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"I think the Sun People have a right to know why
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these--men--aren't coming back," Donegal explained gruffly. "And I'm
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going to make sure they don't make the same mistake again."
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Decapitating the Beinisonians took several minutes; Richard
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consented to return and bring back the head of the young man he had
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killed. That done, Donegal took the heads by their hair and carried
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the gruesome bouquet to the celebrating Sun People. Richard thought
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the surgeon was crazy and told him so, but he followed anyway, to
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"make sure you don't get yourself killed."
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So Donegal marched like a conqueror into the clearing; Richard,
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beside him, carried himself like a grim guard. Within moments, the
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music died. Fearful questions filled the clearing a moment later.
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"Where is the interpreter?" Donegal loudly demanded in
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Beinisonian.
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The older man with the profusion of feathers and shells
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decorating his person came forward. Beside him stood a younger man,
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who spoke. "I am the interpreter. The chief wishes to know why you
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have done this. Why have you dishonored our tribe by robbing our women
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of honorable marriage?"
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"No!" Donegal shouted angrily. "I have saved them from slavery.
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They weren't going to marry the women; they were going to sell them!"
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The interpreter turned to the chief and spoke. The chief replied,
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and the interpreter said, "Why do you suspect this?"
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"I have seen it!" He pointed to the ugly brand on his forehead,
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the most dominant feature on his face when he did not choose to cover
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it. "This was the first thing they would do--burn slavery into their
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1faces and into their brains! I, too, was a slave there, and I saw the
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injustice--the beatings--the rapes--the whippings--the torture! I
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know! These snakes tricked you! Your women would have been made
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slaves, sold like animals, made prisoners until they died!"
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The young man paled and relayed this to the older man. The older
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man considered. A young woman timidly approached the older man and
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spoke. The old man muttered something to the interpreter, who again
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spoke. "If this is so, dark one, you and your companion have done us a
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great service."
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"I am not lying," Donegal assured him stubbornly. "I would not
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make up something so horrible."
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"We must then give the women to you, since you not only have won
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them fairly from their purchasers, but since you have also saved them
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from this misery."
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Confused, Donegal turned to the archer. Switching to Baranurian,
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the tongue spoken aboard the Eclipse, Donegal said, "They want us to
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take the women."
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Richard half-smiled and considered. "Not a bad deal."
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"What are we going to do with them?"
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"Use your imagination," Richard suggested, laughing. "But
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unfortunately, we can't do it. I can't handle more than five or six at
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a time, and we'd never get them all in the sailboat, anyway."
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Donegal looked at the interpreter and shook his head. "We didn't
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fight for their freedom to take it away again. Let them stay here with
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you."
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The interpreter relayed this to his elder, who spoke, and some
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men came forward bearing bars of gold and silver. The interpreter told
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the visitors, "You must take something for the deed."
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Donegal eyed the metals for a moment, then shook his head. "I did
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this to save them from what I escaped. I want no gold." He turned to
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Richard and switched once more to the Baranurian tongue. "Do you want
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some of that?"
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"For what?" the archer inquired.
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"For saving the girls."
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"I didn't do it for money, Donegal."
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The surgeon smiled gratefully at his friend, then turned back to
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the chief and the interpreter. "We want nothing," Donegal concluded,
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but then the aroma of the cooking meat assaulted him. "Except," he
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continued, "for a piece of meat and a drink of water to refresh us."
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The interpreter spoke, and two women came forward with meat and
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drink for the visitors. Donegal spoke their thanks and began to eat
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timorously.
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Richard sniffed the meat and started to eat ravenously. "Sun
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buffalo!" he cheered. He took a long draught of water. "Best meat in
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this part of the world!"
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Donegal took a larger bite and found he agreed with the archer;
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the meat was rather tasty. The Sun People returned to their dancing,
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singing, and feasting as the visitors ate. "It's nice to see them
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happy again," Donegal sighed contentedly. He turned to the Baranurian.
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"Sorry we didn't catch your tiger, Rich."
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"As I said, the Lowenrote will be here next week." Richard wiped
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his hands on his leggings, took another draught of water, and
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retrieved his bow. "We'd better be leaving if we want to reach Port of
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the Sun at a reasonable hour. Let's go, Donegal."
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Donegal nodded and faced the chief. "Thank you," the surgeon
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said. "Good-bye."
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The chief seemed to understand without the interpreter. He
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smiled. Donegal waved farewell and followed Richard along the eastward
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path.
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"This is the one the Lowenrote led us to," Richard commented. "It
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1should come out on the beach, and then we'll just follow it until we
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reach the sailboat."
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"Whatever." Donegal smiled tiredly. "What a day."
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"You do seem to bring excitement wherever you go," Richard teased
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with a grin. "I've gotten into more scrapes with you..."
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"Hey," the leech protested good-naturedly, "of course it was
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exciting. I only came with you because I was bored!"
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"Bored?" Richard laughed. "Well, that's what you get for seeking
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adventure, Donegal."
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"And don't blame me for all those brawls I seem to get into,"
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Donegal continued hotly, glaring jestingly at the archer. "I don't
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start them."
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"No, you usually just--holy Stevene!" Richard screamed in a
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shocked tone which Donegal had never before heard the archer use.
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"Donegal, look-- "
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Instinctively, the surgeon dropped, and a knife whizzed over his
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head. He looked up to see three demons, charred, ugly beings straight
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from the fires of hell, attacking Richard with fists and blades. Two
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more of the appalling creatures were running toward him.
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"Gow!" Donegal screamed for aid and drew his katana. The
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horrifying man-shape jumped back and circled. The other skirted behind
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Donegal.
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"Don't call for his help," the one behind the surgeon taunted him
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sinisterly. "Gow rarely helps those who use Amante's methods."
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And the devil leapt onto Donegal's back. The surgeon dropped and
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rolled, thus pinning the creature under him. But there was the other,
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coming at him with a short sword. Donegal lifted his legs and kicked
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as the one underneath him tried to stab him from behind. Again,
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Donegal rolled a little, pinning one of the ugly thing's knife arm.
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"Rich!" the surgeon called for his only aid. His only answer was
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loud crack and a cry of pain. "Rich!"
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The pinned thing was pummelling Donegal with his free fist; the
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other charged again. Frantically, Donegal swung his katana. The
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charger leapt backwards and stumbled. The pinned one was moving,
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trying to roll.
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Again, the free one charged. The pinned one sought to roll. In a
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stroke of inspiration, Donegal stopped fighting and rolled with the
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monster he had pinned. The thing screamed as its companion buried his
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short sword in him. The other cursed and took the name of Sanar in
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vain.
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Donegal slid from under the body, dragged his Bichanese blade
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with him, and attacked the fiend facing him. The short sword, Donegal
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knew, would be no match for his katana, if he were a great fighter.
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But he wasn't; the dead beast had been right to say Donegal followed
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Amante's methods. No, Donegal couldn't win a straight fight; he had to
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strike from behind, use surprise. Well, he was a pirate, after all,
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not a Knight of the Star. Still, his blade cut his opponent's arm.
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"Rich!" Donegal called. He couldn't spare a look; the grotesque
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thing came at him again. What were these things?
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Donegal managed to leap away from the intended blow and deliver
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one of his own. He whirled to face his attacker again. From here, he
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could see Richard. The archer was lying on the ground and using his
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left hand to wield the cutlass. The bow was nowhere in sight, but one
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of the demons, an arrow in its belly, lay dead near Richard's feet.
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With another stroke, Richard killed one of his opponents.
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"Well done!" Donegal encouraged, sidestepping another attack and
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aiming a blow at his antagonist's head. Good Sanar, what *were* these
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ugly, burned things?
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A blade--Richard's blade--flashed past Donegal's astonished eyes.
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The surgeon stumbled and fell. The attacker came forward and held his
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1sword's point at Donegal's throat. "And now, slave," said the
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Beinisonian, "you will die."
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"Rich!" Donegal called, praying for a miracle.
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"Your friend can't help you," the man-thing laughed cruelly.
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"Look, slave."
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Without moving his head, Donegal glanced aside. Another charred
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being held his blade at Richard's throat. Damn!
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"Now, slave, say prayers that Sanar will save your soul,"
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snickered the monster, "thought I doubt that slaves--"
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Giving a bestial roar, a red blur flew over the creature's head.
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He looked up; Donegal buried his katana in the burnt thing's gut. It
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fell; Donegal turned to help his friend--
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But the other creature was engaged, its throat locked in the
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teeth of the Red Tiger. Donegal sprinted to Richard's side, lifted the
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archer's head. "Are you all right?" the surgeon breathed, watching the
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Lowenrote rend the attacker with teeth and claws.
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"My arm," Richard answered, his voice stiff with pain.
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Donegal gently probed Richard's right forearm. "Broken."
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"Tell me something I don't know," Richard snapped.
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"Hey," Donegal began, "don't--"
|
|
The Lowenrote tossed its victim away with a sudden movement.
|
|
Carefully, deliberately, it approached the men it had saved.
|
|
"Run!" Richard rasped, shoving Donegal away with his good arm.
|
|
"She'd catch me, but if she's busy, she'll never catch up with you.
|
|
Go!"
|
|
Donegal stood; often the commands in Richard's voice were too
|
|
powerful to be disobeyed. But the surgeon was still, unsure. The Red
|
|
Tiger trotted to the pair and paused. Donegal's limbs froze although
|
|
Richard again was shouting at him to leave.
|
|
Gingerly, the Lowenrote approached the paralyzed surgeon and
|
|
began to rub its head against the back of Donegal's hand, much as a
|
|
pet cat would. Donegal wondered if he would die of the shock. Then the
|
|
tiger approached Richard and nuzzled the archer's neck.
|
|
"I'll be damned," Richard said, reaching out and petting the
|
|
beast. "She wants to be friends. Hello."
|
|
Donegal was finally able to move; he blinked, then ordered, "Stay
|
|
put, Rich. I'm going to find something to splint that arm to, and then
|
|
we'll leave."
|
|
"Use my bow," Richard suggested, gesturing with his left hand.
|
|
"It's broken. I'm glad I didn't bring my best one. You like that,
|
|
don't you?" the archer added, scratching the Lowenrote behind its
|
|
ears. "You're a good kitty."
|
|
"I didn't know you liked animals," Donegal laughed, retrieving
|
|
the bow and its string. He patted the Red Tiger's nose as he
|
|
approached. He gently reached for Richard's broken arm.
|
|
"I've always like--damn, that hurts!"
|
|
"Well, it's going to," Donegal reminded him practically. "I'll
|
|
set it when we reach Port of the Sun. I don't have everything I need
|
|
here." Quickly, the surgeon finished the job and offered Richard a
|
|
hand up. "Let's get going."
|
|
"I'm with you." Richard stroked the Lowenrote's head, and the
|
|
tiger purred. "I guess I won't be hunting you anymore. Let's go."
|
|
Silently, Donegal led the way through the jungle path. After a
|
|
few minutes, he turned to say something to Richard, but stated
|
|
instead, "That tiger's following us."
|
|
Richard turned to the beast. "Go away," the archer commanded
|
|
gently. "Go on."
|
|
With a resolute tilt of the head, the tiger nuzzled Richard's leg
|
|
and trotted after him and Donegal when they moved on.
|
|
"I don't think it's going," Donegal observed, looking over his
|
|
1shoulder. "What are we going to do ?"
|
|
"Take her with us, I suppose," Richard guessed. He sighed. "I'm
|
|
not fighting with her."
|
|
"But a tiger?" Donegal protested. "On the Eclipse?"
|
|
Richard, his pain still evident, tried to smile. "Hasn't Captain
|
|
Fynystere been saying we need a cat aboard?"
|
|
|
|
It was near the next dawn when Richard, Donegal, and the
|
|
Lowenrote--whom Richard gave the original name of Kitty--finally
|
|
returned to Captain Fynystere's house in Port of the Sun. They had had
|
|
a hell of a time returning; it was difficult to maneuver the sailboat
|
|
with only three arms. But luckily, the break had been clean and easy
|
|
to splint and set. Unfortunately, Donegal rued, it would be six or
|
|
eight weeks before Richard could teach him to shoot a bow.
|
|
"You two look like you've been through a battle," Fynystere
|
|
observed cheerfully when the pair joined him for breakfast. Then he
|
|
saw the Red Tigress. Fynystere looked briefly nervous, but calmed when
|
|
Kitty approached him gently and nuzzled his hand. "So I see you got
|
|
your tiger, Richard."
|
|
Richard looked at Donegal and smiled. The surgeon grinned back.
|
|
"Yes, Captain," Donegal answered, "and we managed to hunt us a whole
|
|
pack of wolves, too."
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 A Night off the Town
|
|
by M. Wendy Hennequin
|
|
(b.c.k.a <Hennequi@CTStateU>)
|
|
|
|
"Homesick?" a gentle voice wondered, causing the red-soaked
|
|
paintbrush to fly from Gaoel Fynystere's steady hand to the newly
|
|
cleaned deck. The captain of the Eclipse whirled and stared into the
|
|
serenely amused face of his bowmaster. Richard just Richard smiled.
|
|
"It's a nice painting," the archer commented, gazing critically at the
|
|
nearly complete representation of the night-shrouded city of Dargon.
|
|
Only the Regehr, the red north-pointing star which would crown the
|
|
port city like a glowing ruby, remained uncolored.
|
|
"You're back early," the captain finally noted, retrieving his
|
|
paintbrush. "Is something wrong, Richard?"
|
|
The bowmaster squatted beside his old friend. "Plenty, but it
|
|
will keep, Gaoel. It can't touch us here off the town."
|
|
"Nothing can touch us," the captain noted smugly, cleaning the
|
|
brush so that he could complete the painting. Fynystere dipped the
|
|
brush, smiling wickedly as he thought of the Eclipse's reputation. Not
|
|
only could no one touch the Eclipse or her crew, but no one would
|
|
dare.
|
|
"Nothing but our own souls," Richard replied, sighing. "It is a
|
|
beautiful painting, Gaoel."
|
|
"It's a beautiful night." Fynystere looked fondly at the
|
|
moon-shadowed city with a thousand flickering eyes, with a mantle of
|
|
stars such as Alana the Night Goddess, the figurehead of the Eclipse,
|
|
would wear. Fynystere dabbed the Regehr above Dargon with blood-red
|
|
color. "Mind telling me why you're back so early on a beautiful night
|
|
like this?"
|
|
"You know I don't raise living and dead on shore leave like
|
|
Donegal and Cedric do."
|
|
"But you generally like Dargon," the captain pointed out,
|
|
delicately touching the canvas.
|
|
"I do like Dargon," Richard confirmed. "Are you almost done,
|
|
Gaoel?"
|
|
Fynystere smiled at Richard's abrupt change in subject; it was
|
|
typical of the bowmaster. "Aye, just." Fynystere washed the brush in a
|
|
cup of seawater. Richard rose and lifted the painting. "She'll hang
|
|
beside the Eclipse," Fynystere decided aloud. He folded the easel and
|
|
closed the small chest full of paints. "Luen, take the watch!"
|
|
Fynystere bellowed, and he turned to the archer. "Well, Rich, if you
|
|
aren't going to drink on shore, you'll drink with me."
|
|
"Aye, captain."
|
|
Fynystere led the way in the dark to his cabin below. Richard
|
|
opened the door for his friend, and the captain, after gently setting
|
|
the paint chest in the corner, lit the hellfire lamp. Richard set the
|
|
painting against the wall and took the spare seat.
|
|
"Drink, Rich?"
|
|
"I'll pour," the bowmaster offered, taking a folded paper out of
|
|
a pouch. "You read."
|
|
Fynystere took the letter eagerly, broke his family's seal, and
|
|
scanned the neat handwriting anxiously. He frowned. "Xandra's still
|
|
missing," he announced, anger and frustration in his voice.
|
|
"Gaoel," Richard said gently, pouring the whiskey, "I don't think
|
|
you'll ever see your sister again."
|
|
"If she's dead, I'll kill that God-damned Duke!"
|
|
"That will only get you killed," Richard noted, and as usual, his
|
|
logic was irrefutable. "Here, drink." Fynystere took the goblet
|
|
absently. "It always amazes me that you only blame the Duke of Dargon.
|
|
Your sister did participate, you know."
|
|
1 "Aye, but Xandra didn't refuse to acknowledge the child or cut
|
|
the Duke off from her. Damn that ass! He's probably the one who scared
|
|
her out of Dargon in the first place. If it weren't for Fionn Connall,
|
|
the Duke might have had her killed."
|
|
"Clifton Dargon? Hardly," Richard laughed. "I know Dargon has an
|
|
overblown sense of honor, but it isn't *that* extreme."
|
|
Fynystere started to grunt, but he forgot the sound in the words
|
|
of the letter. "My God!" When Richard failed to speak, the captain
|
|
looked at him concern in his eyes. "Rich, there's war! Beinison's
|
|
attacked us!"
|
|
"I know," Richard said calmly. "I heard at the Rogue and Quiver,
|
|
and while I was waiting for your letter, I went to Belisandra's to
|
|
find out what I could about it. It's rather interesting."
|
|
"Interesting?" Fynystere scoffed, kicking a chair toward him and
|
|
sitting firmly in it.
|
|
"War is always interesting," Richard returned mildly.
|
|
"Not when you're in it!"
|
|
"I beg to differ," Richard replied with formality that was only
|
|
half-mocking. "We war against ships, and I've never heard you declare
|
|
it boring."
|
|
"This isn't the same."
|
|
"Perhaps," Richard acknowledged.
|
|
Fynystere took the drink Richard had poured him and scowled at
|
|
the bowmaster. "So, you went to Belisandra's. Why?"
|
|
Richard nodded. "As I suspected, some of the Duke's men and
|
|
Connall archers were there." The bowmaster frowned. "They knew the
|
|
entire romance. It's rather complicated, but the end of it is that
|
|
Beinison has executed the Count of Connall and attacked Pyridain."
|
|
"They killed Fionn Connall?" the captain screeched, thinking of
|
|
the man who had protected his sister, who had helped Gaoel escape the
|
|
city after he had clouted Connall's brother, the Duke.
|
|
"No, they killed Luthias Connall," Richard clarified. "Fionn
|
|
Connall and his other son--Roisart, I think his name was--were
|
|
murdered last Melrin."
|
|
"Murdered?" Fynystere let his breath out in a low whistle. "Sweet
|
|
Randiriel. And now what?"
|
|
"Well," Richard began, taking a deep breath and raising his cup
|
|
to his mouth, "the Knight Commander is fighting them off in Pyridain,
|
|
and this duchy's getting ready for an attack on the Laraka River."
|
|
"The Laraka? What for?"
|
|
Richard swallowed his liquor and stared at his captain in
|
|
disbelief. "Gaoel, come on! They're after Magnus! The Laraka's Magnus'
|
|
lifeline."
|
|
Fynystere pondered the information. "I suppose you're right,
|
|
Rich, but you would know better than I."
|
|
Richard laughed and set the goblet aside. "Would I?"
|
|
"You are from Magnus, after all."
|
|
Richard leaned forward suddenly. "What makes you think that?"
|
|
This time, Fynystere was laughing. "Wake up, Rich! Every time you
|
|
open your mouth, you announce that you're from Magnus! You have one of
|
|
the most pronounced Magnus accents I've ever heard!"
|
|
"I don't have an accent. *You* have an accent."
|
|
The captain wiped his eyes and caught his breath, but when he
|
|
looked at his bowmaster, he was still smiling. "Enough, Richard: I
|
|
have the accent, but you are still from Magnus."
|
|
The archer folded his lips. "Yes," he agreed stiffly.
|
|
Fynystere burst into laughter once more. "Calm down, Rich. It's
|
|
the only thing I've found out about you in thirteen years." The
|
|
bowmaster sighed and agreed. "You keep your secrets more close than
|
|
any man I've ever known." Richard gave his captain a serious look.
|
|
1"Well, what about the war? When do they expect the attack on Shark's
|
|
Cove? How is it faring in Pyridain?"
|
|
"They expect the Shark's Cove attack to arrive in Yule, and
|
|
despite the morale of the House Dargon troops and the Connall archers,
|
|
it isn't going well in Pyridain at all."
|
|
"Yule?!" Fynystere slammed the goblet on a small table. "Yule?!
|
|
Sanar and Stevene, what the hell are they thinking of? Yule? It isn't
|
|
that far! And besides, from the south--the seas are fairly calm--Naia,
|
|
Rich, Melrin at the latest!" The captain exploded to his feet and
|
|
stared wildly at Richard. "You say it's bad in Pyridain?" The
|
|
bowmaster nodded once. "How bad?"
|
|
The bowmaster shrugged and looked at his old friend mildly. "I
|
|
don't have numbers."
|
|
Fynystere punched a wall. "Damn you by all the gods, Richard!
|
|
Will we win?"
|
|
Richard settled into his chair calmly. "God knows. No one here
|
|
does."
|
|
Fynystere snatched the discarded, fallen letter, opened it, read
|
|
it, and again looked at Richard wildly. "That's it, Richard. I have to
|
|
do something."
|
|
Richard was silent.
|
|
The captain of the Eclipse crossed the room nervously. He came to
|
|
his trunk and threw it open. "Not much here," he assessed nervously.
|
|
"It's enough." He shut the chest soundly. "They may not think me much
|
|
of a captain, but I'll be better than the incompetent whoreson who
|
|
thinks that the Beinison navy won't be here till bloody Yule!"
|
|
Suddenly, the captain whirled. Still and silent, Richard watched him
|
|
placidly. "What's wrong with you? Aren't you even concerned? Rich, you
|
|
own half this ship, and I'm leaving!"
|
|
Richard smiled slightly. "Why are you leaving, Gaoel?"
|
|
"My *country's* under attack, you jack-ass! Do you think I can
|
|
leave my people here, my family, to get butchered by Beinisonian
|
|
curs?"
|
|
"Do you think you will help them by leaving the Eclipse?"
|
|
"Curse you!" Fynystere screamed. "Of course I will! I'll join the
|
|
Royal Navy, and they'll make me a captain. I won't let those heathen
|
|
Beinisonians touch my land." The captain scowled at his guest. "You're
|
|
not even concerned that I'm leaving."
|
|
"Nay, I'm not," Richard confirmed quietly, "because you're not
|
|
going."
|
|
"I tell you--"
|
|
"Sit down and listen," Richard ordered, and without really
|
|
knowing why, Fynystere obeyed. There were times when one obeyed
|
|
Richard, rank notwithstanding. "You are not going back to Dargon,
|
|
Gaoel. You can't."
|
|
"Why can't I?"
|
|
"We'll put aside the fact for the moment that Clifton Dargon will
|
|
have you killed on sight," Richard began calmly, "but Dargon's Admiral
|
|
of the Fleet. Do you think you have a chance of a commission?"
|
|
"What? But he's a Knight!"
|
|
"I know," Richard agreed wryly. "It's very strange."
|
|
"I wouldn't go to Dargon."
|
|
"Fine," Richard concurred for sake of the arguement. "And what
|
|
would you do on one ship? How could you protect your family? You
|
|
couldn't. You'd go where they tell you, do what they tell you. You're
|
|
likely to get killed. The Beinisonian Navy is nothing to laugh at, and
|
|
you know it."
|
|
"Of course I know it," the captain responded contemptuously. "But
|
|
I'll have hellfire--"
|
|
The bowmaster's eyes burned as blue and hot as the hellfire he
|
|
1invented. "You will *not* have hellfire!" Richard thundered, and there
|
|
was no room for arguement in his voice. "Hellfire is mine and
|
|
Donegal's, and by my God and all of his, it will *not leave this
|
|
ship!*"
|
|
Fynystere frowned, greatly displeased. "I can't just do nothing!"
|
|
"I'm not saying that you should do nothing. But the fact remains,
|
|
Gaoel: you hurt your family and your kingdom more by leaving the
|
|
Eclipse than by staying with her."
|
|
"What are you suggesting I do then?" the captain asked with angry
|
|
stiffness.
|
|
Richard leaned forward, his face serious. "Gaoel, this is the
|
|
most powerful ship a-sail. You know that. We have a fine crew, and we
|
|
have hellfire. We can sink anything Beinison has afloat, and we can
|
|
afford to leave the Baranurian navy alone."
|
|
"A personal crusade?"
|
|
"Why not?" Richard countered, smiling again and leaning back. "If
|
|
we still go after the merchant ships, the crew will be content."
|
|
"I don't think the Beinisons aboard will like this, Richard," the
|
|
captain muttered, reaching for his drink, but internally, Fynystere
|
|
was relieved. Despite the fact that Clifton Dargon had deserved that
|
|
blow to the face in his court for deserting Xandra, Fynystere truly
|
|
had no wish to deal with him again.
|
|
Richard abruptly threw back his blond head and laughed loudly.
|
|
"Gaoel, are you jesting with me? 'The Beinisonians aboard won't like
|
|
this'? Donegal, whom they enslaved? Albar, whom they branded for
|
|
worshiping Cephas Stevene instead of Gow and Sanar? Use your sense,
|
|
man!"
|
|
Fynystere thought about and smiled; Richard was, again, right.
|
|
The captain sat back thoughtfully. "So," Fynystere said, "we leave the
|
|
Baranurian navy alone and sink anything belonging to Beinison. It
|
|
might work; it might help." He looked at his bowmaster earnestly. "Do
|
|
you really think it would work?"
|
|
"I think it's the best we can do, you and I."
|
|
Fynystere laughed and poured himself more liquor. "You're right,
|
|
Rich. You always are." The captain quaffed his drink, then looked
|
|
searchingly at his old friend. "How did you know?"
|
|
"Know what?" Richard wondered.
|
|
"Know what I'd do, and how to talk me out of it."
|
|
"Well, I know you," Richard explained uncertainly, "and as for my
|
|
talking you out of it--well, I'd already had the arguement once
|
|
tonight."
|
|
"Really? With who?" Fynystere asked, avid curiousity shining from
|
|
his eyes.
|
|
"With myself." The bowmaster sighed as if he had a world
|
|
oppressing his soul. "I realized I'd do my family--and my
|
|
country--more harm than good if I returned."
|
|
"Hmm." For lack of any better action, Fynystere buried his nose
|
|
in his cup. As much as he wanted more information, Fynystere didn't
|
|
dare break his own rules and question Richard about his past.
|
|
"I couldn't leave the Eclipse anyway," Richard breathed, settling
|
|
into the comfortable chair. "It's like home to me, and I have no
|
|
other--and no one else."
|
|
"You mentioned family," Fynystere reminded him.
|
|
"A brother," Richard confirmed, "and if he were in danger--" The
|
|
bowmaster stopped, clouds in his blue eyes.
|
|
"You'd leave?"
|
|
"Leave?" The archer gave a short, barking laugh. "I'd take the
|
|
Eclipse with me. Believe me, Gaoel, I'd need all the help I could get.
|
|
But as it is, I think he's well protected."
|
|
"Hmm," the captain muttered again. "Here, Rich, have another
|
|
1drink." The captain tossed the skin to Richard, who caught it deftly.
|
|
"And tell me one more thing about tonight before we drink ourselves
|
|
senseless, Richard."
|
|
"What's that?"
|
|
"How did you know that the Dargon House troops and the Connall
|
|
archers would be at Belisandra's Tavern?"
|
|
"It's a popular retreat of both companies when they're in town,"
|
|
Richard hedged as dexterously as he caught the skin.
|
|
"Aye, and how'd you find that out?" the captain demanded, his
|
|
hazel eyes sparkling. The bowmaster looked away. "Come on, Rich, or by
|
|
J'mirg--"
|
|
"Ask no questions, Gaoel," Richard threatened.
|
|
A dim sun dawned in Fynystere's clouded consciousness. "You were
|
|
in Dargon before you joined us."
|
|
"Aye." Richard inhaled heavily and took another drink. "I trained
|
|
as an archer in Connall." The archer suddenly smiled. "Those days are
|
|
gone with your merchanting, Gaoel. Let's drink."
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 ** ************
|
|
*** *********** **** **** ********* *** **** ***********
|
|
**** ** *** ** *** *** *** ** *** *** **** **
|
|
***** *** *** *** *** **** *** ****
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|
****** *** ******** ****** ******** ****
|
|
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** **** *******
|
|
*** *** *** *** *** *** ** *** *** ****
|
|
********* ***** **** **** ********* **** *** ****
|
|
*** *** **** **
|
|
*** *** ------------------- **** ***
|
|
****** ***** The Online Magazine ***********
|
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****** ***** of Amateur Creative Writing ************
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---------------------------
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|
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Athene is a free network "magazine" devoted to amateur fiction
|
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written by the members of the online community. Athene is not limited
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to any specific genre, but will publish quality short stories dealing
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with just about any interesting topic.
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The magazine is published monthly, and comes in two formats --
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ASCII and PostScript. The content is identical across both formats, but
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|
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the ASCII edition can be read online as well as printed.
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To subscribe, send mail (no interactive messages, please) to:
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Please indicate which format (ASCII or PostScript) you prefer to to
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A Journal of Fact, Fiction and Opinion
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|
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Quanta is an electronically distributed magazine of science fiction.
|
|
Published monthly, each issue contains short fiction, articles and
|
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editorials by authors around the world and across the net. Quanta
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publishes in two formats: straight ascii and PostScript* for
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Electronic publishing is the way of the future. Become part of that
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1------------------------------------------------------------------------
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(C) Copyright May 1990, DargonZine, Editor Dafydd <White@DUVM.BitNet>.
|
|
All rights revert to the authors. These stories may not be reproduced or
|
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redistributed save in the case of reproducing the whole 'zine for
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further distribution without the express permission of the author
|
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