1329 lines
77 KiB
Plaintext
1329 lines
77 KiB
Plaintext
|
|
DDDDD ZZZZZZ //
|
|
D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE ||
|
|
D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 13
|
|
-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
|
|
D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 6
|
|
DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
|
|
\\
|
|
\
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
DargonZine Distributed: 6/30/2000
|
|
Volume 13, Number 6 Circulation: 760
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
Contents
|
|
|
|
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
|
|
Magestorm 1 Mark A. Murray Yuli 1017
|
|
Talisman Five 1 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Vibril 16, 1010
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
|
|
collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
|
|
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
|
|
Please address all correspondence to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
|
|
on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/. Back issues
|
|
are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
|
|
public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
|
|
|
|
DargonZine 13-6, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright June, 2000 by
|
|
the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
|
|
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
|
|
All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
|
|
and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
|
|
without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
|
|
of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
|
|
Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
Editorial
|
|
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
|
|
<ornoth@shore.net>
|
|
|
|
If you've been with us for a while, you'll know that each year one
|
|
of our writers hosts our annual DargonZine Writers' Summit, where our
|
|
contributors get together to talk about writing, conduct project
|
|
business, get to know one another, and have fun. This year's Summit was
|
|
held a couple weeks ago in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and was hosted by
|
|
Dargon veteran Mark Murray.
|
|
This year, the working sessions were run by Jon Evans, and he did a
|
|
fabulous job moving us through a number of topics and activities, which
|
|
included discussion about how and why we write, incorporation, our
|
|
ongoing revision to the Dargon town map, our mentoring system for new
|
|
writers, a spontaneous writing exercise, and some great improvisational
|
|
storytelling.
|
|
Once the working sessions were over, the fun was only beginning.
|
|
Our weekend included excursions to the Andy Warhol Museum, Church Brew
|
|
Works (an old church which had been converted to a brewpub), the
|
|
Duquesne Incline (a scenic overlook of downtown Pittsburgh at night),
|
|
Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater, Ohiopyle State Park (featuring an
|
|
amazing natural water slide), and an entertainment center where we
|
|
supplemented Summit traditions of go-karting and miniature golf with a
|
|
new activity: bumper boats.
|
|
Kudos go to Mark and Jon for putting together a very productive and
|
|
wonderfully enjoyable weekend. Photos and more detailed writeups of all
|
|
our Summits can be found on the Web at our Dargon Writers' Summit page,
|
|
<http://www.dargonzine.org/summit.shtml>.
|
|
|
|
In other news, people seem to be responding well to the ability to
|
|
"rate" each story, which we premiered in the Web version of our last
|
|
issue. We have included the rating sidebars in the stories in this issue
|
|
as well, and if the response continues to be favorable, we'll shortly be
|
|
adding those side bars to all our stories, both in our back issues as
|
|
well as future issues. Please try it out, and let us know what you
|
|
think!
|
|
In this issue Mark Murray, our recent Summit host and the owner of
|
|
DargonZine's mentoring program for new writers, begins a new series that
|
|
resumes his lengthy saga featuring Raphael and Megan. Similarly, our
|
|
one-time editor Dafydd begins another chapter in his extended Talisman
|
|
series, which has been slowly advancing from Dargon's ancient history to
|
|
the present. While the Talisman epic still has a ways to go, the events
|
|
of "Talisman Five" will start bringing the story together to its
|
|
eventual climax.
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
Magestorm
|
|
Part 1
|
|
by Mark A. Murray
|
|
<mashudo@netzero.net>
|
|
Yuli 1017
|
|
|
|
A thump in the night brought Merrif abruptly from his dream into
|
|
the cold reality of his Dargon home. "Illiena!" he screamed. Breathing
|
|
hard through his mouth, Merrif clutched the blankets and tried to relax.
|
|
"The same dream again?" Niatha asked from across the room.
|
|
Merrif sat up in his bed and wiped the sleep from his eyes. "Yes,"
|
|
he answered, breathing a little easier. "Was that you caused the thump?"
|
|
"It was me. I jumped through the window. I tried to be quiet, but
|
|
you piled the table with your books and scrolls again, and I slipped on
|
|
something. I think it was a scroll."
|
|
"It's too dark to see anything," Merrif complained. "I'll make us
|
|
some light."
|
|
"No!" Niatha said, but it was too late. Merrif had spoken and the
|
|
air turned crisp with energy. The fireplace roared to life. "Well,"
|
|
Niatha said, "at least you got the fire in the right place. But you
|
|
weren't trying for a fire, were you?" Niatha looked a lot like a large
|
|
black cat. Smooth, soft fur covered his body from his nose to the end of
|
|
his long tail. Two wings were folded back, and down, to blend with his
|
|
body.
|
|
"Oh hush and move so I can see the scroll you destroyed," Merrif
|
|
replied. "It was too cold in here anyway." He got out of the bed and
|
|
walked over to the table on the far side of the room. His home consisted
|
|
of one room that functioned as his working area, his kitchen, his
|
|
bedroom, and any other room he happened to need.
|
|
Merrif was an old man who didn't have a wife or children; his
|
|
one-room home suited him just fine -- until it got too cluttered. When
|
|
it got too messy, Niatha complained until things were organized and put
|
|
away.
|
|
Niatha hopped from the floor to the bed. His front two legs touched
|
|
the bed first and he used them as a balance until his stronger back legs
|
|
settled and supported him. He stretched out, turned around, and got
|
|
comfortable as he watched Merrif.
|
|
Merrif watched as Niatha settled on the bed. Merrif had given up
|
|
long ago on claiming sole ownership of the bed. He had fought with
|
|
Niatha on that point for months before he had given up. He didn't know
|
|
if the actual losing of the fight or the smug expression Niatha had worn
|
|
for days had been worse. Picking up the scroll on the floor, he realized
|
|
whichever had been worse was a moot point. He would rather have Niatha
|
|
around, even if that meant cleaning the room every once in a while.
|
|
"Are you going to watch me all night or see what that scroll is?"
|
|
Niatha asked. "If you would keep the table clear, I wouldn't knock
|
|
things off of it."
|
|
"You can jump over the table."
|
|
"I have to jump up to the window and through it. The table makes a
|
|
nice perch. You could put the bed over there. That would make a much
|
|
better landing place for me."
|
|
"I'd like to put the fireplace there," Merrif retorted.
|
|
"And burn up all your scrolls and books?" Niatha teased.
|
|
"To put a fire under your tail," Merrif chuckled. "That'd be
|
|
something to see. You hopping and flopping about, trying to put your fur
|
|
out. Wings a-flapping about," he laughed. Bracing a hand on the table,
|
|
Merrif bent down to pick up the scroll. His laugh turned to a groan as
|
|
he stood back up. "Maybe I should make myself younger."
|
|
"No!" Niatha replied, sitting up suddenly. His wings twitched
|
|
upwards and outwards slightly which gave his body a bigger appearance
|
|
while his tail flipped back and forth.
|
|
"Ah, keep your fur smooth," Merrif chuckled. "I was joking that
|
|
time. I know better than to try that. Who knows what would happen? I'd
|
|
probably end up as a woman. What would you do then?"
|
|
"Eat better," Niatha replied, laughing. The fur around his face
|
|
ruffled up and he shifted his weight onto one front paw while bringing
|
|
the other up to rub his fur back into place. Laughing as he was, his fur
|
|
just got ruffled more.
|
|
"Yer going to choke on your laughter if you keep going." Merrif
|
|
harumphed and opened the scroll. "It isn't ruined."
|
|
"Which one is it?"
|
|
"The history of Illiena," Merrif sighed. Niatha sucked in a gasp of
|
|
air and shifted backwards a step.
|
|
"I'm sorry," Niatha said. "I thought you kept that one in the
|
|
scroll tube?"
|
|
"I do, but I was reading it again earlier this eve."
|
|
"Do you think you dream of her because you're reading about her or
|
|
you're reading about her because you're dreaming of her?" Niatha asked.
|
|
"It's been so long, I can't recall which happened first. It doesn't
|
|
matter now. It's all that my dreams are about." Merrif pulled the chair
|
|
closer to him and slowly lowered his aged body onto it. His grey
|
|
straggly beard hung uncut from his face, though his hair was still the
|
|
dark color it used to be. His tall, thin frame sat awkwardly in the
|
|
chair and his back was bent forward as he stared into the scroll.
|
|
"How was your evening?" Niatha asked, trying to shift his thoughts
|
|
to other things. Merrif looked up and smiled, understanding shining from
|
|
his tired eyes.
|
|
"It was a disaster for me," Merrif said. "As usual, I didn't get
|
|
the magic I cast. I got something else. If it wasn't for me being
|
|
invited by one of my customers to perform, I wouldn't have gone. It's
|
|
hard to say 'no' to nobility, though."
|
|
"I know," Niatha replied. "I was there when you were asked,
|
|
remember? Duke Dargon didn't belittle you in front of everyone, did he?"
|
|
"No," Merrif replied. "I've come close to that several times,
|
|
though. No, this time was different. Even though everything I tried
|
|
didn't work the way I wanted it to, the audience loved it."
|
|
"You didn't catch anyone on fire? No one was hurt?"
|
|
"Not this time. Either I'm getting better or I'm getting luckier,"
|
|
Merrif laughed. "I'll label this evening's festivities as a grand
|
|
success. My casting was a disaster, but the outcome was a success."
|
|
"Magic isn't the easiest thing in the world to control," Niatha
|
|
replied.
|
|
"Aye, I've got you as a reminder of that."
|
|
"Yes, you never have told me how you conjured me. You weren't
|
|
purposefully trying to get me to come here, were you?"
|
|
"No. I told you," Merrif huffed. "None of the magic I've tried has
|
|
ever worked the way I wanted it to!" Merrif started to say more, but
|
|
stopped and paused for a moment. "Let me get back to the duke and his
|
|
festivities," he said.
|
|
Niatha bobbed his head. "What happened?" Niatha asked.
|
|
"Oh, it was quite the gathering. There was more finery there than
|
|
I've ever seen. Polished silverware and silk tapestries. There were not
|
|
as many in attendance as I had expected. Especially since it was being
|
|
held by the duke. The ladies were dressed quite beautifully and the men
|
|
tripped over themselves fighting for their attention.
|
|
"It was amusing to watch. I caught the duke watching them, and he
|
|
seemed to be enjoying the sight, also. His wife and daughter were there.
|
|
All three were dressed nicely, but I expected more flair from them. You
|
|
know how some of the fashions are these days.
|
|
"The guard was dressed in colorful dress uniforms. I don't think
|
|
I've ever seen it before. Either something new or something not used
|
|
often. And the room was big. It had a nice tall --"
|
|
"The magic," Niatha hissed. "I don't care about them. What about
|
|
the magic?!"
|
|
"Quit swishing your tail! I'm gettin' to it! Now, the room was big
|
|
and had a tall ceiling. That was good because it provided the space for
|
|
what happened. I was called to perform and I walked to the center of the
|
|
room. They made a circle around me and gave me some space to work.
|
|
"I wanted to send out this colorful ball to weave its way between
|
|
the guests. Nothing large and nothing hard. I stretched out my arm and
|
|
opened my hand." Merrif laughed hard and rocked back in the chair,
|
|
almost tilting it over.
|
|
"The brightest lights I've ever seen blazed out of my fingers.
|
|
Every color imaginable streaked out among the people and showered them
|
|
all. The colors rolled and moved and streaked and blazed as if it was a
|
|
thing alive. Each color seemed like a living thing making up the entire
|
|
whole.
|
|
"At first, the guests shrieked and shouted, but once they saw there
|
|
was no harm, they settled down and made funny noises at the lights.
|
|
'Ooohing' and 'aaahing' at everything. Some of them forgot to close
|
|
their mouths and the lights would enter their mouths and come out their
|
|
eyes and ears. It was the funniest and grandest thing they had ever
|
|
seen."
|
|
"And no one got hurt?" Niatha asked.
|
|
"Hush," Merrif replied. "Just because of one instance, you ask that
|
|
every time."
|
|
"Well, it was my tail!"
|
|
"Good thing you don't burn easily. And I thought you wanted to hear
|
|
about the magic." When Niatha didn't reply, Merrif continued. "The
|
|
lights finally faded away and the guests cried out for more. I wasn't
|
|
sure if I could do anything more amazing than that.
|
|
"I tried for something small, again. No need to push things too
|
|
far. I wanted to swirl out a small breeze to blow through people's hair.
|
|
After my gestures and tossing out some powder, I got a swirl, right
|
|
enough. Wind gathered and formed in front of me in a milky human shape.
|
|
It flowed over to the nearest girl, grabbed her, and started dancing
|
|
with her. People were pushed aside by wind as the two danced through
|
|
them. The girl seemed to love the dancing. The wind picked them up and
|
|
they started floating above the floor, still dancing.
|
|
"There wasn't any music playing, but the girl acted as if she heard
|
|
some. She was smiling and her hair was swished back from the wind. Her
|
|
feet moved in time to some tune and the wind moved her effortlessly
|
|
throughout the room. They danced back down to the floor. The wind moved
|
|
closer and kissed her on the cheek, then stepped back from her, bowed
|
|
once and disappeared."
|
|
"And no one was hurt?"
|
|
"Will you stop asking that question?!" Merrif shouted. "Of course
|
|
no one was hurt!" Niatha's laughter rang out and interrupted any further
|
|
rebuke by Merrif. "One day, I'm going to try some magic your way again.
|
|
We'll see what catches fire."
|
|
Niatha's laughter stopped. "You wouldn't!" Niatha replied.
|
|
"No, but it made you stop laughing." Merrif laughed.
|
|
"What happened at the keep next?" Niatha asked.
|
|
"Nothing."
|
|
"Nothing?"
|
|
"Nothing. They asked for more magic and I feigned that I was tired.
|
|
I told them that working magic took a lot of energy and that I couldn't
|
|
do any more. I told them I had to rest. They didn't ask again. The duke
|
|
himself thanked me."
|
|
"He did? You must have made some impression."
|
|
"Not only did the duke thank me, but so did everyone else as I
|
|
left. Considering how my magic usually turns out, the evening went very
|
|
well."
|
|
Niatha moved his tail around to the front of him where he used his
|
|
front legs to grab it. He pushed his fur aside on his tail and looked
|
|
closely at his skin. "Yes, considering --"
|
|
"Hush! Now, move aside and let me get back to sleep."
|
|
|
|
Dawn's light crept upon the town, over the buildings, and through
|
|
the windows. On this particular morning, just like every other morning,
|
|
particular or not, the light flooded onto a bed. While the bed never
|
|
objected, one of its occupants did.
|
|
Soft, black, velvety fur shimmered and glistened in the light. The
|
|
once motionless form twitched and muscles rippled. Niatha's eyes closed
|
|
tighter in an effort to block the light, but failing in that, he flipped
|
|
his tail in annoyance.
|
|
"Merrrrrrifff," Niatha yawned. "Why can't we put something over the
|
|
window?" The other occupant of the bed snored in response. "Merrif,"
|
|
Niatha repeated a bit louder. Turning away from the sun, Niatha used his
|
|
powerful back legs to push against Merrif. Instead of moving Merrif as
|
|
planned, he only succeeded in pushing himself closer to the edge of the
|
|
bed and into more sunlight. "Merrif!" Niatha cried in annoyance.
|
|
"Huh?" Merrif snorted. Long, skinny arms stretched out from under
|
|
the blankets. His wrinkled, aged face appeared and blinked against the
|
|
sun. "Niatha, why do you have to wake me every morning?"
|
|
"Because the sun wakes me every morning," Niatha replied. He lifted
|
|
his feline body and arched his back, wings unfurling and reflecting the
|
|
light in a multi-hued fashion. Bending his neck, Niatha placed his head
|
|
under one wing and let the wing rest on top of it.
|
|
"Oh, no you don't," Merrif said. "I'm awake and you're going to
|
|
stay awake, too." Tossing blankets aside, Merrif rolled Niatha off the
|
|
bed. Niatha hissed as he rolled and turned, landing on the floor on back
|
|
legs, only to have his momentum push him further. He flopped over on his
|
|
back and lay there.
|
|
"That," Niatha said, "was cruel."
|
|
"You should have seen yourself," Merrif laughed. "Rolling and
|
|
twisting and turning, only to land on your back."
|
|
"You'd better hope I don't grow any bigger. It may be you rolling
|
|
and twisting, then," Niatha warned. Merrif laughed harder. "What's so
|
|
funny about that?" Niatha asked.
|
|
"Can ... see me ... arms and legs ... flailing?" Merrif managed
|
|
between short intakes of breath and his laughter. Niatha rolled over and
|
|
sat up, twisting his head as he tried to picture Merrif rolling off the
|
|
bed. As he glimpsed what Merrif had seen, he started laughing. "Those
|
|
long arms and legs of yours would really be a sight to see!" Both of
|
|
them laughed harder.
|
|
"It's good that you aren't larger," Merrif said as he got out of
|
|
bed. He placed his feet on the floor and then lifted them, saying,
|
|
"Another cold morning. You're lucky you have fur."
|
|
"I still get chilly," Niatha replied as he leaped back onto the
|
|
bed. "Are you going to start a fire this morning?"
|
|
"No, today is market day for us. Did you forget?"
|
|
"No, but I was hoping you did."
|
|
"Hmmph. My magic may not work as it should, but my memory does. Are
|
|
you going to sit there or are you going to help me pack?"
|
|
"I'll sit here," Niatha smiled. His smile showed some of his small
|
|
sharp teeth.
|
|
"That's what you do all day. When you aren't sleeping, that is."
|
|
"It's better than knocking your powders and herbs off the table,
|
|
isn't it? Besides, I don't exactly have hands to grab with."
|
|
"Tell that to all the rats. You grab them very well."
|
|
"That's different. I don't have to be gentle with them."
|
|
"No, I suppose not." Merrif walked over to the wall where a row of
|
|
herbs hung on twine. He grabbed a couple of dried leaves from several
|
|
different plants and walked back to the table. He used a mortar and
|
|
pestle to grind the individual leaves. After crushing all of the leaves,
|
|
he mixed a few of them together and put the mixture in a small cloth
|
|
bag, which he tied shut. He did this until he had filled all fifteen of
|
|
his bags. He gathered them up and put them in his pack. He grabbed a
|
|
couple of small vials filled with creams and salves and set them
|
|
carefully in the pack.
|
|
"Don't forget your wand," Niatha told him.
|
|
"Heh," Merrif snorted. "Don't want to forget my *magic* wand. It's
|
|
amazing what a little bit of a performance can do to sell something. You
|
|
know, sometime soon, someone is going to recognize that the wand isn't
|
|
magic." He placed the wand inside the pack.
|
|
"You'll have to do some real magic, then."
|
|
"Illiena help me. I just hope I don't burn the whole marketplace
|
|
down."
|
|
"Or no one gets hurt."
|
|
"Oh, hush! I haven't hurt anyone yet."
|
|
"Me!"
|
|
"You aren't anyone and your fur grew back fine. Are you ready to
|
|
go?"
|
|
"I am, but I don't have to get dressed. You, however, should change
|
|
before you leave," Niatha said. Merrif looked down at himself and
|
|
noticed that he was only wearing a pair of thin breeches. "You were
|
|
saying something about your memory?"
|
|
"It's fine!" Merrif replied. "I was going to change first." Merrif
|
|
walked over to the wall where his clothes hung. If hanging herbs off of
|
|
the wall was a good place to keep them, then hanging clothes on the
|
|
other wall should be a good place to keep them, too. Changing quickly,
|
|
he grabbed his pack again and started for the door. Niatha jumped down
|
|
and followed him.
|
|
"While we walk to the marketplace," Niatha said. "This would be a
|
|
good time to tell me how I got here," Niatha said.
|
|
"We've been over this. I don't want to talk about it."
|
|
"You said you didn't deliberately call me, so what were you doing?"
|
|
"Nothing," Merrif answered, taking long strides down the alley.
|
|
"Nothing?" Niatha asked, trying to catch up.
|
|
"Yes, nothing."
|
|
"Then how did I get here?"
|
|
"Magic."
|
|
"Whose?" Niatha asked.
|
|
"It was mine, I think. But I don't want to talk about it," Merrif
|
|
replied, slowing a bit so that Niatha didn't have to run.
|
|
"I need to know."
|
|
"Why?"
|
|
"Because I do," Niatha replied.
|
|
"Tell me why you need to know."
|
|
"If I do, will you tell me how I got here?"
|
|
"No," Merrif replied.
|
|
"Were you trying some sort of spell?"
|
|
"I don't want to talk about it."
|
|
Niatha sighed and let the matter drop. The two walked in silence,
|
|
each in their own private world, until they reached the marketplace.
|
|
|
|
"What a beautiful cat," a young woman remarked upon seeing Niatha
|
|
sitting on the table. Her voice was shrill and piercing and her body was
|
|
short and slightly stocky. She started to reach out to pet Niatha.
|
|
"I'm not a cat," Niatha hissed. He knew she couldn't hear him, but
|
|
he thought maybe baring his fangs would work.
|
|
"Beautiful but mean," the woman replied, bringing her hand back
|
|
quickly. "I don't see many cats that are that black. Where did you find
|
|
her?"
|
|
"I'm not female," Niatha hissed louder. He got up and turned away
|
|
from the woman and jumped down to the ground behind Merrif.
|
|
"It's a he," Merrif responded, smiling. "And I just found him one
|
|
day. He followed me home and hasn't left since." Merrif could hear
|
|
another hiss behind him. His smile got bigger.
|
|
"Her fur looks so soft," the woman said. "But I doubt she'd let me
|
|
pet her, would she?"
|
|
"No, *she* is rather wild still."
|
|
"She?" Niatha asked, his voice going higher than normal. "*She*?"
|
|
"Do you have any potions for sickness at sea? My husband insists
|
|
he's fine, but all the other hands on the ship tease him about being
|
|
sick."
|
|
"I do indeed have a potion for curing that," Merrif told her. "It
|
|
is an old remedy and not only will it cure the sea sickness, but it will
|
|
also cure the head aches from drinking all night."
|
|
"Truly?" the woman asked. Her eyes opened largely and she leaned in
|
|
closer to Merrif. "How much?"
|
|
"There is one minor failing of the herb. It leaves the breath
|
|
smelling slightly bad."
|
|
"How bad and how much is it?"
|
|
"It smells almost like an onion and it is a mere Sterling."
|
|
"A Sterling! For something that will make the breath smell like an
|
|
onion? You jest?"
|
|
"Ah, but young lady, it will also give you a reason to turn down
|
|
his advances at night. Is it not worth a Sterling just for that?"
|
|
"Hmm ... There is that. Five Floren."
|
|
"Seven and no less."
|
|
"Six."
|
|
"You'd better take it," Niatha remarked from behind him. "She's
|
|
liable to suggest three."
|
|
"Just how long does my husband have to take this potion?" the woman
|
|
asked.
|
|
"For curing the sea sickness, just before he goes out to sea. For
|
|
the drinking, when he wakes up after drinking all night."
|
|
"Each time he goes out to sea? That's nigh every day!"
|
|
"Yes, but one bag will last several weeks. Unless his sickness is
|
|
strong, then you'll have to make the potion stronger."
|
|
"How does it work?"
|
|
"Just mix two pinches in a cup of some liquid. Have him drink all
|
|
of it. If you use tea, it masks the flavor somewhat."
|
|
"And you said six Floren?"
|
|
"Seven."
|
|
"Straight. Seven it is." She paid Merrif the Floren. He picked up
|
|
the bag in one hand and picked up his wand in the other. He moved the
|
|
wand in circles over the small bag and then snapped the wand down on the
|
|
table. Several loud cracklings exploded out from the wand. The woman
|
|
jumped back. Merrif opened his other hand and the bag was gone.
|
|
"The powder and the bag are now in the wand," Merrif explained.
|
|
"Watch the wand closely." He spun the wand several times and twirled the
|
|
end in a circular pattern. The tip of the wand left a glowing circle in
|
|
the air. Suddenly, Merrif moved the wand to his once empty hand. The bag
|
|
had magically reappeared. "Your powder," he said, handing the bag to the
|
|
woman. She reached out and with trembling hands, took the bag. She
|
|
turned and quickly left without a word.
|
|
"Why didn't you correct her when she called me a she again?" Niatha
|
|
asked.
|
|
"Never argue over something insignificant with someone who might
|
|
buy your potions," Merrif chuckled.
|
|
"Insignificant? *That* isn't insignificant. It's bad enough that
|
|
people see me as a cat, let alone get my gender wrong."
|
|
"I sold the powder, didn't I?"
|
|
"Yes, howev--"
|
|
"We have money to spend."
|
|
"Yes," Niatha sighed, knowing when to give up. "We have money."
|
|
Niatha turned his head sideways and used his front paw to scratch behind
|
|
his ear.
|
|
"Here," Merrif said, "let me help." He reached down without waiting
|
|
for a reply and rubbed behind Niatha's ear.
|
|
"Sometimes, I wish I had round soft fingers," Niatha replied.
|
|
"These paws are great for hunting, but not much else." Four curved,
|
|
sharp claws extended out from Niatha's paw. As he set his paw to the
|
|
ground, the claws retracted back, his velvety fur hiding them.
|
|
"That's an interesting creature," a man said.
|
|
"Eh?" Merrif rasped, looking up. "What was it you said?" Merrif saw
|
|
a man of medium size, albeit wider in the shoulders than most, short cut
|
|
brown hair, and a piercing gaze. Leaning on a cane, the man was looking
|
|
at Niatha.
|
|
"He said I was an interesting creature," Niatha replied.
|
|
"I said that is an interesting creature."
|
|
"It's a cat," Merrif said.
|
|
"That isn't like any cat I've seen," the man said.
|
|
"He can't really see me, can he?" Niatha asked.
|
|
"What do you mean?" Merrif asked.
|
|
"Lylle! Come over here," the man yelled.
|
|
"What is it Raphael?" Lylle responded, moving towards the table.
|
|
Lylle was a young teen, small framed, slightly skinny, and had long,
|
|
tangled brown hair. His face was dirty and his clothes were ragged.
|
|
"Come look at this creature," Raphael said.
|
|
"What do you mean 'creature'?" Merrif asked again.
|
|
"What?" Lylle asked. "I see a cat."
|
|
"He does see me," Niatha said.
|
|
"Oh, hush!" Merrif hissed.
|
|
"Who are you telling to hush?" Lylle asked, his eyes narrowing.
|
|
"You just see a cat?" Raphael asked.
|
|
"It's just a cat," Merrif responded.
|
|
"That is not a cat," Raphael replied.
|
|
"Looks like a cat to me," Lylle said.
|
|
"Meow," Niatha replied.
|
|
"Like that is going to help," Merrif said, rolling his eyes.
|
|
"What is going to help?" Lylle asked.
|
|
"What is it?" Raphael asked.
|
|
"Yes, what am I?" Niatha asked.
|
|
"Ah!" Merrif yelled. "You never quit, do you?"
|
|
"No," Niatha and Raphael replied at the same time.
|
|
"Straight!" Lylle said. "I'm going to go look around some more.
|
|
I'll be across the street. Come get me when you're done, Raphael." Lylle
|
|
shook his head and started to leave.
|
|
"Stay for a mene," Raphael said. Lylle stayed.
|
|
"Can you hear anyone else talking besides me?" Merrif asked.
|
|
"No, why?" Raphael answered.
|
|
"At least he can't hear me," Niatha said.
|
|
"Unfold your wings," Merrif said.
|
|
"What?" Raphael asked. Niatha opened his wings. Raphael's eyes
|
|
opened wide for a brief moment. "Definitely not a cat."
|
|
"No," Merrif responded. "He isn't."
|
|
"What is he? He talks to you, doesn't he? Why can I see him and not
|
|
hear him, then?"
|
|
"He's a magical creature," Merrif answered.
|
|
"And I came from where?" Niatha asked. Merrif ignored him.
|
|
"I've never seen anything like him and I've walked half of 'diar."
|
|
"That narrows things down by half," Niatha quipped. "Some help he
|
|
is."
|
|
"Hush," Merrif snapped.
|
|
"What is he saying?" Raphael asked.
|
|
"Nothing important."
|
|
"Why is it I never say anything important?" Niatha whined. "One of
|
|
these days, you'll listen to me and it will be important."
|
|
"It is a beautiful creature. What kind of magical creature is it?
|
|
What's its name? Can it hear me?" Raphael asked.
|
|
"I like him," Niatha said. "He's more curious than I am."
|
|
"I don't know what kind of creature he is. His name is Niatha and
|
|
yes he can hear you."
|
|
"Why can I see him while everyone else sees a cat?"
|
|
"A good question," Merrif answered. "A good question, indeed."
|
|
"Just what am I?" Niatha asked.
|
|
"It's a cat," Lylle said, unaware of what Niatha had asked.
|
|
Agitation was beginning to show in his face. He shifted around almost as
|
|
much as Niatha.
|
|
"No, it isn't," Raphael replied. His one hand rested on top of a
|
|
straight wooden cane, but he wasn't leaning on it. His body was relaxed
|
|
and there was a smile in his eyes.
|
|
"You called me back over here to argue about a cat? Or whatever it
|
|
is?" Lylle asked.
|
|
"Have you heard it make any sound?" Raphael asked. Merrif stood
|
|
silently while the two talked. He was curious as to where Raphael was
|
|
taking the conversation.
|
|
"No," Lylle replied. "I haven't." Lylle reached down to touch
|
|
Niatha and Niatha hissed.
|
|
"I don't like to be touched," Niatha said.
|
|
"That isn't a hiss from any cat I've heard," Raphael said.
|
|
"No," Lylle agreed. "But cats make all kinds of noises." He
|
|
shrugged.
|
|
"Can he pet him?" Raphael asked.
|
|
"No!" Niatha hissed again.
|
|
"Hush, Niatha," Merrif said. "I want to see what happens. Let him
|
|
pet you." Niatha gave a low growl but didn't say anything else. "Go
|
|
ahead, he'll let you." Lylle slowly lowered his hand to Niatha and then
|
|
ran it lightly over his head, neck and back. Niatha's wings were folded
|
|
down and Lylle ran his hand over them.
|
|
"I don't feel anything different," Lylle said.
|
|
"Unfold your wings, Niatha," Merrif said. Niatha stretched his
|
|
wings out. Lylle ran his hand down Niatha's neck and up part of his
|
|
wings and down to his back again.
|
|
"Nothing out of the ordinary," Lylle said. "Just a cat."
|
|
"Your hand went up the wings and down to his back," Raphael said.
|
|
"No, there wasn't anything there. I just ran my hand over his
|
|
back," Lylle disagreed.
|
|
"You're the only one who can see him as he is," Merrif said to
|
|
Raphael. "I don't know why." Niatha moved out of Lylle's reach and
|
|
turned to smooth his wings back down. He used his front paw to brush his
|
|
fur.
|
|
Raphael stood mesmerized as he watched Niatha. Lylle looked at
|
|
Raphael and then looked at Niatha before looking up to Merrif.
|
|
"Will someone explain what's going on?" Lylle asked.
|
|
"Yes, what is going on?" a man asked behind them. "Is this Merrif's
|
|
table? Someone told me to come here for, um, potions." The man squirmed
|
|
his way between Raphael and Lylle. He bent over the table and whispered
|
|
something to Merrif.
|
|
"Ah," Merrif said, "a love potion!" The man started to run, but
|
|
Raphael and Lylle blocked his way.
|
|
"No need to be ashamed," Merrif stated. He reached out and motioned
|
|
for Raphael to move to one side. Raphael and Lylle stepped to the side.
|
|
"I am Merrif and I just happen to have enough powder for one more love
|
|
potion." Raphael continued to watch Niatha.
|
|
"Make him quit staring," Niatha testily spoke. "Why is he staring
|
|
at me?"
|
|
"Make it strong," the man said, his voice cracking just a bit. He
|
|
was a tall, muscular man with a mustache that grew down around his mouth
|
|
to hang below his chin. His clothes looked to be made of fine silk and
|
|
smooth leather. "She ignores me and I want to capture her love."
|
|
"Strong?" Merrif queried. "I make it only one way and it works. I
|
|
wouldn't want to mix something different. It might get so strong, she'll
|
|
end up hating you instead."
|
|
"Oh!" the man replied, a startled look on his face. "Then make it
|
|
so that it works."
|
|
"What is that?" Lylle asked the man, pointing at Niatha.
|
|
"What?" the man asked, his eyebrows raised.
|
|
"What is that?" Lylle asked again, his finger still pointing at
|
|
Niatha. The man looked over at the feline creature.
|
|
"I should bite his finger," Niatha said, smiling.
|
|
"It's a cat," the man replied, turning to look at Lylle as though
|
|
he was a child. "What do you think it is?"
|
|
"Your powder," Merrif quickly said, holding out a small bag. "Mix
|
|
it all in a mug of water."
|
|
"Thank you," the man said, reaching for the bag. Merrif pulled the
|
|
bag back out of reach.
|
|
"A Sterling," Merrif said.
|
|
"Sterling!" the man yelped. "That's five Floren more than I'm
|
|
willing to pay."
|
|
"You would put such a small, small price on love?" Merrif asked in
|
|
a soft flowing voice. "To have your love returned by the woman you seek,
|
|
is a Sterling such a high price?"
|
|
"Uh ... well ..."
|
|
"Should she not notice you and give you a chance to be together, I
|
|
will give you half the money back," Merrif said. "But hear me, you must
|
|
have her full attention for two bells after she drinks the potion. If
|
|
not, the potion will not work."
|
|
"A Sterling, it is," the man agreed, handing over the silver coin
|
|
and taking the bag. Raphael and Lylle watched the man go.
|
|
"If I could do that, I wouldn't have to steal," Lylle remarked,
|
|
enviously.
|
|
"Do what?" Merrif asked, confused.
|
|
"Get a Sterling out of someone who doesn't want to pay it," Lylle
|
|
answered. "You really are a mage. Does that powder work?"
|
|
"I just sell them what they want. Yes, I am a mage. And yes, it
|
|
will work if he uses it the way I instructed."
|
|
"Straight!" Lylle spurted. "You have to show me what that powder
|
|
is."
|
|
"If I did that," Merrif laughed, "I wouldn't be the only one
|
|
selling it, would I? And I don't doubt that many of the young ladies in
|
|
the town would suddenly find themselves in your arms."
|
|
"Yes, mage," Raphael laughed. "I would agree. Much too powerful for
|
|
someone so young."
|
|
"He won't even let me try it," Niatha said. Then realizing that the
|
|
other two couldn't hear him, he flipped his tail angrily and said, "I
|
|
*hate* not being heard."
|
|
"I heard you," Merrif said.
|
|
"What did he say?" Raphael asked.
|
|
"He's complaining that I don't let him try any of my powders."
|
|
"You're not going to let me have some of that powder, are you?"
|
|
Lylle asked.
|
|
"Only if you can get me an audience with Illiena," Merrif chuckled.
|
|
"Ugh," Niatha groaned. He turned around and started grooming his
|
|
fur. "Not her again."
|
|
"Illiena?" Lylle asked.
|
|
"Goddess of the Manifest," Raphael replied. "She's normally
|
|
pictured as a young, beautiful woman holding a wooden staff. Then again,
|
|
most goddesses are pictured as young and beautiful. I've heard her
|
|
described as being loving and caring until angered and then she has a
|
|
rather nasty, fiery temper."
|
|
"Are you a follower of Illiena?" Merrif asked. His eyes were wide
|
|
and his mouth was slightly open. He stroked his long beard with one of
|
|
his hands while the other pushed down on the table, holding him up. He
|
|
leaned towards Raphael waiting for an answer, an intense look in his
|
|
eyes.
|
|
"No, I'm not," Raphael replied. The light behind Merrif's eyes
|
|
dulled and he blinked, long and hard. He gave a small imperceptive sigh
|
|
as he stepped back.
|
|
"There aren't very many true believers," Merrif stated.
|
|
"You are one," Raphael stated.
|
|
"How do you know so much about Illiena?" Merrif asked.
|
|
"He's cursed them all," Lylle answered and laughed, not caring that
|
|
the subject had turned serious.
|
|
"You've cursed Illiena?" Merrif spurted, stepping back away from
|
|
Raphael. His hand had grabbed the wand from the table and clenched it
|
|
tight.
|
|
"No," Niatha warned. "Even if he cursed her all night, it doesn't
|
|
mean anything. People curse gods and goddesses all the time." Niatha
|
|
leaned back, muscles taut. His tail swished behind him. His front claws
|
|
were out and digging into the ground. Niatha knew that Merrif would use
|
|
magic to defend Illiena, no matter how unstable the magic was.
|
|
"Not Illiena," Merrif replied.
|
|
"No, not Illiena, Raphael stated. "I've cursed a good many gods,
|
|
but Illiena wasn't one of them."
|
|
"I think I like Ol the best," Lylle said. "His have been the best.
|
|
Ol's piss, Ol's blood, Ol's --"
|
|
"Enough," Raphael snapped. There was a tightness to his voice that
|
|
hinted at anger.
|
|
"It's true," Lylle defended himself. "You've cursed the whole lot
|
|
of them. And all for a woman --"
|
|
"Enough!" Raphael warned.
|
|
"Not Illiena," Merrif restated. He had relaxed and had let the wand
|
|
settle onto the table.
|
|
"No mage, not Illiena. I spent time learning about a good many of
|
|
the gods just to find one to heal a wound that wouldn't heal. When they
|
|
didn't heal it, I cursed them. When I finally came across Illiena, I was
|
|
all cursed out."
|
|
"Not all," Lylle said. "I seem to recall an incident with some
|
|
Stevenics." Raphael grunted in response.
|
|
"No loss there," Niatha replied.
|
|
"Blasphemous lot," Merrif agreed. "Heathens, all of them."
|
|
"I'm glad I'm not Stevenic," Lylle said, looking at Merrif.
|
|
"Did they say something bad about Illiena?" Raphael asked.
|
|
"They tried," Niatha laughed. "They tried and tried and tried!" He
|
|
rolled onto his side and kicked his feet out.
|
|
"What's he doing?" Lylle asked.
|
|
"Nothing," Merrif replied, quickly.
|
|
"Oh no!" Niatha said. "You have to tell them!"
|
|
"What is it?" Raphael asked, watching Niatha roll on the ground.
|
|
"He isn't hurt, is he?"
|
|
"He wants me to tell you about my encounter with the Stevenic
|
|
priests."
|
|
"What happened?" Lylle asked.
|
|
"I used magic on them," Merrif huffed. "And they deserved it!"
|
|
"Tell them all," Niatha urged. "Aaa-all oo-of --" Niatha stuttered.
|
|
At that point, his laughter returned in force.
|
|
"Strange cat," Lylle said, watching Niatha roll over and over on
|
|
the ground.
|
|
"As you asked," Merrif began. "The Stevenics blasphemed and called
|
|
Illiena a false goddess. They called Cephas Stevene the one true prophet
|
|
of the one true god. I'm a bit quick to lose my temper when it comes to
|
|
Illiena and I cast a spell at the priest. I wanted to burn his tongue
|
|
for saying those things."
|
|
"Ouch," Lylle said. "Burn the tongue? That would hurt."
|
|
"Yes," Merrif agreed. "I regained control over my temper in time to
|
|
just cause the priest to stutter rather than permanently harm his
|
|
mouth."
|
|
"Control?" Niatha asked, his laughter gone. "I recall you did want
|
|
to burn his mouth. Stuttering was what you got, though." Merrif ignored
|
|
him.
|
|
"Stutter?" Raphael asked.
|
|
"Yes, the priest couldn't say anything about Illiena or false gods
|
|
without stuttering horridly," Merrif explained.
|
|
"I would have paid to see that," Lylle chuckled.
|
|
"Yes, it would have been a sight to see, or rather hear," Raphael
|
|
replied, grinning. Niatha had regained his sitting posture.
|
|
"I wouldn't tell them the truth about your magic, either," Niatha
|
|
told Merrif as he finally understood why Merrif had changed the story.
|
|
"You'd probably not sell any more potions after that spread through
|
|
town."
|
|
"As nice as this talk has been ..." Lylle began as he watched a
|
|
cute, young woman walk by him. "I see that there are other things in
|
|
this marketplace that need some attention."
|
|
"Later," Raphael replied. "It's near mid of day and I could use
|
|
some food. What about you, mage?"
|
|
"Merrif," the mage replied.
|
|
"Merrif," Raphael stated, deliberate and curt, "are you hungry?"
|
|
"I am," Niatha quickly answered. "All this talking has gotten me
|
|
hungry."
|
|
"You haven't been talking," Merrif said, looking down at Niatha.
|
|
Raphael waited for his answer. Merrif looked up and said, "Yes, I could
|
|
use some food."
|
|
"Lylle and I will go for food, if you'll enlighten us with
|
|
knowledge of Illiena," Raphael proposed.
|
|
"What is the word all these youngsters use? Straight?"
|
|
"Straight," Lylle agreed. "That's the word. Now, quick before that
|
|
lovely young woman gets out of sight." Raphael turned to leave, a small
|
|
limp evident in his walk. His cane clicked on the ground at every other
|
|
step. Lylle followed him in their search for food. Looking ahead, Lylle
|
|
noticed they were headed in the same direction as the young woman.
|
|
Smiling, Lylle picked up his pace and moved ahead of Raphael.
|
|
"Raphael is someone to watch," Niatha said once they were gone, a
|
|
serious tone in his voice.
|
|
"Yes," Merrif agreed. He lowered himself into a chair and stretched
|
|
out a hand to scratch behind Niatha's ears. "Finding us, seeing you and
|
|
knowing of Illiena is too much a coincidence. There is something here."
|
|
"What do you mean?" Niatha asked. His head was tilted to the side
|
|
to allow Merrif's hand better access to scratch. A low rumbling growl
|
|
could be heard coming from Niatha as he enjoyed the attention.
|
|
"Something is starting. I can feel the magic gathering around us.
|
|
It's like a storm brewing on the horizon. A large storm full of wrath
|
|
and destruction. I can feel that energy building."
|
|
"Where is it centered?"
|
|
"On all of us, dear friend. On all of us."
|
|
|
|
Raphael and Lylle returned shortly with their hands full of food.
|
|
Raphael placed all of his food on Merrif's table. Pointing to part of
|
|
the food, he said, "This is what I got for Niatha." Merrif set the food
|
|
down in front of Niatha.
|
|
"It's cooked!" Niatha whined. "And it smells burnt." There were
|
|
several slices of fried lamb amidst various vegetables on a thick slice
|
|
of bread. He moved to the left of the pile of food and tentatively
|
|
sniffed it. "They think I'm going to eat this?" he asked.
|
|
"What's wrong?" Raphael asked. He watched as Niatha moved to the
|
|
left and then to the right of the food. Smiling, Raphael shook his head
|
|
and said, "I got meat and vegetables for him because I didn't know what
|
|
kind of food he ate. I didn't think about the meat being cooked. Does he
|
|
likes to hunt for his food?"
|
|
"Yes and he is complaining that it's cooked," Merrif replied.
|
|
"He'll eat it, though."
|
|
"Where's the fun in that?" Niatha complained. He reached out with a
|
|
paw and moved the pile of food. "It isn't like a rat. No fight, no
|
|
squealing, no warm blood. All the good things have been taken out of it.
|
|
What did you say this was?" He sniffed at the meat again. "Lamb, I'm
|
|
guessing."
|
|
"Yes, it's lamb," Merrif answered.
|
|
"I wonder what a lamb would be like before it's cooked? They get
|
|
kind of big, don't they?" Niatha smiled as he contemplated the hunt and
|
|
kill. His fangs showed through as his smile grew wider.
|
|
"Those are some teeth," Lylle remarked. "Still looks like a cat,
|
|
though."
|
|
"Tell me about Illiena," Raphael interrupted. "Does she really use
|
|
magic?"
|
|
"Ah, Illiena ..." Merrif said, running his long fingers through his
|
|
scraggly beard. "Why, she's the brightest, most beautiful goddess ever.
|
|
She ..." and so Merrif continued.
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
Talisman Five
|
|
Part 1
|
|
by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
|
|
<John.White@Drexel.Edu>
|
|
Vibril 16, 1010
|
|
|
|
Author's Note: Just over two thousand years have passed since
|
|
three lovers and a meddling outsider created a Talisman that
|
|
was more than any of them knew. An accident destroyed it, and
|
|
started those four individuals on a round of reincarnations to
|
|
attempt to piece the artifact back together. The six pieces
|
|
have become three over the centuries, but one of the original
|
|
fragments remains hidden, having not been exposed to the open
|
|
air since that lightning-riven winter solstice so long ago.
|
|
That last part must be found before those four souls can find
|
|
peace.
|
|
This part of the Talisman saga moves the story into the
|
|
present day, as forces are set in motion to secure the release
|
|
of that last fragment. This story and those that follow will
|
|
focus on the four reincarnates as they are drawn toward the
|
|
city of Dargon and the resolution of their millennia-long
|
|
task. (This portion of the Talisman Saga goes over events
|
|
previously written about. To gain a more complete
|
|
understanding of them, please refer to the story "The
|
|
Treasure", Parts 1 through 4, which appeared in FSFnet 7-5,
|
|
FSFnet 8-2, FSFnet 9-2, and FSFnet 10-2. That story also
|
|
recaps events that appeared in even earlier stories, most
|
|
notably "A New Life", in FSFnet 5-3.)
|
|
|
|
In a room deep underground, two lamps flared to life of their own
|
|
accord. Moments later, a tracery of lines on one wall began to glow. In
|
|
the center of those lines, the image of a door vanished, replaced with
|
|
swirling and roiling mist. The mist then parted sharply as it was pushed
|
|
aside by a figure stepping slowly through the new opening in the wall.
|
|
Roharvardenul stepped into the room deep below the city of Magnus
|
|
with a smile on his narrow face. He took pleasure in the feat he had
|
|
just accomplished so easily: traveling from his hidden fortress
|
|
Aahashtra to Magnus, more than a hundred leagues, in only a single
|
|
stride.
|
|
Vard was a tall man with long, dark hair that hung past his
|
|
shoulders. His somewhat dissipated face had deep-set eyes, a large nose,
|
|
and a moustache and goatee framing his slightly pouty, full lips that
|
|
sneered as naturally as they smiled. He wore a simple tunic and trousers
|
|
over his slender body, but the cut and the fabric indicated that he was
|
|
no peasant or simple laborer. The cloak he wore hinted more at his
|
|
actual status with its elaborately jeweled embroidery at throat and hem.
|
|
Vard was a sorcerer, extremely skilled and most powerful.
|
|
He glanced around the small room. It had once been just a cellar
|
|
below the basement of a nondescript house in the Fifth Quarter of
|
|
Magnus, the Crown City of Baranur. Now, it was much more. One wall bore
|
|
a complex pattern of geometric shapes formed by a single continuous line
|
|
that began in one palm-sized golden circle and ended in another. That
|
|
pattern surrounded a depiction of a door, each plank detailed down to
|
|
the grain of the wood, that had been drawn into the tiles of the wall in
|
|
the same fashion as had the pattern of shapes, the single line beginning
|
|
and ending in the same terminal circles.
|
|
On the floor lay a soft rug. Against one wall rested an ornate
|
|
chair, and against the opposite wall was a medium-sized chest. Across
|
|
the room from the magical pattern was a curtained doorway, the only
|
|
ordinary way out.
|
|
Vard turned around just as the power that had filled the pattern on
|
|
the wall, linking it and its twin beneath Aahashtra, faded, and the
|
|
image of the doorway returned. Now the passage was sealed, until he
|
|
applied his magic and opened the portal once more.
|
|
He strode purposefully over to the curtained doorway and slipped
|
|
through. The curtain dropped behind him, enclosing him in complete
|
|
darkness. He paused briefly, composing himself. The corridor that linked
|
|
his underground ante-chamber with the streets of the Fifth Quarter of
|
|
Magnus was lined with tests and traps to protect it from unwanted
|
|
intruders. In order to pass safely through his own traps, he needed to
|
|
fill his mind with a shifting set of patterns that each magical snare
|
|
recognized.
|
|
There was another way, of course. He could have simply carried an
|
|
amulet like the one his servant, Qrun, bore. But he enjoyed the trial of
|
|
threading his own gauntlet each time he made the trip to Magnus; he was
|
|
testing himself, honing his own faculties while going about his daily
|
|
business. He would have it no other way.
|
|
Vard took several deep breaths and, stretching his hand out to the
|
|
side to touch the wall, started forward with the proper key-patterns in
|
|
his mind. As he walked, both his own inner sense of timing and certain
|
|
subtle clues in the texture of the wall told him when to alter the
|
|
patterns. He took his time as he carefully negotiated the passage and
|
|
came, as he always did, safely to the end.
|
|
He paused again in the short section at the street-end of the
|
|
corridor that was free of traps and tests. He spent several moments
|
|
relaxing the tension that always built up as he walked through that
|
|
slightly curving, slightly upward-sloped passage. But he didn't
|
|
immediately open the door and step out into the alley once the faint
|
|
tension in his shoulders and neck had been soothed away. He had another
|
|
task to complete before he essayed the streets of Magnus.
|
|
In the still completely lightless corridor, Vard began to
|
|
concentrate again. Slowly, the mage's features fleshed out. His face
|
|
became squarer, with a prominent jaw and a strong mouth forming before
|
|
the goatee grew and covered the lower half of his face. His eyes thinned
|
|
as his nose expanded, and his hair shortened into a close-cropped
|
|
bristle of brown. A hat formed over that hair, tight yet still somewhat
|
|
squarish, trimmed with a long tassel at the top and beading around the
|
|
lower edge.
|
|
His spare body got taller and filled out, getting stocky and square
|
|
as well. His tunic, trousers, and cloak became the multiple layers of
|
|
robes of a Beinison merchant, longest and plainest robe at the bottom,
|
|
with each successive robe becoming shorter and more ornamented with
|
|
embroidery, then beads, then plaques of precious metals. The fifth and
|
|
final robe was little more than a vest that was so weighted down with
|
|
decoration that not a single thread of its underlying fabric was
|
|
visible. The toes of embroidered boots poked out from beneath the
|
|
longest underrobe.
|
|
Vard was the master of many talents, and one of those talents was
|
|
illusion. He was always thorough, which was why each robe had formed
|
|
separately. Vard was extremely cautious, and possibly even paranoid
|
|
about it, but he had never set foot in Magnus appearing as himself.
|
|
Within the walls of his fortress home, he felt completely safe, prepared
|
|
for anything. Venturing into the chaos that was a city like Magnus,
|
|
where anything could happen and anyone might see him, he preferred to
|
|
take what precautions he could to protect himself. The easiest and most
|
|
elemental precaution was not to be himself, but it wasn't the only step
|
|
he took.
|
|
Vard still didn't move, even once the illusion of the merchant was
|
|
fully in place. Instead, he continued to concentrate. Over the first
|
|
illusion, another one formed. A heavy cloth tunic coalesced over the
|
|
merchant's robes, reaching to his knees. Over that appeared a leather
|
|
apron, and under the tunic heavy trousers formed. Beat up boots replaced
|
|
the embroidered ones. The face of the merchant became thinner, more
|
|
care-worn and lined with age as well. His hair changed color, to a
|
|
red-highlighted chestnut, and grew out to jaw-length. The features
|
|
shifted, lips thinning further, nose becoming pointier, ears getting
|
|
somewhat larger. The beard vanished, leaving only a thin moustache more
|
|
red than brown. Vard needed no mirror or light to be sure of his
|
|
illusion; he had practiced diligently until he knew that what his mind's
|
|
eye saw, his craft created. The hands of the laborer became rough and
|
|
calloused, and a scar appeared on his neck. And soon this second
|
|
illusion was complete.
|
|
Another of Vard's precautions was to be sure that no one could
|
|
trace his path through the city. The easiest way to throw off a trailer
|
|
was not to be the person being followed. Thus, the layers of illusion.
|
|
Vard's purpose in the city was to shop, and he would do that in the
|
|
guise of the Beinison merchant. In moving between the fringes of the
|
|
Fifth Quarter and the precincts of the markets, he would appear as the
|
|
laborer he had just created. Which left one more illusion, the one that
|
|
would carry him through the lawless warrens of the Fifth Quarter in
|
|
anonymity and safety.
|
|
Further concentration layered one more illusion over the laborer.
|
|
Slowly, his features fleshed out. His face widened into a circle as his
|
|
nose shrank. His eyes seemed to get larger and the thin moustache
|
|
vanished, along with most of the hair on his head. His thick body
|
|
plumped up further, and he seemed to lose some more height. His tunic,
|
|
trousers, and apron became a Cyruzhian monk's habit, complete with
|
|
raised hood that covered the now straw-colored sparse hair and his
|
|
newly-rotund face.
|
|
Finally prepared, Vard stepped forward. To the side of the corridor
|
|
was a short set of steps, which the mage climbed. He slid open a small
|
|
spy-hole set high in the wall and surveyed the alley beyond the end of
|
|
the corridor. Vard assured himself that the dead-end alley, perpetually
|
|
maintained in shadow by a purpose-built overhang, was empty. Climbing
|
|
back down to the floor, he engaged the simple latch, and the wall
|
|
swiveled on a pivot at its center. Vard-the-Cyruzhian-monk strode into
|
|
the deserted alley, and the wall pivoted closed behind him with a
|
|
satisfying thunk.
|
|
He strode quickly down the length of the alley. At its end he
|
|
paused to scan the adjoining street, then continued walking, adjusting
|
|
his gait to a more purposeful and moderate stride befitting his outward
|
|
appearance. His choice for the illusion cloaking him during his passage
|
|
through the narrow, winding, dangerous streets of the Fifth Quarter had
|
|
not been random. There was a Cyruzhian mission house on the other side
|
|
of the quarter, where the poor and disadvantaged came to have their
|
|
bodies ministered to -- food, shelter, healing -- for the meager price
|
|
of putting up with having their souls ministered to as well. Monks were
|
|
therefore tolerated by the denizens of the Fifth Quarter.
|
|
Most large villages, towns and cities had places like the Fifth
|
|
Quarter: places where the disadvantaged congregated. Whether this
|
|
amounted to a row of shacks outside the town walls or an entire section
|
|
of a city, like Magnus' Fifth Quarter, it was a place where poor and
|
|
criminal alike lived and died. Citizens of the less shadowy areas of the
|
|
city looked at the Fifth Quarter with dread. Law seldom set foot within
|
|
its boundaries, and the normal order of such a place was utterly foreign
|
|
to them. But even if life tended to be at risk more in the Fifth Quarter
|
|
than, say, the Merchant's Quarter, it was still a home to those who had
|
|
no place else to be.
|
|
Vard continued winding his circuitous way toward the boundaries of
|
|
the Fifth Quarter. He remained alert, being sure that no one was
|
|
following him. Once he had reached the fringes of the Fifth Quarter, an
|
|
area of run down inns and suspect businesses, he sought and found a
|
|
shadowed alley and slipped into it.
|
|
After making sure that he was unobserved, he began to concentrate
|
|
on his layered illusions. The Cyruzhian monk illusion began to fade,
|
|
allowing the laborer to become visible. But the monk illusion was not
|
|
dispelled; Vard knew that at the end of the day, he would need to return
|
|
to the dead-end alley in the Fifth Quarter. So instead of allowing the
|
|
monk illusion to dissipate, he submerged that illusion beneath the
|
|
merchant illusion, where it would be ready to use again when he needed
|
|
it.
|
|
This bit of intricate magery delighted Vard. He was sure that none
|
|
of his former associates had ever been able to manipulate magic to the
|
|
extent he did. His mastery of magic, accomplished all on his own after
|
|
being expelled from their company, was all the sweeter for their
|
|
rejection and condemnation of him.
|
|
Once again checking that he was not being spied upon,
|
|
Vard-the-laborer left the shadows and continued on his way. His first
|
|
destination would be the Syloris Market in the Merchant's Quarter, which
|
|
was half-way around the city.
|
|
Vard once again took a circular, winding route, but one that was
|
|
only partly chosen to confuse any who tried to follow him: there were
|
|
very few streets in the city that were straight for any distance. His
|
|
journey took more than twice as long as it would have had he given
|
|
himself wings and simply flown directly there, but that was the nature
|
|
of travel in Magnus.
|
|
When he had come within a few streets of the Syloris Market, Vard
|
|
found another pocket of shadow to hide himself in. This time, he shifted
|
|
the laborer illusion so that it rested between the Beinison merchant and
|
|
the monk. He spent several menes checking his spells, making sure they
|
|
were all intact and all contained properly. Then he stepped out of the
|
|
shadow and strode jauntily toward the market.
|
|
Noise and bustling activity filled the Syloris Market as Vard
|
|
walked through one of the many arches in the wall around it. Few current
|
|
residents of Magnus remembered where its name came from, but Vard knew.
|
|
He was a student of history, among many other things, and he had
|
|
encountered the name of General Syloris in his reading. Syloris had been
|
|
a general in name only; he had never swung a sword against a living foe,
|
|
and had never commanded as much as a single person in battle. But he had
|
|
come from a line of warriors in a time between uprisings and strife, and
|
|
had turned his honorary rank into political power.
|
|
Vard glanced to the south, taking in the sight of the former palace
|
|
that General Syloris had commissioned. The shell of that building
|
|
remained, only a ghost of its former opulence gilding the brick
|
|
structure that had been added onto and taken away from many times in the
|
|
three hundred or more years since its construction. The plaza that had
|
|
once fronted the palace of the general now served to contain the huge
|
|
Syloris Market, one of several that the large and busy city of Magnus
|
|
maintained.
|
|
The large decorative fountain still flowed in the center of the
|
|
plaza, but the small garden plots that had once graced the corners of
|
|
the square had been bricked over long ago. The many arches that
|
|
penetrated the wall around the plaza helped define the major routes
|
|
through the chaos of the marketplace, but many of the aisles and paths
|
|
through it shifted daily, if not bell by bell, depending on how the
|
|
wares were arranged. Where once whole units of cavalry had been able to
|
|
drill and parade, now there wasn't room for even a single horse -- and
|
|
sometimes no room for a person -- among the stalls, blankets, tables,
|
|
and wagon-backs from which vendors hawked their merchandise.
|
|
Vard dove into the throng filling the marketplace, his eyes taking
|
|
in the items for sale all around him, while ignoring the cries of the
|
|
merchants extolling the virtues of their wares. The vendors who occupied
|
|
the Syloris tended to deal in crafted items, from clothing to carpentry,
|
|
from weaving to weaponry. Because of the nature of the marketplace, many
|
|
of these items tended to be second-hand, which suited Vard's needs
|
|
perfectly. He collected personal items, preferring those that had a
|
|
strong attachment to their former owners. The stronger the attachment,
|
|
the better use they served him in the practice of a very particular
|
|
magical art that he had developed.
|
|
Vard strode further into the marketplace, cataloging items of
|
|
likely interest. Newly crafted items were ignored; they had no previous
|
|
owners, no history connected to them, and so were useless to him. But
|
|
there was no lack of second-hand merchandise for him to choose from.
|
|
Near the center of the former plaza, Vard came upon a makeshift
|
|
table behind which stood a man in the bright, patchwork cloths of one of
|
|
the Rhydd Pobl, the self-styled Free People. Most people distrusted and
|
|
even feared these always-travelling folk, these gypsies. Vard understood
|
|
that this was more because they were strangers wherever they went than
|
|
anything else. The gypsies had an undeserved reputation for being
|
|
untrustworthy, for being thieves and killers, for bringing curses and
|
|
ill-luck to the homes of simple, honest folk. Vard had always found them
|
|
honest and worthy of trust as long as they were dealt with fairly, and
|
|
according to the dictates of their own culture.
|
|
They rewarded ill-treatment with ill-treatment, naturally, which
|
|
did not help their reputation. But they also traveled extensively,
|
|
trading with small hamlets and out of the way villages. The types of
|
|
wares such places had to trade were as often personal items as products
|
|
of their crafters, and Vard had found many a treasure on the selling
|
|
table of a gypsy.
|
|
Vard ran his eyes over the man's wares. A diverse collection of
|
|
items covered the trestle-table, from clothing at one end -- homespun,
|
|
subdued, practical, and nothing a gypsy would ever wear -- to an
|
|
assortment of gaudy and surely useless weapons at the other. Vard's eyes
|
|
traveled over an assortment of carved-wood figurines, all of an
|
|
excellent quality, and then moved on to a grouping of shaped stones. The
|
|
stones exhibited a wide variety of subjects and carving styles, and some
|
|
were obviously worn by use over time. The wooden pieces, contrastingly,
|
|
were of a uniform style, all of animals both real and fanciful, and
|
|
looked fresh-carved.
|
|
Vard concentrated and held out his hand over the wooden figurines.
|
|
As he had expected, he felt very little of the essence of attachment he
|
|
was looking for, just the interest and care the artist had put into
|
|
creating each piece. There hadn't been enough contact between artist and
|
|
creation for his purposes. He picked one up to be sure. The rat,
|
|
standing on two legs, wearing a cape and an eye-concealing mask,
|
|
wielding a sword, was very fanciful and expertly executed. Still, his
|
|
initial assessment had been correct: these carvings were of no arcane
|
|
use to him.
|
|
He switched his attention to one of the more worn-looking stone
|
|
carvings and felt more of that kind of connection he was looking for,
|
|
but still not enough to be interesting. This figurine had been owned by
|
|
too many people to be attached to any one, and that attachment had never
|
|
been very great. He lifted this one, too -- a horse-like figure, very
|
|
worn and somewhat stylized on top of that, perhaps a game-piece -- but
|
|
still couldn't find enough of interest within it.
|
|
The gypsy, noticing the interest of a potential customer, said,
|
|
"Those wood-carvings are something, what? A cousin does them, Ganba by
|
|
name. Her tribe doesn't track to the cities much, so her wares get
|
|
traded to those of us who do. She's a real artist, yeh? We never have
|
|
trouble selling her stuff, oh no. Real glad to have some on my table
|
|
today, I am!"
|
|
Vard absently noted the gypsy's speech. The Rhydd Pobl called
|
|
members of their own tribe family regardless of blood relationships;
|
|
everyone was mother or father, brother or sister. In keeping with that
|
|
practice, they called the folk of all other tribes cousins, even if they
|
|
were more closely related. He also noticed that the vendor didn't
|
|
mention anything at all about the stone carvings. He set the horse-piece
|
|
back down, glanced up at the seller to vaguely acknowledge the
|
|
information, then continued his scan across the wares.
|
|
Vard found his eyes next caught by another piece of stone, but one
|
|
that was very different from the small figurines next to it. This
|
|
sculpture was much larger, several feet across its longest dimension. It
|
|
was also broken; it was only half of what had probably been a fully
|
|
circular piece, like a large, thick plate or shield. Covering the upper
|
|
flat side of the sculpture were designs inlaid in three different
|
|
materials: a golden metal, a silvery metal, and what seemed to be glass.
|
|
These materials formed a basket-weave of ribbons in the middle
|
|
two-thirds, and around the outside were three figures, a stylized cat
|
|
and then two birds, raptors of some kind, identical in shape but facing
|
|
away from each other.
|
|
But it wasn't the peculiar subject matter or craftsmanship of the
|
|
object that riveted Vard's attention. Instead, it was the powerful sense
|
|
of attachment about it. In all of his searches, Vard had never found
|
|
anything that had the kind of a feel of attachment that this sculpture
|
|
had. Standing in front of it, he could feel the essence radiating from
|
|
the stone and glass and metal, without even extending his senses. It was
|
|
as if the life -- no, *lives* -- it was bound to were a part of it.
|
|
Vard stretched out his hand toward the sculpture. He had to touch
|
|
it, to feel the quality of the attachment. He needed to determine the
|
|
nature of the bond, the number of lives attached to it, the nature and
|
|
method of that attachment. He was sure that the level of command he
|
|
would be able to exert over the people bound to this sculpture would
|
|
surpass any of his previous experiments.
|
|
Just as his fingers were about to come to rest on one of the silver
|
|
ribbons, he thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye.
|
|
His head swiveled to the right to track it, and his eyes came to rest on
|
|
a box just a little ways down the table. It was a nondescript box,
|
|
weatherbeaten and worn. It had no distinguishing marks: no carving, no
|
|
painting, no lettering. The lock plate on the front was just a mass of
|
|
rust. But there was still something compelling about it.
|
|
Vard stepped sideways and stood in front of the box. It was about
|
|
three feet long, and two feet in both width and depth. It was surrounded
|
|
by those flashy and cheap weapons meant for display rather than mayhem,
|
|
but he didn't see any of them. He touched the box, tracing the curve of
|
|
the lid, brushing his fingers along the line between lid and body. He
|
|
could feel nothing in terms of an essence of attachment associated with
|
|
the box, but he still knew that he had to own it, he had to take it back
|
|
to his home and explore it and its contents.
|
|
Vard straightened up and, fastening a look of disinterest onto his
|
|
illusory face, he scanned the entire table once more. He said, in
|
|
battered Baranurian with a heavy Beinison accent, "You have large
|
|
selection of goods, friend! I see better every day in homeland,
|
|
naturally, but far away I am today. I believe I want carvings -- the
|
|
masked rat amusing my grandchild, I think -- and this two knifes, also
|
|
gifts." He selected two ornate, but flimsy, knives from the confusion of
|
|
weaponry on the table. "Oh, and maybe this bad chest will work up good.
|
|
You be happy five Rounds for all, yes?"
|
|
The gypsy was properly indignant at Vard's offer, and countered
|
|
with one that could have purchased everything on the table, and the
|
|
table with it. They haggled good-naturedly, insulting each other
|
|
casually and without rancor along the way, until finally a price was
|
|
settled on. Vard walked away with his purchases, well pleased by the
|
|
expenditure.
|
|
Vard had originally intended to spend more time shopping, but his
|
|
plans had to change. He needed to investigate the box as quickly as
|
|
possible. To that end, he set his footsteps on a path toward the seedier
|
|
sections of the city. He didn't notice that he had completely forgotten
|
|
about the broken stone sculpture.
|
|
|
|
Vard's trek back across the city and into the Fifth Quarter was
|
|
accomplished without any mishaps. The Beinison merchant slid into a
|
|
convenient shadow, and Vard let that illusion drop away completely, not
|
|
needing it any further. Vard made a slight adjustment to the next
|
|
illusion, and the laborer walked out of that shadow carrying a much
|
|
finer chest, of darker wood, highly polished, with brass fittings at the
|
|
corners and an ornate lockplate. Nearing the fringe of the Fifth
|
|
Quarter, the laborer and his chest found a deserted alley and again the
|
|
illusion faded away. The Cyruzhian monk, carrying a canvas-wrapped,
|
|
well-tied bundle, exited the alley and trundled into the Fifth Quarter.
|
|
Finally, the monk entered a particular narrow alley and came to a
|
|
halt before a blank, wooden wall at its end, setting his bundle between
|
|
his feet. Unobserved, hidden by the shadow of the purposely-built
|
|
overhang, Vard reached out and, with practiced ease, found the hidden
|
|
catches. Entering the hidden corridor was not as easy as leaving it had
|
|
been; he had to operate the two catches at the same time, but soon the
|
|
wall swiveled open. Vard picked up the disguised bundle between his feet
|
|
and slipped into the darkness behind the wall, which slammed shut after
|
|
him.
|
|
Pausing only for a moment to drop the last illusions -- he needed
|
|
to be himself to make the return through the traps and tests to his
|
|
ante-chamber -- he set the chest under one arm, stretched out the other,
|
|
prepared his concentration, and started off.
|
|
An invigorating several menes later, Vard slipped through the
|
|
curtain and into his ante-chamber. Everything was as he had left it, and
|
|
he strode swiftly across the rug to the other side of the room. Placing
|
|
the chest on the floor beside him, he reached up and placed his hands
|
|
within the terminal circles at the inner edge of the pattern of shapes
|
|
on the wall, just next to the drawing of the door. He called up the
|
|
necessary energies from deep within himself, priming the pattern and
|
|
readying it for the activation spells.
|
|
The powering of the portal was not a swift process. Slowly, the
|
|
incantations that Vard made sparked along the special tiles that formed
|
|
the pattern of shapes. Slowly, the lines began to glow, but not a
|
|
regular, steady glow -- they seemed to pulse regularly in a slightly
|
|
syncopated rhythm. Slowly, the image of the door began to sparkle, then
|
|
shimmer, and then it faded into a billowing, roiling smoky rectangle.
|
|
The portal was open.
|
|
Vard picked up the chest and walked purposefully forward into the
|
|
fog. Between one step and the next, he vanished from Magnus. As soon as
|
|
he was gone, the fog disappeared and the pattern ceased to glow. The
|
|
lamps extinguished themselves. The portal was once again closed.
|
|
In the room in the cellars of Aahashtra that mirrored the one under
|
|
Magnus, the lines of the pattern on the wall had been glowing for a
|
|
short while and fog billowed within the doorway at their center.
|
|
Suddenly, the fog churned, and out stepped Vard, home again. Just as
|
|
swiftly as had their counterparts, the glow faded from the pattern and
|
|
the fog vanished, revealing a stylized representation of a door.
|
|
Vard hurriedly left the room through the curtained doorway and went
|
|
down the hallway it led to, turning aside at the first door on the
|
|
right. He climbed the stairs behind the door to his study.
|
|
Three of the four walls of the room were lined with shelves filled
|
|
with scrolls and books. The other wall contained a fireplace to one side
|
|
and a desk and chair to the other. Vard walked across the room and
|
|
placed the chest onto the desk. He fished in the pockets on the inside
|
|
of his cloak, and retrieved the rat statue and the two knives, then hung
|
|
the cloak on a hook next to the door. Placing the knives on a nearby
|
|
shelf, he carried the rat back over to the fireplace and set the
|
|
figurine on the mantel, where it joined a very small collection of
|
|
similar objects. Sparing the masked rat a brief, distracted look, he
|
|
returned to the desk and the chest.
|
|
Containing his rising excitement, Vard examined the chest closely
|
|
and carefully, something he had not yet been able to do. It was very
|
|
heavily damaged but, for all of that, appeared to be largely intact.
|
|
None of the wood of the shell appeared to have rotted through, and
|
|
though the lock plate was more rust than metal it seemed to be holding
|
|
the lid firmly closed.
|
|
Knowing that whatever was within this very old chest was probably
|
|
reasonably intact, Vard undertook to open it. He first considered
|
|
cutting the leather hinges but found that he wouldn't need to when, as a
|
|
result of probing idly into the keyhole with a metal instrument, he
|
|
managed to crumble the interior locking mechanism completely. Once the
|
|
lock was rendered useless, all it took was a firm tug to pry the chest
|
|
open, the final resistance being the tar that had been used to seal the
|
|
join between lid and base and make it watertight. Vard took that as
|
|
evidence that it might have last belonged to a sailor.
|
|
The sight that greeted Vard's eyes as he looked into the open chest
|
|
was not encouraging. All he saw was clothing. He reached into the chest
|
|
to see if there was anything under the clothes, and as he touched the
|
|
fabric it simply fell apart, parts turning to dust before his eyes. He
|
|
wondered how old this chest must be for cloth to be that timeworn, but
|
|
he didn't stop his search. Beneath the remaining shreds of tunics and
|
|
leggings and other garments, he finally encountered something that was
|
|
more solid, more intact: books.
|
|
Vard carefully removed the four books from the bottom of the chest.
|
|
The vellum that had been used in the books' construction had more
|
|
strength than mere cloth, but the centuries that must have passed since
|
|
the chest had been opened last could still have damaged them. He
|
|
painstakingly opened the dried and cracked leather bindings in turn,
|
|
determining what each one was.
|
|
Vard recognized the language of the first book he opened as
|
|
Fretheodan, the tongue of the ancient world-spanning Fretheod Empire.
|
|
His studies of history had often encompassed the Fretheod, and he
|
|
considered himself an expert on their empire and culture. He briefly
|
|
wondered what insights this book could bring to his understanding of
|
|
them, and then eagerly continued on to the other.
|
|
The second book was in the same language as the first, as was the
|
|
third. Vard's excitement level rose again; these three books had to be
|
|
ancient! Whatever their contents, these were primary sources of
|
|
information about the Fretheod Empire, unfiltered and unaltered by
|
|
subsequent translation. And to think that he had not had to pay much of
|
|
anything for this treasure! How fortunate that he had stumbled across it
|
|
on that gypsy's table ... Vard shook his head in confusion. He had
|
|
encountered no gypsies in the Syloris. He had found the chest among the
|
|
rags and scraps of a scavenger, a hoarder, who had not had any idea of
|
|
the value of the box she had sold. Why would he have thought he had
|
|
gotten it from a gypsy?
|
|
Shrugging, he turned his attention to the last book. His eyes
|
|
widened when he opened that book and saw that it was in Fretheodan, but
|
|
not written in the neat, small, even hand of a scribe as the other two
|
|
had been: the lettering was larger and much more varied, as if it was a
|
|
personal log. And then he translated the page to the best of his
|
|
ability, and gasped out loud. If the title page was not lying, then this
|
|
was the diary of the Royal Bard Tarhela, who had served the rulers of
|
|
Fretheod during that empire's only civil war. What was his diary doing
|
|
in a sea chest?
|
|
Vard jumped up from his chair and hurried over to one of the
|
|
bookcases. Pulling down several volumes, he returned to the desk. Then
|
|
he carefully turned in the diary to the last few written pages and began
|
|
to translate with the help of the volumes he had fetched.
|
|
The sun crossed the sky and began to descend into the west as Vard
|
|
laboriously translated not only the ancient language, but the
|
|
handwriting of the skaldric, as the Fretheod called their bards. He
|
|
worked out that the bard had been on an important journey for his king.
|
|
The very last entry, describing a brewing storm and how the bard feared
|
|
for his safety in the already storm-battered ship, was not the one that
|
|
stirred Vard's blood. It was the one he managed to translate into:
|
|
|
|
... I fear that I have failed my king. The storm that blew us
|
|
off our course has only just died away, leaving the ship a
|
|
near wreck, and us utterly lost. I watch now as the captain
|
|
stands at the wheel, cursing the gods, the sea, the wind, even
|
|
the king, as he brandishes one of the now useless Son Staffs
|
|
upon which he used to depend. Such a storm would never have
|
|
caught a ship of Fretheod unawares before Osgeofu's treachery.
|
|
I have in my possession the Tome of the Yrmenweald,
|
|
passed down from skaldric to skaldric since the beginning of
|
|
the Time of the Master Staff. It was the only hope my king had
|
|
of regaining the power of the Master Staff and saving our
|
|
people. But we know not where we are, and so the chances of
|
|
happening on the citadel that holds the secrets are almost
|
|
none. Wudamund might as well be on the larger moon for all we
|
|
can get to it now. Only by the will of Keinald will Tilgeofu
|
|
and Fretheod now be saved ...
|
|
|
|
The Yrmenweald, Vard knew, had been the reason for the Fretheod
|
|
Empire's superiority. The Master Staff, the Yrmenweald, had been held by
|
|
the ruler of the empire, and the son staffs had been carried by persons
|
|
of importance throughout the lands ruled by the empire. The son staffs
|
|
drew their power of foresight and planning from the Master Staff.
|
|
According to the histories Vard knew, Osgeofu had destroyed the
|
|
Yrmenweald during the civil war upon being confronted by his twin
|
|
brother Tilgeofu and realizing that he was about to be deposed.
|
|
But none of the histories that Vard had read had ever mentioned the
|
|
Tome of the Yrmenweald. His interest centered around the mention that
|
|
this tome recorded the means for Tilgeofu to regain the power of the
|
|
Master Staff. He also knew that Dargon Keep had been built on the ruins
|
|
of Wudamund, once a watch-post for the Fretheod Empire. Tarhela's sea
|
|
chest had survived for something like two thousand years, since the
|
|
destruction of the Yrmenweald, so Vard had hopes that the tome had
|
|
survived as well. He had already checked, but the skaldric had
|
|
apparently kept the much more valuable tome somewhere other than his sea
|
|
chest. If Vard could locate that tome, if it had actually survived, and
|
|
if the secrets that Wudamund had guarded still existed, then he stood a
|
|
good chance of being able to claim the power of the Master Staff for his
|
|
own!
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|