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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 7
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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 || Number 6
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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 Distributed: 12/14/1994
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Volume 7, Number 6 Circulation: 634
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========================================================================
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Contents
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Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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Rifts Max Khaytsus Seber 1-10, 1014
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Endgame Rogers Cadenhead Seber 10, 1014
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========================================================================
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DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
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collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
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We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
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Please address all correspondance to <dargon@wonky.jjm.com>.
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Back issues are available from ftp.etext.org in pub/Zines/DargonZine.
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Issues and public discussion are posted to newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
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DargonZine 7-6, (C) Copyright December, 1994, the Dargon Project.
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Editor Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@wonky.jjm.com>. All rights reserved.
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All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories may
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not be reproduced or redistributed without the explicit permission of
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the author(s) involved, except in the case of freely reproducing entire
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issues for further distribution. Reproduction for profit is forbidden.
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========================================================================
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Editorial
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by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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<ornoth@wonky.jjm.com>
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Perhaps at some point I will be able to use this space for witty
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personal observations or pointed editorial opinions on topics ranging
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from the Information Superhypeway to Order Rodentia. Unfortunately,
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there have been so many changes to announce that I've had neither time
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nor space to indulge my expository inclinations.
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And this issue is no exception, for this editorial is dedicated
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(primarily) to the announcement that DargonZine now supports
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"notification subscriptions". Users who select this subscription option
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will not receive complete issues by mail, but only a notice that the
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issue has been distributed. This is designed for those users who would
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rather fetch their issues from rec.mag.dargon or our FTP site rather
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than wake up to find a 100K mail file in their incoming mail queue.
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This is useful to us, as well, because it allows us to keep a more
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accurate count of readers who obtain their issues through secondary
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channels in preference to direct subscriptions. If you regularly read
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DargonZine via rec.mag.dargon or the FTP site, we'd like to add you to
|
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this "notify list", so that we have a better idea of how many people
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read DargonZine on a regular basis.
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If you are interested in changing your subscription to a
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"notification subscription", please drop mail so stating to
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<dargon@wonky.jjm.com>, and you'll be switched over.
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In other news, we're in the process of infiltrating the Delphi
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online service. In the near future (it's still under construction!),
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Delphi users will be able to find the FAQ and recent issues in the
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Fanzines database of the Science Fiction & Fantasy SIG. The Internet
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archive site for DargonZine is available on the Internet Gopher menu in
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the SF&F SIG. Look under the Fantasy Sites, Newsgroups and Homepages
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selection. The Dargon Project newsgroup is also on the Usenet Reader
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menu in the SF&F SIG.
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Thanks to Gordie Meyer for helping us get set up over there.
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The final bit of news is that during the month of January, we'll be
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celebrating the 10th anniversary of the founding of FSFnet, DargonZine's
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predecessor. We'll be distributing a huge two-issue compilation of the
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Best of the Dargon Project, reprinting some of the stories that we are
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most proud to have brought you during the past decade.
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Special hardcopy versions are also being planned. They will contain
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artwork and other material not available in the electronic versions.
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Information on availability will be forthcoming.
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This issue features two stories that depict some of Dargon's less
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savory characters. Max is back with "Rifts", which continues his
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exploration of Dargon's underworld and the city guards who combat it.
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And we have "Endgame", which marks the first story by Rogers Cadenhead.
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Actually, Rogers first joined the project back in 1987! He fled after a
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short stint, but has (against his better wisdom, perhaps) returned. And
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now he's finally breaking into the pages of DargonZine. Let's hope that
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it won't take another eight years for him to print his next story (which
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should be a beaut', judging by the synopsis we've seen).
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Onward!
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========================================================================
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Rifts
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by Max Khaytsus
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<khaytsus@alumni.cs.colorado.edu>
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Seber 1-10, 1014
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"I'm afraid we're not the same Dargon we used to be."
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-- Kalen Darklen
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A large wagon pulled by an overworked horse rumbled down the
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street, a misaligned wheel rattling unevenly against the rough
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cobblestones. The driver's whip snapped in the dark, causing the horse
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to speed up, the clicking of the bad wheel developing a more even rhythm
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as the wagon rushed off into the distance.
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Quiet once again settled in the deserted street and a dirty-orange
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tabby braved the darkness, rapidly crossing the street before some other
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contraption decided to cut across his path. A crashing noise sounded
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behind him and he froze in mid-trot, looking up and down the street. It
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was dark and quiet. The tabby glanced back to the alley in which he had
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settled down to rest in a warm pile of debris, where two noisy men had
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disturbed his peace, causing him to flee. He paused, deciding if he
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should run further or wait them out. The sound of footsteps up the
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street made his decision for him and in a streak of orange he
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disappeared under the steps of the building on the far side of the
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street.
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"You hear that, Kiney?" a whisper sounded in the alley. "Kiney?"
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"Shut up, you fool!"
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"But ..."
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"Shh!"
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Silence fell on the alley as a lantern light floated down the
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street. It rocked back and forth in a careless grasp and for a moment
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threatened to enter the alley. In a moment the light faded and a mene
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later so did the sound of the footsteps. The shadows again moved.
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"Was that the guard, Kiney?"
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"Don't know."
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"What was it?"
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"Shut up."
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A man stood up and reached for the windowsill above his head. His
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fingers deftly played with the shutters and they came undone. "Never so
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easy!"
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"Kiney, what if the owner's home?"
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"Then you'll kill him."
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"I've never killed anyone, Kiney. I don't know how to do it."
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"Shut up."
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The man's hands wrapped around the window's ledge and he started to
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pull himself up. His feet aided his efforts and in a moment he was
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inside the dark room.
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"Kiney, where are you?"
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"Shh! Give me your hand."
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A shadowy hand reached out the window and helped the other man up,
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then both figures disappeared into the house. Quiet again ruled the dark
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alley, but the calmness did not remain long. There was a clank and a
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crash and yell and not long after a man hopped out the window and
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reached up to accept a bag.
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"Is he really dead, Kiney?"
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"Come on!"
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"Is he?"
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"Just shut up and give me the bag!"
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The large bundle was passed down, followed by the figure that held
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it.
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"Is he?"
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"Yes!"
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"Do dead people go to heaven, Kiney? Mums said they die and go to
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the Stevene."
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"Shut up!"
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They moved to the edge of the alley and Kiney paused, looking for
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and listening to any signs of others. As he stopped, his larger
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companion bumped into him and lost his grip on the bag. The overfilled
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sack slipped out of the man's arms and tumbled to the ground, spilling
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the pilfered items at the mouth of the alley. Silverware clattered on
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the ground around the two men, including one adventuresome platter that
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decided to roll out of the alley and down the street.
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"You idiot!" Kiney hissed, spinning about. His exclamation was
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accented by a sudden gasp -- only then did the two men notice a woman
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hiding in the shadows of the old structure. "Grab her!" Kiney yelled as
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she bolted. She was close enough for him to get a good grip on her cloak
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and they both tumbled down among the spilled contents of the bag.
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Jerid Taishent looked down into the castle courtyard from the long
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stone balcony halfway up the facade of the fortress. The massive stone
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wall of the keep rose a hundred feet ahead of him, its top rampart level
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with the balcony. Two guards stood talking on the wall and his gaze
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paused on them. Through no fault of their own, the guards were never
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where they were needed most. The entire time since war had come and gone
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from Dargon, all his time had been dedicated to keeping the Duchy
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running. It was not his job, but with Clifton Dargon battling the
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Beinison fleet, Luthias Connall fighting the Beinison army and Lansing
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Bartol recruiting and training troops in the south of the Duchy, the
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lieutenant of the First Dargon Militia found himself performing a job
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never meant to be his.
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"I understand your concerns, Lord Arstead," Jerid said to the young
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man sitting at the table behind him. "I had a sister myself ..."
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"What can you do to help?"
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Jerid turned. "Right now not much. There's a war on. This town is
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in ruins and it won't begin to be repaired for a long time to come. I
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wish nothing more than to order a squad of men to track down those who
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killed your sister, but I have not the troops to spare. We are extremely
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shorthanded here and the public knows it. Some choose to use this
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opportunity to plunder the city and the citizens."
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"So you say there's no protection even for noble blood?"
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"My Lord ..." Jerid shifted uncomfortably. The answer was 'yes',
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but he was not about to use that word. "We are only a quarter of the
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force we were before the war. The town guard is barely a half. And all
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the remaining troops are green. We do what we can. What we have the
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power to do."
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Arstead shook his head. "Maybe you'd use different words if you had
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known my sister ... or if you had to tell our mother how she died."
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"I'm sorry. We're doing all we can. I wish we could do more."
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"You're the law here. You can do what you want."
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"My Lord," Jerid faced the noble across the table, "with the power
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I hold comes a responsibility for things far above and beyond what the
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nobility may need. My first duty is to the Duke, to his lands and his
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people and I must protect his interests to the best of my ability. My
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responsibility is to the living. My second duty is to avenge the dead.
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When I have the time and the troops, that shall be done."
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"I'm sorry you feel that way," Arstead stood up. "My grandfather
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shall be mentioning that in his letter to your Duke."
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"The Duke's ship is the _Shining_Star_. Send your letter through
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the Port of Armand and it will get there faster."
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Arstead stiffened up at the response. "Good day, Sir Taishent."
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"Good day."
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Jerid returned to the edge of the balcony and listened as the
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departing footsteps fell somewhere behind him. The letter, he knew,
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would be worthless, save to aggravate Lord Clifton at a time such as
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this. He did the best with what he had and the Duke had known that when
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leaving for war. A door slammed loudly in the chambers.
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"Page?" he called into the room.
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"Yes, my Lord?" soft footsteps were followed by a young girl's
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voice.
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He had not intended to turn, but this was unusual enough to warrant
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his attention and Jerid took his eyes off the distant green forest
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beyond the castle wall. In the doorway stood a young girl, thirteen or
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fourteen, the crest of the House of Dargon proudly displayed on a guard
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uniform that was a little too large. The girl's long blond hair made him
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think of his own daughter. She was only six now, but where would she be
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if she were ten years older and where will she be in ten years with the
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war now on?
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"You called, my Lord?" the girl asked again.
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"Yes. Tell Madame Sepagary I will see her now and have Vogel bring
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his parchment and inks."
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"Right away, my Lord." And she disappeared behind the curtain.
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A shadow of a man blended into the scaffolding at the base of the
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castle wall as a dying lantern hurried down the walk. It was carried by
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a guard and followed by another, both armored and armed, the Ducal crest
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displayed on their clothes.
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A heavy fist fell on the castle gate. "Sarge!" The gates creaked
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open.
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"Out of oil," someone said.
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"Come on in."
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Shuffling footsteps sounded, followed by the doors creaking closed.
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The shadow again emerged from the wall, followed by a tall lanky man
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dressed in sandy-grayish clothes. He looked towards the castle gates,
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then up the road leading into town. All was once again quiet.
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He gripped the scaffolding and rapidly ascended to the crack in the
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wall where a lucky catapult or ballista round must have penetrated the
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castle's defenses during the siege. The opening was now mostly repaired,
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only needing the proper stones to be laid so the style of the wall
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remained the same. He looked up to the top of the scaffolding, some six
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or eight feet short of the top of the castle wall. They probably made it
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short on purpose, but short was fine, too. He finished his climb, waited
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for the guard above to pass and then jumped, letting his hands wrap
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around the edge of the battlement. He would not have been able to do
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that in armor.
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The footsteps on the wall lost their rhythm and paused. Only the
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crickets below disturbed the quiet of the night. The guard muttered
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something and went on.
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Another moment passed and the thief climbed over the embrasure and
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landed softly on the castle wall walk. No one was in sight. A few
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flickering lights in the castle revealed the windows of those who could
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not sleep, but the one window that was important was dark, as it was
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supposed to be.
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The man quickly crossed to the other side of the wall and glanced
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down. Three soldiers stood talking below, a dying lantern held in their
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midst. He judged the distance between the wall and the castle. It was
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too far to get across by any means other than crossing the courtyard. It
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was not to be done.
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Returning footsteps alerted the thief to hurry down the wall to the
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west side of the castle where the roof of the stables rose better than
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halfway up the castle wall. It was a good fifteen foot drop, but it was
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the best and quickest way to get down the castle wall. As the guard's
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footsteps neared, he flung himself over the edge and landed softly on
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the stable's roof. The footsteps again paused and the thief attempted to
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blend in with the darkness.
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Something slammed on the roof, hit against his shoulder and fell
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over the edge of the roof. Startled, the thief rolled over, just in time
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to see a rock hit the roof where his head was a moment before. Startled
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at his discovery, he rolled over again, backed up to the wall and felt
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for his dagger. It was a long blade, since a full sword would get in the
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way, and under normal conditions it was more than enough, but now,
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discovered, he feared it would not keep him alive long enough to finish
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the job.
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Another rock bounced across the roof and rolled over the edge.
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There were footsteps above. "Rotten cats!" a curse floated down. "STAY
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OFF THE WALL!"
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A pained smile spread across the thief's face as he rubbed his sore
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shoulder. Quiet as a cat. Mistaken for a cat. At least he was not
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drowned like one.
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Once the guard had passed, the man once again started moving. He
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hopped off the roof of the stables into a bale of hay and proceeded
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across the dark side of the castle's courtyard. Along the roof there
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were no customary gargoyle heads or weather-protecting ledges or even
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statues of the local heroes. That would make the scaling of the wall
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more of a challenge, but the dark of the courtyard and the reduced guard
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were an added bonus to making the theft a success.
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"I had not realized that unfortunate girl had been one of yours, my
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dear," Liriss muttered, pacing the length of the rich carpet. "I wish
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you had told me sooner. I am not sure what I may be able to do to help
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now."
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The plump, matronly Eliza Tillipanary remained in her chair as the
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crime lord circled the room. "I thought the girl had returned home as
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she kept saying she wanted to do," the woman explained. "It was not
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until recently that one of the other girls, who also cleans in the
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Duke's castle, brought to my attention that a noble from Arvalia has
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been looking for the unfortunate's killer."
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"Noble. What noble?" Liriss stopped.
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"I believe his name was Arstead."
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"Arstead ... Arstead ... from Arvalia?"
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"That's what she said."
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"Never heard of him," Liriss shook his head. "Should I find the
|
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killers, what do you want done with them?"
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Tillipanary shrugged. "You know I take no interest in your work. Do
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what you will. I just want them and their friends to know that even
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frontiers have justice."
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Liriss laughed. "If they hang me, my dear, they'll hang you right
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next to me. Everyone knows my work."
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The matron shook her head. "I don't. You merely offer me a service
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I can not obtain from the town guard."
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Liriss laughed again. "I will look for the killer and be sure to
|
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tell you who they are."
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"See about finding them first," Tillipanary warned. "We will
|
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discuss who they are then." She stood up and adjusted her dress. "Now, I
|
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still have plenty to do, so I'll be going. Be sure to let me know your
|
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progress."
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"Good evening, my dear," Liriss saw the woman to his office door
|
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and closed it after her. As he returned to his desk, he made a mental
|
|
note to ask Kesrin to look into the murder and see if he could locate
|
|
who had committed it. If it were one of his own people, the search would
|
|
be easy and fast, but the punishment would be more difficult to mete
|
|
out. If it were someone outside his organization, the search would take
|
|
more time, but the punishment would be a pleasure. Others must know that
|
|
the city belongs to one man.
|
|
A knock sounded on the door just as he sat down and the perky nose
|
|
of his assistant Rene appeared through the crack. "I'm sorry to bother
|
|
you again my Lord, but there's a 'Pike' here to see you."
|
|
"Yes," Liriss stood up. "Send him in."
|
|
"Straight," the girl disappeared.
|
|
Liriss prepared himself for the visitor.
|
|
The door again opened and a tall young man walked in. His dark hair
|
|
was carelessly brushed back and he had a slight limp, but he did not let
|
|
it bother him and rapidly crossed the room to the desk. "A pleasure as
|
|
always, my Lord," he nodded to Liriss.
|
|
"You're back soon," the crime lord commented. "And with a limp
|
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..."
|
|
"A minor mishap," the young man admitted. "Dargon Castle was not
|
|
built for scaling."
|
|
"You've been there already?"
|
|
Pike removed a pouch from his belt and placed it before Liriss.
|
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"I've been there."
|
|
Liriss quickly snatched up the offering and pulled open the
|
|
strings. From inside he removed a cloth-wrapped box and from that a flat
|
|
headed ring. He examined it, then removing a burning candle from a
|
|
girandole, dripped some wax on the table and imprinted the ring in it.
|
|
Pike took a step closer to the table to take a look as Liriss
|
|
worked. The crime lord produced a parchment from the stack in the corner
|
|
and compared the impression in the wax to an impression on the
|
|
parchment.
|
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"Perfect!"
|
|
"You had doubts?"
|
|
"I am impressed by your speed."
|
|
Pike smiled. "You do realize the seal is worthless for official
|
|
business without the appropriate signature."
|
|
"Don't concern yourself with that," Liriss laughed. He opened a
|
|
desk drawer and took out a pouch. "Impressed with your speed, but ready
|
|
for the delivery."
|
|
Pike accepted the pouch and placed it on his belt where the other
|
|
had hung. The contents jingled as they passed hands.
|
|
"You won't check?"
|
|
"I trust you. And if it's not there, I'll steal the signet back."
|
|
Liriss concealed a smile. The world had too few honest thieves. "I
|
|
have another task for you, if you feel up to it."
|
|
"If it requires no climbing for a few days ..."
|
|
"That's up to you. I have no interest in the process of execution
|
|
of the job."
|
|
"All right, then."
|
|
"I have ... I *had* a lieutenant who fell into the hands of the
|
|
guard. I want him back."
|
|
"I assume he's larger than the signet?"
|
|
"Significantly."
|
|
"My prices rise with the weight."
|
|
"How much?"
|
|
"Where is he being held?"
|
|
Liriss sat down, indicating for Pike to do the same. "In the Old
|
|
Guard House, in the center of town. The prisoners are held in the
|
|
basement."
|
|
"You're talking about high risk here, my Lord," Pike took the
|
|
offered seat. "There's the entry and exit I have to take into
|
|
consideration and your man's willingness to leave."
|
|
"He'll die if he doesn't," Liriss said. "You'll get two Marks if he
|
|
does."
|
|
"Two and a half."
|
|
"And a half?"
|
|
"I like odd numbers," Pike explained.
|
|
"That is rather odd," Liriss agreed. He considered for a moment.
|
|
"Two and a half it is. I need him back."
|
|
"... or ..." Pike suggested.
|
|
"Or?"
|
|
"Or one Mark and the name of the man who killed Miriam Arstead."
|
|
Liriss' eyes betrayed surprise. "A popular girl."
|
|
"Have others asked?"
|
|
"The question is, have others asked you?"
|
|
"A contract, my Lord. I merely need a name."
|
|
"A contract by whom?" Liriss demanded.
|
|
"A brother, a father, a lover ... Does it matter?" Pike shrugged.
|
|
"It might."
|
|
"Not when money is paid, my Lord, just like in your agreement with
|
|
me. I was offered money for a name. I did not ask why."
|
|
"Revenge's the usual motive," Liriss explained.
|
|
"So I suspect," Pike agreed, "but it's none of my business. If you
|
|
get me the name, I'm willing to do the job for less. Is that to your
|
|
satisfaction?"
|
|
Liriss rubbed his chin. Eliza implied she wanted the killer
|
|
punished. Pike implied someone was ready to do that. That only left
|
|
Liriss as a broker of information with reduced expenses on his part. "I
|
|
believe that deal is more than fair, Pike. One Mark and I will look into
|
|
the murder personally."
|
|
Pike smiled. "A deal, then. Now, my Lord, who is it that you need
|
|
rescued?"
|
|
|
|
"In here," a guardsman pushed open a second floor office door for
|
|
the young noble and let him in. Arstead entered the small cluttered
|
|
office and paused patiently before the desk loaded with papers and an
|
|
empty scabbard. The dark-haired, dark-eyed officer wearing lieutenant
|
|
pins indicated for a moment's time and completed an entry in his
|
|
journal. "What can I do for you?"
|
|
"Sir Darklen?"
|
|
Kalen stood up. "I am."
|
|
"My name is Janos Arstead. I understand you were the one looking
|
|
for the killer of Miriam Arstead."
|
|
"You're her husband?" the Guard Lieutenant asked.
|
|
"Brother. I came to Dargon as soon as my family was notified. My
|
|
father is in the war and my grandfather is far too old to travel. I have
|
|
to be responsible for the family now."
|
|
"Please, sit down." Kalen again took his seat and closed his
|
|
journal, using the scabbard to hold his place between the pages. He had
|
|
no good news to give and plenty of bad. He had been far too busy in the
|
|
past few days to make any sort of progress on the increasingly violent
|
|
incidents that had been surfacing around the city and barely managed to
|
|
hand out assignments to junior officers, most of whom were barely
|
|
qualified to wear swords, much less do investigative work. Perhaps an
|
|
offer of hospitality would make things easier.
|
|
"Would you like anything? Mead? Ale?"
|
|
"I would like to know who killed my sister."
|
|
Kalen shook his head. "I'm sorry. As of the last report I received,
|
|
this morning, we had not found the killer. Our resources are stretched
|
|
and time is an issue. It will be a while longer before I can give you a
|
|
definite answer."
|
|
"The trail may grow cold by then, Sir Darklen."
|
|
"I realize that, but there are dozens of crimes taking place every
|
|
day. We don't have the men to do the job right and I'll be the first to
|
|
admit that. Have you requested assistance from the Duke's Adjutant?
|
|
Right now Lieutenant Taishent is in that position."
|
|
"I met with Sir Taishent yesterday," Arstead answered. "When we
|
|
learned about the death, my grandfather gave me a letter of introduction
|
|
to help expedite the matter, but that was met rather coldly. I had hoped
|
|
the House of Dargon would be of help, but clearly ties of nobility do
|
|
not stretch across the Duchies of Baranur."
|
|
"I'm sorry," Kalen shook his head. "The system worked much better
|
|
before the war. Hurt as we are, with as many men as we've sent off to
|
|
war, I'm afraid we're not the same Dargon we used to be. I wish I could
|
|
do more to help."
|
|
"Perhaps I should be the one to offer help, Sir. It is my sister,
|
|
after all."
|
|
"What could you do to help us?"
|
|
"Investigate? Just how short on men are you? Perhaps I can help to
|
|
fill in?"
|
|
Kalen let a ghost of a smile escape. "Lord Arstead, we're half the
|
|
force we used to be before the war. One more man will not make a
|
|
difference, particularly if he is new to the city and not trained in our
|
|
methods. The offer is appreciated, but not feasible."
|
|
"Are you saying justice will go undone?" Arstead's tone became more
|
|
demanding.
|
|
"No. I'm saying justice will need more time."
|
|
"That's unacceptable, Sir," Arstead set his jaw.
|
|
Kalen's soft expression melted away. He stood up, the journal
|
|
falling off the desk. "Unacceptable? The same men who killed your
|
|
sister, killed a renownd scribe, a personal friend of the Duke's family,
|
|
yet the crime receives no greater priority to be solved. Your family is
|
|
part of the masses that come through this city. Do not make the
|
|
assumption that noble blood will make a difference in a shattered
|
|
duchy."
|
|
Arstead stood up as well. "I see I may have request assistance from
|
|
the Duke himself."
|
|
The chair behind Kalen tumbled over. "I'll be more than happy to
|
|
forward that letter for you, along with my report that a dozen of my men
|
|
were killed or injured in a raid last week. Don't make assumptions that
|
|
your lineage matters to a duchy crippled by war! Get out of my office!"
|
|
|
|
"Told you it was our lucky day!" One guardsman slapped another on
|
|
the back and took a few rapid steps, leaping on the back of a waiting
|
|
horse. His companion also quickened his pace and mounted the steed near
|
|
the first.
|
|
"Horseback duty for a week! I think I can get to like this job!"
|
|
"Let's go get 'em, boy!" The first man's heels connected with his
|
|
horse's sides and they disappeared into the night.
|
|
"Hold on there!" the other guard yelled, trying to adjust the
|
|
saddle. "Wait for me!" The second horse jumped into a trot and also
|
|
disappeared into the night.
|
|
Silence descended on the dark street and a shadowy figure drifted
|
|
across the alley behind the guard house. It crossed the street to the
|
|
Dargon Town Guard Stables and disappeared inside completely undetected.
|
|
In the dim light of the stables, Pike discarded his black cloak in
|
|
an empty stall, revealing the blue and grey uniform of the town guard.
|
|
It was a great risk showing up here dressed as a guard. Reduced as they
|
|
were, the guards would probably know one another, but this was for a
|
|
quick job in the night, one that would be discovered no more than a bell
|
|
or two after being done, if that long. When put into the right
|
|
perspective, the impersonation of a guard was the least of his concerns.
|
|
He checked a few horses, working his way towards the rear door to
|
|
the guard house and calmly walked through. A woman in a guard uniform
|
|
passed him, nodding a hello. Pike responded in kind and slowly walked
|
|
down the corridor to the back stairs. Liriss' directions were rather
|
|
specific. Offices and storage upstairs, holding cells downstairs. He
|
|
quickly glanced up the stairwell and descended into the basement. A lone
|
|
sleepy guard stretched at the sound of footsteps and shifted in the
|
|
creaky chair.
|
|
"Yes?" the soldier asked as Pike approached.
|
|
"I have it right here," Pike reached into his pouch, drawing the
|
|
guard closer by his curiosity. His fists connected with the guard's chin
|
|
and the chair tipped over, the unconscious guard rolling up against the
|
|
wall.
|
|
Pike paused to take note of the room. Small, dark. Stairs leading
|
|
up on one side, a heavy metal door on the other. A small table and a
|
|
chair for the guard. There were four candelabras in the walls, three
|
|
candles each, but they produced barely enough light to see the metal
|
|
door and the unconscious guard on the floor. Pike pulled the guard up
|
|
and replaced him in the chair, removing the ring of keys from his belt
|
|
in the process.
|
|
It took a few moments to find the proper key and pause to listen
|
|
for sounds both on the other side of the door and in the corridor at the
|
|
other end of the stairs. Satisfied with the lack of activity, Pike
|
|
turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. The well-oiled
|
|
hinges made no sound as the door swung open and Pike quietly stepped
|
|
inside, carefully closing the door behind him.
|
|
A wall candelabra served as the only source of light. Removing a
|
|
single candle, Pike proceeded down the long corridor, looking at the
|
|
sleeping prisoners and the occasional names on the wall. About half of
|
|
the cells were populated, although not all with prisoners were tagged.
|
|
At one such cell, when Pike brought the candle close to the wall to see
|
|
if there was a name, the prisoner jumped out of bed and rushed the bars.
|
|
He collided with the door with a wild scream, arms reaching for the blue
|
|
and grey uniform before him. Pike hurried to back away as one of the
|
|
muscular hands grabbed his shoulder and was able to pull away only when
|
|
the hair on the prisoner's arm caught fire from the flame of the candle.
|
|
"I'm gonna kill you, you damn bastard!" the prisoner roared.
|
|
"Next time," Pike forced himself to keep his cool, "I'll douse you
|
|
with oil before taking the candle to you."
|
|
The man fell silent and took several steps back.
|
|
Satisfied with the results, Pike continued down the corridor of the
|
|
semi-awake prisoners until coming to a cell carrying the name he was
|
|
looking for. He banged his arm on the door. "Get up!"
|
|
The body on the cot stirred and a man sat up. "What?"
|
|
"Interrogation. Let's go." He unlocked the door and pulled it open.
|
|
"This way."
|
|
The man in the cell hesitated.
|
|
"Kuvan Ovnik?" Pike asked.
|
|
"Yes, yes." The man stood up and came to the open door. He looked
|
|
to be in good shape, although very dirty and unshaven. In the dim candle
|
|
light Pike could barely see the remnants of an old bruise on the man's
|
|
cheek. "Not enough entertainment at night?" the prisoner spat.
|
|
Pike gave him a shove forward. "Spit again and you'll be cleaning
|
|
the floor with your tongue."
|
|
Ovnik stopped and gave his captor a chilling look. "I'll remember
|
|
your face."
|
|
"You do that."
|
|
They made it to the end of the corridor and went through the door.
|
|
Pike closed and locked it as Ovnik glanced over at the unconscious
|
|
guard.
|
|
"Take his clothes."
|
|
"What?"
|
|
"I was sent to get you out. We won't make it out of here with you
|
|
dressed like this. Take his clothes."
|
|
Ovnik chuckled. "Oh, I knew they'd send someone."
|
|
|
|
Liriss matched his gaze with Kesrin, waiting patiently for his
|
|
lieutenant to react. Kesrin, in his usual style, gave no hint of
|
|
surprise at having seen Ovnik just a moment before. Even as the
|
|
footsteps of his old friend faded down the corridor, he calmly sat in
|
|
the chair across from his lord.
|
|
"Any reason he's in chains?"
|
|
"He lied to me, Kesrin," Liriss picked up the half full wine goblet
|
|
and took a sip. He swallowed with satisfaction. "I don't like it when
|
|
people turn on me, Kesrin. When they do, I have to go to a great expense
|
|
to make sure others know what a bad decision that is. Lord Dargon may be
|
|
losing control of his city, but I'll be damned before I lose control of
|
|
mine. Make sure I don't have to do this again, Kesrin. It pains me so to
|
|
see trust misplaced. And good men, too. This shouldn't be."
|
|
"Of course, my Lord," Kesrin answered in his usual calm voice.
|
|
"Good. Now go and make sure that Ovnik's fate is not shared by
|
|
others."
|
|
Kesrin rose slower than usual. "And that fate, Lord?"
|
|
"I feel good today, Kesrin. He will have a slow death." The crime
|
|
lord's laughter trailed his lieutenant into the corridor and as the door
|
|
closed, the older man's face sombered up. "Put a little fear of me into
|
|
you, Kesrin. Loyalty must be unconditional, even if it stems from fear."
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
Endgame
|
|
by Rogers Cadenhead
|
|
<rogers@tde.com>
|
|
Seber 10, 1014
|
|
|
|
The village of Tench
|
|
|
|
The reader leaned over the Wheel of Life, a drop of sweat falling
|
|
from his forehead onto the ornately decorated cloth. Eight signs of
|
|
Makdiar's zodiac were painted inside slices of a circle on the aged
|
|
fabric's surface. Eight smaller symbols separated the signs, and at the
|
|
center was the mark of Destiny.
|
|
It was unseasonably hot for Tench in Seber, and there was precious
|
|
little breeze coming in through an open window. The two men knelt on
|
|
opposite sides of the Wheel, in a small room at the Duck Inn.
|
|
The fat-faced reader hovered over the wooden discs and uttered a
|
|
soft incantation:
|
|
|
|
May Araminia's grace
|
|
Fall upon this Wheel
|
|
Like the first kiss of spring
|
|
On a graveyard.
|
|
|
|
The reference to the goddess of good fortune was part of the pitch,
|
|
Teyvas noted with amusement. The rogue expected to receive happy news
|
|
about a bountiful tomorrow. There was no profit in ill tidings, after
|
|
all.
|
|
The reader gestured for Teyvas to pick up the nine discs that were
|
|
blue in color. Teyvas did so, and he was told, "Close your eyes and make
|
|
a picture in them of your birth sign. Can you see the Torch?"
|
|
Teyvas, clamping his eyelids shut as tightly as he could, saw
|
|
orange and red flickering. He tried to make a torch out of it but the
|
|
glimmerings were elusive. "I can see Pyrale," he said.
|
|
"Cast the discs!" the reader said, and Teyvas opened his fist to
|
|
let the discs spill out over the wheel. For more than a mene, the reader
|
|
looked over the scattered objects and mumbled a few disparate words to
|
|
himself. The cutpurse reached behind his back and scratched at a
|
|
slow-healing sore near his midsection. This action prompted no notice
|
|
from the reader, and Teyvas smiled to see how self-absorbed the man was.
|
|
Finally, the reader offered his interpretation. He pointed a pale
|
|
finger at a blue disc that lay near the only red one. "This is the
|
|
heart, and it is resting on Pyrale, your birth sign," he began. "You are
|
|
a man of fiery passions."
|
|
The reader looked to Teyvas for a comment, but he wanted to hear
|
|
more so he said nothing. Several other discs were described, based on
|
|
their resting places and the reader's gift for metaphor, but it became
|
|
obvious that he was saving the best for last.
|
|
"This disc represents the body, your own mortal flesh," the reader
|
|
stated ominously. "It lies on Valonus the Oak, which means you will not
|
|
be called from this realm for many years."
|
|
If Teyvas had needed more proof of the insincerity of the Wheel,
|
|
this prediction would suffice. He knew there would be no life for him
|
|
beyond 25 years, if he even got that far. Teyvas welcomed a young man's
|
|
death -- after his parents were killed in their beds when Dargon guards
|
|
raided their camp in 1004, Teyvas promised himself that he would die on
|
|
his feet. He was well on the way to keeping that vow.
|
|
Teyvas pointed to a disc that had fallen on a smaller part of the
|
|
wheel. "What does this mean?" he asked.
|
|
The reader looked a bit flustered, then said, "Occasionally, a
|
|
casting falls in a way that cannot be explained in the teachings," he
|
|
said. "This is such a case. The disc for future foe has landed on the
|
|
Crown, the symbol for the past."
|
|
"That is indeed a puzzle," Teyvas said, amused at the misfortune.
|
|
"Verily," the reader said. "In such cases, you must find the answer
|
|
in your own heart." He moved on to another spot on the Wheel. "This last
|
|
disc is your course of action, and it has landed on Kafarn, the water
|
|
symbol. You will be traveling soon, on a long journey that will be of
|
|
importance, perhaps by seaborne route ..."
|
|
Teyvas interrupted him, pointing to the symbol for Gefflin the Fox,
|
|
which was his real birth sign. "What of this, then?" he asked. The
|
|
reader was surprised to see a disc there, and was unaware that it had
|
|
been the thief's doing.
|
|
"This is the symbol for treachery," the reader said. He was
|
|
planning to elaborate further, but was interrupted again, more
|
|
forcefully this time. Teyvas had pulled a knife from his boot and buried
|
|
it in the man's fleshy midsection before another word could be shared
|
|
between them. The reader gasped, and a strangely comforting hand was
|
|
placed on his shoulder by Teyvas. The fortune-teller fell with a shudder
|
|
as the knife was yanked from side to side before being removed. As
|
|
Teyvas pushed the man aside, a drop of blood fell from the unfortunate's
|
|
mouth and landed on the Wheel.
|
|
The blood was about the size of a disc, and of similar coloration
|
|
to the red token. "Your body disc has landed on Valonus," Teyvas said to
|
|
the fallen reader. "You have a long life in front of you."
|
|
|
|
It had not been difficult to get out of Tench with the reader's
|
|
money and the silver earring that he wore. The room was on the second
|
|
floor, and Teyvas climbed out the window and retrieved his horse from
|
|
the stables. Teyvas had hoped for more good fortune from the reader, but
|
|
was not unhappy because he needed to leave town in any case. Tench was a
|
|
crossroads village with a few squalid taverns and a rough reputation.
|
|
Teyvas had hoped to meet Lana the Snake there, a dark-hearted beauty
|
|
whose exploits were legendary. Lana was nowhere to be found, and the
|
|
only explanation he got was crazy talk about the assassin losing an arm
|
|
in a fight with her twin.
|
|
There would be other opportunities, he thought, and other women of
|
|
questionable moral character to look after. Though he had just turned
|
|
seventeen, Teyvas had a puckish smile and a calculated indifference that
|
|
women found attractive. He had amassed a lengthy history of conquest,
|
|
but in recent days the young man had narrowed his standards to a
|
|
particular breed of femininity. He now sought women who were as hateful
|
|
and fearless as he was, traits he imagined for his own mother when she
|
|
was courted by his father.
|
|
Teyvas' parents had been bandits, a profession he was proud to
|
|
carry on. Ten years ago, they had been part of an encampment five
|
|
leagues south of Dargon that had demanded a toll from travelers. He
|
|
lived there, playing with the other children who were spawned by the
|
|
bandits, but that life changed when Captain Tamar Armstrong led a Dargon
|
|
guard unit on a raid of the camp. Armstrong, a general now, had been
|
|
ordered to teach a lesson to those who would break the laws of the
|
|
duchy. The lesson was taught. The boy's parents were among the first to
|
|
die -- a guardsman entered their shelter and cut them down with his
|
|
sword before they could even stand. Teyvas, who was seven at the time,
|
|
was taken into the city and placed in a home for orphans.
|
|
The ride back to Dargon would be a long one, and not very pleasant,
|
|
since Teyvas could not keep to the main roads. There would be soldiers
|
|
about in great numbers, because of the war, and he did not want to
|
|
chance an encounter with them out in the open. Someone might remember
|
|
him from a past exploit in the city, or he might also be conscripted
|
|
into the army.
|
|
The trip passed without event, save for a horrific storm on the
|
|
11th of Seber that forced him to seek the cover of trees. By the time he
|
|
arrived in Dargon, he was nursing a headcold, so he sold the horse he no
|
|
longer needed and used the money to buy a room in the waterfront
|
|
district. The building was next to a brothel, and the thief could hear
|
|
the hawker's cries, as well as other carrying on, well into the night.
|
|
Teyvas kept to the docks for many days, a little worried that two
|
|
murders he was involved in might be catching up with him. When he
|
|
stopped at one of his favorite haunts, Teyvas was told that town
|
|
guardsmen were looking for him in connection with the deaths. Zaran, a
|
|
companion of his, must have confessed to the crimes while the thief was
|
|
in Tench.
|
|
The two of them had dragged a woman into an alley, killing her
|
|
servant when he intervened.
|
|
Zaran had wanted to take her, and Teyvas was willing to let his
|
|
oafish friend have the pleasure of her company before they robbed her.
|
|
Unfortunately, another hero chanced upon the little tryst. The portly
|
|
fellow laid Zaran low with a skillet, of all things, and Teyvas was
|
|
forced to cut down the man as he escaped. Teyvas now had learned the
|
|
name of the middle-aged hero: Thomas Shopkeeper. His persistent widow
|
|
had sung Shopkeeper's praises throughout the city, and the city fathers
|
|
had taken notice. They wanted the slayer brought to justice.
|
|
Teyvas needed to get out of Dargon, perhaps permanently. He could
|
|
head back to Tench or a village like it, but the number of people who
|
|
knew his face was getting perilously high. The best thing to do would be
|
|
to book passage on a ship, but he did not have enough funds to leave
|
|
Cherisk behind.
|
|
To remedy the situation, Teyvas left the docks and meandered
|
|
towards the upper-class reaches of Dargon. He lingered on a street lined
|
|
with temples, hoping to find suitable prey leaving from an evening
|
|
service.
|
|
As the last strands of sunlight faded to the west, Teyvas watched a
|
|
slender woman with a long tan cloak leaving a small shrine to Sbeppo.
|
|
She was carrying a book as long as her forearm, and the thief concluded
|
|
that she must be a scribe, since that was Sbeppo's sphere of influence.
|
|
It was heartening to see the glint of gold around her slender neck,
|
|
since Teyvas could not linger long in this district without arousing
|
|
suspicion.
|
|
The little scribe walked purposefully towards the market center of
|
|
Dargon, evidently with some tasks in mind. When she turned away from a
|
|
shop-lined avenue and headed across a tree-lined street, Teyvas cut
|
|
across a grassy patch of land to get closer to her. He began dogging her
|
|
steps, only 10 feet or so behind her, and she finally took notice of
|
|
him. There was no one else on the street with them, and she knew what a
|
|
bad position the shortcut had left her in.
|
|
This dance of prey and predator was something that Teyvas wanted to
|
|
savor, to extend until he could practically taste the fear exuded by his
|
|
victim, a scent that hung heavy like a musk. But there was no time for
|
|
play.
|
|
Teyvas moved with the grace of a cat, knocking the scribe off the
|
|
path and into some overgrown grass. She turned over and pushed at him
|
|
with a weak thrust of her right hand, but the thief had undone her by
|
|
pulling his knife across her throat. As a torrent of blood flowed from
|
|
this second smile, Teyvas realized that the scribe was not as she
|
|
seemed.
|
|
For starters, she was actually a man. A slight, almost elfin
|
|
looking man, but definitely male. He took the necklace, a pouch of coins
|
|
and the contents of a shirt pouch -- thin slivers of glass coated with a
|
|
powdery dust. He found a fourth sliver in the man's right hand, as if he
|
|
was planning to do something with it. Teyvas touched his tongue gently
|
|
to the sliver, to see if the dust was some kind of drug he had
|
|
experienced.
|
|
There was no taste, but Teyvas found all the explanation he needed
|
|
when he looked more closely at the dying man, who was beginning to
|
|
tremble convulsively. The book that he clutched tightly to his breast
|
|
was covered with runes and other markings, whose origin was
|
|
unmistakeably arcane.
|
|
He had killed a mage. Teyvas cursed the luck that had put this
|
|
spell-wielder into his path. If the shopkeeper was not enough of a
|
|
burden, this would be his undoing. The thief had made long practice of
|
|
avoiding magic and its practitioners. He pried the book from the hands
|
|
of the mage, kicking the now-dead man in the ribs so hard that bones
|
|
snapped.
|
|
As Teyvas was walking away, three cloaked figures suddenly
|
|
approached him from a street 50 feet distant. One pointed a finger at
|
|
him and yelled in a guttural language Teyvas had never heard before.
|
|
|
|
The rope was pulled so tightly around his neck that Teyvas thought
|
|
it would kill him prematurely. His promise was going to be kept; he
|
|
would die on his feet, before hundreds of Dargon's citizens who had
|
|
assembled to send him off. The crowd looked up at the gallows with
|
|
expectant faces, glad to have a diversion from the all-consuming
|
|
passions of the war with Beinison.
|
|
A female lieutenant named Ilona Milnor read the accusations
|
|
levelled against him, and the sentence that had been meted out in the
|
|
name of Duke Clifton Dargon the Second. There was a dull efficiency to
|
|
her demeanor, and Teyvas was instantly attracted to her indifference.
|
|
She had better things to do, and the young thief earnestly wished that
|
|
he was one of them.
|
|
After the murder two weeks ago, Teyvas had been captured by town
|
|
guards as he was being dragged off by three Nar-Enthruen mages. He found
|
|
out that the victim belonged to a 23-year-old arcane society that
|
|
fiercely protected its own, affirming the thief's lifelong fear of
|
|
magicians. The Nar-Enthruen were disappointed to hand him over to the
|
|
guards, and had complained bitterly when it was ruled that they could
|
|
not have the killer back.
|
|
Still, they exacted one concession from the town guard before
|
|
today's hanging. A hollow-faced Nar elder had spent an afternoon outside
|
|
of Teyvas' cell, asking him numerous questions about his life and the
|
|
crimes that he had committed. He was forthright, hoping some measure of
|
|
infamy would outlive him, but the somber man did not seem impressed. As
|
|
the Nar elder left, he spat some kind of curse at Teyvas in the exotic
|
|
language of the Nar, and it left the thief with a strange coldness in
|
|
his bones that did not fade.
|
|
It was time for Teyvas to pay for the murders of Thomas Shopkeeper
|
|
and the mage. Ilona stepped over to a hoist that would pull his ragged
|
|
frame up the gibbet.
|
|
"Do you have any last words?" she asked.
|
|
"Only these," he said, looking into her eyes directly. "I love
|
|
you." He smiled as she signaled for two attendants to turn the hoisting
|
|
mechanism. For a moment, Teyvas looked down with a cheery air at the
|
|
crowd that had gathered to see him off. He felt important for perhaps
|
|
the first time in his life. This elation faded quickly, replaced by the
|
|
burning pain of the rope. The weight of his body pulled at his neck, and
|
|
Teyvas strained for a breath he could not take.
|
|
For 20 minutes, onlookers watched as the thief danced on the
|
|
gibbet, his feet gyrating to find purchase on the ground below him.
|
|
Teyvas had promised to die on his feet, and as his consciousness faded
|
|
he was still trying to extend an outstretched foot downward to the
|
|
earth. His sorry path through the world reached an end.
|
|
But it was not the end at all.
|
|
Teyvas wiped his eyes, which had somehow become filled with smoke,
|
|
and found that he was standing in a kitchen where roasted meats were
|
|
charred black from overcooking. Through a closed door he could hear
|
|
dozens of people talking in an adjacent room.
|
|
Instinctively, he reached to pull the meats away from the cooking
|
|
fire, wondering if he was meant to prepare food in the life after death.
|
|
He noticed that his own arm was slender, and pasty-white in color. He
|
|
looked down at his body, and really began to wonder about his
|
|
predicament.
|
|
"J'mirg's blood!" Teyvas exclaimed in a sonorous, high-pitched
|
|
squeal. He clutched at his chest in terror and amazement. "I'm a
|
|
squirmin' female!"
|
|
|
|
After a few minutes of hysteria, Teyvas settled down to the fact
|
|
that he had been reborn as a woman after being hanged for two murders in
|
|
the city of Dargon. He was a mature woman in a tavern maid's attire,
|
|
hunched over roasting fires in a kitchen. She had burnt most of
|
|
tonight's main course. Teyvas could hear the sounds of merriment from a
|
|
nearby room, and he gingerly opened a door to peer out.
|
|
There were about 20 people in the dank establishment, which was
|
|
decorated with boar's heads and the pelts of numerous forest animals. A
|
|
poorly executed painting of King Haralan hung above a fireplace.
|
|
"Adrana!" a man screamed at him -- her! -- as he approached from an
|
|
adjacent bar. The boisterous character was a stocky barkeep with a long
|
|
beard and unclean attire. He grabbed her around the waist once he came
|
|
close enough to do so. "That foul smell had best not be the meat you're
|
|
preparin', or we're going to have a riot on our hands."
|
|
Teyvas shrugged Adrana's shoulders, suddenly embarrassed that a man
|
|
was touching her in such a brusque manner. The thief would have liked to
|
|
remove the offending hand with a blade, but this wench carried no
|
|
weapons. Even if she had, he realized that the barkeep could physically
|
|
dominate the woman if he chose to do so. This sense of inferiority was
|
|
new to him.
|
|
"Ol's balls, woman!" the barkeep cursed. "You really did burn the
|
|
food ... show me what you did." He pushed her back into the kitchen, and
|
|
gazed upon the ruined meats she had pulled from the fires.
|
|
For a moment, he stared at the food as if his glance could restore
|
|
it, but his face reddened and he turned to Adrana. "Your stupidity has
|
|
cost me for the last time, you old crone," he said.
|
|
A feeling of shame and fear washed over Teyvas, two emotions he did
|
|
not possess before assuming this woman's form. He tried to stammer some
|
|
kind of reply, "It, it was ..."
|
|
Before he could finish, the burly barkeep brought the back of his
|
|
hand across Adrana's face so hard that she was knocked to the corner of
|
|
the kitchen. A tin pitcher full of grease was upended by one of her
|
|
flailing arms as she attempted to break her fall, and the hot liquid
|
|
spattered against her leg, causing excruciating pain. The barkeep was
|
|
not hurt by the grease, but the accident enraged him further, and he
|
|
approached her to mete out more punishment. Teyvas was not going to let
|
|
this continue, woman or no woman.
|
|
He lifted himself to a crouching position and grabbed a butcher's
|
|
knife. Adrana's arms were not strong enough to plunge it deeply into the
|
|
barkeep's chest, but Teyvas hoped the dullard would not realize that.
|
|
"Adrana," the barkeep said, a little quieter than he had been.
|
|
"I'm leaving," Teyvas-Adrana said. "If you move I'll gut you like a
|
|
fish, and feed your entrails to those codswallops out there."
|
|
The barkeep backed off a step. "Don't come beggin' tomorrow morn,
|
|
woman!" he said.
|
|
"I won't," Teyvas-Adrana replied. She left through the tavern's
|
|
back door, and headed to a well-lit public street in front of the
|
|
building. Teyvas could see the duke's castle and a few familiar guard
|
|
towers in the distance, so he knew he was still in Dargon. For a
|
|
half-bell he walked the streets aimlessly, in the general direction of
|
|
his apartment in the waterfront district. As he came closer to it,
|
|
Teyvas suddenly realized that it wasn't really his home any longer. He
|
|
wandered away.
|
|
Teyvas was too stunned to be alive in this woman's body to
|
|
appreciate the escape from the hangman's noose. There were no rope burns
|
|
on his neck, but he could still feel the itch of the cord wrapped
|
|
tightly under his chin. The grinding sound of the hoist pulling him onto
|
|
the gibbet reverberated in his head like the clangor of a Lederian
|
|
battle-drum.
|
|
Teyvas did not know what to do next. The few friends he had would
|
|
not believe this, and some were likely to seize the opportunity to avail
|
|
themselves of Adrana. From his vantage point, he could see she was not
|
|
entirely unattractive.
|
|
With no other options to consider, Teyvas took himself back to the
|
|
tavern, hoping to find someone who could tell him where Adrana lived so
|
|
that he could sleep there. Unfortunately, as he crept into the kitchen
|
|
through a back door, Teyvas saw the barkeep, sitting on a stool a few
|
|
feet away and drinking wine from a bottle.
|
|
"I knew you'd come back," he said, pulling himself to his feet with
|
|
considerable effort. The unclean man wiped his beard with the back of
|
|
his hand and then grabbed a knife. It was the same blade Teyvas had
|
|
threatened him with a few hours ago.
|
|
"No wife of mine treats me like that," the barkeep said. He smiled
|
|
savagely at her, his teeth glinting like jagged rocks on the shoreline.
|
|
|
|
Teyvas sat up in a dark room and pulled a sheet off his body,
|
|
screaming. The competing smells of excrement and death told him that he
|
|
was in a dungeon cell. He was back under Dargon Keep, he reasoned, and
|
|
had dreamed of his own hanging and the experience as Adrana. The last
|
|
part was still horrifying to him, and though her murder was a figment of
|
|
the mind he could not help but clutch at his neck in sympathetic pain.
|
|
The nightmare that had visited itself upon that woman was beyond
|
|
anything Teyvas could conjure, and he wished the Nar elder was around so
|
|
that he could tell the man his own crimes were minor. Teyvas had
|
|
dispatched his victims with efficiency, and had never taken sexual
|
|
liberties with any of them. To torture a woman and to rape her so
|
|
violently was unimaginably grotesque, even to him.
|
|
Still, it was just a dream, probably an effort by the gods to
|
|
introduce him to the sensations of guilt and remorse. It was not going
|
|
to work, he thought, and laughed weakly. As he did so, the ends of his
|
|
beard rubbed against his chest.
|
|
Teyvas did not have a beard. He found himself in a new form, some
|
|
kind of squat, muscular figure who was covered in flea-infested hair.
|
|
What happened to Adrana really happened, to him, and the rebirth had
|
|
come again.
|
|
"Damn you, spell-tosser!" he yelled in agony, and Teyvas threw his
|
|
new body against the solid wood of the cell door until it was bruised
|
|
and bloody. He fell asleep on the floor, a throbbing and badly sprained
|
|
arm lying askew at his side.
|
|
He awoke to the banging sound of a metal pan being slammed against
|
|
the walls outside the cell. Teyvas lifted himself to his feet, crying in
|
|
pain as the injuries of the previous night asserted themselves upon his
|
|
conscious body.
|
|
Peering through a small barred hole in the door, Teyvas saw a guard
|
|
clad in the duke's colors heading down the hall. He recognized her as
|
|
one of those who walked him to the gibbet the day before, though he had
|
|
no way of telling if that was really how long ago it took place. He was
|
|
still in Dargon.
|
|
Sitting back down on his noxious pallet, Teyvas looked himself
|
|
over. He was some kind of wild man, with a stone-solid upper body,
|
|
stubby legs and dark olive skin. Most of the injuries he inflicted upon
|
|
this form would heal quickly, but the left forearm was still extremely
|
|
sore.
|
|
When his sensibilities started to return, Teyvas began to think
|
|
about the curious visit from the Nar-Enthruen elder shortly before his
|
|
execution. Rosgode was his name, and he claimed that the visit was for
|
|
an interrogation about the thief's "sundered life," as the elder put it.
|
|
Rosgode acted as if there were some kind of spiritual reason for needing
|
|
to know such details.
|
|
"Do you not wish to tell me?" Rosgode asked. "Surely you must know
|
|
that you are already doomed." There was a sympathy to this last
|
|
statement, as if the old man took a fatherly interest in his subject.
|
|
Teyvas did not believe in the sentiment, but was flattered at the
|
|
attention he was receiving.
|
|
"I will share it all with you, spell-tosser," he said, "and when
|
|
you walk out of this place you will know that I wanted to be here."
|
|
Teyvas told the mage about the carefree life of a roving bandit
|
|
clan, and how rich with joy he had been before the devil Tamar had taken
|
|
it all away. He explained how Dargon's orphan shelters were haphazard
|
|
operations that would expel children for troublemaking whenever expenses
|
|
went beyond the funds alloted by the Dargon government. He told of
|
|
fighting with wild pigs and dogs for refuse tossed in the middle of city
|
|
streets at age ten.
|
|
While Teyvas spoke, Rosgode cupped his hands together as if he
|
|
could catch the conversation like rainwater. Teyvas thought it was odd
|
|
but was too wrapped up in himself to consider it further.
|
|
He continued his tale, hoping that Rosgode had a strong memory and
|
|
would take the story beyond the dungeon walls. Teyvas told him about
|
|
living in the dying houses when the Red Plague struck in 1007, stealing
|
|
food from the palsied hands of victims when he could, hoping that he
|
|
would join their suffering. But he never became sick from the exposure,
|
|
and it even led to the only honest job he ever had, as a charnel runner
|
|
taking the dead to be burned.
|
|
"Why did you never try to kill Tamar?" Rosgode inquired. "Did you
|
|
not despise him for what his men did to your parents?"
|
|
"I despise them," Teyvas said. "They were weak and deserved what
|
|
they got."
|
|
When Teyvas' tale reached the murder of Rosgode's compatriot and
|
|
the thief's subsequent confinement, the Nar elder stood up, clasped his
|
|
hands together and held them tight as if he were holding a cricket. He
|
|
stared at the young man in the cell and suddenly said something
|
|
unintelligible in his own tongue. The sneer on Rosgode's face made
|
|
Teyvas feel that it was some kind of curse, and it laid a chill on his
|
|
bones.
|
|
Sitting in this new cell, Teyvas surmised that the spell-caster had
|
|
used their conversation as a pretense to enact some kind of Nar-Enthruen
|
|
hex. Adrana's demise at the hands of her husband was visited upon him as
|
|
punishment, and a sense of dread fell over him as he wondered what might
|
|
come next.
|
|
He did not have much time to speculate about it. The day progressed
|
|
and guards delivered gruel masquerading as food. Teyvas was still trying
|
|
to stomach it when his cell door was unlocked and another inmate stepped
|
|
inside.
|
|
"I'd wager 13 marks you didn't expect a visitor today, kinsman,"
|
|
the prisoner said, pulling his lips back as a wolf does, revealing a
|
|
sinister smile. The man was from Kimerron, a small country of barbarians
|
|
that had lost a war with Beinison. He removed a short knife from a
|
|
pocket in his leggings. "It cost a king's ransom to get this shank," he
|
|
said. "Your lord sends his warmest regards."
|
|
|
|
After his third death in Dargon, Teyvas was reborn in a widening
|
|
spire of sites and situations.
|
|
At Gateway, he was a foot soldier of Beinison skewered by a
|
|
Lederian colour sergeant. At Sharks' Cove, he was a slaver whose
|
|
property rose up against him, tying him up and setting him ablaze. At
|
|
Shireton, he was a halfwit stoned to death for exhibiting inappropriate
|
|
affection for livestock.
|
|
As the number of expended lives grew, the thief stopped resisting
|
|
the fate that had been bestowed upon him. For a time he contented
|
|
himself with the relative peace of drowning, submerging himself in the
|
|
water before others could choose a more appropriate end for him. He
|
|
began to lose his attachment to the mortal form, and imagined himself as
|
|
a floating wisp of golden cloud, skimming the top of trees in one locale
|
|
and then dissipating, only to reform somewhere else at the direction of
|
|
the prevailing winds.
|
|
When the number of his reincarnated forms reached 17, Teyvas found
|
|
himself kneeling in a small alcove, looking upwards at a bronze
|
|
statuette of Sbeppo, the patron deity of scribes and the written word.
|
|
There was a reflective glass behind the sculpture, and Teyvas gazed into
|
|
it. His face was that of a frail, tawny-haired man. He carried a
|
|
rune-covered book as large as his forearm. For several minutes, the
|
|
thief stared into the eyes of the last man he had killed. He breathed
|
|
deeply, filling the body with life, and thought about the way he had
|
|
taken this vitality away from the mage.
|
|
Teyvas pushed aside the curtains that separated the alcove from a
|
|
larger chamber of worship. Two men in lily-white robes stood near the
|
|
back of the room, talking quietly. The altar was empty because the
|
|
evening services had ended several menes ago.
|
|
Setting the book down, Teyvas ascended to the raised dais that
|
|
contained the altar, a pair of tables and a large illustrated
|
|
manuscript. The book was open to a drawing of a mother giving birth to a
|
|
younger woman who was pregnant herself. The thief was not aware of the
|
|
significance of the book, but he could tell that it was valuable and of
|
|
import to the people who worshipped here. He yanked a torch from its
|
|
holder on one wall, an act that took all the strength this elflike body
|
|
possessed.
|
|
At this point, the two robed men approached him in alarm. "Get
|
|
yourself off there, brother!" one said.
|
|
"Come any closer, brother, and we find out if this book will burn,"
|
|
Teyvas replied. "Bring me Rosgode of the Nar-Enthruen!"
|
|
It did not take long for the elder mage to reach the temple. "Have
|
|
you gone mad?" he asked emphatically as he strode down the aisle towards
|
|
the dais.
|
|
"For someone you have killed more than a dozen times over, I am
|
|
remarkably sane," Teyvas said. He wished he could summon the other
|
|
Teyvas, who was probably wandering the temple area at this point,
|
|
looking for someone to rob. He would give the boy all of the mage's
|
|
riches, if he could, and send him away from Cherisk for good.
|
|
"This is nonsense-talk, Alder," Rosgode said. "What kind of
|
|
enchantment are you talking about?"
|
|
Alder-Teyvas was growing fatigued, and he knew that he could only
|
|
keep everyone at a distance for a few more menes.
|
|
"I am out of your time, and I am not your friend," Teyvas said.
|
|
"Later tonight, I was a thief who murdered Alder and was captured. You
|
|
came to my cell and I told my crimes to your hands. When you left, you
|
|
spoke a Nar curse upon me.
|
|
"I was hanged, and reborn as someone who was fated to die," Teyvas
|
|
continued. "I am reborn and reborn, and I die every time."
|
|
Rosgode looked stunned for a moment, but the expression was
|
|
replaced by one of comprehension. "The hand-telling is a way to remove a
|
|
man's crimes," he said. "If I did that, I took them so you would not
|
|
have the evil to draw upon in a future life."
|
|
The response made sense to Teyvas, gave him an answer to why he was
|
|
unable to resist being the victim of 17 successive crimes. The evil had
|
|
been stolen away from him, and he had not found anything to take its
|
|
place.
|
|
The elder took a gentle step back, and held out his hand as if
|
|
trying to keep Teyvas calm so the book would not be harmed. But there
|
|
was fear in the pits of Rosgode's ruminant eyes. This was a revelation
|
|
to the tired cutpurse who had been freed from the finality of death.
|
|
Rosgode had not expected the spell to come to a circle like this --
|
|
before he had even cast it.
|
|
It was all Teyvas needed to see. He knew what had to be done.
|
|
Alder-Teyvas dropped the torch onto the holy book of Sbeppo,
|
|
causing two nearby priests to cry out in agony and rush onto the dais.
|
|
As this happened, Teyvas reached into a pouch on Alder's shirt and
|
|
pulled out four powder-covered slivers of glass. He knew that they were
|
|
a weapon of some kind, since the original Alder had intended to use one
|
|
before his throat was slit.
|
|
Rosgode was unable to react, jostled by onlookers who were rushing
|
|
in to assist their fellows. Teyvas put the glass in his mouth and held
|
|
it with his teeth as he leapt onto the elder. He wrapped both arms
|
|
around the mage, who was attempting some form of evasive magic, and bit
|
|
down as hard as he could.
|
|
White fire erupted from his mouth, spewing forth a clarified heat
|
|
that blinded all those who gazed upon it. Rosgode, whose head was
|
|
directly in its path, was beyond such concerns about his vision.
|
|
|
|
Teyvas stood on the deck of the _Laughing Gale_, a merchant ship
|
|
headed to several trading ports on the eastern coast of Duurom. He found
|
|
the money to leave Dargon for good: A miracle had visited itself upon
|
|
him in the form of a fracas at the Temple of Sbeppo.
|
|
As he waited in the area, hoping to find a templegoer headed home
|
|
with too much money and too little sense, Teyvas saw a spell-tosser
|
|
confronting his brethren inside a temple. The frail man rose up like a
|
|
snake baring its fangs, and as the thief headed for a closer look, a
|
|
white fire erupted from the mage's mouth.
|
|
This sorcerous act unleashed a potent magic that left one man dead
|
|
and another dying. Rather than attending to the surviving mage, his
|
|
fellows worked feverishly to save a book that had become damaged. "The
|
|
illustration of the birth and rebirth has been lost," a man wailed.
|
|
"That page cannot be saved!"
|
|
As they left to attend to the manuscript, Teyvas was able to walk
|
|
into the temple and clean the altar of its golden adornments. An
|
|
offering box that rattled with coins was also left behind by Sbeppo's
|
|
faithful.
|
|
Teyvas used the easily gained fortune to book passage on the _Gale_
|
|
two weeks later. He watched the continent of Cherisk recede to the east
|
|
as the ship headed northwest into colder waters. Finally, when the land
|
|
faded from his sight, he headed down to the hold where passengers were
|
|
to sleep. Filthy straw covered the floor and the blankets were
|
|
threadbare and moth-eaten, but he fell asleep like the duke's heir
|
|
esconced in a feather bed.
|
|
"Get up, dog!" The bark of the ship's captain was unmistakable,
|
|
sounding like a shovel dragged across stones. Teyvas stumbled to stand
|
|
but did not move quickly enough, and four hands pulled him to his feet.
|
|
Hovering next to the captain, a round face slowly came into focus
|
|
for Teyvas. When it did, he did not have to ask the reason for the
|
|
nighttime visit.
|
|
It was the teller from Tench, whose fortune was much better than
|
|
Teyvas had thought when he left the man for dead.
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"This is him," the fat-faced man told the captain as a sailor found
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a blade among Teyvas' belongings. It was the only weapon he had carried
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onto the ship.
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The Wheel reader brought himself closer to the thief, and Teyvas
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|
could smell the ointment that was caked upon the man's midsection, salve
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that closed the hole opened by a knife.
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|
"I must offer apology to you for a mistake in your reading," the
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|
teller said, his voice weak but deliberate. "The Wheel's promise of a
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long life has been shown to be false."
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|
A blackjack was brought down upon Teyvas' head by one of the
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captain's men. As red light filled his sight, and warmth radiated from
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|
the back of his skull, the thief received the last indicator of his
|
|
future from the reader.
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|
"You are about to embark upon a seaborne journey," he rasped. Two
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|
sailors wrapped the legs of Teyvas in chains, and a bloody cloth was
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|
stuffed into his mouth.
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|
A hearty shout rose from the crew of the _Gale_ as the son of
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|
bandits was tossed overboard. Teyvas landed feet-first when he reached
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|
the ocean floor, a dying sob trapped in his throat by the Wheel of Life.
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|
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========================================================================
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