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414 lines
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+-+--+-+--+-+ VOLUME THREE NUMBER THREE
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+___________+ FFFFF SSS FFFFF N N EEEEE TTTTT
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| ++ | F S F NN N E T
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| ++ | FFF SSS FFF N N N EEE T
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| | F S F N NN E T
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|_________| F SSS F N N EEEEE T
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/___________\ ==========================================
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| | BITNET Fantasy-Science Fiction Fanzine
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___|___________|___ X-Edited by 'Orny' Liscomb <NMCS025@MAINE>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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CONTENTS
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X-Editorial Orny
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The Acquisition, Part Two Roman Olynyk
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Review: THE DEAD OF WINTER - TW7 Orny
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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X-Editorial
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Well, folks, again I find myself apologizing for the lateness of
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this issue. Unfortuantely I have been busy with my new job. For
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those of you who are not already aware, I now have a new id, LISCOMB
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at MAINE, as well as NMCS025. Should NMCS025 be unavailable, I may
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be reached at LISCOMB, but for the time being FSFnet will continue
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to be sent from NMCS025. Other news is that the most recent issue of
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FSFnet can be found on CSNEWS at MAINE's ComDisk and can be
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requested using TELL CSNEWS AT MAINE SENDME FSFNET VOLxNxx FROM COMDISK.
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Also in the works is a new project for all people interested in
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writing amateur fantasy fiction. A group of FSFnet contributors and
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myself have begun a writers' workshop very similar in structure to
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the Thieves' World project undertaken by Robert Aspirin. Several
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authors have begun developing characters and stories, all based in
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an area known as Dargon. FSFnet VOL4N01 should contain the first
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written results of this project, and will be in your reader in
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mid-January. If any of you budding authors are interested in joining
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the effort, send me a mail file and I'll be glad to fill you in.
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Unfortunately, there is no Narret Chronicle in this issue due to
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the fact that I cannot get in touch with the author. Hopefully we
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will get Narret back before volume 4 starts.
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Finally, I'd like to remind you all that it's the holiday
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season, and everyone's got a new book out. New McCaffrey, Anthony,
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Tolkien, Adams, Daley, Asimov, Stasheff, and anyone else you can
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think of. No time to review them all right now. Next issue the
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Acquisition will continue, and I'll review M.A.R. Barker's new
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Tekumel book, Flamesong, and, if I get it read, Norman Spinrad's
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Star Spangled Future. Until then!
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-Orny <NMCS025 @ MAINE>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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THE ACQUISITION
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Part Two: The Forest
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Beyond the short expanse of cultivated fields, the two travelers
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soon crossed the boundary of scrub that marked the edge of the
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forest. At first, the woods were characterized by light beeches,
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birches and poplars. The leaves of the poplars were waxy and rustled
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crisply in the soft breeze.
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Banewood recalled his early childhood when he would venture into
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the light woods in search of edible mushrooms, a favored delicacy of
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the local people. With his sharp and experienced vision he could
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still pick out his favorites protruding through the fallen leaves.
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It was here, while gathering mushrooms that Banewood heard many of
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the childhood tales and legends passed to him by his parents: tales
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of the Ludki, those mischievous little people who lived deep within
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the forest and tales of Lessy, the Silvan Lord, who made strange
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animal sounds and led lost children astray. Banewood remembered how
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his father would then make animal sounds and frighten him for the
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rest of the day. Stories of Baba Yaga, embellished over the years,
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would cause tears of fright to well up into young Banewood's eyes.
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Now, years older, Banewood still felt the burning in his face as he
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realized that Baba Yaga might be real and that he might meet face to
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face with the blistering eyes of Kathryn.
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As the two journeyed onward, the character of the forest
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changed. Dark oaks and towering elms now lined their path. The
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leaves of years lay upon the ground, crackling with every step.
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Animal sounds diminished.
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Banewood and Sod picked their way uphill, climbing an overgrown
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path which led to an uncertain fate. Throughout the day, Banewood
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and Sod walked the leagues of dark forest, constantly catching
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cobwebs in the face and beleaguered by blood-thirsty deer flies
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scenting their first human.
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At the top of the rise, the two travelers paused to rest. Sod
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sat still in the hope of delivering a killing blow to the ravenous
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deer fly which had doggedly followed him during most of the climb.
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"I think we should make our first camp here," said Banewood.
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"We're on the nearest hilltop and we'll have ample warning of
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anything approaching."
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"Gotcha!" Sod finally killed the deer fly which had settle in
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his hair for a fateful supper. Sod picked the scrawny insect from
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his hair. "If we build a smoldering fire we might be able to spend a
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night without these cursed flies." Sod gathered some dead twigs that
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still hung on the tree. After arranging them carefully, he reached
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into his bag and brought out his flint and steel. Within minutes a
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small fire was being tended. Banewood walked the perimeter of their
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encampment and stopped occasionally to pick at some plants growing
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scattered on the ground. He returned and gave them to Sod.
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"Here, use these on the fire. They'll keep away the flies better
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than the smoke."
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"Thank you," said Sod. He threw them on the small fire and
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whiffed the fragrant aroma created by the consumed leaves. "How did
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you learn so much about herbs?" asked Sod, who already knew the
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answer. He was fighting his nervousness with small talk.
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"Most of what I know comes from the Shaman," said Banewood
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obligingly. "Now I have to learn from his books, but the details are
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really meager. Most of the Shaman's knowledge was in his vast
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memory. He said that certain books did exist. The Shaman said the
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books were dangerous because they could fall into the wrong hands."
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Banewood and Sod ate a meal of wafer bread and dried meat and
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then slept lightly upon cushions of leaves and boughs laid upon the
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ground. Shallow holes were dug out to provide recesses for their
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hips. Smoldering coals kept away the night flies, but they didn't
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ward off Banewood's evil dreams; the crimson eyes still haunted him.
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Dawn came with the cry of a horned owl.
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The dying coals were fed a breakfast of fresh tinder.
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Hard-boiled eggs and a little herb tea saw the worried travelers on
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their way. Revitalized by the rest, Banewood and Sod trekked down
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the slope, meandering ever deeper into the dark forest. Soon
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Banewood's sharp eye caught the first impression of the large cloven
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hoofs that were to show them the way. The tracks were too large to
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belong to anything else except Kathryn. Broken branches and an
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uprooted tree lent credence to the supposition. To Sod's relief, the
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tracks were fairly old.
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Sod fretted about his decision to hunt the sow. The mysterious
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sword whose hilt he often fondled didn't seem like a weapon that
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could stop a charging sow. Funny how he thought that if he set his
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mind to killing Kathryn, he would find a way. Could they do it by
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craft and artifice? Maybe by setting up a dead fall or some other
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booby trap? Funnier still was the feeling that it was the sword
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which seemed to whisper that, given the resolve, Sod would be able
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to meet the challenge.
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Banewood and Sod journeyed down the slope, up the next hill and
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down another slope. Leagues passed beneath their feet. They skipped
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lunch and walked under the power of their stored energy. They
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continued on slight paths which joined and separated through the
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forest. Occasionally, Sod would stop to mark a tree at eye level,
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entertaining the hope that they would somehow return by this route.
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Banewood now walked with his bow in hand, ever keeping a watchful
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eye on the path behind them.
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The Shaman's longbow proved its value later in the day when
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Banewood knocked down a squirrel with a special blunt-tipped arrow.
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They carried the black squirrel with them after quickly field
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dressing it. The little tree rat, as Banewood called it, had set up
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a frightful chattering before it met its final doom. Sod and
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Banewood both agreed that it would be a good idea to cover some more
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distance before feasting on the tree rat. There was no telling what
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attention was called by the noisy animal and, besides, they didn't
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want to prepare the tree rat until they were ready to make camp.
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The two journeymen walked with greater care after killing the
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squirrel. Banewood regretted his slaying of the little tree rat. He
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now had the uneasy feeling that the forest knew of their presence,
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that they were somehow being watched. Sod sensed Banewood's distress
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or maybe he, too, felt the paranoia. He tightened his grip on the
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sword. Banewood now walked with an arrow nocked. His fingers
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whitened from their tight grip.
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Every minute sound that the two seekers made was amplified by
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the forest. Once, when Banewood turned quickly around, he thought he
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noticed a pair of amber eyes watching them, but they disappeared
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quickly and he was no longer sure. Tension increased with every
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step. Both travelers began to perspire. Suddenly, the explosion of a
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dry twig snapping sent Banewood and Sod into a back-to-back
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position, their weapons drawn and poised. An electric tension pulsed
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within them, begging to surge, asking for release. But nothing happened.
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No other sound was heard throughout the forest. After
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excruciating minutes of silence, Banewood and Sod voted to resume
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their walk. Several more hours of travel brought them to a small
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stream in the forest. The water looked wholesome, affording the two
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an opportunity to refill their flasks and to bathe. This looked like
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the ideal place to pitch camp and prepare a welcome supper.
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Banewood's tree rat no longer looked as appetizing; however, it was
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the best food that they had. Throughout the meal and respite they
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remained watchful, for the penetrating silence of the forest remained.
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Evening had settled rapidly. Sod and Banewood ate near their
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fire, slowly finishing their meal and conversing. The fire cast a
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bright glow around the immediate circumference, but outside, the
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darkness was forbidding. Sod thought again about his quest.
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"If I hadn't found this sword, I probably would never have
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attempted such a foolish venture," Sod thought to himself. "This
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fine looking weapon is of too fine a quality for a man like me. I
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wonder if I shouldn't give it to someone worthy of possessing such a weapon."
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Aloud, Sod said "We've been in this forest for two days. It
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doesn't appear to hold the danger I had anticipated."
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"The danger lies in our laxness if we trust in our safety,"
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replied Banewood, parrying Sod's wishful thought. "Tonight I am
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sleeping with my bow in hand."
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Speaking the unspoken, Sod said "Then you also feel like we've
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been watched?"
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"Ya," replied Banewood. "I thought I saw it once, a pair of
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eyes. I've learned to trust my intuition."
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Tensing and grabbing for his sword, Sod said "Your intuition was
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right! Look! Out there, see those eyes? I don't think they're
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friendly." Sod pointed in the direction of the creek.
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They both stood up and moved around the fire, placing it between
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themselves and the presence. The same amber eyes Banewood had
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thought he'd seen earlier were slowly reeling toward them. When
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their distance from the eyes was cut in half, Sod threw an armful of
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dry tinder upon the fire and threw extra light out into the night.
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"It's a wolf." Whispered Banewood.
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"It's too big." Answered Sod, who was beginning to quake in his
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boots. His sweaty fingers grasped the sword tighter. "How am I going
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to kill the wolf if it attacks?" he thought, questioning his ability
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to wield the sword.
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A deep, gutteral growl emanated from the large slavering beast.
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It crept forward with its belly low to the ground, ready to leap at
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the instant. Sod raised his sword slightly and then cried out.
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"Oh no!"
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In the same instant that the fell beast launched itself toward
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them, Sod's sword slipped out of his hand and dropped to the ground
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at a distance. The lunging hulk darkened his view. Sod heard a
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snapping chord like the sound of his heart breaking. The wind rushed
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past his left ear.
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In a massive thud, a large wolf, larger than any Sod had ever
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seen or heard of before, fell at his side. Its eyes were wide open
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and its lips were curled in a hideous grimace. A feathered shaft
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protruded from its throat.
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Banewood's hand rested on Sod's shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked.
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"You killed him. I thought I was going to die and, just as
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suddenly, this wolf is dead instead. You've saved my life. How can I
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repay you?"
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"Don't worry; it all comes out in the wash. But what happened at
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the last second? Why did you drop your sword?"
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"I don't know... I guess my mind went blank. The sword seemed to
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slip from my hands," said Sod. "I've never seen such a fine shot. I
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think the wolf was dead before it hit the ground!"
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"I've tipped some of my arrows with the juice of the aconitum;
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it is a deadly poison."
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"With such a weapon as yours, you could single-handedly slay Kathryn!"
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"It won't work. I've already tried," answered Banewood.
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Sod was taken aback by this. "There's certainly more to this
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Shaman than meets the eye," he thought. Aloud, "When did you try that?"
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"On the last night that Kathryn attacked I hid myself and loosed
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my best arrow against her. It shattered as if it had hit a rock."
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Sod was incredulous. "How are we ever going to stop her if she
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is as you say?"
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"I don't know. We'll think of something."
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"Ya," Sod said without sincerity.
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The wolf was enormous, but Banewood and Sod, after endeavoring
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for the better part of an hour, managed to drag the beast away from
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the camp. The two found no difficulty in dropping off to sleep, for
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though the forest was still dangerous, it now possessed one less threat.
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Dawn came without a sound. Banewood and Sod got up and fed the
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fire and went to the creek for water. On the way, they looked for
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the wolf, but it was gone! They searched around the area in the hope
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that they were disoriented last night when they dragged the wolf
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out. It was gone. Now a very real fear possessed them; it may have
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been Baba Yaga. How else can a dead animal disappear? Sod's empty
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stomach felt like it held a rock.
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Suddenly, through the trees, they heard a musical voice.
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Banewood and Sod quickly reached for their weapons. Through the tall
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trees they could see an approaching figure. It was gaily dressed and
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wore a tall, pointed hat with a feather in its band. It sang:
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"Hey ho, hey ho,
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the wolk's a dead you know.
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for if it ain't a dead
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then I'm a not alive
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and I know I'd better go!"
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The two stood with their mouths open. Marching straight up to
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them was a short person, a very little person, with large round eyes
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and a pudgy little nose.
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"Hello, hello, my name is Stickleburr unless I'm not, of course."
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Sod and Banewood found themselves face to face with one of the
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Ludki. The childhood descriptions were indeed accurate. He looked so odd!
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"I want to thank you for killing the great wolk because he's no
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longer alive. He has been plaguing my people for years, but not for
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years to come. Anyway, they're not really my people, they are their
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own people, but I guess you wouldn't call us people, would you?"
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Banewood spoke: "I...I thought that the wolf, I mean wolk,
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wasn't dead, that maybe it was really Baba Yaga."
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Stickleburr jumped. "Oh, no! I mean yes, it was really a wolk.
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It's certainly dead now, isn't it? You two are heroes, unless of
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course you don't think so. So that's the wolksmert, isn't it?" Said
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Stickleburr pointing to Sod's strange sword.
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"Wolksmert?" Replied Sod. "Oh, yes. Certainly." He laughed at
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the irony, because "wolksmert" meant "wolfslayer" in the eastern tongue.
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"Yes, most certainly," laughed Stickleburr. "You two can come
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with me unless you can't. We want to thank you properly, and it's
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not proper to thank you here."
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Banewood and Sod agreed to follow the Ludki back to his home.
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They quickly broke camp and gathered their belongings. They
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whispered and laughed among themselves, marvelling at the strange
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speech pattern of Stickleburr: Ludki always followed the assertion
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of a positive statement with it's negative. It was a most curious
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pattern of speech, but it wasn't curious at all to the Ludki.
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Within a half-hour, the three came in sight of the Ludki
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village. It was set in a small dale cleared of trees. Little houses
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in the shape of bee hives lay haphazard about the village. Wisps of
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smoke curled out of their tops. The Ludki were fond of smithing, as
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was evident from the many miniature iron furnaces that sent their
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black smoke up over the rooftops. The Ludki village had evidently
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been in this location for some time because much of the area was
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cleared of the hardwood trees essential for the making of charcoal
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needed to smelt the iron.
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The little people walked about in gaily colored clothes. The
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Ludki men wore high pointed hats dressed up with bright feathers.
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They were a happy folk. The air was full of whistling and the songs
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of their merriment.
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When Stickleburr and the two travelers approached, the village
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folk poured out to meet the heros. Stickleburr began introducing his
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family and the more prominent of the Ludki to the strangers. The
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names came rapidly: Milfoil, Hyssop, Lavender, Mullien, Five
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Fingers, Violet, and, well, you get the idea; they were all names of
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plants that the Ludki were fond of. At the bark of orders from
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Stickleburr, the Ludki busied themselves with preparations for a
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great feast. The men set up tables and stools, built fires and
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brought out kegs of mead. The Ludki women quickly filled their ovens
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with various breads and foods until the heavenly aroma replaced the
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acrid smell of smelting iron. The Ludki loved feasting and
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merriment, and this occasion, as any other, was an excellent
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opportunity to lay aside their work. The fearful wolk which had
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terrorized the Ludki for so many years was dead, slain at the hands
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of the tall folk and wolksmert.
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Among the Ludki, wolksmert was the center of much attention.
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Their large eyes beamed with admiration and the little hands
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eagerly, but reverently, touched the fine metal. From the Ludki,
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Banewood could learn nothing about the sword, but by their evident
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joy at seeing it and the two travelers, the Ludki seemed strangely elated.
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Even while the preparations were still underway, the eager
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little Ludki began to celebrate with joyous abandon. Musicians began
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their tunes and the mead was passed around. And such mead! Banewood
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and Sod both drank and agreed that it was the best they had ever
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tasted. How the Ludki could consume so much of it without the
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obvious signs of inebriation, they couldn't guess.
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During the feast, Stickleburr talked with the two strangers and
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learned the reason for their sojourn into the deep forest. At the
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news, Stickleburr balked but then regained his composure.
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"Oh yes, we had most certainly believed that Baba Yaga had died,
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for we had not seen her alive. And Kathryn, oh yes, we had heard
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whisperings of her rampages, else we were deaf. Kathryn is Baba
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Yaga? We most certainly hope she isn't!"
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"Yes, most certainly," agreed Banewood.
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Sod, careful not to spill a drop of the mead he was drinking,
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looked at Stickleburr and asked, "Do you know of the way to the hut
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of Baba Yaga?"
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Stickleburr replied "No, no...well yes, sort of. I know the way
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but I don't know how to get there. It's a long way off, although not
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that far to someone as long-legged as you, though for yourselves,
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I'm sure you're not all that long-legged."
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Stickleburr was beginning to show some signs of inebriation.
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Banewood and Sod sat back to enjoy the feast. They watched the
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antics of the Ludki as they danced their high-kicking dances and
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swung their arms in the air. With a shout, the dancers punctuated
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the songs with a "hey!" At length, even the subdued travelers were
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on their feet and kicking. The Ludki laughed and clapped to urge on
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the long-legged dancers. Sod twirled like a top and bobbed like a
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cork. At a feverish pace, he was caught-up in the festive mood.
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Moments before he could dance no more, the song stopped with a
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rousing "hey!"
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Stickleburr was much impressed with the two travelers. After
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slapping both of them on the shoulders, the squat little fellow
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mounted a stump and cleared his throat.
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"Ahem!" The crowd became silent. "I'd like to express the thanks
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of all Ludki for what you two have done. We couldn't have done it ourselves."
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Stickleburr brought out a long object and handed it to Sod.
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"This is for the wolksmert unless it's for something else.
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Sod looked at the fine-crafted sheath given to him by the Ludki.
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The sword slid silently into it's scabbard. Sod expressed his thanks
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with a smile and a nod.
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"And these," continued Stickleburr, "are for the Banewood and
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they're not for anyone else."
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Banewood received a quiver full of fine, Ludki-crafted arrows
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with razor-sharp metal heads. The shafts were straighter than any
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Banewood had ever seen.
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With great bombast, the swaying Stickleburr went on to offer the
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friendship of the Ludki to Banewood and Sod. Much to his surprise,
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Sod immediately took him up on his offer for assistance. This was a
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surprise, because the Ludki had very traditional views of
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hospitality. After favors, guests did not customarily ask for more.
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But Sod did. He wanted to know the way to Baba Yaga's hut. The Ludki
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blanched at such a request. Oh horrors! But it was only a request
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for directions; the Ludki need not accompany the travelers. Anyway,
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thanks to the mead, Stickleburr was in a jovial mood. He went so far
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as to offer guidance to the outside of their realm.
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-Roman Olynyk <VM0BA9 @ WVNVM>
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Review: THE DEAD OF WINTER
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Thieves' World Book Seven
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Robert Lynn Aspirin's Thieves' World series continues in this
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new paperback from Ace, and it is, in my opinion, quite a step up.
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The most recent TW books have been, to me, a letdown. They were
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bogged down with the heavy-handed politics of Sanctuary and were not
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interesting to read. Book 7 starts slowly, but soon improves vastly
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into what I believe to be the best TW book written to date. The
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Veiled Lady, by Andrew Offut, is a very warm and amusing tale of
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Ahdio, the keeper of Sly's Place in Downwind. When the Spirit Moves
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You, by Aspirin, is also one of the best tales TW has put out, and
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nowehere near as heavy-handed as previous efforts. The Color of
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Magic by Diana Paxson returns us to the household of Lalo the Limner
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and Gilla, who is taken captive by a Roxane who is determined to
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sink Santuary in a storm of epic porportions. For me, however, the
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most wonderful story was by Diane Duane, called Down by the
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Riverside. It is an account of the death of Harran and what happens
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when the twin goddesses Sivieni and the once-mute Mriga find out.
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They and their dog, Tyr, elicit the aid of Ischade in a
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wonderfully-depicted descent to Hell and back, and is filled with
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surprises. Buy the book if just for this story!
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This book is a must for TW fans, and a wonderful breath of fresh
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air after the dry politics of the previous books. You may be
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surprised to find that cover art is being done by Gary Ruddell, so
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the book looks a little different, but you should have no trouble
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finding it. Unless, of course, the bookstore runs out before you get
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your copy!
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-Orny <NMCS025 @ MAINE>
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