507 lines
30 KiB
Plaintext
507 lines
30 KiB
Plaintext
+-+ +-+ +-+
|
|
+-+--+-+--+-+ VOLUME FOUR NUMBER FOUR
|
|
| | ==========================================
|
|
+___________+ FFFFF SSS FFFFF N N EEEEE TTTTT
|
|
| ++ | F S F NN N E T
|
|
| ++ | FFF SSS FFF N N N EEE T
|
|
| | F S F N NN E T
|
|
|_________| F SSS F N N EEEEE T
|
|
/___________\ ==========================================
|
|
| | BITNET Fantasy-Science Fiction Fanzine
|
|
___|___________|___ X-Edited by 'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
CONTENTS
|
|
X-Editorial Orny
|
|
Ur-Baal Magic Roman Olynyk
|
|
Calls of Courtesy Joseph Curwen
|
|
The Hands of a Healer Orny
|
|
|
|
Date: 052886 Dist: 148
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
X-Editorial
|
|
Well, everyone, here is the last spring issue. Summer is quickly
|
|
approaching even our northern clime, and school is something best
|
|
left forgotten until September. The summer volume (five) will
|
|
continue to be produced, and we will try to keep the Dargon project
|
|
going, despite the loss (for the summer) of some of our best
|
|
authors. Some of the issues will be Dargon issues, while some will
|
|
contain more traditional items. One note of special interest is that
|
|
there will be a special gaming issue this summer. I'd like to
|
|
solicit articles from gamers out there, particularly ones who have
|
|
dabbled in designing their own games. The issue will concentrate on
|
|
giving exposure to games BITNETters have designed and the hows and
|
|
whys of roleplaying game design. If anyone is interested in
|
|
contributing, ship me a note as soon as possible.
|
|
The volume past has been a great success, and I'd like to thank
|
|
both the readers and the authors who have made the Dargon Project
|
|
possible. One of the major purposes I have intended for FSFnet has
|
|
been to get amateur fantasy and science fiction authors together to
|
|
compare styles, to begin friendships and correspondances, and to
|
|
expose them to a truely diverse readership to give them an idea of
|
|
what the public desires in fantasy fiction. The Dargon Project has
|
|
not only been a boon for readership, but it has brought amateur
|
|
authors together in a productive setting. Perhaps I'm going
|
|
overboard to think that FSFnet is one of the most productive
|
|
non-computer oriented BITNET organizations. Thank you, one and all,
|
|
for your interest as readers, and a very very special thank you to
|
|
the authors for joining together to bring this about.
|
|
Well, before I can think of something else silly to say, I'd
|
|
best introduce this issue, the last of volume four. You will find in
|
|
here three related stories, and the resolution of some question
|
|
marks. We'll be looking for you with 5-1 real soon.
|
|
-Orny <CSDAVE @ MAINE>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
Ur-Baal Magic
|
|
A Ticklish Situation
|
|
Aardvard Factotum's disembodied mind was trapped, unable to
|
|
return to its rightful place. In the midst of his panic, however,
|
|
Aardvard suddenly felt something wrenching at his spirit, pulling
|
|
him home. No longer confined by the four walls of Griswald Brutsam's
|
|
room, his mind once again flew over the battlement of Dargon Keep,
|
|
across the countryside and back toward his home on the outskirts of
|
|
the city. He was drawn by an unknown force.
|
|
Aardvard opened his eyes and chuckled. Nothing was funny about
|
|
his situation, however. Aardvard's mind, after all, had been through
|
|
a good deal of excitement. Through the use of Banewood's essence of
|
|
Ur-Baal, it had left his body and travelled to Dargon Keep, where it
|
|
became trapped in the private chambers of Griswald Brutsam,
|
|
physician to Lord Clifton. Still, Aardvard couldn't stop laughing.
|
|
And when he looked down the length of his body, he saw the reason --
|
|
Banewood, the Shaman, stood at his bare feet, tickling them with a
|
|
goose feather.
|
|
"Laughter -- one of the best ways to reunite a body with one's
|
|
wayward mind," sniggered Banewood. "I warned you about going too
|
|
far, didn't I?" he chided.
|
|
"Never mind," said Factotum as he jumped to his feet. He quickly
|
|
sat back down again, putting his hands to his head. Aardvard gently
|
|
rubbed his temples. His head throbbed from the aftereffects of the
|
|
essence of Ur-Baal, the potion that had put him through this
|
|
adventure. "Something terrible is going to happen if we can't stop it."
|
|
"What do you mean?" asked Banewood.
|
|
"Griswald Brutsam, the personal physician to Lord Clifton, is
|
|
plotting to assassinate him."
|
|
Aardvard told the Shaman about the conversation between Griswald
|
|
Brutsam and Lek Pyle, their conspiracy to assassinate Lord Clifton.
|
|
"The Lord of Dargon Keep is standing in the way of Baranur's plans to
|
|
control all trade with the distant island of Bichu."
|
|
"I have an idea," said Banewood, "Listen..." Banewood whispered
|
|
his plan to Aardvard. Factotum's face became a study in moods,
|
|
changing from puzzlement to astonishment, and then to amusement.
|
|
At first, Aardvard stared at Banewood with disbelief. Then he
|
|
slapped his friend on the back and doubled over in laughter.
|
|
"You crazy Shaman! I think it just might work," exclaimed Aardvard.
|
|
|
|
Stupefaction
|
|
In the morning, Aardvard pulled some of his gold from its secret
|
|
hiding place, and together, he and Banewood put on their cloaks and
|
|
left for the herb seller's home.
|
|
By noon, Banewood and Aardvard found themselves outside of the
|
|
old herb seller's hut. The doorway was dark, and it appeared as if
|
|
nobody was home. Soon, however, they heard the sound of humming. An
|
|
old woman's head peered through the doorway, a kerchief covered most
|
|
of her gray head. It was the kind that most peasant women wore.
|
|
"Come in, come in. Always open for business," the old woman said.
|
|
Banewood and Aardvard followed the old woman inside. As their
|
|
eyes grew accustomed to the dark, they could see her wares: dried
|
|
herbs, stalks and roots hung from the walls and rafters.
|
|
"She keeps it dark, because the light diminishes the potency of
|
|
the herbs." Banewood whispered to Aardvard.
|
|
"Quite so, quite so," cackled the old crone, her hearing
|
|
obviously much sharper than one would have guessed. "What can a
|
|
simple herb gatherer do for you?"
|
|
"Let's see..." said Banewood. "First I need some Dragonswort root."
|
|
The old woman pulled a piece of root from a large pile and
|
|
placed it before the shaman. "Done."
|
|
"Next, I'd like a stinkwort, the whole plant."
|
|
"Heh? What's that?" Asked the old woman.
|
|
Banewood began to described a stinkwort plant to the crone: "A
|
|
large, whitish root; round yellow-green stalk; about five feet high;
|
|
large, white funnel-shaped flowers; prickly fruit..."
|
|
"Oh," she interrupted, "you mean a nightshade." Gingerly, the
|
|
old woman used two fingers to pull a nightshade plant down from the
|
|
rafters. She set it before them.
|
|
"A Galangal root," added Banewood.
|
|
"What's a nice boy like you need an aphrodisiac for?" The old
|
|
woman smiled a toothless grin -- she bagged her second husband with
|
|
a Galangal root.
|
|
"It's for a friend." Banewood lied. "And a henbane plant, too.
|
|
There's one over there." He pointed to a particularly green weed
|
|
near the corner.
|
|
"That's my last one," said the old woman. "I'm not sure if I can
|
|
let it go this late in the season."
|
|
Banewood looked at Aardvard Factotum, who reached into his cloak
|
|
and produced a little bag full of gold Baranur marks. He spilled
|
|
them into a little pile on the table. The gold glimmered in the dark.
|
|
The old woman gulped. Regaining her control, however, she
|
|
hedged: "I couldn't ask less than four marks for the plant. I have a
|
|
starving daughter to feed."
|
|
"Four marks!" protested the physician. "It's not even worth one!"
|
|
"Three marks" said the old woman, her lips drawn in a straight
|
|
line. "Food is very expensive, in case you haven't noticed."
|
|
"Two," said Factotum. "Take it or leave it."
|
|
"All right," said the old lady. "I'll keep the plant."
|
|
Factotum pulled at Banewood's robe. "Come on, let's get out of
|
|
here. I know of another place where we can get this stuff."
|
|
"Okay, okay." Said the old woman. "So my daughter goes without
|
|
dessert tonight. Three marks."
|
|
"Two marks," the physician corrected her.
|
|
"Yes, I'm sorry. You're right -- two marks."
|
|
"One more thing," added Banewood. "Do you have many mushrooms?"
|
|
"I have a few," the old woman lied. She was the biggest supplier
|
|
of mushrooms in the district.
|
|
"I'm not sure if this one grows around here," said Banewood. He
|
|
described a mushroom to the woman: "Red cap covered with white
|
|
warts, grows under pines and birch..."
|
|
"Fly agaric!" snorted the old woman. "Soaked in milk, we use it
|
|
to stupefy flies."
|
|
"That's the one. How fresh are they?"
|
|
The old woman reached under her table and pulled out a box full
|
|
of the little, red beauties. "Just picked 'em yesterday -- how many
|
|
would you like?"
|
|
"Several will do," he said. "I wish to stupefy some flies, too."
|
|
Aardvard paid the old woman more money than he would have wished
|
|
to. They left with their purchases. Walking away from the hut,
|
|
Aardvard counted his remaining gold.
|
|
"I'm surprised that the old woman's teeth are gone." He said. "I
|
|
thought sharks grew their teeth back!"
|
|
Aardvard's eye caught sight of a buxom young girl in her late
|
|
teens. She was bearing a bundle of herbs toward the old woman's hut.
|
|
He elbowed Banewood, who was also staring at the same delicious sight.
|
|
Banewood laughed. "Poor girl... no doubt she'll go to bed
|
|
without dessert again."
|
|
-Roman Olynyk <VM0BA9 @ WVNVM>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
Calls of Courtesy
|
|
Normally Atros arose slowly from his nepenthe drugged sleep but
|
|
adrenaline remarkably quickened the process this day. It's not
|
|
everyday that one finds a corpse practically draped over your bed. I
|
|
wasn't that corpses weren't familiar to Atros, but Atros didn't
|
|
appreciate them popping up in his sleep. He quickly rolled out into
|
|
prone position dirk in hand, but no opponent presented himself. He
|
|
was quite alone in his rented room with everything exactly as he had
|
|
left it the night before, with the exception of the dead man of course.
|
|
It was Thad, a man Atros had known for many years though he
|
|
wasn't particularly proud of the relationship. Thad had been a
|
|
graduate of a slum in some city, which Thad had declined to mention.
|
|
He'd learned at an early age that violence was a saleable commodity
|
|
and had marketed his natural talent for it quite successfully. He'd
|
|
gone from bully to strong arm to assassin all the while becoming
|
|
increasingly belligerent and decreasingly likable. What with Thad's
|
|
wandering from one city to the next, it was eventual that he and
|
|
Atros would cross paths. At first Atros had nearly fell in with him
|
|
as a kindred spirit, a fellow survivor who often traveled in the
|
|
same circles. But the relationship had cooled after Atros had seen
|
|
some of the results of Thad's recent labors. Atros didn't disapprove
|
|
of assassins but unlike Thad's employers Atros felt that Thad let
|
|
his brutality get in the way of his work. Thad's calling card had
|
|
become the gruesome state in which he left his victims, and
|
|
sometimes their families.
|
|
But Thad had been successful as a hired killer. He could
|
|
virtually guarantee results and had never been caught in the act by
|
|
anyone, until perhaps last night. Nor had Thad ever betrayed the
|
|
identity of his employers. It was sure that many, both the guilty
|
|
and the innocent, would rest easier once they heard of Thad's
|
|
demise. Not that Atros would allow that to happen for sometime. He
|
|
began to attend to the body while the early morning streets were
|
|
still sparsely populated. Fortunately, whomever had slain Thad was
|
|
much easier to clean up after than Thad himself. The most puzzling
|
|
part of the whole matter was how a man as large as Thad could have
|
|
his neck snapped without any signs of a struggle.
|
|
|
|
Later that day, Atros stood just outside the entryway to his
|
|
boarding house. He yawned and had to shuffle his position several
|
|
times while leaning against the cobble stone wall to prevent from
|
|
drifting off. For someone accustom to going without sleep for days
|
|
on end, this was a bit disconcerting. Atros wondered if perhaps the
|
|
drugs he utilized were too strong even a man of his own will power.
|
|
He had noticed that it was becoming progressingly more difficult to
|
|
remain alert, a difficulty that he could hardly afford in his
|
|
position. He was just resolving to start weaning himself off the
|
|
nepenthe when the person he had been awaiting rounded a distant corner.
|
|
He watched her as she approached apparently unaware of his
|
|
presence. She wore a coarse bit of grayish linen, that doubled as
|
|
both chemise and tunic, under a ratted surcoat probably fringed with
|
|
fur at one time. She was short and somewhat dark in complexion
|
|
especially on her hands which were small but rough. Her light brown,
|
|
and lately unwashed, hair was cut short with straight banes lying
|
|
across half her forehead. All in all, she was rather plain looking,
|
|
almost masculine at first sight.
|
|
"Atros...." finally recognizing him in spite of his new
|
|
wardrobe, Darla called out as she rushed forward to greet him.
|
|
"Call me Raffen!" Atros cut her off, his voice a harsh whisper.
|
|
"Though that may shortly change as well." With a piercing look,
|
|
Atros cut short the conversation until they were safely in his room.
|
|
"How many names may one man have!?!" Darla seemed confused,
|
|
unsettled, and somewhat hurt.
|
|
"As many as it takes to keep him safe. You've brought the
|
|
books," Atros said businesslike.
|
|
"Yes, I have them here in Dargon. They are quite safe." Darla
|
|
assured him.
|
|
"Good. I am very grateful. I've missed them," Atros said. Darla
|
|
winced though Atros didn't notice.
|
|
"Bringing them wasn't difficult. You've done much for me in the
|
|
past."
|
|
"You can consider that debt settled." Atros said in monotone.
|
|
"I don't think so. I owe you my life." Darla said testing Atros.
|
|
"If that's the way you want it, perhaps you'll be able to pay in
|
|
kind," Atros lilted a bit.
|
|
"You're in some sort of trouble?" Darla asked sounding concerned.
|
|
"There has been an attempt on my life. I anticipate more." Atros
|
|
said perhaps a bit teasingly.
|
|
"Who?" Darla asked.
|
|
"Do you remember a particularly brutal overgrown street waif
|
|
named Thad?"
|
|
"I could never understand why you would associate with him."
|
|
Darla pronounced almost interrupting his question.
|
|
"He was dangerous but had his uses."
|
|
"Was?... You killed him?" Darla asked tentatively.
|
|
"No, he died in the attempt but not by my hand."
|
|
"Whose then?" Darla said a bit exasperated that she had to do so
|
|
much coaxing to get simple answers.
|
|
"I know little more about it than you." Perhaps sensing Darla's
|
|
impatience, Atros quickly explained the events of the morning.
|
|
"You were lucky." Darla seemed somewhat relieved.
|
|
"It seems too unlikely to be unintentional... Thad dying while I
|
|
was totally helpless." Atros gazed off as though he were only
|
|
thinking aloud.
|
|
"Thad had many enemies. Perhaps one caught up with him." Darla's
|
|
suggestion drew Atros' attention for a moment.
|
|
"You don't think that Thad was incredibly careful while on a
|
|
job? It would have been very difficult to surprise him. And who
|
|
could have broken his neck with apparent ease? Also, why let me
|
|
live? Why not take the opportunity to rob me, or Thad for that
|
|
matter? Why leave everything so sloppy? I could have been set up in
|
|
such a way that I would be certain to take the blame. As it was, it
|
|
was easy for me to straighten everything up." It was Atros who was
|
|
becoming impatient now.
|
|
"Perhaps they feared waking you." Darla suggested hopefully.
|
|
"Possibly.. But it just seems so unlikely..." Seeing nothing
|
|
further to be gained here, Atros said, "Our first concern, I
|
|
suppose, should be why Thad tried to kill me in the first place."
|
|
"You're certain that he was hired?" Darla asked.
|
|
"We didn't exactly part on amiable terms but Thad would never
|
|
have tried it without payment. And there was a good deal of money in
|
|
his pouch."
|
|
"So you expect whoever hired him to try again?" In spite of
|
|
Atros' opinion, Darla could be insightful.
|
|
"Yes, though they will delay a few days at least, waiting for
|
|
word from that or for me to get less wary."
|
|
"Any suspicions as to who put up the money?" Darla asked plainly.
|
|
"Probably Gilman. He's here in town and I think he's looking for
|
|
me." Atros suggested offhandly.
|
|
"Oh yes! I've traveled all this way and forgotten to tell you. I
|
|
checked into things while I was in Magnus picking up your books.
|
|
They aren't looking for you. No report of any crime. And Gilman,
|
|
apparently unharmed, put his business in the hands of his employees
|
|
and left Magnus shortly after you did."
|
|
"I suspected something like that. Still can't understand how
|
|
Gilman survived. He was assuredly dead."
|
|
"That's what I thought you meant in your letter but I decided
|
|
that I misunderstood."
|
|
"I've got to teach you to read and write. I don't like having
|
|
others read my messages." Atros seemed annoyed.
|
|
"But you worded the letter so cleverly that no one could
|
|
understand it but me. Besides the friend I got to read it to me is
|
|
trustworthy." Darla tried to reassure him.
|
|
"Yes but my 'clever wording' does add some confusion and I
|
|
couldn't relay many details." Atros said, still being difficult.
|
|
"Enough details. I understood enough to come here and to bring
|
|
your books." Darla was becoming a bit annoyed herself.
|
|
"Yes you did and again I thank you. But I have another favor to
|
|
ask." Atros thought it best to settle things.
|
|
"Name it." Darla said straightforwardly.
|
|
"The drugs that I am using cause me to sleep very deeply.
|
|
Possibly Thad knew this and decided to strike at night. If Thad
|
|
knew, then his employers probably know. I need a bodyguard I can
|
|
trust at night."
|
|
"No problem. I really need a place to stay anyway. I'm low on
|
|
funds and know few people in Dargon." Perhaps Darla hid a smile.
|
|
"That's fine. We'll live off Thad's ill-gotten gains though we
|
|
may have to lie low so as not to attract attention. No more nights
|
|
at court." Atros said trailing off, as was often his habit.
|
|
"Nights at court!?! You've been to court!?! During the
|
|
festival?" Darla appeared surprised and jealous.
|
|
"Yes, but I didn't really enjoy it. Besides the wardrobe is too
|
|
expensive and uncomfortable. Have to see a friend and return some
|
|
borrowed clothing. And tell him that I must leave Dargon."
|
|
"You are planning to stay, aren't you?" Darla was concerned.
|
|
"Yes, there is something here for me." Darla gave him a
|
|
quizzical expression. "Just a notion," Atros said dismissing it. "I
|
|
have a few errands to attend to. Why don't you get all of your
|
|
things and get settled. I'll return with something expensive for
|
|
dinner in a couple of hours. Oh, perhaps you best not get too
|
|
settled. We'll have to find some other place to stay tomorrow. I'd
|
|
have done so today, but I was waiting for your arrival. We'd best be
|
|
very careful tonight." Both Atros and Darla departed for the
|
|
respective errands.
|
|
|
|
When more than a couple of hours had passed and Atros hadn't
|
|
returned, Darla became concerned. But not knowing the city well nor
|
|
anything about Atros' plans for the afternoon, she delayed for some
|
|
time before deciding to go searching for him. It was well that she
|
|
did, because Atros returned as she was heading for the door. She
|
|
didn't mention his lateness nor did Atros volunteer much
|
|
information, but true to his word Atros did provide the most
|
|
delicious meal that Darla had eaten in sometime. After the late
|
|
repast, Atros gathered a few of the books that Darla had retrieved
|
|
and began jotting notes in one of his journals. When Darla asked him
|
|
of this, he replied only that he was pursuing an idea. He advised
|
|
her to sleep so that she might be rested for her vigil, but Darla
|
|
was content to watch him and listen to the soft, irregular
|
|
scratching noises of the long quill pen. After some time of this she
|
|
drifted off.
|
|
Some hours later Darla awoke to find Atros still at his labors.
|
|
He seemed to be quite weary though happy, saying that he thought he
|
|
was onto some new discovery though he left its nature a mystery.
|
|
Darla was only able to convince Atros that he needed sleep by
|
|
suggesting that he might think clearer after a few hours rest. Atros
|
|
acquiesced begrudgingly and took a dose of the nepenthe to settle to
|
|
sleep for the remainder of the night.
|
|
Truthfully, Darla only understood a small fraction of what she
|
|
encountered in Atros' books. Many were in languages or codes unknown
|
|
to her. Most were replete with obscure references and complicated
|
|
arguments which would take a lifetime of study to understand. Even
|
|
in those that were not, Darla's reading skills often fell far short
|
|
of complete understanding.
|
|
Sometime ago she had gone through many of these books before
|
|
uncovering Atros' dream journal. In it he kept all from his dreams
|
|
which he did not wish to forget. Even though these were his good
|
|
memories, Darla quickly grew to understand why Atros fought so hard
|
|
to escape his nocturnal visions. Often times his hand was shaky and
|
|
his thoughts overcome by emotion as he struggled to quickly record
|
|
what were sometimes an entire lifetime in his dream before the
|
|
memories passed away from him. Darla often wondered if destroying
|
|
this journal was not the best thing she could do for Atros. It
|
|
occurred to her that the good memories, which are recalled a
|
|
thousand times with infinite sadness and longing, might be much more
|
|
tortuous than the bad memories, which one can learn to forget or
|
|
avoid. But it wasn't hers to judge and she feared Atros' anger.
|
|
After reading this journal that first time nearly a year ago,
|
|
Darla began to understand why Atros kept everyone at a safe
|
|
distance. The book recounted lifetimes which Atros had experienced
|
|
in dreaming. Oftentimes he had no recollection of any life beyond
|
|
the dream. As far as that individual was concerned the dream was his
|
|
complete universe. These dreams were often the most painful for
|
|
Atros, because for a time he could experience peace. But the
|
|
collected recollections of dozens of lifetimes weighed heavy on
|
|
Atros soul and no one could remove that weight.
|
|
Darla turned to the finger smudged pages of one dream entry near
|
|
the beginning of the journal and began to read this tragedy once
|
|
more. There were other dreams, other lives, much like this, but this
|
|
was the most tragic because in it Atros had been the most happy. In
|
|
this dream, Atros bore a name and spoke a language which were
|
|
unpronounceable to Darla. He was a tall, kind man who enjoyed life's
|
|
simplicities in an age where others took them for granted. In time he
|
|
found love. A beautiful young author, she was called Narya. After a
|
|
lengthy and romantic courtship, they married. They settled in a
|
|
small cottage in a secluded valley filled with wildlife, prefering
|
|
their own company to that of anyone about them. The house contained
|
|
hundreds of fantastic devices which made life easier or provided
|
|
entertainment for the couple. They lived quietly and happily
|
|
together and wrote many successful books. In time they had two
|
|
children: a daughter and a son. One day just as his son was first
|
|
learning to walk unsupported, Atros awoke and was permanently torn
|
|
from the happiness that he had found in a single night's dream.
|
|
Never able to return to that happy life, Atros thereafter bore
|
|
its memories as a curse. His anger grew but he could find no one to
|
|
blame. In his daily studies he sought to forever escape the dreaming
|
|
which had become so painful to him, regardless of the content of the
|
|
dreams. Atros had also developed a lingering doubt that this life
|
|
too might only be a dream, from which he might be snatched at any
|
|
moment. Thus, he forbore pleasure and love so that he might not
|
|
regret their loss when he awoke. His fear of this life being a dream
|
|
had slowly pervaded all his waking thoughts and actions until he had
|
|
succeeded in fashioning an existence in which there was little
|
|
cherishable.
|
|
Darla understood this, at least in part. It made little
|
|
difference to her whether his dreams were somehow real, because
|
|
Atros believed them to be real, which was far more important to her
|
|
than any philosophical consideration. She had tried to help Atros.
|
|
Slowly, carefully she had pierced his barriers and had succeeded in
|
|
gaining some of his trust and friendship. But her hold to this
|
|
position was tenuous. She realized that Atros often used little
|
|
barbs in order to drive her from him, not because he disliked her
|
|
but because he cared for her too much. She also sensed the contempt
|
|
which Atros expressed in subtle ways for nearly everyone about him
|
|
at one time or another, but she knew that it was only his way of
|
|
coping with the pain at times. Perhaps he envied others who could
|
|
lead an untroubled life. Darla wondered how he managed as well as he
|
|
did despite all the frustration and anger within him.
|
|
As she left off reading that passage, almost of their own
|
|
volition, her hands turned to the dedication, which Atros had at
|
|
sometime scribbled on the inside of the front cover. She stared at
|
|
what he had written there until the moistening of her eyes made it
|
|
impossible to continue. He had written:
|
|
|
|
I've loved many and burried a few,
|
|
But in all my search found nary a clue.
|
|
The secret of life it seems
|
|
Lies forgotten in my dreams
|
|
Forever separating one from two.
|
|
|
|
-Joseph Curwen <C418433 @ UMCVMB>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
The Hands of a Healer
|
|
Griswald Brutsam, physician and mystic healer to Lord Clifton
|
|
Dargon, gently closed the door to his chambers and made his way from
|
|
the keep. He had served the Lord of Dargon for many years. Having
|
|
dedicated his life to the mystic pursuits of healing, his skills
|
|
were very much in demand. Still, he had maintained a modest life,
|
|
secreting himself with his studies within the keep and seeing to the
|
|
health of his liege. And now he was a party to a plot to assassinate
|
|
Lord Dargon.
|
|
He pulled his cloak close about himself and made his way towards
|
|
the port, the seedier section of town. The evening was cold but
|
|
clear, and the stars shone bright above the dark shadows of the
|
|
port. Brutsam occasionally came across citizens, stragglers from the
|
|
festival, still revelling nearly a week after the festival had
|
|
ended. After a short time, he came to one of the few lit buildings
|
|
in this section of town. He pulled the cowl above him and stepped
|
|
into the Inn of the Hungry Shark.
|
|
The entry corridor led on the right to the bar and common room,
|
|
and on the left to a stairway to the rooms above. Griswald dreaded
|
|
being recognized by the people in the common room, but they seemed
|
|
to be completely involved in what amounted to a contest to see you
|
|
could bellow the most obnoxious saying the loudest. It was unlikely
|
|
that anyone saw him as he turned towards the stairs, save perhaps
|
|
the innkeep.
|
|
Brutsam climbed the stairs slowly and quietly. He halted in the
|
|
corridor at the top, pausing. After a moment, he stepped towards one
|
|
of many closed doors in the hall. He knocked. And again. And waited.
|
|
The door was opened by Lek Pyle, the man who had recruited
|
|
Griswald into this insane plot. Pyle quickly brought Griswald within
|
|
the room and closed the door behind him. "What's the problem?"
|
|
The aging physician shrugged off his cloak and stood before the
|
|
warmth of the hearth a moment before replying. "Nothing's happened.
|
|
The assassin you hired is missing."
|
|
"Thad? He wouldn't run out on a job. He's a scoundrel, though."
|
|
"What are we going to do? Do you think he was caught? I'm sure
|
|
if he did then he'll have told all about your plot..."
|
|
"No, not Thad. His reputation has it that he's one of the best
|
|
in his business, though his methods aren't the most subtle."
|
|
Griswald was visibly agitated, not able to sit. "Well, where is
|
|
he? Would he try to get more money by selling us out?"
|
|
Pyle, seeing the fear in Brutsam's eyes, sneered. "He might
|
|
have, but might just as easily simply skipped town. Still, that's
|
|
not Thad's style. He's a scum, but he's a brute - he enjoys the jobs
|
|
people give him, the more violent the better. He's not likely to
|
|
get caught or to just leave the job, even when he is paid in advance."
|
|
"You seem sure of that, but then where is he, and what are we
|
|
going to do?"
|
|
"We must proceed with our scheme. It matters little whether Thad
|
|
was found out or not." The merchant from Baranur gazed into the fire
|
|
thoughtfully. "We will simply have to proceed with another scheme..."
|
|
-Orny <CSDAVE @ MAINE>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|