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1180 lines
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+-+--+-+--+-+ VOLUME FIVE NUMBER THREE
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+___________+ FFFFF SSS FFFFF N N EEEEE TTTTT
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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 <CSDAVE@MAINE>
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CONTENTS
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X-Editorial Orny
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*Kittara Comes to Town Ovis
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Ceda the Executioner: 2 Joel Slatis
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*Respect thy Elders: 2 Orny
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*A New Life John White
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Date: 082486 Dist: 155
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An "*" indicates story is part of the Dargon Project
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All original materials copyrighted by the author(s)
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X-Editorial
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Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the huge, wide, vast,
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double-sized issue of FSFnet! This is a very special issue, as we
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have some very special Dargon stories - the first stories from three
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new authors. The first tale introduces us to Kittara, and the events
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that surround her arrival in Dargon. The second story is part 2 of
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Joel Slatis' Ceda story (which is, for now, unrelated to the Dargon
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project). The third yarn is part two of my own tale about Kite and
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Pecora, and their time of trial. And the issue ends with a
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king-sized epic by John White, introducing us to Je'en, a very
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captivating and deep character who also has been seen hanging around
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Dargon Port.
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I will cut this short, due to the size of this issue, and simply
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state the things I always seem to be saying in these editorials:
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welcome to the new members; spread the word to your friends about
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FSFnet; if you want to write, mail me; and, finally, enjoy!
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-Orny <CSDAVE @ MAINE>
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Kittara Comes to Town
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Her name was Kittara Ponterisso, but most folks that knew her
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usually called her Crossbow Kitty. She was an expert shot with any
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kind of crossbow, because she had to be. Her skill with the crossbow
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put food on the table and kept a roof over her head. Kittara's skill
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was such that it was easy for her to find work as a bodyguard or a
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hunter. Kittara came to Dargon with a purpose. She had been paid to
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put her skills to use against a wealthy merchant, a merchant who had
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enemies in this world, a merchant who called himself Yan the Yellow
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(most people called him Yan the Yellowbellied).
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Yan had a son, but he didn't know it. It was this son who had
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hired Kittara to find Yan and use her skills to bring about "...a
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more equal distribution of wealth," Yan's son had said. Well, that
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was fine with her as long as she was paid. What she knew of her
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employer was next to nothing, simply the fact that he was the
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unknown son of this merchant, and that he wanted his father's wealth
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which, according to law, he would receive as inheritance should his
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father meet an untimely death. A crossbow bolt was considered an
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untimely death.
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Kittara was used to larger cities, but didn't mind Dargon for
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its size. Dargon was a suitable place to work although it mean more
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effort on her part to blend in with the residents. In a town of this
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size strangers were often noticed, she would have to take up
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residence for a while at least, probably after she had earned her
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payment. Yes, that would do. She would pretend that she was the
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widowed wife of a royal soldier. Her husband had taught her to
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handle a crossbow when they had lived on the frontier, a skill which
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was necessary there to protect oneself from bandits and other
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nasties. She would be looking for a place to settle down where life
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was not so dangerous.
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The journey here from the capital had been uneventful. Kittara
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was looking forward to the excitement which her mission would bring.
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How many times had she gone on similar assignments? Many indeed, but
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each still had its own feeling of thrill, each could be her last.
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She thought about what she must accomplish. She must locate this
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merchant and then watch him, learn his ways. A man could not protect
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his life all of the time, thus he must be vulnerable to death sooner
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or later.
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Although a crossbow quarrel in the throat did not look natural,
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there were other ways of disguising a person's cause of demise. Yan
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was a merchant with ships, his house was on a cliff facing the sea.
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A plan was rapidly becoming clear. Get the merchant to stand on the
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edge of the cliff while his ships sailed out, then put a bolt in his
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back and he would topple into the sea where his body could be found
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(or what remained of it after the sharks had finished feasting) and
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turned into the proper authorities. Yan's son could be informed of
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the death and he could show up with proof that Yan was his father
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and that he was entitled to the proper inheritance.
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Kittara rode into town on her faithful Randy, a horse which had
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served her for the last three years. Randy was a retired light
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cavalry horse, retired because he had been stolen by her from a
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scout who had tried to have his way with her. She didn't care that
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the scout had been a royal messenger. He wasn't the first soldier to
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receive a present from the delivery end of Old Henry, her crossbow.
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A few eyes turned in Kittara's direction, but they did not
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stare. There were more important and exciting things to see and do
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on this last day of the festival than watch some dull woman on a
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plodding horse. Kittara did look rather dull, she was not prepared
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for the festivities and was tired from her journey. Randy was also
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tired and plodded along in hopes that his master would provide him
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with a nice bed and food. Kittara scanned the festive crowd and the
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buildings along the street looking for a place to stay for the
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night. Perhaps she could get a few hours of sleep and then join the
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fun; it had been such a long time since she had enjoyed herself.
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Presently her glance presented her with a choice: The Hungry Shark
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Inn or the Inn of the Panther. Since the Inn of the Panther was a
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bit closer she headed for it, praying that it still had a room.
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Kittara slid from her saddle, tied Randy to the hitchin' rack,
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and entered the brightly lit common room of the Inn. The room was
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crowded with people of all ages who were busy celebrating the last
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day of their festival. Kittara went over to the bar and asked for a
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room. She was given the last room in the inn, she was told, and
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should be thankful that she had found one. It cost her a more than
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triple what she would normally have considered fair but it was not a
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bad room. It was a small private room at the end of the short
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hallway on the third floor of the building, roughly furnished, but
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suitable for her present needs. She left the room, locking it behind
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her, and went to retrieve her saddlebags and care for Randy. Kittara
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took Randy to the Inn's small stable, settled him down for the
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night, and headed back for a few hours of sleep.
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Kittara awoke several hours later with the pain of hunger in her
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gut. She rose, donned some fresh clothes and headed down to see if
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there was anything left to eat. The festivities were still going on,
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but at a more subdued level as those too drunk to make merry had
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passed out, and those who were still merry were busy drinking. She
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got a plate of food from the bar and headed for a side table where
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she might be alone; Kittara would not be comfortable until she had
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gotten to know some of the townsfolk, a problem she would begin work
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on tomorrow after a good night's sleep.
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Kittara finished her dinner and sat back against the cushioned
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wall)bench and watched the people of Dargon. There were all types:
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poor, rich, merchants, craftsmen, apprentices, masters, warriors,
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clerics, thieves, old, young, and in)between. As she took a sip of
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her wine she noticed the inn's namesake. Above the fireplace was a
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mounted stuffed head of a huge panther. The beast's eyes stared out
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over the festive crowd as if they were hungry and resentful,
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resentful of being stuck on a wall instead of out in the wilds where
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they belonged. Kittara shivered, the head gave her a strange
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feeling. She would have to hear the story of the panther, as there
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surely must be one connected with so large a beast.
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Kittara was not aware of the man until he was standing behind
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the chair opposite her bench. He was a short man, dressed in strange
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blue and white patterned clothing. He had short black hair and
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carried a beautiful pair of swords which were of the kind easterners
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often fought with. She had heard stories of weapons such as these,
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stories which described them as being so sharp that they would slice
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a fresh leaf, floating on a slow moving stream current with only the
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slightest touch. She did not feel at all comfortable without Old
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Henry. Her boot knife would never do to defend herself should she
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need to.
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The man smiled and said, "Hellro, may I be pleased to join you?"
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Kittara nodded, thinking that the strange)looking foreigner
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might also be new to town. The man turned towards the door and held
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up a hand to attract the serving wench in order that he might order
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a drink when suddenly the huge chandelier that had been hanging over
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the common room came crashing down. The chandelier was a great wheel
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holding many candles ) it smashed into the middle of the room
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crushing several people, destroying tables and benches, and causing
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alcohol to burst into flame. People panicked and ran hither and
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thither shouting, trying to help, or trying to pilfer what they
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could. The little man leaped to his feet without a glance a Kittara
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and rushed headlong into the chaos. Kittara grabbed a forgotten
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cloak and started beating at some of the flames which were coming
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her way. She thanked her god that she had not been any closer to the
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center of the room.
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It took several hours for order to be restored to the Inn of the
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Panther. Luckily the fire had only caused minor damage and the town
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guard had arrived quickly so that the pilfering losses were also
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slight. Jann, the Innkeeper, had come rushing in from the festival
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to see what the problem was in his inn. Jann had noticed Kittara
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beating the flames and, upon discovering that she was staying in the
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inn, had offered her free room and board for as long as she needed
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it in thanks for her efforts. The incident would cost the inn some
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business, but the innkeeper was thankful that no one had been killed
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in the incident and promised one and all that he would be open again
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the following night. Kittara thanked Jann for his offer and climbed
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the stairs to her room. Sleep was not long in coming this night and
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Kittara faded off into a dreamless slumber. She wondered who had
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melted the chain that the chandelier had hung from.
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-Ovis <OTZJ @ CORNELLA>
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Ceda the Executioner: Chapter Two
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Three weeks later Ceda arrived in Dhernis. The city was built
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after the fall of the Grandydyrian empire (which was soon after the
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strange disappearance of their army in the desert.)
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Grandydyr had at one point ruled the world except for the small
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islands that lay between the two worldly continents of Cergaan to
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the South and Beehnerne to the North. The Island were not populated
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largely because of the frequent volcanic eruptions and earth quakes
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which devastated the small them until about the time of the that the
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empire was defeated and fell.
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Until that time, the elves had been living on the Southern
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continent of Cergaan (This was not the continent that the desert lay
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and Ceda now rode). When the Islands had at last become safe to live
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on 10,000 years ago, the elves had moved most of the population
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there because it was more secluded and easier to defend. They left
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some elves on the continent to maintain a stronghold and since then,
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It has grown into a large City populated and run by the elves. The
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rest of the continent has been long since forgotten. To this day, no
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one but the elves have ever seen the insides of the City of Elves
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(as it is called).
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Dhernis was also populated mostly by elves. They were mostly in
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business for themselves as sailors to and from the Islands of
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Learis, but some chose to be mercenaries or just to leave and find
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work in other cities throughout the continent.
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The city was very busy and there would be almost no chance of
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finding Rincraw in the city if he was by chance still there, so he
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didn't bother to get a room. That evening Ceda found a sailor who
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would permit him to sail back to the Islands with him and also bring
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Melgon along for a small price and they left the following morning.
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Ceda had slept on the ship that night and he felt very refreshed
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when he finally awoke the next morning. They were now sailing
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through the open seas towards the Learis Islands where the elves
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dwell and the crown was being kept.
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The crown would be in the palace and Ceda thought all day about
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how he would gain entry to it without anyone knowing. This however
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was not Ceda's chief concern for he was an assassin and had to get
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into more heavily guarded places than this before. The thing that
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most worried him was the problem of getting the crown and escaping
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the islands before it was discovered missing.
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Dusk came and Ceda went to sleep for the morrow would bring the
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Learis Islands and he must rest.
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When Ceda woke the next morning, The Islands tall volcanoes
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outlines were already visible from the ship. They were so tall that
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the tips of them were hidden amongst the clouds. That night they
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would dock and the adventure would begin.
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The night came quickly and Ceda told the captain to pull into
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the harbor of the largest of the 8 isles called Perstanie where the
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palace was and dock. The ship glided through the water and at last
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Ceda was on land again.
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Ceda gave the captain of the ship a small amount of gold and
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told him to wait all night if need be for him to return. The captain
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nodded and Ceda left the ship for the palace where the crown was
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almost certain to be.
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The streets were now empty as the night was about half over,
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only now and again would the city guards pass by and until they were
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gone, Melgon and Ceda hid in the shadows.
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The palace now stood before them, its large gate made from some
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magical material that lighted the entire area around it. Ceda had
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been in the castle many times before because of some of the business
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that he had done with the King of the elves. He stood some distance
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away from the gate and watched the guards walk up and down the area.
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Then he turned walked the other direction away from the gate around
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the castle to where it was darker and there were less guards. He
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counted the guards and watched as they walked by a final time before
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he hoisted himself onto Melgon's back and climbed up the back of its
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neck while it picked itself up on its hind legs. Ceda stood on his
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dragon mounts long snout and looked down; it was about 12 feet to
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the ground and another 2 feet from Ceda's head to the top of the wall.
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He jumped up and grasp the top of the wall pulling himself up.
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Then he sat for a moment checking that the guards had not heard him
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and then continued on to the wall and down the stairs to the palace
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grounds. He was in.
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Then Ceda made his way to Rincraw's room knocking out the guard
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that stood outside and entered.
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He went slowly over to the bed and sat down next to it. He
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couldn't see and would have to hope that he could feel where the
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elf's mouth was before it had time to scream. Ceda didn't even want
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to think about what would happen if he was not sleeping alone, but
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knew that if he didn't get Rincraw, he would never find the crown.
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His thoughts were beginning to annoy him, so he put them out of his
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mind. Then he sprang up onto the bed.
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Ceda felt one figure under his body and he grabbed for its
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mouth. He got it before it had time to scream.
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"Good," he said to himself and checked for another person in the
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bed. There was no one. By this time the person was squirming and
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trying to scream but could not.
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"Now Rincraw, I get a chance to repay you for your treachery!"
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He tightened his grip on the neck of the elf, but something bothered
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him. The elf's skin was soft and smooth, not like that of a male,
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but of a-- "By all the lords of Tavaar!" He exclaimed. "You are a
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woman!" His voice just loud enough to here.
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She tried to speak but could not because of Ceda's hand.
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"I'll let you speak, but if you yell for help, I'll not die
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alone." He tried to see into here eyes but could not.
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He felt her nod and he withdrew his hand from her mouth.
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"I am Miratia, Rincraw's wife," she said, trying to see his face.
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"Where is he, I have a score to settle with him."
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"I know not, for I also seek vengeance upon him."
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Ceda looked harder to see her face but could not. Without light
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to see her eyes, he could not be sure if she was telling the truth.
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"Then we have a common goal," he said. "Where is he?"
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"Neither do I know that, he never returned from Pheeng'Am."
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"He didn't return?" Ceda grew angered. "Then the wench lied!"
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"What?"
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"Nothing."
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Ceda thought about how he would get out now and finally said to
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the elf: "Miratia of Perstanie, do you wish to accompany me to the
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great city of Pheeng'Am to find your husband and take your vengeance
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upon him?"
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"I do."
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"Then come now in haste, but quietly," he cautioned.
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They got up and left the room. The guard was still where he left
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him and all was good. Then Miratia screamed and ran towards one of
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the buildings. Ceda started for the wall but the guards were already
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upon him before he could get there, so he drew his sword and tried
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to fight though them, but Miratia was calling for more guards.
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"Tavaar!" he mumbled and lowered his weapon. Then he was led off
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and put in a small damp cell in a cave under the castle.
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Morning came and Ceda was awakened by two burly looking elves
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and led back up to the court of the palace in chains. The king of
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the elves sat in the back of the room on a raised platform, all
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around the room at regular intervals were armored men and the rest
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of the room was filled with nobles and subjects that were just
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standing talking with one another while some elven women danced in
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the center.
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Now the room was quite. Everyone looked at Ceda except for the
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women who kept dancing as if nothing was happening.
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The king looked over to the women and clapped his hands and at
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once they left the room. Then Ceda was led into the room to where
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the dancers had been. Still no one spoke but everyone's attention
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was focused on the king.
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"Greetings Ceda of No-Al Ben, what brings you to my kingdom
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again?" Everyone laughed except Ceda who was not at all pleased with
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the current turn of events. The king got up and stepped down to
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where Ceda stood, his richly colored robe dragged along the smooth
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stone floor. "Why I have not had you executed yet I do not know. Is
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there anything you wish, now that you stand before me?"
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"My argument is not with you King Rackins, but with your servant
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Rincraw, who stole Grobst D'arbo's crown from me." Ceda said this
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loudly so that all the room heard quite clearly.
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The king glanced at one of the other elves who shook his head at
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the King. "And, Ceda of No-Al Ben, where did you get such a crown?"
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The king mocked.
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Ceda told the room his story and at once all the people were
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talking about at and arguing whether he spoke the truth. The king
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walked to the other elf and spoke with him for a moment quietly,
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then he returned.
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"Can you prove this?" The king asked as the room again quieted.
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"I can not...," he started but remembered the skulls. "I can
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prove what you ask," he said. "But I must get to my dragon mount for
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what I need."
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The king looked at one of the guards at the door and he nodded.
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"What is it you require, Ceda of No-Al Ben? We've already found him."
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"There is a pouch on the side of the saddle, in it are three
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skulls, bring one here."
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A messenger soon returned with one of the strange looking skulls
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and gave it to Ceda.
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"Now look, King of the Elves," he placed the skull in the kings
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hand and looked up.
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The king examined the skull and looked at Ceda, Then he laughed.
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"You play games with me, Ceda of No-Al Ben," he said as he through
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the skull to the floor.
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"No!" Ceda tried to catch it but the chains held him back and
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before anyone knew what had happened, the skeleton stood before them
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with his sword in his hand.
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Two of the Guards leapt forward and one fell dead from the
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skeletons sword. The other swung and hit the skeleton in the
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backbone tearing it apart. They all stood and watched thinking the
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trouble was over as it came apart into separate bone except for Ceda
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who kicked the skull.
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"Get the skull," he shouted and the skull flew towards the
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already reforming bones only to be caught by the king.
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Ceda relaxed. The king looked at Ceda and then back at the weird
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looking skull which he now held. The sword and boned were now
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nothing more than dust on the floor and the room at one became calm.
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The guard that had been killed was taken away and they resumed talk.
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"It is a dangerous toy that you keep, Ceda, but one that saved
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your life." The king told the guards to take his chains off. Then
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they went to the king private chamber with the third elf and talked.
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The third elf's names was Merth; he was a wizard and was one of
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the closest friends of the king. His worldly experience was far
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greater than some of the best warriors in the known world, and this
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also added to his usefulness to the king. This for the most part was
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why the elf was with them while they talked.
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"Well Mirth," the king paused. "What do you think?"
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The elf's voice was a high pitched wine at best, "This could
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prove to be ample cause for Rincraw and Quendell to betray us if my
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suspicions are correct.
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Ceda looked curiously at Merth. "What suspicions?"
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|
"I cannot say now, but if I'm to be sure, I must talk with
|
|
Sarve, the son of Tain, cousin to Tavaar the Great Overlord.
|
|
"You cannot speak of the gods themselves?" Asked the king. "Is
|
|
the matter that urgent?"
|
|
"the Great Army? Is that your thought?" Ceda interrupted
|
|
"Possibly, but it is of great importance that I Make haste to my
|
|
chamber. I will journey from there to their realm, for I have felt
|
|
that there was a break in the natural order of things."
|
|
The little elf got up and bowed low to the king. Then he left.
|
|
The king, still totally oblivious as to what had just happened,
|
|
looked at Ceda who's face was enigmatic.
|
|
"What was that about?"
|
|
"The Great Army may yet have it's day," Ceda said. "However I do
|
|
not yet understand how or why. This is the information that Merth
|
|
seeks from the gods."
|
|
"Then what can we do?"
|
|
"Wait."
|
|
|
|
Five days later, the meek elf opened the door from his chamber
|
|
and emerged. He was paler than usual and he look perhaps 10 years
|
|
older. He went down the stairs of the tower in which his room was
|
|
and into the main room of the castle where the king and Ceda sat and
|
|
talked as a few Elven women danced for the subjects that were also
|
|
in the room.
|
|
The king and Ceda both got up as he came in.
|
|
"Sit my faithful servant, for I have troubling news for you."
|
|
The kings voice was firm, "And you are in need of rest."
|
|
"I also carry news, news from the gods. They are displeased for
|
|
the King of grandydyr and his army may rise again."
|
|
"The Hidden Army may yet walk the earth again?" The Kings voice
|
|
changed to worry.
|
|
"Aye, my king."
|
|
"but why are the Gods not happy for this? How is it possible
|
|
that after all these years the, the Gods do not rejoice?" Ceda was
|
|
now very confused.
|
|
"Sit," said the little elf, Merth. "For this will take some time
|
|
to Explain."
|
|
The king nodded at a guard by the door to the room and clapped
|
|
his hands four times. "Be gone, everyone until later."
|
|
"Good," said Merth as they finally sat alone, now I can tell you
|
|
of what has happened." And the elf began.
|
|
"10,000 years ago, the army of Grobst D'arbo, King of Grandydyr,
|
|
left Grandydyr on a mission. This mission was to destroy all evil
|
|
that dwelt in the world, from the most southern tip of Cergaan to
|
|
the most northern tip of the country of Weuyrt on the northern
|
|
continent, or more correctly, any and all beings that were swore
|
|
alliance to the evil lords of Endillion.
|
|
"The army was the biggest one ever assembled in history and
|
|
could have easily completed its task except that the lords of
|
|
Endillion called on the Over Lord, Tavaar, to stop them, and they
|
|
were granted permission to destroy the army. The Lords of Endillion
|
|
sent the Army to Limbo and transformed Grobst D'arbo into a Tree
|
|
that would forever live in the desert wasteland.
|
|
"Tavaar was enraged by this punishment, he thought it unfitting
|
|
and deemed that one day, Grobst would again walk the earth, and it
|
|
is very possible that the day has come.
|
|
"Grobst may even now be free of his hell tree and be summoning
|
|
his army from limbo where they otherwise would live forever."
|
|
Ceda looked confused. "But if the army is to destroy all evil,
|
|
why were the gods not pleased?"
|
|
"They could not say, but they gave me a riddle from the Over
|
|
Lord, Tavaar. He toys with them and will not let them tell me openly.
|
|
"The riddle?" Ceda asked.
|
|
"It goes like this:"
|
|
|
|
"Black and White forever fight,
|
|
And Green is in in between.
|
|
But when blue comes in,
|
|
Then all is left astray.
|
|
And so will come
|
|
the night.
|
|
|
|
White will cover
|
|
Black will fight
|
|
Blue will help
|
|
And so will come
|
|
the night.
|
|
|
|
Ileiruon will come on
|
|
Deadly Mount,
|
|
Blue and grey will
|
|
join,
|
|
Sarve will not sit and
|
|
wait,
|
|
And so will come
|
|
the night.
|
|
|
|
When at last night falls,
|
|
Things will be as they were.
|
|
On the last night,
|
|
All things, know thee well.
|
|
And then will come the time
|
|
Of the blue and the grey.
|
|
And then and only then will
|
|
there be day.
|
|
Mayhap."
|
|
|
|
"But Sarve did leave me with a word of warning: If night will
|
|
live, only black will there be, as is in every night; white, blue,
|
|
grey and all other colors will go unnoticed." Merth looked at Ceda.
|
|
"I can not understand it, but it is bad."
|
|
"Mayhap I can stop Rincraw before he uses the crown?" asked Ceda.
|
|
"Mayhap, but I do not yet even understand why."
|
|
"And the riddle, must it go like this, or can we decipher it?"
|
|
"Sarve said that the Green Monks that may be of help in that
|
|
matter," Merth said. "And he told me how to reach them."
|
|
(The dwelling place of the Green monks has always been a secret
|
|
known only to the gods. The Green Monks are all knowing. Not even
|
|
Tavaar possesses the knowledge they have. It is for this reason that
|
|
Tavaar hates them and it is the same reason that he does not destroy
|
|
them. He's afraid of their power because he knows not its capability.)
|
|
"You know of the place of the Green Monks?" The king was amazed.
|
|
"I do, but It is only for Ceda to travel there."
|
|
"Where are they?"
|
|
"The..." Merth paused. "They dwell in a land only reached by
|
|
passing through the Caves of Arnmere."
|
|
"And you want me to go there?" Ceda laughed. "I would sooner go
|
|
to the Sharshirian mountain alone!" He laughed again. "You jest!"
|
|
Merths expression didn't change.
|
|
"You surely jest..." Ceda repeated.
|
|
Merths expression still didn't change.
|
|
"You surely jest.... ?"
|
|
"You must go, Ceda."
|
|
"Now you speak the truth, I must go; But not to Arnmere. I will
|
|
seek Rincraw." Ceda got up and left the room.
|
|
The king looked at Merth. "What will happen?"
|
|
"The answer lies in Weuyrt, where the caves lay."
|
|
Two days later, Ceda the Executioner set sail for the city of
|
|
Pheeng'Am in search of the elf, Rincraw and his partner, Quendell.
|
|
-Joel Slatis <RASLATIS @ WEIZMANN>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
Respect thy Elders: Chapter Two
|
|
Kite slowed his horse as he came upon the peasant village. After
|
|
several long days and nights of riding, he was weighted down with
|
|
weariness and worry. His trip had begun over a week ago, when his
|
|
fiancee, Pecora Winthrop, had fallen ill. Following the advice of
|
|
her nurse, mistress Izetta, Kite had ridden west, in search of an
|
|
Elder named Isentraum. The journey had not been easy, for it had
|
|
rained nearly every afternoon, and Kite's mind was heavy with worry
|
|
for his fiancee. Stopping at the crest of a hill, Kite regarded the
|
|
small hamlet below. There was no one about in the darkness, but the
|
|
lights of several wooden buildings shone warmly, and one large
|
|
building bore a weathered sign that was undoubtedly the crest of an
|
|
inn, though Kite could not make out the caricature from where his
|
|
horse stood.
|
|
Kite rode slowly into the village and tied up his horse, peeking
|
|
into the inn through a dirty, thick-glassed window. After a moment,
|
|
he stepped inside into a low, smoky room filled with peasants. A
|
|
great fireplace fogged the room with wood smoke, and several
|
|
customers turned to view the newcomer, then returned to their
|
|
draughts. Kite strode purposefully to the bar and requested a pint
|
|
of stout.
|
|
"Right away, milord," responded the barkeep, who, true to his
|
|
word, promptly brought Kite a stein, filled to the brim. Kite placed
|
|
a Scrod on the counter, which the barkeep quickly snatched away.
|
|
"Will there be anything else, milord?"
|
|
"Ah, yes, a room for the night... and... uh..."
|
|
"Yes, milord?" prompted the barkeep.
|
|
Kite pondered. He was in the area where mistress Izetta had said
|
|
to search for the Elder, but he had no idea where to begin to look.
|
|
Might as well ask someone, and who would be more likely to know than
|
|
a barkeep? "Can you tell me anything about a man named Isentraum?"
|
|
At the barkeep's reaction, Kite knew he had not asked the right
|
|
thing. "Well, milord, not... no, I'm afraid I can't. Ah, excuse me,
|
|
sir, let me see to your room..." The barkeep bustled off. It was
|
|
obvious that Kite had agitated the man. He turned his back to the
|
|
bar and looked around the room, but he found many nearby patrons had
|
|
their eyes on him. He made bold to face the group as a whole, but
|
|
suddenly a small, wiry man stepped up to him from behind.
|
|
"Now, sir," he began softly, as he turned Kite back to the bar.
|
|
"You mustn't go stomping about and hollering about old superstitions
|
|
in a town such as this. People don't take kindly to it. Now sit down
|
|
and drink your stout." After a moment, Kite complied, and soon
|
|
afterwards the barkeep returned with a set of keys to Kite's room.
|
|
The thin stranger leaned over to Kite and whispered, "Now shall we
|
|
go discuss this as it should be, behind a locked door?"
|
|
Kite, still rather bewildered, agreed and led the man to his room.
|
|
|
|
Having recovered his composure, Kite began to question the man.
|
|
"Now who are you, and why have you taken me aside like this?"
|
|
"My name," began the stranger, "is Palawan. I overheard your
|
|
question of the barkeeper, and wished to avoid any violence that
|
|
might have come from it. The people of this town are a very
|
|
suspicious and superstitious lot. Now," began Palawan, as he settled
|
|
in a chair, "why do you wish to find an Elder?"
|
|
"That is for me alone to know."
|
|
"Ah. Well, then, I fear it is for me alone to know where to find
|
|
the one called Isentraum." He made to get up, knowing how Kite's
|
|
would respond.
|
|
"Very well," Kite began. "I am betrothed to a lady of the House
|
|
of Winthrop. She has fallen ill, and I have been told that this
|
|
Elder may be able to help her."
|
|
"Do you love this girl?"
|
|
What kind of question was that? "Of course I do... very much."
|
|
"Aah. Then perhaps I can help you. I will guide you to where
|
|
this Isentraum lives, and I will present you to him. What follows is
|
|
up to him."
|
|
|
|
The path Palawan had chosen led across the north face of a small
|
|
mountain, and Kite found the going very difficult, but he
|
|
persevered. He wondered about the small, wiry Palawan. He was
|
|
obviously not one of the peasants of the village, but he seemed so
|
|
weak that he would not be able to make a fighter or messenger. The
|
|
previous evening they had talked while sitting by the fire. Palawan
|
|
seemed interested in every detail about Kite and Pecora, and how
|
|
Kite thought the Elder might be able to help him. Kite had also
|
|
listened as Palawan had told him of his late wife; it seemed to Kite
|
|
that Palawan was a very lonely man.
|
|
That afternoon, as they approached the crest of the mountain,
|
|
Palawan spoke with Kite. "The Elder lives just over this outcropping
|
|
of loose stone. It is very dangerous, so be careful."
|
|
The two began to climb the loose rock, but Palawan seemed to
|
|
make much better speed than Kite. Then Kite saw Palawan slide on a
|
|
loose rock, and come tumbling down the slope. Kite knew that the old
|
|
man would tumble to his death if he wasn't stopped. Kite danced
|
|
toward Palawan as he rolled, and tried to anchor himself. He caught
|
|
Palawan's arms and held fast. The old man looked at him with deep
|
|
bronze-green eyes and smiled, apparently unhurt, save for minor
|
|
scrapes and bruises, and a small wound on his right elbow. They
|
|
finished the ascent a little more slowly, and came upon a small hut.
|
|
The two approached the hut, and found a figure bent in a garden.
|
|
Kite scuffed his feet to make sure the man knew someone was there,
|
|
then he stopped. The man slowly stood, tentatively holding his lower
|
|
back, and turned. The man who faced him stood somewhat less than
|
|
Kite's height, and lank. His coarse black hair framed a long face
|
|
with deep, bronze-green eyes. Palawan walked over to the Elder, and
|
|
for a moment seemed to occupy the same space, before melding
|
|
entirely into the form of the Elder.
|
|
"Marquis Kite of the House of Talador, I am Isentraum. I know
|
|
the hows and whys of your coming, and I have seen the worthiness of
|
|
your soul. Know that am both able and willing to aid your fiancee,
|
|
and the price I request is small. There is a rare herb, known as
|
|
Elmin. You must bring me as much as you can. You may find it at the
|
|
home of a druid named Hartley, who lives outside the village of
|
|
Greenmont, two days north of here. Give him my regards. When you
|
|
return, I will see to your favor. Go now."
|
|
With that, the old man returned to his garden, but Kite couldn't
|
|
help but notice the wound on his right arm as he walked off in
|
|
search of Hartley the druid of Greenmont.
|
|
-Orny <CSDAVE @ MAINE>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
A New Life
|
|
What does a Bard do when she can no longer sing?
|
|
Two years. Two years was a long time, but not long enough. Never
|
|
wouldn't be long enough. Two years since the incident...
|
|
|
|
It was really her fault. No matter how much she wanted to blame
|
|
someone else, the primary fault lay totally with Je'lanthra'en. If
|
|
only she hadn't been so proud, so sure her status would provide as
|
|
much protection as a full phalanx of Baranur's army. Bards were very
|
|
respected, but, in the black of night, where no one else could see,
|
|
even a Bard could be attacked.
|
|
Je'en had been in Magnus for an annual meeting of the College of
|
|
Bards. She had stayed out late one night, and, in deciding to take
|
|
the fastest way to her lodgings, had set her horse onto one of the
|
|
three "tunnels" that led thru the Fifth Quarter - the sometimes
|
|
called Thieves' Quarter: really the slums of the city. The "tunnels"
|
|
- the only properly-wide, glow-globe lighted, patrolled (if
|
|
irregularly) streets in that Quarter, the light creating a 'tunnel'
|
|
of safety thru the darkness and danger of that Quarter - were the
|
|
safest way thru the Fifth Quarter during the day. But, midway
|
|
between the dark of the night and the first light of day, nowhere
|
|
within the boundaries of the Fifth Quarter was safe. Je'en felt,
|
|
however, that her green cloak and hood, the silver-embossed leather
|
|
harp case on her back, and the harp on yellow on green of her
|
|
horse's trappings would ward off any evil-doers: not only was a Bard
|
|
the most respected non-Royalty possible, but there were rumors (not
|
|
unfounded) that some Bards could do magic! Je'en couldn't, but no
|
|
one else could know that. She felt herself so safe, that she didn't
|
|
even make sure her sword was limber in its sheath, and ready to draw
|
|
- in fact Leaf-killer was peace-bonded into its sheath because the
|
|
Inn she had been at had required that precaution.
|
|
Totally unconcerned with the shadows beyond the meager
|
|
illumination on the "tunnel" she had chosen, Je'en was caught off
|
|
guard by a shape that hurtled out of the darkness and knocked her
|
|
from her horse. She hit the ground hard, but managed (by luck) to
|
|
land on her attacker, so she was able to recover quicker than he.
|
|
She was on her feet, cloak back, and Leaf-killer out and ready, by
|
|
the time the man in tattered clothing (but a nice and shiny sword)
|
|
was able to face her. Unfortunately, he had some friends with him -
|
|
five to be exact. Self-protection was a skill all had to learn in
|
|
this semi-civilized world, and Je'en could protect herself, but not
|
|
as well as some (due mostly to the demands of her profession - she
|
|
spent more time perforce at singing and harping than at
|
|
sword-drill), and not well at all against six determined vagabonds,
|
|
attracted by her rich trappings, and emboldened by their numbers.
|
|
She put up a good fight - she actually incapacitated two of them,
|
|
killing at least one - but they knew what they were doing. She felt
|
|
an iron point score her cheek perilously near her right eye, and she
|
|
was temporarily blinded by frighteningly profuse blood. Then,
|
|
another sword scored on her leg, slicing into her thigh and buckling
|
|
it. And, almost simultaneously, another edge caught her under her
|
|
right bracer, cutting deeply into her right wrist, causing her to
|
|
drop Leaf-killer as she sank to the ground.
|
|
Helplessly unarmed, and weak from pain and blood-loss, Je'en
|
|
watched as her horse was looted of the few resaleable goods she had.
|
|
Irritated by the meager haul, the leader of the ruffians turned on
|
|
Je'en, and noticed her fine green cloak and the harp. She was
|
|
relieved of those, and the few items of personal jewelry she wore
|
|
(including the pendant of her Rank in the College), and it was
|
|
harder for her to see her harp, Soft-Winds, in the hands of the
|
|
thieves than the thought of her battle-loss was. Until the attention
|
|
of the leader was turned on her person.
|
|
"Pretty," said the leader. "A little more money from the
|
|
slavers, to make up for the trouble we've had wit' you." His leer
|
|
was pure evil.
|
|
"She'll take too much time, be too much trouble, Skar!" said one
|
|
of the survivors. "I know someone'll give us 5 Crowns for this 'ere
|
|
neck-chain - 'e needs it for a job 'e's got: 'personatin' a Singer,
|
|
it is. Five Crowns's more'n we'd get fer her and all the rest o' her
|
|
stuff, plus she killed Han, and probably Charet, too. Let's kill
|
|
'er, Skar! Real slow like, too."
|
|
Skar was a man of action, but he knew his men well enough to
|
|
listen to them. Five Crowns was more than the skinny girl would
|
|
fetch, and the fact that she was a Bard, a Singer in the slang,
|
|
could complicate matters. So, he decided. He drew his knife, and
|
|
knelt next to the ever weakening Je'en. Then, casually, he placed
|
|
the knife to her throat, and slashed quickly and cleanly.
|
|
The new pain pushed Je'en over the edge. As blackness closed
|
|
over her mind, she felt herself being dragged into the shadows at
|
|
the edge of the "tunnel", heard some rude comments about what they
|
|
were going to do to her before she cooled down too much, and then
|
|
there was an odd honking noise just before the blackness claimed her.
|
|
|
|
The 'honking' had been the Quarter's Early Warning System. It
|
|
signaled a patrol, and said it was close. Skar was forced to leave
|
|
Je'en behind, but he was long gone, with all the loot, by the time
|
|
the patrol found the wounded Bard.
|
|
The City Patrol, while in existence to keep order, also did its
|
|
best to help people in need, when such aid wasn't directly
|
|
dangerous. So, when Je'en's body was found, a stretcher was
|
|
fashioned, and four of the patrol escorted her to the nearest Healer.
|
|
Magnus, like most cities of the Realm, licensed its healers,
|
|
insuring a minimum level of competency in the healing craft. But,
|
|
some Healers bearing the gold-covered, city-seal-embossed, iechyd
|
|
leaf (a simple pain-alleviating remedy when boiled in water) in
|
|
their front windows were little more than potion-mixers, having no
|
|
magickal knowledge whatsoever. Of course, the Court had claim to the
|
|
best of the healers, but the other Healers thruout the city had no
|
|
rating other than the gold leaf of minimum ability. Advertising by
|
|
word of mouth generally led people to the best Healers, but the
|
|
Patrol didn't have time for such shopping around. The moved rapidly
|
|
thru the well lighted streets of the merchant quarter looking for
|
|
the nearest gold leaf they could find. Of course, had they known she
|
|
was a Bard, they would have made best speed to the Castle - a Bard
|
|
was 'royalty', and would be treated as such.
|
|
The healer living in the house they found was irritated at being
|
|
awakened in the middle of the night, but when he saw Je'en, he shut
|
|
up (after a short utterance in plea of aid) and went to work.
|
|
The healer, unfortunately, was a potion-mixer. He knew three
|
|
chants of healing: two to ease minor back-pain, and one to stop
|
|
bleeding in the head area - i.e. only one of particular use. But he
|
|
did know his herbs and potions, and he used his knowledge swiftly
|
|
and surely to save Je'en's life. But, he just didn't know enough of
|
|
the craft to return her to her former full health.
|
|
When her life was no longer in danger, she was taken to a
|
|
recovery-house. All but the most wealthy of healers operated from
|
|
their homes, which usually didn't have enough room to house patients
|
|
who required extended care. So, there were the Recovery-houses,
|
|
large dormitory-style hostels where patients could receive the care
|
|
necessary to help them to recover.
|
|
She wasn't there long. Only four days, during which time she was
|
|
unconscious, her body healing itself as best as it could with the
|
|
help of various potions prescribed by her Healer. When she woke up,
|
|
finding herself within the easily recognizable curtained-walled bed
|
|
of a recovery-house, she called out - painfully and not very loudly
|
|
- for an orderly. When one came, she said, "Rydw i Canur." The words
|
|
were barely recognizable, and they hurt her throat like swallowing
|
|
fire, but the peculiar resonance inherent in the almost-magical
|
|
phrase conveyed their meaning, and the orderly went hurrying after
|
|
someone in charge.
|
|
Shortly thereafter, she was transferred to the Castle, and the
|
|
care of the Royal Healer, Master Enowan. He immediatly set about
|
|
implementing further healing using the more powerful magicks at his
|
|
command, but he was too late to be must help. Once the body accepts
|
|
a pattern of health, it takes massive magic to change that pattern.
|
|
Most normal healing serves to help the body restore its normal
|
|
pattern. But in the case of traumatic injury, special healing is
|
|
necessary to force the body to survive, and thereby create a new
|
|
life-pattern. Such had been done to Je'en, and not even the skills
|
|
of Master Enowan could reverse the process now - it had been too
|
|
long, and Je'en's life pattern had accepted tha injury to her throat
|
|
and wrist as natural. Enowan was able to eradicate the scar on her
|
|
leg, but he could only smoothe out the scar on her face, make it a
|
|
little less ragged, and heal it as far as it would go. The damage to
|
|
her throat - her windpipe, and therefore her voice - was
|
|
irreparable, as was the damage to her wrist.
|
|
When she awoke from the healing sleep that master Enowan had
|
|
placed her in, she found herself in a private recovery room within
|
|
the Castle, with an apprentice healer attending her. As soon as she
|
|
was fully awake, the apprentice raced off to get Master Enowan.
|
|
While she was alone, Je'en tried out her voice and then her hand.
|
|
Her throat still burned a little, feeling a bit like an incipient
|
|
cold just lingering at the back of her throat and tickling her with
|
|
an unreachable itch. But, when she coughed to relieve the itch, it
|
|
set her whole throat to such aching that she strove to ignore the
|
|
minor discomfort to avoid the major pain.
|
|
When she looked at her hand, the only evidence of injury was a
|
|
small diamond of scar tissue at the center of both sides of her
|
|
wrist. But, when she tried to flex her fingers, she found that she
|
|
had almost no fine control over them - she could bend them all
|
|
together, but not one at a time. And, when she reached for the
|
|
pitcher at her bedside to pour herself a cup of water, once she was
|
|
able to grasp the handle, she found that she couldn't lift it. There
|
|
was absolutely no strength in her hand at all.
|
|
Totally dispirited, she sank back on her pillows to await the
|
|
Master healer, already afraid of what he would say.
|
|
Master Enowan arrived, smiling the false-and-not-very-reassuring
|
|
smile of a healer, and took her pulse at her throat and left wrist.
|
|
Then, after lifting her eyelids to look at her eyes, he crossed his
|
|
palms an inch above her chest, and closed his eyes. His hands began
|
|
to glow, and Je'en knew that he was examining her deeply, the way
|
|
only the best calibre of Healers could.
|
|
When his hands stopped glowing, Je'en said, "So, how am I,
|
|
Master Enowan?"
|
|
The healer opened his eyes, and said, "Alive, and as well as can
|
|
be expected."
|
|
"But, what about my...my voice, and my hand? Will they heal?"
|
|
"I'm afraid not, Je'en. The scar on your voice box will never be
|
|
gone, tho it will stop hurting shortly. And your hand will never be
|
|
as dextrous as it once was, tho it, too, will recover some. I...I'm
|
|
sorry, Je'en, but there wasn't anything more we could do. We tried..."
|
|
Je'en's eyes closed on her tears. She knew, somewhere deep down,
|
|
that she would never sing again. When she was pronounced fit, she
|
|
would go to the local College, and get tested, but she was sure she
|
|
would fail. And, when you've been one thing all your life, how do
|
|
you change?
|
|
|
|
Two weeks later, the verdict was in. She could no longer sing,
|
|
and her voice was deemed unsalvageable. She could no longer play,
|
|
and her hand was also deemed unsalvageable. The Masters of the
|
|
College ruled that she could remain a Bard if she so chose - but she
|
|
did not.
|
|
She stood in the anteroom waiting for the Hall of Ceremonies to
|
|
be prepared. The Ceremony of Leaving was seldom performed, and there
|
|
were special preparations to be made. She wore her finest tunic and
|
|
breeches, and a new green cloak, and Rank pendant. The sword at her
|
|
side wasn't Leaf-killer, and the harp on her back wasn't Soft-Winds,
|
|
but she would never see those artifacts again anyway. These
|
|
replacements had been given to her out of the stores of the College,
|
|
tho she would only be keeping the sword after today. It was a fine
|
|
weapon, well crafted without being showy, and she was glad to have
|
|
it (but it couldn't replace Leaf-killer, that had been in the family
|
|
since her father's father's father's mother's time). She was in all
|
|
ways prepared for the ceremony - her lines were memorized with a
|
|
Bard's meticulous skill, and she had steeled herself not to get
|
|
emotional (at least not under the eyes of the whole College).
|
|
Finally, two journeymen bards opened the great doors of the
|
|
Hall, and beckoned her to enter. She did so, and began walking down
|
|
the aisle formed by the huge, floor-to-ceiling Screens of Privacy -
|
|
intricately carven wooden screens that narrowed the vast hall to a
|
|
small lane that led from the doors to the Dias at the far end.
|
|
Behind the Screens, the whole College-in-attendance was gathered,
|
|
silent and mourning for the loss of a sister.
|
|
As Je'en walked the aisle, she looked up at the huge escutcheon
|
|
that hung behind the Dais. The blazon ran thru her mind - Vert, a
|
|
bend or, over all, a bard Harp, proper: the green background for
|
|
the World that was the Bard's home, the gold diagonal stripe for the
|
|
allegeance the College paid to the kingdom of Baranur, and the Harp
|
|
that signified their profession. She would miss being under the
|
|
protection of that proud coat-of-arms.
|
|
She reached the steps to the Dais, and mounted the leftward ones
|
|
as was proper (normally, the rightward steps accessed the dais, but
|
|
she was leaving, so it was reversed for her). The two journeymen
|
|
waited at the steps until she was on the Dais, then they turned, and
|
|
walked back down the aisle and out, closing the doors behind them.
|
|
Je'en was alone on the Dais save for the Master of the College
|
|
in Magnus, Master Heagn. The somewhat old man still had a fine voice
|
|
for all his years, and his hands were as sure as a new journeyman's
|
|
on his harp. He looked fondly on Je'en, and sadly, too. Tho Leavings
|
|
weren't totally unheard of, usually the Leaver was one who had made a
|
|
bad choice early in life, and found the College not quite right for
|
|
them, or something came up that changed their lives in a happy way,
|
|
and led them away from the College. The tragic nature of Je'en's
|
|
Leaving was accentuated by the fact that, in Heagn's estimation, she
|
|
had had the potential to one day become the Master of the College.
|
|
When the doors were closed, the Ceremony began. Je'en advanced
|
|
to the podium standing between herself and Master Heagn. On the
|
|
podium was the Crystal of Oathes, an Artifact as old as Bards
|
|
themselves, on which all promises within and to the College were
|
|
made. Je'en placed her hands on the conic, multi-faceted, clear
|
|
Crystal, and said, "Rydw i Canur," which meant 'I am a Bard' in the
|
|
ancient language of the first Bards ever. As the words' resonance
|
|
filled the chamber, she could feel the vibration travel down her
|
|
arms and into the Crystal, which, after a moment began to glow
|
|
softly, infusing her hands and arms with a pearly opalescence, and
|
|
soothing the ache that still lingered in her throat when she spoke.
|
|
Master Heagn then said, "Je'lanthra'en, Journeyman of the Eighth
|
|
Stave, you and I have met here to dissolve your allegiance to the
|
|
College of Bards. Is it your intention to continue with this course?"
|
|
Swallowing from more than the discomfort of her throat, Je'en
|
|
said, "Yes, Master Heagn."
|
|
"Then let it be known that Je'lanthra'en is leaving of her own
|
|
accord, and her own choice. Should circumstances change, or any aid
|
|
ever be needed, the doors of this College, and all other Colleges
|
|
united in the fellowship of all that is Bardic, shall not close
|
|
their doors unto you, and readmittance will never be barred from you.
|
|
"Now, return unto me the symbols of your former calling." Je'en
|
|
took her hands away from the Crystal, but they continued to glow.
|
|
She swiftly slipped off the harp's strap, and handed it to Master
|
|
Heagn. If it had been hers, as had Soft-Winds, she would have been
|
|
able to reclaim it from him after the ceremony, but she would leave
|
|
this one with the College. She next unfastened her cloak, and handed
|
|
it also to the Master Bard. And, lastly, she took off the chain that
|
|
bore her Rank. That Master Heagn also took, and Je'en returned her
|
|
hands to the Crystal.
|
|
"Now, say the words that will release you from your vows and set
|
|
you free of us and our ways," said Master Heagn.
|
|
Je'en hesitated, swallowed again, and finally said, "Didw i ddim
|
|
Canur." meaning 'I am not a Bard.' And the glow of the Crystal
|
|
faded, finally going out. She felt a slight push against her hands
|
|
as the Crystal emphasized her apartness now, and she lifted them
|
|
from its surface. Oddly, she didn't feel any different - but maybe
|
|
that was because she had long since accepted the fact that she was
|
|
leaving, and this was just the confirmation of that fact.
|
|
Master Heagn offered her his hand before bidding her farewell,
|
|
and as she descended the rightward stairs, those behind the Screens
|
|
began a minor key chant of parting that did more to bring on her
|
|
tears than the actual ceremony had. She was now, finally, on her
|
|
own, no longer a Bard, and no longer protected like one, either.
|
|
What was she to do?
|
|
|
|
Revenge was the first thing she thought of. Those six thieves
|
|
had ruined her entire life. Two had already paid for it, but there
|
|
were four more to catch, and torture, and eventually kill.
|
|
But, Je'en wasn't vengeful. Another might have taken out at
|
|
least a little frustration on that first healer who hadn't known
|
|
enough to save her life as it had been before the accident. But she
|
|
knew that it wasn't his fault, and she sent him a gold arm-band she
|
|
had been given once for stopping a revolt in one of the western
|
|
duchies by satirizing the upstart so well, and so scathingly, that
|
|
his followers all left him, laughing. The arm-band was enough
|
|
payment for a years worth of bone-setting, and ache-curing, and
|
|
ague-warding for a wealthy family, and the healer immediatly moved
|
|
into a better neighborhood (one not so close to the Fifth Quarter)
|
|
after thanking her for such a generous gift.
|
|
So, since revenge, as such, was really out of the question, she
|
|
decided to join the city guard, and help protect others from what
|
|
had happened to her. But there was one problem. She wasn't a very
|
|
skilled fighter, and what she knew applied to right-handed
|
|
techniques, which she could no longer use, of course.
|
|
She had heard about a training school outside a little village
|
|
to the northwest run by a retired adventurer who had quite a name as
|
|
both an adventurer and as a teacher. It was said that those who
|
|
survived his school were the best swordsmen around. His fee was high
|
|
enough that he wasn't inundated by students, and his policy of a one
|
|
week trial period to determine trainabilty, after which one could
|
|
be rejected without a refund, kept the idle rich from cluttering up
|
|
his practice yard.
|
|
Je'en had a lot of money - she had kept most of it at the
|
|
College in Magnus, and of course it had all been returned to her
|
|
when she left. So, hoping she had the talent to go with her money
|
|
and drive, she packed up and headed north-west. Besides, she
|
|
thought, even if I'm not accepted, I'll be two-thirds the way to
|
|
Dargon, where my brother Kroan, lives. I could always just keep on,
|
|
and pay him a visit - haven't seen him in years.
|
|
|
|
The School of Lord Sir Morion was quite impressive. It was set
|
|
ten miles from the village of Tench, in the forest that covered most
|
|
of the area. It looked like a citadel from the outside - massively
|
|
walled, with great square towers at each of the five corners, and a
|
|
huge ironwood drawbridge to span the fifty-foot deep, twenty-foot
|
|
wide chasm that surrounded it. The drawbridge was down, and the
|
|
portcullis up when Je'en arrived in the afternoon. The forest was
|
|
cleared for a mile on all sides of the citadel, and the clearing was
|
|
filled with activity - several neatly-planted fields were being
|
|
tended to; one of three oval tracks was being used to race horses,
|
|
and another hosted a foot race. Elsewhere, there were roped-off
|
|
squares wherein two, and sometimes more, people fenced with wooden
|
|
swords, and all manner of other weapons. From the number of people
|
|
around that she could see, Je'en hoped that Sir Morion's school
|
|
wasn't filled.
|
|
She stopped by one of the roped enclosures, and watched the two
|
|
people fencing within. They seemed very good as judged by her
|
|
knowledge: they at least put on a good show. Finally, one of them,
|
|
in all-black armor with a very stylised gryphon painted on the
|
|
breastplate and wicked-looking silver trim around the eyeslits of
|
|
his helm, executed a slashing backhand that caught his opponent in
|
|
the side. Action stopped, and then the one in tattered blue slumped
|
|
across the other's sword as if slain. He layed on the ground for a
|
|
minute, then rolled over and sat up, took the hand offered him, and
|
|
got helped to his feet. Both men removed their helms and began
|
|
discussing the finer points of the battle.
|
|
Je'en caught the attention of one of the similarly armored young
|
|
men around the ring, and asked, "Where can I find Sir Morion, please?"
|
|
"O, din tye know? Tha' one, in ta black. Tha's t'Lord o' tis
|
|
place, miss. An' t'oter one, tha's Ironfist. Goin to graduate soon,
|
|
'e is. Real soon. Gonna miss 'im, too. Come on, lemme int'r'duce you
|
|
to 'em both. Foller me, now, quick. Tey get away and a' talking, tey
|
|
won't be back 'fore supper."
|
|
Je'en followed the rather jovial, if hard to understand, fellow
|
|
over to where the two combatants were talking away while two younger
|
|
men removed their armor. Je'en's guide stepped right up to them, and
|
|
said, "Hey, 'Fist, Bull, great match, eh? I bet you'll beat the Bull
|
|
before ya leave, 'Fist - i know ya can do it! Yer gettin' beter
|
|
every day! O, hey guys, this here little lady was askin' after ya,
|
|
Bull. I'll leave ya to 'er: almost my turn in the ring. Bye, now."
|
|
"Take care, Kyle," said the man who was still wearing black even
|
|
tho his armor was all in a neat little pile at his feet. "And watch
|
|
March's third-return: remember the counter I showed you." He turned
|
|
to Je'en and said, "Hello. My name is Morion, but most of my
|
|
students call me Bull. How do you do."
|
|
Je'en shook his hand, and gazed at the man. He was tall, and
|
|
full-bodied, with broad shoulders, and a thick chest, arms and legs.
|
|
His hair was raven-black, his face handsomely aristocratic, and he
|
|
had the oddest eyes she had ever seen - they were ice-grey, so light
|
|
that there seemed to be something wrong with them.
|
|
She said, "I'm fine, Sir." Her throat had ceased hurting by now,
|
|
but her voice was still a bit gravelly, and she still swallowed
|
|
a lot. "I was wondering whether you have room for one more student in
|
|
your school, Sir. I...I have had to leave by previous profession,
|
|
and I thought perhaps I could be a guardsman, or a mercenary, or
|
|
something, now.
|
|
Morion looked at Je'en carefully. She was rather tall for a
|
|
girl, and she was in rather better condition than average. She
|
|
obviously wasn't some maid, or tavern-girl, out to make something of
|
|
herself. And then there was that terrible scar across her face. She
|
|
had a history, and a reason to come here. "You know the rules?"
|
|
"One week trial, fee in advance and non-refundable."
|
|
"Yes. Well, if you have the money to spend, I'll take you in.
|
|
Either Ironfist here, or myself will work with you each day, and you
|
|
will know whether we will let you stay seven days from now. I'll
|
|
show you to your temporary quarters - if you'll follow me?"
|
|
The next week wasn't what she had been hoping for. She had
|
|
practiced while traveling from Magnus, trying to get used to using
|
|
her left hand to fence with, but it hadn't been easy. And, she
|
|
appeared truly clumsy when she was sparring, especially since either
|
|
Ironfist or Morion was usually her partner. She refused to explain
|
|
anything about herself to them, tho, at least before she was
|
|
accepted, and so they let her try to fight with what was obviously
|
|
her off hand. But, she did her best at everything she was told to
|
|
do, and that included some of the other work around the school, as
|
|
well as running, jumping, climbing, and horse-back riding (which she
|
|
was rather good at, even left handed).
|
|
By the end of her trial period, she was sure she would be
|
|
heading on to Dargon the next day, minus about half of her
|
|
accumulated wealth. She hoped there were plenty of jobs for an
|
|
unskilled wench in Dargon - she didn't want to live on her savings,
|
|
and they wouldn't last all that long, anyway.
|
|
Still, she was out in her practice armor and wooden sword, a
|
|
wooden shield strapped to her arm in such a way that her wrist
|
|
didn't come into play when moving it, and faced off against Sir
|
|
Morion (she couldn't bring herself to call the man Bull - it just
|
|
didn't fit him, tho she was sure that he had a good reason for
|
|
keeping such a nickname). She had learned a few things in her week,
|
|
and she wasn't quite so clumsy anymore. She had a good stance, and a
|
|
good grip on the sword, as well as one good power-shot that was,
|
|
unfortunately, all too easily blocked.
|
|
They sparred, her sword-and-shield against Morion's single-sword
|
|
(at which he was a master). She held her own, tho Morion was keeping
|
|
his attacks down to a good novice level. She kept her eyes on his
|
|
sword, and not on the distraction of his helm and its decoration,
|
|
and she moved her whole body in response to his movements - the
|
|
"rooted" technique was for superior strength or skill, and speed was
|
|
one of her advantages. By the end of the match, she was sweating
|
|
(tho Morion was as dry as an old bone) but feeling very good about
|
|
herself, and how she had done.
|
|
She removed her helm, and, more slowly, the rest of her armor
|
|
(she didn't rate personal squires). As she did, she saw Morion, out
|
|
of his armor, Ironfist, and the ten other farthest along students
|
|
come her way. 'This is it - time to get told to leave' she thought,
|
|
and her good feelings vanished like smoke in a good wind.
|
|
Morion stopped before her, and the others gathered around her.
|
|
He said, "Je'lanthra'en, you have been here your seven days. What do
|
|
you think of your performance in that time?"
|
|
Je'en said, "Sir, I really cannot answer that. Firstly, I am
|
|
rather too prejudiced to judge my own fitness, and secondly, I am no
|
|
judge of skill in any case. I...I think that I tried hard, but...was
|
|
probably not good enough to be taught here."
|
|
Morion wore a thoughtful expression thruout Je'en's little
|
|
speech, and he said when she was finished, "Well, judge or not, some
|
|
of what you said is true. You did try hard. And, we are judges, and
|
|
we all think that you may someday make a very fine fighter, and an
|
|
even better one if you train here, with us."
|
|
Je'en's elation was echoed in Morion's twinkling eyes as she
|
|
jumped up and down, and flung her arms around him. After being
|
|
hugged for a long time, he disentangled himself from her, and said,
|
|
"Put those things back on - you're doing first and second drill for
|
|
at least two hours: we've got to strengthen up that left arm of
|
|
yours. Go, get busy, you're my pupil now, and I don't like
|
|
slackards!" There was no sting in his voice, tho, and neither of
|
|
their smiles lessened a bit as he helped her back into her armor.
|
|
|
|
The first thing she did, once she was accepted, was have a suit
|
|
of practice armor made for her. She did that for two reasons -
|
|
first, the loaner set she had been using, while adequate protection,
|
|
didn't fit very well, and looked really silly; and second, she had
|
|
an obstacle to overcome aside from her awkwardness: one of pity. All
|
|
during her trial week, only Ironfist and Morion had treated her as
|
|
an equal, testing her fairly and objectively. The other students,
|
|
after seeing the scar on her face, and the way clumsy way she used
|
|
her left hand, began to feel sorry for her, and treated her very
|
|
gently, like china. So she decided to build for herself an image
|
|
that would make the others forget about her disabilities. Thus: her
|
|
new armor, flashy-green, ornamented, daunting in aspect, and another
|
|
addition - a silver half-face mask to match the one on her helm, and
|
|
which she never removed except to sleep (and only when alone). It
|
|
didn't take long for the students to replace the 'poor thing' image
|
|
she had with that of the formidable 'Green Blade' (as she came to be
|
|
known, which was sometimes shortened to 'Greeny').
|
|
And so the months passed, almost unnoticed. She was finding that
|
|
learning to fight was hard, but also exciting. And, once she got
|
|
used to using her left hand (which did take a while), she was good
|
|
at it. She became Morion's star pupil, and the darling of the
|
|
school. There were few women in training there, but that didn't
|
|
affect her status - rather she attracted a following of the same
|
|
type as Ironfist had: people who were inspired by her ability, and
|
|
wished her well for it.
|
|
There was more to do than fight, too. There was the other
|
|
training; physical fitness, riding, and such, skills to compliment
|
|
that of the sword (or other chosen weapon). There were the chores -
|
|
tending the garden that helped feed the school, keeping the citadel
|
|
clean and in good repair, keeping the practice armor and weapons in
|
|
good repair, too. And, aside from work, there was fun, too. She
|
|
learned some games, and listened to stories that the others told
|
|
(tho she steadfastly refused to tell any of her own). She learned
|
|
that the citadel was the ancestral home of Lord Morion, and that its
|
|
name was Pentamorlo. Many were the tales of that House, and, tho she
|
|
burned to tell some that only she seemed to know, she kept to her
|
|
resolve not to, fearing to venture anywhere near the realm of Barddom.
|
|
Of all the people - teachers, students, and servants - at
|
|
Morion's school, she told only three her full story. Two were
|
|
Morion, and Ironfist, and she told them for their kindness to her,
|
|
and so that they would know her well enough to trust her, and maybe
|
|
to like her. Both were sympathetic to her pain and sorrow, without
|
|
being pitying. The third was a young man named Timirin, who was
|
|
usually called Oak. He had been Ironfist's student, and was near
|
|
'Fist's equal when she arrived. Came the time for Ironfist to
|
|
graduate, Oak sort of took his place. He took over teaching Je'en,
|
|
going at her own pace, but never going easy. In time, they grew
|
|
close, as she never had to anyone as a Bard, who usually felt too
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far removed from other people, and too busy to cultivate a
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relationship with fellow Bards. But, she was free of that, and
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Timirin was handsome, intelligent, and an excellent swordsman. It
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was easy to fall in love with him, if love it was. And, one night
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when they were alone in one of the towers, and he began to get a
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little over eager, she told him her story. If that had been meant to
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scare him off; it failed. They became faster friends, then lovers.
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But, they were not in love. Eventually, it was time for Oak to
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leave, and there wasn't enough between them to persuade Je'en to go
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away with him. He had helped her immensely, tho, giving her
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confidence in herself as her skill grew, and she thanked him for
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that, and then said farewell.
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She was a very fast learner. By the end of her first year, her
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reflexes had been retrained, and her left hand was now as capable as
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had been her right. She had all the basic moves of sword-and-shield
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and single-sword combat drilled into her until they were second
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nature. And she had begun to learn special defenses and attacks -
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those things that lifted an ordinary fighter into the realm of the
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special. She learned the 'rooted' technique, wherein one planted
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oneself in one spot, and tried to draw strength from the earth
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itself to protect and to attack. She also learned the 'lightning'
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technique, where one stayed in one place as little as possible. That
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was a variation of what she had originally learned, but there were
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subtleties that turned mere swiftness of foot into deadly force. And
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there were other techniques, some named for a phenomenon of nature
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that they resembled, some named for the person who invented it, or
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made it famous. Some were strictly for defense, some only for
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attack, some for certain special conditions, some to be used at all
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times, even with other styles and techniques. She also learned to
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use several other weapons well, tho not expertly - mace, staff,
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polearm: she was limited in the use of two handed weapons, of
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course, and a second hand weapon as well, which was why she
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concentrated on the simple sword, and shield. Eventually, the shield
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had to go, because of the time it took to put it on properly with
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her bad hand, so she became even more expert in single sword. By the
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time she ws ready to graduate, she could hold her own in single
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combat, even against Morion's famed double-sworded 'Windmill', and
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in a melee, alone against up to three, and more if she had someone
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|
or something to protect her back. All in all, in just under two
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years, she had become a most accomplished Swordswoman, and when she
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graduated form Morion's school, she went with all honors, and the
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well wishing of all in Pentamorlo.
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Before she left, she discussed her plans with Morion. She told
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him that she intended to return to Magnus, and join the city guard.
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Morion said, "That is a noble idea, but perhaps not a good one. You
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have spent months here creating for yourself a new life, and have
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been very successful, too. Magnus can only hold bad memories."
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"What else is there, then?" she asked.
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"Well, for starters, you could stay here and teach."
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Je'en smiled, and shook her head.
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"Okay, okay. I know it gets a little dull around here, and you
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want to do something with your youth. Why don't you go visit your
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brother in Dargon? That is a good city for adventure - you could
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join its guard, or hire out with a caravan, or on an exploring ship.
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There's plenty to do in a frontier city like Dargon. And, if you
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find nothing, well, you'll have had a nice visit with family, and
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you can move on, even back to Magnus. But give something different a
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try, first. It'll be good for you."
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And, Je'en took his advice. When the ceremony of her graduation
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was over, she mounted her packed and ready horse, and rode away from
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Pentamorlo to the northwest, and Dargon.
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-John White <WHITE @ DREXELVM>
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