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DDDDD ZZZZZZ //
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D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE ||
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 13
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-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 3
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DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
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\\
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\
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========================================================================
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DargonZine Distributed: 3/25/2000
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Volume 13, Number 3 Circulation: 730
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========================================================================
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Contents
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Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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A Matter of Honour 2 Nicholas Wansbutter Janis, 1006
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Talisman Three 3 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Fall, 748 FE
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A Tale of Two Thieves 1 JD Kenyon Seber 1017
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========================================================================
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DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
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collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
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We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
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Please address all correspondence to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
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on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/. Back issues
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are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
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public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
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DargonZine 13-3, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright March, 2000 by
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the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
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Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
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All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
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and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
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without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
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of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
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Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
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========================================================================
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Editorial
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by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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<ornoth@shore.net>
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One of the major benefits of the rise of personal computing and the
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Internet is our ability to archive information. At a click, I can search
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for a word in dozens of dictionaries, or scan hundreds of telephone
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directories to find someone's number, or obtain real-time stock market
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information. This power is also available to us as individuals. Many
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people save their email or their checkbook or their address book in some
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electronic form. We have quick access to information that was
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unthinkable just ten years ago. We all have examples, but this was
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driven home for me last week when, out of curiosity, I wanted to cite
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the date of O.J. Simpson's "low-speed chase" in an email I was
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composing; obtaining that piece of information took less than a minute,
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and just four mouse clicks.
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It seems odd, then, that we have so little information about how
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the Internet came about, and the people who made it happen. While there
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are a few familiar names who pioneered the technical infrastructure, few
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people could name someone who was a catalyst in popularizing the early
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Internet. Can you name the people who brought you listserv or majordomo
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or IRC or ICQ? Do you know who founded rec.arts.sf.written or soc.motss
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or rec.music.misc? Those are people who transformed the Internet from a
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boring raw communication facility into an exciting, interesting world
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full of unparalleled opportunities to communicate with, learn from, and
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share experiences with one another. Those people are the Internet's
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unsung heroes.
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I want to tell you about one of those heroes: John Labovitz. A few
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of you may recognize his name, because it's part of the resource he
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created: John Labovitz's E-Zine List, which can be found at
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<http://www.meer.net/~johnl/e-zine-list/index.html>. Since he began back
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in 1993, John has maintained the best, most exhaustive, most accurate
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list of electronic magazines on the Internet. He did this not out of
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commercial interest, but because he knew such a site was needed and
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would be useful to both readers and publishers. His service has been
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wonderfully successful, and has helped DargonZine and hundreds of other
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emags grow. Hundreds of readers have been introduced to our site through
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index sites like John's, but John's is by far the most widely-known, and
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more than a dozen of our subscribers mentioned his site by name when
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they joined DargonZine.
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I single out John because after seven years of selfless service,
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John has decided to cease maintaining the E-Zine List. As a reflection
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of his adherence to the noncommercial spirit of the early Internet, he
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is presently looking for someone who will adopt this popular site and
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continue to operate it as a public, not-for-profit resource. We are
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thankful recipients of John's valuable contribution to the Internet, and
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we wish him luck in his future endeavors.
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On a more positive note, I'd like to mention a new feature that we
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recently added to the DargonZine Web site.
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We know that maps of Dargon and the surrounding lands are useful
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ways to help readers visualize the settings of our stories. We've
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recently put together a small DHTML script which ties some of our maps
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together with our Online Glossary. By hovering your mouse over landmarks
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on the maps, you will see their Glossary descriptions. And by clicking a
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landmark, you will be taken directly to that feature's Glossary page,
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which contains additional information. It's a great way to familiarize
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yourself with the places that our stories talk about, and we're really
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pleased to be able to share it with you.
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However, the interactive features of these maps rely on fairly
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recent innovations, so they will not work for older browsers (we've
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tested the script using Netscape 4.0 and Internet Explorer 4.0). If you
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have a recent browser, you should have no problem using the maps, but
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older or nonstandard browsers may have more difficulty with the
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additional interactive features.
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The interactive maps of the city of Dargon and of the surrounding
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area can be found in the map section of the About Dargon page.
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In this issue we continue ongoing series' by Dafydd and Nick
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Wansbutter, and print the first part of a two-part story by JD Kenyon.
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All three of these storylines will culminate in our next issue,
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DargonZine 13-4, so don't miss that one! It should be out before the end
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of April.
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========================================================================
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A Matter of Honour
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Part 2
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by Nicholas Wansbutter
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<ice_czar@hotmail.com>
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Janis, 1006
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Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 13-2
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A cold wind howled like some enraged banshee outside the walls of
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Fennell Keep. Aleksandr added another log to keep the fire blazing in
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the hearth in the main hall. A great bearskin covered the icy stones
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beneath his feet, but he could still feel cold radiating up from the
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ground. Indeed, the stone in the castle seemed to soak up the cold, and
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pass it on to every being within. Perched atop the hill that held the
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city of Fennell, the keep received the full brunt of the frigid winds
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that swept in from the northeast. The dense forest that was the barony's
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saving grace during the winters was ineffectual here. The keep didn't
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even have the benefit of shelter from surrounding buildings. But on a
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day like this, it was still better than being outside, Aleksandr
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supposed. In a way it was good, as the winds were too cold to allow
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outdoor training this day. In the two years he had lived at the keep, he
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had learned to appreciate such small comforts.
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"Aleksandr!" A deep voice intoned from across the hall.
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Aleksandr turned to see his weapons instructor and most direct
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superior, Sir Igrim, approaching him from across the room. His powerful
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figure dominated the fire-lit room. Long, dark hair hung thickly from
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his head, as did a grey-streaked beard and moustaches. On his broad
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shoulders hung a black tunic bearing his family crest. Aleksandr of
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course, being only the humble rank of page, wore no coat of arms.
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Rather, he was dressed in a plain grey tunic with black belt and
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breeches.
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"Come here, boy!" Sir Igrim's words were harsh, but Aleksandr was
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not afraid of him. He remembered many a training session with the
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quarterstaff when Sir Igrim would berate him for letting his guard down,
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that such a lapse would mean his death some day. Afterwards, he would
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always tell Aleksandr when they were alone that he was pleased with his
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progress, or offer other such words of encouragement. Nevertheless,
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Aleksandr scurried over to the knight without delay.
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"Sir?"
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"Keeping the fire stoked I see." Sir Igrim never seemed to be the
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slightest bit affected by the cold. "Good. The baron has some guests
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coming this eve. Fetch a *good* bottle of Solov'necr from the cellars,
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then get yourself to the kitchens! Pots and pans will be your weapons
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today. Now, be off with you!"
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"Yes, sir!"
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Aleksandr hurried off down the hallway. The long corridors along
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the outer edge of the bailey were the coldest in the inner keep, as
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chill winds sneaked through the wooden boards covering the portholes
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that looked out on the courtyard. Fortunately, the cellars weren't far.
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Aleksandr closed the heavy wooden door behind him to block the wind,
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enabling him to light a torch from the pile sitting in a niche by the
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door.
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He descended the stairs into the darkness of the cellars, where a
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wide variety of stores that the keep needed to last out the winter were
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stored. The light thrown by the torch illuminated smoked sausages and
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meats that hung from wooden pegs along one frosty wall. Barrels of
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pickled vegetables, salted pork and spices filled one corner of the
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room. Hundreds of pounds of flour lay in large sacks piled in another
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corner. More kegs of wine and mead filled other parts of the cellar.
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Aleksandr headed to the very back of the room where the finer vintages
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of wine rested on large racks. Behind these were more racks bearing the
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hard liquor. The stuff he sought was hidden in the furthest corner, in
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case a questionable servant might want to pinch a bottle. To Aleksandr's
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knowledge, such a thing had never happened, and he resented the fact
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that they lay in the coldest corner to defend against it.
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Solov'necr was the favoured drink in the Barony of Fennell. Made
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from fermented iechyd berries, it was a potent drink that warmed one to
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the core during the cold winter months. Aleksandr surveyed the available
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bottles, and chose one of the larger looking ones. The coldness of the
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bottle shocked him, and when it bit into his hand he accidentally
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dropped the frigid carafe. Instinctively, he grabbed for it with both
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hands, dropping the torch as he did so. He caught the bottle before it
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smashed all over the floor, but the dropped torch made trouble of its
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own: one of the older bottles had been leaking it seemed, and its
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contents ignited immediately when touched by the torch's flames.
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Aleksandr had to think quickly, as the fire was spreading.
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Currently only the puddle of Solov'necr burned, but he knew that
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wouldn't be the case for long. He carefully put the bottle he was
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holding on a nearby barrel, and hurried over to the stack of flour.
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Grabbing one bag, he dragged it over to the fire. Summoning what
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strength his little body had, he tossed the thing atop the fire, and was
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plunged into darkness.
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"Cephas' boot!" He cursed. "Now what?"
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There were no windows in the underground cellar. It was so dark
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Aleksandr couldn't see one cubit in front of his nose. It was chillingly
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cold in the room, and quiet. The dark frightened Aleksandr. Who knew
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what evil creatures lurked in there? His mind conjured up images of the
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Wasp King and other horrible monsters creeping out of the corner to peel
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his skin off and eat it. He wanted to run screaming out of the room, but
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knew he would only cause further disaster if he did. Countless glass
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bottles containing valuable liquids, made all the more fragile by the
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cold that surrounded him on all sides.
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By slowly and carefully reaching out with his hands, Aleksandr was
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able to reacquire the Solov'necr he had been sent for. Nearly knocking
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several other bottles off of their shelves in the process gave him
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reason to move no further. He didn't know how long he had been standing
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there, shivering from both cold and fright, when he heard the door at
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the top of the stair creak open. He was too far away to see the faint
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grey light that filtered through the doorway, nor hear who it was that
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had entered.
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He was about to call out, then checked himself. "What an idiot
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they'll think of me for trapping myself down here without a light. No
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... I'll sneak out when they're not looking and no one will know."
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Presently, the warm glow of torchlight emerged from the stairwell
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and illuminated the room enough for Aleksandr to begin creeping around
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the outer edge of the room. He could hear voices as he drew nearer the
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torchlight. They seemed to be hovering not far from the stairs.
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"What in blazes are we doing down here, Kelbhen?"
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Hiding behind a barrel, Aleksandr risked a glance at the people who
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had invaded the cellars. The one who had spoken he recognised as Sir
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Miripur by his deeply pocked face and slim frame. His greasy black hair
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hung limply about his pox-scarred face, and his tabard hung loosely from
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his bony shoulder. Standing next to him holding the torch, in stark
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contrast, was Sir Kalayan, a barrel-chested man who seemed to bristle
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hair everywhere. His reddish-brown beard puffed out from his face in all
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directions, as did the curly hair on his head. He was nearly as wide as
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he was tall, his arms and legs like tree-trunks. Excitement welled up
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when Aleksandr saw the third member of the group. It was Jarek Kelbhen,
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the foreign mercenary, captain of the guards, and his idol. Aleksandr
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remembered being slightly disappointed the first time he met Sir Jarek.
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He was not the towering figure he had imagined. He was of average height
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and build. Aleksandr quickly learned that his prowess on the battlefield
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came from skill rather than brute strength. He had a certain charisma as
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well. Aleksandr had never heard an ill word said of the knight by any of
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the guards under him and especially not from the maidservants that
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worked around the keep. His olive skin and raven black hair gave him
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away as a foreigner, but still he had a certain presence that drew
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people to him.
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"What we are doing here, Miripur," Sir Jarek stroked his goatee,
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"Is making my wedding arrangements."
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"Then Fennell agreed?" Sir Kalayan's head snapped sharply to look
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at the other.
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"Quite the contrary, my friend." Sir Jarek's lips curled into a
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smile. "But I shall have my way nevertheless."
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"How?" Sir Miripur gestured to the room above them. "If the baron
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has denied you, then that's all there is to it. You can't just take
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her!"
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What *were* they talking about? Whatever it was, it sounded bad.
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Aleksandr made sure to keep very still and hidden behind the barrels. He
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now had more reason than pride to remain unnoticed. Though he didn't yet
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know what they were plotting, he was sure they wouldn't be pleased if
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they discovered him.
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"Who says I can't?" Aleksandr could hear Sir Jarek's footsteps
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moving closer. "Tell me, Miripur. Have you heard of the practice of
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marriage by conquest?"
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Sir Miripur let out a chuckle. "You rogue."
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Aleksandr was not surprised by such a comment from Sir Miripur. In
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fact, the man was barely worthy of the title he bore in Aleksandr's
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mind. The knight often found sport in beating a squire that had not
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performed his duties to a high enough standard, or in tormenting monks
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from the monastery with insults he knew they would not return. Aleksandr
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had even heard rumors about Sir Miripur mistreating the ladies in
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waiting, forcing one of them into his bed.
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"Zhilinda will by a fine conquest." Kalayan said knowingly.
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"Baron Fennell thinks his daughter too good for me, a foreigner, I
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suppose."
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That wasn't true! Aleksandr finally knew what the knights were
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discussing, and it appalled him. Everyone knew Zhilinda had been
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betrothed to Baron Delborne's son, Kristofer, for years. She was still
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quite young, being only thirteen; otherwise she would be married now,
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and in Delborne. But these were knights! Where was their honour? Were
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they not sworn to protect all women?
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Sir Jarek slammed a fist down on a barrel not far from the hiding
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page. "I did not get to where I am by bowing to unworthy masters! He
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will soon learn some respect. He will have no choice but to give me my
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due when I am his son-in-law!"
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Kalayan gave a hearty laugh, but Miripur remained sober. "Can it be
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done?"
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"Of course it can be done!" Sir Jarek's voice could be heard moving
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back towards the others. "We've travelled the length and breadth of this
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land, our swords slaying the enemies of the gold that bought us. Fought
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the traitrous House Northfield, and sowed the soil of Fennell red with
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their blood. Making this girl my wife will be but a simpleton's game
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compared to that."
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Aleksandr stole another glance to see Sir Miripur cautiously
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watching the stairwell. "How?"
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"It's quite simple, really. We *are* the baron's trusted guards,
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are we not?" Sir Jarek said. "It is but a matter of moving. We will wait
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a sennight, I think, to allow the baron to forget my most recent request
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for the young Zhilinda's hand. Seven nights from now, we will take her
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from her chambers when I order the changing of the guards at the fifth
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bell of night. Getting to her room will be not a problem, but getting
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her out will take some care. You'll be able to make it as far as the
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weaving room without being noticed. There's an unused door behind one of
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the tapestries in there that opens into one of the servants' passages.
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Follow it to the servants' entrance on the north side of the keep. I
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will meet you there, and we will make haste to the stables."
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"Where will we take her?" Kalayan's deep voice intoned.
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"I think just outside of the city, into the forest a little ways.
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Only a couple bells' ride from here lives a wealthy merchant named
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Billik. He's made his fortune as a moneylender, and has a winter
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residence in the forest away from the commotion of Fennell. I think such
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accommodations would be suitable for my ascendance into Baranur
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nobility, no?"
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"How and where do we find this Billik?" Miripur asked.
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"It's simple. There's a spot along the road to Heahun where a
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little stream runs. You'll know it when you see it. Five mene's ride
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further, a small trail breaks off the road to the north. Billik's house
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lies at the end of that trail."
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"It's almost *too* easy." Miripur said.
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"Fear not, my friend." Sir Jarek assured, "It will work. Now come,
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we must be away from this cellar before we are missed. Remember, one
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sennight from today. Until then, not a word. Not even to each other."
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With that, the group ascended the stairs, once again plunging the
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cellar into darkness, where Aleksandr remained for several long menes.
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He wasn't even sure that he heard what he thought he had. Surely, he
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must have misunderstood what the knights had said. They couldn't
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possibly have been plotting to kidnap the baron's daughter. Sir Jarek
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was his idol: the personification of everything knightly. Even if
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Aleksandr had understood, how could he destroy the man he sought to
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become? But then he remembered what his father had said about Sir Jarek
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on the day he left Heahun.
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"He is a robber knight. Not a noble like us!" Father had been right
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then, and he was right now. Sir Jarek Kelbhen was not a true knight; not
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a true idol. There was no denying it. They would take the girl one
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sennight hence, and Sir Jarek would marry her by force. Aleksandr
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shuddered at the thought. He couldn't let such a thing happen. It was an
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offence against Stevene and against the baron! Against all who bore the
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title of 'knight'. But what could he do? He knew that he was but a boy.
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Who would listen to him?
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"He is a robber knight. Not a noble like us!"
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His father's words repeated themselves over and over in Aleksandr's
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head. What to do? The question still tormented him as he waited on Baron
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Dorja's guests that evening.
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"If only I were a knight!" he thought. "Then I could challenge Sir
|
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Jarek to a duel, and save Zhilinda! Those who follow Stevene's light
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always win their battles!" But he was only a page, of course -- not even
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a squire yet, by Cephas!
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Aleksandr wandered about the room, filling goblets with the bottle
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of Solov'necr that had led to the boy's state of affairs. He didn't pay
|
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much attention to the guests, as they couldn't possibly interest him
|
|
with this dilemma rolling about his head. All he knew was that there
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were two of them, and that they liked the Solov'necr quite a bit. Which
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meant they'd probably stay the night. At least staying busy kept him
|
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from going crazy.
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It was a quiet little gathering, and Aleksandr was presently
|
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excused to do as he pleased. Of course, he had to stay in the general
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area as he might be needed again. In the main hall of the keep, several
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|
sets of King's Key held permanent residence. Once a sennight, on the
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holy day, Aleksandr would meet Lev to play a game or two. The two had
|
|
won roughly the same amount of games each, but Aleksandr had pulled
|
|
several victories off in the past month, and wished to press the
|
|
advantage by keeping his skills sharp. Such was his zeal for the game
|
|
that he had far surpassed the other pages in skill level. Sir Igrim's
|
|
squire, Tpliki, was a very challenging opponent, however. As the squires
|
|
were not required to wait on guests, as the pages were, he was free to
|
|
partake in the recreational activities available in the keep. Once he
|
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was dismissed, Aleksandr would often search out the older boy and
|
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challenge him to a game.
|
|
"So, you're ready for another thrashing, eh carrot-head?" the
|
|
squire taunted when approached by Aleksandr.
|
|
"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you," the younger boy said,
|
|
setting pieces on the board. "Remember last time?"
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|
Aleksandr had almost won their last encounter. "I've been
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practising."
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"So have I." Aleksandr sat across from the other. "Ready?"
|
|
The game moved at a good pace, both of the boys employing a rather
|
|
aggressive style of play, much faster than when Aleksandr confronted the
|
|
methodical monk Lev. Aleksandr's favourite piece was the horseman, whose
|
|
abilities he'd mastered. He always pictured himself as the very cavalier
|
|
he moved about the board, bravely charging to battle in the name of
|
|
good. Tpliki knew this however, and his first objective was to remove
|
|
those pieces from the game, leaving Aleksandr in a tight and unfamiliar
|
|
spot. He tried to employ other pieces, initially to no avail. It
|
|
appeared that Tpliki was going to dominate the rest of the game, when
|
|
Aleksandr was able to pull off a series of moves utilising his priests,
|
|
turning the tables on the other boy. Tpliki eventually won the game, but
|
|
Aleksandr had realised something important. Using his horsemen to their
|
|
maximum potential was the attack he always used when playing King's Key,
|
|
but when they were taken from him he had to employ a strategy that was
|
|
less than obvious at first.
|
|
"I don't have to stop Sir Jarek myself!" he thought. "There *is*
|
|
someone who will listen to me, and bring justice to Fennell!"
|
|
Aleksandr bade his time with patience uncommon for a nine year-old
|
|
boy. After helping the guests to the rooms reserved for such purposes,
|
|
and cleaning and sweeping the main hall, Aleksandr sought out Sir Igrim.
|
|
Tpliki was thankfully still about, and aware of his master's
|
|
whereabouts, as Aleksandr knew any good squire should be. He directed
|
|
Aleksandr to the knight's living quarters.
|
|
The living quarters were very similar throughout the keep, save
|
|
those belonging to the baron and his family. Like the others, Sir
|
|
Igrim's was a single room with a fireplace along one wall, and a window
|
|
on another. It being winter, the window had its shutters closed tightly.
|
|
Sir Igrim had not lit the fire however, and was cleaning a dagger by the
|
|
light of a candle. The somewhat chilly room was as impressive to
|
|
Aleksandr as its inhabitant was, however. On one wall hung a tapestry
|
|
portraying a battle from the Shadow Wars that had taken place during the
|
|
reign of King Darian, that Sir Igrim had been given as a gift. On the
|
|
floor lay the skin of a bear, which the knight had killed personally.
|
|
The sword that he carried with him at all times rested on the bed, a
|
|
cleaning rag and sharpening stone nearby. He didn't trust anyone with
|
|
his weapons, not even Tpliki. Above the fireplace rested a crossed sword
|
|
and axe.
|
|
As Aleksandr entered the room, Sir Igrim shifted slightly in his
|
|
chair to appraise the boy.
|
|
"Aleksandr!" he rumbled. "What are you doing up here, boy? You
|
|
should have been in bed almost a bell ago!"
|
|
"I'm sorry, Sir Igrim." Aleksandr kept his eyes on the floor. "But
|
|
there's something I have to tell you ... that can't wait until morning."
|
|
"Oh?" Sir Igrim put the blade down that he was polishing, and
|
|
turned to face the boy fully.
|
|
Aleksandr could feel his courage leaving him so he blurted the
|
|
entire story out to the elder knight. True to his nature, Sir Igrim
|
|
appeared totally unperturbed as the young page described the disrespect
|
|
with which Sir Jarek and the others had spoken about the baron and his
|
|
daughter. Even when he explained the plan to gain Zhilinda's hand 'by
|
|
conquest', the knight remained emotionless. When the tale was complete,
|
|
he gave Aleksandr a long, hard look.
|
|
"What have I told to about spinning tales, boy?" His heavy eyebrows
|
|
moved fractionally into a frown.
|
|
"Sir ..." Aleksandr could feel panic welling up inside of him. Sir
|
|
Igrim thought he was lying! "Sir, a knight does not lie ... he is honest
|
|
always and with all people."
|
|
"Exactly." Sir Igrim face grew darker. "And are you being honest
|
|
with *me*?"
|
|
"I am, Sir Igrim!" Aleksandr trembled. "I swear as if Stevene were
|
|
here in front of me!"
|
|
It seemed an eternity before the knight spoke again. "A strong
|
|
oath. If you be made of the stuff worthy of a knight such an oath will
|
|
prove it. I will take your ... tale, to the baron. He will judge. And if
|
|
he judge that you are not being entirely truthful ..."
|
|
The threat didn't need to be finished. Aleksandr knew well that the
|
|
punishment for dishonesty was harsh, as was the punishment for breaking
|
|
any of the knightly code upheld throughout Baranur. But Aleksandr had
|
|
hope. If Sir Igrim was taking the story to the baron, he at least
|
|
suspected a grain of truth in it. Also, Aleksandr *was* telling the
|
|
truth. Surely, Stevene would guide the baron's heart to that conclusion.
|
|
"Stevene favours the just," he thought.
|
|
Sir Igrim placed a leathery hand on Aleksandr's shoulder. "You will
|
|
speak of this to no one."
|
|
Aleksandr shook his head vigorously. "No, sir."
|
|
"Be off with you, then."
|
|
Aleksandr left the room, Sir Igrim closing the heavy wooden door
|
|
behind him. Aleksandr headed down the hallway towards the large room
|
|
that the pages lived in, still a little shaky from his encounter with
|
|
Sir Igrim. It was very dark, now that most everyone had gone to bed, and
|
|
only every third torch remained burning for the guards to make their
|
|
rounds. Aleksandr shuddered at the thought that Sir Jarek, Sir Miripur,
|
|
and Sir Kalayan were among them. Just as he turned a corner, he heard
|
|
the faint sound of Sir Igrim's door opening, and footsteps moving
|
|
quickly from it in the direction of the baron's quarters.
|
|
|
|
Baron Dorja's answer came sooner than Aleksandr expected. It was
|
|
only the day after he had told Sir Igrim about the kidnapping plot, when
|
|
the knight pulled him aside from his grammar studies with Brother
|
|
Vladimir. Aleksandr knew when he looked into Sir Igrim's eyes that the
|
|
answer wasn't a good one.
|
|
"Baron Dorja the Just has considered what you said carefully." His
|
|
eyes seemed to smoulder with anger. "Considering the services Sir Jarek
|
|
has rendered Fennell in the past, he has judged him innocent. And your
|
|
tale less than truthful!"
|
|
Aleksandr gulped, but could say nothing in his defence.
|
|
"By rights I should give you a good thrashing for telling such
|
|
tales!" He was clearly quite upset with his pupil, but no hand was
|
|
raised. In fact, his hard features suddenly softened. "But your
|
|
intentions were good. You may well have heard something, but your
|
|
imagination created what you told me. Therefore, your only punishment
|
|
shall be extra duties. Hopefully that will teach you to keep your mind
|
|
free of such flights of fancy. You may begin by mucking out the stables
|
|
after your lesson with Brother Vladimir."
|
|
Aleksandr would have bemoaned his extra duties, were he not so
|
|
distraught over the news he had just received. As he shuffled back to
|
|
his desk and slate among the other pages, worried thoughts ran through
|
|
his mind. "The baron didn't believe me! How? Why? Was it just my
|
|
imagination?"
|
|
"He is a robber knight. Not a noble like us!"
|
|
"No! I wasn't imagining it!" Aleksandr thought. "He *is* going to
|
|
kidnap Zhilinda! Cephas' boot! What now? I can't let him take her!"
|
|
|
|
As was the custom in the Barony of Fennell, the fifth day of the
|
|
sennight was declared a day of worship for all Stevenics in the barony.
|
|
Lev's friend Aleksandr had been given the day off from training and, as
|
|
usual, made the short journey to Heart's Hope Monastery just outside
|
|
Fennell Keep's outer walls, to visit him. Aleksandr had of course
|
|
attended worship in the keep's chapel, at the first bell of day, with
|
|
all of the other residents of the keep, while Lev had celebrated with
|
|
his brothers. After the service, Aleksandr had made his way to the
|
|
monastery.
|
|
Heart's Hope Monastery had been Lev's home for just over two years,
|
|
living with the Stevenic sect of Cyruzhian monks. He was, of course,
|
|
still far too young to join the sect as a brother, but they treated him
|
|
as such, and taught him all of their ways. Very different from many
|
|
groups that followed Stevene's light, they were named after Cyruz of
|
|
Vidin, a close follower of Cephas Stevene and missionary. The order had
|
|
come into existence with an unconditional grant of land to Cyruz from
|
|
the Baron of Fennell some fifty years previous. Heart's Hope Monastery
|
|
was the first of many that soon dotted the countryside of Fennell.
|
|
Centrally located in cities, the Cyruzhians were both scholarly and
|
|
disciplined; their business was social and pastoral work, as well as
|
|
education. They were effective preachers from the "common touch" as
|
|
Cyruz liked to say, and knowledgeable. When they weren't caring for the
|
|
sick and homeless, they created elegant religious icons and exquisitely
|
|
beautiful books. The tomes were so valued by the monks that they were
|
|
chained to their bookcases by metal rods built into the binding. As Lev
|
|
had always loved reading, the monastery's scriptorium was his favourite
|
|
room in the entire community. That the Cyruzhians eagerly accepted
|
|
anyone attracted many peasants with unpromising futures to join. This
|
|
despite the fact that unlike the vast majority of Stevenic groups, the
|
|
order took strict vows of celibacy and poverty.
|
|
Lev had always been exceptionally intelligent, far above his
|
|
station in life as a peasant and son of a woodcutter. As Aleksandr's
|
|
playmate he had devoured all of the scrolls and religious texts in the
|
|
Heahun household. He had been taught how to read by Aleksandr's
|
|
compassionate mother, who had claimed to see a bright future in him as a
|
|
servant of God. The local church had been another source of learning
|
|
with its handful of religious scrolls. It soon came time when there was
|
|
no more room for intellectual growth in Heahun. It was then that Lev's
|
|
parents decided he would join the Cyruzhians. As well as an avid
|
|
learner, Lev had always been very religious. He loved discussing
|
|
theology with the priest in Heahun, and the texts of Stevene's light
|
|
spoke to him as they did to few others. It was not only priests he spoke
|
|
with, but God as well. He never heard voices or had visions, but he was
|
|
aware of a deep communication with a higher being. Sitting alone, near a
|
|
gently flowing stream or quiet forest, he would have long conversations
|
|
with his creator. He was never answered in words, but he found his mind
|
|
was always directed towards an answer to his questions. Often answers
|
|
that he would have never thought of on his own.
|
|
And so, the Cyruzhian monastery seemed the appropriate place for
|
|
him. Despite this, he was initially less than enthusiastic about his
|
|
parents' decision, and asked them to consider another sect with a less
|
|
severe code than the Cyruzhians. They had made up their minds, though,
|
|
and he was going. With no hope in changing their minds, he had resigned
|
|
himself to the Cyruzhians. He had contemplated what life would be like
|
|
with them. The thought of marriage had never particularly appealed to
|
|
him, and the idea of a wealthy cleric was appalling. In the end, he
|
|
decided that if he were to dedicate his life to God and to Stevene's
|
|
light, he would devote all of it. Since then, he had been able to expand
|
|
both his mind and his soul beyond his expectations with the Cyruzhian
|
|
monks.
|
|
As he and his friend sat at the simple wooden table in the common
|
|
room of the monastery, cool white rays from the sun shone through the
|
|
cracks in the boards covering the window slits that lined the outside
|
|
wall. Outside, the courtyard where the boys usually visited was covered
|
|
with a thick blanket of snow. In the summer it was a truly beautiful
|
|
place, its gardens carefully tended by the monks.
|
|
The boys were alone in the room. Lev quietly surveyed the King's
|
|
Key game that they were playing. Aleksandr sat restlessly across from
|
|
him, obviously disturbed by something.
|
|
Lev moved a piece and looked up to Aleksandr. "Something's
|
|
bothering you, my friend. What is it?"
|
|
"Something terrible is going to happen."
|
|
Lev felt concern grow within him. It was unlike his friend to
|
|
exaggerate on a matter of such importance. "Aleksandr?"
|
|
The young page related an appalling tale, of Sir Jarek and his plot
|
|
to kidnap Baron Dorja's daughter, and of the disbelief of Sir Igrim and
|
|
the baron when Aleksandr told them of the plot. "... and I don't know
|
|
what to do now."
|
|
Lev sat in silence for several menes. Indeed it was a desperate
|
|
situation, for both of them now that he knew of it. "What does your
|
|
heart tell you?"
|
|
Aleksandr seemed taken aback by the comment. Lev had always known
|
|
him as one to think with his head, a tactician as a knight should be.
|
|
But the mind couldn't answer every question. Lev was sure his friend's
|
|
mind said he'd done all that could be done. But Lev knew there was a
|
|
small voice near the back that said there was more. He listened to that
|
|
voice often, and prayed it would lead Aleksandr as it lead him.
|
|
"By Stevene! I have to try to stop them myself! If no one will
|
|
listen, I *have* to try! I cannot have a clear conscience by retreating
|
|
from glory!" He looked hard into Lev's eyes. "You will help me."
|
|
Lev felt slightly sick at the idea. Two children against hardened
|
|
mercenaries? But there was no alternative. "If all else has been
|
|
exhausted, we have to take matters into our own hands. Stevene's light
|
|
commands it."
|
|
Aleksandr reached across the table to grasp Lev's hand. "Like the
|
|
knights' charge at Balkura! It is better to die for a cause than to
|
|
surrender it, and our cause is the defence of the Stevene's laws!"
|
|
Lev was not taken by Aleksandr's sudden burst of enthusiasm, but
|
|
knew the boy to be speaking the truth. The knights' charge at Balkura
|
|
was less than an appetising thought however; a glorious battle it had
|
|
been, but at great cost. The confrontation had taken place not far from
|
|
Fennell, during the Great Houses War. There, the brave Fennell knights
|
|
had confronted a force loyal to the insurrectionist House Northfield
|
|
nearly one thousand strong. No fewer than fifty Fennell knights, nearly
|
|
all of the noble sons of Fennell, had died in the battle. In an act of
|
|
uncommon valour, the knights had charged, taking the rebels by surprise.
|
|
All of the knights had died, but took more than half of the traitors to
|
|
the crown with them, halting the advance and ultimately saving the
|
|
barony from certain defeat. Though he knew he would go to a better place
|
|
than this upon death, Lev was not so eager to become a martyr.
|
|
"We cannot just charge them as did the brave cavaliers at Balkura,
|
|
my friend."
|
|
"No." Aleksandr's face was a little red from excitement as he
|
|
settled back into his chair.
|
|
"One must be pragmatic. We are only boys after all." Lev steepled
|
|
his fingers before him in a meditation position. It helped him think.
|
|
"Though I know direct attack has always been your way, this will call
|
|
for subtlety."
|
|
Lev couldn't hide the hint of a smirk from his friend as he
|
|
remembered their many games back in Heahun. Yes, Aleksandr had won many
|
|
of them by brute force, but Lev had won more by intelligence.
|
|
"What do you have in mind?"
|
|
"Well, if I recall from your endless prattle about your hero Sir
|
|
Jarek," Aleksandr shot him a dirty look, "He comes from far south, does
|
|
he not?"
|
|
"Yes. He's not even from Baranur."
|
|
"Exactly. There is something we have in Baranur that they don't in
|
|
the warmer climes where Sir Jarek hails from. Winter. And with winter
|
|
comes ice. Did you not say their route runs near a stream?"
|
|
"Yes, it does!" Aleksandr touched a hand to his cheek. "Right near
|
|
the holy rocks where we became brothers."
|
|
"Which is perfect for my plan ..."
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
Talisman Three
|
|
Part 3
|
|
by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
|
|
<John.White@Drexel.Edu>
|
|
Fall, 748 FE
|
|
|
|
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 13-1
|
|
|
|
The next morning saw most of Torenda's Troupe reloading the wagons
|
|
and cleaning up the clearing by the way-cabin where they had spent the
|
|
night. Meanwhile, Orla, Naka, Elin, Kend, and Thanj were sitting around
|
|
the table that had been fetched from inside the cabin, and debating
|
|
their next move.
|
|
The odd stone that had been found in the cabin rested on the table
|
|
in front of Elin. Its marble-like surface gleamed in the sunlight, and
|
|
the metal and glass bands that crisscrossed it sparkled like new.
|
|
Thanj was staring at the stone fragment, tracing the paths of the
|
|
silver, gold, and glass bands. He idly wondered what the original
|
|
sculpture had looked like. He reached out and traced a few of the lines
|
|
as they wove under and over each other. Then, on a whim, he licked his
|
|
finger and ran it along one of the glass strips. To everyone's surprise,
|
|
a clear ringing tone issued forth and he snatched his hand away in
|
|
haste, wondering what he had done to the thing.
|
|
Naka's interest was immediately piqued by the note Thanj conjured.
|
|
Ignoring the restarted conversation, she pulled the stone fragment
|
|
closer and tried to get the glass strips to make noise. Thanj finally
|
|
had to show her the trick. Once she had it, Naka found that every single
|
|
glass band on the stone produced at least one note, and often several.
|
|
Upon close examination, she discovered that instead of being continuous
|
|
like the metal lines were, the glass ones were really segmented into
|
|
smaller lengths and held in place by wedges of wood.
|
|
Curious, Naka tried 'playing' the metal pieces in the same way as
|
|
the glass strips, but the metal did not respond to rubbing. Trying the
|
|
next logical thing, she tapped on them with her finger, to no result.
|
|
Finally, it was Kend who took his dagger and tapped a band with its hilt
|
|
to produce a bell-like tone. Naka thanked the wood carver, fished in her
|
|
pocket-pouch, and found a piece of metal she proceeded to use to tap on
|
|
the metal strips.
|
|
She found that each band, while obviously continuous along its
|
|
length, was somehow segmented within so that several different notes
|
|
could be conjured from each length just like the glass strips. While she
|
|
delicately tapped at the stone to determine what notes could be found
|
|
and where, the discussion continued around her.
|
|
So far, no one had been able to produce a convincing argument for
|
|
either proposed course of action: continuing on south or returning to
|
|
the original path and heading for Roebsach.
|
|
Orla was in favor of continuing on south. "After all," she said,
|
|
"we may have been intending to visit Roebsach next, but we certainly
|
|
don't have any commitments there."
|
|
"But we just don't know where this path leads," argued Elin. "It's
|
|
so run down and overgrown that it certainly hasn't been used regularly
|
|
in quite a long time. Why? What if it doesn't lead anywhere any more?"
|
|
"You know, this speculation would be moot," put in Kend, "if we
|
|
hadn't managed to lose our only map of the south of Farevlin." The
|
|
woodworker looked at Thanj when he said this, since it had been the
|
|
illusionist who'd had that map last, but Thanj was listening to Naka
|
|
play random notes on the stone and didn't even hear Kend's gibe.
|
|
"Still," Kend continued, "the weather has been nice and it's early
|
|
enough in the Autumn. We only really have to worry if the path actually
|
|
vanishes, and even then we could still pull the wagons back out by hand.
|
|
But the path most likely leads somewhere eventually, and we have plenty
|
|
of provisions for the trip. I say we continue on south."
|
|
Thanj had torn his attention away from Naka's playing to hear the
|
|
end of Kend's opinion and was about to add his own when they all heard
|
|
hoof beats coming along the path from the south. Moments later, a rider
|
|
sped past the clearing. They only had a glimpse of a person in a dusty
|
|
tan robe on the back of a large brown horse, and then the rider had
|
|
galloped past and was gone.
|
|
The five of them looked at each other, and at almost the same time
|
|
they all shrugged and returned to their previous pursuits.
|
|
Thanj said, "Yes, the weather is nice and yes, we have plenty of
|
|
provisions. And this portion of Farevlin is just as heavily populated as
|
|
the rest of it, so we can't go all that far without coming across a
|
|
village or town eventually.
|
|
"But are we explorers, or actors? Should we strike out into the
|
|
unknown of south Farevlin without any idea of where we are or might end
|
|
up? Or should we just go back the way we came, get back onto the road we
|
|
shouldn't have turned off of in the first place, and end up in nice,
|
|
safe, planned-for Roebsach?"
|
|
Before anyone else had a chance to rebut Thanj's cautionary stance,
|
|
they all heard hoof beats again, this time coming from the north part of
|
|
the path. Heads all turned, and sure enough, what looked like the same
|
|
horse and tan-robed rider soon came into view.
|
|
This time the rider reigned in and steered the horse over to the
|
|
group by the table, who could now see that the rider was a woman with
|
|
long black hair and a strong-featured face, handsome rather than pretty,
|
|
but just now exhausted.
|
|
The woman halted her mount a few paces from the table, and everyone
|
|
around it stood up. "I ... can you ... ah ... help ... ?" She gasped out
|
|
these unintelligible phrases, and swayed atop her horse. She took a deep
|
|
breath and scanned the whole clearing. What she saw seemed very
|
|
disheartening, though, for she bowed her head with a little sorrowful
|
|
sigh-almost-sob, said, "Not war ..." and fainted.
|
|
Orla caught her as she fell from her saddle, and then called for
|
|
help to carry the rider over to the benches around the table. Players
|
|
were sent to fetch water and some food while the woman was stretched out
|
|
on two benches shoved together side by side. Orla used a wetted cloth to
|
|
wipe the woman's face clean, which revived her. After a few sips of
|
|
water, the woman sat up slowly, leaning her back against the table and
|
|
staring up warily at the strangers who surrounded her.
|
|
Kend, kneeling down next to her, said, "Take it easy, friend. We
|
|
mean you no harm, but you fainted off of the back of your horse and we
|
|
just wanted to be sure that you are all right. You also said something
|
|
about 'help'?"
|
|
The woman shook her head and said softly, "Help I sought, and help
|
|
I have not found. But still ..." She looked around at the five faces
|
|
directly around her, and the others crowding in behind that first ring.
|
|
She said, "Help you may not be, but neither do I think you could be
|
|
harm. So."
|
|
She sat up straighter, drank the water Kend offered her, and after
|
|
a moment spoke. "I am Virrila, one of Tchad Zarilt's students of the
|
|
Way. The Tchad, who is also the Treasurer of Farevlin, has gathered
|
|
around him people to whom he is teaching his philosophy of simplicity
|
|
and serenity: this is the Way.
|
|
"Two evenings ago, word came to the Treasury that an invasion was
|
|
imminent. A former student of the Tchad, who now styles himself Warlord
|
|
Adamik, is said to be intent on one of the objects housed in the
|
|
Treasury. You have, of course, heard of Hekorivas?"
|
|
Everyone nodded. The legends of the Staff of Unity were widespread
|
|
throughout Farevlin. The gist of most of them was that Hekorivas
|
|
belonged in the hand of the ruler of a unified Farevlin.
|
|
Virrila nodded in return, and said, "Good. Adamik seeks Hekorivas,
|
|
and knowing the man as I do, he will do anything that is required to get
|
|
it. Adamik also knows something of how well the Treasury is protected,
|
|
so he knows he cannot just walk into the vault and take it from its
|
|
table. He has something planned, of that I am sure.
|
|
"Tchad Zarilt has stated that he will not actively resist Adamik,
|
|
and he has also forbidden the students from attempting to do the same.
|
|
The Way is not about strife or combat, of that I have always been aware.
|
|
But he also will not flee to leave the Vault to protect itself. This is
|
|
understandable -- he does have his duty as Treasurer. And, though he has
|
|
given his students leave to seek safety, they have chosen to stay with
|
|
him. I do not know whether they think he can protect them, or whether
|
|
they all accept the Way enough not to be frightened by the threat Adamik
|
|
represents."
|
|
Virrila paused to take another drink, and to collect herself.
|
|
Everyone around her was hanging on her every word, and she liked the
|
|
feeling of being paid attention to like that. But she also had a
|
|
mission, one that seemed doomed to failure. Hope still lived, however,
|
|
and these people around her were that hope. So, she continued her tale.
|
|
"I, however, *am* frightened by that threat. I do not believe that
|
|
Adamik will stop short of harming any or all of the Tchad's students if
|
|
he thinks that will bend his former teacher's will. So, I left to seek
|
|
help.
|
|
"I hurried to Bluebell Rock, the village nearest to the Treasury,
|
|
and got a horse. Then, I rode. I've been riding since. I was trying to
|
|
get to Hofrusk or Redtree Grove, where it was likely that I could find
|
|
some soldiers, or guardsmen, or even some rowdy farmers' sons eager for
|
|
trouble. Someone to help against the upstart Warlord, someone to protect
|
|
the students from Adamik's enmity.
|
|
"About midday yesterday, somewhere south of here, I took a wrong
|
|
turn. A trick of the light, or maybe I was just tired or over-worried,
|
|
but somehow the signpost was pointing north along what becomes this path
|
|
here. I had thought to continue east, but followed the sign
|
|
automatically. By the time I realized that I was not on the right road,
|
|
it was too late to turn back. I could only hope to find some town along
|
|
this path in time.
|
|
"When I rode past this clearing, I barely recognized that it was
|
|
peopled. And then, when I realized, I hoped that you would be a company
|
|
of guards or a band of mercenaries that I could hire. You were my last
|
|
possibility to find someone in time.
|
|
"Adamik will be at the Treasury by tomorrow, maybe the next day at
|
|
the latest. He may give the Tchad time to consider before trying to
|
|
coerce him, which may give me more time. Is there any village close by
|
|
up this path? Anywhere I could find help we so desperately need?"
|
|
The way the silence stretched for a few moments gave her the
|
|
answer, even before Elin said, "Well, the village of Tilting Falls is
|
|
three days east, but you'd find no help there. Roebsach is maybe a day
|
|
to the west, but that was our destination before we, too, became lost,
|
|
so we don't know what kind of help might be available there."
|
|
"If any was, it would be help that was too late," said Virrila. "A
|
|
day to this Roebsach, time to muster help if it exists, and the time it
|
|
would take to ride back, as a group will ride more slowly than one,
|
|
means that Warlord Adamik will have Hekorivas before we could possibly
|
|
arrive. Which is also true of doubling back and taking the correct road
|
|
from that traitorous signpost.
|
|
"So, it falls to you to help us, or to no one. Is there any aid you
|
|
could offer?"
|
|
Orla said, "I do not wish to disappoint you or thwart your loyal
|
|
efforts, but we are actors, Torenda's Troupe, though I fear our fame is
|
|
not great enough for it to be likely you have heard of us." Orla
|
|
introduced herself and the other four immediately around Virrila, and
|
|
then the rest of the company with a sweep of her arm and a simple, "and
|
|
our players."
|
|
Silence fell again, and Virrila rose and started pacing.
|
|
Eventually, she said, "I don't suppose you could ... well, *play*
|
|
warriors, could you?"
|
|
Naka laughed, and Thanj said, "Given that we could play warriors,
|
|
which we could, we don't number enough to scare someone at a distance
|
|
who calls himself Warlord. And our wooden swords and knitted chain mail
|
|
won't fool him up close, either, so to try to out-bluff him face-to-face
|
|
is also not an option."
|
|
Virrila sighed in resignation, and said, "That makes sense,
|
|
unfortunately." She turned in her pacing, and noticed the stone fragment
|
|
on the table. She walked over to it, stared at it, reached out but
|
|
didn't quite touch it, and finally asked, "What's this?"
|
|
Kend walked back over to the table and said, "Well, we don't know.
|
|
We found it last night in the way-cabin; it was among the belongings of
|
|
a traveler who died there. Ordinarily, we wouldn't loot a body, but this
|
|
fragment ... it was different. I know I felt like it belonged to me when
|
|
I saw it. Well, to us," he said as he gestured at the other three people
|
|
who wore the blue earrings.
|
|
Elin added, "It was like something I, we, had been searching for
|
|
for a long time, without even knowing it was lost." Elin reached over
|
|
and touched the stone, not to take it or hide it from Virrila, but just
|
|
to reassure herself that it was still there, still real.
|
|
Naka added, "And, it's musical. See?" She began tapping at the
|
|
metal bands, and sliding a wet finger along the glass bands, playing a
|
|
simple children's game tune, fingers and hand darting around the piece
|
|
to hit notes that weren't in any normal instrument's pattern.
|
|
Virrila listened for a moment, fascinated by the tune, but then she
|
|
remembered why she had been drawn to the piece.
|
|
"But," she exclaimed, "there's one of these in the Treasury! Not
|
|
exactly like this -- it is bigger, and has a cat as well as a falcon on
|
|
it, but it is otherwise just like this one. Same kind of interlaced
|
|
bands, same kind of marble-like stone, same fragmented sides. They might
|
|
even be related -- if they somehow fit together, they would make half a
|
|
circle, I'd bet. I wonder what they could be?"
|
|
There wasn't even a vocal decision made. Orla, Kend, Elin, and Naka
|
|
looked at each other, excitement welling up inside of each of them, and
|
|
nodded. Orla turned to the players and said, "Finish packing, we're
|
|
leaving as soon as possible." She turned back to the people gathered
|
|
around the table and said, "I don't know what help we can be, Virrila,
|
|
but we are going south at least as far as Bluebell Rock. Maybe we can
|
|
think of some way to help as we travel."
|
|
|
|
Zarilt stood in a very different-looking vault and gazed at the
|
|
treasures laid out on the altar-like table at the front of the room. The
|
|
wooden floor of the vault had been removed square by square, as had the
|
|
covering panels on the walls. But that removal had not revealed the bare
|
|
structure of the cave: instead, another floor had been hidden beneath
|
|
the wooden ones, and other walls behind the plaster-smooth ones. Some of
|
|
what was on the formerly hidden floor and walls was attributable to the
|
|
artistic bent of a former Treasurer; the rest served as evidence of the
|
|
vault's protection.
|
|
Snaking out from the stone-block table were large root-like limbs
|
|
that crawled across the floor and walls. These limbs coiled and curled,
|
|
moving up, down, and sideways in the space beneath the transparent
|
|
floor. But each limb, no matter how twisted and convoluted, eventually
|
|
connected with a large, blue crystal. These crystals were usually
|
|
beneath or behind the level of the coiling limbs, and as such were
|
|
mostly concealed by the limbs themselves.
|
|
The floor continued to be smooth to walk on, and the walls were
|
|
just as smooth now as they had been when covered. The space that the
|
|
limbs existed in was either trapped beneath a layer of what looked like
|
|
clear, very hard glass, or they were completely encased in that
|
|
crystal-hard substance. In various places, intricate mosaics had been
|
|
inset into the surface of that substance. Some of those mosaics were
|
|
complimentary to the objects below the surface, reproducing the twisting
|
|
limbs in other colors or shades, or creating pictures out of twisting
|
|
limbs; others were completely at odds with them, as if to deny their
|
|
existence and cover them up with normal scenes of lakesides, or forest
|
|
glades, or city walls.
|
|
Zarilt knew nothing of what the blue crystals were, nor what the
|
|
limbs were. He was fairly sure that no one in Farevlin did. The vault
|
|
had not been constructed by those who had set up the Treasury, but had
|
|
rather been usurped for the purpose. What had the creators of this cave
|
|
needed the crystals and limbs for? What strange rites had the
|
|
altar-table been used for? Sacrifices? Fertility rituals? No legends
|
|
told those stories.
|
|
He did know that those crystals and limbs formed the protection
|
|
around the table. The mosaics had been done at a much later date, around
|
|
the time when the carved stone fragment had come to be one of the five
|
|
treasures.
|
|
He understood why another former Treasurer had asked that the wood
|
|
and plaster coverings be constructed. Zarilt had only once been in the
|
|
room when it was bared like this, and that was when he had become
|
|
Treasurer himself. He had always felt that the room looked impressive,
|
|
but upon spending some time in it now for longer than the brief
|
|
confirmation ceremony, he felt that it was growing more spooky and
|
|
sinister. He certainly didn't think that his meditation sessions would
|
|
have gone well in this version of the room.
|
|
But meditation sessions were on hold for the foreseeable future, as
|
|
were most of the normal day-to-day activities of his school. It had been
|
|
four afternoons since word had come that Warlord Adamik was on his way.
|
|
By now, he could be here at any moment, and though almost all of his
|
|
students had remained with him, few were able to continue their daily
|
|
routines in the face of looming disaster.
|
|
Zarilt remembered Adamik as being strong and resourceful, but
|
|
superstitious and headstrong. He had no idea what had brought such a
|
|
person to his school, but it hadn't taken long for there to be trouble.
|
|
In those days, he hadn't had as much of a grasp of the temptations his
|
|
students offered to the unscrupulous, and Adamik had been able to carry
|
|
out his tiny empire-building efforts for longer than Zarilt had liked.
|
|
But eventually he had been caught and expelled, like Fessim had been
|
|
only a few days past. Only now Adamik was back, with plans that did not
|
|
include adopting the Way.
|
|
Zarilt looked down at the five treasures. The one called Hekorivas
|
|
was what Adamik was after. The Scepter of Unity was short, only a quok
|
|
long, the span from a man's fingertips to his elbow. On each end,
|
|
encased in a wood lattice, was an irregular oval lump of some kind of
|
|
whitish crystal. What was even more odd, there was one in the middle of
|
|
the length as well. Not attached to the side of the staff, but actually
|
|
in the middle of the wooden staff. It looked as if the wood had been
|
|
softened somehow and cut into strips. These strips had then been
|
|
stretched outward to leave room for the crystal lump to fit within.
|
|
Then, the strips had been twisted and braided somehow to form lattices
|
|
like those on the ends. Zarilt had never been able see the joins that
|
|
had to be in the wood to get it into that shape. But then, there was
|
|
only so close that he could get without removing it from the table, and
|
|
he would not let curiosity sway him from his duty.
|
|
The seams could have been concealed by the carving on the wood
|
|
itself, of course. The object was a work of art, but it was also
|
|
possessed of a powerful history and legend. It made a sort of twisted
|
|
sense that Adamik would try to get his hands on Hekorivas, but that just
|
|
wasn't going to happen. The Treasury had never been plundered, and that
|
|
wasn't going to change now, Adamik or no Adamik.
|
|
The door on the other side of the room slammed open, drawing
|
|
Zarilt's attention away from the altar. A student dashed through and
|
|
managed to stammer out, "He's here!" but he needn't have bothered for
|
|
Adamik was striding confidently right behind him.
|
|
The so-called warlord hesitated just after crossing the threshold,
|
|
startled by the change in the room that he thought he knew. Adamik
|
|
recovered quickly, and looked around, taking in the ophidian splendor of
|
|
the vault. "Very nice redecorating job, Zarilt!" he boomed out. "I
|
|
wouldn't have thought it your style, but it works, I think. Most
|
|
impressive."
|
|
Zarilt watched his former pupil, trailed by a handful of well-armed
|
|
and armored guards, stride across the floor. Adamik was older now, of
|
|
course, but otherwise unchanged. He was still thick-bodied, with strong
|
|
arms and legs, and a pinched face on a head that had always looked a
|
|
little too small for his body. His hair was still brown, but his
|
|
jaw-framing, short-cropped beard had a light sprinkling of grey. He wore
|
|
armor like his fellows, and carried a huge sword at his hip, but he also
|
|
wore a surcoat and cape, and the woman directly behind him carried a
|
|
ridiculously ornate helm that could only have been made for intimidation
|
|
purposes. And, of course, there were the customary amulets and trinkets
|
|
hanging from his belt and epaulets -- Adamik had always been rather
|
|
superstitious.
|
|
The warlord stopped five paces from the altar, and his soldiers
|
|
fanned out to either side of him. The woman who held his helm advanced a
|
|
step in front of him but still to his right, and announced in a
|
|
surprisingly loud voice, "Warlord Adamik comes before you. Heed his
|
|
words and obey, or face the consequences!"
|
|
She took two steps back, and Adamik laughed. "She's a good herald,
|
|
isn't she, Zarilt? And that's not all she's good at either!" He laughed
|
|
with his people, including his herald, who didn't even blush. Adamik
|
|
continued, "I wager you know why I'm here, Zarilt. You may not have
|
|
spies of your own, but the information would have come to you anyway.
|
|
But to make it formal, I am here to claim Hekorivas."
|
|
Zarilt said, "No one may claim Hekorivas. It is one of the
|
|
Treasures of Farevlin. Only the unifier of Farevlin can lay claim to
|
|
Hekorivas, and such there shall never be."
|
|
"There you are wrong, my old, *old* teacher. I shall unify the
|
|
thousand lands of Farevlin, but I do not intend to wait until I do to
|
|
take Hekorivas in my hand. With that scepter, I can convince maybe a
|
|
third of Farevlin to accept me as their overlord without striking a
|
|
blow, which is a third fewer lands I have to conquer by might. And the
|
|
more states I control, the more likely that others will come to me of
|
|
their own free will, especially if I am wielding Hekorivas. I need that
|
|
artifact, old man, and I *will* have it."
|
|
Zarilt stepped back a pace from the altar and spread his hands
|
|
wide. "Then try to take it, if you must. I shall not stop you."
|
|
Adamik had never expected to just be handed the artifact he
|
|
coveted, but neither had he expected Zarilt to simply step aside, to
|
|
offer no resistance whatsoever in his office of Treasurer. He glanced
|
|
around the strangely-decorated room and wondered about the legends
|
|
concerning the Treasury. No one had ever pillaged it in all its history.
|
|
It made sense that there would be a reason for that, didn't it?
|
|
Still, Adamik had a reputation to uphold, and an impression to
|
|
make. If the vault really could protect itself, he had to see that for
|
|
himself. And Zarilt had to know that he was serious about his demands.
|
|
He *would* be carrying Hekorivas when he left the vicinity of the
|
|
Treasury, or he was no Warlord worth the name.
|
|
Adamik gestured to his left. One of the soldiers standing there
|
|
stepped forward. He looked at the Treasurer, and then at the fabled
|
|
Scepter of Unity lying on the table in front of him. He would have
|
|
looked back at his leader, but he knew what the warlord expected of him.
|
|
He, however, also knew the legends of the Treasury, and he didn't think
|
|
he would be satisfying his warlord's wishes this day. Knowing his duty,
|
|
he reached for Hekorivas anyway, a faint plea for mercy on his lips.
|
|
As his fingers approached the top of the table, a hum built up in
|
|
the room. A glance around would have revealed that each of the blue
|
|
crystals was glowing behind the twisting limbs. Nearer, and tiny blue
|
|
stones set into the vertical corners of the stone-block table started to
|
|
glow one after the other, starting at the floor. Other gems also began
|
|
to glow on the four faces of the table, and the hum grew louder.
|
|
Finally, just as the soldier's fingers were about to touch the staff,
|
|
the top of the table flashed bright blue. The soldier screamed, there
|
|
was a deep snapping noise, and suddenly the soldier was slumping against
|
|
the far wall, back by the door. Tiny blue sparks darted around on his
|
|
armor, and smoke drifted out from under it. The man was quite obviously
|
|
dead.
|
|
Warlord Adamik turned to check the fate of his man, and to hide
|
|
from his former teacher and current foe the way he was clutching at his
|
|
amulets in fear. He had expected something less deadly from the vault,
|
|
despite the legends, and to see the might of the response it had
|
|
produced to the attempted theft rattled him to his bones. But caressing
|
|
his amulets and trinkets calmed him, and he realized that he couldn't
|
|
let anyone see his fear. He took a few steadying breaths, composed
|
|
himself, saying a silent 'farewell and well done' to Rinask, his dead
|
|
companion.
|
|
Adamik then turned back to Zarilt, summoning rage to cover his
|
|
momentary weakness. Bluster would be enough to cow the Treasurer, he
|
|
knew; a show of continued determination and strength to back it up. He
|
|
said, menacingly, "You tricked me, old man."
|
|
"I did not," replied Zarilt calmly. "I said 'try'. I never said you
|
|
would succeed. You did not trust me in any case, else it would be you
|
|
lying dead over there."
|
|
Zarilt's placidity infuriated the warlord. "Turn it off!" Adamik
|
|
thundered. "Release the scepter to me, or you will be sorry!"
|
|
"I can not. I will not."
|
|
Adamik growled in frustration. Sword-rattling obviously wasn't
|
|
going to be enough. He hadn't expected to get Hekorivas without a fight
|
|
of some kind, but it troubled him that he felt like he was losing the
|
|
contest of wills.
|
|
"I will give you some time to reconsider, Zarilt. Think well to
|
|
what lengths I might go to gain what I want." He turned and strode
|
|
single-mindedly to the doors, scattering the handful of students who had
|
|
followed him in. His soldiers started toward the body of their fallen
|
|
comrade, but Adamik said, "No. Leave him to the teacher and his
|
|
students. Rinask served me well in life but can no longer serve in
|
|
death." He stopped and turned back to Zarilt. "Until tomorrow, Tch --
|
|
*old man*!" And he was gone.
|
|
Zarilt's students crowded around him, all babbling at once in
|
|
fright. None of them had ever seen the might of the vault displayed, but
|
|
neither had Zarilt himself. He had known that the vault was protected
|
|
and had trusted in the tenets of his office. The result of Rinask's
|
|
action had been as gruesome as the twisty limbs in the floor were, but
|
|
effective also. His treasures were in no danger. His students ... well,
|
|
he just didn't know.
|
|
He reassured those around him, and soon each had left except one.
|
|
Ninya, who stayed by him behind the altar, asked, "Do you know what he
|
|
intends, Tchad?"
|
|
"No, Ninya, I don't. I think he may be even more ruthless than I
|
|
feared, however. He sacrificed his own man to prove that he was serious
|
|
in his desire for Hekorivas. What else might he be willing to sacrifice
|
|
to gain that artifact?"
|
|
"Is that not reason, then, to resist? To take up arms, to stand in
|
|
the hallway out there and hold him off? To send for help?"
|
|
"No, Ninya, it is not. Fighting is not part of the Way. Resistance
|
|
to others cannot lead to happiness. Serenity will armor me against
|
|
anything that he does, and any of my students who stay in the face of
|
|
what Adamik represents must learn the same, and swiftly."
|
|
"But, Tchad," Ninya all but whined, "What use is serenity when you
|
|
are dead?"
|
|
Zarilt looked her in the eye, calling upon all of his calm and
|
|
confidence. He said, "If serenity is a worthy goal -- and it is -- then
|
|
serenity is its own reward. If I were to die now, my search for serenity
|
|
would still have been worth every moment that I spent on it. There is no
|
|
result to be earned, no reward at the end. The result is happiness now,
|
|
the reward is serenity today.
|
|
"Let me ask you a question, Ninya. Do you think that Warlord Adamik
|
|
is happy?"
|
|
Ninya laughed a short, derisive laugh. "Of course he is! He is
|
|
powerful, so he can have anything he wants. His army earns him his every
|
|
desire. How could he not be happy?"
|
|
"If that is happiness, then how is it that I am happy? No, Ninya,
|
|
he is not happy. His army can not bring him everything he wants, though
|
|
he thinks it can. It cannot bring him Hekorivas, can it?
|
|
"There is a simpler test, however. I am happy in and of myself, and
|
|
no one can take that away from me if I do not let them do so. But I ask
|
|
you, Ninya, what of Adamik? He has a powerful army, and people respect
|
|
and fear him. This gains him much, and makes him happy in a way. But his
|
|
happiness is not of himself nor with himself. Others suffice to make him
|
|
happy.
|
|
"So what happens, Ninya, where is his happiness, if Adamik meets
|
|
someone who is powerful enough to take it away from him?"
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
A Tale of Two Thieves
|
|
Part 1
|
|
by JD Kenyon
|
|
<email@janine.cc>
|
|
Seber 1017
|
|
|
|
"Can you see her?" Durvin Karrick whispered loudly. Storn Mard, a
|
|
good head taller than his companion, had no trouble finding the woman
|
|
and her child, even at a distance from the crowd that had gathered for
|
|
Dargon's annual blessing of its fleet of ships. He watched as the little
|
|
girl trailed behind her mother, clutching a chewy-apple in her grubby
|
|
hand. From his vantage point in the alley, he followed their weaving
|
|
path along the edge of the milling throng.
|
|
"She's heading towards the dock." His look was appreciative -- she
|
|
was a fine woman, worthy of more than one glance even when not being
|
|
followed.
|
|
"You've got to get close to her." Durvin's breath reeked of ale and
|
|
Storn shoved him away.
|
|
"Just get away and leave me to it." Impatient to get on with the
|
|
plan, he found his target again. She bent down to swoop her daughter
|
|
into her arms and he could hear her light laughter as she examined the
|
|
brown sticky mess all over the little one's face.
|
|
"Go now!" Durvin said insistently.
|
|
Storn shrugged away from Durvin's hand on his back and stepped into
|
|
the road, sweeping his cloak over his shoulder and turning to keep his
|
|
eye on the woman. He did not want to get too close; his timing would
|
|
have to be perfect. He glanced back to see if Durvin had left the alley.
|
|
It would all come to naught if the idiot got himself recognized by one
|
|
of the town guard. Thankfully, he was gone from sight. Storn inhaled
|
|
deeply and lengthened his stride.
|
|
The citizens of Dargon seemed in a festive mood as they ambled
|
|
around vendors' stalls, even though a thick gray blanket of clouds
|
|
hinted at possible rain. Squeals of delight rang out from a group of
|
|
children as they tossed hard-shelled flingers onto the rocks and rushed
|
|
to collect them. He edged his way past the row of people waiting to have
|
|
their fortunes revealed from the broken flingers and wondered whether
|
|
his future would show a sudden increase in wealth. A guardsman cast a
|
|
keen eye over him and he hurried on past. He was virtually a stranger in
|
|
these parts following a lengthy absence from Dargon and there was no
|
|
need to draw attention at this stage of the plan. For a moment he lost
|
|
sight of mother and daughter, then saw the small head of dark curls
|
|
bobbing up and down to his right as the young woman tried to adjust the
|
|
wriggling child on her hip. She had joined a group that was making its
|
|
way towards the dock where the ceremony would be performed. He changed
|
|
his pace and moved in behind them.
|
|
Up close, he could see that the woman had tiny flowers pressed into
|
|
the braids that swung across her back with each step. The little girl
|
|
had noticed him and he gave her a big wink. She tucked her head down and
|
|
scrunched her face into her mother's slender neck.
|
|
"Ginny ..." the woman reprimanded gently, twisting away from the
|
|
small gooey hands that had suddenly been flung around her neck. Storn
|
|
slowed his pace and bent down, adjusting his boot clasp but watching the
|
|
figure in front of him from under his fringe of hair.
|
|
She started to move again and he rose quickly, moving to her side
|
|
as they neared the edge of the dock. A swift glance assured him that
|
|
everyone around them was absorbed with the pending arrival of the
|
|
priests. Storn nudged closer, aware that the tot's big blue eyes were
|
|
locked onto him. The moment was right he decided, and sneaked his hand
|
|
to the little girl's leg and gave it a playful tweak. The effect was
|
|
immediate: the face crumpled and the little mouth let out an almighty
|
|
wail. The woman stopped short and Storn gave a loud gasp of surprise as
|
|
he tumbled to his left over some netting and ropes, and plunged into the
|
|
murky waters below the dock.
|
|
As he rose to the surface spluttering, he heard the urgent calls
|
|
for help and saw that mother and daughter were huddled most concernedly
|
|
just above him. Storn also realized that the water was cold and smelled
|
|
foul, and in his head, he cursed Durvin. He looked for a foothold, but
|
|
was forced to tread water. Someone tossed him a rough rope. His body
|
|
thudded into the dockside pillars as they hauled him up, but within a
|
|
mene, several hands were clutching at him and boosting him onto the
|
|
dock. He twisted his head and coughed.
|
|
"I am so sorry. So, so sorry," the woman he had been following said
|
|
anxiously to him as he slumped onto the wooden deck. Other voices asked
|
|
if he was all right and he nodded his reassurances, spitting into the
|
|
water and tugging off his cape. With the excitement over and a clamor
|
|
growing nearby as the priests approached the fleet, people began to head
|
|
off, leaving Storn hunched over, wringing out his sodden cloak. The
|
|
woman waited.
|
|
"That was cold," he announced, looking into her guilt-laden eyes
|
|
and inwardly breathing a sigh of relief that she had not bolted. She had
|
|
a protective arm around her daughter.
|
|
"I didn't realize ..." Her remorse was genuine.
|
|
Storn smiled. "No harm done, madam. Just a bit of a soak." He
|
|
dropped his cloak and extended a hand. "Storn Mard is the name."
|
|
His disarming smile had the desired effect: the tension eased from
|
|
her face and she slipped a soft hand into his clasp. "I'm Della," she
|
|
said, "and this little mischief maker is Ginny."
|
|
Storn focused on the tot, who was cowed in her mother's arm.
|
|
"Hello, Ginny." He tousled her curls and gave her a conspiratorial wink.
|
|
"I suppose we had better get up."
|
|
He straightened, water dripping from his drenched clothes. Della
|
|
stood up too, and a bashful Ginny buried her face in the folds of her
|
|
mother's skirt.
|
|
"I'll find a spot out of the way to dry off." He looked up at the
|
|
overcast skies, and then offered a further explanation. "I'm staying at
|
|
the Feathered Pig."
|
|
He watched as Della grasped the predicament, as the inn was a good
|
|
way out of town.
|
|
"I live nearby," she said. "I suppose you can come and dry off in
|
|
front of a fire."
|
|
"I wouldn't want to impose." Storn squirmed from one foot to the
|
|
other and the water squelched in his boots. There was no need to feign
|
|
the coldness he was feeling; every shiver came from the bone.
|
|
"It's no problem," she said. "After all, we did knock you into the
|
|
water."
|
|
"Well, if you are sure." He shuddered involuntarily. "If the foul
|
|
water doesn't kill me, the cold surely will."
|
|
"It's not far." Della picked her daughter up onto her hip.
|
|
Storn smiled warmly again. "Just lead the way." He had reeled her
|
|
in as easy as eating honeyed pie. This was the reason he was known as
|
|
the best swindler in Baranur he thought smugly as they left the docks
|
|
behind.
|
|
|
|
The house on Ramit Street was unusual. Judging by the
|
|
worse-for-wear forge that now served as a stove and fireplace, it had
|
|
once been a smithy. Storn looked about while Della sat the little one at
|
|
the table and produced a wheat cake from a pottery jar, then turned her
|
|
attention to stoking up a new fire with some wheezing bellows. Things
|
|
were going far better than he had expected. He had heard much about
|
|
Della from his partner Durvin, and had thought it was an exaggeration,
|
|
like so many of Durvin's tales, until he met her this day. He wished
|
|
Durvin had provided a bit more detail. After all, Della was Durvin's
|
|
former wife. Storn found his eyes straying to her gentle curves and slim
|
|
waist. She looked up and he glanced away.
|
|
"I'll just be a mene," she said, and disappeared into a back room.
|
|
He looked around -- there were no cupboards or cabinets. A few pots
|
|
and pans hung from large hooks above a small table. The place was
|
|
sparsely furnished, but had a comfortable feel. Storn saw a few bolts of
|
|
cloth on a low bed in the corner and a half-completed dress spread out
|
|
on the kitchen table. If Della had the money Durvin claimed she did,
|
|
then she was using it sparingly.
|
|
He suddenly realized that she was back and that her eyes were on
|
|
him -- and on the puddle that was forming at his feet.
|
|
"I appear to be making a mess of your neat home," he said.
|
|
She offered him a pile of clothes. "You can use that room to
|
|
change."
|
|
He shrugged off his cloak and she took it from him.
|
|
"The clothes may be a bit tight, but they're dry." Then she added
|
|
hastily by way of explanation, "They belonged to my late husband."
|
|
Storn repressed a smile as he pictured her "late husband" Durvin
|
|
propping up the tavern counter and downing yet another ale. It was
|
|
somehow fitting that he should be dressing in Durvin's clothes.
|
|
"Thanks." He squelched across to the doorway, pausing to undo the
|
|
twist of curtaining draped above the lintel.
|
|
This room was also bare: a bed, a nightstand, a chest and a
|
|
makeshift shelf. With his ears pricked, listening to Della's lively
|
|
chatter with her daughter, Storn undressed. As he stripped off his
|
|
shirt, he looked for possible hiding places: the little treasure trove
|
|
that Durvin had promised would be there somewhere. He let his boots thud
|
|
to the floor as he hurriedly searched the nightstand drawer, then
|
|
crouched down to peer under the bed. In the dark, he could make out a
|
|
loose floorboard that jutted slightly askance. He felt a sense of
|
|
elation as he finished undressing and pulled the dry clothes on, tugging
|
|
as they stuck to his wet skin and sighing when he saw how short the
|
|
sleeves were. At least the leggings were a better fit, but if he had
|
|
been a modest man he would have been a tad wary about the close cut that
|
|
clearly accentuated his masculinity.
|
|
"Are you all right?" she called, and Storn realized that he had
|
|
taken his time. He pulled back the curtain and she fought to suppress a
|
|
smile.
|
|
"Your mirth is not appreciated, madam," he said in a mock stern
|
|
tone as she gave a spontaneous laugh.
|
|
"I'm sorry. You do look odd though." Della laughed again. She
|
|
reached for his wet clothes and draped them over a bench and a chair,
|
|
which she had moved closer to the forge. Storn padded across the floor
|
|
in bare feet and placed his boots close to the heat.
|
|
"Do sit down, Milord Mard." She gestured to the clothes that had
|
|
now started to give off wisps of steam. "They may take a while to dry."
|
|
There was only one chair left, and he hesitated. Della resolved his
|
|
dilemma by swinging Ginny onto her hip and sitting down on the edge of
|
|
the bed pallet in the corner.
|
|
"I should really leave," he said, as he sat down on the edge of the
|
|
seat.
|
|
"You should at least stay until your boots have dried out some
|
|
more." She settled a sleepy-looking Ginny on the bed. "Let me get you
|
|
something to drink."
|
|
He watched as she got up and walked past him. He had not pictured
|
|
her like this at all. From Durvin's description, Storn had expected
|
|
Della to be cold and humorless -- more like the "nagging, demanding,
|
|
selfish, high and mighty hussy" he had been told about. He had met
|
|
Durvin at Jo'nass' Tavern in Port Andestn about a year before, and their
|
|
common background -- both formerly from Dargon -- had been the basis for
|
|
their partnership in crime. Storn was the charming swindler in their
|
|
partnership. He would befriend lonely widows; and as he wooed, he would
|
|
watch and note the little details of their homes. What better alibi than
|
|
to be with the widow herself when some dastard thief broke in? It had
|
|
proven to be a smart plan that netted both Durvin and Storn a goodly
|
|
hoard. Unfortunately, there were only so many widows, and it had seemed
|
|
a good idea to leave when Storn's charm started wearing off because of
|
|
rumors.
|
|
"Where are you from, Milord Mard?" she asked, interrupting his
|
|
thoughts.
|
|
" I was in Dargon to check on a valuable shipment, but need to
|
|
return to Port Andestn." Storn decided on a vague mixture of the truth.
|
|
"It just seemed like a good idea to see the blessing of the fleet."
|
|
"I'm sorry that we ruined the festival for you." She set up two
|
|
mugs.
|
|
"Not much to regret. The fleet will be blessed again next year,"
|
|
Storn said, knowing that he had no intention of being in Dargon next
|
|
year. After this little caper and their activities in Port Andestn, he
|
|
and Durvin would have to seek the anonymity of some or other town --
|
|
possibly Hawksbridge, or even the city of Magnus -- for a while.
|
|
A sweet spicy scent wafted his way as Della decanted some short
|
|
mead.
|
|
"I'm sorry I couldn't offer you anything warmer to wear." She
|
|
handed him a mug.
|
|
"I suppose I would have been luckier if my rescuer had been a
|
|
tailor instead of a seamstress." He gestured to the dress and bolts of
|
|
cloth.
|
|
"A man in a dress -- now that would make an awful sight." She
|
|
tossed her hair back and laughed, and Storn found himself laughing too.
|
|
|
|
"What happened next?" Durvin was hunched over the table, glaring at
|
|
Storn who was seated opposite him in the otherwise deserted Rogue and
|
|
Quiver.
|
|
"Keep your voice down, fool," Storn said angrily, checking to see
|
|
if they were drawing any attention. The tavern owner was leaning against
|
|
the counter, cleaning his fingernails with a short dagger, and the only
|
|
serving wench present was sprawled across a table, polishing silver
|
|
tankards in a bored daze.
|
|
"The stupid sow gave you my clothes," Durvin said.
|
|
"Do you want to hear what I found, or not?" Storn waited as Durvin
|
|
picked up his ale and took a swig, then leaned back against the bench.
|
|
"I think you may be right about the money."
|
|
"You see!" Durvin clanged his tankard down. "Bitch took my money,
|
|
ran me off with threats to expose me, and now she is living in noble
|
|
style."
|
|
Storn decided to ignore Durvin's sullen outbursts and instead
|
|
presented the facts, as he saw them. "She says she is working as a
|
|
seamstress, but there wasn't much work lying about. She dresses well,
|
|
but the place is sparsely furnished." He pictured it again in his head.
|
|
"She has also spent money recently. The walls look like they have just
|
|
been whitewashed and she was wearing a fine pair of shoes for someone
|
|
counting their rounds."
|
|
"Well it certainly ain't from an inheritance. Her mother died
|
|
little more than a pauper," Durvin interjected. "No great loss there --
|
|
the old woman was a real curmudgeon."
|
|
Storn expressed his doubts. "I really don't think we are talking
|
|
about a lot of money, Durvin."
|
|
"You don't know Della like I do, Storn Mard. She's a hoarder, that
|
|
one. Set aside every coin that came into the house when we were married,
|
|
and turned it ten times before it went out." Durvin snorted and spat on
|
|
the ground. "She took a big pile of my plunderings too. Della's a
|
|
devious one, I tell you."
|
|
"Well, I still have to find out where she is hiding it." Storn
|
|
recalled the loose floorboard, but decided not to reveal it just yet.
|
|
"We just have to make sure she isn't there when we go look for it."
|
|
Durvin snarled, "So what do you propose we do? Spend a few more
|
|
weeks here until we see our chance?"
|
|
"No. Perhaps it's simpler than that," Storn said slowly. He had
|
|
just figured out a way to do it. "I think she's already taken a fancy to
|
|
me."
|
|
"She's not a widow, you bastardly jack-a-dandy. She's my wife!"
|
|
Durvin cried out.
|
|
"Not any more." Storn sucked in a deep breath, wondering what a
|
|
beautiful woman like Della had ever seen in a fool like Durvin Karrick.
|
|
"The mighty Mard," Durvin said sarcastically. "Truth is you are
|
|
always thinking with your pecker, aren't you?"
|
|
"The truth is that this plan has worked well for us before," Storn
|
|
said, annoyed. "It will work fine here too." He leaned back against the
|
|
bench and clasped his hands behind his head.
|
|
Durvin scratched his beard and slowly rubbed his hairy throat
|
|
before he spoke. "Straight, Storn. You get the woman and a third of the
|
|
loot --"
|
|
Storn smacked his hand on the table. "A *third*! We agreed on half,
|
|
you screegull scum!"
|
|
"Ah. But that was before you planned to sleep with my wife."
|
|
"Former wife, you stupid lout. You left her, remember?" Storn said.
|
|
"Or perhaps you still have feelings for her?" he asked in an accusing
|
|
tone.
|
|
"I forgot that bitch a long time ago," Durvin said with a sneer.
|
|
"If you go anywhere near her, she'll report you to the town guard."
|
|
Storn reminded him. "Somehow I don't think *they* have forgotten how you
|
|
murdered a guardsman."
|
|
Durvin grunted and swore under his breath. "All right!" He glared
|
|
at his smirking partner, who knew too well that he had to stay out of
|
|
sight in Dargon or risk being arrested. "You can take half."
|
|
"Fair share partners!" Storn declared and thrust his hand out.
|
|
Durvin gripped it.
|
|
"So be it," he stated.
|
|
Storn smiled and lifted his tankard. "To good fortune -- no matter
|
|
whose we claim!"
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|