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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 6
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Issue 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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-- DargonZine Volume 6, Issue 3 08/02/93 Cir 1xxx --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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-- Archives at FTP.EFF.ORG (192.88.144.4) in pub/journals/DargonZine --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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-- Contents --
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Despatches from the Field (Special War Recap)
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Heroic Couplet Jeff Lee Yule, 1014
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For What We Are About To Receive... Part I
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John Doucette Yule 14, 1014
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'Bout 'Majin Orny Liscomb Firil, 1016
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 (This is a comprehenisve review of the Baranur-Beinison war,
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which started rather a few volumes ago. Enjoy.)
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Despatches From the Field:
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Prelude to Invasion
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Nober. A time of endings and beginnings. The year is 1013 B.Y.
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and there are numerous celebrations being planned to mark the turning
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of the year. Just a few short weeks earlier, King Haralan had
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celebrated his thirty-sixth birthday. Sir Edward Sothos, Haralan's
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close friend and advisor and the kingdom's Knight Commander, would
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soon celebrate his thirty-first.
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Winter had come slightly earlier than expected and displayed a
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ferocity such as few could remember. The storms raging outside Crown
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Castle's environs went almost un-noticed. Inside the castle, the
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nobles of the land were engaged in heated debate and exchanging even
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hotter words in the great War Council called by the King.
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The past year had been a tumultuous one for the third-largest
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kingdom on the continent. Early in 1012, rumors began circulating that
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Bichu, an island Empire south and west of Baranur was planning to
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invade. Almost nothing was known about Bichu. Other than the fact that
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the Bichanese warriors, samurai they were called in the native tongue
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of Bichu, were fanatical in battle and were said to possess swords of
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un-matched quality, the most the average Baranurian knew of Bichu, if
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they knew of it at all, was that they were alien and they wanted their
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land. Thus spoke the rumours.
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The truth was very different. In reality, the rumours had been
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started by a group of nobles and merchants from Duchy Dargon, in the
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extreme northwest. This small group of individuals had been persuaded
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to stir up trouble by agents of the Beinisonian Emperor, Untar II. The
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general idea was to make Baranur and Bichu go to war so that the
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Beinisonian Empire could then move on Baranur, which would have been
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weakened considerably by the war, thus adding the lands of Baranur to
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Beinison only a modicum of effort.
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To this end, the conspirators planned the assassination of
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several of Baranur's nobles, chief among these the Duke of Dargon
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himself. The assassination attempt against the Duke failed, but
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resulted in the death of one of the heirs of the Barony of Connall.
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The Connall family were relatives of Duke Dargon and with him had been
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among the most vociferous in their protestation against going to war
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with Bichu. Since the Barony now had only one surviving member of the
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ruling family, the decision of whom to choose as successor to the late
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Baron was now academic. Luthias Connall was invested as Baron Connall
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by his cousin the Duke and all seemed fine.
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All was not fine, though. Duke Dargon had appointed Connall as
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Duke's Advocate, chief upholder of the King's Justice in the Duchy. As
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Duke's Advocate, it fell to Luthias to investigate the conspiracy. The
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primary conspirator, Baron Coronabo, contrived to have evidence
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planted in Duke Dargon's office that implicated the Duke as the man
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behind the plot to have Baranur go to war with Bichu, and thus the man
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responsible for Connall's twin brother's death.
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Connall was forced to investigate the charges and he concluded,
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however reluctantly, that there was indeeed evidence to proceed to
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trial. By Baranurian law, a high-ranking noble such as a Duke had to
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be tried before the King in Magnus. Sir Edward, in Dargon to judge a
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tournament, escorted Duke Dargon to Magnus for the trial. Defending
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Dargon was Lord Marcellon of Equiville, Dargon's father-in-law and
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former Royal Magist. As Duke's Advocate for Duchy Dargon, it fell to
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Baron Connall to prosecute.
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By summer, 1013, it was over. Working together, Marcellon and
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Connall had exposed the real conspirators and proved Dargon's
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innocence. King Haralan called a War Council of respected nobles from
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throughout the Kingdom. This Council would give the King advice on how
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to respond to the Beinisonian plot. An early decision was made to send
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Count Connall, newly created as such in reward for exposing the
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conspiracy, to Beinison as Ambassador. There he would inquire to the
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Beinisonian Emperor as to his intentions towards Baranur.
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The summer also saw the arrival of a most unexpected embassy from
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the Empire of Galicia, Sir Edward's homeland. Galicia had, for several
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hundred years and by it's own choice, been isolated from the outside
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world. It maintained a policy of aggressive neutrality. No one was
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permitted to cross the border in either direction excpet by direct
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command of the Emperor, Nyrull I. The origin of this policy was
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unknown save by the Galicians themselves and they weren't talking.
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Thus, the arrival of an embassy from the Galician Emperor was an
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occasion of note.
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Haralan was pleasantly surprised to find that the ambassador had
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instructions to work out some sort of trade agreement between the two
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nations. He was less than happy when his Knight Commander nearly took
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the ambassador's head off, quite literally, when the two met.
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Sir Edward and the ambassador had been old foes from their days
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as mercenaries in the chaotic Kingdom of Alnor, built on the ruins of
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the ancient Fretheod Empire on the continent of Duurom. Moreover,
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Ambassador Myros was also Baron of Alphoria. For close to a thousand
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years, Alphoria had been held by the Sothos family. Myros took great
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delight in informing Sir Edward that Edward's father, Dion, had been
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executed for treason. Adding to Sir Edward's rage was the fact that
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Myros was accompanied by his wife, Elaine. Elaine Myros, formerly
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Elaine Janos, daughter to the former Count Janos, had been the object
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of Edward's affection eight years earlier in Galicia. Edward had
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killed the son of one of Galicia's powerful Dukes in a duel over
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Elaine and was forced into exile. Myros knew full well the history
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between his wife and Edward and took further delight in seeing
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Edward's reaction. The War Council dragged on into winter, awaiting a
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reply from Count Connall, and the Galician embassy stayed to observe.
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Ambassador Myros had his own personal agenda in coming to
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Baranur. He was part of a cabal, headed by Duke Markin, the father of
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the man Edward killed, that was plotting to overthrow the Galician
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Emperor. Myros saw in the embassy a perfect opportunity to recruit
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allies and a source of men and material for the coming coup.
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With Myros was a sorceress by the name of Celeste. She professed
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to be in Myros' service, but in reality, she was a member of The
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Order, a secret organization of Galician mages dedicated totally to
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preserving the Empire. The Order's leader, the Primus, had instructed
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Celeste to report on Myros' activities. Myros was known to The Order
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as one of the cabal and they hoped to learn more about Myros' plans
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while in Baranur and about Baranur itself. Celeste, too, had her own
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agenda to pursue. While reporting on Myros, she hoped to utilize the
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information she gained to turn the situation to her best advantage.
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The end of the War Council was spectacular. An Ambassador arrived
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from Beinison with a gift -- the head of Luthias Connall in a golden
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box. On the same day, just after the "gift" had been opened, an
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assassination team from Galicia arrived with the intent of "removing"
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Myros and his chief advisors.
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The result of these two events was that an angry King declared
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war on Beinison and Myros escaped while his underlings died. In a move
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that surprised the whole Baranurian Court, Celeste, leader of the
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assassination team, offered Sir Edward the coronet of Alphoria by
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Nyrull's command. Sir Edward refused, saying his oath to his friend
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and King, and the coming war, demanded that he stay in Baranur.
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The new year would bring red war to the Kingdom of Baranur and
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the tales the bards would tell would be ones of great heroes and even
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greater tragedies.
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Despatches From the Field:
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Bloody Spring
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Deber, 1013, finds the Kingdom of Baranur gripped by the worst
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winter in living memory. War has come to Baranur, a war of inaction --
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nothing can move through the heavy snows and freezing cold.
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Into this frozen hell journey brave men and women on struggling
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horses. They carry messages to all corners of the Kingdom, announcing
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war. The people have not been expecting war, not with Beinison and the
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news comes as a shock. In the barracks and cantonments of the Royal
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Army, the shock is a double one. For with the declaration of war comes
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orders from the Knight Commander -- Move south with all haste. In the
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dead of winter, the commanders of the Royal Army stare with
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incredulity at seemingly impossible orders.
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Edward Sothos, Knight Commander of the Royal Armies, knows how
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difficult the orders are. He gives them because he has no other
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choice. The Royal Army can muster 43,000 warriors at the start of
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Deber. Fourteen thousand in each of the Northern and Southern Marches
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and fifteen thousand at Magnus. Another 10,000 are being recruited and
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trained and must remain in their training schools. The Militia of the
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Kingdom, 50,000 strong, are mobilizing also though the quality of the
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Militia Regiments varies widely.
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Sir Edward knows his troops will be facing the full might of the
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Beinisonian armies and so he gives the order for all available troops
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to bolster Knight Captain Martis Westbrook's Army of the Southern
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Marches. The Northern Marches, under the command of Knight Captain
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Ailean of Bivar, is stripped of troops -- Sir Ailean is left with only
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five thousand out of his original force of fourteen thousand. The
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Magnus Garrison remains as a strategic reserve.
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As the preparations go on, Edward and Marcellon are summoned
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south by the Duke of Pyridain. A man sufering heavily from his travels
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has come from Beinison. He claims to be a Baranurian subject and says
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he has information for the Knight Commander.
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With spring almost upon the land, Edward and Marcellon arrive to
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interrogate the traveller. They discover him to be none other than
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Luthias Connall, whose very "execution" by the Beinisonians was the
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spark that started the war, very much alive and in very bad condition.
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From him, they learn that the Beinisonians are planing a surprise
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attack on the Laraka River, Magnus' economic lifeline and, now,
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under-defended. They also learn that the enemy does not plan to wait
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until summer, the traditional campaign season, to attack. Sir Edward's
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strategy of concentrating his forces in the south will blunt the
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enemy's main attack but has left the entire Northwest open to
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invasion.
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By Melrin, the Royal Army is reeling from losses on both fronts.
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In the South, the enemy's main army shattered Knight Captain
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Westbrook's force at Oron's Crossroads. Virtually the entirety of the
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Noble Houses of the Southern Marches is annihilated and a goodly
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portion of the Pyridain Militia with it. In what will become
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recognized as one of the great blunders of the war, the Beinisonian
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Emperor, Untar II, allows Martis Westbrook to extricate over half her
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19,500 troops unmolested. These troops will continue to be a drain on
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Beinisonian resources throughout the war.
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Untar's main army, the Fist of the Emperor, goes on to reduce
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Pyridain City (defended by the remnants of the Baranurian heavy
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infantry that fought at Oron's Crossroads), and begins its march on
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Magnus, laying waste to the countryside as it goes.
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In the North, 20,000 troops commanded by an up-and-coming field
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marshal of the Beinisonian army, Joachim Vasquez, lands at Sharks'
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Cove (Duchy Quinnat) on the mouth of the Laraka River. Sir Ailean of
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Bivar meets this attack at the water's edge with 5,500 men. The
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Baranurian forces give the elite light troops of the enemy a good
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thrashing but are finally overwhelmed. Lord Morion of Pentamorlo
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rallies the survivors and begins a long and gruelling retreat down the
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Laraka. He plans to make his stand at Gateway Keep, 250 leagues north
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of Magnus and designed for just this purpose.
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Vasquez moves quickly in pursuit, but is delayed at Port Sevlyn,
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a city of 10,000 halfway between Sharks' Cove and Gateway Keep and
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thus a vital base of supply. One of the Duchy of Quinnat's Militia
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Regiments garrisons the city and determines to hold off the enemy for
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as long as possible.
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The 1,000 defenders hold off the enemy army for three days, an
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incredible feat of arms. At the end, Vasquez orders the garrison, and
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half the populace, put to the sword as an example to discourage
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further resistance. He leaves some troops to garrison the city and
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moves off down the Laraka towards Gateway and Magnus.
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As Yule, 1014, reaches its midpoint, three great armies threaten
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Baranur. In the South, Untar and the 30,000 strong Fist of the Emperor
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are drawing ever closer to Magnus and if not checked will arrive by
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Seber. On the Laraka, Vasquez has received reinforcements and is
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preparing to launch an attack on the desperate defenders of Gateway
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Keep. In the North, a force of 15,000 approaches Dargon City from the
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sea undetected.
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To counter the threat to the capital, the Knight Commander has
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sent Baranur's heavy cavalry, the 8,000 strong Royal Hussars, to aid
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Lord Morion in his defence of Gateway Keep while other forces begin
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the march toward Magnus, hoping to reach the city before the enemy.
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The spring of 1014 has been one of blood and death. The coming
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summer promises to be one of carnage and horror unsurpassed.
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 Heroic Couplet
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by Jeff Lee
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jlee@smylex.uucp
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Thomas Shopkeeper knelt on the cold stone in front of King
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Haralan, well aware of the many eyes on his back.
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"This man," the King proclaimed to the gathered crowd, "has
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singlehandedly removed the greatest threat that our fair country has
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known in over a century. The Beinison threat is ended, and we can at
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last return to peace!"
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As the crowd roared, Haralan stepped back to make room for
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another. Sir Edward Sothos, towering over the kneeling Thomas, laid a
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black-gloved hand on the man's shoulder. "Thomas Shopkeeper, you have
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done what neither I nor my armies could accomplish." In a voice
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overflowing with emotion, he continued: "It is meet that you,
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therefore, rather than I, should bear the title and duties of Knight
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Commander of the Royal Armies." Sothos' brown eyes gleamed as he
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smiled down at the astonished man.
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When the cheers had again died away, King Haralan stepped forward
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once more. "Thomas, for your great service to Us, We are moved to make
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you a Baron of Our Court. No more shall you be called Shopkeeper, but
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Baron Thomas -- the Hero!"
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"What are you still doing in bed, you lazy slug?" The cacophony
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of the crowd was pierced suddenly by the shrewish screams of Thomas'
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wife; the finery of Dargon Keep's great hall dissolved into the
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dreary, familiar scene of Thomas' bedroom. Sunlight streamed in
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through a broken slat in the shutters, and as Thomas watched, a beetle
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flew in through the gap and hung transfixed for a moment in the beam
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of light.
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"Nothing, dear, I was just getting up."
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"Don't you `dear' me, slugabed!" The swat of Madge's broom
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punctuated her sentences eloquently. "It's daylight out; you should
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have opened up the shop hours ago! But, no, you must lie here, wasting
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the best hours of the morning. Now GET" -- swat -- "OUT" -- swat --
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"of BED!"
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"Yes, dear," he sighed.
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Thomas considered himself as he polished the brass candlesticks
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for the third time that morning. He was short, portly, losing his
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hair; he looked, for the most part, like his own father at forty. Ah,
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he'd dreamed, when growing up, about a life of adventure and glory,
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but in the end he was only a shopkeeper, like his father, and his
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father's father. Timothy, his son, was doing well at University; he
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might escape the stagnation which had enfolded Thomas like the arms of
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an old lover.
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And then there was Madge. He'd loved her once, yes, but that
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seemed so long ago. The lot of a shopkeeper's wife was like bitter
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herbs to her, souring her gradually as the monotony grew. She'd been
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beautiful once, he recalled; so beautiful before the despair and
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bitterness set in.
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He'd hated himself that he couldn't give her more in life; his
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shame turned him to drink. What little comfort he could have given
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her, he'd withheld by going instead to the tavern. At first, he'd
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stayed out until after she was asleep; yet he still noticed the tears
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drying on the pillow when he got into bed. The shame this caused him,
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though, would ever disappear into the bottle on the next night.
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He could hardly blame her, then, that her tongue became harsh
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whenever she spoke to him; that the hurt look in her eyes hardened and
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became, when she bothered to look at him, one of loathing. Gentle,
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beautiful Madge became a bitter shrew, and it was all his fault.
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Ah, he said to himself as he moved dishes from one shelf to
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another, if only things had been different. If only I'd rescued a
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princess from a horrible monster. She'd have rewarded me well, and I'd
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have been a hero. I could have --
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"Thomas!" came Madge's shrill voice, interrupting his reverie. He
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spun about guiltily, then flinched back when he saw her in the
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doorway, brandishing an iron skillet as though ready to brain him with
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it.
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"What, dear?"
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"This skillet is cracked!" She waved it furiously as proof. "I
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only bought it a week ago, and now it's completely useless. You take
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this right back to the ironmonger and DEMAND a new one!"
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Alas, Thomas mused as he left his shop, by the time you realise
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the damage you've done to someone, it's too late to repair.
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Thomas stopped in mid-stride as he heard the muffled cry from the
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alleyway. He gaped stupidly as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light
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and reported the scene within the shadows.
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A man lay on the muddy ground, the back of his blue servant's
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livery stained black with blood, which pooled under him like the
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morning mist in a valley. Just beyond the body were two coarse-looking
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men, one holding a wicked dagger at a woman's throat while the other
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tore a jewelled pin from her bodice.
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"Here, you, take your hands off her," Thomas cried without
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thinking. Both men turned towards him, the one with the knife throwing
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his captive roughly to the ground.
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The other, bigger man leapt at Thomas, swinging with a powerful
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roundhouse. Instinctively, Thomas ducked, then brought the skillet
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around with all his might, connecting with the back of his assailant's
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head. The man dropped like a felled ox.
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A sudden pain made Thomas look down; the handle of the other
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ruffian's dagger protruded from his chest. As he fell to his knees, he
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heard the man's footsteps running out of the alley, back into the
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street.
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"Ah," Thomas said, his own voice seeming to reach his ears from
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miles away. He felt nothing, neither pain nor emotion, and his mouth
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kept repeating, "Ah, ah," of its own volition. The alleyway tilted
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crazily as he toppled; the ground took forever to receive him, it
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seemed. All of his warmth spread from the grievous wound in his
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breast, and darkness began encroaching on the alley from the corners
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of his eyes.
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Hands on his shoulders. The world tilting until the sky was above
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him. The lady looking down at him, ice-blue eyes wide in horror. She
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was as beautiful a woman as he had ever seen: petite, with short, dark
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red hair and skin as white as the driven snow. He gazed at her small
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mouth, the thin red lips moving, but her words seemed muffled as
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though she were speaking through many thick blankets.
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He wanted to cry out, tell her that the red mud was ruining her
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expensive clothes, but he lacked the strength. He tried to hear what
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she was saying, instead.
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"-- repay you; you saved my life. Oh, please don't --" He could
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see little more than her face now. Her lips moved some more, and then
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she said, "You are a true hero."
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"A hero," he whispered; and then he smiled; and then he died.
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 For What We Are About to Receive...
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Part I
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by John Doucette
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<jdoucette@venus.cc.hollandc.pe.ca>
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Crown Castle, Magnus, Royal Duchy, Baranur
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14 Yule, 1014 B.Y.
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Haralan Tallirhan, by the Grace of God King of Baranur and Duke
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of Magnus, watched the column of Hussars wind its way through the
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Royal District as it made its way towards Northgate.
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|
A slight breeze was blowing, bringing some relief from the
|
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stifling heat. In the city below the first wall of Crown Castle,
|
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people were going about their business almost as if the war was not
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merely 250 leagues from Magnus.
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The thing which brought the war home to people was the striking
|
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lack of shipping alongside the city's docks. With the main trade
|
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artery of the Laraka now denied the capital, Haralan was forced to
|
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bring in by land everything needed to keep a city of 50,000 souls
|
|
functioning, a very expensive and unsatisfactory method of sustanance.
|
|
To be sure, food was not a problem - the fields of the Royal
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|
Duchy were rich enough to supply a population three or four times that
|
|
which was present. The state of the city's commerce, however, was a
|
|
different matter.
|
|
Ever since the closing of the Laraka, the Merchant Houses had
|
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been clamouring for Haralan to do something, anything, to re-start the
|
|
flow of trade. Prices had increased for the fifth time since Melrin.
|
|
The poor were beginning to grow dissatisfied as well. Soon, the King
|
|
of Baranur could be facing riot inside the walls of his own capital.
|
|
Assuming, of course, that Untar hadn't claimed Haralan's throne
|
|
by then. Haralan's friend and advisor Sir Edward Sothos had for days
|
|
been sounding the alarm of Untar and his Fist of the Emperor's
|
|
progress.
|
|
"You may succeed on the Laraka, Connall, only to find the heart
|
|
of the kingdom gutted and burned," the king said under his breath.
|
|
The distinct sound of hard boots on stone interrupted his
|
|
thoughts. Haralan turned his head in the direction of the footsteps to
|
|
discover Sir Edward and Sir Edward's aide, Commander Jan Courymwen,
|
|
approaching.
|
|
"Edward!" Haralan said with a smile. "What news?"
|
|
|
|
Also watching the departure of the Hussars, but from a much
|
|
different vantage point, were three men and one woman. "I would have
|
|
much preferred the Knight Commander to have sent the Huscarls or
|
|
Legion of Death with the Hussars," spoke the shorter and younger of
|
|
the three men.
|
|
"Are you mad?" asked the eldest. "We shall need those troops to
|
|
hold off the Beinisons."
|
|
"Phorsan makes a valid observation, Lieran," the third and most
|
|
expensively dressed commented. "When the time comes for our Lord to
|
|
move, the Huscarls may prove...difficult."
|
|
"I don't know, Ethros," Lieran said. "If reports can be believed,
|
|
the Benison Emperor and his troops have smashed everything we've
|
|
thrown at them!"
|
|
"That...foreigner...doesn't know how to handle Baranurian
|
|
troops," Phorsan said in disgust.
|
|
Lord Ethros of Northfield turned from regarding the column of
|
|
horsemen. "Don't be an idiot!" he snapped. "Sothos is a capable
|
|
general. *That* is why I have been labouring for so long to have him
|
|
discredited. His is the mind behind the strategy. I dare say that if
|
|
he had not moved so many Regiments of the Royal Army to the Southern
|
|
Marches during the winter we would be prisoners of Untar even now."
|
|
Phorsan took the rebuke angrily, his hand flexing around his
|
|
sword hilt. "You admire him!" he accused Ethros.
|
|
"I respect his abilities," Ethros countered calmly. "As should
|
|
you. With Sothos as shield, Haralan is untouchable. Once Sothos is
|
|
gone..."
|
|
"This is dangerous, Ethros!" Lieran said.
|
|
"What say you, Lady?" Phorsan asked of the woman in the corner.
|
|
"The prowess of the line Sothos in combat hath long been known,"
|
|
came the oddly-accented voice from the shadows. "To face on the field
|
|
the Knight Commander is to court the Reaper."
|
|
"What do you suggest?"
|
|
A black form detached itself from the wall and moved into the
|
|
light, midnight black robes rustling against the stone, face hidden by
|
|
the robes' cowl. "Force the Sothos to face thee in a contest for which
|
|
thee art most suited."
|
|
"Politics?" Lieran asked.
|
|
"Politics," Phorsan said with satisfaction.
|
|
"Politics," spoke Ethros with decision.
|
|
"Politics," said Celeste in a voice smooth as silk.
|
|
|
|
Haralan listened to his Knight Commander's report on the state of
|
|
the Kingdom's army with supressed humour. The King was not a man given
|
|
to flippant mannerisms. Indeed, the matters on which Sir Edward was
|
|
reporting were of great import. The thing was, no matter how hard he
|
|
tried, Haralan simply could not fail to find the sight of his most
|
|
trusted advisor standing, literally, in the shadow of that advisor's
|
|
chief aide a cause for humour.
|
|
The two of them made an odd pair. The shorter, Edward, always in
|
|
the foreground of attention while the taller, Commander Courymwen,
|
|
invariably attempted to blend into the background. Much of that was
|
|
due to the station each occupied, of course.
|
|
The personalities of each seemed mis-matched as well. Edward very
|
|
rarely relaxed his posture in public. Even in private, among friends,
|
|
he was reserved. Haralan, Edward's closest friend, saw his friend let
|
|
down his guard only occasionally. Haralan wondered at what the adopted
|
|
Baranurian's homeland was really like if it regularly turned out
|
|
products such as Edward. Sir Edward displayed such an intenseness,
|
|
such a resoluteness of purpose, that almost all of Haralan's knights
|
|
were in awe of the man. As for the common soldiers, well, they reacted
|
|
to Sir Edward with a strange blend of fear, respect, and utter faith
|
|
in their supreme commander. Whenever he walked into a room, Edward
|
|
dominated most by sheer strength of persona. Talking to him, one felt
|
|
as if Edward had the height advantage instead of the speaker. All in
|
|
all, a surprise for those meeting the scarred Knight Commander for the
|
|
first time.
|
|
That same feeling of surprise was also felt when meeting Sir
|
|
Edward's aide, Jan Courymwen. With her unusual height, six-foot four,
|
|
combined with her flaming-red hair and deep emerald-green eyes, one
|
|
would expect a temper and attitude of superiority to match. She
|
|
possessed neither. Even the fact that she was the second-youngest
|
|
woman who had gone through the Royal Military Academy to reach the
|
|
rank of Commander did not give her cause to be boastful.
|
|
She was a study in contrasts. Decisive in her duties as an
|
|
officer of the Royal Army, she was often shy and unsure of herself
|
|
when not on duty. Much of her deference came from the circumstances of
|
|
her birth. Her parents were from Port Sevlyn, poor folk making their
|
|
living working for Lord Quillien Thorne along Port Sevlyn's
|
|
waterfront. She owed her position at the academy to Lord Thorne.
|
|
Together, she and Edward administered the Royal Army better than it
|
|
had ever been administered in its long history.
|
|
It really was quite sad, Haralan thought, that such a close
|
|
friendship as she and Edward possessed must come to an end. The King
|
|
sighed.
|
|
Sir Edward ceased his narrative. "Something, Sire?"
|
|
"Oh, nothing, really," Haralan said with a dismissive wave. "I
|
|
was wondering, should we not send at least part of the garrison to
|
|
strengthen our forces facing the Fist of the Emperor in its advance?"
|
|
"I think not, my liege," Sir Edward responded. "Not yet. Until
|
|
conclusions on the Laraka have been reached, we dare not weaken the
|
|
capital."
|
|
"Sound advice, as always, my friend." Seeing the Royal Magist
|
|
approaching, Haralan eased himself from the battlements with a smile.
|
|
"What summons you to come calling on us, my Lord Marcellon?"
|
|
"Busy, Sire?" Marcellon called out.
|
|
"The Knight Commander has just finished reporting to me on the
|
|
state of the Kingdom as he sees it."
|
|
"An exceedingly thorough and intense view it must be," Marcellon
|
|
jokingly commented as he joined the group.
|
|
"War is not a time for frivolity, Old Man," Edward said, rising
|
|
to the bait.
|
|
"With you," the Royal Magist commented, "there is no time for
|
|
frivolity." He continued, not giving Edward a chance to speak. "Now,"
|
|
he began, keeping up a running joke the two had been cultivating for
|
|
weeks, "why don't you carry on or over or whatever it is you
|
|
warrior-types do and let civilized men get down to some real work?"
|
|
Sir Edward turned to the King. "If His Royal Majesty will permit,
|
|
the Commander and I have work to do."
|
|
"Certainly, Sir Edward. You have our leave to go."
|
|
The two warriors saluted their King and strode off along the
|
|
wall, making for the nearest tower. Marcellon winked at Jan as she
|
|
went and received an answering smile in return.
|
|
Once they were out of ear-shot, Haralan turned to his chief
|
|
advisor on things political. "Any success, Lord Marcellon?"
|
|
"Regretfully, no. I can find no hard source for the rumours about
|
|
them," he said, indicating the retreating figures of the Knight
|
|
Commander and his aide. "I have suspicions, but can offer no proof."
|
|
"Can your magic not--?"
|
|
"Haralan, magic is not the cure-all for the world's woes. There
|
|
is a limit to what I can do."
|
|
"That is not sufficient! I am coming under increasing pressure --
|
|
from within even my own House! -- to remove Edward. You must give me a
|
|
weapon to use!"
|
|
"I shall try, Majesty. I shall try."
|
|
|
|
As they descended the narrow stairs of one of the great towers,
|
|
Edward asked over his shoulder, "What would you say to a go on the
|
|
practice field, Commander?"
|
|
"It would be a welcome break in the routine, sir. I accept."
|
|
The two exited the tower and proceeded through Crown Castle's
|
|
many defences, arriving some half an hour later at the King's Keep.
|
|
They separated, each going to their rooms to fetch their gear.
|
|
An hour later, the sun beginning to set, Edward stood in full
|
|
panoply awaiting his aide and his friend. Once done, he would still
|
|
have his aide. But the friend would be gone.
|
|
It is fitting I wear the black over my shield and armour, Edward
|
|
thought. For today, I shall truly feel deserving of this badge of
|
|
dishonour. A figure in blue and gold came out of a small portal and
|
|
walked steadily out onto the field. A crowd was starting to gather,
|
|
some out of boredom, others out of curiosity to see who the Knight
|
|
Commander was to fight, still others eager to pick up a trick or two
|
|
from the man who directed the Royal Army. Edward waited for Jan to
|
|
reach him, resigned to what he must do, shield on one arm, helm held
|
|
in the other.
|
|
"Sorry I took so long, sir," Jan said as she strode up. "My hair
|
|
was not being cooperative."
|
|
"It has now succumbed, I gather?"
|
|
She smiled. "After a fashion, sir. I had such trouble with it, I
|
|
may consider getting it cut."
|
|
"It would not suit you short so, Coury."
|
|
"You like my hair?" she asked.
|
|
Edward thought he detected a hint of red in his friend's cheeks,
|
|
but dismissed it as an effect of the sun. "Yes. Very much. Shall we
|
|
begin?"
|
|
"Uh...yes, sir." Jan took a breath before speaking, her manner
|
|
now very formal. "I greet you this day, Your Excellency, upon the
|
|
field of combat. As challenged, I claim the right of selection. Do you
|
|
affirm or deny my right?"
|
|
Edward responded in the same manner, a manner which, as a Knight,
|
|
came to him more easily than it did his aide. "I greet thee this day,
|
|
valiant warrior, upon this field of combat. I here doth affirm thy
|
|
claim to the right of selection. The claim of right of selection thus
|
|
affirmed, I doth now take upon my judgement the resolution. Dost thou
|
|
recognize my right of resolution?"
|
|
"I do recognize your right of resolution, Your Excellency."
|
|
"I thank thee, worthy gentle. What shalt be thy pleasure?"
|
|
"I choose sword and shield. What shall be the resolution?"
|
|
"I choose as resolution that the combat be to the death with no
|
|
quarter given."
|
|
"I accept the resolution."
|
|
Both combatants donned their helms and settled into a fighting
|
|
stance. Edward decided on a quick, violent offensive and moved in on
|
|
Jan almost immediately.
|
|
Jan backed up, trying to use her longer reach and longer blade to
|
|
thwart the sudden attack. Edward came right on in after her, sweeping
|
|
at her legs, forcing her to use more of her shield and less of her
|
|
sword.
|
|
Realizing that a defensive strategy was a course to destruction,
|
|
Jan leaned in on Edward's next stroke, using her shield as a battering
|
|
ram. It worked and the Knight Commander soon found himself parrying a
|
|
furious series of strokes that sent sparks and bits of wood flying in
|
|
the waning sunlight.
|
|
Edward was beginning to get the worse of the situation. His
|
|
aide's longer reach made it more difficult for Edward to get in a good
|
|
strike. Consequently, his shield was being quickly and methodically
|
|
hacked to bits.
|
|
After what seemed hours, but in reality was only several seconds,
|
|
the two separated, standing five or so yards apart while each regained
|
|
some strength and re-evaluated the other's skill.
|
|
Edward decided that he needed to be the one to go on the
|
|
offensive and he clearly needed some advantage to get inside Jan's
|
|
reach. Once inside her reach, he thought he could exploit a gap or two
|
|
in her guard.
|
|
He eased the remains of his battered shield off of his left arm.
|
|
"Art thou ready to continue?" he asked Jan. In response, she saluted.
|
|
At once, Edward flung his shield at his opponent and followed it with
|
|
a charge.
|
|
Jan caught the thrown shield on her blade, sending the splintered
|
|
target harmlessly to the ground. When she brought her blade back into
|
|
position, she found herself facing her commander at very close range
|
|
coming at her from her left, her shield-arm. She was too slow in
|
|
bringing her shield around to cover and a hard thump on her ribs from
|
|
the flat of Edward's blade finished the combat.
|
|
A ragged cheer from the spectators evidenced their pleasure at
|
|
the spectacle. As the crowd broke up, Edward and Jan left the field
|
|
together heading for the entrance to nearer to Edward's offices. Both
|
|
walked in silence while they brought their breathing under control.
|
|
"I thought I had you," Jan said between breaths.
|
|
"You very nearly did," Edward responded. "It is your time
|
|
fighting in line. You tend to let your guard down somewhat on your
|
|
left -- too much reliance on your line-mate's sword to protect you."
|
|
Jan shook out her hair. "I'll work on it, sir, if you'll instruct
|
|
me."
|
|
"It's not as bad as all that, Coury. Just look at my shield."
|
|
"It was a good workout," she agreed. Just then, she noticed where
|
|
they were heading and sighed.
|
|
"Something wrong?"
|
|
"No, sir. Well, yes, sir. I'd hoped to turn in."
|
|
"Let Daniel handle things?"
|
|
"A bit selfish, sir, I know, but we could both use the rest."
|
|
"And rest we shall. I wanted to speak with you in private and my
|
|
office qualifies. Besides, it's nearer than either of our quarters."
|
|
Jan laughed. She and Edward entered the Keep and made their way
|
|
to Edward's office. The corridors were mostly deserted, the occaisonal
|
|
scribe or guard or member of the kitchen staff being encountered.
|
|
They entered Edward's outer office, greeting Captain Daniel
|
|
Moore, Edward's other staff officer, as they did. "How fare things?"
|
|
Edward asked.
|
|
"Nothing unusual, sir," Moore replied. "No new reports from the
|
|
Laraka and no change on the southern front."
|
|
"Good. Glad to hear it."
|
|
"So who won?" he asked, indicating what was left of Edward's
|
|
shield.
|
|
"Who do you think?" Jan said with a chuckle.
|
|
"It was a very near-run thing," Edward chimed in. "Coury made me
|
|
work for it."
|
|
Moore smiled. "Are you two staying?"
|
|
"You can wipe that beseeching look off your face, Daniel Moore,"
|
|
Jan said with relish. "Edward and I are going to have a little chat
|
|
and then leave you to minding the store."
|
|
Moore sighed a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of
|
|
despair. "One could always hope."
|
|
Edward crossed to the door to his office. "No one is to disturb
|
|
us, Daniel," he said as he and Jan entered.
|
|
Edward set his helm and what was left of his shield on the small
|
|
table in the corner opposite his large desk and poured himself a cup
|
|
of water from the pitcher there. Jan joined him, setting her helm and
|
|
much more intact shield on the table also. This left Edward holding
|
|
both the pitcher and his cup. He poured his friend a drink from the
|
|
cup she had rescued and went over to his desk.
|
|
Jan pulled two chairs over from the table and let herself
|
|
collapse into one of them. Edward set the pitcher down on the desk and
|
|
then eased himself into the other.
|
|
"I've been too long away from the practice field," he said as his
|
|
rapidly stiffening muscles protested their recent abuse.
|
|
Jan let her head sink back against the chair. "Me too. Oh, that
|
|
smarts."
|
|
The two close friends just sat for a few moments, letting their
|
|
muscles finish berating them before they continued. It was Jan who
|
|
spoke first. "What was it you wanted to talk about, Edward?" she
|
|
asked, eyes closed.
|
|
Edward carefully set his cup on the desk. "Coury," he began
|
|
hesitantly, "I think we should no longer be seen together in public.
|
|
Further, I think it would be best if we kept our relationship on a
|
|
more professional level than it has thus far been."
|
|
Jan's eyes snapped open and she sat up. "What?" she asked in
|
|
confusion. "By all the gods why?"
|
|
"You know why," he said, eyes downcast. "The rumours."
|
|
"The rumours?" she asked incredulously. "But -- you never -- they
|
|
haven't mattered before," she protested.
|
|
"They do now." Edward ran his fingers through his close-cropped
|
|
hair. "Coury, there is a danger that if the rumours continue, my
|
|
ability to function as Knight Commander may be threatened. I cannot
|
|
allow that."
|
|
She sat there, unable -- unwilling -- to believe what she was
|
|
hearing. "You...can't...allow...that? Are you trying to tell me you
|
|
care for the power and prestige of the position of Knight Commander
|
|
that dearly that you would...cut off our friendship just like that?"
|
|
Now Edward looked directly at his aide. "What I am saying is that
|
|
my continued friendship with you is putting in jeopardy my ability to
|
|
fight this war. I cannot compromise that ability, not with the future
|
|
of the kingdom at stake."
|
|
The young woman sat back. "I thought I knew you. I thought that
|
|
you were a person who above all else would stand by his friends. I
|
|
thought you had more dignity and honour than this."
|
|
"Coury, let me explain," he pleaded.
|
|
"No, you've made yourself quite clear. You're too high and mighty
|
|
to have people think you could be friends with a commoner. Well,
|
|
fine." She stood, tears fighting with her anger. "I once had a friend
|
|
named Edward Sothos. I don't know who you are, but if Edward Sothos
|
|
should return, he'll know where to find me." Without giving him a
|
|
chance to respond, she turned and left, slamming the door on her way
|
|
out.
|
|
No sooner had she stormed out than Daniel Moore opened the door
|
|
and leaned in. "Anything wrong, sir?" he asked his superior.
|
|
"Wrong?" Edward responded as he stared out the window at the
|
|
shadows full upon the castle grounds. "No, Captain."
|
|
"But -- Coury --?"
|
|
"Leave it, Captain."
|
|
The bafflement on Moore's face was plain. "What about her helm
|
|
and shield?" he asked, noticing the articles on the table for the
|
|
first time.
|
|
Edward twisted in his chair to face his officer. His gaze flicked
|
|
to the items on the table and back to Moore. "Have one of the guards
|
|
take them to Commander Courymwen's quarters," he instructed in a dead
|
|
voice.
|
|
"Yes, sir." Daniel was about to leave when Edward stayed him.
|
|
"Captain," the Knight Commander said, "I shall be at Gortholde's
|
|
Hall should I be needed." So saying, Sir Edward pushed past the
|
|
still-bewilidered Captain Moore.
|
|
As the door closed, Daniel shook his head. "Yes, sir."
|
|
|
|
Those few servants unfortunate enough to come upon Jan Courymwen
|
|
as she went to her quarters quickly and without dignity shied away
|
|
from the storm they saw in her face.
|
|
Jan wrenched open the door to her room and slammed it hard as
|
|
soon as she was through. She fell back against the door, seething,
|
|
letting her anger have its way. That was soon spent as it finally sank
|
|
in that Edward had actually ended their friendship.
|
|
With that realization came an emptiness. Edward was more than
|
|
friend to Jan Courymwen. He was a mentor, an example of how society's
|
|
ideals could work in the real world. He was also the first person to
|
|
treat her as an equal as a warrior and not just as a "girl playing at
|
|
swords" as she had been called in the Academy.
|
|
The war had come home to Jan in a totally unforseen way and she
|
|
was unready to deal with it. When the tears came, she did not hold
|
|
them back. Unlike her anger, her tears lasted a long, long time.
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
1 'Bout 'Majin'
|
|
by David/Orny Liscomb
|
|
<ornoth%wonky.uucp@stratus.com>
|
|
|
|
Darren emerged from the woods into the bone-warming sunlight of a
|
|
warm spring day. There was still snow in places in the woods, and the
|
|
air within had been sharp and chill. After the long months of bare
|
|
trees and gray skies, the dancing sunlight on the deep blue of the
|
|
lake before him was a glorious sight.
|
|
The road curved down to the shore, just as the innkeeper back in
|
|
Pride's Landing had said it would, when Darren had asked him where he
|
|
could find someone to take him across the lake. A small cottage stood
|
|
nearby, with a dock extending twenty feet into the water. Against the
|
|
side of the building leaned an old rowboat, its wooden planks gray
|
|
with age. A couple of old men sat facing the lake in wooden chairs
|
|
near the dock. Darren walked down and greeted them.
|
|
"Excuse me, milords. I was told someone here could ferry me
|
|
across the lake?"
|
|
The old men looked at him. Darren waited. The one on the left
|
|
spoke. "Tha's so, junior. But my son Bug's got the boat just this
|
|
second. Gone down to the cove, do a bit of fishin'. 'Majin' he'll be
|
|
back 'fore nightfall. If'n so, 'majin' he'll take you across."
|
|
Darren closed his eyes. The innkeeper had told him that getting
|
|
ferried across the lake would save him half a day's walk. But in order
|
|
to get here, he'd had to walk two hours out of his way. And now he'd
|
|
have to wait for hours -- and he still might have to wait all night!
|
|
And he'd wanted to be in Westford tonight to be early for his
|
|
brother's investiture ceremony.
|
|
Darren thought. "Anyone else nearby who has a boat?"
|
|
The old man shook his head. "Nope. Can't say as there is,
|
|
junior."
|
|
"Wait a minute -- you've got a rowboat over behind your cabin.
|
|
Can I take that?"
|
|
The old man shook his head again. "Tch. I wouldn't feel right
|
|
letting you take it. Ain't been in the water in a couple season."
|
|
Darren sighed. These old men hadn't used the boat in years, but
|
|
weren't willing to let him take it? Wait -- maybe that was it! They
|
|
were hedging about it because he'd leave it on the far shore, with no
|
|
one to row it back across the lake!
|
|
"Look, let me buy it from you. Here -- here's five drin. Can I
|
|
take the boat?"
|
|
The old man looked at the coins in Darren's hand in front of his
|
|
face. "Well, I guesso. It's not much of a boat, really. But if you
|
|
insist..." He held out a weathered paw and Darren dropped the coins
|
|
into the leathery palm.
|
|
He turned around and headed toward the cabin. He rounded the
|
|
corner and found the rowboat propped against the side of the building.
|
|
As he tilted it away from the building, something jumped out from the
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rotting leaves underneath. Darren leapt back and let go of the boat,
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which bounced loudly against the cabin, then fell to the ground with a
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thump, echoing the pounding of his heart. He took a deep breath; the
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rodent that he'd flushed had scurried away underneath the cabin.
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Because the wood was dry, the boat wasn't too heavy, and Darren
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didn't have much of a problem hauling it down to the shore. The two
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old men just sat there watching him, not saying a word. He ran back
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and fetched the two oars, which the previous year's leaffall had half
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buried. He slipped the oars into their locks and pushed off.
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He started pulling for the other side. Because he was sitting
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facing the stern, he watched the two old men watch him as the shore
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gradually retreated. He was out five drin, but at least this way he'd
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make Westford by nightfall!
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He was probably two or three furlongs from shore before he turned
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again to see where he was headed. The opposite shore stood at least
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another league distant, and he took a moment to admire the view. The
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trees were beginning to bud, and the valley would be a wonderful sight
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in autumn. He kind of envied the people who lived on the shores of the
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lake. Things were certainly much simpler here than in the crowded
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crown city of Magnus.
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It was about this time that Darren noticed the water in the
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bottom of the boat. He hadn't noticed it before, because he was
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wearing his boots, but it was already two or three inches deep!
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Looking closer, he could see water seeping, in some places flowing,
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between the seams in the planking of the boat. The damned boat
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couldn't hold water!
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Darren looked for something to bail with, but there wasn't
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anything. He looked longingly at the far shore, but was certain that
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he couldn't make it across. He sat back down and resignedly turned the
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boat around and headed back toward the cabin and those damnable old
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men.
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The row back was strenuous. The boat was rapidly filling with
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water, which slowed it down and made it heavier. He struggled with it,
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sweating and cursing the entire way. Once he turned around to make
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sure he was on course, and he saw the two old men sitting calmly, just
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as he had left them ten minutes earlier. He didn't turn around again.
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He was perhaps half a furlong from shore when the boat foundered
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and just wouldn't move any more. There wasn't anything to do but swim.
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Darren turned and glared at his audience before he slipped over the
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side of the rowboat and started to swim for shore.
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He rapidly began to tire, and began venturing an occasional foot
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to probe for the bottom. His arms were encumbered by the wet fabric of
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his puffy shirt, and he struggled to make any progress whatsoever.
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Finally, he could feel the bottom, but it was still too deep to walk
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on; he bounded along in a ponderous, bouncing mimicry of a run until
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the water was shallow enough to allow him to walk.
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He finally dragged himself out of the lake. His white chemise,
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now tan with silt and green with bits of plants, hung heavily on his
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shoulders, and his boots were calf-high buckets of mucky water. He
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walked up to the old men and just glared at them. They didn't even
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smirk.
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After a moment, one of them spoke to the other. "You know, Jess,
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a boat made of dry wood just ain't no use."
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"Yep," replied the other. "Gotta let it soak fer a while - let
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the wood swell and fill up all them little cracks."
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"Yep. 'Bout 'majin'."
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Darren just walked away, heading back toward Pride's Landing. He
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wouldn't make Westford by nightfall, but he'd be sure to make it my
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nightfall tomorrow, even if it took him half a day to get there on
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foot.
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1 (C) Copyright August, 1993, DargonZine, Editor Dafydd
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<White@DUVM.BitNet>. All rights revert to the authors. These stories
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may not be reproduced or redistributed (save in the case of
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reproducing the whole 'zine for further distribution) without the
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express permission of the author involved.
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