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 DargonZine                                     Distributed: 01/27/1996
 Volume 9, Number 1                             Circulation:        561
========================================================================

                                Contents

 Editorial                    Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
 The Dwarf 2                  Rogers Cadenhead       Seber 2, 1015
 Knight of the Moon Jewel 1   Wendy Hennequin        Sy 04, 1014
 A Wolf at the Door           Mark A. Murray         Yule 1015

========================================================================
 DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
 collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
 We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
 Please address all correspondance to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
 on the World Wide Web at http://www.shore.net/~dargon. Back issues
 are available from ftp.etext.org in pub/Zines/DargonZine. Issues and
 public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.

 DargonZine 9-1, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright January, 1996 by
 the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>.
 All rights reserved. All rights are reassigned to the individual
 contributors. Stories may not be reproduced or redistributed without
 the explicit permission of the author(s) involved, except in the case
 of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
 Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================

                               Editorial
                         by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
                           <ornoth@shore.net>

     Welcome to 1996, and our twelfth year of continuous publication!
With the arrival of a new year, it's time for the editor to wax
nostalgic and pause to look back at the past year, and pontificate about
the year to come.
     Looking back at 1995, I see three major events. The year began with
the distribution of two huge collections of the Best of FSFnet and the
Best of DargonZine, reprinting our favorite stories from a decade of
publishing on the Internet. Secondly, 1995 saw a big infux of new
writers into the Dargon Project. Depite our only getting four issues out
last year, four new writers saw their stories all the way to print, and
there are other new authors whose works will not be finalized and
printed until future issues. And the presence of energetic new blood has
had the additional effect of rousing several of the project's elderly
from their stupor. But the big news of 1995 was, of course, the
announcement of our new Web site in our last issue. The site has been
getting excellent usage, and feedback is very positive. Its success has
been inspiring to everyone involved with the project, and I'd like to
especially thank those readers who have taken the time to fill out the
reader profiles and questionnaires. While 1995 wasn't our most
productive year in terms of number of issues, we accomplished a lot in
terms of infrastructure in order to bring you a better service. And on
the Internet it's particularly true that if you're not working toward
putting out a service that makes your old service look pale, someone
else will. So we've been hard at work reinventing ourselves.
    So what does 1996 hold? By looking at the queue of works in
progress, I can tell you that we'll have lots more great stories from
both old and new writers. But there are also more big changes in the
works! The Web site will probably be the focus of many of these changes,
as we try to not only provide issues and archives, but add additional
services and features, always keeping an eye toward providing
information and services that are of high value and usefulness to
DargonZine's readership. I think 1996 is going to be a great year for
DargonZine and its readers.

    And the changes have already begun this year. You may have noticed
that our address has changed once again, from (dargon@wonky.jjm.com> to
(dargon@shore.net>. Although this means little to the reader, it
represents a major infrastructure change which will allow us to be more
responsive to both email and Web requests.
    *PLEASE* remember to address any and all correspondence to the new
address, (dargon@shore.net>!

    And, to start 1996 off on the right foot, we have the following
stories. Rogers Cadenhead returns to complete his tale "The Dwarf" which
was begun in DargonZine 8-3. Following that, we are finally able to
publish Wendy Hennequin's war story "Knight of the Moon Jewel", some
time after she left the project. And, finally, Mark Murray continues the
storyline he began in the story "In the Company of Strangers" in our
last issue (8-4).
    I hope you enjoy this issue, and have the opportunity to visit the
Web site to see what we're doing there. And look for us again soon, as
we're already putting together material for DargonZine 9-2!

========================================================================

                               The Dwarf
                                Part II
                          by Rogers Cadenhead
                           <rogers@pobox.com>
                             Seber 2, 1015

     What has gone before: In the village of Shireton, five-year-old
Aaron Nirnov isn't growing up like other children -- he's a dwarf. Many
in the farming community consider it punishment from the gods, and
Aaron's mother Trissa is told by Coira, a neighbor, that the family is
no longer welcome. With other children, Aaron and his brother Gull snuck
off to Pig's Bottom to skip stones across the lake. While there, two of
the group fell into deep water, and one drowned -- the son of Coira and
Apted. Apted was the first to find the missing children and his dead
son. Apted cursed himself for ignoring talk that Aaron is a bad omen. He
decided Aaron must die to appease the gods. As Apted raged, a stranger
approached Trissa and Ulmer, far from the lake ...

     "I was sent by Corambis," the dark-haired man said to Ulmer and
Trissa as he dismounted his horse. He introduced himself as Caruso while
the three of them walked a few steps away from Apted and the children
nearby. The man handed Trissa a pair of golden earrings. "I understand
these were your mother's," he said.
     Trissa looked at the stranger with consternation. A vague
recollection of her mother putting on the jewelry both comforted and
saddened her. "Why did he give them to you?"
     "He wanted to show that you can trust me," Caruso said. "He came
across the earrings recently, I'm told."
     Ulmer, more wary than his wife of the rough-looking man, spoke up.
"What reason would Corambis have to send you here?"
     "I may be able to help with your child Aaron," Caruso said. "I have
much experience with people like him."
     Ulmer and Trissa exchanged glances and Trissa excitedly took hold
of her husband's hand. "We should discuss this," Trissa said, "but first
we have to find the children. Who knows what mischief they've gotten
into."
     Caruso tried not to show it, but a familiar feeling sank into his
stomach, and he worried that this might be another time he had come too
late. "They're missing?" he asked.

     With a maniacal look on his face and eyes as wide as coins, Apted
held Aaron Nirnov over the edge of the cliff. All he had to do was let
go and the child would be dashed against the rocky side of the precipice
as he fell fifty feet into murky water. "You killed my son," he said to
the terrified child. "You killed him!" Aaron struggled feebly to hold
onto the man's arms. The look in the child's eyes was that of a rabbit
frozen by fear at the charge of a predator.
     Apted's youngest son Reshua lay dead on the rocks below, and his
best friend Sark was motionless at his side. Apted had joined others in
a search for the children, who had strayed from an outing scaring
blackbirds away from the crops. He expected to find the strays somewhere
around Pig's Bottom, a small lake not far from Shireton. He knew it was
one of Reshua's favorite places to roam.
     When he found them, Apted was faced with the sight of Gull and
Aaron Nirnov alive while Reshua, and perhaps Sark, were dead. He blamed
Aaron, the dwarven child whose affliction was said to be divine
punishment. He shook the child, finding it hard to carry out his fevered
wish to harm him.
     At the base of the cliff, Gull saw what was happening to his
brother and scrambled through overgrowth up the side of the cliff. He
didn't yell, afraid that it would cause Apted to drop Aaron. It would
take minutes to reach them.
     Blood rising to Apted's face made him look crimson-skinned and
devilish, the living embodiment of nightmare to Aaron. "Let go, please,"
he sobbed. Trissa had taught Aaron to address adults with respect, and
he added a word he had forgotten to say. "Sir," he said weakly.
     Sir.
     The gentility of the word, spoken from a child to the adult who was
trying to kill him, was like a slap to Apted's face. He put Aaron down a
safe distance from the cliff's edge.
     "I'm sorry, child," he mumbled, then turned away. Apted climbed
down to see his son and Sark, passing Gull without saying a word. Sark
roused as Apted was wrapping the child's injured head with strips of
cloth torn off his shirt. Apted carried the youth, and the body of
Reshua, back to the village.
     Gull, Aaron and the other two boys followed him at a distance.

     It was long past dusk when a large group of people approached the
Nirnov's cottage. Ulmer and Trissa had been sitting with their sons,
hoping to calm them down and find out what had happened at Pig's Bottom.
     Neither Gull nor Aaron was able to talk about it. Gull started
crying when he first saw his parents and had not stopped. Aaron told
them Reshua was dead and Sark was hurt after an accident at the cliff,
but said little else. Caruso was gone, having left the family to see if
he could discover what had happened.
     Ulmer stood up and went to the door, motioning for Trissa to stay
with the children. As he opened it, he saw more than 30 villagers in
front of his house. Most stood in the street, but some to his right and
left stood close to the cottage. Several held brightly burning torches.
     Looking into their angry faces, Ulmer thought it was a real
possibility they might burn the home down.
     "It's time for them to go!" yelled Coira. Her chalky black hair was
strewn wildly about her face, and she pointed at Ulmer as he stepped
towards her. "I bring a warning from the people of Shireton: You don't
belong here."
     Ulmer looked for Apted, hoping the man could calm his distraught
wife, but did not see him among the crowd. "I am so sorry about Reshua,"
he began.
     "Dare you say his name?" Coira raged. "My son is dead because of
you."
     "It was an accident," Ulmer said. "Surely you must know that. My
children would never hurt your son. Reshua and Gull were friends since
the day they were born."
     Coira brought her hand sharply against Ulmer's cheek, tears
streaming down her face. "I told you not to say his name." Other
villagers moved closer to him, and it looked like Ulmer was going to be
attacked.
     "Ulmer!" Trissa cried. He turned around to see her standing at the
doorway with Aaron and Gull at her side.
     "Go inside, Trissa!" he yelled.
     Turning back to face the group, Ulmer said, "This is madness. You
are neighbors and friends. Most of you are like my own family to me."
     "Those days are gone," said Sark's father, Tomas. "They ended when
you brought Aaron into this world."
     "Watch what you say about my son, Tomas," Ulmer warned. He moved
closer to the man, close enough to strike him. It did not help matters
any that Ulmer and Tomas had fought each other several times as
children.
     "I'll only say the truth," Tomas replied. "Aaron is a dwarf. A
kneecap man." The term came from old Baranurian legends about a
diminutive fighter who brought down his foes at a weak spot that was a
convenient target -- their knees. "You know the stories. He is not meant
to live among us."
     "He's a monster," Coira added.
     "Silence!" Ulmer said. "If you say that once more ..."
     "She lost her child," Tomas said as if to excuse the remark. "I
nearly lost mine. This happened because we let you raise Aaron here."
     "My family helped build this village," Ulmer said. "I'll be damned
if we're driven away by this nonsense."
     Tomas put a hand on Ulmer's shoulder, a gesture meant to be
friendly that backfired when Ulmer brushed it away. "We're not asking
you to leave," Tomas said. "We're telling."
     Ulmer's first impulse was to lash out at Tomas, but other men
looked as if they were eager for Ulmer to do so. "Begone," Ulmer said.
"This is not the time to discuss this."
     For a moment the villagers stood facing Ulmer as he waited for them
to leave, and Tomas contemplated what to do next. Coira, fearing that
the crowd would back down, grabbed a torch from a man's hand and moved
quickly towards the cottage. "Burn it down!" she said.
     Ulmer grabbed at Coira and pulled her backwards by the hair, only
moments before she could set the thatch roof aflame. She cried out and
Tomas interposed himself between the two. Trissa saw this and came
outside to help her husband.
     "Stop!" Caruso yelled as he rode up to the fracas. "I have word
from Lord Gunt on this matter." As Caruso dismounted his horse, he held
up a piece of parchment covered with ornately scripted writing. He
released the lower edge of the paper and it rolled up so that he could
pocket it.
     "Manor Lord Gunt, to whom all in this village owe fealty, has
decreed that no harm should come to the Nirnov family," Caruso said. He
was a tall and powerfully built man, and his words had a stentorian
quality that radiated authority. The people around Ulmer, including
Coira, stopped to listen. "Lord Gunt deeply regrets what has happened
today, but he reminds all of you that every skilled man is needed to
rebuild this community after the losses of the war."
     Caruso rested one hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword. "That
is all," he said. "Disperse."
     The reminder of Gunt's authority proved to be enough to alleviate
the crisis. Most of the people of Shireton had lived their entire lives
in the service of a feudal lord, and they knew the wisdom of
unquestioning obedience. Even Coira left, though she spat on Ulmer as
she walked away. "This is not over," she said.
     Caruso led the Nirnovs into their home. After they were inside, the
children were sent into one room to sleep. In the other, Trissa asked
the question that had been on her mind since the stranger's return. "You
went to see Lord Gunt about us?"
     "No," Caruso replied. "The decree was actually the note I received
from your father."
     "You lied?" Trissa said incredulously. "Lord Gunt will have your
head for that."
     "I'll take that chance," Caruso said. "I was not willing to see you
harmed."
     "Why is this so important to you?" Ulmer asked. "Did Corambis pay
you to help us?"
     "He didn't have to," Caruso said. "I am a finder. It is my duty to
find people like Aaron. Let's sit down and I will explain this to you."
     After Trissa brought him a glass of water, Caruso explained why he
had come to Shireton. He described the deaths of the Gatney family,
leaving out no detail in the hopes of impressing the Nirnovs with the
gravity of their situation. Then he began to tell them about his people.
None of the adults were aware of it, but Aaron was eavesdropping on the
conversation from the other room in the cottage.
     "I am a dwarf," Caruso said, bringing a look of puzzlement from
Ulmer and Trissa, since the stranger was one of the tallest men they had
ever met. "My parents are both dwarves, and they brought me up at a
secret place in the mountains far to the east."
     "How could your parents be dwarves?" Trissa asked.
     "Being a dwarf is entirely up to chance," Caruso said. "All the
legends are just ignorant superstition. Except for cruel cases where
someone purposefully starved a child to make him dwarven, dwarves are
just humans who grow up differently. No one knows why it happens -- and
it's normal for two dwarven parents to have a child like me."
     Ulmer was fascinated with the finder's story, but he interrupted to
ask, "What does all of this mean for us?"
     "Dwarves are mistreated almost everywhere they go," Caruso said.
"What happened here is not unusual. We have found that dwarves are safer
-- and happier -- living with their own kind."
     "You want to take him from us?" said Trissa, aghast. "We cannot
possibly ..."
     Caruso, the image of Cyrus Gatney's family still fresh in his mind,
was blunt. "I've buried 14 people in my life, all because of hatred
against dwarves. Aaron's a bright child, from what Corambis told me, and
I think he deserves a chance to grow up. His grandfather has very high
hopes for him."
     "As do we," Trissa said. "He can be happy and safe here in
Shireton. What happened tonight is not going to reoccur."
     Caruso put a tired hand up to his forehead, running it back over
his hair. He wanted to dispute her assertion but decided on a softer
approach. "I'll leave you alone to discuss this," he told the couple.
"My best instincts say Aaron would be safer leaving with me in the
morning."
     "You need a decision by the morrow?" Ulmer asked.
     "It's for the best this is resolved quickly," Caruso said. "I'll
also have Lord Gunt to think about very shortly." The finder departed,
noticing a stocky shadow that moved in the other room as he left the
cottage.
     "We need to think about this," Ulmer said.
     "No," Trissa said. "He's our son, Ulmer. He needs us."
     Ulmer opened the shutters and leaned on the front windowsill of the
cottage. The streets were empty, and a cool breeze brushed against his
face, carrying with it the smell of burning leaves. The scent reminded
him of the autumn night, not so long ago, when he first saw Trissa
DeSaavu carrying two bottles of milk as she returned home with her aunt.
     She spotted him first during that walk. Ulmer was tinkering with a
broken plow in front of his family cottage, which later became their
home. His shirt was off, and Trissa tried her best to watch him without
being noticed.
     It was working until she stumbled on a rock protruding from the
packed dirt of the street. The bottles of milk flew from her hands.
     Trissa came up beside Ulmer as he stood at the window, interrupting
his reverie as she placed an arm around his back.
     Ulmer asked, "I was thinking about how we met. It seems so long
ago."
     "Not that long," Trissa said. "My aunt was madder than a caged
laska."
     "We had a lot of fun together here," Ulmer said.
     Trissa embraced her husband of 15 years and kissed him softly on
the back of his neck. "Yes we did, my love."
     "Do you think Aaron will have the same chance at happiness here?"
Ulmer asked.
     Trissa did not answer right away, so her husband continued to talk
in a soft voice.
     "We have to look at this honestly, sweet. Even if we somehow get
past what happened today, something bad will happen again. And Aaron
will be blamed for it. Can we face that for the rest of our lives? Can
our children?"

     Shortly after dawn, Caruso rode into town on the back of his grumpy
gray horse. The animal was not happy about having been asked to sleep
outdoors the previous night, nor was it pleased to make an early start
of the day. A few times it ventured off the path back to Shireton, and
Caruso gave it a hard nudge to keep it awake.
     The streets of the village were mostly quiet, save a few farmers
heading off early to the fields. Caruso rode to to the small cottage
that housed the Nirnovs. The door opened as he approached it, and Trissa
came out.
     "We've decided to let you take Aaron," she said, her lower lip
quivering slightly. "I know you'll make sure he's well-cared for."
     "I will," Caruso said, clasping her left hand inside both of his.
     "Can we visit him?" Trissa asked.
     "The location of our home must remain a secret. When he's a bit
older, we can arrange visits in a village closer to the mountains,"
Caruso said.
     "How often?" she asked, her face sunken from a rough and sleepless
night.
     "Not often -- it isn't wise for dwarves to travel," he said
apologetically. "I know this is a terrible choice to make, but Aaron
needs more protection than your family is able to provide."
     Aaron came out of the house, followed by his father carrying a
grain sack filled with clothes and other belongings. "It isn't much,"
Ulmer said. "I wish we could send more along with him."
     "It will be fine," Caruso told him. "The dwarves are always
prepared for new arrivals."
     Trissa looked down at her son, who viewed Caruso with expressive
interest. She tried not to cry, and for the most part succeeded. "Will
it be a long journey?"
     "A fortnight or so," Caruso said. "More than that I cannot tell
you. It's a beautiful valley nestled deep in the mountains. Aaron will
be one of the few people who has ever seen it."
     "Is that where you hide your gold?" Aaron asked. He looked at the
tall man with curiousity, the reality of leaving his parents behind lost
on the child. "Gull said dwarves have piles and piles of gold."
     "That's just a legend, false like most of the things people say
about dwarves," said Caruso, smiling thinly. "I wish it was true!"
     A few more people were appearing on the streets. Caruso reached
down and gently pinched Aaron's nose. "Young sir, we had best be going,"
he said. "I'll answer every one of your questions as we ride to my
home."
     Ulmer picked up Aaron and carried him to Caruso's horse, seating
him in front of the finder. Trissa remained at the open doorway with
Gull standing beside her.
     "Remember to be good, little one," Ulmer said to Aaron. He licked
his hand and straightened out an errant curl on the child's forehead.
     "I will, papa," Aaron said. "You remember too."
     With a slight smile on his face, entirely for the boy's benefit,
Ulmer patted the horse on the rump and Caruso rode off. He stood in the
street until they had reached a turn in the road and could no longer be
seen.
     As Ulmer went back into his cottage, Trissa put Gull back to bed
and tried to busy herself cleaning the floors. Ulmer readied himself for
a day's work in the fields. "If we've made a mistake," she said to
herself, "Ol help us."
     There had been another early riser in Shireton on the eventful
morning. At the first glimmerings of sunup, Coira left her home and
stormed off to see Lord Gunt. She did not intend to let his decree go
unchallenged, and was convinced that she could persuade him to expel the
Nirnovs from the village.
     The middle-aged woman, no less bedraggled and distraught than the
night before, reached the gate to the manor and pulled the entry bell's
cord.
     Several menes later, she was still tugging on the bell when Jason
Gunt came outside in a regal blue silken robe. Without the powdered wig
he normally wore to hide his baldness, Gunt looked older than Coira
expected.
     "Stop that infernal noise, woman!" he commanded. "You have exactly
one mene to tell me why I shouldn't feed you to my dogs for waking me up
like this."
     "I'm here about the decree you issued last night," Coira said.
     "My decree?" Jason asked, setting aside his displeasure for a
moment at this surprising remark. "By all means come inside and we'll
talk about this."
     Lord Gunt led the woman into a sitting room that was adjacent to
the entry of his home. He called on a servant to bring them some morning
tea, and Coira related the previous day's events as they reclined on a
plush brown settee. Gunt's main area of interest was the person issuing
false decrees in his name, but he didn't let her know that. It was not
easy for him to feign concern about the horror of living around a dwarf.
     "As you can understand, my lord, this situation cannot go on any
longer," Coira said. "The people of Shireton are in agreement on this."
     "The people have reached a decision?" Gunt asked in amazement.
     "Yes, we have," replied Coira. "The Nirnovs must go."
     Jason Gunt stood up, inadvertently revealing his nakedness when the
belt to his robe came undone. He was not exceptionally swift to cover
himself back up.
     "Thank you for coming by, Coira," he told her. "If you'll be kind
enough to leave, I will attend to this at once."
     Coira left the home of Lord Gunt, a look of satisfied anticipation
on her face. She had gotten into such a froth over the matter that she
talked to herself as she walked.
     Soon, Lord Gunt and four of his men passed by, yelling for her to
clear the road, their stallions kicking up dust. She wasn't paying
enough attention and could have been run down, but the first rider
reached over and pushed her hard away from the path. Coira fell into a
small gully and twisted an ankle.
     When they arrived in Shireton, the riders went to Ulmer Nirnov's
home and saw Gull sitting outside.
     "Young man, we're looking for your parents," Gunt said.
     "What do you need, my lord?" Trissa asked, walking out from behind
the cottage. Gull ran over to stand beside her, feeling protective of
his mother since his father was not there.
     "Aaron," he said.
     "He's off for Dargon to visit his grandfather," Trissa said,
guessing that Caruso's route did not take him in that direction. "He
left with a family friend."
     "I've heard a lot about this friend," Gunt replied. "But that's a
matter for another time. Men, we're off to the north."
     "Lord Gunt!" A man cried out to the lord and his companions before
they could leave. It was Tomas. "She's lying. This man passed me this
morning riding to the east with Aaron Nirnov."
     "He's taking the child?" Gunt asked, turning to look at Trissa.
     "Yes," she answered. "They're not coming back."
     Gunt paused for a moment to reflect on the information. "We'd
better hurry, then," he said, and the five rode away. It did not take
them long to spot a lone rider heading to the east.
     Caruso was telling Aaron about his dwarven parents when he heard
the approaching hoofbeats. When he saw the number of riders and the
glint of their armor, he knew it must be Gunt's men.
     "Stay here," Caruso said, leaving Aaron on the horse as he
dismounted. The finder strode towards the five riders as they
approached, ready to draw his sword.
     The lead rider, Gunt, slowed his horse to a canter and circled the
dark-haired man. His companions stopped nearby.
     "I am Caruso," the finder called out. "You would be Lord Gunt?"
     "Indeed," Gunt replied. "I understand you've been doing some work
for me lately."
     "A little," Caruso said. The finder stood still as the circling
Gunt passed around him. "There's no need to thank me."
     "You're too modest," Gunt said, pushing back his riding cloak to
reveal a sheathed knife at his belt. "That was quite a decree you issued
on my behalf last night."
     Caruso glared at the man. He was tiring of the game Gunt was
playing, and readied himself to end it. "I do my best," he said.
     With a dramatic flourish, Gunt dismounted his horse and put an arm
around Caruso's shoulders. "Thank you for making my feelings known to
the people," he said.
     Caruso stepped away from Gunt, his hands at his side in a posture
that was unmistakably hostile. "What do you want?" he barked at the
village lord.
     "Power, prestige and a position at the side of the duke," Gunt
replied, grinning. "Oh, and another thing as well: I want this precious
child to grow up in Shireton."
     "He's coming with me," Caruso said.
     "Not any more," Gunt replied. "When the old woman told me what you
did, I knew at once who you were. You find dwarves. It makes more sense
for him to stay here. "
     "If Aaron and I are not allowed to return to my people, there will
be consequences," Caruso said.
     "There's no need for threats," Gunt said. "Aaron's place is here
with his family. I can assure his safety."
     "Why should I believe you?" Caruso asked.
     "Because it's in my interest to do so," Gunt replied. "Aaron's a
bright child, which is no surprise since his grandsire is the famous
Corambis. I want him to apprentice under Corambis one day so that he can
return and serve me."
     Caruso, remembering the devastation on Trissa's face as they rode
away, began to entertain the possibility of Aaron staying in Shireton.
     "What about Coira and the others?" he said. "They blame him for the
child's drowning."
     "I'm going to let them know how I feel about last night's actions,"
Gunt replied. "This is my land. I won't allow peasants to decide who
belongs and who doesn't."
     The finder looked back to Aaron, who had nudged Caruso's horse
closer so that he could hear what the men were saying. "I want to stay,"
the child said.
     The child's statement and Gunt's offer left Caruso a bit dazed as
he considered the different possibilities. He took a few steps away from
the two and tried to decide which course was best. Taking Aaron away
would assure his safety but remove him from family and home. Keeping him
here required protection, as Caruso had said to Trissa. Lord Gunt was
promising to provide it.
     Caruso found it difficult, given the number of people he had
buried, to let optimism steer his choice. "If you can assure his safety,
my people will be beholden to you," he said.
     "That's another reason you should believe me," Gunt said. "If the
dwarves can deliver some of their legendary armor to me, my motivation
to look out for Aaron will be boundless."
     "That can be arranged," Caruso said. "But I have a condition to
this agreement. I want to stay in Shireton to make sure this can work."
     "You would swear fealty to me?" Gunt asked.
     "I serve the dwarves," Caruso said. "As an ambassador of my people,
though, I could be of use to you as an advisor."
     "I am surprised that a finder would be willing to do such a thing,"
Gunt said.
     "I am," Caruso said, interrupting him.
     "I'll take your word for that," Gunt continued. "If you can stomach
the peasant life, I have no wish to stifle your desire to stand sentinel
over the child."
     "Then we have an agreement," Caruso said, and they shook hands.
"Let's go. I'm eager to tell Aaron's parents."
     Lord Gunt rode back to the village with Caruso and Aaron close
behind. The child was full of questions about the dwarves.
     "When you're grown, perhaps I'll take you to meet them," Caruso
said. "You'll always have a home there if you need it."
     As Shireton came into sight, Aaron had another thing he wanted to
know. He didn't ask until Gunt and his men were out of earshot.
     "The dwarf legends are false, right?" he asked.
     "Right," Caruso told him.
     "Why did you tell Lord Gunt he could have armor?" Aaron asked.
     Caruso, impressed at the child's intelligence, wondered if it would
be enough to see him through the struggles to come. He chose to believe
it would.
     "People want to think dwarf armor is special," Caruso said.
"They're willing to pay more for it because of that belief."
     Aaron thought about the finder's words. "What if I make armor?" he
asked.
     Lord Gunt turned around when Caruso bellowed with laughter. "You'll
make a fortune," he quietly told the child. "Someday, Jason Gunt will be
working for you."

========================================================================

                        Knight of the Moon Jewel
                                 Part I
                           by Wendy Hennequin
                              Sy 04, 1014

     Myrande forced herself to not look behind her. For the third day in
a row, she had noticed -- out of the corner of her eye, always --
someone in black following her as she walked the streets of Magnus. The
Countess of Connall had sighted the black-robed man several times the
first day, more the second, and now, the third day, she managed to
glimpse him everywhere she went: the market, Crown Castle, Marcellon's
house, and the town house which Myrande refused to call home. She had no
doubt now. She was being followed.
     "Do you see him again, your excellency?" her maid Yara asked
softly.
     "Aye," Myrande answered. "He's standing beneath the carpet-
merchant's pavilion. No, Yara, don't look!" The Countess practically
pulled her maid's arm from its socket. "He can't know that I know he's
here."
     "Why not?" Yara wondered. "It's probably only one of Sir Edward's
men, my lady, or perhaps someone that your lord the Count or the
castellan sent."
     "If Sir Edward or Luthias sent someone to look over me, they would
have told me," Myrande insisted. Neither Luthias her husband nor the
Knight Commander would play such games with her, and certainly never
during war.
     "Perhaps the High Mage then," Yara soothed, inspecting some
less-than-fresh fruit.
     "Marcellon doesn't need someone else to keep an eye on me," Myrande
snapped. "He can see me in his crystal whenever he wants." The young
maid made a holy sign of Cephas Stevene while her lady rolled her eyes.
"He's no demon. Stop that."
     "He spooks me, excellency."
     "He's very kind and good," Myrande reminded her. "Has he ever
harmed you when I've sent you for him?" Yara shook her head, but she
shivered. "And --" Marcellon, Myrande thought. "How often have I sent
you to Marcellon's house this week, Yara?"
     "Not once, your excellency, although we sometimes go together."
     The Countess of Connall folded her lips and thought. "We can't do
anything unusual," she decided, taking Yara's arm and leading her away.
"We don't know why that man is following us."
     "I wouldn't be so --"
     "Hush and listen. We're going to Marcellon's house."
     "He won't be there, your excellency. Don't you remember? There's a
grand Council meeting this day, and the High Mage will be there."
     War Council. Myrande emitted a short sound of anger and
exasperation. With a War Council in progress, she would be unable to
rely upon Marcellon's help, or Sir Edward's, or the King's. Still,
Myrande knew that she needed help. She was being followed, and for a
reason. "Is it time to return to the house?" she asked her maid.
     "Aye, your excellency."
     "Let's go." Myrande turned from the market place and began to walk
toward the Royal Quarter. Sir Edward had raised a fit when he had found
that she walked instead of rode around the city, but Myrande, now
Countess, found that she grew tired of not moving. "We have much to do."

     Myrande undressed quietly, climbed into bed, and blew out the
bedside lamp. Devoid of any moonlight, the room went black. Immediately,
she piled the pillows lengthwise beside her and covered the top one with
a black silk veil. She slipped out of the bed silently, donned the
shirt, pants, and boots she had prepared, and crawled to her closet
where her strung bow waited.
     The Countess drew the quiver over her and fastened her bracer and
glove. Selecting an arrow, she nocked it, sat, and waited.
     If all goes well, Myrande thought, there will be an end to this
tonight. She had observed the man in black follow her and Yara home, and
Myrande had sensed that he -- whoever he was -- would make a move
tonight. If he was from Luthias, he would come to the door. If not --
well, Myrande had prepared for that.
     The Countess first sent a message to Sir Edward Sothos, the Knight
Commander. Myrande knew that he would most likely be in conference with
King Haralan and Marcellon, but that was a chance she had to take.
Besides, if the message didn't reach him, it would probably reach the
King or the High Mage. In the brief note, Myrande asked for a military
escort to come to her home as soon as possible. Perhaps leaving the city
would discourage whoever had followed the Countess, but Myrande doubted
it.
     The escort had not come, but news had: Sir Luthias, Count Connall,
Knight Captain of the Northern Marche, had completed some victories
against the Beinison army and was a day away from Magnus. Knowing that
her husband was on his way to join her helped Myrande's peace of mind
somewhat. If worse came to worse, Myrande decided to ride with only her
own guards as escort and join her husband tomorrow. Tonight, with no
moon, it was too dangerous to ride.
     The follower needed thwarting, though. Myrande had no idea what he
wanted, so she, with all her experience as a seneschal, had prepared for
the worst. The Countess had ordered the wet nurse to put the twin babes
to bed, but after the candle was darkened, the nurse was to take Morwyn
and Julia to *her* room and keep them there with her children. Myrande
herself had put pillows in the cradles to replace her red-haired
daughters. She also had made a bundle of diapers and clothes.
     Myrande had instructed the grooms to be able to ready horses at a
moment's notice, but not, under any circumstances, should they prepare
the mounts beforehand. She had commanded the kitchen workers to prepare
a bundle of food for travel.
     The Countess herself had quietly packed a cloak, riding clothes
(which mainly consisted of old shirts and breeches that Luthias and
Roisart had outgrown before they had outworn them), a few gowns, and
shoes. Her boots she wore now as she waited in the closet beside her
naginata. The quiver held her knife, and a dagger rested in its sheath
on her belt. The arrow waited patiently.

     "That will never work," Sir Edward Sothos declared with all the
vehemence he could muster in his exhaustion. Dark circles ringed his
eyes; the Knight Commander was pale, but his eyes flashed. "Nehru's
blood, your majesty --"
     "Easy, Edward," the High Mage advised, gulping hot tea to keep
himself alert. "This will get us nowhere." He turned to the Master
Priest and smiled ironically. "By all means," he began, hoping a
brilliant set-down would dawn through his fatigue, "let us merely sit
upon the ramparts and pray. I'm certain the Beinison army would
approve."
     The Master Priest's eyes narrowed. "Your sarcasm is unwarranted,
Mage," he seethed. "'God helps those who put their faith in Him.' The
Word of God, second book, fourth chapter, sixtieth verse."
     "'God helps those who act,'" Marcellon replied easily. "Word of
God, Book the First, chapter seven, verse sixteen."
     "What you fail to realize, Master Priest," Sir Edward attempted,
and Marcellon felt his despair of making the Master Priest understand,
"is that war isn't a religion -- not here, anyway."
     "And where is it?" the Master Priest, Jehan Redcrosse, asked
haughtily. "Religion is peaceful."
     "Not in Beinison," Marcellon instucted tiredly. "There is an entire
sect of priests dedicated to the war-god Gow, a god of knights and of
chivalry."
     "And how know you so much of these things?" the Master Priest
sneered. "Your majesty, he is a traitor!"
     King Haralan tipped his head back slowly and closed his eyes. "Hold
your tongue, Redcrosse, or we shall have it cut out. Marcellon Equiville
is no traitor, and he is far less annoying than you." Haralan sighed,
opened his eyes, and removed the crown. "I have such a headache," he
murmered. "This is so heavy." The King looked at his High Mage. "They
have priests of war, you say? Can they work magic?"
     "The priests of Gow cannot," Marcellon reported, drawing on his
experiences as a young man, when the great wizard Styles had trained him
in the Beinison Empire. "They rely on skill and chivalry. They do,
however, fight, and there will probably be many in the numbers of the
Beinison army, and many are, in fact, Knights of the Star."
     "Their blessings will help morale," the King proposed thoughtfully.
     "Quite probably, your majesty," Sir Edward Sothos agreed. "And
their skill in battle -- and their leadership -- also must be
considered."
     "Other sects of the Beinison religion do work magic," Marcellon
continued his lesson. "The priests of Sanar are healers, for instance.
They will go with the army, but I doubt they will fight. The Amante
priests, however ..."
     "Who?" Jan Couryman wondered.
     "Amante, the Masked God, is also a god of warriors," Marcellon
explained. "He is a god of thieves, criminals, assassins, gladiators,
and dishonorable warriors." The High Mage grinned. "Oddly enough, he is
also the patron of torturers and executioners. Some of his priests use
magic destructively, as do the priests and priestesses of Erida, the
goddess of pain."
     The Master Priest snorted. "All these pagan gods are false and hold
no power in comparison to our God and to the prophet Cephas Stevene."
     "True," Marcellon agreed smoothly, "but their priests and
priestesses are much more useful." Redcrosse's face exploded with fury,
and Marcellon continued easily, "Many more of their priests and
priestesses are trained in magic and combat, I mean. They are quite well
trained." Almost wickedly, Marcellon smiled at the Master Priest. "It is
quite unfortunate that you feel so morally opposed to God-given magic,
Jehan. It would help our land a great deal to have more magicians."
     "We regret that lack," the King concluded heavily, leaning forward
to study the map of Magnus. "They have many more mages and wizards,
which will create great problems for the army. Marcellon, you cannot
defeat them all."
     "Don't worry, your majesty," Marcellon reassured him. "Most of the
mages and wizards are of average skill, as are most of our mages and
wizards."
     "You mean it is like soldiering," Sir Edward ventured grimly. "Many
can fight competently, but few are truly brilliant like Sir Luthias."
     "Or you," the High Mage concurred easily. "That's exactly it."
     "Let us get back to the problem at hand," the King suggested
tiredly. "If we cannot drive them from Magnus, nothing else matters. The
Master Priest's idea would never work."
     "You have little faith," Redcrosse accused. "The Stevene himself
told us the story --"
     "I doubt your God will grant us the miracle," Sir Edward snapped.
"We must be, as the Count Connall often reminds us, practical."
     "Perhaps we should wait for Sir Luthias," Marcellon recommended
gently. "It is past midnight, and we are all quite tired. Perhaps we
should sleep. A few bells of sleep will give us all new perspective."
     "I agree, your majesty," Sir Edward said quietly. The High Mage
knew from the Knight Commander's very voice how exhausted he was. "We
are accomplishing nothing this night."
     "Then we shall conclude and return to this in the morning," the
King decreed, standing slowly. "Guard!" One of the King's Own cautiously
opened the heavy door. "Bring the messages."
     "There are but three, your majesty," the guard reported. He offered
one scroll, tied in a blue ribbon and sealed with the arms of Dargon, to
the King, who unrolled it. The guard gave a plain, folded paper to the
Knight Commander. Suddenly, the King chuckled. "How odd," he answered
the questioning eyes. "The Duke of Dargon has news that the infamous
pirates of the Eclipse are sinking the Beinison navy."
     Marcellon's mouth quirked without surprise. "What's that you have,
Edward?"
     "A message from Luthias," Sir Edward answered, smiling. "The
conqueror comes, and he expects to reach the city by dawn."
     "Good," the King declared as the guard handed Marcellon the last
scroll, sealed in gold and tied with a red ribbon.
     The magic rippled through Marcellon's blood, and he dropped the
scroll as if it burned. "Mon-Taerleor," he breathed, and the High Mage
knew the message without needing to read it. The threats were already
clear. Marcellon drew strength from within and composed himself.
     "What is it, Marcellon?" the King asked anxiously, and then
Marcellon knew how much the message had affected him. If it showed on
his face ...
     "It is from ... an old friend," Marcellon answered slowly. "I must
meet him at dawn."
     "You haven't even opened it," the Master Priest snorted. "How can
you know? You are a demon's own spawn --"
     Marcellon sent the man a blue glare.
     "Leave us," the King commanded, his mouth set angrily. With a bow
toward the King and a contemptuous look at the High Mage, the Master
Priest scurried from the room along with all the servants. When the door
thundered shut, Haralan asked again, "What is it, Marcellon?"
     Marcellon drew a deep breath and felt his body calm. His mind still
felt uneasy, though, and he chose his words with care so as not to worry
the King and the Knight Commander. "I am ... challenged," he said,
smiling at Sir Edward as he elected the final word. The smile dissolved.
     "Who could challenge you?" Haralan wondered. "You are the most
powerful mage in Baranur!"
     The smile again flirted with the enchanter's lips. "In Baranur,"
the High Mage repeated, "aye. In the world, only one of three. One of
the three challenges me."
     "Marcellon, you cannot go," Sothos objected softly. "We need you
too much."
     The High Mage shook his head sadly. "I must go. I have been
challenged." When Sir Edward appeared enlightened, Marcellon actually
laughed. "No, my friend, it is not a code of honor which will brand me
coward that I fear. The one who challenges me will meet me on the hills
outside of the city at dawn. If I am not there, he will take out his ire
on our approaching army. And God help Luthias if he finds my old friend
... Luthias will try to kill him, and then our conqueror, as you call
him, will surely die."
     The King's tired eyes awoke. "Your old friend ... that wicked mage
you trained with ... Mon ... Mon ..."
     "Mon-Taerleor," Sir Edward supplied gravely, "the one who tortured
Sir Luthias." The Knight Commander turned to the High Mage. "Take care,
old man. May Nehru guide you."

     Myrande jerked out of her sleep and cursed herself silently. She
had vowed to stay awake, and the mugginess had, for a while, made it
quite easy, but the Countess had fallen asleep anyway. Myrande,
wondering what had awakaned her, used the tip of the still-nocked arrow
to push aside her closet curtain.
     Something moved above her bed. Myrande was unable to see clearly
without moonlight or candles, but the stars shining through the window
glinted off shiny steel. The knife dived into the pillows which Myrande
had substituted for herself.
     Without thought, the Countess drew the arrow, anchored, and
released.
     The unseen assassin cried out in pain and whirled. Myrande didn't
see eyes or body, and she froze. The invisible voice howled again, and
although Myrande saw nothing, she heard footsteps, hard and heavy, come
toward her.
     There was no time for another arrow. Myrande dropped the bow
without a thought and snatched her waiting naginata and slid her hands
into their familiar spots. For a split second, the Countess of Connall
listened to the approaching, invisible foe. His dagger glinted. Myrande
swung her naginata high and struck.
     The shock of contact jarred both Myrande's hands. She had hit
something hard; collar bone, she thought, and she hoped. Oh, God, let it
not be armor! The naginata didn't move. Myrande yanked at it
desperately. The weapon was twisting; her invisible opponent was moving.
     Something buried itself in the wood behind her; Myrande couldn't
think. She wrenched the naginata free and struck again without thinking.
The blade swished the air.
     A blow hit her. It felt like a fist, but cold steel caressed her
skin on the right side. Someone is trying to kill me! Myrande screamed
internally, and Ittosai Michiya's long training came to life within her.
Myrande raised the naginata and struck.
     Something hit the floor, and then a heavier burden fell.
     "Countess! Your excellency! Open the door! Oh, God!"
     Shaken, the Countess of Connall grasped for anything to hold her
up, and using the naginata as a staff, she stumbled to the door and
weakly threw open the bolt. "Lights," was her first order. Gaining
control of her voice, she looked at the two guards and Yara. "Tell the
grooms to saddle the horses. We're leaving."
     One of the guards bowed and retreated; the other reached for
torches, and Yara brought wine, which Myrande gratefully swallowed.
"Someone tried to kill me. Yara, go check my daughters."
     "Aye, excellency," Yara agreed, and she obeyed.
     "Bring it over here," Myrande instructed the guard with the torch,
then her feet glided beneath her, and Myrande crashed to the floor.
Blood covered her; beside her was a headless corpse swathed in black
from neck to toe. Myrande's arrow protruded from his side.
     "The head is here, your excellency," the guard reported, helping
his lady to her feet. "You should have had extra guards."
     "Assassins don't strike when there are extra guards," Myrande
pointed out, steading herself with the guard's help. The man-at-arms
gave her comment a condescending look, and Myrande rolled her eyes, not
wishing to explain. Instead, she made her way to the disembodied head.
     It, too, was a ghastly sight, wrapped in black except for the
clear, brown eyes, and soaked in blood at the base. The Countess glanced
at the body, then at the head.
     "What is he, excellency?" the guard asked, kicking the head toward
its body.
     "Don't do that," Myrande said. She moved toward both head and body.
"Castellan Ittosai has told me about a caste of Bichanese assassins who
dress all in black, mask and all."
     The guard knelt beside the body and examined the long sword with a
wide hilt-guard. "This sword isn't Bichanese, your excellency. Look at
it."
     Myrande glanced at the sword and nodded. It was a short sword, but
it had two edges, unlike any Bichanese katana or wakasashi that Michiya
had shown her. Heedless of blood and gore, Myrande unwrapped the head --
and gasped.
     The man had creamy, olive skin about the same hue as Myrande's, a
well-formed jaw, and handsome brown eyes, unslanted and wide. He is-
-was not Bichanese, Myrande decided firmly, but he was beautiful. The
only imperfection on his face was a odd, vicious scar on his left cheek.
Myrande studied it and tried to conclude whether it had been a sword or
a brand which had marred him.
     "Who was he?" Myrande whispered.
     "Perhaps this will tell, excellency," the guard suggested
helpfully. He held up a bloody gold chain with a red medalion depicting
an executioner's hood. "Have you ever seen such a thing?"
     "Never," Myrande agreed. She glanced down at the handsome, scarred
face -- her husband, too, was handsome and scarred -- and she wretched
violently. Oh, God, she thought desperately, I have killed a man.
     "My lady!" Yara cried from the door. "Where are the little ladies?
Their cradles are ripped to shreds with a knife, but there is no blood,
and they are gone."
     Myrande's nausea extinguished like a candle in a gale. "You son of
a whore," Myrande muttered, and she spit gladly on the man she killed.
Feeling a great deal calmer, Myrande turned to her maid. "Wake the wet
nurse. Lady Morwyn and Lady Julia are with her."
     "Aye, excellency."
     "Serves you right," Myrande decided, and she rose and kicked the
body. "May all others who seek to kill my children meet your fate."
     "Your excellency," the man-at-arms interrupted, and he held a
paper. "It has your seal."
     Myrande snatched it and broke the wax. As she suspected, it was her
message to Sir Edward. "Go. I must change these bloody clothes. Have
some other man come to take care of the body. Then, we leave."
     "Aye, your excellency," the soldier agreed, rising. At the door, he
turned. "Forgive my boldness, excellency, but where are we going?"
     "Never mind," Myrande ordered, stepping over the hideous corpse.
"If I tell you, someone might overhear, and I don't want this to happen
again. Trust me. We're going somewhere safe."

     Luthias Connall was weary, in truth, but the excitement he felt
when he could see the distant lights of Magnus more than overcame the
fatigue. Soon, Luthias thought, he could hold Sable again, and when he
next slept, he could sleep with her beside him.
     Before that, of course, Luthias knew that the King would soon
require him to be in the War Council, and while Luthias enjoyed planning
strategies, he generally disliked the Councils. If the Council were made
only of Knights, soldiers, generals, and the King, they would be
bearable and perhaps stimulating. The young Count of Connall despised,
however, the "game-board generals" who believed they knew all of war.
     Still, he was going home -- almost. Luthias had seen more of Magnus
in the past year than he had of Dargon, or his own castle in Connall.
     "A few more bells," Luthias sighed, and next to him, his aide
Ittosai Michiya smiled.

========================================================================

                           A Wolf at the Door
                           by Mark A. Murray
                          <mmurray@uoknor.edu>
                           Dargon, Yule 1015

     The sun was setting as Raphael set up camp. He dug a small hole and
started a fire in it. Around the fire, he set rocks to hide the flames
as much as possible. He burned the dead wood he had gathered until it
turned to glowing embers. The rocks had heated during this time and
Raphael hoped they would take a while to cool. Raphael set a small pot
on the rocks over the coals to heat some water. They had eaten at an inn
late in the afternoon so he decided to forego food until breakfast.
Megan, however, needed attention. When the water had warmed, Raphael
took the pot over to where Megan was sitting on their blanket. Using a
rag, he wiped her face clean. He couldn't help but look into her eyes as
he washed her face. Every time it was the same. There was a dullness in
her grey eyes that would not brighten. He started to remember her as she
used to be, but the pain became unbearable and he blocked the memories.
     "Have I lost you forever?" Raphael sighed and sat in front of her.
How many times had he done this, he wondered. It never crossed his mind
to abandon her, to leave her with some people who would take good care
of her. Even when his father had suggested the idea, he had stubbornly
refused. His love for her never allowed those thoughts to remain in his
mind.
     "Can you hear me, Megan?" he asked knowing that there would be no
answer. Slipping the cloak off of her shoulders, Raphael looked at her.
The red hair that had once cascaded around her shoulders with a life of
its own now hung limp around her neck. Her grey eyes matched the
lifeless pale color of her skin. He started to remember how her smile
always brightened his day, but the pain lanced through his chest and he
shoved the memories aside. Remembering no more the Megan he once knew,
Raphael stripped her down and washed her body. Finished, he dressed her,
laid her down, and told her to sleep. After putting things away, he
curled up next to her and went to sleep.
     It wasn't long before the nightmares started. He was on a grassy
knoll and the sun was bright and warm. Megan was walking up the hill
towards him when a thunderous storm appeared behind her. He stood and
pointed behind her, but was not able to yell a warning. The day darkened
as the storm grew. Black masses of clouds broke from the storm and
formed a swarm of moving darkness. The swarm of darkness took a humanoid
form with claws and sharp pointed teeth. The swarm moved toward Megan.
Raphael wanted to go to her but couldn't as his legs would not obey him.
Kell appeared then from the side of the knoll and ran toward Megan.
     "I'll save her," Kell shouted, but when he got to her he held her
in place. The swarm engulfed them both and Raphael could only catch
fleeting glimpses of them in the blackness. He saw Megan being ripped
and shredded by the claws while Kell laughed. Megan caught Raphael's
eyes and he could hear her pleading for him to save her, but he just
couldn't move. He started to scream when the nightmare ended and another
began. He endured them for a few hours before he woke drenched in sweat.
     "NO!" he screamed as he sat upright. His chest hurt and his
breathing was ragged. The blankets were crumpled in a ball at his feet.
He hunched over and drew his knees to his chest. The nightmares were
never exactly the same, but the contents rarely changed -- Megan in
danger, Kell never helping her and sometimes harming her, and him never
able to help at all. His nightmares were always about Kell, Megan, and
himself, although sometimes others would appear. He didn't know if Kell
was behind his nightmares or if they were just a side product of all
that had happened.
     "Damn you, Kell! Damn you for all of this," Raphael muttered as a
small part of him still hoped that Kell wasn't responsible for any of
it. "Why, Kell?" Raphael asked the darkness. "Why?" he repeated as his
breathing slowed and returned to normal.
     He checked on Megan and started back to sleep when he heard a small
howl in the distance. It was a mournful, sad cry and it echoed through
Raphael's soul. "He sounds alone and lost," Raphael thought. "Or maybe
it is just my being alone and lost without Megan that is making it sound
that way." Adding a few more small sticks on the embers, Raphael laid
down again. Shivers wracked his body as he fought to relax. It was a
long while before he fell asleep.
     Morning crept into the world in a haze of subdued colors. The
horizon went from black to dark purple to shades of blue. Raphael
watched through bloodshot eyes as the world around him slowly woke. He
watched as the sun came into view and brightened the world. The wind
picked up and blew through the trees. Birds started their song and small
animals scurried about the forest floor. This was the part of the day
that he enjoyed the most. It was as if everything was born anew. Even
his nightmares retreated from the morning sun. While dawn rejuvenated
him and kept him sane, his love of Megan gave him the courage to forge
ahead. He rekindled the fire before he woke Megan. Getting her ready to
travel was a routine now and he did it methodically. After their morning
meal, Raphael broke camp. After taking a second look around to make sure
the fire was out and that he had not left anything, Raphael took Megan's
arm and started walking.
     "Magnus," he thought, "is where I need to go. Someone in Magnus
will have a cure for you. Should have taken a boat, but the walk will do
us good. Less people and less questions to answer. Besides, I'm used to
the woods, now. If only you could move on your own and not by my
commands, the travelling would be easier."
     The sun was overhead and shining down brightly, but it wasn't hot.
A small breeze whispered through the trees and flowed softly through the
underbrush. They had walked the better part of the morning on a path
that looked to be heavily travelled by deer but they hadn't seen any
yet. The path was wide in most places, but where it narrowed Raphael had
to guide Megan through. Although Megan could walk, it was only from
Raphael's commands and guidance. She would trip or stumble if Raphael
was not careful.
     "What a beautiful day, Megan," Raphael said. He was just about to
stop for lunch when there came a rustle not far from them. The rustle
came from an area of brush that wasn't large. "Maybe a deer that was
lying down," Raphael thought. He was about to continue onward when the
wind brought a scent of decay to him. His curiosity aroused, Raphael
started toward the brush. As he got closer, he saw a large wolf lying on
the ground. He stopped and waited a few seconds but the wolf did not
move. He edged closer and saw an arrow sticking out of the wolf's side
just behind the shoulder. Dried blood was matted on the wolf's fur.
Before Raphael could move and examine the wolf closer, a wolf pup
emerged from the denser part of the brush. It was black and silver and
looked unsure of what to do. Cautiously, the pup slowly inched its way
over to Raphael. Raphael almost laughed as the pup moved on unsure legs.
Little things like a dip in the ground or a branch caused the pup to
stumble and almost fall. From the size of it, Raphael would have guessed
its age to be about four months old, but from the way it moved it
couldn't have been more than two. It was a large pup.
     "Where's the rest of your pack?" Raphael asked as he bent and
offered his hand. The pup stopped and stretched out to sniff his hand.
After a long debate within itself, the pup finally came forward and
licked Raphael's hand. Raphael slowly took his backpack off and pulled
out a biscuit. The pup was more curious about the backpack and stuck his
head into it. Having found a leather strip from inside the backpack, the
pup pulled on it. It turned into a tug of war between the wolf pup and
the leather strip. The pup pulled harder and jerked his head from side
to side. The pup's grip slipped and it went sprawling backwards to a
final upright sitting position.
     "What a fierce one you are," Raphael laughed and the pup gave him
an indignant look. The pup started back to the leather strip when it
finally noticed Megan. Nose into the air, the pup sought a scent for
her, but there was no wind to carry it. The pup's hackles went up when
he could find no scent. Slowly, it inched toward Megan. Once close
enough to get her scent, the pup relaxed and sat at her feet sniffing
her legs.
     Raphael left the pup there and turned to examine the dead wolf. It
was a female wolf and a large one at that. For a female, even one that
just had a litter, she was large. Raphael wondered if the pack had
fallen to the same arrows as this one. The pack wouldn't have left the
pup on its own. Something had happened, he knew, but he doubted he would
ever find out. Turning around Raphael froze. Megan was in a kneeling
posture in front of the pup. Her hands hung limp at her side and her
head was tilted toward it. She had moved without his guidance or
command. He blinked and looked again. Realizing that the sight in front
of him wasn't an illusion, Raphael was not sure what to do. It was
something she had never done before. Could the pup have initiated her
movement or something he dared not hope -- that she moved by herself.
     "Megan?" Raphael whispered. "Megan?" he said a bit louder but she
did not move. The pup began licking her hand and Megan still didn't
move. Raphael went over to her and stood her up. He looked into her eyes
and saw only the same lifeless grey eyes. Where once they had been a
sparkling green, her imprisonment had changed them grey. He whispered
her name and silently prayed. The pup interrupted him by grabbing his
pant leg and chewing it. Sighing, Raphael knew he couldn't leave it now.
Bending down, he started to pet the wolf pup. It rolled onto his back
and Raphael rubbed its stomach. Raphael saw that the pup was male and
knew he was in trouble. "This pup is probably going to grow very fast
and very large," Raphael thought. Taking care of it would be a heavy
responsibility once it grew up. Raphael wondered if some god had
labelled him a caretaker of innocents. Picking up the biscuit he had
dropped and wiping it clean, He repacked it. As he replaced the biscuit,
he searched for some jerky to give to the pup.
     "Hungry, aren't you?" Raphael said as he gave it a second strip of
jerky. Picking up the pack, he took Megan's arm and started down the
path making sure the pup stayed with them. About a league away, Raphael
stopped to make camp. After taking care of Megan and the pup, he went
out to set snares. With any luck, the morning would bring fresh food.
     When he got back, he found that he was outmatched in the hunting
area. The pup had caught several tree rats while he had been out. There
was a half eaten rat on the ground and he was playing with another. The
rat was dead but the pup would grab it and toss it into the air. Running
over to where it landed, he would repeat the process. Finally tired of
the game, the pup ate the rat. Raphael chuckled and spread the sleeping
bag next to the fire. He got Megan from where she was sitting and turned
to find the pup rolling all over the blanket. "Yes," he thought to
himself, "this is definitely going to take some getting used to."
Clearing an area for Megan, he laid her down and covered her with a
blanket. The pup moved to her side and stretched out next to her taking
up half of the space where Raphael wanted to be. Raphael picked him up
amid some growling and moved him to the other side of Megan off of the
blanket. Before Raphael could settle in, the pup slid back into the same
space taking up more room this time. Picking the pup up, Raphael laid
down in his place and then set him back on the other side of Megan.
Smiling, Raphael started to curl up to Megan when he felt the pup
squirming in between them. The pup was shifting and turning to get in
between them. Finally, Raphael gave up and let him lie between them.
     When Raphael woke, he realized that he had slept through the dawn.
The sun was shining brightly down upon him and it felt good. He felt
relaxed and warm. The warmth, he found, came from the pup. It was
sprawled across half of his chest, still asleep. Raphael laid there and
basked in the peacefulness of the day. Wondering why he wasn't tense and
edgy, he realized that a third surprising event had transpired, or
rather had not transpired. There had been no nightmares to endure
throughout the night. First had been Megan's movement, then the waking
late, and lastly were the lack of nightmares. "Maybe," Raphael thought,
"things were finally going to get better." Breakfast consisted of two
hares for the wolf pup and biscuits and tea for Raphael and Megan. With
a new morning routine and a late rise, the morning was fully gone by the
time they left the campsite. Travelling became slower with the wolf pup.
     The nightmares continued the next night and Raphael woke drenched
in sweat in the middle of the night. The pup woke with him and watched
him briefly before huffing and laying back down to sleep. Raphael took
the hint and laid down as well. Sleep came easier and it was almost
sunrise when Raphael woke. He sat up and started to watch the day begin.
The pup stumbled onto his lap and looked up at him. Raphael looked down
at the pup and smiled.
     "Anam. That's what I think Megan would have called you. It means
spirit or soul or something like that. Megan could tell you the exact
meaning. We'll ask her when she's with us again," Raphael told the pup.
     Dawn broke and Raphael watched as the sun brought colors and life
into the world. This time however, Anam watched it with him.

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