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DargonZine Volume 09 Issue 04
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 9
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 4
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DargonZine Distributed: 07/05/1996
Volume 9, Number 4 Circulation: 610
========================================================================
Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Shadowstone 3 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Naia 13, 1014
Friendships Bloody Tear 3 Mark A. Murray Yuli-Sy 1015
Ruthless Revelry 1 Carlo N. Samson Yuli 04, 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 9-4, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright July, 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>
Summer is inevitably a slow time of year for online magazines, with
students off on break and just about everyone looking up from their
computer monitors to enjoy the beauty of the real world. Combine that
with ye editor working ludicrous hours, and it shouldn't be surprising
that after a streak of printing four issues in five months, it's been
nearly three months since our last issue. However, we don't expect that
to be the norm, and we appreciate your patience and continued interest.
Another event which added a slight delay to 9-4's publication was a
scheduled weekend in Denver this June with several of the Dargon Project
writers. We spent the weekend climbing around places where sane people
wouldn't venture and generally having a great time in a beautiful area.
And of course we reminisced, talked shop, and made plans for the future
of DargonZine.
And that future looks pretty good, if one judges by the number of
new readers that have subscribed lately. Since April we've had around
sixty new readers sign up, for whom this is their first issue, and this
without putting out an issue for three months! Welcome, everyone! If
you're a new reader, you might want to check out the back issues,
particularly DargonZine 9-2 and DargonZine 9-3, which contain parts one
and two of storylines which continue in this issue.
While we've added our name to several Web search engines,
word-of-mouth remains our most important method of finding new readers,
so I would encourage you to tell your friends about DargonZine and share
your issues.
As mentioned, this issue continues Dafydd's "Shadowstone" series
and Mark Murray's "Friendships Bloody Tear" series. Both storylines
began in DargonZine 9-2, continued in DargonZine 9-3, and part three of
both series' appears here. Watch for the final climactic installment of
"Shadowstone", which should be out in our next issue!
And this issue also features part one of a new storyline by Dargon
"Old One" Carlo Samson. Carlo's been writing Dargon Project stories for
over a decade now (whatever happened to term limits?), and his writing
has improved over time. His "Ruthless Revelry" promises to be very
exciting, and he's writing part two now, unless someone has given him
back the remote control for his television ...
That's all the news from the editorial desk. Thanks for your
interest, and enjoy the issue!
========================================================================
Shadowstone
Part III
by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
<white@duvm.ocs.drexel.edu>
Naia 13, 1014
Naia 13, 1014.
Pre-Dawn.
Corridom Silver Mine, just outside Port Andestn, Duchy Monrodya.
Kimmentari stepped from the Merstaln into a canyon and reached for
her perception of the Dance. Her thread showed that she was following
her path perfectly, and she opened her eyes and started walking west.
The canyon curved slightly north and when she came round the curve, she
saw the wall that closed off the end of the box canyon before her. The
Dance showed that her current task lay within those walls, as well as
the danger atop the two towers that flanked the gate, and she crept into
the shadow of some rocks by one of the canyon walls to hide while she
rested for a moment.
She thought about the two dreams that had driven her from Castle
Pentamorlo and into this Dance. In one, the room full of innocents being
rescued, in the other, every one of them being killed. She hadn't been
bothered by those dreams since leaving the Castle, but she could now see
where they fit into the patterns of the Dance she was following and
facilitating. Both predictions were still equally likely to become
reality, but only one could lead to the preferred ending.
And there was still much hidden from her. While the Dance
encompassed the whole of what was happening here, it wasn't given to her
to know what each and every thread represented. She still didn't know
what the doom was which loomed as the reward of failure. She still
didn't know who the face in the bloody dream was, though it was very
familiar. And while she knew that the young man, Chandras, whom she had
met and directed yesterday morning, was an important player in this
Dance, she didn't yet know in what way.
It would have been frustrating to her to have such limited
knowledge of the paths involved in such an important Dance, if she
wasn't used to it by now from long experience. Even so, she sometimes
wished for the chance to be a little more free of the guidance of
Thyerin's Dance -- to make decisions that weren't weighted by the
knowledge of the complexities of the consequences that resulted from it.
The fast-livers did it all the time, like her mate going off to fight a
war that he had no way of knowing the outcome of. What freedom!
She turned her attention back to her immediate situation, and saw
that the guards were distracted enough for her to pass the walls. She
stood, and took the sideways step that let her enter the Merstaln. She
knew which direction she needed to go, and she was glad to see that she
was able to do so. One step was all she needed, and when she stepped
back out of the Merstaln, she found herself behind the walls.
She looked around the space enclosed by the artificial walls and
the cliffs of the box canyon. All of the buildings within the compound
were built against one or the other kind of wall, leaving a large open
space in the center. And then she saw the dais and recognized the design
painted there, and with a sinking sensation, she knew -- someone was
using part of the Shadowstone here!
She knew whomever had taken possession of the Shadowstone shard
would keep it near. She refocused her perceptions, and immediately saw a
faint glowing image of the stone hovering above the center of the dais.
She also saw a trail of light that she knew traced the path the stone
had traveled as it was carried around. She followed the trace directly
to a large building built against the back wall of the canyon, and since
there were no other traces to indicate that the stone had been moved
from that building, she knew the stone had to be inside. She took a
moment to be sure that she was still alone, and then entered it.
The light trace led her to a room on the top floor of the building.
She had been cautious in her advance, but she had seen no one, nor had
she felt any sort of warding or warning spell being triggered. Now she
could sense the presence of the shard on the other side of the door she
stood before, so she took a moment to readjust her perceptions to the
purely physical and prepare herself for the discovery that was coming.
When she felt herself ready, she opened the door and passed through.
She found herself in some kind of audience chamber. It was a large
room sparsely decorated with out-of-place tapestries and patterned rugs,
backless benches against the side walls, and a throne against the wall
opposite the door. On a carved wooden stand rested the Shadowstone
shard, and seated in the throne staring at the pulsing shard was the one
who had bonded with the shard. Kimmentari felt a pang of regret as she
recognized the person -- her cousin Olmehri, a half-Araf, half-human
outcast from Araf society.
"Greetings, Olmehri," she sang in pure Araf. "It has been long
since our Dances crossed. How do you fare?"
The green-haired, blue-eyed half-Araf looked up and sneered in
contempt. That sneer seemed to emphasize the human qualities in Olmehri
that blunted and coarsened her Araf heritage, and Kimmentari was
surprised to find herself slightly bothered by that blending. She felt
that the two physical types didn't blend well at all, which was
disquieting considering her own involvement with a human.
"'How do I fare?'" Olmehri repeated. "Quite well, actually, despite
being disinherited by my own kind!" Olmehri spoke in the local human
tongue, and instead of the rich musical tones that always accompanied
Kimmentari's speech, she was accompanied by faint, somewhat atonal
notes. Kimmentari supposed that the sound wouldn't be unpleasant to a
human unless they had heard a full-blood Araf speak.
"Your expulsion from Araf society was as much your choice as that
of the Elite. If you hadn't pursued your infatuation with the Leader's
eldest, the Elite wouldn't have been forced to deal with you in order to
maintain the purity of the succession.
"But that's old music now, Olmehri. I'm here about the Shadowstone
shard."
"Trying to cheat me of my heritage again, cousin? Not this time."
Kimmentari frowned, and said, "History has nothing to do with this,
Olmehri. I do not have your discomfiture always uppermost in my
thoughts. And that it was my words that led the Elite to rule as they
did should not lead you to believe that I harbor some kind of vendetta
against you.
"The care of the Shadowstone may be our family's heritage, but if
you were serious about that heritage, you would know that the shard
should never have been awakened. It's far, far too dangerous."
"Too dangerous for those timid fleerings among the Elite who refuse
to use the power they have access to. Too dangerous for you, but not too
dangerous for me!"
Kimmentari took a step closer to her cousin and said earnestly,
"Listen, Olmehri, the lore that surrounds the Shadowstone is not
fiction. Tell me, why haven't you stood up to face me? Feeling tired
lately? That's because the shard is feeding off of you. If you don't
give it enough essences, it takes some of yours. And its need grows with
every essence you *do* feed it. That group of Raiders you captured and
gave to the shard will abate the need for a short while, but when it
returns it will be at three times strength. And then where will you get
enough lives to feed it?"
Olmehri looked uncertain for a moment, then rallied. "As my Minions
grow in number, finding further subjects will become easier and easier.
And when we reach the completion number, the need will be sated and my
power will be supreme!"
"But you will never survive to reach that number! It's too great.
The total population of Port Andestn -- even of all of Monrodya! --
isn't enough to satisfy even the shard in your possession. And when you
are overcome by the Shadowstone, the shard will continue what you have
started, except there will then be no way to stop it until it consumes
everyone!"
Olmehri flinched at that. But then she rallied again, regaining her
composure. "I *will* succeed, cousin. I am Mistress of the shard, and I
shall receive the reward. And you, Kimmentari, shall receive only death!
Now, my knights!"
The door crashed open, but Kimmentari didn't turn. She reached
sideways and touched the shard briefly. Olmehri shouted "No!!" and
lunged from the throne at the shard, but Kimmentari knew that taking it
away wasn't a solution. Separating the stone from Olmehri wouldn't break
the link between them, it would just make it impossible for Olmehri to
feed it and thus hasten the half-Araf's demise and set the Shadowstone
free from all control. Instead, she took a risk and stepped into the
Merstaln, vanishing from Olmehri's throne room in a flash of violet
light.
Within the Merstaln, Kimmentari surveyed her options. The alien
landscape that surrounded her conformed only somewhat to the shape of
the physical plane she had come from, as was normal. There was a pulsing
node of light next to her which represented the Shadowstone shard's
presence on this particular order of form. It represented another danger
the Shadowstone presented -- the natural denizens of this place would be
attracted to such an alien presence, and some could probably use the
node as a portal to the first order of form. She hoped that none of
those creatures were near.
She scanned the nearby terrain features, and was able to associate
the slight ridge that ran around her on three sides as the walls of the
end of the box canyon. She stepped over to the ridge, and exited the
Merstaln. Sure enough, she found herself on the top of the cliff above
the building that contained Olmehri's throne room. There as a flurry of
activity below as Olmehri's Minions ran back and forth across the center
of the compound, but none of them looked up. Kimmentari backed away from
the edge and out of sight from below, and contemplated her next task.
The Dance showed that she should travel to the place where the
remnants of Thornodd's Raiders were gathered and inform them of their
choices. She knew that Chandras, the young man she had first met with,
was with them and she knew she had to keep clear of him -- he had
touched the power of the Shadowstone when he had assaulted that Minion,
and it gave him perceptions beyond the normal, at least when it came to
Araf magics. What she had sensed of his grasp of the Dance had been
nothing short of amazing, but she couldn't let such clear knowledge
cloud the decision-making processes required from here on.
Taking a deep breath, she started the next leg of her journey.
Naia 13, 1014.
First bell.
The Refuge of Thornodd's Raiders, in the Hills outside of Port Andestn,
Duchy Monrodya.
Chandras came awake abruptly, and groaned at the pain in his head.
He reached up instinctively to probe the injury and encountered a
bandage wrapping his head. He groggily opened his eyes and looked
around, and found himself lying on the ground in a large cavern along
with maybe twenty others, one of whom was standing over him with his
sword drawn, obviously on guard.
"Wh-where am I?" Chandras shakily asked.
"The Refuge of Thornodd's Raiders, with the sole remnants of those
raiders," answered the guard. "And you've asked your last question until
you give up some answers. Who are you? Why were you running away from
that mining compound in the middle of our attack?"
Chandras sat up slowly, still clutching his bandaged head, and
replied, "I - I'm Chandras. I live in Port Andestn. Um, I happened to be
trying to reach your camp in the hills just as it was attacked. I
followed the attackers back to their lair, and then sneaked in. A guard
caught me and as he was taking me to their leader, there was this
explosion at the gate. In the confusion, I escaped, but I guess I
tripped or something, because the last thing I remember was a shape
rising from behind a rock, and then I was falling ..."
"Well, that sounds like a good story, to a point. And it's not like
you had a great deal of time to make it up while you were unconscious.
So, you're probably not one of the enemy who attacked our valley camp.
Still, it's not my call." Raising his voice but not taking his eyes off
of Chandras, the guard called out, "Captain Thornodd! Our guest is
awake."
A tall, handsome, imposing woman came over and looked down at
Chandras. "So, comfortable? I apologize if our hospitality is lacking,
but we are somewhat short-handed these days. How's your head? I trust
Dzory's ministrations are satisfactory?"
Chandras frowned, confused by Thornodd's somewhat odd questions and
manner. She didn't seem anything like his idea of the leader of a band
of cutthroat raiders, but more like a Baroness hosting a guest, or
something. He said, "Ah, my head hurts a bit, but besides that I'm fine.
I guess."
"Good, good. And now that the niceties are past, perhaps you can
repeat for me what you told Dzory here about who you are."
Chandras repeated his short description, and then elaborated when
Thornodd asked for more details. He even ended up telling her about the
strange woman who had given him those choices on the hill above the
attack, though it was obvious that Thornodd had the hardest time
believing this part.
Finally, the Raiders' leader was satisfied -- or satisfied enough,
since Chandras had a feeling that she wasn't completely convinced.
Thornodd said, "Thank you for your patience, Chandras. I would
appreciate your aid when we plan our next assault, and that meeting will
be after we have all had something to eat. Dzory will show you the
necessary, and where you can wash up. See you in half a bell."
Every single remaining raider had gathered for the planning meeting
around a makeshift table consisting of 4 barrels and a large plank.
Chandras felt very out of place standing with the rest of them at the
table, and he really just wanted to be on his way back to Port Andestn
and just maybe the arms of Delebye. But the Captain had specifically
invited him to this meeting, so he had little choice.
Thornodd began, "Before we can effectively plan our second rescue
attempt, we need to know why our last try failed. Any ideas?"
"It must have been my explosive packets, Captain," said a slim,
almost scrawny, young man. "I should never have attempted such a
contrived setup, too many things could go wrong. But we just don't have
very many supplies here, so I was forced to make do.
"The theory was sound though, and I followed the directions in the
grimoire to the letter. Two secondary packets, primed by the presence of
the guards in the towers, would when detonated feed energy to the
primary packet at the gate, enabling the fairly weak explosive there to
do enough damage to breach the gate. But it didn't work that way -- one
of the secondary packets didn't even go off!
"I know that Rhand's arrows reached their targets, so the packets
should have been in place. So it must have been my preparations, unless
the guards weren't at their posts ..."
Chandras said, "Oops," without realizing it, and when Thornodd
looked at him with a questioning expression, he said, "The guard that
captured me must have come from the tower. He probably saw me from up
there and left his post. I didn't even think of being spotted from
above. Stupid mistake, especially for a rooftopper. Sorry."
Thornodd digested that quickly, and her brief frown was replaced by
a resigned expression. "What's done is done, and it wasn't done of a
purpose. I never doubted your magical abilities, Jerek, and now you
needn't either." The slim youth smiled in response. "At least we know
that it wasn't some kind of damping or warding magic being used by those
people.
"But now for the future. The walls of that mining compound are
still our most formidable obstacle. Do you have enough materials to
build more explosives, Jerek?"
Jerek didn't look hopeful. "Enough for a primary packet, but not
enough for more than one secondary, and there needs to be at least two
to get the feeding effect. All told, we can't muster enough explosive
power to breach that gate."
"That's all right. We had surprise on our side before, but now
without it, we don't have enough of a force to charge through a downed
gate considering that they must be prepared for such a move. But we
still have to figure out a way to get our people out of that compound,
and ..."
"Excuse me," Chandras said, interrupting Thornodd, "but I'm not
sure that is possible any longer. I mean, what with that ceremony and
all ..."
"What do you mean?" Thornodd asked.
"Well, um, I don't think that that ceremony was just some way to
keep their captured prisoners docile. One of that woman Olmehri's
knights said something to one of their victims about 'joining the
Mistress's service' or something like that. That doesn't sound like they
can just be rescued, does it?"
Thornodd frowned and said slowly, "So, if your story is true, and
if that apprentice you attacked *is* associated with the people who are
in that compound (though I don't see the connection), then what we're up
against is a group that seems to be indestructible, that seems to be
bringing down some kind of doom on our area, and who have been
'converting' our captured fellows to their cause (whatever that means)
since the middle of yesterday. This does not sound hopeful."
"Excuse me, Thornodd, but I think there's another aspect to
consider here." Jerek sounded like he didn't really want to say this,
but he needed to. Thornodd gave him an 'I'm listening' look, and he
continued, "I'm just guessing here, using what our guest has told us,
but it seems to follow that if this Mistress Olmehri has somehow
possessed our former comrades to the extent that they will now fight in
her army, then she should also have access to their memories. The
knights that Chandras told us about didn't seem like zombies, after all.
What I'm getting to," he said in response to the 'get on with it' look
from Thornodd, "is that Olmehri must know where this Refuge is -- if not
yet, then soon -- if she can get information from her converts. We
aren't safe here. Not for very long.
"I've also been trying to remember why some of this sounds so
familiar, and I think I recall reading a collection of legends and
fables some time ago, one of which had some similarities to this. Maybe
if I could find it -- I'm sure the book is packed away in my treasure
chest somewhere -- it could provide some clues."
"Well, we don't have much else to go on, do we? Frankly, I am
beginning to doubt that we have a chance, here, but I will reserve final
judgment until Jerek finishes his research. See to your weapons and gear
while we wait -- we may have to ride at a moment's notice."
She followed Jerek through one of the several openings in the
cavern's wall, and the group around the table broke up, some gathering
into smaller groups to talk quietly, some going through other openings
that Chandras had seen led to chambers reserved for sleeping and gear
storage. Chandras didn't know anyone well enough to join in any
conversations, nor did he have any gear to get ready, so he stood
against a wall and watched.
Suddenly, a violet flash from the opening that Thornodd and Jerek
had gone through drew Chandras' attention. The color reminded him of
something, but he forgot all about that when he noticed that one of the
raiders was standing by that opening, and as the raider's eyes scanned
the main room again before returning to the side chamber, Chandras
noticed that his eyes were not surrounded by white, but by smoky grey!
========================================================================
Friendships Bloody Tear
Part III
Mark A. Murray
<mmurray@weir.net>
Dargon, Yuli-Sy 1015
After leaving the cabin and the old mage, Raphael decided to return
to Dargon City. "It's a port town," he thought, "and wherever I decide
to go next, it will be easier to get there from Dargon City than from
out here in the middle of nowhere. Faster, too. Getting to Magnus on
foot will still take some time. And while Magnus may hold a cure for
Megan, returning home and dealing with Kell may hold the cure. I've got
two choices -- Magnus or home? I wonder if May will let Anam stay at the
inn? What am I going to do with you, Anam? I just can't walk into town
with a wolf cub by my side. We gathered enough attention when we were
there before that I don't need any more."
"I bet Lylle could sneak you in," Raphael said to the pup. "I'm
sure he could. That part is settled, but where do we go next? Do we look
for a cure in Magnus, or do we go home?
"Anam? Megan? It would be nice once in a while, if someone else
made the decisions.
"Well, let's go back to Dargon City and decide there. If we walk to
Magnus and don't find a cure, then we'll have wasted a lot of time. Time
that could have been spent travelling home. How does that sound?"
Neither Anam nor Megan gave any indication that they heard, and Raphael
did not expect any.
Raphael was right when he was sure Lylle could sneak Anam into the
city. Lylle was reluctant to say how he could accomplish it, and Raphael
didn't want to press the issue. As long as he could get Anam inside,
Raphael was satisfied. Getting Anam inside the city turned out to be
easier than talking May into letting him stay in one of her rooms,
however.
"You want to keep *what* in my inn?" May yelled.
"Shhh! May, please! I don't want it known to everyone in town.
We'll only be here for a few days. He's taken to Megan and he's too
young to leave on his own," Raphael pleaded.
"I won't have no wolf in my inn! No, no, and no! I got this place
from my mother and she got it from her father and *he* got it from his
father, who built it. It's always been a respectable place and it always
will be. I don't want no pets in my inn."
"I'll pay for any damage that he does while we are here," Raphael
said. "Please May, I don't have anywhere else to go."
"Any damages?" May asked.
"Any damages," Raphael repeated.
"Tell you what, you pay for any *and all* damages that the wolf
does and he can stay," May said giving in. "I'll even have one of the
girls take out all the valuable stuff from the room."
"Thank you, May."
"Don't thank me, yet. Wait 'til you check the weight of your purse
before you start thanking me." May warned. "Now, where is this wolf?"
"In the back alley," Raphael answered. "I had hoped to bring him in
the back way and sneak him past the customers to the room upstairs."
"Go get it before I change my mind! Bring it to the back room," she
yelled after him. "Wolves in my inn! Next thing you know, I'll have rats
in my kitchen. Hmmmph!" she said, escorting Megan to the back room.
Raphael took Anam from Lylle, who had been holding him, and went to the
back room.
"May, this is Anam. Anam, this is May," Raphael said introducing
them. Anam stood where he was, leaned forward, and sniffed May's dress.
May looked down at Anam as he leaned farther forward. Just when May
thought he would fall on his face, Anam took a step forward. His nose
touched her dress and then he licked it. May bent down and scratched
behind his ear as Anam sat at her feet and leaned against her.
"He is kind of cute," she said. "Have a seat!" she ordered Raphael.
"We won't be able to take him upstairs until the customers have either
left or gone to bed." They talked for a few bells as Raphael told May
what had happened to him after he had left Dargon City. A maid
interrupted to let them know that the inn was empty.
After washing, cleaning, and changing Megan's clothing, he laid her
on the bed. Covering her up, he told her to sleep. Megan closed her eyes
as Anam jumped on the bed to sit beside her. Raphael decided that they
would be safe enough for him to go out into the city. "I need a break,"
he thought. "Nothing personal, Megan, but I need to have some time for
me. You'll be alright, really. I won't be gone long."
He was on his way home from the Shattered Spear when a familiar
figure caught Raphael's attention. "It couldn't be him," he thought. The
figure had moved on and Raphael lost sight of him in the crowd. Raphael
moved through the crowd to where he had last seen the man. He got to the
spot and looked around, but couldn't find him anywhere. Just as he was
about to give up, he saw the man again. Although Raphael did get a
better look, the man slipped down an alley before he could tell for sure
who it was. Raphael ran to the alley's opening and stopped. Cautiously,
he peered around the corner and saw a figure standing in the middle of
the alley facing the far end. Raphael silently entered the alley.
"It is me, you know," the man said turning around. Raphael stopped
as he realized that it was indeed Kell.
"Is it really him," he thought. "How is he here and what is he
doing here?" suddenly sprang into Raphael's mind. Other thoughts
followed and Raphael dismissed them as he remembered the old man's
advice. "Killing Kell could end the curse," he thought. There are no
sureties in life, the old man had also said.
"Why?" Raphael finally asked. "Why, Kell, after all these years? I
still don't understand why? You loved her, too."
"I didn't mean to hurt her," Kell whispered as he lowered his head.
"I wanted her to love me, too. I wanted you to feel how I felt. You
spent so much time with her and none with me. It hurt!"
"Yes, you were *sooo* sad," came a voice from the shadows beyond
Kell. Raphael saw Kell flinch and cringe at the voice. "What, you don't
remember me?" the man asked Raphael as he stepped out of the shadows. A
tall, skinny man stepped into the light.
Raphael recognized Kell's mentor, Loth, when he stepped out of the
shadows. Loth stood straight and tall and moved gracefully. His eyes
sparkled in the moonlight. He had long slender fingers with many rings
on them, and some fingers even held two rings. He was bald and clean
shaven with bags under his eyes. Wrinkles and leathery skin made him
appear old and he carried a staff adorned with runes and metal bands.
Kell seemed to diminish in his mentor's shadow.
"Stubborn boy," Loth scolded Kell, "what did you seek to gain? He
will kill you. Is that it? Do you wish to die? Do you not know that even
in death I will own you?"
"No, it can't be," Kell said softly as he dropped to his knees.
Raphael stood amazed at the power Loth held over Kell. He could see that
Kell was frightened of Loth and was nothing more than a beaten slave.
For the first time, Raphael wondered what really happened during Kell's
apprenticeship. It was then that Raphael remembered the old man's words
about there being a powerful overshadowing presence to the curse. It
could only be Loth.
"You've finally figured it out, haven't you," Loth said as he saw
realization gather in Raphael's eyes. "Such a shame, isn't it. You
thought it was your best friend who was responsible for dear Megan's
condition. And this sniveling idiot on his knees thought he was to
blame, too, until I told him the truth. Isn't that so, worm! It was *I*
who twisted Kell's spell and it was *my* magics that cursed Megan! She
*was* such a dear thing."
Rage exploded in Raphael. As he stepped forward, he saw that Loth
had put a tube to his mouth and was pointing it at him. Before he could
move out of the way, Kell stepped in front of him. Loth exhaled and Kell
took the dart meant for Raphael.
"FOOL!" Loth shouted. "You would throw away everything for this
one? Then die! One way or the other, you will still be mine." Kell
collapsed into Raphael's hands. Raphael cushioned his fall and gently
lowered him to the street. "It's a rather nasty poison," Loth said
matter-of-factly. "I really would love to watch, but I need to conclude
some business before --" Loth stopped and smiled at the two of them.
"Well -- we'll meet again. Of that, I have no doubt," Loth said as he
faded into the shadows.
"I'll die soon," Kell said. "I didn't want it to happen this way."
"Kell ... "
"Wait, let me say what I have to say," Kell coughed. "He told me
the truth only a few days after it happened. He was the one that twisted
my spell. I've lived with that knowledge ever since and it drove me to
search for a cure. I found that if one of us dies, the curse might be
lifted. Might be lifted. There are no sureties in life, you know." Kell
coughed again and this time blood came with the cough. He convulsed and
his body spasmed violently. "I wasn't strong enough to break his hold on
me. I was hoping that I could manipulate you into killing him ... " Kell
convulsed again and blood started to flow out of his eyes and ears. He
doubled over in pain and screamed. When the pain subsided, Kell looked
at Raphael and asked for one last favor. "Kill me. I can't take this
pain. The poison eats away at your insides. It only gets worse. For the
friendship we had, kill me," Kell pleaded and then closed his eyes in
pain.
"I'll always remember the friendship we had," Raphael said as he
watched his friend convulse in pain. His knife was in his hand and he
didn't remember getting it. He set the tip against Kell's chest. Looking
at Kell's face, his shut eyes, his tightly clenched mouth, Raphael
pushed his blade into his chest. The tip slid easily into Kell. Raphael
felt his own heart being pierced as his knife struck deeper. Part of
Raphael died with his friend.
Some time later, Raphael stood and slipped into the shadows. "It
wouldn't be good for someone to find me here or remember me being here,"
Raphael thought. Loth would pay for this. He would pay for Kell's death,
the lost years that their friendship could have had, and most of all he
would pay for the curse on Megan. Moving as fast as he could, Raphael
hurried back to their room at Spirit's Haven. If what Kell had said
turned out to be true, then Megan would be cured. There were no
sureties, Kell had said, he remembered. Realization hit him hard as he
remembered the old man. "That had been Kell! Emmet had been Kell! Kell
had been the old man!" Hope built up inside Raphael as he got closer to
Spirit's Haven.
Pushing the door open, Raphael entered Spirit's Haven. There were
only a few customers in the inn. Raphael glanced over the room looking
for Megan or May. Not seeing either one, Raphael went to the stairs,
stopped at the bottom and looked up. There was no one in sight at the
top of the stairs. Putting his hand on the bannister, Raphael hesitated.
"I don't know if I can take this," he thought. "If she's not cured, I
... don't know." He started up the stairs slowly and each step seemed an
eternity to him. Fear built up as he ascended the stairs. His body
trembled and his grip tightened on the bannister.
"This is worse than not knowing!" his mind screamed. Letting go of
the bannister, he climbed to the top and walked to their door. His heart
beat rapidly as he turned the latch and opened the door. Time seemed to
slow as the door opened. He saw the wall, the stand with the wash basin,
and his backpack. The door opened further and Raphael saw Megan on the
bed with Anam beside her. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was
shallow. "She's just asleep," he silently hoped. "She's cured and just
sleeping."
"She's cured," he repeated to himself quietly. As he stepped into
the room, Anam stood and jumped off the bed to greet him. "Anam didn't
wake her," he thought. "She's sleeping soundly -- that's it." Raphael
ignored Anam's greetings as he approached the bed. "If there is any
justice in this world, please, let it be now," he pleaded. He reached
the bed and shook her.
"Megan?" he asked as he shook her. "Megan, wake up," he told her.
Megan's eyelids fluttered and opened. As he watched them open, two
circles of grey burned their image into his mind.
"No!" he said shaking her again. "Megan, no," he pleaded as his
legs collapsed. He grabbed her for support as he dropped to his knees by
the bed. "No," he whispered again as the world suddenly went black.
========================================================================
Ruthless Revelry
Part I
by Carlo N. Samson
<macgyver@interaccess.com>
Yuli 04, 1015
It was midafternoon at the Orb and Claw tavern. The small common
room was mostly empty save for a few regulars who sat at either the long
table in the center of the room or at the bar. The door of the tavern
was propped open to let the breeze from outside bring relief from the
summer heat.
Christabel Montegarde stood behind the bar, smiling cheerfully as
she passed a mug of dark ale to a waiting patron. Her friend and fellow
serving girl, Sheela, joked with the men sitting at the main table and
occasionally dodged a swat at her rear. Christabel shook her head as she
wiped off the counter, wondering how Sheela put up with such treatment.
Suddenly, the door to the kitchen crashed open and a small gray cat
darted out with a yowl. A large white-haired man, his face red with
anger, loomed in the kitchen doorway. He shook his club-like walking
stick at the fleeing cat and shouted, "Get out, ye filthy creature!" He
shot an angry look at Christabel and limped heavily over to her. Though
the bar was between them, she backed away. The large man slammed the
head of the walking stick on the countertop and thundered, "Gods
bleedin' eyes, girl, how often must I tell ye ta keep your flea-crawlin'
beasties out of my tavern!"
Christabel jerked at the sound and folded her arms across her
chest. "I -- I'm sorry, Uncle Fergus," she said quickly, casting her
gaze to the floor. "He must have gotten out of the room, and --"
"Enough excusin'!" Fergus leaned forward and continued in a low
voice, "The next time I see that accursed creature, I'll smash its
blasted skull to splinters. Clear enough, girl?"
"Yes, Uncle Fergus," Christabel replied, still not looking at him.
His breath smelled of wine and decayed food. "I promise he won't --"
Fergus snorted. "You promise," he echoed derisively. He turned and
began limping back into the kitchen.
From across the room, Sheela gave Christabel a look of sympathy and
called out, "It was my fault, sir. I was supposed to look after the cat
today, and --" Her words were cut off as Fergus slammed the door.
In the awkward moment of silence that followed, Christabel became
keenly aware that the tavern patrons were all looking at her. Suddenly
she remembered the cat. She rounded the end of the bar and dashed to the
doorway.
"Ranulf!" she called, looking frantically up and down the street.
She shouted the cat's name again.
Sheela came up next to her. "Don't worry, he'll be back," she said,
patting Christabel's shoulder. "He lived for quite a long time by
himself before you found him, didn't he?"
Christabel rubbed her bare arms. "I wish Uncle Fergus didn't hate
animals so much."
"He doesn't do so well with people, either," Sheela remarked. "I'll
see if I can't find Ranulf. He shouldn't be too far gone." She slipped
out the door and into the street, calling for the cat.
Christabel sighed. She brushed a wisp of light-brown hair out of
her eyes, then went back into the tavern and resumed wiping the counter.
Her anxiety gave way to sadness; she wished for the hundredth time that
her father hadn't sent her to live with Uncle Fergus when her mother
died of the blackspot several months ago. The death had greatly affected
the entire family, but Fergus most of all since her mother was his only
sibling. He had since grown cold and withdrawn, and rarely paid
Christabel much attention except to scold her or assign her duties. She
longed for the company of her three sisters, but they now lived with
their grandparents; the cat was now the only other family she had.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Sheela strode back into the common
room. "Did you find him?" Christabel asked.
Sheela shook her head, but a sly grin spread across her face as she
replied, "Sorry, I didn't find Ranulf." She turned and gestured as a
dark-haired young man dressed in a white silk cote entered the tavern,
cradling the gray cat in his arms. "He did!"
Christabel gave a cry of delight and relief as the young man handed
the cat to her. "Oh, thank you, Trevin! Where did you find him?"
"Not far from here. He seemed to have found some new friends." The
young man explained that Ranulf had been caught by a pair of street
children who were about to dunk the hapless feline into a full rain
barrel. After rescuing the cat, Trevin had run into Sheela, who led him
back to the Orb and Claw.
Christabel smiled broadly at Trevin, but quickly dropped her eyes
when he grinned back. Sheela caught her friend's look, and held out her
arms. "Here, let me take him. He must be tired from running." She
accepted the cat and headed for the stairs that led up to the private
rooms.
Christabel tugged at her ear as she absently rubbed the bar rag at
a spot on the counter. "So, will you be having your usual today?" she
asked.
Trevin glanced from side to side and ran a hand through his dark
shoulder-length hair. He shook his head. Leaning forward slightly, he
said, "Truthfully, I came here to see you. To ask you, really, if you'd
--"
"Greetings, all!" came a shout from the tavern doorway. The two of
them turned to see a thin man clad in brightly-colored clothes juggling
three large eggs as he walked carefully into the room. "I come from the
traveling troupe of Rushike, the most famous and renowned master of
amusements and wonders in all of Baranur!" Without taking his eyes off
the eggs, the juggler made his way over to the nearest table and
snatched a mug off the table. The eggs splashed one by one into the ale.
But before the owner of the drink could react, the juggler made a
flourish with his free hand and a copper coin appeared between his
fingers. "My apologies and thanks," he said as he flipped the coin to
the man. He set the mug on the table and made a deep bow.
Christabel and Trevin joined the tavern patrons in applauding. Just
then, the kitchen door flew open again and Fergus limped out. "What in
the name of the bleedin' gods is this?" he roared. Shaking his walking
stick at the juggler he shouted, "Get out, ye glowin' freak, or I'll
crack that skinny head of yours, see if I don't!"
"The show begins two bells before dusk. May you all attend and be
amused!" the juggler said quickly, backing to the door. "Even you, my
good sir," he said to Fergus, who snarled and thumped the stick hard on
the floor. With a hasty bow, the juggler was gone. The large man gave a
satisfied grunt and retreated back into the kitchen.
Trevin turned to Christabel. The girl gave a weak smile and said,
"That's just the way he is."
"Is he that way with you, as well?"
Christabel shrugged and avoided his gaze, feebly swiping the
counter with the rag. The young man seemed to sense her discomfort and
gently reached out to touch her cheek. She looked up at him and he said,
"Never mind that. What I wanted to ask you is if --"
"What was the old man foaming about?" called Sheela, jumping down
the last two steps of the stairs and striding over to them. Christabel
informed her of Fergus' displeasure with the juggler.
"You mean he scared the poor fool away?" Sheela made a disparaging
sound and shook her head. "But -- you said he was from Rushike's troupe?
The odd lot that took over Bannon's Field the day before last?"
"That would be them," Trevin affirmed with a nod. Sheela's eyes
widened and she leaned in close to Christabel. Her voice dropped low as
she said, "My friend Kendal's been keeping a watch on them, and he said
that they've got this huge tent set up in the middle of the field." She
went on to say that the tent had apparently been put up in the middle of
the night, and armed guards now stood around it to keep away the
curious.
"Truly?" Christabel asked. "What do you suppose is so secret,
then?"
"Kendal thinks it's a dragon."
Trevin laughed. "I've seen the tent -- it's big, but not so large
as that. Besides, any dragon surely would have burned it's way out by
now."
"That's only if you believe they breathe fire," Sheela replied
smugly. To Christabel she said, "I'd give a week's wages to find out,
wouldn't you?"
Trevin cleared his throat. "You might, but she won't have to." The
two girls looked at him sharply. "That's what I'm here to ask you,
Christabel," he said with a grin. "Some friends of mine and I will be
attending the troupe's show this evening, and I was hoping you would
like to come along."
Christabel's eyes lit up, and she drew a deep breath. So he did
have some interest in her, after all! Ever since he and his friends had
started frequenting the Orb and Claw, she had done all she could to
attract his attention. He had been friendly enough with her, but she
thought he might have been more interested in Sheela, who certainly had
ample charms in her rich blond hair and long legs.
"Well?" Trevin's voice snapped her out of her brief reverie. She
pulled at her ear and smiled shyly. "I -- I'd like to, very much."
The young man grinned widely, and she thought she detected a hint
of relief in his pleased expression. Then he sobered and asked, "Will
your uncle allow you, though? Do you have to work this evening?"
Christabel's smile crashed. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that. I may
have to." Deep disappointment began to well up within her.
Sheela put her hands on her friend's shoulders. "No, you go with
Trevin. I'll get Tisha to take your place."
"You will?" Christabel said, immediately brightening. "Oh, Sheela!
Thank you!" She gave the blond girl a hearty embrace.
Trevin favored Sheela with a look of thanks. "Until this evening,
then," he said to Christabel. He waved to the girls as he left the
tavern.
Fergus did not growl a refusal or smash his walking stick about
when Christabel asked for permission to attend the traveling show with
Trevin. Rather, he stared for a long moment at the girl, then grunted
his assent as he turned back to his inspection of the ale casks that
lined one wall of the kitchen. Somewhat surprised, she then mentioned
that her friend Tisha would be taking over the rest of her evening
shift. Fergus nodded and waved dismissively, not bothering to take his
attention away from the casks.
Christabel thanked him and left the kitchen, casting a curious
glance back at him as she did so. Was this his way of apologizing for
chasing Ranulf out of the tavern? She shook her head. More likely, he
didn't want to have to deal with her for the rest of the night.
Trevin returned to the Orb and Claw a few bells later. He now wore
a brown leather jerkin over a red cote decorated with gold embroidery.
Upstairs in the girls' room, Christabel heard Fergus calling for her as
she fumbled with the laces of the black bodice she wore over the pale
blue chemise that Sheela had lent her. "I'll be down in a moment!" she
called back. In a softer voice she said, "Oh, Sheela! I feel so
nervous."
The blond girl finished braiding Christabel's hair and stood back,
examining her handiwork. "You're as lovely as the sky is wide, Belle.
Trevin will forget all other women when he sees you! I'll go down and
let him know you're nearly ready." Sheela patted her friend's shoulder
as she left the room.
Christabel sighed and looked over at Ranulf, who was curled up on
Sheela's bed. "At least you're calm." The gray cat flicked his tail and
yawned. When she had finished lacing up her bodice and checked her hair
in the mirror, Christabel took a deep breath and started resolutely
downstairs, making sure that the bedroom door was firmly shut behind her
to prevent Ranulf from escaping again.
Once down in the common room she saw Trevin sitting at the bar with
a mug in his hand, keeping an uneasy eye on Fergus, who stood behind the
counter. Catching sight of Christabel, Trevin abandoned the drink and
took a copper piece out of his belt pouch. He started to hold it out to
Fergus, but since the large man made no move to accept it he placed the
coin on the counter. Fergus stared at the youth, then palmed the coin
without comment.
"Here she is!" said Sheela, straightening up from wiping off the
long table. With obvious relief, Trevin went over to Christabel and took
her hand, pressing it against his cheek. "Delighted to see you again,"
he murmured.
Christabel felt herself grow warm all over. "I'm glad to see you
again, too," she replied softly. Trevin smiled into her eyes as he
released her hand reluctantly. Turning to Fergus, he promised to have
Christabel back before the tavern's last call. The large man grunted and
muttered, "See that you do."
"Well, I hope you two enjoy yourselves," said Sheela, walking with
Christabel and Trevin to the door. "And make sure you find out what's in
that tent!" she whispered.
Outside, townsfolk were already heading to the north side of the
town toward Bannon's Field, an uncultivated stretch of land where fairs
and festivals were usually held. Parents were pulled along by eager
children, groups of young people chatted and laughed, and some of the
more prosperous citizens rode by on horseback or in private carriages.
Christabel noticed that many people carried food baskets and
rolled-up blankets, and pointed this out to Trevin. She offered to go
back and get a blanket for them to sit on, since the grass of Bannon's
Field tended to be sparse in some places. With a knowing grin he told
her it wasn't necessary, and gazed expectantly down the street.
Presently, a black carriage came into view and halted in front of the
couple. The driver nodded to Trevin, who opened the door and motioned
Christabel inside. Somewhat taken aback by this unexpected luxury, the
girl hesitated before climbing aboard.
There were two other people already inside: a bearded youth wearing
a black-and-white doublet, and a small dainty-faced girl in a long
purple silk gown. The youth smiled pleasantly at Christabel, while the
girl regarded her with a look of cool disdain as she ran a silver comb
through her pale blond hair.
Trevin took the seat next to Christabel and shut the door. As the
carriage lurched into motion, Trevin made the introductions. The girl
was Joya Faulken, daughter of a local wool merchant, and the youth was
Giles Renier, youngest son of the town goldsmith.
Christabel didn't know Giles, but certainly knew of Joya since her
family was one of the most well-known and respected in the town. Her
father was the head of the local Merchants' Guild, and often had public
and private dealings with Baron Marstowe. Her mother organized lavish
feasts for visiting nobles and officials, as well as for the wealthier
townspeople; to be invited to one of her banquets conferred an immediate
elevation in a person's social rank. Christabel often fantasized about
attending such a banquet, but knew that someone of her station in life
would hardly be considered. But now, she was sitting directly across
from the daughter of the eminent Faulkens! This was certainly something
she had never expected.
Giles made to take Christabel's hand in the usual greeting, but was
brought up short by a sharp look from Joya.
"So you're the one Trevin thought to bring?" the small girl
sniffed, looking Christabel up and down.
"Now Joya," Trevin began, "you did say that I could -- "
"Yes, yes, fine," Joya cut in with an impatient nod of her head.
She tucked the comb into a small pouch that hung around her slim waist.
Regarding Christabel with a look of someone being asked to taste an
unfamiliar food, Joya said, "So you work at that little pub, then? The
Horrid Claw?"
"Orb and Claw," Christabel corrected her. "And yes, I do work
there. My uncle owns --"
"You would be a serving wench, then?"
Christabel nodded. "I serve the customers their drinks."
"Indeed. How fascinating." Joya turned and contemplated the view
out the carriage window, stifling a yawn.
Trevin and Giles began talking among themselves. Christabel sat
silently with her hands clenched in her lap, feeling a little stung by
Joya's aloof manner. It was clear that the blond girl considered herself
the center of her own social circle, and that she saw Christabel as
unworthy of being a part of it. But in working at the tavern, Christabel
had encountered people like Joya on a few occasions, and had a bit of an
idea of how to deal with such folk.
"That's a very pretty gown you're wearing, Joya," Christabel
remarked. The small girl turned away from the window, eyebrows raised.
"Why ... thank you," she said after a moment.
"I especially admire the embroidering on the collar. Did you do
that yourself?"
Joya glanced down at her gown and replied, "No -- actually, it was
made for me."
"It suits you quite well."
A slight smile tugged at the corners of Joya's mouth. "That's nice
of you to say, Christabel," she said.
The carriage dropped them off at the edge of Bannon's Field, which
was already filling with people. The four youths passed through an iron
gate in the low stone wall bordering the field and walked toward the
large white canvas tent that was set up a short distance away.
Christabel estimated that it could hold a good number of people, but
certainly not the entire crowd that was presently gathering behind the
rope barrier that stretched for several yards in front of the tent. A
purple pennant fluttered from the conical top of the huge canopy, and
the symbol of the traveling troupe -- a unicorn inside a ring of fire --
was emblazoned on either side of the entrance. And back beyond the tent
was a collection of wooden wagons that also bore the unicorn symbol.
Christabel held onto Trevin's arm as they walked across the thick
grass of the field, and slowed her pace until the two of them lagged
behind Joya and Giles.
"Why didn't you tell me you knew Joya Faulken?" Christabel
whispered.
"She asked me not to," Trevin replied simply. "She told me I could
bring anyone I wanted, so long as I didn't mention her name."
"How do you even know her? Has her family started buying wine from
your father's shop?"
Trevin shook his head and explained that he had met Giles, who was
betrothed to Joya, at an archery tournament the previous month. The two
of them began spending time together at the Faulken estate practicing
archery, and when Joya expressed an interest in attending the traveling
show Giles had convinced her to allow Trevin to accompany them.
"So why hasn't Giles ever come with you to the tavern?" Christabel
asked.
Trevin cocked his head and grinned wryly. "Joya won't let him. She
says that -- " he lowered his voice and affected a haughty tone --
'common establishments are for the common folk.'"
Christabel giggled. "If that's the way she's bent, I can't imagine
how she'll bear sitting among us common folk."
By now they were nearing the tent. Several tall, muscular men stood
at intervals along the rope, carefully watching the crowd. They all wore
swords, and their dark blue uniforms -- guard's uniforms, Christabel
noted -- bore the unicorn-and-ring design of the traveling troupe.
As the foursome picked their way past the townsfolk who sat upon
spread blankets or the ground itself, a piercing whistle sounded above
the murmuring of the assembly. Giles acknowledged the whistler with a
wave and motioned for Christabel and Trevin to follow.
A few moments later they came to a section to the left of the tent
entrance where several wooden benches had been arranged in a line. All
of them were occupied except one that seemed to be guarded by a large,
brawny youth dressed in padded leather armor. Beside him stood a tall
dark-haired girl wearing a loose white tunic and a pair of definitely
unladylike brown linen trousers.
Trevin and Giles exchanged hearty greetings and gripped forearms
with the leather-clad youth, while the tall girl gave Joya a hug that
nearly lifted her off the ground. Trevin introduced Christabel to Linc,
the son of the captain of the town guard, and his half-sister Kharsti.
"About time you all arrived," Linc rumbled to Trevin as the six of
them sat down on the bench. "Don't know how much longer I could've held
our place. Someone actually offered to pay us if we let 'em take it!"
Kharsti playfully punched her brother on the shoulder. "And he was
going to take the money but not let the poor geebs have the bench!" she
said with a laugh.
Giles pointed to the tent and said, "I say they've got a dragon in
there. That's why they need those guards, I'm sure of it."
"Couldn't be a dragon," said Linc. "No one's seen a live one in
years. A two-headed jantral -- now that'd be something worth showing all
over the kingdom!"
"Or maybe a giant rat," Joya said sardonically.
The speculation continued until a burst of white light in the sky,
accompanied by a sharp trumpet fanfare, silenced the crowd. Everyone
looked up as a glowing white sphere shot up from behind the tent and
silently exploded over the audience in a brilliant cascade of silver
sparks.
"How wonderful!" exclaimed Joya, clapping her hands.
As if the light was a signal, the guards drew back from the rope
barrier and took up positions close to the tent. Another sphere of
light, yellow this time, shot high into the air and plummeted to the
ground in front of the pavilion. The crowd gasped collectively as the
sphere burst into a thick cloud of yellow smoke. Another fanfare
sounded, and a broad-shouldered man stepped out of the cloud. He was
clad in a gaudy vest and billowy pantaloons, and he smiled widely behind
a thick black mustache.
"Good people of Bannon's Landing!" he shouted in a deep, clear
voice. "My name is Rushike, and I bring to you from the corners of the
kingdom the most amazing display of wonder and spectacle you have ever
seen! I bid you welcome, and present to you the Grand Players of
Baranur!" He threw up his arms and a dazzling red light shone forth from
his body. The tent flaps flew back and a procession of jugglers,
tumblers, dancers, and other colorful characters streamed out past the
troupe master and spilled onto the field, capering and cavorting to the
cheers of the audience. The last to emerge were the musicians, who moved
off to one side of the tent.
Rushike lowered his arms, and the musicians ceased playing. The red
light suffusing him shifted to gold.
"And providing the fantastic illuminations you have seen but a mere
glimmer of -- the lithe and lovely Arwenna Prysm, illusionist of
Corvaira and light-shaper of the mystic realms!" The musicians struck up
an expectant melody as the troupe master flung his arms to his left. The
golden glow surrounding him seemed to flow from his body like a liquid
and stream out from his fingertips, collecting in a sphere that hung in
the air.
When the glow had drained from him, the golden sphere took on a
human shape, slowly solidifying into the form of a young woman. She was
dressed a white silk gown that fit close about her lean body, and she
wore a jewel-studded circlet in her short amber hair. With a
tight-lipped smile, the young woman curtsied to the awestruck crowd and
took Rushike's hand.
"And now," said the troupe master, "let the amusements begin!"
Another trumpet fanfare sounded, and Arwenna Prysm made a complex
gesture with her free hand. The sky above the white pavilion seemed to
shatter into a cloud of glittering silver particles which briefly formed
the outline of the unicorn-and-ring symbol before fading away.
Christabel was so utterly captivated by the marvelous display that
she almost didn't notice Trevin nudging her. She tore her gaze away from
the spectacle and looked at him almost with annoyance. He asked her what
she thought, and she replied that it was beyond anything she had ever
seen in her life.
Once the troupe members had filed back into the tent, Rushike
called them out one by one, the musicians providing appropriate
accompaniment. The jugglers (including the one who had visited the Orb
and Claw) tossed wooden rings, knives, flaming torches, and pottery
vases back and forth to each other. A trio of young girls in flowing
Lashkirian garb performed the traditional Snake Dance of the desert
clans, while Arwenna cast shimmering snake images over their heads. A
jester came out with an endearing group of trained cats, then a bard
gave a moving rendition of "The Maiden in the Mirror."
During a lull in the proceedings, food vendors circulated through
the crowd. Trevin bought sugared fruits for Christabel and himself,
while Linc and Kharsti opted for the dried meat strips. Joya wrinkled
her nose at the thought of eating without the benefit of a table and a
place setting, and discouraged Giles from getting something for himself.
Christabel felt sorry for him as he sat glumly watching the others eat,
so she contrived to distract Joya while Trevin slipped Giles some of
their treats.
The show continued. A pair of leather-clad warriors engaged each
other in a mock duel, the jester and one of the jugglers did a comical
routine, the bard returned for another song, then a group of acrobats
performed an amazing set of physical feats that culminated with all of
them bounding though a series of flaming hoops in rapid succession.
When the thunderous applause finally died down, Rushike stepped
before the crowd and announced that the show was over.
"But," he said, holding up his hands, "I know that some of you have
been wondering what lies within our tent. All that I may now tell you is
that it contains a great and ancient mystery from the deep forests of
the Darst Range. For those of you who wish to discover the truth, all
that I ask is a mere Sterling piece, and a moment to prepare. For the
rest, I humbly thank you for your kind attendance, and wish you a
glorious evening." He went on to say that the troupe would be in town
for two more days, and that donations would be humbly accepted. As the
townsfolk stirred to their feet, Arwenna cast the unicorn symbol above
the tent as the musicians played a lively processional tune.
"So, what say you all?" Linc asked, stretching. "Do we find out
what the great mystery is?"
Giles pursed his lips and said, "Whatever it is, I would hope it's
worth the cost."
Trevin clapped him on the back. "How about if the rest of us go
in,
and tell you about it later?"
Joya made an exasperated sound. "You have money enough, Giles,
especially after not spending it on food. Now do come along." Without
waiting for his reply, she started off toward the entrance to the troupe
tent. Linc and Kharsti laughed as Giles sputtered helplessly, then
followed him as he ran to catch up with Joya.
"It looks like she's decided for us," Trevin said with a chuckle.
Christabel said nothing as she glanced around and saw that the majority
of the audience was heading back to town. She wondered if she shouldn't
ask Trevin to take her home now; even though she very much wanted to see
for herself what the tent contained, she didn't want to exhaust his
generosity by expecting him to pay for her admission -- a silver
Sterling was indeed a week's wages!
The young man seemed to read her mind, however, and assured her
that he could afford the cost of entry for them both. "And if this great
secret is even half of what Rushike claims," Trevin continued, "I'd
consider the money more than well spent!"
Christabel looked at him with gratitude, and on impulse kissed him
quickly on the cheek. A wide smile crossed Trevin's face as the two of
them joined the small group of people waiting to be admitted into the
tent.
The troupe workers began removing the wooden benches and taking
them around to the back of the tent. Curious, Christabel left Trevin's
side and started to follow one of the workers. She managed to glimpse a
tall wagon being drawn up to the rear of the pavilion before a guard
stopped her and escorted her back to the group. A short while later,
Rushike emerged and declared that everything was ready. Another guard
collected the admission fee as each person passed into the great tent.
The interior was spacious, and illuminated by lanterns mounted atop
tall metal poles set at intervals around a huge canvas-covered
cylindrical structure. The wooden benches were arranged in a half-circle
around the structure, and as the group sat down Christabel thought she
detected a faint musky odor in the air.
A few guards strolled around as the rest of the people entered and
took seats. An almost palpable sense of excitement filled the pavilion,
and people spoke in hushed whispers. Giles still clung to his belief
that they were going to display a dragon -- "a small dragon", he amended
upon entering the tent.
Christabel held onto Trevin's arm but paid no attention to the
speculation of the others. She reasoned that whatever was about to be
revealed had to fit into that wagon behind the tent. The presence of
guards meant that it was either very precious, or possibly dangerous.
She was jolted out of her thoughts by a loud trumpet fanfare.
Looking around, she saw that the tent entrance had been closed, and that
the benches were now all occupied. The musicians stood somewhere to her
left, behind the seated audience. She also saw Arwenna Prysm standing
almost out of sight to the rear of the tent; she was still wearing the
circlet but was now dressed in a gown of mourning blue.
A moment later, the light from the lanterns dimmed. Rushike stepped
before the crowd, a somber look on his face.
"Good people of Bannon's Landing, I thank you again for coming," he
said gravely. "What you are about to see has, until recently, been a
great and mysterious legend from times long past. Many have sought it
out, but few have returned to tell the tale." He paused and looked out
over the assembly. "What you are about to see is not for the weak of
heart or frail of spirit. If you are easily frightened, you may leave
now and your money will be returned." Several long moments passed, but
no one moved.
"Very well." Rushike raised his arms and intoned, "The ancients
called it the Kushago. The elven tribes called it The Forest Lurker. But
all men know it as -- BEAST!"
The canvas was suddenly pulled away, and even in the dim light
Christabel saw that it had covered a high iron cage. Something loomed
within its confines, something large and hulking and shadowy. Suddenly
the lantern light flared to full illumination, and what she saw caused
her heart to freeze.
An enormous man-like creature stood motionless in the center of the
cage. It was covered with thick brown-black hair, and was half again the
height of a normal man. Its body was well-muscled, and its arms looked
powerful enough to smash through stone. A pair of dark, brooding eyes
were set deep in its skull, and a gold collar with a single purple jewel
was fitted about its neck. The creature's legs were shackled to a large
iron ring set into the ground, and its loins were just barely visible
through the thick mat of hair covering its groin.
"In the name of Stevene!" Trevin breathed, and out of the corner of
her eye Christabel saw him make a holy sign. She pressed herself close
to him, wanting to shut her eyes but unable to turn away from the sight
of the creature.
"Do not be afraid!" said Rushike. "At all times it is under the
control of Thavolous, our master mage from the beyond the southern
desert." Christabel looked to where the troupe master pointed, and
through the bars of the cage she saw a thin middle-aged man standing at
the back of the tent. He wore an ill-fitting gray mage's robe, and
around his neck was a gold collar exactly like the one worn by the
beast.
Rushike nodded to the mage, who closed his eyes and placed both
hands on his gold collar. The gemstone set into it became colorless, and
the jewel on the beast's collar also turned clear. Instantly, the
creature stirred as if awakening, and let out a fierce roar. Several
people screamed and bolted up from their benches, and the beast
immediately became motionless once again. Rushike quickly assured the
audience that the beast was under the mage's firm control and could not
break out of the cage. He also indicated that more guards were waiting
just outside in the extremely remote chance that anything should go
wrong.
Once the audience was calmed, Thavolous again released the beast
from its magical immobility. It howled with rage and surged forward
against its chains. Christabel felt a moment of terror and involuntarily
shrank back, but the beast was drawn up well short of the bars. Her
heart pounded in her chest and she yearned to flee from the tent, but
she felt as frozen as if the mage had cast the immobility spell upon
her.
As the creature roared and pounded the air with its huge fists,
Rushike told of how a band of hunters, aided by a forest mage, had
sought the Kushago near the mountains to the east of Bannon's Landing. A
recent drought had apparently forced the creature to forage near the
village of Skye, where it was sighted numerous times before finally
being captured. The troupe master, upon seeing the Kushago for himself,
had purchased the creature from the hunters and included it in his show.
By this time, some of the townsfolk had lost their initial fear and
began taunting the creature. One of them even threw a rotted apple into
the cage; it struck the Kushago on the head, causing the beast to cry
out with fury and strain mightily against the chains. Rushike sternly
warned the audience against such behavior, and quickly gestured to
Thavolous. The Kushago's collar stone instantly flared red, causing the
beast to make another cry -- this time of pain. A sudden convulsion
caused it to crash to its knees. A moment later it recovered and quietly
staggered back to the center of the cage.
Christabel's mouth dropped open in disbelief, her fear turning to
outrage. What right did they have to take a creature from its home and
torture it in this manner? She tugged on Trevin's sleeve and told him
that she wanted to leave immediately, but her words were drowned out by
the cheers of the townsfolk upon seeing the beast forced into
submission.
Rushike grinned broadly and motioned for quiet. "And next," he
boomed, "I present to you a very brave young man who will do what few
men would ever dare. A great welcome for Darion of Hawksbridge!" The
musicians played a heroic melody as a flap at the back of the tent
opened and a broad-chested youth of about Christabel's age strode
through. His dark brown hair brushed his muscular shoulders, and he wore
an open leather vest that revealed his firm, tanned chest. As he came
around to the front of the cage he smiled and acknowledged the crowd's
applause by raising the short wooden staff that he carried.
The troupe master beamed as he announced that the young man would
fight the Kushago. The rules of the combat were that Darion must strike
the beast a total of three times in the chest in order to win. "And if
the creature should strike him but once ...." Rushike's voice trailed
off. "Well, once is all the Kushago needs."
He clapped Darion on the shoulder, and the young fighter went
around to the back of the cage where the door was located. Thavolous
immobilized the beast as a guard unlocked the door and let Darion
inside.
"Skulls and blood, but this should a good fight!" Linc shouted with
glee.
As soon as the cage door was locked behind him, Darion took up a
fighting stance. The Kushago stirred and let out a roar at the sight of
the young man. The crowd let out a similar roar, and the noise caused
Christabel to put her hands over her ears.
Darion circled the beast warily, twirling his staff. The Kushago
watched him, growling ominously. Darion feinted and leaped back as the
beast lunged. The leg chains stopped its charge, almost causing it to
fall. The youth thrust several more feints at the creature and gauged
its response. The Kushago seemed to learn from its mistake and always
halted before being drawn up by the chains. Finally, Darion charged at
the creature's right side. The Kushago lashed out a huge fist, but at
the last moment Darion slid to the ground feet first and swung the staff
up and into the beast's chest. He rolled over and was up and away before
the Kushago could react. The townsfolk yelled wildly, and Darion made a
quick bow as he scrambled around the cage.
For the next several minutes, the man and the beast continued their
dance of combat. At one point, Darion slammed the Kushago soundly on the
buttocks, drawing a huge laugh from the crowd. Another time, the Kushago
managed to trip Darion and threw its whole body at him. Darion rolled
away a scant moment before the beast would have landed crushingly on top
of him. Eventually, the young fighter scored another hit by going into a
diving roll straight at the beast, shooting to his feet, thumping the
staff into the beast's chest, then backflipping away. A few moments
later, he threw himself to the ground on his back, just outside the
reach of the chains. The Kushago rushed over to him, stopped and raised
its massive fists. As it bent over him to strike, Darion flung the staff
up and solidly struck the chest of the beast. At that instant Thavolous
froze the Kushago; Darion pushed himself to his feet and raised the
staff in victory. The crowd cheered and applauded.
When the young fighter had left the tent, Christabel again told
Trevin that she wanted to leave. Trevin shook his head and said that the
show wasn't yet over. Before she could reply, the troupe master called
Arwenna Prysm to his side and announced that the final act was to begin.
The mage Thavolous unfroze the beast and had it return to the
center of the cage. Arwenna then reached into a pocket of her gown and
withdrew four small figurines, vaguely dog-like in shape. She held them
up for all to see, then turned and tossed them one by one into the cage,
evenly spacing them around the beast. A moment later, the figurines
shimmered and transformed into four large black wolves. Rushike and
Arwenna moved off to the side as the townsfolk gave another cheer and
surged to their feet. Horror-struck, Christabel watched as the wolves
circled the Kushago and leaped to the attack.
The air was soon filled with animal snarls, roars of pain, and the
frenzied yells of the crowd. The wolves lunged and snapped at the
Kushago, who kicked and punched back with obvious desperation.
Christabel felt a sharp twist in her stomach as one wolf managed to leap
up and sink its long fangs into the beast's left thigh. The Kushago
screamed, grabbed up the wolf, then savagely bit into the animal's back.
There was a cracking sound, and the wolf went limp. The Kushago then
used the body like a club and swung wildly at the three remaining
wolves. Finally, the beast hurled the wolf corpse away. It bounced off
the bars, then transformed back into a figurine as it hit the ground.
After this, the crowd seemed to take the side of the Kushago. They
cheered whenever the beast managed to strike or kick one of the wolves.
Still, the wolves had the advantage of numbers, and the Kushago was
forced to keep moving. At one point, two wolves rushed at the beast from
the front, while the third attacked from the rear. The beast seemed to
sense this and leaped aside. The wolves collided, and the Kushago took
advantage of the momentary confusion to stamp down hard on the nearest
one. There was the sound of bones breaking, and the wolf let out a
plaintive howl as it flopped onto it side. The other two wolves
retreated as the Kushago picked up their injured companion and twisted
its head from its body.
Christabel gasped in shock and staggered to her feet. It made no
difference that the wolf immediately reverted to figurine form in the
beast's hands -- she had seen far too much.
She pushed her way out of the tent and ran blindly across the
field, sinking to her knees a short distance away. She spent several
moments sucking in huge breaths of air in an effort to calm herself.
With a trembling hand she wiped away the small tears that had begun to
form near the corners of her eyes. It was all so cruel, so horrible, so
violent!
Suddenly she felt a touch on her shoulder. She involuntarily
flinched away, but saw that it was only Trevin. "Christabel, what's
wrong?" he asked, concern plain on his face.
"Nothing, I -- I just ... " She swallowed hard. "I couldn't watch
that anymore."
Trevin knelt down beside her and gently squeezed her shoulder. "I'm
sorry. If I had known ... "
Christabel nodded and forced a smile. "You couldn't have. It was a
great secret."
"Of course." He glanced back at the tent. "Well, I can take you
home now, if you wish."
She shook her head. "I'll be fine. We should just wait here for the
others."
The two of them sat in silence until the crowd began trickling out
from the tent. Soon, the other members of their group approached.
Kharsti was the first one to reach them, and she asked if Christabel was
all right. Linc and Giles were talking animatedly about the Kushago's
fight with the wolves and did not notice Trevin and Christabel until
Joya loudly cleared her throat.
"Blood and skulls, but that was a glorious battle!" Linc exclaimed
to Trevin. "Why'd you leave before the end? You missed it when --" He
stopped abruptly as Kharsti elbowed him the ribs and informed him of
Christabel's discomfort. Linc apologized and suggested that they all
have a drink or two at a nearby tavern before returning home. Everyone
agreed, and the group headed toward the gate at the edge of the field.
As they walked along, images of the Kushago's brutal treatment
refused to leave Christabel's mind. The "show" was like a bear-baiting,
but worse because of the collar that inflicted pain and controlled
movement. And even though the troupe master had called it a beast, the
Kushago seemed closer to a human than an animal. But the worst part of
it, she felt, was how much the people appeared to enjoy the vicious
spectacle.
A knot of conviction formed within her and grew stronger with each
passing moment. The mistreatment of the Kushago could not be allowed to
continue; Christabel firmly resolved to do whatever she could to try and
stop it.
========================================================================
