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DargonZine Volume 10 Issue 09
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DargonZine Distributed: 03/29/1997
Volume 10, Number 2 Circulation: 636
========================================================================
Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Rats! Max Khaytsus Sy 20, 1014
Ruthless Revelry 2 Carlo N. Samson Yuli 4-5, 1015
Shattered Love 1 Mark A. Murray Sy 1015
Night One Max Khaytsus Naia 10, 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.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 10-2, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright March, 1997 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>
I'm always surprised that people read DargonZine.
Every six to eight weeks, we publish another ten to fifteen
thousand words of prose. While that may not seem like much to a
voracious reader, most of us would balk at the idea of sitting at a
computer and reading 80 KB worth of undifferentiated text. Yet five to
ten times per year, that's precisely what we expect of you, the reader.
The problem is that the computer is one of the most difficult
places to read large quantities of text. It's been documented that the
average attention span of most individuals at a computer is less than
three pages of text. Why is it that a person may look forward to
curling up with a good book and reading fifty or a hundred pages, but
that same person may be put off by a five-page computer printout or a
Web page that's more than one screen long? The answer comes from the
arts of ergonomics, typography, layout, and graphic design.
Computers themselves usually require a desktop environment, and the
posture required while sitting at a desk is more fatiguing than lying on
the couch with a drink and a paperback. The hum and radiation which
emanates from a CRT, as well as the ubiquitous fluorescent lighting of
the modern office also contribute to fatigue, particularly of the eyes.
And furthermore, we're used to thinking of a computer as an interactive
machine which does tasks for us, and having to sit and stare at a screen
without doing anything conflicts with that expectation.
As if that wasn't enough, text editors, Web browsers, and computer
printers all impose significant constraints on the presentation of
textual material. In many cases, computer programs still are unable to
perform basic operations such as proportional spacing of fonts, which
adds immeasurably to readability. And those programs which support
proportional fonts often limit their options to one common font (i.e.
Times New Roman) in hopes that it will meet the needs of the broadest
audience. While not widely realized, line length also plays a very
significant role in readability. Ideally, a line of text shouldn't
extend much beyond fifteen words at most, yet Web browsers will gladly
stuff as many words per line as will fit, regardless of how difficult
this makes the reader's task.
I must admit that we've come a hell of a long way from the early
days, when fixed-width ASCII text was our only display option. But we've
got a long way to go before the online experience will have the gloss
and slickness of magazines, or the friendly ease of use of a paperback
book.
That's why it surprises me that people read DargonZine. No matter
how it's formatted, reading a lot of text on a computer screen is *hard
work*! And I'm sure that reading my editorials is even more difficult!
Another thing that surprises me is that both of the next two issues
will each contain four stories! We've only had three four-story issues
since the beginning of 1991, but with a recent influx of new authors and
a general rousing of the Old Ones, we're getting more writing done than
ever.
This issue begins with a vignette of sorts, Max Khaytsus' "Rats!",
which is something of an intellectual exercise and something of an
inside joke. But I'll divulge no more than that, lest my introduction
grow larger than the whole story!
That is followed by Carlo Samson's second chapter in "Ruthless
Revelry", which first appeared in DargonZine 9-4.
And following that, Mark Murray picks up his storyline of Raphael
and Megan and Loth in part one of "Shattered Love".
And, finally, we have the first story in our new "Deep Woods Inn"
series: Max Khaytsus' "Night One". This will, of course, be followed by
additional stories in this new series. As you can see from this issue,
after a two-year hiatus, Max is back!
And as if this weren't enough, be on watch for DargonZine 10-3,
which we hope to distribute within four to six weeks!
========================================================================
Rats!
by Max Khaytsus
<khaytsus@cs.colorado.edu>
Sy 20, 1014
Once seldom seen, but now permitted to grow unchecked by the
absenteeism of their natural enemy, wolves, which not long ago thrived
in this area, but were recently brutally hunted to near complete
extinction, although many of the ferocious beasts still roamed the
surrounding forests, due to their threat to the general populace of the
Duchy, by the order of the Duke of Dargon, who was gravely injured and
mutilated aboard his warship in a major sea battle, off the coast of
Sharks' Cove, in the Beinison-Baranur War, from which he just returned,
an overpopulation of large grey-brown rats, which are extremely dirty
and spread deadly disease to many otherwise healthy people, rapidly
overran the once remote, although powerful and prosperous, but now
economically hurt, seaside frontier town of Dargon in northern Baranur,
destroying many wood buildings and structures and getting into the
already overtaxed grain supplies, bringing a new disaster to the city,
to top off the not yet forgotten early summer surprise invasion, by a
sizable portion of the mighty Beinison fleet, which had cut short the
annual Melrin festival, and the agonizing struggle for power, marked by
much back-stabbing and cheating, inside the local underground
organization, both of which cost hundreds of otherwise innocent people
their lives, and destroyed great portions of the once beautiful city, so
that reconstruction both of the damaged buildings and collapsed portions
of the once powerful town wall would go on for years to come, leaving
the city mostly unprotected from bandits and brigands and wild animals,
which may help control the rapidly expanding rat population, if allowed
to enter the town, unless the already stretched to the limit town guard
dedicates a greater number of people to patrolling the lands beyond the
town of Dargon and watching the damaged portion of the wall for
unwelcome intruders, human and beast alike.
========================================================================
Ruthless Revelry
Part 2
by Carlo N. Samson
<macgyver@interaccess.com>
Yuli 4-5, 1015
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 9-4
The Story So Far:
Christabel, a serving girl working at the Orb & Claw tavern in
the riverside town of Bannon's Landing, goes with a young man named
Trevin to a traveling show that has recently come to town. She
meets his friends Joya (the daughter of a wealthy merchant), Giles
(Joya's fiancee), Linc (son of the captain of the town guard) and
Kharsti (Linc's half-sister).
The traveling troupe is led by a man named Rushike, and the
show's magical illuminations are provided by Arwenna Prysm, a young
illusionist. The acts are performed outside of a great tent, and at
the conclusion of the show some of the audience members (including
Christabel and the others) pay to see the troupe's secret main
attraction, carefully guarded inside.
An iron cage dominates the interior of the tent, and soon the
great secret is revealed to be a huge man-like beast called the
Kushago. First, a warrior named Darion fights the beast, which is
kept under control by a pain-inflicting collar. Next, the Kushago
is attacked by four magically-generated wolves. The crowd is caught
up in the violent spectacle, but Christabel is horrified and flees
the tent. Trevin comes out to comfort her, and when the others
arrive they all decide to head a nearby tavern for a drink.
The sky was beginning to darken as the group strolled back into
town. Christabel walked arm-in-arm with Trevin, but barely registered
his presence; she shuddered as she recalled the beast's roars of pain,
and huddled against the young man. Trevin looked over at her and
caressed her hand. Christabel glanced away, embarrassed that he had
noticed how upset she was.
The group stopped suddenly. Looking up, Christabel saw that they
had arrived at a tavern called the White Rat. The sign hanging above the
door depicted the namesake rodent floating merrily on the froth of an
overflowing tankard.
"Oh please, not this dung pile!" Joya said with a pout. Linc turned
and sneered at the small blond girl. "Did you think we were going to the
White *Rose*?" He chuckled derisively.
"Giles, say something!" Joya said with a little stamp of her foot.
Her fiancee gave a weak shrug. "It's only for one drink, sweetest."
"No!" Joya said firmly, her voice rising to a squeak. She fixed
Giles with a dire stare; after a moment, the young man looked around
imploringly at the others. Trevin gave a slight chuckle and suggested
that they all go to his parents' house instead. Everyone, including
Joya, agreed.
The group hired a carriage. As they rode along, the men continued
discussing the show, while Kharsti and Joya exchanged gossip about
mutual friends. Christabel wondered what the two girls thought of the
beast's treatment; she had not noticed their reactions during the show,
and none of the men had asked their opinions. She hoped they might be
willing to help her do something about the Kushago's situation. But
precisely what -- if anything! -- they could do was beyond her, at least
for the moment.
A little while later they disembarked in front of a small manor
house located at the edge of the town's business district. A servant met
them at the door and ushered them into the great room. Since it was now
dark outside, illumination was provided by candles and oil lamps set on
waist-high wooden stands. Christabel looked longingly at the
finely-carved wooden furniture, the lush draperies, and the
silver-framed portraits that decorated the room. Trevin's family was
clearly well-off, if not actually wealthy. And if Joya's family was even
more prosperous than Trevin's ... Christabel felt a twinge of envy that
called to mind a familiar daydream in which she was the wife of a rich
nobleman, and lived in a lavishly furnished keep overlooking the ocean.
Her reverie was interrupted a few moments later as a fair-haired
woman in a wide-sleeved white dress entered the room, followed by a
short, bearded man wearing brown trousers and a muslin work shirt.
Trevin took Christabel's hand and introduced her to his parents, Alysia
and Terek Dulaine.
"Ah ... so this is the fair young Christabel," Alysia said with a
broad, dreamy smile. "So pleased to meet you, dear girl. My son, as you
might expect, has often spoken of your sweetness and charm." At this,
Trevin gave an exaggerated cough and looked pointedly at his mother, who
suppressed a laugh but said nothing more.
Trevin's father seemed distracted as he greeted Christabel. Almost
before she had straightened up from her bow, he turned to Trevin and
exclaimed, "Come in to the workshop! I believe I've got the flavor we've
been looking for." He made to usher his son out of the room, but Alysia
exclaimed, "Terek! We do have guests, surely you realize."
"Oh yes, of course," Trevin's father replied, nodding vigorously.
"We'll bring samples for everyone." He strode out of the room; Trevin
motioned to Giles and Linc, and the three of them quickly followed.
Alysia told the girls to be seated, and ordered the servant
standing by the doorway to fetch them something to eat from the kitchen.
Christabel tentatively sat down at one end of a plush divan that faced
the fireplace; Kharsti sprawled out at the other end, and Joya sat
primly between them. Alysia reclined in a padded chair set at an angle
to the divan and said to Christabel, "My husband is brewing a new ale
that he says will be the most popular in all of Baranur! As if his wine
trade wasn't enough." She leaned forward. "Ah, but I'm sure you'd know
nearly as much about wines and ales ... what is the name of the tavern
you work at? Trevin mentioned it several times. The Dragon's Jaw?"
Joya giggled. "The Orb and Claw, Mrs. Dulaine!" The small blond
girl surreptitiously made a sipping gesture to Christabel.
"Ah yes, thank you Joya," said Alysia, casting her a look of faint
amusement. "So, how have you been? And you, Kharsti? I haven't seen you
girls in quite a while."
The tall girl snorted. "Not since Melrin's End, which was -- what,
last week?" In response, Trevin's mother gave a brittle laugh. "Sharp as
a blade, as always," she said. Just then, the servant returned with a
platter of cheese and bread, already sliced. When each of them had taken
what they wished, he retreated to the far wall with the platter still in
hand.
Leaning back into the chair, Alysia sighed and nibbled at her
cheese. "So then, my dears ... tell me about this traveling troupe! Was
it very entertaining?"
Kharsti and Joya took turns describing the show. They both spoke
with great delight about the juggling, the acrobats, and the magic
illuminations. Concerning the Kushago, Kharsti gave a detailed account
of its fights with the warrior and the wolves. When she described how
the beast ripped off the head of one wolf, Christabel shuddered and put
her hand to her mouth. Alysia noticed this and asked, "You didn't find
that entertaining?"
Christabel swallowed and replied, "No, not at all, ma'am. It was
--" she darted a glance at the other girls "-- the most horrible thing I
had ever seen!"
Joya wrinkled her nose. "Christabel's very sensitive," she told
Alysia in a half-whisper.
Trevin's mother ignored the blonde girl. "It does sound gruesome. I
would have been sickened, myself ... as any proper lady would have
been!" This last part seemed directed to Joya and Kharsti.
Joya sniffed indignantly. "Well, if I had known about that, do you
think I would have wanted to go? But Giles looked like he enjoyed it, so
the *least* I could do was stay with him until it was over." She smirked
openly at Christabel as she finished.
Kharsti cleared her throat. "Where's that ale?" she muttered.
Casually flicking a crumb of bread at Joya, the tall girl stated, "Oh,
it was amusing, but barely so. I mean, there wasn't any real chance of
death, what with the monster being chained up and controlled like it
was! And those wolves weren't even real." She made a sound of derision.
Joya gave her friend a nudge in the ribs. "Oh, and perhaps if they
had let you into the cage, you would have slain the monster with nothing
but a brooch-pin!"
Kharsti nudged Joya back. "Yes, and even shown that warrior boy a
few moves!" The girls exchanged a few more nudges, then burst out
laughing.
Christabel stared at them, stunned and disappointed. She would get
no help from them, it was clear; and worse yet, they seemed to care
nothing about the Kushago's obvious suffering. She imagined the two of
them on a riverbank, giggling as a drowning man cried out for help.
Joya slapped Kharsti on the knee, and to avoid retaliation lunged
back into Christabel. The serving girl's restraint finally broke, and
she blurted out, "It was *not* a monster!"
The girls' laughter abruptly ceased; they looked at Christabel with
surprise, while Trevin's mother fixed her with a calm, expectant stare.
A moment of awkward silence followed; Christabel felt a powerful urge to
get up and flee from the house, but forced herself to speak. "Couldn't
you see? It was ... more like a man than --"
Her words were cut off by Joya and Kharsti's renewed laughter. "Oh,
it had the right parts for a man," said the tall girl, "but so do the
apes of the Kaladrongo!"
"It was more than that," Christabel protested. "Didn't you see how
it fought? It seemed like it was thinking about what it was doing."
Kharsti waved dismissively. "Clearly, it was well trained. I would
bet that the warrior and the monster practice that 'fight' every day."
Christabel started to reply, but stopped herself. What Kharsti said
did make sense. After all, the Kushago might indeed be some undiscovered
form of ape, more manlike in appearance than its jungle counterparts but
just as beastly. Yet, she still couldn't shake the sense that it was, in
fact, more intelligent than it seemed.
At that moment, the men returned to the great room. Linc set a low
table down in front of the divan, while Trevin and Giles placed a bench
on the opposite side. Terek put a tray bearing a pitcher and several
wooden cups onto the table. "A most excellent batch of ale!" he declared
as he filled the cups. The servant with the cheese and bread came
forward, served the men, then took his leave.
"Glad to see you saved some for us!" Kharsti exclaimed, picking up
a cup and taking a long sip. Terek enjoined the women to do likewise;
Christabel was not in the mood, but drank anyway out of politeness.
However, the ale was smooth and not at all bitter, unlike the kind at
her uncle's tavern.
"Good, yes?" Trevin's father asked hopefully. The women nodded and
murmured their approval. Kharsti poured herself another cup, drank
deeply, and pronounced it the finest ale she had ever tasted. Terek
beamed, and called for a toast. "I shall name this after my wife," he
said, raising his cup to Alysia. "It will be called -- Alysian Pale!"
Trevin, who had come around to Christabel's side of the divan,
leaned down and whispered to her, "Not to be confused with the Alysian
Gold wine, or the Alysian mead. He's yet to name one after me!"
"Like, Trevinian Special Brew?" Christabel suggested. Trevin
paused, as if considering it. "Not bad at all!" He smiled and touched
his cup to hers.
The gathering broke up after two more rounds of the new ale. Linc
and Kharsti departed first, then Joya and Giles. As Trevin went outside
to hail a carriage for Christabel, Alysia took the young woman aside. "I
feel I must apologize for the girls," Trevin's mother said, holding
Christabel's hand. She explained that Kharsti was half Lashkirian, and
as a girl had been a "nezisa" -- an attendant to the desert warrior who
performed the ritual slaying of a griffin at village festivals. "So you
can understand how the sight of blood isn't exactly new to her. And as
for Joya ..." Alysia tilted her head and sighed. "You may have noticed
that she is a little spoiled."
"Indeed," Christabel murmured.
"They're good girls, really, but I'm certain you'll find that out
for yourself, eventually. Oh yes, one other thing." She glanced around,
then continued in a low voice, "My son clearly likes you very much, and
I can see that you feel the same way about him. If you wish to keep his
favor, you might do well to keep any strong opinions you may have to
yourself."
Christabel's eyebrows rose. "Pardon, but what opinions do you mean,
precisely?"
Alysia's mouth turned up in a half-smile. "Ah, well ... opinions on
such matters as, for instance, certain entertainments? For, as I'm sure
you know, it is a woman's duty to support her man in whatever he does
and enjoys."
Christabel blinked in surprise. It sounded as if Alysia was giving
her advice on how to be the perfect wife for Trevin, even though this
was the first time they had spent any time together! And was his mother
always in the habit of dispensing advice to people she had just met --
especially stupid advice? Christabel had never believed that a woman's
opinion was any less important than her husband's, and was certainly not
going to change that belief on the suggestion of a woman who thought
otherwise.
Trevin returned a few moments later and announced that the carriage
had arrived. Christabel thanked Alysia and Terek for their hospitality,
then went outside with Trevin, who rode with her back to the Orb and
Claw tavern.
"I hope I can see you again sometime," the young man said as he
helped Christabel down from the carriage.
"You know where you can find me," she replied, inclining her head
toward the tavern.
"Of course, but I meant, well ..." He moved closer to her, clearly
making to kiss her. Christabel waited until his face was almost touching
hers, then quickly hugged him and stepped back. "Thank you again for a
most pleasant evening," she said, then turned and walked to the tavern
entrance. At the door, she looked back and saw Trevin climb into the
carriage. She waited until it had gone, then sighed heavily and went
inside.
The tavern was empty, despite there being two more bells until the
last call. Sheela looked up from wiping off the bar. "Oh, you're back!"
She hurried over to Christabel. "So? Well? Tell me everything!"
"There's a lot to tell, believe me." Christabel smiled faintly.
"You saw what happened outside, didn't you?"
Sheela looked at her with mock innocence. "You mean, when you
avoided Trevin's lips like a priest avoids pleasure? I saw nothing like
that at all!"
Christabel grinned wanly, then started upstairs. Sheela stopped
her, however, and pointed to the kitchen.
"Uncle Fergus again?" Christabel asked. Sheela nodded and said,
"I'll close up, then wait for you in our room. There's hardly been
anybody in this evening."
With a rueful shake of her head, Christabel quietly made her way
behind the bar and into the kitchen. Fergus sat sprawled out on a stool
by the table: head back, mouth open, and eyes closed. Underneath the
stool were a couple of empty bottles. The large man clutched another
bottle in one hand, and a small pouch in the other. The smell of ale
hung heavy in the room.
Christabel looked at her uncle with sadness and pity. He only drank
like this when he felt particularly woeful, a condition which seemed to
occur more often as time passed. If business was slow, the girls usually
closed the tavern early whenever he got like that. The young woman went
over to Fergus and shook him gently. It took a few moments of firmer
shaking to cause the large man to stir and open his eyes.
"Er, hullo, Chrissabell," he muttered groggily, releasing his hold
on the bottle. "'Bout time ye were home ... where's ma stick?"
Christabel retrieved his walking stick from where it had fallen,
and helped her uncle to his feet. He tried to wave her off, but that
only caused him to wobble. He braced himself with the walking stick, but
made no further protest as Christabel guided him up to his room. As they
ascended the stairs, the large man muttered, "Did ye know, Chrissabell,
that me and yer mother used to see the travelin' faire every time it
came by?" He sniffled. "She truly loved the jugglers ..."
"I know," Christabel replied softly. When they reached his room,
she helped him into bed, and very shortly he was snoring loudly. Before
she left, Christabel took the pouch from Fergus's unresisting fingers.
It contained, she knew, a golden locket which held a snippet of her
mother's hair. With a heavy heart, she returned it to a small wooden box
on the nightstand. The locket was a birthday gift her mother had given
to Fergus -- the last gift she had given him before she died.
Sheela listened in rapt attention as Christabel related the events
of the evening. The candles on the table in their small bedroom were a
thumb's length shorter by the time she finished.
"Stevene's grace, Chrissa!" exclaimed Sheela, shifting to a more
comfortable position on her bed. "You had yourself quite a night there,
it sounds like. Almost makes me wish that *I'd* winked at Trevin once or
twice." The girls laughed. They talked for a bit more about the
ale-tasting at Trevin's house, then the conversation returned to the
traveling show.
"Now *that's* something I wish I'd seen," said Sheela. "That
Kashaggy animal must've been a wonder!"
Christabel, sitting cross-legged on the opposite bed, shook her
head emphatically. "Kushago. And you wouldn't have liked it, either. I
can't believe that sort of -- entertainment -- is allowed!"
"But people do that to animals all the time, like in cockfights,
for instance. And dog fights."
Ranulf crawled out from under the bed and sprang lightly into
Christabel's lap. She looked down at the gray cat and stroked his head.
"And are cat drownings just as amusing? Listen, Sheela, I believe that
what they are doing to the Kushago is wrong. I think we should try to do
something about it."
The blond serving girl stared thoughtfully at the cat for several
moments. Finally she said, "For truth, Chrissa, what can the pair of us
do? Go in like the Royal Brigade and force them to let the animal go?
It'd take nothing short of that, it seems to me."
"It sounds to *me* like you don't care, either," Christabel replied
curtly.
"Stevene's teeth, girl, I don't mean it like that. But if people
liked the show as much as you described, and if you don't think your new
friends would blink an eye to help you, then I simply don't see what
difference a pair of mousy little tavern girls like us could make!"
Frowning, Christabel shifted the cat out of her lap and went over
to the candles. She turned back and looked at her friend. "So we might
as well not even try, then? Perhaps we're even *less* than mice?" She
sighed and folded her arms. Doubt began creeping into her mind, along
with fatigue. She blew out the candles, yawned heavily, and fell into
bed without another word.
Troubling dreams visited her in the night. Roars, snarls, and
screams echoed in the misty blackness. Suddenly, she saw herself
standing with Trevin and his friends in a circle of light, in front of
an iron fence that seemed impossibly high and endlessly long. Beyond the
fence was darkness, and she felt a surge of fear and despair when she
looked upon it, like she was being forced to enter a dark room that
contained a dead body somewhere within.
The group began laughing and jeering; Christabel found it horribly
offensive. Then they began throwing apples through the fence at the
darkness. Trevin turned to her, his expression blank. A moment later, he
broke into a wide grin and bit into a perfectly-formed red apple. The
young man handed it to her, and gestured for her to throw it.
Christabel's fingers closed over the bitten fruit. She stared down
at it as if she had never seen an apple before. Looking up, she saw that
the group was staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to throw it.
She hesitated -- then found herself on the other side of the fence!
Trevin and the others now wore expressions of hostility, and they
jeered at her with enthusiasm. The darkness behind her was a cold, solid
thing that filled her with dread and sorrow. She still held the apple,
and knew she should do something with it -- but what?
The next moment, Christabel saw that the five youths stood around a
huge catapult, the basket of which was filled to the brim with apples.
She didn't see who pulled the release lever, but a heartbeat later the
catapult arm shot forward and flung the apples toward her at a
frightening speed. Christabel screamed, threw her arms up to shield
herself --
And abruptly jerked awake.
Heart pounding, Christabel silently made her way down the hall. She
crept past Fergus's room, and was relieved to hear him snoring. It was
early morning, and Sheela had not yet awakened either. Christabel had
lain in bed for a while after waking up from the dream, and mulled over
the images until she heard the town bell toll the time. Upon hearing the
sound, Christabel had gotten out of bed and dressed as quietly as
possible. Today she was going to act on her resolve to free the Kushago.
She had no plan, but knew that if she didn't get up and out, the
inspiration would pass and she would end up doing nothing. Somehow, that
thought made her feel guilty.
Each creak in the stairs seemed to sound as loud as a scream, but
Christabel made it down without waking anybody. As she paused in the
kitchen for a quick breakfast, an idea occurred to her. She went to a
shelf near the door and got down the writing slate that an out-of-work
scribe had persuaded Fergus to accept in payment of a drink debt. With a
piece of thick chalk she wrote her name and the word "market" upon it,
and left it on the table in plain view. Now she had a ready explanation
for being gone.
Once outside the tavern, the young woman hesitated. The air was
fresh with the smell of morning dew, and the sky was perfectly clear.
People were already going about their daily business, and one man who
passed her inquired if the tavern was open already.
Christabel shook her head, then struck off in a random direction.
Just what was she going to do, anyway? Wander about and hope the whole
problem would go away by itself? She silently cursed herself for her
impulsive decision.
After a few menes of walking, she passed by a baker's shop. The
delicious smell of freshly-baked bread caused her to slow down and
consider going inside to buy a piece. A poster on the wall by the door
caught her eye; she saw that it advertised Rushike's traveling troupe. A
wave of anger rose within her and she almost ripped down the sign, but a
line near the bottom stopped her: it read "His Royal Majesty, King
Haralan, Commands That All Citizens Attend This Show and Be Greatly
Amused."
Christabel doubted if the King had ever seen the show, or if he
would even approve of his name being used in connection with such a
ruthless revelry. She wished that he would suddenly appear in front of
her, so that she might persuade him to personally order Rushike to
release the Kushago.
The young woman started to continue on, but a sudden thought halted
her. The King wasn't the only one with such authority! With a renewed
sense of purpose, Christabel turned her nose up at the poster and
sprinted away.
Christabel made her way north. She crossed a bridge over the Laraka
River, wound through the streets of the Founders' District, and soon
came in sight of the town hall of Bannon's Landing. She had remembered
that Mayor Bremis usually heard public business for a few bells each
morning in his office (a practice established by previous mayors), and
she was early enough that she could get an audience.
A few menes later, Christabel arrived in the square surrounding the
town hall. She joined the line of people leading into the building, and
soon found herself at the doorway, where a bored-looking town guardsman
asked for her name and what her business was. He had asked the same
question of everybody before her, so she had her response ready. "My
name is Christabel Montegarde, and I wish to ask the mayor to stop the
owner of the traveling troupe that is currently in Bannon's Field from
mistreating one of his performing animals."
The guardsman nodded abstractedly, then told her how to find the
mayor's office. Christabel followed his directions, and came to a large
wood-paneled chamber in which other people waited. At the entrance, a
short, stern-faced man asked her the same questions the town guard had
asked. She gave the same answers. The official noted down the
information, then gave a sharp snort. Christabel glared at him; he
stared contemptuously back at her for a moment, then motioned for her to
take a seat on one of the wooden benches that lined the walls.
Several menes later, the double doors at the far end of the chamber
opened, and two men -- merchants, by the way they were dressed -- came
out. One man smiled broadly and clutched a rolled-up parchment; the
other had an air of dejection about him. After the men came another town
guard, a dark-haired woman this time. She ushered the merchants out of
the chamber, then went over to the official minding the door. She spoke
briefly with him, then accepted a sheet of parchment. She read off a
name; an elderly man answered, and she motioned for him to follow her
through the double doors, which no doubt led to the mayor's office.
Christabel waited anxiously as townspeople entered and left the
office. She rehearsed her request over and over in her mind, but each
time it sounded more and more foolish, until her resolve began to waver.
She was near the point of getting up to leave, when the doors opened and
the female guard called her name. Startled, Christabel jumped to her
feet and exchanged a glance with the person who had just left the
mayor's office.
"Come in, please," the female guard said. As soon as Christabel had
entered the room, the woman closed the doors behind them and stood off
to one side.
The office of Mayor Bremis was small but well-furnished. Large
tapestries on the walls alternated with portraits of previous mayors,
and display cases to either side of the door housed a collection of
small stone figurines.
The mayor himself sat behind a heavy wooden desk at the back of the
room. His hair was beginning to gray at the temples, but the insightful
gaze from his ice-blue eyes showed that he was in no hurry to retire.
"Christabel Montegarde?" he queried, looking up from a stack of
papers. The young woman nodded, then came forward. The mayor smiled, and
bade her sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk. When she had
done so, he leaned back and said, "My son was at the performance last
night. He told me that, without any exaggeration, it was the most
exciting thing he had ever seen. The jugglers and acrobats were fine, he
said, but the --" he glanced down at his desk "-- Kushago beastie was
the high point of the show." The mayor leaned forward. "But you think it
should be closed down?"
Mustering her courage, Christabel cleared her throat and replied,
"Not closed down, sir. I was there as well, and I am only saying that
the Kushago should not be attacked and tortured for sport. It is ...
inhumane."
Mayor Bremis nodded slowly. "And you would like me to order the
troupe master to stop exhibiting the beastie, is that correct?"
Christabel answered affirmatively.
"But now that word has spread," continued the mayor, "more people
will be wanting to see this frightening creature. However, if the
Kushago is no longer available to be seen, the show as a whole would
certainly suffer. Which would, I'm sure you understand, be rather much
the same thing as closing it down."
"But sir," Christabel protested, "it isn't right what they're doing
to it. If you saw for yourself -- "
"Yes, as a matter of fact I did," the mayor interrupted smoothly.
"I saw the beastie when they first arrived in town, and I gave my
approval of the exhibition." He gave her a patronizing smile, then said,
"Besides, it's just an unthinking animal."
Christabel was momentarily speechless. Was everybody in this town
so heartless? "The Kushago is *not* just another animal to be used for
sport!" she half-shouted, almost rising from her chair. Out of the
corner of her eye, she saw the female guard start to move forward. The
mayor gave a slight shake of his head, and the woman relaxed.
"Miss Montegarde," said the mayor, "I have no intention of stopping
the troupe master from showing the Kushago. It means good business for
the town, not that I expect you to understand why. So, if that's all you
came to say ..." His look plainly indicated that he expected her to
leave.
Christabel's heart sank, but she did not get up. "Please, Mayor
Bremis, you can't allow this to continue! Don't you have --"
"Lieutenant, please send in the next person. Pleasant day, Miss
Montegarde." The mayor looked down at his papers.
Once back in the waiting chamber, Christabel was at a loss as to
what to do next. The mayor had not taken her seriously, and there was no
one left to appeal to. Maybe Sheela was right, after all.
Sighing, she walked out of the chamber and into the hallway.
Someone called her name; she looked up and saw that it was Trevin.
"Christabel! I didn't expect to see you here," he said. "Are you
waiting for someone?"
"Oh, um, no, I'm by myself," the young woman replied guardedly,
desperately trying to think up a reason for being at the town hall. To
gain time, she said, "I'm sorry if I seemed a little ... not myself,
last night."
"I understand, don't worry," said Trevin. "I do hope that you're
feeling better."
Christabel nodded. "Well, I have to get home now. Thank you again
for taking me out last night." She started to leave, but Trevin asked
her to wait a moment. "I was going to tell you that my father was so
excited about his new ale that he's planning to have a party tomorrow
night to introduce it. He's inviting the mayor --" Trevin held up a
sealed envelope "-- and my mother said that I could invite you as well.
It's going to be at Joya's house. Would you like to go?"
"Oh," Christabel murmured. She glanced down and tugged at her ear,
unsure how to reply. On the one hand, attending the party meant that she
would finally receive the increase in social standing that an
association with Joya's family always conferred. But could she really
associate with them now, knowing how little they valued the lives of
animals -- and by extension, anything they considered beneath them?
"Christabel?" Trevin queried, lightly touching her cheek. The young
woman flashed him an apologetic grin, then took a deep breath before
replying, "Yes. I would like that, very much."
As Trevin smiled and expressed his delight at the young woman's
acceptance, part of Christabel's mind screamed at her for making that
decision. She silenced her self-criticism by reasoning that if she were
accepted into Trevin's social circle, she would do whatever was possible
to influence their way of thinking.
"Let me just deliver this invitation," said Trevin, "and I'll take
you home." Christabel nodded and followed him back to the mayor's
waiting chamber, relieved that he hadn't yet asked about her business at
the town hall.
The stern-faced official grumbled under his breath, but accepted
the invitation and promised to deliver it to the mayor. Upon catching
sight of Christabel, the man pointed his quill at her and asked, "Are
you a friend of the beast lover?"
"Beast lover?" Trevin looked at Christabel with a slight frown. The
official told him about her audience with the mayor, then added, "I've
yet to see the creature myself, and she wants the whole show closed
down!"
"Is this true?" Trevin asked, guiding her out of the official's
hearing. Reluctantly, Christabel admitted that she had in fact been in
to see the mayor, but only to persuade him to stop the Kushago
exhibition.
"But why?" The young man looked at her in bewilderment. "I know
that you were upset by what you saw, but why see the mayor about it?"
"Because it's so *wrong* for it to be used as entertainment! Why
can't you understand that?"
Trevin exhaled loudly. "What I can't understand," he said slowly,
"is what makes *you* think you have the right to determine what is and
is not entertainment." He paused and fixed her with a hard stare. "Now,
my father and I are going to see the show tonight. He's very excited
about it, and I don't want him to be disappointed. Will you promise me
that you won't try to stir up any trouble?"
On the verge of tears, Christabel could barely nod. Trevin's
expression softened, and he reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.
She flinched away from his touch, then ran out of the building, sobbing
angrily.
========================================================================
Shattered Love
Part I
by Mark A. Murray
<mmurray@weir.net>
Dargon, Sy 1015
What Has Gone Before:
Raphael, accompanied by a cloaked figure, entered Dargon for
the first time. He was stopped by a young shadow boy gathered his
courage in hopes of making some money. Raphael hired the boy,
Lylle, as a guide. Lylle showed Raphael to the places that he
wanted to go, and in doing so, learned more about the cloaked
figure. Her name was Megan and she was under a curse. Raphael was
searching for a cure to end the curse.
Not finding a cure in Dargon, Raphael travelled south through
the forest, not knowing where to go next. He stumbled upon a wolf
cub whose mother had been killed. While deciding what to do about
the cub, he turned to discover that Megan had moved and the wolf
cub was at her feet. The decision had been made for him; he would
take the cub with him. He named the cub, Anam.
Travelling on, he found a small cabin in a clearing. Inside
was an old mage who, for a very short time, lifted the curse on
Megan. The two were reunited for a few brief moments. The mage told
Raphael that only by killing the one's responsible for the curse,
could he lift it. That meant killing Kell, Loth, or both. As Kell
had been his best friend, he didn't know if he could do that.
Raphael decided to return to Dargon where he could either take
a boat home or a boat to Magnus. Home meant Kell and Loth, while
Magnus may have held a cure. His decision was once again decided
for him when he stumbled upon Kell and Loth. Loth tried to kill him
and Kell saved his life with his own. Loth escaped while Kell died
in his arms. Raphael returned to the inn where he had left Megan to
find that she was still under the curse.
The enduring years of caring for her and searching for a cure
had worn him down. The death of Kell in his arms had broken his
resolve, and the still cursed Megan had crushed all hope inside
him. His mind could not and did not withstand the tumult. The story
begins here where Raphael teeters on the brink of insanity.
Voices cried in his mind. Whispers edged into his thoughts. The
blackness gave way to an emerald glow. As the glow brightened, it took
shape. A figure started to emerge from the glow. He watched as the
figure took a feminine shape. Recognition shocked his senses.
"Megan!", he cried and reached to touch her. His hand disrupted the
emerald glow and scattered the light. As darkness closed in, laughter
erupted around him.
"She was such a pretty thing," a voice said.
"Loth! I'll kill you!" Raphael vowed to the darkness. He struggled
against the dark.
"... pretty thing," the voice echoed. Rage overtook Raphael and he
bolted awake. He was in their room at Spirit's Haven. He noticed that
the candle had burned low and he wondered how long he had been out.
Megan lay on the bed, and Anam watched him intently.
"Megan," he whispered, hoping that she would wake, but knowing that
she would not. The curse still paralyzed her.
As he stood, blackness claimed him once again, but it wasn't total.
He saw May standing in front of him.
"Are you alright?" May asked.
"Megan?" he asked May. "Where's Megan?"
"She's in your room," May answered. "Raphael, what's wrong with
you?"
"Got to find Loth," he mumbled. May grabbed him and turned him so
that he was facing her.
"You need some help," she told him. "I'll send for a healer."
"No!" he said as he broke free of her arms. "No, I've got to find
Loth. He's the one. I ..." Blackness closed in as he tried to ask May to
care for Megan.
He felt something strike his foot and the world exploded into his
eyesight in a myriad of colors. He looked around and found himself
walking toward the main gates of Dargon City. "I must have tripped," he
thought. "What am I doing here?" As he tried to remember how he had
gotten to where he was, thoughts of Megan, Kell, and Loth surfaced.
Kell's death replayed itself in his mind and was interrupted by visions
of Megan on the bed -- her grey eyes staring blankly at him. Throughout
it all Loth laughed. The world reeled in front of him and blackness
claimed him once more ...
A jolt to his arm caught his attention and Raphael looked to his
side. A Dargon guard had grabbed him.
"Are you sick?" the guard asked. "Who are you?"
Raphael tried to answer, but no sound came from his mouth. He
didn't remember his name; didn't know who he was. Something stirred in
the back of his mind as he tried to remember his name. A name finally
came to him -- Megan. He didn't recognize it, and knew that it wasn't
his name.
"Megan?" he said aloud. The sound of her name triggered his
memories. They rushed into his mind and he couldn't hold them back. His
hands went to his head and he screamed. Blackness was a welcome friend
...
He was floating. Floating in a world of black. In the blackness, he
knew there were doorways to other places. For now, he was content to
float. It was a pleasant place this black world. He was floating calmly
when his world changed. Small pinpoints of light started to suck his
blackness away. The lights showed him the doorways in his once black
world.
"No!" he screamed. "I don't want to see! I don't want to know! Go
away!" The stars shone ever brighter. He heard a bird cry in the night
and knew that he would have to choose a doorway soon. A small part of
his sanity helped to clear his mind. Reality was fast approaching and if
he didn't choose, he felt that he would be lost forever. He saw the
doorways and found that there were labels on the doors. He read the
labels as he walked past the doors. Kell -- that had been his best
friend. Loth -- no, he wouldn't go through that door. Life -- something
told him that it wasn't the right door either. He walked past many doors
labeled with the names of family, friends, places, and events in his
life. None felt right to him. He didn't know how many doors he had
passed or what he was looking for, but he searched on.
As he moved from door to door, he caught sight of something
approaching him. It was a small animal and was running toward him. He
didn't know whether to run or stay. As the animal, a wolf as best he
could tell, approached, it jogged a memory inside him. He knew this
wolf.
"Anam?" he asked aloud when he remembered. "Anam?" he asked again
when the wolf stopped in front of him. It was no small animal now, but
rather a very large wolf. "Is that you, Anam?" he asked. The wolf's ears
twitched and its tail drooped as it licked Raphael in the face.
"Is this how you're going to be when you grow up?" Raphael asked.
Anam turned and started off. "Where are you going?" Raphael asked. Anam
stopped, looked back for an instant, and then moved on again. Raphael
followed and they made their way amongst the myriad of doorways.
Anam finally stopped and sat at a doorway. When Raphael caught up
to him, he looked at the name on the doorway -- Megan.
Megan -- that was it! This was the door! He opened it and found
nothing but blackness awaiting him. Stepping through the door, he braced
himself for whatever would happen, except nothing happened. He was in a
world of black, but turning around, he saw the doorway with Anam sitting
in it.
"Where am I?" he asked aloud.
"In your mind," came an answer behind him. He knew the voice and he
spun around full of hope. Megan was standing there with her red hair
cascading around her shoulders, and her eyes shining a bright vibrant
green. Her red lips, red hair, and green eyes offset her slightly pale
face. She wore a silk blouse that moved softly in a breeze he could not
feel.
"I love you," he said. She smiled and reached out a hand to caress
his face. Her fingers brushed lightly across his cheek and then settled
softly against his neck.
"And I love you," she answered. "I have always loved you. But
you've pushed and tormented yourself about me for too long. It wasn't
your fault. You can't keep blaming yourself for what happened or for not
finding a cure or for Kell's death. The blame is not yours, but
another's."
"I should have done *something* to stop it," he said.
"You've done the best that you could do. Let it go. If you don't,
you won't be any help to anyone, anymore," she told him. She brought her
other hand up to his face, leaned forward, and kissed him. Her lips
touched his softly and he kissed her back. He could smell her perfume
and feel her body against him as he drew her closer and hugged her
tight. He had missed her far more than he would have guessed.
"Are you real?" he whispered in her ear. She pulled back from him
and he saw that tears were streaming down her cheek.
"Are these real?" she asked. He reached out and wiped the tears
from her face.
"Yes," he said.
"I ... I can't stay much longer," she said.
"What ..."
"Shhhh," she said placing her fingers on his lips. "I just know
that I must go soon."
"I don't want to lose you."
"Have I not always been by your side?" she asked. "I am cursed from
action, but I still see all that happens around me. I have watched as
you have cared for me, protected me, and searched the kingdoms for a
cure ..." Megan's tears started streaming down her face again. A light
from somewhere reflected her bright green eyes through her tears, and
facets of green washed over him.
"Please don't lose hope," she told him as she started to fade away.
"And remember that I will always love you!"
"No!" he said as he reached out to grab her, but the blackness
closed in and he fell through it to land solidly on something.
Everything was still black and he realized that his eyes were closed.
Opening them, he found himself in a cell.
He remembered most of everything that had happened in his life up
to his return to Megan after Kell's death. Things were still hazy after
that. He suspected that he left Megan in May's care at Spirit's Haven;
at least he hoped he did. Then there was the wandering in the town. He
didn't know how long he had roamed the streets, but his stomach told him
it had been awhile. There was a fight with some of Dargon's guards but
he couldn't remember what happened. Being in a cell, he hoped that it
wasn't serious. Relaxing, he let his stomach settle while he sorted his
thoughts. Still trying to piece together what happened, he fell asleep.
"Do you think it's him?" came a voice from somewhere. Raphael
opened his eyes and saw two men standing near him.
"Well, he's awake, let's ask him," said the other. "Are you Raphael
Etrigan?"
"Who are you," Raphael asked as he woke fully. "What do you want?"
"I'm Jandis Moor," the older man said, "and this is Kyle Arving.
We're searching for a man by the name of Raphael Etrigan. You told the
guards your name was Raphael. Are you Raphael Etrigan?"
"Guards?" Raphael thought. He vaguely remembered being stopped by a
Dargon guard. Raphael looked up at the two men. Jandis was an older man
with greying hair. He was shorter than his companion and a little
heavier. Kyle was tall and skinny with dark hair and a beard.
"Yes," he replied. Sitting up, he noticed that he was in a cell.
"That guard must have arrested me," he thought, wondering just how bad
his situation was.
"Good! We've been looking for you for days. You've led us on a
grand tour of Dargon, you know. Just what were you looking for?" Jandis
asked. "It's not important right now," he continued abruptly. "We have
been sent to stop a man by the name of Loth. A message was given to us
with information and this." Jandis held up a square wooden device that
Raphael had never seen before. "This device will enable us to track
Loth, or so I am told. It tracks one person, and once started, it must
complete that task in a few days. The magic fades rather quickly.
"I'm blustering on again. The reason we were looking for you is
that we were commanded to. The message they sent only gave us small bits
of information, but one of those was that we were to find you. You, it
would seem, are important to our mission of stopping Loth."
"You can track Loth?" Raphael asked pushing aside all other
questions and thinking of vengeance.
"We were told we could," Kyle answered. "We were told to find you
first."
"You've found me," Raphael said. "If you can get me out of here,
I'll help you with Loth. Why *am* I in here?"
"The town guard arrested you for being drunk and for disrupting
people's sleep," Jandis told him. "If you're sober, you're free to go."
Jandis called to the guard, who upon making sure Raphael was sober,
let them out. As they were leaving, another guard gave Raphael a cane.
He didn't remember having it, but it was his cane, so he took it and the
three of them left the guard house.
"Open the box, now," Kyle told Jandis.
"Will you be patient?" Jandis replied.
"We have him, so let's get this assignment over with. Open the
box."
"And if I want to wait until tomorrow? Most of the day is gone, you
know," Jandis said.
"I know, I know, but a few bells of searching is better than none
at all."
"Loth could be anywhere. He's most likely left Dargon," Jandis
said.
"And he could be right around the corner," Kyle replied back.
Raphael couldn't explain why the sight of them arguing was so
funny, but the laughter seemed to ease his soul. It had been a long time
since he had laughed like this. Megan used to make him laugh. He thought
about those times. Her green eyes would sparkle, her nose would turn up
slightly as she laughed, and her smile was beautiful. As he thought
about her and their times together, he realized that there was no pain
in the remembrance. Standing there, he dragged out as many of his
memories with her as he could. He would pick at a thread of memory and
when it started to fade, he would grab at another. She was always the
center of his thoughts. He watched her move and talk in his mind. She
slowly faded away as voices replaced her. They were low, quiet masculine
voices and he recognized them. Jandis and Kyle were whispering.
"... alright?" Kyle asked.
"I don't know. He is acting a bit strange," Jandis answered.
"I'm fine now," Raphael told them, smiling.
Jandis opened the wooden device. It looked just like a small wooden
box with a lid. Peering inside, Raphael saw runes written on the inside
and a small stone in one corner.
"The stone is the key," Jandis explained. "The runes are written
for amplifying the stone. Whichever corner the stone is in, is the way
we must go. Even if I move the box around, the stone stays in the
direction where we need to go."
Jandis watched the stone and then set off in the direction it
pointed. Raphael and Kyle followed.
"The lovely town of Dargon," Kyle said sarcastically. "We were sent
to investigate an amulet in Kenna. A small job, really, and then back
home to Magnus. Now there's a city -- ah, Magnus," Kyle sighed. "Before
we finished in Kenna, we were told to go to Dargon once everything in
Kenna was done.
"'Go to Dargon and find Loth' was the message we received. So, we
went to Dargon to find Loth, but when we got here we couldn't find him.
We searched and found nothing. Then another messenger came and gave us
the box and the new orders to find you. What I'd like to know is why did
we have to find you first?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's because I know Loth."
"What?!" they both asked at the same time and then looked at each
other. Raphael started to laugh again, but they turned and focused their
attention on him.
"I know him. He was my best friend's mentor." Raphael stopped when
they both gave him confused looks.
"Let me start at the beginning," Raphael began.
"I only had one good friend as a child. His name was Kell and he
was apprenticed to Loth. What free time we had was spent together as
much as possible. Even though we were complete opposites -- he was
learning to be an alchemist and I was learning the art of fighting -- we
were the best of friends.
"Later, when we were older, Megan came into my life. She wanted as
much of my time as Kell did, and I didn't have enough for both of them.
I was spending more and more time with Megan, and I didn't realize how
much this affected Kell. A couple of years of this went by and things
got worse. I thought it was his jealousy and envy of Megan that was
affecting him. I was wrong. It was the pain and loneliness of being shut
out of our friendship that hurt him, but I didn't see that at the time.
"Megan and I were married. Kell wasn't there. I think that hurt as
much as what happened later," Raphael said. "The night of our marriage
... it ...
"I awoke the next day and turned to wake Megan. She didn't respond
to my playful pushes. I told her to wake up and she opened her eyes.
They were a dull grey. Her once sparkling green eyes were a dull grey.
She wouldn't speak or move. I ...
"Later, I searched for Kell. When I went to the alchemist shop,
Loth told me Kell had left early in the morning in a hurry. I believed
him. Megan was cursed, Kell had fled, and I didn't know what to do. I
left Megan in her parent's care while I searched for Kell. When I
couldn't find him, I returned home. Megan was the same and Kell was
still missing. I took Megan with me as I searched for him again because
I knew that it would be a long time and I wanted her with me. After
awhile of searching, I still didn't find him so I searched for a cure
and after that, I searched for anything to help Megan."
"I'm sorry," Jandis said softly.
"Not to sound like a stone," Kyle said, "but what does this have to
do with Loth?"
"I found out recently that Loth was behind the curse. I think he
had Kell locked up in his shop all the time that I searched for him. All
that time, I blamed Kell for Megan, and throughout it all, he searched
for a cure. Knowing that I blamed him, he still helped me.
"I caught up to Kell in Dargon, but before I could do anything,
Loth appeared. I wanted to kill both of them. Loth wanted to kill me,
and Kell wanted to make things right. He never stopped being my friend,
and I realized that too late ...
"Loth tried to kill me with a poison dart, and Kell stepped in
front of me. He took the dart meant for me. Loth left him there to die.
It was a very potent poison, and he was suffering horribly. He asked me
to save him from the pain ...
"He died in my arms by my hand, and he still kept our friendship."
"I'm sorry," Kyle said. "That must have been a hard thing to do.
You've been through quite a bit, and I'm surprised you're still sane. I
don't think I could have handled all that very well. Still, even with
your connection to Loth, I still don't understand why we had to find
you?"
"I really don't know either," Raphael replied, "unless it's because
I'm more familiar with Loth. Or maybe I know something about Loth that I
don't realize will help. Or maybe it's because I want very badly to run
my sword through his twisted heart. Whatever reason, we should get back
to searching for him." Raphael looked to Jandis and his magical box.
When Jandis started walking, Raphael and Kyle followed.
"Who did you say commanded you to find me?" Raphael asked.
"We didn't," Kyle answered. "We can't, actually."
"But you are commanded to stop Loth?"
"Yes."
Raphael didn't like trusting strangers, but his desire for revenge
outweighed everything else. If they could track Loth, then he would
accompany them to see where they would go. If things started to look
bad, he thought he could deal with them. They weren't trained fighters
and carried no weapons, so he put his faith in their small box as they
walked through Dargon.
========================================================================
Night One
by Max Khaytsus
<khaytsus@cs.colorado.edu>
Naia 10, 1015
"Jana, wait for me!" a tall blond man called, yanking the bridle
from his mount's mouth and hanging it off the saddle, resting in the
corner of the stall. "Chew on some hay, Ranger," he said, brushing the
horse's mane.
"Come on, Shor. I'm really tired and really hungry and the
innkeeper should be doing that anyway."
"Patience, Jana." The man picked up his pack and slung it over his
shoulder. "We've been on the road all day. A few more moments won't make
a difference for us tonight, but may produce rested horses tomorrow.
You're too young to be in such a hurry."
"I'm not going to wait to be your age before doing all the things I
want to do."
Kishore Talluri yanked a sword from the saddlebag of the white
horse next to Ranger and handed it to Jana. "Ten years isn't so long a
wait and if you're in such a hurry to start your adventure, you can do
so by not leaving your weapon behind."
"Next thing you'll be telling me is that I have to kill what I
eat!"
"Some days, you do."
They left the small barn which served as the inn's stables and went
into the large house across the courtyard, Jana having to remind herself
to slow down to her companion's relaxed pace.
The inn was tall by forest standards, a two story building with an
attic on one side and an extended third floor on the other, barely
covered by the trees that stood around it. A sign over the door -- there
was no customary plaque -- read 'The Forgotten Inn', referring to the
inn's location in the middle of nowhe
re.
"What can I do for you, folks?" an overweight elderly man at the
counter by the stairs asked. He stood up and shifted his weight
uncomfortably, a pocket of belly fat hanging over his belt.
"How far is it to Dargon?" Kishore asked.
The innkeeper delayed giving his answer, studying the man and his
companion. The man was tall, almost tall enough for his size to seem
absurd, but proportionately built. His long sun-bleached hair hung down
to his shoulders, a dark streak running above his temple and down behind
his ear. His skin was well tanned, darker than the bleached hair, giving
him an exotic foreign appearance.
The girl, in contrast, was of average height, with delicate, almost
aristocratic features, making her appear out of place so far from
civilization. Her long, sandy blond hair was ruffled from what must have
been a long trip. She shifted impatiently beside the man, holding a pack
in one hand and a sheathed sword in the other.
"A few days or so in the light," the innkeeper sang his pitch. "At
night you're bound to get lost and never get there at all."
"Then we will need two rooms," Kishore declared.
"One room. I only have one room."
"We need two." He could tell the man was lying, trying to raise the
price.
"I'm sorry, but ..."
Kishore dropped his pack with a thud and drew his sword, slamming
the blade on the counter. "Do I have to kill someone to make room?" his
previously quiet voice boomed in the lobby.
A tall skinny man, the only patron in the common room, looked up at
the exchange from his meal. His sharp features betrayed no emotion.
"Well, I ..." the innkeeper stammered. "... I ... of course. Look,
we do have two rooms, after all." He placed two round keys on the
counter.
"Next time you wish to drive the price up," Kishore warned, "tell
me how good the rooms are, not how few you have." He sheathed his sword
and picked up his pack. "Do you wish to eat first?" he asked Jana.
"If it won't trouble you too much," Jana said. Her voice remained
level, as if no violent exchange took place. She was either oblivious to
her companion drawing his sword or simply saw it enough times that it
made little difference to her.
"Serve us in the common room," Kishore said and followed the young
woman to a table.
The skinny man by the wall threw them one last glance and resumed
his meal as they walked by. As Kishore and Jana took their seats, a
heavyset, bearded man wearing a gold and blue tabard over plain yellow
and brown clothes came down the stairs and sat at the table deep in the
corner not far from the entrance. Jana immediately moved to place
Kishore between herself and the man in the corner. Even sitting down,
Kishore was almost a full head taller than she and his height enabled
her to almost completely disappear from view of the tabarded man.
"Problem?" Kishore glanced at her.
"He's from Narragan. The crest is of the House of Pyenson."
"Do you know him?" Kishore carefully glanced over at the man, who
was clearly minding his own business, looking towards the common room
entrance, clearly waiting or the innkeep.
"No," Jana answered, "but that doesn't mean he doesn't know me."
Kishore was about to answer, but said nothing as the innkeep
entered the room. He stopped first to talk to the man wearing the
tabard, then came over to Kishore and Jana's table.
"What is it you wish to order?"
"Lamb, please," Jana said. "And some fruit."
"And you, sir?"
"Lamb is fine," Kishore agreed, "and a pitcher of watered-down
ale."
"We have no watered-down ale, I assure you," the fat man protested.
Kishore's coal dark eyes challenged him.
"Right away. I'll find the worst in the house ..."
"Hey, barkeep! Where's my food?" a particularly short man wearing
an earth-colored cape over well worn leather bounced his way down the
stairs and into the common room.
"It's coming, it's coming," the innkeeper grumbled and left.
The midget sat by the skinny man, looking curiously at the pair of
newcomers a table away. "Hey, Sal, that's a lizard man," he whispered to
his companion.
Kishore slowly turned his head and stood up. "Call me that again,
midget, and I'll cut you in two."
The man in the tabard looked up at the sound of the terse words,
but said nothing.
The skinny man hurried to stand up, drawing himself to his full
height, almost as tall as Kishore. "My companion merely means he has
never seen a Lashkirian before. I am sure no insult was intended."
"If he says it again, he'll never have to worry about seeing
another Lashkirian again," Kishore said and sat down.
"You're not going to walk over and slam your sword in his soup?"
Jana asked.
"Not before it's served to him," Kishore laughed.
"Hey, let it go! People like you are rare around here." She was
concerned about a potential fight, and happy that Kishore chose to
return to his seat, where he shielded her from the man who belonged to
the House of Pyenson.
"Obviously," Kishore leaned back in his chair, throwing one last
glance at the two men who had managed to insult him before he was
comfortably in his seat. Jana shifted uncomfortably, using Kishore for
cover.
"What do we do after Dargon?" Jana asked.
"After Dargon?" Kishore tilted his head back to look at the high
ceiling with two tiers of corridors over the common room. The first
balcony circling the room was wide, with doors to rooms, five to a wall.
The second, far above it, was small and narrow, with no visible ladders
or stairs, perching up in the rafters. "Beautiful architecture. I saw
this ..." he paused, thinking, "... somewhere down south. Armand or
Sharks' Cove or Bitom ... They all blend together after a time."
"I haven't seen anything like it in Armand," Jana said. "Of course
I didn't go to many taverns there."
Kishore shrugged. "It'll come to me."
"Dargon?"
"Yes ... what's the next large city to the east?"
"There isn't one. Not until you're in Asbridge. That's maybe a
month distant."
Kishore bit his lower lip. "Waste of time. What else is there?"
The inn door slammed as a red-headed woman in armor walked in.
"Innkeep!"
Everyone in the common room turned to look at the newcomer.
"Coming, coming!" the man's voice sounded from somewhere behind the
counter and a moment later he appeared, a dirty apron hanging off his
neck, barely covering his belly. "What is it, miss? Sir?"
Kishore and Jana exchanged amused expressions, as the two men the
nearby table did the same. The woman was muscular, wearing dull red
mail, augmented with steel plates. Her hair was tied back and hanging
over her shoulder in a messy tail. A sword sat in a scabbard hanging on
her back, the hilt sticking out over her right shoulder.
"I want a room and a meal. Can you handle that tonight?"
"Yes, yes. Or course. Always glad to do repeat business."
"Left-handed fighter," Kishore whispered to Jana as the woman
walked into the common room.
"How can you tell?"
"Sword on left shoulder."
"Oh ..."
The red-haired woman paused in the middle of the room, looking at
the tables and the patrons already present. She selected a table not far
from Kishore and Jana and sat down, merely nodding a greeting to them.
"Dargon?"
"Yes ... I don't want to spend a month on the road."
"There's a town called Tench a half month south of Dargon. You can
follow the River Coldwell most of the way there. It's sort of a big
place that's really small."
"Rat hole," the red-haired woman looked over at Jana.
"Rat hole?"
"Stinking Lame Duck Inn. Innkeeper's boy tried to rob me. Came into
my room in the middle of the night, thought he could take my armor."
"It would seem he did not succeed," Kishore said.
"I gutted the little weasel on the banister."
"Gutted?" Jana winced.
"Like a rabbit," the woman leaned forward.
Jana pushed herself further into her chair, away from the red-head.
"Did he ... did he ... die?"
"Die? I hope not! I want him to remember the night that earned him
that scar!"
"You didn't stay to find out?" Kishore asked.
"How could I? Every bandit in the place was on me before the kid
slid down to the first floor. What are they thinking in that town? That
a woman can't take care of herself?"
"Did you prove them wrong?"
"The first two or three ... Then I had to run."
Kishore laughed. "A town for you not to visit, then."
"Not anytime soon," the woman agreed. She extended her arm. "Ravi
Lavgan."
"Kishore Talluri," the Lashkirian gripped forearms with her --
untraditional, as she was a woman. "Jana Wynn, my ward," he added,
introducing his companion.
"A pleasure," Jana said.
The innkeeper bustled into the common room and placed a plate
before the midget, then placed pitchers of ale and water and some wooden
cups on the table in front of Kishore. "Busy night tonight," he
commented and ran off again.
"Please, join us," the Lashkirian invited the red-haired woman and
she gladly changed tables.
"That's a ... dwarf," she nodded at the other table with a smile.
"Shhh. He's very sensitive about that," Kishore said.
"And with a bad temper," Jana laughed.
"It's just that I've never seen one," Ravi said.
"I'm sure he knows just that feeling," Kishore laughed.
"All right, lizard man, enough's enough!" The short man stood up,
flinging back his cloak to reveal a war hammer hanging at his side.
"A carpenter dwarf," Kishore said, kicking aside his chair.
The door to the inn slammed again and four men walked in, all
dressed in dark leather armor and carrying swords. Two went behind the
counter, through the doorway to the kitchen. The other two entered the
common room, but did not sit down, placing themselves in the entry way,
between the kitchen and the patrons in the common room.
"Hey, look, a dwarf and an elf," one elbowed the other.
A yell for help sounded from behind the counter.
Kishore and the midget, no longer interested in one another, turned
to the two men. The skinny man with the midget and Ravi also stood up as
a second yell sounded. Jana looked around and stood up as well, not
wanting to be left out. The only man to remain sitting was the one in
the tabard, closest to the two leather-clad men.
"Just mind your own business, folks," one of the two men said.
"My business is the meal being made for me back there," Kishore
warned.
The bandit drew his sword. "I said mind your own business,
peasant!"
As the third scream sounded, Kishore pulled his sword. Ravi
followed his example, drawing her sword and the midget pulled out his
hammer.
"Shor, don't," Jana asked, but he took a determined step forward,
sword ready.
"Get out of my way."
"Three of us, two of you," Ravi warned.
"Two and a half," the second brigand corrected, drawing his blade
and leering at the midget.
"Four," Jana sighed, pulling her sword from its scabbard.
"You, don't," Kishore turned back and warned.
The first brigand moved forward, his sword ready for a strike, when
the table where the man in the tabard sat tilted forward and slammed
into him, making him tumble to the floor. "There are five, actually," he
said in a rich voice and stood up. Having no weapon, he picked up a
chair by its back and moved it closer, to use as a weapon.
The fallen bandit got up and in a quick lunge swung his blade,
hoping to catch the large man off guard, but his blade met Ravi's parry
and was almost ripped from his grasp.
Kishore responded with a roundhouse swing that caught the surprised
brigand in the side, the flat of the blade knocking the wind out of him.
The strike was followed by a chair shattering across the brigand's back,
sending him to the ground. The second bandit, not waiting for the focus
of attention to change, swung at the midget, but found his blow blocked
by the hammer.
"Ardan!"
The flat of Kishore's sword came down sharply, across the head of
the breathless man kneeling before him, decisively knocking him down to
the ground with a clattering of metal as the sword fell from the
brigand's grasp. The door to the inn again swung open and two more men
rushed in. They were dressed in black leather armor, just like their
predecessors, and they held readied swords. Ravi hurried forward,
blocking the path of one of the men, meeting his sword with hers,
creating a dull clanging of metal on metal. The other brigand took
position over his fallen comrade, taking two wild swings at Kishore.
The sound of running feet could be heard behind the counter and the
two men who had first disappeared into the kitchen ran out, one leaping
over the counter and landing right next to Kishore, forcing the
Lashkirian back, looking for space to set for two attackers. Jana forced
her way into the fight, trying to lure one of the men off her companion.
"Jana, no!"
A chair crashed across the side of one of the brigands, forcing him
to stumble sideways, disturbing the midget's defense against the man
fighting him. Kishore barely managed to parry his other opponent as
Jana's strategy worked. One of the brigands was now out of Kishore's
reach and facing Jana one on one. This also placed Jana almost in the
center of the fray.
The man fighting Ravi took the opportunity to alter his attack and
took an extra swing at the young woman in between blows exchanged with
the red-headed fighter. The man in the tabard barely managed to pull
Jana back as the brigand's sword passed through the space where she
stood a moment before.
The second man of the two who were in the kitchen took the long way
around the bar, only now coming into the common room. Although his sword
was drawn, he tackled Jana and her rescuer off the top of the first
stair, sending both of them tumbling to the ground.
The midget's opponent, although clearly not comfortable fighting
against a hammer, had the advantage of height. He unyielding swings
forced the midget back into the common room. The tall skinny man, who
sat with the midget, reluctantly drew his sword and backed his friend,
awkwardly holding the blade, but being enough a distraction to prevent
an unbalanced fight and not giving anyone the opportunity to dominate
the melee.
Jana rolled out of the way, trying to maintain a grip on her weapon
as the man who tackled her leapt to his feet. She frantically scooted
back, expecting a strike from above, but instead the bandit swung his
sword down at the man on the ground. There was no distinct sound that
Jana could hear, but when the sword came back bloodied, she scrambled to
her feet, assuming a defensive position. She backed up to where the rest
of the group fought as the man advanced on her. She parried a swing and
managed to avoid a thrust before discovering her retreat placed her
against a table.
Jana staggered as her opponent's sword tangled in her cloak and
pulled her off balance. Ravi attempted to counter the advancing
attacker, but only left herself open for a blow that crushed her armor
below her ribs. She stumbled into the wall, leaving Jana completely open
to another attack, when the door again opened and a new sword sank into
the arm of the man who struck her. The brigand's sword fell to the floor
and the man groaned in pain.
Jana twisted out of the way of the man whose sword had caught her
cloak. Before Ravi could strike at him again, the stranger, a man in
worn armor with matted black hair, sank his blade into the brigand's
side.
Kishore parried his own opponent, delivering a sharp thrust to his
chest. The man staggered back and sank to the floor and Kishore, no
longer interested in the man, recovered from his downward thrust and
brought his blade up sharply under the sword of the man fighting the
midget. The brigand's weapon angled up and sank into the soft wood of
the low ceiling separating the common room from the inn vestibule.
"Oh, fark!"
"That's right!" The midget's hammer impacted his opponent's
unprotected stomach, throwing him into the counter several feet behind
him.
The remaining brigand, fighting Jana, was quickly confronted and
brought down by Ravi and the man who was last to join the fight.
Before any of the swords were down, Kishore leaped over the counter
and hurried to the kitchen to see what had happened to the innkeeper. He
reappeared a moment later, shaking his head.
"Let me see," Ravi pushed her way past him, followed by the tall
skinny man.
Kishore leaned on the counter, brushing his hair out of his face
with both hands. "I don't understand why."
"Shor?"
He took hold of Jana, not sure if she wanted to go into the kitchen
and held her back. "He's dead."
The man in dirty armor dropped his sword, still stuck in the leg of
his last opponent and hurried to the kitchen after the others, leaving
Kishore, Jana and the midget alone.
"The fat fellow's dead," the midget said, coming up the three steps
from the common room. "Probably would have done better with a sword."
Jana turned back to look at the man she tried to hide from, not
expecting to hear that he did not make it, but not really surprised at
the results of the blow she saw him receive.
"Hope that's not what you were after," Kishore challenged the man
he was ready to fight before the bandits' arrival and turned his back to
the midget, as he sat down on a stool.
"You okay, Shor?"
"Fine," he nodded. "Just a few scrapes. You?"
Jana appeared tired, but not hurt. "I got my cloak torn. That man
saved my life. And you and Ravi parried for me."
"Don't jump into the fight like that again," he said. "It's bad
enough you're here with me."
Ravi came out of the kitchen, followed by the two men. "They killed
him after the fight started," she said. "They were torturing him before
that."
"Torturing?"
The man in the dirty armor made his way around the counter and up
to the man he had first attacked, lying barely conscious on the floor.
"Break his fingers, will you?" he grabbed the brigand by his neck and
pulled him up. The brigand gurgled something, but was only shaken
harder, his head being hit against the floor. "Like that?!"
By the time Kishore and the midget's companion made it to him, the
last brigand was dead, a pool of blood forming under his cracked skull.
"Good move," the skinny man said. "Kill our only prisoner."
"You idiot. Don't you know how to hold a sword?"
"Hey, that's enough!" Ravi intervened. She pushed the stranger's
sword away. "Thank you for helping us. And for saving me that cut."
"I ... " He looked her in the eyes and shook his head. "Who were
they?"
"I don't know ..."
"Who are you?"
"Ravi Lavgan," the red-haired woman introduced herself.
"Sand," the dirty man replied. "I've worked for Delor every now and
again. He was a friend ..."
"I'm sorry ..."
Sand took a deep breath and pulled himself up on the counter.
"This is Kishore Talluri," Ravi introduced the Lashkirian, "and
Jana."
"We're all grateful for your help," Kishore gripped forearms with
Sand.
"You two may as well introduce yourselves," Ravi said to the two
men holding back. "You made as big a mess as we."
The skinny man looked down at his companion, then stepped forward.
"Salish. I'm sorry I wasn't of more help, but I only know the bow."
"You were a pair of hands and that's what we needed," Ravi said.
The midget held back the longest, then introduced himself as Giles
Kreb. He made an effort of greeting everyone except Kishore and by the
look on the Lashkirian's face, he would have it no other way.
"What now?" Salish asked.
"We wait until morning, then get the constable," Ravi suggested.
"You do that," Sand said. "I'm leaving."
"You can't," Ravi protested. "You're the only one who knew this
man."
"Yeah, and he's a dead body now. I've got other things to do."
Ravi took hold of his arm. "None of us are from around here.
Please."
He set his jaw, challenging her with his eyes, but then gave in.
"All right. I'll stay."
Jana looked at Kishore, fear clearly in her eyes.
"It'll be fine," he assured her. "We're in Dargon."
"What are you talking about?" Ravi asked.
========================================================================
