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DargonZine Volume 11 Issue 02
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 2
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DargonZine Distributed: 03/15/1998
Volume 11, Number 2 Circulation: 678
========================================================================
Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
The Broken Staff 2 Mike Adams Ober, 1015
Friendships of Stone 3 Mark A. Murray Naia 6, 1015
Deliverance: Praeludium John Doucette
========================================================================
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 11-2, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright March, 1998 by
the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
without the explicit permission of their creators, 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>
Jam-packed!
Because DargonZine is still primarily distributed by email, we
can't make issues any bigger than 100k, since many email systems will
reject files which exceed that size. In fact, there are some mailers
(the most notable being juno.com) who will not accept mail larger than
64k! For that reason, we consider 100k to be a hard limit, and we will
not produce issues which, when emailed, exceed 100k.
Well, we had to use a shoehorn, a liberal amount of KY, and a
jackhammer to fit the following three stories into this issue and stay
within our self-imposed 100k limit. In fact, things are so tight that
there's really no room to say anything more in this editorial!
But never fear! Whenever we have enough material, even though we
can't print larger issues, we'll produce more frequent issues, and
that's what you can look forward to, as DargonZine 11-3 is already
rolling inexorably toward a distribution date in mid-April!
So enjoy this issue, and I'll see you then!
========================================================================
The Broken Staff
Part II
by Mike Adams
<meadams@sunherald.infi.net>
Ober, 1015
Dargon City Docks, just before midday
I am sure the triple towers of Dargon Keep have awed and inspired
many travellers to that city at first sight. Indeed, it compared
favorably to The Breakers, the castle which stood on the promontory
guarding the harbor of Seaport. However, in the past two bells, as the
_Friendly Lion_ made its way through the channel and prepared to dock, I
had become much less fond of the view. A ship might be the fastest way
to travel long distances, but it seemed the slowest way to travel the
short distance to the dock. I would have thought the harbor pilot would
make good time, knowing the channel so well, but apparently not.
I was more surprised by the constant light rain. In Mandraka, the
weather was normally hot and dry, punctuated by occasional downpours.
The rain never lasted for long, and the sun's rays provided dry clothing
in short order. I had been on the deck of the Lion for several bells and
had never felt so wet in my life.
I didn't mind being soaked; the discomfort helped keep my mind from
my personal miseries. I had once been a Herald of Mandraka, a respected
knight, a man of importance. Having abused my position, my King stripped
me of that position and my knighthood, and had exiled me to this cold,
wet, miserable hole. There had been times during my long sea journey
when I had looked forward to starting anew, but there were many more
times that I seemed to be drowning in my shame. I tried to focus my
thoughts on the cold water dripping down my spine.
Kodo, bosun of the ship, ambled up to me at the rail, and pulling
at his scrawny white beard said, "We'll be docking soon, wizard. You'd
better get your things."
I couldn't help grinning as the bosun headed forward to shout at
two sailors readying a hawser. At the outset of my voyage to Dargon,
Kodo had taken me, copper-skinned and dressed in black, for a wizard.
Kodo persisted in the misapprehension that I was a sorcerer of some
sort, and no amount of ridicule from his shipmates seemed able to budge
the idea, which had settled on his brain like a barnacle.
"Kel Tomis," came the strong voice of Captain Tennent, master of
the _Friendly Lion_. "I wanted a word before we docked. I may be able to
get you some work from a merchant who has cargo aboard. When he shows
up, follow my lead, and we'll see what can be managed, eh?" The captain
grinned, "He's an old acquaintance, and I probably won't fool him, but
it's worth a try."
I smiled back at Tennent. "Thank you, Captain," I said. "Your
assistance is appreciated."
Tennent nodded, and replied, "This merchant, Qanis Jetru, while a
cunning businessman, is somewhat timid when his personal safety is
involved. A few well-chosen words, and he'll probably beg you to protect
him." Tennent chuckled to himself, then continued, "I know you have no
great amount of coin, so let's just say you owe me a drink the next time
the Lion docks in Dargon, yes?"
Tennent grabbed my arm to seal our little bargain, then he went aft
to check the pilot.
A short time later we were moored, and the gangplank was extended.
I saw a small man with a short beard emerge from the bustle and approach
the ship.
"Ho, the Lion! Permission to come aboard?" shouted out the man, who
was wearing a heavy gray cloak, of excellent quality, over a brown
tunic. He wore hose instead of trousers, which I thought insane in this
weather.
Tennent's voice boomed from the helm. "Qanis my friend, of course
you may come aboard." Tennent kept talking as he came forward. "And what
about your companion; will he be coming aboard as well?" Tennent waved
at a perplexed sailor, who waved weakly back, and quickly strode away.
Qanis whirled about in alarm, spotted the fast-walking sailor, and
scurried up the gangway.
"I have no companion," he said, his words hurried and high-pitched.
"I came alone. Was someone following me?" The merchant's gaze darted
around the wharf, looking for a suspicious character. I saw any number
of persons who could fit that description, but then the drizzle became a
downpour, so we went below.
Soon we were in the captain's small cabin. Tennent was seated at
his chart table, with the merchant at his left. I sat across from the
trader. While Tennent exchanged trivial pleasantries with the merchant,
I took the opportunity to examine Jetru more closely. He had a short,
neatly trimmed beard, but no mustaches. His plain brown hair had been
carefully bound with a dark ribbon, and there was an expertly mended rip
on the sleeve of his tunic. The man may lack physical courage, I
decided, but he displayed ample evidence of his success in business. His
appearance meant that there was at least one servant in his house whose
main function was to tend to his master's public image.
The clanking sound of glass on metal proclaimed the arrival of
Tennent's rum bottle. I had been subjected to the foul stuff once
already on my voyage and I didn't look forward to another taste. Once
Tennent had filled the small glasses in front of us with the pale brown
liquid, he raised his glass and downed it all at once. I took a small
sip, felt it burn down my throat, and tried not to cough. Qanis,
however, emptied the glass with only a tiny shudder, and with no visible
hesitation held out his glass for more. My respect for the trader rose a
small notch.
"I knew I was being followed," said Qanis. "I can sense it, you
know. Many's the time I've looked over my shoulder only to catch some
dirty peasant staring at me, as if to measure my wealth with eyes
alone." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Why, once, I even made a
grab for one of those rough types, a very small one, mind you."
"My friend," Tennent interjected, as Qanis made to take another
deep breath, "You know I love to hear your stories, but I've cargo to
see to, and a crew itching for shore leave. As I said, I believe Bren
can be of help to you. He is a renowned soldier in his homeland, but is
in Dargon for a short time. He would be willing to act as your personal
bodyguard until you have disposed of your cargo." Tennent waved a hand
at me, and went on, "Even his appearance should serve to protect you;
his dark skin and strange sword will give pause to most scum. And his
ability with that sword is undoubted. I personally watched him slay a
number of pirates on the very journey we have just completed. All this
for the modest sum of four Rounds for a fortnight."
Immediately, Qanis' nose twitched and his eyes glowed. I watched as
Tennent and Qanis haggled like fishmongers on the pier. Offer was
followed by counteroffer, percentages of sales offered instead of cash.
I lost my thin hold on understanding when they started discussing
exchange rates, but I kept listening, hoping knowledge of Dargon's
complicated monetary system would somehow accrue to me. After all, I
would be living here for the foreseeable future.
The price for my labor was down to two Rounds, one Royal, for one
fortnight's work, when Qanis apparently decided he'd done enough and
sealed the deal. Tennent looked relieved to have the bargaining done,
and I'd learned something else about my employer. Tennent and Qanis
drank again, before the captain retrieved Qanis' goods from a locked
chest, which was bolted to the floor.
While Qanis checked his box and paid Tennent for delivery, I
excused myself to retrieve my possessions from my cabin. The few things
I had been allowed to bring from Mandraka fit into a rather small bag.
The bulk was made up of several changes of smallclothes, a cup, a spoon,
and the two pieces of my broken staff of office.
As a herald of Mandraka, far to the south now, I had carried the
symbol of my craft with pride. Then I had betrayed myself and the
College of Heralds by giving a judgement in favor of Lady Kira tel Hon,
to whom I had entrusted my heart and soul. I stood in the cramped,
smelly cabin, staring at the staff, and I saw my life, broken and
useless.
On the voyage from Mandraka I had spent many bells in the bow of
the Lion, staring at those two pieces of wood. Many times I had wanted
to fling the offending fragments into the sea, but I never could. At my
lowest, the pain of my memories seemed to do more to keep me alive than
anything else.
In the end, as always, my self-disgust overwhelmed me, and I shoved
the sticks into the bag, tied it, and rose from where I knelt.
Godsblood, I looked forward to getting off this ship; on board there was
too much time to think.
Before I left the cabin, I checked my weapons; if I was to be a
bodyguard, I'd best be prepared. My saber was in prime condition, as I'd
sharpened and oiled it that morning. The dagger strapped to my left
forearm was lightly sealed into its sheath with candle wax. The two flat
handled daggers in my boottops, while invisible to the casual eye, were
easily accessible to my reaching fingers. Not the most knightly of
weapons, but Mandraka was not the most chivalrous of kingdoms, and the
blades had done me good service on more than one occasion.
As ever, I was reassured by the ritual of touching my weapons, and
with some small weight taken off my heart, I went on deck. While waiting
for my employer to appear, I scanned the docks, trying to determine if
anyone might be paying too much attention to the _Friendly Lion_.
Tennent had only been trying to fool Qanis, but there was a slight
chance someone *had* followed the trader.
Qanis returned topside just then, and signaled me to precede him
down the gangway and onto the wharf. I stayed at his side as he headed
towards the stew vendor situated only a short distance from the _Lion_'s
slip. The tantalizing smell reminded me I had eaten nothing all day.
As we approached the stew seller Qanis called out, "My good Simon,
how are you on this fine day?" I looked up at the clouds, which were
gray with the promise of more rain before day's end. I looked at Simon,
who winked at me. Oblivious to this byplay, Qanis went on, "How is that
spice I obtained for you from Quinnat?"
"Well, Master Jetru," replied Simon as he dished out the savory,
steaming fish stew to a hungry-looking sailor, "I find it quite tasty,
but it's too strong for any but the sunsweet stew."
Qanis looked thoughtful. "I will keep that in mind. In the
meantime, I've a short measure of dried kellis-weed going spare; could
you use it?"
Simon was a more challenging opponent for Qanis than Tennent was,
and it seemed to me that the merchant enjoyed the bargaining all the
more because of it. After terms were agreed, we left the vendor. The
smell of the stew was enough to make me salivate, and I was sorry to go.
I promised myself that I would visit Simon in the very near future.
With our backs to the water, Qanis pointed in the direction of
Commercial Street, where he said his office was located. As we moved
through the crowd, I had to shoulder aside several of the more
aggressive beggars. I could hear Qanis behind me, muttering, "Damned
nuisance, these beggars. I pay enough in taxes, I don't see why the
guard can't deal with this problem." I made no comment in reply, but the
next beggar that approached got the back of my hand, and no more of them
came near.
Jetru's office, which from appearances served as his home and
warehouse as well, was not far from the docks, and we arrived without
further incident. A servant greeted his master at the door. Qanis
dismissed the man with a gesture and led me down a hallway to a small
room at the end, which held a cot, a small table with an oil lamp, and
had precious little room left over.
"Not much more than a monk's cell, I'm afraid, but you shouldn't be
doing anything other than sleeping here. I hope it's acceptable," Qanis
said, giving me a curious look.
In my time as a herald, I had bedded down in pigsties that were
more luxurious than this cubicle, but I managed to keep any ill
expression from appearing on my face, and replied, "Having spent much of
my life as a soldier, sleeping in my cloak on the hard ground, this will
be quite acceptable."
Qanis' face lit up, and he smiled, as if we were playing a game,
and I had moved correctly. "Come to my office," he said, as he led me
out of the room, and down the hall to a larger room, half-filled with a
huge desk covered with papers, ledgers, and packages. He sat in a
cushioned chair on the far side of the desk, and looked at the pile of
papers.
"A pox on taxes, and the papers that go with them," he said in an
irritated tone. "And did you know," he said, looking at me intently, "I
am still trying to get compensation for property and goods the Duke took
for the war. I had a fine warehouse right on the dock; after it was
destroyed I was told I could have it back 'and by the way, get this mess
cleaned up.' I've not yet recovered enough to rebuild it. Damned war! It
all but ruined me, and now I have to take on deals like this to try and
recoup my losses." He gestured at the box he had carried from the
_Lion_. Of course, since I had no idea what was in the box, I was in the
dark as to exactly what type of deal 'this' was.
Recovering his composure somewhat, he continued, "When I am done
here, we will go to an inn called Spirit's Haven. I am meeting several
men who may want to purchase this item. In the meantime I will have one
of my staff show you to the kitchen. The cook should be able to find
something to allay your hunger until this evening." He rang a small bell
that was on his desk, and a young man quickly entered the room.
"Yes sir?" said the man, apparently a clerk of some kind, wiping
his hands on an ink-stained smock.
"Ah, Landis, this is Bren, who will be with us for a short time.
Show him to the kitchen, and then bring in the figures on that Arvalian
shipment." The merchant then turned to his papers, while the clerk led
me to the kitchen.
Dargon, Layman Street
It was one of the cheapest rooms in one of the cheapest inns of
Dargon. There was no fireplace, and the cold, damp air seemed to cling
to the walls. Mildew covered portions of the ceiling. The mattress was
stuffed with rags, and the rags were stuffed with fleas.
The room's only inhabitant paid no attention to his surroundings.
He squatted in the center of the room, almost still but for the motion
of his right hand over the open palm of his left hand. The long slim
dagger held in the right hand met the whetstone held in the left.
Ssskweet. The blade was turned over. Ssskweet. Back and forth. Ssskweet
ssskweet. The man looked as if he would be content to remain there
forever, patiently waiting for some signal known only to him. Ssskweet
ssskweet. He waited for a voice. Ssskweet.
The voices had filled Wern's head for as long as he could remember,
a cacophony of sound that often drove him to pound his head against a
tree lest he explode from the internal pressure. His father beat him
whenever he told him about the noises in his head so he soon lived in a
lonely, sullen world, filled with the ravings of hundreds of voices.
About the time Wern turned twelve, a particular voice began to
dominate the others. Some voices it shouted down, echoes of the
thundering words ringing in Wern's ears. Others were subtly persuaded to
leave. Soon there was only the one Voice. Wern, drunk on the silence,
was pathetically grateful, and performed the tasks given him by the
Voice without hesitation. It was some years after Wern had left home
before all the parts of his father's body were found.
Dargon, Offices of Jetru & Company, Commercial Street
I was mopping up the last of the gravy when Landis entered the
kitchen.
"Excuse me, sir," he said. "There's someone at the door that says
he knows you."
I stood quickly, grabbing my scabbard, which had lain on the table.
I strode towards the front of the house. I spoke over my shoulder to
Landis, who followed me, "What does this man look like; does he carry a
weapon?
"He's a bit taller than you," he replied, "And he's carrying a
staff."
I stopped in my tracks. I looked back at the clerk. "Was the staff
about this tall?" I asked, hold my hand flat at mid-chest height.
Landis nodded quickly.
"With carvings?" I asked.
Another nod.
"I want to look at this man," I asked. "Can I do that without his
seeing me?"
"Yes," Landis replied. "Back through the kitchen. I'll show you."
As I trailed Landis back through the house my mind roiled with
battling emotions. "Surely they can't be trying to kill me, they've only
just exiled me," I thought. I didn't want to face a herald, the shame
was too great. I hesitate to admit it, but even fear had its place in my
heart that day. I didn't want to die. Maybe that was why I had never
thrown my staff overboard. It goaded me, it tortured me, but it kept me
alive. I didn't want to quit, and slowly a dark fury filled me. I would
show the damned Heralds of Mandraka! Now I could strike at my shame,
cleanly, with my sword in hand.
But as we exited the house and stepped in the alley, dimly lit
through the overcast sky, I stopped. I had to clear my head. Neither
despair, fear, nor unreasoned fury were acceptable frames of mind, not
if I had to fight for my life at any moment. I took a deep breath, and
crept softly to the end of the alley.
Landis pointed to the right. I crouched down, and then carefully
poked my head around the corner. I'm sure that my reaction dumbfounded
Landis. I rose quickly, and laughing out loud, ran to the tall blond
man, and embraced him.
I held my friend, Toran kel Bain, by the shoulders. "What are you
doing here?" I asked, completely surprised.
"Freezing, at the moment!" came his cheeky reply. "Have you got a
warm drink in there? I'll explain as soon as my toes thaw out."
Kingdom of Beinison, circa 1000
It was several years before Wern made a guess as to the internal
voice's identity. During that time he scrabbled in the poorer areas of
whatever town or city he was currently living in, killing for food when
necessary, killing for blood when the Voice told him to do so. When he
was directed to a secret temple where the followers of Amante worshipped
their bloody god, Wern knew this was where he belonged.
Wern became an acolyte, and rose quickly in the church. Of course
he had heard the story of the Eye of Amante; what priest hadn't? The Eye
had disappeared in the middle of a sacrifice many years ago. The older,
more cynical priests thought it had been stolen and sold by the priests
of the temple at that time, but Wern knew better. He knew what had
happened. The Voice told him.
And so Wern told the priests that they must search for the Eye, and
return it to the sacred statue, so that Amante would look favorably on
them again. At first he was laughed at; even by the more pious priests.
Soon there was grumbling in council about this young upstart. After
being beaten by a group of acolytes who invaded his cell in the dark
bells of the night, Wern left the temple. The Voice spoke to him, and he
knew what to do. He would go to Dargon, far to the north.
Dargon, Offices of Jetru & Company, Commercial Street
After seating my shivering friend near the fire, and handing him a
mug of steaming tea, I asked him, "Tell me, Toran, what in all the gods'
names are you doing here?"
He smiled at me and replied, "You didn't expect me, then?"
"Of course not," I said, frowning. "After being exiled, I never
expected to see another Mandrakan again."
Toran turned serious for a moment. "I remember that you fought over
my prone body at Dukrah, and dragged me from that field. I remember the
nights I would rage against my father, and you would calm me. I can
remember the fever I had one winter, and how you were the only one who
would stay with me."
He reached out to me and placed an arm on my shoulder. I could feel
his grip, could see the forgiveness in his eyes. My brother-in-arms was
a good man, a steadfast friend, and I could feel him silently urging me
to put his nightmare behind me. I was glad to know that he stood beside
me, but it brought scant comfort.
I spoke, slowly at first, then building in speed as I found the
words. "My brother, whom I love more than my own blood, you have
forgiven me. My spurs lie broken in the road; the Knights of the Banner
have done with me. My staff is broken; the Heralds of Mandraka have
forgotten me. I am exiled; my King has sent me from my home." I rose and
walked past Toran, and stood in front of the fire, staring at the dying
flames.
"It seems everyone else has put my shameful behavior from their
minds, but I cannot," I continued. "I betrayed myself, Toran. My honor
is torn almost beyond hope of repair. You of all people should know that
I cannot pretend that I have suffered enough to even start the mending."
"It pains me to see you like this, my friend," said Toran from
behind me.
Quietly enough so that I am sure Toran did not hear me, I
whispered, "It pains me also, brother, but not enough."
After an awkward moment, Toran spoke, "Anyway, I've got some things
of yours." I turned around as he opened the bag he had with him. "Your
spare knives, some clothes, and other things." He paused for a smirk, an
expression that fitted his face much better than the somber one it had
replaced. "I even brought the pouch of silver you thought you had
cleverly hidden under the loose stone beneath your bed." He tossed the
pouch to me, and I caught it reflexively.
"You came all this way to bring me this?" I asked in exasperation,
holding out the silver. "Are you mad? What about your position in the
College of Heralds? And what is your father going to say?"
Toran frowned at the mention of his father, then smiled grimly. "I
only wish he knew I was here. I'd enjoy knowing he was in an absolute
rage." He shook his head and continued, "I told Lord Skel I had personal
business to attend to, and might be several moons. He didn't question
me; there are some advantages to being the King's son after all."
"Only a bastard son, Toran, and your mother is long dead," I
replied. "Your relationship with your father won't stand much strain."
"I know," came his bitter response. "I'm reminded all the time that
I should be grateful for the chance to become a herald. If it weren't
for the likes of you, the heralds would be called the College of
Bastards. I hope the gods piss on him." He paused to drain his mug, then
continued, "I'll get back soon, and nothing will have changed. But even
if it has, I don't give a damn. Sometimes I wish I'd been born a
peasant; I'm sure my life would have been much easier."
We sat, uncomfortably, for some time as we each brooded on our own
particular inner torments.
Dargon, Spirit's Haven, an Inn
That evening Qanis, Toran, and I walked to the inn. I had
introduced Toran to my employer, and as was Toran's way, he had charmed
Qanis quickly, with talks of deals and negotiations. As they chatted
about Qanis' latest escapade, a four way deal involving goat dung and
Comarran wool, I had to laugh. They both glanced at me puzzled, and then
continued, which only made me laugh harder.
The look on Toran's face as he talked with Qanis reminded me of
many long evenings spent in the weapons yard at the College, practicing
some new move or style, over and over again.
"Bren," he would say, "I may be the king's son, but that won't save
my hide in battle. I have to do it better than the others, just to be
the same." I attribute much of my own ability to the many bells spent
with Toran, sparring under torchlight.
We arrived at the Spirit's Haven, and entering the main room, were
assaulted by the heat of the roaring fireplace. We quickly removed the
cloaks we had worn against the cool night air, and took a table near the
room Qanis had hired for his business.
After a moment the servant, an older man, arrived at the table and
said, "What can I get you to drink, good sirs?"
I ordered cold cider, but Toran insisted on wine. He and Qanis
spent several menes discussing wine with the servant, who seemed to
know more about wine than anyone I've ever met. After a few menes, the
server had convinced them that the best choice would be an Arvalian red
from two seasons ago.
Soon after that, we were served large platters of steaming cuts of
beef, covered in thick dark gravy, accompanied by steamed vegetables,
and crusty bread. The cider washed down the meal in a most efficient
manner.
The best part of a bell later, Qanis was the last to push his plate
away. For a small man, he certainly ate heartily. Toran was admiring the
last of the wine, which he swirled about in the beautiful clear glasses
the inn used.
As bells rang in the distance, Qanis stood. "It is time to do
business."
I quickly rose and said my goodbyes to Toran. We made arrangements
for him to come to Jetru's offices the next day, and then he left for
the inn at which he would be staying.
I followed Qanis into the room which he had hired for the evening.
Gathered in the room was an unusual assortment of six men and one woman.
Most dressed as if they had money, power, or both. Their hose or
trousers were clean, and made from good cloth; tunics were of soft,
textured materials. They seemed well supplied with jewelry, all of them
wearing several large rings, and several wore brooches that were bent
into shapes reminiscent of sorcerous symbols.
They stood apart from each other, as if the power they purported to
possess would explode if forced into close proximity with a like power.
There are very few magicians of any power in Mandraka, and I harbored my
profession's usual dislike and distrust of that craft. None of these
puffed-up popinjays looked as if they could do anything to change my
mind on that issue.
As I passed the one sloppily-dressed man in the room, a foul odor
assaulted my nose. The scruffy man smelled of stale sweat and rotten
food. In fact, I could see most of the courses of his last meal, still
in his beard. I quickly moved to the front, near Qanis, and away from
the man, who apparently had a deep, abiding fear of water.
"May I have your attention, please," called Qanis. The noise level
in the room slowly subsided, and the closet magicians turned to face the
merchant.
"Thank you for coming," Qanis continued. "I am sure the merchandise
on offer will more than make up for any inconvenience you may have
suffered this evening."
"Get on with it, Jetru! I, for one, haven't all the time in Makdiar
to waste upon your ramblings," came harsh words, in a rough voice, from
the smelly one in the far corner. Several others murmured similar
feelings.
"Of course, you are right, Master Kultris. I shall proceed without
further delay," replied Qanis, who appeared unruffled by the
interruption. "What I have on offer is none other than the Eye of
Amante."
The abrupt announcement produced several whispered conversations,
and two outright rejections of the apparently preposterous claim. I have
deep antipathy towards religion and its artifacts, and it seemed several
people here agreed. Then again, I feel similarly about magicians, and
they didn't. I decided to keep my opinions out of it, and just keep any
eye on my employer's back.
One old man, white-haired and stooped with age, stood and walked
out of the room without another word, shaking his head the whole time.
Several others made as if to rise and leave.
"Please, my gentles, remain seated," cried Qanis, holding his hands
high, and edging towards the door. "This is indeed the fabled Eye. Only
this afternoon Corambis the Sage did himself come to my office and
examine the jewel. Here is his sworn statement to the effect that the
stone I have in this box is that very holy and powerful relic."
Qanis had correctly judged his audience, and had used the right
word to woo them back to their seats. Now that he had regained their
attention, he brought out the box. He slowly lifted the hinged lid of
the box, and i could feel the stillness, as one by one the bidders
released the breath they had almost unknowingly held in their chests, as
they beheld the Eye of Amante.
The jewel was as big as my fist, and it's color was the bright red
of a dying man's blood. It did not sparkle as gems usually do, but
seemed to draw the light to itself. I am sure it was just noise from the
dining area outside the room, but I felt as if I could hear the
murmuring of many voices, coming from the direction of the stone.
Of its own volition, my hand reached up to touch the brooch pinned
to my cloak, the brooch my mother had given me on the day I left home
for the College of Heralds. It had always brought me comfort, and for
some reason the Eye made me uncomfortable. I cursed myself for a
superstitious fool, and pulled my hand away from the brooch.
Without taking her eyes from the stone, the one woman raised her
voice. "Ten Marks for the Eye."
"Twelve," came a voice from the left.
"Fifteen Marks," came the woman's reply.
The bidding quickly escalated to twenty-two Marks, then stalled.
Several men had made no bids, and had looked on glumly as the others had
bid. It seemed that magic involved power more than cold, hard currency.
After the bidding stopped at twenty-three Marks, Qanis appeared
ready to strike the deal. At that moment, Kultris stood up and spoke,
"Twenty-five Marks, and I know none of you damned magicians can match
that. You'll all see that a man not born to the power can still get it."
He cackled, as if well pleased with his work, and walked to the door. As
he passed Qanis, he said he would send word about the arrangements for
delivery and payment.
The unsuccessful bidders straggled out of the room, drained of
energy, as if a spell they had attempted to raise had gotten the better
of them. After they left, several serving girls entered and started to
tidy up for the next occupants of the room.
"Twenty-five Marks!" exulted Qanis. By all the gods, I'll have my
warehouse repaired and restocked in no time. Let us go now; I have a lot
of planning to do."
We left the inn and entered the cool, dark night. I clasped my
cloak tightly about myself, but Qanis was inured to the cold, or his
good mood had rendered him immune for the time being. We walked down the
street for a moment, and as we came upon a small alley, Qanis stopped.
"I need to piss," he said. "I had too much of that wine tonight.
I'll be but a moment." He moved a small way into the dark alley, and
shortly I could hear the flow against the wall.
The noise ceased suddenly, and I heard a gasp, then a voice, "I
knew you would be here. He told me. Where is the Eye?"
I had heard enough, and I drew my sword, the rasp sounding
especially loud in the night air.
"What was that?" the voice asked. I heard Qanis protesting as he
was shuffled back into the light, the knife at his throat glinting in
the light from the torch down the street.
The man holding Qanis was barely taller than the trader, but what I
noticed was his eyes. I have seen rabid animals on occasion; the
resemblance with this man was uncanny. His eyes glowed, as if there were
a fire burning inside his head.
I decided to treat the attacker as if he were indeed the mad beast
his eyes proclaimed him to be. In as soothing a voice as I could manage,
I spoke, "Let the trader go, and I won't harm you, little man."
"Who *are* you?" he hissed. "He didn't say anything about you.
leave us now, or I'll bring his wrath on you when I have the Eye." This
was the second time he'd mentioned the Eye, and I decided that he was
too dangerous to play with.
He looked at me once more, then started to drag Qanis back to the
alley. He looked back over his shoulder, and I flung my saber in a
vicious backhand, slicing open the inattentive mugger's hand. With a
howl, he dropped the knife, and shoved Qanis to the ground. He cradled
the injured hand in his other hand, and stared at me with those blazing
eyes.
Suddenly he screamed, "He said I will have the stone! And when I
do, I will you commit you to an eternity of pain so intense you will beg
me to kill you!"
Darting quickly past me, he ran up the street, shouting all the
while, "You will beg me, beg me ..."
I turned to Qanis, who had picked himself up, and I made sure he
was uninjured. He appeared shaken, but not physically injured.
"I guess that will teach me not to piss in a dark alley," he said,
then laughed, very nervously. I chuckled with him, and turned him
towards his home. In the meantime I thought deeply about a man who could
find the correct dark alley in Dargon, and who called the Eye by name.
========================================================================
Friendships of Stone
Part 3: Jerid and Koren
by Mark A. Murray
<dragonmark@usa.net>
Dargon, Naia 6, 1015
Ben awoke before the dawn bell rang. He tossed and turned in his
bed trying to get back to sleep, because he knew it was too early to go
to Matthew's house. He was excited because today he would get to show
all the people just what a dragon looked like. While in the marketplace
yesterday, Matthew and he had found a sculptor who made stone figurines.
Her name was Sharin, and she sculpted a dragon for them. To pay for it,
they were to show it to everyone they met and to tell who sculpted it.
Light from the morning sun peeked through the window and Ben got
up. He looked at his mother's bed and found it empty. Breathing a sigh
of relief, he got dressed. Normally, when she was home during the night,
she had some man with her, both usually drunk. He hated those times. His
father had left some months ago on a trading vessel and had not
returned.
There was a knock on the door followed by Matthew's voice, "Ben? I
know you're awake. Can I come in?" Ben opened the door and smiled. It
was a crisp spring day outside with the sun just starting to burn the
morning mist away.
"Mom's not here, come on in," he told Matthew. "I've been up for
bells!
Way before the sun came up." Ben let Matthew in and then hurried to
change into warmer clothes.
"So have I," Matthew said. "I thought the sun would never shine, it
seemed so long."
"I'm dressed, let's go!" Ben rushed to the door. "First one there
gets to hold the dragon!" And with that, he ran outside and down the
street.
Matthew was close behind him. Being older, Matthew didn't have much
of a problem keeping up with Ben. He could have passed Ben and reached
the tent first, but he knew Ben loved that dragon sculpture. He would
let him win.
"I got here first!" Ben yelled as he touched the tent flap.
"Ben!" Matthew warned. "She might still be asleep."
"No, look, the tent flap isn't tied shut. It's just closed is all.
She has to be up. Sharin?"
"Sharin?" Matthew echoed as he pulled the flap aside and stepped
into the tent. He looked around, but couldn't see much as his eyes
weren't adjusted to the darkness, yet. "Ben, hold the tent flap open."
When Ben pulled the flap open, Matthew's eyes grew wide. "Ben!"
"What?" Ben asked, letting go of the tent flap and running into the
tent. "It's dark in here again."
"You let the flap close!"
"Hello?" called a female voice outside the tent.
"Sharin?" Matthew called back.
"No," Tara said as she opened the flap. "It's Tara."
"Oh," Matthew said. "I thought you were Sharin. What are you doing
here so early?"
"Sharin's not here? Oh!" Tara exclaimed as she saw that the whole
tent was empty. Nothing remained inside the tent. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Matthew said. "We just got here."
"I know," Tara remarked. "I saw you from down the street. Sharin
and I were supposed to look for new cloth to make dresses yesterday, but
I couldn't make it in time. So I thought I'd show up early and we could
look today." As she looked around the inside of the tent, she remarked,
"She wouldn't have just taken her sculptures and left. Something must
have happened. Even the small desk and the long workbench are gone."
"My dragon's gone!" Ben cried.
"So is Sharin, Ben," Matthew replied. "She's more important."
"I bet that noble she argued with last night took it," Ben said.
"And her, too!"
"We have to tell my uncle!" Tara said, turning around to leave.
"Your uncle?" Matthew asked, following her. Ben was the last one
out, and he let the tent flap fall closed with a quiet rustle of fabric.
He thought about tying it shut, but realized that there wasn't anything
there to steal. His dragon was gone. Sighing, he turned to follow Tara
and Matthew.
"I told you last night, my uncle is the captain of the guard. He'll
be able to find her." Tara turned south on the Street of Travellers and
headed out of the marketplace.
"Where are you going?" Matthew asked.
"I told you! To see my uncle."
"No, *where* are you going. Where is he?"
"Oh! He's in the keep right now," she answered. Ben stopped
suddenly.
"We can't go there!" he said.
"Ben's right, we aren't allowed to go there," Matthew agreed. Tara
stopped and looked back at the two boys. She was torn between leaving
them here and ... she didn't know what else to do with them. She
realized that they were the only ones who saw the noble, and she needed
them.
"It will be alright. You're with me, and we're going to see Captain
Koren of the town guard. He'll vouch for you once he hears what
happened."
"We aren't allowed to go there! Rachel said so!" Ben reiterated.
"If Rachel said we aren't allowed there, then we aren't allowed there!"
"But I need you to tell my uncle what the noble looked like," Tara
pleaded. "Please."
"I can't go," Ben said, stubbornly.
"Ben, Rachel only said that we couldn't go there by ourselves.
Well, that's what she meant, anyway."
"She told us not to go to the keep," Ben said.
"Yeah, but that was when we were headed out the door to go
exploring. Remember. She got real serious and told us not to go very
far. Besides, if she were here, she'd let us go to the keep with her.
She's not much older than Tara, and Tara's uncle is captain of the
guard."
"I don't know ..." Ben said. "I guess I'll go, but if she gets mad,
I'm telling her it was your idea!" Matthew grinned, accepting the
responsibility.
"Well then, come on! Sharin's missing!" Tara said, turning around
to continue down the street.
"Look Matthew!" Ben yelled as he caught sight of the stone
causeway. He ran up to the beginning of it and looked across. It was
built of large stones, logs, and bricks and spanned the Coldwell River.
Arches underneath it let the river continue along its path almost
undisturbed. The top part was brick, intricately woven from one side to
the other. Ben ran out onto part of it and looked over the side. There
were no railings and Ben could see that the river was murky and high
from the spring thaw coming out of the mountains.
"Don't get too close to the edge," Tara warned. "I don't want to
have to explain why you fell over into the river." They crossed the
causeway and continued on toward the keep.
"It sure looks big," Matthew said as he looked toward Dargon Keep.
Three tall towers rose from the keep, two facing the river and one
facing the sea.
"The keep is big," Tara agreed. "There are two large ballrooms for
dancing and the Duke's reception chamber. That's larger than the
ballrooms. It has to be; that's where he does all the public business,
and lots of people are there. There are private chambers, too. Those are
usually smaller. There's the Duke's library, and ..."
As Tara continued to tell them about the keep, they started their
climb up the road toward the main gate. The road twisted and turned to
go around several large boulders as it winded upwards to the top. Once
at the top, the road widened somewhat to pass through the keep's large
outer gate. Matthew and Ben stared at the walls, the gate's opening, and
the inner courtyard as they made their way into Dargon Keep.
The inner courtyard was a flurry of activity, mostly from the
militia. The militia was training in one section and Matthew could see
that all of the trainees were young. With the war only being over a few
months, all the older soldiers weren't home yet. There were also other
people scattered about trimming hedges, digging the ground, and planting
seeds.
Tara led them past all the people to the keep itself and then down
several corridors to a large, sturdy wooden door. She pounded on the
door and waited for an answer.
"Kalen! Quit knocking every time and come in!" boomed a voice from
behind the door. Tara opened the door and smiled.
"If you think I look like Kalen, you need to step down and let him
take over," she teased her uncle. Koren looked up from behind his desk.
He was a large man with grey hair and a long mustache that stretched out
beyond his mouth, only to curl up at the ends. He was wearing a blue
uniform jacket adorned with gold epaulets and brass buttons.
"I thought you wanted the day to yourself," he replied. "You've
come back to help me, I see," he teased back. "I'm sure I can find
something for you to do." He looked behind her and saw the two boys in
the hallway still. "What, you've brought help?"
"Help, yes, Uncle Koren. But it is me that needs your help.
Sharin's missing."
"Eh? That friend of yours?" he asked.
"Yes. She's gone and so are all her sculptures from her tent. You
have to find her. A noble came and took her."
"A noble?" he asked, his blue eyes narrowing. "And you saw this
noble take her?"
"No, but the boys saw the noble," Tara replied, masking the full
truth.
"They did, did they? Well get in here, you two," he said, his deep
voice rumbling in the room. Matthew and Ben slowly stepped into the
room. "Come on! I haven't got all day! Who are you? And what did you
see?"
"I'm Matthew and this is Ben," Matthew said. "And we really didn't
see the noble take her."
Koren gave his niece an icy stare, but said nothing to her. Turning
back to the boys, he asked, "Well what did you see?"
"He did it," Ben said. "I know he did it!"
"Who did it?" Koren asked.
"That noble," Ben replied, quickly.
"Ben, we'd better tell him everything from the beginning. That way,
he'll understand," Matthew explained. "We --"
"We who?" Koren asked, interrupting.
"Ben and me. We went to the marketplace to look around for any new
stalls being set up. That's when we found Sharin's tent. She had some
life-like figurines outside her tent. She came out, and we talked --"
"About what?"
"About her sculptures. She showed us some more, and Ben asked her
if she could make a dragon. She said that if someone described it to
her, she probably could --"
"And she did! A neat one! It has wings this big," Ben said,
spreading his hands to show how large the wings were. "And --"
"Enough!" Koren commanded. "I want to hear what happened, not what
a dragon looks like. Continue, Matthew."
"She made a deal with us that if she made a dragon, we'd have to
show it off and tell everyone about it for four days. If we told people
that she made it and where to find her for four days, we could keep the
dragon. We agreed, and she pushed us out of the tent so she could start
sculpting.
"We returned a bell later --"
"Just when was this?"
"It was yesterday. We returned and heard voices inside the tent. As
we got closer, we could hear what they were saying. This man was
threatening Sharin."
"How?"
"He was saying that she was going to work for him and she didn't
have a choice and he would make sure she worked only for him. He sounded
mad, too. She told him she would never work for him. He told her that
she would whether she liked it or not and she didn't have a choice in
the matter.
"He stormed out of the tent right after he said that and almost
knocked Ben and me down. We just got out the way in time or he would
have run us over. He glared at us as he walked by."
"What did this noble look like?" Koren asked. Ben giggled at the
question. Tara smiled, too. They had made a game of remembering what the
noble had looked like.
"Can you remember, Matthew?" Ben asked, still smiling.
"Not all of it. I remember he had a small scar above his left eye."
"He was a mean noble with no name who's plump with a scar above his
left eye without a beard who knocks people down," Ben recited. Koren
raised an eyebrow at the boy's description of the man.
"That's a fair description. How tall was he?"
"I couldn't reach the top of him if I stretched my hand up," Ben
answered. Koren stood up.
"Was he as tall as me?"
"No," Matthew said. Ben walked over to Koren and looked up.
"He would have reached to about your eyes," he said. "He was
rounder than you, too. Not as much muscle, either. His eyes were dark."
Ben seemed to be staring past Koren as he described the noble. "And no
beard."
"Did you remember all that, or can you picture him in your head?"
Koren asked Ben.
"I can see him when I concentrate," Ben answered. "But he gets
blurrier as time goes by. I don't think I'll be able to picture him like
this by tomorrow, but I'll always be able to recognize him!"
"You've got a sharp mind, boy," Koren said. "Are you apprenticed
anywhere?"
"Apprenticed? What's that? I work at the Golden Lion, if that's
what you mean."
"No, that's not what I meant, but it answers my question. Now,
about Sharin. I can't just go arresting this noble. Are you sure Sharin
isn't out somewhere on errands?"
"All of her sculptures were missing from her tent," Tara answered.
"Besides, it's still early. Where would she take all the sculptures? And
why?"
Koren grunted. "Okay, I'll send some men to look for her. Tara, you
can give her description to the men. No, better yet, go to the barracks
and see who's there. I know some of them have seen you and Sharin
together. See if anyone there has ever seen her and bring them to my
office. I'll also send someone with you to go back to her tent. I'll
have him search for signs that might lead us to her."
"But you can't arrest the noble?" Ben asked as Tara left the room
on her Uncle's errand.
"No, I can't, even if I knew whom it was -- which I don't. Just
from what you've told me, I can't arrest him."
"Then what good is it to even look into the matter? Just find
Sharin," Ben said, disgustingly.
"Because, Ben," Koren said, kneeling down to look Ben in the eyes,
"if the noble did do it, then we may find something to prove he did it.
And then we can arrest him. It's not a great chance that we'll find
anything, but it's what we do. We look for evidence. And I want you to
pay close attention to what and how my man looks for it, okay?"
"Okay," Ben replied, slowly nodding his head.
Tara returned a short while later with four men.
"You've all seen Sharin?" Koren asked them. They all nodded.
"Hmmph. More than I expected. Would you be able to spot her in a crowd?"
"I only saw her once," one guard said.
"I didn't ask how many times you saw her, Roji," Koren replied. "I
asked if you could recognize her?"
"Yes," Roji said.
"Garay?"
"Yes, sir," Garay replied.
"Westerly?"
"I'd know her."
"I don't know you," Koren said to the fourth guard. "You're new?"
"Yes sir," the guard replied, his voice breaking on sir. "My name
is Dralyn Kepson."
"You know Sharin?"
"No, sir, but I've seen her before. I'll know her if I see her."
"Well, Roji, Garay, and Dralyn," Koren pointed to them, "go search
for her, then. Tara believes she's been kidnapped. If you see the
patrols, give her description and tell them to keep an eye out for her.
"The kidnapper could be a noble, but that's not known for truth. If
you find her, report back to me but take no action -- unless her life is
in danger.
"And Westerly, take these boys back to her tent and see what you
can find. See what tracks are there, if a wagon's been by, what it looks
like inside, and explain to the boy here what you're looking for. On
your way there, get the boys to fill you in on the rest of the details.
Understand?" The men nodded. "Well, what are you waiting for?" The three
men left the room while Westerly stayed, waiting on the boys.
"It's the best I can do," Koren told them. "Go with Westerly here,
and he'll show you what he knows and what he's looking for." Ben and
Matthew followed the guard out the door, looking back at Tara.
"I'll be along shortly," she told them.
Matthew and Ben walked with Westerly back to the tent. The other
three guards accompanied them, also. One mentioned that the best place
to start looking for the girl was the last place she was seen. Matthew
and Ben told the guards what they knew and saw.
As they reached the marketplace, Ben showed them which tent was
Sharin's and Westerly stopped them all several paces from the tent.
"I want to look around first," Westerly said, "before we go adding
more boot prints around the area. Ben, you'll come with me, but walk
right behind me. Stop when I stop, got that?"
"Walk right behind you and stop when you stop," Ben reiterated.
"Got it." And so Ben walked behind Westerly, trying to see what the
guard was doing. "What are you looking at?"
"Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you, didn't I? I get so caught up in
looking, that I forget to say anything. And if I don't tell you what I'm
doing, Captain Koren will have my hide, now won't he?
"See these tracks here," Westerly pointed to several sets of tracks
in front of the tent. "I'm guessing that these are you and your friend's
tracks. Looks like sandals and they are smaller tracks than an adult
would make. Looking at your sandals and your friend's, I'm sure of it.
The other track beside yours is probably Tara's. Everything else is too
covered over to tell for sure.
"I'm glad it's dirt up to the tent, though. If it was bricked, I
wouldn't have an easy time of telling. Let's look round the sides now."
Westerly walked around the sides, telling Ben about what he found.
Once around the tent, Westerly walked into the inside of the tent. He
pushed the flap open, but when it wouldn't stay, he had two of the
guards hold the flaps open. With what light came in, Westerly examined
the inside of the tent. He could see on the left side in the dirt that
there had been figurines on the ground. Their depressions were still in
the dirt. He made all kinds of remarks to Ben as he examined the ground.
"Not much to go on, it isn't," he said to no one in particular as
he walked out of the tent.
"Well, what do you have?" Roji asked.
"Not much," Westerly replied. "Except they were fairly good at what
they did."
"I don't follow?" Dralyn said.
"It's like this," Westerly began. "If you kidnapped someone and
knew that you left traces or tracks, you'd want to cover them. And
that's just what someone did, they covered their tracks. But, if you're
really good at it, you'll make it look as if things were normal and
nothing happened. Whoever took this girl wasn't really good. They used
something to smooth out the dirt where they had been inside the tent,
they did."
"I still don't follow."
"Where they did smooth the dirt out; there's no tracks at all. It's
just smooth dirt. But, you have tracks and depressions in the dirt along
both sides inside the tent. Nothing in the center as it's been smoothed
out, but they didn't smooth out the sides. So, either they aren't very
good, or they just don't care that anyone knows she's gone; they just
care that they aren't found."
"If that's the case, they're planning on taking her out of Dargon.
Which means --" Garay started to say.
"That you'd better hurry and find her," Westerly interrupted,
looking at the two boys. "If you search hard and fast, you'll find her
in time, won't you?"
"Yes, we will," Roji replied. He understood that Westerly was
trying to keep the boys from the fact that Sharin was most likely not in
Dargon anymore.
"You two boys go home. I've done all I can here, and I'm going to
help the rest search," Westerly said. "The more of us there are
searching, the quicker we'll find her."
"Can't we go --?" Ben started to ask.
"C'mon Ben, let's go home," Matthew said, pulling on his friend's
arm.
"But, I want --"
"*C'mon Ben*, let them do their job," Matthew told him. Ben turned
around and walked slowly alongside Matthew.
"I wanted to go with them," Ben whispered quietly, head tilted down
looking at the street.
"I have a better idea," Matthew answered. Ben looked up quickly at
his friend.
"What?"
"Rachel's been seeing a lot of Jerid, hasn't she? And he works with
the keep's guard, doesn't he?"
"So."
"So, if it was a noble that kidnapped Sharin, then don't you think
the keep's guards would be the best people to look into it? And don't
you think that Jerid, who's a Lieutenant in the keep's guard is the one
to talk to?"
"He would be!" Ben exclaimed. "But how do we get in to see him?"
"We say that Rachel sent us," Matthew said, smiling. "But we have
to go back to the keep again. This time by ourselves."
"We do?" Ben asked, eyes getting big. "Rachel wouldn't like that."
"Ben, please. It's for Sharin. She's in trouble, and she needs our
help. Besides, we've been there once, what trouble can we get into? We
know the way now."
"I don't know ... we aren't supposed to be out wandering alone."
"But we're not wandering," Matthew said. "We know where we're
going."
"We do, don't we," Ben replied, a smile forming on his lips.
"Let's go see Jerid," Matthew said, and they walked back to the
Street of Travellers to make their way back to Dargon Keep.
"How do we find him?" Ben asked as they neared the keep.
"We find one of the keep's guards and tell him that we need to see
Jerid," Matthew answered. "And if that doesn't work, we'll say Rachel
sent us. That should get us in to see him."
When they reached the keep, they looked for a lone keep guard to
approach. It turned out harder than they thought as the guards tended to
move about in pairs or squads. Going around the courtyard, they managed
to spot a guard sitting alone. He was on a bench eating an apple and
relaxing. They walked over to him.
"Could you take us to see Jerid?" Matthew asked.
"Eh?" the guard mumbled, and then swallowed the bits of apple in
his mouth. "Jerid? You mean Lieutenant Taishent?"
"Yes."
"What do you want with him? He's a busy man and doesn't see just
anybody."
"He'll see us," Ben told him.
"He will? And how do you know that?"
"Because he visits our house often," Ben replied.
"He does? I've never seen you around the Lieutenant before. Why
does he visit your house?" the guard asked, his curiosity aroused.
"He comes over to see Rachel."
"Rachel? Maybe Lieutenant Taishent will want to see you and maybe
he won't," the guard replied. "We'll find out, though. And if he doesn't
know you, I'll have you thrown into the gaol for lying." He took the
boys into the main part of the keep and down a hallway to stop before a
large wooden door. He knocked and waited.
"Who is it?" called a voice from inside.
"Sargent Ryal, sir," the guard replied. "I have two visitors to see
you."
"Visitors?" There was a scraping sound inside, and then they could
hear boot steps toward the door. It opened and Jerid stood in front of
them. "I told you I didn't want to --" He stopped when he saw who it
was.
"They say that you know them, and that you know a Rachel, sir,"
Ryal said, watching his commander's face for any reaction. If there was
any, Ryal did not see it.
"Ah, yes. I know the boys. Come inside you two. Thank you Sergeant
Ryal, you may return to your duties," Jerid replied and shut the door
after the boys entered.
"What in Stevene's name are you two doing here?" Jerid asked, his
voice edged with anger. "I know as a truth that you aren't allowed
here."
"But a friend of ours was captured by a noble," Ben spurted out.
"And she was really nice to us. She made us a dragon and was going to
let us work for it and she --"
"Stop," Jerid commanded. "Tell me what happened Matthew."
"We met this woman who makes stone figurines at the marketplace.
She agreed to make us a dragon if we would take it around and show it
off and tell people that she was the one who made it. She was making the
dragon, and we came back to her tent to see if she was done. We heard
this noble arguing with her. Then he threatened her --"
"What did he say?"
"He said that she would work for him, and she didn't have a choice
about it. She said that she didn't want to work for him. He told her
that she would work for him even if he had to make her. Then he came out
of the tent and almost knocked us over. We got out the way just in time
or he would have run us over."
"What did he look like? And how do you know he's a noble?"
"Ben?" Matthew asked, looking to his friend.
"He was a mean noble with no name who's plump with a scar above his
left eye without a beard who knocks people down," Ben recited. "And he
was just a bit taller than I can reach." Ben raised his hand up to show
how far he could reach. "He had a mustache, too."
"He looked like a noble," Matthew added. "He had on real fine
clothes. They looked expensive. He acted like everyone should get out of
his way."
"This is the responsibility of the town guard," Jerid told them.
"Why didn't you go there?" Ben looked down at the floor, and Matthew
looked over at the wall. "You did go there. Why come to me?"
"They aren't going to find her," Ben replied. "They looked at the
tent and couldn't find any trace of who took her."
"We thought that if he was a noble ... well, you have dealings with
nobles here in the keep, and we thought you might know who it was,"
Matthew said.
"I don't know anyone that looks like you've described. But I will
look into it." Matthew and Ben smiled. "However," Jerid went on to say,
"you two are going home, and are going to stay there! Is that clear?"
Both boys nodded. "Good. Now come with me." He led the two boys to the
quarters of the keep's guards. "Where's Ryal?" he asked the closest
guard.
"In the courtyard, sir," came the reply. Jerid turned and led them
back to the courtyard. He spotted Ryal sitting on a bench. Ryal happened
to spot his commander, noticed the look on his face, and stood up at
attention.
"Relax," Jerid ordered. "Take these two boys home. They'll show you
the way. Make sure that either Rachel or Eileen is there before you
leave.
If neither are there, you stay with the boys until one of them
shows up."
"Sir? I can't watch children. I --"
"You brought them to me, you take care of them. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Ryal replied, and then turned to the boys. "C'mon you
two. Show me where you live."
"Thank you, Jerid," Ben said. "We didn't mean to cause any harm. We
just want Sharin back. She was real nice to us."
Jerid looked down at the boy and his face softened. "I'll see what
I can do, Ben. Now go home." Jerid watched as the three of them left the
courtyard. Muttering curses, he turned back toward the keep. The best
thing to do would be to ask either Duke Dargon or Captain Bartol if they
knew the noble. The duke was in the audience chamber listening to
whoever was there. With any luck, there would only be a few people there
pleading whatever case or quarrel they had. As he made his way to the
chamber, he hoped it wasn't full.
When he reached the audience chamber, he breathed a sigh of relief.
It wasn't c
rowded and it looked like the last few people were talking to
the duke. As he made his way along the wall, he noticed Captain Koren
standing alone.
Koren looked around and noticed Jerid walking toward him.
"Lieutenant Taishent," Koren acknowledged in a soft voice. Words tended
to carry easily in this chamber, and it wouldn't be good to interrupt
the duke.
"Captain Koren," Jerid responded as softly. "What are you doing
here?"
"Cut right to the soul of things, eh?" Koren smiled. "I'm here
about a noble. And you?"
"A noble? This noble wouldn't happen to have a cut above his left
eye, would he?" Jerid asked, already knowing the answer. Koren wasn't
surprised at the question, or if he was, he didn't show it.
"Two boys. Names of Matthew and Ben?"
"Yes," Jerid replied, shaking his head.
"Was my niece with them?"
"No, she wasn't. Why?"
"I told all three of them to go home. I just figured if those two
boys showed up at your office, Tara would have been there, too. Now,
though, I've got to wonder what she's up to. Did you send the boys
home?"
"Yes, and sent a man with them to make sure they got there."
"I did that, too," Koren replied, a small smile on his lips. "If it
didn't work for me, why do you think it will work for you?"
"Because I don't think they have anywhere else to go. Unless ..."
"You don't think," Koren said. They both looked around the room,
searching for the two boys. Not seeing them, they both chuckled. "I
still find it hard to believe I'm standing here waiting to talk to Duke
Dargon because of two small children."
"That both of us are here," Jerid amended. "We'll have to keep an
eye on those two. The last time our offices worked together was because
of Liriss. That I can understand, but two small children?" Jerid was
watching the last of the people leave the presence of the duke.
"Looks like no one else is going to speak," Koren said.
"Is there anyone else who would like to appear before me?" Duke
Dargon called out.
"Milord," Jerid spoke up. Koren and he moved through part of the
assemblage to appear before the duke. Duke Dargon was seated in a
cushioned chair on a small dais. The war had not been kind to Clifton
Dargon. He looked many years older now as compared to before the war.
His left arm had been severed at the elbow while fighting in a naval
battle. While still physically young, he looked tired, worn, and
haggard. The smiles that once came often to his face appeared less
frequently now.
"Lieutenant Taishent *and* Captain Koren. For both of you to be
here, it must be a matter of importance. Had I seen you earlier, I would
have spoken with you right away," Dargon told them.
"Milord," Jerid said, "we *are* here for the same matter."
"That is something I have rarely seen," Lansing Bartol said,
interrupting any further explanation. He stepped up beside them. "Milord
Dargon," he bowed, "my apologies for being late, but to see two of our
officers here together. Why, matters of utmost importance must be
happening," Bartol said, chuckling.
"Captain Bartol, you aren't here with them?" Dargon asked.
"No milord."
"Ah. I had thought that you showing up right after, you were here
with them," Dargon replied. "No matter. Lieutenant Taishent, please
proceed."
"Milord," Jerid began, "I have received news that a noble may have
kidnapped a merchant." Clifton Dargon's face grew solemn and his brows
furrowed as he stared at them.
"Come with me," he ordered. Getting up from his seat, he turned to
his right and walked to a door near the corner of the chamber. A page
opened the door for him and held the door for Jerid, Koren, and Bartol
also. They followed Dargon into another room which held only a table and
six chairs.
"Sit," he told the three of them after the door was closed. "A
noble, you say? How -- no, start at the beginning. I want to hear all of
it. *All* of it, do you understand?" Jerid and Koren nodded. "Good.
First you, Lieutenant Taishent." Duke Dargon sat in a chair on the
opposite side of the table. He leaned forward to show them that they had
his complete and undivided attention.
Jerid and Koren did not realize that the duke would take the news
so seriously. They did realize that it was too late to change things, so
they told the duke the whole story as they knew it. At one point, Bartol
gave out a short laugh, only to be silenced by a look from Dargon.
"Are you telling me that you are here because of something two
children told you?" Dargon asked seriously.
"Not exactly, milord," Koren replied. At a nod from Dargon, he
continued, "You see, my men found nothing at Sharin's tent. Everything
inside had been taken. That makes me believe that something did happen.
I do believe she was taken, but I don't know who took her. The only
thing I have to go on right now is the words of two children, yes, but
it's worth looking into. I can't arrest a noble on what I have, but I
can search and try to find the truth. Also, Sharin is the friend of my
niece, Tara. It's not some unknown merchant who may have packed up and
left town, but someone we know."
"Milord," Jerid added, "I know the two children. They wouldn't make
something like this up."
"Have you heard the bell sound, Bartol?" Dargon asked.
"Not yet," Bartol replied. In public, Lansing Bartol was a bard,
the Captain of the militia and Duke Dargon's personal advisor.
Formalities were normally observed. In private, Bartol was Clifton's
close friend, and formalities were dropped.
"Fortunately," Dargon told them, "I have a meeting with some
merchants and nobles about tax issues when the next bell strikes. You
may accompany me and look for this noble. If he's not there, I will ask
if any there know of this noble. That is the best I can do.
"Family is important, I understand that. I also understand that
there is the possibility, although small, that what you say really did
happen. I won't allow *any* noble to get away with things like that.
They, too, must follow the law. Whatever the case, I want to know what
happened, but not at the expense that you disregard your duties. Is that
clear?"
"Yes, milord," Jerid and Koren said at the same time. Bartol could
not contain his laughter and it echoed around the room. Clifton Dargon
smiled, and the two men relaxed some.
The meeting with the merchants and nobles about the tax issues went
fairly well. It was held in a small audience chamber that contained one
long rectangular table that seated twenty people. There was no sign of
the noble that Jerid and Koren were looking for, however. Informing
Bartol that they didn't spot the noble, Bartol told Dargon, and Duke
Dargon gave the description of the noble to the assembled group. He
asked if they knew whom it was.
"Milord," a merchant said, stepping forward. "I have done business
with a noble who has a very small scar above his eye. This noble has a
mustache and no beard. I don't know for sure if he's the one you're
looking for, but he fits the description."
"Do you know his name?" Dargon asked.
"That I do know, milord. I keep records of every sale and purchase
I make," the merchant replied. Then smiling, said, "Just so I get the
taxes right."
"Just so," Dargon smiled. "What is his name?"
"I'll have to look in my records, milord. I don't remember his name
as I just met him. I remember faces, but not names. If I may look --"
"Yes, look," Dargon agreed. The merchant searched through several
sheets of parchment, turning them over and around. There was writing all
over the parchment; some in the corner, some scribbled over others, but
very little space was left free.
"Here it is. Samual Gathaelis, from Magnus. He is staying somewhere
just outside of town. One of my delivery boys can guide you there. They
made a delivery not too long ago."
"We do appreciate your help," Dargon said. He asked if there were
any other matters to be decided, but no one spoke up. He concluded the
meeting and sent them away, except for the merchant. "Lieutenant
Taishent, Captain Koren, I expect you to use discretion. Have the
merchant's delivery boys show you where to go. But I want to know one
way or another about this matter as soon as possible."
Jerid and Koren both acknowledged the matter, making sure that
neither spoke at the same time. Bartol held his laughter in check as the
two left with the merchant.
"They'll never admit it, but they're more alike than not," Bartol
said.
"Yes," Dargon agreed, smiling. "And they'd both go out of their way
to prove they aren't alike." Clifton Dargon absently moved both arms to
help himself out of the chair, until he realized that his left arm below
the elbow was gone. He sighed as he stood. "I don't think I'll ever get
used to it being gone."
"Maybe one day," Bartol suggested.
"Maybe ... but not today. No, today has been far too serious. I'll
provide the wine," Dargon said, changing the subject, "if you provide
some songs."
"Done," Bartol agreed, and the two left the room.
========================================================================
Deliverance
Praeludium
by John Doucette
<jdoucette@ns.sympatico.ca>
I
In the Spring of 1012 B.Y., the Beinison Empire was looking to
expand. For centuries, the Empire had been continuously increasing its
holdings bit by bit until, by 1012, it had become one of the premier
powers on the continent.
Now, Untar II, Beinison's newest, and youngest, Emperor, decided
the time was right for Beinison to make a bid for absolute and
undisputed mastery of northwestern Cherisk and from there go on to
dominate the entire continent. To do this, Untar would have to conquer
or otherwise control the Kingdom of Baranur and the Galician Empire.
Untar and his advisors quietly began sending agents into both of
Beinison's larger neighbours, having already ruled out any action
against the tiny kingdoms of Lederia and Comarr as an unwarranted
diversion of resources. The information coming out of Galicia was sparse
and unreliable. Many agents failed to return and those that did barely
managed even that. The Galicians had closed their borders some centuries
before and were, apparently, very determined to maintain the current
state of affairs. Untar's agents in Baranur, however, reported much
different results. The information flowing into Untar's Summer Palace in
Cabildo was both exhaustive and accurate. Untar and his inner circle
decided that Baranur would be dealt with first before turning Beinison's
attention to the problem of Galicia.
As Autumn, 1012, approached, Beinisonian agents were slowly making
their way north, for it was in Baranur's Northern Marches that Untar had
detected just the right kind of weakness he could exploit. The Northern
Marches were sparsely populated and, more importantly, far from Magnus,
Baranur's capital. As well, the people of the Northern Marches were not
particularly war-like, the last serious conflict to occur there being
the fighting in the Great Houses War nearly a century-and-a-half ago.
This was in sharp contrast to the Southern Marches, long a target for
Beinisonian raids.
Untar's agents sought out those whose ambition and desire for
wealth or power outweighed their loyalty to King and Country. One such
was Baron Coranabo, a minor lord with holdings in the Duchy of Kiliaen
very near to the Barony of Shipbrook in Duchy Dargon. Coranabo had long
coveted the now-vacant Coronet of the Barony of Shipbrook, and the
agents of Beinison offered money and the promise of more land should
Coranabo work for Beinison against Baranur.
Coranabo agreed and together with Untar's agents, set about a
campaign to destabilize Duchy Dargon sufficiently that a power struggle
in the north, possibly even outright warfare, would erupt, distracting
King Haralan's attentions from his southern border.
While this was going on, Untar summoned his generals and admirals
to him in Cabildo. There, he informed his officers that the Beinison
Empire would undertake a concerted effort to conquer Baranur by force of
arms and that this would begin in the Summer of 1014, perhaps as early
as Autumn, 1013, and that he, the Emperor, wished to have a plan for
such a campaign presented to him as soon as possible.
By early 1013, Untar's agents had sufficiently infiltrated
Baranur's Northern Marches that the second part of the plan to
destabilize Duchy Dargon could proceed. Also at this time, Untar's
generals had come back to their Emperor with a plan as bold and
audacious as it was simple: Baranur would be subjected to a two-pronged
attack, the main effort in the south with a strong diversion/raid in the
north. The exact details had yet to be worked out, but Untar gave his
approval and the armies of Beinison began to quietly mobilize.
II
Events now began to move rapidly forward as Untar's agents put the
second phase of their plan to destabilize Duchy Dargon in motion. An
attempt to assassinate Duke Dargon as Winter drew to a close was a
partial success. Though the Duke was not harmed, nor was the secondary
target of the assassins, in the confusion of the botched assassination
attempt's aftermath, Beinisonian agents were able to plant documents
indicating that Duke Dargon, then in the midst of a dispute with King
Haralan over taxes, had been in contact with agents of the Beinison
Empire and was prepared to sell-out to Beinison.
This fabricated evidence was "discovered" with the "aid" of Baron
Coranabo and, in the Summer of 1013, Duke Dargon was summoned to Magnus
to be tried before the King on the charge of treason. The evidence was
discovered to be false by Baron Luthias Connall, the prosecutor, and
that not only was the evidence false, but that Baron Coranabo had been
working for Beinison all along.
The trial turned into a Council of State, called by King Haralan to
determine what action, if any, should be taken against Beinison. As this
Council got underway, Baron Connall (now newly-created Count) was sent
to Beinison as Ambassador with instructions to negotiate and attempt to
puzzle out Beinison's true intentions towards Baranur.
By late Autumn, 1013, the Council had dead-locked on the issue of
whether or not to take action. The Knight Commander of the Armies, Sir
Edward Sothos, head of the Royal Army, argued, surprisingly, against a
military response. He knew the Kingdom was in no state to take on
Beinison.
All debate was closed, however, when Untar sent an Ambassador to
Haralan bearing the head of Luthias Connall as Untar's answer to what he
thought of bringing the crisis to a peaceful conclusion. Haralan ordered
a War Council to be struck at once and all through the long winter, the
Council debated, and, in a session marked by an assault on the
Ambassador from Galicia by political enemies at home that left several
guards dead and the Ambassador fled, the decision was taken to go to war
and to attack Beinison in the Summer of 1014.
During the Winter, Baranur's Knight Commander, Sir Edward, began
sending more and more troops south to meet the threat posed by the
armies of Beinison. At full mobilization, Baranur could field 114,000 to
Beinison's 120,000, a figure which gave Sir Edward confidence that
Beinison would not be able to defeat Baranur with such a small margin of
difference.
Baranur's strength was deceptive, however. Her standing army
numbered 42,000, not counting the troops the various nobles could raise
on short notice. The Militia, which comprised 50,000 troops, could be
raised fairly quickly, but the quality of the troops varied widely, from
the battle-hardened and competent Militias along Baranur's border with
Beinison to the very green and untested Militias of the Northern
Marches. An additional 10,000 troops could be mustered within a few
weeks of an emergency by recalling discharged veterans to the colours,
but these troops, too, would take time to get re-accustomed to life
under the war-banner. Even given these obstacles, Sir Edward felt
confident that all his troops would be fully trained and ready to fight
by Summer.
Unbeknownst to Sir Edward, Untar had already set in motion the
machinery of invasion. Untar's generals had refined their earlier plan
of attack. One hundred thousand of Beinison's one hundred-twenty would
be hurled at Baranur as soon as the snow began to melt from the roadways
and the ice began to break up on the sea. Beinison would not wait for
the traditional Summer campaigning season.
III
As the violent storms of late Winter and early Spring coming in off
the Valenfaer Ocean began to lessen both in frequency and strength,
35,000 soldiers of the Beinison Empire, including Beinison's famed elite
Light Infantry Regiments, boarded ship and, escorted by the bulk of the
Beinisonian navy, headed north.
At the same time, 65,000 troops, among them the feared Knights of
the Star, crossed the Baranur-Beinison border all the way from the tiny
kingdoms of Lederia and Comarr, perched ever-so-precariously between
Baranur, Beinison, and Galicia, to the Valenfaer Ocean, driving the
unprepared and scattered Baranurian forces before them.
In position facing them were the 20,000 troops under command of the
Knight Captain of the Southern Marches, Dame Martis Westbrook. During
the Winter, Sir Edward had stripped the garrisons of the Northern
Marches to send to Dame Martis the reinforcements he knew she would need
for the planned attack on Beinison that coming Summer. Winter, 1014, was
the coldest, most brutal Winter in living memory and movement in the
deep snows and bitter cold had been near-impossible. The result was that
when the Beinison invasion force crossed the border, the majority of the
15 Regiments, 15,000 troops, sent south by Sir Edward were not yet
half-way to the border, forcing Dame Martis to deploy her available
forces in a thin screen that only served to delay the advance of the
Beinisonians.
Sir Edward, accompanied by the Royal High Magist, Lord Marcellon,
hurried south as best he could through the Spring mud in order to make a
first-hand assessment of the developing situation. Upon arriving at Dame
Martis' field headquarters near a small crossroads town called Oron's
Crossroads, Sir Edward went into deep conference with Dame Martis and
immediately issued orders for the activation of all Militia Regiments
throughout Baranur. He also sent word to the local Dukes requesting that
they make haste to Dame Martis' headquarters without delay with as many
troops as they could muster on short notice. As well, Sir Edward sent
word to Magnus that the Royal Hussars, Baranur's elite heavy horse,
should make immediate preparations to move south, a clear indication of
the seriousness of the crisis.
It was at this time that a man, by his dress a noble of high rank,
was brought into the headquarters in a state of near-total collapse and
close to death. Marcellon examined the man, practicing his healer's art
to try and save the poor unfortunate. It was during this examination
that Lord Marcellon discovered, to his utter shock, that the man before
him was none other than Count Luthias Connall.
Luthias told a tale of being imprisoned, drugged, and tortured. The
"head" that those at the War Council thought was his was, in reality, a
magical construct of Beinison's feared mage, the powerful Mon-Taerleor,
like Lord Marcellon, a former student of Styles, one of the greatest
magicians of the age. Luthias also imparted information he had overheard
about the Beinisonian invasion plans. What he related spelled potential
disaster for Baranur.
Luthias told Sir Edward that 35,000 troops, the very same ones that
had boarded ship at Cabildo just as the invasion rolled across the
border, were headed north under large escort. Their objective was to
land at the mouth of the Laraka River, a vital economic and
communications lifeline with Magnus, and to march on the capital, hoping
to take the city before sufficient force could be brought to bear to
stop them. What Luthias did not know was that the Beinisonian force was
to spilt into one group of 20,000, which would march on Magnus, and a
smaller group of 15,000, which would sail for Dargon City and use the
city as a base from which to conquer the disorganized Northern Marches.
IV
Sir Edward hurried north, fast messengers preceding him, ordering
the Hussars to turn 'round and make for Magnus with all speed. He also
sent word of the impending attack on the North to the King, asking that
the King order the forces of the various nobles in the Northern Marches
to send what force they could to the aid of Knight Captain Sir Ailean of
Bivar, who now prepared to face the coming invasion at Shark's Cove, a
port at the mouth of the Laraka, with just over five thousand men.
Knight Captain Sir Ailean, meanwhile, drew up his tiny force at
what he determined was the most probable landing site for the
Beinisonian force, a stretch of beach just north of Shark's Cove. There
he was joined by Lord Morion and a group of five hundred former students
from Lord Morion's warrior school.
As the Beinisonian invasion force approached, the Baranurian Fleet
of the North, aided by the majority of the Laraka River Flotilla,
sortied in an attempt to stop the Beinisonians. The attempt was a
failure. Losses were high on both sides. The Baranurians were
annihilated and the Beinisonian invasion force landed in safety.
Knight Captain Sir Ailean met the enemy literally at the water's
edge, his better-armoured troops succeeding, for a time, in holding back
Beinison's Light Infantry Regiments. Beinison's greater weight of number
ultimately prevailed, however. Knight Captain Sir Ailean perished
leading a rearguard while Lord Morion led just over two thousand
survivors away from the enemy.
Following the north bank of the Laraka, Lord Morion mercilessly
forced-marched his troops to Port Sevlyn, a large port-city halfway
between Shark's Cove and Magnus. There, he attempted to convince the
Lord Mayor to order the city's two Militia Light Infantry Regiments to
follow Lord Morion and declare Port Sevlyn an Open City in order to
spare it from the wrath of the advancing Beinisonians.
The Lord Mayor refused, saying he could not give up Duke Quinnat's
home without a fight. He also pointed out to Lord Morion that if the two
Militia Regiments stayed in the city, the Beinisonians might possibly be
delayed a day or two, time that Lord Morion could use to reach and
fortify Gateway Keep, a small military town that commanded the river
approaches to Magnus. Lord Morion departed with his troops and the
inexperienced Militia Regiments prepared to meet the enemy.
Lord Morion had barely departed when the Beinisonians arrived. The
Beinisonian commander, General Joachim Vasquez, asked for the city's
surrender, and, when the Lord Mayor refused, ordered four of his best
Regiments to attack. To everyone's surprise, the Baranurian Regiments
held off the enemy, though at great cost. General Vasquez attacked again
and again, reluctant to commit too many of his troops, anxious that his
force not be reduced too much -- he still had to reach and take Gateway
Keep and then move on Magnus, all before the enemy could mount an
effective defence.
The increasingly-desperate defenders of Port Sevlyn fought as if
they were possessed, holding off attack after attack for the better part
of five days. Finally, on the sixth day of the siege, with fewer than
300 out of 2,000 troops left, the defenders were overrun as Vasquez
threw his entire force at the Militia Regiments on the city walls.
Realizing the danger to his mission the delay the six-day siege
represented and the absolute necessity of avoiding a repetition, General
Vasquez ordered that half the population of Port Sevlyn be put to the
sword in order to demonstrate the penalty for resisting the forces of
the Beinisonian Emperor. After slaughtering 5,000 civilians, Vasquez
departed after the fleeing Lord Morion, leaving two Regiments in the
city as a garrison.
Lord Morion, meanwhile, was busily digging-in outside Gateway Keep.
Lord Morion and the just-over two thousand survivors of Sir Ailean's
doomed attempt to stop the Beinisonians from landing, arrived at Gateway
Keep as the siege of Port Sevlyn was entering its sixth day. Lord
Morion's troops had just completed a march worthy of note as a feat of
arms. Ever since the defeat at Shark's Cove, Lord Morion had driven his
troops with unflagging ruthlessness, covering the 550 leagues to Gateway
Keep in just over eleven days, an average of 50 leagues a day, an
accomplishment that elite troops would be hard-pressed to match, much
less a mostly-green force that had fought and suffered a terrible
defeat.
Giving thanks to every deity he could think of, Morion prepared to
move his troops into Gateway for some well-deserved rest only to find
that the Keeper would not admit the Royal troops, saying that "this
conflict does not concern Gateway Keep". Furious, Lord Morion made camp
and began the construction of field fortifications at the only ford
giving ready access to Gateway Keep. Morion knew his preparations were
more-than-likely futile, but he was sick of running.
V
Morion's troops finished their fortifications certain in the
knowledge that the pursuing Beinisonians were, at best, a day away. Lord
Morion and the Regimental Commanders did what they could to keep up
their troops' morale and determination to hold the enemy as long as
possible.
The Baranurians waited three days before their enemy made his
appearance. Once again, the defenders faced the Light Infantry Regiments
of the Beinisonian army, and once again, the Baranurians held the enemy
off, but just barely. When night fell, Morion had lost nearly a third of
his strength. He knew he would not hold his improvised fortifications
for a second day.
As the second day of Morion's desperate stand dawned, things were
happening inside Gateway Keep that were to prove of tremendous
importance to those facing the Beinisonians outside. Goren Winston,
rightful Keeper of Gateway, slipped into the fortress to confront his
brother, Ne'on, who had usurped Goren's place. Goren found Ne'on to be
possessed by a demon or spirit and was forced to kill his younger
brother so that Goren might thwart the spirit's plan and bring Gateway
Keep back into the war against the Beinisonians.
Outside on his makeshift fortifications, Morion had committed the
last of his reserves and knew that the end was near when the closed
gates of the keep opened. Morion tried to conduct an orderly withdrawal
but his troops, who had faced deepest adversity for so long, finally
cracked. Almost as one, the entire defending force broke and ran for the
inviting safety of Gateway's stone walls. The Beinisonians, their
discipline intact, pursued the fleeing Baranurians. Barely one thousand
survived to gain the protection of the walls.
For the next three days, the garrison, augmented by the remnants of
Morion's force, held the enemy off as Gateway was slowly pounded to
rubble by the siege engines Vasquez had brought up the Laraka by ship.
On the third day, what was left of the defenders were preparing for the
final stages of the siege when the Hussars, all eight Regiments, and a
small contingent of samurai from Bichu, arrived from the south under the
command of the new Knight Captain of the Northern Marches, Luthias
Connall.
Connall quickly formed his Regiments and threw all eight thousand
heavy horse at the surprised Beinisonians. Nearly half the enemy force
fell victim to the long, killing lances of the Hussars before Vasquez
could affect a retreat.
Connall pursued the retreating Beinisonians all the way to Shark's
Cove, where he forced Vasquez to do battle. At the same time as Connall
was arriving at Shark's Cove, the Baranurian and Beinisonian navies were
nearing the small port at the Laraka's mouth, the Beinisonians intent on
rescuing their expeditionary force, the Baranurians just as intent on
preventing such a rescue.
The battle, when it occurred, lasted nearly all day, on land and at
sea. The warships of the two navies savaged each other, dozens of ships
and hundreds of sailors vanishing beneath the waves. On land, the
desperate defenders held off attack after furious attack while the
Beinisonian transports began loading troops.
Finally, his line threatening to break, the Baranurian navy
endangering the transports, Vasquez called a halt to the evacuation and
sailed for home. Seeing this, the Baranurian navy made one last attempt
to crack the Beinisonian line. The remnants of the Beinisonian fighting
navy gallantly put themselves in harm's way to allow the transports to
escape.
The battle came to an end, on land and at sea, when Duke Dargon's
flagship and the Beinisonian flagship became locked in battle. The Duke
was severely wounded and fell overboard. He was rescued and eventually
recovered, though the healers were forced to remove his badly-injured
forearm. The Duke's flagship defeated the enemy flagship and, upon
seeing this, the Beinisonian navy's resolve faltered and the remnants
fled for home along with the transports. The Beinisonian troops left on
shore fought on for a few bells more until, at sunset, stranded and
facing destruction, the survivors surrendered.
VI
The immediate crisis on the Laraka was over. Magnus was safe, for a
time, a very brief time, for Sir Edward had received word that a huge
army under the direct command of Emperor Untar II himself was
approaching the Crown City. The Knight Commander of the Armies sent
messengers speeding throughout the kingdom, summoning all who could
quickly reach Magnus to the capital's defence.
An army of nearly 20,000 gathered at the capital, preparing to meet
the enemy. The enemy they found, however, was not the Beinisonians. For
many months, political maneouverings had been underway to get Sir
Edward, a Galician, removed as Knight Commander. Most vocal in his
opposition to Sir Edward was Duke Northfield, the most powerful of the
Great Houses. King Haralan resisted the pressure until, with the bulk of
the Beinisonian army bearing down on Magnus, Northfield threatened to
take his troops out of the army if he was not given command of the
defence of the Crown City. Knowing that Northfield would take not only
his personal troops but those of other nobles as well, Haralan
reluctantly assented to placing Northfield over Sir Edward.
The Baranurians met the enemy on several leagues outside Magnus.
Outnumbered two-to-one and out-generalled, the Baranurians were
hard-pressed. The end came when Northfield, seeing his flank turned,
panicked and fled with his troops. Sir Edward took charge and managed to
salvage the situation by getting the bulk of the army away from the
field and to Magnus. Severely weakened, Magnus' defenders manned the
walls and prepared for a siege.
Not long after the disastrous attempt to meet the enemy outside
Magnus' walls, Connall reached the Crown City with the Hussars and as
many foot soldiers as he could muster. These reinforcements brought the
defenders' numbers almost up to what they had been before Northfield's
debacle. Even so, Sir Edward did not hold out much hope. He did not have
nearly enough men to properly defend fortifications as large as Magnus'
and moreover, the city was split by the Laraka.
Untar's army arrived at Magnus and made camp. The Emperor was
making his final preparations for the assault on Magnus. Untar knew that
he could not simply throw his army at the walls, for, undermanned as
Magnus' fortifications were, the city would be a tough nut to crack.
Thus it stands. A Beinisonian army in the heart of Baranur with a
battle and the fate of a kingdom to be decided ...
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