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DargonZine Volume 10 Issue 04
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 10
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 4
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DargonZine Distributed: 06/23/1997
Volume 10, Number 4 Circulation: 650
========================================================================
Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Sailor's Homecoming Jon Evans Mertz 17, 1015
Night Three Maxim Khaytsus Naia 12, 1015
Piercing a Steel Heart Michael Schustereit Naia, 1015
========================================================================
DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
Please address all correspondance to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
on the World Wide Web at http://www.shore.net/~dargon. Back issues
are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 10-4, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright June, 1997 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 may
not be reproduced or redistributed without the explicit permission of
the author(s) involved, except in the case of freely reproducing entire
issues for further distribution. Reproduction of issues or any portions
thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
<ornoth@shore.net>
It wasn't quite Armageddon... but it *could have been*!
The 1997 Dargon Writers' Summit took place last month in Washington
DC. Movers and shakers (we won't specify who was which) from all four
corners of the planet gathered to talk writing, visit tremendous damage
upon our nation's capital, and determine the fates of millions. And we
got some pretty nifty tee shirts, as well!
The overall purpose of our Summits is to get our writers together
and to build closer relationships between them, to set policy and
goals for the project, and to have fun in the process. In each respect,
the '97 Summit was fabulously successful.
For many of us, it was our first exposure to the people we've been
working with via email for years. It was great to see even people who
had become antagonistic or isolated on the writers' list getting to know
one another and laying a groundwork for mutual respect and friendship.
It really was wonderful to see our writers come together with such
enthusiasm, and I'm not referring to full-contact bowling here!
The Summit's working sessions were equally productive. Topics
ranged from the project's purpose and goals to how to better bring new
readers and new writers up to speed. We also talked writing;
brainstorming session were held on how to generate story ideas, what
constitutes a "good" story, and how to create great characters. We even
dealt with some lingering specific questions, such as the fates of
certain characters after the war between Baranur and Beinison.
In the end, I think everyone enjoyed themselves, contributed great
ideas, and grew as a result of our getting together. And those are the
reasons why FSFnet and DargonZine were founded in the first place.
For pictures and more details about the Summit, check out the 1997
Dargon Writers' Summit page on the Web site!
This issue starts out with Jon Evans' "Sailor's Homecoming". For
all its brevity, this story has been a work-in-progress since 1994!
Let's hope it doesn't take Jon as long to bring his other ongoing
projects to print! Observant readers will also notice that Jon's name
now appears in the masthead under the title of "Assistant Editor". Jon
has always been willing to put in extra effort in order to make the
project a success (as shown by his hosting the DargonZine Writers'
Summit this year), and I'm glad to have his help in running the zine.
Also in this issue, the plot thickens in Max Khaytsus' "Deep Woods
Inn" series. For now, this is all that is in the pipeline for this
storyline, so if his stories have interested you, help me get Max to
write more!
And we end this issue with the return of Mike Schustereit, whose
only previous Dargon story, "A Rogue's Gambit", was printed way back in
1995. Oddly, although Mike's writing is much improved in "Piercing a
Steel Heart", we had to threaten him with all kinds of horrible fates in
order to convince him to finish it up and get it printed. I think you'll
agree that it was well worth the effort (as well as the $14.95 for the
ice pick)!
As ever, be sure to check out the DargonZine Web site for pictures
of the '97 Summit, maps, an online Dargon Glossary, and all the latest
news. And be on the lookout for our next issue, because 10-5 is going to
be a very special issue!
========================================================================
Sailor's Homecoming
by Jon Evans
<godling@mnsinc.com>
Port Sevlyn, Mertz 17, 1015
Andrew MacDonnel walked into the Lazy Madame, a small tavern on the
north side of Port Sevlyn's waterfront district. He adjusted the angle
of his new, wide-brimmed hat -- a very costly thing to have, for a
sailor -- and stepped up to the bar. The brass pipe circling the wooden
bar top hazily reflected the candlelight in the room. A waitress walked
between crowded tables, decorating them with an assortment of pitchers
and mugs. Someone played a small accordion at one of the back tables.
Andrew smiled. He was home.
A large man, one who used to shovel coal onto a ship's catapult
while enemy fire splashed on the deck around him, walked up to Andrew
from behind the bar. He looked at Andrew's smiling face for a moment,
and tried to stare behind the whiskers on his face and the odd
felt-and-feather hat sitting on Andrew's head. Andrew smiled back at the
man and wondered how long this would go on. Finally, a large hand
reached out to Andrew and gently removed the hat from Andrew's head.
"Andrew MacDonnel!" the older man roared. "Cephas be praised! How
are you? Where've you been for the last thirteen months? Never thought
I'd see you here, again, that's for sure. What're you drinking these
days? Lederian port? Are you hungry? How about a leftwich? Damnedest
thing, Sandy was just wondering how you and Jack were doing. Sandy,"
Kenneth called over his shoulder, "come see who's back."
A short woman stepped out from the kitchen door. Her cropped red
hair was slightly matted with grease and sweat, and the apron around her
waist was brown from days without cleaning. When she recognized Andrew,
she smiled a nearly-perfect smile, the missing lower front tooth all
that kept her from seeming angelic. The dirt around her face didn't hide
the few wrinkles she'd acquired in the last year, just as her long
sleeves didn't obscure the fact that she hadn't eaten as well as she
might have. Still, she was a welcome sight, and Andrew opened his arms
to hold the woman for whom he had returned from war.
"Hello, Pumpkin," he muttered in the embrace.
She smiled. "Hello, Slick," she responded, hugging one of the two
men she'd promised to marry, if they came back from the war. The other
still hadn't returned. "How've you been?"
"Tired, hungry ... All in all," he pulled back from the embrace and
looked into her nut-brown eyes. "Same as usual."
She squeezed him one more time before letting go. He backed away
comfortably, looking towards the old man behind the bar to catch the
welcoming wink to which he was accustomed. "How 'bout that meal?" Andrew
asked, and the old man laughed.
"Sit yourself down, lad, and ol' Kenneth will have you loosening
your belt in no time."
One nourishing meal later, and Andrew was indeed loosening his
belt, the last of his meat and potato stew settling into his stomach. He
leaned back in the chair, held both arms out to his side, and groaned as
he stretched his muscles. His stomach felt more than full. He grasped
the glass of Lederian port beside his plate and brought it to his lips.
Sandy smiled to him from across the room as someone yelled out "Bring
another round!" She waved to the other waitress to take care of the
order as she skirted around the sailors, slapping a few groping hands
along the way.
As she sat down at his table, a more serious look overtook her.
Andrew knew what was coming next, and he sat forward. She reached out
for his hand when she found the nerve.
"Have you seen Jack lately?" she asked.
Andrew shook his head. "Not since five months ago, when we were in
the Dargon fleet."
She looked surprised for a moment. "I thought the two of you were
going south to fight on the border?"
"Well," he replied, "we're sailing men. Better off manning the deck
of a supply ship, or piloting a course along the west coast, than
fighting man-to-man. We knew we weren't foot soldiers, Pumpkin. We
couldn't just run up to the front lines and die, now, could we?" He let
his gaze fall to the table. "We had something to come back for ..."
"What's the last you heard of him?" She stopped for a moment. "I
don't mean to sound disappointed ... I loved you both, truly ... but I
have to know."
"We were on the same ship, funny thing. Figured we'd be separated,
put on different crews when we got to Dargon, but there was an enemy
fleet sighted and they hurried us on as quick as can be. One weapons
master, one pilot. Two men needed on the same ship. We joked about
neither of us making it back."
"So he's-"
"I don't know!" He stared at her for a moment, then reached for his
glass and forced some of the red liquid into his body. "I don't know for
sure ... he should be, that's certain." He sighed, and brought the cup
back to his lips.
"We were on the _Argean_ -- he's mastering the catapult at the
fore, me piloting her at the Captain's side -- when we went in. Damn
fool nearly got us all burned, not firing when the Captain ordered, but
you know Driftwood: got to do things his way. Well, he was right, the
arm didn't have the range if he'd fired right off. We ended up just
toasted by the fire, and he dropped three buckets into one of the lead
ships.
"We passed into the fleet ... ships speeding past us, not
particularly worrying about a tiny, pieced-together boat. We looked like
a dinghy with a catapult on top. What's to worry, right? Well, one of
the last ships worried. Dropped a bucket of cinders amid-ship, sails
catching like tinder. Crew got it under control, but not before we lost
our wind. Sitting dead in the water, with an enemy ship each starboard
and port. Port decides to latch on, but with no mage on that one, they
went scrambling for the buckets. Fire burned their sails and started
working their masts. Archers on the starboard, though ... they forced us
down in a flight of arrows and a whole new meaning of the word hot
started up center of the ship.
"Captain yells 'Let her burn, latch on to starboard!' so we did,
trying to take her down with us. We latched, arrows flying by our heads,
and we fought between the smoke and the flame, and I didn't have a clue
as to where ol' Driftwood had gotten. Only knew we were going to die,
and there was no two ways about it. Should have all died. Every last
bleeding one of us."
Andrew rested for a moment, wiping the memory of the smoke from his
eyes. Sandy waited patiently, still gripping his left hand with both of
hers. He took his time. He thought about what happened before trying to
tell her.
"It wasn't exactly clear ... still isn't, entirely. Somehow, while
the fighting was going on, and the ship was burning, Jack took five men,
lowered one of the dinghies-"
"He didn't run!" she stared at him in amazement.
"No. No, he lowered the boat and tipped it, filling it with water.
Five men pumped their hearts near bursting, 'bout 'majin, raising that
load and dumping the water all over the deck. Smoke came from
everywhere, but most of the burning had stopped. Someone called for the
lines to be cut, and next thing I know I'm alone on a Beinison ship
facing half a crew of Beinisons with a half-broken cutlass in my hand.
They just started forward when someone pulls me by the neck and throws
me overboard. It was Drift, soaked to the bone, covered in coal, and
bleeding from one eye. Looked like a ghost of the deep. I hit the water
pretty hard -- and probably some splinters of wood -- and next I know
the battle's over, Dargon's free, and Drift ain't been heard of since."
He reached for his glass and sipped some wine. "And that's all I
know."
Sandy sighed, looking past Andrew to an ambiguous point on the
wall. "Well. You're home, now. At least I've still got one of you." She
half-smiled at him.
"Yeah," he answered. "Not a total loss." He stared down at his
glass.
Sandy stood up. "Well," she said as she looked away. "I need to get
back to the tables."
"What?"
"Huhn?"
"That's it?" he asked. "No 'Welcome back, Andrew ... I've missed
you ... how are *you* doing ... why did it take you so long to come
home?'" He stared at her, but she didn't return his gaze. He was a
veteran sailor who had been through a war, but his stomach suddenly felt
queasy.
Sandy returned to the tables.
The next morning, Andrew came down from his room and sat at the
bar. Kenneth came out of the kitchen accompanied by a small cloud of
smoke and the smell of eggs and bacon. He sat a plate down in front of
Andrew and gave the sailor a fork and knife.
"Forks?" Andrew asked. "Moving up in the world, are we?"
Kenneth frowned. "Taking advantage of other people's losses. When
the Beinison army marched through here, last summer, hundreds were
killed. Entire families, just for resisting the enemy. I don't really
need the forks for the lot I get in here, but there was a young girl
selling her parent's things, and I bought them off her for a cheap
price. It was more than I could afford, seeing as I had to get this
place fixed up, but she needed it more than I did, I'm sure."
"Well," Andrew said, "let me be a paying customer, for once, and
help ease the cost." He reached into his pouch and pulled out a Round.
He slapped it down on the bar top and said, "I've finally got some coin
to pay you back for all those times you bought my beer ... and food ...
and gave me a place to sleep."
Kenneth protested, sliding the silver coin towards Andrew. "Now,
now ... you know you and Jack never had to pay for a thing, here. You
more than earned everything I ever gave you."
"Yes, but now I'm not doing odd jobs ... chopping wood in the back,
keeping drunks from starting fights."
"Call it your 'Welcome Home' meal."
"Best welcome I've gotten, yet," Andrew said bitterly.
"Now, Andrew," Kenneth started. "Don't go feeling bad about the
girl. She truly missed you while you were away."
"Wouldn't know it from last night."
There was a pause while Andrew cut into his eggs. Kenneth got a rag
from behind the bar and began to wipe the top of the bar. "So where'd
you get the money to buy a meal?" Kenneth asked. "You never had it
before."
"I drank it all away, before. Drift and I, both. Every time we made
some decent money. Just needed the shirts on our backs and a place to
rest our heads. Slept next to your dog out back, many a night, I can
tell you. Or someone else's."
"So how do you come by it now?"
"Spent a few months working with the longshoremen in Dargon."
Kenneth scoffed. "A land-lubber!"
"Hey, it was good money! Besides," he continued, "I didn't have
anyone to leech off, in Dargon. You were always good enough to
'accidentally' leave the bar off the back door, when it got too cold,
and more than once Drift and I found steaming hot bowls of soup in the
kitchen." He looked up appreciatively at Kenneth. "Just happened to be
left out on the counter."
Kenneth looked down at the counter and diligently wiped it with his
rag. "That *was* a lucky thing, wasn't it? Wonder what made me so
forgetful ..."
Andrew was about to continue when he heard someone coming down the
stairs. When he looked over, he saw Sandy approaching the counter.
"You'll want some bread with your breakfast," Kenneth quickly
surmised. "It's only a day old, shouldn't take me long to steam it up."
He went through the door and into the kitchen.
Sandy sat down next to Andrew. "Hey," she said. Normally, he would
answer in kind; this morning, he did not. "I was hoping we could talk."
"Don't know what else to tell you," he said bitterly, "can't think
of anything about Jack that I didn't cover last night."
"That's not what I mean," she said.
Andrew stared at her, waiting for her to continue.
Finally, she stood up. "You're being impossible."
"I'm being impossible?" Andrew asked, surprised at the statement.
"I've been gone for over a year!"
"And, what," she replied, "were you doing during that year?
Bouncing around on a ship, having an adventure, being irresponsible -"
"Fighting a war," he interrupted her.
"Well the war was here, too, Andrew. Lots of people died. Lots of
close friends."
"Did you promise you'd marry them, too?"
Kenneth came through the kitchen door with a small loaf of bread in
his hands. "Now you listen to me, Andrew MacDonnel," Sandy said. Kenneth
immediately turned around and went back into the kitchen, muttering
something about needing cheese with the bread. "I counted the days that
passed while you and Jack were away. I heard about the fighting in
Pyridain. I heard about Gateway. I heard about the Dargon fleet. Then
the war was over, and people were returning to Port Sevlyn. But not the
dead. And not you and Jack. So what was I supposed to think?" She picked
up the rag Kenneth had left on the counter and started using it on the
brass bar.
"We might have been injured-"
"But you weren't," she yelled, slapping him with the rag, "were
you?" She hit him again with the rag, threw it on the counter and walked
out.
Andrew sat in his own silence.
After breakfast, Andrew walked around town. He wanted to see the
old sights and find some of the old gang he used to know. The old gang
wasn't a very close group of friends, and there weren't a lot of them.
Mostly, they were people who used to drink and fight together, more
often among themselves rather than with anyone else. But there was an
odd bond between them -- a level of respect -- and Andrew hoped he could
find it there again.
Passing through the town, he saw a lot of familiar faces. People
with whom he once had drinks, or whose dogs were particularly hairy on
cold winter nights. There were even a few fathers he would have avoided,
if they had known where their daughters were on a warm summer night. At
one house, he stopped and saw a man and asked after his daughter. The
man lowered his gaze somberly and walked away. She had not survived the
invasion.
Andrew also ran into a few of his old acquaintances. People that
had hired him for odd jobs, in the past. He asked if they needed any
more help, but they declined. They had no money and little food. One
person did tell Andrew about Smitty needing help to tear down the old
smithy. As Andrew made his way down to the smith, he remembered the
times he and Jack had snuck into the smith at the end of the evening to
find some coals. They would steal a few from the cooling bellows using
the smith's iron pail, and then start a small fire in Coleman's Field,
using driftwood they found on the edge of the Laraka. Jack would tell
Andrew how the driftwood had probably seen more of the country than most
people, just drifting down the river. Perhaps it had seen the walls of
Gateway, or even come from the edge of Magnus itself!
Suddenly, Andrew didn't want to help Smitty tear down his old
smithy. He did not want to chop wood, plow a field, or keep the peace at
the tavern. He realized that he wanted to see Jack again. Driftwood. His
best friend. But no matter where in town he went, it wasn't the same. He
wouldn't run into Jack at Smitty's, or the Lazy Madame. He wouldn't be
building fires in Coleman's Field. And if he did build them, even if
Sandy came out to join him, it wouldn't be the same.
He had not returned to Port Sevlyn to find Sandy and marry her. He
had come back looking for the life he used to live, only to find it was
no longer there.
When Andrew returned to the Lazy Madame, it was near dusk. There
was a troubadour singing songs in the back, near the fireplace, and
Sandy was walking through a scattered crowd of locals. The music was
mellow and serious, about a man who travels the world searching for love
and finding only hardship along the way.
Sandy joined Andrew when he sat at the bar, and Kenneth quietly
moved to the other end to help some customers that were sure to arrive
at any minute. "Andrew, I'm sorry," she said.
"It's alright," he replied. She looked at him quizzically. "Look, I
know you care about me. I care about you, too. But it's different, now.
Things have changed, and there's no going back." He sighed.
"Maybe," she said, "something will bring us back to the way things
were. Not exactly, but close. Maybe there's still something, somewhere,
that we need to find. To make it like it was."
"There's nothing like that," Andrew said. "It was Jack. He was the
dreamer, the one that told the wild stories and convinced people to do
things that they wouldn't normally do. I just went along, like everyone
else."
"No," Sandy returned. "You were more than that. You were his
favorite. He once told me he'd rather have no one around at all than
have a crowd of people doing things when you weren't around. And
besides, your good looks are what brought all the women around for him
to tell stories to."
Andrew smiled. "We made a good team."
The troubadour's song changed, picking a light tune about summer
and love and the mischief men find themselves in during the season.
Andrew saw three strangers walk into the room, an older couple and their
daughter. By their wardrobe, Andrew figured them to be travelers, and
not without money. The father and mother seemed to be in their
mid-thirties, and their daughter about seventeen.
"What will you do now?" Sandy asked him.
"Well, I went looking for work around town, but I don't want to be
doing the same old thing I used to do. But there's always work at the
docks for a longshoreman, or if I'm lucky I'll find a boat to pilot
along the river."
"Why do you need money now? You've got some coin, according to my
father, and enough to live on for a while."
"Well I want to settle down, Pumpkin. Maybe you're not available to
me, anymore, but I'm sure there's a lovely young lass in the town that
might find me a good catch!" Sandy smiled as caught a familiar glimmer
in his eye.
"In the mean time," he continued, turning himself on the stool to
glance at the daughter, "I've bait enough to catch a few fish and test
out the waters."
Andrew smiled. He was home.
========================================================================
Night Three
by Maxim Khaytsus
<khaytsus@alumni.cs.colorado.edu>
Naia 12, 1015
"Ravi?" Salish called through the open kitchen door. "Ravi?"
"What is it?" The red-headed woman appeared from the back of the
inn, sword in hand, expecting trouble. Things at the inn had been too
quiet, too long.
"No, no. Look," Salish said, pointing into the common room.
"What?"
"Bend down." He guided her. "Up on the second floor."
Ravi bent over the counter, trying to see the second floor balcony
in the common room, mostly hidden by the low ceiling of the vestibule.
Two pairs of feet could be seen at a door. They stood there a moment,
then the door opened and they went inside.
"I just rented out a room!"
"You did what?"
"A toast!" Salish picked up a mug sitting on the counter. "To good
business at a good location!"
"You rented out a room?" Ravi asked as he took a big gulp from the
mug.
"Well, this is an inn and they wanted lodging, so ... It seemed the
natural thing to do." He got up and got another mug of ale for Ravi.
She laughed. "I didn't think about that. This is an inn."
"'The Forgotten Inn'," Salish added, again raising the mug in a
symbolic toast to the sign hanging outside the door.
"Feels a little strange," Ravi said. She took a careful sip from
the large vessel. "And just after we buried Delor
"We can always take the sign down," Salish suggested, obviously not
really liking the idea.
"No ... No, we shouldn't. I don't think Sand would want to."
"Sand? He wasn't even here for most of the fight."
"He's more native to these parts than the rest of us," Ravi
explained. "And this is more of a home to him than to the rest of us. He
was just telling me last night about how he met Delor a couple of years
back."
Salish pulled up a stool and sat down. "It's so hard to understand
what happened here that night ... Maybe if we had expected it, or if I
had my bow, or Delor was ..."
"Hard to believe it's been less than two days," Ravi muttered. She
did not like Salish changing the topic. She wanted to talk about Delor,
but she wanted to talk about the bandits as well.
"Hard to believe I feel sorry for a slob who overcharged me,"
Salish sighed.
"I'm surprised I've come to respect the man in death more than I
did in life," Ravi agreed. "I've stayed here a few times before ..."
"I guess if we pay the taxes on it," Salish started, "we can keep
this place." He paused, thinking. "What am I saying? I'm not ready to
settle down."
"Are any of us ... How much did you charge for the room?"
"Three Rounds."
"Three Rounds?!"
"Sure, that's what Kreb and I were charged." Salish paused again,
thinking. "It was three Rounds a day for a regular room, four for a room
and a bath and five per day for a corner room with a bath. Stabling is a
Round a day, plus five Bits to groom the horse."
"You'd think this was Merchants' Quarter, Hawksbridge," Ravi
laughed. "This is a dunghill!"
"Compared to what's out there," Salish motioned at the door, "this
is lodging fit for nobility."
Ravi nodded. "We're going to have to be ready for guests in this
case. Why don't I go and check the rooms and see if they're in good
shape."
Salish hopped off his stool. "If you see Kreb, send him my way."
Kishore watched Sand put the last of the horses which had belonged
to the brigands in the barn and helped him close the doors. "That's an
extra eight horses to deal with," the woodsman said, heaving at the door
one last time. "They'll stay in there."
"They're good animals," Kishore noted, referring to the horses the
brigands rode. "I imagine they'd fetch a good price on the market."
"Three or four Marks, easily," Sand agreed. "But I get the feeling
they didn't happen upon them honestly."
"Well, actually, neither did we."
"Honestly enough for my taste," Sand grumbled.
They headed back to the inn.
"What changed your mind to stay longer?" Sand asked as they crossed
the yard behind the house.
"Jana. We've been on the road for quite some time, sleeping mostly
under the open sky. A storm overtook us a few nights ago ... It's nice
to sleep in a bed, with a roof overhead."
"You're not ..." Sand started to say something, but did not
finish.
"No, I'm not used to being rained on," Kishore said, guessing at
what the woodsman was after. Like the woodsman, he appreciated what
little privacy was afforded to him.
Sand nodded. "Will you help us look for the brigands?"
Kishore shrugged. "I don't want to promise what I'm not sure I can
deliver. Jana is my primary responsibility. She is young and in search
of an adventure. I don't want her to learn the dangers of adventuring at
this age. Not first hand, anyhow."
They entered the inn through the rear door and came into the
vestibule by the back room.
"You're, of course, welcome to stay here as long as you need," Sand
said. "You've spilled as much blood as the next man defending this
place."
"It's the blood spilling that makes me want to leave," Kishore
responded.
They paused at the door in the vestibule, not far from the counter
behind which sat Salish. Giles Kreb rumbled down the stairs from the
second floor. Short as he was, he was also plump, and made quite a
racket on the way down.
"Ravi wants to see you upstairs." He came to a stop at the bottom.
"Corner room."
"Him or me?"
"Both."
Exchanging a puzzled look, Kishore and Sand proceeded upstairs.
"What'd you want, Sal?" the midget asked. He looked back after the
two men, neither of which made an effort to move out of his way as they
went up.
"I rented a room out," the tall archer answered.
"So I've heard." Kreb went behind the counter and moved a stool
closer to the front.
"I figure if we can fill half the rooms at three Rounds a night,
that's thirty Rounds ... That's over forty Marks a month!"
"From what I've seen," Kreb said, "this inn'll be lucky if it fills
two rooms a night. What fool'd ever build a twenty room inn in the
middle of nowhere!?"
"Some fools are really visionaries in disguise," Salish declared.
"Maybe this was one of them ..."
Kreb grumbled. "We'll make better money guarding a caravan."
"Stay here and watch for business," Salish advised. "The two that
came in left their horses out front. I promised I'd put them up."
Sand knocked on the partially open door to the first corner room.
"Yes?" Ravi's voice sounded.
Sand pushed the door open and entered the room, followed by
Kishore. "Shorty says you wanted to see us."
The room they were in was somewhat of a mess. The floor was dirty,
the bed frame cracked. A broken chair stood off in a corner. One of the
window shutters was missing and a big stain could be seen on the floor
where rain would freely blow in.
"Either of you know the first thing about being a carpenter?"
"Possibly first and second," Sand said after Kishore shook his
head.
"Good," Ravi answered. "Look at this mess. We need to get this room
in shape. Would you help?"
"Why? Your room too small for you?"
"We've got guests," Ravi said. "This is an inn, after all."
"Guests?" Kishore asked.
"A couple of people came in just recently. They're staying in the
room down the corridor."
Sand frowned. "I didn't expect to be running an inn ..."
"This is an inn," Ravi stressed, "and we are staying here, so
that's just a part of what'll be expected of us. We either give free
room and board, or we charge for it and I see nothing wrong with
charging money for a place to stay. If it's in good shape, anyhow."
Sand walked across to the window and examined the wall where the
missing shutter used to hang. "I guess I can do something about it.
Midget or his friend know anything about woodwork?"
Ravi shook her head. "They can chop it."
"Great." Sand turned to Kishore. "I don't suppose you've got some
hidden talents?"
"Sorry," the Lashkirian laughed. "I hadn't seen a tree until after
I could hold a sword."
Sand let out a laugh for the first time in two days. "No wood, no
rain. What did you do all your life?"
"I fought the Haber-Hayn," Kishore said, almost immediately
regretting the fast words. The woodsman's laugh gave him a false sense
of security.
"The what?" Ravi asked.
"The clan that fought my clan," the Lashkirian sighed. "The desert
is not barren of conflict."
Giles Kreb moved the stool closer to the counter and climbed up on
it. Sitting atop the stool, he could easily see over the counter, which
otherwise was chin high to him. He looked around, wondering if the fat
man who owned the inn kept a log of guests. Neither he, nor Salish, were
asked to sign in, as was customary at most inns and taverns that offered
a bed to weary travelers. For that matter, he witnessed Ravi, the
red-haired woman, come in and not sign in. It was strange that no
records existed. Perhaps the proprietor was illiterate, but then there
was the name of the inn, carved over the door. There had to be a ledger
somewhere!
Kreb twisted right and left on the stool, trying to see what else
was in the space behind the counter. Was there something he overlooked?
The front door opened and a pair of men in grey uniforms walked in.
They paused only a moment, to identify Kreb at the counter and headed
directly for him.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Kreb perked up, ready to make another
sale. The men were clearly not the Dargon Ducal or Town Guard. On their
uniforms they wore the Narragan coat of arms and other symbols.
"Are you the owner of this establishment?" one of the soldiers
asked.
"I ... well, as much as I can be," Kreb brushed his gut. If one
sixths of the inn was all he could claim, then he was one sixths an
owner -- no less one than any one else.
"We're with Duke Narragan's personal guard. Have you seen this
girl?" The guard handed Kreb a sheet with a picture of a woman, looking
remarkably like Jana. The picture appeared to be a sketch from a larger
painting.
Giles Kreb bit his lip to maintain a neutral expression. "What she
do?"
"We believe she's with a tall dark-skinned man, possibly a Benosian
or a Lashkirian. He kidnapped her just over a fortnight ago."
Kreb shook his head.
"There is a reward -- five Marks for the man and ten more for the
girl's safe return."
Kreb had to bite his lip even harder, unsure why he was protecting
the lizard man, but proud of his ability to stand up to the guards. Too
often he had found himself on the wrong side of their wrath and this
time he held power over them.
"That's a lot of gold for a face on parchment."
The two guards exchanged a conspiring glance. "The girl is the
daughter to Duke Narragan."
"His daughter? You should probably sit at home and wait for a
ransom notice."
"Do you mind if we hang this notice here?"
Kreb shrugged. "Use your own nails."
One of the guards quickly produced a hammer and nail and proceeded
to hammer the sheet to the wall right across from the counter in the
vestibule.
"Keep it down in there!" Ravi's voice floated down from the second
floor.
"Yeah, yeah," Kreb called back as the hammering stopped.
The guard posting the notice replaced the hammer on his belt and
returned to the counter.
"Would you like a room as well?" Kreb asked. He could see by
looking at them that they would refuse, but he had to ask.
"We must make it to Dargon with all haste," the soldier who had
been doing all the talking said.
"It's a fortnight's journey," Kreb repeated the words Delor said to
him and Salish. "You're bound to get lost at night and not make it at
all."
The two men exchanged concerned glances. "Which way to Dargon?"
"Right there," Kreb pointed out the door, twisting his stubby
finger to point east. "Down the road and through the woods."
"Does the road fork?"
"Not if you stick to the wagon tracks in the dirt."
"I wish to buy two pints of lamp oil, then," the soldier responded.
He sounded rather determined.
"A Round," Kreb said, hiding a smile. "A Round each."
"A Round?!" the guard exclaimed. "I can buy it in town for four or
five Bits a pint!"
"But we're not in town," Kreb stressed, "and lamp oil doesn't grow
on trees ..."
The guard angrily slapped some coins on the counter.
Kreb smiled and hoped off the stool. "I'll give you a room for two
silver, if you want ..."
"Give me the oil."
"What was that?" Kishore asked as Ravi returned to the room.
"I don't know. Sounded like Kreb was beating something into the
wall."
Sand looked up from examining the broken bed. "If he wasn't fixing
something, he will be when I get down there."
"Maybe he was building himself a stool," Kishore laughed.
"Arrogant little ass."
"Cut it out, you two," Ravi warned. "He was good for you when he
helped in the fight. Remember that when you're talking about him."
"He's an arrogant little ass," Kishore repeated Sand's words, "with
no respect for other cultures or people. He's obnoxious, greedy, and
short tempered. And short."
"So you'd have fought him if those men hadn't come?" Ravi asked.
"I'd have beat him into the ground."
"Is 'lizard man' as bad a thing to be called as 'dwarf'?"
Kishore set his jaw. "I never called him that."
"Give me a hand," Sand asked Kishore and they flipped over the bed
as Ravi continued talking.
"I think a lot of others have and it made him bitter, just like you
are at being called a 'lizard man'."
"He should keep his bitterness to himself," Kishore answered,
straightening up. "Have some respect."
"Since you're staying here, can you promise me not to start any
fights?"
"Damn ants ..." Sand muttered over the conversation behind him.
Kishore had leaned on the tilted bed after it was turned over, but
Sand's comment forced him to step away. "I won't start anything, but I
will finish anything Kreb starts," he said and turned to look at the
bed.
"Then let's hope he only does beneficial things," Ravi stressed the
objective of the conversation.
"Ants," Sand shook his head. "White ants. See right here?"
Kishore bent down to get a closer look where the woodsman pointed.
A series of small holes could be seen in the boards on the floor.
"I can fix the bed," Sand said, "but this ..."
"I remember my parents used lye to kill them," Ravi said, also
taking a closer look.
"Lye?"
"Sure. As soon as someone hunts us some fresh dinner, I can boil
some up."
Kishore let loose a twisted smile, but hurried to hide it, looking
at what Sand was doing. "Can you fix it?"
"Easier than fixing you and that midget. I'll need a board to
reinforce the bed. I saw some in the storage room. The floor ... depends
on how bad it is on the other side."
"What about the shutters?" Ravi asked. "If it keeps blowing wind
and rain in here, the planks will rot, no matter what else you fix."
"Shutters will be tougher. I'll need a block of wood to cut them.
We'll need to fell a tree ... or just get a set in town."
"If we have enough customers," Ravi said, "we can buy a set."
"Why?" Sand got up. "Have you had enough adventuring? Want to run
an inn now?"
"I'd like to avoid going through Tench any time soon," Ravi smiled.
"I've got the feeling few people will be happy to see me there."
"Well, I'm willing to give this inn business a try," Sand said.
"Maybe until I find Delor's kids ... or find out that he doesn't have
any."
"What about you?" Ravi asked Kishore.
"Maybe a few more days and I'll have to be leaving," he said.
"See if they still remember me in Tench," Ravi laughed.
"I'll do better than that. I'll ..."
Something crashed outside, followed by a series of loud
exclamations. Ravi rushed to the door, followed by Kishore and then
Sand. From the landing, they could see two men pulling Giles Kreb off a
third. The midget roared furiously, managing to use his smaller bulkier
stature to lever one of the men over himself before being tackled by the
third.
"Damn them!" Sand exclaimed and leaped over the second floor guard
rail, crashing on one of the men below. He grabbed the man by his black
cuir boulli and flung him to the ground, giving Kreb a chance to regain
his feet.
"The brigands," Ravi whispered, recognizing the black leather
armor.
Kishore followed Sand's example, taking a leap off the second
floor, landing on a brigand about to smash a chair across Kreb's back.
Both men tumbled to the floor, knocking Kreb down in the process.
Kishore attempted to wrestle the large man he had tackled, until a
sudden crash and splintering of wood sounded above and the brigand went
limp, dropping on Kishore.
Giles Kreb tossed aside the the remnants of the chair he had
smashed across the Lashkirian's opponent's back and rushed at the man he
had initially tackled when the three brigands first came in. Tripping
over the scattered furniture, they both tumbled into the vestibule of
the inn, coming to a rest against the edge of the counter before the
front door.
Kishore jumped up to his feet and grabbed hold of a brigand's arm,
who was about to strike at Sand. The man turned to face the Lashkirian,
a much larger opponent than Sand, when the woodsman kicked at the back
of his knees, bringing him down to the ground. A second strike at the
man's head knocked him cold.
Kishore rushed to Kreb's aid, making it to the vestibule just in
time to see the midget smash his opponent into the wall. The man wavered
in place for a moment and fell forward, just missing impacting Kreb. A
splatter of red remained on the wall.
Kishore carefully examined the blood on the wall. It was clustered
around and dripping off a heavy nail, hammered in at the brigand's head
level. His impact into the wall forced the sharp metal spike to
penetrate at the base of his skull.
Kreb shrugged, as Sand made his way into the vestibule from the
common room and Ravi came down the stairs.
"Why the hell did you hammer that in?" Sand asked as Kishore bent
down to check the bandit.
"I was going to hang a picture ..." Kreb muttered.
"Of what?"
"Uh ..."
"He's dead," Kishore got up. "I think that went right in his
spine."
"Lucky hit ..."
"Why don't you clean up your luck," Sand muttered.
The front door swung open and Salish entered the vestibule,
whistling a tune. He paused, looking at the carnage in the two rooms.
"What the ..."
"Same armor," Ravi said. "They had to have come for Delor."
"They asked for 'the fat goat'," Kreb said. "And if I saw more men
dressed like them."
"They're probably backtracking," Sand said. "It's only a matter of
time before more come. We'll have to fight them all ..."
"We should've thought of that," Ravi said. She sounded angry. "This
could have cost us dearly."
Kishore turned to look back into the common room, where the two
unconscious bodies lay. "Three chairs and a table were worth it."
"There's that slab of wood for the shutters," Sand chuckled, seeing
the ruined table.
The five of them remained standing in the vestibule, looking at one
another, at the litter and bodies scattered on the floor, no longer sure
if this inheritance of theirs and the task Constable Trumfor had charged
them with were such a good idea after all. They were now challenged in
what they had assumed to be a safe haven, a home of sorts. A place they
had trusted to be their fortress. Now blood and bodies and broken
furniture littered the floor. They would have to fight for everything,
even this piece of land, far removed from the nearest city.
"Let's clean this mess up." There was nothing else to do.
========================================================================
Piercing a Steel Heart
by Mike Schustereit
<schustmv@bp.com>
Naia, 1015
She sat at the table and listened to the rain. It had done this for
days and she was growing tired of the constant sounds the raindrops
made. She looked at the hearth. The fire blazed away and her stockpile
of wood was large enough to get her through another night of storms.
Lightning flashed, the light flaring in the gap between the
shutters.
"Farrell," she said, patting her hand on her thigh to get the
hound's attention. The dog stood and stretched then walked away from its
bed near the fireplace. When he got near enough she patted his head and
he looked at her contentedly. The lightning flashed again.
She stood and the hound made his way back to the fire. The carefree
nature of the hound brought a smile to her face. She paused as he
circled his bed before dropping to the floor. She walked around him and
stirred the stew pot that hung over the fire. The rich smell of the stew
made her look at the hound. "Thank you," she said to him, "your catch
will be quite a tasty treat."
She stirred the stew for a while then returned to her chair. Not
knowing what to do with her hands, she ran them through her hair.
"I remember when Doth used to love to comb my hair," she sighed.
A rapping at the door startled her. She looked at the hound, but he
was fast asleep. Then she heard it again. This time a voice followed the
sound.
"Excuse me sir," the voice said, "or madam, may I come in out of
the rain."
She walked to the door. Farrell had stood and come by her side.
"Who is it that has come so far in this night's rain?"
"Madam," the voice, definitely a man's, replied, "I am on my way to
Dargon City and I have been freezing in this rain for hours."
"How do I know you are not some Beinisonian trying to conquer my
homeland?"
"Madam," the voice replied, "even bandits and thieves have good
enough sense to come out of the rain on nights like this."
She held back a laugh, but the man had a point. Her hand strayed to
the latch and then withdrew back again. For some reason she was both
afraid and anxious at the sudden interruption of her quiet rainy night.
The man outside coughed. "Please madam," he said, "the rain is
picking up."
She unfastened the latch and opened the door. Surely he was no
soldier she thought to herself. A drover yes, but for this man to wield
any weapon on a battlefield would be sheer comedy. Dressed in simple
woolen clothing and soaked to the bone, he resembled one of the servants
her father had on his farm. His only weapon was a sturdy cudgel that was
crooked under one arm in order to hold his heavy leather cloak up. Not
old by any means, but certainly not a man of physical strength.
"Come in," she said, stepping back to let him pass through the
door.
"Thank you."
She shut the door and latched it. Looking at him again in the light
of her fire lent agreement to her first opinion. He would do her no
harm, especially with the hound watching him closely.
She turned and walked to the hearth, lifting the lid on her stew
pot and savoring the aroma within.
"Would you like some stew?"
"That would be most generous of you," he replied.
She looked around and found him standing in the middle of the room,
water dripping down his body and making a puddle on the floor. He
glanced down to where she looked and winced.
"Sorry madam," he said.
Ilsande looked up at him. He was genuinely sorry. She smiled.
She pointed to the hook at the end of the fireplace and said,
"Place your cloak and shirt there. I will go and get you a shirt and
some breeches to wear while yours dry."
He nodded and walked over, placing his cloak on the hook. Ilsande
replaced the lid and walked into her bedroom. She ran her hand across
the finished door of the dresser that Doth had made. It was strong and
solid like him. She opened the door and grabbed a clean shirt and a pair
of breeches that Doth had worn in the fields. She walked to the doorway
and tossed them onto the floor of the main room.
"Change into those," she said, "then knock on the door and I will
serve up the stew."
"Again I find myself thanking you," the drover said.
"You can repay me by cleaning up the mess you made on the floor."
She retreated into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Ilsande reached
up and twisted at her hair, sending tufts of hair curling at the ends.
She leaned back on the bed and absently fluffed the pillow next to her
own.
"Oh Doth," she said out loud, "if only you had come home to me
tonight."
"Madam," said the drover, "did you say something?"
"No," Ilsande replied, "I was talking to myself."
She felt her cheeks grow hot and even after he announced that he
was dressed, she sat still waiting for the flush to go away. She pulled
at her hair and then stood. As she approached the door she could hear
him talking to the hound.
Farrell was not the most particular animal, but he did not usually
warm to strangers so fast.
Opening the door, she looked out at him. The clothes she had given
him did not fit well and lent nothing to his appearance, but at least he
was no longer dripping on the floor. The flush on his cheeks made her
well aware of his own discomfort.
She crossed to the hearth and dished up a hearty helping of stew
for both of them. A bone bobbed to the surface and she scooped it out,
setting it before the place Farrell slept. The hound caught the scent of
the stew and walked over to the hearth. When he caught sight of the bone
he dropped to the floor and started to gnaw at it. As Ilsande walked to
the table with the bowls, Farrell wagged his tail, thanking her for the
tidbit.
"It's not much," she said, "but it is better than nothing."
"Madam," he replied, "tonight even a king would be happy to dine on
such simple fare."
She gave him a smile. He nodded his head and then proceeded to eat
the bowl of stew. She let him eat several bites before beginning to
speak.
"How goes the war against Beinison?" she asked.
"Not much of one left," he replied. "Most of their troops have
either retreated or are being driven across the country in search of
refuge."
She felt her heartbeat quicken. "Then what of the men serving
Baranur?"
"Most have returned home." He started to speak, but instead filled
his mouth with another spoonful of stew. She waited until he had
swallowed and then asked, "But what of the men of Duchy Dargon, can they
not return home?"
He must have sensed the fear in her words, for he set the spoon
down and looked across the table at her. She could tell he was trying to
decipher her situation, so she told him about Doth.
"He left so long ago," she said, "and the last word I had from him
was that the enemy army was planning on making a last stand against
Magnus."
"And that they did," said the drover. "They burned the Fifth
Quarter and rampaged throughout the city, but in the end, the day
belonged to the soldiers of Magnus."
He picked up the spoon and sipped at what remained of his stew.
"Many men died. They say there were walls made of dead soldiers. Fires
raged across the city and the walls of the city sustained much damage."
"But still, shouldn't the men of Dargon be returning," she asked.
He sighed.
"To my knowledge," he said, "the only men from Duchy Dargon that
haven't returned are riding with me."
"You have companions?"
"Not living companions," he sighed.
She wished that she had not asked the question. Her eyes turned to
the shuttered window and the wagon that must be parked somewhere
outside.
Tears welled up in her eyes and for a moment the room swam before
her.
He laid his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't
mean to upset you."
She shook her head and tried to clear her throat. She wanted to ask
if he knew the names of the men that he carried, but the words would not
come forth. She gripped the edge of the table and finally pushed herself
to her feet.
"I have to know," Ilsande said aloud, but thinking to herself she
added, if he is dead.
"Madam there is nothing to see," he started to say, but she bolted
for the door. The hound sat up from where he was chewing on the bone and
went to her side. Ilsande threw open the door and stood watching the
rain fall and the lightning flash.
She took a step forward and the coolness of the rain startled her.
Steeling herself for the wetness, she ran out into the rain toward
the ox-cart and the contents that it held. The two oxen munched
contentedly on grass and waited patiently for the rain to stop. When she
reached the side of the cart, the stench overwhelmed her and she had to
turn her head for a moment.
When she had mastered her senses once more, she climbed the wheel
of the wagon and looked down inside. War was indeed a cruel way to die.
She glanced from body to body but she could find no trace of her beloved
Doth.
"Oh Doth," she cried out, "please don't be here. You promised you
would come home."
She felt the drover pulling on her and urging her to come away from
the wagon, but she fought free and waited for the lightning to flash
again so she could make sure that he was really not among those poor
souls.
"Madam, please come down."
"I must find my husband," she replied. "I must know if I am to be
alone forever."
"Tell me his name," the drover asked, "and I shall tell you if he
is amongst them."
"Doth," she screamed. It was as much a plea as information.
Lightning streaked across the sky in answer and she let go of the wagon
to fall to the muddy earth. "He is not there," she said.
"No," he replied, "that is not a name that I recognize."
"Then I still do not know," she cried. Her tears tasted so
different from the raindrops. Shudders ran through her and for the first
time since he had left, she felt afraid. Her whole life was Doth. They
had made this place together and now she realized that he just might
really be gone forever.
The mud and the rain felt cold. She tried to stand, but her legs
would not carry her. The drover picked her up and then carried her back
to her home. Ilsande felt the heat of the fire. She could feel the love
that had made her home. In the dim light of the fire and one lamp that
was lit, she remembered back to when the roof had not been set and Doth
had chased her into the house and then took her into his arms.
The drover set her down in one of the chairs at the table and she
rested her head on the solid table surface.
"I'm sorry to have upset you," he said. "I think I had best be on
my way."
Ilsande panicked. Between the storm and the thought of Doth being
dead, she suddenly didn't want to spend the night alone.
"Don't go," she said, raising her head to look at him.
He ran his hand through his hair. Shuffling his feet on the floor,
he suddenly became conscious of the fact that once again he had gotten
the floor dirty. Ilsande looked from the mud at his feet to the mud on
her dress and legs and started to laugh.
"Don't worry," she said, "I will wash the floor in the morning."
He turned as if to leave.
"Why will you not keep me company through the night?" she asked.
"These are bad times and I'm not the kind of man who would stay
past the hospitality offered," he said.
"I have been alone for so long," she replied, "could you just stay
and talk to me for a little while longer?"
"What would you talk about?" he asked.
"Tell me what the capital looks like, for I have never been there,"
she said.
"It is not much to look upon right now, but I remember the pennants
that flew and the cobbled paths where the children ran and played. It
will a long time before the scars of the war fade into the background."
Ilsande winced at the mention of the accursed war. Tears started to
roll down her cheeks and she felt as if the world was about to come
crashing down again. She heard the shuffle of feet as the drover made to
leave.
"Please don't go," she said.
"My animals need tending to and my cargo needs to be returned
home," he replied.
"But the rain has not let up," Ilsande said.
"I shouldn't have stopped."
With that he turned and walked out of the door. Lightning flashed
and Ilsande leapt to her feet. Heart pumping, she opened the door and
ran out into the rain. The drover had reached his wagon and was
preparing to step up onto the seat.
"Please don't go," she cried out. The rain started to pour down and
her dress was getting totally soaked. "Stay with me until the storm
passes."
He looked down at her and she could see that he was not without
some fear of his own. They both jumped when lightning struck nearby.
Seeing that he would not climb down, Ilsande climbed up to the seat and
clung to him. He started to push her away and then he bent his head
towards hers. Ilsande felt the heat rising within her and could not stop
herself from arching herself toward him. In the rain and the darkness
their lips met and the fire was unleashed.
Ilsande wrapped her arms even tighter around him. He returned hers
with an intensity of his own. Suddenly the night sky was full of light.
The oxen stirred restlessly. He released himself from her, stepped to
the ground and then pulled her from the wagon.
"I'm not much to look at," he said.
"Don't let me be alone," she said, "for I've been that way far too
long."
In the rain they held each other until the fire built to a peak.
Forgetting about the mud and the oxen, they found a place to lay
and she let him take her. After they had quenched the fires within them,
they let the rain wash them free of the mud.
She grabbed their clothes and led him back to her cabin. After she
had set the clothes by the fire to dry, he took her in his arms again.
She lead him to her bed and they made love until she fell asleep in his
arms. Soft hair lay across his arm and he caressed it softly, then
cursed his actions.
Knowing he could not sleep, he left her side, dressing in the dim
firelight. When she awoke in the morning, the sun was shining, the rain
was gone, and not a sign of the man was to be found. When she realized
that he was truly gone, she broke down and cried.
"What have I done?" she cried. "Oh, my love, please forgive me."
Doth woke that same morning and looked out over the city of Magnus.
People were working again, oblivious of the storm from the night before.
He checked his sack and placed it over his shoulder. Soldiers from
his unit were already leaving, heading back to their homes. He saw Mefin
waiting under a tree and signaled to him. Mefin sauntered over and they
started for Dargon.
"Methinks that I shall miss the harlots of the war camp," said
Mefin.
Doth pounded his friend on the shoulder. "I think that I can not
wait to get back home."
"Well," replied Mefin, "I shall have to meet this beauty that has
caused you to be so celibate. Were I from Westbrook, I think that I
should follow you anyway, just to meet this prize of yours."
Doth nodded and they started home. It would be weeks before they
came to the lands of Clifton Dargon, but already Doth knew that it would
be a sight for his battle weary eyes. He pictured his tiny valley and
the woman with whom he shared his heart.
Doth rounded the curve in the path and looked out over the valley
that was his home. It had taken over a month to get home. Now, looking
at the green pastures, he knew it was worth it. He could see the
tendrils of smoke that must be coming from his home and imagined the
meal that was cooking over that fire. Mefin clapped him on the shoulder
and they made their way down the road. When they got to the little stone
house, Doth stood in front of it taking in every detail. The roof needed
patching, but it could wait a little longer. The unfinished wall he had
left to go to war still stood. The pile of stones he had sorted lay
nearby and he walked over to it and placed a few into place. Mefin came
to where he worked and asked, "Why are you doing this?"
"I wanted to feel what it was like to do honest work again," Doth
replied, "I had thought that I had forgotten what it would feel like."
"Who is it?"
It was the voice of a woman. Doth stood and dropped the stone he
was about to put in place.
"I have nothing but food," came Ilsande's voice.
"Ilsande," said Doth, "it is I, my love." Silence followed his
announcement and then Ilsande rounded the corner and flung herself into
his arms. Mefin stood by waiting for an introduction, but the couple was
lost in the arms of the other. Knowing that he was intruding on their
reunion, he walked away.
Tears of joy streamed down their cheeks and Ilsande clung to Doth.
He stroked her hair and whispered in her ear not to cry. When she would
not stop, he lifted her in his arms. He carried Ilsande inside the hut
and set her down. She trembled at his touch and stared up into his eyes.
She spoke, barely making any sound, "I thought you had been
killed."
"I promised you before I left that I would return," he replied. She
nodded and started to cry again. "What is the matter?" he asked. She
shook her head and refused to speak. Just then Mefin knocked.
"May I come in?", Mefin asked.
"Ilsande," said Doth, "I want you to meet Mefin." The other man
bowed low and blushed at his intrusion.
"Pardon me," Mefin said, "I wanted to know if I should continue on
to Dargon or make plans to help you finish your home."
Doth scratched his head, still puzzled by Ilsande's strange
behavior.
"No, please stay for a while."
"Yes," added Ilsande, "please stay. You are my husband's guest and
I would have you share a meal with us."
"He will do more than that my dear," said Doth. "Mefin and I are
going into business together."
While Ilsande tended the dinner, Mefin and Doth recounted their
adventures fighting the Beinisons and their visit to the castle of the
king. On they talked through dinner and long into the night. Ilsande
listened to all their tales with a smile, but Doth could not but help
feeling uneasy. There was something that he could not quite place his
finger on.
After finishing a tale of their escape from the burning Fifth
Quarter, Mefin stood. "I have kept you well into the night," he said,
"and in the morning we shall all feel it. Lady Ilsande, it was a
pleasure to finally meet Doth's goddess." He winked at the reddening man
and made his way to the door. "I hope that your dogs do not mind me
keeping them company tonight, for I shall bay in my sleep I fear."
Ilsande rose and brought back a blanket from the bed. "Thank you
for seeing my husband home safely," she said and kissed his cheek. Mefin
went red and slipped out the door, only to return and get his blanket.
Ilsande turned to Doth. "My love," she said quietly, "there is something
I must tell you."
"What is it my love?" he replied.
She walked to where he sat and kneeled at his feet. Her long hair
cascaded over her shoulders and covered his legs. She lay her head on
his thigh and Doth heard her start to cry.
"All night long you have been uneasy," he said. "What is wrong?"
"I feared you would never return."
He laughed. "I told you I would return."
"But the war has been over for so
long."
"There was much to do in Magnus. We had to shore up walls and
rebuild barracks."
"You could have sent word!"
He listened to the distress in her voice and it frightened him. She
was not a frail woman, but he had never thought she would be so upset.
"I was very busy. I concentrated on my work, so that I might get it
done all the faster."
"So busy that the woman who loved you never entered your mind," she
asked.
"You were constantly in my thoughts. I dreamed of being in your
arms."
"Yet you could not let me know you were alive." She stood and
picked up a plate from the table, wiping it with her apron.
"I am so sorry," he said softly.
Her tears fell like raindrops and she sobbed uncontrollably. "I
have done more wrong than you," she said.
He turned and looked at her. She turned away from him and walked to
their bed.
"I am pregnant," she said.
Doth laughed. He slapped his legs and stomped his feet. "Oh really,
and who is the father," he mocked her. She stopped wiping the plate and
used her apron to wipe away her tears.
"Last month a storm brought a traveler to my door. He made it seem
as if the war was but a memory." She paused and turned to face him and
she could see that his smile was no more. "I thought you dead."
She watched his hands tremble and knew that he was already
picturing the event.
"It is not how you think it. All those months of being alone and
the thought of you being dead made me feel so helpless. I had worried
for weeks when he showed up. He was the first person I had seen since
winter. Even as he ate I knew that I did not want to face the night
alone, knowing that you lay dead on that distant battlefield. I did not
mean for it to go so far, just for him to hold me until I felt better.
But when he took me in his arms. Oh Doth I am so sorry, please forgive
me. I could not help myself"
His head stopped shaking and he stared at her. Ilsande stood
waiting for him to erupt, but Doth was silent. She stopped crying and
went to him.
Doth spoke, "What you say is true?"
She replied, "Oh how I wish it were not, but I can feel the
baby ..."
"Stop," he said, "I do not wish to hear you talk about it."
"I have prayed for an answer, but the gods will have nothing to do
with me," she sobbed.
"The gods will have turned their backs on you expecting me to do
the same," he replied. "I should kill you for this, so that they may not
be angered. What would you expect me to say? No, even more important,
why are you even here? You should have left and saved some of my pride."
"I'm so sorry," was all she could say.
He was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke again, she knew
that his heart had been broken. He reached into a cabinet and pulled his
heavy leather gloves from it. Pulling them on, he made his way to the
door. He stopped and turned back to her.
"I made a vow," he said. "I made a vow to love you and only you. A
vow for life."
"I remember," she replied quietly.
His big hands gripped the door and she was afraid that he would
leave marks upon it. His shock had given way to anger. "You made that
same vow," he said. "Or did you?"
Ilsande choked on her words, knowing that he was angry. "How can
you ask me that?"
"How? You carry another man's child and you ask me how. I was gone
but a year maybe and yet you cannot wait to bed the very next sot who
says a kind word to you." He paused. "I will ask you this and more."
"I have no place to argue this."
"Oh Ilsande say it isn't true."
"You know I cannot," she answered.
"Then it has all been for nothing," he said. "All those nights of
being tired of fighting and wanting to let them overrun us, so I would
not have to feel so tired any more. It was for nothing, that I stayed
alive."
"I still love you," she said and tried to touch him. "I want you to
love me, but I feel as if your love for me has died." She walked to him
and placed her hands on his chest. "Say that you still love me."
"Leave me be," he said. She watched as he turned to the darkness
and entered it. His words burned her heart and left her cold. She knew
deep down that her love for Doth was stronger than she had ever felt it.
But Doth; he would not care.
Mefin woke to the affectionate licks of a shaggy herd dog. The sun
shone down into the barn. The light letting him know it was well past
time to break his fast. Shooing away the dogs, he pulled on his boots
and reached for his sword. It took him a moment to realize that he no
longer wore it, then he stood and walked from the barn. His first sight
was that of Doth already toiling away at the wall. By the look of
things, the man had stayed up all night erecting the wall.
"Good day," spoke Mefin and Doth glanced up from his work.
"We leave for Dargon in the morning," was Doth's reply.
"So soon?" Mefin asked. "I was just getting used to the fresh
country breezes."
Doth continued placing the stones and strengthening the wall.
"Then stay," Doth snarled, "I shall go without you." Mefin stepped
back and looked his friend. His hands were raw and bloodied.
"What is wrong," asked Mefin, "did a courier come for us?"
"No!"
"Then what is it that drives you from home after only one night in
the arms of your love?"
"Mefin," replied Doth, "either help me with this wall or go get
something to eat, but do not question me. You are not bound to me. It is
only our friendship that makes us business partners."
"Very well, I will get something to eat." He walked away confused,
hoping that Ilsande might shed some light on the bad humor that his
friend displayed. When he walked in the door, he could tell that he
would receive little to shed light on his dilemma. Ilsande sat facing
the hearth, watching the ashes of last night's fire. "Good morning," he
spoke. "I was not aware of how used to hearing the bells I was, until I
overslept this morning." He picked up a knife off the table and sliced a
piece of meat from the leg sitting on the table.
"Doth has been out there all night," she replied.
"What? Did he not spend his first night home with you?" asked
Mefin, shocked.
"He would not touch me." She sighed and stood. When she turned to
him, he could see that she had spent all night listening to her husband
fill in the holes in the wall. Tears had turned her eyes red and her
face was swollen from crying. "I have some fresh bread, if you would
have some."
"Many thanks," said Mefin. "Why is it that you cry and Doth builds
on the night of his homecoming?"
He waited for an answer but it did not come. Though the bread was
soft and moist, Mefin choked it down as if were a week old and left out
in the sun. He found he had no words of comfort and left her standing by
her bed. He strode back to where Doth stood and angrily pushed the other
man.
"Fool," said Mefin, "has the war rattled your thick skull after
all. Your beloved stands inside crying, sobbing with every stone you
slam down, yet you stand out here as if you are shoring the walls of
Magnus." Doth straightened and glared at Mefin, then shrugged and
returned to his work. Mefin, though smaller by far than Doth, forced the
man to look at him.
"I stand here asking you for reasoning and you can not even answer
me," said Mefin.
Doth sighed, "Ask Ilsande what is the matter."
"I did ask her," replied Mefin, "and she was even more silent than
you. You are not dumb; so quit acting like the rocks you hold and talk
to me."
Doth shrugged his shoulders.
"I hope you do not think that you will be whisking me away once we
get to Dargon," replied Mefin, "I intend to show my woman just how much
I have missed her and that may take days." Mefin smiled, but it quickly
left his face as Doth had dropped the stone he was positioning and
glared at his friend.
"I care not how long we are in Dargon," snarled Doth, "just get
ready to leave."
"By Stevene's sacred pizzle," shouted Mefin, "has everyone but the
dogs and I gone mad? I will not travel anywhere with you Doth. I go to
Dargon alone."
"Suit yourself," said Doth.
"Have you become crazed overnight and why do you treat me this
way," asked Mefin, "I have stood with you through the blackest of bells
and faced horrors with you. What is it that makes you thus?"
"Go away Mefin," came Doth's reply.
Mefin sat in the tavern sipping his ale and spinning tales of the
defeated army of the empire. An enthralled guest ordered another round
and Mefin nodded in appreciation. The afternoon faded into night and
still he sat at the tavern. He had received a message and it said to
wait here, but the cryptic note shed no light on his impending guest.
Finally he shrugged his shoulders and braced himself to stand.
Coins filled his pockets and men slumped over his table, indicating that
the storytelling had been profitable.
"Sit back down," came a voice from the door. Mefin turned to see
who spoke and regarded the man in the door. The man had grown since they
parted a month before and Mefin guessed that the stone hut must be a
palace by now.
"I would not speak to me that way," replied Mefin, "I am a hero of
the army of Baranur and I shall slay you on the spot."
"You would sooner piss on the floor than take me down," said Doth.
The two men laughed and embraced. "I have missed your company, oh silver
tongue."
Mefin shrugged his shoulders. "I knew you would."
Doth let him go and the two regarded each other.
"I have much to apologize for," said Doth, "and it is hard for me
to say the words."
"I often forget my place in the world," interjected Mefin.
"I am no lord or duke," said Doth, "merely a herder. I should not
have given you orders."
"I spoiled your dogs," countered Mefin with a wink. "Though that
one bitch should either have littered or found another stud."
Doth winced and Mefin got serious.
"Sit down."
Mefin motioned to the barkeep and he dutifully made his way from
behind the bar to the table.
"Would you give us some room to talk?" asked Mefin.
The barkeep relocated the sleeping patrons and brought a round for
the two friends. "What brings you to Dargon?" asked Mefin.
"I needed advice," Doth answered between gulps of ale.
"I have answers to all kinds of questions," replied Mefin
cheerfully.
Doth looked around and leaned close to Mefin before he spoke.
"Ilsande is pregnant," he said.
"Congratulations," replied Mefin. The look in Doth's eyes stole the
grin from his face. He placed a hand on the big man's shoulder and
patted him. "You are ready for children. In fact, I think you shall make
a good father."
"The child is not mine." While Mefin sat dumbfounded, Doth
unraveled his tale and how Ilsande came to be pregnant. When Doth was
done, Mefin sat in silence, not even moving when the barkeep announced
that he would like to go to bed. Mefin finally glanced up at his friend.
"I do not know what to say," Mefin said.
"Then I have no other choice," came Doth's reply.
"No other choice," Mefin replied absentmindedly. "What do you
mean?"
Doth explained how he had spent the day since Mefin left working on
the house. The new room was complete and Doth had started on another
foundation for the new barn. Yet he and Ilsande had never spoken. Both
managed to keep up with their daily activities, but neither would
acknowledge the other. Mefin thought of Ilsande and her beautiful eyes,
probably swollen even now from crying.
"I have to find the man who got her pregnant and make him take her
in," said Doth.
"You do not mean that?"
Doth looked at his friend, "What do you suggest? That I live with
her after she has bedded another man?"
"She thought you dead," argued Mefin, "had you been so, would she
have been wrong."
"Yes. She is my wife and I promised to return," answered Doth.
"Yes, and all of the men who left Dargon made such promises," said
Mefin, "I buried them with our other comrades."
"I did return."
"You say that the man told her that the war was over," Mefin said.
"She was already afraid that you would not return. His words only added
to her distress. I think that she was alone far too long."
"What do you mean?" asked Doth. "I am not to blame for this. How
could I have known that the war would drag on for so long?"
"You said it yourself, her only contact was with passersby. I would
have taken their word for it too, that the war was over. Even if the man
had deceived her, how would she know otherwise?" Mefin's words struck
Doth like a hammer. The big man shook and whimpered, until at last he
broke down crying.
"I love her still," sobbed Doth.
"She deserves your love, for it is true."
"But she carries another man's child!" Doth stated.
"No one but you, I and Ilsande must ever know this," replied Mefin.
"What if he is different than I?" asked Doth. "What if he is short
or slim like a blade of grass?"
Mefin thought for a moment. "I do not know of these things, but my
brother and I come from the same sire, and yet he is as stout as you
are. Look at me, I am nothing like my brother."
"That you are not," said Doth, smiling for the first time.
"I think that you should not concentrate on the child, but on your
love for your wife. You are a good man and any child born to Ilsande
would bring you much joy. Look beyond the stormy night and try to
understand what Ilsande must have felt, to lie with a stranger. Look
into your own heart and see if you have the kindness to raise a child
with strength and love, knowing these things." Mefin stopped and tossed
back his mug.
"But do not wait until the time of child's birth is upon you, you
must decide soon."
Doth nodded and Mefin turned the talk to other events. Doth spoke
of how the farm was returning to its fine shape. Mefin spoke of the
buyers he had secured on his word of good hides and of the things that a
merchant could afford to take home to his stone hut. It was late into
the night when they let the barkeep shut his door. Mefin watched Doth as
he walked down the street. A heavy burden had been placed on the man's
shoulders, but they were broad and strong. Already the spring was
returning to Doth's step as he made his way down the darkened streets of
Dargon.
Doth followed Mefin to his rented room and the two men slept
peacefully for the first time since parting. Mefin awoke in the early
morning and glanced over at his friend. Doth still slumbered, but he
talked in his sleep and voiced his fears to the people in his dreams.
Mefin held his head and cried. Not because of the baby, but because he
knew that for all of his encouragement and talk, he could have never
stayed with a woman bearing the child of another man. Doth would though,
and he would hold his head high while doing it.
In the last few moments before the sun rose, Mefin brushed away his
tears and turned away from the rising sun. When Doth awoke he would take
the man to every bazaar, every shop, until he was loaded down with gifts
and trinkets for Ilsande. By now the poor flower probably feared the
worst for her husband. Jailed or dead she doubtless imagined him, her
day spent watching for the signs of someone coming from the city to
deposit his corpse at her feet.
It was indeed true, for when Doth came out of the trees Ilsande
leapt from the shade and ran crying to her husband. Doth, seeing her
distress, dropped his pack and swept her up into his arms. She held him
close and wet his chest with her tears. He carried her to the shade and
sat her down. She clung to him, fearing that he had come back only to
say good-bye.
"Please, Ilsande," Doth whispered, "I must retrieve my pack before
things get broken." She let him go and watched as he strode to his pack
and returned quickly. How strong he was she thought. Kind and gentle,
never quick to anger, but now with her admitted liaison he had become
sour to her. Fresh tears rolled down her chin at the thought of the pain
she had caused him. He would never speak of it, she knew, but it would
be there.
"Ilsande," Doth started, "I found what I was looking for in Dargon.
It is all very clear to me now. I have brought some things back from my
trip." She nodded and watched as he pulled them from his overstuffed
pack. When she first saw the handle, she was stunned. She wiped away the
tears and stared at what Doth held. A pan, He had made the trip to
Dargon city for a pan!
"What is that?" she asked.
"It is a gift," Doth chuckled, "and there are more." He pulled
object after object from his pack, stopping only to watch Ilsande's
face.
"Mefin wanted me to give you this," he said softly. He pulled the
blanket from out of the pack and handed it to Ilsande. She touched it
and cradled the tiny blanket in her arms.
"I did not go to Dargon for trinkets, Ilsande."
"I know," was her reply.
"I went to find the man who made you this way and convince him to
take you back to his home," Doth spoke. She heard the hurt in those
words and more tears welled up inside her. She started to speak, but he
went on.
"I could not find this man, but I did find Mefin. I urged him to
help me and he did." She shivered at the thought of Doth finding the
poor trader, then shivered again at the thought of his turning her over
to the man.
"Doth, I ..." she started, but he cut her off.
"Ilsande, I love you with all of my heart." Doth drew pictures in
the dirt as he spoke, never looking up. "I know that the war separated
us and made thoughts of each other seem like dreams. There were times
when I felt as if there had been no other life, just a constant battle,
but I would dream of you all the same." He looked up and looked into her
teary eyes. "I am not a general. I never have been much of a thinker,
but my thoughts have always been my own. When I say this to you, I want
you to know that it comes from my heart, for no other place could make
such a decision and be true."
Ilsande could stand it no longer. Tears streamed down her face and
she knew that her love had died in his heart. Sobs wracked her body and
Doth stood not wanting to see her cry.
"I have some work to do," he said.
She nodded and gathered her gifts to her. New pans and pots, new
cloth for clothes, a new blanket for the baby, and spices that she had
been wanting. He had given her all of this so that she might take it to
her new home with the man on the ox-cart. She broke down, wailing and
crying, seeing no end to her misery.
"Ilsande," Doth spoke, "I have to go and hitch up the horses, so go
and get some things for us to travel to Dargon. We don't have much
time."
She nodded dumbly and he walked to the barn. From inside the house,
she could hear him whistling as he worked the horses. She sighed to keep
from crying. Doth had relieved himself of this burden. He had done more
than she expected. He could have killed her or just put her out with
nothing, but instead he had given her things that she would need to
start a new life. Oh how she loved him, his heart spilling over with
goodness even with this great barrier thrust between them.
"Ilsande."
She jumped at the sound of his voice. Turning so he would not see
her shake, she nodded her head. "I am almost ready." He nodded and
stepped back through the door. She gathered a few things and bound her
other dress into the blanket holding her meager belongings. She glanced
at the mantle. There, over the center of the fireplace set the wooden
figurine Doth had carved and given her, when he asked her to marry. He
would not want it she told herself. She packed it among her other
belongings. She took one last look at their little home and walked
through the door, biting her lip not to cry.
Doth stood by the wagon, the hides of his latest kills, stacked
high in the wagon bed. The leather would bring him a good price, she
thought. In time he might become wealthy enough to afford some help
around the farm.
"Ilsande," Doth spoke.
"Yes, Doth," she replied.
"Forgive me," he said.
"You have done nothing my love. I understand that you cannot live
with me any more."
Doth put his hand on her shoulder. "No, that is what I apologize
for. I meant to tell you that I had made my decision, but I held off and
let you suffer while I loaded the wagon."
"I have suffered since the day you came home."
"But I intend to make that stop," said Doth. "Ilsande, I love you
more than life itself. Your love is what drove me to fight again and
again and not let an invader strike me down. I chose to enclose you with
my love, when I should not have."
Ilsande looked into the eyes of her husband. Tears hung there, but
not a sign of anger showed on his face. She asked him, "What are you
saying?"
"Forgive me, I do not have the words to make you understand. Only
know this. I will always be your husband, that you cannot change.
Whatever children you bring into this world are mine. I do this not out
of pride, but for love. I promise you that I will always cherish the
ground you walk upon."
"What of this child?" she asked.
"It will be as if it were my own. I will give this child my heart,
just as I give it to you. When I feel myself faltering and letting anger
creep up upon me, I will remember that its hand will seek mine for
comfort and its smile will reflect my joy. We will not be of blood, but
we will share the same soul."
She placed her hand upon his and kissed him gently. She wanted him
so, but now was not the time for passion. She craved his tender touch.
"Hold me," she said.
"Forever," he replied.
They held each other and cried. Each one spoke words of love and of
faith. Finally Doth reached up and pulled her from the wagon.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"I never did get to properly welcome myself home," he smiled.
"What about the horses?" she asked.
"They will be fine."
He carried her onto the bed and held her to him. They made love
until they cried, then laughed, finally feeling as one again. Ilsande
lay back on the bed, her hair cascading around her softly. Doth softly
kissed her on the stomach. Ilsande felt silly, but she thought that Doth
was trying to communicate with the life inside her. Each kiss was as if
to say, child you are loved by two people. Finally she interrupted him.
"I have but one other question then," she said.
"And that is," he replied.
"Why are we going to Dargon?"
"Why to sell these hides and bring home a bed. Mefin has a friend
who is going to make us a bed for the new room."
"That is all?"
"Well I do have to make some final choices on how I want the
warehouse set up and there is the matter of choosing a home in Dargon
city."
"What?"
"Mefin has already secured contracts with merchants for our hides.
There is no reason for us both to live in this shack. I will stay here
while I gather the hides and then make the trip to Dargon to stay with
you for a while."
"No," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"I want to live here with you, and never be apart again."
"But we can have a fine home in the city ..."
"It does not matter. Here is our home and if you love me, here is
where we will stay."
He smiled down at her. She pointed her finger at him and he
grinned. She knew Mefin would be much happier with Doth staying on the
farm and overseeing the work. She too wanted this to be the birthplace
of their children, all of them. She pulled Doth to her and he tugged
playfully at her hair.
"We need to be leaving," he said.
"I know," Ilsande replied, "but I wanted you to show me how much
you loved me again."
"I'm tired," he said through a smile.
"Too bad!"
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