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-- DargonZine Volume 3, Issue 1 01/26/90 Cir 934 --
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-- Contents --
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Conflict of Interest I John Doucette Ober 31-Nober 1, '13
DargonZine Index (Vols 1 & 2)
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1 Conflict of Interest, Part I
by John Doucette
Magnus, Royal Duchy, Baranur
30 Ober, 1013 B.Y.
The column of horsemen rode south towards the city, having
crossed the river the previous day. The soldiers' spirits had risen
upon leaving behind the seemingly endless mountains for the forest and
grasslands that were so much like western Galicia. Then they
remembered that for all that it looked like Galicia, this was a
foreign country and they would answer with their lives if anything
happened to the ambassador or his party. Their smiles and grins and
good-natured banter were replaced with grim looks and wary, watchful
attention to all that took place around them.
The peasants working the fields around Magnus looked up in
surprise, and not a little fear, at the strange horsemen heading
towards the Crown City. Granted, fifty or so horsemen were no great
threat, but the crest they bore and the standard they flew were not
those of Baranur or King Haralan, and that was sufficient cause for
worry in and of itself.
The peasants were not the only ones who noticed the column making
its way south. A detachment of cavalry was riding north from Magnus to
investigate. Jordaan saw them approaching and barked an order to his
troops. The Galician horsemen formed a protective cordon around their
charges while Jordaan himself rode to inform his liege of the
approaching Baranurian cavalry.
"My lord," he said, "a small force approaches from the city." "I
should hope so," Myros replied. "We are strangers in this land, after
all. Halt the column here. We'll wait for them to come to us."
"Yes, my lord." Jordaan galloped to the front of the column and
gave the order. A single note sounded on a bugle and the column
halted. Baron Myros and Sir Grange Rarrack, one of Myros' oldest and
most trusted advisors, rode forward and waited for the Baranurian
horsemen to arrive.
The Baranurian leftenant halted his twenty men line-abreast one
hundred yards from the strangers. The leftenant was no herald, but
garrison duty in Magnus does expose one to a large number of
foreigners. In all his five years in the Crown City, he had never seen
a standard resembling the one these strangers flew.
"Well, I'd best get this over with," he said to himself and rode
forward. When he got to within twenty yards of the strangers, he
stopped and called out, "Who are you and what is your business in
Baranur?"
The old man leaned towards whom the leftenant assumed was the
leader and said something inaudible. Translating, the leftenant
thought. After receiving a reply, the old man spoke in accented
Baranurian, "May I present His Lordship, Baron Myros, Ambassador of
His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Nyrull of Galicia. His Imperial Majesty
has heard much of the Kingdom of Baranur and desires relations with
His Royal Majesty, King Haralan."
Galicia? the leftenant thought. I've never heard of such a place.
Oh well, not my problem. "Welcome to Baranur, Ambassador. If you will
permit, my men and I will escort you and your party to Crown Castle."
The old man again leaned over and translated. "His Lordship shall
be most honoured," the old man replied.
The leftenant turned to his squadron and barked out commands.
"Squadron! Squadron will turn to the right in column of two's. Right
turn!" The squadron sharply executed their officer's command, backs
ramrod straight, eyes looking straight to the front, their thoughts
1focused only on their next command. The Royal Horse Guard would have
been hard-pressed to emulate them. "Squadron! At the trot! Right
wheel! Forward!" The leftenant brought his squadron onto the road
leading south and led the Galician embassy towards Magnus' outer
fortifications.
Magnus had originally occupied only the west bank of the Laraka
River. Due to its increasing prosperity, Magnus attracted new citizens
like a magnet. In time, Magnus' population had doubled to 20,000,
making for crowded living conditions. The tide of immigrants showed no
sign of stopping, so the decision was made to expand to the Laraka's
east bank.
A wall, similar to the wall around Magnus' Royal District but not
as massive, was constructed to protect Magnus' New District, which was
designed to house 10,000 people. In time, New District was filled to
capacity and a second district was constructed. When that was filled
to capacity, another was built. All told, Magnus housed 50,000 souls,
20,000 in the Royal District where Crown Castle, the Bardic College
and the homes of the nobility were located, 30,000 in the New
Districts, home of the infamous Fifth Quarter.
Myros was impressed with the Royal District's fortifications. For
a minor power, Baranur had done well in fortifying its capital. Of
course, the Imperial capital's defenses far out-shone Magnus', but
Myros would still not relish attempting to reduce Magnus.
The walls protecting the Royal District stretched for leagues
around the perimeter of the city's west bank. The fifty feet high,
twenty feet wide walls were adorned every hundred yards with fifty
feet diameter, eighty feet high round towers. Each gate was protected
by a barbican consisting of two forty feet diameter, sixty feet high
round towers. The gatehouse at each gate was twenty feet wide, thirty
feet long and twenty feet high and was set into the wall itself.
Access to the gatehouse was barred by two ten feet wide, twenty
feet high, five feet thick reinforced oak doors. Once past the oak
doors, anyone wishing to gain entry had to pass through the gatehouse,
its walls lined with arrow slits, its ceiling with murder holes. If
the person wanting to gain entry was hostile, an iron portcullis could
be dropped down to block exit into the city.
Myros and his party passed through the massive gates of
Northgate. There were three other gates in addition to Northgate;
Eastgate, Westgate, and Southgate. Eastgate and Westgate both provided
access to the Merchant's Quarter; Eastgate opened onto the waterfront
and Kheva's Bridge. Kheva's Bridge joined the Royal District with the
New District across the river. The Bridge was named after the engineer
who supervised its construction over a millenium ago.
Northgate, Eastgate, and Westgate all saw a great deal of
traffic. Southgate was not witness to the volume of traffic that
flowed through its sister Gates however. Southgate was for military
use only, as it gave direct access to Crown Castle. It differed from
the other Gates in one other way. Southgate was more heavily defended.
If an invader managed to breach the Outer Gate, there was an Inner
Gate that remained to be forced. Southgate had never fallen to an
enemy, not even after King Caeron's army was crushed by
Insurrectionist forces during the Great Houses War of 97-98 B.Y.
Jordaan felt uneasy passing through the gatehouse knowing that at
least twenty archers were manning the arrow slits and murder holes
ready to fill the passage with death. Myros' party emerged into the
daylight of Magnus' Royal District.
Apparent chaos reigned. Everywhere, people were shouting and
jostling with one another. It was market day. Every manner of item was
up for sale. Animals, cloth, jewelry, food of every description traded
hands in the large open marketplace. The Galician embassy threaded its
1way slowly through the throng, aided by its Baranurian escort.
They made their way slowly out of the marketplace, gradually
working their way through the Merchant's Quarter. This Quarter, one of
two in the Royal District, housed the wealthier merchants and lower
classes of nobles. It was also the site of three large markets that
saw a never-ending stream of goods, even in the dead of winter.
The column began making its way uphill, a sign that they were
about to enter the second Quarter in the Royal District, the King's
Quarter. Ahead, they could see Crown Castle, its battlements and
snow-capped towers dominating the Royal District. The famed College of
Bards could be glimpsed above the rooftops of the elegant houses of
the middle and upper-class nobles.
Celeste stiffened slightly when she caught sight of the College.
Those within could pose a threat to her mission. She must be careful
to avoid bringing undue attention to herself.
Her attention was drawn from the College to Crown Castle. More
fortress than castle, its many walls and towers were situated on the
hill that dominated Magnus' landscape. The complex of fortifications
that was Crown Castle occupied an area roughly three quarters of a
league north-south and one half league east-west. It was almost a city
unto itself.
To reach the King's Keep and the Inner Courtyard, one had to pass
through three gates in walls that dwarfed the Royal District's outer
defenses. The first wall was sixty feet high and twenty feet wide and
boasted sixty feet diameter, eighty feet high round towers every fifty
yards. The barbican defending the gate consisted of two sixty feet
high, forty feet square towers and a twenty feet wide, sixty feet long
gatehouse thirty feet high. There were massive bronze gates at either
end of the gatehouse, each door ten feet high and fifteen feet wide.
An iron portcullis could be dropped at either end as well.
The second wall was thirty feet farther up the hill and was even
more massive than the first. The wall was eighty feet high and thirty
feet wide. Instead of towers, this wall had fifty feet square bastions
every one hundred yards equipped with light catapults. The gate in the
second wall was one hundred yards east of the gate in the first wall.
The gate was not defended by a barbican. Instead, the gate was
incorporated into a sixty feet square keep eighty feet high. The outer
gates themselves were bronze; twenty feet high, twenty feet wide.
There were also two lesser gates inside the keep; ten feet high, ten
feet wide oaken doors. Unlike the Gates on the outer fortifications
and the gate through the first wall, this gate had no portcullis. On
the outer fortifications between the second and third wall was
Southgate.
The third and final wall barring access to the King's Keep and
the Inner Courtyard was on the summit, one hundred feet farther up the
hill. The wall was one hundred twenty feet high and fifty feet wide.
It had one gate situated in the middle of the wall, placing it one
hundred yards west of the second wall's gate and in line with the
first wall's gate.
Of the seven gates in the Royal District, the gate through the
third wall of Crown Castle was the most formidable, even more so than
Southgate. Unlike the other gates, this gate was not made of oak or
bronze, nor did it have a gatehouse or keep defending it. This gate
was made of stone and was, in fact, part of the wall itself. Each door
of the gate was forty feet high and twenty feet wide and opened onto a
passage with the same dimensions through the wall that ended in a
similar gate. Each gate was operated by huge winches. If the gates
were to be closed against siege, they would not be barred as is common
with most gates. Instead, a mechanism would be tripped that would
prevent the gates from swinging on their massive hinges. Shut tight
1thus, the only way to gain entrance to the Inner Courtyard was to go
through the gates. Not an easy task.
Once into the Inner Courtyard, one would then have access to the
King's Keep. The name was misleading, however. The King's Keep was not
one building, but a group of fortified buildings, the most prominent
of which was the original keep upon which the Castle grew. Each
building was connected so that once inside any given structure, one
never need see daylight in one's travels throughout the King's Keep.
But perhaps the most unusual aspect of the Inner Courtyard was
the series of buildings to the west of the King's Keep known as
Barracks Row. There were fifteen two-story buildings in three groups
of five along the west portion of the inner wall. Each building was
the headquarters for one of the fifteen Regiments that made up the
Magnus Garrison. There was nothing unusual about that. What was
unusual was that the barracks for the soldiers were located under the
buildings. Fifteen thousand men lived in an underground complex that
stretched throughout the hill upon which Crown Castle was constructed.
The underground quarters came complete with recreational, eating and
medical facilities as well as stables for the cavalry. There were
dozens of entrances to the King's Keep to allow a rapid deployment of
men and horses from their barracks.
About half of the garrison was on duty at any given time with the
rest engaged in the off-duty activities for which soldiers are
well-known no matter what sovereign they serve.
The Ambassador and his party were escorted through Crown Castle's
defenses and taken to the King's Keep. The embassy was given several
rooms in the Diplomatic Wing where other embassies were quartered.
They were given time to settle in and then Myros, his wife, Jordaan,
and Rarrack were taken by Coridan to an audience with the King.
King Haralan and Sir Edward Sothos, Knight Commander of the Royal
Armies and Haralan's close friend, were in Haralan's study discussing
matters related to the recent trial of Duke Dargon on charges of
treason. The Duke had been framed by elements within Baranur supported
by Beinison. The scheme to start a war between Baranur and Bichu
nearly worked. If not for the Count (then Baron) of Connall's belief
that his cousin was innocent, Baranurian and Bichanese would be
slaughtering each other due to foreign meddling. When it was learned
that Beinison was behind the plot, a large group of nobles called for
war.
Thus far, cooler heads had prevailed. However, those who did not
share Duke Dargon's views on war, or the lack thereof, had been
clamoring for action. In response, the King called a Council to begin
the first week in Nober. Already, several nobles had arrived with more
expected within the next few days. For Coridan, the Falcon Herald,
Ober was a very busy time. And with the probability that the Council
would last all winter, it looked like Coridan would have to wait a
very long time before he could relax. As Haralan put it to Edward
earlier that day, "What with my birthday only three days ago and now
this Council, it's a wonder Coridan doesn't go mad!"
"Since you chose to see me wearing full uniform, can I assume the
news you bring is not good?" Haralan asked.
"Yes, Sire. As you are aware, I've asked certain merchant houses
to instruct their caravan captains to keep their eyes and ears open
during their journeys in Beinison. The first reports have just come
in."
"And?"
"There is evidence of increased military activity within
Beinison. I can't say with total assurance that it is directed against
us, however--"
1 "However, you think we should be on our guard."
"Yes, Your Royal Majesty. In light of the discovery of Beinison's
interference in our affairs, the Beinisonians will be forced to act. I
can't see them doing anything until spring, but one never knows."
"What is it you want done?"
"First, we should put the Royal Army on an increased state of
readiness. Second, we have to give serious thought to whom we shall
have as field commanders."
"The first is easily enough accomplished. Who do you have in mind
for the second?"
"Jan is out on an inspection tour now. I told her to single out
those officers that have potential. If war comes, I want to promote
those officers to major commands, even if it means promoting them over
the heads of more senior, more noble officers."
"Isn't that somewhat drastic, Edward?"
"Perhaps, my friend, but consider this. These promotions are only
going to affect the Royal Army, not household troops. And if war does
come, it will be life or death for Baranur. We can't afford to have
incompetent commanders."
"We don't know that war WILL come, Edward."
"Maybe so, but one of the first things my father taught me was
that a soldier must prepare for the worst possible case. If it doesn't
come to pass, so much the better. But if it does, at least you have an
even chance."
"Very well. Now, are there any nobles that seem promising?"
"Quite a few. I'd like to put Duke Dargon in command of the Navy.
He is more familiar with naval warfare than I. As for the Army, there
is one in particular that I'd like to have. Lord...Morion I believe
his name is. Is something wrong?"
"I don't think you should count on Morion. He prefers to
administer his own lands and not become involved with the King's
tasks. Remember when Kyle Bluesword and his bandits were raiding in
the south? I had to send Coridan to Morion to get him to agree to
help."
"He's the one Commander Rian spoke of?"
"The same."
"Then he'll make a valuable commander. If he refuses, why don't
you just order him? You are the King, after all."
"I can't. You see, my uncle gave Morion's lands to him as a
reward for personal service to the Crown. Morion holds fealty to no
one. My father re-affirmed the dispensation and I confirmed it: it is
irrevocable. I can only ask, not order."
"You can't be serious!? You are! I know I've been in Baranur long
enough to know the customs, but by Nehru, Haralan! This Morion's lands
are in effect a separate country! How could you have allowed this to
happen!?"
"I didn't 'allow' anything, Edward. Understand. Morion was
granted his status for extraordinary loyalty to my uncle. Unless there
was good reason, my father and I could not have refused to confirm his
status. Lord Morion has served Baranur well. He deserves his reward."
Haralan paused, trying to think of some way to explain the situation
from Edward's viewpoint.
"Edward," he said, hoping he had found the right words, "this is
not Galicia. The attitudes are not the same here. You are accustomed
to Imperium, with all the benefits and obligations that go with it.
That's part of your Galician heritage and you should be proud of it."
Haralan paused briefly before continuing. "Don't forget that Baranur
is a younger nation. We don't have the legacy of history that Galicia
does. Galicia has had six hundred years that we here in Baranur
haven't. That in itself goes a long way toward explaining the
1differences between us."
Edward persisted. "I just find it hard to accept the idea of a
noble owning independent landholds inside Baranur."
"Lord Morion's lands are NOT independent," Haralan said with
frustration. "He depends on Baranur just as much now as when my uncle
ruled. Call it semi-autonomy. It's not such a bad thing, Edward.
Morion may not help me with some matters, but I think we can count on
him to support Baranur IF war comes."
"Yes, Sire." Edward sounded unconvinced.
Haralan decided to change the subject. "Now, who else did you
have in mind?"
Edward sighed. "I would have liked to give Luthias a command, but
you sent him to Beinison."
"Don't you think he's rather young?"
"Granted," Edward conceded, "he is young. But he has talent,
Haralan. He reminds me--"
"He reminds you of you at his age?"
Edward smiled sheepishly, a rare occurrence for Edward. "Yes, he
does. I don't think he's ready for a major command. What I'd planned
was to give him the Cavalry Wing. Luthias likes freedom of action. The
cavalry would have given him that."
"If he were here."
"Yes, if he were here. Still, if he makes it back before the war
starts I think we should consider him."
"Alright. Who else?"
"I can't think of anyone else off the top of my head. Give me a
day to go through my records?"
"Done. There, that's finished. I don't know about you, but I'm
famished."
"And I as well. Why don't we go down to the kitchen and see what
we can scare up?"
"Excellent idea," Haralan said humorously. "Where do you ever get
them?"
"I'm gifted, Your Royal Majesty," Edward replied in the same
tone.
"Gifted my eye!" Haralan said in mock anger. "I ought to--"
At that moment, Coridan, the Falcon Herald, entered the study.
"Forgive me for disturbing you, Sire," the young man said. "An embassy
has arrived from Galicia. Shall I show them in?"
Edward turned and went to the window, suddenly overcome with
emotion. Haralan glanced briefly at his friend, knowing something of
what Edward must be thinking. Edward hardly needed a reminder of his
exile from his homeland. He turned to Coridan. "Yes," he said. "By all
means, show them in."
Coridan bowed slightly then turned and went to the door. He
opened it and announced the embassy. "His Lordship, Baron Corneilious
Myros, Ambassador of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Nyrull of Galicia.
Her Ladyship, Baroness Elaine Myros. Sir Grange Rarrack, Advisor to
His Lordship. Captain Jordaan, Captain of the Guard to His Lordship."
"Welcome to Baranur, Ambassador," Haralan said. "I'm sure that--"
"Myros!" Edward shouted in Galician, his gaze fixed upon the
Ambassador.
"Edward?!" Elaine burst out. The shock on her face was plain for
all to see.
"Temper, temper, Edward," Myros replied. "Is that any way to talk
to the Baron of Alphoria?"
"Edward!" Haralan said forcefully. "What is the meaning of this?"
Haralan asked. The King's guards were getting nervous. So was Jordaan.
Edward paid no attention to Haralan's query. All his attention
was focused on Myros. "You lie!" he nearly shouted. "My father is
1Baron of Alphoria!"
"Not any more. He was tried and executed for treason a year ago.
Duke Markin gave me your father's lands as a reward for loyal service.
I don't know why someone didn't reveal your father sooner. How's that
saying go? Like father, like son?"
"Corneilious!" Myros' wife said, a hint of outrage in her voice.
"How can you say that?"
"Because it's the truth, Elaine," Myros replied.
Edward went white with rage. "GET OUT!" he roared. "GET OUT
BEFORE I KILL YOU!!!" His hand flashed to the hilt of his bastard
sword. Jordaan leapt in front of his liege, sword drawn. Edward and
the King's guards drew steel immediately. Myros moved Elaine out of
harm's way but did nothing more. He stood his ground, his calm
exterior hiding his uneasiness.
Haralan interposed himself between the two would-be combatants.
Edward had taught Haralan enough Galician to get by, but the accents
and the rapidity with which Edward and Myros were speaking meant all
he knew was that Edward and Myros appeared to be enemies and that he
had to calm the situation down before it got out of hand. "Enough the
both of you!" Haralan said in passable Galician. "Sheath your weapons!
Now!"
Jordaan looked to his lord and Myros nodded his assent. Jordaan
reluctantly sheathed his sword, but remained in a protective position.
The King's guards relaxed visibly.
"You too, Edward," Haralan said, returning to Baranurian. He
could barely hear Rarrack translating in the background.
"I cannot," Edward answered, also returning to Baranurian. "My
family and my honour have been insulted. That is something I cannot
ignore."
"Edward," Haralan said coldly, "as your sovereign I order you to
sheath your sword. If you do not comply, I shall have you arrested for
treason."
Edward looked his friend imploringly in the eyes, a pained
expression on his face. The look he got back told him that he was
talking to his King, not his friend. Slowly, he complied with his
sovereign's wishes.
"Sir Edward," Haralan said, speaking formally, "your actions
today were inexcusable. Go to your quarters and remain there for the
duration of this day."
Edward bowed stiffly and walked mechanically out of the King's
study. After he had gone, Rarrack, translating for Myros, said,
"That's all? He isn't to be punished further?"
Haralan turned to face Myros and said, "Ambassador, I know enough
Galician to know that Edward was not entirely to blame. As I see it,
you were as much to blame as he." Haralan held up a hand to cut off
Myros' protest. "Whatever the reason for this conflict, it is between
you and Sir Edward. When you came in here today, you came as
Ambassador and you insulted the Knight Commander of my Armies. See
that it does not happen again. The audience is ended. You may leave."
With that, Haralan turned his back on Myros. Coridan led the
Ambassador and his party out of the study and showed them to their
quarters.
Haralan stood gazing out the window for long hours. As his mind
re-played his dressing-down of Edward, Haralan's thoughts drifted back
to the day he met the man who was to become one of his closest
friends...
...Haralan parried a thrust meant for his throat and slashed
clumsily at his attacker. The eight remaining bandits had formed a
semi-circle about their target. The four knights comprising Haralan's
1bodyguard lay contorted in death about the man they had given their
lives to protect. Nine bandits lay on the ground also, having paid the
price for their attempt to ambush Haralan and his party.
The King of Baranur estimated his chances of surviving as
somewhere between slim and non-existent. He was bleeding from a score
of wounds and knew that he would be unconscious from blood loss in a
short time. From the looks on their faces, his assailants had come to
the same conclusion.
The bandit on the right, bigger and stronger than the rest,
signalled with his saber and the rest moved in. Haralan braced himself
against a tree and prepared to sell himself dearly.
One of the eight moved in from the left, wielding a double-bladed
battle axe. Haralan saw the swing coming and did his best to parry it.
He succeeded, but at the cost of losing his sword. The bandit,
grinning, raised his axe. He never brought it down.
A iron-tipped crossbow bolt made of black teak punched through
the back of the man's skull. He fell without a sound. As they were
turning to face their unknown foe, another bandit fell, a black
crossbow bolt in his heart.
A man dressed in black and armoured in chainmail charged out of
the forest on a warhorse, yelling a battle-cry in a foreign language.
The suddenness of his attack surprised the six assailants. Haralan's
unknown benefactor opened the throat of a third bandit with his
bastard sword before any of them could react.
While Haralan struggled to reach his sword, the five remaining
bandits surrounded his would-be rescuer. Whomever he was, he didn't
seem concerned. His horse reared, striking out with its front hooves.
Brains splattered everywhere as the horse's hooves connected with a
bandit's skull. The horse's rider used the momentum of his mount to
put extra force behind his downward swing. The result was that a
fourth bandit lost that portion of his sword-arm below the elbow.
While he was staring dumbly at the bloody stump that was his arm, he
was dispatched with a thrust to the chest.
The bandits' leader rushed at his enemy from the flank, hoping to
catch him unawares. He almost succeeded. At the last moment, however,
the unknown rider turned, taking the blow upon his left arm. Ignoring
the blood flowing from the deep gash, he delivered a stroke that
nearly hacked the bandit's arm off. The three unwounded attackers,
seeing their leader seriously wounded, fled.
The rider let them go. He bandaged his arm and then got down off
his horse and came over to Haralan. To Haralan, everything seemed to
be happening in slow motion. How strange, he thought, then collapsed.
When he awoke, he found his benefactor watching him anxiously.
The man's helm was removed, revealing dark black hair with beard to
match and deep brown eyes. He also had a scar that ran from his above
his right eye down to his right cheek. Obviously he had seen his fair
share of combat. "Thank you," Haralan said. He tried to get up and was
abruptly halted by intense pain coming from just about every part of
his body.
The stranger said something in a foreign tongue that Haralan
wasn't familiar with. He's not from Baranur, Haralan thought. I'd best
be careful until I know more about him. "I'm afraid I don't
understand."
The man frowned in concentration. "Who you are?" he said in
Merctalk, a hodgepodge of several different languages that was common
among mercenaries. Haralan had learned the language as a boy from
listening in on his father's conversations with some of the mercenary
officers serving in the Army. When Arenth finally found out, young
Haralan couldn't sit down for a week.
"Sir Haralan I be," he replied, not wanting this stranger to know
1who he was until the time was right. "Who you are?"
"Sir Edward," the man replied. "You travel able?" he asked.
"Little, yes," Haralan answered. "Village that direction is,"
Haralan said, pointing in the direction of Dyunill, a small village to
the northeast.
"How far?"
"Fifteen leagues it is."
"Rest you till tomorrow. Morning, take you there I will."
"Grateful I am."
Sir Edward nodded and offered his hand to Haralan. Haralan shook
it, closed his eyes and slept, determined to convince this man to
journey to Magnus with him...
...That was almost six years ago. Edward had indeed proved to be
a true and caring friend and a loyal subject. I've never seen him this
way, Haralan thought. He's usually very reserved in public. Whatever
this is, it must be serious. It's getting late. I should go see him.
We must get this out in the open.
Edward sat in the dining area of his quarters, staring into the
fireplace, lost in memories of the past. The events of the day had
shaken him, particularly the news of his father's death. A large
snifter of brandy sat untouched on the table beside him. A knocking at
the door brought him out of his reverie.
"I don't want to be disturbed," Edward said to his unknown
caller.
"It's me, Edward. I want to talk to you."
"Come," Edward said. He rose from his chair and faced the door,
bowing as the King entered. "Forgive me, Sire. I wasn't aware it was
you."
"There's no need for formality, Edward," Haralan said. "I come as
your friend, not as your King."
"You want an explanation about what happened today," Edward
stated.
"Yes I do. Edward, we've known each other for close to six years
now, and not once have I ever seen you act like this. What's wrong?"
"It is...personal, Haralan," Edward replied. "I'd rather not talk
about it."
"I told you that I come as your friend. As your friend, I want to
know. I want to help you."
"And for that I am grateful, believe me. It's just that--"
"Edward," Haralan interrupted, "I had hoped I wouldn't have to
resort to this, but I have no choice."
Edward looked his friend in the eyes. "What do you mean?" he
asked.
"As your King, I must know. If this conflict between you and the
Galician ambassador is going to ruin any chance I have of reaching an
agreement with him, I have to know why. Please, Edward," he said
indicating the chairs by the table.
Edward sighed. "You are right, of course." Edward took a seat
opposite Haralan. "Do you remember what I told you of how I came to be
here?" he asked.
"You were exiled from Galicia for killing some noble's son in a
duel, wasn't it?"
"That's most of it," Edward replied, looking down at his hands.
"I didn't tell you everything, Haralan," he said.
The King sat back in his chair. "Go on."
"When I was seventeen, my father sent me off to Count Janos as a
squire." Edward's eyes lost all focus and he even smiled a little,
lost in the days of his youth. "How proud I was. Janos had trained
1some of the best knights in the Empire. If I impressed him, there was
a chance I might have been recommended for service in the Imperial
Guard! Only the best serve in The Legion. It was my dream."
"I spent the next five years trying to bring myself up to his
standards. I was beginning to think I would never become a knight when
Janos gave me a gift for my twenty-second birthday. He said that I was
ready, that my training was over, that I was now a knight! I was
speechless. He smiled and told me to get some rest, and that we would
talk the next day. Then I realized that I would soon be leaving. I
might never see Janos or his daughter again. I wanted very much to see
both of them. You see," he said, looking at Haralan, "I was very much
in love with his daughter."
"She did not love you?" Haralan gently asked.
"I wasn't sure. I never had the courage to speak to her of my
feelings. Not even when Duke Markin's son Giles began courting her.
When I received my knighthood, I knew I had to act or I would lose her
forever. So, that night I told her I loved her." Edward paused in his
recollections. His expression was grim and he radiated tenseness.
Edward rose from his chair and began pacing back and forth. "It
was then that Giles came into the garden. He'd overheard me and
challenged me to a duel then and there. I refused. I could see that
Giles was in no condition to fight. I suppose he thought Elaine was
about to declare her love for me, and simply couldn't accept that
possibility. He was too agitated to be a worthy opponent. That's what
I thought, anyway." Haralan had wanted to ask Edward several questions
during his recounting, but thought better of it. Edward seemed to need
to talk about his experience, to get it out in the open.
Edward stopped pacing and went to the window. A storm was coming
on. "Giles called me a coward," he continued, gazing out onto the
courtyard below, "and attacked. I had no choice but to defend myself.
He was quite good, actually. He almost had me twice before I struck
him. The duel should have been over. Even though Giles only had a
superficial cut, blood had been drawn and I was the victor." Edward
sighed. "But Giles would not yield. He came at me like a madman. I
didn't want to kill him, damn it! I just wanted to disarm him!" Edward
stopped, calming himself.
"Giles rushed at me, and before I could halt my attack, he had
impaled himself on my blade. Elaine screamed and within moments, her
father and his guards had arrived. I told Count Janos the full story
and surrendered myself for judgement.
"My trial began in Rhylon, the capital, two weeks later. Janos
defended me, risking reprisal from Duke Markin, Janos' liege-lord. The
Duke wanted my head on the block, but Janos pointed out that it was
Giles who was responsible for his own death. Janos said I should be
acquitted of any wrong-doing.
"Markin wouldn't hear of it. He DEMANDED that I be executed.
Clearly, I was in the right, but the Emperor couldn't risk
antagonizing a powerful noble such as Markin. And so, I was exiled,"
he said bitterly.
"I was given twenty days to leave Galicia. The next morning, we
rode out, bound for Janos' castle. We arrived two weeks later. My
parents were waiting. So was Elaine. What followed was the most
difficult thing I have ever had to do.
"As soon as we rode through the gate, the verdict was plain for
all to see." Edward paused for a moment, remembering the pain he felt.
"In Galicia, if a knight is convicted of any offense he must wear
black whenever he dons his armour. I still wear black today, even in
Baranur.
"Janos and I rode over to my parents while a servant went to
fetch my belongings. Mother and Elaine were crying," he said softly.
1"I said good-bye to both of them. Mother didn't take the news well, as
I expected." Edward stopped and drew in a shuddering breath. "But
Elaine. She's a strong woman. I hadn't seen her like that since the
night her mother died," he said in a pain-filled voice. "She kept
insisting it was all her fault. I told her that was nonsense. I am an
adult. I'm responsible for my own actions. I said that if I had to be
exiled, there was nothing I would rather be exiled for than fighting
for her love and affection.
"I made her promise not to hold herself responsible. She agreed
and then her father led her away to calm her down. I was appreciative.
I couldn't bear to see her that way.
"Lastly, I said good-bye to Father. I...couldn't look him in the
eyes. I was sure he was about to disown me." Edward paused,
momentarily overcome. "Do you know what he did?" he continued,
speaking reverently. "He gave me his sword. He didn't say anything,
just unbuckled it and gave it to me.
"Emperor Nyrull presented Father that sword himself! Father had
had it for thirty years, Haralan, thirty years! It was his most prized
possession. I looked up at him, not knowing what to say." Edward
turned from the window, tears streaming down his cheeks. "He was
crying! My father, the strongest, bravest man I ever knew, was
crying."
Haralan, his own eyes watering, went to Edward, laying a hand on
his friend's shoulder. "I--I'm sorry, Edward. I didn't know it would
be so painful for you. I had no right to put you through this."
"Yes you did," Edward said, trying hard to regain his composure.
"You are my King as well as my friend." He blinked back his tears, and
drew himself up to his full five feet ten inches. "And as King and
friend, it is time you learned everything about me."
Four hours later, Edward had almost finished filling in the gaps
of Haralan's knowledge of Edward's past. Edward had explained to
Haralan why he had become a mercenary, for lack of a better word, when
he could as easily have sworn allegiance to any number of more than
willing nobles. His conviction had weighed heavily upon him. The fact
that he could never go home, and that he would never again see his
loved ones was a painful burden. Edward felt empty inside when he
began his wanderings.
Edward went from war to war, from skirmish to skirmish,
unconsciously looking to re-establish a place for himself. In the
three years during which he was a mercenary, his fighting abilities
improved remarkably. As his reputation built, he was offered higher
and higher positions. He rose from being just another wandering knight
temporarily in someone's service, to becoming one that any noble would
gladly have command his troops. In time, he came to be known as 'The
Wanderer'. Many a noble learned to fear that name.
"Where does Myros fit in all of this?" Haralan asked.
"He and I were opposing commanders in the infighting so prevalent
in Alnor. I was in the service of the Duke of Valencia. Myros was in
service to the Duchess of Dreknor. We had been maneuvering for weeks,
Myros trying to catch and destroy my force, myself trying to find a
place to fight on my terms."
"And did you succeed?"
"In a way, yes. But then so did Myros. I had found a location
where the terrain was clearly in my advantage. Unfortunately, Myros
found me before I had time to prepare. I remember that day as if it
were yesterday..."
...Edward stood on the grassy knoll, surveying his troops'
dispositions. He'd anchored his left flank to the forest surrounding
the clearing, and moved his front rank up to the stream that ran
1through the center of the meadow. His right flank he anchored to the
knoll. I wish I had more time, he thought. He turned to Justarius, his
second-in-command. "Well, what do you think?" he asked.
"I would have preferred more time," the grizzled veteran replied,
unconsciously echoing Edward's thoughts, "but all things considered
we've done all we can."
"All we have to worry about now is the enemy."
"Aye. That and the fact that all we've got in those woods are
pickets."
Edward sighed. He and Justarius had argued about this until early
in the morning. "Justarius, you know we can barely cover what frontage
we have. I don't like it any more than you, but a thousand men can
only do so much."
"I know, sir, I know. At least we still have a reserve."
"If only it wasn't so small. Oh well, time for--"
"Listen!" Justarius said. "Do you hear that?" he asked.
"What? I don't--" Edward stopped in mid-sentence, cocking his
head to one side. "Wait. Now I do." He stood quietly still for several
seconds, trying to determine what the sound was. Finally, he gave up.
"What is it?" he asked his second-in-command.
"An army," he said matter-of-factly.
"How can you tell? I can't even make that out," Edward said,
indicating the direction the sound was coming from.
"I've campaigned for thirty years, sir," Justarius replied
somewhat defensively. "I've heard a good deal more armies on the march
than you. And believe me, that's an army." He paused. "There," he
said. "You can feel it now."
He was right. Edward could feel the dull pounding of the drums as
well as hear it. And it was growing louder.
"Aye," Justarius said, again voicing Edward's thoughts. "It's a
good bet they've found us." As if on cue, rank upon rank of Dreknoran
soldiers emerged from the tree line at the opposite end of the
clearing, sunlight glinting off armour and weapons. The clearing
reverberated to the sound a thousand drums beating out a cadence.
"Nehru's Blood!" Edward exclaimed. He had to shout to be heard.
"They outnumber us at least three to one! Perhaps more!"
"You didn't think this was going to be easy, did you, sir?"
Justarius adjusted his sword belt and loosened his sword in its
scabbard. "I'd best get down there."
"Good luck, my friend."
"Thanks," Justarius replied. "I'll need it." He hurried off down
the slope, bellowing commands to his men. "Move you lazy louts! What
do you worthless whoresons think this is, a picnic? Close up the
distance between the ranks! Look alive, look alive!"
The Dreknoran commander arrayed his force in line-of-battle about
halfway to the stream. The force of the drums set teeth chattering and
made weapons and armour vibrate. Then, quite suddenly, the drums
stopped. Everywhere, ears rang, protesting the punishment they had
been forced to endure.
Edward surveyed his line, looking for that one small mistake that
could spell disaster. Hard as he tried, he couldn't find one. That did
not comfort him though. He had a thousand men to face three thousand,
perhaps more. And of his thousand, he had pulled a tenth out of his
battle-line to form a small reserve which he stationed on the reverse
slope of the knoll, hidden from view.
Then Edward had no more time to study his dispositions, for the
enemy was on the move, marching slowly toward his line, their spears
like a moving forest.
Edward moved his line up to the edge of the stream's bank, and
prepared to receive the enemy. He didn't have to wait long.
1 The Dreknorans charged the last hundred and twenty yards. Had it
not been for the fact that the heavily armoured spearmen had to
struggle through knee-deep water, Edward's line might well have
broken.
Edward's troops, the best Valencia could field, were not as
heavily armoured as their Dreknoran counterparts. In the first minutes
of battle, the Valencians took a heavy toll of the Dreknorans as they
floundered in the water. Eventually, however, the Dreknorans' numbers
began to tell.
Several Valencians in the center fell at the same time, opening a
gap in the front rank. Raising a great shout, the Dreknorans poured
into the breach. Justarius led a Quarter against the Dreknoran line in
a desperate counter-attack. Justarius slowed, but could not halt, the
Dreknoran advance. The buglers trumpeted an alarm and in response, two
Quarters of the third rank moved forward to deal with the growing
Dreknoran wedge.
The situation on the left was not going well for the Valencians
either. Edward's line had been pushed back from the stream, and was
sagging badly. Every available Quarter on the left had already been
committed. Edward was forced to take two Quarters from the right flank
and send them to reinforce the left.
The right flank was the only place the Valencians held their
ground. The Dreknoran spearmen lumbering up the slope of the knoll
were easily dispatched.
Edward judged the overall situation, while not pleasant, was much
better than it could have been. He was confident that if he could
shore up the sagging left, he might be able to inflict enough
casualties on the Dreknorans to force them to retire.
In the center, Justarius finally managed to contain the Dreknoran
break-through, and was in the process of slowly reducing it, when the
buglers' trumpets sounded in high alarm.
A badly decimated Quarter on the left, desperately trying to hold
back the Dreknorans' inexorable advance, finally succumbed to the
overwhelming numbers of the enemy. The Dreknorans poured through the
hole and fell upon the other Quarters. All but one of the nine
Quarters on the left simply disintegrated, attacked from in front and
behind.
The voice of doom whispered in Edward's ear as he led the four
Quarters of the reserve towards his shattered left, shouting to what
remained of his front lines to form circle. Somehow, Edward's small
force held off the Dreknorans long enough for him to build a shaky
all-around defense.
The Dreknorans gave no quarter. They attacked from all sides, but
the Valencian troops showed their mettle. Their ring contracted, but
wouldn't break. Edward side-stepped a spear thrust at him, and neatly
hacked off the Dreknoran's arm at the elbow. Another Dreknoran rushed
him. Edward tried to side-step this one's thrust as well, but tripped
over the body of the soldier he had slain only moments ago.
The Dreknoran paused, lifting his spear. Edward prepared for the
end, but it never came. Just as he was about to finish Edward off, the
enemy soldier was struck from behind. The spear fell out of his
nerveless fingers as he toppled backwards.
"Are you alright, sir?" Justarius asked with concern.
"Fine," Edward said somewhat shakily. "Thanks. I owe you my
life."
"Think nothing of it, sir," Justarius replied. "After all," he
said with a grin, "if you died, I'd be left in charge of this mess."
Edward smiled. "Wouldn't want that, now, would we?"
"No, sir," Justarius agreed.
"Dreknor can't have had this many troops," Edward said. "She must
1have gotten help from somewhere," he commented.
"We'll worry about that later," Justarius said. "If we get out of
this bloody mess, that is."
Edward nodded in solemn agreement.
"Time to get back at it," Justarius said and was gone.
The Valencian circle was now so compressed that the Valencians
were fighting almost back-to-back. Of his thousand men, Edward thought
it a miracle if there were two hundred still alive. Edward could see
no hope of surviving. He decided that, at the very least, he would
kill the Dreknoran commander. Or die trying.
He made his way to Justarius and told him his plan. Justarius
didn't even flinch. Long years of campaigning had hardened him and
prepared him for anything.
Fate had other ideas. Before they could implement Edward's plan,
the inevitable happened. The Dreknorans shattered a portion of the
Valencian line and in they came.
Edward barely had time to return Justarius' hand-shake before the
enemy was upon them. Edward and Justarius fought back-to-back against
the Dreknoran tide. Edward deflected a thrust with his sword, and
killed his opponent with his riposte.
A second Dreknoran attacked him. Edward parried the Dreknoran's
thrust, then pursued him as he backpedaled for his life. The luckless
Dreknoran tripped over a body and Edward finished him. Edward paused
for a moment to catch his breath and to assess things.
Everywhere, the battle had degenerated into individual combats.
Valencians and Dreknorans intermingled in their efforts to kill one
another. Edward looked around for Justarius. They had been separated
when Edward had pursued the second enemy soldier that attacked him.
Edward finally located the man he had come to think of as a dear and
close friend fighting a one-sided duel with an opponent whom Edward
assumed was the Dreknorans' commander. Justarius was bleeding
profusely from several wounds.
Edward went to the aid of his friend, but was blocked by two
enemy soldiers. He feinted towards the first Dreknoran's mid-section.
The Dreknoran tried to parry Edward's thrust, but Edward's actual
target was his opponent's throat. The Dreknoran staggered backwards,
vainly trying to stem the blood gushing from his wound.
The second enemy soldier succeeded in disarming Edward. Thinking
quickly, Edward grasped his shield in both hands and beat the
Dreknoran to death with it. Edward retrieved his sword just in time to
see Justarius fall, mortally wounded.
"NO!" Edward screamed. He threw himself at his opposite number,
letting the battle-rage take him. Edward put everything he had into
attack, giving no thought to defense.
His opponent was hard-pressed to defend himself against Edward's
wild onslaught. Edward landed several blows, but at a price. A
particularly vicious swing that the Dreknoran barely managed to avoid
left Edward vulnerable. The enemy commander lashed out blindly and
struck Edward a hard blow to his helm that sent it flying, staggering
Edward. The Dreknoran aimed a downward slash at Edward's head. Edward
lurched backwards just far enough to avoid being killed, but not
enough to avoid being struck.
The Dreknoran's sword cut diagonally across Edward's face from
the right portion of his forehead to his left cheek. Edward fell,
unconscious.
This last was the final straw. The sight of their commander
falling, coupled with the enormous casualties they had suffered, was
too much. The seventy-five or so remaining Valencians surrendered.
The Dreknoran commander called for a physician to attend to
Edward. The physician slapped a bandage on Edward's wound and gave him
1something to bring him around. "Will he live?" the Dreknoran commander
asked the physician.
The physician shrugged. "The next few days will tell. If
infection doesn't set in, he should survive."
"Good," the enemy commander replied. "Ah," the Dreknoran said at
Edward's groan, "you're awake."
Edward sat up groggily, every movement painful. Through the
pain-clouded vision of his right eye, he recognized the figure of the
Dreknoran commander. "Who are you?" he asked.
"Corneilious Myros," he replied. "Captain of the Guard to Her
Grace, the Duchess of Dreknor," he said formally. "And who might you
be?" he inquired "I want your real name, not that alias you go by."
"Sir Edward Sothos," Edward replied.
"Well, Sir Edward, you've been causing quite a stir lately.
You'll bring a fine ransom."
"What of my men?"
"We can't afford to take prisoners," Myros replied. He gestured
to two of his men. "Take him away."
"No! You can't!"
"I can and I will. We've wasted enough time. Take him!"
Edward's guards led him away, his weak struggles nothing more
than a nuisance. He felt himself sliding towards unconsciousness. The
last thing he heard before the blackness took him was the dying
screams of his men...
..."I swore vengeance on Myros for what he did that day."
"So long as he is Ambassador, I must ask you not to do anything.
Can you do that?"
"I'll try. For Baranur's sake, I'll try."
Haralan smiled. "Good." As he turned to go, he noticed the first
streaks of daylight breaking through the clouds. "Morning already," he
commented.
"I apologize," Edward said. "I shouldn't have kept you so long."
"Nonsense. We both needed our discussion. Now, I think the both
of us should get some sleep."
"I couldn't agree more, Sire," Edward said with conviction.
Duke Markin's castle, New Valencia, Duchy Valencia, Galician Empire
1 Nober, 1200 G.Y. (1013 B.Y.)
Garog pulled his cloak tighter about him in a vain attempt to
keep out the rain. Just my luck, he thought. As if drawing guard duty
tonight, of all nights, isn't bad enough. He sighed. Time for another
round.
He left the minimal shelter of the doorway and proceeded on his
sentry-go of the battlements of Duke Markin's castle. He paused before
one of the many braziers positioned along the battlements. Their
normal function was to allow the pots of oil to be easily lit. This
night, they performed a second role; they allowed the sentries a
modicum of comfort against the chilling rain. Garog glanced to his
left and saw two other sentries trying to warm themselves by another
brazier ten yards away. He chuckled and continued on his rounds. He
got no more than ten feet before he stiffened in shock. "Two?!" he
said aloud. There's supposed to be only one!
He turned to see the other two sentries moving towards him in
such a manner that told him they had to have weapons drawn. Garog drew
his sword and was about to sound the alarm when something slammed into
him from behind, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to his
knees.
There was a dull throbbing pain in his back. He tried to rise, to
1defend himself, but his strength was fading. He just couldn't seem to
summon the effort necessary. He tried to cry out but he couldn't get
his lungs to work right.
The two people he had mistaken for sentries were no more than
five feet away. He willed his sword arm to rise, but nothing happened.
Again something struck him from behind. He felt his lifeblood well up
and choke him. He toppled forward, blood flowing down his front. His
last conscious thought was that he was going to be in big trouble.
Then everything went black.
Tarn bent over and wiped his dagger clean on the guard's back.
"The poison usually takes effect a lot sooner than that."
"I just wish there was a better way than this," Julia said.
"As do I," Justin said with regret. "But I can see no other
choice. Help me move him, Tarn." Tarn replaced his dagger in its
scabbard and helped Justin carry the dead guard's body through the
tower door the guard had been sheltering in only moments ago. The two
hid the guard's body amongst some crates of crossbow bolts and then
exited the tower.
"I think I can see the shed from here," Julia said as Tarn and
Justin rejoined her.
"Where?" Justin asked.
"Over there," she replied, pointing to a large two-story
structure with dozens of lighted windows in the middle of the outer
courtyard.
"That's the inn."
"No, not there. Just to the right. You can barely make it out."
"I think I see it now," Justin said. "It's so hard to tell with
this rain."
"Now all we need is a way down."
"I believe I can solve that problem," Tarn said. "There're steps
on the other side of the tower leading down to the courtyard."
"Good," Justin said. "Let's go." The three companions made their
way cautiously down the steps to avoid being seen. Once at the base of
the wall, they paused while studying the sentries' pattern.
"The next time the closest sentry comes to a brazier," Tarn
whispered, "we'll go." Justin and Julia nodded their assent. Tarn was
intently watching the vague shape of the nearest sentry when a flash
of lightning illuminated the courtyard. The three sentries in view
were clearly visible for several brief seconds. In those seconds, Tarn
saw that the nearest sentry was warming himself over a brazier. "Go!"
The trio sprinted across the muddy ground toward the black shape
of the equipment shed next to the inn. Tarn, in his leather cuirass,
made it to the shed with no great difficulty. In their heavier armour,
Justin and Julia found the going more difficult.
When they were about three quarters of the way to the shed, the
courtyard was again illuminated by the lightning dancing in the night
sky. Justin and Julia were both quite visible, and both expected the
alarm to be raised immediately. But it was not.
Providence, luck, Fate, call it what you will, was with them, for
the thunder that followed the lightning masked the clinking of their
armour. The sentries, intent on trying to see outside the walls, never
heard the sounds that would have caused them to look down into the
courtyard and see the two intruders.
Tarn picked the lock with ease, and soon all three companions
were inside the equipment shed. Tarn lit a torch, revealing the
contents of the shed. The shed, perhaps thirty feet square, was piled
high with saddles, saddlebags, and the usual equipment that travelers
own. From the look of some of the items in the shed, the owners were
very well-off. Tarn sighed contentedly.
"No, Tarn," Justin said. "Don't even think it.
1 "Can't a man have any pleasure? I mean if this Duke Markin is a
traitor, the Emperor won't mind if we 'acquire' a few souvenirs, now,
would he?"
"Perhaps later," Julia said. "Right now, let's concentrate on
finding the entrance to the passage that wizard told us about."
"You know," Tarn replied, "you two have got to get out more.
Gamble, carouse, that sort of thing."
"Tarn," Justin said while checking the walls for the entrance,
"stop yapping and start looking."
"Okay, okay. Some people." Tarn started checking the southern
wall for the entrance, or rather the mechanism that would open the
entrance. Justin and Julia were doing the same for the east and west
walls respectively. After about an hour of painstaking search, nothing
was found and the trio were getting frustrated.
"The mage said the mechanism was located in here," Justin said.
"So where is it?"
"We've checked all four walls," Julia said. "Maybe this isn't the
right shed?"
"No, it's the right shed," Tarn replied. "The wizard specifically
said the equipment shed next to the inn."
"Well where is the mechanism then? It's certainly not in the
ceiling and we've checked all the walls."
"The walls yes, but not the floor!" Julia said triumphantly.
"Where do we start?" Justin asked.
"The first thing we do is check under these piles of equipment.
If it was somewhere else, we would have stepped on it by now," Tarn
answered.
The three began carefully moving equipment and checking the floor
for something, anything. Tarn was checking the northwest corner when
he noticed an impression in the floor about the size of a hand. Tarn
applied pressure to it and the impression sank about three inches. An
audible 'click' was heard, and a portion of the floor near the center
of the shed dropped away to reveal a shaft fitted with iron rungs
leading down into darkness.
"Shall we?" Justin asked.
"You first," Tarn said.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it," Tarn said cheerfully.
Justin leading the way, the companions descended about thirty
feet. There the shaft ended. The trio found themselves in an ancient
passage about ten feet wide and fifteen feet high. The air was stale
and the floor covered in a thick layer of dust centuries old.
"There's the lever," Julia said, pointing to a bronze lever five
feet to the right of the shaft. She walked over to it and pulled. All
three very clearly heard the entrance to the shaft closing.
"After seven hundred years it still works," Tarn said with awe.
"Let's go," Justin said and led off down the passageway, lighting
the torches on the wall as he went. Two hundred feet later, Justin
stood in front of a wall with another bronze lever next t
o it. Justin
passed his torch to Tarn and drew his sword. "Now!"
Tarn pulled down on the lever and the wall slowly slid aside
revealing a storage area piled high with crates and barrels. The three
adventurers moved into the room. While Justin and Julia conducted a
brief inspection, Tarn went to a section of wall to the left of the
secret entrance and twisted a certain stone. The secret door slid back
to become a nondescript portion of the room's west wall.
"Tarn," Justin called. "Is the entrance closed?"
"Yes."
"Good. We found another storage room to the east, and there's a
door over here on the north."
1 "Is the hallway outside lit?"
"I think so," Julia responded.
"I can leave the torch then," Tarn commented. He extinguished the
torch and threw it in a corner. Given the amount of items stored in
the room, the torch wouldn't be found unless someone conducted a
deliberate search.
Justin opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. The
corridor was ten feet wide with a fifteen-foot arched ceiling. There
were sconces bearing lit torches every ten feet of the corridor's
thirty-foot length. "That's more like it," Justin said. "Julia, you
watch the rear. Tarn, you stay in the middle."
Justin leading, the trio made their way to the intersection at
the end of the corridor. "Which way?" Justin asked. "East or west?"
"One way is just as good as the other," Julia answered.
"East, then," Justin said. The three walked carefully down the
east corridor, Julia turning around and walking backwards every few
feet. All three were getting nervous. They had penetrated the castle
some time ago, and had not encountered any guards thus far.
The corridor turned south, leading to a narrow stairway going up
about thirty feet. A small oak door at the top of the stairs had Duke
Markin's crest carved on its face. "At least we're heading in the
right direction," Tarn said.
Justin carefully opened the door and surveyed what was beyond.
"There's another corridor that ends in a door," he reported to his
comrades.
"How long is the corridor?" Tarn asked.
"About fifty...sixty feet. No other doors, either."
"Okay, let's go. But be careful. I don't like this."
Sword drawn, Justin proceeded down the bare stone corridor. He
halted ten feet from the door and let Tarn ply his trade. Tarn handed
his bow and sword belt to Julia so that nothing would interfere with
his task. He advanced cautiously on the door, eyes scanning the floor
for trip wires or pressure plates. Finding none, he began examining
the door itself, making sure to leave the handle for last. He ran his
hands gently along the edge of the door, checking for some mechanism
that might trigger a trap, if there was one. He found nothing. Lastly,
he checked the handle. As far as he could tell, nothing was amiss. He
turned to Justin. "As well as I'm able to tell," he said, "there's
nothing wrong with the door."
"Okay, we'll go through," Justin said. Julia handed Tarn his
weapons and Tarn took up a position behind and to the right of Justin.
Julia again watched the rear. "Everybody ready?" Justin asked.
Receiving nods of assent, he opened the door.
The corridor continued beyond the door for ten feet before
opening into a larger area. The beginnings of a large staircase could
be seen. "It looks like a hall of some kind," Julia said.
"Could be the entrance hall," Tarn suggested.
"If it is, it's bound to be well-guarded," Justin said. Justin
paused for a moment, considering possible courses of action. "We'll
proceed," he said a few minutes later. "Julia and I will handle the
guards closest to us. Tarn, you take out any guards out of our reach."
Julia moved to stand beside Justin while Tarn moved back. At
Justin's signal, the three of them rushed into the hall. It was indeed
an entrance hall, though not the main entrance hall. There were four
guards in view, all armoured in chainmail and all carrying sword and
shield. One guard was posted at the top of the staircase next to a
large alarm-gong. Two guards were posted near double doors to the
west. The fourth guard was posted near the entrance the companions
came through.
Justin and Julia fell upon the startled guard before anyone knew
1what was happening and cut him down. Tarn loosed his shaft at the
guard on the staircase. The luckless guard was half-way to the alarm
when the arrow punctured his armour and found his heart. He staggered
for a moment, then tumbled down the staircase.
Justin and Julia were both running at the two remaining guards,
who were also charging at Justin and Julia. Julia and her opponent met
in the middle of the hall. Julia swung at the guard's temple, but he
parried easily. He countered with a low swing intended to disembowel,
but Julia deflected it with her shield. Julia lunged, drawing her
opponent out of position and unable to do anything as her sword swung
upward and found the guard's throat.
Justin found his man to be a tougher, more experienced fighter
than his fellow guardsman. The two thrust and parried, neither able to
find an opening. The fight was ended when Tarn, having managed to get
around behind the guard without being noticed, buried his short sword
in the guard's back.
"Let's get moving!" Justin said.
"Shouldn't we hide the bodies?" Julia asked.
"No time," Justin replied.
"The stairs?" Tarn inquired.
"Sounds good," Justin answered. He led the way cautiously up the
staircase. Another corridor, this one decorated with expensive
tapestries, led south for twenty feet before turning east.
After following the corridor for a hundred feet, the companions
came to a four-way intersection. After only a moment's hesitation,
they continued east down a hallway with three oak doors. "Shouldn't we
investigate?" Tarn asked hopefully.
"Tarn," Julia said, "I know it's hard for you to curb your
'curiosity', but we're here to obtain information on a ring of
traitors. The best way to do that is to find Duke Markin's rooms."
"And how do you know that any one of these three doors isn't
Markin's?"
"I think it's safe to assume that Markin's quarters will be
guarded," Justin said in response.
"Oh really?" Tarn said as they rounded a corner. "Just because
you think that his quarters will be guarded doesn't mean--" Tarn
stopped short, nearly running into two of Markin's soldiers standing
guard at a reinforced oak door. Everyone froze for several seconds,
surprised at encountering each other.
Tarn was the first to break the spell. His hand flashed like
lightning toward his dagger. In one fluid motion, he threw the dagger
at the nearest guard and drew his short sword. The dagger thudded home
under the guard's chin strap. He fell, blood spurting around the
dagger's hilt.
Tarn rushed the remaining guard. The guard was just beginning to
draw his own weapon when Tarn slammed his short sword into the guard,
thrusting upward under the rib-cage. The guard's body slid to the
floor without a sound.
"You were saying?" Justin said as Tarn recovered his dagger.
"Okay so maybe Markin's rooms were guarded after all. If you
consider two guards as 'guarded'." Tarn walked over to the door and
opened it. Or tried to, at any rate. "Craanor's Coins!" he said,
referring to a previous Emperor whose 'gold' coins were so worthless
that the mere mention of them came to be a curse. "It's locked!"
"Can you pick it?" Julia asked.
"We'll soon see," Tarn replied. He pulled a set of lockpicks from
his pack and set to work trying to pick the lock while Julia and
Justin stood guard.
Ten minutes later, an increasingly irritable Tarn was starting to
swear at the lock. Justin tapped him on the shoulder. "Don't bother
1me! I'm thinking," Tarn snapped. Justin again tapped Tarn on the
shoulder. "What?!"
"I think this might help," Justin said, handing a key-ring he had
gotten off one of the guards' bodies to the thief.
"Well why didn't you give me that sooner?" Tarn asked angrily.
"Never mind," he said, cutting off Justin's response. Tarn turned back
to the door and began trying keys. On the fifth try, he was rewarded
with a click as the lock opened.
Justin moved forward and kicked the door open, Tarn covering him
with his bow. "Nobody home," Justin stated.
"Go in then," Julia said somewhat anxiously. "We're kind of
exposed out here."
The three entered the room and shut the door behind them. Tarn
lit a torch, revealing the room's details. It was a large room,
roughly thirty feet by forty feet. From the exquisite furniture, it
was obvious that this room was a reception area. Two doors, one on the
south wall, one on the east, led from the room.
The companions crossed the room to the east door. Tarn grasped
the knob and twisted. As he feared, it was locked. He reached for the
key-ring and went to work. As soon as he applied pressure to the door,
it swung open. Whomever had locked it had failed to shut it properly
before leaving.
Tarn stepped back, allowing Justin and Julia to enter the room.
This new room appeared to be a study. A fireplace was set against the
north wall, a desk in front and to the side of it. The walls were
lined with books, approximately one hundred in total. A table with
four expensive looking chairs sat in the middle of the room.
"What we're looking for has got to be somewhere in this room,"
Julia stated.
"We'll each take a wall," Justin said. "But remember, be sure to
put everything back in its exact place."
The three friends began going through every book in the study. An
hour went by fruitlessly. Justin pulled another book from its shelf
and began examining it. It was then he noticed the oddity in the wall
behind the shelf. "Julia! Tarn! Come here. I think I've found
something."
"What is it?" Julia asked.
"Help me move this shelf," Justin replied. All three wrestled
with the shelf for several minutes before managing to move it away
from the wall. What the shelf had been concealing was a ten-foot by
ten-foot stone door with no handles or other similar accoutrements.
"Well?" Tarn asked. "What do we do?"
"I don't know," Justin responded.
"Why don't we try pushing it?" Julia asked.
"Might as well," Justin said. All three leaned on the door,
pushing with all their might. Slowly, reluctantly, the massive door
began to move. The door came to rest against the north wall of a small
corridor extending ten feet east where it opened into a twenty-foot by
twenty-foot room completely bare of furnishings.
Or almost bare. In the center of the room stood a stone pedestal,
a small wooden chest sitting on top. Tarn slowly and carefully entered
the room, stepping over the ankle-level trip-wire strung across the
entrance. He moved cautiously toward the pedestal, eyes intently
scanning the floor for anything out of the ordinary.
Five feet from the pedestal he noticed an almost imperceptible
change in the stone tiles on the floor. The tiles immediately in front
of the pedestal lacked the rough texture evident in the floor thus
far. Tarn bent down to examine the tiles in question.
The "tiles" were not tiles at all. They were very cleverly
disguised pressure plates. Tarn began examining the floor more closely
1in order to determine just how large an area the pressure plates
covered. After ten tense minutes of study, he moved back to the
entrance where Justin and Julia were calmly waiting in the corridor.
"The floor is covered with pressure plates," he told his two
companions, "but there is a way to avoid them. Stay within five feet
of the south wall and you should have no trouble." Tarn turned and led
the way into the room, being careful to stay near the southern wall.
The trio made their way along the perimeter of the room until they
came to a position on the east wall directly opposite the pedestal.
Tarn briefly examined the floor. The pressure plates apparently did
not cover the area behind the pedestal, allowing access to it. "Nicely
done," Tarn murmured to himself. Instructing Justin and Julia to
remain where they were, Tarn proceeded to the pedestal where he began
examining the chest.
The chest was made of teak, a rare wood, rarer still in western
Galicia. There were two locks on the chest, one of which was obviously
false. The trick was, which one? And more importantly, what would
happen if the wrong lock were opened? Tarn pondered the problem for
many minutes. He reasoned that the correct lock was the lock facing
the entrance, not the lock facing him now. Unfortunately, there was no
way to test his hypothesis without opening a lock. If he guessed
wrong, the consequences could be deadly.
Taking a deep breath, Tarn leaned over the chest and inserted his
lockpick in the lock. Silently sending a prayer to the gods, Tarn
twisted the lockpick clockwise. An audible click sounded throughout
the chamber. Tarn tensed, waiting for the trap to spring. When nothing
happened, he opened his eyes and gently lifted the lid of the chest.
Inside were three gold scroll cases approximately one foot in
length. "We've found it!" Tarn exclaimed. Justin and Julia came
forward, intent on examining what Tarn had found.
"GOLD scroll cases?" Julia asked incredulously.
"I think this is what we were sent to find," Justin said.
"We should take them and get out of here," Tarn suggested. "We'll
read them later when we're in safer surroundings."
Justin nodded his assent. Tarn handed him a scroll case, grunting
with the effort. Justin stepped back and carefully began making his
way out of the chamber. Julia took possession of the second case and
followed Justin.
Tarn lifted the final case out of the chest and set it on the
floor next to the pedestal. As he closed the chest's lid, he noticed
that his two friends were almost out of the room. He picked up the
scroll case and started to follow them. He was almost to the east wall
when he heard it.
A grating sound like stone on stone could be heard behind him.
Apprehension seized him as he turned to face the pedestal. It was
sinking into the floor. "Craanor's Coins!" Whoever designed this
chamber did their work well. Tarn hadn't even suspected anything like
this. "Run!" he shouted to his comrades. "The pedestal's sinking!"
Crown Castle, Magnus, Royal Duchy, Baranur
1 Nober, 1013 B.Y.
Commander Jan Courymwen ("Coury" to her friends), personal aide
to Sir Edward Sothos, strode through the halls of Crown Castle. She
had just arrived in Magnus that morning after completing an inspection
tour of the Southern Marches. Her weary body cried out for rest but
she had a preliminary report to make.
The guards on duty outside her office came to attention upon
seeing her round the corner. She acknowledged their salute with a nod
and went in. Seated behind her desk was Captain Daniel Moore,
1temporarily filling in for Jan while she was away.
Moore looked up as the door opened, a harsh comment for not
knocking on the tip of his tongue. When he saw who it was, his
expression changed remarkably. He got up from his chair and came
around the desk, his frown turning to a warm smile as he greeted his
friend. "Coury! You're back!"
"Just barely," she said with a tired smile. She removed her helm,
allowing her fiery red hair to flow freely over her shoulders. "Is he
in?" she asked, referring to Edward.
"Yes he is," Moore replied. Jan started for the door to Edward's
office. "Coury, wait."
Jan stopped and turned to face her friend. "Yes, Dan, what is
it?" she asked. Then she noticed something in his eyes. "What's
wrong?"
"Coury," he began hesitantly, "there was
an...incident...yesterday afternoon involving Sir Edward."
"What kind of incident? Is Edward alright?" An icy-cold ball
materialized in her stomach at the thought that Edward might be
injured.
"He's fine," Moore reassured her. "An embassy arrived yesterday."
"So? What has that got to do with anything? Embassies arrive in
Magnus all the time."
"This embassy is from Galicia."
Jan was silent. Both she and Moore knew that Edward came from
Galicia and that he left under less-than-ideal circumstances. "Why are
they here?"
Moore shrugged. "Who knows? What I do know is this: for some
reason, Sir Edward threatened to kill the Ambassador. He almost
attacked him."
Jan's jaw dropped. For a moment, she couldn't speak. When she
finally regained her composure all she could manage was a startled,
"What!?"
"You heard me," Moore said. "His Royal Majesty confined Edward to
his quarters for the rest of the day. Last night, the King went to
Edward's quarters and the two of them stayed up all night discussing
things. Edward came in two hours ago with instructions for me to pass
on to General Wainwright. Edward said he has some things to finish up
and then he's going to go to his quarters and get some rest."
"Thanks for telling me, Dan. Well, I have a report to deliver."
With that, she turned and knocked on the door to Edward's office.
Receiving assent, she opened the door and entered.
"Jan!" Edward said, pleasantly surprised. "It appears this day
won't be a total waste after all. How did the inspection go?"
"Better than I'd hoped, Your Excellency," she said, taking a
seat. "My main concern is Pyridain. King's General Tegran, in my
opinion, is not capable of commanding our forces there in the event of
hostilities. We do, however, have several good regimental commanders
in Pyridain. One or two may be capable of handling the duchy."
"Good. You look tired, Jan. Get some rest. We'll finish your
report later."
"If you don't mind my saying so, so do you, Edward."
"Yes. Well, it was a long night."
"Dan told me what happened, Edward," she said. She leaned over
and touched him lightly on the arm. "If you need someone to talk to,
don't hesitate to call on me."
"Thank you, Jan. I always could count on you."
"Part of being a friend. I suppose I should go. We both need the
rest." She stood and went to the door. "I'll have a complete report
ready for tomorrow."
"Good night. Or perhaps I should say good morning?"
1 Jan smiled briefly, then left.
Duke Markin's castle, New Valencia, Duchy Valencia, Galcian Empire
1 Nober, 1200 G.Y. (1013 B.Y.)
"Run!" Tarn shouted. "The pedestal's sinking!"
Justin and Julia didn't ask questions, they just ran. They
stopped outside Markin's quarters to wait for Tarn. Tarn came running
through the door and collided with his friends.
"What are you waiting for?" he practically screamed.
"You!" Justin shouted back. Just then, a gong sounded. All three
friends took one look at each other and fled down the corridor.
Stormhaven, exact location unknown, Galician Empire
1 Nober, 1200 G.Y. (1013 B.Y.)
Sehrvat Primus Derek entered the Primus' private study. The
Primus was seated at a table with his back to Derek. He appeared
engrossed in a large book lying on the table in front of him. Derek
approached the Primus silently, cowl drawn over his head.
"Thou hath some matter to bring to my attention, Sehrvat Primus?"
"Yes, Primus," Derek replied uneasily. The man's awareness of his
surroundings was uncanny! Derek thought. "The three adventurers hired
to investigate the cabal hath succeeded in penetrating Markin's
stronghold, Primus. They hath succeeded in obtaining the information
we seek and even now are attempting to effect an escape."
"Excellent," the Primus replied without stopping his perusal of
the tome. "Thou art dismissed, Derek," the Primus said in a neutral
voice.
"Cha loth, Primus," Derek said. He bowed once to the Primus' back
then turned and exited the room.
After Derek had gone, the Primus stopped reading long enough to
address one of his guards. "Go to Markin's stronghold and assist our
agents in making their escape. If their situation proveth untenable,
thou art to eliminate them. Take care that thou doth not reveal The
Order's involvement in this affair."
The silent black-robed figure nodded its head in almost
imperceptible acknowledgement then vanished on the words of a teleport
spell. The Primus went back to his reading as if the entire incident
had not occurred.
Duke Markin's castle, New Valencia, Duchy Valencia, Galician Empire
1 Nober, 1200 G.Y. (1013 B.Y.)
Justin, Julia, and Tarn pounded down the long corner. They could
hear sounds of pursuit coming from the direction of Markin's quarters.
"If we can reach the entrance hall far enough ahead of them," Justin
panted, "we should be able to lose them."
"I hope so," Julia commented. "There're far too many for us to
fight."
"We won't have to," Tarn said. "The hall is just up ahead."
The trio rounded the corner that led to the entrance hall at a
dead run. A startled guard began drawing his weapon while at the same
time shouting for the three to halt.
Justin never paused, nor did he try to draw his own weapon. He
simply hurtled forward, slamming the guard into the alarm-gong at the
top of the stairs. The three companions ran past the dazed guard and
down the stairs. That's when they noticed four other guards near the
bottom of the staircase.
Halfway down the stairs, Justin leaped for the nearest guard on
1the left. The two collided with a great clangor of metal-on-metal. The
guard lay on his stomach, unconscious. Justin wasn't much better off.
He tried to use his left arm to raise himself, but stopped abruptly
when pain lanced through his shoulder. Giving a strangled cry of
agony, he fell back to the floor.
The three guards still active were rushing up the stairs to meet
Tarn and Julia. Tarn removed his longbow from his back and hastily
loosed a shaft at the right guard. His target saw what was coming,
however, and brought his shield up at the last moment, harmlessly
deflecting the arrow from its intended path.
Tarn notched his last arrow, took careful aim, and with his
target only eight feet away, let fly. The arrow covered the distance
in a fraction of a second. The guard literally never saw it coming. It
struck the guard in the left eye, sending him crashing down the
staircase. His comrade, following behind, tripped over the body and
tumbled to the bottom as well.
Julia threw her shield at her opponent, sending his blade flying
from his nerveless hands. She drew her sword and thrust it through the
back of the guard's throat before he had time to bring his shield up.
He died without a sound.
Julia rushed down the staircase and went to Justin. He was
conscious, though in great pain from his dislocated shoulder. Julia
gently helped him to his feet, taking great care not to move his left
arm. She was so intent on helping Justin that she never saw the guard
behind her.
The guard had finally managed to wrestle the dead body of his
comrade off him. Burning with rage, he leaped to his feet and focused
his fury on his nearest opponent. The fact that his opponent was a
woman didn't matter. The fact that she had her back to him only
increased his satisfaction. He approached Julia, raising his blade to
strike.
Tarn shouted a warning, but Julia couldn't do anything with the
burden she was carrying. She tried to interpose her body between
Justin and the guard, knowing she was about to die.
Tarn knew he was too far away to use his sword. He reached for an
arrow, remembering too late he had used his last one to dispatch this
guard's comrade. In desperation, Tarn drew his dagger and balanced it
for throwing. It was a difficult throw and Tarn wasn't at all certain
he could hit a vital spot at this distance. Silently saying a quick
prayer, he threw the dagger, aiming for the guard's neck. Just as he
was releasing the dagger, however, he slipped on a step, throwing his
aim off. The dagger hurtled through the air and struck the guard on
his left knee-cap, lodging between it and the joint. The guard let out
an enormous bellow of pain and dropped to the floor, clutching his
ruined knee.
Tarn could hear the sounds of many running armoured feet.
"They're coming!" he said to Julia. "Hurry!"
"What about our shields?"
"Leave them! We have no time!" Tarn opened the northern door for
Julia as she helped the still-dazed Justin down the corridor. Just
before he closed the door, Tarn saw the first of their pursuers arrive
at the top of the staircase.
Reaching the small oak door at the end of the corridor, Tarn took
charge of Justin, thus freeing his more combat-oriented companion to
practice her trade as the need arose. The three continued down the
narrow stairs and moved as quickly as possible toward the store-room
and the secret passage. As yet, their pursuers hadn't deduced where
the quarry had gone; there were two possible directions the trio could
have taken. According to what their employer had said, Markin was
unaware of the secret passage's existence. Therefore, the companions
1could expect a slight reprieve before the chase resumed.
Finally they arrived at the store-room. What had taken twenty
minutes before took an hour due to Justin's condition. Fortunately,
Justin had, by this time, recovered his faculties. He was still in no
condition to fight, be he no longer needed assistance walking.
"I think we can relax now," Julia said. "It should take them
about ten to twenty minutes before they discover we didn't take the
double doors. Figure another twenty to thirty to make it down here. We
should be gone long before then."
"We'd better be," Justin said, struggling to keep the pain from
his voice.
Tarn walked over to the west wall and twisted the stone that
would open the secret entrance. A portion of the wall to his left slid
back. The torches the trio lit in the passage were still burning,
illuminating the seven hundred year-old corridor meant as an escape
route for the original builder of the castle.
The three made their way down the passage, going as fast as
Justin could manage. Tarn paused at the entrance only long enough to
pull the bronze lever that would shut the door.
The companions reached the shaft at the end of the passage. The
pain in Justin's shoulder had grown worse. Beads of sweat stood out on
his forehead, the only outward sign of his struggle to control the
pain his injury was causing.
"Justin, can you climb?" a concerned Julia asked.
"I'll have to, won't I?" he answered in clipped tones, fighting
to keep the pain from his voice.
Julia reached out and put her hand on his uninjured shoulder in a
show of support for her friend. "Tarn," she queried, "why don't you
open the trap door?"
"It already is," Tarn replied in a grim voice.
"It can't be! We closed it! I'm sure!"
"Take a look for yourself," he said, standing by the ladder.
Julia came over to the ladder and looked up. There, thirty feet
above, was an unmistakable circle of light where the trap door should
have been. "Gods! They must have discovered the passage."
"We certainly can't go this way," Tarn stated.
"What other choice do we have?" Justin commented from behind
them. He walked over to join his friends. "I don't know about you, but
if I'm going to die, I'd much rather die up there in battle than down
here like a starving rat." With that, he reached out with his good arm
and began hauling himself up the ladder. Julia and Tarn hesitated for
a moment and then followed.
Justin climbed steadily, painfully toward the circle of light,
fully expecting to die. He paused to regain his strength ten feet from
the top. The effort of climbing with one arm was beginning to tax his
endurance. Just a little farther, he thought, and then it'll all be
over.
He resumed his climb, all thoughts focused on reaching the
flickering light above. As he neared the top, he forced his injured
arm to adjust the dagger on his belt so that he could more easily
reach it with his functioning arm.
He was only a few inches from the top now. He paused again, this
time in preparation for exiting the shaft. He gripped the top rung
with his good arm and, hauling mightily, vaulted out of the shaft. He
landed on his stomach but quickly rolled to a crouch beside the hole,
his dagger out of its scabbard and ready to throw.
"Greetings," said a voice from the shadows.
Justin whirled, his arm coming down in one quick motion. The
dagger flashed toward the sound of the voice. A word was spoken and
the dagger seemingly deflected off air. A figure attired in black
1robes strode out of the shadows toward Justin and the now-emerging
Julia.
"What are you doing here?" Justin asked.
"It is my task to see that thee and thy companions successfully
escape from this stronghold," the figure replied in the same archaic
form of Galician that the wizard that hired them spoke. Only this
wizard was not the same one who hired them.
"Who are you?" Julia asked.
"That is none of thy concern." He paused, not speaking until Tarn
had emerged from the shaft. "I shalt take thee to the Sehrvat Primus,"
he stated. He spoke the words of a teleport spell and all four
vanished.
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1 /
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D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE ||
D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E ||-Story-
-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E ||-Index-
DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
To request, specify: DARGONZ VOLvvNii, where vv ii = volume #, issue #
Volume 01, Issue 01 (11/04/88)
-------------------
Unlikely Partners, Part 2 Max Khaytsus 12-16 Naia, 1013
Runaway Michelle Brothers 29 Seber, 1012 and
16 Naia, 1013
Steel Souls John Sullivan 10-11 Yule, 1013
Inquiries John Doucette 29 Yuli-7 Sy, 1013
Trial by Fire, Prologue M. Wendy Hennequin 6 Sy, 1013
Volume 02, Issue 01 (03/17/89)
-------------------
A Night in the Town Carlo N. Samson 28 Naia, 1013
Trial by Fire, Part 1 M. Wendy Hennequin 7-12 Sy, 1013
The Game Begins John Doucette 13-14 Sy, 1013
Volume 02, Issue 02 (05/06/89)
-------------------
Backtrail Michelle Brothers 17 Naia, 1013
Dragon Hunt, Part 1 Max Khaytsus 19-23 Naia, 1013
Dragon Hunt, Part 2 Max Khaytsus 20-23 Naia, 1013
Volume 02, Issue 03 (9/22/89)
-------------------
Sons of Gateway 1: Ne'on Jon "Grimjack" Evans Vibr. 17-Fir. 7, '13
Unwelcome Encounter Carlo Samson Melrin 5, 1013
Fortunes Max Khaytsus 1 Yule, 1013
Volume 02, Issue 04 (9/29/89)
-------------------
Dragon Hunt 3 Max Khaytsus Naia 25-Yule 7, '13
The Knight of Stone Jon "Grimjack" Evans Yuli 11-22, 1013
Trial before Tribunal Wendy Hennequin Sy 15-22, 1013
Volume 02, Issue 05 (10/13/89)
-------------------
Sons of Gateway 2: Magic Jon "Grimjack" Evans Naia 21-Ober 13, '13
Dragon Hunt 4 Max Khaytsus Yule 8-23, 1013
Damsel in Distress Wendy Hennequin Sy 24-27, 1013
Volume 02, Issue 06 (11/03/89)
-------------------
Trial Before the King M. Wendy Hennequin Seber 5-12, 1013
Knight in Shining Armor M. Wendy Hennequin Seber 24-Ober 7, '13
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****** ***** The Online Magazine ***********
****** ***** of Amateur Creative Writing ************
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Athene is a free network "magazine" devoted to amateur fiction
written by the members of the online community. Athene is not limited
to any specific genre, but will publish quality short stories dealing
with just about any interesting topic.
The magazine is published monthly, and comes in two formats --
ASCII and PostScript. The content is identical across both formats, but
the PostScript version is designed for printing on laser printers while
the ASCII edition can be read online as well as printed.
To subscribe, send mail (no interactive messages, please) to:
Jim McCabe
MCCABE@MTUS5.BITNET
Please indicate which format (ASCII or PostScript) you prefer to to
receive. Back issues, an index, and submission information are also
available upon request.
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A Journal of Fact, Fiction and Opinion
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Quanta is an electronically distributed magazine of science fiction.
Published monthly, each issue contains short fiction, articles and
editorials by authors around the world and across the net. Quanta
publishes in two formats: straight ascii and PostScript* for
PostScript compatible printers. To subscribe to Quanta, or just to
get more info, send mail to:
da1n@andrew.cmu.edu
da1n@andrew.bitnet
Quanta is a relatively new magazine but is growing fast, with over
two hundred subscribers to date from seven different countries.
Electronic publishing is the way of the future. Become part of that
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1 (C) Copyright January, 1990, DargonZine, Editor Dafydd
<White@DUVM.BitNet>. All rights revert to the authors. These stories may
not be reproduced or redistributed save in the case of reproducing the
whole 'zine for further distribution without the express permission of
the author involved.
