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-- DargonZine Volume 5, Issue 4 10/15/92 Cir 1130 --
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-- Archives at FTP.EFF.ORG (192.88.144.4) in pub/journals/DargonZine --
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-- Contents --
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Pact VI Max Khaytsus Yuli 17-19, 1014
Beginnings Max Khaytsus and
Michelle Brothers Mertz - Sy 5, 1015
------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 Pact
part 6
by Max Khaytsus
(b.c.k.a. <khaytsus@ALUMNI.CS.COLORADO.EDU>)
"Sergeant, sergeant!" a female voice echoed down the corridors of
the catacombs beneath Dargon Keep.
Aimee, looking around the maze she was in, turned and bolted. Did
someone see her? What happened? She ran into the first dark doorway
she saw and hid in the corner of the room.
"Sergeant!" The female guard ran past Aimee's room without
slowing down.
Aimee made herself as small as she could, hoping the woman would
not come back and find her. Long moments passed with Aimee not moving
from her hiding place, not even daring to breathe, then she heard more
footsteps as people ran back down the corridor.
"Are you sure?" she heard the Sergeant's voice.
"Sure seemed like he was. And just like Elizabeth said, too,"
Altura answered. "I didn't wait around to see. Arellano is still there
in case something happens."
"You best go get the physician, then," the sergeant answered.
Through the doorway to the room she was hiding in, Aimee saw the
female guard hurry towards the stairs leading out of the dungeon. The
sergeant's heavy footsteps could be heard heading in the other
direction. As soon as all was quiet, Aimee snuck up to the open
doorway and looked into the corridor. She desperately wanted to leave
the dungeon, thinking Altura would leave open the door into the castle
hallways, but instead, impulsively, turned the other way, heading in
the wrong direction, wanting to see what had happened that Elizabeth
had to be called.
Keeping as quiet as she could, Aimee carefully snuck down the
corridor after Sergeant Guralnik, towards the room where Captain
Koren's body lay resting.
Dyann Taishent angrily slung a handful of mud into a clay jar on
the table before him. The vessel shifted away from him, making the
cooks in the kitchen turn and look.
"Careful, careful," Corambis tutted. "You know what will happen
if Madam Sepagary sees you treat her dishes that way."
"I'll seal her mouth shut with clay if she so much as thinks of
opening it!" Dyann snapped.
Thuna, watching the two men work and helping them when they
needed something, let out a laugh.
"What is it, girl?" Corambis asked. His assistant had been
unusually quiet all morning, after the failure the night before.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I can just imagine Madam Sepagary serving
the Duke with her mouth full of clay."
Corambis and Dyann both chuckled at that, but the mage's laugh
quickly disappeared, replaced by a grim expression.
"Don't worry, we'll find her," Corambis assured him. "This has
never failed before."
"Last time we did this, it blew the top off old Sweeny's tower!"
"That was his own fault," Corambis said. "Anyone who keeps so
much dung around and plays with fire is asking for it to happen."
A laugh escaped Dyann's lips. "Oh, that expression on his face!"
Corambis also laughed. "But then the other spell never failed
either," he added thoughtfully.
"I've been thinking about that," the mage admitted.
"And are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Corambis asked.
Dyann nodded. "That would explain the mutt's new habits...let's
take a look before we start blowing doors off hinges."
"Well, at least one door," Corambis said. "Thuna, repack the ash
and the spirits of hart's horn. We'll be back soon."
Long before Aimee could get her courage up to enter the room
where the guards were, she heard hurried footsteps in the corridor
behind her and darted into the room across from the one she was
looking in. From across the corridor, she could still hear the guards
talking quietly in the second room, now overshadowed by the
approaching footsteps and female voices.
"...Lieutenant Taishent both know, but I want to be sure first,"
the physician said.
"He didn't say anything," Altura answered, "but we really didn't
wait. Sergeant Guralnik bid me to find you immediately."
Aimee watched the two women enter the room and disappear inside.
She waited for a while, then not seeing anyone exit, snuck into the
room to see what was happening.
"...healed over pretty well," the physician commented, "but I
don't want you going anywhere. A few more days of rest will have you
solidly on your feet."
Aimee carefully snuck up to the doorway and peeked in. The guards
were once again gathered around the Captain's bed.
"There will be a scar," the physician went on, "but I can give
you some salve to clear that up. It won't disappear, though. That was
a pretty big gash."
"A soldier isn't a soldier without scars, doctor," Sergeant
Guralnik said.
"Well, I don't know about you or the Captain here," Elizabeth
said, "but I know most women prefer men whole." She looked down again.
"It's really up to you. I'm just offering you what I think to be a
good solution."
Who was she talking to? Aimee edged forward a little more, her
curiosity getting the better of her.
"Why am I in the catacombs?" a weak, but deep voice sounded. It
was the voice of Captain Adrunian Koren!
Aimee gasped, realizing as she did so that she had given her
presence away. The four guards and the physician turned towards her
and between them she spotted Captain Koren's face, eyes open, looking
at her.
Aimee took a step back, tripping over something at her feet and
falling over backwards. A loud yip sounded as she fell to the floor.
"I tell you that door has been closed for over a year!" the keep
castellan declared, hands on his hips. "The Duke ordered it locked
ever since that thief broke into the vault!"
"Open that door now, you tub of lard, or I'll give you a hex free
of charge!" Dyann demanded of the large man.
"`Tub o' lard'? You old windbag! I'll show you a tub of lard!"
The castellan stepped forward, pushing the old mage back with his huge
stomach.
"Castellan," Corambis pushed the two arguing men apart.
"Castellan, if you don't open this door for us, we'll take it by force
and then instead of replacing the key on your belt, you'll be
replacing the door on its hinges. Do what will be right for all of
us."
The castellan grumbled.
"Please," Corambis insisted. "We just need to look around. We'll
be quick."
Karl darted out of the way with a yelp as Aimee fell over him and
quickly scrambled up to her feet.
The six people in the other room stared at the girl with
astonishment. None of them expected her to be here and for a moment,
no one knew what to do. The girl quickly scrambled up and disappeared
from site.
"After her!" Guralnik was the first to recover and the three
younger guards charged out of the room, after the girl they knew to be
lost. Her seeing Captain Koren mattered in that no one was to know he
was alive and she could ruin the entire plan of eliminating crime from
Dargon.
"What is going on?" Koren groaned, trying to sit up.
"Don't exert yourself, Captain," Elizabeth forced him to lay back
down.
"Sir, there's been a lot that happened in the last month..."
"The war? How's the war?"
"Dargon is safe, Sir. We ran them all off! The Duke even chased
them."
For a moment Koren smiled. "And the Southern Marches? The eastern
boarder?"
"Captain, you need to rest!" Elizabeth cut in, stopping Guralnik
from revealing the bad news.
"Perhaps it would be better if one of your own men briefed you,
or perhaps Lieutenant Taishent," the sergeant caught on.
Koren nodded. "Did Darklen make it?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And Azin? Shevlin? Milnor?"
"Lieutenant Milnor is all right, Sir," Guralnik said, "Lieutenant
Azin is with the Duke's forces...Lieutenant Shevlin..." He glanced at
the physician, but went on. "Lieutenant Shevlin held the West Gate to
the last man. I'm sorry, Sir. He didn't live to see us drive the enemy
away."
Koren nodded with a sigh, his expression grim. "And Lansing
Bartol?"
"He's well."
"Have Kalen come see me if you refuse to let me get up," Koren
told Elizabeth.
"I'll pass on the message," the physician said, not having the
intention of saying anything to the lieutenant for at least a few
days. "Send for me if you need anything."
"Before you go," Koren added, preventing Elizabeth from leaving,
"tell me why that girl was being chased."
The castellan fumbled with his keys until finding the right one
and inserted it in the lock. "Just to show you no one ever goes here,"
he complained, twisting the key in the door. "Why, even I haven't set
foot in here since winter and the only other key's in the Duke's
study. Look!"
The door swung open to reveal a corridor lit with torches,
alternating on the opposing walls. The dust was disturbed with a well
defined trail.
"No one, eh?" Dyann snapped. "I knew that mutt kept coming here
for a reason!"
The castellan angrily removed a torch from its sconce and hurried
down the corridor. "We'll just see who's been here!"
Aimee ran down the lit corridor as quickly as she could manage,
with Karl right on her heels, jumping and barking loudly. Behind them
Aimee could hear the running feet of the guards. She did not even
think to run into one of the dark rooms or side tunnels. Not only
could she get lost there, but Karl's insistent barking would only help
the guards find her faster. She did not know what she would do upon
reaching the heavy oak door, or if it would even be open, but she
could always kick and scream and maybe someone on the other side would
hear her and tell her father.
Aimee breathlessly scrambled up the stairs, almost tripping over
Karl. She could hear the guards not far behind her. She darted out of
the corridor, now running after the puppy, looking for a place to
hide. As she turned the corner, she spotted three men, her
grandfather, one of his friends and the castle castellan. All three
stood astonished, looking at her.
"Grandfather!" she wheezed, breathless from her run and dashed to
hide behind him. Right on her heels the three guards turned the
corner.
The old mage held his granddaughter behind him and took a
confident step forward. "What do you want from my granddaughter?" His
words boomed in the corridor.
"You know," Ilona said to Captain Koren, "you and Kalen are
equally pig headed! Like you came from the same mold!" Their wait for
the others to arrive was taking longer than either of the two expected
and Ilona decided to use this as an opportunity to take care of some
unfinished business.
The guard captain laughed. "How so, Lieutenant?"
"Kalen was injured in the war," she told him, "and now he doesn't
want to take the time to let that damn wound heal!"
Koren laughed. "I remember just over ten years ago bandits set up
camp four or five leagues south of town and were exerting a road toll
from caravans and travellers. Kalen was just a rookie then. Captain
Tamar Armstrong was the head of the guard -- it was a few years before
he went to serve as a general in the King's army -- and he sent me and
some men, including Kalen, to break that band up..."
The Captain fell silent as Elizabeth walked into the room,
followed by Kalen and Jerid. "Didn't I tell you to stay in bed?" she
demanded.
"I've stayed in that bed for a month!" Koren snapped. "Wounds
heal better when they know they need to heal."
"I'll have a sleeping potion mixed in with your food next time
you eat," the physician threatened.
"Kalen," Koren ignored the physician, "have you ever told Ilona
of your first great adventure?"
"When I was two?" Kalen looked a bit shocked that the Captain
would remember a story told at a party where everyone had a little too
much to drink. He fought back a slight flush that covered his face.
"No, in the guard!"
"I haven't, Sir," he wiped his brow with his sleeve.
"Well, do and get those wounds tended to."
"Wounds?" Elizabeth turned to Kalen.
"Don't you touch me," he warned her.
"Did you two get everything straightened out?" Koren asked Jerid.
"We did, Sir," he said. "Aimee found the door open, wandered in
and got locked in here. I should have thought to check the catacombs.
That is just like her."
Koren chuckled. "I can understand her fright when she saw me not
moving. I'd have run, too, if I were her age."
"All's well that ends well," Jerid said. "Next time, I hope,
she'll be smarter than going where she shouldn't be. That scare was so
bad for her, I won't even punish her for being irresponsible...even
though I should."
"Good," Koren approved. "Now, about Liriss."
Everyone pulled up a chair and sat down around the Captain, ready
to plan.
"Jerid, I want you to extend your patrols to the docks. I don't
want a single ship to leave before we're finished."
"You can be sure of that, Sir," the castle Lieutenant answered.
"You, Ilona," Koren went on, "I want you to secure the market
place when Kalen takes Liriss' hold. That way we'll cut off the best
way out of town."
"Sir, if I may, I'd rather be there as it happens. With your
permission, I'd like to have Caisy do that job."
Koren thoughtfully twisted his mustache. "Let's get back to that
in a moment. Kalen, I want that building surrounded and broken into.
Use all the force you can. This is an excuse to kill criminals without
having to answer for it. Anyone who doesn't yield when told doesn't
get a second chance, clear?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And since Kesrin is willing to turn evidence, try to take him
alive, but if that doesn't happen, I won't be too concerned.
"Elizabeth, I'll need to rely on you to doctor my people. We
simply don't have the manpower to do everything. I'll need my medics
in the raid itself. I want you and what physicians and healers you can
scrounge up to be ready and close by. Stay with the patrols and
they'll bring you in when it's time."
Kalen looked at Elizabeth, expecting her to protest the plan, but
she did not say a word. In a way, Kalen hoped that he could avoid a
mass slaughter and he knew that in an ideal situation, his captain
would have wanted the same, but he also realized how understaffed they
were and how important it was to end the criminal reign over the city.
Perhaps Elizabeth knew it as well and held her tongue for that reason
alone.
"Now," Koren turned back to Ilona, who waited for his decision.
He had no doubts that she was among the best officers he ever had, but
he needed to hear her reasons and push her a little, to see if she was
willing to push back. "Ilona, any reasons?"
Ilona did not answer for a few moments, putting her thoughts
together. "Captain, I'm a Dargon town guard," she said. "I want to be
there because that's my job. That's what I signed on to do. I'm here
to protect, not be protected. Isn't it enough you barred me from
fighting in the war?"
"Your efforts were important where they were applied," he said.
"Elizabeth tells me you were invaluable."
"But you put me in the keep so that I wouldn't be hurt in the
fighting!"
Koren smiled. "Yes, I did. It was both for you and Kalen. One of
you worried was enough. I couldn't afford to have both of your
performances affected."
"Then overlook that I'm a woman this time," Ilona asked.
Koren shifted in his bed. "I understand you're on the take with
Liriss?"
"Of course," the Lieutenant smiled back. "He's been sending me
jewelry." A few of the gathered laughed.
"Kalen, how injured are you?" the Captain asked his second in
command, ignoring the laughter.
"I'm fine, Sir."
"Fine like me?"
Kalen did not answer.
"I want you to take charge of the market square," Koren decided.
"Ilona will lead the raid. And after you're done, I want you to see
Elizabeth. I may be as stubborn as a mule when it comes to my own
health, but I'm smart enough not to risk my best people needlessly."
Ilona waited patiently until all of the twenty people in the
raiding party gathered in the alley. They had surprised two brigands
here and took them prisoner with minimal resistance. Now they lay on
the ground, tied, waiting until the raid was completed, to be
transported to the guard house. It would be a great success if the
rest of the raid went as smoothly.
Looking around in the darkening alley, Ilona wondered if she
should wait until it was completely dark, but not wanting to waste too
much time. Each minute she and the guards were here was a risk that
they would be noticed from inside the building. The sergeants slowly
gathered around her, waiting for instructions.
"Caisy," Ilona turned to the man next to her, "first floor,
straight through. Hold the rear stairs and the exits. Tess," she
turned to the tall red-headed sergeant that could put fear into most
men she fought. "Second floor. No risks. As soon as you're done, back
Caisy."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Garay, Streed and DaVrice, you're with me. Go easy on Kesrin,
but bring everyone in. The third floor is the only place I prefer
prisoners to bodies. Everyone clear?"
All the guards nodded.
Ilona signaled for Caisy to begin and two of the Sergeant's men
quickly broke down the door. Caisy led his small group in, followed by
Tess' larger unit.
"Go," Ilona nodded to the three guards remaining with her. They
went in and, drawing her sword, Ilona followed.
The building was dark inside, not yet lit to accommodate the the
setting of the sun. The first floor corridor was mostly empty,
although sounds of a fight could be heard from further down, where it
took a turn. Caisy and his men secured a good half of the building's
first floor and were now working at the other end of the corridor.
Ahead of Ilona, her team's heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Not wanting to let opportunity slip by, Ilona quickly followed them up
the stairs. As she passed the murky second floor, she heard someone
yell "archer", but there were already plenty of people on this floor
to take care of the problem and she had a job to do one floor up.
Hoping that the alarm would be taken care of by the men assigned
to the floor, Ilona continued up the stairs.
The instant the outside door cracked and swung open, Caisy
followed his men into the building. They both paused to fight the two
brigand guards at the door and he ran past them, towards the stairs.
The flood of men that followed through the doorway carried the fight
after him and the two brigands were quickly overpowered and thrown
behind the stairs.
Caisy himself ran deeper into the building, looking for other
inhabitants. At the stairs he found another man, wearing studded
leather decorated with metal, a sailor's cap and a wild glean in his
eyes. "Yield!" Caisy ordered. Wearing the dark blue tunic of the town
guard he did not feel the need to declare himself.
Instead of surrendering, the brigand drew his sword and leapt
over the banister. Caisy backed up, blocking the first strike with his
sword. The man's attack was so determined that he quickly found
himself on the defensive. Two more blocks and a parry later had him
five yards further down the hallway.
"Damn you!" he swung his blade across the corridor, making the
man pause his advance to avoid getting hit. Behind him Caisy could
hear a battle cry and someone's rushing feet. He decided to risk
facing the new opponent, hoping that his own men, now moving up the
corridor, would take care of the crazed brigand from the stairs.
He turned, bending down, swinging his sword at knee level. It
impacted with the new opponent, changing the war cry to a yell of
pain. Instead of attacking, the brigand simply collapsed over Caisy.
"The door!" Caisy indicated to the other alley doorway to the two
guards that caught up to him.
Another armed man rushed at them from the back stairs. The
corridor was not wide enough for the three men to fight together.
Tess followed her men up the stairs, knowing full well that at
least three or four of her people were still in the entry corridor,
helping Caisy's men. This was a large reduction in strength, but it
was a necessary loss. No part of the building they had been in could
be left unsecured.
She made it to the top of the stairs to find her men already
engaged in combat. With a quick and precise thrust of her sword, Tess
cut deep in the side of one of Liriss' henchmen and proceeded on
without stopping. The second floor corridor was clear, but there were
plenty of rooms to worry about.
Tess opened the first door she came to and stepped inside. She
ducked under the fist of the man who met her and quickly pulled the
door shut, catching the thug in between it and the frame. As he
screamed, she hit him with the flat of her blade and shoved him back
in to the room.
Two other men rushed at her, but only one at a time could fight
successfully through the doorway. Tess met the first one with her
sword as her own men rushed down the corridor behind her. She blocked
the first swing of the sword with hers, then followed through and cut
deep into his shoulder.
"Yield!"
He did. His companion also tossed his sword down, having seen
what had happened to his friends.
"Get out here," Tess ordered, stepping back.
The three men came out into the corridor.
"Face down, on the floor!"
A yell made everyone look up as a half dozen men charged down the
corridor, holding a bench sideways, knocking everyone over, sweeping
them backwards off their feet. The bench slammed into the three men
Tess challenged, then into her. She lost her sword as she slammed into
the wall and the next thing she knew, she had a set of hands around
her throat and a heavy body on top of hers.
"You son of a bitch!" she yelled at the man and grabbing hold of
his shoulders, slammed him sideways into the wall. The man's head
impacted the fine grain wall with a crack. It took three full thrusts
to get him to let go of her neck and by that time she was covered with
his blood, dripping down on her from the injuries to his skull. Tess
shoved the unconscious body off her and got up, only to see the man
she wounded earlier holding her sword.
"Poetic, isn't it?" he turned the blade, wet with blood.
"Not for you," Tess drew her long dagger, preparing for an
unbalanced fight.
"Archer!" someone further down the corridor yelled and as if on
cue, the brigand with her sword fell over, an arrow shaft in his back.
Tess also dropped down, hoping it was only one archer and that he
did not have many arrows. She could see pretty far down the corridor,
but not far enough to distinguish what was going on at the other end.
As she looked, she again heard a rush of running feet and rolled out
of the way, towards the wall, as the men with the bench charged in the
other direction. There were only four of them now and with her dagger,
Tess managed to put a deep cut in the leg of the man on her side. He
stumbled, ham strung, and fell forward, pulling the bench down with
him. The bench end ground against the wall and the whole column of men
went tumbling down.
Tess quickly grabbed her sword off the floor and got up, only to
have another arrow whiz by her ear. That made her back up, carefully
looking down the corridor where her men were fighting in small groups.
Three of the men that carried the bench got up off the floor, two of
them drawing their swords and the third bent down to get his off the
floor. As she prepared for fighting two men, one of them staggered
forward and fell, with an arrow in his back. His companion spun around
to see what was happening, giving Tess a perfect opportunity for a
strike. She did not let it go to waste.
Having heard someone yell "archer", Caisy rushed up the back
stairs, leaving his men to secure the first floor. Two of them were
wounded, one unable to continue to fight, but the battle there was
almost over.
On the landing, Caisy stopped just short of being hit by a sword.
He was at a great disadvantage, having to fight a man towering half
his height over him, but that was the luck of the draw and the
disadvantage of being lower down on the stairs.
Yells of combat could be heard both above and below as he blocked
the vicious swings of the blade of the man on the landing. One hard
blow forced Caisy to fall back three steps, but as his attacker
followed him down, Caisy lunged at his feet, making the man lose his
balance and tumble down over him.
The way was clear and deciding to let the five guards downstairs
deal with the swordsman, Caisy rushed up to the landing and up the
second flight of stairs. In the growing darkness of the second floor,
Caisy could see men fighting down the corridor and an archer in the
foreground, letting an arrow lose from his long bow.
The man was dressed in a light tunic reaching down to his knees
and had no sword.
"Put it down!" Caisy ordered as the archer drew another arrow,
but instead of complying, the man tried to catch the arrow's notch on
the string of the bow.
Caisy swung his sword, not wanting to become the archer's new
target, but the man was barely at the tip of the sword's reach. The
weapon hit the bow, shearing through the narrowest part of the weapon
and breaking the string, making the shattered bow snap out with a loud
crack. The archer screamed in pain as the broken string cut through
the flesh of his unprotected forearm and the bow twisted in his hand
like a writhing snake. The arrow, barely caught on the torn string,
jumped off the bow and stuck in the wall not far away from Caisy.
Ilona made her way up the stairs on the heels of Sergeant Streed.
An unconscious guard already lay at the top of the landing. The first
set of doors on each side of the corridor was open. Sounds of crashing
furniture could be heard from the door on the left side.
"Help him," Ilona pointed Streed to the room, not sure if Garay
or DaVrice was in there.
As Streed disappeared in the room, Ilona made her way down the
corridor to the end of the building overlooking the market place. The
central room on the far wall was suspected of being Liriss'
headquarters and pausing only long enough to ready her sword, Ilona
burst in through the door. The first room was empty. It was richly
decorated with rugs and pieces of art. On one wall stood a luxurious
sofa with soft pillows scattered at its base. Across from it stood a
large cabinet displaying bottles of liquor and spirits.
Not wanting to waste the time exploring the room, Ilona rushed to
the next door and burst through into an office with a large window
showing the last of the setting sun's light over the town wall a half
league away. At the desk in the center of the room sat Liriss, facing
Ilona, full of surprise. It took Ilona a moment to notice the young
woman who had brought her Liriss' message a few days prior, standing
in the shadows at the wall to her left.
"What is this?" Liriss asked, surprise evident in his voice.
"It's a raid, rat."
"You can't do this!" he got up, then calming himself, added, "you
have to believe what I told you three days ago. I'm not responsible
for Koren's death!"
"What about two kidnappings?"
"What kidnappings?!"
"Do you know what the sad thing is?" Ilona asked. "I actually
believe that for the first time in your miserable life you're telling
the truth. You usually gloat over your victories, but ever since the
war started, you've been running like a scared rat. You're free to go,
assuming you can get out of this building. If not, that's your luck."
Ilona paused, thinking about the young woman. Should she be
arrested or let go? "You..." It would make more sense to let her go.
That way there would be no witnesses to her releasing Liriss, to make
a bargain to be set free.
"You have to let her go!" Liriss hurried to say. "I'll turn
myself in if I must, but you have to let her go!"
"Who is she?" Ilona asked.
"Please!"
Ilona knew that she had little time herself. "Go, both of you,
but next time you won't get off this easily!"
Without waiting for Liriss to respond, Ilona rushed out of the
room, knowing full well that her people would be looking for her. In
the long hallway she found Garay guarding two men and a woman.
"Lieutenant, are you all right?" he hurried to ask.
"Fine. What's happening?"
"The first floor is secured and the second is being cleaned up.
Sergeant Caisy sent three men to give us a hand here."
One of the doors slammed open and one of the guardsmen shoved a
beat up man out. Ilona hurried to finish the sweep of the floor.
Captain Adrunian Koren sat in bed in his second floor castle
room, twisting his mustache, watching Kalen pace before him. The news
from yesterday's raid was both good and bad. Four guards dead, a dozen
wounded, three of them badly enough that they would be off duty for as
long as a month, but that was nothing to compare to what had happened
to Liriss' men.
"The whole corridor," Kalen repeated himself. "It wasn't like
this even in the invasion... Wall to wall blood. The men said that
before I got there, you couldn't put a foot down without being ankle
deep in blood..."
"How many?" Koren asked, his voice a mere whisper.
"It's hard to say. You had to see it... We took thirty-three
alive, about half were whores who refused to fight. Half a dozen were
barely children.
"The men pretty much fought with all they had. I understand some
went after our people with furniture or whatever they could lift. One
man attacked Caisy swinging part of a dead body..."
Koren shook his head. "How sad we've come to this..."
"I'd guess there were two or three dozen dead total," Kalen went
on. "We took them by complete surprise. There was no way they could
mass an organized defense."
"I wish I could give everyone some time off to get over this,"
Koren said, "but getting over our own losses will be hard enough. I
can't afford to let anyone take time off now."
Kalen nodded.
"And Liriss?"
"I'm sorry, Sir. It was my fault. We could have arrested him for
trying to bribe me."
"Kesrin, not Liriss," Koren reminded the Lieutenant. "He
protected himself well."
"Either way," Kalen answered. "I should have arrested him for
what has been happening."
"You told me you didn't think he was responsible," Koren said
thoughtfully.
"Not after his meetings with Ilona, but he's still guilty of a
lot that happened before this."
"But that's the..." there was a knock on the door "...thing. Come
in," Koren shifted in bed. "If we could prove it without overstepping
our bounds, this wouldn't be a problem."
The door opened and Ilona Milnor came in.
"I just feel guilty that he would charge on that horse right past
me and I couldn't lift a finger. Wouldn't." Kalen glanced at Ilona. "I
should've been smart enough to have a few men with horses."
Ilona looked down, avoiding his eyes.
"What's done is done," Koren said. "He's not our only problem.
Kesrin's with him because we made a deal and one's as good as the
other. Hopefully this will put them out of business for a few months
at least."
"Do you really believe that?" Kalen asked.
"No," the Captain sighed. "If not them, someone else will come.
It never stops."
"Kesrin gave us a statement before we let him go at noon," Ilona
injected. "What he claims happened was Ovink found out about Liriss'
attempts to bribe Kalen and ordered your death, Sir. He wanted to
start a war between us and Liriss and lay low until we won. Then he
would set up his own shop..."
"His one error was that he underestimated Kesrin," Koren said,
"but that's the way things go in a nest of wasps. I don't suppose it
will take Liriss and Kesrin too long to rebuild."
"Especially considering the number of men that escaped," Ilona
added. "Tess said they were jumping out of windows, afraid they'd get
killed whether they surrendered or not."
"They'll need time to get over the scare," Koren said
confidently, "and to lick their wounds. And we need time to take care
of ours. But we'll be ready next time and you'll have horses, right
Kalen?"
Lieutenant Kalen Darklen smiled. "Yes, Sir, I will."
"Well, then," Koren turned to Ilona. "What did you come here
for?"
"To ask you how you were and if you needed anything."
"I feel like a tired old bull that needs to get back on his
feet!" Koren's voice boomed. "Keep that guard house in shape! I'll be
coming home soon."
"And Tara, Sir?"
"Better than I understand she was. I saw her this morning. She's
been through quite a scare."
"If you don't mind, Sir, I'll ask her to stay with me until
Elizabeth lets you go."
"That will be fine, Lieutenant. And thank you."
"My pleasure, Sir. One more thing..?"
"What is it?"
"About replacements for Lieutenants Shevlin and Azin. I was
wondering if I could give you a recommendation." Ilona glanced
cautiously at Kalen as she said that and he nodded his approval.
"Who did you have in mind?" the Captain asked.
"Sergeant Caisy. He did a fine job handling the extra shift over
the last month. And Tess, if Azin decides to stay with the Duke. If
anyone, it was she who made last night a success."
"Tess? The Lederian? She studied with Lord Morion, didn't she?"
"Yes, Sir. The whole town knows that by now."
"Get me their service records and we'll take a look," Koren
agreed.
"I best go, Sir," Kalen said. "My shift starts soon."
"Go, nothing. You need to see Elizabeth," Koren ordered. "Don't
think I've forgotten. Have Tess do your job today. We'll see how she
does."
"Yes, Sir," Kalen sighed.
"And you make sure he gets there," Koren told Ilona. "Dismissed."
"You let him escape, didn't you?" Kalen asked Ilona once they
left the Captain's room.
"You mean Liriss?" she asked.
"Yes, Liriss."
"Yes. Are you angry?"
Kalen put his arm around Ilona. "No. I don't think he was guilty
either, but he still needs to be punished for his past."
"We'll get him," Ilona said confidently.
"We will," Kalen agreed.
"You know that woman I told you about, the one who delivered the
message to me in the guard house?"
"Uh-huh."
"I saw her again in Liriss' office when I let him go," Ilona
said. "While I contemplated whether or not to let her go, he offered
himself for her!"
"Liriss?" Kalen asked in disbelief.
"Liriss."
"I wonder who she is..."
"So do I," Ilona said. "You didn't see her in the market square,
did you? She wore a light colored skirt and a green tunic."
"I may have...I wasn't really watching for unarmed women at the
time."
Ilona sighed. "I hope we find out some day. It struck me that she
was very important to him."
They soon reached the physician's quarters and Kalen hesitantly
knocked on the door.
"Don't look so intense," Ilona mocked him. "It won't hurt a bit."
The market square was once again busy, oblivious to the raid that
took place there the night before. Shoppers rushed about from booth to
booth, haggling for the best deals. Shop keepers waved their arms and
yelled, expressing the quality of the products and the unbeatable
price they had to offer.
"And you can let this lay around for months," the merchant
explained to Dyann as he paid out the money. "It will be good at least
through Deber."
"I'm not buying it to let it lie around," the mage said. "When I
buy food, it's to eat it."
"After you buy it, do with it what you will," the merchant
snapped and turned to the next customer, no longer having to worry
about making the sale. The mage sighed and walked across the crowded
street to Corambis' booth where Madam Labin was still telling him how
appreciative she was of his services.
"And thank you again, Sage," she said yet again. Dyann heard that
exact phrase before he left to buy the pickled sweet meats he was not
supposed to eat.
"My pleasure," Cormabis answered with what appeared to be an
exasperated smile and a forced pleasant voice.
"And don't forget that I need to see you again in a few days. No
later than the end of the month, so you be sure to have your assistant
stop by my house and remind me."
"Of course, Madam," Corambis' smile did not fade as he spoke.
"Well, actually you'd better have her drop by tomorrow," the
woman went on. "My maid made this wonderful new cake that I'd like you
to see. It tastes just heavenly, but it's..." she looked around "...a
Beinison recipe and I'm just not sure if that's good or bad." She
crossed herself. "I'm sorry Cephas. So you must tell me before I try
it again, with the war on and everything."
"I'll have Thuna stop by tomorrow," Corambis promised.
"Thank you again, Sage," Madam Labin repeated.
"I'm always glad to help out," he released a deep breath.
"And I also want you do a reading for my sister. She will be
going to Asbridge early next month and you must help her plan for the
weather. I hear the rains are due to be stronger this year than last
and I want her to be ready. She just doesn't believe me when I tell
her!"
"Of course. Just have her stop by and I'll be more than happy to
help."
"That's just so kind of you," Madam Labin went on. "You know, I
was told that..."
"Excuse me," Dyann rushed up to them. "We need to talk. Would you
please excuse us, Madam?"
"Well, if you need..." Madam Labin began, but Dyann had already
pulled Corambis aside. "Well, how rude!" she exclaimed.
"I'll kill that woman," Corambis confined in his friend. "I
swear, she'll not last long if she continues to visit me."
Dyann laughed. "That's why I don't sell my advice."
"Did you hear about the raid?" Corambis asked.
"Every word of it, from Jerid. Just look at that empty building
now. I hope they tear it down!"
Corambis looked north to the old three story structure. "If they
don't, we can. Get Sweeny and Arbogast and some others..."
"We're all in our sixties," Dyann reminded Corambis.
"Well, yes, but..."
"I wanted to talk to you about Adrunian Koren," Dyann said.
"Yes," Corambis' eyes lit up. "I told you that casting didn't
lie!"
"Which still leaves us with a problem," Dyann pointed out. "If
the casting was right, what's going to happen to Lord Dargon?"
Corambis scratched his head. "I wish I knew what that damn
casting meant..."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 Beginnings
by Michelle Brothers
and Max Khaytsus
(b.c.k.a. <khaytsus@ALUMNI.CS.COLORADO.EDU>)
Mertz, 1015
Pristine sails rose stark and white against the sullen sky,
flapping slightly in a salt encrusted breeze. Dull sunlight raised
bright patches on the ship's worn wooden railing. Nicks and cuts
caused by sword strokes and grappling hooks caught and pooled shadows
like the blood that had so recently washed the vessel's deck.
Tarilane sat on a barrel filled with fresh water and sadly noted
the still present marks of war; a pale stain on the deck that salt
water could not scour away, carefully mended rents in the otherwise
perfect sails, and the swords that the sailors still wore. She touched
the hilt of her own blade reflectively. The war was over, but the
peace was tenuous at best.
Shakin had not been directly involved in the Beinison/Baranurian
conflict. Located to the southeast of Beinison, the huge country had
simply never felt the need to conquer the intervening territories to
gain control of the independent state. That Shakin also produced the
best alchemists and physicians on the continent and could deny their
services to anyone, made the decision to let them alone easier.
Leaving them autonomous was easier than being denied medical aid
sometime in the uncertain future. The Shakinian crown, held jointly by
the Royal Consorts, having no interest in land acquisition, had
remained neutral, as they had throughout the war torn centuries.
This was not to say that they did not take part in the latest
squabble between the two powers. Healers and alchemists were in high
demand by both sides, and since past attempts to limit enemy access to
Shakinian healing resulted in the complete withdrawal of all support,
both sides were allowed to bargain for these services. If it had no
other exportable resources, Shakin's highly skilled physicians and
herb mixers more than made up for the lack.
The country itself had remained physically apart from the war,
being on the wrong side of Beinison to experience the devastation
directly, until their neighbor, Kimerron, a tribal country Beinison
did not consider worth their time to subdue, decided that it needed
more land. Thinking their large neighbor was busy with other games,
Kimerron attacked from behind, making deep incursions into Beinosian
territory. After recovering from the shock of the unexpected bite, the
tip of one of Beinison's many fingered army crushed the raiders.
Tarilane had spent most of her life in Sahni, Shakin's capitol,
learning the alchemist's trade. The skirmish right on her country's
border provided her with plenty of opportunities to practice her
lessons--both healing and sword. Because her master, Derimiahn, was
one of the most skilled alchemists of his time, he was in great demand
by the crown to assist the physicians in easing the pain of the
refugees and in providing components to the royal mages. He was a
gentle man, who refused to use even one of the many titles the
Consorts had conferred upon him during his life, but at the command of
his royal cousins, travelled to the front to represent them with his
art. Tarilane, his second eldest apprentice, had the honor of
accompanying him, while the eldest apprentice attended the shop and
the youngsters. Together, master and student labored beside healers,
trying to save the lives and limbs of the young victims and beside the
mages to provide ingredients to fuel protective spells. Tarilane
learned more in the months spent building potions for the healers and
mages than she ever could have during the normal course of her
studies.
They had returned to Sahni a bare two weeks ago and five days
after the homecoming, Tarilane found herself on her way to the nearest
port, Derimiahn's last words echoing emptily in her ears.
"You have learned all that I can teach you, Tari. I release you
from the rest of your apprenticeship before you watch the walls of
this shop grow too small around your spirit." He placed a hand on her
head in almost fatherly benediction. "Know that you have pleased me
and show great promise. You will do well."
And he left her.
Tarilane found herself standing alone in her cramped cubicle,
watching the dividing curtain-wall rippling in her master's wake. She
did not follow; could not have thought of anything to do or say if she
had.
She took her leave of the other apprentices at the night meal,
which Derimiahn was conspicuously absent from, and spent hours talking
with Shauvandier, the senior apprentice, plotting a destination. The
youngesters helped out by packing her few belongings while Tarilane
and Shaw pored over a worn map. The single, barely full bag waited by
the front door with the tiny, hastily gathered pile of
parting-gifts--Sonshallan, the next oldest apprentice gave her his
first blown potion bottle, a lopsided affair that would barely stand
upright. Castellei, next in line, gave her a writing pen, with soft
apologies that he could not afford ink or a case yet, and Shaem, the
youngest, gave her her favorite string of blue beads. Later she would
find the green scarf Shaw had stashed in his herb storage chest for
the last few months in the top of her pack; his final gift to her.
Much later, after the children were tucked away in bed, Tarilane
shared a glass of mead with Shauvandier before the dying fire.
"Is there anything else you need?" he asked softly, watching the
firelight play across Tarilane's features, catching in her pale brown
hair.
"Courage," she quipped back with a faint smile that faded
immediately. "Seriously, Shaw, it's like leaving home for the first
time. Except this _is_ the first time. I don't remember living any
place but here. I'm really scared."
"You'll do fine, little sister." Shauvandier pulled her into a
gentle embrace. "Master's right to send you off...I've watched you
prowl the house and watch the road like you wonder what's at the end.
You'll do fine. You're good, practical, everything that it takes.
Don't worry so much. And don't forget to keep a sense of humor," he
added, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her a little. "You get
too serious sometimes."
Tarilane chuckled softly, unable to deny the accusation. She
could be very intense when working, to the exclusion of the gentler
emotions. "You always know the right things to say, Shaw. You're like
the brother I never had."
They sat in companionable silence after that, until Shauvandier
shooed Tarilane off to bed. As she drifted into sleep, Tarilane
remembered their ill-fated attempt to deepen their friendship into
something more personal. They had just gotten themselves comfortable
on the bed when Derimiahn pulled the dividing curtain aside.
He said nothing for what seemed like the longest time, then
pulled it shut again. They had parted as soon as his footsteps
disappeared down the stairs, the ardor of the moment chilled. After
that, they never felt quite right about the quick kisses and stolen
caresses, even though the Master never said a word about the incident.
The decision to keep the relationship platonic was made not long
after, and neither one could say they regretted the decision.
Tarilane recalled all of this with a faint flush, and chided
herself for getting lost in memories. The present was what she had to
worry about now, not the elusive past. Salt breeze cooled the burning
in her cheeks, catching the scarf that had been Shauvandier's final
gift to her and causing it to dance. The loneliness she had been able
to hold at bay during the journey to the coast rolled over her with
the slap of the water against the hull.
"Lady?" The sea roughened voice shattered her mood like waves
breaking on rocks.
Tarilane was glad for the interruption; she had had enough of
remembering. She slipped off the keg and turned to face the First
Mate, noting the cutlass belted to his side. Pirates and warships
still roamed the sea, not realizing that the war was over. Or perhaps
not caring.
"Yes? What did the captain say about the job?"
"Cap'n says, if'n y' kin cook, y' kin have passin'," the Mate
said. "With th' clear understand'n that y' pull y'r own weight. We
won' coddle y'. This ain't no easy job. Fact `tis, we lost our last
cook t' pirates." He folded his arms, waiting for her to politely
decline. He either did not see or did not believe the sword attached
to her waist.
Tarilane laughed. "Sir, I spent six months near to the war border
and I don't wear this--" she patted the hilt of the broad sword
"--because it's pretty. Sometimes it was the only thing that stood
between my Master and those who would have stolen what we would have
given freely. I'll be fine. And I'm a darned good cook."
"Hope so, f'r y'r sake," said the Mate doubtfully. "'Cause we'll
put y' over th' side if'n y' can't cook. I'll show y' where y'r t'
sleep."
Tarilane grinned and followed him towards the galley.
* * * * *
Sy 5, 1015
"I really hate this," muttered Darion, just loud enough to be
heard by the youth he rode beside. The clop of the horses hooves on
the cobblestones effectively prevented the whisper from traveling much
farther. He hunched a little in his dark tunic and studied the houses
and businesses.
"What?" replied his companion with a mocking grin. "Coming out in
daylight or riding?"
"Bodyguarding," Darion snapped, careful that his voice did not
carry over the steady beat of the horse's hooves. "I don't like doing
this. You do. I'm not a fighter."
Ranth chucked, remembering their last bar fight, a few nights
ago. They had gotten into a brawl with a pair of burly sailors out of
Lediria over a dice game and Darion had taken quite a beating, serving
more as a distraction than an actual participant.
"Gotta step out of the shadows sometime, my friend," Ranth
advised. "You can't spend the rest of your life creeping down alleys.
Come to mention, you have been doing a lot of midnight prowling
lately. What's been up?"
Darion opened his mouth to respond, but the man they were
following interrupted harshly.
"Pipe down, you two," he ordered, without looking back.
"Yes, my lord," Darion and Ranth said in chorus. The man did
glance back at this, and glared, one hand on the heavy, peace-bound
dagger at his hip. He hated when his proteges did this, and they knew
it. The knife promised what would happen to them if they did it again.
Darion and Ranth traded glances as he turned back to study the
heavily trafficed avenue. Lord Silvas was in a poor mood today, and
they did not know what had caused it. Deciding that being silent on
the matter would greatly increase their life span, they made no
further comments.
Lord Silvas was not a man to be trifled with. A high ranking
member of Comarr's booming Thieves Guild, he had taken the pair in
when they were just runny nosed urchins on the streets. To Ranth, the
larger of the two boys, he gave an education in combat and arms. For
someone of his age, just over eighteen years, he was quite handy with
any weapon that came into reach. He would make a fine guard or
mercenary in the not so distant future.
Darion was taught the art of spying. Tall, slender and agile he
could sneak into and out of places with ease, and, unlike his partner,
Darion was literate, so that he would know exactly what parchments to
acquire on his regular trips into Ciara's merchant quarter.
Since the day Silvas picked them up, Ranth and Darion were a
team. They did everything together, from their first drink, to their
first theft. Though not exactly a kind master, Silvas did teach them
the necessary skills to survive on Comarr's seedier side, as well as
other cities.
Buildings grew up around the little group as they rode deeper
into the Ciara's business district. The air filled with the sounds of
hurrying people and street haukers; mingled scents of new bread and
garbage drifted out from taverns and inns. Above it all, a faded blue
sky reflected the smoke from the many chimnies, confusing the true
white clouds.
Lord Silvas pulled to a halt before a dry-goods shop and
dismounted. His bodyguards followed suit. Darion's gaze scuttled
restlessly along the avenue, marking the people who passed, the dusty
goods in the store's display window, an odd mark burnt into the shop's
door jamb, and the bar across the street.
He nudged Ranth, who was keeping an eye out for obvious threats,
and motioned quickly at the building across the street. Ranth wiped
his answering smile off his face as Lord Silvas turned to them.
"Keep an eye on the horses," he ordered. "I have some business to
attend to. I will return shortly."
"Yes, my lord," Ranth and Darion acknowledged, careful to not do
it in chorus this time. Silvas disappeared into the shop in a swirl of
cloak.
"Hot out, isn't it," Ranth said, after a pause, eyeing the bar.
When Silvas said `shortly' that usually meant long enough for a drink.
"Sure is," agreed Darion, as he watched a gaily painted carriage
rumble past.
"Could stand for a drink to cut the dust."
"Same here. So long as you're buying. It's your turn."
"Since when?" Ranth glared at his friend. "I bought the rounds
last night!"
"Yeah, you did," confirmed Darion. "But I paid Olivia for you
last night, because you'd drunk all your silver. You owe me at least a
drink for that, if not more."
"You did?" Ranth looked confused.
"Sure did."
"Did I have a good time?"
"I assume so. I had to carry you home."
"Oh." Ranth studied the stitching on his horse's tack. "In that
case, I'll buy you a drink."
"Or three," laughed Darion. "Let's go."
Leaving the horses tethered in front of the shop, the pair
trotted across the cobbled street and into the Silver Platter. The
interior was well lit for a tavern, and much cleaner than the ones
Darion and Ranth were used to frequentinging. The smell of alcohol was
strong in the air, but the floor and tables were clean and the patrons
fairly well dressed. Ranth looked a little out of place in his
battered corslet, but, as usual, that did not bother him in the least.
They walked up to the bar, noting that the place was doing steady
business despite the earliness of the hour.
Finding a space was easily done; Ranth squeezed his bulk between
a half drunk merchant and a tipsy youth. He pounded his palm on the
counter a little.
"Two glasses of ale," he called over the high pitched babble of
the common room when the woman behind the bar turned in his general
direction. Two battered mugs appeared a second later and passed into
Ranth's possessions after an exchange of coin.
"You know," commented Darion as they sipped at the frothy glasses
in a corner. "I'm broke. I spent my last copper on that spice cake
this morning."
"Then I guess it's time to earn another stipend," said Ranth,
swallowing a great mouthful of ale. "Picked out a bird yet?"
"The scarlet jay you stood next to at the bar," Darion replied,
nodding in that direction. "He's paid in silver twice and doesn't show
any sign of leaving."
"All right. I'll distract him, you pluck him."
Darion disappeared into the crowd, while Ranth shouldered his way
through the bodies to the bar. In the process he tipped the remainder
of his drink all over the front of the red clad man's fancy tunic.
"`Ey! Wash it, y' clunsy oav!" The man rounded on his attacker,
slopping rich purple wine out of his glass as he turned.
"So sorry, my lord!" apologized Ranth, brushing futilely at the
spreading brown stain, causing more wine to spill. He glanced quickly
down and saw that the purse was gone and Darion was no where in sight.
Ranth set out to extricate himself from the situation. "Terribly
sorry. Let me buy you a drink to make up for the trouble."
"I don' wan' a drinth," slurred the merchant, weaving around,
trying to orient himself on the youth. "`Y damned bashterd!" And he
cut loose with a wide roundhouse swing that missed Ranth entirely, but
ploughed satisfyingly into the next nearest person.
Ranth ducked away into the crowd as the merchant swung again and
the cry of `fight' rocked the rafters.
Darion sauntered back across the street, casually tucking the
stitched leather pouch into his pocket. He leaned against the flank of
his horse and watched the entry to the Silver Platter. The sound of a
soft crash drifted across the bustling street and he winced a little.
A soft rustle behind him caused him to turn quickly.
"Ready to go, my lord?" he asked, seeing Silvas stepping out of
the shop. Darion's sharp eyes noted the dagger at his side was no
longer peace bound and he filed the scrap of information away to
contemplate later.
"Where's Ranth?" Silvas asked sharply, straightening the sleeves
of his dark tunic, baleful gaze pinned on Darion.
"He--had to go to the alley," lied Darion quickly. Not original,
but better than telling the lord that they had left his horse
unattended so they could both get drinks. A loud crash sounded from
across the street and the youth forced himself not to turn to look.
The stool flew out the splintered shutters of the Silver Platter
and skidded to a halt in the middle of the street, nearly tripping a
horse.
"Then he can catch up," Silvas decided, mounting. "Let's go."
Darion did look back to the bar at that statement and Silvas
turned his glare onto him. "Are you worried that Ranth can't handle
his business on his own?" he asked bitingly. "Or did he go somewhere
else."
"Uh, no, my lord." Darion mounted quickly and fell into position
behind his master without another backwards glance. Ranth was
perfectly able to take care of himself, Darion reminded himself. He
was a natural with most weapons and could hold his own in either a
formal fight or a brawl. Better than Darion could, in fact.
Hard on the heels of this thought came the clatter of hooves and
Ranth pounded up to his place beside his partner.
"Have fun?" asked Darion in undertone.
"Yeah. Took a right cross for you."
"Everything come out all right?" asked Silvas caustically,
without looking back at the pair.
"Yes, my lord!" Ranth responded quickly. "What did you tell him?"
he demanded quietly of his friend.
"Nothing terrible," grinned Darion. "Stick close, though. He's in
a mood again."
"Figures."
"I'll give you your cut when we get back," Darion added after a
second.
"Good."
"Any other stops, my lord?" asked Darion when his master turned
to glare at the pair of them. The innocent look on his face fooled no
one.
"No. Now shut up."
* * * * *
Tarilane clutched the straps of her bag and surveyed the streets
and buildings past the bustling pier. Like the port city Karine of
Shakin, Ciara was busy, filled with people ignoring one another,
hurrying about their business. Salt air mingled with the smell of tar
and fish, smell she had gotten used to during her time aboard ship.
Dappled afternoon sunlight speckled the sky and a stiff breeze caused
her cloak to flap sharply. Reflexively her fingers reached up to make
sure the dark green scarf around her neck had not blown away.
The scents from Shauvandier's herb chest still clung to the silky
fabric and Tarilane felt the now familiar tug of loneliness and
homesickness. She sighed and made her way off the pier. Letting
herself sink into depression was hardly the way to achieve anything
constructive. She set her mind to working out her upcoming problems.
She needed to find a place to stay first, so that she could start
to make serious plans. Tarilane wanted to open a shop of her own--an
apothecary. She had grown up in Master Derimiahn's shop--could not
remember living any place else, in fact. He claimed that he found her
sitting on his doorstep one day, a precocious two year old, with no
way of telling where she had come from. He had kept her because it was
more trouble to try and take her into town, than to simply raise her.
At least, so he said. Tarilane always suspected there was more to it
than that, but had never been able to find anything else out, and
eventually, it did not much matter any more. After sixteen years
surrounded by the work, she realized that she did not want to live or
labor anywhere else.
Watching Derimiahn mix potions was one of the earliest childhood
memories she had. As she grew older, Tarilane was allowed to join the
Master and his apprentices, never less than five, usually seven or
eight in all, on their forays to gather wood and herbs. At the age of
nine, she was officially apprenticed and started learning to identify
plants in all seasons, learned how to blow the little glass bottles
that would eventually contain the concoctions they made; learned to
prepare the condiments that mages would eventually use to produce
miracles--the liquid and powder magic that was the trademark of the
alchemist, that mages could not work wonders without. She spent
tedious hours learning to read, write, and figure, keeping the shop's
tally-books current and accurate. Long hours spent learning, before
she was ever allowed to create anything.
Since the day she had made her first simple potion, Tarilane
realized that she wanted nothing more than to have an apothecary of
her own, and her Master, seeing the drive and the talent, taught her
everything he could. Now, freed from the onerous duties of an
apprentice and ready to pass through journeyman to master, she did not
know how to proceed.
`Inheriting a shop would have been easier,' Tarilane sighed to
herself. `But no use in wishing for what I haven't got, so I'd better
make the best of what I have. Enough silver and coppers to put a roof
over my head for a few days, at least, and the food the Captain gave
to me should last about as long.' One clean set of clothes, the heavy
cloak around her shoulders, the pack, and her parting gifts were the
sum total of her possessions. Hardly enough to open a shop with, not
that she would even consider selling them. `I'll start looking for a
job tomorrow...'
The scuffle of Tarilane's salt encrusted boots was lost in the
general bustle of the street traffic.
* * * * *
Lord Silvas' residence was well suited to his high rank in the
underground and to his front as a wealthy merchant. A six foot stone
wall surrounded the house and the small, tree filled garden secluded
him from the outside world. Traps were hidden in the green expanses,
just in case a guild member got greedy. The house itself was only two
stories tall and constructed of grey stones a little darker than the
wall. Gates kept out any curious passers-by.
Inside, the house was subdued rather than ostentatious. Nothing
spoke of overt wealth, but everything had the stamp of quality. There
were a few extravagances. Glass window panes replaced dull common
shutters and heavy velvet drapes concealed the interior from all
outside viewers. Rugs, in the few places Silvas was willing to have
them, were plush and colorful.
Ranth and Darion sat in the fanciest room in the house, the front
room, usually used for receiving guests. Pictures and tapestries
covered the walls and the furniture was deep and comfortable. Sprawled
in velvet covered chairs they played cards with their latest pickings
as stakes.
Ranth flipped a well worn card at his partner and waited. Darion
studied it, then compared it to the others in his hand.
"Well?" Ranth said impatiently.
"Well what?"
"What's your bet?"
"I'm thinking about it."
Ranth waited, tapping his toes against the heavy rugs on the
floor.
"Young masters." The quiet voice caused both youths to jump.
"Lord Silvas requests your presence in his study immediately." A
slender woman stood in the doorway, in the black gown Silvas had all
his house staff wear. Ranth and Darion were positive the woman worked
for the Guild, but so far had not been able to prove it. Her manner
was ever that of a well trained servant, and they always seemed to be
too busy to follow her when she had her day off.
She waited patiently by the door while the pair redivided the pot
and made a show of reshuffling their hands back into the deck. Ranth
pocketed the deck as they followed her into the hall.
Lord Silvas was seated in a comfortable chair, taking advantage
of the late afternoon sunlight to read a letter that had arrived while
he was out. He looked up as Ranth and Darion entered the room and
arranged themselves before him.
"You've learned quite a bit in the last few years," he said,
closing the letter with a low rustle. He studied the pair for a minute
before continuing. "Now it is time for you to practice what you've
learned on your own. I want both of you out of the house by sunset
tonight."
Darion and Ranth stared at him in shocked silence.
"You're kicking us out?" asked Ranth.
"Isn't this a little sudden?" said Darion at the same instant.
Silvas looked amused, the faint smile smoothing the worry lines
around his eyes for just an instant.
"Yes, I'm kicking you out." He directed his first comment to
Ranth. "And no, it isn't sudden. You're both capable of taking care of
yourselves and I don't want to deal with you any more."
"We'll do fine," said Ranth confidently.
"I don't doubt it. And I'll be checking to make sure that you
only take what's yours, so..." Silvas let the sentence trail off
threatingly, dark eyes piercing the two youths. After a moment he
found his place in his letter again and started reading.
Ranth and Darion recognized a dismissal when they saw one and
headed for the door, trading uneasy glances.
"Don't forget to watch your backs out there." Lord Silvas' voice
followed them out into the hallway. "The Guild will contact you when
you have proven yourselves." When Darion glanced back, the man was
still busy with his letter.
The pair climbed the stairs to their room in silence, with the
black clad servant trailing after them.
Packing was a five minute affair; Lord Silvas had not encouraged
having many possessions. Darion had leather armor that he had
purchased just a month ago, a short sword, and some daggers, plus an
extra set of clothing and his lockpicks. Ranth carried a full broad
sword and a battered metal corslet that provided better than adequate
protection. Both weapon and mail were highly polished, for if Ranth
had any loves, it was that of weapons and combat. He too had a spare
set of clothes, and each carried a pack, where they were able to stash
several days worth of food when they thought the servant was not
looking.
They found themselves staring at each other as the front gate was
shut firmly behind them.
"We never did find out if she works for the Guild," commented
Darion irrelevantly, watching the woman make her way back inside. He
turned back to his partner. "So what do we do now? I feel like I've
just been stabbed in the back."
"We always knew this would happen," countered Ranth. "Just not
this soon..." He sounded less confident than he looked.
"Why did he say `The Guild will contact you when you've proven
yourselves'?" Darion wondered aloud. "The Guild's always eager to make
up the money they spent on training people as soon as possible."
"He probably just forgot," Ranth said, looking up and down the
street.
Darion turned to look back at the house through the heavy gates.
"He didn't forget. He _doesn't_ forget. You know that."
"Ah, forget it," Ranth pulled his friend away from the gate.
"We've got things to do. Tomorrow's the first day of the rest of our
lives."
"So what do we do today?" asked Darion.
"We go get drunk. Then we find a place to stay."
"Sounds good to me."
* * * * *
The Sailor's Rest Inn was not exactly on the wharf. It was well
over five blocks away from the port, in fact, the scent of the sea and
fish barely tainting the air. The worn sign had a sailor in classic
pirate costume laying in a hammock painted on it and was nailed just
above the front door. Inside, the common room was large, lit by ship's
lanterns giving the place a ship-like atmosphere.
Tarilane found the place after wandering around the city streets
for several hours. It was the cleanest places she had run across all
day, and with night falling, the young woman decided that it would do
for the night. Bargaining with the innkeeper brought the price down to
something reasonable and Tarilane had gotten dinner in the bargain.
She sat beside one of the greasy windows overlooking the street,
picking at the fish stew she had been served. At least the bread was
almost fresh and the ale was not bad, and was cheaper than the mead
she wanted to buy.
Tarilane watched the people coming and going from the inn as she
slowly finished her meal. Lower ranking ship's officers, rather than
rough sailors made up a good part of the crowd, along with lesser
merchants and people who could not afford a better place, but would
not go to a cheaper one. People like herself.
Ordinarily she had no interest in watching people, but in a
strange city keeping track of the patrons gave her an odd sense of
security. And it beat thinking about what she was going to do
tomorrow.
As she watched, an armed man entered the inn, followed by a
heavily painted woman, and a second later by two youths about
Tarilane's own age. All four stopped briefly at the bar to get drinks,
then the woman wandered off into the crowd. The man stayed at the bar
and the youths commandeered a table as close to a corner as they could
get.
Tarilane's attention wandered to the next arriving people and to
the last few bites of fish stew still left in her bowl.
Out of the corner of his eye Darion kept a close watch on the
shifting humanity that surged past the edge of their table. The
location was not far enough out of the press of bodies as he would
have liked, but it afforded a reasonable view of the room, and Ranth
could always watch his back. His eyes skipped over the people, and
settled on a young woman seated near the front window of the inn. She
was reasonably good looking, so when she stood and made her way past
the table, he smiled up at her, hoping to gain company for the night.
She did not seem to notice.
Ranth laughed at him when he swore.
"That's twice," he grinned, taking a large swallow of beer.
"You're going to bed lonely tonight."
"Not a chance," retorted Darion. He took a long pull from his mug
and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. This was the pairs second tavern
for the evening, and both were more than a little tipsy. Darion poured
himself another mugful of beer and set the jug down in the middle of
the table.
"Hey, leave me some!" Ranth snatched the pitcher back. He
refilled his own mug, managing not to spill to much of the dark brown
liquid.
"We'll need to get a job tomorrow," Darion advised as they slowly
went about emptying their glasses again. "Want to check with the
Guild?"
"Nah. Let's try something different for a change," said Ranth.
"Like what?"
"Caravan guarding?"
"You trying to get me killed?"
Ranth chuckled, then hiccuped. "Let's talk about it in the
morning, when you're sober enough to listen to reason. We should find
a place to stay for the night. And before you ask, no, we can't afford
to stay here."
"Think one of your so called friends'll put us up for the night?"
Darion's eyes gleamed in the flickering lantern light and his red
cheeks took on a burnished orange glow.
"We can always ask. Let's go."
Ranth lumbered to his feet, followed by Darion. While not quite
drunk, both were sufficiently inebriated that they did not walk quite
straight. As they passed one of the barmaids, Darion tripped over a
crack in the floor boards and stumbled into her.
"Hey, beautiful," Darion smiled at her, helping her to steady
herself. "Want to get off your feet for an hour or two?"
Ranth had to help Darion steady himself after the maid's slap
knocked him sideways.
"What'd I say?"
"I'd say you're going home lonely," snickered Ranth.
"Thanks a lot," muttered Darion. "I don't feel so bad though. You
don't have anyone either."
"I've got you and I haven't even been trying."
They stepped out into the warm summer night. The air was still
and almost as hot as the interior of the inn itself. The street was
quiet and empty, with street lanterns shedding pale light over the
cobblestones. Out of habit each checked a direction for potentially
dangerous oncoming traffic.
"Let's stop at the alley," said Darion abruptly.
"You should have gone before we left." Ranth veered to the left
and into the dark alley-way. "Bet I can hit higher on the wall than
you can."
"No way!" retorted Darion, following him in. "Not a chance. And
no hands this time," he added, unfastening his breeches.
"You've got to be joking!"
"Don't think you can do it? Silver says you can't. There. Just
try and beat that!"
"No problem. Hah! You owe me a silver."
"No way! That is not--" Darion cut himself off abruptly and held
up a hand so that Ranth would not jump in.
"What?" hissed his friend.
"Listen!"
"To what?"
"Shhh!" Darion cocked a hand to his ear, exaggerating the order
for his friend to keep his ears open.
Ranth cocked his head to one side and concentrated. He heard the
soft chatter of children's voices just seconds before the pack burst
out of the shadows to mob them.
Shouts bounced off the walls as the group divided and attacked
each of the young men with sticks, rocks, daggers, and their little
bare hands. Surrounded on all sides by raggedly dressed urchins,
neither was able to get an arm free enough to successfully defend
himself.
Someone yelled in triumph as Darion stumbled.
Tarilane opened her eyes to the dark beamed ceiling, the voices
from her uneasy dreams solidifying into reality and drifting through
her window. Annoyed, she pulled open the shutters to give the little
brats a piece of her mind, just in time to see one of the youths from
the tavern bowled over by a pile of children.
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Quanta is the electronically distributed journal of Science Fiction
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(C) Copyright October, 1992, DargonZine, Editor Dafydd
<White@DUVM.BitNet>. All rights revert to the authors. These stories
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