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DargonZine Volume 12 Issue 05
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 5
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DargonZine Distributed: 5/8/1999
Volume 12, Number 5 Circulation: 713
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Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Talisman Zero 5 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Winter, 2216 ID
On the Prowl 2 Max Khaytsus Yuli 4-5, 1013
========================================================================
DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
Please address all correspondance to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/. Back issues
are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 12-5, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright May, 1999 by
the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
<ornoth@shore.net>
Since our last issue hit the streets a mere three weeks ago, there
hasn't been a whole lot of news to share, so I'll be mercifully brief.
The first thing to remind you of is the vote which is currently
going on about whether or not to continue sending out advance notices to
email subscribers a week before we send out full issues. Current results
appear to indicate that people really don't seem to mind those advance
notices. However, we'll keep the voting application active until the end
of May. You can find more details about the vote in the Editorial for
DargonZine 12-4, and you cast your vote or check the current results at
the URL <http://www.dargonzine.org/ping_vote.shtml>. We'll announce the
final results in our next issue, DargonZine 12-6.
Speaking of 12-6, there are two things I need to mention about that
issue. The first item is that we are currently planning to distribute
that issue the weekend of June 20th, six weeks from now. The reason for
the long delay between issues is our annual DargonZine Writers' Summit,
which will be taking place during that time. We'll have a full debrief
for you when we get back!
And that issue will be worth waiting for, because it will contain
the final two climactic chapters in Dafydd's seven-part "Talisman Zero"
storyline. The editorial will also highlight Dafydd and his Talisman
saga, which after seven chapters is, believe it or not, only just
beginning!
But for now, we have Part 5 of "Talisman Zero", and the conclusion
of Max's two-part "On the Prowl". Enjoy!
========================================================================
Talisman Zero
Part 5
by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
<John.White@Drexel.Edu>
Early Winter, 2216 ID
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 12-1
Orlebb had hoped that the extra tenants at Wudamund this winter
would offer him some opportunities for interesting diversions, but he
had been wrong. Perhaps he shouldn't have set his sights on that
interesting trio of Captain Eldinan, Alkant Kendil and Terant Nikkeus.
As soon as they had taken up residence together in the master suite
of the Green Tower, Orlebb had set his network of spies to gathering
information for him. Of course, his network of spies was only his staff
of pages and aides, cleaners and cooks, and the few artisans and
crafters who worked for the Lord Keeper and thus for him, but they were
still effective. Spread throughout the keep doing menial tasks, they
were most often treated as though they weren't there, and therefore they
overheard all kinds of things.
This overheard information was one of the things that made Orlebb
such a superb castellan. Sometimes his spies heard plans being made and
so was able to ensure that provisions and supplies were ready and
available when requisitioned. He learned everything there was to learn
in the keep and the village beyond it, and he used that information to
make himself indispensable to everyone. Unfortunately, indispensable
didn't mean well liked. He might have been the most well informed person
in the keep, but sometimes he was sure he was the loneliest as well.
As if the request for the bed that Captain Eldinan had made wasn't
enough confirmation, his spies made it clear that the three people in
that master suite were sleeping together. When he'd heard about them
using food in their sex play, he'd been sure that with the right moves
he could get himself invited into their group. They seemed more than
open-minded and experimental enough to extend their companionship to a
worthy fourth, right?
And so he had attempted to make some overtures to the captain when
he had found her alone in the great hall. He'd gotten her to blush a few
times, but he had done his best to reassure her that he hadn't been
trying to embarrass her, just point out his interest in her and her
lovers. He had walked away absolutely sure that it was but a matter of
time before he'd be spending his evenings on the sixth floor of the
Green Tower.
And then the next day while he had been disciplining one of his
pages, Eldinan had intervened and defied his authority over the children
in his employ. While he knew that she was technically overstepping her
bounds, she had enough rank and enough support, if only from her own
crew, to make her threats real. It didn't help that the Lord Keeper was
more interested in fantasies of fighting off invasions with her toy
armies than in running the keep, because that left him with no higher
power to appeal to.
Angry and frustrated, he had let her win the confrontation. But he
knew that she wouldn't hold his professional manner against him
personally. So he was fond of the lash, that was only part of his job.
He continued to expect an invitation into their room, or at least some
exploration of his interests.
But the days passed, and nothing happened. He kept his informants
on the job, gathering every tidbit of knowledge about the trio that
could be wrangled from anyone. He learned about how the three of them
had met aboard Captain Eldinan's ship, _Typhoon Dancer_, first Nikkeus
and Kendil, then Kendil and Eldinan, and then, to the amazement of
everyone on board, all three of them together. He learned of the
multiple times Kendil had been intruded upon in the ship's shower by
people attempting to ensure that elements of the trio weren't being
coerced into their relationship by magic. He also learned about the
assault upon Nikkeus by drug-affected alkaehran, and what had happened
to them.
He delved into the pasts of the trio, learning where they had been
born, where they had grown up and entered service, who their families
and friends back home were.
He spent so much time in his research, devising methods for his
servants to extract more information from the various people in the
keep, that he forgot all about the solstice krovelathan ceremony until
the morning before it was supposed to happen. It was a tribute to his
organizational skills that the ceremony came off without a hitch, even
if it was somewhat simplistic. As a compensation, he made sure that the
post-ceremony party was well supplied with food and especially drink,
using up all of the supplies that wouldn't keep over the winter and even
dipping into the winter surplus stocks.
But even that potential disaster couldn't shake him out of his
growing obsession. He'd had six of his people assigned to do nothing
else at the party but watch the trio, two to a person. He had a list of
everything each of them had eaten and drunk, and another list of
everyone each had talked to. He circled the names on the second list of
people whom he thought to be attractive, and did his best to make sure
that none of those people were in a position for continued contact with
his trio. If a fourth was going to be added to the set, that fourth was
going to be him!
As obsessed and single-minded as he was about his trio, he was
almost knocked back to reality by the news that began to filter back to
him a couple of days after the solstice ceremony. Against all accepted
tradition, and against explicit imperial law, his trio had gone and
gotten bond-promised. He had been brought some discarded sketches by the
cleaning staff. Scribblings on the sketches revealed that they were
designing a krovelathad of impressive dimensions. The drawings showed a
large, tripartite disk that looked more like a talisman of nature fit
for a temple wall. It didn't have much in common with the simple, small
krovelathads that were usually exchanged at a krovelathan ceremony.
Bonded! His trio, securing their relationship together! He could
hardly imagine it, especially as it didn't include him. He didn't have
much time to work his way into that group. The spring equinox was three
months away, but his deadline was the completion of the talisman. If
they finished it without him, he was out of luck. He had plans to put
into motion, starting now!
Kendil closed the door to the quarters of Zawk behind him as he
left and slumped against it in relief. Zawk was the local erlantrielk;
the Clear Fire Weaver for Wudamund Keep. The erlantrielk were some of
the most feared people in the empire due to their mastery of the most
powerful magics known. That Wudamund had one was somewhat unusual, but
fortunate. Without the services of Zawk, which Kendil had just secured,
the creation of the talismanic krovelathad that they were designing
would have been much, much more difficult.
And that design was surely grand, Kendil thought as he began to
walk back toward the Green Tower to let Elin and Nikk know that Zawk had
agreed to the challenge. It was to be patterned after the nature
talismans of Nikkeus' own people, though somewhat smaller. Instead of
being painted onto the side of a building to bring fortune to those
inside of it, this would be something to be held in the arms, a talisman
of depth and weight, made of stone and metal and glass. A work of art as
well as a work of love.
Zawk's part in its creation was twofold. The most basic part of the
talisman would be a disk three feet in diameter and nine or so inches
thick at the center, somewhat thinner at the edges. The material it
would be made out of would be mostly stone, but their intention was to
add various other elements to the stone to make it unique. Zawk had to
make a magic crucible that would melt stone as well as any other
material they intended to add to the mix, and then make a mold out of
magic or reinforced by magic that would receive the melted mix from the
crucible and form it into its disk-lozenge shape, where it would cool
and harden.
Zawk had taken some convincing, but Kendil got the impression that
the white haired man was just playing with him. Kendil had been rather
bored before this krovelathad project had come up, and he imagined that
Zawk was as well. Zawk had at first refused such a paltry challenge as
beneath his talents, but even then there had been a glimmer of interest
in his face. A little bit of haggling over an exchange of gold, then
some more haggling about the specifics of the mold, and the deal had
been made. In about a week, everything would be ready.
Kendil was thinking about some of the talisman's design elements,
when he heard a voice say, "Pardon me, Alkant Kendil?"
He stopped and turned, to find Orlebb walking toward him from a
connecting corridor. He frowned for a moment. Elin had told him about
her two encounters with the man, and he had formed an unfavorable
impression of the castellan. Then he figured that he had no actual
reason to be rude to the man who ran the keep, so he smiled a bit and
said, "Yes, Castellan?"
The tall man appeared to be a bit overdressed for the middle of an
average winter day. His tunic was of a rich fabric, and he wore a
heavily embroidered undershift beneath it. His belt buckle shone like a
mirror, even though the belt it fastened squeezed the slightly plump
middle of the man somewhat unflatteringly. He wore fine hose that were
tight about well-turned legs, and his boots were well polished and
fashionably ankle-high. A chain bearing the key of his office hung about
his neck, and the only other jewelry he wore was an ornate ear-cuff on
his right ear that extended some kind of figure along his temple almost
to his eye, and another figure -- or part of the same figure? -- below
the ear along his jawbone. His raven black hair was swept back tightly,
showing the squareness of his face, again somewhat unflatteringly, and
there was the beginnings of a moustache and beard, almost more grey than
black just yet, around his mouth and chin. A somewhat hooked nose
separated those mismatched eyes, blue and brown, that had disconcerted
Elin. And that thin-lipped mouth that didn't smile, even though every
other feature of his face seemed to be doing so.
All taken together, the man didn't look all that bad. His fashion
sense might need some work, but overall, he presented an interesting
image. Someone that Kendil might have taken the time to get to know if
not for Elin's assessment of his character.
"Ah," began Orlebb, "I found something that I thought you might
find of use. It is a set of carving chisels." He slipped a small, flat
leather bundle from the back of his belt and handed it to Kendil. "It
turned up when we were inventorying a storeroom. It must have been left
by a former resident. It doesn't belong to the keep, at least."
Kendil opened the bundle to reveal a set of woodworking knives and
chisels of all different shapes and sizes. This was a master crafter's
toolkit, like the one that his father used. He had always wanted one,
and knew that someday his father's would be his, but now he had one in
his hands and he just wanted to go carve something with it.
"Thank you, Castellan. You don't know how much this means to me!
These tools are works of art in themselves. I can only hope that my
skill can live up to their potential. You are sure that they belong to
no one? It would be a tragedy to lose tools of this quality."
"No, no, I assure you that they belong to no one now resident here.
Except you, if you accept them."
Kendil looked at the castellan, who was still not smiling with his
mouth, but was in all other ways looking happy and eager to please.
There was something about that voice, though. Well, no matter. "I thank
you for this gift, Castellan. Perhaps I could find the time to carve you
something in return."
"Oh, only if you wish to, Alkant Kendil. I'm glad you find pleasure
in my gift.
"And now, I must return to my normal duties. Farewell."
That voice again! Was he really hearing that emphasis on 'pleasure'
or was it just the castellan's accent?
In any case, Kendil knew he needed to get the feel of these tools,
and that they might be of use in constructing the talisman. So, a
practice figure or two was in order, after he gave Elin and Nikk the
news about Zawk. As he continued his journey toward his quarters, he
chuckled at an odd coincidence; he had just been talking about his
father's crafting tools the other day with one of the keep's carpenters.
The next day, Kendil found himself with some free time, so he took
his new tools down to the woodworking room. He was surprised to find it
empty -- usually at least one of the staff carpenters was at work in the
large room. He had just selected a block of wood that felt right for
carving when Orlebb walked into the room.
"Ah, you have found that time to practice with your new tools I
see," the castellan said. Kendil noted that he was wearing almost
exactly the same thing as yesterday, save that each article of clothing
was a different color. Except the undershift, which was still white, but
which had a different pattern and color of embroidery on it.
"Well, yes. They were calling to me, in a way. So, where are the
carpenters today?"
"Oh, called away. Some repair or other in the village I believe.
Did you have anything in mind to carve first?"
"No, actually. This block wants to be something else, but I don't
yet know what."
Orlebb had come up to stand right next to him, and Kendil caught
the hint of some kind of perfume from the man: faint, musky, masculine,
but still a little odd. He had never taken to the Child of Aelther
custom of wearing scent, and he was surprised that Orlebb, conquered
native of Cherisk that he was, had done so. Still, it was a nice enough
scent, all in all.
The castellan reached out and touched the block of wood without
quite touching Kendil's fingers. He said, "Do you do figures?
Statuettes?"
Kendil nodded, and Orlebb continued, "From life?" Kendil nodded
again. "Do you think you could carve me?"
Kendil looked thoughtfully at the block, and then at the castellan.
A glance at those tools decided him. "I think so, but those clothes
would be a little complicated to put into a practice piece like this."
Before Kendil could continue, Orlebb spoke up. "You mean, you would
prefer to do a nude statuette of me?" There was an odd eagerness in his
voice, and his mismatched eyes gleamed, but his mouth never moved upward
from its straight across line.
Kendil took a step back from the man standing right next to him,
startled by that eagerness. "Uh, ah, n ... that is ... if ... no. No, I
don't think I'm up to that. How about a bust instead?"
Kendil didn't wait for an answer, but went back to the bin to
search for a larger piece of wood. He found it, a nice blond type of
wood that would match Orlebb's pale skin nicely. He returned with it to
the work bench and said, "If you could just stand there, I'll rough this
in quickly. Then you can get back to your duties while I put the
finishing touches on it. Good?"
"You could carve the details of my face from memory? How
flattering," said Orlebb as he struck a pose.
Kendil was about to say something about the pose, since the bust
would only be of the head and shoulders, but that remark struck an odd
note with him, and so he let the castellan posture and started to carve
away with his largest chisel.
He chipped away at the block of wood. It was somewhat soft, so he
made rapid progress, working down through two smaller chisels before he
turned to the still posing castellan, and said, "There. I think that's
enough detail to let you get back to your duties."
Orlebb relaxed, and looked over at the carving. Kendil's gaze
turned to it as well. The block of wood had been turned into a
reasonable, if rough, facsimile of the castellan's face and shoulders,
minus the ornamentation of the tunic and undershift, and that ornate
winged lizard he wore as ear jewelry. "My health, that is an amazing
likeness, Kendil, and in such a short time! Those tools belong in your
capable hands if that is the kind of work you can do."
Kendil almost blushed at the praise. He thought he had done a
pretty passable job of capturing the man in wood, but it wasn't a piece
to sit in a palace entrance hall even with the finishing touches he knew
it needed. Still, it was good to hear praise like this, and it had a
different quality coming from a relative stranger rather than his
lovers.
That musky perfume came to his nose again, and the castellan was
suddenly next to him and clapped an arm around his shoulders. "Keep up
the good work, Kendil. Maybe when you lay down your sword when your
service is over, you can become some princeling's master woodworker.
Maybe even the Lord Keeper's."
Orlebb slapped him on the back as he drew away from the somewhat
astonished carver. As he walked to the door, he continued, "And if you
are ever *up* to carving that nude statue we spoke of, just let me
know."
Kendil stared after the retreating castellan and wondered if that
was what Elin had meant by 'smirking voice'. That last comment had
certainly sounded sexually suggestive to him.
He turned back to the bust and wondered if he should finish it. He
was worried about what the castellan might be thinking. Still, he hadn't
actually given the man any encouragement, and if Orlebb had fantasies
about him, that wouldn't do him any harm, would it?
Taking out one of the finer chisels, he started working on refining
the features of the bust. No, the castellan's fantasies were none of
Kendil's business. Idle thoughts and innuendo couldn't hurt him, or Elin
or Nikk either. Could they?
Eldinan looked at the drawing laid out in front of the fireplace
and sighed. Part of the sigh was at the beautiful elegance that Nikkeus
had sketched out, with help from her, and, to a lesser extent, Kendil.
But more was a sign of the misgivings she was beginning to have about
this.
The talisman, as Kendil had started calling the krovelathad, was
going to be beautiful, one of the most beautiful krovelathads ever
created -- and she had seen the krovelathad display in the Royal Museum
in Frethemak. Krovelathad were usually hand-crafted by the couple
forging the bond, but often when royalty was involved, some help was
permitted. Thus, the krovelathad in the museum were more often the work
of Master Crafters and Artisans. But those works of art were going to
pale next to this talisman. In her estimation, anyway.
But this talisman was more than a thing of beauty. If it was a
symbol of the love between Kendil, Nikkeus, and her, it was also a
symbol of the way their love defied tradition, convention, and law. Its
size, for instance, was larger than normal. And the design to be etched
into its upper surface was all in threes. Two sets each of three
different stylized animals in three different pairs, worked into a
three-strand design of Geronlel knot-work. Three, three, three.
Everything said there should only be two: two bonded by a traditional
krovelathan ceremony; two totem items customarily represented in some
fashion on the krovelathad. Two, two, two. It was the law ...
Eldinan was pure blooded Fretheod, and as much as she tried to
separate herself from that heritage, at times it wrapped itself around
her like a smothering blanket. This was one of those times. She loved
Nikkeus. She loved Kendil. She loved them both, but her upbringing told
her that she could only have one, that she had to choose between them.
And she really, truly, could not.
Suddenly restless, Eldinan stood up, looked down at the design
again, and then turned away. A need to move, to be away from here,
filled her, and she dashed out of the room, down the staircase, and out
of the tower. She needed someplace neutral to think; someplace within
the keep since she hadn't brought her cloak and it was snowing outside,
as well as bitterly cold. She was standing in the antechamber to the
tower, in front of the green door that gave the tower its name, when she
saw Castellan Orlebb walk through the archway into the room. He was
carrying a small covered box in front of him, and his face brightened
when he saw her standing there. Of course, his mouth didn't participate
in the smile.
"What good fortune, Captain Eldinan. I was just coming to find
you." He paused for a moment, but she didn't say anything in return. He
continued, "Ah, I discovered this while clearing out the house of one of
the casualties of the season down in the village, and I thought you
might have some use for it."
He had continued to approach her, and she stared at him almost
blankly as he approached. He was dressed very well, better than he
normally did except for ceremonial occasions. His tunic was no more than
waist length and made of stripes of different material. The long-sleeved
undertunic he wore was made of softer hued, complementary colored
stripes. He wore particolored tights in the two main colors of his
tunic, and it was short enough that his codpiece, a triangular flap of
cloth, was revealed to be particolored in the opposite pattern. The
combination wasn't as unattractive as it might have been on him --
perhaps it had been fitted by a very talented tailor. He wore slippers
covered with cloth that was also counter-particolored to his hose.
His hair was down and was longer than she remembered it from their
previous confrontation, still well styled and suiting his face better.
He had grown a trim moustache and beard -- just around his mouth, down
to the point of his chin -- but it had the effect of making his face
just slightly more sinister than if it had been clean shaven. Still, it
added some character.
She continued to stare, somewhat befuddled by the situation. Orlebb
seemed to think her silence was a result of their earlier confrontation,
and he said, "Please, Captain, I regret our previous encounter. I admit
that your disciplinary practices have kept things running adequately. I
will not return to the lash when your protection is withdrawn upon your
leaving in the spring. However, this is more than just a conciliatory
gesture. I would have given this to you were we still enemies. I think
it belongs in your hands."
He was standing right in front of her now, and she noticed that he
was wearing perfume, some kind of spicy scent, somewhat rugged, but
rather nice. She looked into his eyes, wondering if she had been wrong
about him, and those mismatched eyes jarred her. A bit of traditional
Fretheod superstition surfaced in her mind: it dealt with odd-eyed
individuals, who were supposed to be able to cast curses. It was a
stupid superstition though, and she knew it. And she didn't want to be
ruled by stupid superstitions, or any traditions for that matter!
She took the box from Orlebb with a subdued, "Thank you." She
cleared her throat, and continued with a stronger tone, "And what is it,
Castellan?"
"Oh, open it, Captain. Open it yourself."
She balanced the small box on one hand, and lifted the cloth cover
over the top of it with the other. She gasped when the small ship was
revealed. She lifted the box, just a frame of wire over a wooden base,
closer to her face and looked at the exquisite detail on the small
model. Everything was there -- all the rigging, all the hardware. She
looked into the pilot house and saw a small wheel in there. Small
belaying pins ringed the main mast. This was fantastic!
She lifted the box further and looked at the bow. Sure enough,
there was the name, picked out in miniature. She gasped again. It read,
_Celene's Fire_. This was her grandfather's ship!
She looked again, and noticed details that confirmed it. The shape
of the poop deck, and the design painted on its deck. The lack of a
top-mast perch. The extra rigging between the bow and the foremast her
grandfather insisted on adding to every ship he sailed. This *was*
_Celene's Fire_ in miniature!
"You ... how ... This is a model of my grandfather's ship,
Castellan!" Eldinan's voice contained her astonishment at her discovery.
"How could you possibly know how much this means to me? Thank you,
Orlebb, thank you for delivering this to me. Where was it?"
The castellan's face was practically glowing, though, as usual, he
was not smiling. "As I said, Captain, it was part of the effects that I
was sorting through from the house of one of the poor unfortunates who
died recently from the weather. Some people refuse to ask for help in
bad weather, and some end up dying. I understand that he was the son of
one of the crew of _Celene's Fire_ who settled here upon their
retirement. When I saw the model I ... ah ... remembered the connection
between its captain and you, and so of course it had to come to you."
"Yes, thank you, Castellan. Thank you again." Eldinan was barely
thinking about anything but the model and her grandfather as she leaned
forward and gave Orlebb a kiss on the cheek. She turned around and
dashed back into the Green Tower, leaving the castellan standing wide
eyed and stretching his attire slightly out of shape.
Eldinan returned to her quarters and set the model on the mantel
over the fireplace. Her grandfather, owner and captain of _Celene's
Fire_, had been a risk taker all of his life. He had sailed all over
Makdiar, and had remained at his ship's helm for years after retirement
age. Because he actually owned the ship, he was able to do that, though
the empire made him relinquish his anhekova eventually. Her grandfather
had just sailed away one day when he was in his eighties, and was never
heard from again, nor was _Celene's Fire_ ever seen again either.
Thoughts of her grandfather bolstered Eldinan's confidence. She was
in love with two people, and she was going to do something about it.
Fretheod custom, tradition, and law could go hang. The talisman would
bind her and her lovers together, and that was all that counted. Three
was a perfect number, perfect for her and Kendil and Nikk, and for the
talisman that would symbolize their union come the equinox.
"Thanks, grandfather," she whispered. "Thanks, Orlebb." She smiled,
looked at the sketch of the talisman's design, and sighed again, but
this time there was no fear, no regret in that sigh. Just an
appreciation of the beauty before her on the floor, and the love it
symbolized.
Nikkeus was methodically rummaging through the waste bins of all of
the craft rooms, searching for suitable materials for the talisman.
Their plans might have been grandiose, but he was sure that Kendil,
Elin, and he wouldn't have any problems completing it. These waste bins
were providing all sorts of useful odds and ends. He had already
collected plenty of chips of stone -- marble, granite, even the kind of
gravel that paved paths in the village. More material would be needed
for the basic disk of the talisman, but he was working on that.
He was working now on metals for the banding of the knot work. The
totem beasts would be carved out of the material of the disk, but
instead of carving the knot work banding into the stone, he was planning
that indentations would be carved where the bands would go, sort of a
reverse image of them, and then each of these tracks, or channels, would
get filled in with different metals. Common metals for him, precious
metals for Kendil, and, if they could manage it, a glass band for
Eldinan. Grandiose plans, but the bins were providing all kinds of
starting materials.
He levered himself up out of the iron bin and dropped a few scraps
of that metal on the sledge he was using to collect his bits and pieces.
When he looked up Orlebb was standing in front of him with one hand
behind his back.
"Greetings, Nikkeus," he said. "Hard at work, I see. I hope you
have some time for a little diversion I have uncovered."
Nikkeus had heard the stories both Elin and Kendil had told, but
felt he should form his own opinion. He found that the man was dressed
well in an over-robe that went from shoulders to the floor, with a large
opening in the front that revealed the cushion embroidery on the front
of the tunic underneath the robe. He wore a hat that covered most of the
sides and back of his head -- not even his ears were visible. The dark
coloring of the clothes -- reds, browns, and blacks -- emphasized the
pale coloring of his hands and face. Those eyes were intriguing -- in
Nikkeus' homeland, odd eyes were a sign of good fortune, though he had
never seen a pair that were blue and brown.
Nikkeus said, "Diversion?"
Orlebb nodded, and brought his hand out from behind his back. In it
was a lute that was so highly inlaid and carved as to almost be
something to hang on a wall, not play music on. But to never play that
instrument would be a crime against nature; Nikkeus instantly saw that
it had all the hallmarks of an original work of Hrothgrim, one of the
greatest skaldrics of the empire.
Nikkeus reached out reverently and took the precious instrument
from the castellan. His hands moved into position on the neck and over
the bridge, and he gave it a tentative strum. It was perfectly tuned,
and the music that came from the sound box was astounding in its
clarity.
He didn't look up, but said a heartfelt, "Thank you, Castellan,"
before beginning to move his fingers across the strings in a sprightly
ayre. Music filled the room with happiness, every note clearly audible
equally across the entire room.
His fingers stopped moving as the song was completed and he looked
up. Orlebb was staring at the lute, and the corners of his mouth were
turned just slightly upward. The echoes of the music faded slowly, but
when they were gone, the castellan blinked and raised his eyes to
Nikkeus' face, his mouth a straight line again. "Masterful, Nikkeus. You
play that instrument like a reincarnation of Hrothgrim himself. I was
right that it belongs in your hands."
All Nikkeus could do was say, again, "Thank you." His hands moved
over the instrument, caressing the inlays, the carvings, the strings,
but his eyes stayed fixed on Orlebb.
The castellan stared back, and then moved closer. Nikkeus thought
he could smell a familiar perfume, a special scent of certain Nirmalel
flowers that he remembered Lessik wearing. Nikkeus just stood there as
Orlebb got closer and closer, and then he felt the robe pressing against
his hands on the lute, and the perfume was strong in his nose, and there
were lips on his, pressing ...
A moment of confusion and indecision passed, and Nikkeus stepped
back and said, "No."
Orlebb looked confused. He said, "No? But ..."
Nikkeus said, "No. Ah ... thank you for the lute. It is a wonderful
gift, I'm barely worthy of it. But now I have to get back. Elin and
Kendil will want to see this. Thank you again, I can't say it enough,
and good bye."
Nikkeus raced out of the room, leaving his sledge of iron scraps
behind. As he traced his way back to his quarters, he reviewed the
incident in his mind. Orlebb kissing him, how strange. But it was
probably just the music. The lute had sounded so good, so happy to be
played again, that the music had just affected Orlebb strangely. The man
couldn't possibly think that he would want anyone else when he already
had Elin *and* Kendil! No, it was just the music, just a one-time thing.
Nothing to worry about, nothing that the others need know.
Nothing they need know at all.
========================================================================
On the Prowl
Part 2
by Max Khaytsus
<khaytsus@cs.colorado.edu>
Yuli 4-5, 1013
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 12-4
Note to the Reader: This story takes place in Magnus in the
summer of 1013, before the beginning of the Baranur-Beinison
war. This is a prequel to "Rifts" (DZ v7n6). For a better
understanding of the Bardic College and the bards, it is
recommended the reader explore John White's "A New Life"
(FSFnet v5n3) and "Treasure 1" (FSFnet v7n5). The history of
Codex Araltakonia can be followed in Carlo Samson's "Unwelcome
Encounter" (DZ v2n3), "Reluctant Revelation" (DZ v3n9), "Take
From the Tower" (DZ v6n2) and "Resolutions" (DZ v6n5).
Yuli 4, 1013 -- Bardic College, Magnus
The whole idea of breaking into the Bardic College was absurd. It
was the type of place that no one contemplated pilfering. The few who
had, it was rumored, still rested in the catacombs of the compound.
There was a rumor, though, among the thieves, of a man who just a year
ago had come and left and carried out a magnificent treasure in the
process. Pike had no idea who that had been, but if there was indeed
such a man, he was idolized by Pike, having embodied the traits that he
now needed.
Worse yet, unlike his other jobs, Pike could not afford to have
anyone find out what he was doing here. Not only could he not be
discovered in the College, but even after he left -- which he hoped to
do in one night -- no one could ever know who conducted the theft. The
bards of Baranur were legendary and with their skill and power came lore
that, blessed by M'Kivar himself, they were invincible. Lore aside, Pike
knew that the College as an enemy would be rather damaging to his
career. For that alone, he needed to remain invisible.
The scaling of the wall was trivial. Since the College was crushed
between the crowded streets of the Royal Quarter, there was plenty of
concealment to enable him to challenge the walls. And with the College's
reputation, no one dared enter the compound with so bold a plan.
Besides, the secrets were in the buildings, not the gardens, and with
them, the traps to deter intruders.
Lying flat on the top of the three foot wide wall, Pike glanced
into the bardic garden. It was dark, but the light of the moon allowed
him to see all that he needed. Rows of apple trees lined the walks and
flowering plots marked the intersections of paths below. A fountain
gurgled in the distance, with a pale blue light emanating from beneath
the pool of water at its base. There were only two large buildings that
Pike focused on. One was the Great Hall, where shadows danced along the
windows, even at this late hour of the night. If nothing else, Pike knew
the bards were a celebratory bunch.
The other building was the library, on the north side of the
compound. It was far enough from the wall that he would have to climb
down to make his way there, but climbing down at the base of the wall
was something he superstitiously wanted to avoid. On his hands and
knees, Pike crawled the length of the wall, coming to a stop across from
a small building. The two-story structure stood just a few feet lower
than the wall and given a good leap, its flat stone roof would make a
perfect invasion point.
Up to now, Pike had merely been a curious citizen of Baranur,
having climbed a wall to look in. No real crime, except the lack of
common sense, but with one leap, he changed all that. His feet landed
solidly on the small building's roof and he tucked and rolled, coming to
a rest not far from the opposite edge of the roof. Getting caught now
would be a bad thing.
Pike took a moment to study the garden. It was dark and quiet
below, with the exclusion of the fountain in the center of the garden.
The glow emanating from the water attracted Pike's attention, but he
knew he hadn't the time to play that game. Each moment he took to do
something other than his job was a moment he risked being discovered. If
he was caught, he knew he would never leave these walls again.
Another short building sat across the walkway below. It was maybe a
little over a dozen feet away, risky if he missed his footing, just fine
if he did not. Taking a deep breath and several running steps, Pike made
another leap through the air, landing on the other building. He was now
well into the garden and still undetected. Now he would need to climb
down to make his way to the library. Grasping at the rough stones that
made up the wall, Pike descended to the ground and took a few moments to
look about, making sure he was indeed alone. The sound of the fountain
had masked his leaps and descent and continued to aid him as he rushed
across the garden to the library wall.
The library was tall -- about fifty feet for the building. Perhaps
seventy feet tall at the tower. Going in, as he understood it, was best
accomplished through an indirect approach. Having checked his gear, Pike
started his climb up the stone wall. Like his descent menes before, he
climbed without ropes or special precautions. That increased his risk,
but also enabled him to move faster and be less visible. A rope hanging
the length of a building was far more a marker than a man in black
clothes clinging to a wall high in the air. Pike was thankful he was a
good climber and had no fear of heights. Perhaps if he did, he would
have chosen a safer, more reputable career, but with this job came
adventure and he quickly discovered that he needed to live with the
thrill and the risk. Or rather, he could not live without them.
The ascent of the Memorial Hall took more time than the rough wall
of the compound. But this wall was also rough, with stone mortared into
place exhibiting jagged edges that could be grasped and offered a
multitude of footholds. The roof, when he reached it, was sloped,
decorated with colorful windows that looked in on the interior of the
Memorial Hall.
"Perfect," Pike muttered. This was the place he wanted to be and
since the Library was uniformly tall, finding the right section left
some doubt in his mind as to where the right place to climb was. He
checked the garden below, then crawled up along the sloping roof to the
nearest window, where among the multicolored pieces of glass, several
clear ones offered a view into the building. The white marble floor and
walls disclosed no people. An advantage in his plan, should the area
remain unoccupied long enough.
Pike fished in the pouch on his hip and produced a waxy ball. If it
did its job, he would make it in.
Since the picture windows all looked much like the others, Pike
chose to enter through the one he had perched on. He spread the wax on
the glass, then lit it. In a few moments, the glass started to melt
away, producing no drops, but only upward bound vapors. The unburned
edges remained cool to the touch and the flame itself was never any
brighter than the moon. If anyone, only the bats would notice his
presence.
Anchoring a pin in the roof, Pike slipped the loop of a light cord
onto it and dropped the other end down. The cord was long enough to
reach the Memorial Hall floor and just strong enough to carry his
weight. Pike checked the loop cast over the metal spike one last time
and lowered himself into the empty corridor. The descent was rapid and
once he was down, he flipped the rope, allowing the loop to slip off the
spike and fall down to him. He would use a different escape route, as
was customary in his trade. Now, unless someone looked directly to that
picture window, no one would know he was in, and the chances of someone
studying colored glass against the night sky were relatively slim.
Pike took residence behind one of the marble sarcophaguses and
stripped off the black clothes he had worn to blend in with the night.
The black made for a sharp contrast against the white marble and now
that he was inside, he needed to make sure he did not stand out. A rich
blue tunic and a green cloak soon replaced the black clothes. Unless
someone was to look closely, he seemed much like any bard this late at
night. Tossing his small pack behind one of the sarcophagus platforms,
Pike proceeded down the corridor, towards the reading rooms at the south
end of the building. This late at night they would be relatively empty,
but because of the nature of the College, he expected to see students
and attendants even at this late hour.
The vast Memorial Hall came to a doublewide door -- a good five
feet wide in each panel and no less than ten feet tall. "About right to
move a sarcophagus through." Pike glanced back. "What did people have to
do to deserve being entombed in such a public place, their rest
eternally disturbed by passing strangers?"
Adjusting his cloak to hide the lack of a rank pendant, Pike pushed
on one of the door sections and walked through into a much smaller
hallway. A sleepy young man shifted in place, casting a glance at Pike.
His eyes widened and he drew himself to his full height, slightly
shorter than Pike. His lack of a cloak indicated he was an apprentice,
unlucky enough to have drawn night duty in the library.
"Sorry, my lord."
Pike paused making sure his cloak did not shift out of position. He
smiled, approaching the young man. "I was a student once, too. Learning
during the day, doing chores at night. I won't lie that it's easy." He
glanced up and down the corridor. "The secret is tea leaves. Take the
whole leaf and chew it while you stand here. It'll help you stave off
sleep."
"Thank you, my lord," the apprentice replied.
"My pleasure." Pike turned and walked to the right, where the
corridor entered the archive section. This wing, he understood, had
three floors above ground and at least that many below. The top floors
held the common books, with some recent historical chronicles. The
floors below held the rare collections, the archives and the special
manuscripts that so many outside scholars only dreamed of accessing. He
needed to reach those lower levels where the tome he was after would be
kept.
The echoes of his footsteps stopped at the main Library door and he
stepped through onto a soft rug. Before him, reaching into the depth of
the dimly lit room, were rows upon rows of bookcases, some shelves
bowing under the weight of the texts sitting atop them. He glanced
about.
On a balcony above the chamber, toiling below dimly burning oil
lamps were a dozen scribes. Rumor had it that they were always there,
working day and night, year round, copying histories and manuscripts for
wealthy clients, every day of the year, except for the King's Birthday.
That one holiday of all others was a covenant that indicated the
College's support of the Crown.
Pike walked down a row of shelves closest to the wall, glancing
into the alcoves where researchers would study. He had no hopes of
finding what he needed and was pleasantly surprised when he discovered a
sleeping man draped in a green cloak. Smiling at his fortune, Pike
carefully approached, produced a small white capsule from a pouch on his
belt and crushed it before the man's face. The sleeper snorted, but did
not wake up. Rather, Pike knew, he would be sleeping for bells to come.
Ever so carefully, Pike picked up the man's head and removed his
rank pendant. This was a Fifth Stave Journeyman, a midway bard, equally
distant from the apprentices as from the masters. Adding the rank to his
own costume, Pike proceeded down to the central chamber of the Library,
where he located a penman arranging books.
"Brother?" he stopped a few steps short of the man, who must have
been a senior apprentice, well on his way to becoming a Journeyman.
"How may I serve you, my lord?" the man stood up, dusting himself
off from sitting on the floor. "I apologize for my attire."
"I've just returned from the Harbor Master's office," Pike said. "A
fortnight ago a thief took a Chalice of Kiliaen that was to be presented
to the King. The militia requested our aid -- they wanted to know how
many of the cups are still about and a description to aid in their
search."
"I heard about that," the man said. "It was a rather bold theft. I
imagine the only way to outdo it would be in daylight."
"Needless to say, the public nature of the theft has encouraged the
Harbor Master and the militia to request our aid," Pike went on. "We,
likewise, intend to show a public face and keep the Crown in our debt.
If you show me where to look, you can return to your ... dusting?"
"Sorting, my lord. The Master Chronicler is always improving on the
contents of the Library and the placement of the tomes. This way, if you
will."
Pike followed the young bard through the stacks to a downward
stairway. The young man produced a set of keys that hung on a chain
around his neck and opened the door. From this point on, Pike was
venturing into the unknown.
"Is there anyone I can count on if I need help?"
"At this time of the night? No. There are just three of us here
this late, but we're all upstairs. If you need something, come get me."
"What about the door?" Pike asked. "I have no key."
"That's right," the apprentice sighed. "You're one of the
representatives to the Crown." He looked at the rank pendant, thinking
all the while, then shook his head. "No. I'm afraid I can't loan you my
keys. Knock on the door when you're ready and I'll come and unlock it.
I'll try not to stray far from this area."
"I suppose that will work," Pike agreed.
They proceeded down into the lower levels of the Library, through
rooms overcrowded with shelves and busy with works of art. Pike made a
mental note of remembering where everything was, but suspected that
smuggling a single book out would be hard enough.
All of the rooms and corridors were dimly lit by wall candles and
Pike had to wonder if this was common lighting or what was done for the
night, since there was clearly little traffic through these parts at
such a late hour.
Two levels down, they came to a large room. The plaque on the wall
read "Baranurian Histories".
"Any particular method I should use for searching?"
"The archive list is here," the young bard pointed to the first
bookcase on the left. "The volumes with the gray spine are catalogs from
two years ago. The blue spines are ten to fifteen years old. Until the
scribes are caught up, the two sets complement each other, but neither
is precise in its content. Be sure you replace everything where you
found it. The extra candles and torches will be in the containers along
the walls. And, although I'm sure you've had this lecture many times,
make sure you don't catch any of the books on fire, my lord. You know
the consequences as well as I do."
"Of course," Pike answered, although he had no idea what he was
being threatened with.
Left alone in the Histories room, Pike went through the archive
list books, trying to understand how books were referenced. In most
libraries he had visited, the works were simply put into sections by
category -- histories on one wall, sciences on another, fiction, if any,
in a small box by the fireplace. Here, there were books to say where
other books were stored. It took some time to understand the method, but
time was something Pike had plenty of right now. This far underground,
he could only guess at which bell of night it was in the city, but
having entered the library in the fourth bell, he knew there was plenty
of time to get the job done, one way or the other.
Having deciphered the system used to catalog books, by floor and
room and row and shelf, Pike located several Kiliaen histories and tithe
listings and spread them out across a table, leaving the impression of a
researcher at work. Then he picked up a stack of archive list books and
went to work on finding the location of Codex Araltakonia, his ultimate
goal this night. He knew that since the book arrived here only a few
days before, it could not have possibly been listed, but he knew the
subject he was after and assumed that finding the right area would make
for an easier search.
He returned to the table, sat back in the chair and having kicked
his feet up on the table, started flipping through the archive lists. By
the looks of things, Pike needed to make his way one floor down and
research the Ancient Histories collection. At least that was the place
the lists indicated books on the Mystics and pre-Fretheodean history
would reside.
Leaving the mess of things on the table, Pike returned to the
stairs and proceeded one level deeper in to the dungeon. He understood
this third level was the lowest one in the building and the most
important of books were kept here, under lock and key. Rumor had it that
the unspoken histories, the mystical truths and the outward lies were
all safely deposited here, safe from the prying eyes of the outside
world, beyond the reach of the Crown and the scholars of Baranur. With
the door locks of each successive level he was taken through becoming
more complicated, Pike assumed that the very bottom was going to be the
toughest of them all. He was not disappointed.
The stair widened at the bottom, opening to what appeared to be a
metal door. The floor between the last step and the door was a checkered
pattern of black and white, making no particular design that could be
understood. This was a deviation from the simple stone and marble floors
in other areas.
Pike stopped on the last step. If there really were mystic truths
and conspiracies that found a home so far underground, with so easy an
access to the two levels above, a smart master would create complicated
systems of locks for the actual treasure. Granted it would be hard
enough for a bard to get here and probably impossible for a non-bard to
even get into the library, but there was always that enterprising thief
who would defeat all expectations and for that an architect needed to
learn to think like a thief.
Pike knelt, examining the floor. "And the thief will have to learn
to think like an architect." Nothing in the pattern stood out, but the
floor was just wide enough that it had to be stepped on to reach the
door. Pike looked up. No handholds on the walls or ceiling, no way to
reach the door by other means. How, then?
He lowered the candle to illuminate the stairs. They were perfect,
as if cast from a single mold. Each smooth and straight and flowing
across one another, like a waterfall. Except for the last. The
bottommost step held a seam in its edge. A possible crack due to age or
... Pike prodded the stair, then the wall, being careful not to touch
the floor. In moments, he found an imperfection in the stone that turned
into a groove, which turned into a lock. He studied the lock. It was
narrow, slotted. Nothing like the string of keys the bard who took him
here had carried. Perhaps even he had no access here.
Pike took the extra fine picks he hardly ever used from his belt
and inserted them into the lock. With some effort, the pins caught and
the picks turned the cylinder and the bottom stair slid forward, nearly
making Pike fall onto the floor.
Although the extended platform did not reach all the way to the
door, it was now close enough for Pike to place his picks into the next
lock and open the door into the last level of the Library.
The dim corridor inside had the same checkered floor, but no
visible ledges or footholds or wall breaks to allow someone to walk
across. Another deception? Pike hesitated, then moved to step on the
threshold to take a closer look. He considered himself a clever thief,
but one trap was never enough to deter someone who was truly determined.
A false trap, though ... His foot froze just short of the threshold. The
floor was the same, but if there was a trap, it would have to be
different. The pattern in the floor was merely a design, not the
mechanism of invocation.
Pike leapt over the threshold, landing on the checkered floor
inside the door. Besides the soft echo of feet landing on the floor, no
other noise disturbed the corridor. Pike turned and examined the
threshold. It was normal, except for a seam that ran down both sides of
the frame. Whatever was behind those seams could easily have been
activated by a careless step.
Pike studied the corridor on this level. The pattern of the floor
was a distraction that made his eyes throb even in this dim light. He
could clearly see several doors on both sides of the corridor. What
traps did they hold?
He closed the door to the stairwell. No point to giving away that
he had made his way this far down. He carefully proceeded down the
corridor, examining the floor and the walls as he went along. Each door
had a plaque on it, written in a language he did not know. Some sort of
runes, perhaps the language that bardic ceremonial speech evolved from.
Perhaps Fretheod, perhaps some other ancient tongue. Pike did not care.
Did not really want to know. The problem now was solving which of the
eight doors was the one he was after. The runes on the doors were his
only clues and although he could try to open all of the doors and
explore what was inside, he hadn't the time to do that, nor did he want
to take the unnecessary risk of activating a trap.
Opening the small list book he had brought down with him, Pike
looked at the description of where the books would be. While some
symbols were runic, forming a pattern was hard. Placing the candle on
the floor, he sat down to read in more detail. Histories. He was after
histories. The ones marked with runes appeared to be all different.
There must be a different filing system on the inside, he guessed, one
that uses the runes. That, too, was a disadvantage. The book he was
after he could only reference by the runes on its face, and not being
able to read them created a serious dilemma.
But he still had plenty of time.
Runes, Pike recalled, were to some extent an improvement on the
ancient practice of communicating by drawing pictures. The runes could
be grouped into ideas or concepts or things and sets of them represented
a stream of speech. It was from this ancient intermediate that modern
language had evolved. He tried to think back to his schooling, to
remember more, but for now that was it. Conceptual sets. He again
reviewed the doors. It seemed feasible, but he might as well have been
looking at a modern foreign tongue. Again he opened the book and studied
the runes and compared them to the writing on the doors.
"If I were a mage, I'd put my things here," he confidently
declared, standing before a door. "And art," he turned to the door
behind him, "would go behind you." It was all a guess, but it was his
only chance. Eventually, Pike felt confident he had identified the eight
categories of the world as a bardic scholar might view them. He came to
the door behind which he suspected the Codex would be and carefully
examined the frame. There were no evident keyholes. There was no handle
and no grip. Just a metal plate set into a carved stone frame. He'd seen
door designs like this before. They were to trick the careless, not the
smart. There was a method to use and patience to practice.
Many years before, Pike's father had given him as a present a small
Bichanese puzzle box that would come apart into dozens of slivers of
wood. A careful man who could picture the puzzle in his mind could
easily put the puzzle together again. The trick was to visualize the
pieces and it took Pike many years to solve this simple mystery to the
way things worked.
The world could also be treated like a puzzle box, but one with
many more pieces to assemble. Likewise, this door. There could only be
one lock that held it in place. Anything else would be a trap.
Similarly, since there was no keyhole in the door, it would have to be
in the frame. That was an old castle trick used to conceal secret
passages. Pike ran his fingers up one side and down the other, feeling
for indentations in the frame that would give access to a lock. He found
two on his first pass. Two more on the second. The third yielded one.
When no more locks could be found, Pike studied their placement. In
order to open a door, the lock had to move a bolt. If there was no bolt,
the lock was a fake. The trick was finding where the bolt entered the
door. That was more complicated, since the seam between the metal plate
and the wall was so tight. If he had time, he could use the flow of
water or the direction of a draft to identify the right spot, but he had
neither the time, nor the proper tools. But he did have an advantage.
The door was metal and a hollow in the metal, where the bolt would fall,
would echo. At least that trick worked with rock.
Pike took a lockpick from his pouch and using the metal tip, tapped
on the door. The center was solid. So were the sides. He slowly tapped
his way across the door, just inside the frame, listening for any
changes in the sound. On the right side, at chest level, he heard a dull
tap, indicating a hollow space. The spot he found coincided with one of
the locks.
"Thank you, father!" he said with a laugh.
He placed the pick in the concealed slot and slowly worked on the
lock. It was a tough lock, one many experts would have given up on, but
Pike hadn't the luxury, now that he had gone so far. Menes slowly
passed, until he heard a barely audible click and was able to rotate the
pick and the cylinder it now grasped. As he completed the rotation of
the lock, a knob sprang from the door, aligned with another lock in the
frame. Pike exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath. Had he
sounded the door in the other direction, he would have found the trapped
lock first.
The knob also required a key, but it was a smaller lock, less
complex. It took no time to pick. Pike stood up, looking over the door
one last time. It was a complicated trap, but not beyond his abilities.
Replacing the pick in his pouch, Pike turned the knob and pulled open
the door.
The room inside was dark, barely illuminated by the candle he held.
There was a table and a chair and further back and above them, a pair of
golden eyes, looking back at him. He gasped, stepping back, ready to
slam the door closed. The eyes also gasped, blinking once and tilting a
little to the side.
Pike decided to stand his ground. He lifted the candle higher and
advanced into the room. A sword would have been good to have right now,
but the nature of this job required that he not be armed. The light
slowly revealed a worktable with bottles and jars and flasks. A crucible
stood on the corner of the table next to a small metal case. As he
advanced a few steps, the light of the candle reached the back wall and
revealed a dog-sized animal with leathery skin in a cage it could not
possibly have been comfortable in. The animal sat upright, like a man,
looking back at Pike, as if waiting for him to do something. Its face,
far from human, expressed no readable emotion, merely offering a stare
of anticipation. Rather than a pet cat, Pike had found some kind of an
imp.
"What the ..."
The creature's head rose and it blinked. In a raspy voice, it
repeated, "What the ..."
That was more than enough for Pike. The room was clearly not a
library and the beast was far more than he wanted to deal with. In fact,
he would have been happier to find a guard with a sword. Pike backed out
of the room and closed the door, having pressed the knob back into the
body of the door.
Given a choice, Pike would have abandoned the job then and there,
but he had gone too far, was too close. He could not afford to back away
from the job now. Having wasted the better part of a bell eliminating
one of the doors, Pike returned to the archive lists. He again tediously
sifted through
the listings, trying to match the runes to the labels on
the doors. Eventually, he settled on a different plaque and again got to
work on the door. This time, he knew what to look for.
First, he tapped out the door, finding the two spots that sounded
hollow. One was the bolt slide and the other the knob. Each had a
concealed lock in the frame of the wall, but there was no way of telling
which was which and with these two in different positions than the two
on the previous wall, Pike was not going to tempt fate by trying one
randomly.
Returning to the first door, Pike studied the section where the
knob had appeared. It was nearly impossible to see, but a seam in the
metal, ever so faint, formed a circle in the body of the door. Pike
traced the same circle on the second door and confirmed the placement of
the lock. Again, he took the time to pick it, slowly placing the picks
in the lock, so that the pins remained in position to allow the cylinder
to rotate. The lock clicked and once again, a knob popped out from the
door.
"These bards aren't as mystical as they want the outside world to
think," Pike chuckled.
A few more moments and the lock in the knob was undone. Now it was
time for another moment of truth and Pike was hoping that this dungeon
was limited to a single imp, restricted to the room he had already
tried. Granted the creature probably wasn't the worst thing that could
happen to him here, but it was sufficiently startling to force Pike to
hesitate. Having mentally prepared himself for another surprise, Pike
opened the door. Again, it was a dark room, but this one clearly
containing shelves loaded with books.
"Please, Rozaquay," Pike sighed and stepped inside, allowing the
door to close behind him. To his surprise, the metal body of the door
turned transparent, allowing him to view the dim corridor outside.
"Perhaps there is still some mysticism left to the bards," Pike
muttered.
Picking a torch in a wall sconce, Pike held the candle to it,
allowing its head to catch fire. The increased light illuminated the
room, but not enough to reasonably see past the first few rows of
shelves. On the left wall stood several tables and chairs, with books,
parchment and ink bottles scattered across the tabletops. Pike cast a
cursory glance at the books, then proceeded into the stacks, taking the
first volume he reached off the shelf and flipping it open. The
lettering was not runic, but it was a language Pike did not understand.
He tossed the book aside and took another one off a different shelf. The
embossed title on the rich cover read "History of the Ancient World".
Pike flipped it open to the middle and reviewed the text.
In the second month of the war, the Queen died. Osgeofu
crowned himself, and declared Tilgeofu's followers outlaws.
The war began to go against the rebel brother, but Fretheod
was suffering more.
He wanted to read further, but Pike realized he had not the time to
make his way through all the books. If this tome was any indication, he
had found the histories. Now he needed to locate the Codex Araltakonia.
And keeping the size of the room in mind, doing that was going to be a
chore.
Tossing aside the volume he held, Pike ventured into the shelves in
search of his target. He hoped that the collection was organized in some
sensible way. His own grandfather used to arrange books by title, but in
later years he changed the ordering, having preferred to arrange the
works by the names of their authors. Pike had never really took an
interest in how books were best stored, but now he hoped the bards were
good at making this complicated system an easy one to explore.
What complicated matter was that the Codex was not written in the
Baranurian tongue. He had with him a copied image of the front cover, a
series of runes that looked much like anything else he could not read.
Pike checked the first bookcase by the door, in hopes of finding
the archive list, but there was no indication that such records had been
kept in this room and the only hope of finding the Codex Araltakonia was
to understand the shelving system in this room. A quick search revealed
that the individual bookcases were ordered by eras of the world,
covering specific wars, events and countries, but Pike knew nothing
about the nature of the Codex Araltakonia and in this assortment of
shelves and books, it could be anywhere. Perhaps it wasn't a history at
all. Its name sounded mystical. Could it have been a tome of magic
rather than history?
In an act of desperation, he ventured back into the stacks, pulling
books off the shelves one at a time, trying to find his target volume.
Anything that was titled in Baranurian was ignored. Titles in Galician
and Benosian, which Pike could not read, but could recognize, were cast
aside. Same was the fate of any other book that did not have runes on
the cover. The task was monumental and as time passed, Pike stopped his
furious, fruitless search. The only thing he found that seemed
interesting was a book titled "Chronicles of Voldronnai" and the only
reason that title had caught his eye was because Mount Voldronnai was in
his native Arvalia. In either case, the book was an excellent symbol of
his lack of progress.
At the rate he was progressing through the room, Pike figured a
complete search would have him here for the better part of Yuli, and his
original plan didn't have him here later than the eighth bell of the
night. He needed a new strategy for resolving this impasse.
He returned to the doorway and looked out into the corridor. The
transparent door was novel. It gave him a sense of security, locked away
in the bowels of the Bardic College. He hoped no one would show up in
this level of the dungeon and try coming in, although he would certainly
have plenty of warning. He hoped, as he admired its appearance, that the
invisibility on the door was not bi-directional.
Pike turned to the three reading tables next to the door. Just by
looking at them it was easy to tell that this room saw a fair amount of
traffic. Pike had hoped that that traffic had already delivered the
Codex. The information he was given indicated that the book came to
Magnus aboard the _Storm Challenger_, the same ship whose sail helped
him escape from Fort Point a fortnight ago. Ironic that he and the book
were in the same place at the same time, but he had no idea this job
would be offered to him the following morning.
That same night, the book was taken off the ship and transferred to
the scholars at the Bardic College, perhaps the only place the Crown
felt the book could be properly appraised. The High Mage Marcellon, Pike
was told, was visiting friends in Dargon. Otherwise, Pike would have
been breaking into the Crown Castle, on the far side of the Magnus
garrison. In a way, being a room away from a demonic imp seemed far
safer than stalking the High Mage of Baranur.
If the Codex was not here, where would it be? Pike was specifically
told to look among the ancient histories collection. This was the place.
The question was where was the book?
He sat in one of the chairs and, kicking his feet up on the table,
opened the book on Mount Voldronnai. Perhaps a page or two would be
sufficient to distract him. True to personal tradition, he started
reading the book from the middle.
With Fretheod poised for even greater accomplishments
came contact with the Eelail of Zinisjebirma. As fate would
have it, the contact occurred at the trouble-besieged
Wudamund. A party of Dopkalfar warriors exploring the northern
frontiers of their land came upon the Fretheod watchtower. The
Emperor had personally charged the commander of the tower with
the task of protecting it from any imaginable harm. The
commander did not know what made the tower so important to His
Majesty, only that the Emperor had said, "If Wudamund falls,
so does Fretheod."
The commander, seeing an armed party advancing on his
tower, issued two orders. The first, to attack and kill the
hapless 'invaders'. The second, to send word to the Emperor
that Wudamund was under attack.
Fretheod reacted swiftly. Seeing the base of Fretheod
power endangered, the Emperor took no chances. Nearly all of
Fretheod's military might was brought down on the Eelail
kingdom in the depth of Cherisk's Darst.
For their part, the Eelail were confused by this
unprovoked attack. The Ljosalfar wanted to escape from the
invading hordes and hide in the trackless wilderness. Their
Dopkalfar cousins were much less willing to give ground.
Tension between the two groups reached such a high level that
for a time it seemed as if the Eelail would be fighting one
another as well as the Fretheod.
This was a history new to Pike. He sat upright, placing the book on
the table. He was familiar with the story of the Fretheod, but he had
never heard of the Eelail kingdom and for a moment found himself
enthralled by the book. He remembered childhood stories of the Eelail,
the spirits of the night that were brought upon the land as punishment
for dishonoring the gods, but Dopkalfar and Ljosalfar were names
unfamiliar to him and the concept of Eelail countries and armies was
completely foreign. Spirits, he imagined, wouldn't organize themselves
into proper societies. And he had no reason to believe in the spirits
themselves. They were a fiction fabricated to scare troublesome
children, such as he was, into cleaning up after themselves and not
going outside at night. Yet, the text had caught his attention. Flipping
the pages to the beginning, Pike continued reading.
When the All Creator had formed Makdiar, He ordered
Thyerin, the master of elements, to cast the molds that would
give it character. Thyerin first gave weight to the earth and
lightness to the air and let them separate the dimensions of
the Creation. He then dug deep pools to allow the waters to
hug the earth and flow through the crevices in the Creation's
face and as the All Creator punctured small holes in the
fabric of the sky, Thyerin punctured identical ones in the
earth that He molded. From these lacerations came the fire
that gave warmth. The fire reached for the sky as the water
seeped into the ground. They were the shapers of the land and
the architects of its features.
The water cut the rock and refreshed the earth. It gave
life to the plants that covered the Creation. It gave shelter
to the fish and nourishment to the animals. And the gods cast
man and woman into the land that they forged.
The fire reached upwards, covering the Creation in
warmth. Its brightness cut the night from day and staved off
the cold. And using it, the gods created a great ball of flame
that would stand in the sky, casting its warmth and light on
all the creatures below. And Makdiar thrived and flourished
and grew so fast that the gods could no longer control it.
They forced the wind to carry the fire and had it move across
the land, so that no part of Creation would be allowed to grow
unchecked. And they let the darkness bring cold and from the
darkest magic of all, They created the Eelail spirits to own
the night as man owned the day.
This was a legend that Pike was already familiar with and flipping
a few pages ahead, he continued reading from the beginning of the next
section.
The first recorded history on Makdiar is that of the
Eelail civilization on Cherisk. While humans the world over
were barely entering the beginnings of a structured tribal
culture, the Eelail flourished. For three millennia the Eelail
advanced in society, magic and science, ultimately rising to a
position from which they dominated all facets of life on
Cherisk.
The Eelail kingdom was not as stable as outward
appearances indicated. Long-standing friction between the two
tribes of Eelail, the northern Ljosalfar and the southern
Dopkalfar, made the governing of the kingdom increasingly
difficult as each tribe sought to take the kingdom in its own
direction, the isolationist Ljosalfar wishing to let the rest
of Cherisk develop on its own, the aggressive Dopkalfar
favoring a direct method of influencing society on the
continent. Somehow, the kingdom of the Eelail successfully
maintained its hold on Cherisk, the internal bickering
strangely lending energy to all the kingdom's activities. Thus
did Zinisjebirma, continue for the next millennium.
An event then occurred that was to have far-reaching
consequences. A group of people who called themselves Azannoi
arose in northern Duurom. The Azannoi civilization grew
rapidly, from a tribal level to that of a highly-advanced
kingdom, in the space of only three decades.
The Azannoi spread across Makdiar, studying instead of
conquering wherever they went. What knowledge they must have
amassed before their disappearance can only be guessed at. In
their millennium of existence, the Azannoi forever altered the
course of history on Makdiar. It is widely believed that magic
as it is known at present, particularly mind sourced magic, is
largely the legacy of the Azannoi that intermarried with the
native populations they encountered during their journeys ...
Pike lifted his head, trying to absorb what he had read. Arvalia,
this book claimed, had roots on the other side of the world. He
contemplated the text he had read. Did this mean anything to him
personally? This could be just fiction. Reflexively, Pike glanced at the
spine of the book, trying to determine if this was one of the ones that
would grace the big bin just beyond the fireplace in his grandfather's
library. The black leather cover gave away nothing but the name of the
work. He looked at the other books on the table before him. All leather
bound, thick with yellowing pages and ...
Realizing that his gaze was focused on a familiar seal in the spine
of a book lying on the table, Pike jumped to his feet and flipped the
book over. The front cover was labeled with runes, surrounding a large
gold symbol in the center. Pike took out the parchment with the sketch
that represented the binding of the Codex. The comparison of the two
left nothing to be desired.
"I should have realized they'd want to look at it first," Pike
reflected.
He was now ahead of his schedule and ready for the next part of the
plan. Taking out a knife, he carefully cut the tome from its binding,
placing the two parts of the book to the side. He needed another book of
a similar size. The Chronicles of Voldronnai, which had fallen to the
floor, was about right. Pike picked up the book, glancing at the text on
the pages that were opened by the book's fall.
It took a full cycle of the moon for the Eelail to
complete their escape. The cost was enormous. Fully half the
Ljosalfar and two-thirds of the Dopkalfar had perished. The
trauma of five years of bloody warfare totally destroyed the
Eelail civilization. No longer would the Eelail Council chart
the course of the Eelail people. Seeking safety in anonymity,
the Eelail broke up into small family groups and established
villages throughout northwest Cherisk in what is now Baranur's
northwest. With good reason, the Eelail turned their backs on
the world and would have nothing to do with anyone, least of
all humans.
With the victory over the Eelail, the Fretheod army came
home and things began to return to normal, but five months
after the victorious return of his legions, King Althweil died
suddenly, leaving the empire to his pregnant wife, Queen
Earnfled. Thus were the seeds of Fretheod's demise planted.
In spite of wanting to read more, Pike picked up his dagger and
carefully cut the leather binding from the pages inside. Personal
desires conflicted with the job and only one right thing could happen
now.
He placed the Chronicles of Voldronnai in the binding of the Codex
Araltakonia and replaced the book on the table, among the other volumes
there. He then quickly tidied up the bookshelves where he had conducted
his search and, finally inserting the body of the Codex Araltakonia into
the bindings of the Chronicles of Voldronnai, headed for the door. The
puzzle that he had to solve to get into the room was easy to solve from
this side. The knob was on the inside of the door and pressing it back
into the transparent body forced the door to become opaque and open.
Casting one last glance inside the room, Pike exited into the corridor
and allowed the door to close behind him. It blended back into the wall,
becoming a seamless metal plate.
At the stairwell door Pike paused again. Did traps coming out match
traps coming in? Paranoid bards would want it that way. Pike examined
the door, then satisfied that it was not trapped, pulled it open. The
lip of the bottom stair extended part way across the landing and Pike
stepped onto it, pulling the door behind himself closed. The stair
retracted on its own, placing the wide moat between him and the inner
sanctum of the Bardic Library.
"They certainly don't want people to linger, do they?" Pike asked
no one in particular.
He walked back up the stairs to the room he had started in. He had
what he needed. Now it was a matter of carrying it out. He had not heard
the bells of Magnus since he entered the Memorial Hall and ultimately
that complicated things. But that wasn't a big problem, either.
Pike quickly cleaned up the mess of books he had left spread out on
the table, saving one for last. Again, using his dagger, he cut the
binding off the Kiliaen book and switched its cover with the Chronicles
of Voldronnai cover, containing the Codex Araltakonia. This muddled the
trail even more, but not for more than a day and he still needed to
leave the Bardic College before the switch was discovered. Long before
sunrise, so that his wellbeing could be assured.
As Pike had feared, the Codex Araltakonia was far too big to
conceal comfortably anywhere without drawing too much attention as he
exited the reading rooms. Getting the book out would have to be done in
a more forceful manner. Pike left the volume on a shelf, then walked
back up the stairs and knocked on the locked door. Shortly, the penman
who had let him in opened the door.
"Are you done, my lord?"
"Just about. I needed some help tracking down another reference and
then I should be able to retire for the night."
"More like morning, my lord. We're just past the seventh bell now."
Pike sighed. "I'd like to take that as a sign of getting a lot
accomplished."
"Have you, my lord?"
Pike turned back down the stairs, shaking his head. "I tell myself
that, but I haven't all the answers."
"What exactly were you hoping to discover, if I may?" The scribe
hurried to catch up to him.
"Things are traditionally stolen for two reasons -- monetary gain
or a personal collection. If stolen for money, there must be a market
for the item. In this case, most likely a private collection." Pike
paused, looking at his companion. "Makes sense?"
"I suppose, my lord," the man answered. He was clearly one of those
that never saw the light of day over the books. There was absolutely no
sign of street knowledge in him.
"A collection, as I'm sure you realize, must belong to someone who
will meet two qualifications. First, they must have the money to make
the purchase or theft of the item possible. Second, and perhaps more
importantly, they must have an interest in what they have stolen or had
stolen for them. No one would collect things they are not interested
in."
"So you're looking for someone with cause and means," the penman
guessed.
"Exactly! But there is more here. Kiliaen was once a part of
Quinnat. If you look at the maps, you'll see where the border was cut.
Three hundred years ago, Sir Duncan Tallirhan, the very first Duke of
Quinnat and brother to the then King Stefan Tallirhan, was giving his
daughter away in marriage. It was a political alliance with a tribal
lord who did not recognize the Kingdom of Baranur. The marriage carried
a dowry of land and with it the status of making the enemy an equal and
a Duke. Over the years, each time a child was born to this alliance, a
new chalice was commissioned to bind the ties for the two powers. There
were eight." Pike paused as they entered the Baranurian Histories room.
He was rather pleased with himself for having gotten the bard's ear. He
indicated for the penman to sit.
"Over the last three centuries the Chalices became a symbol of
Kiliaen and that placed them in high demand. It's not really known when,
but two of the Chalices were sent to Magnus early on. Two more
disappeared during the Great Houses War. Now a third Chalice was to be
given to the King. This would have given Baranur and Kiliaen an equal
number. Instead, three are now gone."
"So who'd want to do that?" the young bard asked.
"That's the big secret," Pike said. "And the answer is most
interesting." He reached into his pouch and took out another capsule.
"In fact, this will go a long way ..." He crushed the capsule before the
bard and the man slumped forward.
"This will go a long way," Pike repeated, "towards helping you not
trust people you don't know." He pushed the bard back in the chair,
making sure he would not fall over. "I'm sure someone will find you in a
couple of bells and you can spin quite a tale for them. I'm sure you're
much better at this than I. Good night."
Retrieving the bard's keys and the book, Pike headed back up the
stairs. He made sure that every door with a lock along the way was
closed and when he entered the main stacks of the library, he placed the
large tome under his arm and calmly walked out. The only witnesses were
the scribes copying books and with all the squinting they did in the dim
light, he did not think they would be credible in the morning.
In the outer corridor, Pike again ran across the sleepy guard.
"Good night," he said calmly.
"Good night, my lord. Or rather, good morning."
Pike gave the young man a smile and hurried down the corridor,
deliberately passing the entrance to the Memorial Hall. He could no
longer use that chamber as a means of escape. The window above the hall
was too high for him to reach and the large door on the other end exited
directly in front of the Great Hall of the main building and Pike did
not want to have any unnecessary encounters. He felt comfortable
confounding bards one at a time, but faced with a large group, he did
not believe he could sell them on who he was pretending to be.
The plan to get the book out involved a simple escape, assuming
Rozaquay had been humored by his exploits in the night. As planned
earlier, Pike had come in over the west wall, from a residential area,
and his escape was to take him south, through the market, where getting
lost in a mazelike environment was hardly a challenge at all.
The corridor Pike was in exited in the garden on the east side of
the library. That put him behind the Great Hall and, with any luck,
concealed from any prying eyes. He spun about, looking for anyone who
might chance upon him in this early morning hour. Nothing moved in the
garden, leaving only the gurgling of the glowing fountain and the
rustling of the leaves on the trees. Not having had the opportunity to
do so on his way in, Pike pulled an apple off one of the trees leaning
over the path. It was a young, green apple, still a touch bitter and
hard, but curiosity satisfied, Pike continued on to the wall. He would,
he thought, leave the fountain for another day, so that he had reason to
return to the Bardic College. For now, with his task accomplished, he
needed to escape while he had the protection of darkness.
After the sun rose and the bards in the library started waking up,
they would no doubt discover that they had fallen victim to a thief in
the night. There would be plenty of witnesses and sufficient evidence,
ranging from the pack left behind in the Memorial Hall, to the missing
window, which would no doubt stand out as soon as the rays of the sun
fell on the Memorial Hall. And then, they would find that he took a
book. The Bardic College would be an interesting place to watch then,
but by the time they discover what he had taken, he would be closer to
Gateway than to Magnus.
Pike climbed the rough stone wall with perfect ease, reaching the
top of it as the Stevenic Church down the street marked the eighth bell
of the night. Before descending into the market, Pike turned and gave
the Bardic College a parting glance. If there had been no others, he was
the first man to break into and out of the College. If there were
others, then he was in the company of a select few, whose tales would
never be sung by the bards inside.
With a soft chuckle, he descended the other side of the wall and
fled into the night.
========================================================================
