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DargonZine Volume 16 Issue 03
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DargonZine Distributed: 9/28/2003
Volume 16, Number 3 Circulation: 720
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Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Measure of a Man 2 Liam Donahue Sy 24, 1013
Hidden Talents 2 Rena Deutsch and Yuli 1, 1018
Carlo Samson
========================================================================
DargonZine is the publication vehicle of The Dargon Project, Inc.,
a collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
Please address all correspondence to <dargon@dargonzine.org> or visit
us on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/, or our FTP site
at ftp://users.primushost.com/members/d/a/dargon/. Issues and public
discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 16-3, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright September, 2003 by
The Dargon Project, Inc. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@rcn.com>,
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@covad.net>.
DargonZine is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs-
NonCommercial License. This license allows you to make and distribute
unaltered copies of DargonZine, complete with the original attributions
of authorship, so long as it is not used for commercial purposes.
Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
To view a detailed copy of this license, please visit
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd-nc/1.0 or send a letter to
Creative Commons, 559 Nathan Abbott Way, Stanford CA, 94305 USA.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
<ornoth@rcn.com>
There are many different ways that DargonZine authors can work
together on a story. In addition to working directly together on the
whole piece, one author might write the first half a story and another
person the second half, or one writer could write the first draft, while
another enhances subsequent versions until it gets published. An author
could ask someone else to write one or two key scenes for them, or pick
up a storyline that someone else has given up on. The two halves of
"Hidden Talents", which concludes in this issue, illustrate two of the
most common ways that our writers collaborate with one another.
Part 1, which appeared earlier this month in DargonZine 16-2, began
as a completely co-authored story, wherein both authors (Carlo Samson
and Rena Deutsch) worked closely together to develop the plot and write
the story. This is the most intense and challenging form of
collaboration, and is something we encourage our writers to try, in
order to learn directly from one another.
The second chapter of "Hidden Talents", which appears in this
issue, took a somewhat different course. Carlo wrote the first half of
the chapter on his own, but he decided to leave the Dargon Project
before the first draft was completed. Rena demonstrated a second common
method of collaborating by picking up and completing a story which had
been "orphaned" when its author left the project.
At first glance, it might seem odd that Carlo's name appears on
"Hidden Talents" now, a year and a half after his departure, but many of
the Dargon stories you see with two names on the byline are similar: the
result of someone adopting a story that was left in a partially-complete
state by a departing writer. Most writers have one or more stories in
the works at any time, and when they leave the group, they are often
content to allow others to complete and jointly publish those pieces. We
generally try to determine and respect the original author's intentions
and wishes regarding any such unfinished projects.
You may see several such stories in the near future, as two of our
veteran writers have taken temporary leaves from the project. P.
Atchley, author of fourteen Dargon stories over the past two years, left
us last month; however, she has turned two of her works-in-progress over
to other writers, and has several more that she hopes to complete after
her sabbatical. Similarly, Victor Cardoso took a temporary leave in
July, leaving behind a short story that is nearly ready to print. Both
writers also turned over partially completed pieces for the big
collaborative story arc that came out of the 2003 Dargon Writers'
Summit, as mentioned in DargonZine 16-2's Editorial.
With all those departures, even if they're only temporary, it
sounds like we might be running out of writers, but I can assure you
that's not the case. In fact, one of the most noticeable improvements in
the project has been the addition of Liam Donahue, whose first story
also began in our last issue and is concluded in this one. Liam came to
us from a background in written roleplaying, first on the message boards
of the original Neverwinter Nights on AOL, and later on the now-defunct
Tipsy Imp Tavern Web site. Despite changing jobs and moving across
country in the past couple months, Liam already has two rough drafts
circulating as part of the aforementioned story arc and is working on a
third.
As a final note, you might be surprised to see a second issue from
us this month, given that we'd only been able to get one issue out prior
to September. DargonZine comes out as often as our authors provide
enough stories to fill an issue. In this case, we had the opportunity to
put two issues out in quick succession, and opted to do so in order to
remind you that we're still here and to demonstrate that you can expect
to see us more regularly after our long drought earlier this year.
On that topic, our next issue is well on the way to publication,
and it will be distributed toward the end of October. We have more than
thirty new stories presently in the peer-review process, many of them
part of the big communal story arc I've mentioned above. I'm glad you're
still with us, because we've got quite an exciting year ahead of us!
========================================================================
Measure of a Man
Part 2
by Liam Donahue
<wbdonahue@earthlink.net>
Sy 24, 1013
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 16-2
Taneris stood once again on the doorstep of Kazakian's shop. A
trickle of sweat ran down his back, as much from fear as from the heat
of the sun as it approached midday. He took a deep breath and tried to
compose himself. It was difficult with the images of blood and murder so
fresh in his mind. He had been the only one of his family to escape the
trap set by their enemies.
Five days previously, he had arrived in Dargon with his family.
They had come on a mission to save their people from an attack planned
against them by the Bloody Hand of Sageeza. Sageeza's worshippers hated
and sought to harm people of different cultures, such as Taneris'
people, the gypsy folk known as the Rhydd Pobl. Taneris' foster-brother
Gwill had brought word of the impending attack and of a secret that
could help defeat the Bloody Hand. Hadrach, Gwill's father, had decided
to search for that secret in Dargon.
Now Hadrach and Gwill were dead and his chwrd, or foster-sister,
Rhadia had been taken prisoner. She was to be sold as a slave: a vile
fate for a gypsy but more so for one such as her. Taneris could not bear
to think of her free spirit being crushed by enslavement, or her
laughter silenced by some cruel master's whip. He had to free her.
He had come to the only place he could think of for help. Before
entering he slipped his hand into the pocket of his tunic. The dry
roughness of parchment against his fingertips reassured him. Taking
another deep breath, he knocked on the door and stepped inside.
The shop, which doubled as the owner's home, was much as he
remembered it from the previous day: the floors piled thick with
carpets, a huge tapestry on the left wall, a hearth on the right. In the
middle of the room stood a carved wooden desk covered with parchment and
pots of ink. Behind the desk sat Genarvus Kazakian, his head bent over
his work.
Kazakian looked up as Taneris entered; the scribe's dark eyebrows
drew together as he scowled. "I have no errands for you to run, boy, and
no food to hand out." His voice was thick with the accent that Taneris
recalled from the previous day.
Taneris, already unsure how to begin, was taken aback by the
scribe's abrupt dismissal as the old man bent his head and resumed
writing. Kazakian had failed to recognize him from the previous day and
had taken him for a child of the streets of Dargon: one of the shadow
boys. The strange affliction that had plagued Taneris for the past seven
years -- he had stopped growing in his twelfth year -- had caused him to
be overlooked once again. Everything he had planned to say was swept
from his mind. He stood in the doorway and stammered. "I ... I need ..."
The scribe looked up again. "Such effrontery you boys have.
Begone!" he thundered as he rose from his desk and stalked toward
Taneris. "It is enough that you beg and steal on the streets, but to --"
Kazakian stopped. His eyes narrowed, making the crow's feet in his
weathered skin more pronounced. "Vosh," the scribe said, shaking his
head in denial. "You are no shadow boy. You're something worse. Young
master Balish, I told your father yesterday that I wanted no dealings
with him. Tell him to seek his dark gods elsewhere."
Taneris finally found his tongue. "My father is dead, sir."
Kazakian's expression softened, if only a little. "I am sorry, boy.
I warned your father that he trod a dangerous path." He shook his head
and sighed. Then his eyes narrowed. "Why have you come to me with this
news?"
Now that he had started speaking, Taneris' words poured forth in a
torrent. "I took a great risk coming here, master scribe. I don't think
you are involved with the people who attacked us. If you are, I've
delivered myself to our enemy and sacrificed my chwrd's last chance for
freedom. From your words to my father, I judge you to be a good man, and
one who would not see his name used for evil."
Kazakian nodded, although his expression was dark. "We should not
be discussing this in an open doorway. Come, boy, and sit down." He
indicated a chair, the same one that Hadrach had occupied the day
before. Reluctantly, Taneris sat. He shuddered as the fear he had been
suppressing filled him. Kazakian closed the door and joined him, sitting
in the chair opposite. He held Taneris' gaze, waiting for him to
continue.
"My father's name was not Evrin Balish; it was Hadrach. He lied to
you to hide our identity from our enemies. We --"
"And what are the Free People seeking in Dargon that they must be
disguised?" interrupted Kazakian.
Taneris felt a moment of terror. Kazakian knew he was Rhydd Pobl!
Was he an agent of their enemy? Were members of the Bloody Hand of
Sageeza lurking in the shop, waiting to finish him?
Kazakian, perhaps sensing Taneris' fear, waved a hand dismissively
and shook his head. "Vosh, boy. I am not your enemy. You used 'chwrd'
instead of 'sister' a moment ago, and Hadrach is hardly a Baranurian
name."
Taneris sighed, relaxing slightly into his chair. "We were seeking
a book, as Hadrach told you. Only you never let him tell you which book.
That's how I knew that it was safe to come to you." Ignoring Kazakian's
puzzled look, he continued, "We have been in Dargon for five days,
looking for the Crimson Book of Sageeza."
Kazakian's reaction was not what Taneris had expected. The scribe's
puzzled expression only deepened, dark eyebrows drawing together,
creating a maze of wrinkles on his forehead. He waved for Taneris to
continue.
"My step-brother, Gwill, came to us a month ago. He warned us that
the Bloody Hand was planning to attack us at our annual gathering. Gwill
is -- was a hunter. He was part of a band that ambushed a group of the
Bloody Hand. One of them revealed a secret before he died: the Crimson
Book contains the Hand's secret ways of communicating. Hadrach brought
us to Dargon seeking a copy of it. Now Hadrach and Gwill are dead, and
Rhadia has been taken."
"That does not explain why you have come to me. Why did you not go
to the guard?"
"I don't know who else in the city to trust." Taneris swallowed and
blinked back tears, painfully aware that crying would make him appear
even more like a child. He took a deep breath and continued. "I know I
can trust you, because I know you didn't write this, even though your
name is signed to it." He reached into his pocket and handed the piece
of parchment across to Kazakian.
"'Master Balish'," the scribe read, "'I have located a copy of the
tome you are seeking. Please enquire with Tyrus Vage, at his shop on
Murson Street.'" He put the note down on the table. "You are correct,
boy. I did not write this. The note makes no sense to me. Tyrus Vage is
not a shopkeeper. He is a wealthy merchant and, to my knowledge, has no
scholarly interests."
Taneris nodded. "The shop was a trap. The only customers inside
were actually members of the Bloody Hand. They attacked us and took
Rhadia. I managed to escape because ... because they thought I was
dead." Taneris failed to mention that the misconception was due to his
being frozen with terror. "They are going to sell Rhadia to slavers. My
people would rather die than be enslaved. You have to help me."
Kazakian held his hand up in a warding gesture. "I am a foreigner
in this city myself. I cannot make accusations against citizens of
Dargon with nothing more than a scrap of paper and the word of a gypsy
boy. There is nothing I can do for you." He stood, as if to escort
Taneris to the door, but his posture seemed to melt under Taneris'
pleading gaze. "Perhaps there is someone who can help you." He pursed
his lips as he looked Taneris over. "Wait here."
The scribe stepped into the next room, and Taneris heard the
staccato rhythm of his feet upon a flight of steps. Taneris looked at
the tapestry while he waited for Kazakian to return. It showed a battle
between an enormous serpent and armies of mounted men. One of the
creature's coils was wrapped around a castle, while others crushed and
scattered its opponents. The gypsy's eyes were drawn to a tiny figure in
the bottom corner of the tapestry. A small child was attacking the tip
of the creature's tail with a stick, or perhaps a knife. Taneris thought
the boy looked ridiculous. So absorbed was he by the tapestry that he
did not hear Kazakian until the scribe spoke up behind him.
"One of my favorites," he chuckled.
"Who wins the battle?"
"The beast is slain in the end, of course. It is based on a legend:
Little Yorgai and the Beast of Leagues." Kazakian tapped the ridiculous
boy with his finger. "Most children in my country grew up wanting to be
like little Yorgai."
Taneris glanced once again at the child in the tapestry, wondering
how someone so small and insignificant could defeat a creature that
enormous.
"There is blood on your sleeve." Kazakian handed him a tunic. "This
belonged to a boy who used to work for me." Taneris accepted it
gratefully. He stripped off his old tunic, which Kazakian disposed of in
the next room. The new garment fit him as well as the old, and itched
less.
Kazakian picked up a walking stick and pulled open the door.
Taneris felt a moment of trepidation at accompanying this man.
"Where are we going?"
"To the home of a friend. He is a fellow scholar and much better
known to those in power I am. He will be able to tell you where you can
look for aid, if aid is to be had."
They walked through the streets of Dargon in silence. Taneris found
his mind drifting to thoughts of his foster-brother and childhood
companion Gwill. They were the same age, although that had not been
apparent for years. Together they had shared the dream of becoming
hunters. They had played at hunting for as long as Taneris could
remember, stalking all manner of prey through the forests of Baranur.
Being apprenticed to a hunter was all they could talk about. They had
nearly driven poor Hadrach mad with it. The old man had been elated to
take Rhadia as an apprentice. He had finally found someone to listen to
him ramble about "the art of the trade".
Rhadia had been immediately taken with Taneris. Although he was two
years older than her, he had yet to appreciate the differences between
boys and girls, preferring tree climbing to hand holding. It had been
with a mixture of delight and relief that he, along with Gwill, had
accepted an apprenticeship with a hunter named Senlin from another
bantor, or wagon group.
Gwill had grown tall and strong under Senlin's care. He had grown
quiet and introspective as well: stern and serious as befit a hunter.
Taneris had simply stopped growing. Senlin had tried to overlook it and
had focused on Taneris' strengths -- woodcraft and stealth -- but when
Taneris had not been able to fully draw the man-sized bows that the
other hunters used, Senlin had no choice but to dismiss him.
Taneris had been apprenticed to several crafts in the years that
followed. He had taken to each initially, but his thoughts had
continually wandered to the woods of Baranur. He had been dismissed from
each in turn. He had eventually returned to Hadrach's bantor to discover
that Rhadia had grown into a beautiful young woman in the years he had
been gone. Her romantic interest in him had waned, though, when she had
discovered that he still looked like a boy of twelve.
Kazakian stopped before a door and Taneris brought his mind back to
the present. He had more pressing concerns than his own shortcomings.
The old scribe rapped sharply with a heavy knocker. When there was no
reply, he rapped louder.
"Go away," a voice called from some distance inside. "No castings
today."
"Dyann! It is I."
"Genarvus! Come in then. But no castings!"
Taneris thought he heard the sound of the door being unlatched, but
when Kazakian pushed it open, there was no one in the room behind it. As
they stepped into a room well lit by the afternoon sun, an old man
stepped through an archway at the opposite end of the room. He and
Kazakian embraced as old friends, then the scribe turned to speak to
Taneris.
"This is Dyann Taishent, a friend and colleague. Dyann, this is
..." he paused. "You never did give me your name, boy."
"My name is Taneris. Most people call me Tanner."
Taishent eyed Taneris sharply. "And what prompted you to bring me a
nameless gypsy boy, Genarvus?" Taneris wondered what he had done to
reveal his origin to this man.
Kazakian shook his head. "It is a sad problem, Dyann, one that I
hope you can assist with."
They sat in straight-backed chairs around a carved wooden table as
Taneris related his tale to Taishent, much as he had to Kazakian. The
old man sat silently until Taneris finished before asking his questions.
"How did the author of this note know that you had visited Genarvus?"
"We were followed that day by shadow boys. I saw them outside of
his shop, but didn't know who they were until after -- until later."
"Until after what?" prompted Kazakian. His crow's feet became more
pronounced again.
Taneris hung his head. "I had hoped not to tell you this, but
Hadrach sent Gwill back to your shop yesterday evening. Rhadia and I
followed him. Gwill was attacked by two men: the same two men were part
of the group that ambushed us today."
"I see." Kazakian nodded. "I had wondered if the noise behind my
shop last night had something to do with this."
"What did you hope to achieve by bringing young Tanner to me,
Genarvus?" asked Taishent.
The scribe gave a small shrug. "He fears going to the guard, and I
know you have the ear of the duke ..."
"And I'd like to keep his ear, if you don't mind. Tyrus Vage is
wealthy and powerful. If I go to Clifton Dargon with accusations based
on the word of a stray gypsy and a scrap of parchment, I will be made to
look a fool and earn a powerful enemy. If it was, in fact, Tyrus Vage.
I'm not entirely convinced of this. Do you remember what he looked like,
lad?"
Taneris would not soon forget the face of his family's killer. "He
was tall, and dark-haired, with a moustache and beard. His face was
weathered like a man who has seen the face of the sun often in his
youth."
"That describes him. Tyrus Vage was a sailor before he made his
fortune. But it also describes many men in Dargon. Do you remember
anything else about him?"
"I do remember one other thing. We were in a tiny cluttered shop
but he spoke like a lord. I thought it very odd."
Taishent nodded. "It was Vage, then. The man acts like he owns half
of Dargon. My advice to you, boy, is to flee the city and return to your
people. There is naught else you can do here."
A part of Taneris wanted nothing more than to take Taishent's
advice, but instead he returned the old man's gaze. "I can't do that. I
have to free Rhadia. She was Hadrach's foster-daughter. I'm responsible
for her now, and I --" Grief-stricken, Taneris found himself unable to
continue.
"And you love her," Taishent said, finishing Taneris' thought. When
he had returned to Hadrach's ban, or wagon, after his last failed
apprenticeship, he had discovered that Rhadia had blossomed, as had his
own interest. Unfortunately, her eyes were still on older boys and
Taneris, two years her senior, had looked three years younger than her.
"I fear she is beyond your reach, young Tanner." Taishent shook his
head. "Worshippers of the Bloody Hand are few, and their ways are very
secret. If your tale is true and Tyrus Vage is one of them, they are
more powerful in Dargon than I would have thought. Now you have drawn
Genarvus into your conflict and placed him in danger. The hatred of
Sageeza's followers extends beyond gypsies."
"I had not thought of that," mused Kazakian. "Still, my name was
used to commit this crime. I would help the boy if I can."
"The only way we can help the boy is to convince him to leave.
There is one piece of information we can send with him to help his
people. I am surprised you didn't realize this yourself, Genarvus. There
is no Crimson Book of Sageeza. The cult of Sageeza, like most religions
that prey on fear and ignorance, is spread by word of mouth: whispered
of in dark alleys and back rooms. The book must have been a ruse;
captured members of the cult trade this 'secret' for their lives. Anyone
who comes looking for it reveals himself as an enemy." Taishent grasped
Taneris' shoulder and held his gaze. "You must believe me, young Tanner.
There is nothing you can do in Dargon except die. You have to leave the
city."
Taneris nodded and Taishent released his grip. "Very well, I shall
leave Dargon." The young gypsy rose from his seat. "My thanks to you
both."
Taneris had no intention of leaving Dargon. As he walked away from
Taishent's home he thought about how the two men had treated him. It was
the same way he had been treated his entire life: like a child. The
strange affliction that made him look twelve years old despite his age
of nineteen had once again caused him to be underestimated.
The young gypsy halted with a sudden realization. Since he had
stopped growing, he had done nothing to convince people that he was more
than a child. Given the choice between boy and man, he had always chosen
the simpler path. He had blamed his situation on his elders for years
but it was his own actions that had excluded him from the adult world.
He knew that he could have completed the trial of passage for any craft,
except the one nearest to his heart. It had just been easier to remain a
child than to admit to himself that he would never become a hunter.
Taneris thrust these thoughts aside; he needed to focus on freeing
Rhadia. To do that he would have to find the people who took her. He did
not know where they were, but he could find someone who had worked for
them. From the information Hadrach had given him the previous day,
Taneris knew where to look.
He arrived at the marketplace shortly after the sixth bell. The
sun, now past its zenith, had begun to cast shadows beside the
buildings. Taneris, glad to be free of the heat, chose a shady place to
wait. It did not take long for him to find his quarry. He watched a
stocky blond boy sidle up to a vendor's stall and palm a bright yellow
fruit and drop it in his pocket. Taneris waited for a glimpse of the
boy's face before stepping up behind him and laying a hand on his
shoulder.
"You," he said, "shadow boy."
The blond boy didn't even turn. He jerked his shoulder out of
Taneris' grip and dashed away, slipping through the crowd with ease.
Taneris followed, trying to avoid being stepped on and elbowed. He spun
away from a near collision with a package-laden man and scanned the
crowd frantically. Taneris almost missed the shadow boy dart into an
alley. He followed.
With no crowd to dodge through, Taneris quickly gained on the blond
boy and gave him a shove that sent him sprawling. The shadow boy landed
on his back with the gypsy on top of him.
Grabbing a double-handful of tunic, Taneris demanded, "Where are
they?"
"Where are who?" the shadow boy replied between gasps.
"The Bloody Hand."
"What bloody hand? What are you talking about?"
"I know you work for them. They paid you to follow us yesterday."
The blond boy's eyes narrowed, then widened in recognition. "Ol's
piss! It's just you. I thought you were a guard when you grabbed me.
Now, get off me before I --"
A cuff from Taneris silenced him. "Not until you tell me where to
find them."
Before the shadow boy could reply, Taneris heard something whir by
his ear. Then he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. "Let him up," a
voice said. He looked up to see several boys standing by an open doorway
a short distance away. Each held a rock in his hand. Seeing that he was
outnumbered, Taneris stood.
"Darrow, you okay?" asked the tallest of the boys, a dark-haired
youth sporting the beginnings of a moustache.
"I'm fine, Min," said the blond boy as he stood and dusted himself
off. "He caught me by surprise, is all."
"Straight," said the dark-haired boy, who then turned to Taneris.
"And what's your tale?"
"He helped the Bloody Hand kill my family --" Taneris began.
"Here he goes with the 'bloody hand' again," interrupted Darrow.
Min held up his hands. "You can tell it to the king, if you like."
Taneris wondered if "tell it to the king" was an expression in Dargon,
and if it meant that Min didn't want to hear his troubles.
When Taneris didn't reply, Min jerked a thumb toward the open door.
"He's holding court in here." The king was a person, then. But a duke
ruled Dargon, and what king would be holding court in a run-down
building? "Or," Min added with a lopsided grin, "we can see how many
rocks we can bounce off your head."
Taneris thought he could escape back to the marketplace with only a
few bumps from the shadow boys' rocks, but he was through running. These
boys were his only link to the Bloody Hand. If he couldn't learn their
location from the shadow boys, Rhadia was doomed to a life of slavery.
Taneris met the tall boy's eyes. "Lead the way."
They entered a small building that had obviously long been
abandoned by its owner. The remains of a stairway stood in one corner
and a hearth was collapsed on the opposite wall. Bits of debris lay
everywhere. Crates and broken furniture made a rough circle around a
black patch on the floor in the center of the room. A dozen shadow boys
sat around the circle. They ranged from small children to boys about
Min's size. Taneris quickly realized that Darrow had not chosen this
alley at random. He had run for the shadow boys' hiding place.
One of the taller boys stood as they entered. "What was it, Min?"
he asked.
"Darrow got into a bit of trouble." Min pointed at Taneris. "This
one here has a tale to tell you, sire."
Although Min had pronounced the last word with sarcasm, his earlier
comments about the king became clear to Taneris. These shadow boys had a
ruler, and this was he.
The king of the shadow boys put his hands on his hips and faced
Taneris. "I'm Niko. All of these boys answer to me. Who are you, and
what do you have to say?"
Feeling his palms begin to sweat, Taneris spoke. "I'm called Tanner
and I'm one of the Rhydd Pobl. My family and I were in Dargon on
business. This boy and another spied on us for the Bloody Hand of
Sageeza. Because of them, my father and brother were killed and Rhadia
-- the other member of our group -- was taken. I'm here to get her
back."
Niko turned to the blond boy. "Darrow, is this true?"
Darrow rubbed his chin as he spoke. A bruise was forming there
where Taneris had struck him. "We got two Bits each from Erich to watch
him and his da, is all. I don't know about no killings, and I never
heard of no Bloody Hand."
The shadow boys' leader nodded. "The Bloody Hand is real enough,
though I didn't think Erich was one of them. Tanner, you've come to the
wrong people. We're not in this for hate; we're in it for money. We'd
just as soon help you gypsies against the Bloody Hand if the price were
right. It was business, nothing more. You can go."
Taneris felt his blood burn at once again being dismissed. Before
he could speak, Min asked, "But, Highness, he put his hands on Darrow.
Shouldn't he at least get a beating?"
Niko bridled at Min's comment. Taneris could sense the tension as
the two boys stared at each other. He forgot his own rage for a moment
as his mind raced to find a way to use this power struggle to his
advantage. He lost his opportunity when Darrow spoke.
"It was me he struck. It's my right to give him his beating."
"Let 'em fight," said Min, all trace of even mock respect gone from
his voice. All of the other children's eyes were on the dark-haired boy.
Taneris could almost feel the power shift.
Darrow raised his fists and stuck out his chin as Taneris turned to
face him. The blond boy was two fingers taller than the gypsy, and
heavier. Taneris was faster but in the circle of crates and chairs it
would do him little good.
"Hold a moment," interrupted the king. Hope that he might avoid
this fight flared in Taneris. "Do you have any skill with that?" The
king pointed toward Taneris' leg. The gypsy's breeches had pulled up to
reveal his knife. His hope extinguished, Taneris nodded.
Niko produced a knife from his belt and tossed it to Darrow, who
caught it deftly. "Let it be knives, then," he said, flashing Min a
small smile. All eyes moved to the king as he spoke. He had won his
power struggle, likely at the cost of Taneris' life.
"Sorry, gypsy," muttered Min. "Darrow's one of our best."
Taneris felt fear like a lump of cold lead in his belly. He drew
his knife, and dropped into the fighting crouch he had practiced so many
times in a camp game Rhydd Pobl childen played called cylel chware, or
knife dancing. He held his knife in his right hand, close to his body.
His left hand came up automatically to guard the movements of his knife
from his opponent. He was acutely aware that this fight was not a game.
Darrow displayed his disdain by not even protecting his weapon. He
advanced on Taneris waving his knife, as if daring the gypsy to take it.
Taneris' eyes were drawn to the flashing blade; his feet were frozen to
the floor. As the shadow boy made a cut for his face, Taneris managed a
graceless jump backwards. His scramble to the opposite side of the
circle elicited laughter from the watching children.
He turned to face Darrow, who was advancing on him again, knife out
and blade flashing. The blond boy smiled with contempt. Taneris forced
his eyes away from the knife this time. Not focusing on the opponent's
weapon was one of the first things he had learned about fighting.
Instead he watched the movement of Darrow's body. The shadow boy's knife
carved a double loop in the air as he slashed at the gypsy's face.
Taneris stepped away from each cut. He noticed that Darrow's right side
was exposed for a moment each time he slashed to the left. This had to
be another dare, like the unguarded knife. What trap did Darrow have
planned if Taneris went for the right side?
He decided to find out. When Darrow slashed to the left again,
Taneris feinted a cut toward the blond boy's ribs. He danced out of the
way at the last moment, watching for Darrow's counterstroke. There was
none! Darrow had not even turned to follow his motion. The shadow boy's
head swiveled wildly until he saw Taneris, then he turned and charged.
Taneris brushed the blond boy's thrust aside with his left hand and
skipped to the side, finally allowing his feet to thaw into the flow of
the fight.
The shadow boy followed, slashing. Taneris danced back, sometimes
avoiding Darrow's cuts with only a flick of his head. He was amazed. Min
had called Darrow their best, but the shadow boy would last less than a
mene in the game of cylel chware. The unguarded knife and open side were
not dares: they were mistakes! Taneris knew that he could take this
boy's weapon or cut him at any time. If he took the knife he ran the
risk of the larger boy grappling with him. To cut him risked killing
him. The other children might not like one of their own slain and
Taneris needed information from him. Also, despite his complicity,
Darrow did not actually help kill Taneris' family or even know that the
attack was planned. By the Rhydd Pobl creed, this boy did not deserve to
die.
The other children were beginning to jeer at Taneris, not realizing
who held the upper hand in the fight. However, Darrow was apparently
beginning to grasp the situation. Frustration showed on his face as his
attacks became more desperate. Taneris knew this needed to end quickly.
He waited for Darrow to slash to the left again. Instead of
sidestepping, Taneris closed, trapping his opponent's arm with his left
hand as his right hand shot up toward the shadow boy's face. As it did,
he reversed his grip on the knife. The butt of the weapon struck Darrow
between nose and upper lip. The blond boy cried out and fell to the
floor, holding his hands to his face. Taneris had felt the same blow
many times in practice. It hurt and made the eyes run with tears but
caused no permanent injury. He stepped on Darrow's fallen knife. The
fight was over.
"Impressive," said the shadow boy king, "or maybe just lucky.
Either way, Tanner, you are free to go. I warn you, though, do not cross
us again." He glanced at Min, who chose to look at his own feet. The
power struggle was over.
"Go?" Taneris was astonished. "But I need your help! I at least
need to know where to find the people who took Rhadia."
The king smiled. "We can find them," he said "for a price. Have you
any coin, gypsy?"
Taneris shook his head. "No," he replied, "all of my father's money
was taken after the attack."
The ruler of the shadow boys spread his hands. "Then there is
naught that we can do for you," he said. "Sorry, but business is
business."
Taneris felt a wave of bitterness rise in him. "It may be business
to you, but it cost my father and brother their lives, and Rhadia her
freedom."
The king's eyes narrowed. "Be thankful we let you live, gypsy, now
go before --"
"I'll help him," said a muffled voice behind Taneris. He turned to
see Darrow standing, still rubbing beneath his nose. It was he who had
spoken.
Niko turned to the blond boy. "Your choice, Darrow. Though I doubt
anyone here will throw in for you if you're light this sennight. If
Liriss decides to have you whipped, I think we'll all stand around and
watch the foolish boy who decided to help this gypsy rat instead of
being out on the streets, earning like he should."
"Like you said, Niko, my choice," replied Darrow. "Come with me,
gypsy. Let's see if we can find Erich." Taneris followed the shadow boy
out the door, feeling as if he had missed something.
Once outside, he fell into step beside Darrow and said, "Wait. You
were ready to kill me in there. Why are you helping me now?"
Darrow stopped and faced Taneris. "The killing was Niko's idea,
gypsy. All I wanted to do was give you the beating I thought you
deserved. I'm helping you for two reasons. This," he tapped his upper
lip, "could just as easily have been a slit throat, couldn't it? Now, if
it had been, my brothers in there would have torn you to bits, but I'd
have been just as dead. So I owe you for not killing me."
"What's the other reason?"
Darrow looked away. "Why do you think I live like this? All of us
are living on the streets because we have no other family. I wouldn't
wish this life on anyone. I didn't think when I took Erich's Bits for
following you that I would be helping to take away your family, gypsy."
"Fair enough," replied Taneris, after a moment's consideration.
Darrow seemed sincere, and he was likely the only help available in
Dargon. "Look, call me Tanner, straight?"
"Straight, Tanner. Now, let's see if we can't find Erich. It's
early, but we might find him at the Shattered Spear."
Taneris followed Darrow back into the busy marketplace. Now that he
was no longer chasing the blond boy, he had time to marvel at the
practiced way that Darrow slipped through the crowd. He seemed to know
just where to step to avoid being elbowed or trod upon. He even slipped
up next to another fruit peddler's cart and lifted two pieces of fruit
while the vendor finished a transaction with another man. As they left
the market and turned onto the Street of Travellers, Darrow tossed one,
a green sphere tinged with pink and gold, to the gypsy.
Taneris caught the fruit and was about to object until he realized
that he had not eaten since breakfast several bells earlier. He bit into
the fruit. Its flesh was juicy and sweet. As they walked he devoured it
until nothing but a hard round pit remained. Darrow motioned for Taneris
to follow him into an alley, where they washed the stickiness from their
hands and faces in a rain barrel.
Much to the gypsy's surprise, the blond boy continued down the
alley rather than returning to the street. Taneris followed as his guide
slipped between the corners of two buildings into another alley. Here he
stepped through a doorway into a vacant building. Darrow led him through
the opposite doorway and onto another street: this one less crowded than
the Street of Travellers. It was not long before Darrow quit this street
for yet another alley.
The gypsy followed the shadow boy through more alleys, between
fences, and once even onto a rooftop. Taneris soon realized that,
although the way seemed twisted, they were moving through the city
faster than if they had kept to the streets. He recognized that Hadrach
had been wrong when he had likened the members of the Bloody Hand to
gypsies for being able to move unnoticed in the city. The shadow boys
were the true gypsies of Dargon. They knew all of the secret ways of the
city. They even knew where to forage for food and water.
They stopped outside the back door of the Shattered Spear. Darrow
entered, motioning for Taneris to wait outside. He returned shortly
wearing a disappointed look and carrying a small loaf of bread. He tore
the loaf of bread in two and handed half to Taneris.
"No luck," he said. "Jamis hasn't seen Erich since yesterday. We
could wait for him, though. He's here two nights out of three."
Taneris shook his head. "Is there nothing else we can do than wait?
I'm not sure how much time Rhadia has."
"What do you mean, 'time'?" asked Darrow around a mouthful of
bread.
"They said they were going to sell her. Please understand, Darrow,
as bad as you think your life is here, it is nothing compared to a life
of slavery for one of my people."
The shadow boy almost dropped his bread. "Slavery? Why didn't you
mention that before, Tanner? Did they say anything else?"
Taneris creased his brow, trying to remember exactly what Vage had
said. "He mentioned 'foreign gentlemen'. Does that help?"
"Ol's balls, yes! There's not much slave trade here to begin with.
Too much risk involved. Now, it has to take days by land to get to
another kingdom, straight?"
"Months," Taneris replied with a nod.
"No one is going to risk a trip like that, are they? The safest way
to get her out of Baranur is by ship. Load her on right before the boat
gets underway after the cargo's been inspected. Slip the agent a few
coins to look the other way. They'd need to be holding her close by,
somewhere near the docks."
They arrived at the docks shortly after the ninth bell. The sun,
poised above the western horizon, cast long shadows on Commercial
Street. Darrow, apparently ever-hungry, tried to coax a bowl of fish
stew from a man named Simon Salamagundi but failed. Taneris was glad of
it. The stolen bread had filled him, and he had grown tired of the
myriad ways the people of Dargon prepared fish. He also didn't
particularly like the curious glance that Simon cast at him.
They waited in the shade of a quay wall, watching the traffic on
Commercial Street for Erich or any of the Bloody Hand that Taneris might
recognize. Shortly before the sun set over the Valenfaer Ocean, Darrow
grabbed the gypsy's arm.
"I think that's Erich, Tanner," he hissed, pointing at a large
broad-shouldered man.
In the fading daylight neither could be sure if the man was their
quarry. They followed, hoping to get a better glimpse of the man's face.
Before they could, he left the street and entered a warehouse through a
small door that stood beside two larger doors that could be used to move
goods in and out of the building.
Darrow motioned to a place behind some barrels where they could
crouch down and watch the door. "I wish I could be sure that was Erich.
We can't just go wandering into the warehouse. Whoever is in there would
take us for thieves and either kill us or turn us over to the guards."
Taneris stood. "I'm willing to take that risk. You've done enough,
Darrow. I have to get in there and see if Rhadia is alright."
Before Darrow could object, the door opened. He pulled Taneris back
down. They both watched as a different man exited and joined the
thinning crowd on Commercial Street. Taneris smiled as he noticed the
man's limping gait.
He turned to Darrow. "I know that man. Rhadia gave him that limp
last night when he and Erich attacked Gwill. That must be Erich inside.
I'm going."
Darrow put his hand on Taneris' arm. "Don't be a fool. We can
watch, wait for an opportunity to --"
"I don't have time to wait!" He shrugged off Darrow's hand.
"They're going to sell her, maybe tonight. If we wait too long, she'll
be gone."
"Hold a mene, Tanner. What will you do once you are in there?
You're good with that knife, I admit, but Erich will kill you if he sees
you. He knows me. I can tell him I have some more information to sell."
"I can't ask you to take that risk, Darrow."
"What risk? Erich knows me, knows I'm always looking for a bit of
coin or some food. He won't be that surprised to see me, and he'll take
you for another shadow boy. You can look around, see if your friend is
even in there, and decide what to do. I can't walk away just as it's
getting interesting. Like Niko said, it's my choice."
Taneris nodded. "Straight." They left their hiding place and
crossed to the door. Taneris realized that he was entering the den of
his enemy. He felt like little Yorgai about to attack the Beast of
Leagues, but was painfully aware that he was not in a fable.
Taneris had hoped to separate from Darrow and scout the warehouse
as soon as they entered, but Erich sat in plain view of the door, bathed
in the soft golden glow of a lantern that stood on a table beside a
half-empty bottle. Rows of crates and barrels smelling of sea-salt lined
the shadowy interior of the building.
"Who's there?" demanded Erich as he rose and reached for a sword
that leaned unsheathed against a table leg.
"It's me, Erich. Darrow."
Erich sat, leaving the weapon untouched. "Oh, it's just my little
shadow and one of his shadowy friends. What do you want, boy?"
"What I always want, Erich, something to jingle in my pockets, of
course." Darrow walked as he spoke, approaching Erich. Taneris followed
behind, scanning for signs of Rhadia. "You paid us well to follow those
gypsies. I thought you might want to buy some more information about
them."
Erich's eyes darted to one side before he replied. "No, I don't
think we need to know anything else about the gypsies. I might be able
to spare you a few Bits if you can come up with another bottle of wine.
I'm getting low, and it's looking to be a long night."
Taneris followed Erich's glance to a large crate. Unlike most of
the crates in the warehouse, it was loosely built with gaps between the
slats that made up the sides. He thought he saw motion inside but could
not be sure that it was not just the play of the lantern light.
"Straight," replied Darrow, "but I'll be needing some coin in
advance or I won't be able to pay for it."
"Pay for what?" asked a familiar voice from behind them. Taneris
felt his heart sink; he turned to see a tall form in the doorway, framed
by the failing sunlight. He did not need to see the man's face to
recognize Tyrus Vage. "I hope you aren't sending these beggar children
for more wine, Erich." He looked at Darrow and Taneris. "Out, children.
Erich needs to be awake and alert this night."
"Of course, sir," said Darrow with eyes downcast. Taneris glared
hatred at the man responsible for the deaths of his family. He forced
his gaze away, but not before locking eyes with Vage.
"On second thought, boys, wait a moment." The tall man closed the
door and barred it. "Erich, why are these children here?"
"Not to buy me drink, Tyrus, I swear it." Erich's voice trembled.
"They wanted to sell me information about the gypsies. Darrow there is
one of the shadow boys who followed them for us."
"I see," replied the tall man, tapping a finger to his pursed lips.
"And what do you know about gypsies, hmm, Darrow?"
"N-nothing, sir," stammered Darrow, his eyes still downcast.
Taneris felt his fury at the man building inside him. When Vage turned
to him, their eyes locked again. This time, Taneris did not look away.
"You are no shadow boy," Vage pronounced. "I think we've found our
missing bit of gypsy filth, Erich."
"Run!" shouted Taneris, shoving Darrow. The shadow boy rushed off,
darting toward a narrow opening between two crates.
"Get that one, Erich," said Vage as he advanced on Taneris. "I'll
see to the little gypsy."
Taneris dropped into a crouch, drawing his knife and stepping
between his opponent and the lantern. Vage halted a moment, eyes
narrowing. He drew a long blade from his belt and continued his advance.
Taneris' thoughts raced. He had beaten Darrow, but Darrow was only a
boy. Vage was a man, taller even than Gwill. To Vage, though, Taneris
was just a boy: no threat at all. Taneris hoped this wasn't true. Vage
wouldn't know that he had still beaten Gwill at cylel chware upon
occasion even after Gwill had begun to tower over him. Taneris widened
his eyes with more fear than he felt as he allowed Vage to approach.
Vage's first strike was toward his face. He skipped back out of the
way once, and again as the tall man continued his attack. Taneris
reversed his grip and waited. On the third slash, he stepped in,
crouching down beneath the sweep of his enemy's blade. His own knife
described an arc above his head, slashing Vage's forearm open with the
force of his own swing. As the man cried out in pain, Taneris completed
his arc, burying his weapon behind Vage's knee. He pulled the blade free
and Vage dropped to the floor, his injured leg no longer able to support
his weight. Crying out in fury, he grabbed for Taneris, who slashed at
his face, laying open his left cheek. The bearded man collapsed in
agony.
"Tanner! Behind you!" cried a female voice. Rhadia!
Taneris turned to see Erich picking up the sword that had stood by
the table. Darrow lay in a heap beside one of the crates. Taneris hoped
that the shadow boy was not injured, or dead.
"Quiet, gypsy witch!" Erich shouted at the crate he had glanced
toward earlier. Taneris could see Rhadia's fingertips protruding through
the slats. "You're not bad with that blade, gypsy, but you'll not get
close enough to use it."
Taneris glared at Erich, Gwill's murderer. His knife was no match
for this man's sword. "True," he said, "but we Rhydd Pobl play other
games than cylel chware."
"What?" demanded Erich. It was his last word. Taneris' body snapped
like a whip as he released his knife. It buried itself to the hilt
beneath the man's chin. Erich's sword dropped from numb fingers as he
toppled.
With a backward glance at Vage, who lay moaning, Taneris stepped
past Erich's still form to check on Darrow. Seeing that the shadow boy
was merely stunned, he snatched up Erich's fallen blade. "Step back,
Rhadia." He went to work on the crate. Soon he had enough boards pried
loose that she could climb free.
She stared at him in wonder before embracing him. He buried his
face in her long hair, enjoying the moment and the smell of her. He
wished that he could hold her forever, but he knew that she could never
love him the way he loved her, not while he looked like a boy. Events
were now in motion that went beyond his feelings for her. Reluctantly,
he let her go.
"You've ruined that sword," she chided.
"Just as well." He shrugged and cast the weapon aside. "How far is
someone who looks like me going to get in the streets of Dargon holding
a weapon like that?" He turned from her and retrieved his knife from the
fallen Erich. He strode to Vage. The man had fainted, and blood still
oozed from the ugly wound in his cheek. Taneris bent and cut Vage's coin
purse from his belt. He returned to the table and spilled out the
contents of the small leather pouch. Darrow groaned at the sound and
rose, rubbing his head.
"Not quite what he stole from Hadrach," said Taneris, "but enough,
I think." He slipped a few coins into his pocket. He swept all but two
silver Rounds back into the purse and handed it to Rhadia. "This is
yours, along with Hadrach's ban. Return to our people and spread the
word that the Crimson Book doesn't exist. It's a trap. I wish there was
more to tell. We've still learned nothing that can prevent the Bloody
Hand's attack at Eariaddas Hwl."
"No," said Rhadia, "there is more. The one whose leg I hurt cursed
me because he wouldn't be able to make the journey to Tench. I think
they are gathering there before the attack."
Taneris' heart filled with hope. Hadrach's and Gwill's deaths had
not been for nothing. With that information, the Rhydd Pobl would be
able to surprise the Bloody Hand's forces. "All the more reason for you
to go, and quickly."
"You keep saying that I need to go. What about you?"
"I'll be staying."
"You'd best slit his throat, then." Darrow jerked a thumb at Vage.
"He'll be out for your blood, and he knows your face."
Taneris shook his head. "He knows the face of an insolent gypsy boy
that he glimpsed for but a moment. The rest of the time my face was
hidden by the shadows and by his contempt. I doubt he'd recognize me if
he passed me on the street, as long as I didn't look him in the eye. He
won't be looking for me here. He'll be expecting me to flee the city and
return to our people. Besides, he is the reason I'm staying. We need to
learn more about our enemy so we can roam Baranur in safety again."
Rhadia glared hatred at Vage. "He was going to make me a slave.
That puts him beyond our mercy. We can wrest the answers from him."
Taneris laid his hand gently on Rhadia's arm, calming her. "Where
will we do that, chwrd? We can't carry a wealthy merchant through the
city without being seen by the guard, and if we question him here, his
cries will bring the guard to us." Rhadia stared at him silently,
perhaps surprised to hear such wisdom coming from someone who looked,
and until recently had acted, like a child.
Taneris turned to the shadow boy. "Darrow, wait here for half a
bell and then run and fetch the guard. Tell them I forced you to help me
find Vage. You can say that you were knocked out in the fighting and
that I was gone when you awoke. The bruise Erich gave you should
convince them you're telling the truth."
Darrow nodded. "Straight."
"When you're done, come meet me in the marketplace. There may not
be a book that contains the secrets of the Bloody Hand, but they can
still be learned if one watches closely enough. To do that, I'll need to
learn the hidden ways of Dargon."
He slid the two silver Rounds across the table. "That's why I need
to hire a guide."
Darrow scooped the coins off the table, grinning as he slipped them
into his pocket.
========================================================================
Hidden Talents
Part 2
by Rena Deutsch and Carlo Samson
<Rena3@hotmail.com>
Yuli 1, 1018
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 16-2
Although it was a warm summer morning, Allara sat at her desk in
the scriptorium of Dargon Keep. She enjoyed the coolness of the room,
which would keep her comfortable, especially during the midday heat.
She'd already finished the tasks assigned to her and had started a
drawing to keep herself occupied. The twittering birds outside tempted
her to leave and take a walk around the woods near the keep, and Allara
found it difficult to resist. She knew that her father, Rish Vogel,
would be most displeased if he found her gone without having dismissed
her. He was the duke's scribe and chronicler, and had taught her how to
read and write in order that she might be able to perform tedious tasks
for him such as copying notes. Rish had been out for the past two bells
attending to court business at the request of Duke Clifton Dargon. A
sigh escaped Allara and her hand dropped. The quill she'd been holding
came to a careless rest atop a drawing of a songbird she had created,
letting ink seep onto the paper.
The last sennight had been rather difficult for her. Her father was
still holding a grudge for her disobedience, even if it had led to the
discovery of a stolen plate. He had given her all the copying tasks he
could think of to keep her at the desk and, in his opinion, out of
trouble. At least for today, she'd already finished her tasks. No doubt
when her father arrived he would find something else for her, but
meanwhile she could occupy herself to her liking.
With another sigh, Allara looked from the door to her drawing,
placed the quill into its holder, and took a piece of blotting paper to
minimize the stain on her picture. Her father would certainly frown upon
her use of paper and ink for drawing instead of for official documents,
but she didn't care. It wasn't fair that she had to sit around doing
nothing but wait; he had been summoned away before he'd had a chance to
assign her more tasks for the day.
She picked up a fresh charcoal stick and continued the sketch. At
least with the use of charcoal sticks she wouldn't be blamed for wasting
ink. She had managed to capture the likeness of a songbird in a tree and
was proud of her work. "It really turned out well," Allara thought, with
a slight smile on her face, and added some more detail to the bird. With
a few strokes of her charcoal stick she turned the ink blot into a
fruit.
A few moments later, the door opened. Allara glanced up, expecting
to see her father. Instead, a blonde girl wearing an embroidered dress
of dark green strode in, followed by two other girls dressed in similar
fashion. Allara's heart sank; the blonde girl was Valrica Deshay,
daughter of a wealthy shipwright. Valrica lived at the keep whenever her
father was out of town on business. The other two were her friends, Leda
and Ranae. The three of them were known around the court as "the
Mourning Sisters," due to their affectation of dyeing the ends of their
hair mourning blue. They delighted in teasing and gossiping about people
they didn't like, and Allara was one of their favorite targets.
"Hail and well met, Lady Allara," Valrica said with a faint sneer.
"Doing important work today?"
"Um, yes, I'm very busy," Allara lied, hoping that her father would
return soon. "What do you want?"
"Oh, just stopped in to chat," Valrica replied. Allara felt a stab
of apprehension as Leda, a tall, lanky girl, firmly closed the door.
Ranae, who wore a ring on each finger of both hands, moved over to
one side of the desk while Valrica stood at the other. Allara noted with
a twinge of alarm that one of the rings on Ranae's right hand bore a
cluster of little spikes.
"If you have no official business to bring, leave," Allara said
firmly, pointing to the door. "How did you get past the guard?"
Valrica smirked, ignoring the question, and said, "We heard you
were the one who figured out where the Founding Day prize was hidden.
Very smart of you to do so, yes it was."
"Thank you," Allara replied, trying not to show any fear.
"So how did you do it?" Valrica asked, putting her hands on her
hips and leaning down.
Allara gazed at the blonde girl but made no reply. About a sennight
ago, one of the servants had noticed that the silver plate that was to
be the contest prize during the Founding Day celebration was missing.
The day after the theft, a messenger pigeon had been stolen from the
keep's pigeon coop, but it had returned with a strange message. Allara
had figured out that the message revealed the location of the stolen
plate, and the town guard had recovered it.
"What, shivaree got your tongue?" Ranae said.
"How did I do what?" answered Allara, ignoring Ranae's snide
comment.
"Work out what the pigeon's message really meant, stupid," said
Valrica.
Allara squared her shoulders. "Um, shouldn't you be dyeing your
hair? The blue's starting to fade."
Valrica straightened up and began strolling around the room,
lightly touching things as she passed. She stopped at a shelf and picked
up a small ceramic pot with a cork in the top. "Is this ink?" She shook
the
little pot, then uncorked it and peered inside. "Yes, it is."
"Put that back," said Allara, starting to rise from her chair.
Ranae gripped her shoulder and forced her back down.
"Oh, and look," cooed Valrica. "She put her initials on the pot,
how cute. Don't want to get it confused with Smelly Vogel's ink pots!"
Leda and Ranae laughed.
Outrage flared through Allara. "Shut up and get out of here, you
... witches!" she cried. "Guard!"
"Oh, don't bother, he won't come," Ranae giggled.
"Guard!" Allara screamed, but the door remained closed.
"Told you," Leda grinned.
"What did you do to him?" Allara was furious.
"Oh, nothing you need to concern yourself with," Ranae replied
nonchalantly and made way for Valrica.
"I think this cork has some ink on it," said Valrica. She moved
over to Allara's desk and spotted the sketch of the bird. "Maybe I
should clean it off for you." She held the cork over the paper.
"No! Stop it!" Allara tried to grab the sketch off the desk, but
Ranae went behind her and grabbed her arms. Leda came over and helped
restrain Allara.
"You know who sent the message, don't you? I can't believe a little
bastard skrat like you could figure it out on your own."
"Let go of me!" Allara yelled, struggling.
"Then tell me," Valrica replied, lowering the cork.
"I don't know who sent it! Just get out of here now!"
Valrica shrugged, then began dabbing the cork onto the paper,
making round black impressions over the bird. She replaced the cork,
shook the ink pot, then took the cork out and started to move it toward
Allara's face.
"Stop it! I'm telling my father on you, and he'll tell the duke!"
Allara wailed.
At this, Valrica stamped the cork forcefully on the bird sketch.
She nodded to Ranae and Leda, who released Allara. Putting the cork back
on the ink pot, Valrica said, "You're not going to tell anyone, because
you know what we can do to you if you do." The three girls turned and
began walking to the door. As they passed Vogel's desk, Leda knocked
over a brush holder, sending the brushes clattering all over the floor.
Valrica paused at the door. "You had one chance to tell me the
truth, skrat. But since you didn't, not even the duke can save you." She
waited until the other girls had left the room, then gave a little wink
and slammed the door behind her.
Allara began sobbing. "Witches!" she screamed. Her tears fell on
the bird sketch, forming little rivulets of ink and charcoal as they ran
down the paper.
By the time Rish Vogel returned to the scriptorium, Allara had
composed herself and cleaned up the room. The bird sketch she had sadly
burned in the fireplace. Vogel barely glanced at her as he gathered up
some papers and informed Allara that since the duke needed him for the
rest of the day, she was free to do whatever she wished.
When he left, Allara went to her bedroom and cried into a pillow
for a long time. It was bad enough that people at the court looked down
on her for being Rish Vogel's bastard daughter, and that her father
clearly resented having had to take her into his care after her mother's
death. But to have those mean, heartless girls ruin the things that gave
her pleasure was almost too much to endure.
An emptiness in her stomach reminded Allara that she hadn't had
anything to eat since early morning. She poured some water on a rag and
pressed it against her face so others wouldn't notice she'd been crying.
"I'm done crying," she thought. "Next time I'll fight. Nothing's going
to change unless I do something about it."
It was now nearing midday. Allara went down to the keep's kitchen,
fixed herself a small meal and then went out to the courtyard. The
keep's cook only gave her a brief glance and continued with her pastry
making as Allara entered and left the kitchen. Donia, a servant girl and
friend to Allara, was sitting on a bench in the shade of one of the
keep's three towers. She walked over to her and sat down.
Donia was eating an apple and had a cloth draped across her lap; on
top of the cloth was a thick slice of bread and a wedge of cheese.
Allara sighed and unwrapped the cloth bundle that held her midday meal.
When she didn't start eating right away, Donia asked, "Something wrong,
'Lara?"
"No," Allara glumly replied. She heaved another sigh.
"You've been crying, haven't you?" When Allara didn't answer, Donia
didn't inquire further. Instead she peered at Allara's lap. "What do you
have there, a leftwich? What's in it?"
"Just some roast chicken."
"Oh, did you hear about the chickens?"
Allara shook her head. "What about them?"
"Well," Donia said, lowering her voice, "I heard the cooks talking
about something strange this morning. A few days ago they were counting
up all the chickens they had to see how many they needed to buy for the
Founding Day feast, and they discovered another one missing."
"Another one?" Allara inquired. "What happened with the first
missing chicken?"
"It's a mystery," Donia began. "The first chicken went missing
about a sennight ago. The cook thought a fox had managed to get it, but
there was no trace. And then a couple days later the second chicken went
missing."
"They weren't stolen, were they?"
"No. They were found on the trash heap, with their throats cut and
all the blood gone. But they hadn't been plucked or anything, just
killed!"
"Why would anyone kill a chicken that they didn't intend to eat?
That's just wasteful!"
"I don't know! It's very mysterious, like who stole the Founding
Day plate and the black pigeon."
Allara nodded. Captain Koren and Lieutenant Milnor of the Dargon
town guard had asked for her help in finding out the identity of the
people responsible for the thefts, but she hadn't been able to determine
who might have done one or the other. She took a bite of the leftwich
and then asked, "Has the duke heard of this?"
Donia shrugged. "Maybe you could ask him yourself."
Allara pondered this new mystery as she ate her midday meal. Was
there a link between the two thefts and the chicken killings? Could it
all be the work of the same person, or had they all been committed by
different people?
"Do you think a witch or a mage took the chickens, plotting evil
against the duke?" Donia asked, her eyes wide.
"I don't know, Donia," Allara said, pensively. "I don't know."
A witch or mage, Allara thought, that would explain why no one had
seen anyone take the plate, why no one remembered if anyone had entered
the pigeon coop, and why no one knew why the chickens had been killed
and left on the trash heap.
"Do I even know a witch?" Allara asked herself. "No, I don't know
even one witch, but hadn't there been a mage been in town not too long
ago? Straight! There had been a mage! Father had talked about him. What
was that name?" A smile ran across Allara's face as she recalled the
name. "Anarr! Straight. Father mentioned he'd seen him in town. But
would he steal a silver plate and then hide it? Or steal a pigeon and
return it with a clue as to where to find the plate? He could always use
magic to get in and out of the keep unseen."
"What are you thinking?" Donia interrupted Allara's thoughts.
"Just wondering who could have killed the chickens and why," she
responded and took a bite from her leftwich.
A group of children led by an old man entered the courtyard. Allara
recognized the old man as Cavendish, tutor to the boys and girls that
lived at the keep. She had been taught by him as well when she first had
come to live there. As the group drew closer, Allara heard the scribe
spell out an unfamiliar word.
"Now then," she heard him say, "If you spell that backwards, what
word does it make?"
The children babbled and shouted out guesses. Cavendish stopped
when he reached Allara and Donia and said, "Perhaps these young ladies
know the answer?"
"No! I know!" exclaimed a young dark-haired boy. "It says,
'kingdom'."
"Very good, Martyn! You are correct!" said the scribe.
Allara smiled. Cavendish liked to use word games to keep his
students challenged. She had gotten good at solving them, but there had
been one boy in her class who usually figured them out faster than she
could ... Suddenly another thought struck her: it wasn't Anarr who had
sent the note. She abruptly stood up, dumping the cloth with the
leftwich remnants off her lap.
"What's the matter, 'Lara?" Donia asked.
"Nothing, I ... I just have to go now." She turned and dashed back
to the keep, leaving Donia, the scribe, and the children staring after
her in bewilderment.
In a sparsely furnished room that overlooked the river Coldwell,
Allara found a chubby young man seated behind a table strewn with
papers, bits of leftover food, and half-melted candles. He was fourteen,
a year younger than Allara, and his black shoulder-length hair was
uncombed. He was busily copying something from a scroll, and seemed
oblivious to the girl's entrance into the room. As she closed the door,
the lock inside fell into place.
Allara waited until he paused to dip his quill into an ink pot and
then said, "Hello, Hayden!"
The young man jerked and quickly looked up, a startled look on his
face. "Oh, Allara. You ... I didn't hear you there."
"I'm sorry." She clasped her hands behind her back and approached
the table. Her eyes turned wide when she noticed in what he'd been
writing into. "You got a leather-bound book!" she exclaimed. "Where'd
you get that from?"
Hayden's cheeks turned slightly red and he smiled. "My uncle gave
it to me when he returned from his latest trip. Father didn't like it
too much. He thinks I spend too much time in my room."
"Working on your poetry?"
Hayden nodded. "Yes, I just had some inspiration last night. I'm
hoping I'll be invited to read a few of them on Founding Day."
"Aren't you going to enter the contest?"
"Which contest?"
"The one for the silver plate."
Hayden cleared his throat and glanced down at the table. He brushed
away a dried bread crust before looking back up at Allara. "No, I
probably won't. What do I need a plate for that you can't eat from?" His
chuckle seemed forced.
Allara pulled a wooden chair up to the table and sat down across
from him. "Did you hear about the pigeon?"
Hayden's eyes shifted left and right. "Yes, I ... heard that you
were there when it returned. And that it had a message about the plate
that got stolen."
"Right. The message was some nonsense about unholy men stealing the
prize, but if you took the first letter of each line, you got the word
'causeway'."
"Causeway," Hayden repeated. "The bridge across the river."
"The plate was buried on the north side of the river. No one would
have thought to look for the plate outside the keep. So how did the
person who sent the message know where to find it?"
"Ah, well ..." Hayden sighed and shrugged. "Who knows?"
"Perhaps *you* do," Allara said quickly.
The young man gasped. "No, not me!"
"Hayden, there aren't many people in the keep who can read or
write, much less make up word riddles. I'm fairly certain Cavendish
didn't send that message, since his hands shake so badly."
Hayden exhaled loudly, then stood up and moved around the table.
Allara watched as he poked his head out the door, then closed and locked
it. He returned to his seat and stared at Allara. Finally, in a low
whisper, he said, "Yes, I did it."
"What?" Allara leaned across the table.
"I did it," Hayden said again. "I stole the pigeon and sent the
message."
"So I was right!" Allara exclaimed.
Hayden shushed her, waving his arms. "Please don't tell anyone!"
"And you know who stole the plate. Tell me who did it!"
"I ... I can't." Hayden buried his face in his hands.
Allara went to his side and put an arm around his shoulder. He
looked up at her, his eyes filling with tears. Quickly, he wiped them
dry.
"Why can't you tell me?" Allara asked softly.
"Because she ... I just can't."
"Hayden, if you know the truth --"
"It's Valrica!" the young man burst out.
This time it was Allara's turn to gasp in surprise. After a moment,
she said, "You're sure? Valrica, daughter of Jindrich the shipwright?"
"Yes, her." Hayden slumped in his chair.
"How did you find out? How long have you known this? How ...?"
Hayden pulled away from her and stood up. He began pacing the room.
"I wanted to tell someone, I really did, but you know what she's like,
what she does."
"I certainly do." She replied and told him about her morning
encounter with Valrica and her friends.
Hayden hung his head, guilt plain on his face. "I didn't mean for
that to happen."
"No, but it did. So don't you think you owe me the truth about
everything you know?"
"Everything?" Hayden went to the open window, inhaled deeply, then
turned and sank down against the wall. "If I tell you everything, then
soon enough everyone will know and laugh at me."
Allara sat down beside him and put a hand on his knee, saying
nothing. They sat in silence for several long moments, then Hayden
murmured, "I suppose I couldn't keep it secret forever."
"Go on," Allara said.
"Straight, then. You know all of my family lives here in the
southeast hall, don't you?"
Allara nodded, recalling that it was where many of the influential
courtiers and nobles resided.
"Well," Hayden continued, "not long after we moved in here, I
discovered a space behind a wall of my bedroom."
"A space?"
"Straight, just large enough for me to fit in." He drew a breath.
"There was also a small hole in the back of the space. Just big enough
to look through. So I looked into it and ..."
"And what did you see?" Allara prompted.
"I saw into Valrica's room."
Allara put a hand to her mouth. "Oh my."
"At first I didn't know whose room it was, so I just kept looking
in from time to time. Then one night I saw Valrica come in, and she
began undressing, and ..."
Allara felt her face turn hot as she completed the thought. "You
didn't, um, watch her, did you?"
Hayden said nothing.
"Oh my." Allara began to feel extremely uncomfortable, but forced
herself to continue. "How many times did you look into her room?"
"Almost every night."
Allara took a deep breath, but said nothing. She wasn't sure what
to make of his confession so far.
Hayden looked at her and said, "You think I'm sick, don't you? I
can see that you do."
"I don't think that," Allara lied. "But tell me how you found out
that she stole the silver plate."
"You'll think even worse of me."
"I still have to know."
Hayden closed his eyes for a moment, then said, "What's the name of
that boy she's always with? Brown curly hair, green eyes . He won that
bronze horse figure at the Melrin joust."
"You mean Kirwin?"
"Straight, him. I saw them together in Valrica's room the night
before the plate went missing."
"They were talking about it?"
"Well ... not at first. Not talking, I mean."
Allara stood up in alarm, afraid of what he was going to reveal
next. "Please say that they were just kissing."
"They were doing much more than just kissing, Allara."
Allara drew in a deep breath. "What then?"
"Then, they were laughing. Valrica said something about her sister
Una crying when she found out that the plate was gone."
Allara knew that Una was Valrica's older sister, and that Una had a
talent for metal engraving. But unlike her younger sibling, Una was
pleasant and friendly.
"So Valrica stole it just to be mean to her sister? I can't believe
she'd be such a ... a ..."
"I know," Hayden said. "But I did hear her saying all kinds of bad
things about Una, and that she didn't deserve the honor of engraving the
plate."
"Valrica always was jealous of Una, that's true," Allara agreed.
"But how precisely did Valrica steal the plate without getting caught?"
"She used a pendant. A crystal pendant that had the power to make
people forget."
"Magic!" Allara exclaimed. "Where did she get it?"
Hayden shrugged. "They didn't talk about that, but I did find out
that it only worked after being soaked in fresh blood."
"The chickens!" said Allara.
"How did you know?"
"I'll explain that later. But you said the pendant made people
forget?"
"Straight. Valrica said that she was walking down the hall with the
plate under her arm, and a guard saw her, but after she used the pendant
on him he went on his way without saying a single word."
Allara furrowed her brow in thought. So that was how it had been
done: Valrica took the plate and made everyone she ran across forget
that they had seen her. Small wonder that the theft had baffled
everyone; they hadn't considered magic!
"What about the pigeon, then?" Allara asked.
Before the young man could answer, a knock sounded at the door. A
muffled voice called out, "Hayden, why did you lock this door? Open,
please!"
Hayden leaped up, alarmed. "You've got to hide!" he whispered
fearfully, pulling Allara to her feet.
"Open up!" the voice said, more insistently.
Hayden shoved Allara over to the wall, next to the door hinge.
"Just a moment!" he said loudly. He looked at Allara, put two fingers to
his lips, and then unlocked the door. She nodded, then Hayden pulled the
door open halfway.
"Yes, uncle?" he said brightly.
"What are you doing in there? Locking yourself in with a girl?"
The man's voice sounded deep and strong, so Allara imagined him to
be a large man.
"I'm transcribing my poetry, if you have to know," Hayden said
stiffly. "I don't want to be disturbed."
The uncle snorted. "Well, pardon my *disturbance*, but your mother
wants you to clean up your room before the evening meal. Don't know why
she couldn't have had a damn servant tell you that, but there it is."
"Straight, uncle, I'll remember."
"Eh, you always say that, don't you?" Hayden's uncle muttered
something that Allara didn't quite hear, then there was silence. A
moment later Hayden closed and locked the door.
"Sorry for pushing you back like that," he said, "but I didn't want
anyone to see us together."
"I understand," said Allara. They returned to their chairs at the
table. "You were telling me about the pigeon?"
"I wanted to tell someone about Valrica and her pendant," Hayden
replied, "but was afraid of what she would do to me if I told. So I came
up with that note, and prayed to all the gods that someone would read it
and work out the true meaning."
"How did you get the pigeon, though?"
"I used Valrica's pendant." Hayden went on. "I saw where Valrica
hid the pendant. The next day I sneaked into her room when she wasn't
there and borrowed it."
"What if she had come back and discovered that it was gone?" Allara
asked.
"Not much she could have done, straight?" Hayden grinned. "But
since she mentioned killing a chicken for the blood, that's what I did
too. And after I'd dipped it in the blood, the pendant glowed for a
moment and got warm. The blood seemed to drain *into* the pendant, like
it was soaking it all in."
"So then you just went into the coop, took the black pigeon and
walked right out past everyone there?"
Hayden nodded. "I made them look at the pendant, let it swing back
and forth in front of their eyes, and just said things like, 'forget I
was here' or 'forget that you saw me', over and over in a low voice
until the pendant would glow for a moment. Then everyone would simply
act like I wasn't there."
"Why did you wait until the day after the plate was stolen to
release the pigeon?"
"I, ah, fell asleep." Hayden explained. "I had gone into the coop
late at night, but by the time I got back to my room with the pigeon I
was so tired I just went to bed without tying the note to the pigeon and
letting it go. When I woke up, I had to find a place outside where I
could release it without anyone seeing me."
"Couldn't you have just left the note in the duke's room? Or even
my room?"
"I wanted to have it come from outside the keep. That way no one
would think the pigeon had been taken by someone living here."
"And you returned the pendant to Valrica's room without anyone
seeing you."
"I made sure she was out of the keep before I returned it. She
never missed it."
Allara sat silently for several heartbeats, then said, "And that's
the whole story?"
"Everything," answered Hayden.
"I'm going to have to tell all this to the duke, and to --"
"No, you mustn't!" Hayden cried. "I only told you because I know
that you keep your promises. So you have to promise not to repeat this
to anyone."
"Then you'll have to be the one to tell the truth. Valrica has to
be punished for what she did!"
Hayden shook his head fiercely. "If people find out that I've been
secretly spying on her, they may not be as calm about it as you've
been."
Allara sighed; he was right about that. Hayden's whole family might
end up paying for his indiscretions. "But listen," she said, holding up
a finger for emphasis, "the cooks found two dead chickens on the rubbish
pile. One of them was killed by Valrica, the other by you. I don't know
if she knows about the second chicken, but when she finds out, she'll
become suspicious, and she might change the hiding place of the pendant.
You have to tell someone right now, so they can find the pendant and
prove that your story is true."
Hayden gave an anguished groan. "But it's over now! The plate is
back, the pigeon is back. Why does it still matter?"
"Because it's the truth!"
The young man stared at her, breathing heavily. Suddenly he seized
her hands. "Promise me you won't tell anyone!"
"Hayden, please, I --"
"Promise me," he whispered, voice sinking low. Tears welled up in
his eyes.
Allara pursed her lips, then finally gave a sharp nod. Hayden
sagged back in relief and released her. "Thank you," he said.
"For what?" Allara said bitterly. She abruptly got out of her
chair, unlocked the door, then flung it open. After casting a final look
back at Hayden, she quickly walked away.
Two days later, Allara was finishing the copying tasks her father
had given her. She was working as quickly as she could without
sacrificing accuracy or neatness. When she placed the stack of
parchments in front of her father to look at, she received a rare smile
from him.
"May I have the rest of the afternoon, father?" she asked
hopefully. Rish nodded briefly and Allara rushed out, giving the guard a
quick smile as she closed the door. The day was perfect. Valrica, Leda,
and Ranae had left that morning for a day at the market. Allara had
overheard them talking in the kitchen as she had breakfast. Smiling
inwardly, she made her way to Valrica's room and entered. It took her
several menes to locate the item she'd been searching for. Allara took a
deep breath, placed the pendant in her small purse, and left the room
unseen.
Back in her room, Allara let out a deep sigh of relief and pulled
the pendant out of her purse. She had accomplished what she had set out
to do: to take the jewel away from Valrica. "What next?" Allara thought
and held it in front of her eyes. "Somehow I have to break it, to make
sure Valrica will never again use it. Would it break? What would happen
if it was destroyed?" She took a long look at the pendant. It was some
kind of stone and looked ordinary enough with its green color and
teardrop shape. Through the tip of the stone someone had drilled a fine
hole and threaded a thin piece of wire. Part of the wire was wound
around the tip, the rest made a loop. A thin piece of leather strap
served as a chain. "It doesn't look like it can do anything," Allara
thought. "I wonder what would happen if I dipped it in some blood?" She
was so focused on the pendant that she almost dropped it when suddenly
her door flew open and an enraged Valrica stormed in.
"You!" Valrica shouted and flung herself towards Allara. Allara
sidestepped and Valrica fell to the floor.
"Hello, Valrica, how nice of you to visit," Allara said with a
sneer. "What brings you here?"
"You stole my pendant!" Valrica yelled while getting up. "I know
you have it! My servant Sara saw you take it out of my room. Hand it
over!"
"Who stole what?" another voice asked from the door.
"Hello, Lieutenant Milnor," Allara greeted the woman. "Thank you
for coming." Valrica spun around.
"Hello Allara, Valrica," the lieutenant replied and entered the
room.
"Arrest that thief," Valrica yelled at the lieutenant. "She stole
my pendant!"
"You mean this one?" Allara asked and pulled the pendant out of the
cup, swinging it back and forth. "I only borrowed it." Valrica reached
for it, but Allara was faster and moved it out of her reach.
"Yes, that one! Give it back!" Valrica made another attempt to grab
the pendant, but without success.
"Sit down, Valrica, and be quiet for a mene," Lieutenant Milnor
directed the enraged youth. "Allara, hand me the pendant." Both girls
did as they were asked. The lieutenant looked intensely at the pendant.
"How does it work?" Lieutenant Milnor asked, looking at Valrica.
The girl remained silent.
"First you have to dip it in blood and then I think you're supposed
to swing it and tell the person what you want them to do," Allara said
quietly. Valrica shot her a look so full of hatred, Allara paled.
"I don't think we need this," Lieutenant Milnor said and handed the
pendant back to Allara.
"It's mine!" Valrica shouted and reached out for it, but the
lieutenant stopped her.
"Where did you get such a powerful pendant, Valrica?" Lieutenant
Milnor inquired.
"At the market place, where else?" the girl replied rudely and
folded her arms across her chest.
"Who sold it to you?"
Valrica bit her lip. Milnor repeated her question, but Valrica
remained silent.
"I know how we can find out," Allara said quietly, holding the
pendant in front of her. Valrica leapt towards the other girl and
grabbed the jewel. For a brief moment the two girls struggled. The strap
broke and the pendant fell to the floor, shattering. Both girls stared
in disbelief at the pieces.
Lieutenant Milnor however shook her head for a moment and then
looked at Valrica. "You used the pendant on me! I saw you walking out of
the keep, with something wrapped in a sheet and you used the pendant on
me!" Milnor's voice trembled with anger.
Valrica's face turned white. "You remember?"
"Yes, I remember! And I wager everyone else will remember now that
the pendant is broken."
Valrica slumped down on a chair and buried her face in her hands.
Allara felt sorry for the girl and placed a hand on Valrica's shoulder.
Valrica shook her off.
"Valrica," Lieutenant Milnor said sternly, "Tell me what happened
the day the plate was stolen."
"My sister Una was nagging me all morning," Valrica began, giving
up any resistance she had left, and then continued to tell the
lieutenant and Allara every single detail up to discovering her pendant
missing. A few times both listeners shook their heads in disbelief about
how much malice Valrica had in her.
"She needs to be punished," Allara whispered more to herself than
the lieutenant, but her remark hadn't gone unnoticed.
"That is up to the duke to decide and I'm sure her father will have
a word or two to say about this as well," Lieutenant Milnor said.
"Follow me, Valrica." The lieutenant gestured towards the door and
Valrica got up. Before she left the room, Valrica turned around and
faced Allara.
"You will pay for this!" she mouthed silently, her face full of
hatred.
Allara paled. She had made an enemy and Valrica was not the
forgiving type. A sick feeling in her stomach, Allara watched them leave
and then closed the door. She picked up the pieces of the pendant, put
them in her grinder, and ground them into fine powder. "Just in case,"
she thought. "Just in case."
========================================================================
