Copy Link
Add to Bookmark
Report
DargonZine Volume 17 Issue 03
DDDDD ZZZZZZ //
D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE ||
D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 17
-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 3
DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
\\
\
========================================================================
DargonZine Distributed: 4/26/2004
Volume 17, Number 3 Circulation: 643
========================================================================
Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Talisman Ten 3 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Ober 24-Nober, 1013
========================================================================
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 17-3, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright April, 2004 by
The Dargon Project, Inc. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@rcn.com>,
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@cox.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>
This editorial will be short, since this issue is packed to the
limit with the finale of Dafydd's five-year, thirty-eight chapter
Talisman novella. Huge congratulations to him for this massive
achievement!
The only other bit of news is that unless circumstances change, our
next issue will begin the 24-chapter story arc that we began writing at
the 2003 Dargon Writers' Summit.
However, there will be a gap before DargonZine 17-4 comes out,
while we get everything ready to go. At present, we have seven chapters
ready to print, four in second or later drafts, seven more in first
draft, and six which have not yet been written. We need to finish all
the first drafts and have a couple more stories completed before we can
begin printing them, so it will be a few months before you hear from us
again. However, during that time we will regularly update our Web site's
What's New and Publication Schedule pages, so go there to find out the
latest scoop.
The story arc is going to be the biggest and most cohesive
collaboration in our 20-year history, so I think you'll find it worth
staying around for. In the meantime, enjoy this month's conclusion of
the Talisman epic. If you haven't read all the past Talisman chapters,
I'd encourage you to check them out. They're all listed on Dafydd's
Author Bio page. That'll give you plenty of reading material to hold you
over until our next issue comes out!
========================================================================
Talisman Ten
Part 3
by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
<John.White@Drexel.Edu>
Ober 24-Nober 3, 1013
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 17-1
Four people spread across two inn rooms in the city of Dargon were
dreaming similar dreams late in the night of the 24th of Ober. At the
very moment that Ratray touched the sculpted stone fragment in its
hidden vault beneath Dargon Keep, all four sat bolt upright in their
beds. They all said the same thing at the same time: "It's free!"
Nakaz the bard and Lord Aldan Bindrmon looked at each other, the
memory of what they had both said in unison hanging like an echo in the
room they shared in the Lighted Candle Inn in the Old City section of
Dargon. Confusion filled their faces as their not-quite-shared dreams
faded, and the sense of what had woken them both with the same words on
their lips slipped away just as swiftly.
"Do you ...?" asked Nakaz. Aldan shook his head. "I was ...
running?" Nakaz ventured, trying to recapture the vivid, almost-real
dream.
"In a tunnel, straight?" said Aldan. "But something ..." Aldan
shook his head again, and settled back down onto the bed.
Nakaz murmured, "Yes, something nearly came clear just at the end.
But what?" He shrugged to himself and sank back down next to his partner
again. Aldan rested his head on Nakaz' shoulder, threw his arm across
the bard's chest, and the pair slipped back into slumber untroubled by
dreams.
Yawrab the former housekeeper and Ganba of the Rhydd Pobl looked at
each other, the memory of what they had both said in unison hanging like
an echo in the room they shared in the Inn of the Panther in the city of
Dargon. Confusion filled their faces as their not-quite-shared dreams
faded, and the sense of what had woken them both with the same words on
their lips slipped away just as swiftly.
"Did you feel ...?" began Yawrab. Ganba nodded. "Something has
changed. Something is ..."
"Beginning?" asked Ganba. "No, ending," she said. "It's like ...
I've just crested the last hill in a race, and can finally see the
finish marker."
"Me too. But what race? What hill?" Yawrab shook her head and
settled back down onto the bed.
Ganba snuggled next to her partner, resting her head on the older
woman's shoulder. "We'll find out," she murmured.
Yawrab threw her arm over Ganba and kissed the top of the gypsy's
head. "Straight," she said. "And soon." The pair soon slipped back into
slumber untroubled by dreams.
Ratray, a young man who worked as a servant in Dargon Keep, held
the two items he had found and looked closely at them. One was a carved
length of wood with a large, milky crystal enclosed in one end. It
looked like a walking stick, though too heavily ornamented and delicate
for actual use. The other was a pie-shaped piece of stone, smooth on one
of its large faces, carved on the other. The curved edge that would have
been the crust of the pie was smooth, but the two other edges were
ragged, as if the fragment had been ripped out of the whole pie. The
carvings on the top formed a figure that looked like a fox near the
outer edge, with interwoven bands of silver, gold, and glass filling the
rest of the space. He had never seen anything like either item before.
Ratray was deep under the keep, cleaning up after a couple of
thieves who had broken into the secret vault below the dungeons and
disrupted the King's Birthday celebrations earlier in the evening. The
first thief had found a hidden storage chamber within the secret vault:
a hidden chamber that no one had seemed to know about. Then the second
thief had arrived and there had been a brawl, or so Ratray had heard.
The first thief had wounded the second, and had then gotten away with
the contents of the hidden vault.
After Ratray had finished clearing up the mess the thieves had
made, he had investigated the secret storage chamber that sat in the
middle of the room, having risen out of the floor where it had been
concealed by the inlaid design there. As he had felt around in the
open-sided box, he had felt something shift, and the chamber started to
rise again. Soon, the original box sat on top of another box that had
pushed the first even further out of the floor. Inside this new, taller
but not wider box had been the staff and the rock. He had removed the
objects and now stood a short distance away from the center of the room,
the better to examine his finds in the light of his lamp.
Ratray looked at the dark chamber his probing had revealed and
wondered whether there might be more treasure hiding at the back, or
perhaps yet another hidden box beneath it. He stepped back over to it
and knelt, setting aside his new-found treasures. He stuck his hand
inside and felt around the dark interior of the box. His fingers pushed
at something in the back of the box that tilted down with a click, and
the rumbling began again.
Ratray pulled his hands out of the box and sat back, eagerly
awaiting the new revelation. He soon realized though, that the chamber
was moving downward, not up. In moments, the second chamber was hidden
again, and the vault was again in the state he had found it.
He realized, as he looked around at the tidied room, that no one
would ever know about the secret chamber under the secret chamber,
unless he told. Which meant, he reasoned, that no one was going to come
looking for the objects he had found.
Ratray picked the found items up and stood. As he left, he wondered
what he was going to do with his new treasures.
Yawrab rose with the first bell of the day after the King's
Birthday, a habit she had slipped back into since returning to a regular
bed. She leaned over and gave Ganba a kiss on the nape of her neck,
which made the gypsy smile in her sleep but didn't wake her. Yawrab
dressed and left the room, knowing that despite how weary she still was,
the cause wasn't something that sleep could erase.
Some of that cause was her fruitless search for Lord Aldan, but
that wasn't all of it. In addition to feeling numbed by her endless
rounds of the lower city, asking the same questions of the same people
and getting the same answers, there was another numbness inside of her,
something that made her feel old, worn, ancient, and eroded. She had
decided that she was going to try to alleviate the first numbness; she
hoped the second, sourceless feeling would go away at the same time.
She descended into the shambles of a taproom that had greeted her
every morning since her arrival in the city. The disorder bothered her
from a managerial as well as a practical viewpoint; the sculleries would
have to work twice as hard to clean the mugs and tankards, not to
mention the tables and floor, after the stains had set for bells and
bells. Yawrab had a different mission this morning than cleaning a table
and a mug for herself before breakfast; today she was going to put the
knowledge she had gleaned in the past few days to use and help put the
Panther to rights.
She walked out of the taproom, through a kitchen that was only
marginally cleaner, and finally up to the manager's quarters, pounding
on the door loudly enough to wake the whole inn.
The manager, Maravin, quickly opened the door and shouted, "Shut
up!" He paused, frowned at Yawrab, and said in a quieter but no more
civil voice, "What do you want at this bell?"
Yawrab looked at Maravin, a rather round, older man with a red nose
and bloodshot eyes, who nevertheless didn't look either drunk or hung
over as he stood in the doorway and looked up at her. He was dressed in
fine clothes, but they didn't fit well and were rumpled and disheveled
into the bargain. She had never particularly liked this man, whom she
knew was the brother of Daurch, the owner, and the state of his clothes
reflected his business acumen perfectly.
"Maravin, I've come to tell you that you run a shoddy inn here.
Anyone with sense knows that you have the staff clean up before they go
home, which not only leaves a good impression on any early risers such
as myself, but only makes the cleaning job go easier. Furthermore, you
should be cleaning the rooms every day, not every sennight, and you need
to find a new launderer!"
Maravin just stared at her for a moment, then sneered as he said,
"And what would you know about it, woman? You probably don't have any
more manners than that gypsy you're always spending time with."
"You don't even know when you've been given good advice," sneered
Yawrab right back. "That monkey the soup-seller has down on the docks
could keep this place better than you, and it dresses better as well!
And as for my credentials, for many years I've been the manager of an
estate whose manor house is larger than this block."
She pressed past him and into his sitting room, taking the largest
chair and sitting herself comfortably in it. "Fortunately for you, I
have decided to give you the benefit of my experience even though you
don't deserve it. So please listen carefully."
Maravin stalked to the chair across from her but didn't sit down.
Yawrab ignored the belligerent look on his face as she said, "Your staff
takes unconscionable liberties, you know. Three of your four regular
cleaners are on their quarter-year breaks right now, which is why the
rooms aren't being cleaned every day. Two of the servers are sleeping
with the bartender, which is why the taproom is left in the state it is
every night. And your cook's assistant is stealing supplies on a daily
basis to support a rather ruinous pipedust habit."
She expected these to be revelations to the manager, but he didn't
seem shocked by any of it. She said, "Well? What do you intend to do
about it?"
"There's nothing I can do," Maravin said in resigned voice, but his
narrowed eyes and down-turned mouth still showed his hostility. "You
see, my brother doesn't particularly trust me, but he's given me this
job out of family loyalty. I do try, but Daurch is the one with the
reputation; he killed that panther whose head hangs in the taproom. Any
time I try to get tough with the staff, they take their tales to him and
he listens to them over me. I've got no control at all."
Yawrab thought for a moment, and said, "That's disgraceful. Your
brother has given you a job to do, but doesn't give you the authority to
do it." She was silent for a moment, realigning her preconceptions and
making a new plan.
"You need to show him you can do this job," she finally said. "I
want you to start by firing everyone who works here except for the cook
and the cleaner who's not on break. I will spread the word in the
work-fair that you will be holding interviews for a complete staff at
fifth bell today. Let your people know that they're welcome to try for
their old positions. And if your brother wants to interfere, have him
show up at fifth bell as well. Straight?"
Doubt flickered briefly on Maravin's face before the scowl
returned. "If you think you can turn this place upside down and have
everything fall out right, you're welcome to try." He walked over to a
table against a wall and picked up a ring of keys. Then he strode over
to her and dropped them into her lap. "The manager's job is yours for a
sennight. I think you'll fail, but I've tried everything else. And you
can be sure that my brother will take a very personal interest in this
little affair. Maybe, just maybe, having you shake this place up will
make him see the problems I've had to deal with."
Yawrab took hold of they keys in her lap and stood. She felt a
little of that deep weariness lifting as she took on a new task, one
that she could see an end to. She hoped that Maravin would eventually
set aside his hurt feelings and learn something over the next sennight.
The former manager stepped aside as she walked to the door and
opened it. She said, "See you at fifth bell, Maravin," as she walked
through it. She grinned when it slammed closed behind her.
She stopped in the kitchen to fire the cook's assistant, making
sure the young man left with empty arms. She continued on to the
taproom, where staff were beginning to wander in. She fired each as they
walked through the door except for the older man who was the
conscientious cleaner. In between times, she sat at one of the tables
and sorted through the keys on the ring.
One in particular caught her attention. The key itself was
oversized and highly decorated along the body and head, though the foot
was as tiny as the rest. Yawrab took it to be the inn's master key.
Because there were no holes in the ornamented head of the key that would
fit over the ring, someone had made do with a strange device that served
but that didn't look as if it was being used for its original purpose.
This connector was blue-grey in color. Two spiny clamps held onto the
head of the key; the clamps were connected to each other, and to another
pair of clamps that closed around the key ring, though not very well.
Yawrab pulled idly at the key, and the clamps around the key ring
came free easily. As she held the ring in one hand and the key in the
other, she watched the clamps spread open of themselves. They ended up
standing wide apart, like two pairs of antlers springing from the top of
the key. She anxiously pressed these spread antlers against the key
ring, and they slowly closed around it again. She wondered whether the
connector was magic or alive. Then she decided that she didn't want to
know, and went back to firing the Panther's incompetent staff.
Two days after finding his new treasures, Ratray stood in front of
a building on the edge of the Old City. The stone facade of the place
gave no clue to its purpose, and there was no sign above the door to
give any hints. There were no windows visible, and the buildings to
either side were just as blind and without identity.
Ratray worried about the lack of windows, for that meant that he
couldn't check who was in the shop that was supposed to be through that
door. He had assuaged his anxiety by watching the door from an alley
down the street for at least half a bell, and no one had gone in or out.
Hoping that he had not been led astray and that this was really the
workplace of Borzhu the Dealer, he knocked nervously.
The door opened to reveal a tall, thin man who looked down at
Ratray as if from more than his height. Ratray held out the embossed
vellum as he had been instructed. The tall man pointed with one hand,
but his face made it seem like he was smelling rotten fruit as he took
the vellum away from Ratray with the other.
Ratray entered the small front room and went directly through the
door the thin man had indicated. His first thought was, "This isn't a
shop!" when he saw the small, well-lit room beyond that second door. It
was paneled in wood, neat and nearly empty except for a large table in
the center with a plain chair on one side. One wall was filled with
windows from ceiling to floor, and in the middle was a door that led out
to a courtyard filled with plants.
Before Ratray could wonder whether he was supposed to take the
chair, the man he was here to meet entered the room through the door in
the window-wall. Borzhu was a wide man with very red hair and a very
refined taste in clothes. The smile pasted on his face looked as fake as
the beet-red of his hair even to someone of Ratray's limited experience.
Borzhu sat in the plain chair and said, "Good day, my friend. I
understand you have something you wish to sell?" His voice was
surprisingly warm and pleasant, and did a lot to balance the fake smile
and hair.
Ratray stepped up to the other side of the table, squinting
slightly in the glare from the windows behind Borzhu. He took hold of
the ungainly roll of cloth sticking out of the bag hanging over his
shoulder and set it before the dealer. He unwrapped the cloth to reveal
the carved staff with the milky stone and nervously slid it closer to
the seated man. His hand went back to his shoulder bag, but he decided
to leave his second treasure where it was for the moment.
Borzhu reached out and carefully lifted the staff, holding it up in
the light and turning it around and around. He brought the carved head
close to his face, squinting at the detail and running his fingers over
the delicate figures.
"Old," he said faintly. "Very, very old." He studied a large
carving just below the cradle that held the stone and mumbled,
"Fretheod, I think. These runes ... This symbol is familiar, but where
do I know it from? Hmm." He turned his attention to the crystal,
shifting sideways in his chair to look through it toward the light from
the windows. He shook his head and returned to examining the wood.
Ratray watched as the goods dealer scrutinized his booty. He knew
that there were places to sell valuable articles, and that some cared
about who had originally owned the object and some did not. He had been
directed to Borzhu as one of the latter, understanding that he would get
less for his items, but willing to make the tradeoff.
Borzhu finally set the staff back onto its cloth wrap and looked up
at Ratray, the false smile still in place, but a new gleam in his eye.
One hand continued to move up and down the staff, tracing the carvings.
"This is an incredible object, my friend. I am sad that you feel the
need to sell it, but very happy that you came to me to do so. I have
never seen such a work of art before, and the age in it is incredible,
especially coupled with its immaculate condition.
"I can tell that you have no concept of the value of this
artifact." He chuckled when Ratray looked stricken, and continued, "But
I can think of several buyers who will pay handsomely for the privilege
of putting this into their collection. As such, I think I can be
generous in my payment to you. I'll give you ten Marks for it. What do
you say?"
Ratray couldn't believe his ears. He could live like a duke on ten
Marks! He would be rich! He wouldn't even have to sell the stone
fragment, either!
Trying to seem like ten Marks was an everyday sum to him, Ratray
said, "I suppose I can settle for that. Thank you."
The tall, thin man from the front door appeared at Ratray's side
and set a small, blue bag in front of him with a nice chink. Ratray
reached for it hesitantly, but when Borzhu gestured at it and nodded, he
grabbed it up and peeked inside. The glint of gold and the number of
coin edges he could see made him grin like a fool. He looked up and
said, "Thank you, thank you!" and it was all he could do to keep from
dancing a jig.
The pointing hand of the tall man made it clear that Ratray's
business was finished, and he walked out. Just as the wooden room's door
closed behind him, he heard Borzhu say, "... start the bidding at, oh,
fifty." He wondered what the dealer was intending to sell for so much.
Ratray pondered what he was going to do with ten Marks as he made
his way back to the keep. By the time he had arrived, he knew how he was
going to start. He checked with a few friends before going to his boss.
"Marnvik, sir," he said to the red-faced man. "I would like to
claim my quarter-year time off."
The florid man squinted at Ratray for a moment, then said, "You
sure? You won't be able to take another for a three-month. You have your
duties covered?"
"Yes and yes, sir."
"Well, fine. Things are slow after the party and all. I suppose you
can be spared. No more than a few days, now! This isn't some local
baron's keep you know. Things are always changin' up here on the hill."
Ratray slipped away as Marnvik started rambling on about how often
his schedules were thrown off by unexpected visits and intruders
breaking into underground vaults and such. Ratray went right to his
room, packed a few things in his shoulder bag, and set out for the
causeway. He was headed for the red lantern district by the docks at the
north-eastern side of the city. He intended to spend the next several
days being entertained at the Mother of Pearl. As he negotiated the
streets of the Old City with his usual care, he contemplated just which
Pearl he would choose to be entertained by.
Three days after the King's Birthday celebration, Nakaz gazed
around the scribal shop of Genarvus Kazakian as he and Aldan entered it
for the fourth, or perhaps fifth, time, taking in its familiar
furnishings. Carpets covered the floor, an intricate tapestry of a huge
land-worm encircling mountains and castles hung on the left wall, and a
cozy hearth occupied the right wall. In the middle of the room was a
wooden desk covered with the implements of a scribe: parchment, quills,
and ink. Rising from behind the desk was the elderly form of Genarvus
himself.
"Greetings, greetings, good bard," the swarthy man said in his
lyrical accent. "Glad I am to see you again. I have news."
"We came as soon as we got your note, Genarvus," said Nakaz. He
took a last look at the tapestry, noting the small boy with the sword
attacking the tail of the worm, and smiled at the memory of that
particular myth. Then he strode over and shook the scribe's hand,
gesturing him back into his chair.
Aldan sat next to Nakaz as the bard said, "What have you discovered
for us, Genarvus?"
"Two things, two things, my friends," he said, his hands
punctuating every word. "First, I was visited again by that man you
seek, Flane. He asked me to copy out a page from a small blue book he
had."
"With a tear in the lower left corner of the cover?" asked Nakaz.
"That would be the one. It took several bells, and he hovered over
my shoulder the entire time, but I have no clue as to what it was I
created. It looked like nothing more than blocky chiaroscuro to me."
Aldan said, "Could you recreate the page for us, Genarvus? I think
I might be able to make sense of it. I've done similar already."
Genarvus frowned, and Nakaz quickly said, "I understand your
hesitation, my good scribe. Your professional ethics do you justice.
However, this is very important. I authorize you by my bardic license to
create this copy. I can ratify this authorization with the duke if you
should wish."
The frown lifted from the scribe's face, and Genarvus said, "Vosh,
vosh, Nakaz. I trust your word. I will do as you both have asked, though
it will take some time. To copy from a visible source is quicker than to
create from recall, after all."
"Take your time, Genarvus," said Aldan. "And thank you."
The scribe began to gather parchment and quills, and Nakaz said,
"You said two things, did you not?"
"Hrosnu, ah ... pardon," said Genarvus, his hands gesticulating
wildly, "I nearly forgot." He set aside his quills, and turned to fetch
a scroll from behind him. He continued, "That word you mentioned,
'Asthen'ron', that cat statue with the antlers and hooves, anez? I did
more research, and I discovered the source of this legend."
He unrolled the scroll and scanned the contents, then let it snap
closed and handed it to Nakaz. "Here it is in detail. There was a
primitive tribe of people living in this area of the continent when the
Fretheod Empire's explorers arrived more than two thousand years ago.
These people worshiped the rock outcropping where the current Dargon
Keep is located, as well as the icon they called Asthen'ron."
Genarvus leaned forward and continued, "The Fretheod wanted to
build a guard tower on the outcropping, but the natives objected
strongly, escalating from nuisance raids to outright attacks on the
building crews.
"The empire builders knew how to deal with them, though. They
counterattacked in force, but instead of wiping the natives out, they
captured their holy icon. Then, in full view of the natives, they
smashed the Asthen'ron to bits."
Nakaz frowned at the casual cruelty of those ancient people, but
from what he knew of the Fretheod Empire he had no trouble believing it
of them. The mention of a Fretheod guard post on the rock where Dargon
Keep stood had seemed to resonate with him somehow, but that wasn't the
important part of the legend.
Genarvus had paused, and Nakaz said, "Was that all?"
"Vosh, Nakaz, there is more," said the sage. "Another legend
recounts the reconciliation between the natives and the Fretheod. A holy
man went to the leader of the invaders and said that his people would
leave the area if he was permitted to retrieve one thing from the ruins
of the Asthen'ron. The Fretheod agreed, and the object the holy man
fetched was a thumb-joint sized blue-grey pearl that had been an eye in
the statue. One side of the pearl looked like the eye of a cat, while
the other side had four branches sticking out of it that looked like
antlers."
The scribe looked from Nakaz to Aldan and back, before adding, "The
cat and deer motif persists, you see? Do you think that it has something
to do with the Margre Flane is searching for?"
"Oh yes, I think so," said Nakaz. "The pattern is clear. Thank you
for the information, Genarvus. And thank you for not telling Flane."
"My pleasure, good bard, young lord. I'll have that page by this
time tomorrow. Ts'sutyen."
Ganba walked into the stableyard behind the Inn of the Serpent a
little later than usual on the third day after the King's Birthday
celebration. She'd had trouble convincing herself to get out of bed that
morning; only the insistence of the staff come to clean her room had
gotten her up. Yawrab's reforms were going well at the Panther; even
Daurch the owner was impressed by her ability to manage the staff. Ganba
was happy that Yawrab had found something else to occupy her time and
keep her mind off her futile search for Lord Aldan. She only hoped that
she was training Maravin well to take her place when the two of them
finally left.
Ganba hadn't been staying abed because she was tired, at least not
in body. Lately she had been feeling worn, frayed. A world-weariness had
come over her in the past few sennights, a feeling that there was
nothing new under the firmament, that she had seen, felt, done
everything before and was utterly bored with doing it all again and
again and again. It wasn't limited to the repetitious search for the
elusive baron's son that made her feel that way, either; it was
everything.
She looked around, and caught sight of the focus of most of her
attention these days. The large block of wood that had been placed to
one side of the stableyard was now looking decidedly serpentine. Most of
the sinuous length of the figure had been carved, its powerful legs
poised just so, the hint already there of the scales she would work to
detail beginning tomorrow.
Ganba approached her sculpture, feeling her mood lighten somewhat.
She was always excited by carving, working to see the shape emerge from
shapelessness. And if there were times when she felt, as she sanded a
curve, or carved a corner, that she had done the same thing before,
maybe even with different hands, the thrill of creation was still
present.
Taking a deep breath, Ganba reached out and touched the head of the
serpent, which was almost complete. She lifted some delicate instruments
from the shelf set against the fence behind the carving, and started to
work.
She applied a thin saw to the detailing she had left the day before
when the light had grown too faint for her to continue. A few deft cuts,
precisely directed, and the jaw of the serpent came loose, rocking
slightly in its cradle. She leaned back and touched the jaw, watching it
open and close with a fading oscillation. She was elated that she had
managed to carve the jaw in place, even though she knew that most people
would think she had added that bit of wood to the sculpture.
She wiped the saw on a cloth and set it down. She was reaching for
a new tool when she heard someone clearing their throat behind her.
Ganba had made it clear when she'd started the statue that she
wanted to be left alone. Her art wasn't a spectator sport. So far, she
hadn't had any problems in that regard. She hoped that this interruption
wasn't the beginning of a change.
She turned around to find the owner of the Inn of the Serpent,
Ballard Tamblebuck, standing on the other side of the statue from her.
His hands were behind his back and he was rocking back and forward on
the balls of his feet, examining the carving with a smile on his face.
"Yes?" Ganba said, eager to get back to work.
Ballard looked up at her and said, "Amazing work, mi'lady Ganba,
simply amazing! And so fast!"
Ganba just looked at him, waiting. His gaze wandered back to the
statue, and he started rocking again. Frowning, Ganba said, louder this
time, "Yes?"
"Oh," said Ballard, looking embarrassed, "pardon me. Yes. Ah, I
thought you could maybe do me a favor?" Ganba just looked at him. He
continued, "Well, you see, I found this object a long time ago, never
knew what it was or what to do with it, and then it occurred to me that
it would be perfect as your serpent's eye." He held out his hand and in
his palm was a large round stone of some kind. He said, "Take a look,"
and Ganba lifted it from his hand. It was blue-grey, smooth, slightly
cool despite being in Ballard's hand for a short while. She turned it
around and found that one side looked like the eye of a cat.
Ganba looked up at Ballard and said, "But there's only one."
"Well, yes," he said. "I thought you could fake the other one, or
put that side of the statue against the wall or something." Ganba just
looked at him again. He said, "Ah, yes, well you keep it and if you can
use it, good, if not, no problem. Straight? Fantastic work, Ganba,
really!"
Ganba watched Ballard return to the inn with narrowed eyes. She
wondered whether the man was worthy of her sculpture. If she hadn't been
inspired seeing the decrepit statue the inn currently used as a
signpost, she certainly wouldn't have sought out his patronage.
She looked at the stone in her hand, and snorted. She turned back
to her tools and dropped the blue-grey thing into one of the trays
there. She stood there a moment, breathing deeply and steadily, putting
the encounter out of her mind. Calm again, she lifted a delicate saw and
returned to her work.
Ganba slipped her saw into a small hole she had already drilled
into the head of her serpent. She moved the tool carefully back and
forth a few times, completing what she had begun the previous night. She
felt the proper bit of movement, and removed the saw. She reached down
and moved the eye in its socket, congratulating herself on her skill.
She glanced between the cat's-eye stone and the wooden one she had just
finished. The stone was too small and didn't look even vaguely
serpent-like. With a dismissive snort she moved to the other side of the
head and finished her creation's other eye. This was going to be the
best serpent sculpture that Dargon had ever seen!
Aldan again followed Nakaz around Dargon the next day as they
carried out their several errands. Their first stop had been the shop of
Genarvus Kazakian, and Aldan had examined the page that the scribe had
copied from memory for them. It had only taken a glance to confirm that
it was the same kind of strange hidden map that he had solved for the
beautiful woman named Yera back in Valdasly. Yera had been one of
Bresk's Band, and that group had used the map to retrieve the second of
the Margre's three artifacts. Aldan was sure that Genarvus' page would
serve the same purpose for Flane.
They had thanked Genarvus and left, and were now headed for the
office of Aardvard Factotum in response to a message they had received
from the healer who dabbled in brokering information. Aldan tried to
solve the new map as they walked, but he needed more concentration than
he could spare. With a sigh, he rolled the parchment up and slid it
under his belt and hurried to catch up with Nakaz.
Their path led out of the city and to the east a short distance,
and soon the home of Aardvard Factotum came into view. Aldan had visited
the man previously but was still impressed by the aura of wealth that
the healer surrounded himself with. His own home of Bindrmon Keep might
have been larger but it was not more impressive than the house of
Factotum.
He and Nakaz were greeted warmly by Hansen, Aardvard's butler, and
shown to an over-decorated sitting room filled with ostentatious
displays of wealth. Aldan had only just sat down when Hansen returned
and led the pair to the healer's receiving room. After setting mugs of
ale in front of the visitors, Hansen left them alone with Aardvard.
The well-dressed man smiled at the pair, but Aldan could tell that
he seemed worried about something. Aardvard said, "Welcome back to my
humble home, my friends. I have news for you, but I am not sure whether
it is good or bad."
Nakaz said, "We are happy to receive either, good healer. Let's
hear it."
Aardvard leaned back and began slowly, "I have heard from this
Flane person again. He came to me with several Rounds yesterday and
asked for my help with some passages in a book he owned. I did as you
wanted, Nakaz, and helped him. Perhaps too much, though I do not yet
think he has everything he needs to complete his quest."
The healer leaned forward and said, "The passages we worked on were
almost riddles, and I must confess that I became caught up in solving
them, though I assure you that I would have refrained had you not asked
me to do the opposite. Flane has confirmed that the last part of his
quest lies within the outcropping that the keep rests on. He needs to
seek an entrance of some kind that lies near the northern point of the
rock on the shore of the mouth of the Coldwell. The entrance is very low
on the rock, which requires that he enter at low tide. And lastly, he
needs a key that combines the ring he already possesses and a spined orb
that can see."
Aldan looked at Nakaz and said, "The eye of the Asthen'ron!"
"Undoubtedly, Aldan," said Nakaz. Turning to the healer, he
continued, "Excellent news, Aardvard. That gives us the clue we needed,
augmenting information we already had. If you hear anything about that
key Flane needs, let us know first, straight?"
As Aldan shook hands with the healer and followed Nakaz out of the
sumptuous house, he was sure that Flane would now be directing all of
his efforts toward finding this spined orb. Aldan hoped that he and
Nakaz would find it first.
As they were walking back toward the city, Aldan saw two people
coming their way along the path. One was the cowled magician named Cefn
that Aldan had seen in the Inn of the Panther a few days before the
King's Birthday celebration. The other was a tall, good-looking man that
Aldan had never seen before. But it was obvious that Nakaz had, because
the bard stared at the tall man as the pair walked past, craning his
neck around to follow their progress right to Aardvard's door.
As the door opened and Hansen ushered the pair inside, Aldan asked,
"Do you know either of them, Nakaz?"
The bard stared for a moment longer, then seemed to realize he had
been asked a question. "What? Ah, yes, Aldan, I do know one of them. The
man not wearing the hood. I met him a long time ago in the College of
Bards in Magnus where he pretended to be one of us. He called himself
Kethseir."
Nakaz sighed, and turned around. As he started walking along the
path back to Dargon, he continued, "I met him again just about four
months ago at the Waning Moon Inn, except there he called himself Kresh.
You recall the ring that Aardvard mentioned? It used to belong to a man
named Yeran Reshilk. It was an heirloom in his family. The men with
Kresh killed Yeran for that ring. He got away when he revealed which of
his hirelings had committed the murder and I had to choose between
justice and vengeance."
Aldan had never heard this before, though he did recall something
about an important ring. "Is that the ring that Meelia mentioned? I
recall the name 'Kale', or something like that."
Nakaz nodded. "Yes, that's the same ring and the same person. I
would dearly love to chase after that man and find out all of his
secrets, but that will have to wait. We need to deal with the present --
the Margre -- first, before sorting out the past."
Aldan nodded in return, accepting the bard's decision. He took one
look back at Aardvard's house, contemplating future, present, and past,
before following Nakaz away.
Yawrab wasn't as nervous about approaching Dargon Keep this time.
It was five days since the party for the King's Birthday and both she
and Ganba felt that the keep should have settled back into its routine.
Yawrab wished she had been able to establish another way to get
information from Ratray about Lord Aldan after their first arrangement
had been voided by the death of Abernald nine days previously, but that
hadn't been possible.
She had been spending a great deal of time working on the problems
at the Panther in the meantime, which was finally bearing fruit. Daurch,
the owner, hadn't been happy with her changes at first, but when Yawrab
had explained the deplorable conditions that she was helping his brother
correct, he had agreed with the time limit his brother Maravin had set:
a sennight to produce results.
That first day had been a disaster. The fired staff had done their
best to disrupt the interviews for new workers to the point that the
guard had been brought in to keep order. Business suffered as new people
were hired and shown their duties, but Yawrab had done her best to hire
only competent staff.
The very next day, improvements had been obvious. The kitchen
turned out excellent, fresh food; the rooms were cleaned daily, and at
night the taproom was thoroughly scrubbed before the staff left for
home.
It had been harder to get Maravin to understand that his job wasn't
done. Yawrab had tried to impress on him that he needed to manage his
people, not just hire them and let them work. When one of the cleaners
developed sticky fingers on the third day, Yawrab had forced Maravin to
talk to the woman. Maravin had then wanted to advance the woman enough
to get the medicine for her son, but when Yawrab investigated and
learned that there was no son, but some large gambling debts, Maravin
had let the woman go. Yawrab only hoped that the manager had learned the
lesson: be understanding, not stupid.
Yawrab walked past the front door to the keep and around to the
staff entrance. There was no sign of Ratray outside, but there was a man
with a florid complexion standing almost where the servant had been
before. Yawrab went over to the man and said, "Pardon me, but I am
looking for a young man named Ratray who works here. Could you tell me
where he is?"
The red-faced man looked at Yawrab with a frown. "What do I look
like, his mother? He ain't here noways. On break. Hasn't returned yet."
Yawrab thanked the rude man and left. She wondered where the young
man had gone for his break, and when he would return. She was glad she
had the distraction of whipping the Panther into shape: the positive
changes there made her feel better than she had since she had reached
Dargon.
On her way back to the Panther, she stopped off at the Inn of the
Serpent to see how Ganba was doing. Yawrab knew that the work on the
statue was helping her lover the same way taking on the Panther had
helped her: it gave the gypsy something important to do.
When she entered the stableyard of the Serpent she saw the carving,
but not the gypsy. She gasped: the statue was magnificent! The grace and
power the carved object displayed made it seem alive, and the incredible
detail she could see even from across the yard only added to the
illusion. The powerful legs and the fearsome face made an imposing
spectacle. She hoped that the owner of the inn was going to put a
lantern over it, because the statue was sure to be frightening in the
dark.
She was lost in admiration when Ganba stood up from behind the
statue and walked over to her tool bench. Yawrab said, "That is
magnificent, love!"
The gypsy turned and smiled, running her hand across the scaled
back of the serpent. "Do you like it, Yawrab?"
"Oh yes, Ganba, it's ... it's fantastic! Wonderful! Magnificent!"
Ganba laughed, and said, "I'm pretty proud of it myself. Come over
here, I want to show you the detailing."
Yawrab walked over to the head of the statue and watched as Ganba
revealed all of the articulated pieces that she had carved in place. The
skill displayed was excellent, and she just couldn't express how proud
she was of Ganba, so she just kept repeating the same three words.
"Fantastic. Wonderful. Magnificent!"
Ganba pointed out the tufted ears, the barbed tail, and finally
said, "All I need to do now is the finishing touches. Today or tomorrow
should be enough. I was working on the toenails when you arrived." She
looked down, seemed to see something critical, grabbed a tool and
crouched down by a foot.
Yawrab grinned at her lover's back, amused by Ganba's
concentration. She didn't want to disturb her, but she also didn't want
to leave without saying good-bye. She waited, idly glancing at the tools
laid out on a bench next to the sculpture.
Something caught her eye, and she moved closer for a better look.
Lying amidst the tools was a small sphere of grey-blue stone. Yawrab
reached out to touch it, and found that it was smooth and cool. It
rolled slightly under her fingertips, and she saw that one side of it
looked like the eye of a cat.
The color reminded her of something. She reached into her pocket
and pulled out the ring of keys to the Panther. The master key was easy
to find, and she tugged it away from the ring. She held the strange
clasp at the top of the key next to the sphere and, sure enough, they
were exactly the same color. In fact, she could see that the natural
spread of the prongs of the clamps seemed to be the right size for the
sphere to rest in. She shifted the key around so that the open end of
the clamps pointed at the grey-blue stone and gasped in shock when the
stone leapt the two-finger's-width gap between the key and the bench and
landed between the clasps. The prongs closed slightly and then melted
into the orb, forming one blue-grey object with a cat's eye on one side,
and four prongs clamped onto an ornamented key on the other.
Ganba stood and said, "What's wrong? What happened?"
Yawrab said, "I just ... And then ... I don't know!" She grabbed
the orb and pulled, but only succeeded in separating the whole thing,
the strange spined-eye, from the key. Dropping the key into her pocket,
she grasped the ends of the small object and tried to pry the two halves
apart, but they no longer seemed to be two objects combined. She
couldn't persuade the orb to separate from the double-clasp.
She finally gave up, and showed the contraption to Ganba. "What was
that sphere in with your tools, Ganba?" she asked. "Not something
valuable, or important?"
Ganba peered at the spined-eye and poked at it gingerly. "No,
neither. Ballard gave it to me, thought I could use it in the serpent.
Daft man! What would my serpent look like with a cat-eye? And there's
only one, so what would I have done with the other side of its head?"
She took the thing from Yawrab and tried pulling the bits apart
herself, with the same luck. She said, "Good thing he gave it to me,
'cause it doesn't look like he's getting it back." Ganba returned the
spined-eye to Yawrab, wincing as the prongs closed around Yawrab's
finger.
Yawrab pulled the thing off of her finger easily, and then slipped
it into her pocket. She felt it clamp around the shaft of the master key
and sighed. She wondered how she was going to attach that master key
back to the key ring without the clasps.
"Well, I've got to get back to the Panther, make sure Maravin
hasn't given away the treasury again." She hugged Ganba and gave her a
kiss. "Fantastic work, love. I'm so proud!"
Ganba blushed, kissed her back, and waved as she left.
Yawrab fished around in her pocket as she walked away, drawing the
orb out of her pocket and pulling it off of the key. She put the key
back, and looked at the orb. Frowning, she looked around, and saw an
alms box by a doorway. She slipped the orb inside and hurried away,
feeling slightly guilty. Maybe the monks could find some use for the
thing.
Moments after Yawrab vanished around a corner, a fleeing man dashed
down the street. He looked backward and saw the glint of the guard
pursuing him, but his inattention caused him to crash into the alms box,
smashing it and dashing its contents to the ground. The man stumbled,
feet slipping on coins, then he regained his footing and started to run.
He didn't notice as his foot kicked a blue-grey object into the shadows
of an alley. The guard, hot on his heels, didn't notice either.
On the morning of the last day of Ober, Ratray scuttled across the
city in his customary way, dodging from alley to shadow, avoiding large
groups of people on the streets. He spent only enough attention to his
journey to assure that he never ended up in any crowd; the rest of his
mind was reflecting on his quarter-year break that had just ended.
He had spent the past six days in the whorehouse called Mother of
Pearl, where all the women were named Pearl, unless you wanted them to
be named something else. It had been the kind of quarter-break you joked
with your friends about, and Ratray had accomplished it. Though he had
thoroughly enjoyed himself, he was happy to be on his way back to work
at the keep. He wouldn't have believed it before, but it was possible to
have too much of a good thing. He also knew that he would save his
remaining Marks, and go back for as many quarter-breaks as they lasted.
Ratray was a few streets away from the Inn of the Serpent when he
felt something hard under his knee as he knelt at the mouth of an alley.
He lifted his leg and felt for the object. His fingers closed on
something cool and smooth, and he picked whatever it was up.
He looked at the object in his hand, noting the blue-grey color
first, the strange spines poking out of a small sphere next. He had no
idea what it was, but he thought it looked like a pearl. He poked at it
with his other hand, and was surprised when the spines closed around his
finger. His immediate reaction was to fling it away again, but when he
found that it came off of his finger easily he calmed himself. When he
turned it over and saw the cat's eye on the side of the sphere opposite
the spines, he decided to keep it. Cats were, after all, his favorite
animal.
Glancing up and down the street, Ratray resumed his journey back to
the keep, putting the spined orb into his pocket and forgetting about it
for the time being.
Music filled the sitting room of the suite in the Lighted Candle as
Nakaz and Ratray played music together. Ratray's face was filled with
wonder as he played one of the bard's own instruments, and Nakaz smiled
to see such joy. He had run across the servant earlier that day in the
keep and had been successful in persuading the young man to come to the
inn, as playing on one of the keep's towers would have been rather
uncomfortable in the cold of the last day of Ober. This portion of the
inn was deserted except for the musicians, and Aldan was downstairs
playing King's Crown for money, so they bothered no one.
Early in the evening, Nakaz had spotted Ratray eyeing the stone
sculpture Nakaz had placed on the table to one side of the room where
the cold meats, breads, and cheeses were arrayed. He hadn't been sure
why he had placed it out like a decoration. Normally he was more
protective of the half-circle chunk of stone with the stylized cat and
dual falcons on its outer third, and the three types of banding that
interwove across its center. He'd grown nervous when Ratray had seemed
to study it intently, but eventually his nervousness had faded with
Ratray's attentions, and the music had continued.
Nakaz had noticed the new jewelry that Ratray was wearing when the
young man had entered the room, but it wasn't until the servant took a
break to try some of the cold meats and cheeses that Nakaz got a good,
close look at the earring hanging from his right lobe. His eyes widened
when he realized that the blue-grey color of the spherical ornament was
the same shade as the stone in Yeran Reshilk's ring that had been used
by Bresk's Band to help retrieve the second Margre Chalisento artifact.
He had to bend down to see clearly what the strange markings on the
bottom of the orb were, and he was rewarded for his effort by
discovering that the bottom of the sphere looked like the eye of a cat,
with the slitted pupil and faint striations around it to suggest an
iris. The last revelation came when he saw that the earring had no metal
on it, but was clamped to Ratray's ear between four spines that rose
from the side of the orb opposite the cat-eye slit: spines that, when
examined closely, resembled antlers.
"Tray," said Nakaz. "I don't remember you wearing an earring
before. Where did you get it?"
The young man's hand went self-consciously to the dangling
ornament, and he said, "Do you like it? It's not too big, is it? I found
it this morning on my way back to the keep. It was lying in an alley. I
don't know what it is, but it seemed to work as an earring."
Nakaz was shocked that the key Flane needed to finish the Margre
quest had just been lying around Dargon's alleyways. He said, "Might I
take a closer look? Does it come off?"
Ratray said, "Sure. See?" He pulled at the grey-blue orb, and it
slid down his earlobe and came free. He handed it to Nakaz, walked over
to the table with the food on it, and started assembling a leftwich from
bread and thin-sliced meat.
Nakaz looked at the orb up close, watching with fascination as the
prongs that had been clutching at Ratray's ear slowly spread apart of
their own accord, ending up looking even more like antlers. He checked
the cat's eye, played with the prongs a bit, and tried to decide whether
Ratray was likely to want to part with his found object so quickly.
The young man had rejoined Nakaz, and he asked, "Do you know what
it is, Nakaz?"
"I have some idea, yes," Nakaz said.
"Really? Is it some kind of artifact, some piece of ancient magic
that I've rediscovered after eons?"
"Ah, not exactly. But it could be dangerous. Do you think I could
buy it from you,Tray?"
Ratray paused, took a bite of his leftwich, then said with his
mouth full, "How much?"
Nakaz said, "Two Marks?"
Ratray's eyes went wide, and he mumbled something about "another
sennight at Pearl's". He choked on his leftwich, cleared his throat, and
finally said, "Sure, Nakaz. Sure. Let's get back to the music, now,
straight?"
"Absolutely, Tray," said Nakaz, closing his fist around the orb. A
plan was already forming in his mind.
Ganba blew sawdust away from the rasp, pulled it back and forth a
few more times, cleared the debris away again, and set the tool aside.
Smiling, she grabbed a sanding block and polished the rasp marks away.
Her smile became a grin, and she stepped back and said, "Finished!"
Yawrab said, "You have such talent, love. It looks so real, so
alive!"
Ganba turned to her lover and said, "Thank you. I'm impressed
myself, and I made it."
Yawrab stepped forward and hugged the gypsy. "I'm glad you found
something to do while I whipped the Panther into shape. Maybe you could
carve something for Maravin next? I'm sure that you could make a panther
far more frightening than the stuffed head on the taproom wall."
Ganba laughed and grabbed a broom. "Could you go get Ballard, love?
I want to present this to him, and then go back to spending my days with
you."
Ganba swept her corner of the stableyard clean while Yawrab grinned
and ran into the inn. She thought about Yawrab's joking suggestion, and
wondered if she'd have to take on more work like this statue while the
search for Lord Aldan stretched on. It was the first of Nober already,
and it looked like they were never going to find the man. Ganba found
herself feeling more and more tired every morning, and that was on top
of the dull sameness that the streets of Dargon presented to her every
day as she walked from the Panther to the Serpent and back. Aside from
whatever soul-weariness plagued her, the rooted-folk life was fighting
with her gypsy nature.
Ganba was packing up her tools when Yawrab returned with the jovial
Ballard, who owned and operated the Inn of the Serpent. The man's eyes
widened as he took in the new sculpture that would grace the front of
his establishment, and he said, "Oh, Ganba, your samples didn't do your
skills justice. This is fantastic! People will flock from leagues around
to see this masterpiece. When are you going to paint it?"
Ganba just gaped at Ballard, and Yawrab took a step away from the
man. "Paint?" the gypsy said. "How could you possibly think to paint
this work of art? Can't you see the way the grain of the wood flows
along the scales here? Doesn't the wood just gleam perfectly along the
jaw here, the knee there? Paint?"
Ganba felt herself crouching into a fighting stance, her hand
reaching into her tools for a particularly sharp chisel. She grinned
fiercely as the innkeeper backed up a few steps. Yawrab hurried to her
side and said, "I'm sure Ballard won't paint your statue, dear." Yawrab
turned back to the owner of the Serpent and said, "I would suggest that
you not bring up the subject of painting the statue again, Ballard,
straight? I'll be back tomorrow for the rest of her fee."
Ganba let Yawrab lead her out of the stableyard, vowing to herself
that if a lick of paint ever touched her sculpture, she would make sure
that Ballard and every one of his descendants regretted it.
Ratray made another foray into the city for his own purposes two
days after his musical evening with his friend the bard. He had been
informed by his fellow servants that a woman had come looking for him at
the keep while he was on break, and the description, especially the
mismatched green and brown eyes, had clearly been Yawrab, who had
returned his flute more than a sennight ago.
He knew that Abernald had been murdered shortly after Ratray had
delivered his information about Lord Aldan to him, but he hadn't
realized that Yawrab hadn't gotten that information, as that could only
have been the reason for her return to the keep. Ratray was sorry that
he hadn't known that earlier, or he would have tried to contact her
again before now.
He approached the Inn of the Panther with trepidation. The inn was
a very popular one despite its run-down reputation -- he understood that
their ale was superb -- and he wondered how he was going to be able to
make himself enter in the face of his curse. He had waited at Mother of
Pearl's until the greeting room was nearly empty before going in there,
and two nights previously at the Lighted Candle, Nakaz had escorted him
into the inn via a servants' entrance to ensure that his fear of crowds
wouldn't bother him. He felt that he might have a long wait before the
taproom of the Inn of the Panther was empty enough for him to go in.
Ratray sidled up to one of the windows of the inn and peered
through. It was as he had feared; the place was doing a brisk business.
He scanned the room, but
Yawrab was not present. However, he did spot
Yawrab's gypsy companion. Even on the other side of a window, the sight
of the gypsy made him sneer. But he forgot his dislike of gypsies when
he saw what the woman had on the table in front of her.
It was a stone fragment like the one he had taken from beneath the
keep. It was larger than his own piece, but it was smaller than the one
that Nakaz had been using as a decoration in his suite. Ratray couldn't
see the gypsy's fragment clearly, but he could see enough to recognize
the ragged edges, the odd animals and the interwoven banding. He knew
that it was very similar to his own fragment and Nakaz'. In fact, he
fancied that the three might fit together to form a single unit.
He turned from the window, his mission to Yawrab forgotten. Instead
he began wondering, as he walked back to the keep, how to get some more
Marks out of these two people who probably had some interest in the fox
fragment he owned.
Aldan shook hands with Essart and watched the short, fat man leave
the Lighted Candle. It was mid-morning of the second of Nober, and if
all went well the Margre quest would be thwarted in just a few bells.
Aldan turned to Nakaz and said, "I still think we should be
watching Flane ourselves."
Nakaz smiled and said, "We've been over this, Aldan. We can't let
Flane see us yet. I fear that more than a scar is transferred when a new
person takes over the Margre quest, and the man that Flane took the
artifacts from saw you and I chasing him. If Flane recognizes us as
enemies, then he will run, and we may never find him again. And once he
has the key he seeks, it will be very dangerous for us to lose contact
with him."
Aldan sighed. Nakaz had told him all of that before, and he had
agreed with it then as he did now. Still, it bothered him to be so far
removed from the action as to be sending a hired man like Essart to be
their eyes. With the completion of their task so close, it was galling
to have to wait once again.
He started to pace around the common room of the inn. He remembered
when Nakaz had told him of the plan he had devised shortly after
acquiring the spined eye-stone from the servant Ratray two days
previously. Every step of that plan had gone smoothly. The two of them
had gone to Genarvus to request the sage's cooperation in brokering a
deal between Flane and an anonymous collector wishing to sell a certain
blue-grey object. Genarvus had contacted Flane, who had agreed to the
transaction a day ago, with the exchange slated for today at sixth bell.
Nakaz had checked with the harbormaster on low tide times for the day
and so they knew that once Flane had the key, he would have to move to
the correct spot by the end of the first bell of the night when the tide
would turn and begin rising again.
All Aldan could do in the meantime was to wait.
Bell after bell slid past, and Aldan grew increasingly nervous.
Seventh bell had become eighth when he was sure something was wrong.
Essart should have come directly back from the sale of the antlered eye,
and he was late. Very late.
He alternated pacing with staring out the window of the common
room. Nakaz had seemed annoyingly composed until the last bell or so,
and it made Aldan secretly glad to see his lover fidgeting nervously as
he sat at one of the tables. They had grown snappish with each other as
Aldan continually tried to alter the plan, to get them to go down to the
Coldwell early. Each time Nakaz had been able to convince him of the
danger of letting Flane see them too soon. Unfortunately, it didn't make
waiting any easier.
Tenth bell had passed some time ago and the first bell of the night
was soon to ring when a stranger burst into the Lighted Candle. The
woman leaned against the door, caught her breath after a moment, and
gasped out, "Applecart. Broken leg. Essart says go."
Aldan hesitated only long enough for Nakaz to stand and gather his
pack before leaving the inn at a run. The pair sped across the Old City,
and fumbled their way over the side of the causeway to the Coldwell's
bank within a quarter bell. Aldan searched the ground for other
footprints but found none. He knew that there was a stairway down to the
Coldwell to the north of the keep; Flane must have taken that easier
way.
Running through the mud in the deepening dark slowed their frantic
pace, and Aldan was sure that he was going to have to hurriedly decipher
the map he hadn't yet bothered with in order to follow Flane into the
Margre's maze.
Nakaz turned briefly and hissed to get his attention. Aldan
followed Nakaz' pointing arm and caught sight of the still figure ahead
of them where the rock outcropping turned west and a wider patch of
muddy bank was visible in the unshadowed darkness there. They slowed
their pace so they could move more quietly, and closed the distance to
the now-kneeling figure.
The shadow of the cliff above them and the constant sound of the
moving waters of the mouth of the Coldwell kept them from being
detected, Aldan was sure. Nakaz stopped at some fifty paces' distance
and Aldan followed suit. The bard stepped into the stirrup of the
crossbow he had brought and pulled back the string, then lifted the
weapon to his shoulder and fitted in a quarrel. Aldan watched the
kneeling figure reach out and scrub at the mud directly in front of him.
Aldan thought he saw a faint gleam revealed, and then there was a flash
of light as the figure extended his hand to touch the gleam. Then Nakaz'
crossbow thunked, and the kneeling figure fell flat, half of his body
vanishing into a hole in the cliff side that hadn't been there the
previous moment.
Aldan started forward first, sure of the bard's marksmanship. As he
got closer, he saw a large cave in the cliffside. He knelt beside the
prone figure and noticed that the ground inside the cave was dry, in
contrast to the mud the lower half of the corpse lay in outside the
cave. He turned the body over to reveal a man with brown hair and the
top of one ear missing, with a scar in the middle of his left eyebrow.
It was Flane.
A moment later, Nakaz caught up and knelt beside Aldan. The bard
reached for the right hand of the body. Aldan saw the strange ring Flane
wore, with the cat-eyed orb perched on top of the band, the spines
clutching at the rest of the ring. Nakaz looked at Aldan, and he nodded,
gripping his sword at his side. He and Nakaz had already discussed this
next step, and that if the bard suddenly sprouted a scar in his left
eyebrow, Aldan was to kill him swiftly and then not touch any of the
artifacts.
Nakaz grasped the ring and stiffened. Aldan could feel something
happening as Nakaz grimaced briefly; it felt like the bond they had
shared since touching that stone fragment together was being called on
to help the bard in some way. Nakaz opened his eyes after a moment, and
slipped the ring from Flane's hand. Aldan looked closely, but there was
no new scar on Nakaz' face.
Nakaz proceeded to search the body, finding a small rock, a stone
cup, and a blue book. He tossed each of these things deep into the cave
one by one, and then enlisted Aldan's help to shove Flane's body deeper
within as well.
Aldan let himself be herded back out of the mouth of the cave and
onto the mud of the bank. Nakaz held the ring-and-orb combination in
both hands, hesitated for a moment, and then pulled them apart. Aldan
watched, stunned, as the cave opening began to fade away. The bard
swiftly tossed the last two items belonging to the Margre quest into the
closing cave, and then the opening was gone.
Aldan looked at the rock wall, and even went closer to touch it,
but it felt as solid as anything around it. Nakaz sighed, and started
walking north to the small beach at the bend between river mouth and
ocean. Aldan was glad they were taking the easier way back into the Old
City.
As they walked, Aldan finally decided to ask, "Nakaz, why did you
throw everything into the cave?"
"Finality, Aldan," said the bard. "When you've read as many myths,
stories, and legends as I have, all with their clues and keys and
secrets right out in the open to be found, you start to get tired of
stupid people locking up devastating evil with the means of retrieving
it left out and about for someone to eventually find and learn how to
use."
Nakaz was silent for a dozen more paces before continuing, "No one
is ever going on the Margre quest again, Aldan. Sure, all three of her
separated parts are now in proximity to each other, but it will take a
huge miracle for the stone to get into the cup in such a way as whatever
is storing the water of her spirit to be able to spill over it. And if
that miracle comes to pass ... well, what chance did we have anyway?"
Aldan pondered the wisdom Nakaz had presented him with, and could
find no fault with it by the time they had returned to their inn. There
they found waiting for them a very crudely lettered note which read,
"From a friend. Please come to the Frayed Knot on the docks at the
fourth ..."
"... bell of the day tomorrow, that being of Nober the third day.
There I will display some property I have recently received, which I
believe will interest you."
Ganba looked at the note with its crude lettering and stilted
phrasing, and wondered which of the few friends either she or Yawrab had
here in Dargon would send them such an invitation. She briefly
entertained a paranoid fear of the Bloody Hand of Sageeza being
involved, but the note seemed both too crude and too direct for their
methods. Well, there was really only one way to find out, and neither
she nor Yawrab had any other plans for the morrow.
The next day, it was Nakaz and Aldan who entered the Frayed Knot
first. Gazing around as he walked through the door, Nakaz came to the
conclusion that as a tavern, it was a nice bait shop. Not one extra Bit
had been spent on anything not absolutely required, so that the somewhat
small space was nearly bare. The tables were of unadorned wood and were
surrounded by stools rather than chairs. This made the booths that lined
the side walls the favored place to sit, which was why Nakaz led the way
to one of the few unoccupied tables. The floor was covered with wood
shavings, not even sawdust, which hadn't been swept out in at least a
sennight. If not for the seasonable temperatures of early Nober, the
place would have smelled worse than the docks themselves.
Nakaz had checked the contents of the dirty mugs at the tables as
they had passed, and he didn't bother making a trip to the hole in the
wall that served as a way to order drinks from the kitchen. He didn't
notice anyone taking care of service in the room, and he wondered how
many of those around him were simply loitering.
He glanced around the room again, checking to see if anyone was
paying any attention to him, but no one seemed to find anything
interesting in the room besides the tables themselves. He looked over at
Aldan, who seemed equally interested in the scarred wooden surface in
front of them. Nakaz thought he saw weariness in his friend's face, a
weariness that he felt himself. Some of that was due to having completed
the task that had been driving him for so long, but that wasn't all of
it. Unwilling to get too introspective in a place like this, he turned
his attention to the front door, wondering when the note writer would
show up.
A short while later, he was startled to see the same pair entering
the bar that he had encountered a few days ago approaching Aardvard
Factotum's place. The cowled wizard was named Cefn, and the man with him
was the thief Nakaz knew by several names, including Kresh. They went
over to one of the booths where a thin, shifty-eyed man seemed to be
expecting them.
Nakaz debated whether to confront Kresh. He had decided against it
outside Aardvard's home because he'd had more important things to occupy
his time. Now, however, he was free of obligations. He hoped his
mysterious meeting wouldn't last longer than Kresh's.
The next pair to enter the dive also had a familiar person in it,
but Nakaz wasn't immediately sure where he had seen the older woman
before. She startled him, though, by crying out, "Lord Aldan!" and
approaching their table.
Yawrab was willing to give the note writer only until the tones of
the fourth bell of the day finished echoing along the docks before she
left the Frayed Knot, and she made that vow before setting foot within,
so unpromising did it look. She forgot about her misgivings as she and
Ganba pushed through the swinging doors and she spotted the man she had
chased across half of the Kingdom of Baranur.
"Lord Aldan!" she called out, and hurried over to the table where
he was sitting. She didn't even notice that the gorgeous blond bard with
the grass-green eyes she had met at the keep with Ratray was with him
until she was standing across the table from them both.
As she stood there looking at Lord Aldan, she found herself unable
to believe that the young man had actually killed her sister Tillna. She
saw that the surprise on his face came from seeing someone familiar a
long way from home and had nothing to do with fear. She recalled the
gypsy Sefera's reading of her fortune, and knew that they had told the
truth when they'd identified the lord separately from the killers.
The bard rose with courtly grace and said, "Please, have a seat,
ladies. I take it you know my friend from somewhere?"
Yawrab settled uncomfortably onto a stool next to Ganba, tried
unsuccessfully to find a less uneasy position, and finally replied, "Ah,
yes, sir bard. I am Yawrab, once the housekeeper of the Denva estate in
the Barony of Bindrmon. I am also Tillna's sister, and I have been
seeking Lord Aldan to ask ... what he knows about her murder."
"I hope your trip was not arduous, Mistress Yawrab," said Aldan. "I
will happily answer your question. First, though, I would like to
introduce to you both the bard Nakaz, who has guided me across Baranur
in aid of my own search. If you would present your companion, Yawrab, I
could begin my tale."
Ganba bowed to the lord and the bard as Yawrab said, "This is Ganba
of the Rhydd Pobl, who helped me on my journey. There were dangers
involved, but I would not choose differently if given the option. Now
tell me of Tillna."
Ganba glanced around the room as Lord Aldan told the story of the
petty jealousy between him and the friends he had grown up with, and how
they had for some reason taken revenge on him by killing his promised
bride, Yawrab's sister, Tillna. He had tracked one down and had been
informed that the others were fleeing to Dargon, but after spending two
months and more in the city, he was sure that they had not, in fact,
come this far north.
The gypsy kept her eye out for any undue interest in their table.
The Frayed Knot was not a nice place to sit and reminisce, full of
dangers of many different kinds. She saw the bard keeping an eye out as
well, and it was this scrutiny that drew her attention to Cefn in the
booth. She knew that the man with Cefn was Ka'en, the cousin of Je'en.
She also knew that Je'en had vanished after the King's Birthday
celebration, and that Cefn had been methodically scouring the city for
anyone who could help him find her. The palmist he was sitting with, a
thin, shifty-eyed man, was unlikely to provide the answers he was
looking for. She wondered if Sefera was still around and whether her
abilities would prove useful to the wizard.
She looked at the three other figures around the table with her.
The tension in Yawrab had vanished with the young lord's explanation,
and Ganba felt some release as well at the ending of their quest.
Looking at the two men, though, she felt an odd sensation, almost as if
there was some connection between all of them.
She also felt that strange, stretched sensation increasing as she
observed the two men. Something about their presence made her feel old
and worn. No, more than old: ancient. And the two men had something of
the same aura about them as well.
Before she could examine her lover for the same thing, she noticed
Ratray standing just outside the door of the Frayed Knot. The lanky
young man with the brown hair was just standing there, sweat beading on
his brow even in the chill Nober breeze. She wondered what the servant
was there for, so far from the keep, when he narrowed his eyes, pushed
through the swinging doors, and headed right for their table.
Aldan could feel something strange in the air, and his head snapped
around to look at Ratray as he walked slowly across the crowded room.
Aldan had seen Ratray in the keep, and knew that he and Nakaz had spent
time together playing music. Nakaz had told him about the young man's
fear of crowds, his "curse" as the boy put it, so it was surprising to
see him here. That wasn't enough to explain the strange feeling he had,
though, that something very, very important was getting closer and
closer to their table.
Ratray dropped onto a stool and just sat there for a few moments,
breathing hard. No one spoke until finally Ratray said, "Hello Nakaz,
Aldan, Yawrab, Ganba. I sent the note. This is why."
With shaking hands, Ratray removed something from his shoulder bag
and set it on the table. Aldan gasped when he saw it, echoed by the
other three. He glanced over and watched Nakaz pull their fragment from
his carry-all. When the bard set the half-circle stone sculpture on the
table, Aldan saw that the women had produced a smaller stone of their
own.
Aldan could see clearly that the three stone fragments were not
only of a similar make, but they were, in fact, all parts of the same
whole. The cat-figure on the piece that he and Nakaz possessed matched
exactly the cat-figure on the piece resting before Ganba and Yawrab,
while the fox-figure next to that cat matched the only animal on
Ratray's piece.
All three pieces were arranged, though by accident, exactly as they
should have been, so that the separated cats and foxes lined up around
the circle back to back, just as the two falcons on his and Nakaz' piece
were. The silver, gold, and glass bands finally all formed their full
interweaving tracery across the piece, the lines matching exactly across
the gaps between the three stones.
There was more than just the fragments of a broken sculpture on the
table, though. Aldan could feel the power that hummed between the pieces
of stone, that hovered over the table and around all five of them
sitting around it. He started to feel the same kind of resonant affinity
for Ganba and Yawrab that he had already fully experienced with Nakaz,
and no one was touching any of the fragments any longer. Something was
about to happen, something wonderful. He couldn't wait.
Ratray could feel the strangeness too. He knew the others were
feeling something not only because he could see it on their faces, but
because he could sense it right along with them. That feeling scared
him, but not in the same way as the curse he had lived with for all of
his life. Not that he could explain the difference.
Yawrab asked the question first, though Ratray felt the other three
ask it with her, inside of him. "What do you want for your portion of
the Talisman, Tray?"
"I ... I thought I knew, but I hadn't expected this. The piece
belongs to all of you; I can feel that just as you can. Take it. It's
yours." The heartfelt gift resonated among the five of them, and Ratray
knew he had done the right thing. He barely registered a raised voice
coming from his right, away against the wall.
There was a pause, and then Nakaz lifted his rank pendant from
around his neck and held it in one fist for a moment. A brief glow
escaped between the bard's fingers, and then Nakaz handed the pendant to
Ratray. "Take this to the College of Bards in Magnus, Tray. It will earn
you an entrance audition, which you will not fail. Thank you, Tray."
Aldan removed the room key from his belt pouch and handed it to
Ratray. "Everything in our suite is yours, Tray," he said, and Ratray
could hear the confidence in his tone, echoed by the bard's smile. "I'm
sure you can make good use of it, especially Nakaz' instruments." He
then pulled out some parchment and a stick of charcoal. He scribbled a
quick note, and handed that to the servant. "This will explain your
rights, should anyone challenge you. Thank you, Tray."
Ganba said, "You can have my ban, my wagon, to take you to Magnus
and the college. Let me have that." She took the parchment and sketched
a map, and then wrote her own message. "This is where the wagon is
hidden, and the note will let any of my people who might stop you know
of your right to it. Thank you, Tray."
The raised voice had become a shout. It said, "I just want to know
where Je'en is!" There was a flash of light and heat, and suddenly that
wall of the dive was on fire. Screams began immediately, and the fire
was spreading rapidly.
Yawrab said, "Tray, the moment foretold by your prediction has
arrived." Ratray looked at the older woman and saw a strange light in
her different colored eyes that wasn't just a reflection of the fire. He
wondered briefly who had told her about his curse. She continued, "Leave
here free from fear. Your life is forever changed, but not ended by the
cataclysm you are escaping from. Thank you, Tray."
Ratray clutched the pendant, key, and parchment and stood. Patrons
were fleeing the burning bar. The strange man with the cowl you couldn't
see into was carrying two people out the door. Ratray looked at the four
sitting around the table as their hands came up to touch the edges of
the stone fragments. "You're welcome," he said. He turned and ran toward
the door.
Nakaz and Aldan and Yawrab and Ganba pushed gently at the fragments
of the Talisman they had created two thousand years ago. The three
pieces came together simultaneously and with a tiny flash obscured by
the rising flames behind them, the Talisman became whole again.
The circle was complete, and come around in full. From the top of
the tallest tower of Wudamund they had sealed themselves to their
Talisman, and the rogue magic within it had drawn down the lightning and
destroyed it. Now, through life after life, century after century, they
had all been drawn back to the same place, and the Talisman was whole
again.
As the flames roared through the bar, Ganba remembered the
beginning. In the first days of the end of the Fretheod Empire, she had
been a man named Kendil who was an alkaehra, or combat sailor. She knew
again that sea voyage in the Typhoon Dancer when he had fallen in love
with a soldier musician named Nikkeus, and then with the ship's captain
Eldinan. He had been unable to choose between them, and then had been
fortunate enough not to need to as they both loved him back.
He recalled Nikkeus' struggle with being considered adult and
capable. He remembered Eldinan's struggles with her culture and its
prejudices against non-standard relationships. He relived their growing
together, a growth that made all of them more complete, as well as more
independent. He remembered the final decision to defy convention and
join in the annual winter solstice krovelathan, or marriage, ceremony.
His carving skills had come to the fore after the krovelathad, or
marriage talisman, had been designed by Nikkeus and Eldinan. He had been
instrumental in bringing that vision into being, working with the
various elements that made up the object, from casting the stone-like
base, to applying the gold, silver, and glass banding, with help, of
course.
Ganba sat with her fingers touching that same object as the bar
burned harder and also felt herself standing in Kendil's boots on top of
Wudamund in the middle of a storm as binding words were said. She
recalled Nikkeus' hood falling away revealing the raven haired and
bearded, brown and green eyed visage of Orlebb, just before the
lightning bolt struck, shattering the Talisman and ending that version
of herself.
Nakaz returned to his first incarnation. He remembered being
Nikkeus, a young teraehra, or soldier, living at the height of the
Fretheod Empire. He remembered being posted to Wudamund, one of the
distant outposts of the empire, far across the sea.
He remembered sailing on the Typhoon Dancer and meeting Kendil, an
alkaehra, during a terrible storm and falling in love with him
immediately. He recalled how the ship's captain, Eldinan, had also
fancied the man, and how he had despaired until he'd been offered Kendil
in Eldinan's cabin.
He'd been surprised to find himself in love with both the captain
and the soldier. Their love had been mutual, and had developed during
the voyage and continued during their stay at Wudamund. Defying the
conventions of their culture, the three of them had planned to promise
themselves to each other, and had constructed a krovelathad, a physical
symbol of that union, together.
As the flames in the bar reached a third wall, Nakaz recalled the
night on the tallest of the three towers of Wudamund, when the
krovelathad had been readied for dedication. He remembered that Orlebb,
the castellan of Wudamund, had taken his place in the ceremony. He knew
without remembering that the krovelathad, the Talisman that rested in
front of him, had been fragmented by a bolt of lightning that had killed
him and the other three people on the roof.
Aldan returned to the beginning, when he had been a woman named
Eldinan, the captain of the Typhoon Dancer. The beginning of the end of
the Fretheod Empire had been clear to her in the way that her anhekova,
a magical staff with a lump of milky crystal housed in one end, failed
to perform its functions any longer. Unable to predict or control the
weather, just one of the abilities her staff had once possessed, made
braving the open sea so late in the season a dangerous proposition. The
strain of the journey had been offset by finding interest in a combat
sailor and whittler named Kendil, and then in a soldier musician named
Nikkeus.
The two men had also been attracted to each other, and the three of
them had ended up finding companionship, and then more, in each others'
arms, though the Fretheod culture severely frowned upon anything but
dyadic relationships.
Eldinan had been trapped by the onset of winter at Wudamund, and
her relationship with the two men had deepened. They had chosen to
create a krovelathad together, even in the face of her culture's
strictures. The result had been a work of art created by the three of
them, though out of unconventional materials, including her useless
anhekova.
Aldan sat in front of that very krovelathad, the Talisman that had
just been reassembled, and remembered being on the rooftop of the
Wudamund tower for their own, secret winter solstice krovelathan
ceremony. He recalled the moment when Orlebb had revealed himself, and
noticing the presence of the real Nikkeus, whom Orlebb had masqueraded
as. While the fire consumed more of the bar, Aldan relived the moment
the lightning bolt had struck, ending the first of his many existences.
Yawrab remembered the arrival of the three newcomers to Wudamund
back in the beginning when she had been a man named Orlebb who had been
the castellan of the watch keep. Orlebb had been a native of the area,
unlike the Fretheod explorer-invaders, but he had worked for them
freely. He had been good at managing the keep, and he had used his
position to his advantage in any way possible.
Orlebb had found himself interested in those three: the ship's
captain Eldinan, a striking woman with chestnut hair and grey eyes; the
naval soldier Kendil with brown hair and brown eyes; and the combat
soldier Nikkeus with the blond hair, big nose, and grass-green eyes. He
had tried to involve himself with each of the three separately with a
perplexing lack of success.
Then he had discovered the real relationship between the three, and
the krovelathad they'd been building. He had been determined to intrude
on their triadic union, and he had introduced a magical artifact of his
own into the talisman they had been creating.
Yawrab remembered standing beside the very sculpture that was
before her now up on the roof of the tallest of Wudamund's three towers,
masquerading as the blond musician. Eldinan and Kendil had arrived, and
as a storm blew up the ceremony had begun. Yawrab felt the heat in the
burning bar as clearly as she recalled the snow and rain, the feelings
as the krovelathad was activated, biding all four of them together, and
the lightning bolt that tore them, and the Talisman, apart.
Ratray stood in the doorway as the other patrons of the Frayed Knot
vanished along the docks behind him. Only Yawrab, Nakaz, Ganba, and
Aldan remained in the center of the room, obviously unconcerned by the
growing conflagration around them.
The servant saw the stone that sat on the table between those four,
and was startled to realize that it was once again whole. He could feel
the resonances between the stone sculpture and the four who sat around
it, perhaps because he had held one of the fragments for a short while.
He knew that something far more wonderful and strange than the luck he
had just been party to was happening in there.
As he watched, he thought he saw each person shimmer slightly. He
thought he saw all of them but Nakaz change gender for a moment,
altering just slightly to make the set three men and one woman. They
shimmered again and changed once more, then again and again. Ratray knew
that it wasn't the fire making them shimmer.
He thought briefly about going in to rescue them, or of fetching
help to get them out. He realized somehow that they were capable of
rescuing themselves if they wished it. He let them be, determined to
watch them to whatever end was to come.
Lives overwhelmed Ganba as her incarnations flooded into her mind.
Years passed as swiftly as the lives, then slowed as she became Kendra
again. Kendra had been one of the Siizhayip, a nomad group. She
remembered going with her people to negotiate with a fading remnant of
the Fretheod Empire over land. The Siizhayip needed room to expand. The
Duke of Grahk didn't need the land at all.
Ganba realized that Duke Bralevant of Grahk was an incarnation of
Orlebb and Yawrab. Back then, the two of them had been lovers. She had
been the secret mother of his heir. Her son, Bralidan, was an
incarnation of Eldinan and Aldan. Kendra had used her former
relationship with the duke to get close enough to kill him. She had been
ordered to do so. His death would assure the Siizhayip the land they
needed. She had been surprised when the duke had taken her with him into
death. She had been resigned to her fate, believing in the good she was
doing. And the lives continued to flood past.
Lives dashed past Aldan's perceptions. Decades flashed by, until he
became Bralidan. He had been the son of a powerful ruler. He recalled
meeting a pretty, blond, green-eyed young woman named Nikorah. She had
belonged to a nomadic group who roamed the Great Steppes. They called
themselves the Siizhayip. She had come to Plethiss, his home, to plead
with his father for land. He knew that his father the duke had no use
for that land.
Duke Bralevant had denied him permission to pursue Nikorah. He had
schemed to do so anyway. He remembered being on the battlements of
Plethiss. He had been bathed in the light of both moons. Nikorah had
been at his side. He had watched as their Talisman fragments merged
beneath the spectacle of a moon-flare. The freedom he had gained by
leaving Grahk with her faded into the blur of subsequent lives.
Time flowed over Nakaz like music. Lives passed like notes in a
tune. He lingered briefly to remember Nikorah. The song began again. It
stopped once more when he became Maeanat. She and her twin sister
Tironvil were criminals in Gerolevan. They had been cheated by a
merchant of magics. They'd gone to Melajoof for revenge. Instead, they'd
been given a chance at invulnerability.
Maeanat had known where to fetch the missing ingredient. She had
impersonated a bard to invade a manor house. She had retrieved a
fragment of the Talisman, the required ingredient. She'd had to kill an
employee named Eilonvil in the process. Nakaz knew that Eilonvil was
also Eldinan and Aldan. Maeanat had taken the fragment and met up with
her sister. She'd been unconcerned by the pursuit of the authorities.
She had believed in the protection Melajoof had offered. She'd been
foolish to do so. She had died, and the song began once more.
Lives blinked by Yawrab, remembered in brief and then gone again.
Then she came to a woman she remembered in more detail named Tironvil.
Tironvil and her twin sister Maeanat had been thieves. They had gone to
Melajoof to purchase some protection. The protection had failed. She and
her sister had returned to exact vengeance on the merchant. The man had
given them a fragment of the Talisman. He'd also given them a ritual
that he promised would provide permanent protection for them. It had
only needed a single missing ingredient.
Maeanat had known where to get that ingredient. She'd left to
obtain it. Tironvil had gone to the circle of standing stones to meet up
with her. They had enacted the ritual and merged the two stones. Then
the authorities had come to deal out justice to the twins. Tironvil had
learned just how well Melajoof had fooled them. A sword had entered her
and ended that existence.
Ratray watched the changes flashing and flowing over the four in
the middle of the bar. The flames were growing in there, but so far none
had reached the center of the room. He could feel the heat from where he
stood, but none of the four seemed to be uncomfortable.
Then he noticed the frowns, but he knew that they weren't caused by
the atmosphere within the bar. All four began to shudder a little, and
the faint glow from the stone itself grew until it was outshining the
flames that were closing in.
Ganba felt the years begin to press against her. The lives she'd
lived stayed with her. She remembered Aborkendo. He'd been an actor and
a carpenter. Torenda's Troupe had roamed Farevlin entertaining. He'd
been involved with three women. The same three people in the bar now.
They'd found a fragment of the Talisman while traveling. They'd
frightened away a warlord with acting. Then they'd been rewarded with
another fragment of the Talisman. She remembered the two fragments
melding together. Then the lives started flashing by again. She felt
full of other people. People she'd been. She worried they'd press out
who she really was.
Aldan paused within Eldirhan's life. He'd been a crippled
blacksmith. An accident had freed his mind. He'd known all about his
amazing past. A woman named Nikoren had come. Her horse'd needed shoes.
Eldirhan had resisted the pull of the search. He hadn't gone with
Nikoren. His injuries had prevented it. So he had never touched a
Talisman fragment. Not until he'd died and been reborn. Again and again.
So many lives. Aldan tried to come to terms with the sensations. But the
lives just kept piling up.
Nakaz was stranger after stranger. The lives that flashed by him
weren't going away. They were filling him up. Life after life, every
day, every moment. They all became part of him. He couldn't contain it
all. And then ... he was himself. His own life flashed through him.
Becoming a bard. Scaling the stave of ranks. Meeting Shorel. Meeting
Kethseir. Losing Shorel. Gaining the Talisman fragment. Aldan. Travel.
The Margre. Culmination. The Frayed Knot. Fire. Completeness. Rest.
Yawrab felt overwhelmed. The crush of people she had been filled
her. They were all trying to be themselves again. Even though they all
were her. She didn't think there was room for even one more. And then
... she was herself. She watched herself grow up in southern Welspeare.
Getting a job. Lord Cranhull's rape. Moving north. The Denvas. The
bargemen. Meeting Ganba. Tillna's death. Travel. Sageeza. Dargon. The
Panther. The statue. The note. The bar. Fire. Completeness. Rest.
Ratray squinted as the light from the stone increased. Fear and
pain began to fade from the faces of those sitting around it, and he
felt his link to the powerful object fade and then vanish. The flames
approached the last table, and he wondered what would happen next.
The four incarnates lived their lives from birth to here together,
and they opened their eyes and looked across the table and their
Talisman at each other. They all knew the pressure of their pasts, they
all felt each other's weariness, that stretched, worn, faded,
world-weary sensation that was now well explained. They looked into the
past and saw the currents that had brought the six Talisman fragments
together into three, and then moved four people across time and the
world to be here with those fragments, not a league from where they had
been created.
The bar was fully engaged in flame, only their table untouched by
the conflagration. They all knew the choice before them. There was no
debate. The unspoken question was answered unanimously. They linked
hands atop the Talisman and waited.
Ratray stared as the light faded enough for him to see the four in
the bar again. They were all smiling serenely at each other, their hands
linked on top of the stone on the table in front of them. Ratray
wondered why they weren't getting up and leaving. He made up his mind to
go help them, but as he started back into the bar, there was a grinding
sound from the roof. Ratray was sure he saw the stone flash again. He
was just as sure that when the roof crashed down, the table and chairs
it landed on first were empty.
When the fire extinguished itself, the town guard found no evidence
of any casualties within the ruins of the Frayed Knot or the wharf it
had stood upon. No strange stone carvings, complete or incomplete showed
up, nor did any charred bones. Cefn eventually paid restitution for the
damage he had caused, but no one ever knew what had also ended within
that waterfront dive.
This final chapter of the Talisman Saga is dedicated to concinnity.
Here's hoping the whole is greater than its parts.
========================================================================
