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DargonZine Volume 19 Issue 04
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DargonZine Distributed: 4/17/06
Volume 19, Number 4 Circulation: 651
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Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Journey's End 3 Rena Deutsch Sy 12-17, 1018
and Liam Donahue
Have You Ever Been to Jim Owens Sy 15-17, 1018
Northern Hope? 3 and Liam Donahue
========================================================================
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://ftp.dargonzine.org/. Issues and public discussions are posted
to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 19-4, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright April, 2006 by
The Dargon Project, Inc. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@rcn.com>,
Assistant Editor: Liam Donahue <bdonahue@fuse.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>
Welcome. It is with immense joy and satisfaction that I announce
that in this extra special super-sized issue, we reach the climax --
although not quite the end -- of DargonZine's long-running Black Idol
story arc.
This effort began exactly three years ago: in late April of 2003
our contributors gathered in Austin, Texas for our annual Writers'
Summit. For the first time, we devoted an extra two days to
brainstorming, outlining, and beginning to write an expansive single
storyline that everyone would contribute to: a story about an ambitious
nobleman, an arrogant wizard, an ancient cursed stone idol, a questing
bard, and a supporting cast of hundreds.
Today's issue caps that achievement and provides a moment when we
can celebrate what we've accomplished. It is the culmination of three
years of dedicated, hard work by our writers. When the remaining three
chapters are printed, the Black Idol will have filled fourteen issues of
DargonZine over the course of 18 months. Its 27 chapters have been
authored by ten contributing writers. And its final length is a
staggering 175 thousand words.
Over the years, DargonZine has attempted several collaborative
efforts. By far the biggest -- and most difficult -- was the
Baranur-Beinison War, which fell apart and dragged on for years when the
two people driving that storyline left the group. Our Comet Contest and
the Night of Souls stories were unqualified successes, but far smaller
in scope and required very little coordination between writers. The
Black Idol is the biggest, most tightly-coordinated effort we've ever
attempted. And, happily, it has been our successful collaboration. It
has also demonstrated how much more interesting and coherent DargonZine
can be when we all work together to create something that truly is
greater than any one of us could have done alone.
For most of our history, our writers have mostly written their own,
separate stories. While one story might relate to another, most stories
didn't contribute to any larger storyline, and our "shared world" was
mostly limited to using common characters and locations. Because every
work stood largely on its own, our readers had no real sense of place or
events that spanned all the Dargon stories they read.
With the Black Idol, that changed. Suddenly, every story we printed
dealt with the characters, locations, and events of a common storyline.
That gave our readers a feeling for Dargon as a place, and a sense of
what's going on there at a particular point in time. That, in turn,
makes reading our stories easier, more interesting, and more satisfying.
Writing related stories also has a number of benefits for our
writers. In the Black Idol, we worked together more closely than ever
before, and each writer was inspired by the feeling that their work was
more integrated with everything else, a vital part of what was going on
in Dargon. At the same time, because they were in near constant contact,
our writers felt more camaraderie and received more support from one
another, which motivated them to come through for everyone else who was
depending on them.
But perhaps the biggest benefit was sharing the ideation and
planning phase. Historically, our writers have come up with their own
story ideas and only interacted with one another by way of peer
critiques, long after the first draft was written. Because of that, we
haven't talked very much about how one comes up with a story idea, and
how it goes from idea to the printed page. How do you decide what plot
complications to throw at the protagonist? How do you pick which scenes
to show? How do you decide whose point of view the story will be told
from? During the Black Idol, we learned a tremendous amount from one
another about this crucial phase of the writing process.
With so many benefits for both our readers as well as our
contributors, there will definitely be more large, multi-writer story
arcs in the future, although right now we're taking our time and trying
to learn from the difficulties we had writing the Black Idol. In the
meantime, our writers have agreed to set all new stories within Dargon
proper, which will promote more sharing of characters and events. In
addition, the groundwork has already been laid for the next major event
in Dargon's history, which will be one of the topics of this year's
upcoming Writers' Summit. So yes, more common storylines will begin to
appear, although there will always be standalone singleton stories
interspersed within our pages, as well.
As it nears its completion, the Black Idol represents a tremendous
success. Not only is it the biggest collaboration we've ever produced,
but it also showed that closely-related stories are more memorable for
our readers and a more inspirational and rewarding experience for our
writers, which will shape what DargonZine looks like in the future.
From its beginning to end, our writers devoted over three years to
the Black Idol, but it generated 27 stories that filled 14 entire
issues. It is the collective achievement of ten fine writers, who
deserve copious thanks and congratulations for the titanic effort it
took to bring this epic to you.
This one time, I would like to acknowledge each of them by name.
They are (in word-count order): Rena Deutsch, Liam Donahue, Dafydd
Cyhoeddwr, Jon Evans, Ornoth Liscomb, Rich Niro, P. Atchley, Rich
Durbin, Dave Fallon, and Jim Owens, with noteworthy assistance from Nick
Wansbutter, Rhonda Gomez, Stuart Whitby, and Victor Cardoso. You've read
about the exploits of Parris and Tyrus Vage, Anarr and Edmond, Simona
and Kal, and the rest, but these writers are the real heroes and
heroines of the story of the Black Idol.
If you had to sum it up in a word, the Black Idol was DargonZine's
first real team effort. That's why, looking back over more than 21 years
of wonderful stories by dozens of exceptional writers in FSFnet and
DargonZine, this moment -- the climax of the immense Black Idol story
arc -- is by far my proudest moment of them all.
========================================================================
Journey's End
Part 3
by Rena Deutsch and Liam Donahue
<Luv2rite@dargonzine.org> and <Liam_the_red@dargonzine.org>
Sy 12-17, 1018
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 18-5
Part 2 of this story was printed in DargonZine 18-7
Simona felt like she was being pushed onto the beach. Gentle waves
rolled over her slim figure. She sat up slowly and spat salty water,
then took a deep breath. Simona rose on shaky legs and found she could
stand without pain. A warm, gentle breeze quickly dried her wet
clothing. She looked down on her body and noticed her tunic was torn and
her arms and legs showed bruises and scratches. She reached up and
touched her head, realizing her hair was tangled with seaweed. She
pulled the seaweed out of her long, black hair and let it drop onto the
sand. Looking up, she saw a group of people rushing toward her; leading
them was a woman with long, red hair.
"Simona! Simona!" the red-haired woman called out joyfully as she
came closer.
"Megan? Megan!" Simona responded, staring at the sister who had
died in her arms. "Is it really you?"
"Yes, it's me!" Megan laughed and pulled Simona into a tight
embrace.
"I never thought I'd see you again," Simona whispered, tears
running down her face. She buried her face in her sister's loose tunic
and held her close.
"Come," Megan said, letting go of her embrace, and taking Simona by
her hand. "The others want to see you, too." She guided her toward the
group of people who had been standing several paces away, waiting
patiently.
"I want to introduce you to my husband Raphael. Father is waiting
and --"
"Father? But he --"
"Yes, father, and then there's Mona, our little sister. You haven't
met her yet." Megan interrupted with a big smile on her face.
"Where am I, Megan?" Simona asked.
"Home!"
Simona woke from her dream. Never before had she seen her sister's
face so clearly in her mind. She longed for her dead twin. A throbbing
pain distracted her from her heartache. Slowly, she lifted her hand,
touched her hurting head, and realized a bandage had been wrapped around
her forehead. She tried to push it off, but someone else's hand stopped
her.
"She's waking up," a female voice said.
Simona tried to open her eyes, but found she couldn't. Her throat
hurt just as much as her head and she felt cold.
"Lie still," the same voice instructed her.
"C-- co-- cold," Simona managed to say. She heard a door opening.
"Bring some more heated stones!" a woman called out. Simona's head
was gently lifted.
"Here, drink some of this. It'll help."
Simona felt a wooden cup placed at her lip and took a few sips. The
warm liquid felt good running down her throat. She opened her mouth for
more, but the woman denied her request.
"You've got to take it slow, Simona. You swallowed a lot of river
water."
"Where am I?" she asked weakly, and added, "Who are you?"
"You don't recognize my voice? I am May and you are at my inn,
Spirit's Haven. After the barge you were traveling on crashed into the
causeway, your friend Kal pulled you out of the river and brought you
here."
Simona tried to sit up. A wave of nausea overcame her and she had
to lie back down. She heard footsteps coming nearer and then a door
opened.
"Here are the stones, May."
"Thank you, lass," May replied. "Anything else?"
"The man who brought her wants to know how she is doing."
"You can tell him that she is awake," May said. Simona felt the
heat from the stones May had tucked under her blankets. It made her
sleepy and she relaxed.
"Why can't I open my eyes?" she whined.
"Hush! They're swollen from your injury. I will put some more herbs
on them to help reduce the swelling. Rebecca, one of the healers here in
Dargon, should be here shortly. I sent for her when Kal brought you in,
but if she's helping at the causeway it might be a while longer."
Simona's thoughts circled for a mene around what May had just said.
Rebecca? But Rebecca had been the healer in village where she grew up,
and this was Dargon. Could she still be dreaming? She briefly considered
the throbbing ache in her head and decided that no dream could hurt that
much. Her thoughts drifted back to Rebecca. She remembered fetching
herbs for her sister Megan from the healer, years ago. The picture of
Megan she had seen in her dream was now as clear in her mind as if her
sister was standing next to her in a well-lit room. A small sigh escaped
her. She felt tears welling up and her breathing hurt.
"Simona, take another sip," May said. Simona felt her head lifted
gently and a cup placed at her lips. She swallowed a mouthful of the
warm liquid. She heard the footsteps of several people entering the
room.
"I brought Rebecca and her apprentice Lilike, May," a girl's voice
announced.
"Thank you for coming," May said. "Simona fell overboard when the
barge crashed into the causeway; she was struck in the head by
something. I think her wound may need some stitching. Were you at the
causeway?"
"We were," Lilike spoke up. "Part of the causeway fell into the
river when a barge hit it. We'd been helping people for several bells
already when your girl found us. We were nearly done taking care of the
wounded. I think all the people that fell in have been pulled out."
"For some of them all help was too late," Rebecca said softly.
"I heard someone pulled a one-armed man out of the water, dead!
They think he's the duke."
"Lilike!" Rebecca chided her, "Don't go spreading rumors! Just
because the man had only one arm doesn't mean he's the duke."
"But --"
"No! We have an injured woman here who needs our help," Rebecca
said with a tone of authority.
"I will take a look at that wound now," Rebecca remarked. "I'll be
careful, but it'll probably hurt a bit." Simona felt cool hands unwrap
the bandage on her head. As soon as the last part was removed she could
feel something warm running down the right side of her face. She reached
for it, but her hand was pushed away.
"Don't touch! This will need cleaning and May is right; it will
need stitching as well," Rebecca said.
Simona felt skilled hands move down her body, searching for further
injuries. She flinched slightly when her breasts were touched and again
when the hands reached her stomach.
"You will be fine, child," Rebecca stated after finishing her
examination. "The wound on your head will heal after Lilike places the
stitches. She has excellent skills in sewing. When she's done, we'll
replace the herbs on your eyes and you should be able to open them
within a bell or so. The rest will take time. You will also need to be
more careful now. I will give you a tea to drink to ease you through
your pregnancy. You're fortunate that you didn't miscarry."
"What do you mean? Pregnancy? I'm not pregnant," Simona protested.
"I can't be!" Simona heard someone giggle briefly; it irritated her.
"Child, I've been a midwife longer than you have been alive. I know
the signs. Just think back. When were you bleeding last?"
"Two moons ago," Simona said after a few moments, feeling faint.
"Is the man who brought you here the father?"
"There has been no other," Simona said. "Please don't tell him."
"It's not my place," Rebecca replied simply. "Let's get that wound
on your head taken care of." Simona felt a piece of wood being placed
between her lips.
"Here, bite down on this," the voice of a girl instructed.
"Must be Lilike," Simona thought and bit on the wood. It tasted
bitter. She gagged and for a moment fought the urge to vomit again.
When Lilike finished and the piece of wood was removed, Simona let
out a sigh of relief; the pain from the needle piercing her skin was
finally subsiding. She felt gentle hands apply a salve to her wound and
then wrap a bandage swiftly around her head.
"The salve will help it heal. I'll leave some of it with May. Rest
now," Rebecca instructed, but Simona wanted answers.
"Rebecca, when I was a little girl, I lived in a small settlement
near where Kenna is now. I would go to our local healer to get herbs for
my twin sister Megan. She used to get sick quite often when we were
little. My mother's name is Anna Molag and she was raising us without
our father. Would you be that healer?"
"You're Simona Molag? The girl who disappeared when she was only
six?"
"Straight, that would be me."
"We searched for days and couldn't find you. One evening, one of
the men brought your ripped and bloodied dress back and we thought the
wolves had gotten you. Your mother was in tears. And Megan, she was
never the same afterwards. By Stevene! Does your mother know you're
alive? Does Megan know?"
"Mother knows. I found Megan about a year ago. She is no longer
with us." Simona swallowed hard. "Mother lives in Hawksbridge now. I
spent the winter with her. I left her nearly two months ago."
"Megan is dead?" May whispered. "What about Raphael, her husband?"
"I'm sorry May; he died the same day."
"How?"
"I'm not sure," Simona said quietly. "When we reached them, we
found two men and a boy dead, and Megan barely alive. She was the one
who told me where to find our mother. We sent their spirits on their way
properly and then traveled on. I'm sorry, but I don't have better news,
May."
"What happened to you that day you disappeared?" Rebecca inquired.
"My uncle Ezra kidnapped and took me to my grandparents. He cut my
hair and I had to pretend I was a boy. When my grandparents found out
who I truly was, my uncle and I had to leave. He taught me the basics of
reading and writing and handed me off to the teachers at the College of
Bards. When I finally left there, it was to find my mother and Megan.
And now I'm looking for a mage named Anarr. He had promised to meet me
at Spirit's Haven. That was six days ago. Has he been here, May?"
"No, he hasn't," May replied. "Why are you looking for a mage?"
"There is a curse on my family, and I need him to lift it. Anarr
tried before, but didn't have any luck. He promised to meet me here to
try again. Please let me know the moment he shows up," she begged.
"I will, Simona, but you need to rest now, and I'm sure Rebecca
agrees with me on that one!"
"I do," Rebecca said. "Here are some herbs for her to help her
heal. Just send for me, if you need further assistance. I need to go
back to the causeway. The child of one of my clients is missing, and I
want to help look for him."
"Thank you, Rebecca," Simona said.
"I will see Rebecca out and then send Kal up," May said. "I'll be
back later with some soup for you. Now rest!"
"I will," Simona promised and listened to the footsteps fade away.
Her head hurt.
"How could I have been so stupid?" she thought. "I'm pregnant and I
didn't even know it. What will Kal think of me?" For a moment, Simona
let the idea of her pregnancy sink in and then she felt the blood drain
from her face. "By Stevene! Kal! The curse hasn't been removed yet! If I
have this child and the curse is still there ..."
"No," she moaned. "I don't want to lose Kal! I don't want him to
die when the baby is born, like my father did when Megan and I arrived."
Panic rose in Simona and her thoughts raced. "I need to find Anarr so he
can try again. I have to tell him that I'm pregnant. Maybe that's why he
couldn't take the curse off. I have to find him!" She pulled herself
into a sitting position, fighting the wave of nausea that hit her. The
herbs had fallen off her eyelids and she rubbed her eyes in hopes of
clearing her blurred vision.
"Where are my clothes?" she mumbled, forcing her eyes open. She
could only make out dark shapes in the dimly lit room. When she heard
her door open she startled and pulled the blanket over her chest.
"Mona!" Kal's voice sounded concerned. "What are you doing?"
"I need to find Anarr! Help me, Kal! I have to get up and find
him!" Simona said, panic in her voice.
"You need to lie down and rest. You were hurt and need to heal,"
Kal told her. His voice made it clear that he wouldn't take "no" for an
answer.
"I need to find him! Please, Kal! You know how important this is to
me," she pleaded.
"I will find him for you, Mona, my love. You need to lie down and
rest." His gentle words and touch soothed her and she complied.
"Tell him I'm --" she began, but stopped herself before she could
say "pregnant". "Tell him that I have some important information for
him."
"I will." Kal tucked the blankets around Simona and kissed her.
"Promise me you will stay in bed."
"I promise," Simona replied hesitantly, worried whether Kal would
find Anarr or not, but glad she didn't have to walk the streets of
Dargon with her head hurting and her stomach revolting.
Kal stayed next to Simona's bedside until he was sure she was
asleep. He had been quite afraid when the barge had crashed into the
causeway and Simona had been flung overboard and into the water. She had
been struck by a falling piece of debris from the causeway and then
pulled under. He had jumped in after her and managed to rescue her. She
had been unconscious, but breathing shallowly. Her forehead showed a
gash, which was bleeding freely. Raneela, one of many healers at the
site of the accident, had briefly examined Simona and told Kal that
there were others more seriously injured that needed her attention. She
had given him some bandages to put around Simona's head and left without
another word.
Afraid of losing his beloved and uncertain of what else to do, he'd
scooped her up in his arms and headed toward Spirit's Haven, and the
only friend he could remember in Dargon: May. A year ago, they had
stayed at that inn during their search for Megan, Simona's twin sister.
He'd had to stop several times along the way to let Simona vomit.
When he had noticed that every time she'd relieved her stomach her
breathing had gotten easier, his panic had subsided. When Kal had
reached the inn, May had recognized them both from their previous visit
and given them a room.
Now Simona was sleeping, and he was sure that something in May's
brew had helped that along. He would be able to go looking for Anarr
without having to worry that Simona might get up and join the search. He
regretted his promise to Simona to search for the mage. In his eyes,
Anarr was a charlatan. Thrice the mage had attempted to lift the curse
Simona believed lay upon her family, and thrice he had failed.
"And he supposedly lifted the curse of Northern Hope?" Kal thought
as he got up and left Simona's bedside. "I don't care what his hired
hand Edmond has to say about him. Who knows? Anarr probably put the
curse there in the first place and then played hero. And now I have to
find him again?" Kal let out a snort. He and Simona had first met Anarr
in Northern Hope, after the mage had supposedly lifted the curse on the
town. Anarr had said that the source of the curse had been a statue of
the Beinisonian war god, Gow. He had claimed to have warded the statue,
and the locals had thrown an enormous party in his honor. Kal had been
skeptical, but Simona had approached the mage and had asked him to lift
her curse. He had tried, and failed, but Simona had agreed to let him
try again. So they had traveled to Dargon, by foot and then barge, along
with Anarr; a local man, Edmond, whom the mage had hired; and the cursed
statue. Anarr had departed during the barge trip, leaving the statue in
Edmond's care, and had agreed to meet them in Spirit's Haven. The barge
had arrived late, and crashed into the causeway. Kal had been too busy
tending to Simona since then to think about the mage.
Kal entered the main room. Only a handful of old men sat at a
table, smoking a pipe they passed around. "May?" he called out.
"Is she sleeping?" May inquired when she stepped out of her
kitchen.
"Yes. She asked me to go looking for Anarr. She wouldn't go to
sleep unless I said I'd search for him."
"Good luck," May said as Kal left the inn. Kal wasn't sure whether
she was being sarcastic or trying to get his spirits up. He assumed the
latter.
Kal heard the first bell of night and sighed. For the past two
bells he'd been wandering the streets of Dargon in an attempt to find
Anarr. He had stopped at every inn he could find to see if the mage had
found a room for the night elsewhere, but without success. Now, he stood
at the entrance to the city, where the Street of Travellers crossed
Merchant's Way, in the vain hope of seeing Anarr arrive.
Kal shivered in the cool night air. Along the way, he had tripped
and fallen into a mud puddle. The fresh clothing May had loaned him was
now mud-spattered and soaked through. He had not been alone in the
puddle, though. While he had been climbing to his feet, a couple walking
arm-in-arm had stumbled over him and fallen in as well. Kal shrugged. At
least he was better off than the man he had seen fall from a rooftop
into a pile of manure.
Traffic on the Street of Travellers had dwindled as evening faded
into night, and Kal was about to give up when he heard the pounding of
hoof beats and the rattle of wheels. A carriage! "Just like Anarr," he
thought, "to arrive in luxury." Arms crossed, Kal waited for the
carriage to arrive. His eyes were dazzled by a bright flash as a bolt of
lightning shot down from the clear night sky. Kal blinked away spots of
light as the thunder rumbled. When his vision cleared, he saw that the
lightning bolt had struck an oak tree and split it in half and set part
of it afire. Each half had dropped in a different direction, one
smashing the carriage, the other crashing into the roof of a cottage,
leaving a huge gap. The occupants, already in nightgowns, staggered into
the street to look at the damage.
Kal rushed forward, already convinced that Anarr was in the
carriage. He imagined having to tell Simona that her mighty mage had
been killed by a tree. If he hadn't known how upset Simona would be, he
would have laughed. He reached the carriage and saw that the coachman
was dead. Muffled voices inside cried for help. Kal climbed onto the
toppled carriage, shoved some branches aside and pulled the door open.
He helped the occupants, bruised and stunned from their ordeal, climb
out. Anarr was not among them.
Another man had arrived and cut the horses loose. The two stayed to
help the owners of the cottage put out the smoldering fires that had
started on the remains of their roof.
A bell later, Kal returned to the Spirit's Haven covered in mud and
soot, exhausted, and no wiser about Anarr's location. He found his own
clothes, cleaned and folded, waiting for him. Grateful to his host, he
washed his face and hands, changed out of his filthy garments, and
staggered off to bed.
The crowing of a rooster woke Simona. She had dreamt of Megan
again, the same dream as before. Carefully, she touched her head, felt
the bandage, and remembered where she was. She opened her eyes. Weak
sunlight illuminated the room. For a moment she stared at the ceiling,
pleased that she could see again. Deciding it was time for her to get up
and start searching for Anarr, she sat up and breathed a sigh of relief:
her nausea was gone, and the pain, while still present, was bearable.
"Where are my clothes?" she muttered to herself. She wrapped the
blanket around her body and stood up, almost tripping over a body that
lay right in front of her bed.
"Ouch!"
"Kal? What are you doing on the floor?" Simona sat back down on her
bed.
"Sleeping! Well, not anymore," Kal replied grumpily. "How are you
feeling?" he asked, a concerned look on his face.
"I'm fine," Simona said. "Where are my clothes?"
"May took them yesterday to get them cleaned and mended," Kal said
and pulled himself to a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes. "I'll go
get them and bring some water."
When Kal returned, Simona took her clothes and the water jug and
began to clean her face. Realizing that Kal was still in the room, she
asked him to leave and then continued her morning ablutions. She applied
her blue lip color with care, removed the bandage from her head, applied
the salve, and then brushed her hair, making sure it covered the gash
Lilike had stitched so carefully the previous day.
As she smoothed her shirt over her stomach, she remembered
Rebecca's diagnosis. She was pregnant! And that meant that Kal was in
danger from her family's curse. She had to find Anarr and hope the
pregnancy was the reason that the mage had failed. If it was, would she
have to end the pregnancy? She shuddered at the thought, and then a
realization struck her. If she couldn't find the mage, she would
certainly have to end the pregnancy. Simona knew that healers had herbs
for such things, to be used when there was a danger to the mother. Could
she convince Rebecca that this unborn child was a danger to the father?
Could she herself make the choice between the man she loved and his
unborn child?
"It cannot come to that," she said to herself. "We must find Anarr,
and he must end this curse despite my pregnancy." She took a deep breath
to calm herself and left her room.
"Good morning, May," Simona greeted the innkeeper as she entered
the main room.
"Feeling better?"
"Much better. Thank you for taking care of my clothing."
May nodded. "Ready for some breakfast?"
"Yes, please," Simona said, suddenly aware of her hunger. She ate
everything May placed in front of her without speaking a word. When she
felt satiated, she leaned back and momentarily closed her eyes.
"Kal? Did you learn anything about Anarr's whereabouts yesterday?"
she asked, remembering Kal's promise from the night before.
"No, he wasn't in any of the inns I went to last night."
"We'll just have to keep looking, then."
"We?" Kal asked. "You need to rest. I'll look for him. You stay
here and wait for Anarr in case he arrives."
"I'm feeling much better today, Kal. If Anarr arrives, May will ask
him to stay. I need to get out and walk around."
"You are looking much better. Will you promise me that you'll come
back and rest if you get tired?"
Simona smiled at his concern. "Of course I will. Now, let's get
going. I want to try the barge docks first. Anarr might be there looking
for word of us."
The third bell of the day chimed as Simona and Kal left Spirit's
Haven. They made their way through the streets of Dargon toward the
barge docks. Anarr was nowhere to be seen when they arrived. Simona
fought down a moment of panic at the thought that they might never find
the mage.
"Now what?" muttered Kal, placing his hands upon his hips.
Simona thought for a moment. The barge docks were crowded, and they
could have easily missed the mage in the press of bodies. "Now you stay
here and look for him. If he's not in the crowd now, he might show up,
either on a barge or on foot. I'm going to go check the inns."
"But Simona, I already checked every inn I could find. No one knew
anything about Anarr. And you need to be back at Spirit's Haven,
resting."
Simona smiled. "Every inn you could find is not every inn there is,
Kal. And just because no one told you anything doesn't mean they didn't
know anything. I think the locals might be more inclined to talk to me."
She patted the bardic insignia on her belt as she finished speaking.
"That may be true, but still ..."
"And I promise to rest if my head starts hurting too much. We'll
meet back at Spirit's Haven at first bell of night." Knowing that Kal
would try to persuade her to let him come along, Simona spun on her heel
without another word, the unsaid words still on his lips.
Simona visited a number of inns that morning, but had no luck
finding Anarr, or word of him. The only information about the mage that
she was able to coax from the locals were legends: the same tales she
had heard about him at the College of Bards when she was a student. The
tavern keepers and their patrons were more interested in talking about
the causeway disaster, and their own tales of woe. From a fall down a
staircase, to spoiled beer, to a bird-dropping in the eye, Simona had to
endure a litany of minor miseries.
She was almost ready to give up in disgust when she came to the
marketplace. It looked like someone had deliberately knocked down
several of the stands. Fruits and vegetables were littered all over the
street. Cracked eggs lay on the ground, the yolks forming a small yellow
river around the shards of a once beautiful blue vase. A white blanket
showed brown and red hoof prints and red stains from crushed tomatoes.
Broken pottery and ripped cloth lay in the dirt.
"What happened here?" Simona inquired as soon as she recovered from
her surprise, addressing the merchant closest to her.
"Barney's donkey, that's what happened here." The man wiped his
face with his sleeve. "That cursed animal was pulling Barney's cart when
a wheel broke. That must have scared it, because it broke loose and went
on a rampage when the reins broke. I tell you, I've never seen a donkey
buck, but this one did."
"Quite a story," Simona said.
"Straight, but not much of an ending," the man responded bitterly.
"All I can do here is sweep up the pieces and fire up the kiln. If that
cursed beast crosses your path, make sure you drive a knife through its
heart."
"Straight!" another man spoke up, "And then take it to the butcher.
Maybe he can do something useful with its carcass."
Simona didn't respond. Deep in thought, she made her way past the
damaged section of the market. She intended to continue the search for
Anarr, but if the locals didn't know anything about the mage, she would
ask about their recent misfortunes.
After a perfunctory search for Anarr, Kal leaned against one of the
pilings used for tying up ships, chewing on a greenstick, the dried
shoot from a cherry tree. Kal knew the mage wouldn't be there. He and
Simona would probably never see the charlatan again. "Probably the best
thing for her," he thought. "Now maybe she'll find a mage with real
talent to remove her curse, instead of wasting her time with that
arrogant ass."
With nothing better to do, Kal decided to watch the crowd in the
hope of learning something about the city. He paid close attention to
the conversations of the people in line and the barge masters. Most of
the gossip was about the collapse of the causeway, who was injured, who
was missing, and who had died.
After a few bells, Kal decided that the people of Dargon were the
clumsiest he'd even seen. He had watched people run into each other and
drop their loads, stumble over crates, and trip over their own feet. One
man had even fallen off the pier, and two more oafs had fallen in trying
to pull him out. He'd watched two barges collide and listened as the
pilots exchanged curses that almost made him blush. It made him wonder
how this city had managed to repel the Beinisonian invaders.
Some time after ninth bell, Kal decided to give up and return to
Spirit's Haven. He had just turned to leave when some angry shouts drew
his attention. A burly man with a donkey cart had stepped out of the
line for one of the barges and was shoving his way through the crowd. He
forced his way to the front of the line, donkey and cart in tow.
"I need passage on the barge. Have a delivery for the duke," the
man barked at the barge master.
"Get in line with the others," the barge master said and pointed to
the line of people.
"I'm supposed to deliver this tonight!"
"If you have two Rounds, I can get you on tonight."
"Don't have two Rounds! I can give you four Bits."
"That's not enough," the barge master shrugged his shoulders. "I've
plenty of people able to pay their way across to fill the barge. If you
want on it, you have to pay more than someone else is willing to."
The man turned the cart around and stomped off. He had taken only a
few steps when the left wheel fell off and the cart fell sideways.
"Nehru's blood," he muttered. For several menes he struggled to put
the wheel back on, but failed.
Kal noticed the man look around the crowd for someone to help, but
it didn't seem anyone would come to his aid. Kal knew the man had
brought it on himself with his behavior, but he couldn't watch him
struggle any longer. He stepped forward and picked up the wheel.
"Here, let me help you," he said and rolled the wheel towards the
cart.
"Thank ye, lad." The man set the cart upright and held it so Kal
could slide the wheel back on the axle.
"I'd best be getting back to his lordship. He'll be mad that this
didn't get delivered, but as soon as he's done yellin', I can get some
dinner in my belly. Straight?"
"Straight! Here, this should help," Kal said. He stuck a stone into
a slit at the end of the axle, and drove it in a bit further by pounding
on it with another stone. As he did, he got a look at the load in the
cart. It was empty, except for a single rucksack, which was tied down
quite thoroughly. The sack was tattered, covered with stains, and had an
unusual shape. Kal wondered what the duke was having delivered. Whatever
it was, it had to be heavy for this man not to abandon his cart and pay
the cheaper rate for a passenger on foot. Before he could speculate any
further, the man's heavy hand clapped onto his shoulder.
"Thank ye, again, lad. What's yer name?"
"I'm Kal."
"Straight. Pleased to meet ya, Kal. Name's Rilk, and I think I owe
ye a beer, but not tonight. Gotta get this back 'n take me tongue
lashing. Maybe I'll see ye again."
Kal smiled. "If you do, you can be sure I'll take you up on that
beer."
Rilk waved, and led his donkey away from the docks. Kal left too,
and headed for Spirit's Haven.
When Kal arrived, Simona was sitting at one of the tables in the
common room, eating a bowl of stew. Kal's stomach rumbled when he saw
it. He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down.
She looked up. "Any luck?"
"No. And you?"
"Not a bit," she said, and the corner of her mouth turned down
slightly. Kal felt like he had missed something. "He hasn't shown up
here, either. May's been around all day."
May herself chose that moment to arrive, bearing another bowl of
stew, which she placed in front of Kal before bustling away again.
"There's something else I need to ask you," Simona said as Kal dug
into the stew.
"What's that, Mona?" he asked between bites.
"Did you notice anything unusual today?"
"Don't think so. Like what?"
She shrugged. "Any sort of accidents? Like maybe someone got hurt
by the docks?"
Kal almost dropped his spoon. "Someone fell off the docks! How did
you know?"
"Didn't. Lucky guess." The corner of her mouth was turned up again,
like she was amused, but her eyes were serious. "Anything else happen?"
"Straight! These Dargoners sure are clumsy!" Between bites of his
stew, he started to her about all of the mishaps he had observed at the
docks. Halfway through his story about the barge collision, she held up
her hand.
"Does it remind you of anyplace here?"
Kal wracked his brain. "Remind me? No. I've never seen anything
like it. This place is worse than Northern Hope. I ..." Kal trailed off
as Simona began nodding.
"That's just what I thought, too, after I spend the day watching
mishaps and listening to stories about them. Like Northern Hope, only
worse. Remember what happened to us on the way to Northern Hope? We lost
half of our food. I slid down part of the mountain and got trapped and
you injured your ankle. And remember what the people told us about their
town? That statue of Gow is here somewhere, and I bet it's no longer
warded."
"Do you think it lost the warding in the crash?"
"Maybe. Or maybe not. Remember, the barge was delayed. We had cargo
go overboard --"
"And the shepherd fell in!" Kal added.
"Don't forget the crash itself."
Kal looked at Simona in surprise. "That would explain what I saw
last night. I didn't get a chance to tell you this morning." He told her
about the lightning bolt splitting the oak, and what happened afterward.
"Kal, we need to find that statue, and then find Anarr."
Kal snorted. "Anarr! That charlatan! It's his fault the statue is
here in the first place. Let him deal with it. It's probably at the
bottom of the river, anyway."
Simona gasped. "The river! Of course, it would have gone down
during the crash. But how will we get it out? It will take time, but
I'll have to convince someone to go down and look for it. How hard can
it be to find a big black statue with rubies for eyes and a sword in his
lap, even on the bottom of a river? Wait! What if it's still in Edmond's
rucksack? They'd never spot it then."
Now it was Kal's turn to gasp. The rucksack! The strange shape in
Rilk's rucksack had been the sword on Gow's lap. And the rucksack
itself, less tattered and without the stains, was the same one that
Edmond had used to carry the statue. "Simona! It's not in the river.
I've seen it; I just didn't know what I was looking at." He proceeded to
tell her about his encounter with Rilk.
"And you're sure he's going to try to cross again in the morning?"
Simona asked.
Kal nodded.
"Well, that is the only way across the river, so let's wait for him
there when the ferries start again tomorrow."
"Can you use your bardic authority to have the guards arrest him?"
Simona shook her head. "I could, but we don't know when he will
arrive, and the guards will be busy dealing with all of these disasters,
so I can't ask them to wait with us. And if they haven't experienced
Northern Hope, they might not believe the story about the statue.
Besides, if he's up to no good, he might run when he sees the guards.
Any delay will cause the statue to be in Dargon longer, and we can't
risk that."
"Straight," Kal said with a sigh. "I'd rather leave this town
altogether though."
"And leave all these people unprotected? They don't stand a chance.
Didn't you see what Northern Hope looked like? And the statue was nearly
a day's travel away. Now the statue is in the middle of the city. Anarr
isn't here to ward it. We're the only ones who can get it away from
here, far away from here! We have to!"
"Just how do you plan on doing that?" Kal asked again.
"You're a sailor. Do you think you could handle any of the
sailboats at the docks?"
"I think so. What do you have in mind?"
A gentle shake on her shoulder woke Simona. She opened her eyes and
looked into Kal's face. "Come on, it's the ninth bell of night. Time to
get up." Simona nodded and Kal left the room. She took a moment to clear
her head before getting up. She'd been dreaming of Megan again, but she
couldn't remember the dream.
Simona dressed quickly. She felt groggy, unaccustomed as she was to
rising before sunrise. They had to get moving, though, if they wanted to
get to the barge docks before Rilk. If her plan worked, they could get
the statue safely away from the city, and return to look for Anarr and
deal with her own curse. She wondered for a moment if the mage's absence
was her own back luck, inflicted by the statue.
In a few menes, she was dressed and on her way to the common room,
where Kal waited with a small sack of food and a cask of water that May
had supplied the night before.
They arrived at the docks just before dawn, and Kal took up his
position, leaning against the same piling as he had the previous day.
After nearly a bell of anxious waiting, he spotted Rilk guiding his
donkey down the street towards the docks. The animal was hitched to the
same cart Kal had seen the day before, and in the cart was the same
strangely-shaped sack. The donkey seemed to have a mind of his own and
more than once Kal saw Rilk pulling on the reins to make the animal move
forward. Kal waved to Simona and pointed at Rilk. The bard nodded and
began moving toward the burly man.
Kal watched as Simona crossed the street in front of Rilk, slipped,
and fell down, letting out a scream. Kal ran towards the cart, but not
to help her up; Rilk was already placing her on her feet again. Instead
he went to the cart and cut the rope that held the rucksack in place.
Then he pulled out the stone that he had placed in the axle the day
before, gave the wheel a shove toward the end of the axle, and ducked
back out of sight before Rilk turned around. He watched as Simona limped
away, and Rilk continued toward the waiting barges. Only a few people
seemed to have bothered to see what had happened. He breathed a sigh of
relief and followed the cart from a distance. Simona wasn't far behind.
"Why isn't the wheel falling off?" Kal wondered. A few tense
moments passed before the wheel began to wobble. Then Rilk got in line
for the ferry and had to wait while a passenger ahead of him tried to
haggle over the price of passage. Kal was trying to figure out how to
knock the wheel off without Rilk seeing him when the big man pulled the
donkey's reins once more as the line advanced. It was then that the
wheel came loose and fell onto the cobblestone road. The wagon tipped
sideways and the rucksack slid off. Rilk cursed and stared at his
collapsed cart. Kal approached, picked up the wheel, and rolled it
towards the wagon.
"Let me give you a hand," he said, holding the wheel, waiting for
Rilk to pick up the cart.
"Oh, it's you, Kal," Rilk said with a surprised tone in his voice.
"Thank you."
Kal watched as Rilk placed the rucksack next to his feet, and
lifted the cart. Kal took his time and carefully rolled the wheel into
position. At the same time, he watched as Simona came closer, grabbed
the rucksack with the statue in it, and headed towards the sailboat they
had selected. She staggered under the statue's weight.
"Thief!" Rilk shouted.
"I'll catch her," Kal said, as he dropped the wheel and ran after
Simona. As soon as he reached her, he took the rucksack and ran the rest
of the way. He dropped his heavy load into the boat and jumped in
afterwards, closely followed by Simona. Moments later, the boat was away
from the dock and headed towards the open ocean, leaving a screaming
Rilk and dumbfounded people behind.
"We did it!" Simona sang as they moved further and further away
from Dargon.
"Straight! It was close though. I thought the wheel would never
fall off." Kal said, having finally caught up with his breathing. "That
statue is heavy! Which direction should we go?"
"Sail north. It will take us away from any occupied land. We can
just drop the statue into the ocean once we're far enough away."
"How far is far enough?"
"Two, better three days. Just in case. There are probably quite a
few ships near the shore."
"North it is then," Kal said and turned the tiller. He looked to
the sky. "If the wind holds, we'll be far away from Dargon in no time."
By nightfall, all Simona could see was water in every direction she
looked. She could taste the salt in the air. She was thirsty, but had to
limit her drinking. They had enough food, but the water cask had
developed a leak and fully two-thirds of it had drained out before they
noticed. She had little doubt that it was another effect of the statue's
curse.
"Why don't you lie down and sleep, Simona?" Kal suggested. "There
isn't much you can do right now. The wind is holding. When I get tired,
I'll wake you."
"Thank you." Simona tried to find a comfortable position and closed
her eyes. The steady motion of the boat soon rocked her to sleep. When
she opened her eyes again, dawn was breaking.
Simona sat beside Kal at the tiller. "You didn't wake me. Why?"
"We're still on a northbound course and the wind seems to be
holding. If anything, it's picking up," Kal replied, avoiding an answer.
"But you haven't slept! Kal, you need to sleep sometime. We're
going to be out here for a few days. When is the last time you saw
another boat?"
Kal thought for a moment before replying. "It was a few bells ago,
at least. Since then, I haven't seen a single sail. It might be safe to
say we're away from the trading routes."
Simona shook her head. "'Might be' isn't good enough, and we'll
have to make sure we're a good distance away from the trade routes.
Remember Northern Hope. The statue was over a day's travel from the town
and they were still plagued by the curse. We're going to have to sail
for at least another day before we drop it overboard, and you can't stay
awake that long. Show me how to sail this boat so you can get some
sleep."
Kal showed her some basics of how to steer the boat, and
reluctantly curled up to go to sleep, making her promise to wake him if
she ran into any trouble. Simona listened carefully to his instruction.
She'd had little exposure to sailing in her life, but she knew that it
was not as easy as it seemed, and a mistake on her part could cost them
their lives.
As Kal slept, Simona kept the ship on course. At first, she enjoyed
the sight of the sun rising over the Valenfaer, the ocean breeze, and
the salt spray upon her face. But the salt on her lips only reminded her
of her increasing thirst. She took a sip from her water skin, but only a
small one; their water would have to last for two more days. She closed
her eyes. Megan's image was clear in her mind and she remembered what
she had dreamed three days before: Megan had welcomed her home.
Thoughts of Megan kept her mind occupied for several bells. Near
midday, clouds began to gather, and Simona was grateful for relief from
the sun's rays. Through the afternoon, the wind picked up, while the
clouds began to darken. Soon, large drops of rain began to fall
individually. Simona leaned her head back, hoping for a drop to fall on
her tongue. After a mene, one did, and she savored the cool moisture,
thinking that at least the cursed statue could not deny her the simple
pleasure of catching a raindrop on her tongue. She held out both hands
to catch raindrops and when her hands were wet, she sipped up the water.
Still, it was going to take more than a few scattered raindrops to
replenish their water supply.
As if in response to that thought, the rain began to fall in
earnest. Simona enjoyed the feel of the drops upon her skin and caught a
few more in her mouth before tying off the tiller and going to pull the
top off their water cask so it could fill. As she returned to her place
at the stern, Kal woke up.
"Mona? What?"
"It's raining, Kal! We'll have water again!"
"Raining? But you said you would wake me if anything happened!"
"Anything I couldn't handle. This is just a little shower."
Kal looked up through the rain. "It might be more than that. Look,
I'd better take over for a while. Why don't you get some rest?"
"Straight. But don't let me sleep so long next time." She rose and
took a dipperful of water before finding a spot to sleep, using a
blanket to keep the rain off.
"Simona, wake up!" Kal yelled and with a sigh of relief he saw she
opened her eyes. "This is turning into a serious storm. I need you to
move to the mast and secure yourself there. I don't want you going
overboard."
Simona complied. She grabbed her bag and the rucksack and sat with
her back to the mast, looking at the sky. "Look at this Kal. Have you
seen clouds move this fast before?"
"Over land, no, but I've seen it at sea before."
"Is there a way to get around it?"
"I don't think that'll work. It's probably that cursed statue! It's
drawing the storm towards us, or making it. Either way, if it gets much
worse, we'll capsize!"
With every passing mene, the wind got stronger and the sailboat was
thrown back and forth between the waves. Kal had a difficult time
holding on to the rudder and continuing to steer. More than once he
feared that he and Simona would go overboard before they could complete
their mission. He reefed in the sail before the wind could tear it to
pieces, but he was hesitant to take it down completely and leave them to
deal with the storm with no means of propulsion.
"Hold on tight," Kal screamed as a wave crashed onto the deck and
soaked them both. As the water ran off, he noticed that Simona had one
arm wrapped around the mast; the other held the rucksack. Kal wanted to
aid her, but couldn't let go of the tiller.
"There's an island ahead, Kal," Simona shouted, "We need to get
past it."
"Just hold on tight," Kal replied.
"Straight."
As the storm grew stronger, more and more waves crashed onto the
deck and Kal found it more difficult to control the boat. "Throw the
statue overboard, Simona. Drop it now!" he yelled.
"No! It's too soon," came her reply. "We need to mover further
out!"
"We're about as far away from Dargon as we'll get!" Kal doubted
that she'd heard his words. A huge wave rolled over the rail. He heard
the sound of breaking wood, and the deck lurched under his feet. As the
water ran off and Kal was able to breathe again and open his eyes, he
saw what he had heard just a moment before. The mast was gone, broken
off about a foot above the deck. Simona and the rucksack were nowhere in
sight. Only her bag, secured with her belt to the base of the mast, was
still there.
"Mona!" Kal screamed, "Simona!" His eyes searched the surface of
the water for several menes, but he didn't see her. Another wave crashed
onto the deck and then, for just a moment, Kal saw her in the ocean. Her
eyes were open, staring blankly, and her right arm flopped limply,
seeming to wave. And then she was gone.
"No! Mona! Come back!" Kal's hand reached out, but to no avail.
As if to taunt him, another wave lifted Simona's body briefly for
him to see. She was even further away. Kal realized that she was dead
and he had no chance of reaching her. Sobbing, he held onto the tiller,
waiting for the storm to abate.
Bells later the storm had run its course and clear skies were
visible once again. Kal still hung on to the tiller. As he looked at the
boat with its broken mast and missing oars, he gave up hope of making it
back to shore on his own. He scanned the surface of the water as far as
his eyes would allow, but nowhere was a ship in sight, nor did he see
the island Simona had mentioned before she went overboard.
"Mona!" Kal screamed one last time, hoping for an answer, yet
knowing there wouldn't be one. He found it hard to breathe. Tears welled
up in his eyes again. "I've lost her," he muttered, feeling hopeless.
"I've lost her forever!"
========================================================================
Have You Ever Been to Northern Hope?
Part 3
by Jim Owens and Liam Donahue
<gymfuzz@yahoo.com> and <Liam_the_red@dargonzine.org>
Sy 15-17, 1018
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 18-2
Part 2 of this story was printed in DargonZine 19-2
Sferina traced her fingertip lightly down the taut stomach muscles
of her lover. Her sable hair spilled down, cascading onto his shoulder.
He turned his face toward her, blowing a few errant strands of her hair
away from his face, and grinned a predatory grin.
"Surely you can't be ready for more?"
Sferina shook her head, allowing her hair to caress his chest. "No,
I'm quite satisfied, for the moment at least. You never told me what
happened when my letter arrived. You just decided to have your way with
me, instead."
The man raised an eyebrow, and amusement crept into his smile.
"*My* way? My dear, I have never known you not to get exactly what you
desire."
"True," said Sferina as she stretched, arching her back, her hair
falling down to cover her bare breasts. "I got you, didn't I, Edril?"
"Yes, you did. But will you discard me after you've ruined my
employer?"
She wondered what her chief rival, Tyrus Vage, would think to find
his right-hand man quite literally in bed with the enemy. Sferina and
Vage were both merchants of Dargon. Sferina was a relative newcomer who
specialized in the sale of minor magical trinkets. Vage had become
jealous of her success and tried to cut into her profits by stealing the
mold for one of her best sellers and attempting to produce duplicates
without enchantment, in order to flood the market and ruin her
reputation. Two young men in her employ had recently returned the mold,
along with a letter from Vage to the craftsman who was supposed to
produce the fakes.
Sferina let her gaze travel down her lover's body. Edril was a
small man, a finger shorter than Sferina's own height, but he had a
lithe grace. His slender frame hid muscles with a surprising strength: a
strength that he had demonstrated in their recent bout of lovemaking.
Apart from his ability in bed, he was a skilled swordsman, and possessed
the rare abilities to write and to work with numbers.
"No, Edril, I think I'll keep you close even after your master's
finances are in ruins. So, how did dear Tyrus react when he received my
letter?" Sferina's note to Tyrus explained that she had learned of his
plans to ruin her, and demanded reparations or she would expose his
duplicity to the council.
Edril sat up and brushed back his dark locks with one hand. "Not
well at all. In fact, he flew into a horrible rage. Most unbecoming for
a man of his stature." Edril grinned again. "Imagine his fury if he ever
learns the truth of it."
Sferina raised a finger in caution. "That he must never do, my
darling man, not even in ruin." The "truth" was that the theft of the
mold and the ultimate incrimination of Vage had been planned by Sferina
and Edril in this very bed. She knew that Vage might accept his current
financial problems, but if he learned that he had been tricked and
betrayed, he would find a way to exact vengeance.
"That ruin may be closer than you think, love."
Sferina stared at Edril, whose grin was becoming ever wider. She
punched him in the shoulder, playfully. "There's something you're not
telling me. Out with it." She hit him again.
"Do you know who Parris Dargon is?" When she shook her head, he
continued. "He's a cousin of Duke Clifton; he thinks he has a strong
claim on the duchy. He's also an old friend of Vage's. He showed up a
few months ago and talked Vage into funding some ridiculous plan to
bring a cursed object into Dargon. He figured that Clifton would lose
the support of the nobles when he couldn't stop the disasters the curse
brought. Then Parris could come lift the curse and everyone would rally
around
him and name him the duke."
"Sounds like a pretty thin plan."
Edril shrugged. "Well, Parris is an idiot. Still, Vage agreed to
fund it. Tied up all of his funds, including some he didn't have. Parris
promised to let him know when the object was coming so that Vage could
have a fleet of ships waiting to help save the city once the curse was
lifted. Of course, Vage also made Parris sign letters promising to turn
his lands over should he fail to repay the debt."
"He couldn't lose."
"So he thought. That is, until the object, a statue as it turned
out, arrived in Dargon a few days ago, but not under Parris' control."
"Wait!" Sferina put a hand on Edril's arm. "You don't mean ...?"
Edril nodded. "That's exactly what I mean. The causeway, the fires,
everything." Several days previously, a wave of bad luck had struck
Dargon: a section of the causeway that spanned the Coldwell River had
collapsed, fires had sprung up all over the city, roofs had fallen in,
and all manner of minor misfortunes had plagued the populace. Sales of
Sferina's luck charm, a silver icon of the moon Nochturon one quarter
full, had taken off.
Sferina scowled. "Edril, we have to do something about the curse.
My fortunes are tied to this city!"
Edril leaned back in bed, interlacing his fingers behind his head,
grinning again. She wanted to hit him. "Sferina, when was the last fire
reported?"
"Yesterday. A scribe's shop on Merchant --"
"Heard of any roofs collapsing today? Anyone falling off his
horse?" When Sferina's brows knitted together and she shook her head,
Edril continued. "I watched the barge traffic on the river for a full
bell this afternoon. None of them collided. Yesterday morning in a
ha'bell, I saw six collisions and watched one barge sink to the bottom."
"The cursed statue is gone, then."
"So it would seem, and Parris Dargon with it. Vage sent me to find
him yesterday afternoon. There was no one in the house he'd rented. I
checked around the city and there was no sign of him. Someone did tell
me that his man Rilk had been down at the docks looking for a sailboat.
It seems that Parris has fled the city."
"Leaving Vage to collect his lands." Sferina punched a pillow.
"He'll be wealthier now than before! He'll probably have enough to get
the other council members to turn a blind eye when I go before them. Why
didn't you tell me this before I sent that letter?"
Edril grinned a little wider. "You have nothing to worry about.
Vage will never collect on that debt. Yesterday morning the wind plucked
Parris' promissory note off Vage's desk and dropped it right into the
ocean. His bad luck, I suppose ..."
Sferina leaned over him, pinning his arms back. "Oh, Edril, you
shouldn't tease me like that. Now I'm going to have to tease *you*."
Parris Dargon sat at the rail of his stolen sloop and stared out at
the Valenfaer Ocean. The water was choppy, with a strong wind blowing
white spray from the tips of the waves. The mage Anarr, Parris' ally for
the moment, held the tiller. Parris had hired Anarr two months earlier
to retrieve the item that had been the source of the curse on a town
called Northern Hope, and to find a means to control the curse. These
things Anarr had done, but the mage had left the item, a statue of the
Beinisonian god Gow, in the care of a hired man during the journey to
Dargon. The wards that held the curse in check had been removed. The
barge carrying the statue had crashed into the causeway that spanned the
Coldwell River, unleashing the curse on Dargon too soon and leaving
Parris no means to control it. Then Anarr's hireling had shown up on
Parris' doorstep with the statue. Parris had hoped to be quit of the
mage then, but circumstance had dictated otherwise.
Anarr's dark gaze was locked on the western horizon, where clouds
had begun to gather. Parris' bodyguard Rilk was below, preparing a meal
in the boat's tiny galley. Occasional snatches of some obscene sea-ditty
drifted up in Rilk's deep baritone. The sailor's off-key singing did
little to improve Parris' mood.
Parris turned back to Anarr, hoping to strike up a conversation,
but when he saw the mage's single-minded stare the words died on his
lips. Rilk's singing became louder as he climbed up on deck bearing a
tray piled with steaming food. Parris moved to the center of the boat
where Rilk set the tray on top of a barrel and picked up a plate.
The burly sailor walked toward the stern, his massive frame loose
and graceful. Parris envied the man's rolling gait and wondered if he
would ever get used to walking on the tossing deck of this boat.
"I'll take the tiller if ye like, milord," Rilk said to Anarr.
The mage scowled as if he were going to refuse, but appeared to
think better of it. "Very well," he said as he turned the tiller over to
Rilk, "but hold this heading."
"Straight, sir." Rilk shrugged amiably as he settled in. Parris had
taken a turn at the helm on the previous day, but hadn't been able to
figure out how to keep the boat on course and the sails full. Anarr had
berated him as Rilk, fighting not to laugh, had tried to explain how to
maintain a heading and how to prevent the sails from luffing. Parris
still wasn't quite sure what luffing was, but he didn't want anything to
do with it.
"What's for lunch?" asked Anarr as he walked forward. His sea legs
weren't quite the equal of Rilk's, but they were close.
"Eggs, milord!" Rilk called from behind him.
"Eggs! We had eggs for breakfast!" Anarr scowled. Parris wondered
for a moment why this irritated the mage as much as it did, then
remembered how Anarr had appeared on Parris' doorstep in Dargon two days
before, slick with raw eggs. Anarr had provided no explanation for his
condition, and the expression on the mage's face had been more than
enough to dissuade Parris from asking.
"Sorry, milord," Rilk explained. "Jalen kept a full larder, but not
much variety. If we're out here more'n a few days, it'll be nothing but
hardtack and salt beef, an' we'll all be wishin' for eggs. This 'ere
boat isn't stocked, or built, for a long voyage."
The mage turned back and glared at Rilk. "Then why did you rent
it?"
Parris put his hand on Anarr's arm, hoping to cut the conversation
short. He hadn't had enough money left to rent any boat. Jalen, he of
the well-stocked but unimaginative pantry, was dead by Rilk's hand.
Parris and Rilk had been trying to conceal that fact from Anarr, not
knowing how the mage would react. "Anarr, if you will recall, we were in
a bit of a hurry yesterday. If your friend hadn't stolen the statue, we
wouldn't even be on this boat."
Anarr's head whipped around, and he stared hard at Parris. "And if
this idiot hadn't lost control of the statue, Simona could never have
taken it. Now I will thank you to take your hand off me, Parris, and not
to touch me again."
"Of course, Anarr, my apologies." Parris would normally have
bridled at such treatment; mage or not, this man was not nobility. But
Anarr's irritation allowed him to avoid an unpleasant line of
questioning: where Rilk had been transporting the statue to, and why the
wards that held the curse in check had not been in place. Anarr did not
know of Parris' plans to unseat his cousin Clifton. Rilk had been taking
the statue to Dargon Keep, to place the source of the curse as close as
possible to the duke, when it had been stolen by the bard Simona and a
man named Kal. Both had been traveling with Anarr from Northern Hope.
Anarr had stated that he had not been involved in the theft and that he
suspected Simona had stolen the statue to protect Dargon from the curse.
Parris did not know whether to believe Anarr or not, but he needed the
mage to find Simona.
Anarr scooped up a plateful of eggs and moved to the starboard
side, where he leaned against the gunwale, and began eating voraciously.
"Are we getting any closer?" Parris asked, for the fifth time that
day.
Anarr glared at Parris between forkfuls of egg, but made no reply.
His dark eyes had lost some of their luster and his youthful face was
pale and drawn. Parris wondered why the mage looked so suddenly and
completely exhausted. Could the strain of magically seeking Simona be
wearing him down? Perhaps it was concern for her that caused Anarr's
shoulders to slump so. Parris doubted the latter; he could not imagine
the proud mage caring that much for anyone, except possibly himself.
Anarr was, in fact, exhausted. To expedite their voyage he had been
exerting himself magically, and the effort was beginning to wear on him.
Hoping to quickly catch up to Simona's boat, he had initially resorted
to brute force, pressing on their boat with his magic. That method
quickly grew to be more than he could maintain, however. He had instead
crafted spells to enhance his ability to direct the ship, so as to catch
the best winds and take the best tack. That method lent them less speed,
but was less tiring. Even so, Anarr was spent. The eggs were distasteful
-- Rilk's cooking was plebian at best and Anarr still smarted from his
nasty fall into a trader's stall full of fresh eggs -- but they were hot
and they filled the void in his belly.
Anarr glanced at Rilk as he chewed. The man was a decent sailor,
far better than the completely incompetent Parris. Anarr planned to take
back the helm as soon as he finished eating. The spell he had woven
worked only for him, and he was too tired to rework it. He could already
discern their reduction in speed. Anarr looked ahead. In the distance,
the grey sky had darkened even further. Anarr didn't need a spell to
tell him that was where the statue was.
In fact, a spell probably wouldn't have worked to give that
location away. Anarr had already learned the futility of directing
magic, or almost any other effort, towards that cursed object. Instead,
Anarr had directed his attention toward Simona, the bard they were
pursuing. He had focused on each detail that he could recall about her:
every nuance of her speech and personality, every aspect of her face,
including her odd affectation of painting her lips blue to match her
eyes. With Simona firmly framed within his mind, he had forged a magical
link between them that allowed him to sense her location.
He frowned and paused in his eating as he recalled Simona's part in
this affair. She had met him in Northern Hope, and had begged his
assistance in removing a family curse. What he hadn't realized at the
time was that he himself was the one who had planted that curse in the
first place.
Simona's ancestor, Zenia, had been beautiful, and Anarr had been
smitten. Anarr's was not the only head she had turned. When she'd
spurned him for another man, he had flown into a blind rage. In his
anger and frustration, he had declared death for her husband and all her
daughters' men at the time of their first child's birth. He had
forgotten about Zenia in time and had moved on. She probably never knew
about the curse until the deaths started coming, by which time he had
become a mere memory.
He also knew now why his efforts to lift the curse on Simona had
failed. There could only be one reason: she must be pregnant. The father
was likely that oaf who had accompanied her on their journey. She could
do much better than such a fool. No doubt the two of them were in the
approaching storm already, bailing for their lives. Anarr calmed his
mind and focused again with that special part of his awareness that he
had created. The curse would still foil efforts to locate the statue,
but it shouldn't foil his attempt to locate Simona. Sure enough, he knew
that she lay directly ahead of them.
His lunch finished, Anarr got up and set the plate on the tray Rilk
had brought. As he did, he passed his worthless employer, Parris Dargon.
He glared at the man as they passed, satisfied that the nobleman's gaze
faltered. Anarr also noted frustration in Parris' manner. It would not
do to push this man too hard, for even a rat would bite when cornered.
Anarr again shook his head. He had lusted for the noble's gold, and had
taken what had seemed an easy job. He had seen that the man was lying to
him in the tavern when they'd first met, but that hadn't bothered Anarr.
Now he wished he had skipped this job for another, even one paying less.
Not that payment was likely at this point. He began to suspect that
perhaps Parris had been lying about that, too.
"I'll take over now, Rilk," Anarr said, reaching for the tiller.
Rilk nodded and handed it over. Anarr immediately corrected their
heading, and noted with satisfaction that their speed increased a bit.
The dark blot on the horizon was now slightly to starboard of the ship's
prow, but Anarr knew that their extra speed would compensate for the
slight difference in bearing.
Parris woke with a start as he was dumped to the deck in the
sailboat's bunkroom. He looked around in irritation, wondering who had
woken him so rudely, but there was no one present. Then he noted the
pitching of the deck and realized that it was the waves that had thrown
him from his bed. Parris stood, rubbing his head, glad that he had
chosen a lower bunk. He had left the sailing to Anarr and retired to one
of the bunks late the previous night. He peered out from behind the
shabby curtain that separated the tiny bunkroom from the main cabin.
From the feeble sunlight spilling in through the open hatch, he could
tell that he had slept through the night.
Pushing the curtain aside, Parris left the bunkroom, struggling to
keep his feet under him on the pitching deck. He dipped a drink of water
out of a half-full bucket, then set the dipper down, reached in for a
double handful of water, and splashed his face to wake himself up. He
briefly considered seeing what he could find for breakfast, but decided
that it would not sit well in his stomach until the boat stopped
rolling. Instead, he climbed the wooden steps that led topside,
intending to ask Anarr and Rilk when they expected the ocean to calm
down.
Salt spray stung Parris' eyes as he emerged through the hatch. In
the stern, Anarr clung doggedly to the tiller. The mage's clothes were
drenched and salt-caked. His face was a study in exhaustion, and his
gaze was locked on the horizon. Parris, suspecting that Anarr would be
in an even fouler mood than the previous evening, made his way forward
in search of Rilk, clinging to the rail with every step.
He found the burly sailor near the front of the boat, inspecting
some rigging. Beyond the bow, both sea and sky were gray, and Parris
could barely discern the difference in shading that marked the horizon.
"It's going to rain, isn't it?" Parris asked as he stepped up
beside Rilk.
Rilk turned to look at him, and Parris thought his underling was
trying to suppress a grin. "'Tis raining now, milord," he explained.
"Dead ahead. See how the grayness of the clouds extends all the way down
to the ocean?" He pointed, and Parris looked to what he had thought was
the horizon. "That's the rain. There's a great beast of a storm ahead of
us."
"Can this ship handle it?"
Rilk shrugged. "Cahleyna only knows, milord. I've survived bigger
storms, but on larger craft. Boat this small, I'd think not. With a mage
at the helm, though, who can say?"
Parris, appalled by Rilk's lack of regard for his own life, opened
his mouth to reply, but snapped it shut again. Anarr was controlling the
sailboat, not Rilk, so it was Anarr he needed to talk to. The mage might
be arrogant, but he was also intelligent. Surely, he would turn the boat
aside once he learned that there was a storm ahead that might sink them.
Parris lurched and staggered his way to the stern, feeling that the
pitching of the deck had gotten worse while he was talking to the
sailor. The mage stared at him expectantly, and Parris fought to return
his gaze without looking away.
"Rilk says we're heading into a storm. We need to turn the ship."
Anarr's eyes narrowed, but his lips curled in amusement. "Of course
we're heading into a storm, Parris. It's too late to turn, not that I
had any intention of turning."
Parris was taken aback by the mage's statement. Did Anarr plan some
treachery? Would he lead them to their deaths in this storm and escape
himself through magic? Then a thought struck him. "Do we have to go
through the storm? Is that where she's taken the statue?"
"That storm *is* the statue," Anarr answered back. "The curse is
throwing up these winds to thwart us."
Just then, a loud crash sounded from below. Anarr's gaze snapped to
Rilk, who had just stepped up beside them. Parris wondered at the guilty
look that formed on the heavy man's face.
"Didn't you rig for sea?" the mage demanded. Parris glanced around,
wondering if some of the sails had come loose.
"I did, some, but it's not my boat." Rilk insisted, but his voice
held a defeated tone. "I wasn't expecting no harsh weather, so I din't
check the hold. I knew your lordships were in a hurry, and --"
"No excuses," snapped the mage. "Get below and get things properly
stowed. Then get back up here as quick as you can. We'll need to reef in
these sails some more before the wind gets any worse."
Parris was wondering when Anarr had started giving the orders, when
Rilk's heavy hand clapped onto his shoulder.
"Come on, milord, I'll need a hand getting the gear stowed below.
Some of that stuff's too bulky for one man to handle."
Parris' jaw hung open. Rilk had not only touched him, he had
actually asked him, the rightful duke of Dargon, to engage in manual
labor! At a loss for words to express his outrage, he sputtered, "What
does it matter if something is loose below? We're up here on deck!"
Rilk, his hand still on Parris' shoulder, spoke as if addressing a
child. "I'd be willing to bet your lordship is going to want to go below
once the rain hits. But we ain't doin' this to keep you dry. If a wave
takes us on the beam, the boat's going to roll." Rilk held up his other
hand and tilted it, pantomiming a rolling boat. "If something heavy down
there shifts when that happens, she'll keep rolling." He tipped his hand
completely over. "Then we'll be under the deck instead of on it. Now
come along, milord, if you want to live through this storm."
Parris followed Rilk below, his face flushed with anger at the
sailor's manner. Once he was duke, he would have the man flogged for
this outrage. The boat's cabin was a shambles. Parris reluctantly helped
Rilk upright and secure a rack that held tools and a few weapons, no
doubt the source of the crash. The burly sailor then lashed down a water
barrel that had overturned. Fortunately, it had been nearly empty or the
floor of the cabin would have been flooded. Then a loud thump made the
deck under their feet shake.
"Ol's piss!" Rilk shouted. "Did we hit --?" He stopped short at the
sound of something rolling beneath their feet. The burly sailor pushed
past Parris, pulled open a hatch in the floor, and stuck his head in.
"Nehru's blood!" he swore again. "How on 'diar did that Jalen stay alive
as long as he did?" He looked back over his shoulder at Parris, said,
"Going to need you down 'ere, milord," and disappeared through the open
hatch.
Parris, too stunned by the mistreatment from his underling not to
comply, looked down into the tiny hold of the sailboat. Rilk was
crouched, ankle deep in water, trying to lash some barrels against one
side of the sailboat's sloping hull, while bracing himself against the
other. Parris squeezed himself through the narrow hatch, wondering how
Rilk had ever gotten his ponderous bulk past.
Rilk pointed. "Here, tie that off," he said, then appeared to think
better of it. "Nah, lean here, straight? Keep 'em from shifting while I
lash 'em down."
Parris put his shoulder against the barrel, straining to hold it in
place as Rilk shifted his weight to get at the rope. He watched as Rilk
deftly tied a complex knot. As he used all his strength, Parris wondered
if this was what Clifton had felt like when he lost his arm: heroically
fighting beside his men to protect the city. His anger at the man's
rough treatment momentarily forgotten, Parris looked at Rilk
expectantly, wondering what he could do next to help the burly sailor
save the boat.
"You can ease off, milord. It'll hold. Give me a hand with these
loose sails and we're done down here." Rilk made his way forward to
where some bundles of sailcloth lay in disarray.
Parris followed, wondering at the amount of gear stowed in the tiny
hold. "Why are there so many sails down here, Rilk? It looks like enough
for three ships this size."
Rilk glanced back at Parris as he began to work on stowing the
sails. "Probably is. Have to put as much weight as you can as low as you
can to keep 'er from rolling too much."
Parris nodded. He bent to pull a lumpy roll of sailcloth to one
side, catching a whiff of something foul as he did so. When he pulled on
a corner of the sailcloth, it unrolled partially. Parris yelped and
jumped back in horror as the face of a dead man appeared, eyes gazing
blankly at him.
Rilk turned at the sound, took in what had happened, and smiled in
amusement. "That would be Jalen, milord." He seemed almost pleased with
himself.
The camaraderie that Parris had begun to feel for Rilk as they
worked side-by-side instantly evaporated. "You put him down here? I
thought you tossed him over the side!"
"What, at mid-day tied up at the pier? Even if the town guard din't
see me, a dozen sailors would have. I'll not hang for you, milord, no
matter how much gold you pay me."
Parris held up his hand to calm Rilk, who, in fact, might one day
need to hang for what he knew. There was no point in the big sailor
pursuing that line of thought. "Straight. You did the best you could, I
suppose. Anarr's not likely to come down here. Still, he might begin to
smell Jalen in another few days. Do you think we could get him into one
of these barrels and seal it up?"
Rilk pursed his lips in thought, and then shook his head. "Not
without draggin' 'em both up to the cabin, an' Anarr might stick his
head down an' see what we was about." He appeared to have a thought.
"Anarr don't strike me that he'd care one way or another about Jalen
bein' dead, though."
Parris nodded. "You're probably right, but I'd rather not take that
risk. More importantly, Anarr can't know we're capable of killing. We
might have to kill that bard and her friend for what they know. It would
be one thing to have Anarr aware of the curse. Mages are notoriously
tight-lipped. But a bard ..." Parris should his head. "I don't know how
Anarr would react to that. He seems to care about this Simona, so we may
have to kill *him*. We'll just have to keep Jalen down here until we get
a chance to toss him over the side. Anarr has to sleep sometime."
Anarr watched as Rilk and Parris emerged on deck and approached
him. The wind had continued to increase. The waves had begun to
whitecap, and large drops were splattering on the deck. The sails needed
to be reefed in immediately. "What took so long?" he demanded.
Rilk shrugged. "That Jalen, may Rise'er himself be dining on his
eyes, didn't have a single thing tied down."
Anarr hid his grim amusement as Parris snapped his head toward
Rilk, and then turned to Anarr to look for some reaction. The nobleman
then quickly looked away to hide his own. That oath was rarely used
against someone who was still alive, and then never in the present
tense. Despite the sailor's butchery of language, Anarr doubted that
Rilk's error had been grammatical. The boat's former owner was dead,
then, and these two sought to hide it.
Pretending not to have understood Rilk's comment, Anarr snapped,
"See to the sails before one tears loose."
Rilk turned to work. Parris opened his mouth as if to speak,
appeared to think better of it, and walked off toward the bow,
supporting himself on the boat's rail. Anarr watched the nobleman's
retreating back. He didn't care that the boat's former owner -- Jaden,
or whoever -- had been killed. He wanted to catch Simona, get the statue
back, extinguish her curse, and then have nothing further to do with any
of these people and their petty lives. However, he was concerned that
Parris thought to hide the deed. He was doing so for a reason, and if he
knew Anarr was aware of his duplicity, he might become dangerous.
Anarr focused once again on the horizon. One area seemed blacker
than the rest. From the tops of the waves, Anarr could see it come and
go, and he realized he was looking at two rocks emerging from the water
like the fingers of a giant's hand, grasping for the surface. He
remembered seeing a chart once that indicated shoals two days to the
west of Dargon; this must be the top of one. His first impulse was to
steer clear of it, but the mystical link he had created told him that
Simona had not, and so he could not, if he was to follow her. He held
his course, watching as the first of the large waves drew closer. Then,
like a heavily laden ox cart cresting a hill, the ship slowly angled
downward and slid into the trough.
Anarr shivered in the wind. His expensive cloak was wrapped about
him, but the cloak was rent, and the wind was cold, and the energy he
was expending left him drained. Blisters had begun to form on his hands
from gripping the wet wood of the tiller so tightly. He watched as Rilk
moved about the deck, tightening lines and adjusting the rigging.
Why did a magus such as himself have to waste so much time on these
useless errands? His place was in the pursuit of knowledge. He was
growing in power once more, and soon he would again be master of his own
fate, as well as master of the fates of others. He chafed at his
dependency on people like Parris for employment, and on people like
Simona for validation. A shudder of cold racked his frame. What great
improvements could he make in the world if he no longer needed to
involve himself in these insignificant endeavors?
His thoughts focused on Simona. How much more useful could she be
if she were not fixated on that man that accompanied her, Kal? She had
talent and ambition; she could have far-reaching effects as a teacher or
bard. Instead, she was spending time and effort trying to lift a curse
that only affected a small and insignificant part of her life: the
bearing of children. Anarr chided himself for this thought. He was
attributing his own sensibilities to Simona, and that was a mistake. It
would not do to neglect one of the most basic tenets of his long life,
that of understanding the motivations of others. Ignoring that fact
would blind him to how they thought and felt about other matters, with
potentially disastrous results.
Anarr considered Simona's curse, and frowned. He had cast it in a
moment of frustration and rage, and then had forgotten it for decades.
How often had he derided that sort of impulsiveness in others? It was
humbling to be reminded of those tendencies in himself, and Anarr did
not like to be humbled. He concentrated on steering the ship.
Water was rolling over the deck now as waves broke over the bow.
The waves were not sweeping across the deck, but the spray had drenched
the deck and everything on it. Anarr was soaked, and shivering. The
blisters on his hands had torn open; saltwater stung them painfully. He
considered whether this problem had gone beyond him, but decided to
press on. He knew they were getting very close to Simona.
Anarr stared into the distance. The island was still just a smudge
on the horizon, but there were other dots now visible, closer than the
island. Anarr could see them when the boat crested the waves. Somehow,
they didn't look like rocks. He reached out along the magical connection
for Simona, and knew she was close ahead. He couldn't swerve. Wave after
wave lifted the boat and dropped it. The creaking of the hull could be
heard over the whistle of the wind in the rigging. Anarr held firm. As
the boat was lifted again, he caught another glimpse of a dark shape,
closer now. It was a ship, much larger than Simona's sailboat, but it
was foundering. Down again. Anarr could see that the waves were getting
larger. Another crest, and Anarr could make out more ships. How many
were there? How did they come to be out here?
Down fell the sloop again, and right at the bottom of the trough
came the sound every sailor dreads without even knowing it: a thud.
Something had struck the hull. Anarr's heart jumped, but he immediately
calmed himself. The sound was not loud enough, nor the jolt strong
enough, for it to have been a rock. Anarr looked back. In the sailboat's
wake something rolled. It was a body. So fast was the progress of their
sailing that the corpse fell swiftly behind. Anarr watched it disappear
from sight, and then looked up again as the boat lifted. In the
distance, Anarr could see a half-dozen ships, all foundering. Behind
them, still small, the island brooded. Down again, and another body
graced the wall of water as it slid by.
Someone had parked a small fleet out here, far away from Dargon's
curse, trying to protect their assets, Anarr reasoned. Fate and the
curse had caught them unawares, as Simona sailed right past them,
carrying her deadly cargo. The storm arose before they could weigh
anchor, and the ships were lost. How many more lives did this add to the
count of Parris' failed venture? Anarr's jaw gaped slowly open as the
enormity of the disaster sank into his mind. The sloop lifted, and
bodies dotted the watery landscape. Why had they anchored so far out?
Dargon was two days away. And why the middle of the sea? Why not sail
down the coast?
Parris retreated from the bow as the seas became rougher, then
stared in amazement as they sailed past the wrecked ships. Even he could
tell that they were merchant vessels. He spied a green and black pennant
flapping from the end of a shattered mast. It confirmed his fear; these
were Tyrus Vage's ships. The merchant would be ruined and would no doubt
do anything to destroy Parris as well. A wave crashed over the rail and
drove him to his knees, reminding him that he had more urgent concerns
at the moment.
Rilk appeared beside him and helped him to his feet. The big man
bent and shouted to Parris, struggling to be heard over the rising wind.
"I don't think we can take more waves like that! We're going to have to
lighten the load!"
"I thought we needed that weight to keep us stable!" Parris shouted
back.
"Less stable, but we'll ride higher in the water! It's the only
way!"
Parris followed Rilk into the cabin, relieved to be out of the
driving wind and rain. He wondered if he and Rilk could just ride out
the storm here and let Anarr be washed overboard. Then he wondered if he
could just stay at sea until Tyrus Vage's creditors caught up with the
merchant.
"We'll pitch most of it over," said Rilk, "But leave some weight
down in the hold. Food an' water, mostly."
The hold! Parris grasped Rilk by the forearm. "Now is our chance to
pitch Jalen overboard, with the rest of the extra weight!"
Rilk nodded. "Straight!"
The two men climbed down below.
The hatch opened suddenly, startling Anarr; Parris and Rilk emerged
carrying a large bundle of sailcloth. Normally Anarr's senses were
acute, and he would not have been surprised, but now he was both
weakened and preoccupied.
"What are you doing?" he yelled. "Close that hatch!"
"We are lightening the load!" Parris yelled back. He and Rilk
dragged the bundle to the side of the ship.
"Close the hatch first! A wave could swamp us!" Anarr looked ahead.
The ship was cresting the wave, and in moments water would again flood
the deck. Abandoning the helm, Anarr dashed for the hatch. He slammed it
shut and dogged it, securing it just as the ship reached the bottom of a
trough. He headed back toward the tiller, but the water caught him,
along with Rilk, Parris, and their burden. It carried them all back
toward the stern and deposited them in a heap against the rear rail.
Anarr found himself staring into the face of a dead man.
Shocked and disgusted, he scrambled to his feet. His initial
thought was that one of the drowned sailors from the nearby wrecks had
washed aboard, but then he realized that the face was protruding from
the sailcloth that Parris and Rilk had dropped. It had to be the boat's
former owner, and there was no way to hide his knowledge of it. His only
option was to feign surprise.
"What is this!?"
"You wanted a ship!" Parris snarled, startling Anarr a bit with his
vehemence.
"So the rat is cornered now," Anarr thought as he backed away from
the two as they arose from their gory cargo. "Only they think I'm the
rat."
"What was the point of this, Dargon?" Anarr shouted back, feeling
oddly confident again. He had been in many dangerous corners, and had
trained his mind for such occasions. He was again in control. His glance
took in all his surroundings. He knew in a moment that Rilk was three
paces away, Parris two and a half. Rilk outweighed him, but Parris did
not. Rilk always carried a knife on his hip; Parris was unarmed. The
tiller was loose, but the boat was holding course for now. In three
heartbeats, a wave would break over the bow with a jolt, flooding the
deck. Parris would fall; Rilk would not. Five paces behind Anarr was the
main mast, attached to which was a peg mallet. He had a plan. He was
ready.
In a moment, fate again snatched his world away. A wave of heat
swept over him, and his mind was stabbed by a bubbling scream. His
vision filled with blinding white, and his entire body went suddenly
numb. He cried out and clapped his hands to his ears, staggering back.
He was blinded before his enemies, and he tried to flee. He took a step
away, and the deck was ripped out from under him. He hit the deck hard,
losing his breath. In an instant, he knew what it was. It was Simona.
She was here.
Anarr threw himself upright in time to see Rilk coming at him. As
he had expected, there was a straight steel blade in his hand, and
behind him, Parris was just getting up. Anarr spun around, leaping over
the leading edge of the oncoming wave. He landed knee deep but moving,
while behind him Rilk was staggered by the rush of water. One more long
stride and Anarr's hand closed on the top of the peg mallet. He popped
it up and out of its holder as he spun back to face the two men. Rilk
was behind him, winding up for a slash. Anarr's lips moved silently as
he threw the mallet at Rilk's midsection. Rilk's free hand came down to
block it, but he had not counted on the simple spell Anarr had added to
the throw. The mallet bowled him over, and his knife skidded across the
deck.
Parris was up, having somehow managed to catch Rilk's weapon, but
doubt was on his face. His hired help lay writhing on the wet deck, and
he now faced an angry mage alone. Anarr could see the fear and
calculation on the man's face, and he played on it, taking a slow,
deliberate, threatening move toward him. He slowly raised his arms,
hands clawed. Again, the scream hit him, wiping away the world. Anarr
knew nothing else for a long moment, until he felt his own knees hit the
wooden deck. Suddenly he was seized from behind, with someone pinning
his arms back behind his head.
"Now, milord! Do it!" Rilk's voice was loud in Anarr's ears. He was
still blind and stunned, but his training was lifelong. Without even
thinking he rolled to his right, kicking sideways and out, hard. His
foot struck something yielding, and there was a yelp. In a moment, Anarr
was back in control. He bent his elbows, seized Rilk by the bare back of
the neck, and drank.
Anarr had learned early the art of pushing or drawing heat through
his hands. He had made it one of his trademarks, using it to chill his
ale or start fires with a finger. Now he focused all his attention on
the skin under his hands. It wasn't just heat he was drawing in,
however. In his studies, Anarr had realized that life itself was energy.
He had used this knowledge for decades to elongate his own lifespan. He
now used it to shorten Rilk's. He sucked the life from his assailant
like a desert emir would suck beer through a reed. In an instant Anarr
was warm again. He could see, and his mind was clear. Rilk released his
weakening hold on Anarr and tried to break his opponent's grip on the
nape of his neck, but it was far too late for that. He flailed wildly,
thrashing and squealing. Anarr calmly stood and spun his assailant
around from behind and held him up at arm's length.
Parris watched from the deck, eyes wide, as Rilk dangled a
handsbreadth above the deck. And then it was two handsbreadths, and
three, for as Anarr ripped the life energy from Rilk his flesh eroded to
dust. Rilk's dissolution started at his feet and worked upwards, leaving
a trail of ash to waft away in the wind.
The ship crested a wave and slammed into the water again. Parris
was flung forward, but Anarr was as steady as if he were part of the
ship. Rilk was only a head and torso now, and mindless terror contorted
his face as his flesh inexorably disappeared. Anarr's skin steamed and
his veins bulged. Dire light shone from his eyes, and his teeth were set
in an obscene rictus of ecstasy. What remained of Rilk began to shudder
in deep shock. The skin on his face puckered and tightened, and then the
last of him collapsed into a grey miasma that gusted away and was gone.
Parris found himself in the cabin, without remembering entering. In
the dark, he wept and gibbered. He was trapped in a stolen ship in the
middle of a deadly storm with a monster that had just made his bodyguard
dissolve. How had this happened to him? This was all supposed to be so
good. Anarr would bring the curse back, safely contained; Parris would
set it on Clifton Dargon, bring him down in a whirl of public fury, save
the day by bottling the curse, and claim his rightful place as duke.
Where had he gone wrong?
It was that fool Rilk. He should have known better than try to hold
the mage instead of striking him. Parris clenched his jaw in rage and
indignation. Everyone knows you can't give someone that powerful a
chance. Parris clutched the doorjamb for stability as the ship pitched
and rolled. What was he going to do? In moment, Anarr would come suck
out his life. He had to hide! But where? Parris scrambled to the
bunkroom. Under the bunks? Too open. In the hold? Too obvious. There was
no place to hide.
Maybe he could make a deal with Anarr. After all, it had been Rilk
who had come after Anarr with his knife, and Rilk who had grabbed the
mage. Parris had picked up Rilk's dagger, but he hadn't attacked.
Perhaps Anarr would accept more gold. Parris nodded to himself. The mage
had already shown his desire for money; surely he would be willing to
deal.
Parris glanced down at the dagger in his hand, wondering if he
should take it. It was better to bargain from a position of strength,
but the blade seemed so tiny compared to the awesome power Anarr had
displayed on the deck above. He needed something that could keep the
mage at arm's length. Then he remembered the weapons that had been in
the rack he and Rilk had secured earlier. Was there something there that
could help? Sure enough, there was a short spear, held to the rack by
two leather thongs. Parris pulled it loose, and hefted it. Feeling more
confident with the weight of the spear in his hands, he opened the hatch
and went up.
The whole world was a rainbow to Anarr now. The sky was no longer
dark gray, but rather a bright shimmering field of rippling light. He
could hear the screegulls crying over Dargon Keep, and could smell the
odor of a great sea hag coming up from the depths to eat the flesh of
the drowned sailors. Time itself blurred as his senses reached a moment
into both the past and present. "Now I am ready for you, Simona," his
multifarious mind thought to itself. "Now I have become the curse!"
Anarr faced the storm. Time to end this. He would draw in Simona's
boat, ward the statue, and then push them all back to Dargon, where he
would hand over Parris, and receive the gratitude of the duke and the
adulation of the populace, and then return to his studies. He reached
out with his enhanced senses and sought Simona. Sure enough, as he had
discovered less than a mene earlier, she had been here, right here. But
there was nothing here. He looked and he listened and he smelled and he
felt and he tasted and he sensed, but the surface of the sea was still
empty. Then, the instant he looked deeper, he saw her face, her eyes
staring at him sightlessly and her lips now permanently blue in death.
His world again crashed, and crashed in every spectrum of heaven.
Anarr howled his despair and anger, reached out with his new force,
and dragged Simona upward. He leaned over the railing of the ship just
as her lifeless body broke the surface. In a moment, his own arrogance
choked him like a drunk dying in his own vomit. In his memory all his
efforts blackened, all his intentions fouled and corroded. He saw the
long years of his life as worthless, less than worthless, the pathetic
aim of a selfish fool to gratify himself. In the body of the bard, he
saw every life that had faded under his attentions. He teetered on the
edge of despair, and then rage, frustration, and denial roared back up
his gorge.
"No!" Anarr bellowed. "No! You may *not*! You! May! Not! Die!!"
Anarr could feel the power of the curse raging about him, coiling
to strike. He could taste the lightning gathering in the clouds above,
hear the waves as they crowded around. The vast power of creation surged
all about him, and he wanted that power, all that power. He stretched
his arms out, drawing in all the energy that he could take from the
storm. Once sated, he threw all his intent at the body before him. It
shook, and twitched, and convulsed. Water and froth blatted out of the
bloated lips, and loud in Anarr's ears a mutilated heartbeat thudded
erratically. His will reached out and squeezed blood through flaccid
veins. A wave of heat touched him. The curse was fighting him. He pushed
back.
Parris crouched eight paces from the mage. The spear in his hands
dripped spray and glinted in the lightning flashes. Anarr was fixated on
something over the side. Parris took a silent step closer. There was no
need to bargain after all. One more step and he would charge, ramming
the weapon right through the farking whoreson. Six paces. Just a bit
closer. One more step. Five paces. One more step.
The wooden shaft of Parris' weapon began to smoke, and a glaze of
ice simultaneously appeared on the blade. Anarr flung his head back and
his arms wide, fingers curled as if straining against an unseen power.
Parris cocked his arm back, the point of the spear aimed squarely at
Anarr's back, and rushed forward. He came up short as he was seized with
a vision of the ebony statue of Gow silently howling, far below the
waves. Then, in a crash of thunder, the sky released a bolt of
lightning. Parris staggered back, blinded by the flash. His ears rang,
and the spear fell from his numbed fingers. The deck pitched, and he was
slammed against the rail. He reached out to steady himself. Blind and
disoriented, he missed and fell overboard into the raging ocean.
After a time, the fierce storm abated and the wind blew itself out.
The sea, calm once again, was dotted with bits of wreckage and the
bodies of sailors. One unlikely vessel, a small sloop, survived. Far out
at sea, leagues past the shoals where the fleet had foundered, the boat
rocked slowly with the gentle motion of the waves. The mast was
shattered, the deck festooned with rigging. The tiller flopped from one
side to the other, unattended. Just aft of amidships the deck was
scorched, and there was a hole burned in it about as wide as a man. From
that hole, a hand emerged. It too was scorched. It groped about for a
moment, and then took the edges of the hole with a tentative grip. A
moment later Anarr lifted his head up and stared stupidly about. His
hair was a hardened, burnt mass on his head. His skin was blistered, and
several cuts were still oozing blood. He looked about for a moment, then
closed his eyes again and lowered himself back down into the hold.
Two days northwest of Dargon, amidst shoal water where no sane
captain would risk sailing without good reason, sat a tiny island. It
was unnoted on most charts, and unnamed on all but a few. Those few
called it Hagshand for the two tall rocks that resembled a hag's
grasping fingers, reaching to drag doomed sailors to the depths. A man
sat between those two tall rocks and stared out into the calm ocean.
After falling off the sailboat, Parris had tossed in the ocean for
what seemed like bells. At one point, he had come face to face with the
bard, Simona. Her eyes had been open, but held no life in them. When the
storm had finally ended, he had been washed ashore on this tiny island,
no more than a collection of rocks.
Parris Dargon sat there and stared towards where he thought the
mainland was. All about on the shore of the island were shattered
timbers and knotted ropes. His clothes were ripped and wet, but his skin
was whole. He alone had survived the curse. Rilk was dead. Simona was
dead. He had witnessed Anarr struck by lightning before being washed off
the boat himself. Tyrus Vage, his ships in ruins, was as good as dead.
Parris knew where his statue was, for all the good it did him. The
image of Gow was at the bottom of the Valenfaer, where neither he nor
anyone would ever reach it, doubtless crying its silent scream to the
fish.
Parris considered his situation. It might be a while before he was
rescued, but years of trying to reclaim his duchy had taught him
patience. He could build a crude shelter from the broken timbers. He had
plenty of fresh water, from rain that had accumulated in depressions in
the rocks. A half-day passed before he realized that he had no food.
A day later, Parris was still hungry. Screegulls glided overhead,
their cries like mocking laughing, but they never landed long enough for
him to catch one. Fish swam among the rocks, but always managed to elude
his grasping fingers. It was then that Parris realized that he had not
been spared by Gow's curse. He had been doomed to slow death by hunger
for his arrogance in thinking to use a god to reclaim his duchy. No
ships would come for him. If any did, the curse would drag them to the
bottom. He suspected that it would not be long before this region of the
Valenfaer Ocean was marked on every sea captain's chart as a place from
which ships did not return.
Parris walked to the edge of his tiny island, and threw himself on
his knees, screaming his apologies and begging forgiveness for his
audacity. If Gow heard, he gave no sign. Parris shouted until he was
hoarse, then wept and beat his fists upon the rocks until they were
bloody. Spent, he threw himself on the ground and rolled over on his
back, staring skyward.
He watched as one of the laughing gulls veered suddenly, and
crashed into the side of one of Hagshand's reaching fingers. The gull
fell to the rocks below and lay still. Parris scrambled to his feet and
dashed to where the gull had fallen. He picked it up, snapped its neck,
and started plucking feathers. Once the bird was cleaned, he realized
that he had no way to make a fire. With a sigh of resignation, he began
eating the bird raw.
It seemed Gow would provide, after a fashion.
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