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DargonZine Volume 20 Issue 01
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DargonZine Distributed: 3/17/07
Volume 20, Number 1 Circulation: 621
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Contents
Editorial Liam Donahue
Taking Root Liam Donahue Sy 22, 1017
The Great Houses War 5 Nicholas Wansbutter 8 - 21 Mertz, 900
========================================================================
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 20-1, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright March, 2007 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-nc-nd/2.5/ or send a letter to
Creative Commons, 559 Nathan Abbott Way, Stanford CA, 94305 USA.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Liam Donahue
<Liam_the_red@dargonzine.org>
DargonZine 20-1. It's the start of 20th *volume* of fiction about
the Duchy of Dargon and its inhabitants -- not even counting several
volumes worth of Dargon fiction in FSFnet -- and here I am writing the
editorial to kick it off. How did that come about? Ornoth Liscomb has
been our Editor and project leader for most of the life of the 'zine,
except for a few years in between when he graduated from college and
lost access to what passed for the Internet in those days. Remember back
when the Internet wasn't a part of almost everyone's daily lives? Yeah,
DargonZine has been around for that long. But after all of that time,
Ornoth has decided to step down, and Jon Evans and I are going to try to
fill his figuratively humongous shoes. The literal ones are pretty big,
too, but I'm not going anywhere near those.
Actually, Ornoth announced his decision to step down last June at
our annual DargonZine Writers' Summit. It's just taken all of this time
for Jon and me to sort out all of the things that Ornoth does and figure
out how we're going to do them. One of the things that fell to me is to
plan the working sessions for the next Summit. The Summit, for those of
you that don't know, is the annual gathering of DargonZine writers. It
is a blend of social activities and work. The work is a mix of writing
craft and actual writing for DargonZine, with a smattering of historical
learning. Each year, the Summit is held in a different location and
hosted by a different member, usually in or near that person's hometown.
For more information and photos from our past Summits, look here:
http://www.dargonzine.org/summit.shtml.
One of the many leadership duties that Ornoth turned over to me was
planning the Summit working sessions. This year might be even more of a
challenge than those I've observed. The Summits I attended had working
sessions where several Dargon writers presented papers about writing
topics, such as grammar, character development, dialogue, and use of
humor. (other writers prepared) The thing is, the writers that are
attending this year have all been with the project for a long time, and
they have seen a lot of that before. Further, we are currently a little
short of writers, so we're going to focus on collaborative writing, to
ensure that we can keep bringing you plenty of stories about Dargon.
Don't worry, though; we have lots of stories to bring you in the
near future. This issue features the fifth installment of Nick
Wansbutter's outstanding Great Houses War, as well as something of mine
that tells a parallel story to "What Price the King?", a story by Mark
Murray that was published in DargonZine six years ago. Speaking of Mark,
we mentioned in our last issue that Carlo Samson -- who has been
collaborating with Mark in their electronic magazine Arcane Twilight --
has returned to help us with our graphics requirements. Well, Mark
Murray himself has also returned to the fold, and is currently working
on several stories that we hope to have printed in the future.
For now, though, just sit back and relax with this newest -- 20th!
-- volume, brought to you by the fine folks at the Dargon Project.
Enjoy!
========================================================================
Taking Root
by Liam Donahue
<Liam_the_red@dargonzine.org>
Sy 22, 1017
"How much longer until he discovers you?" Darrow feinted, and then
slashed. Sweat from the mid-afternoon sun dripped into his eyes, and the
scent of hay and horse manure from the nearby stable filled his nostrils
as his chest heaved. He slashed again and his opponent ducked beneath
Darrow's wooden knife and skipped back out of range, but not before
tapping the inside of Darrow's forearm with his own weapon.
"Fight, don't talk," the other said, and began circling, his wooden
knife held close to his body, the other hand drawn up to protect it and
hide its movements. "That hand should be going numb after the cut I just
gave you."
Dutifully, Darrow switched his weapon to the other hand, taking the
reverse grip that he usually favored when fighting with his left. His
opponent moved in then, slashing. Darrow turned sideways and stepped
back to avoid the first two strokes, and parried the third. It would
have been forearm-to-forearm, but his reversed grip caught his opponent
across the wrist.
"Tanner, I'm serious. And you gave me that." Darrow nodded toward
his opponent's wrist.
"Straight, I did. You got sloppy and let me take your knife hand. I
thought I'd use my off-hand, too. Make it even."
"'Even'. Straight. As if you couldn't take me six in ten with your
bad hand to my good."
Tanner just laughed, and continued to prod Darrow's defenses.
Darrow was amazed that even after growing another four years, he was
still no match for Tanner with a blade, despite the other's small
stature. Outwardly, Tanner looked about twelve, four years Darrow's
junior, but Darrow knew that his friend had actually seen twenty three
summers. Whatever illness or curse had halted Tanner's aging, it hadn't
stopped him from developing an adult's abilities. Further, he was one of
the Rhydd Pobl, a gypsy group whose members were notoriously skilled
with knives.
From a very young age, the Rhydd Pobl played a game called cylel
chware, or knife dancing. That was the game the two friends were
playing. Tanner had begun teaching Darrow how to fight shortly after the
two had met.
Darrow saw an opening. Tanner was putting his weight down heavily
on his left foot each time he came in: "rooting himself", the gypsies
would call it. If a fighter was rooted, it was difficult for him to
shift his weight, making it harder to dodge or counter. Darrow seized
his chance and thrust for Tanner's exposed shoulder. In a blur, the
gypsy shifted his weight to the right, outside of Darrow's knife arm.
Darrow turned instinctively to follow Tanner's motion, realizing a half
heartbeat too late what was about to happen.
Tanner had laid the edge of his wooden knife against Darrow's back,
below the ribs. As Darrow turned, his own motion brought the blade
around to just under his breastbone. Had the weapon been real, his
entire side would have been opened up.
The gypsy grinned at Darrow's dismay. "Not bad, for a shadow boy."
"Former shadow boy."
"Oh, is that what it is, today?" Tanner's grin widened, and he
pretended to clean his knife on Darrow's shirt.
Darrow knew that it was time for him to leave the shadow boys, but
he had been delaying the decision. The shadow boys were Dargon's loosely
organized orphans, sleeping in vacant buildings and surviving through
theft and odd jobs. Darrow had been on such a task when the two had met.
They had been enemies at first, but Darrow had agreed to help Tanner
save his companion, Rhadia, from a group called the Bloody Hand of
Sageeza. She had been captured, and Tanner's adoptive father and
step-brother had been slain, in part because Darrow and another shadow
boy had been spying on them for a man who had turned out to be a member
of the Bloody Hand.
After her rescue, Rhadia had been able to carry information to the
Rhydd Pobl about the plans of the Bloody Hand. According to Tanner, the
gypsies had dealt their enemies a major defeat near someplace called
Tench. Darrow was sometimes jealous of how Tanner so casually talked
about faraway places. Darrow had spent his entire life in the city and
seaport of Dargon, in an out-of-the-way corner of Baranur. It was
interesting enough, but sometimes he longed to see places like distant
Tench.
To Darrow's surprise, Tanner had elected to stay in Dargon, in
order to spy on a merchant named Tyrus Vage, a local leader of the
Bloody Hand. Darrow had been surprised because Vage had actually seen,
and been seriously wounded by, Tanner during the rescue. Tanner had said
that Vage would expect him to flee, and so the safest place to hide had
been under the man's nose. He had been right, too. Vage had never given
Tanner a second glance, even though Tanner had occasionally carried
messages and done small tasks for the man. Every day the gypsy's
disguise got better, because Tanner no longer aged. If Vage was looking
for his assailant, he'd be seeking a youth of sixteen, not someone who
looked like he was twelve.
Tanner had never joined the shadow boys, though, despite several
invitations by Darrow. He had said that he wasn't really a boy anymore,
and that he didn't want the other shadow boys to notice that he wasn't
growing any older. He could pass among adults with ease, being just
another child underfoot, but to boys age was important to the pecking
order. A boy who didn't get older would be the subject of discussion.
Tanner had also said that some might talk about him being a gypsy, and
he didn't want word of that getting back to Vage.
So Tanner had stayed on the fringes, sometimes sleeping on the
streets with Darrow, and other times staying in the homes of various
people he did jobs for, such as Genarvus Kazakian, the scribe. He never
stole, though. Darrow remembered Tanner explaining the Rhydd Pobl credo:
do no harm unless harm be done first. Darrow had laughed at that, but he
hadn't stolen as much since meeting the gypsy. Tanner also never worked
for anyone that employed shadow boys, to avoid unnecessary exposure to
and potential conflict with them.
Darrow sat down heavily, sides still heaving from their mock fight,
and looked up at Tanner. "I think this time I'm really going to do it.
It's not as much fun as it once was running with the shadow boys. In
part it's because I'm one of the oldest in the group now, but I think
it's mostly your fault."
Tanner grinned. "Currooptin' the childrun is wha' we dew best," he
replied in an exaggerated Rhydd Pobl accent.
Darrow laughed. He had heard the people of Dargon say such things,
but he had found Tanner to be the most ethical person he'd ever known.
"I'm serious, Tanner. I used to steal as a matter of course before I met
you. Now every time I filch something, I have to think about the hard
work of the street vendor who was selling it, and the empty bellies of
his children. I don't steal half as much as I used to. I think I should
try to find an apprenticeship, or at least some people to work for, like
you have. You've learned some important things, like how to read and
write, and how to mend sails."
Now Tanner laughed. "All of which will serve me about as well as
the great talent I've developed for mopping floors will, once I return
to my people. There's not much use for any of that on the road."
"And when will that be, exactly, Tanner? Not that I want to run you
off. You're a good friend. In fact, you and Murlak are probably the only
two true friends I have right now. But you get bolder with Vage every
day. Even if he doesn't figure out that you're the gypsy boy that
injured him, he may realize that you're *a* gypsy boy, and that would be
almost as bad."
Tanner's expression turned serious. "Vage is still a good source of
information. There are fewer and fewer members of the Bloody Hand of
Sageeza each year, thanks in part to the things I've learned from Vage,
but even a handful of them pose a danger to my people." The grin crept
back on his face. "Besides, with enough dirt on my face I look just like
a local. I think I'd have to seduce someone's wife, and maybe wear my
colors before he'd recognize me as 'gypsy scum'."
"Straight. And what do you call that?" Darrow pointed a finger at
Tanner's belt, which the gypsy had recently dyed red, blue, and green.
"What, this? Enough to remind me that I'm not one of you Rooted
Folk." 'Rooted Folk' was what the Rhydd Pobl called city dwellers. "I've
been wearing these drab clothes so long that I feel like I'm going to
take root myself and never see the rest of the world again. But it's not
enough for Vage to notice. In fact he looked right at me, or rather
through me, just yesterday and didn't even blink."
Having recovered from their sparring match, Darrow stood up. "Don't
underestimate him, Tanner. He's no fool. He was clever enough to take
you in once, wasn't he?" As soon as the words were spoken, Darrow
regretted them. Tyrus Vage had killed Tanner's father and brother with
that deception.
Darrow was spared further discomfort by the arrival of Murlak, who
came sprinting into the alley calling Darrow's name. Murlak was a fellow
shadow boy, one of the few who were as old as Darrow. He was waving
frantically, but the goofy grin on the red-haired boy's face showed that
there was no danger. Murlak was panting too heavily to make much sense
for almost a mene.
Finally he managed to get out the words "Dessin" and "challenged"
between gasps.
"I can see why you ran yourself out of breath finding me. This is
big news!" Darrow said. Dessin was the current shadow boy king: the
acknowledged leader of the street children. At any time, though, another
shadow boy could call a challenge. The Shadow King would then have to
decide on a contest for leadership. Other members of the shadow boys
could join the contest as well.
"Straight, it is," said Murlak as he regained his breath. "Tumas,
Ella, and Crey all challenged. Dessin declared a race. You should have
been there, Darrow. You'd have won the race easy!"
"Why didn't you challenge, then, Murlak?" asked Tanner. "You're
always talking about how fast you can run."
Murlak looked down at Tanner as if noticing him for the first time.
"None of your concern, boy. This is shadow boy business."
Tanner glared at Murlak and was about to reply when Darrow
interrupted. "It's too late to worry about that now, anyway. Where's the
race?"
"To the corner of Thockmarr and Red, and then back. Whoever brings
the flag back to Dessin is the new king."
"Back to Dessin?" asked Darrow. "But how --?"
"Dessin's not running. Said something about how being king isn't
what it used to be."
Darrow nodded, understanding what Dessin had meant. "Well, that
does make it interesting. I figured Dessin could have handled any of
those three."
Murlak shook his head. "Don't know, Darrow. Ella's pretty fast."
"It's not just about being fast, and you know it. It's about being
ruthless and clever, too." Darrow knew that was why Murlak hadn't
challenged. He could certainly be mean, but only in a careless way, and
no one would ever accuse the red-haired boy of being clever. "This could
be worth watching. Where does the race end?"
Murlak scowled. "I forget how little you've been around lately.
We're staying at the burned warehouse these days."
Darrow bit back a retort. Murlak was right. He hadn't been spending
much time with the other shadow boys lately. He wasn't doing it
intentionally. There were just always more interesting things to do and
better places to stay. Still, Murlak had known which alley to find him
in, so it wasn't as if Darrow were pushing his friend away, as well.
Murlak looked slyly at Tanner and said, "Let's race there!" The
rangy, red-haired boy then took off down the alley, back the way he had
come.
Darrow watched Murlak start running, and then looked to Tanner,
feeling torn between the two friendships.
Tanner shrugged. "Go. I'll catch up."
Grateful, Darrow smiled and sprinted after Murlak.
Tanner watched the blond boy run down the alley. He shook his head,
smiling. It was one thing for Murlak to treat him like a child, even
though the red-haired shadow boy was one of the few beside Darrow who
knew that Tanner was older than he looked. Darrow's concern surprised
him, though. They had been close friends for four years. If anyone in
Dargon would know that such things didn't bother Tanner, it would be
Darrow.
Tanner bent down and picked up the wooden knives they had been
sparring with. He had hoped to explain the movement he had used to win
the game to his blond friend. It was called a gaugweid, or "false root",
and involved making your opponent think that you had dropped your weight
into your heel, while still remaining on your toes and ready to shift.
It was a subtle movement, and only really worked if your opponent had
enough skill to notice where your weight was.
Instead, Darrow had pressed him about the risks he was talking with
Vage. Tanner wondered if his friend was right, but then remembered that
Vage had actually spoken to him and not known him for a gypsy, much less
the gypsy that had left him with a scar and a limp. Tyrus Vage was not
an immediate danger to him, he decided.
Tanner started to run after the two shadow boys, but at a much
gentler pace. He knew he had no chance of catching them. As nimble as he
was, his legs were too short for him to win a foot race through the
streets and alleys of Dargon.
As he ran, Tanner thought about the other reason that he had not
left Dargon, which he had not shared with Darrow. He was concerned about
his place with his own people. A year earlier, Rhadia had come to visit.
In their youth, Rhadia had loved Tanner, but when Tanner had finally
returned that love, Rhadia had moved on. She had still seen him as a
boy, not as a man that she could love.
Tanner knew that his strange affliction would have the same effect
on the Rhydd Pobl. He was old enough to own a ban, or wagon, but he knew
that none of his people would take him seriously on his own. Boys who
were the age that he looked were supposed to be apprentices. If he
returned to his people, he would have to choose between taking the role
of apprentice forever, or constantly explaining his condition and
enduring the sideways glances and muttered comments.
In Dargon, his situation was easier to manage. Many thought that he
was a shadow boy, and expected nothing of him. He earned his way working
for various shopkeepers, always moving on before they noticed that he
did not age. The one exception to that was the scribe, Genarvus
Kazakian, who knew of Tanner's plight, and had even tried to help find a
cure. Genarvus had also tried to get Tanner to become his apprentice,
but that had presented Tanner with the same set of problems as returning
to the Rhydd Pobl.
Tanner was so deep in thought that he did not hear the footfalls
behind him until the person making them was almost on top of him. He was
shoved to one side, landing hard against the wall of the alley he had
been running through. Before Tanner could turn and defend himself, his
assailant was gone, dashing down the alley in the same direction Tanner
had been running. He was a boy dressed in shabby clothes, a few years
older than Tanner's apparent age, but younger than Darrow. In his fist
he clutched a tattered flag.
Rubbing his shoulder where it had struck against the brick wall,
Tanner realized that he had just been run down by one of the challengers
in the race to be the next Shadow King. Not wanting to miss the end of
the race, Tanner dashed after the boy, following him the rest of the way
down the alley and onto Commercial Street.
Commercial Street was really just the broad expanse between the
piers and the massive warehouses that held goods bound for distant ports
or imported for trade in Dargon. Between the warehouses squatted smaller
buildings: sailmakers and provisioners that served the ships alongside
bars and brothels that served the sailors and longshoremen. The latter
two types of establishments also attracted many of Dargon's citizens.
The combined crowd in turn brought out a variety of street traders. As a
result, Commercial Street was a wild bustle of laden wagons, vendors'
carts, and throngs of people.
The shadow boy dodged through this busy crowd. Tanner managed to
keep up, avoiding elbows and knees, and once ducking under a rolling
wagon. Once his quarry cleared the crowd, though, Tanner began to fall
behind. As he approached the burned warehouse, he could see a small
crowd of shadow boys cheering the runner on.
Tanner was certain that this boy would win, but someone, a fully
grown man, stepped out of the shadows and tripped him. The runner landed
hard, and the man fell on him and drove a knife into his back. This
brought Tanner up short and elicited gasps from the shadow boys.
Another boy stepped out of the shadows, dark-haired and smirking.
Tanner recognized him, but could not remember his name. Tanner knew that
he was the type that had kept him away from the shadow boys: someone who
would use his age to order younger children about. And to this boy's
eyes, Tanner would have been younger, even though the other was only
slightly taller.
The dark-haired boy showed no fear of the adult as he stepped
around the man and picked the flag up from the fallen runner's fingers.
"Well done, John," he said, and then ran toward the warehouse, calling
for the man to come with him. The killer retrieved his weapon, cleaned
it quickly on the fallen one's clothes, and followed.
Tanner dashed forward to the boy lying in the street. A quick
glance at the growing pool of blood told him that the boy was dead.
Tanner slipped his own knife from its sheath on his calf and palmed it
before joining the crowd of children that were going into the warehouse.
He wasn't quite sure what was happening, but he wanted to be ready if
there was going to be fighting.
"I am king!" the boy with the flag was calling as Tanner entered.
"He cheated and used a man," said a girl near Tanner.
The Shadow King, Dessin, stood and raised his hands. "It is done!
Tumas is Shadow King!"
The shadow boys around Tanner echoed the cry, but without much
enthusiasm. Many of them were looking back at the dead boy in the
street, or at the man who had killed him.
"There is one thing to take care of before we let Tumas rule," said
Dessin, his gaze firmly resting on the man named John. Tanner knew what
was coming, even if John did not, and began to move toward the edge of
the crowd. "A man has killed one of us. That will not go unpunished. He
does not leave alive!"
"What?" John cried. "That wasn't the bargain." Over the crowd of
boys and girls descending on him, his eyes went to Tumas, who was
smirking once more. Whatever else the man had to say was lost as the
children swarmed him, holding knives, bricks, and sharpened sticks.
Tanner moved further away from the slaughter, looking for Darrow.
He saw his friend, restraining Murlak from joining the fight. The two
argued for a moment as Tanner approached.
Murlak jerked his arm out of Darrow's grip just as John's death cry
sounded. "Don't matter now, anyway." He glared at the blond boy.
Darrow looked away from Murlak and met Tanner's eyes. His mouth
opened as if to speak, and then his shoulders slumped. He shook his
head.
Tanner stepped forward and put his hand on his friend's arm. "You
didn't do this."
Before Darrow could reply, Tumas approached.
"Darrow! Murlak! You don't follow the orders of your king?"
Murlak looked away red faced, but Darrow locked eyes with Tumas.
"Not when it involves murder, no."
"But that man killed Crey," said Tumas, his smirk returning.
"At whose behest, Tumas?"
Tumas pointed a finger. "Take care, Darrow. I'm your king now. If
you are still a shadow boy, you need to obey me."
"And if not? Do I get to share his fate?" Darrow pointed to the
corpse of John, as some of the shadow boys carried it to the edge of the
dock.
Tumas seemed to consider this. Tanner eased into a crouch, ready to
jump forward and kill the new Shadow King quickly if violence erupted.
Much to his relief, Tumas shook his head.
"No, Darrow, we don't kill our own, even when they leave. But you
need to decide where your loyalties lie." Tumas paused and thrust his
finger at Murlak. "You, too." He then glanced at Tanner and walked away.
Tanner and Darrow exchanged a look. Was the new Shadow King
sincere, or would he strike at Darrow and Murlak later with more hired
thugs like John?
Murlak finally found his tongue. "That little --"
Darrow interrupted him with a glare. "Let's not discuss it here. I
need time to think. And if you have anything bad to say about Tumas,
it's best that it not be heard by the others unless you are ready to act
on it."
Murlak shoved past Tanner and walked out of the warehouse. Darrow
followed, and Tanner hurried to keep up.
Murlak's face was still red when the two drew up beside him.
"Little turd," he muttered as he walked toward Commercial Street. He
glanced down at Tanner. "I don't mean you, gypsy. I don't like you much
either, but at least you aren't bossing people around like you're in
charge."
Tanner was surprised that Murlak wasn't confronting Darrow for
keeping him out of the attack on John. Then he remembered that Murlak
usually focused on only one thing at a time, at least until the next
distraction came along. He wanted to simply let Murlak vent his anger at
Tumas, but couldn't resist a response to the shadow boy's last
statement.
"He is in charge, though, isn't he?" he asked. "The Rhydd Pobl
don't have a king, but we follow the orders of whoever's ban we're
riding on, even if we don't like them. At least until we can find
another to take us in, or get our own ban."
"You shouldn't be so quick to defend him, gypsy," Murlak shot back.
"I remember when you first came to us and had to fight Darrow. Tumas was
there, and calling for your blood."
Tanner wished that he had trusted his first instinct, but it was
too late. "I'm not defending him, Murlak, but if he's your king --"
"I liked it better when Dessin was king. He didn't give a lot of
orders, and he never made me feel like ..." Murlak threw his hands up in
frustration.
"He never had anyone killed, either," Darrow said.
Murlak whirled on him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Darrow shook his head. "Just that things have changed. With Tumas
as the new king, we have to decide if we even want to be part of the
shadow boys any more."
Murlak looked from Darrow to Tanner and back. "Oh, I see. You've
been talking to your little friend here about how good life outside the
shadow boys can be. Well, they're the only family I've ever had, and I'm
not about to turn my back on them, like some." He turned away and
continued walking.
Tanner winced. Murlak was one of the few reasons that Darrow stayed
with the shadow boys, even on the periphery. If Murlak had been allowed
to reach his own conclusion about leaving, things would have been
easier. Now, though, Darrow was going to have a hard time convincing
Murlak to leave. Tanner knew his presence wasn't helping.
"Listen," he said to Darrow, "I've some things that need doing. Why
don't I catch up with you later. Say, behind the Serpent, sometime after
third bell?"
"Straight," Darrow said, and walked off after Murlak.
Shortly after the second bell of night, Tanner lurked on the
balcony outside Tyrus Vage's office. It was something that he did once
or twice every sennight, especially in the warmer months when Vage was
wont to keep the balcony door open. The merchant often took evening
appointments until the third bell, and always insisted that the members
of the Bloody Hand who visited come after nightfall. Tanner had
identified several of the group in that manner.
Tanner sometimes slipped into the room and read unfinished letters
on the merchant's desk when Vage left the room. It was the only way
Tanner had been able to read Vage's documents. The merchant always
finished and sealed his letters before retiring for the night, and
always took his seal with him. Tanner imagined that Vage kept it under
his pillow.
The documents Tanner was able to glimpse were almost always about
Vage's business and not the activities of the Bloody Hand. Tanner had
uncovered a few of the group's secrets in Vage's letters, though, and he
had even gained some benefit from the other documents. Thanks to some
anonymous notes left for Vage's competitors, the merchant's fortune had
dwindled considerably in the previous four years.
This evening, Vage appeared to be working straight through. Tanner
had heard Vage's secretary, Edril, tell him that he had no appointments
for the evening. The merchant had been working for over a bell without
leaving the room, or rising from his desk even once. Tanner considered
leaving, but he wanted to give Darrow more time with Murlak.
The menes dragged by, and Tanner wondered if this was the night
that he would kill Vage. He had let the man live four years earlier only
because Vage was such a good source of information about the Bloody
Hand. Vage's injuries and even the financial damage were not enough,
though. Vage had taken the life of Tanner's adoptive father, Hadrach,
and for that the man would die by Tanner's knife.
Tanner was so lost in thought that he did not realize that Edril
had entered the office. He missed what the secretary had to say, but he
heard Vage's reply.
"I thought you said that I didn't have any appointments."
"That's correct, sir. I think you will want to meet with this one,
though. He's royalty, of a sort."
"I've no interest in games tonight, Edril. Explain yourself."
"Of course, sir. My apologies." The words were polite, but was
there a trace of contempt in Edril's voice? Vage didn't seem to notice
it. "It seems the shadow boys have a new king. The young man claims to
have some important information for you."
Tanner almost gasped aloud. Tumas, here? What business did the new
Shadow King have with Tyrus Vage? Did it involve Darrow and Murlak? He
fought the temptation to move to where he could see Vage and Edril.
"Very well," said Vage. "Send 'his majesty' in. If what he has to
say is valuable, I might spare him a few coins. Otherwise, you can beat
him for my amusement."
"Certainly, sir." Edril left the room, and returned in a few
moments. "Milord, this is Tumas, the Shadow King."
"That will be all, Edril," said Vage. His tone became stern as he
addressed Tumas. "You are very audacious, young man. I suppose that you
expect this to impress me, but it does not. I find it tiresome. I am
sure that you think yourself clever, and you doubtless are when compared
to the other street rats, but this is not the street, and I am not some
fatherless boy. I am a man with important business to attend to, and you
are wasting my time.
"So, say what you have come to say. If I deem it valuable, I will
pay you what I think it is worth, but no more than a few Bits. If not, I
will have that man outside whip you and send you on your way. Do you
still have something that you want to tell me?"
"Yes, sir." Tumas' voice was barely trembling. Tanner was
impressed. "I ask no payment, though, other than to be in your good
graces. I have more vision than the king before me. I want the shadow
boys to be feared and respected in Dargon, and I want those who are most
powerful and ruthless to know that we are available should they have a
need."
"Go on, boy."
"I can tell you how to find the gypsy who gave you that scar and
that limp."
Tanner jumped at the sound of a crash that could only be Vage's
chair falling to the floor as the man stood too quickly. "Edril, get in
here!"
The secretary was in the room in a few heartbeats. "Yes, milord?"
"Listen to what this boy has to say. He claims that he knows how to
find the gypsy assassin who attacked me. If what he says is credible, I
will need you to act on it immediately. If not, I will need you to slit
young Tumas' throat.
"Pray, continue, your *highness*."
Tumas' voice was definitely beginning to tremble. "His n-name's
Tanner. He came to us one day four years ago. Claimed that you had
killed some of his family and taken another one. He said that some of us
were to blame."
"Lies, of course," Vage said. "But that does not mean that you are
lying. Only that the gypsy scum lied to you. Continue. What does the
filth look like now?" All of the hostility had left Vage's voice. Tanner
knew that the merchant believed the Shadow King. Despite what Murlak had
told him, he didn't remember Tumas being there the day that he had gone
to the shadow boys seeking help. Obviously, he had been there and had
been paying careful attention.
"That's just it, sir. He looks the same as the day he attacked you.
There's something not right about him. He doesn't age. He still looks
like he's twelve."
Tanner listened as Tumas described him to Vage and Edril. He knew
that his time in Dargon was at an end. He couldn't charge in and kill
all three of them. He could take Vage or Tumas in a fight, perhaps both
of them if he moved quickly. He had seen Edril up close a few times,
though, and the man looked dangerous. Besides, although some of Vage's
people were in the Bloody Hand, Tanner didn't think that Edril was. That
meant that by Rhydd Pobl custom, Edril's life was not his to take. Once
Edril left the room, though, Tanner's description would be known to
Vage's staff. At least some of them were with the Bloody Hand, so Dargon
would no longer be safe.
"You have done well, young Tumas, and earned my gratitude. If you
or any of your subjects can lay hands on this gypsy trash, bring him to
my men and you will be rewarded. You may go now."
After Tumas shut the door, Vage spoke to Edril. "Tanner. Why does
that name sound so familiar?"
"It should, sir. He's worked for you on occasion. Errands and
such."
"What? You let that gypsy filth carry my messages?"
"Milord, Tanner worked for my predecessor. He said the boy was one
of his best runners, only that he wished Tanner were around more."
"But you've been with me over two years. That vermin has been
poking around here that long? I was going to be content to kill him, but
I think I will have to question him first. Find out what he knows about
my business. Find everyone you can, Edril: regulars, part timers, even
any street thugs you come across. Two silver Rounds to the man who
brings me Tanner. Tell them to hamstring him, too. No sense in allowing
any possibility for him to run."
"Of course, milord." Edril opened the office door, and Tanner
tensed. His knife was already in his hand. He had drawn it while Vage
gave Edril instructions. He was ready to slip up behind Vage and slit
the man's throat once he was alone.
Vage didn't return to his desk, though. He followed Edril out the
door. Tanner waited on the balcony for the merchant to return. He would
kill Vage and then flee Dargon. His few belongings, including some
coins, were at the home of Genarvus Kazakian. He wanted to say farewell
to the scribe before he left the city. Kazakian was one of his few
friends in Dargon, along with Darrow. At the thought of his blond
friend, Tanner felt a cold knot of fear begin to form in his stomach.
Was Darrow in danger because of this? Had Tumas told Tanner's secret
just to get in Vage's good graces, or was he taking away Darrow's
allies? If the new Shadow King remembered his arrival, he knew that
Tanner was good with a knife. Or would Tumas let Vage know about
Darrow's involvement in Rhadia's rescue? Tanner felt his only chance to
kill Vage slip away. Darrow, Murlak, and even Kazakian were in danger
because of him. They needed to be warned. He couldn't wait on the
balcony any longer. With regret, he sheathed his knife and slipped over
the side and away.
Murlak walked down Commercial Street in the dark, whistling. In
contrast to the daily chaos, the broad expanse of Commercial Street was
quiet at night. The occasional singing or roar of laughter drifted out
of the taverns, and a few people moved about quietly, eyes downcast,
intent on their own business. Despite the heavy burden slung over his
shoulder, there was a bounce in Murlak's step. For the first time in a
while, things were finally about to go right. He didn't even mind that
his burden was squirming a bit.
Darrow hadn't been behind the Inn of the Serpent when Tanner had
arrived. Only Murlak had been there. He had listened to Tanner's story
carefully, and had then come up with an idea. Murlak wasn't used to
getting ideas, and the few that he did get weren't very good. This idea,
though, he was very proud of. With Tanner gone, his good times with
Darrow wouldn't be ruined by the little gypsy whispering in his best
friend's ear, telling him that it was wrong to steal, or that if they
slept in a stable, they should do some work to pay for it. He and Darrow
could stay with the shadow boys if they liked. Murlak thought he wanted
to, even though he was one of the oldest in the group. Either way,
though, Darrow would be free from the gypsy's influence.
Murlak's bundle squirmed a little too much, threatening to slip off
his shoulder. He stopped and gave his prisoner a poke. "Be still, you,
or I'll thump your skull again."
That only increased the struggling, though, so Murlak leaned back
and then whipped his body forward, slinging his captive down hard onto
the cobblestones. A loud grunt and some coughing emerged from the sack
Murlak had put over his captive's head and arms.
"See what happens when you don't listen? How long did you expect to
last, anyway? There's not many that like you much, you know." Murlak
kicked his prisoner somewhere near the head and then picked him up by
his brightly colored belt and slung the boy back over his shoulder. He
resumed his trek down Commercial Street, walking near a railing that
stretched between two piers.
Shortly, he came within sight of two men, roughly dressed and
holding cudgels, standing at the head of a pier. Unlike the others that
Murlak had seen, these men were watching every movement on the street,
and had no qualms about making eye contact with the few passersby.
Murlak stopped within shouting distance, and waited until the closest of
those passersby was out of earshot.
"Hey! You fellows wouldn't happen to be looking for a gypsy boy
named Tanner, would you?"
"Straight!" replied one of the men. "You wouldn't happen to have
him there, would you?"
"I surely do." Murlak grinned. "What's he worth to you?"
"Two Bits, lad."
"Two Bits? I heard somewhere the going price was two Rounds."
"Maybe for me, boy, but not for you. You'd better take the two Bits
before I decide to just come over there and take him from you."
Murlak shook his head. "I think I'm a lot closer to this here
railing than you are to me, and I bet I can dump this little gypsy over
the side before you reach me, and good luck fishing him out before he
drowns. We'll split it: one Round."
The two men whispered to each other a moment. "Straight. You can
have your Round, but you have to come with us to deliver him. We don't
have that much with us."
"If I thought I could just go straight to --" Murlak bit his tongue
and fought the urge to run. He had almost mentioned Tyrus Vage's name.
"-- to your boss --"
"Ha! You don't know where to take him, do you?"
Murlak sighed in relief. The thug had mistaken his hesitation.
"You're right. And I ..." What was the right thing to say? This was
making his head hurt. He was no good at it. Darrow was always the
negotiator. "I don't know if I'd be safe."
The man who had been speaking nodded. "Smart lad. Well, we don't
fancy a dip in the ocean, and you don't want a knife in the back. How
about we meet in the middle? Say four Bits?"
Murlak scowled. Was four Bits the middle? It seemed low. Should he
argue some more? A low groan from the sack made his decision. "Straight.
Four Bits it is, then. Count it out onto the ground there and move
across the street. I'll drop my little friend here, and then we can all
be on our way."
Murlak watched as the men counted out four coins and dropped them
onto the street and then moved away. He dropped his burden, avoiding the
temptation to give it another kick, and then ran over to the money. He
scooped the coins up quickly and dashed away up the street, not daring
to look back until he was two piers away. He finally glanced over his
shoulder to see the two men standing over the prone prisoner.
"Roll him over," said one. "Then hold him down so I can cut him."
Murlak turned away, not wanting to watch, but he couldn't escape
the muffled screams as the boy was hamstrung. He felt a moment of doubt,
wondering if he had made a mistake. Then he squeezed the hard metal
coins in his fist and remembered his reason for doing this. "Little
turd," he muttered. "Even if you do live through this, I don't think
you'll be much of a runner."
As Murlak continued down Commercial Street, he heard someone fall
into step behind him. He turned, ready to fight or flee, and then
breathed a sigh of relief. "It's just you. I thought ..."
Darrow grinned. "What? That it was someone you owed money to? It
is. Or have you forgotten that I won our race today?"
Murlak shrugged. "Don't remember betting on it. Is he gone?"
Darrow nodded to a nearby ship. "Safely on board, thanks to you.
With those two distracted, no one saw him. It's a risk that the crew
will kill him for a stowaway, but he had enough coin stashed at
Kazakian's that he should be able to pay his way somewhere. It's a lot
safer for Tanner than leaving by the road. There's no telling how far
away Vage will send people looking. And who would expect a gypsy to go
to sea?"
Murlak shrugged. "Who would expect a gypsy to stay in Dargon for
four years? He's a strange one. How long, do you figure, until they
realize they have the wrong boy?"
"No telling. I bet those two never figure it out, until they don't
get paid, or someone comes after them to collect the two Rounds. Short,
dark-haired boy, grubby clothes, colored belt." Darrow shrugged. "Vage
will know, though. Even if he doesn't remember what Tanner looks like,
he's going to recognize Tumas. Think Vage will kill him, or let him go?"
"Don't know, and don't care. Either way, he won't be running any
races. Someone's bound to challenge him even if he does make it back."
Murlak smiled. "Remember the look on his face when we popped the sack
over his head?"
Darrow chuckled. "Straight. And how he called for his guards? Who
ever heard of a Shadow King having guards?! You'd have thought he was
the duke, the way he was ordering people about. Hey, how much did you
get for him?"
Murlak reached into his pocket and produced the coins. "Four Bits!"
Then he took a closer look at them and noted that one of the coins was
made of darker metal. "Ol's balls! One of these is a Floren. He tricked
me!"
Darrow clapped Murlak on the shoulder. "Relax. They're worth about
the same, if you go to the right place. Besides, I only had to bribe his
former majesty's 'guards' for five Pennies each. As it turned out, the
king wasn't all that expensive. We have enough for a hot meal, a beer,
and a bed apiece at the Hungry Shark. Let's go!"
"Race you!" Murlak called as he took off running.
========================================================================
The Great Houses War
Part 5: The Girl Who Would be Queen
by Nicholas Wansbutter
<ice_czar@hotmail.com>
8 - 21 Mertz, 900
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 19-6
Part 4 of this story was printed in DargonZine 19-9
"A moment, Lord Sumner?" Baron Aubrey Talador said.
Sumner, second Duke of Dargon, paused at the top of the stone
stairs, his hand upon the handle of the solid wood door leading into
Dargon Keep's Grand Hall. He looked down warily at Baron Talador, a
candle flickering in his left hand, the light glinting off the jewels
the baron wore.
"What do you wish to speak about that can't be said in the hall?"
Sumner asked.
Talador drew a little closer and glanced down the stairs before
licking his lips and continuing. "Your grace, surely you can see the
loyalist cause crumbling around us. King Caeron died more than a year
ago at the walls of Magnus. The southern marches are all but completely
lost. Now Dargon Keep itself is besieged, with but us few lords and a
child queen sheltered in the keep."
"These are dark times for the queen, yes," Sumner replied. He
didn't like the direction that this conversation was taking.
"Dark times indeed!" Baron Talador's voice trembled a little. He
cleared his throat and moved in even closer. "If we needed any proof
that Caeron and his wife were not meant to rule, we have it. Perhaps it
is time to consider other options ... save what we can."
"The queen will never surrender."
"You, my lord Dargon, have ruled what little of the kingdom remains
loyal since Caeron's death. You've held the true power of our cause ...
Ah, but perhaps that's just it?"
Sumner resented the insinuation that he supported Queen Dara only
because he could wield power over the kingdom with her as its monarch.
On the contrary, Sumner wanted nothing more than for Dara to assert her
rightful authority. He took a deep breath to stop from saying any hasty
words to his vassal before replying to the subtle accusation.
"Aubrey, I think this discussion ought to end now," Sumner placed a
hand on his vassal's shoulder. "And it would be best if we forgot we
ever had it. I swore a sacred oath to House Tallirhan as their vassal,
and you swore your oath to me. We will not consider such things again."
"You weren't so insistent on sacred oaths when Baldwin Narragan
turned Armand over to us, were you?" Talador said, referring to the fact
that Narragan had turned on his liege-lord, the insurrectionist Duchess
Arval, and joined Queen Dara.
Duke Dargon turned his back on Aubrey Talador and pushed the door
open. As he stepped into the large hall, he mulled over what his vassal
had said. It was true: the loyalist cause was in tatters. Most of its
best troops had been wiped out at Magnus, or had disappeared, like the
Comarian mercenaries who had abandoned King Caeron at that fateful
battle. The southern duchies of Pyridain, Westbrook, and Welspeare lay
in ruins or under the banner of the Duchess of Northfield, Aendasia
Blortnikson. Only a handful of castles and cities, including Magnus,
remained loyal. A combined force from Arvalia and Asbridge was currently
camped in the city of Dargon, sealing off Dargon Keep from the rest of
the world.
Sumner had sided with the Tallirhan cause partly because they had
supported his father Anton Dargon in the creation of the Duchy of Dargon
out of Asbridge's northern baronies, but also because he had thought
that it was for the good of Dargon -- and for Baranur -- for a Tallirhan
to sit on the throne. Aendasia was not only Duchess of Northfield, the
most powerful house in Baranur, but the Empress Mother of Beinison,
Baranur's warlike neighbour to the south. Sumner knew that her goal had
been to subjugate Baranur to Beinison's imperial designs when she
travelled north with an army of professional Beinison troops supplied by
her eldest son, the Beinisonian ruler.
Supporting King Caeron's coronation had been the surest way to
maintaining Baranur's independence in Sumner's view. He had thought he
was acting in the best interests of his people, but now he wondered if
the price was not higher than Beinisonian domination would have been.
How many thousands had died? And how many thousands more would perish?
Aendasia had not proven herself a merciful victor. Pyridain City had
been pillaged and razed to the ground. The garrison of Quinnat Keep were
hanged to a man after they surrendered ...
"More ill news, brother?" Sumner was pulled from his reverie as his
younger brother, Grethock Dargon, thrust a goblet brimming with posset
into his hands. "You look troubled."
"No, nothing new," Sumner took the warm wine with herbs in it.
"Thank Ol for that, Grethock. It seems every time a messenger comes to
this keep he bears dire tidings."
"Aye, that it does." Grethock scratched his goatee-covered chin and
turned towards the gathering of lords and ladies that remained loyal to
Queen Dara, standing around the hearth.
The queen herself sat on a large oaken chair at the centre of the
group. Sumner almost didn't see her at first, so small and timid and
unassuming was she. Dara almost disappeared into the shadows of that
high-backed throne. He felt a pang of sympathy as he watched her sitting
there, looking down at her hands folded daintily in her lap while lords
and ladies argued all around her.
"She *is* but a girl," Sumner thought as he patted his brother on
the back and approached the assembly. Queen Dara looked even more
fragile than ever now that her bodyguard, Sir Zephrym Vladon, was a
captive of the insurrectionists. In fact, it was over Sir Zephrym that
her barons were currently arguing.
"We can't even consider it," Duchess Annora Quinnat said.
"Surrender Thanailde Castle to ransom a knight?"
"No mere knight, but the reason that Queen Dara is sitting here
even considering the proposal!" Baroness Galina Fennell shot back.
"Then let him defend her crown again," Baron Narragan said.
"Thanailde is one of the few castles we still hold in the southern
marches. We cannot afford to lose it!"
Grethock jumped right into the discussion. "There should be no
discussion. Vladon's just a knight."
Sumner noticed Queen Dara wince at that, and he silently regretted
his young brother's blunt candour. The kindly-faced priest, Cyruz of
Vidin, moved next to the queen and placed a comforting hand on her
shoulder. He then looked up at Sumner, his eyes smiling as they always
seemed to.
"Duke Dargon," Cyruz said. "What say you on the matter?"
Sumner found the Stevenic very agreeable, but could not tell him
what Sumner knew he wanted to hear. "It is regrettable, my lady queen,
but your lords are correct. We cannot give up so important a keep even
for Sir Zephrym, though he be a good man."
"I owe him a debt," Queen Dara said, her voice hardly above a
whisper. "He guided me safely from Magnus, watched over me for nigh on
two months as we fled Aendasia's armies."
Sumner sighed. Grethock slammed his fist into an open palm. "He did
his duty; now you must do yours, your majesty!"
Sumner could only think that the insurrectionists were counting on
Queen Dara's soft heart to win out in the end, and thus gain control
over a stubbornly defended castle. The queen looked up at Sumner
pleadingly. He could only shake his head.
"It is your decision to make, my queen. You know where I stand on
the issue."
Sumner had made too many decisions for her. He looked over at
Aubrey Talador, standing behind Baldwin Narragan. Yes, if Dara were
going to hold onto her crown, she had to start asserting her royal
authority and show those who still remained loyal that they had chosen
correctly.
10 Mertz, 900
Duke Sumner Dargon stepped out into the pebbled walkway of the
garden. Situated between the three towers of Dargon Keep, near the
centre of the entire complex, it was safe from the catapults and bows of
the besieging army. The air was crisp but not uncomfortable, winter
having left not long ago. Queen Dara was sitting at a bench playing a
game of King's Key with Cyruz, the Stevenic priest.
Sumner approached, and Queen Dara looked up at him. Her cheeks were
pink from the cool air. "Good afternoon, Lord Sumner."
The duke bowed. "Your majesty."
Cyruz stood and clapped Sumner on the shoulder. "It is always a
pleasure to see you, your grace," he said cheerfully, "but I imagine
that you and our lady queen have important matters to discuss that do
not require the presence of an old priest. Besides, I promised the
baroness and baron of Fennell that I'd regale them with tales of the
Stevene."
His face creased as he winked, then he strode out of the garden and
into the keep. Sumner lowered himself onto the bench where Cyruz had
been sitting.
"Caeron and I used to always love playing a game of King's Key,"
Queen Dara said, blinking back tears. She cleared her throat before
continuing. "The last game we played was just a few days ere the battle
that took his life."
"King Caeron was a brave man."
"He was," the queen sighed. "Perhaps too brave. Now I must bear the
weight of his crown."
"Aye, that you must." Sumner moved a piece on the King's Key board,
then looked up into Queen Dara's dark brown eyes. "Have you reached a
decision about Sir Zephrym? Or Master Priest Cyrridain's offer to try
brokering a truce with the Duchess of Northfield?"
"No," she looked away.
"My lady queen, I cannot make these decisions for you any longer.
It has been nearly a year since you arrived in my keep. You must prove
your worth to your lords."
"Cyruz tells me there are whisperings in the keep ..."
"There are many things being said." Sumner chuckled, recalling one
particularly audacious suggestion. "One of your barons even suggested I
divorce the Lady Dargon and marry you!"
Queen Dara looked up, her eyes wide and her cheeks a darker shade
of pink. "They can't have!"
Sumner could not deny the proposal tempted him, if even only a
little. Queen Dara was a striking young woman, with a slim figure and
beautiful raven-black hair. But again, she was nearly young enough to be
his daughter, and he had no interest in being king. He realised the
queen was awaiting a response, and he merely shrugged. "It is not
against the Olean faith to do such a thing, but I am happy enough with
my wife."
"I don't imagine Cyrridain would approve!" Queen Dara said, and
both of them laughed for a few moments. No, Caeron's half-brother, the
Master Priest of the Stevenics, would not have liked the prospect of
such a match.
"I cannot leave Sir Zephrym to languish in some dungeon," Queen
Dara said, returning to the topic at hand. "He risked himself taking me
safely from Magnus, and again when he fought the rearguard action at
Tench which resulted in his capture. I cannot let such selfless loyalty
go unrewarded."
"For all of Cyrridain's pious pronouncements about the queen being
her people's greatest servant, he is not far off the mark. As queen, you
must put your personal feelings aside and think of what can best benefit
the kingdom. In your situation, what is most likely to lead you to
victory?"
Queen Dara pondered that for a few moments, then moved a King's Key
piece. "Statecraft is no easy matter, to be sure."
Sumner sensed a subtle change in her voice. Somehow it seemed a
little stronger, surer. He could tell that there was an extraordinary
woman lurking beneath her timid exterior. The determination it must have
taken to weather the escape from Magnus had first convinced him of that.
If only he could break through the shell so that her inner strength
could be revealed.
"No it is not, least of all in the middle of a civil war," Sumner
said. "But I can sense you have the strength to lead us."
Queen Dara's long dark lashes swept down, shadowing her cheeks like
a raven's feather. "I don't know, I --"
"Enough!" Sumner jumped to his feet, his raised voice echoing off
the stone walls enclosing the garden. "I've heard more than enough of
such talk. You are a beautiful and gifted woman; it is an affront to Ol
that you doubt yourself like this! It is an affront to the memory of
King Caeron!"
Queen Dara sprang to her feet as well. "Don't speak of my husband!"
"Then act like a queen, instead of hiding away like some frightened
child, the way you did ere Caeron died. Otherwise, mayhap we would be
best off under Aendasia's rule!"
"How dare you?" Queen Dara's face was now red with anger as she
stamped her foot on the ground. "You, the most loyal of my dukes -- or
so I thought! Caeron's legacy will live on, I will rule this court with
an iron fist if I have to!"
"Good!" Sumner kept his voice strong, but ensured he let no anger
creep into his tone now. "Good, my queen, good. For that is exactly what
we need!"
Unfortunately, the queen's resolve did not last as long as Sumner
had hoped. By mid-afternoon the next day, she still had not made a
pronouncement on what was to be the answer to the insurrectionists'
ransom demand for Sir Zephrym. The Duke of Dargon stood on the
battlements, watching the enemy soldiers across the Coldwell moving
about the streets of his city. He was coming to wonder whether Talador
wasn't right, and if it wasn't indeed time to cut his losses.
He heard Grethock cursing before he saw his younger brother exit
one of the towers and approach Sumner's position, wearing an old style
kettle-shaped helmet with a large nasal bar.
"There you are!" Grethock said. "The queen's been looking for you."
"Has she?" Sumner said dryly. "What did she want?"
"I don't know," Grethock shrugged. He turned to look at the city.
"Ol's balls, it is galling to see Dargon inhabited by enemy troops! I
never thought I'd see the day. I certainly never thought the attackers
would
be wearing the colours of Arvalia and Asbridge!"
Sumner only nodded in silence. He could feel Grethock a little
closer. Sumner felt as if this were beginning to be a habit, his vassals
drawing near and speaking to him in conspiratorial tones.
"I think I know what you're thinking, brother." Grethock said.
"Do you now?" Sumner raised an eyebrow, even though he knew
Grethock could not see it beneath the helm he wore.
"This war could have ended ere now, at far less cost."
"You've been speaking to Aubrey Talador," Sumner said.
"Oh, not just Talador, but Duchess Quinnat, our Uncle Connall, the
Barons Coranabo, Oleran, Shaddir, Bindrmon ..."
"Does Queen Dara command *any* loyal vassals?" Sumner felt himself
suddenly becoming defensive and protective of the queen.
"Come, now, Sumner," Grethock said. "We've remained steadfast for
over a year since King Caeron died. Most of the lords I've mentioned no
longer hold lands, because they've lost them to the Duchess of
Northfield. Others have relatives just barely holding out against
sieges. We ourselves -- we have plenty of provisions for now, but even
so we can't hold out for years as Magnus has without a city to support
us."
"Ol knows I've thought of it myself," Sumner said, "but Aendasia is
not merciful to those who oppose her. It wasn't that long ago that she
had Arnulf Bankroft boiled alive, or have you forgotten that already?"
Grethock held up a hand. "Perhaps there are other options. Duchess
Arval allowed a message from the Master Priest Cyrridain through her
lines this morning. Apparently he is offering to try negotiating a
truce."
Sumner laughed aloud at that. "The good Master Priest Cyrridain
underestimates the ill will many of the insurrectionists hold towards
him! After all, Monrodya and Arval only rebelled against Caeron because
he gave in to his half-brother's demands to crown him in the Stevenic
Church!"
Grethock ducked as a boulder slammed into the battlement, only a
few strides away, sending pieces of rock and masonry flying about. He
looked back over the river and cursed. "The bastards are back at it
again; I had hoped they were out of rock! Well, Sumner, shall we stand
out here all day waiting for an arrow to end our troubles, or shall we
see what her majesty wants?"
"Lead the way," Sumner gestured towards the tower door whence
Grethock had come.
They clambered past the heavy wooden door and down the winding
steps that led into the tower proper. Sumner removed his helmet once
inside and followed his brother to the Grand Hall where Queen Dara sat
on her makeshift throne, surrounded by her lords. A few of them, like
the Dargon brothers, were clad in chainmail and tabards, but most were
dressed in their regular clothes.
"Lord Dargon," Queen Dara called.
"Your majesty," Sumner bowed his head curtly, wondering what the
queen wanted.
She licked her lips and glanced around the room. Sumner felt his
heart quicken, sensing that the queen was about say something important.
"I am glad you are here, for I wish you to deliver my response to
Duchess Arval's ransom demand for Sir Zephrym Vladon. My clerk has
prepared the necessary documents ..."
Queen Dara's voice grew quiet and seemed to trail off at the end of
her sentence. Sumner approached her. "What is your response, my lady
queen?"
"I will surrender Thanailde Castle to Duchess Northfield in return
for Sir Zephrym."
The hall erupted as all the assembled lords and knights began to
shout at once. Sumner let the pandemonium rage around him for a mene as
he considered what the queen had just said. It was not a sound decision,
for certes, but it was a decision nevertheless. He nodded to himself;
this was an important step. At the least, he was interested to hear the
queen's reasons for giving up so strategically vital a castle in return
for a lone knight. He stepped closer to the queen and shouted for the
lords to be silent.
"Quiet, all of you! Let the queen speak!"
"But Sumner, this is preposterous! You must speak sense to her!"
Grethock shouted.
Sumner's reply was icy enough to chill the room. "It is not my
place to question the judgement of her majesty, my lord brother."
"But without Thanailde Castle, we cannot hope to contest Aendasia's
claim on --" Duchess Quinnat started to say, before she was out-shouted
by Baron Talador.
"It is too high a price to pay for any one man or woman!"
"But we owe Zephrym Vladon much!" Baroness Fennell said. "If it
were not for him, Queen Dara would have been captured for certes!"
"A queen has other debts, to her supporters --"
"Enough!" Sumner threw his helm forcefully to the rush-strewn
floor, making a terrible clank that once again silenced the assembled
nobility. "Let the queen speak."
He looked down into Queen Dara's eyes, which were wide with terror.
She tried to shake her head no, but Sumner glared at her until she had
to look away. After another moment, she spoke in a timid voice.
"I have to do this. I cannot let Sir Zephrym barter his freedom for
mine."
"You may not keep that freedom for long, if you do this!" Baron
Talador hissed.
Queen Dara bit her lip and looked over at the baron. Sumner thought
he caught the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes and he feared she
might begin to cry, but then she set her jaw and stood. Sumner's heart
began to race and he clenched his hands into fists in anticipation.
"My freedom, my crown ... If the only way to keep these are to cast
aside a trusted friend like Zephyrm, a trusted friend who risked his
life for me and my husband more times than I can recall ... If my reign
depends on me defiling that friendship, then I don't want the crown!"
There was an audible intake of breath from all in the chamber. "Cephas'
boot! No crown is worth that! And if I give up Zephrym, I have given up
far more than a castle. A loyal friend like him is worth more than any
castle.
"What are my loyal lords gathered here supporting me for? Is it
castles and gold? Would you abandon me as my husband was abandoned at
the walls of Magnus in order to keep what you have? Or would you, too,
be willing to sacrifice some of your worldly goods for honour and love?
I choose for myself the higher path, even if it costs me the crown."
The room was silent for what seemed like many menes after that.
Several of the lords and knights looked away, shamed by her words, while
others stared at her. Sumner could feel his chest swelling with pride,
as if Dara were his own daughter. A smile threatened to turn up a corner
of his mouth.
"I will deliver your response as soon as a truce can be arranged,
your majesty."
The last time Sumner Dargon had seen Duchess Emmeline Arval had
been in Vibril of 897, more than three years earlier. She appeared tired
as she looked up from the parchment she had been studying. Her grey hair
was pulled back severely as always, and she wore a simple dark brown
dress. This time, the meeting was not in the great hall of Crown Castle
in Magnus, but in one of the upper studies of Bellarmine Hall, home to
the local Dargon lawyers' guild.
The two-story building had a stonework main floor, with a plaster
and timber upper floor. The entire place was packed with bookshelves and
books. It was also known for the beautiful little courtyard that lay in
the centre of the hollow-square building. It had been donated to the
guild by Bernard Bellarmine, one of the lawyers who had assisted in
drafting the documents that had created the Duchy of Dargon. Located on
Anton Street, it was not far from Dargon Keep, but still safely out of
range of any weapons housed there.
Sumner had always known his ducal neighbour to be more of a scholar
than a warrior, and he suspected that she had thrown in her lot with the
insurrectionists only under pressure from her brother-in-law, Luther
Monrodya. She was also a Stevenic, which was why, Sumner suspected,
Queen Dara had asked that he bring Cyruz of Vidin along with him to
deliver the queen's message.
"My lord Sumner." Duchess Arval stood and pushed aside the
documents before her. Various books and scrolls also adorned the table,
as did an inkwell, cutting knife, grey pumice stone, and several finely
honed quills.
"Lady Emmeline," Sumner politely inclined his head slightly. "I see
that you've chosen Bellarmine Hall as your residence during the siege. I
always thought you would have made a fine scholar or lawyer."
Duchess Arval pursed her lips. "You have come with an answer to the
empress' ransom offer?"
"I have," Sumner said, "but first, I would like to introduce you to
the Stevenic priest who has accompanied me, one Cyruz of Vidin."
"Cyruz ... the bard?" Arval stammered. "The bard who knew the
Stevene?"
Cyruz chuckled, the sound reminding Sumner of an avalanche rumbling
down the slopes of the Darst Range. The priest's face creased into a
smile and he bowed deeply to the duchess. "As always, your grace, I am
done far too much honour for having merely met the prophet. I was but a
child at the time, and I fear, too foolish to fully appreciate --"
"But you did know the Stevene, met him in the flesh?"
"Aye, I did." Cyruz continued to smile and looked up at Emmeline
Arval. "But then, all of us know him through his sacred Light, no?"
"And you serve the Queen -- um -- Dara Tallirhan?"
"I serve the Stevene first and foremost, but yes, I serve house
Tallirhan."
The Duchess of Arvalia stared at Cyruz for a long moment, then
turned back towards Sumner. The rings around her eyes seemed even darker
than before, he thought. He couldn't help but be impressed by the impact
Cyruz's mere presence was having on the insurrectionist duchess.
Duchess Arval cleared her throat before speaking again. "Duke
Sumner, what is your response to the empress' offer? I assume that Sir
Zephrym Vladon will enjoy our hospitality a while longer?" She glanced
over at Cyruz, then hastily added, "I assure you he has been well
treated, as the laws of war demand."
"Of that I have little doubt," Sumner replied. "Nevertheless, the
queen's response to your offer is one of acceptance. Thanailde Castle
shall be turned over to the Duchess of Northfield's forces as soon as
her majesty's messengers arrive there."
Arval's jaw dropped, but then she quickly recovered. This response
ought to be considered a victory, after all, Sumner thought.
"I have the acceptance, penned in her own hand," Sumner said as he
passed a scroll sealed with the Tallirhan crest to Duchess Arval. She
did not open it, but placed it on the table.
"Might I ask how her maj-- how Lady Dara came to this decision?"
Sumner suppressed a smile. "In the Tallirhan camp, loyalty and
friendship are valued above a great many other things."
He felt a pang of guilt, thinking of how he had considered
defecting to Aendasia's side. King Caeron's grandfather had bestowed the
ducal title on Sumner's family, mostly at the urging of Caeron's father.
House Tallirhan had ever supported his family. He firmly resolved never
to question his faith in Queen Dara again.
Emmeline Arval was visibly shaken by Sumner's pronouncement. "The
empress does too ... She promised to restore the lands of Asbridge that
Anton --"
"Ah, your grace," Cyruz sighed, "surely you do not bear ill will
towards the late Anton Dargon? You were such close friends, and, as I
recall, you were one of the main proponents of the creation of Duchy
Dargon for the services he rendered the king."
Sumner looked over at Cyruz in surprise, then remembered that the
man had been a member of the College of Bards before he was a Stevenic
priest. He had likely been privy to many of the goings-on in Crown
Castle.
"No, you are correct, father." Duchess Emmeline hung her head and
stared at the floor. She then dropped into her chair, as if her bones
had suddenly lost all their strength. "Cephas help me."
"You oppose the Master Priest, Cephas Stevene's spiritual heir on
earth. You lend your sword to she who would take the crown from the
first Stevenic monarchs of this realm, and who has already taken the
life of Caeron. What help would you ask in return?"
Cyruz's words were harsh, but the tone was like that of a father
gently reprimanding a beloved daughter he'd caught stealing a tart from
the kitchen before dinner. Emmeline's complexion was ashen.
"By the good God, what am I to do?"
Cyruz put one hand to his throat, and extended the other towards
Emmeline, slumped in her chair. "May the Stevene's Light shine on you,
child, and give you the wisdom to answer that question. And the courage
to do what you decide is right." He then looked over to Sumner. "We
should leave now, your grace. Her majesty's message has been delivered."
"Indeed, it has." Sumner cast one last glance towards Lady Arval,
then turned and exited the chamber with Cyruz close behind.
21 Mertz, 900
"Traitors!" Duchess Quinnat hissed. "They must have slipped out the
postern gate and joined the insurrectionist forces!"
"Calm yourself, Annora," Sumner held up a placating hand. "We don't
know that for certes. After all, might they not have allowed the enemy
soldiers back in through that same gate?"
"They may yet," Galina Fennell said.
"Are you certain the Barons Talador and Coranabo are gone?" Queen
Dara asked. "Could they not merely be playing a game of King's Key in
some quiet corner?"
Sir Zephrym Vladon shook his head. "Nay, my lady queen. We scoured
the keep from top to bottom."
Sumner knew that the queen's lords were not happy with her decision
to turn over the vital Thanailde Castle in return for Zephrym Vladon.
Even Zephrym himself had not shown much outward gratitude. There had
been almost constant murmuring since the deal had been struck, but
Sumner had not expected them to defect outright. On the other hand,
perhaps the only reason other lords such as Baron Narragan and Duchess
Quinnat remained loyal was because they knew Aendasia would welcome them
with the boiling pot rather than open arms.
As much as he would have liked to prove the queen right, there was
no trace of his two vassals nor their household knights anywhere in
Dargon Keep. He looked out an arrow slit in the wall; clouds darkened
the sky and a steady rain was falling. They must have used the weather
as cover to steal across the bailey and make their way out the postern
gate, then clamber along the banks of the Coldwell towards the enemy
lines.
"May the Stevene's Light shine on us," Galina Fennell said, putting
a hand to her throat, "for we certainly need it now."
During the seige, she and her household knights had taken to Cyruz
the bard, listening to his stories and teachings to pass the long bells.
It would seem that she had gone so far as to convert to his faith.
A conversion was what the loyalist forces needed, albeit one of a
slightly different manner. They needed to abandon their faith in King
Caeron, who was dead, and embrace his queen. Something had to be done.
He had said as much to Queen Dara earlier in the sennight, shortly after
Sir Zephrym had arrived, bringing rumours of strife in the enemy camp
arising out of a screaming argument between Duke Asbridge and Duchess
Arval. Dara's only response was that the time was not yet right and that
she would pray. He looked over at his queen and noticed she appeared to
be praying at that very mene.
"By the All-Creator!" Baldwin Narragan cursed. "What will we do
now?"
"Begin saddling your horses and preparing your weapons," Queen Dara
said. "It is time to ride out and meet our enemies head-on. We cannot
hope to win this war by waiting them out."
"My lady queen," Zephrym Vladon raised an eyebrow, but showed no
other outward emotion. "We are outnumbered; is this wise?"
Sumner was glad that Sir Zephrym had said it, for he had been about
to. The queen was not cowed by the remark, however, and she met Vladon's
eyes when she answered. "By my estimation, the Arvalian troops won't
have much stomach to fight by now. Besides, you yourself have said that
often the best tactic is to do what is least expected. It certainly
worked during our escape from Magnus."
There was silence for a moment. Sir Zephrym looked around the room,
then nodded. "I am with Queen Dara. Let us go to battle!"
Remembering the promise he had made to himself in Bellarmine Hall,
Sumner stepped forward as well. "Our horses won't saddle themselves."
Baldwin Narragan pulled a face, then said, "Ah, what have I to
lose?"
The other nobles and knights agreed one after another, then
dispersed to gather their household knights, squires, and men-at-arms.
Soon only Sumner, Zephrym Vladon, and the queen remained in the chamber.
"I should lead the attack," Queen Dara said.
"No, you shouldn't," Sumner said. "You are too valuable to us."
Zephrym added, "And you don't know how to fight well enough; not
yet, at least." When the queen was about to protest, the grizzled knight
gently shook his head. "Should we carry the day, I will teach you to
fight as well as Caeron ever could, your majesty, but until then, your
place is here."
"Very well. You had best be victorious, then."
Sumner nodded, then turned and charged out of the hall, shouting
for his squires and his knights. They all rushed to him, having heard
the commotion of the other lords gathering their troops. His squires
hastily strapped him into his chainmail gambeson, and were pulling the
long surcoat bearing his personal device over his head when Grethock
trudged into the room, his tabard soaked with rain but a grin on his
lips.
"Sumner!" he exclaimed. "You should see what's happening beyond our
walls! It looks as if the army from Arvalia is breaking camp; I saw
Emmeline Arval's personal banner moving out of the city and across the
causeway ... Why are you putting on your armour?"
"You've not heard up on the battlements then, that we are preparing
to attack!"
"Excellent!" Grethock's grin turned malicious, then disappeared
quickly. "But how did you know? This just happened in the last half
bell, yet you're all but fully garbed?"
Sumner could not suppress a smile of his own. "Of course! It must
have all been part of the queen's plan, to send that Stevenic holy man
Cyruz with me to sap the Arvalian will to fight! She did say she didn't
expect the Arvalians to have much stomach for battle when she gave the
order to sally forth a bell ago. She must have calculated something like
this would happen. But come, since you're ready as well, join me in the
stables and we'll ride out together!"
When the two brothers reached the outer bailey, most of the
combined host of loyalists trapped inside Dargon Keep were assembled,
ready for battle. The unchanging rain seemed to beat out a tune on all
the metal helmets and shields. The troops shuffled about, but appeared
more excited than anxious. Duchess Annora Quinnat charged up to the
Dargons astride her black destrier.
"Word has already spread; the enemy camp is in disarray! Some of
the archers even report that they've seen fighting breaking out in spots
between the Arvalians and Asbridgers!"
"Let us waste no more time, then," Sumner said, seeing one of his
squires leading his great chestnut-coloured warhorse to the fore. He
slipped a boot into one of the stirrups and swung himself up onto the
back of the beast.
He surveyed the gathered army one last time; it was a large force,
barely fitting into the confines of the bailey. Even in the gloom and
rain, he could easily make out the colourful caparisons on the lords'
and knights' horses, each adorned with its master's personal heraldry.
He could also make out foot soldiers bearing spears, swords, and maces,
and up on the walls, archers with their bows and arbalests.
A squire cantered up to Sumner on his horse and handed her lord his
great helm, bearing his ducal crown and the crest of a lily that he wore
to denote favour with the queen. Sumner decided to forego the usual
speech reviling the enemy and predicting victory. Instead, he shouted,
"For the queen!" and pulled the heavy helmet down over his head. He then
took a lance from the same squire and spurred his horse to a trot
towards the gates. He gestured and the massive wood reinforced with
steel doors parted with a rumble.
The rain pounding on his helmet blocked out almost all sound and he
could not see much through the narrow eye slits. He did not feel the
usual pre-battle anxiety, but instead a strange calm, as if he were in
his own world inside that great helm.
At last, the great gates had been opened and the portcullis was
lifted high enough for cavalry to fit under it. Sumner spurred his
horse; it reared back onto its hind legs, gave forth a loud snort, then
charged across through the portal. The sound of iron-shod hooves
pounding on the cobbles below joined with the cacophony of the rain. The
horse clattered down the massive steps that led up the cliff to Dargon
Keep. The stonework staircase that accessed the castle made it nearly
impregnable, as it was nearly impossible to get a battering ram up them,
and it funnelled attacking enemy troops into a narrow channel. They were
less helpful for a sally from the keep itself, but as Queen Dara had
predicted the enemy did not seem to expect an attack. Sumner could make
out the shapes of insurrectionist troops ahead, scrambling about in
confusion.
Before Sumner knew it, he was upon them. At first he wasn't sure
whether the other lords and knights were with him, but then such screams
and cries pierced the air that he knew he couldn't be alone. Everything
descended into a confusion of limbs, spraying blood, shouts, and howls
of agony.
Finally, he couldn't bear the weight of his great helm any more,
nor its constrictive vision, and he tore the thing off his head. It was
apparent that the insurrectionists had been utterly defeated. Corpses
lay two, three deep in places. Some enemy soldiers were fighting
desperately with horsemen circling about them. Many more could be seen
in the distance, some fleeing, others making a more orderly withdrawal.
Almost all of the dead enemy soldiers wore the gold field surmounted by
a black chevron of Asbridge.
Across the Coldwell, Sumner knew that many more enemy soldiers were
encamped. However, all of the men and women bearing weapons that he
could see on the far bank were heading away from the causeway rather
than towards it. It appeared that his suspicion earlier had been proved
correct: that after her encounter with Cyruz, Emmeline Arval had
rethought her allegiance to Aendasia and had tried to pull out. Duke
Asbridge must have been furious and tried to stop her from leaving,
perhaps even going so far as to forcibly prevent her departure.
It appeared that he had moved a great number of his troops across
the river for this purpose, and as such, they were ill-prepared for an
attack from the keep.
"Glory to God and his Stevene's Light!" Galina Fennell shouted,
riding up alongside Sumner.
"Glory to the All-Creator!" Baldwin Narragan countered.
"Glory to the queen," Sumner said. "For without her bold plan, this
victory might not have come to us."
"Long live Queen Dara!" the assembled soldiers cried in unison.
========================================================================
