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DargonZine Volume 22 Issue 03
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DargonZine Distributed: 10/18/09
Volume 22 Number 3 Circulation: 641
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Contents
Editorial Jon Evans
Damned Magic Jon Evans Deber 4-25, 1019
You Can't Go Home Again D'Artagnon Wells Yule 3, 1018
========================================================================
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 22-3, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright 18 October, 2009 by
The Dargon Project, Inc. Editor: Jon Evans <thegodling@verizon.net>,
Assistant Editor: John White <john.white@DREXEL.EDU>.
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 Jon Evans
thegodling@verizon.net
DargonZine has long been an establishment of learning. Learning to
write, learning to collaborate, and learning to communicate. We pride
ourselves on having fun in what we do, and one shining example of that
is the annual Dargon Summit. This past August, I hosted it in Lancaster,
Pennsylvania. I chose the area for its proximity to the Amish, as their
tendency to use more hand-made technology and their history of tradition
were characteristics I wanted to come to the fore of our meeting. My
planning skills were heavily impacted by last-minute business travel,
and a 5-hour ride to and from the airport, which should have lasted
under an hour each way. I was well prepared, therefore, for our working
sessions, but the social aspect was a bit of a flop.
Despite the "flop" I believe we generally enjoyed ourselves. By virtue
of working together so closely for so long, we have established natural
friendships. And the years we have historically come together has placed
each of us closely in the hearts of the others, even if only through
brief in-person meetings. For me, it was a personal thrill to see the
other authors. Distance and time makes it hard to get together with
friends like this, and the annual Summit is our excuse to gather.
I had set plans for the working sessions, to which we stayed mostly on
track. Much of what I wanted to get across was that good fiction is not
made by happy characters, it is made by characters that get tortured,
beaten, and destroyed on both emotional and physical levels. One of the
exercises we ran was to put our characters through the worst possible
situation we could imagine. Some hard writing definitely came out of
that, but I think it helped us explore what we were writing, who our
characters are, and who we are ourselves.
We also had the annual Summit Challenge. I believe more than one of
these stories will be showing up in our queue. This year, I wanted to
try something vastly different: I had each author submit two of their
favorite characters to me, and I randomly chose a different author to
write a scene with those two characters. Before the Summit started, each
author was provided with that scene and their two authors returned to
them, from which they were challenged to write a full story. I think
almost every author got back a scene that they never imagined writing
themselves, and the resulting stories I think will take us in directions
we might never have gone before.
I hope you like the stories we have coming in this issue. There's a new
one by me that I envisioned and brought to publishable status in very
short time. Along side that, we have one by a new author who has worked
diligently to both introduce new and fresh characters and magic into our
world, while simultaneously running into the challenges of a shared
writing environment. I hope you all welcome his works, and provide him
feedback -- one thing we never get enough of is readership response!
Until next time ...
-Jon
========================================================================
Damned Magic
Jon Evans
<thegodling@verizon.net>
Deber 4-25, 1019
Yesterday's weather was a spotless blue sky. Today, black clouds
turned mid-day into night. Freezing rain pelted the ground like stones.
My boots slipped and slid in the scree as I climbed toward the peak of
Raven's View, a rare grassy patch amongst an otherwise rock-strewn
landscape. I looked up toward the crest of the hill and saw the huddle
of figures standing there, waiting for me. It took 50 more paces to
cover 20. My captain addressed me as soon as I reached the top.
"Corporal," Captain Fellin said in greeting. She blinked her
perfect lashes, and blue-tinged droplets of rain reflected her eyes as
they fell away. Her shined chain armor glinted, even in the rain. Or
perhaps that was ice building up. I wondered why it was not snowing.
"Captain," I replied. I turned to the baron's son. "Your lordship."
"You may call me Arlan," he said. "I am the adopted son of Baron
Winthrop, not of his flesh, though he treats me as such."
"Is there a title you would prefer?" I asked out of courtesy.
"In Beinison, you would refer to me as Mon-Arlan. Alas, Baranurian
custom provides no honorific to identify the magus."
Magus. Despite his height and the rain-soaked hood he pulled over
his head, I could tell the boy was barely sixteen summers. If his
father, the baron, had not summoned him he would be chasing after
barmaids and farmers' daughters.
"I see," I said. "And the lady next to you?"
"My apprentice, Mona." He waved his arm in her general direction,
but gave no other notice of her presence. She was a mousy woman with
wide, brown eyes. She stared at him fervently and paid rapt attention to
his every word.
"Report please, Corporal," Captain Fellin said. I responded
immediately. She had allowed me my courtesies, and now it was time to
work.
"Scouts report approximately 40 of the enemy, ma'am. That's over
twice our own number, and four times our initial reports."
"40?" Arlan asked. "There was just a handful a sennight past. That
they are even here is unfathomable. These mountains are treacherous,
barren rocks." He swept his hands across the view we held from our small
peak. It was true. This section of the Darst Range was ill treated by
winds and a general lack of rain, today's downfall not withstanding.
"They can't live on the land," he continued. "Where could they have come
from?"
"A sennight?" my captain asked. "Arlan, why did your father not
report this sooner? We just received word yesterday."
Arlan dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "I have no
insight to my father's decision. He simply wishes for his men to return
to work."
"When did your miners start digging?" Captain Fellin asked. I could
tell she was thinking something, I just didn't know what it was.
"About a fornight past," Arlan replied hesitantly. His green eyes
avoided hers when he answred. He may well be a magus, but his sixteen
summers had not yet taught him to deceive.
"There's something else," I said. My captain looked at me and
nodded. "Our scout ... isn't sure what we're facing. He's an
impressionable young man, prone to myth and fancy." I paused here and
waited for my captain's approval. She nodded again. "But he doesn't
think we're facing men. He said they were different. Perhaps even
sinister."
My captain turned to Arlan. "And our 15 men," she said, "are
comprised of only six soldiers and nine conscripts: farmers with hoes,
and a few of your miners. Now we are facing a superior number." I could
see that she was judging the boy. She wanted to know what kind of metal
his bones were made of. Was it the hardened steel of a warrior, or the
soft gold of a pampered lord?
Arlan's eyes widened and his voice cracked when he said, "Surely
you don't think there's any danger?" Soft gold, then.
"What can your lordship -- what can your magic do for us, Arlan?" I
corrected myself. "There are 40. We are outnumbered, and will require
your assistance. Can you use these storms to call lightning from the
sky, or sweep ice through their ranks, magus?"
I was testing him as well. He was still hiding something, and I
wanted to know what it was. His eyes flared at that implication,
recalling the foul weather around us. I saw a bit of anger hidden behind
them, which I thought was good. But I also saw fear.
His apprentice spoke for him. "He could!" Her words came out like
strong breath. She was a believer, and she saw Arlan as her religion.
"If he deemed it necessary, he could call fire from the skies!" Arlan
looked away as she said this. I could not tell if he was embarrassed or
proud. She stood closer to him and grasped his arm.
"It's necessary," I said.
"Corporal," My captain's tone scolded me. She had been giving me
freedom in conversation, but I had reached the limit.
Arlan attempted to dry his face with the sleeve of his burgundy
robe. He took a deep breath, then looked at my captain. "How do we know
they have 40 men? I mean, why would there suddenly be so many? The
initial reports only less than ten."
"Those reports could have been wrong," she answered. "Not everyone
knows how to count. Also ..." She paused at this point and sighed. "They
may have scouts of their own. When they saw us coming, they gathered
more troops."
"But from where?" asked Arlan. "My father and I had this entire
area searched for villages before we started this mining camp. We needed
to know where food and water would be available; what kind of natural
resources are in the area. There were no inhabitants."
"Perhaps," I suggested, "under ground is where they live." I
finally understood what Captain Fellin was getting at when she had asked
about the miners' digging. "If 40 come against us here, there could be
more beneath these mountains. Many more."
"My lord," Captain Fellin said, "perhaps it is time to pull our
troops back. A force this size should be reported to the duke. Let
Clifton's men --"
"No!" Again, there was that fear in his eyes. Now I believed I
understood what he was hiding.
"Arlan," I said quietly, "Duke Dargon doesn't know about this new
mining camp of your father's, does he?"
"We saw no reason to tell him of it," Arlan replied. His robes
clung against him as the rain continued to pelt us. He attempted to wear
the guise of a man of unquestionable morals. He failed. "If the mine had
proven unprofitable, then what is the point of alerting the duke?"
"And if your father saw a few month's unreported profits, what harm
would come of it, straight?" My Dargon accent was showing.
"The duke doesn't assume the risk." Arlan stood straight up, his
height exaggerated now. "Are you denying my family's right to this
land?" Was this some mage's trick to intimidate me? It worked, a bit.
Fortunately, my captain stepped between us and placed one of her hands
on each of our chests. Fire nearly spouted from Mona's eyes.
"Gentlemen," my captain said. "We are about to go to battle.
Against what, we are uncertain." She looked us both in the eyes, each in
turn, to ensure we listened to her words. Smitten as I was, she could
have been reading from the Basic Manual of Arms, and I would have
thought it was poetry. "If 40 of them are there now, after this short a
period of time, who knows how many more there could be.
"Arlan, you need to tell us where the enemy is, when they will be
here, and from which direction they will be approaching."
In the darkness of the storm, it was hard to tell that Arlan's skin
had turned pale, but I saw it happen.
"That's a bit of a problem," he said.
"Why?" my captain asked.
"I've scried for the information. All I know is that they will be
arriving soon, but where they are and from what direction, I could not
discern."
"Lot of good that does us," I said.
"Magic is not simple!"
"Is there anything you have been able to do?" I asked.
"I summoned this rain," he said haughtily. Mona stood taller next
to him.
I spat on the ground. "There's some more. What good is it?"
"It's difficult to fight in," he insisted. "The strength of a
smaller force is in it's agility. They will be weakened."
"We are now the smaller force!" I yelled at him.
"Corporal!" Captain Fellin shouted. I reined in my anger. This fool
was going to get us all killed. My captain started talking to him again,
but I couldn't listen to it anymore. I walked to the edge of Raven's
View, a precipice that provided a perfect view of the valley below.
There was our encampment, making ready for battle. Already, some
lines were being mustered. Our six-man patrol was mixing in with the
conscripts to provide courage and give them some basic training. And
ensure they didn't run. The fires was low and smoking, and Captain
Fellin's tent was being dismantled. Her horse was feeding in another
rare patch of grass to the south. The rain made everything look hazy
from up here, but I could tell the troops were miserable. Men were
slipping in the mud and rivulets made by the storm. I could hear
cursing. Morale was low.
At the edge of the encampment, I saw the jagged rise of sharp rocks
form into hills. With the rain and runoff, the rocks appeared to be
moving. Foolish mage. I looked back at him and listened again.
"I tell you, I've tried," he said. "There is no single, discernible
direction. We could be walking right into them if we go back the way we
came." I wondered when Arlan was going to give us good news.
I heard Fellin's mare whinny. I glanced down to the patch of grass,
but the horse was gone. Where could the men have taken it? I scanned the
encampment again. The men were still gathering, trying to get into a
line. I could not see the horse, though. I looked around the edges of
the camp, into the jagged slopes. A gust flew rain up into my eyes and I
blinked violently. In that moment, I thought I saw something crawling
along the rocks.
"Arlan," I heard Mona's whispery voice clearly, somehow, despite
the increasing downpour. "They're coming." I glanced at her for just a
moment. Her eyes were wide, and her head was tilted all the way back,
being pelted by the rain. She was in some sort of trance. I looked back
at the encampment. There was no one rushing or fighting. No urgency or
calls to battle.
"Where?" Arlan asked. I stole a quick look at my captain. I saw
Arlan reaching out to grasp Mona by the shoulders. "What direction?" he
asked. I looked back at the camp. Still no urgency from my men. No enemy
could be seen on the road in front of them or behind. Then I looked at
the jagged, rocky hillsides. Small lumps of fur and rock seemed to be
descending toward the camp. Five? Fifteen? It was difficult to be sure
in the rain. They could be all around the camp, and my men had no idea.
"Everywhere," Mona said breathlessly. I heard something hit the
ground. I turned and saw Mona laying prone. Arlan huddled over her. My
captain ran to my side, looking to the camp. When I glanced back down, I
saw those things of rock and fur making their way through my men.
Beasts swarmed down the rocky mountain sides into the small valley
that held my men. A score of them were already amongst the soldiers,
growling, swiping with long, clawed limbs and leaping at them from the
rocks. I saw flashes of white teeth before they sank into the necks of
the screaming soldiers and conscripts below. Blood gushed from their
injuries and mixed with the downpour. A cry of "Regroup! Come together!"
shouted as the trained soldiers among them tried to form a defensive
unit. The beasts picked off the stragglers who were succumbing to fear.
All this happened in moments. I could hear someone screaming at
them, telling them to stick together, urging them on, telling them to
kill and hack those bloody devils. I looked over at my captain, who was
looking at me in shock. Then I realized that I was the one screaming.
I drew my sword, and prepared to leap down the scree and slide my
way, cut and bruised, into battle. My captain grabbed my shoulder and
said, "There's nothing you can do." I watched as one conscript made a
dash to the western road out of the valley, and a hail of rock and mud
fell down upon him. Five men stood together in the center and formed a
small, tenuous circle while the beasts slowly gathered around them. My
men were vastly outnumbered. I recognized them. They had served with me
for years. I was about to watch them die.
"Perhaps I can do nothing to save them," I said. "But he can." I
pointed my sword at our so-called magus, Arlan. He was kneeling over his
acolyte, holding her hand as she lay in the grass. His face was a mask
of fear. Through clenched teeth I commanded him. "If you can bring down
the fire, then do it now."
Despite all the cries of battle, dying men, and the downpour of
rain, I was struck by a single image. Arlan's face transformed. What was
fear became resolve. He stood up and walked slowly to the edge of the
precipice, where Fellin -- my beautiful captain -- and I stood. At once
he thrust his arms out and upward, his fingers stretching to the sky.
His soaked robes whipped around him in the storm, his head tilted back.
The cowl of his cloak fell backward, revealing his bare, shaved skull.
It was decorated with intricate tattoos. Then he began chanting.
I looked down. My soldiers were still standing, held together in a
small circle. Behind a flimsy shield wall, they thrust and jabbed their
spears, holding the beasts at bay. But for how much longer? Within
moments, those dozen or so of beasts would be joined by twice as many,
and my men's spears would be meaningless against a mass of rushing
beasts pouring over them.
All the while, Arlan's chant was picking up pace, growing louder
and louder. His voice became a frenzied cacophony of unintelligible
syllables. Suddenly, he emitted a short scream. The air tingled with
energy. A bright flash erupted from the sky, and hailed downward into
the midst of the massing beasts. Before I could witness the results, a
deafening boom shook the ground and Fellin and I were thrown backward,
onto the grassy top of the hill.
I stood up slowly. Arlan was kneeling now, but I could see him
moving, starting to chant again. Mona stirred from her stupor, awakened
perhaps by the sound of thunder so close to us. My captain also began to
rise. "Ol's balls!" she gasped. "That kid is powerful. Not some
self-important lordling after all."
"Oh, he's still a self-important lordling," I replied. "But he is
powerful. Perhaps we should stay over here for the next round."
"Good idea," she said. There was a slight grin on her face. "I'll
stay here. You go recon." I smiled in return. Gods, I loved her. "We
still need to know what's happening." She was right. I crawled to the
edge of Raven's View. Arlan's chanting was increasing again, getting
louder. I would only take a moment to look before retreating back to
Fellin's spot.
The blast of lightning that struck the massing beasts had scattered
them, but they were regrouping. Three or four of their bodies were
charred and smoking on the ground. I imagined I could hear the hiss as
the rain pelted their corpses. But three or four deaths among ten times
that number was little to cheer about. There was another group massing,
perhaps a score, preparing to overrun the remaining soldiers. "There!" I
shouted and pointed my sword. "Strike there!" Then I ran back as Arlan's
voice erupted.
Another brilliant flash, followed by a deafening boom. Why did
lightning make so much noise? When I ran back to the edge again, the
beasts were no longer massing. Perhaps half a dozen had been charred
this time, but the remaining beasts were thinning out, encircling the
soldiers. A few more looked to the top of Raven's View, and I could
swear they were pointing at us.
Mona was with us at the edge, now. "There's so many of them," she
said.
"Can he do this faster? Can he direct the strikes better?" I asked
her. I didn't know if he could hear me while he was chanting. I had no
idea if he was even conscious of me. When would he know to stop?
"Give me your sword," Mona said. She held out her hand. I
hesitated. A soldier does not willingly relinquish his weapon in battle.
"Give it to me! It's metal. He can use that to direct the lightning!" I
handed her the weapon. Mona approached Arlan from the side, slowly. As
he stretched out his arms, she placed the blade against his chest. He
reached for it, dragging his hand along its sharpened edge. Blood welled
from his palms as he clasped it, found the handle, and pointed it toward
the scattered enemy.
This time there was no warning, no build-up of chanting. He was no
longer calling the lightning from the sky, but from within himself. He
screamed once, and a flash of light blinded me while a thunderclap
hurled me backward onto the rocky slope. I fought to stop my descent,
even while I fought for my sight. Gravel scraped the helmet from my
head. Rocks tore at my hands and clawed my legs as I slid down toward
the bloodied white teeth of the enemy. My descent stopped suddenly when
my feet slammed into a boulder and crushed my legs into me.
I heard another thunderclap and closed my eyes ... too late, of
course. But I was already blind. I struggled to hear my surroundings
rather than see them. The slide of rock and stone around me, the
constant fall of rain, the screams of the men below me -- some
beast-like, but mostly human -- gave me my position. Somehow I could
tell that the unstable slipping and sliding of rock just below me was
something climbing upward, toward me. I reached to my side and was
thrilled to find my dagger still there.
Something stood over me. My eyes were still recovering from the
flash of lightning. It breathed hard, and let out an animalistic roar. I
saw its black sillouette against a bright background. It's dog-shaped
head, its maw opened and howling. I noticed brown teeth, wolfish eyes,
and what looked like rock embedded in its skin. Then I saw flesh, and
knew it was my only chance. As it howled, I struck out with my dagger. I
sank the blade to the hilt into that beast's body. It emitted another
roar, but this was the death knell of an animal. Sticky blood gushed
over my hands as the creature fell backward. The now slippery handle of
my blade yanked away from me. I heard the beast fall to the rock and
slide down the slope, taking my weapon with it. Another thunderclap, and
I was rocked sideways. I turned toward the slope of the hill, kept my
eyes down, and scrambled up. Sharp rocks lacerated my hands and knees,
but desperation drove me onward. I had no weapon and no amount of luck
would save me from another beast. My only chance for survival was at the
peak, among allies, weapons, and magic.
Another thunderclap. My ears were ringing. Were the lightning
strikes coming faster? They would have to, there were so many of the
enemy. Someone was calling out. "Op! Ove!" I had no idea what they were
saying. My vision became more clear as I ascended. I could only see
Arlan, holding out my sword and pointing it toward the valley. The
weapon glowed yellow, but whether from heat or magic I had no idea. I
closed my eyes before another flash could blind me. But I couldn't close
my ears -- the noise of yet another thunderclap pounded my skull. I
would be deaf before this day was out. I chanced a glimpse at the valley
and my remaining men.
The beasts were retreating back up the other slope, dragging their
dead with them. I saw two of my men still standing. They slowly lowered
their shields. It was over. We had won, but at such a price. Then
another bolt flashed through the air, and those two men exploded off the
ground, blackened and charred. I didn't hear the thunderclap. I looked
back up toward the peak, and there was Arlan, still chanting, still
pointing my weapon. It was aimed at me, now.
"Gods!" I screamed and leaped sideways. The charged air passed near
enough to numb my feet, but missed me. I skidded on the rocky slide,
ripping flesh from my hands and arms. I looked up and saw Arlan still
standing there, now pointing my blade down into the valley again. I
scrambled faster up the slope, keeping my eyes on him as much as
possible. Mona tried to grab him, but another bolt shot from the sword
and struck into the valley. I saw Mona fly backward, her wet robes
suddenly dried and sizzling. I was almost to the top. I could no longer
feel the sharp rocks cutting into my hands and knees. Arlan was poising
for another bolt, aiming the sword at me again.
Then my captain launched herself against his shoulders. She tried
to tackle him, knock the sword out of his hands. "Stop!" I heard her
cry. "It's over!" Another blast erupted from Arlan, but this time the
sword did not direct the lightning; there was another, larger metal
surface for it to work with. My beautiful captain. Her chain mail burst
apart as the lightning sizzled through it, through her. She fell to the
ground a blackened husk. I could smell burnt hair and skin. My captain.
I had loved her.
I was at the top now, and Arlan stood facing away from me. He was
still chanting. Another bolt burst from the sword and arched into the
sky. Then another hit a tree. There was no telling when or if he would
stop. Mona stirred and looked at me. I picked up a heavy rock from the
ground.
"No, don't!" she cried out. But it was the best feeling I'd had all
day, the thrill of that rock crashing down on his tattooed skull. His
body crumbled instantly. Then I felt my legs give way. I saw a clear
blue sky, somewhere in the distance. Then I was unconscious.
"When I woke up," I told the man sitting across from me. "I was
imprisoned. That was a fortnight past. So why am I here?" I was
surrounded by a lavish hall. There were several guards at the doors and
windows, but it was suspiciously barren of the usual nobles and gentry
that latch onto the duke. One of the duke's personal bodyguard, Bren kel
Tomis, remained by his side. The one-armed duke looked much older than
his 31 years. Upon a time, he would have looked younger. The war had
done at least that much to him, in addition to costing him his arm.
He nodded. "Given your experience, you may well wonder that." His
eyes did not meet mine while he began his explanation. He was either
about to lie, or did not like the truth he was going to speak. I'm not
sure which I would have preferred. "But the fact is, you attacked a
nobleman's son. You, a common soldier, struck a noble with a rock. You
are fortunate he did not die."
"I see no fortune in that, my lord," I said. I had intended to kill
him.
"Perhaps not for you. Perhaps not." He kept nodding. I could not
fathom why. "There is a problem with your story, however." He sat back
in his oaken throne. His head leaned forward, his eyes were tired. His
ducal crown seemed to press down upon brow.
"Truly?" I asked. "I watched every one of my men, and my ... my
captain, get slaughtered. I could do nothing about it. And now I'm a
prisoner." I lifted my hands to indicate the iron shackles that bound
me. "What other problems do I have, your lordship?"
"You do realize you're speaking to Duke Dargon, do you not?" Bren
kel Tomas spoke from his duke's side. The duke waived at the man
dismissively.
"Yes, a bigger problem." Suddenly I realized that no matter how low
I felt at this time, I was about to plunge deeper. "You see, the baron
tells a different story. In his version, there was no secret mining
camp. It's existence would implicate him in disloyal activities, you
see. And without that camp ..." He waited for my thoughts to catch up to
his. After two sennights in my condition, it was a longer wait than he
should have expected.
"Without that camp," I said, "there were no beasts from under the
ground. And his son did not lose control of his magic." There was that
nodding motion of his again. "Then how does he explain the loss of an
entire patrol? Or the bodies of those things we left strewn about the
valley?"
"Your scouting expedition ran across raiders from barony Connall.
Searching for food, that sort of thing. Raids between baronies are
common enough, and much easier to believe. His son, Arlan, was in the
area investigating complaints from the local citizens in his father's
name. Somehow, a battle with the raiders ensued -- he offers no
explanation there -- and at the end, after his son had driven them off,
you were so caught up in a battle rage that you tried to murder Arlan."
"That's not true!" I was suddenly more energized than I had been
since the battle. "How can he get away with that?"
"He's a lord, isn't he? His word carries more weight, and his story
is far more believable. Also, he knows that I am in a dififcult
situation. If I take sides and claim that beasts with stones embedded in
their skin are attacking the ducal lands, that might implicate our
Doravin visitors, and relations there are already difficult. The last
thing I need is for the Dargon populace to hear a story like this."
"So I'm to die, then?" I asked. Clifton looked at me with pursed
lips, as if considering the option. I tried to ease his guilt, if he was
having such thoughts. "To be honest, I do not much care. It only bothers
me that my death will be supporting the lies of a dishonest lord."
"That bothers me as well." He stared over my head into some distant
place. "I do not wish for my other vassals to believe they can create
secret mining camps and cover up their mistakes by having my soldiers
killed. That weakens me significantly. There must be retribution, and
yet, I have no proof that Lord Winthrop has actually committed a crime.
Only your word."
"What about the encampment? The bodies of the dead soldiers? I saw
those men get slaughtered. No raiders from Connall would have sunk their
teeth into the necks of my men. My captain's body was a blackened mass,
charred by Arlan's lightning. Does the presence of raiders explain
that?" I believe I kept my voice from sounding desperate to save my
life.
"There was no sign of a mining camp. And the bodies of your
soldiers and Captain Fellin were burned in pyres, so there is no
evidence of the wounds or manners of death."
My head hung low. I was doomed. My men were dead. My beautiful
captain was killed by a damned magus would couldn't control his magic.
And the person whose greed started this mess -- Baron Winthrop -- was
going unpunished. I raised my eyes back to the duke's.
"Set the date, then, my lord duke. I understood when I entered your
service that I might die for Dargon. So let it be."
Clifton smiled. "I'm glad to hear such loyalty does exist in my
subjects. It is a rare thing, and should not be wasted frivolously.
Additionally, I do have concerns about these beasts. I do not trust
Winthrop, that much is true. And while I might forgive his greed, I
cannot abide his hiding a possible threat to my duchy in the form of
subterranean beasts that openly attach my lands. I believe we should
hold a ducal investigation into the matter. For the good of the dukedom,
you understand?"
"Of course, my lord," I replied.
"What is your name, corporal?"
"Archer, my lord," I replied. "First name, Justin."
"You are an accomplished archer, then?" kel Tomis asked. I
understood his confusion: trained archers rarely lead small patrols.
They are reserved for distance attacks and larger battles.
"No, my lord. My father was a royal archer. He took the title as
his surname, and now it is mine."
"Ah," said the duke, as if he had asked the question himself. He
turned a bit on his throne and faced kel Tomis. "Well, Bren, we shall
create this ducal investigation. And for the sake of thoroughness, I
believe we should include our soldier here, just in case."
My brows furrowed in confusion. Had I not just told them my name?
"It's Archer, my lord," I said. "Justin Archer."
========================================================================
You Can't Go Home Again
D'Artagnon Wells
<dartagnonwells@gmail.com>
Yule 3, 1018
The pain in Kiev's shoulder woke him gradually from his concussion.
Trying to open his eyes he found that only one was compliant. The other
was plastered shut from the mud his face was resting in. He wasn't
averse to the mud, the dirt was one thing, but he wasn't entirely sure
what liquid made up the other half of the mud equation.
Prompted by his new apprehension about what he was marinating in,
the battle magus shifted his weight around trying to stand and found his
legs surrounded by air. Regaining more consciousness, he became aware
that he was pitched over a stack of crates, feet in the air and face
down in the mud; so much for decorum and grace.
He pulled himself forward, rolling to his back with a grunt,
finding new pains when his body slammed violently. There was a pain in
his right knee and a few more in his left ribcage. He looked closer at
his left shoulder, which was covered in scorch marks and blood from
where the wizard's bolt hit him. He removed the leather straps of the
cluster maces from his wrists and set them gingerly in the hooks on his
belt so his hands would be free to mend with.
Kiev thought back to the fight he had with Mon-Hyden. Flashes of
the fight replayed in his mind, recalling every single mistake he made
during the battle, like choosing ironwood over hematite and choosing
missiles over ... well, over anything that could get through the layered
shield. Turning his mind away from the pain, he thought more about that;
what type of attack could he use to break through the ward?
He pulled himself to the stone wall of the nearest building and
into the shade from the heat of the mid-day sun. Leaning against it he
produced his health kit. With his good hand he fished around until
fingers grasped the envelope he was looking for. He fiddled around with
the brown paper. Fighting back his eagerness, he was careful not to
spill the precious contents. The blood-scarlet paste was nearing its
end. That thought sent a wave of remorse through the injured battle
magus. It was going to be a rough barter to get the ingredients for
more.
He removed a pinky-nail size piece and broke it in two, resting one
piece on his tongue and putting the other into the biggest of the
lacerations on his shoulder. Slowly the wound started to heal while the
pains throughout his body subsided. It would still take about eight
bells to be fully recovered, longer if he didn't get some water to
assist the remedy along.
He moved his right arm within the brass and iron plate pauldron
testing the armor to see if it needed any mending. It moved okay, just a
little stiff. Some light maintenance would be needed but it was in
working order. His hands moved instinctively to his hips,
double-checking to see that the maces were there. The man stood, wiping
the mud from his tanned face, taking a brief smell before he threw it
away in disgust. It wasn't water in that mud. Taking further inventory,
he found that his black, leather-armored pants needed mending and his
main pack was missing. With the pack gone he was out of food. On a
positive note all the samples on the inside of his belt remained intact;
there was the silver lining on his gong-storm cloud. He ran his fingers
through his cropped brown hair, dislodging more dirt and mud. No need to
look a mess.
Now to find out where he was. The last desperate attempt by the
wizard was curious at the time, but now saw the objective; get Kiev as
far away as possible. But where did the wizard feel was far enough? The
battle magus limped to the mouth of the alley and saw the same buildings
one would see anywhere in Cherisk. The smell of the sea air and the heat
of day, not the cool mountain air he had come from, let him know he was
somewhere on the coast, but again not really helpful in pinning down
exactly where.
"Does that hurt?"
Kiev turned to see a little girl dressed in rags sitting on a log
at the mouth of the alley.
"What?"
"That," she said pointing at his shoulder, "does it hurt?"
"A little."
"How did you do that?" she asked.
"Do what?"
"Poof," she said, popping open her fingers in front of her face,
eyes opening wide. "Scared me half to tears. I almost peed."
Kiev laughed. "I'm not too sure how I got here. Where is 'here'?"
"Dargon."
Dargon? That damnable wizard had a sick sense of humor. He was
wanted in Dargon and looking closer at the street he found a few
features he recognized.
"Piss," he cursed. It wasn't a random coincidence that he was sent
here and that meant the crusty old man wasn't through with him yet. It
was time to change alleys. Kiev took off through the streets southward,
hoping that he could find a quick way out of town before the guard found
him. Failing that, a hiding place would do until nightfall.
Little padding steps kept pace with his. Still a little delirious
from his wounds, it took a moment to realize he was being followed.
"Go home," he snipped at her.
"Okay, let's go," she said, reaching for his hand.
"I don't know where you live."
"You have to come with me," she scolded.
"Go away." Kiev rolled his eyes.
"Hey! You're mine. You have to do what I say!"
"What?"
"I asked Nehru for you and he gave you to me. You're mine! Nehru
said so."
Kiev took pause for a moment. Why would a little girl need to ask
Nehru, the god of war for anything?
"What did you say?"
"In the alley, before you came, I prayed to Nehru and then he gave
me you."
"What did you pray to Nehru for?"
"My mum, she's real hurt cause my dad hurt her. He always hurts her
and I don't want him to hurt us anymore. Nobody cares about it and none
of the other gods listened to me, but Nehru did. I asked Nehru for help
and he gave you to me. You're mine. I prayed for you."
The battle magus could have ignored anything else, but the resolve
of the hurting child he could not. He knelt at her feet, wiped away a
tear from her cheek and smiled. Moreover, her home could provide the
perfect cover until dark.
"What's your name then?"
"Rynn," she replied.
"Rynn. If Nehru sent me, then I must be here to help you. Lead the
way."
The less crowded back alleys of Dargon were muffled in an almost
reverent silence, unbroken save for the whispered steps of Rynn. They
detoured once or twice through a few shops when the alleys ran out and
eventually made it back to the cramped residential quarter of Dargon
without incident.
Rynn led him through the door into a cramped apartment. A small
kitchen area was the first thing people walked into before heading to a
communal room that was utilized for sleeping, eating and, on rare
occasions, entertaining. Space was cramped and cluttered, there was
maybe fifteen feet to the back of the hovel and every inch was covered
with junk.
On the counters in the kitchen makeshift dishes sat in piles
covered by rotting fish, discarded bones and various other spoiled
foods. The whole of it was crawling with flies and roaches; two militant
forces fighting for control over the prime rotting smorgasbord.
There was a stench that permeated everything. The streets were bad,
but in here in the sweltering heat and lack of proper airflow it felt
like walking through a stagnant cesspool. More than the attacks to the
senses there was an aura of deep-seated misery that Kiev did his best to
shed from his own state of mind.
"My dad isn't home yet, he's still at the docks. But my mum is in
here." She led him to the communal room where her mother was lying
still, uncovered and half naked on the sod floor. Her breathing was
shallow carrying a ticking sound with it, her face was broken and her
body was covered in lacerations and bruises.
"I need you to get me some fresh water. Clean fresh water," he said
to the girl. "What's your mother's name?"
"Allandra," she said running out the back door.
"Allandra, can you hear me?"
The woman moaned. He reached down and pried an eyelid open. Her
pupil was dilated fully, encompassing the color ring; not a good sign.
The daughter came back with a gourd of water, spilling some while
she tripped her way to Kiev.
"Is she going to be okay?"
"How long has she been like this?"
"Maybe three days."
"Has she had anything to eat or drink?"
"No, she won't. I've asked her to, but she tells me no."
Kiev knew that her life was down to the bells now; even the healing
paste he had wouldn't give her a fighting chance on death's door. How
was he going to tell Rynn that her mother was about to die? That after
she had done all she could -- even turning to gods in their supposed
glory -- she was still going to fail?
"Where are your siblings?"
"My what?"
"Your brothers and sisters. Do you have any?"
Rynn shook her head.
"Okay. Look at me and listen," he started quietly. "I need you to
spend some time with your mother, talk to her and let her know how you
feel about her. She may not be able to talk but she can hear you and she
needs to hear your voice right now. Okay?"
"Is she going to get better?"
Kiev held her stare in his, fighting back the rage, hoping that she
would catch on so he didn't have to tell her the stark truth. But she
didn't; she couldn't comprehend what she was about to face.
"No," he whispered at last.
"But Nehru gave you to me," she explained. "He's supposed to make
it all better. You are supposed to make it all better. You said."
"Nehru is not the god of healing. He is the god of war. Let me show
you what Nehru had in mind when he sent me. Until then, spend this time
with your mother."
Sven stepped up to the entrance of the Inn of the Serpent, taking a
long stretch with a big yawn. Working the graveyard shift for the city
guard was definitely starting to take its toll. He was tired and here it
was only mid-day. A long bath at the Serpent and he'd be feeling right
as rain.
Ever vigilant, he scanned the area to see if he had been followed.
Satisfied, he made to enter the inn when a man caught his eye. The man
was following a little girl and was trying his best not to be seen,
which, Sven thought, was a wasted effort since his two large maces were
screaming trouble at anyone apt enough to pay attention.
Why do they try? The harder they try the more they stick out. Sven
rolled his eyes, knowing his bath would be put on hold and then started
toward the man.
The guard closed the distance unnoticed, eager to put his
suspicions to rest and get to his hot bath. He caught the full front of
the man's face; a name rang in his ears.
Kiev.
Sven saw a group of young boys passing by, recognizing a couple as
shadow boys. It wasn't ideal, but desperation created the strangest of
bedfellows. He slowed his pace and tried to limit his intimidating
countenance, then stopped a safe distance away. Shadow boys were like
feral dogs. They were used to humans, and at their core wanted the
connection, but their fears often outweighed trust in humanity.
"Hey, who's interested in making a Royal?"
Skeptical of the guard but enticed by the prospect of money, they
made a few steps toward Sven.
"What we gotta do?" the dominant boy asked.
"That man, there," he pointed out Kiev, "follow him, I'll be back
here in less than a bell and I expect you to know where he is."
"Why, what's he done?" he asked.
"Don't worry yourself about it. You want the Royal?"
"Mebbe," he replied.
"No skin off my back. I can find someone else more eager for easy
money," Sven bluffed.
"Alright, you got us straight, but is that a Royal for everyone or
one Royal to split?"
Sven glared at the boy who returned his glare with a smirk. "A
Royal to split. Get moving."
Losing the negotiation, the boys ran off after Kiev.
Mon-Hyden was annoyed with how expensive the battle magus had
become, reagent-ly speaking. Chasing him down was neither easy nor as
cost effective as the others had been. He stood over the disturbed mud
puddle where he was certain Kiev had landed, tapping a finger on his
forehead.
The wizard grabbed his left hand with his right, trying in vain to
rub life and feeling back into the appendage that died from over
exerting his talents. He had come really close to losing the duel atop
the Beinison mountains. A few more moments and it would have been more
than his forearm that was dead.
At least in Dargon he wouldn't be outnumbered.
Mon-Hyden pulled an oak twig from inside his dark purple robe and
knelt down. After a few designed sigils in the dirt he scoured the alley
for anything useful. Moments later revealed the location of an ash trap
just outside a door, which he dumped atop the newly drawn sigils then
sat a barrel near it, completing his makeshift altar. Now it was time
for the hard part.
Ceremony was everything to the wizard as it was to the others in
his order. Everything done needed to be done with a purpose, with a
careful thought and with the right tool. The majority of it was all
inside Mon-Hyden's head. Looking south while chanting certain spells
wasn't exactly necessary, but it made him feel more connected to the
powers he was manipulating. Carrying around a carefully packed satchel
of ceremonial blades could be considered to be extravagant by some or
even borderline insane by others -- even by others in his own order --
but Mon-Hyden preferred to be prepared.
He removed the satchel from within his robes, untied the satin
ribbon and rolled it out, splaying the various blades. It was easy to
find the one he was looking for; it was the biggest one there. The
blacksmith told him it was a simple butcher's cleaver. Mon-Hyden claimed
there was nothing *simple* about it. The handle was chiseled from
alabaster and jet and polished to a shine. Six rings were connected to
holes that ran the length of the spine, which tinkled as the wizard
removed the cleaver from the canvas satchel. He sat it gently atop the
barrel then removed a thick hemp rope from another pocket amongst the
knives along with a stick and some ebony powder. A black candle was
next. Lighting it with his flint proved difficult, but after a few tries
managed to get it lit.
With dexterity and a little sweat he was able to get the rope
secured enough around his forearm to hold the stick for the tourniquet.
He twisted the rope around until his fingernails turned blue then a few
more times just to be sure it was tight and secured the peg so it
wouldn't unravel. Mon-Hyden caressed the alabaster side of the handle
gently before he palmed it. He felt a slight tinge of anxiety looking at
his arm then, without a second thought he raised the cleaver high
slicing it powerfully through his arm just above the tourniquet.
It was this moment that he realized that the flesh of his arm was
dead yet the bone was very much alive. He tried to remain conscious as
he sliced through the remaining flesh to sever the arm. With great
strain of will he poured the pouch of ebony powder over the exposed
stump then stuck it over the candle. Fire met powder releasing a bright
burst of flame and light, cauterizing the wound.
It took Mon-Hyden a few moments to regain his focus on the task
before him; he still wasn't done. From another pocket inside his robe he
took out a small oak box emanating a muted scraping sound and a pair of
small wooden tongs. He opened the box onto the ground a few feet away
from him. He didn't want to risk getting stung. A twitching scorpion
tail fell, snapping angrily, looking for anything it could connect with.
The wizard quickly grabbed it with the tongs and brought it to the
dismembered arm on the barrel. After a few stings the tail went limp.
The arm started to bloat and turn black, dark tar-like blood trailed out
and pooled.
Still working with haste, Mon-Hyden took the appendage by the hand
and held the open end over the pile of ash, putrid bile drizzling over
the ashen sacrifice. When he felt the arm gave all it had he tossed it
aside then gathered up all his tools and secured them back where they
went.
An image came to Mon-Hyden an image the wizard felt would instill
fear into the heart of the battle magus. He focused hard for a clarified
image of the mythical creature. Any fault in the image and all the
preparations would be for naught. A few arcane phrases and words played
through his head trying to get them in the right order. Feeling
confident with his image and spell, he spoke the words as an inhaled
whisper under his breath, his hand stretched out toward the ash.
The ash started to shift, mixing with the blood and glowing from
the sigils beneath it. A black-scaled claw took shape and dug into the
earth, then another. A tail formed next, long and thin, with two rows of
short black spikes running its length. The spikes grew larger as they
continued up along the spine of the creature that started to form.
Finally a wide head, complete with a short, narrowed snout full of
violent fangs, took shape. His dragon golem was complete.
The creature bore his spiteful eyes into Mon-Hyden, waiting for its
master's instruction.
"There was a man who landed here," he pointed. "Find him, kill
him." The dragon sniffed around hungrily then bolted through the mouth
of the alley.
Yes, Kiev had become expensive indeed.
Kiev took the water to the corner of the room to give the girl as
much privacy as he could in the tight quarters. Sipping down the cool
water he could feel his countenance revive, the paste going to work on
his broken body. Being on edge the past months, he allowed himself a
moment of peace, knowing that stress could destroy him easily as any
wizard.
A scratching sound came from the front door, lightly at first
followed by a rapid sniffing sound. Kiev kept his eyes closed,
meditating, finding the rhythm of his body. He followed his skeletal
frame to his ribs envisioning the small fractures mending, thin beads of
bone mass filling in the small gaps. The yunin biyow, the paste he had
taken, accelerated the body's natural healing abilities and with the
direction of meditation and life giving water it could work more
efficiently. Nearly half a bell had passed so far and he was already
starting to feel better.
Another, eager scratching came from the front door.
"What is that?" the girl asked, walking to the door.
"Your dog?"
She scoffed, "I don't own a dog."
Kiev looked at the door and listened closer to the scratching. The
beast growled, sending chills down the back of his neck.
"Get away from the door!" he shouted. Rynn turned a confused look
at him and stood there. In a shower of splinters the beast broke through
the door. Roughly the size of a large wolf, the black ashen nether
dragon charged in. Kiev was up the moment he shouted at her and met the
dragon head-on, bringing both maces to the side of its face. The child
had the good sense to dive out of the way when the two went to tearing
each other apart.
Unfazed by the hit to the face the dragon rose up on his hind legs
and raked down at Kiev's chest. The battle magus turned his armored arm
into the attack and brought his free mace to the beast's ribs, knocking
it off balance. It rolled to the side and was quick to its feet, coming
back for him.
Black oily scales rocked over its back before it leapt again at
Kiev's face but the battle magus proved the quicker, rolled to his back
and used the dragon's momentum to kick it to the back of the apartment.
His first instinct was to run, but the wizard might be outside. Even if
he wasn't, the confined space definitely gave the battle magus the upper
hand against the wizard's construct. He wondered just how many people
saw it before it found him; he had, after all, traveled halfway across
the small port city.
A particular dish caught his eye during the tango with the vicious
dragon. A small pile of blackberries lay rotting in the summer heat.
Blackberry brambles, the leviathan of the flora world, were more than a
nuisance, they could be downright dangerous if not respected and kept in
check. And with a little arcane coaxing they could be deadly.
While the beast was looking for his footing, Kiev grabbed the
berries sending flies and roaches scurrying and shoved them in his
mouth, needing to give of himself for the spell he had in mind. He
fought back the urge to gag on the fermenting mold. The dragon was up
stalking toward the battle magus with a new found respect. Kiev put his
back to the door and held his hand out for Rynn and ushered her behind
him. Sven barreled into the Old Guard House, through the halls he
stomped with haste toward Kalen Darklen's office. A few neophyte guards
followed in his wake, sensing action. They were dying for something a
little more exciting than barroom brawls.
The veteran stormed into his superior's office without so much as a
knock, interrupting his current meeting with Dargon's preeminent mage,
Dyann Taishent and Vable, the newly appointed head of the Esoterics. The
fury on Lt. Darklen's face was plain to see.
"Sergeant, you better explain yourself." Darklen was not amused.
"Sorry sir, but I have no time for formalities. The news is
urgent."
"Then speak it!"
"Kiev is back. I've seen him. I knew you would want to know."
Kalen looked to Dyann who nodded. "That would coincide with what
I've told you. If anyone could ring the arcane bell like that, he
could."
Kalen turned the news over in his head, the motivation of his rage
shifting from Sven to Kiev.
"Where is he?"
"I saw him at the Serpent and I have some shadow boys tailing him
for me."
"Grab everyone not applied to pressing matters and suit up. We
leave now."
"Might I suggest you take the Esoterics along with you. Some arcane
support against Kiev may prove beneficial." Dyann was now on his feet
nex to Vable.
Kalen agreed, "Vable, get your men."
The young mage nodded sternly and bolted out the door as Sven
started barking orders at everyone in earshot. Kalen stood to follow but
was stopped by Dyann.
"There is a higher path here, Kalen," he offered.
"Higher path? What would that be?"
"We don't have the luxury of living in a world made simply of black
and white, a myriad of solutions are present at any given time."
"I have no use for your philosophical gong." He headed out the
door.
"Yes, you do, if for no other reason than as a contrast to your
anger, something to temper the fires within you. I make no suggestions
of forgiveness, or mercy -- just that you remove the emotion from the
situation and approach it from a rational perspective."
Kalen took a moment to reflect on it then nodded. "I have to go."
The dragon leapt. Kiev spit. As the berry mash left his mouth, the
numerous tiny seeds sprouted instantly, exploding into thorny vines.
Branches took root in the floor and walls, reaching out to the dragon.
The battle magus dove back, taking the orphan with him to the street,
the doorway and house filling with ropes of brambles thicker than his
leg. They twisted and wrapped around the dragon tightly, squeezing off
the circulation to various parts of its body. Its struggle for freedom
ended with a loud, sickening pop as the beast's neck broke. It hung in
the doorway a few moments before it returned to the ash and bile it was
created from.
Kiev was quick to his feet. He swept the girl into his arms and
bolted through the crowd that had followed the curious beast. Certain
the dragon was the wizard's way of flushing him to the open, he left the
apartment behind them. There was also the very new problem that he had
announced to Dargon that he was back in town and was certain the guard
would be out looking for him. He ran a few blocks before setting the
girl on her feet.
"You need to go hide. Someplace safe."
"What about my dad?"
"I can't deal with that right now."
"No! You're supposed to punish him for what he did. You can't leave
yet," she whined.
"I have to go. It's not safe to be around me, you're going to get
hurt. Now, go hide."
"NO!" She started to punch and kick at him. "You said. Nehru gave
you to me, you're mine. You have to punish my dad. You have to."
"Stop it!" He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. "Stop it!
Listen, life is hard. It's a constant uphill battle that is stacked
against you at every turn. Your mother died, and although sad, it was
exactly the end she had coming. You are on your own and nothing in the
world will ever change that. Do you understand? Nothing.
"It's going to rise up. The whole of creation is going to rise up
against you and try to destroy you and the only thing that's going to
stop it is you. You start falling apart now and they're going to win.
The people, your dad, the monarchy. Do you want that? Do you want them
to get you?"
Her eyes were wide and she was scared. Of course she didn't want
that. She shook her head emphatically.
"Then you hide. Hide until you are ready to fight. Then keep hiding
until you are strong enough to fight. At that moment, after you are
ready and after you are strong enough, stop hiding. Come out and face
the world and with all the fury of hell you state with a clear voice 'I
will not go quietly. I will not yield to your threats, your money, your
power, your authority or your strength.' You tell them all that you are
here to stay and anyone foolish enough to cross you will be hewn down
like wheat before the scythe. There will be a time to fight; there will
be a time to destroy your father at the hands of true justice, but now
is not that time. Get it? Now is the time to hide."
She nodded.
"Good. Hide." She ran off down the streets, blending in within the
throngs of people at the market.
Then Mon-Hyden said hello with a lightning bolt. The sigils
inscribed into Kiev's pauldron were created to repel magic, like same
charged magnets being thrown against each other. The bolt missed, but
just by inches, the force absorbed by the pauldron slightly nudged Kiev
to the side.
"Kiev," Mon-Hyden purred. The tip of the iron rod he was holding
was glowing red from the expelled bolt. "Still in one piece?"
Kiev replied with an obscene gesture and hefted his maces.
"Vulgarity is the final refuge of a feeble mind," he retorted.
Kiev slipped a finger behind his belt to find the thin sliver of
hematite sewn into the leather. Searching mentally for the wave-like
rhythm inherent in the stone, he synced his own rhythm to it. Metallic
grey washed over his skin, his flesh rapidly took on the properties of
the stone finally becoming a fluid pillar of hematite.
"It doesn't have to be like this, Kiev. Just give up your toys and
submit. Stop being an outlaw, find a young woman, settle down as a nice
fisherman, or farmer. I hear that a rancher leads a pretty quiet life.
Try that."
"Your order started this war. We were content to just let you be
until you withered bastards picked a fight."
"You half-breeds have no claim to that magic."
"I had you on that mountain. I'd say that's claim enough." Kiev
noted the blood-soaked sleeve hanging loosely at the wizard's side.
"You caught me off guard. Won't happen again."
"Pretty weak sending me back to Dargon, you must have been
desperate. What do you think you'll accomplish by having our fight
here?"
"Fight? Nonsense. I sent you here to be arrested. The dragon, the
lightning, I'm telling the town guard that Kiev the outlaw battle magus
is back in town. They should be ravenous to get their hands on you from
the last time you were here. Who did you kill? The Duke's cousin, wasn't
it?" The wizard smirked trying to goad Kiev with what he thought was a
sensitive memory.
Kiev let it slide. "Commoners? You're going to let commoners take
down a battle magus? Wait until word gets out about this. Mighty
Mon-Hyden couldn't handle a mere battle magus. Okay." He let the maces
hang by their leather straps from his wrists. "I can live with that. I'm
sure all the little *Mons* waiting back home can live with it too." A
smile spread across his face.
The wizard thought on that a moment. At first blush his plan seemed
sound, until Kiev turned it back on him like he did. He had been
dismantling the various battle magus sects for decades and now, with one
of the last battle magi in his grasp, was he really willing to let a
contingent of local guard do it for him? Was he really that tired and
afraid? He furrowed his brow with rage and shot off another bolt from
the rod.
Kiev rolled to the side and charged the wizard. Predictably the
wizard tossed a few more at the nimble battle magus, his imbued pauldron
making it hard to connect a hit as he closed the gap between them. Kiev
called down to the packed earth seeking aid. A pillar sprung up at his
feet launching him through the air, maces cocked back behind his head
ready for a strike.
He bounced off Mon-Hyden's diamond ward, flying wide to the side
like a rag doll. Stunned and embarrassed, he applied his mind to working
through the puzzle again.
How was he to get through the shield? Being a battle magus he knew
what types of elements the wizard would be using to create his wards,
but how to get past them?
His brief moment of contemplation was exhausted. He needed to move.
The wizard, his rod having run out, changed his own tactics and fired a
barrage of molten projectiles at Kiev. A few of the viscous missiles
stuck, binding with the hematite. The battle magus felt each hit with
agonizing clarity.
Kiev smacked the earth with a mace to loosen some dirt. He palmed
it, spoke an arcane word and threw it at the wizard. A wall of mud fell
on the old man, clinging briefly to the diamond sphere, giving the
battle magus a moment to run.
Kiev made it to the corner of the alley when he saw the city guard
coming in force. An arrow zipped by his ear, nearly taking it from his
head. They all remembered Kiev. The mage made eye contact with the lead
guard recognizing him as Lt. Kalen Darklen. A clear hatred shrouded the
lieutenant's eyes.
Giving his strength to the spell, he slammed both maces into the
ground so hard he pulled a muscle in his healing shoulder. A thick wall
of earth rose up, sealing off the entrance.
He took cover behind some trash barrels and caught his breath, the
traits of the hematite started to recede taking away the magma's ability
to bind. A small explosion sounded as the wizard cleared his defenses of
the mud to reveal the newest wall in the alley.
"Like a wall is going to stop me," the wizard scoffed under his
breath. "I'll find you, battle magus."
Kiev feared he was dead until that moment. The wizard thought he
was trying to block him in, not the guard out. Now, if only he had a
plan to exploit that.
He peered around the edge of the barrels, taking a good look at the
thinking wizard. He was taking this moment to replenish his own
defenses. For all his bluster Kiev knew the wizard feared him. That was
leverage enough. There was something about the way the wizard looked
that bothered him, something was out of place or odd. He peered closer.
His hair! A wind came over the wall and bristled through the old
man's hair.
So, air can pass through, even when physical attacks can't. There
was one part of the puzzle solved. He sat back trying to curb his
excitement and think. The best weapon in his arsenal was his education:
think.
In the crack at the base of the wall a tiny sapling of some type of
plant was growing. There was a constant water supply moving slowly past
it and a good long day's worth of sun bore down on this spot, so in no
amount of time this would become a raging weed. He took a closer look at
it, trying to identify it.
Then it came to him, the plant was a popular narcotic, and combined
with what he already knew a wicked idea formed in his mind. The battle
magus took a small knife from his belt and sliced open a small wound on
his thumb. Holding it over the plant he aimed a few drops on the leaves,
and then he took a calming breath and reached out to the plant. He kept
a clear vision of his goal, a wide-open field of the plant, he spoke to
the plant's inner designs to spread out and populate. And populate it
did.
The wizard, who was chanting away his own spell, looked down and
saw the hard packed earth give way to rapid-growth foliage. A new green
carpet sprang forth and started to grow, reaching about four feet tall,
swaying lightly in the wind.
The wizard started to laugh, and only laughed harder when Kiev
stepped out from the barrels. Mon-Hyden spoke a brief arcane curse and
laughed more when a wave of death spread through the small garden,
turning the plants to dried husks.
"What? You can't even do that right. Your little weeds all died.
What can you expect to do now?" He released another wave of molten
missiles at Kiev, most of which was repelled by the pauldron and struck
the harvest of hemp. Kiev started a specifically designed dance that
encompassed his maces to draw a three dimensional sigil that represented
wind. The alley harvest quickly caught on fire releasing toxic smoke.
The new wind fanned the flames and swirled into a cone around the
wizard.
The wizard laughed it off, finding the whole attack futile and
amusing. Then, he just started to laugh while his mind went numb. Thick
grey smoke billowed around the wizard, boxed in by the swirling vortex,
and choking out clean air leaving only the noxious fumes to be inhaled.
Coughing and laughter spun out of control. The wizard lost his
concentration and the wards failed. A plant had been dislodged in the
maelstrom and it was circling around in the smoke, its trajectory aimed
to smack the mad man in the face. The wizard didn't flinch when the
missile connected, sending a cloud of dirt into the gale.
Seeing that the dome was down, Kiev seized the moment and charged,
closing the distance quickly. The first mace caught the wizard in the
groin the second shattered the back of his head. Leaving the corpse in
the alley, he quickly scaled the other wall and disappeared into the
city as his wall blocking the alley crumbled. He had a little girl he
needed to find.
The contingent marched in tight formation toward the inn. Sven
noticed one of the boys jumping excitedly trying for Sven's attention.
"This way! We found him!"
Lt. Darklen shifted the direction of his men to follow the boy. A
few blocks later they came across the apartment and the excited crowd.
It was overgrown by brambles with a patch covered in an ashy film near
the center.
"It was huge," the boy explained to Sven, stretching his arms out
wide. A couple other boys hungry for attention spread their arms next to
the first forming a chain of spread-eagle children. Other citizens too
were talking heatedly about the dragon.
Kalen massaged the frustration from his temple. "What are you
talking about?"
"The dragon! There was a dragon!" the smallest boy exclaimed.
"Dragon's are a myth," Sven corrected.
"It's what I saw," the boy emphatically defended his experience.
"I tire of your nonsense, where has he gone?" Kalen asked.
"The mage killed it. It went," he mashed his hands together and
made his best vocal impression of what a squished dragon sounded like.
"The mage, where did the mage go," Kalen corrected.
Just then an explosion sounded off a few blocks over, answering
Kalen's question.
"Double time!" Sven shouted, trying to keep pace with his speeding
Lieutenant.
"What about our Royal?" the shadow boy called after Sven.
Kalen and his contingent were met by a stampede of people running
for their lives. The panic was electric, carried on their screams and
faces as they ran for cover after the initial lightning struck. The
subsequent explosions only fueled their fear and speed. The guard
arrived in time to see a wave of mud wash down and a metallic figure
rushing toward them. A crossbow bolt sounded off just behind Sven and
that's when Kiev sealed the entrance.
"What mud rat fired their weapon?" Those closest to the culprit
scooted away making him stand out. Seeing the guilt in the man's eyes,
Sven took the crossbow and backhanded him. "We want a live criminal. And
how many times I got to tell you not to discharge your weapon with a man
in front of you? A hell of a lot of good it would have been shooting me
instead."
"Sergeant! I need through this wall."
"Sir!" he obeyed. "Corporal, take your men around the other side of
this alley. If memory serves it's blocked off the other side with a
trinket shop of some sort."
"Sir!" he and nine others took off down the street in a full
sprint.
"Where are the Esoterics!" Sven barked again.
Vable ran up to Sven with Arvyn and Tanbry in tow, the small group
of enchanted practitioners employed by the city guard.
"Here, sir," Vable shouted back.
"I need that wall down a bell ago, you hear me?"
"Yes sir." The Esoterics rushed toward the wall.
Arvyn pulled a leather ball from his belt mid stride. "I've got
this," he said with a wicked smile on his face. Vable grabbed his arm
and took the ball away.
"Idiot. You don't fight magic with alchemy. Like cures like.
Tanbry."
"I can get it," Tanbry said, taking the lead.
Kalen was at the wall, hearing maniacal laughter on the other side.
"The man mocks me, Sergeant. I need this wall down, now!"
"With a vengeance, My Lord. Mages, today!"
Tanbry walked up next to Kalen and placed her hand on the wall.
"Excuse me, Lieutenant. This is going to be messy, you may want
to --"
Kalen leveled a glare. The mage went to her chanting. The wall
crumbled over the two unlucky to be standing too close just in time to
see Kiev slip over the far wall.
"Gods be damned!" Kalen rushed through the ash-laden alley and up
the handholds Kiev created to scale the wall. Near the top they started
to dissipate, dropping the angry lieutenant in a pile of more colorful
curses. He stood and kicked up the ash in frustration.
The corporal Sven sent around the back was perched atop the wall
looking down at his commanding officer. "Lieutenant, do you have him?"
Kalen spread his arms wide, incredulous. "Does it look like we
*have him*, corporal? Don't even think about telling me you didn't see
him pass you."
The guard opened his mouth to speak, embarrassed that he had not
seen the suspect.
"He's an armored mage, lugging around two large maces of death. A
big man about six feet tall, brown hair, muscle-bound and tan, sporting
a bare chest under his pauldron." He shook his head. "No? Nobody
matching that description?"
The guard didn't speak; no words existed that wouldn't pull an
angered response from the heated officer.
"Find him! Someone must have seen something. He's sticking out like
a dragon sipping tea. Now!" The guard scrambled back down to his
company, barking the same anger at his men and loitering civilians.
Kalen marched through the ash to Sven who was giving orders to care for
the corpse.
"Sir?" Sven asked as he passed.
"Handle this, find out what happened and give me the report. This
is your only priority."
"Sir. What are you going to do?"
Kalen didn't reply.
Kiev walked the docks searching for the telltale signs leading to
the shadow boys. A new king every one to two years, sometimes months,
meant that the quaint 'palace' would be a new location with every new
reign. But the docks contained easy marks with a high turnover rate. Any
king worth his wiles would see that. In addition to the potential,
Rynn's father was down here and there was some unfinished business with
him.
Kiev saw some random marks etched in coal on the edge of a
warehouse. He didn't know enough to catch their meaning, but knew it to
be a code used by the shadow boys. Walking down the dock, it was like
coming home again.
A group of older teens stopped him before he got too close.
"Whatever you're looking for ain't here," the foremost boy said.
"I require an audience with your king." The statement, in all its
cliched glory, was important. No matter what the cost to his ego,
decorum was vital. "My name is Kiev, battle magus from Tholler Ram." It
was an embellishment to be sure, but the more distant and mysterious the
locale, the more likely awe factor.
"Battle magus?" He tried and failed to mask how impressed he was.
Keeping up with the facade, "Let me see if he's willing to meet with
you. Wait here."
The other boys closed ranks and bore intimidating stares down on
the battle magus. Jaxon, a tall, blond, lanky teen, let his curiosity
get the better of him.
"Battle magus, huh? What's the difference?" he asked
"The difference?"
"Yeah."
Kiev sighed, he had been asked this many times. "A lot of arcane
mages, wizards, and the like ... most of them, utilize their powers in
healing or defensive roles. Some wizards, for example, create a fine
balance between offensive and defensive, but are generally support or
take up research to occupy their time. A battle magus combines their
magical talent with martial discipline to be offensive fighters rather
than defensive pacifists."
Jaxon, along with the other boys, wore a quizzical expression.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I bust a lot of heads with these," he gestured to the
maces at his thighs. That they understood. The herald returned then and
motioned to the other boys to escort the battle magus in. Jaxon lead the
way while the others flanked Kiev. The warehouse had been damaged in the
fairly recent invasion, but was intact enough to hold court for the
illustrious Shadow King.
The palace was full of children without regard to race, gender or
age. All unified under the flag of adversity, they had filled the gaps
in their social and familial lives with each other, in a sense creating
their own families within a nation.
"What do you want?" The king, a dark skinned boy no more than
thirteen sat in a large velvet chair that looked to have been in a
captain's chambers aboard a military vessel. At his feet sat a few
smaller children, one of which had a chain wrapped around his neck.
"I come seeking the help of the shadow boys, your grace," Kiev
spoke reverently.
"So. You're an adult go fix it yourself."
Wanting to bury a mace in the king's smug face, he reminded himself
that this was his last and only resort.
"Your grace, I didn't come here as an adult. I came here as a
shadow boy, seeking the help of his king."
Whispers erupted through the palace. Russo laughed.
"You what? You're not a shadow boy."
"Not for a long time, my king. A very long time. When I was a
shadow boy, we used this place as our palace once. Only back then, it
was a fishmonger's warehouse. In a back closet on the floor boards the
kings would carve their name or leave their mark as a record of our
reign."
"We still do that," Russo said. "But not here. What's your point?"
"You'll find a carving of three fangs on the floor in that back
room. They are mine." A few boys standing near the doorway rushed in to
see only to return a few moments later, excited. They nodded at their
king and the muttering crowd intensified.
"Shut it! This doesn't mean anything to me. So what?"
Kiev could tell the king felt intimidated, that his throne was
under attack. It was unheard of for past kings coming to reclaim the
throne; the shadow boys wouldn't allow that. But it didn't lessen the
king's fear.
Kiev fell to his knees and dropped his maces before him in
supplication. "Your grace, I am not here to reclaim a throne. On the
contrary, I am here to swear my fealty to the Shadow King and the only
kingdom I have ever been loyal to. The only family I have ever known. I
have no place here in spite of my commitment and come to you now in my
moment of need. Please, help me. From one king to another, from one
shadow boy to an old shadow boy I need the only people I can trust." He
choked on every word like putrid bile rising in his throat.
Russo mulled over it for a moment then asked, "What's in it for
me?"
"What do you need?" Kiev smiled back.
Sven shook his head, still not convinced. "The shadow boys?"
"Why would I make this up?" Kalen asked.
"Sir ..." Sven gave up. "I'll look for their latest water hole." He
turned on his heel and marched away. The Esoterics had finished cleaning
up Kiev's mess in the residential quarter and revealed Allandra's
corpse. From what the guards could determine from the spectators, she
was first in the string of bodies Kiev left behind with his reckless use
of magic.
The siblings were in a lively conversation with Dyann about the
applications Kiev had plied his skill. Notes were being passed around
and theories shouted at one another.
"How is it possible he can do this?" Kalen asked Vable.
"I don't know. To be fair, we are just now starting to formally
document uses and practices of magic. It's a little difficult to pin
down and define a *how*, exactly."
Kalen shook his head, "Why?"
"It's like ... fish."
"Fish?"
"Yeah. Um, see. Magic is like fish. It's not enough to define
something as a fish. Fish is a broad ambiguous term applied to a large
diverse family of creatures. Salt water fish and fresh water fish, then
down to more specifics like salmon, pike, tuna, trout, bass and so on."
"And even then we're just getting started," Dyann picked up. "From
there you get into finer definitions of how to prepare the fish. An
array of different meals exist that depend on the many types of fish,
the tastes of the locals and the native herbs and spices available to be
cooked with it, and who the cook was."
"Magic is like that," Vable continued. "Magic is an array of
breeds, personalities and abilities. Tanbry's talents could be taught to
anyone with the ability and a general string of theory can be applied,
but it won't be the sole theory that is applied everywhere. And even
when different people apply the same theory, slight variations will
result depending upon the practitioner. Straight?"
"Sure." Kalen had a headache. "Let's move on. What have we found?"
"Sven said they were able to trace, through the spectators'
accounts, the dragon --"
"It wasn't a dragon," Arvyn argued. Based on the stories people
were telling them and the greasy film, Arvyn postulated that it was a
construct of some type. Vable said that if it looked like a dragon,
walked like a dragon and destroyed with wanton abandon like a dragon; it
was a dragon. Besides, it was the word the popular consensus used in
describing the creature, so to make things simpler to communicate he
stuck with the word dragon. The argument seemed to continue.
"The *dragon*," Vable started again, "and this mage originated from
the same location."
"What does that mean? Did this dr--" Kalen caught the exasperated
look from Arvyn, "whatever, come with Kiev?"
"I wouldn't make that assumption," Tanbry offered. "The brambles
seemed a desperate attempt to kill it. One theory is that he created it
and lost control over it, but given what we found on the body in the
last alley, I'd say that this dragon, or creature, was sent after Kiev."
Kalen thought about that for a moment. "What about this woman that
was in there?"
"She was just in the way when the brambles hit," Vable offered. "We
need some more information so we can put all of this into context. This
is really just our best guess. We can't say for sure what happened or
why it happened."
"For a guy who knows a lot, you sure as hell donít know much."
"Kalen," Dyann scolded.
"I need answers. He's running loose out there and he's already done
more damage in one day than he did the one sennight he was here last.
The mage has disappeared like a piss in the river leaving me two dead
bodies for my trouble. I need answers and all I'm getting are theories
and fish recipes."
"There may be a way to find him," Tanbry offered.
"Is that even possible?"
"Oh yes. Uh, I would need to get some more information on him, do
some research into the matter." Tanbry got animated. "If I recall
correctly, there was a mage that had used an oak box and an onyx pebble
to create a device that was magically designed to locate a predetermined
item or person."
"Would you be able to create this box?"
"Yeah. I'm sure we can do it. We can have something like that built
and running in about a sennight."
"A sennight?"
"Give or take a few days." Tanbry nodded.
Kalen turned to Dyann, frustration just under the surface of his
patience. "A sennight," he whispered to him.
Sensing his lack of patience, Vable motioned for the others to
gather their things.
"Lieutenant, I know there is a lot of skepticism being dumped on
you about us and I appreciate the limb you have climbed out on for us --
for Dargon." Vable took a step toward Kalen. "Don't give up on us yet."
Kalen didn't speak, just stared on.
"We'll go. I'll have our findings to you after mid-day tomorrow,
lieutenant."
The lieutenant turned back to the doorway and into his own head
searching for his inner peace. Why was Kiev back? Kalen knew he wasn't
stupid, so was it arrogance that motivated him?
"You're wasting your time here," Dyann said.
"Clearly. Are you here to state the obvious or help? Some more fish
stories would be great." Kalen went inside the apartment. A large
remaining branch sat precariously on the counter. Careful to avoid the
thorns he picked it up and hefted it, feeling its weight. He wouldn't
have believed it if it hadn't been for his own eyes. Kiev had been
resourceful in the past and now he was formidable.
"Why are you here? You know where he is, go get him." Dyann asked.
"I don't know where he is, why else would I be looking?"
"You can stand there lying to yourself, but nothing will be
resolved and more people will die until you stop avoiding this."
Kalen turned on him. "You think I don't know? I'm trying, here."
"You're stalling," the mage scolded him. "Have confidence in your
knowledge and act. Who else will suffer for your fear?"
Kalen stood in the dark with a briar in his hand wracking his brain
for the answer he was certain lay elsewhere. The fog bell rang out at
the docks.
Rand put the final coil of rope on the pile, thirsty as a fish in
the desert. He called up the dock to the bosun.
"It's done. I'm out of here." The bosun waved him away, glad to be
rid of him. He walked down the dock, eager for the pub before heading
home to that drag of a wife.
"Rand?" a man asked him through the fog.
"Who's asking?" Rand was no small man; he towered above Kiev as he
did most everyone else.
"Nehru," Kiev stated. In a flash he was through the fog and on
Rand. The sailor was familiar with brawls, but this was not a drunken
sailor he was fighting.
This was a battle magus.
In tune with the hematite sliver Kiev accepted a fist to his face
and delivered an extended knuckle jab to Rand's ribs while the sailor
shouted in pain from his broken wrist. After bringing an elbow to
shatter his nose Kiev crushed the back of his exposed knee when the
large man turned his back to him, writhing in pain. Kiev had him by the
hair in one hand and a mace raised high in the other.
"Do you mean to kill everyone?" Kalen asked from behind, stopping
Kiev mid-swing.
"I figured on starting with this waste of flesh and taking the
party southward." He lowered the mace slowly.
Rand made to get up, thinking that he was in the clear. Kiev jerked
his head back.
"Where the hell you going? We aren't done," Kiev scolded.
"That's enough, Kiev."
Kiev brought Kalen just within his periphery over his shoulder and
the hematite tune receded from his features.
"Did you bring your little toy soldiers with you?" He looked past
the lieutenant seeing some shadows shift within shadows ever so faintly.
"They're staying back."
"Like they did at the alley? What did you do, give a kill order? I
didn't think you were that upset."
"Why are you back?"
"How did you find me?"
"Luck. I figured you might come down here to reminisce."
"Hardly," Kiev lied.
"Why are you back?" Kalen asked again.
"No. You don't get to ask. You don't get to make things all tidy
inside your head. The world is chaos sometimes, Kalen. You have to
accept that."
"You're here less than a day and already have dropped two bodies at
my door. Give me something."
Kiev laughed, realizing that he would be blamed for Allandra's
death and the irony of having Rand walk away because of it.
"It looks like I was wrong; you do get to have it all fit together
in your quaint universe. Good for you. You better just have your little
toys kill me now so it can all stay that way."
"Kiev --"
"I went to the old palace today. Those Beinison invaders did a
number on the docks, yeah? I almost didn't recognize the place." His
eyes drifted off as he spoke. "I felt at peace for the first time today
when I walked down that dock, met by the older shadow boys, it was like
I had never left. You know?"
Kalen nodded, "Yeah. I know."
"They're still there. The king's marks. After all this time and the
invaders my fangs are still there. That means yours would be too."
"That was a lifetime ago."
"Doesn't matter. It does not matter. Our past stands as a monument
to the men we are today, continually added to by our present deeds. You
can't deny who you were without denying who you are."
"I know who I am, I don't deny that."
"What is that? What are you, Kalen? A royal puppet? A slave to the
strictures of a broken system, or my cousin?"
"Don't do this."
"Tell me!"
"I'm a man with a duty to his king and his city who executes that
duty with honor and justice! Something you know nothing about."
"Puppet!" Kiev shouted back. "Here you are choosing this piece of
trash over me. I should have expected that."
"You've killed two people, Kiev. Whom am I supposed to choose?"
"You're right. It's not like he beat his wife to an inch of her
life then left her for dead. I did that," Kiev mumbled.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"Whatever motivates you to kill this man, it isn't worth it."
"It's too late for that, cousin."
"No, it isn't."
"I'm afraid that it is." Kiev let Rand fall to the dock, lifeless.
"No!" Kalen drew his sword and charged Kiev, who was more than
ready to defend himself. Kalen sliced and stabbed in at the battle magus
only to be blocked. Kiev refused to take any shots, merely keeping on
the defensive as Kalen steamed on with his rage.
The magus baited him to the end of the dock with every swing,
trying to fan his frustration.
"Come one, Kalen. Do it. Wrap up your life and emotions into little
monotonous packages and stow them away. Give your superiors the easy,
neat answer they need to keep order. Do it."
Sven and the rest of the guard pounded down the dock to assist
their lieutenant.
Kalen lunged with his sword arm. The magus stepped forward and to
the side and locked it under his own then pitched back into the black
waters of the Valenfaer Ocean.
The contingent arrived at the edge of the dock just as the
combatants hit the surface. The sergeant and two others stripped their
armor off quickly then dove in after the lieutenant.
Kiev kicked away from his cousin, sinking further away. Trying to
reach out to him, Kalen was accosted by powerful arms and hauled to the
open air and on to the dock.
"Go after him," he ordered.
"Lt. Darklen, we barely saved you. The extra weight he was carrying
surely took him to the bottom." Sven interjected. "We'll scour the
coastlines for him to be sure, but I'm certain the sea has taken him."
Kalen nodded. "Leave me. Get it done."
Jaxon and Rynn sat in the boat watching the docks intensely, being
witnesses to Rand's death and the drama that unfolded with the magus and
the guard. A good half a bell had passed since the guard left their
commanding officer on the deck, yet there was still no sign of Kiev.
"Seen enough?" Jaxon asked.
"Yes. I'm cold."
Jaxon started a meandering direction toward the docks to ensure
they wouldn't be seen.
The water erupted on the port side, rocking the dingy violently.
Rynn tried to muffle her scream. Jaxon grabbed her and buried her face
in his chest.
"Is that necessary? You're going to tell the whole of Cherisk we're
out here," he scolded.
"Excuse me for living," retorted Kiev, pulling himself into the
boat. "I got a little anxious seeing my ride take off without me. Scoot
over." He sat in Jaxon's seat and took over the oars. Rynn buried him in
a bear hug.
"What now?" Jaxon asked.
"It's up to you, but Rynn goes back to the palace."
"Why? I want to come with you," she whined.
"You can't, Rynn. I need you to stay here. You have to go to Lt.
Darklen and tell him what happened to your mother. It's still not safe
with me."
She nodded.
They skimmed the water in silence back to the palace. They floated
to a stop at the dock where a group of the Shadow King's court waited.
Jaxon climbed to the top then helped Rynn up to stand beside him. The
group of shadow boys stood quietly watching the battle magus slip back
into the darkness.
========================================================================
