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DargonZine Volume 23 Issue 02
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 23
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 2
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DargonZine Distributed: 06/19/10
Volume 23 Number 2 Circulation: 639
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Contents
Editorial Jon Evans
Levy D'Artagnon Wells Vibril 30, 1019
Essart and the Lady Jon Evans Vibril 12, 1014
========================================================================
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 23-2, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright 19 June, 2010 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, like its precursor, FSFNet, was founded on the idea of
helping writers to improve. Our mission statement is exactly that. In
fact, I am a shining example of it. When I look back at my early texts,
and see how amateurish they are to my own eyes, sometimes it takes me a
few moments to realize that I have actually improved my writing over the
past two decades. Why were my earlier stories published? Why were they
allowed to see print? Because DargonZine fosters those who truly wish to
learn. It can be a difficult process; but for me, twenty years later, it
is ultimately rewarding. I can see the difference in my characters, my
description, and even my grammar. I can hear their voices, feel the
objects in their hands, and I know what they see when they step out
their doors in the morning.
Our review process has certainly helped me a great deal, and it is
one of the most significant benefits of writing for DargonZine.
Collaborative writing aside, getting good, solid feedback on my craft is
a huge benefit. And of course, seeing my name in print - even after all
these years with Dargon - is still a spectacular rush. I'm the Editor
now; technically, I get to decide if a story is good enough to print.
And yet, I still wonder if my own stories will be accepted. :)
Alas, I am old(er). Like many of my compatriots at DargonZine,
twenty years have seen me morph from an energetic collegiate to a
middle-aged dad. My youth is still strong in my mind, my heart is still
vibrant and firm, but the demands that weigh upon me are those of a more
mature, more complex life. While I believe my writing has significantly
improved, my available time to write has diminished exponentially. Many
of our original authors are in the same boat. So in order to continue
creating great fiction, what DargonZine needs is a good shot of youth.
What we need are young, energetic, and enthusiatic writers. We need
writers who are not concerned with their inexperience -- it can actually
be a great asset -- because we truly are an organization that teaches,
molds, and encourages writing.
Are you one of those writers? Can you brave the walls of antiquity,
weather the storm of criticism, and conquer the city of Dargon? Then
come among us, and be welcome. Join us, and create! Imagine! Inspire
others with your own vision and creativity! Over the past year, many of
the stories in our publication schedule were those of new authors --
some young, some old, but all new to DargonZine. This coming year, many
of our traditional authors (Dafydd, Rena, myself, and Liam) are
returning to the fold, but we're mixed in with a healthy dose of new
creators, including D'artagnon Wells, our most prolific new author.
This month, I have the pleasure of sharing the issue with the
aforementioned D'artagnon. He brings us the first of a three-part series
involving a battle mage and his unexpected return to his home town of
Dargon. My own story puts a decidedly less magical character against one
of Dafydd's villains of old.
As ever, we wish you good reading. Enjoy! -J
========================================================================
Levy
by D'Artagnon Wells
dartagnonwells@gmail.com
Vibril 30, 1019
The sight could have been described as beautiful if not for the
screaming, the flying guards and the carnage. A handcart full of fresh
produce rose slowly to a zenith in a mesmerizing arch only to tumble
down and get batted across the market by a large claw with an angry,
scared crab connected at the end. In a relatively short period prey had
turned to predator due to an over-zealous fishmonger.
Vable Cortinas tried to filter out the screams of the dockworkers,
merchants and guardsmen, hoping to gain an insight on the large crab
tearing through the market. Reginald, the over-zealous fishmonger, lay
next to Vable losing blood rapidly from his severed legs. The healers
were trying to stem the flow but it was a futile effort.
"What did you do? A spell, some form of potion or powder? What was
it?" Vable was interrogating Reginald and trying to keep him secure for
the healers.
Reginald was screaming out in pain while trying to tell the mage
what had happened. "P--p--p--pock--"
"Pock ... pocket?"
Reginald screamed some more and nodded. The mage patted him down
searching for a pocket. Inside his vest was a sealed leather pouch.
Vable opened it gingerly to reveal a glittering, orange powder. Of all
the times to be without his brother and sister. At least he had the
reagent responsible for the ten-cubit crustacean.
And at least Reginald had the good sense to try the ill-gotten dust
on one crab and not the whole catch. Not wanting to risk more exposure
he cut the side of the vest off and folded it around the pouch.
"Hey!" he shouted at the nearest healer. "No one touches this. Keep
it safe. I'll be right back." Vable removed his ebony fighting sticks
from the small of his back and charged the crab headlong.
The crab snapped its massive claws toward the nearest guard,
missing the nimble man. The guardsman was able to stick his polearm
under its eye into the only exposed soft tissue the beast offered. The
crab writhed violently and snapped the shaft then charged the guard.
Vable called out to the wind with his will, increasing the arc of
his jump to land on the beast's back. The mage changed the nature of his
weapons, elongating them into fine points and pierced the rigid
exoskeleton. The ebony spikes grew quickly, burst through the crab's
chest and anchored a few cubits into the ground.
The abrupt stop sent the mage flying into the running crowd. The
crab let loose a shrill, whistling scream while trying to dislodge the
spikes.
"Where were you a mene ago?" Sergeant Eltyn Griebel scoffed.
"Yeah, yeah." Vable rolled his eyes and made for the crab again.
"Tow the line or get out of the way!" Eltyn scolded.
"You want to do this *now*?" The mage asked. Eltyn's eyes cut
through Vabel.
"Let's go! Get the nets and ropes," she called out to her men,
setting the argument aside.
Seeing the renewed mob the crab slammed its body down then stood up
quickly. It did this a few more times finally removing the spikes from
the ground.
The charging team of guards turned into the retreating team of
guards at the sight the freed crab. Vable was too annoyed to be scared.
This mess was getting out of control; time to be a team player had run
out.
A guard was thrown wide and landed hard next to Vable upsetting the
contents of a fish stand. A buckler fell free of the guard's hand and
rolled to the mage's feet.
"The universe provides." A sly grin danced on his lips. He hefted
the buckler, testing the weight. Vable focused his mind on the small
shield feeling the strength and structure of the steel at the molecular
level. Removing his hands from the buckler he bent and stretched the
metal as it hovered out in front of him.
Keeping its mass, the small disc grew out wide and formed small
teeth along the edge. Vable got it spinning rapidly then aimed it at the
crazed crustacean just as it charged him. With a mental command the disk
raced to meet the oncoming crab right between its pointy eyes, severing
the crab into two neatly measured halves.
A wave of gore washed over Vable, a cheer erupted from the crowd
and the mage fell to his hands and knees.
The mage's entire body was numb. He could hear everything and
nothing all at once. Tapping into the ethereal rhythm pounding its way
through the living world was like diverting a waterfall through a teacup
and when he did it, pieces of himself would be stripped away.
He was watching the buckler spin on its axis in the dirt, back to
its original shape. Around and around, it headed into degraded motion
until it finally stopped. As if synchronized, Vable found his footing
and regained control over his body then gathered his fighting sticks and
the buckler and walked delicately toward the booth the guard landed in.
"Are you okay?" Vable helped the young man to his feet.
"I will be."
"Thanks for this." Vable handed the guard his buckler then walked
past a few of the other guards who were unsure about how to react toward
the powerful mage.
"I'll catch up with you at the House. That," he thumbed to the
corpse, "gets hauled to the stables." He absently took the torn vest
from the approaching healer without halting his pace away from the
carnage. He caught the attention of a passing carriage boy.
"To the Old Guard House." Vable slumped into the seat and set his
head back, closing his eyes leaving the scene and fuming guards behind.
"There's an extra Royal if you take the long way." The boy set off at an
eager pace. Vable's nose started to bleed and he was racked with the
quivers, the little aftershocks from overexerting his talents.
The boy eventually bore the mage to the Old Guard House close to a
bell later. To get to the retired stables the Esoterics had been
stationed in, he had to walk through the main courtyard. Part of him
resented having to walk through the gauntlet of guards who accumulated
in the yard. The stares and whispers he had expected, but they still
stung a little. As usual, today there was a group of guard who had just
completed their tour meandering in the yard engaged in a riotous
conversation.
"Look, that's what I was told," one said.
"Sure it is," another replied.
"Who came up with the name anyhow? The Esoterics? It's ridiculous,"
a tall man asked.
"You mean the Mess-oterics, more like," the first answered.
"Straight." There was an explosion of laughter that was abruptly
cut short once they saw Vable. On any other day he would have let it go,
but the war with the crab was still fresh on his patience.
"Don't stop on my account. Please continue," Vable said calmly.
"Morning," one replied uncomfortably.
"'Messoterics'. Clever, that." Vable didn't curb his annoyance.
"We were just having a bit of fun."
"Yes, I'm sure. Carry on."
"It's nothing, really."
Just then a wagon loaded with half of the crab Vable killed rolled
through the gates. All eyes went wide with awe and fear. The driver of
the cart stopped in front of the men.
"Hey, where's the Esoterics quarters? I was told to deliver this
there."
Vable pointed. "Keep going back; it's the stable on the left.
Where's the other half?"
"We'll have it loaded and delivered later this afternoon."
"Straight." He turned toward the guard. "Yeah, I did that." He
stared them down with a spiteful glare then walked to the stables.
Tanbry and Arvyn were standing outside equally stunned by the
corpse.
"Busy day?" Tanbry asked.
"I don't want to talk about it right now. Arvyn take this." He
handed his brother the wrapped up vest with the mystical powder. "Find
out what it is and be careful with it. Tanbry see if this creature is
safe for consumption and do what it is you do, logging it all and
etcetera. I'm taking a nap." The weary mage walked to the back of the
stable to his hammock and collapsed.
It was bells later when Vable finally woke up. His armor and
clothes had been stripped from him. He hated waking up nude. Tanbry no
doubt couldn't leave well enough alone.
"At last, the king of beasts awakes," Dyann Taishent stood in the
doorway of the stall Vable took for his bed. Dargon's preeminent mage
had been appointed the Esoterics liaison upon their inception.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Vable motioned with his hand toward
the water skin hanging next to the old mage.
"Dargon isn't that big. News of the crab beast and the mighty mage
has already ripped through the town and back again." He tossed Vable the
skin.
"Hazzah," he replied flatly.
"Single-handedly no less." Dyann laid a judging eye on the oldest
Cortinas sibling.
"Don't give me that look. I know you and Kalen want us to be
integrated into the guard but that's just not going to work. You should
have seen them out there today." He took a long pull from the skin. "A
bunch of rabid monkeys on opium. It's a testament to blind luck that
more people didn't die down there. No one took charge to unite the guard
and no one listened to me. What was I supposed to do?" He took another
drink.
"I'm sure you handled it the best way you knew how. I'm not
questioning your methods."
"Just pointing out my flaws."
"You and your siblings have been working with the guard for nearly
a year now. The honeymoon is over," Dyann said.
"Honeymoon?"
"Probation, trial period. Honeymoon sounds less hostile." Dyann
smiled.
"If you say so." Vable drained the water from the skin.
"Where are your brother and sister?"
"Around, I'm sure. Did you come down here just to fawn over me?"
"No, we're meeting with Kalen today."
"That's today?" Vable felt completely lost.
Dyann nodded.
"Find my pants." He peered down under his hammock while Dyann
looked around quizzically and slightly embarrassed once he learned Vable
was nude.
"I thought I heard you talking," Tanbry said, coming around the
corner. She carried a fresh change of clothes in her arms. "Your other
clothes were vile."
"Yeah." He held his arm out for the clothes, which were summarily
thrown in his face. "You're a shining ray of sunshine, Tanbry."
"I know," she said over her shoulder as she passed Arvyn coming
into the stall. "The beast awakens," she told her brother.
"Hey, you're up." Arvyn smiled.
Vable grunted.
"That powder you gave me was something else." Arvyn's eyes were
always lit with mischief, there were just varying degrees of the light
that danced in them.
"Where is it and what did you do?"
Arvyn scoffed, indignant. "It's safe, I swear. And I resent the
insinuation in front of our esteemed guest --"
Vable glared at him through his eyebrows.
Arvyn laughed, "I jest. I didn't do anything ... well, anything I
regret."
"Arvyn --" the elder sibling started.
"Hang on. It's a simple yeoman's fertilizer with some inert
crystallized dust ground in and magically enhanced to affect fauna as
well as flora. The growth is tightly related to the amount of powder
used. I went and visited the fishmonger to see if I could get any more
information, but he had succumbed to his wounds. So I went to his shed
at the docks and I was able to find a ladle he used to apply the powder.
The amount was quite excessive. I took what information I had and
calculated the growth of the crab and estimated the powder to growth
ratio and made this." He pulled out a fist-sized apple with a smile.
The triumph was lost on Vable and Dyann.
"An apple?" Vable asked, skeptical.
"This is a cherry from the trees out back."
Now the two mages were impressed.
"Yeah, right?" Arvyn's smile oozed tomfoolery.
"Please tell me this is the only thing you tested," Vable sighed.
"It is. The powder didn't have that long of a shelf life and it
seems inert now. I need to test smaller amounts for the best way to
dispose of the rest."
Vable stood from the hammock dressed. "I'll be back in a bell or
two. We're meeting with Darklen. Until otherwise notified, you and
Tanbry are not going solo on any tours with the guards."
"Why not?" Tanbry called from across the barn. Her acute ears were
always tuned in to eavesdropping.
"I'll discuss it later," he called out to her. "We'll talk when I
get back." Vable followed Dyann out through the stables.
The courtyard was vacant except a few ground squirrels engaged in a
turf war. Dyann was speaking to Vable, but the younger mage was caught
up in the squirrel drama and didn't hear him.
"Where are you?"
Vable looked to Dyann. "What?"
"Are you listening to me?"
"No, not really. I'm still trying to clear the cobwebs."
"You pushed yourself with that crab," Dyann surmised.
"I'll be fine." Vable had stopped walking. Low-grade vertigo
wobbled his vision while a sliver of pain shot through his ear. He
reached out to grab Dyann's arm then doubled over with nausea.
"Fine? You call this fine?"
"Dyann --"
"You are not your father, Vable. Your father was unique in the way
he harnessed the world around him and even *he* paid a price in the
end."
"It was a rare occurrence at the dock. Things got desperate,
calling for a more ... creative ... approach." Vable found his horizon
and stability with a large breath. "I'll be alright."
"You have developed other methods that are just as effective and
not nearly as costly." Dyann resumed their walk into the Guard House.
"Pickling your brain with this dangerous approach to the arcane is a
terrible way to live."
"I know."
They walked through the quiet halls toward Lieutenant Darklen's
office, their steps echoing softly.
"The other cost you may have missed is the current and very rigid,
established order."
"I'm not following."
"The showmanship at the docks, flaunting this unchecked power about
puts the three of you in a precarious position with the guard. Darklen
may support the cause, but any excuse to tear down the retired stables
and I'm sure he'll take it. Get it?"
"Straight."
Eltyn was walking out of Darklen's office when they arrived. She
shot Vable her stock you're-a-waste-of-flesh look she had perfected the
past year whenever she looked at Vable. The mages stepped aside, making
room for Eltyn to slide past. Darklen saw them through his open door and
motioned for the mages to enter.
"Dyann, welcome," Darklen offered.
"Thank you, Lieutenant Darklen." Dyann bowed.
"Vable." Kalen extended his right hand.
The mage grasped his wrist. "Lieutenant."
"Lets get to it, shall we?" The three sat down almost in unison.
"What happened at the docks?"
"Outside the destruction, the events aren't that noteworthy." Vable
handed Kalen a scroll. "The fisherman's name was Reginald Korrson. He's
been retired from the sea for a few years and sells wholesale from a
shack on the docks. It seems he's pretty stationary so whatever he got
his hands on was either created in Dargon or it passed through."
"Could this have come from the Doravin? One of their priests or
mages?" Kalen asked.
"Anything is possible, yet it's hard to determine. The leather
pouch it was stored in isn't that unique, the fisherman is dead, and no
one else seems to know where he got it. We can ask the guard and shop
owners to keep an eye out for more larger than life produce and animals,
but we really have no leads now."
"Very well. What else?"
"The mystical hoodoo he used to enlarge the crab is inert now and
is being disposed of along with the remains of the crab. I had it hauled
here to be examined and to prevent any other greedy fishermen with rocks
for brains from selling it to the populace."
"How did it get sliced in two?" Kalen looked right into Vable's
deep brown eyes.
"Neatly," Vable stated. He returned the intense stare.
"That's not the question," Kalen replied.
"It's the one you asked. If you want to say it, say it."
"Was it necessary or were you showing off?"
"There it is." Vable's look was hostile.
"I think --" Dyann interjected.
"No, it's okay, Dyann. Let him open that door." Vable stood, as did
Kalen.
"Answer me."
"I did what I thought was necessary to stop the damned thing. The
other guards spent the better part of five menes getting tossed around
while the market was getting torn apart. I could either do nothing and
get reprimanded for my cowardice or take action. I stick by my choice
and would easily make it again."
"I have the reports from the other men and women down there. They
tell a story of a man endangering the lives of the guard and the
citizens he was sent there to protect."
"Of course, their stories must be true." Vable rolled his eyes over
his sarcastic tone.
"Ten people can't be wrong," Kalen argued.
"Yes they can," Vable bit back.
"Did you or did you not release a spinning blade across the port?"
"I sent it flying a distance of ten cubits, at best."
"And what if it had hit someone? Before or after it hit the crab?"
"Then I guess we would be having a completely different
conversation, wouldn't we?"
The two men stared each other down a moment. Dyann was sitting
there being choked out by the palpable tension in the room.
"If I may," Dyann started. "In the thick of the moment, decisions
need to be made, that once given the light of hindsight and rationality
may prove imprudent. Also," he stood "I feel that, although the
situation had the potential for fatalities, that there were few options
given the circumstances."
Kalen looked to Dyann then back to Vable. The lieutenant sighed,
releasing stress in a calming breath remembering the main goal of the
meeting.
"I need you to maintain a picture of restraint and prudence," Kalen
stated. "You may not fit in completely, I know that the guards still,
after a year, resent that you are here." Kalen took another breath.
"But, if you are seen to be allowed to go rogue, as it were, and slice
everything in your path unchecked, it sends a poor message. It will
influence them to take matters into their own hands as they see fit."
"So, this is about making your men look bad?" Vable smirked
slightly.
"This is about you looking like a vigilante. This is about your
wild arcane tactics dancing about the streets of Dargon."
"Alright. Next time a large crustacean rips the docks apart, I'll
stay here and figure out a way to piece your guards back together."
"That isn't what I'm saying," Kalen scolded.
"We were in the thick of a huge, magically induced incident that
threatened the lives of many. I dealt with the creature, the situation
with the safety of everyone there on the forefront of my mind and I
don't appreciate your insinuation that I wasn't. However," he held his
hand up to a fuming Kalen, "spinning blades of death, may have been a
little much around so many bystanders. I will match my amount of force
more prudently in the future."
"Good." Kalen sat down. "Anything else I need to know about the
dock incident?"
Vable sat. "No, that covers it."
"I need to talk to you about Kiev." Kalen's mood had changed
drastically and was now somber.
"He isn't back, is he?" Dyann asked.
"No. But it seems he may be making his way back here. Word came to
me from Armand about a mace-wielding individual who had caused a
ruckus."
"Armand? What would keep him so close?" Dyann asked.
Kalen shrugged. "There was a body of a local wizard found. No big
battles or anything that had happened like last summer he was here.
There was however a cache of bodies in the cellar of the wizard's home.
Armand isn't hunting for him, they seem to view this man's efforts as
heroic when in the light of the wizard's sins."
"What makes you think it's Kiev?" Dyann asked.
"I don't know that it is, but stories of a dual mace-wielding man
with an armored arm who looked like fluid metal tend to perk my ears."
"Word coming from Armand, that's about a sennight's ride. Word
traveling makes it about last month that it even happened." Vable rubbed
his forehead in frustration.
"True, he may not even be there, but it's worth looking." Kalen
stood. "I'm sending you, the Esoterics and ten men to retrieve him, if
he's there."
Vable looked up, curious. "You are sending me? I thought that you
would be all over this to go yourself."
"Any other time and I would. As it is, I can barely spare the ten
men I send with you. This building Doravin issue hangs on the cusp of a
full-on crisis and I must stay here."
"When do you want me to leave?" Vable stood.
"As soon as you are ready. You'll want men you trust, so the roster
is yours to choose from."
"Okay."
"I meant what I said. Despite the voices you hear, the guard look
to you as an example. Maybe not directly, but even if it's to see how
you are disciplined, what I allow you to get away with. Restraint and
prudence are all I ask."
"I understand," Vable agreed. "I'll go make ready." Vable left
Kalen and Dyann in the office.
"Tell me this is the right choice," Kalen asked the mage.
"It's one of the few you have to choose from."
"So, there is another choice?"
"Not that I see," Dyann offered.
Arvyn carefully meted out the powdered agent onto the scale waiting
for that sweet moment the scales balanced, mindful not to over fill it.
The needle scraped back and forth then rested on the red line. He
smiled.
He took the tray in his hand and quickly carried it to the pestle
and dumped it in with the rest of the powdered ingredients he was
combining. Once satisfied he took the pestle to the blown glass orb
filled just under the brim with water and dumped it in. A red iridescent
glow lit up his face from the orb.
"That's it. Get your face in nice and close so when it blows up it
can kill you quickly," Tanbry, his sister, mocked.
"Go stick your nose in a book," Arvyn bit back.
"Stop it. You're both pretty, now knock it off." Vable came into
the makeshift library. "Grab your gear. We are headed to Armand."
"What's in Armand?" Arvyn asked. He put his pack on and tied it
snug around his waist.
"Kiev. Possibly."
Tanbry and Arvyn stopped in their tracks.
"Uh. I hate to be the naysayer, but, I don't want to," Arvyn said
slowly.
"And I hate to give Arvyn's naysaying credibility, but, me
neither." Tanbry set her pack on the table.
"Look, he's a mage. One man. One against the three of us and ten
soldiers. Those are pretty decent odds."
"Oh," Arvyn shrugged and started to put his gear together.
"Wait. No." Tanbry was still unconvinced.
"Don't do this now." Vable started tossing his gear into a pile
next to his pack.
"I still have nightmares from last summer when we had to clean up
his mess," Tanbry insisted.
"Tanbry. Nothing is going to happen to you. I won't let it. You're
there to help investigate and document. I need you, you are a crucial
member of our team."
"How crucial?"
"I need you to pull the notes and look for a way to transport him
back. If I remember he was fond of changing his material form."
"And if any of us get knocked around, you're the only one with a
healing background," Arvyn stated flatly.
"Arvyn!" Vable shot him a look.
"What? Very important role, healer. Who else is going to fix my
boo-boos? I have delicate features and need to be pampered by the best."
His smile was infectious and Tanbry was laughing in spite of herself.
"Come on. A grand adventure awaits us. Get your stuff."
Tanbry sighed and then started to fill her pack.
========================================================================
Essart and the Lady
by Jon Evans
thegodling@verizon.net
Vibril 12, 1014
I should start by saying that I have not always been a nice man. In
fact, there are times that I have been quite the scoundrel. I have
stolen, lied, cheated, and otherwise been the kind of person with whom
you hope your children never associate. I have never killed a man,
though I have also been fortunate never to have to.
Somewhere in the year of 1013, prior to the King's Birthday Ball, I
met three characters of interest. The most disreputable and dangerous of
the three was named Borzhu the Dealer. A man of few if any scruples, and
brightly-dyed hair, Borzhu was an unfortunate requirement in my
predicament. I also believe that if he had paid me half of what my
stolen items were truly worth, I would have stolen far less -- but then,
it is not the volume of theft that condemns me, rather that I stole at
all. In any case, Borzhu would purchase my purloined items and thus
became an alternate means of keeping myself in the latest fashions.
On the recommendations of a friend, I met the second character of
note: Genarvus Kazakian. A florid man who makes broad hand gestures when
he speaks in his heavily accented Baranurian, he was quite useful. I
took to bringing unique items to Genarvus prior to selling them to
Borzhu. This ensured I was able to get the most profit from my light
fingers. I truly did abhor stealing. Honestly, I assure you, I regretted
having to do it. But I also thought that, if I was going to steal, I
might as well do it properly.
On the 24th of Ober, the very day of the King's Birthday Ball, I
met the third. I had received a rather ominous note from Aardvard
Factotum, whose name I'd heard in certain circles. I knew him to be a
broker of information, handler of rare magics, a healer, and other
mysterious things as well. The note said simply, "See me today before
fourth bell, or your secret will be out."
I paled immediately, of course. What did he know about me? I had
certain secrets, as I'm sure we all do, that I wished to keep safe. But
how was I to do that? If I responded to this note and went to see
Factotum, that would confirm in his mind that his information was
accurate. If I did not, he might spread one or more of my secrets, which
would ruin me.
I fretted about it over breakfast, a delectable ensemble of
sausage, bacon, fried eggs and warm breads from the kitchen. My landlady
had the most wonderful skills in the kitchen, and my growing waistline
was testament to that fact. But when the culinary distraction was over,
I was still faced with my predicament. I determined that I must go see
the man, even if only to find out what secret he knew.
My rooms were in in the Old City, at a house in Coldwell Height,
which is a rather wealthy area, replete with stone-constructed town
homes, gabled windows, and cobblestone streets. From there I walked to
the city gates, where I hired a wagon driver to take me over the
causeway and up the long, hilly Street of Travellers outside the New
City to Factotum's home. The expense of a driver is not something I
would normally waste on a journey across the river, but I had to keep up
appearances.
When I entered Factotum's home, there were copious signs of wealth:
his floors were paved, and covered in grass mats, thick tapestries and
books in cases adorned the walls, and the strong smell of incense filled
the air. My well-practiced eyes spotted a few trinkets here and there
that could be pocketed easily and sold to an unscrupulous dealer I knew,
but I quieted that part of me. I was here to find out what secret
Factotum had unearthed.
"Come in, Essart, come in," he said to me. "My apologies, my
secretary is out at the moment." I noted the scrimshaw pipe he held in
his left hand while he indicated a chair for me to sit in. The smoky
atmosphere was heady and irritated my eyes. There was not a scrap to eat
anywhere on his desk to console my discomfort.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," I said. "I have heard
the most impressive things of your reputation."
"And I have heard something of yours," he replied. He squinted at
me, and I believe I wrinkled my nose at the man. He had no tact, nor
guile, nor artful edifice in conversation. I knew I could only approach
him at his level.
"So," I stated flatly, "you believe I have a secret to hide."
"I know you have one," he said. He smiled, leaned back, and drew on
his pipe. His eyes, I noted, were heavily lidded and reddened from the
atmosphere. "And we won't play guessing games, there's too much at
stake, and you have too much work to do for me."
I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. "I am going to work for you? I
don't work at all," I responded. It was true. I lived something of a
leisurely life in my rented rooms, though I was hardly wealthy.
"Oh, I think you do," Aardvard stated. He placed the pipe in a
silver holder on his desk and leaned forward to stare at me. "You work
very hard to appear leisurely. You work hard to appear inconsequential.
Being shorter than most, and a bit plumper -- you'll forgive my
assessment, I hope -- you do not strike an imposing figure, and most
people assume that your clothes tell an accurate story of independent
wealth."
"But?"
"But," Aardvard continued, "You are a thief. You take items of
small value from the homes of you friends. You are good at being
discrete and never taking anything too large or too valuable. And you
have an unfortunate knack of selling your purloined items to the same
person who, recently, was also exposed to me. He paid his debt with your
name."
At this point, I believe I twisted my face into a scowl because he
read my reaction instantly, though inaccurately. Factotum thought I was
upset at being discovered, which was true. But more revolting was the
fact that Borzhu had become untrustworthy. It is a horrible thing when a
thief cannot rely upon a buyer to be discrete.
"Oh, don't worry. I have no interest in telling the world how you
keep yourself in waistcoats." He paused for an unnecessary dramatic
effect. "But I will, if I have to." I nodded my understanding of the
obvious threat. Honestly, could the man be more blunt? "I trade in
information. The fact that you nick a few items here and there from
wealthy people is not that valuable to me. What is valuable, however, is
finding out the origins of Sir Purvis."
The smoke in the room was burning my eyes at this point. I was
relieved, of course, that he had no interest in spreading my secret, but
I also did not want to be under his thumb. He was trying to hide
blackmail behind a business deal. I suppose I had no right to be
offended by it, being that I was a thief, but blackmail is so uncouth.
After all, none of my acquaintances actually missed the small items that
I acquired at their homes, and they could easily afford to replace them.
"I do not know this Sir Purvis," I said.
"Nor do I, nor do I." He waived his hand in the air as if to
dismiss the fact, and the pipe smoke made errant patterns around his
head. "In fact, I haven't met a person who does know him overly well.
But he arrived in town last evening, and he's been the talk of the
court. He's young, handsome, and mysterious. He'll be at the King's
Birthday Ball this evening, at the castle, so get yourself invited and
find out all you can of him. When you report back to me, the cost of
maintaining your secret will be paid. It's all very simple."
And so I found myself standing in the duke's ballroom that very
evening, amidst a crowd of Dargon's elite, celebrating the king's
birthday. Soft silks and satins decorated the ladies in shades of blue
and brown. Their hair was worn up, in the majority, exposing their
delicate necks and the jeweled earrings they wore. Sometime tonight, a
few of those earrings would fall loose, and a quick, practiced eye might
profit from the diamonds and rubies in their midst.
I knew many of the attendees, of course, but most only by name.
While I circulated among the less influential landholders and merchants,
the nobility have ever been just beyond my reach. I knew that I could
use this opportunity to further my own position; if I could secure an
appointment, or broker a deal that would elevate my status, I would not
have to steal and cheat the people I would rather count my friends.
However, my primary goal for the evening was this mysterious Purvis, and
so I scanned the crowd for an opportunity.
I had no idea what this Purvis looked like, of course, but I was
informed that he was a young knight, and would be wearing a green
jeweled belt and golden spurs. Those colors were not standard in Dargon,
but spoke of foreign, or at least southern, influences. While I searched
the room, I noticed the appetizers laid out on the tables. Mollusks and
clams, drenched in wine and mustard sauces, adorned the interior tables,
surrounded by warmed breads and smooth butter. Small cuts of meat
wrapped in bacon were placed delicately next to greens. Serving staff
darted through the crowded room with small strips of fish and beef,
cooked to tender and lightly salted.
I dabbled at the table, just taking a few bites, and sipped a
charming red wine I took to be Comarian, as the grapes were particularly
dry and oaky. It was then that I spied an acquaintance of mine. His name
was Kroan, and he stood next to a peculiar looking man with a cowl over
his head, and the deepest darkness beneath. I approached Kroan and bid
him good evening. The man in the cowl, which was remarkably impenetrable
to my gaze, said nothing. Kroan seemed a bit on edge, so I decided to be
direct.
"Perhaps you can help me, Kroan," I said. "I am looking for a Sir
Purvis."
"I'm afraid I don't know the man," he said.
"Nor I, really. But I'm told he's wearing a remarkable belt
bedecked in green jewels, perhaps emeralds, and wearing golden spurs."
As soon as I relayed this description, the cowled man turned his head
directly at me. I could see nothing under the hood, but I sensed the
deepest anger emanate from beneath it. Kroan put his hand on the man's
shoulder and said, "I believe he went through the door to the east wing.
Perhaps you can find him there."
I thanked him and made my way. It was curious how the cowled man
reacted to me, and even more so that I could feel his reaction, but not
so curious that I wished to discuss the matter. I am not heroic. Too
many people end up injured or dead over minor insults, in my opinion,
and I had no wish to be one of them.
It took more than a bell to search the available rooms in the east
wing. Many of the rooms were simple closets and storage areas, and if I
did not have my eye out for special trinkets I probably could have
covered the area in half the time. There was nothing for me,
unfortunately, until I stumbled into an unlocked room where lay, quite
immobile, a young knight sprawled on a bed. He met the description
Factotum gave me perfectly, but he appeared dead! I went to his side and
could barely detect his chest rising and falling. A fine white dust,
very faint to the eye, covered his face. I wondered if this was pipe
dust, and perhaps the knight had a nasty habit. Additional information,
of course, might have been valuable to bring back to Factotum.
But, to business. I searched the man's pockets and pouches
immediately. I found the usual snuff in a golden box and pocketed that
for myself, as well as a signet ring and parchment. The ring I could
hardly steal for surely that would be missed by its owner! But the
parchment had a list of names. It meant nothing to me, so I decided to
put it to good use. How much time did I have until the knight woke up? I
had no idea.
My heart raced as I grabbed a burning candle from the dresser. I
poured some wax on the parchment. As it cooled and thickened, I took
Purvis' hand and pressed the signet into the wax. This should suffice
Factotum! Sweat dripped from my palms as I replaced the candle, but its
slippery form slid through my slick fingers. The heavy candle landed on
the wooden floor with a loud thump! I turned to see the knight begin to
move ... and then stop. His chest no longer rose and fell. Had he died?
Was the white dust poison? Was I now exposed to this?
I replaced the candle and returned to the knight's side. I detected
a soft breath still flowing through his lips. I sighed. I felt lightly
at his pouch; it jingled with the sound of heavy coin, so I removed it
deftly and pocketed that as well. The knight would certainly know he'd
been robbed, but by whom, and how, would be a mystery. It was his own
fault for getting drunk and drugged in a strange town.
The knight's belt, I admit, I eyed longingly. Emeralds reflected
the candle light, and were accented by some small diamonds and rubies.
It was worth a fortune. But how would I take it? I had no way of hiding
it, and certainly it was unique enough that I could not simply wear it
back into the ballroom. But a faint stirring from Purvis ended my
internal debate. I ran to the door, composed myself briefly, then exited
as calmly as possible. Sweat continued to bead down my forehead, but the
hallway was empty. I returned to the ballroom and the delectable foods.
While I enjoyed a cut of beef and some wine, I engaged in
conversation with a charming woman and apparently made an excellent
impression on her. I cannot honestly say how, as I spent a majority of
the time trying to extricate myself from the conversation. It was my
habit, you see, to depart an area as soon as possible once I had stolen
something. If I was not immediately visible to the offended parties, I
rationalized, then I was less likely to be suspect. Despite this, and my
attempts to deter the woman, I found myself waltzing her around the
dance floor to a traditional tune.
The mass of bodies in the hall had a stifling effect, so someone
opened the tall doors that led to the grounds and let in the chill Ober
air. The castle is built upon a rocky outcrop that looks over the
northern sea, and the sound of the surf crashing against the rocks mixed
with the stringed and brass instruments in an odd collaboration that
both enhanced the music and magnified those aggressive waves of water.
It was a most memorable moment. The wine, and my success, must have made
me giddy. I was positively enjoying the dance.
"You are quite light on your feet," the lady said.
"I? I am an overlarge stumbler, madam. It is your dexterity that
carries us."
"You and I are not so differently shaped," she said. In truth, she
was not thin. "Are you suggesting that I am overlarge?"
I smiled. I knew how to play this game. "Not at all, dear lady. Any
largeness you might have is quite well ... strategically placed, shall
we say?" I smiled and winked at her, and she laughed as gaily as might a
woman half her age. I had not intended to bed a woman that evening, and
still had my eye on leaving as quickly as possible, but the temptation
she hinted at gave me pause. It bears repeating that I am not a striking
figure, and to have a woman this interested in me was a rare thing.
Quite suddenly, the music came to a stop. Everyone looked to the
orchestra, perplexed, until the voice of the young Duke Dargon called
out. Due to security concerns, the ball was being cut short. My heart
skipped a beat: they had found Sir Purvis. There was no other reason I
could deduce. I scanned the room quickly looking for guards. None were
readily apparent. They would be searching the guests as they left. I
would have to make some excuse on my way out, in case I had to leave the
parchment and snuff box behind.
"How dreadful," the lady said as she pouted. "I was just beginning
to enjoy myself."
"There's plenty of opportunity for enjoyment left in this night," I
said. It was more of an off-hand flirtation, an instinctive and, to be
honest, not even sincere suggestion. I was far more concerned with
keeping my head attached to my neck.
"Well then," she said, "the duke has provided me some rooms during
my stay. Perhaps you could entertain me there?"
I turned and stared into her eyes. They were startlingly green. How
had I had not noticed that before? "That would be quite enjoyable," I
replied. And an excellent means of avoiding a search.
The morning after the ball, the lady -- her name was Vivian, I
discovered -- and I enjoyed a light breakfast composed of quail, juices,
and an assortment of breads. Most were, I suspect, remainders from the
previous night's festivities, but the flavor was still excellent. Vivian
was a widower and owned a small estate to the south, in Pyridain. She
had a number of suitors now that her husband was gone, she told me, yet
none of them made her happy. She asked if I had ever been to Pyridain,
and I confessed to her that I had no intention of leaving Dargon. She
pouted in such a charming way.
I apologized for having to leave her, but I had an appointment I
had to keep. I was anxious to be done with Factotum's blackmail. But how
was I to know the meaning of the signet ring? I needed someone with
knowledge. I needed someone I could trust. I needed Kazakian.
I entered Kazakian's shop. The patchwork of carpets on his floor
was his homeland's style, I'd been told. Like many stores, this one
doubled as his home. There was a hearth on the right hand wall, and a
large tapestry on the left. Genarvus himself sat, as usual, at his desk,
bent over his work.
While I explained my situation, he hardly looked up from the pile
of work in front of him. He was obviously performing some intense
research. Finally, I showed him the parchment with the wax seal on it.
"Ah, yes. This is interesting. This parchment details a bloodline
descending from an early lord of Pyridain ... the brother of a deceased
duke ... and the familial connections that lead us down through five
generations until this man, here. I don't know his name, of course,
because there is a wax imprint of a seal blocking it." Genarvus looked
up at me. I admit, I felt the blush in my skin. "Just let me get another
book ..."
Kazakian stood up and walked into a small room off to the side. On
the wall I noted his infamous tapestry, showing a giant serpent winding
its way through a large valley bounded by mountains. There were also
many interesting things around Kazakian's desk that might find their way
into my pockets, but one does not steal from one's own sources. Bad
form, you know.
Kazakian returned with a leather-bound tome and placed it upon his
desk. It landed heavily despite his care. He opened the yellowed pages
in the middle and began to scan them. I inquired as to the book's
relevance, and he informed me that it was a compilation of known seals
of the kingdom.
"Known?" I asked.
"Certainly," he replied. "Any lord that owes fealty to the king has
his registered seal. And those lords that report to the dukes and counts
have their seals registered. But after that, some land owners register
and some do not. Some successful merchants are allowed to purchase their
own seals. Some marriages between families create a merged seal, though
unofficial in capacity ... it all gets very confusing."
Indeed, it was far more information than I was hoping for. I simply
wished to know who Sir Purvis was. "And this signet tells us?"
"Vosh! It tells us nothing, but gives us clues. Whoever wears the
signet is some minor noble, probably Pyridain, and possibly related to
Duke Khysar Araesto."
That information was all that was necessary for me to be assured of
Purvis' descent and identity. Duke Araesto was well known throughout the
land, if for no other reason than that he was King Haralan's Royal
Treasurer. The nobility there had significant wealth and resources,
which meant that even a minor lord like Purvis could certainly afford a
jeweled belt of emeralds and diamonds.
"My deepest thanks, Genarvus. This has been most helpful. How much
do I owe you?"
"Nothing, my friend. It is a favor. I may have need of a favor in
return, something as simple as this one was, I assure you. Payment!
Vosh! We are closer than that, I think, yes?"
"Yes." I smiled and extended my hand. Genarvus was one man I would
never steal from, even though his shop was littered with valuables. He
was a good man.
Within the bell, I was sitting in Aardvard Factotum's lavish home
and breathing in his smoky atmosphere. The conversation was not
memorable. I provided him the information, including the parchment with
the impression of the signet. He agreed with my deduction, and assured
me my secret had been forgotten. I felt relieved, and yet ... and yet.
Something bothered me. Factotum himself no longer held sway over me, if
his word could be trusted, and I knew his reputation was indisputable.
So what was it that bothered me? I could not have known that Aardvard's
simple blackmail, so easily resolved, had already entangled me within a
deeper, more sinister plot.
I returned to my rooms in Coldwell Height to relax. A note was
waiting for me, but I had no time for it until after I had slaked my
hunger. The morning's ingestion had been tasty, but hardly lasting. I
needed a small celebration of food. Roast mutton and potatoes, rubbed
with herbs and spices, accompanied by a warm burgundy. Fresh-baked
breads, a touch of quail, and buttered vegetables. This was not the
normal fare of my landlady, but something special I had to request. I
paid dearly for it as well, but then I had a purloined pouch of coin,
and a golden snuff box in my pocket. I would have to visit Borzhu in the
near future to collect on its worth, and knowing that he had given up my
name, I was uncertain how to proceed.
I tilted the last drops of burgundy from my goblet. And here, let
me make a quick note: wooden goblets are, in my opinion, superior to
pewter, gold, or any metal. While wood's aesthetic is more plain, it
does not inflict the liquid with an external flavor, leaving the drinker
to enjoy the purity of the grape.
I looked upon the waiting note with trepidation; after all, just
yesterday I had received a note from Factotum, and the past 20 bells had
been quite eventful. But I let go my fear as I cut away at the lacy
ribbon holding the small scroll tight, and opened it.
I must have made a better impression upon Vivian than I thought, as
this was an invitation to join her for tea. How she had found me, I had
no idea. I enjoyed her company immensely, of course, but she was headed
to Pyridain, and I ... well, I was a thief. A card player. She was much
better off without me, and she had plenty of suitors. I jotted a quick
apology, then went to the doorway to summon a page. As I handed a young
girl the note, and a Penny to pay for its delivery, I heard the castle
bell toll seven times. "Ol's beard!" I thought. "Is it seven already?" I
imagined it an uncomfortable time to visit Borzhu, or perhaps I was
procrastinating. But I suddenly remembered a card game being held that
evening, so I went up to my rooms to wash and change clothes.
The next morning, the 26th of Ober, I went to visit Borzhu the
Dealer. He is a man of few scruples; fewer than even I had thought,
considering that he had given my name to Aardvard. His establishment is
in an unadorned merchant building at the edge of the Old City,
completely devoid of signpost or windows: simply a door in a wall.
Anyone who looked upon it would think it a storage building, although
oddly located.
As I walked down the street to approach the building, I noticed a
squirrelly man leaving that doorway. Normally I would not spend so much
time identifying someone who was obviously of the servant class, but
this man had the oddest habit of walking at the edge of the street and
up against the buildings. It was as if he feared to touch another
person. My attentions must have unnerved him because he passed me
quickly and broke into a run. Despite his oddity, he seemed quite happy
upon leaving Borzhu's offices, so I believed that he had just made a
nice profit. All the better for me to deal with Borzhu.
Borzhu's valet was a tall, thin man with an expressionless face. I
have no idea how Borzhu acquired him, but he seemed to serve the dual
role of butler and enforcer. He never spoke, but he gestured quite
meaningfully with his hands and face. When he saw me, a quizzical look
came upon him, but he let me in. Borzhu himself was seated at his desk,
his bright red dyed hair clashing with his otherwise tasteful wardrobe.
He and I had that much in common, at least. When I entered his office,
he hesitated only the briefest moment, then gave me a broad, welcoming
smile.
"Essart! My old friend!" he called to me boisterously. "Welcome,
welcome! Have you something to sell me, today? I'm in excellent spirits!
I fear you'll take me for more than usual."
I smiled warmly back at him and replied, "Certainly, of course. I
just want to ensure that the deals we broker here are between you and I
only. My public safety is a matter of significance to me, as I'm sure
yours is to you."
"Most significant, my friend. Truly." Borzhu's smile faded only
slightly, but I think it became sincere. "Am I to take it you had a
conversation with a mutual friend of ours? I think he required
something, and needed someone to do a special task for him."
"I was able to complete the task he mentioned, though his payment
was below what I am accustomed to receiving."
Borzhu understood immediately what I was implying. He responded
happily. "Let me then make it up to you. What have you got for me
today?"
I reached into my coat and removed the pouch of coins and the
golden box of snuff I had taken from Sir Purvis. I gazed again at the
snuff box; it had a simple design on the outside, a common circle of
thorns and roses that any artisan might have created. Something about
it, however, spoke to me of elegance. Someone who owns a golden snuff
box, I suddenly thought, is wealthy. This was more than a trinket. To
me, this was a symbol. I replaced the box within my coat and held out
the bag of coins.
Borzhu took the pouch and dumped its contents on the desk. Seven
coins of silver and gold fell out. He looked up at me in surprise. "Is
this it?"
"Of course," I said. "They were stamped in Pyridain, not Dargon. I
want to exchange them."
Borzhu pushed them back at me. He nodded to his valet, who left the
room. "Three nights ago, a shipment of Bichanese sweets arrived for the
duke's ball. I know the captain, and as I'm sure you are aware, not all
crates reach their destination. Stevedores drop some ... handling
charges ... you know." The valet returned with a small, ornate box of
black wood and gold inlay. It was something I would expect to find
holding jewelry in a lord's manor. The valet placed the box in front of
Borzhu, and stepped back. Borzhu opened it up and displayed its
contents.
"White crystal sugar," he said. "Highly concentrated sweetness.
You've never tasted the like! And incredibly hard to create, some secret
method, Bichanese wizards or something, I don't know. Have one. But
careful," he cautioned as I reached forward. "They are delicate, crumble
in an instant."
I gently grasped a small cube. "It looks like a games-man's die," I
said. He nodded and smiled, so I placed it on my tongue. I felt it melt
into my mouth instantly, the small granules spreading into my tongue. My
saliva ran quickly as the sweetness overcame my palate. "This is
amazing!" I exclaimed.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said. "I offer you that rare
experience of delectable sweetness as reimbursement for the trouble you
have endured. Now, take your coins and leave."
"But -"
"But nothing!" Borzhu stood up and his happy facade became a mask
of anger. "You are a fool, Essart. You steal little things here and
there. Hardly worth my effort to fence, and certainly nothing of high
demand. Do you know why I gave your name to Factotum? Because you are
the least valuable thief I know. Coins from Pyridain! Fah! They are
common enough here that you can spend them freely without fear. Trinkets
and scarves? Who am I? I am Borzhu the Dealer! You are worth slightly
more to me alive than the cost of having you killed, and that is all."
I was appalled to hear this from Borzhu. Worse, I believe I feared
for my life at that time, though I didn't honestly know what fear was
until sometime later. Borzhu was being harsh. Perhaps he was more a
friend than he thought, because he did try to help me. He sat down in
his chair. His tone softened slightly.
"Essart, you are not a good thief. Or at least, not a profitable
one. You will forever be those little questions in the backs of the
minds of the wealthy: 'how did I lose that ring, where did I drop that
bracelet?' I stand to make fifty or even seventy gold Marks profit from
the man who just left here. He, too, is a fool, but he brought me
something of incredible value. You bring me a few silver Rounds at a
time. You will never be a great thief."
"I don't wish to be one," I assured him. "I am here by necessity
only."
"You have been here for over five years, my friend. You should
either exult in your position, or abandon it. You are not a farmer to
toil away the days doing the same job, over and over again. Do you
understand what I am saying?"
The words came slowly from my mouth. "I do." My head felt heavy. My
self image had just been shattered. My escapades with small criminal
activity were unimpressive. I was neither a thief, nor a lord to live
among the wealthy, but something in between. I was little more than a
shadow boy, a petty criminal that lived by preying upon the public. The
only difference between us was that my version of public was wealthier
than those street urchins I so despised. I needed to decide what I was
to be. If a thief, then more exquisite acquisitions would be my goal. If
not, then another form of income, perhaps taking larger risks at the
card
tables. How would I keep myself in waist coats? Worse, how would I
enjoy those delectable foods upon which I had become accustomed to
feasting? What would my landlady think when I asked for a simple
leftwich?
I do not remember leaving Borzhu's or the ensuing walk through the
Old City. My mind was a fog of emotions and thoughts. How would I earn a
living? Would I be willing to steal more significant items from my own
friends? Did I truly have any friends? I reached the front door of my
home before I reached a decision. I do remember walking up the stairs to
enter my rooms, and the wonderful surprise I saw awaiting me there.
"How did you find me?" I asked.
"You have your secrets, and I have mine," was all she replied. It
was Vivian, that wonderful, delicious, spectacular woman. Oddly, her
clothes did not befit her station, but were somewhat ... low class.
Sultry. Almost revealing.
"I do not like being put off, Essart," she said. She had a pout
about her lips that on a younger woman might have stopped an army of
men. Despite her age and size, it still had a tantalizing effect upon
me. "So I wear this silky disguise. It would not do for a lady of my
station to come calling to a gentleman's rooms, would it?"
I shook my head. "It would not."
"Exactly," she said. She smiled and lay back upon my bed,
stretching languorously. "I've dressed as would a common whore, so that
I could come running after you." She locked eyes with me while she lay
back in that position. "I enjoyed the other night, and I intend to enjoy
more of them." What was this offer being placed upon my plate? A day's
dalliance? At best, a sennight's distraction from my otherwise
challenging predicament. I could lose myself in her for a time, if I
wished. I could run away from myself and my conundrum. It would change
nothing. I knew all this, but I did not care. I took what was offered.
We spent several days in that manner, playing in my quarters or the
rooms Duke Dargon had provided her. I had never lived so lavish a life,
but I knew it was due to end. The entire time, I believe I was
distracted even from my distraction. Troubles that weigh heavily upon us
tend to hinder our attempts to escape them. She could see that. Several
times she asked me what was the matter, and was never satisfied when I
told her it was nothing. She redoubled her efforts to capture my mind as
well as my body. She was truly the most amazing woman I had ever known,
and not simply for her bedroom prowess.
She was witty and intelligent, and a woman who took her own fate in
her hands. She relied only upon herself to get what she wanted. She
managed her own properties and created her own connections in Pyridain's
court as well as Magnus'. To be honest, she was everything a man could
want, and that cast a stark contrast to what I knew myself to be. Her
distraction proved to be a clarifying experience to me. She made me want
to be a better man. Even though her station was far above mine, I had it
somehow in my mind that if I could find another way, some other means,
perhaps I would deserve the attentions she showered upon me. I wanted to
be someone who did something productive, someone who gave something of
worth to society, not just a card player and pilferer of trinkets.
At the end of a sennight, I bid her farewell.
"Essart, come with me," she said. We lay together under thick
blankets and furs. The open window allowed the chill Nober winds to blow
in off the sea, painting her castle room with the fresh smell of salt
and spray.
"I am no farmer or gentry," I said to her. My head was bowed, and I
kept my eyes from looking at her. I already knew I could not resist this
woman. And yet, to go with her now ... she would be losing out in the
bargain. It would be so easy for me to go with her, so simple to run
away. I could not. I had to be more than I was. There were other words
and protests. She said she would not give up on me so lightly, that she
would marry me before the sennight was out. I smiled and told her she
was beautiful, but by the second bell I walked out the door.
I had spent seven days leaching off Vivian, both physically and
emotionally, and now had to face my future. I knew I must learn how to
be a better man. There was only one reputable person whom I considered a
friend in this city, only one who was not himself a thief, liar, or
cheat. So I returned to the doorstep of Kazakian.
He welcomed me into his study, then slumped into a chair. His desk
was conspicuously devoid of the mess of scrolls and tubes that regularly
infested his work area. Instead, a large, battered volume was the sole
occupant. The tome was closed, however, which conveyed to me a sudden
insight regarding my friend: he was troubled. "Oddly enough, Genarvus, I
had come here seeking advice. But it appears to me," I gestured toward
the book, "that you may be needing some consolation of your own."
I stood and walked to Kazakian, whose head drooped down from his
shoulders. This icon of constant vivacity had, it appeared to me, felt
some great weight heftier than my own. Perhaps, in assisting this man of
strong morality, I could glean some insight into helping myself. Perhaps
I would be a better man because of it. I reached into my coat pocket and
produced the golden snuff box I had acquired at the castle. I opened it
and offered it to him.
His eyes gazed quickly over the symbol on the box and gauged its
excellent workmanship. "This was not yours before," he said slowly. His
eyes reached up toward mine and found them.
"No," I said.
"You are a man of few scruples," he continued. His hand reached to
the box and removed a pinch. He brought his fingers to his nose and
sniffed deeply. His eyes brightened suddenly. With a quick whipping
motion of his arm, he produced a rag from within his sleeves and sneezed
violently. "Yet, I have always liked you. You are a character."
"I may be a character," I replied. I placed the box on the desk in
front of him. "But you have character, and that is greater by far. Tell
me how I can help you. Perhaps I will be imbued with your virtue."
"Essart the Thief become Essart the Odd?" He smiled at the concept.
"Perhaps there is hope for you, friend. Vosh! But I sound so depressing.
It is a simple matter I need assistance with, yet one that may be
dangerous ... indeed, very likely will be. But I cannot choose who to
send on this endeavor."
Until that point in time, I had always eschewed danger. Let others
be brave and noble, I was for survival and comfort. But as surely as I
knew I was unworthy of Vivian, I knew that I must take this task. If I
was to deserve the affections she so generously afforded me, I must earn
them through sweat, strength, bravery, and even by fire, if necessary. I
leaned forward and took his hand. "Let me take this task," I said.
Genarvus was stunned. He knew my character better than most, I
think. The concept of bravery was entirely alien to me. "Vosh! Essart,
you know not what is being asked."
"I know only one thing, Genarvus. I came here to ask your help. For
my own selfish reasons, I would be a better person. That sounds
contradictory, I know. And yet, here you offer me a chance to prove my
fortitude. If this task be dangerous enough, and I survive it, may hap
that will suffice."
"There is no wisdom to be learned in risking death, Essart. Only
that one should not risk it lightly. What reason could you possibly have
for taking on an unknown danger?"
"The greatest reason of all, friend. I am in love."
Kazakian smiled. "That truly is an excellent reason, friend Essart.
And, oft times, the worst! Are you truly set upon this course?"
"I can see no other alternative," I said.
"Then come with me. We go to meet a lord regarding a dangerous,
mystical item."
We arrived at the Lighted Candle, a popular stay for wealthier
travelers in the Old City. There I met a bard named Nakaz, whom Kazakian
described as a fast friend. Nakaz was a bard of some rank, with
ash-blond hair, grass-green eyes, and a rather large nose. Nakaz
introduced his companion, Lord Aldan, who was also rather tall, but with
long chestnut hair and dark eyes. Something within me said the two men
were more than close. That was not unusual among nobility, however, so I
left it alone. Then Kazakian spoke.
"My friends, Essart here has volunteered to be your courier."
"Him?" Aldan replied immediately. I believe I have spoken before of
my less than impressive figure. These men were both over a hand taller
than me.
"Myself," I said. I hoped I sounded confident.
"Essart," Nakaz said, "has our friendly sage informed you of the
danger you will be in?"
"In truth, it was told to me that the task would involve
significant risk."
"And how much are you charging us?" Lord Aldan asked cynically.
"Not even a Bit," I replied.
"Hah!" Aldan cried. His youthful distrust of older people was
palpable.
"Surely," Nakaz said, "you don't expect us to believe that you are
taking this task for free?"
"There is nothing free about it," I replied. "It is a price I
believe I must pay."
When the two men looked quizzically at Genarvus, he spoke again.
"My good friends, the man before you is truly on a quest to make himself
worthy of a lady. Dramatic, classic, romantic!" Genarvus nearly cried
out the last word. Fortunately, at this time, the common room of the
Lighted Candle was thinly populated. "Yet true," he finished.
"You trust this man?" Lord Aldan asked.
"Vosh! I have known him much longer than the two of you," Kazakian
replied. "I think I know him well enough to ensure you that he will
complete any task to which he has given his word."
"Well, on Kazakian's word, then," Nakaz said, "you are welcome
among us."
"Then please," I asked, "tell me what it is I must do for you."
It was an interesting tale, told quickly and, I fear, much of the
more interesting details were left out due to the time allotted. These
two men were in possession of an item that another man, called Flane,
wanted. I was to meet the man and trade the item for a significant
amount of money. Once the trade was complete, I would return to the
Lighted Candle and inform the lords, who would then accost him
themselves. Their task would be to prevent the man from summoning his
dark mistress, a being of great power bent on the domination of mankind.
Flane was dangerous and not to be trusted, I was told. He had
killed before. A small voice in my head suggested that I thank the lords
and be on my way. But I held that voice in check. I was determined. I
had originally feared that this task would not be dangerous enough, that
its completion would not make me feel I had risked enough to warrant
Vivan's affections. I was wrong. Surely, this man would attempt to take
the item without paying, and a struggle would ensue. I might die today,
I mused. But if I lived, if I survived the assured battle, whether I won
or lost will be immaterial. I will have risked my life for a noble
cause. By mid-morning, I shook Lord Aldan's hand and left the Lighted
Candle.
The meeting was set for the sixth bell at the Sailors' Shrine. I
was to return to the Old City via a skiff. It would be a faster,
over-water route than Flane's walk through the New City. This would
enable Nakaz and Aldan to set an ambush for Flane. My only task was to
trade the object, and depart alive.
I arrived at the Shrine fully half a bell before the meeting was to
take place. The bell at Venilek Market would not be audible from here,
but there was a repeating bell at Market Square. I was certain I would
know the proper time to look for Flane. I was given a specific
description of the man, and it was one I could not forget: his right ear
had beencut off at the top, and a scar marred the brow over his left
eye. Certainly a disreputable type, I mused to myself.
I had never visited the Shrine in earnest, though I'd lived in
Dargon most of my life. I was not a sailor, and therefore thought it
unnecessary and impertinent to do so. However, this was a dire
situation. My stomach weakened as the meeting drew near. Despite the
cold Nober air, the cloak I had wrapped around me felt stifling. There
was an old cart near the shrine, with a few rotting apples strewn about
its bed. It seemed to mirror my disposition.
How dangerous was this man? I could not be certain. Surely, anyone
of his description could tell that I was no threat, and would therefore
be worthless to accost. But the skiff back to the Old City. Had Aldan
and Nakaz taken into account the wintery blow that churned the harbor
into white capped waves? I knelt before the statue and prayed earnestly,
perhaps for the first time in my life, that I would be alive at the end
of the day.
I was a fool, I realized. Vivian did not care for acts of bravery
or chivalry; nor did she expect them of me. She enjoyed my simple
company, and the fact that I enjoyed hers. I could not earn her love
through this romantic bout of self-inflicted danger. Vivian already
loved me. This was my own vanity, my own ego, driving me forward. I had
enjoyed several days of enthralling bliss. For the first time in my
life, I found someone that I cared about more than my own person. And
now, instead of being with Vivian, I was risking my life to prove to no
one but myself that I was worthy of her.
I stood up from my prayer before the shrine. I would leave this
foolish meeting. Let Nakaz and Aldan get someone braver, more capable of
self defense, to perform the exchange. I would not risk myself one
moment longer.
Then Flane appeared.
I knew about his ear and his scar, but the intensity of the man was
overwhelming. He was a zealot, a true believer in whatever it was he was
doing. It magnified his presence, and every characteristic of his
appearance. His eyes seemed to interview my very morality, to query and
seek answers within me that I myself tried to hide. In an uncomfortable
instant, I felt true fear. He seemed to sense it. Then he smiled. It was
reminiscent of a shivaree's grin.
I had intended to bargain with him, to achieve some small profit
for myself while performing the task. After all, he was here to purchase
the item, was he not? When he spoke, however, I knew I would give it to
him for free.
"Where is it?" he asked. His voice scraped through my head like a
sharp stone. I reached under my cloak and removed a bundled up kerchief.
The brief period my cloak was opened, I could feel the chill of the
wintery sea air. I was no longer stifling. Instead, I was chilled to the
bone. My hands shook as I extended the kerchief to Flane. He did not
move to take it. Instead, he delved deeper into me.
"Not asking to see my purse?" he asked. "This item is extremely
valuable. The gold I offer you could make a man comfortable. Yet," he
looked around the deserted location, "I see no guard. Not even a horse
to provide a speedy escape."
"I -- I -- " I had never stuttered in my life. "I trust you," I
said.
His smile was wicked and hungry. "You trust me?" He laughed. "You
are either a stranger to these parts or a fool, and your accent tells me
you are not the former. The Sailors' Shrine is well populated in warmer
months. But in the wintery months, this site is all but abandoned. Even
the muggers and thieves of Dargon avoid this place."
He closed the distance between us. He towered over me, the darkness
of his unshaven face added to the malice in his eyes. "I could take this
item from you now, leave you lying in a pool of your own blood, and no
one would stop me." His right hand reached into his cloak. I was aware
of the movement, but could see only his eyes. He withdrew something. How
long had I left to live? Would I still see his face as the blade stabbed
into my heart? Would I feel it ... for long?
"You have no one to protect you," he said. His voice was low, but
clearly audible.
A lone voice called out in the wind. It was an angel's voice,
calling from afar. It was Vivian's voice. "Release him!" she cried. In
the distance, from side of Shrine Hill, I saw her. A long cloak covered
much of her figure, and was clasped about her with a belt. The tip of a
scabbard protruded from the bottom. She looked a more formidable figure
than I knew her to be.
Flane looked back at her, then returned his gaze to me. "Perhaps
not so foolish." He smiled that hungry shivaree's smile again. He held
up his hand and showed me the pouch of coins he had removed from his
cloak earlier. It had not been a blade after all. I sighed like a man
pardoned from the gallows at the last instant.
"Have your gold," he said. He grabbed the leather bundle from my
hands and replaced it with his pouch. Vivian approached from behind,
then came to my side. "Ultimately, it is meaningless to me. My mistress
has far greater rewards."
"Thank the gods," Vivian spoke. "I had feared this would not go
well."
"I had no intention of breaking my word," Flane spoke. "This prize
is worth far more to me than the trinkets you call money."
It was almost over. When Flane left, Vivian and I would go down to
the skiff and sail across to the Old City. Aldan and Nakaz would be
alerted. It would be done. Then Vivian looked at me and said, "I don't
understand. If he isn't dangerous, why are you making this trade for
those two men?"
And it all fell apart.
"What two men?" Flane asked. His smile was gone and replaced with
suspicion.
My head hung. Vivian replied, "Some lordling and a bard."
Flane's face turned wild. The shivaree returned, fierce and
combative. "Trickster!" he cried at me. His strength was palpable. With
a swipe of his arm, Vivian and I were knocked to the ground. He cast his
eyes about the area, and I saw him chance upon the apple cart. He
crossed the six paces to the cart in a leap. With a great effort, he
lifted the cart over his head. The spoiled fruit within scattered at his
feet. I saw him heave the cart, and in what I believed would be my last
act of bravery, I flung myself over Vivian.
The impact of the barrow on my back felt like a tree falling on me.
One of my legs snapped at the calf, and I screamed out in pain. Then
something popped in my chest, and I could barely breathe. My eyes
watered and my head felt dizzy, but I was lucky. The wood had been
rotting in rain and salt air. That cart should have killed me, but I was
alive. Vivian was pinned beneath me. I heard Flane laugh gleefully as he
ran off to fulfill his dark deed. We were safe, but I was useless to the
men who had hired me.
"Vivian," I gasped.
"I am unhurt," she said. "But I can't move."
We struggled to twist her out from beneath my aching body, and the
remains of the apple cart still atop me. She squirmed beneath me while I
gasped for breath. She joked. "We've never used an apple cart before."
I smiled despite my pain. "We can implement furniture into our
exertions at a later date. I need you to get to the Lighted Candle."
"What about you?" she asked. She pulled her legs out from under me
and began shoving the broken wood off my back.
"I will live, but I'm not going anywhere right now." I rolled over
as the last pieces of tinder were removed.
"I will get you back to the inn," Vivian said. But I interjected.
"No, I will be fine. But I think my leg is broken as well."
"Essart --"
"No! You must get to the Lighted Candle. Tell them to hurry." I was
wheezing. My breath still burned in my lungs.
"I'll do nothing of the sort, Essart. I love you." She beamed at
me. Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back. "You must marry
me."
"You want to talk about this now?" I asked. She laughed a bit. I
tried, but my back ached painfully. I winced. She immediately stopped
smiling and tended to me.
"Straight, forget marriage," she said. She had been in Dargon too
long; she was using its slang. "Just let me get you up."
"Don't be a fool woman, of course I'll marry you," I said. "I love
you! But run! Get to the Lighted Candle. Tell them I've broken my leg
and they must start immediately."
"As you wish," she said. "My horse is just up the hill. I won't
need this." She stood up and reached under her cloak. She unclasped a
belt, and the scabbard I had previously noticed fell to the ground,
empty.
Despite my urgency to see her depart, I had to ask. "No sword?"
"Silly man," she replied. "What would I do with a sword?" She
smiled at me again. "A large woman draped in a cloak, with what appears
to be a sword at her side. That can be an imposing figure."
"You're a goddess," I told her.
"I'll return with a goddess of healing," she replied. Then she was
off, running as best she could back up the hill and to her horse.
Vivian returned within a bell, a healer in tow, and the two of them
cared for me. Lord Aldan and Nakaz were able to complete their mission,
though I never saw them again. Genarvus speculated that they had left
town as soon as their mission had been accomplished. There were twelve
gold Marks in the pouch Flane had given me. More than enough for a man
to live comfortably on, if he was frugal. I gave half of them to
Genarvus, and kept the rest for myself.
As for me, I packed my waistcoats into a trunk and accompanied my
Vivian to her home in Pyridain. We were married within a month, and have
been happy ever since. I thought Dargon was my home, but I have come to
love Pyridain's warmer climate and gentle plains greater than that cold
city in the north.
Word has reached our duchy of an impending invasion. War is
brewing, and the Beinison Empire, so close to our borders, is
threatening. But the Knight Captain of the Southern Marche, Dame
Westbrook, is bringing an army and soliciting recruits. I am no soldier,
as I have said. But this duchy bears defending, and the last time I did
something brave and adventurous, I found the love of my life. Why not
try it again?
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