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DargonZine Volume 15 Issue 11
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 11
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DargonZine Distributed: 12/28/2002
Volume 15, Number 11 Circulation: 646
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Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Spine R. F. Niro Naia 17-18, 1016
Talisman Nine 5 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Sy 14 - 23, 1013
========================================================================
DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
Please address all correspondence to <dargon@dargonzine.org> or visit
us on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/, or our FTP site
at ftp://users.primushost.com/members/d/a/dargon/. Issues and public
discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 15-11, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright December, 2002 by
the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@rcn.com>,
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@covad.net>. All rights reserved.
All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
<ornoth@rcn.com>
With this issue, we close the books on DargonZine's eighteenth year
on the Internet. And as is customary, I'll discuss a few of the year's
highlights in this final Editorial of 2002.
Naturally, the first item we look at each year is how much writing
we did. This year we put out eleven issues, which is the slightly
ambitious goal that we shoot for each year. We published 25 stories,
which is a little fewer than expected, but that's okay, because this
year's stories tended to be a little bit longer than usual. If you take
it all into account, this was one of our five most productive years, in
terms of how much new fiction we brought you.
And that's almost entirely due to a small cadre of our veteran
writers. We printed stories from just nine writers this year, which is
considerably fewer than normal, but five of those writers deserve
particular recognition for stepping up and printing multiple stories.
Without three stories each from Rena Deutsch and new writer Dave Fallon,
four more from Nick Wansbutter and five from Dafydd, and P. Atchley's
record eight stories, this would have been a very sparse year for us. I
hope you echo my thanks to these writers, who poured many, many hours
into crafting those works.
Although no yearly retrospective would be complete without
discussing our annual writers' summit, this year's week in Scotland
deserves particular mention. Stuart Whitby chauffeured us all around the
land of heroes like William Wallace and Robert the Bruce, and Scotland
will remain a treasured memory that will add depth and vividness to our
depictions of medieval life in future stories. But also, our time
together forged the connections that have kept the DargonZine family
strong, despite the fact that we recently slipped below two dozen
writers for the first time in many years.
As an example of some of the other things we do, we ended the year
with Rhonda Gomez giving a talk about writing to a class at Gonzalez
Elementary School in south Texas. Her enthusiasm left the fourth graders
eager to become "super cool writers", and if DargonZine's longevity
continues another six or eight years, perhaps you'll see a story in
these pages from one of those kids!
Of course, in order to continue to thrive, we really need your help
in getting the word out. We're not some big corporation that saturates
the Internet with animated banners and pop-unders and interstitial
advertisements. DargonZine is just a handful of people like yourself,
doing what we enjoy and thereby giving something to the Internet
community, and we survive primarily through the buzz that you, our
readers, generate. We're always looking to find more readers and attract
the best new writers around, and we could really use your help right
now. So if you know of someone who might be interested in a communal
writing project like DargonZine, or someone who simply might enjoy
reading our stories, please pass the URL along, or forward them a copy
of this issue.
And look for the first issue of DargonZine Volume 16, which will be
coming your way in a month or so!
========================================================================
Spine
by R. F. Niro
<OrionFarr@aol.com>
Naia 17-18, 1016
The impact knocked Gaheris Bochara to the earth. His bow flew off
into the brush behind him as he was spun around and his breath left him
as he sprawled on his back. Gaheris felt his torso go numb around the
arrow protruding from his left shoulder. The ground cover of dried
leaves crunched with his landing, but failed to cushion him. Colored
lights, some near and bright, others far and faint, twinkled in his
vision.
That one moment of inattention was all it had taken. The
consequences of his and his brother's decisions struck truer than the
arrow. Their actions over the last two days surged through his mind.
"Gal, these arrows are going to be the death of me," Gaheris, 'Ris'
to his family and friends, said to his twin. He pulled another arrow
from the rough wooden racks and held it with both ends between his
thumbs and forefingers, bending it gently. He was checking the
resiliency of the arrow's shaft, its spine. Even the smallest of cracks
or imperfections would be magnified under the pressure of a bow, Ris
knew. Satisfied that the arrow he held was sturdy, he placed it into a
second rack.
"Agreed, brother, agreed," Galerth answered, pulling another arrow
from the racks.
The two brothers sat on logs in the archery clearing. Morning
practice had ended over a bell earlier and Sybator, their weapons
teacher, had left the brothers to their task. Rather than picking up
another arrow, Ris quickly scavenged three rocks from the bare soil and
began to juggle them. One of the stones sparkled as it twirled through
the air, flecks of a mineral catching the light as Ris kept it moving in
its spiraling dance.
"Ris! We're going to be here for days if you're going to waste
time," Gal said.
Ris continued to juggle, venting annoyance with his twin. Brijit
Mecammon, the pretty red-haired lass Ris was fond of, had already
scolded him about his decision-making. "Ris, one of these days you're
going to get yourself into serious trouble if you keep jumping into
these crazy plans of yours without thinking them through first," she'd
said.
Ris broke out of his reverie. "Brother, you worry too much. It's
just a momentary break. The arrows are not going anywhere."
"We don't have time to waste. You're the one who told Brijit you'd
meet her at dusk today. At this rate, you'll be lucky to see her at
midnight ... tomorrow. It'll be days before she forgives you if you
break the date. She's already mad at you for trying to pull that stupid
prank. You'll never get that kiss you've been dreaming of."
"It nearly worked. We almost got Dysic," Ris snapped, ignoring the
last of his brother's jabs.
"I don't know. For once, I agree with Sybator. I think we might
have gone to far. Dysic's not exactly my best friend, but what if he had
used those arrows and one had shattered and injured him?"
"Gal, you're starting to sound like Brijit. This wasn't some huge
decision that will change the course of my life. It was a joke. The
chances of the arrow splintering completely were pretty slim. I know an
arrow with a soft shaft can explode, but usually they just crumble into
pieces. And heck, Gal, Dysic pulls like a baby! I doubt he could shatter
one." Ris smiled lopsidedly at his brother.
"Our mistake wasn't the prank, it was getting caught," Ris
continued. The image of Sybator putting heavy-handed pressure on Ris'
shoulder and scowling at the brothers with undisguised anger flashed
through Ris' head. He had caught them early that morning returning
Dysic's arrows to their normal storage spot in the archery clearing. The
memory of Sybator's face caused even the normally unflappable twin to
shudder. "We just had bad timing."
"It was definitely bad timing ... no matter what way you look at
it," Gal answered his brother. "Why did we have to do this with Melrin
approaching? Everyone in Dawnsmist has extra arrows prepared for the
tournament." The arrow Gal was testing cracked under his pressure and he
tossed it aside into a small pile of similar cast-offs.
"Gal, you complain a lot for someone who had no problem helping me
catch the ieonem beetles we needed. And, if I remember correctly, it was
your idea to treat a dozen of his arrows, not just one, like I'd
planned." The brothers had spent the better part of a summer evening
hunting the woods for the ieonem beetles. They had harvested the
creatures -- each the size of Ris' thumb -- from within their nests in
the boles of fully grown ieonem trees. The beetles made their homes by
chewing through the trees' bark and into the heartwood using their
saliva.
The saliva was the reason the brothers had spent so much time and
effort on the bugs, crushing each beetle and carefully draining its
juices into a large bowl of water. They had eventually used this
solution to treat Dysic's arrows.
"What if Sybator comes and catches you juggling? You know how he
feels about your habit," Gal said.
Sybator had long been trying to break Ris of his penchant for
juggling, with little success. In response, the weapon's master had
begun devising more and more unusual punishments to try to break the
habit.
Ris put down the stones and picked up another arrow, a scowl on his
face. He hated to admit when Gal was right.
"That's it for Sybator's," Ris said a moment later, putting the
last arrow fletched in red and white into their completed rack. Every
clan in the valley had a different color pattern for the three feathers
in their fletchings. Gaheris and Galerth both had arrows with two yellow
and one blue, the colors of the Bocharas. Dysic, a member of the
Klefinem clan, used arrows with two black feathers and a purple.
Sybator, not born in the valley, had chosen two reds and one white for
his weapons.
Ris reached for the next row, the Mecammons -- Brijit's family --
in purple and yellow, when a voice said the words he'd been dreaming of
hearing all morning. "You can stop now." Sybator walked up to the logs
the pair sat on. "I have another task for you."
"Can I say, master, that this is the happiest I've ever been to see
you?" Ris said, turning a beatific smile at the weapons teacher.
"I'm not here to save you from hard work, Gaheris Bochara. I have
another, potentially more difficult job for you two." Sybator looked
them over before speaking again. "One that you can do to earn back some
of my trust after your ... joke."
"Anything is better than more arrows," Ris said.
"You don't even know what the task is," Sybator responded. "You
cannot escape the consequences of your actions that easily."
Ris hated when Sybator forced them to consider consequences. He
greatly respected Sybator for how well he taught the fighting arts, but
he could do without the morals in between. Morality lessons were what he
expected from Father Tannuay, a Stevenic priest and their teacher of
books.
Sybator began. "You are aware that Phillip has been shipping bows
and arrows to Kenna in order to sell them?" Phillip was the merchant in
their woodland village.
Both brothers nodded. It was common knowledge in the valley that
Phillip had grandiose plans to make piles of Rounds and Bits by selling
bows and arrows made of ieonem wood. Its elastic strength and durability
made it an ideal material for both pieces of equipment. Yet ieonem trees
were rare and only grew in isolated stands; the valley of Dawnsmist had
extensive clumps of the trees. Not all of the clans were supportive of
the endeavor, but neither brother had done more than watch the heated
arguments Phillip's plans had caused.
"His last two shipments were ambushed by bandits on the way to
Kenna. The first time they let all his people go. This second time all
of them had their throats slit except for one who was sent scurrying
back to tell his story."
"Wait, why would the brigands let any of his people go? Shouldn't
they kill 'em and be done with it? Why leave anybody to tell their
tale?" Ris asked. Phillip typically hired men from Kenna as workers, so
Ris doubted he knew any of them. The thought of the cold-blooded murder
made him queasy, though.
"That is one of the questions. They are either very confident, or
very stupid," Sybator answered. "I don't trust either assumption."
"What do you want us to do?" Gal asked.
"I want you two to scout the road, starting where the ambush
occurred, and try to find the bandits. If they're consistently striking
the same section of the trail, they likely have a camp nearby." With
only one road to Kenna, and that a beaten track at best, both brothers
knew the path Sybator was talking about.
"There's no village in that area," Gal added.
"Yes." Sybator nodded. "But," he added emphasis, "once you do find
the camp, I want you to return here immediately. Stay out of the way of
the bandits. Is that clear?"
"Come straight back. Got it," Ris answered. "Then we'll muster a
party to engage them." Ris stood up with one swift movement, eager to
accept the challenge ... and happy to be getting away from the arrows.
"If necessary."
"But a small group should go first. Too many and we're more likely
to have them run into us than us run into them," Gal continued the
thought. He eased himself from his sitting position, stretching his
shoulders languidly as he spoke.
"I am sending you because I think you two have the most to gain by
performing this task correctly. This is your chance to show that you can
overcome the impulsiveness you often show around the valley in the face
of a real test. Now, get your gear together tonight and meet me here at
daybreak and no later." Sybator turned and walked away.
Gal and Ris looked at each other and then at the arrows and
shrugged.
"The arrows will be here when you get back," Sybator added as he
moved out of sight.
Gaheris and Galerth were approaching Sybator's house when they
heard voices raised in argument. They had decided to check their
equipment with their teacher before they went to bed, both agreeing that
it would be easier to make changes that night rather than the next
morning. So they walked the narrow trail that wound from the village
center down towards the small house Sybator inhabited near the
Mistenbak, the creek that ran through their village.
Ris and Gal both paused thirty paces downwind of the house without
a word, only trading a glance when they heard two men arguing. The
brothers knew both voices well. They belonged to their schoolmasters.
The gruff one was Sybator's. Father Tannuay typically spoke with a soft
voice.
"... only boys, Sybator. You cannot send them on such a dangerous
mission. They are up against bandits. They can and probably will kill
the boys if they catch them. You're sending green fighters against
seasoned veterans. Is that wise?" Father Tannuay was speaking with the
voice he used when angry. Rather than raising the volume he tended to
raise the pitch of his voice, leaving it sounding reedy and thin.
"Are you sure we should stop?" Gal swung his fingers through the
motions of hand-speak. Sybator had taught it to them for times when
silence was essential.
"I want to hear what they say. This doesn't seem like a good time
to drop in," Ris answered.
The brothers kneeled down on a grassy patch along the trail and
stared up at the house. Father Tannuay stood silhouetted by candlelight
in the one window of the single room dwelling.
"I have no choice," Sybator said evenly.
"No choice? Every man has a choice. We've been friends for many
years, but if I weren't a Stevenic, I'd challenge you to a fight right
here. You are holding two boys' lives in your hands, and you choose to
send them off into the worst danger -- alone."
"Who would you have me send?"
Ris felt the tension in the cabin, even from a distance. He sensed
it in the same way he could sense the defeat in the priest's voice as he
began speaking again. "That damned war. It has been over for two years
now and still it haunts us with battlefield ghosts."
"Wars do that."
As Sybator spoke, Ris and Gal exchanged a look in the dark.
"I know, old friend. I'm sorry ... I am just worried for them. I
know He will watch over them, but I worry that I will never see them in
my lectures again. While those two are not my best pupils, the vigor
with which they pursue life is rare. That, and I'm not sure that this
village can suffer any more losses. Are you sure they are the best ones
for the job? I heard about the prank with Dysic's arrows."
"They have the most to gain by succeeding. I have seen many men
rise to the occasion when confronted with a true challenge. Up to now I
have led them in games. We knew someday they would have to confront the
real thing."
"For once I wish I had your faith, old friend. I wish there was a
way to send someone else with them. I know that with all our warriors of
fighting age still somewhere between here and Pyridain answering to the
king, all that is left are the old, like you and me, and the young, like
them. It's bad enough that the kingdom has already taken one generation
to fight for its cause. It's even worse that we continue to train the
next to be its prize scouts."
"I would go," Ris could imagine Sybator glancing down at his lame
leg, "but I would be more of a burden than a help. I could no longer
move fast enough if we got into trouble."
"I know, but you have the experience they lack." Father Tannuay
paused. "I find it strange that the bandits let any of Phillip's men go
free."
Sybator growled a noncommittal response.
Father Tannuay started talking again, "You don't think they could
have a contact inside the valley, do you?"
"I'd thought of that."
"Is that why you're sending the twins? Is it because you know that
with their tendency to disappear for a few days, usually avoiding your
wrath, it'd be nearly a sennight before they are missed around the
village?"
Ris did not hear a response.
"Your decision could get them killed. Is there no other way?"
"Everyone has a test in their life that shows their mettle. Some
succeed and others ... fail."
"Yes, but failure will likely mean their death."
"Death can be a better option than life after failure." Sybator
spoke with a bitter edge that caused Ris to shiver. "We cannot protect
them from death forever, Father. This is not a kind world we live in.
Our job has long been to prepare them for death's face. Mine was to
train their bodies. Yours was to train their minds and spirits."
They heard Father Tannuay preparing to leave. After sharing a quick
glance, they moved hastily back down the trail towards the village. The
morning seemed the best time to check their packs. Neither of them spoke
as they prepared for bed.
The brothers left Dawnsmist valley at sunrise, tracking a few
leagues down the road toward Kenna before turning off the path to try to
avoid any bandit scouts that might be lurking in the area. Choosing a
smaller, less used game trail that paralleled the main one, they
carefully traveled during the morning and early afternoon until they
reached the site of the last bandit ambush.
While Gal circled to check for scouts, Ris scanned the road, trying
to make sense of the proliferation of tracks in the area. With little
trouble he found the trail left by a large group leaving the ambush
site. They hadn't taken much care to cover their movement.
Ris signaled to Gal, using hand-speak to say that the tracks headed
roughly north. The brothers moved off to trace the trail, Gal staying
slightly behind his brother and off to the side about a stone's throw,
attempting to scan through the thick foliage for anybody who might be
watching for interlopers like them.
They followed the trail until they heard the faint clinking of
metal on metal and voices carrying through the trees. Moving with
caution, the two eased forward to scan carefully for pickets. This
proved to be an easy task. The two men on lookout were standing
together, talking casually and only occasionally glancing out into the
forest.
It was simple for the twins to slip to the edge of the clearing
that the bandits used as a base of operations. The camp was set in a
small hollow where a number of evergreens, their branches high overhead,
gave rise to a clear patch in the undergrowth. The clearing was floored
with a soft carpet of pine needles. Dense thickets guarded the camp on
two sides, a rounded, immense boulder on the third, and the sentries on
the fourth, most open egress. The brothers, well-experienced in crawling
through brush, had chosen the thicket furthest from the camp for their
hiding spot.
The twins watched through the afternoon bells until the sun set,
studying the layout of the area, the number of bandits, and the
placement of the evening watches: only one man each at two positions.
The group settled in to tell bawdy tales and drink spirits around their
dinner fire. Again, they did little to protect themselves from being
seen or heard.
As the shadows darkened on the forest floor the brothers prepared
to leave. "I think we have seen enough," Ris signed.
"Yes. It's nearly dark. Nobody should see us," Gal answered in the
same fashion.
Ris was shifting his weight to begin crawling when Gal grabbed his
shoulder and signed, "Wait!" Even in the near dark, Ris could sense the
urgency in Gal's fingers. Ris snapped his head around, throwing his
attention back towards the bandits.
One of the bandits left the group at the center of the camp. The
rest remained circled around the fire as the lone man picked up a bow
and quiver and headed directly for their thicket. The brigand swayed as
he walked. He set the quiver against the trunk of a tree not twenty
paces from the twins as he strung his bow. Both brothers looked at each
other.
"Did he see us?" Gal moved his fingers.
"I don't think so," Ris responded, glancing around quickly. The
bandit nocked an arrow and aimed towards the tree trunk closest to the
brothers' hiding place. Both twins tensed. Ris considered running for
better cover, but quickly decided that running would be suicide that
close to the armed camp. The bandit sighted.
The arrow swished as it left the bow, and thunked as it hit the
wide bole of the tree. Amazingly, the arrow struck less than a finger
from center of the knot the archer seemed to be aiming at.
After a short pause as he fumbled for the second arrow, the bandit
proceeded to shoot another half dozen arrows at the tree. Each time he
fired, the brothers tensed. Although most of the arrows flew wide -- his
first shot proved lucky -- only one of them entered their thicket. It
stuck in the dense foliage at the outer edge of the brush, nearly the
length of two men from them.
Ris felt a hand on his shoulder and turned curiously to see his
brother pointing at the arrow the bandit had lofted into the thicket. It
was a finely crafted arrow, much like those that the two typically
carried. This one was fletched with two black feathers and a purple.
"Klefinem," Gal signed.
When Ris turned back towards the camp, the bandit was picking up
the empty quiver and heading back towards his comrades.
"Vanth, what are you doing? Where are the arrows?" One of the other
highwaymen called as he approached the fire.
"I'll pick them up in the mornin'. It'll be easier to find 'em
then," Vanth answered.
"Vanth, Dinac won't be happy if you lose any of his arrows," the
same bandit called back. In the brush, both brothers looked at each
other.
"They aren't going anywhere," Vanth replied.
Having seen enough, the brothers pulled back to where they could
still see the firelight in the distance, but where they felt they could
talk in low tones.
"I count nine: the two pickets and seven in the camp," Galerth
said.
"I counted nine, as well. Now we can guess why they are so sure of
themselves. Dinac is passing them information ... and likely supplies,
as well." Ris sat on his heels. The darkness enveloped the brothers so
that even though they were only four hands apart Ris could barely make
out his brother's features. Dinac Klefinem was Dysic's older brother.
Dinac was strongly opposed to Phillip's sale of ieonem outside the
village. Ris figured that he had decided to stop arguing his point and
taken matters into his own hands.
"That's a problem, Ris. If we return to the village and report what
we've seen, the bandits could very well be forewarned. It's going to be
nearly impossible to keep secret an armed party leaving the village.
Dinac will hear right away. We could try keeping him from knowing, but
who else of his brothers is involved?" Ris considered the evaluation his
brother had given him. He was correct. Dinac had four brothers and any
of them could be part of the scheme.
"There has to be another option. It seems like it'd be easy to walk
in and take most of them out with a surprise attack. I don't know,
though," Ris answered, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Those who
were left would be trouble. And they do have some decent places where
they could set up archers and make it difficult for us to get them all.
It would be nearly impossible to sneak into that camp without being seen
... then we'd have to fight our way out."
"Wouldn't the best course be to return to the village and let the
council decide? They could deal with Dinac as they see fit," Gal hedged.
"Gal, not making a decision is still making a decision. Father
Tannuay tells us that all the time. If the council has to debate the
matter, there is no way the bandits will be here when they return. And
it's our word against Dinac's ... and our reputation around the valley
isn't very strong."
"Well, if we could lure them out of the camp we could set up an
ambush of our own," Gal shrugged. "This argument is pointless; we've got
to return and let Sybator know what we've seen."
"Maybe not. You've got the beginnings of a great plan. Imagine if
we could neutralize the whole band and return with all the bows and
arrows. We could redeem ourselves."
"Ris, you know that's not what Sybator told us to do. How often has
Sybator punished us for not thinking things through when we do them, for
being impulsive?"
"We are thinking, Gal. Sybator always says that a soldier is only
as good as his ability to perform in the heat of conflict, including the
time before the fires of battle are fully lit. Sometimes a warrior sees
situations that contradict his orders and he needs to know when to take
his own initiative in those situations. Straight?"
"Yes, you're right," Gal allowed. "But, if we do this we could be
killed or injured. We would have to do everything right."
"Yes, but we can do it. You know that. We could use their
overconfidence against them. They're sloppy. We've been trained for
this. Sybator would have us running to the Coldwell and back for being
as careless as they are."
"Ris, there is so much that could go wrong and we'd be disobeying
Sybator."
"When did we ever let what Sybator said stop us before?"
Galerth looked off into the dark for a few long moments. "You're
right. We can do this." Gal nodded.
The brothers talked about the plan for close to a bell, honing it
to a sharp point. Soon after, they set to work: scouting out the
locations they needed, collecting the materials, setting up the trap,
and finally settling in for a bell of restless sleep -- while the other
stood watch -- before they woke up in the dark to set their plan in
motion.
Later, as the dark gave way to grayness, they quickly checked their
preparations. With his gear all ready and Gal off to relieve himself,
Ris picked up a trio of stones and juggled them to ease his anxiety.
When Gal returned, Ris watched him unstrap his belt, sword still
attached. He stashed it inside the small cave where they had decided to
leave their unneeded equipment.
"Gal, what are you doing?" Ris quickly caught and then dropped all
three stones.
"I'm going. I know that wasn't the original plan, but don't argue
with me, Ris. I was thinking about it while I was on watch. You're a
little better with the bow and I'm a little quicker. There's nothing to
worry about, straight."
Ris did not say anything. He could not refute his brother's logic,
and did not answer before Gal left. As his twin slipped away into the
dark forest, Ris picked up his bow and moved down to the cliff edge.
As the first light of dawn cleared the horizon, Ris kneeled on the
top of a low cliff formed by a ragged, exposed rock face. From his
elevated perspective, he surveyed the small forest clearing where they
had prepared their ambush. Ris forced his shaking hands to be still as
he pulled an arrow out of his quiver and stuck it point down into the
ground. He flexed his tension-knotted shoulders before ensconcing a
second shaft in the moss. His ieonem bow lay strung and waiting by his
side.
Would he ever get that first kiss that Brijit had been so adroitly
withholding from him?
That was his one thought before his mind returned to their plan. He
wondered what Gal was doing. He pictured his brother crawling into the
thicket earlier during the predawn darkness. After that he would use the
strange shadows created by the lightening of the sky to sneak up behind
one of the pickets. Likely both sentries would be drowsy, roused out of
a deep sleep and nearing the end of their quiet watch.
The near one would fall quickly to Gal's knife, hopefully when he
approached the thicket to flush some of the drink from the night before.
Before the other groggy bandit could realize what had happened, Gal
would pull his bow and use a well-placed shot to take him out. The range
would be short enough to incapacitate, but more likely kill the man.
It was probable that the second picket would have time to get a
scream off to warn his comrades. Hopefully Gal would be able to
eliminate at least one or two more from the battle before he would be
forced to run. At that point the hive would be effectively stirred up.
Ris studied the woods again, his bow held at ready. He saw his
first glimpse of a body sprinting and dodging through the trees. If
things were going as planned, that would be Gal. He heard shouts coming
closer and soon was able to pick more moving bodies out of the early
morning shadows.
With a final surge, Gal broke from the edge of the trees across the
clearing. Not a stone's throw behind him, five bandits came running at
full speed. One of them held a poleax, three held bows, and the last
sported a sword. As they had hoped, none of the bandits had been able to
don more than simple leathers before rushing off in pursuit of Gal.
Ris took aim.
As planned, Gal threw himself to the ground, rolled to his right,
and came up, knife in hand, in a crouch next to a rope carefully
concealed in a bushy young sapling.
Ris shot, his aim true, lodging an arrow in the upper torso of the
first man. The one with the poleax fell to the ground before the others.
The bandits stopped at the tree line at the far end of the
clearing, again as the brothers had foreseen, and the three archers
began nocking arrows as the swordsman stalked forward.
Ris took the him through the shoulder with another arrow. Gal
severed the rope with his knife and hopped backwards as the swordsman
staggered his way.
The loose rope snaked up into the nearest tree which held Ris'
leather pack, slit down each side, forming a large tarp. With the rope's
release, the tarp came loose and dumped its watery contents onto the
archers standing below.
Ris, as he nocked his third arrow, watched closely to see what
transpired. One bandit held his bow up to protect his face. The second
staggered, wiping the mixture from his eyes. The third was barely
splashed and began nocking an arrow. Ris fired another arrow but missed
all three. He ducked behind the rock face as the first return arrow from
the driest archer came skidding by. Breathing deeply at the close call,
he decided it was time to move.
Holding his bow in one hand and ducking low, Ris ran off the back
of the rock face, leaping a small drop and jogging over to a waist high
rock nestled in a rhododendron patch.
Gal came running around the rocks as Ris set another arrow onto his
bow string. Close behind were the three archers and the injured
swordsman. Ris hit the lead archer in the throat with his arrow. The
bandit slumped to the ground, his own falling unspent from the bow.
A return arrow caught up in the rhododendron leaves to Ris' left
and ricocheted off to the side. With the two archers focused on Ris, Gal
continued to run, using Ris and the brush as cover.
Shooting off one more quick arrow with just enough accuracy to
scatter the two remaining bowmen, Ris ducked out of the back of his
cover, keeping low. He began sprinting in a crooked pattern towards
their last scouted position.
Ris used fear to push him up the small rise to a large-trunked,
v-notched tree. Another shaft skimmed off an exposed rock to his right
as he scurried around the tree. Below, the first of the two archers set
in his stance at the bottom of the rise. Behind him, the swordsman, arm
held limply at his side, jogged up. The second archer loped further
behind, having fired the last arrow.
As Ris nocked another shaft, he peered between the two branches of
the tree. He saw the first archer loading an arrow. As the bandit went
to pull back, the bow shattered above the hand guard. The force of the
bow recoiling was enough to knock the bandit to one knee. The bowstring
cut an evil gash in his upper arm.
Ris used this distraction to angle his bow between the two trunks
and get off another shot. The barb took the already stunned archer in
the left thigh, toppling him over from the impact.
As Ris' arrow hit, he watched Gal spring up, his bow now in hand,
from a rock-protected position not fifteen paces from the last archer
and the sword wielder. Gal sent his shaft into the swordsman's chest,
spinning him around.
That moment of inattention had cost Ris. He had just returned his
attention to the last archer when the arrow struck him. It came through
the split between the trees and embedded itself in his shoulder. All of
the events of the previous day flowed through his head as he spun to
land in the leaves.
Ris lay on the ground for a moment to catch his breath, before the
adrenaline of battle surged through him and he fought to rise. He was
only able to force himself to one knee before his muscles failed him
again and he flopped onto his side, a jolt of pain lancing through his
shoulder as he landed. With all of his remaining strength, he rolled
himself over to gauge the course of the struggle. He did not want to
leave his brother fighting alone.
The immediate battle was over. The swordsman lay motionless, with
blood gurgling from his chest wound. One archer lay with an arrow in his
heart and Gal was tying up the one with the arrow in his thigh. Ris
remembered they'd left the rope at Gal's last hiding place.
When Gal finished tying, he turned to wave. Ris saw Gal's face go
ashen when he noticed the arrow sticking out of his brother's shoulder.
The fear in his twin's eyes was the last image Ris remembered before he
blacked out.
Ris woke to a bright light shining onto his face. He blinked in an
attempt to clear his vision, but it took a thrash of his head to get the
light out of his eyes. That movement sent a sharp lance of agony into
his shoulder. As the pain subsided to a steady ache, Ris assessed his
surroundings.
He felt the uneven bulk of a straw mattress below his back. A
window in the wall across of him let in sunlight, the beam ending just
below Ris' eyes. He found that if he moved his head even slightly he was
blinded by the overpowering rays. The sun illuminated a small room with
a clean wooden floor and hewn log walls, typical of their village.
Taking stock of himself, he found his arm bound to his torso and could
see a dull dark patch at the corner of his vision on the bandages.
"Ris! You're awake." Ris recognized Brijit Mecammon's melodic
voice. The red-haired girl entered the room through a curtained doorway,
sat down on the mattress and stroked Ris' forehead.
"Brijit, will I be okay?" Ris forced through dry lips.
A shadow passed over Brijit's usually vibrant features and Ris knew
it was not good. "You will live," she started. "But Khalbara is not sure
if you will ever have full use of your arm again."
Ris knew that Khalbara was the best healer for leagues around and
trusted her judgment, but needed to know more. "Will I be able to fire a
bow?"
"She does not know. It depends on how you heal, but she thinks
there is a good chance you will never get enough strength back to pull a
bow."
"Is Gal okay?" Ris could not face that line of questioning any
longer.
"He's fine. He's out with Sybator right now. He carried you all the
way back to the village after you were hit. Ris, I've seen him worried,
but never that bad. He stayed long enough to find out you were going to
live, but he's the only one that could lead the others back." Brijit
paused, looking away. "Ris, was it worth it?"
"What?"
"I've told you many times that you're not very good at considering
the results of your choices and you never believed me." Ris had problems
reading the emotions in Brijit's voice. "Do you see now? Every decision
we make has consequences ... The bigger the decision, the bigger the
consequence. You are going to have to live with this outcome for the
rest of your life. Was it worth it?"
"We succeeded, didn't we? We stopped the bandits without
endangering anyone else." Ris felt a desire to bask in the glory of the
victory, at least while he had the wounds to show for it. Brijit
couldn't refuse him that kiss after their bravery. "Our plan worked
nearly perfectly." Ris went back over the details in his mind. The twins
had spent most of the night collecting enough ieonem beetles to fill the
tarp with a watery mixture of their saliva. They had been close enough
to Dawnsmist to find enough ieonem trees to collect the necessary
beetles. They had known that they would get the best results if they
could soak the bandits' arrows for a while, but that had not been an
option. They'd never considered that the bows saw the most tension and
would respond quickest to even the slightest weakening of the wood. That
had worked in their favor, though.
"You call nearly getting killed perfect?" Brijit stared at him
incredulously. You did kill most of the bandits, but some may have
gotten away. Likely you could have done it without getting hurt if you'd
had help. Ris, how could you have been so reckless? Everyone saw your
brother carry you into the village. Dinac has disappeared and his
brothers say they don't know where he went. Did you think at all?"
"We thought a lot. We did what we thought was best." Ris was
shocked at how the conversation was going. "It was bad luck that I got
hurt. We had the drop on them and a good plan. There wasn't going to be
a better time. What's wrong?"
"That's the second time you've said 'nearly.' Don't you understand
that in life some things are certainties. If you'd been killed there is
nothing that Khalbara, Gal, Sybator, or I could do that would have
brought you back? I sat here all night by your bed, not knowing if you'd
wake up. You 'nearly' died, Ris, and it scared me." Ris could see tears
in Brijit's eyes. "I know you did what you thought was right."
"Are you saying that we made the wrong choice?" Ris asked,
searching her eyes an answer.
"No." Brijit surprised him with her response. "I don't know if it
was the right thing to do. I just know that it's going to change
everything for you, for us. You cannot go back and walk that trail
again. You reached a branch in your path and made your choice ... Now
it's your trail to walk."
"I'm sorry." He searched for something to say. "Brijit, can I have
a kiss? It will help me to heal quicker." He tried his most charming
grin.
Brijit looked into his eyes and tenderly brushed a lock of hair
back from his forehead. "Ris, this is not the time. You're just looking
for something to ease your uncertainty." Brijit stood up from the bed
and began to turn away. Seeming to think better of leaving with those
words, she looked down at him again. "I'll give it you when my kiss
means more than just another escape for you. I think you need to rest
... and think." This time she completed her movement and left through
the curtain before he could find anything to say.
Ris leaned his head back and considered her words. Movement was not
an option.
========================================================================
Talisman Nine
Part 5
by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
<John.White@Drexel.Edu>
Sy 14 - 23, 1013
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 15-7
Yawrab was filled with nervous anticipation and excitement. In the
seven days since she and Ganba had briefly shared souls over that
strange carved stone with the interwoven banding, Yawrab had changed a
great deal. Within the next few bells, she intended to do something that
she hoped would change her life just as radically.
She sat at ease in the reclined contours of her folding chair by
the fire. The night was calm and warm, a pleasant Sy night with the last
quarter moon of summer shining down. The gypsies Yawrab was traveling
with were all around her, engaged in the now-familiar activities of an
evening camp. Most were gathered about the fire as she was, chatting
casually, easing themselves into a restful state prior to retiring for
the night. Three young men were playing a complicated game with a ball
and three makeshift goals. Despite the shadows thrown by the firelight,
they moved with confidence and grace.
Yawrab focused her attention on one of those young men. His name
was Hiranw, and he had been showing off during these nightly games for
most of their journey. She had always noticed and appreciated his
efforts, but only since her meeting of minds with his sister Ganba, the
leader of this gypsy caravan, had Yawrab even contemplated doing more
than just watch his display. Tonight, encouraged by his actions and
bolstered by a new confidence, she intended to act.
Yawrab heard hoofbeats announce someone's arrival. She looked and
saw that Leedlan had returned. Ganba and Ruthodd left the fireside to
meet him, and Yawrab decided to follow. She stopped a short distance
away from the trio and listened.
A sennight past, Yawrab would never have followed Ruthodd by
choice. His condescending manner, combined with his air of authority,
reminded her far too much of Lord Cranhull in his better moments. At the
beginning of the journey Yawrab had found Ruthodd deeply frightening
because of his similarity to that man who had raped her in her youth,
and she had not been able to allay that fear even after many days.
However, after her mental joining with Ganba the fear had vanished and
he was just another gypsy she was traveling with.
Shaiff, younger brother of both Ganba and Hiranw, took Leedlan's
horse. Ganba and Ruthodd fell to questioning the new arrival in their
own language. Yawrab had picked up a few words of the Rhydd Pobl tongue;
she knew that 'bantor' literally meant 'wagon group', though she
translated it as 'caravan'. And 'amdan' was 'uncle', a term that the
gypsies used to reinforce the familial nature of their caravans
regardless of blood relation. Even so, she was not fluent in the
language, and had no idea what they were talking about.
She was about to return to the fireside when she caught the name
'Lacsil' among the foreign words. Lacsil was the man the caravan was
chasing. He had a grudge against all gypsies, a plan to attack them as
they gathered for their annual ceremonies, and a map that would lead him
right to them unless Ganba found him first.
Yawrab stepped forward and asked, "Might I listen in here?" The
mission to find Lacsil wasn't her own quest, which involved tracking a
young lord named Aldan to Dargon, but the two tasks were related in that
they both involved going north. Yawrab intended to locate Lord Aldan and
find out what he had to do with the murder of her sister, Tillna, but
her burning need for revenge had cooled recently. As Yawrab had become
more comfortable among the gypsies, she had realized that she didn't
require such a tight grip on her need for revenge to get her through the
chaos of a day on the road. She knew that Ganba would get her to Dargon
as soon as possible, but Lacsil was the more immediate danger.
Ganba smiled and nodded. Ruthodd, however, stretched his arm around
Yawrab's shoulders and squeezed her to his side. He said in his booming
voice, "Of course, my dear, of course! After all, you're not just a
passenger any more, now are you? You're almost a gypsy!"
Yawrab didn't flinch outwardly or inwardly. She just smiled, patted
his hand, and waited for the conversation to pick up again.
Leedlan said, "Let me go back to the beginning. I followed the
tracks that we found earlier this evening. The trail is dry and not
dusty enough to capture the tracks well, but there were enough to
follow. I traced them through several path-changes until I could finally
get a good idea of the composition of the group that made them. Well, as
good as I could get by lantern light anyway.
"They definitely weren't gypsies, which we'd guessed by the lack of
blazes." Yawrab had been told about the secret signs that gypsies left
for each other, how a pile of twigs could tell a story. "I finally found
firm enough signs to tell that the wagon is being pulled by only one
horse, and it is wider than any that we commonly use. In addition, there
are at least half a dozen riders with the wagon."
Ganba said, "Who else could it be, then? It can't be any of our
folk, and these trails don't lead anywhere a trader would want to go.
There's no one else who could be out here save Lacsil."
Ruthodd shook an admonishing finger in Ganba's face, saying, "Now,
now, my child. You don't want to let your hopes rule your head, now do
you? It could be the wagon of a homesteader, or of a tinker with a large
following. Perhaps even a band of players seeking a new, out of the way
place to show their talents."
Yawrab could tell by Ganba's expression that she wasn't fooled by
Ruthodd's words. The older man finally chuckled and said, "But you're
right. Chances are that we are on the right trail, and that Lacsil is
only a matter of days ahead of us. Leedlan, how long since those tracks
were made?"
Leedlan didn't even pause before he answered. "We've not had rain
or high weather in a sennight or more. The tracks were softened enough
that they are at least that old."
The three gypsies grinned, but Yawrab felt disappointed. When the
tracks had been discovered as camp was being set earlier that evening,
Yawrab had felt the same excitement as everyone else at the possibility
that Lacsil was close. But if they were as much as seven days behind the
man, she didn't see much reason to celebrate. She asked, "Is this really
good news? We are four wagons to his one; surely he can travel faster
than we can? Won't his lead just increase?"
Ruthodd chuckled his condescending laugh again, but it was Ganba
who answered, still smiling. "Lacsil follows a map; we know these woods
intimately. This forest may be infinite, but the pathways through it are
not. Yes, we travel more slowly than he does, but we have the benefit of
Ruthodd's knowledge, and even my own, in finding the shorter way.
"Lacsil may lead us by seven days or more, but we will catch up.
Count on it."
Ruthodd nodded sagely, and Leedlan's head bobbed with the
enthusiasm of a younger man. Yawrab smiled, shrugged, and said, "You
know best, I suppose."
Ruthodd laughed and clapped Yawrab on the back. "That we do, lass,
that we do. Now, this camp needs to put itself to bed. Short paths are
fine, but longer days may serve just as well. If we rise earlier and
travel longer, we will close in on Lacsil just as surely. And he has no
reason for haste, for he knows not that he is followed." The old man
walked away, delivering the news to the others and telling them it was
time to retire.
Leedlan hurried after Ruthodd, leaving Yawrab alone with Ganba. The
gypsy said, "Ruthodd's right, but there are other things we can do as
well. I will send Leedlan and another out to confirm his tracking.
Knowing where Lacsil is will help us reduce his lead, and our riders
will take what measures they safely can to hinder his progress.
"I have much to arrange. Have a good night." Ganba put her hand on
Yawrab's shoulder and gave her a smile that Yawrab knew meant that the
gypsy was proud of her for joining in the conversation. Yawrab smiled
back; she was rather proud of herself. As Ganba followed the other two,
Yawrab realized that she still had plans to carry out before her own
rest.
As she headed back to the fire, she wondered how best to approach
Hiranw. She tried to think back to the kissing games she had played as a
girl in the Barony of Shaddir. Melrin and harvest festivities always
included such pastimes, and it was often the case that during the
gathering of the crops it was the women who chased the men down. She
smiled as she realized that she wasn't brazen enough to pursue Hiranw in
quite so literal a manner.
Yawrab lacked any other experience with men, though, so she decided
to be logical about the situation. She knew that Hiranw liked her; his
show-off antics had proven that from the start. She had never responded
with more than a smile to his overtures, which she knew kept him from
being more direct. Until a sennight ago, that had made her feel safe;
now it frustrated her.
Yawrab could be as direct as one of the gypsies, and offer herself
to him. Or she could be more like her childhood friends who had
practiced shy giggles and meaningful glances while she had been
perfecting her household chores. Yawrab had no confidence that she could
successfully lure Hiranw's more direct attentions with skills she had
never practiced. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure she was quite up to
boldly propositioning him, either.
As Yawrab reviewed her options, she rounded the corner of one of
the wagons and ran into Hiranw coming the other way. She lost her
balance, but his strong hand grabbed her arm and kept her from falling.
She clutched back to further steady herself.
"Are you all right, Yawrab?" he asked, concern in his voice and on
his face.
Yawrab absently nodded, while she mentally scrambled to find a way
to take advantage of the situation. Should she play the innocent and go
limp in his arms, hoping for further attention? Should she be the gypsy
and thank him, then suggest they find his bed together? Was there
another way entirely?
The moment stretched, Hiranw's hand on her arm, her other arm on
his shoulder. Yawrab could feel his body so close to hers, see his eyes
looking into hers, and she had no fear of the situation at all. She
stopped thinking, and did what felt right. She leaned forward, tilted
her head slightly, and kissed him.
Yawrab saw the surprise in his eyes as their lips met. He was
looking at her intently. She knew that Hiranw was making sure that she
really wanted this. She felt his arms reach out and pull her closer when
he had found his answer. She finally let her eyes close and concentrated
only on the kiss. Yawrab decided to stop thinking, and just let things
happen the way they were supposed to.
Nakaz awoke and frantically tried to recall his dreams. He had
remembered something in his sleep, something important ... but it
slipped away as dreams usually did.
He got out of bed and dressed, preparing to leave the small room he
had rented in the Yellow Wren. He and his traveling companion, Lord
Aldan, would be leaving the city of Valdasly that morning, resuming
their trek to Dargon. Nakaz still didn't know what Aldan needed in that
city, but leading the son of Baron Bindrmon there was proving to be an
interesting way to spend his free seasons away from his duties as a
bard.
With the last shreds of his dreams gone, Nakaz turned his thoughts
to what he had been dwelling on before bed: the strange pair who had
visited his and Aldan's table in the White Spike tavern the night
before. The short, dark-haired man with a scar in the middle of his left
eyebrow and the tall woman with short white hair had each brought a
scroll. The man had introduced himself as Voesh and had asked Nakaz to
help him translate his scroll. Apparently, the woman had done the same
with Aldan.
The 'translation' requested of Nakaz wasn't so much reading the
letters as deciphering the riddles on the scroll. He had managed to
solve each of the riddles, sometimes with the help of Voesh, but the
answers never made much sense. Phrases like 'the chalice of the body',
'the spine of the world', 'northern river rise', and 'spirit's water'
made no sense to him. The riddles had been of a similar construction, so
Nakaz knew that they hadn't been gathered from separate sources, but all
of the connecting parts had been removed, preventing comprehension of
the whole.
Nakaz had been bothered by more than just the riddles, though.
Voesh had been wearing a silver ring with a blue-grey gem and Nakaz had
found it somehow familiar. The color of the stone nagged at his memory.
The markings on the sides: what had they been? He couldn't quite
remember, but he felt he had seen them somewhere else. He wished he
could solve that riddle too.
Nakaz carried his saddlebags down to the common room, expecting
Aldan to be waiting for him there. The room was empty, and Nakaz smiled
at the memory of how drunk the young lord had been the night before.
Nakaz climbed the stairs again and stopped in front of Aldan's room. He
knocked, but received no answer. He tried the door and found it
unlatched.
"Aldan," he called as he walked into the room. "It's time to ..."
The sight of Aldan sprawled on the bed made him forget the rest of
his sentence. The young man was lying on his side, one arm curled under
his head, his long brown hair fanned across his pillow. His sheet was
draped across his hips; he was otherwise naked. Nakaz marveled at how
peaceful Aldan's handsome features were; all of his worries seemed
forgotten in sleep.
Nakaz felt a deep attraction to the young lord. He had never felt
this way about anyone, not even his former lover Shorel. He was glad
that he had offered to lead Aldan to Dargon. Nakaz hoped that once
Aldan's business in the northern town was complete, he would have time
to spend with the bard. Nakaz wanted to explore the possibility of a
real friendship with Aldan. Friendship, and more.
It seemed a shame to wake the young lord out of his peaceful
slumber, but Nakaz knew that they needed to get back to the road. He
stepped to the side of the bed and shook Aldan by the shoulder, saying,
"Time to rise, lazy. Hundreds of leagues still separate us from Dargon,
you know."
Aldan moaned and rolled onto his back. His expression soured as he
opened his eyes a tiny bit and he mumbled, "What? What time is it? Oh,
gods, my head!"
"Time to be up and about, Aldan. It's almost second bell, and we're
wasting daylight."
Aldan groaned and pulled the sheet up over his head. Fortunately
for the young lord's modesty, the other end was trapped beneath his
legs. Nakaz said, "Get up now!"
Aldan flipped the end of the sheet off his head and said, "Fine,
fine. I'm up. Stop shouting!"
Nakaz headed for the door. Before he closed it, he said, "If you're
not downstairs in a quarter-bell, I'm coming back up with a bucket from
the rain barrel." He chuckled at the resultant groan.
Nakaz returned to the common room to wait for Aldan. He sat at one
of the tables and dug a map out of his saddlebags. He knew that the
fastest way from Valdasly to Dargon was the Royal Road that connected
the two, but he had time to kill before Aldan made it down the stairs.
His traced out the most direct route with his finger: along the Darst
Range, through Tench in Narragan, past the end of the mountains and
along the Coldwell River, and finally into the city of Dargon. About
three sennights of easy travel, and Nakaz' mission would be over.
Aldan's, though, would just be beginning.
Nakaz slipped the map back into the saddlebags and pondered Aldan's
quest. There were only two reasons the young lord would need to travel
so far: flight or pursuit. Aldan seldom worried about their trail once
they had traveled it. Instead, he most often fretted at their speed and
whether they would be 'in time'. Nakaz deduced thereby that Aldan was
chasing someone. But why?
Nakaz' musings were interrupted by a noisy clatter of footsteps
coming down the stairs. He looked up, but the sound was too loud to be
the hung-over Aldan. He saw instead a group of traders in their
knee-length vests over loose trousers and tight tunics. They chattered
to each other about their own day's beginning, increasing the noise in
the common room until Nakaz found it impossible to return to his own
thoughts.
As they passed his table on their way to the courtyard door and the
stables beyond, Nakaz couldn't help but overhear one greybeard say, "No
more than two days south-west, and we'll be in the Barony of Tendian.
Four more days and ..."
Nakaz felt another spark of recognition at the name Tendian. He
tried to concentrate on where he had heard that name before, and
finally, once the traders exited the room, he remembered. Tendian.
Arvalia. Reshilk!
He recalled meeting Yeran Reshilk at an inn almost two months ago.
Yeran's family had once been barons in Arvalia, until his grandfather
had sold the title to the duke, letting his land go to the Baron
Tendian.
But the sad story of Yeran's fading fortunes wasn't why Nakaz was
excited about remembering their meeting: it was the ring, Yeran's last
inheritance, which had been stolen by that false bard Kresh. The same
ring that he had seen on Voesh's finger the night before!
Random information began to come together to form a frightening
pattern. Voesh and his riddles, which brought back the previous night
and the songs he had sung. One particular song surfaced, one with more
significance than the rest: the one about the Margre Chalisento. He
remembered the legend of the Margre: all of it, not just the parts in
his song. The connections multiplied, and he finally recalled what the
symbols on the ring had reminded him of when Yeran had shown it to him
the first time: they linked the ring to the Margre.
Footsteps interrupted him again, and when Nakaz looked up this
time, it was to see Aldan descending the stairs. He called out across
the room, "Aldan! What was on the scroll you 'solved' for that woman
last night?"
Aldan winced, putting a hand to his head. As he walked over to
Nakaz' table, he said, "You don't have to shout, Nakaz. I could have
heard your whisper as easily, since the room is empty."
"Sorry," Nakaz said, though he wasn't. "The scroll?"
"Ah, scroll? Last night?" Aldan sat, dropping his saddlebags next
to Nakaz'. He put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands and
continued, "Scroll, fine. I remember, mostly. It was a kind of map, but
a strange one." He looked up and went on in a more confident tone, "At
first, it just looked like lines scribbled across the parchment. But I
could see an order to the lines, and there were clues in that order that
showed which lines were lines, and which were passages. There were even
hidden markings that seemed to indicate certain places along the way.
Danger places, I think. Why?"
Nakaz said, "What did the map show? A village? A forest trail?"
"No, no. It looked contained, like a building or something. A maze
inside of walls, almost. No features, no separate buildings ... just
corridors. Or maybe tunnels."
Aldan looked like he wanted to ask why again, but then he stopped.
Nakaz could see the concentration on his face and waited for the young
man to continue.
"Wait, wait. I remember something else. Two things, really. First,
the lady claimed that the map was ancient, but I could tell that it was
newly done, and made to look old. Can't fool me about anything."
Aldan smiled, and looked contented with his revelation. Nakaz
stared pointedly, but Aldan was oblivious. After a few moments more,
Nakaz prompted, "And ...?"
"Huh? And?" Aldan seemed surprised, but then his eyes widened. "Oh,
yes. The other thing. Well, there was a blot of ink in one corner of the
scroll, covering some of the lines. The middle was still slightly wet,
though that wasn't the only reason I knew it wasn't old. When the man
and the woman went back to their group and they all left, I saw that one
of them had an ink stain on his finger, so they knew it wasn't old. They
made the scrolls just so we could help them do whatever they wanted to
do. I wonder what that is?"
"I'm afraid I know, Aldan, and it's not good." Nakaz stood and
grabbed his saddlebags. "Come on, we've got to try to find them."
Aldan stood too, but he didn't gather up his belongings. Instead,
he said, "Why? I thought we were going to Dargon?"
Nakaz said, "I'll explain as we go. Come on!" He turned and headed
for the courtyard door.
"Do you remember the song I sang last night?" He pushed the door
open and led Aldan across the cobbled space beyond.
Aldan replied, "Which one?"
"The one after the chantey. In D major?"
"Ah ... no. I guess I was busy or something."
Nakaz muttered, "'Drunk or something' is more like it." He walked
into the stables and over to the stalls that held Riesta and Firesocks.
In a louder voice, he said, "It was about the Margre Chalisento, an
ancient legend that almost no one knows about. The Margre was a powerful
sorceress with an ambition to gather all magic to herself, and with it
rule the world. She was defeated, but she had become too powerful to
destroy. Fortunately, her opponents had other ways to deal with her, and
her bid for power was ended."
Nakaz started readying Riesta for travel, settling her saddle into
place and tightening the girth with a hard yank. Aldan was doing the
same for Firesocks, and a pair of stable boys had come over to help.
Nakaz continued, "The verses I sang last night ended there, but there is
another version of the legend that goes into detail about how the Margre
was dealt with. She was split into three pieces, and these sections were
hidden in protected places."
Aldan said, "That sounds pretty ghastly. And she survived that?"
Nakaz chuckled as he fastened his saddlebags onto Riesta's back. He
said, "She wasn't chopped into three bits; the process was somewhat more
refined. As I understand it, she was separated into three fundamental
pieces: her mind, her body, and her spirit. In that state, she is no
threat. Unless, of course, someone knows enough to fetch her pieces and
put her back together."
Nakaz took Riesta's headstall from the stable boy and slipped it
over the horse's nose as Aldan asked, "How would someone do that? How
would they know it could be done in the first place? You said that the
legend isn't well known, after all."
"Good question, Aldan, and I don't know the answer. The legend of
the Margre Chalisento is both ancient and dangerous. I only read about
it in the College of Bards in Magnus, where a great deal of ancient and
dangerous knowledge is collected. The vaults under the college contain
the seeds of vast, hazardous power, which is why the bards keep it
locked up very securely."
Aldan said, "That doesn't really answer the question, Nakaz. Could
someone have gotten the scroll or book or whatever about this Margre out
of those vaults?"
Nakaz frowned as he checked all of the buckles and straps of
Riesta's harness. "That's unthinkable, Aldan. The college isn't some
kind of collection of books that lends its stock to anyone who walks by.
Those vaults are --" He stopped in mid-sentence, halted by another
connection.
The man called Kresh had attracted Nakaz' attention at the inn two
months ago because the bard had first seen him within the Bardic College
itself. Kresh had called himself Kethseir, and had possessed all the
trappings of one who belonged within the college's walls. Kresh had been
revealed as a thief, if not a murderer, by the incident of Yeran
Reshilk's stolen ring. Nakaz now wondered what the man's business had
been within the college that night.
He looked across Riesta's back to Aldan, who was finishing up with
Firesocks. "How they know isn't as important as that they know. And I
think it is obvious that the people who tricked us into helping them
with those scrolls last night are very well acquainted with the facts
behind the legend of the Margre Chalisento."
Nakaz gave Riesta's reins to the stable boy, who started to lead
her out of her stall. Following, he continued, "First, there was the odd
request for a song about the Margre. Then I saw a ring on the finger of
the man, Voesh, who asked me to translate his riddles. The ring was one
I had seen before, and I thought I had recognized the symbols on it. The
Margre was known by two symbols: a leaf-and-star, and a stag leaping
over a cat. The ring bears both symbols."
Aldan said, "The map that the woman showed me had the leafy star on
it as well."
"Star-leaf and cat-stag? Like the forbidden canyon, you mean?" said
the stable boy leading Aldan's horse out of the stables.
Nakaz looked and the lad and asked, "Forbidden canyon?"
"Oh yes, sir bard, the forbidden canyon. It's just north of the
city, maybe two bells' walk. There's a pair of leafy stars flanking the
entrance, and on one wall there's this great carving of a stag jumping
over this mountain cat. My Granda talks about a legend of evil in that
place. My Da made sure I knew where it was, and then forbidded me to
ever go there again. People vanish up there, and that's no story. Won't
say I've never been back, but I never go far in. I knew someone who was
dared to spend the night. He never came back, neither."
Nakaz said, "It all comes together, Aldan. The riddles, your hidden
map, the symbols, and a dangerous canyon. If these people are on some
kind of quest to reunite the pieces of the Margre, we have to stop
them."
He turned to the stable boy again, and said, "Can you show us the
way to the canyon?"
"Sure," the lad said, "for a price."
Nakaz mounted, and Aldan followed suit. The bard said, "Get up
here, young man. We'll negotiate your price as we go."
The bard helped the stable boy up onto Riesta's back, and then led
the way out of the courtyard. The boy, whose name was Taych, soon agreed
upon a suitable price for his guide services, and Nakaz guided his horse
onto the right road out of Valdasly.
Taych knew the way well, and inside of a bell Nakaz and Aldan
arrived at the canyon. Their path had taken them into the foothills of
the Darst Range, and the canyon was very easy to pick out, with its
large star-leaf statues flanking the narrow entrance. Nakaz felt that
the display was a little unsubtle for a secret hiding place.
He let Taych down and then dismounted, as did Aldan. He walked up
the path that led into the canyon and stopped to examine the statues. He
realized that while they were worn, they weren't eroded enough to be
several thousand years old. They must have been a later addition,
perhaps set in place by those who had once guarded the secret of the
canyon.
Stepping between the statues, Nakaz entered the canyon itself. It
was a short, narrow cut surrounded by walls no more than twice
man-height tall. Nakaz saw no stag and cat carvings, but in the northern
wall was a large opening.
Taych said, "Voldronnai's fire! The carving's gone! That opening's
right where it usually is, but where did it go?"
Nakaz said, "They've been here, but are they gone yet? Come on,
Aldan. Taych, you stay by the statues, straight?"
The bard walked over to the opening, wondering whether he would
need to put together a makeshift torch. He soon saw that light was not
required; evidently there had been some kind of cave-in just a few paces
into the cliffside opening, blocking the tunnel completely.
Aldan said, "Do you think they were trapped inside? Or did they
collapse the tunnel after leaving?"
Nakaz walked up to the mound of rubble. He looked all around, but
there were no clues. He had no idea how to answer Aldan's question.
He heard a small sound, like a pebble falling. Nakaz looked at the
ceiling of the tunnel, but it appeared solid. He looked at the rubble
again as another pebble tumbled down the face of the cave-in. Nakaz
traced the source to a small opening at the top of the pile. As he
watched, several more pebbles were dislodged, and a slightly larger rock
followed. A hand-sized opening was revealed, and Nakaz heard a faint
voice coming from within.
He scrambled up the rock-fall, and as he neared the opening he
heard the voice calling "Help!" He climbed closer to the hole as
carefully as he could and said, "Hold on, we're here!"
The voice said, "Hello? Who's there?" Nakaz had no trouble
identifying the voice as the one that had requested the Margre song the
night before. It was a very distinctive voice, that of a young girl but
able to shout as loud as an adult. The woman continued, "Voesh? Bresk?
Is that you?"
The bard responded, "I'm Nakaz. The only other person here is my
companion Aldan. Who are you?"
The voice said, faintly, "They've left me. Maybe they just went to
get help." She continued, louder, "Did they send you? How did you find
me?"
"No," answered Nakaz, "we weren't sent by anyone. We found you by,
well, by accident I suppose. What happened?" He started trying to
enlarge the small opening, but the stones around it were large, and
wedged in place. All he could do was remove the smaller rocks and
pebbles to either side, hoping to free some of the larger stones that
way. Aldan had climbed the rubble as well, and was working in a similar
fashion a short distance away.
The woman was silent for a while, but eventually she said, "My two
friends and I found this cave very early this morning." She paused, and
Nakaz heard the clatter of rocks being tossed away. "We decided to
explore, but before we had gone half a dozen paces inside, there was a
rumble and stones started falling. We all turned to run but ... I guess
I didn't run fast enough." She was silent again, and more rocks rattled.
"When I woke up it was dark. I felt around and found the rock-fall, and
started picking away at it. It was easiest up here near the top."
Nakaz had kept up his own clearing efforts while he listened to the
woman lie. The small opening was getting larger, but slowly. As he
brushed aside pebbles and dislodged rocks to loosen the larger stones,
he wondered how he was going to get the truth from the woman.
He had no real authority over her. She hadn't done anything illegal
in entering the cave, nor had her friends committed a crime by
presenting faked scrolls to Aldan and himself, which meant that he
couldn't use his credentials as a bard to detain her once she was out of
the cave. He could try to trade his help in freeing her for the truth,
or he could try to convince her that reviving the Margre was wrong and
get her to help him track her friends down. But he didn't know the woman
well enough to decide which was the better course of action.
Nakaz decided to try persuasion. She might take a great deal of
convincing, but he didn't like the thought of holding her freedom ransom
to the truth.
"I know that you didn't just happen on this cave, milady. Our local
guide had never seen it before." Nakaz worked a final rock loose, and a
stone as large as his torso tumbled down the rubble. An accompanying
clatter of pebbles and debris followed it, leaving a good-sized
depression in his side of the cave-in.
He heard scrambling from the other side of the obstruction, and he
saw tiny gaps open up as small bits of rubble were cleared from around
the large stone that backed his depression. Before Nakaz could adjust
his position to help more directly, he saw the stone tilt and then
shift, falling outward. But it didn't fall clear; instead, it lodged in
the front of the opening he had made.
Nakaz tried to get the woman talking again. "I'm the bard that you
asked to sing about the Margre Chalisento last night. You know, the one
that your friends got to help solve those riddles. And I know --"
His monolog was halted by a rumble as the wall of rubble shook
slightly. Before he had time to react, he heard a scream from inside,
followed by a louder rumbling and the sound of another cave-in.
Nakaz scrambled back to solid ground, followed by Aldan. He soon
realized that the rubble he had been standing on had not shifted; the
new cave-in had been behind the first. The noise of falling rocks faded
as plumes of dust rose from several places in the obstruction.
Before the last click had faded and the dust had settled, Nakaz was
back up on the rubble. He reached the old opening and called out,
"Hello? Are you all right in there?" He received no reply.
He started working at the cave-in again, more frantically than
before. He pushed at the stone blocking the depression he had created
earlier. It didn't budge, so he started working around it, trying to
free it. He could hear Aldan's efforts near the other wall of the cave.
He wanted to get the woman out of there, and not just because she had
the answers he needed.
Nakaz worked alongside Aldan for nearly a bell. Pebbles and rocks
rained down, and before long, larger stones were following. Nakaz pulled
and dug, ignoring the cuts and gouges he earned for his efforts. He only
paused once, when a falling rock glanced off his middle finger's nail,
splitting it. He ignored the pain and returned to work after taking a
moment to realize that he wouldn't be playing the lute until that nail
healed.
Finally, Nakaz saw cloth through an opening. He called Aldan over
and together they worked more cautiously to remove the rubble in the
area. They slowly exposed the unconscious young woman who, though
bloody, was still breathing.
Nakaz and Aldan gently lifted the woman out of the rocks. The bard
knew that moving her was risky, and he winced when she gasped slightly
without regaining consciousness, but there wasn't enough light in the
cave to see to her injuries. He and Aldan carried her out into the
canyon and set her down carefully.
Nakaz was no healer, but he could see that she needed the
attentions of one as quickly as possible. She had gashes on her face,
arms and hands, and blood seeped through her leggings. Her left wrist
was twisted at an impossible angle, and her breathing was ragged.
He said, "Aldan, we need water to clean her injuries. And get a
blanket; we should try to make her comfortable."
Nakaz didn't wait for any questions from his companion. He started
running toward the mouth of the canyon, calling out, "Taych, do you know
of a healer in town?"
The boy nodded, eyes wide with excitement and a little fear. Nakaz
reached his side, and pulled him along as he continued toward Riesta. He
opened the saddlebags and fetched a small pouch before lifting Taych up
into his horse's saddle.
"Ride as fast as you can. Riesta here can follow the reins; just
keep a light touch and you'll be fine. Get to the healer and say that
there's been a cave-in injury. Then get both of you back here as fast as
you can ride. Straight?"
The boy nodded again, clutched at Riesta's reins, and galloped off.
Nakaz returned to the injured woman, kneeling next to Aldan at her
side. The young lord was carefully wiping at the scrapes and gashes on
her face.
He helped Aldan move the woman once again, arranging her on the
blanket, an extra fold under her head as a pillow. Nakaz slit open her
leggings with his knife to assess the wounds there, and was glad to find
only scrapes and a gouge, nothing serious. He joined Aldan in cleaning
her wounds, using some ointment from the pouch he had fetched on the
deeper ones. He was still worried about her rough breathing, but he
didn't have anything in his accident kit for that. He and Aldan both
stayed away from her broken wrist.
She was beginning to come around by the time the clean-up work was
finished. Her eyelids flickered, but didn't quite open, and she began to
moan. Nakaz took a tiny phial from his kit and removed its stopper. He
placed his finger over the opening and up-ended the phial, then brushed
his finger across her lips, leaving a slight bluish stain behind. Her
tongue darted out automatically and licked the stain away, and again
when Nakaz repeated the process.
He looked up at Aldan's questioning expression and as he put the
phial away he said, "It's called prehidar. For the pain. It is very
difficult to make. Fortunately, it is also very effective. See?"
The woman had stopped moaning, and her face grew peaceful. Her eyes
opened and she looked around, a puzzled expression on her face.
"What? Where ...?" she began asking, but grimaced again and
stopped. Nakaz knew that there was something very wrong with her if the
prehidar wasn't removing all of her pain.
He said, "Take it easy, a healer is on the way." He didn't say that
it might be as much as two bells until that healer arrived. "If it
doesn't hurt to talk, could you tell us who you are?"
The woman looked around calmly. Nakaz saw her try to sit up but she
didn't manage to do more than raise her head slightly before grimacing
again. Her gaze returned to him, recognition showing before being
replaced with wariness. She whispered, "Meelia," without wincing,
sounding even more like a child.
"Well, Meelia," said Nakaz in a friendly tone, "while we're waiting
why don't you tell me all you know about the Margre Chalisento?"
Meelia grinned wanly and whispered, "Never heard of him. Friend of
yours?"
"You asked for a song about her last night in the White Spike."
"Never been there. Must have been someone else."
Nakaz narrowed his eyes in annoyance and continued, "You mentioned
the name of someone who was in the White Spike last night though. Voesh.
Remember?"
Meelia said faintly, "Must have been a coincidence."
"Tall man, black hair, scar?"
"Short woman, red hair, and you wouldn't have seen her scar in
public."
"You've got a lie for everything, don't you?"
Meelia chuckled, but didn't respond.
Nakaz spent a few moments considering his options. She wasn't going
to tell him the truth without a reason, so he'd have to give her one.
"You must know that the Margre Chalisento is evil," he said.
"Then why are you his friend?" she whispered.
"You know the legend, and if you didn't before, you heard it last
night."
"Last night I was in the woods with Brale and Vish."
"Why would the group of you want to bring her evil back into the
world? What reward have you been promised?"
Meelia looked at him, looked up at the sky, and then closed her
eyes. "It's time to sleep," she whispered.
Nakaz continued questioning her, but got no responses. Either she
was very good at feigning or she really was asleep. He tried again and
again for more than a bell, but she refused to answer. Her breathing
grew more ragged, though, and the pain lines returned slowly to her face
as the prehidar salve slowly wore off.
Nakaz finally gave up. He sat beside her and debated giving her
more of the pain-killer as the silence stretched longer and longer. A
quarter-bell passed before Nakaz decided to give her more of the
prehidar; he didn't think that the dose would endanger her any more than
her injuries already had.
He was reaching for his accident kit when two things happened.
Meelia opened her eyes and looked frantically around, perhaps fearing
she had been abandoned due to the lengthy silence. At the same time, a
large darningfly darted in a zig-zag path to land on Meelia's right
hand.
Nakaz looked at the finger-long insect as it rested there, its
short body sporting two sets of iridescent, veined wings held out to the
sides while sticking out behind was the long, segmented tail that, along
with its erratic flight, gave it its name. Light glistened off the wings
and the bulbous eyes, contrasting with the vicious-looking mouth-parts
and the wicked-seeming barb at the end of that tail. Nakaz knew that
darningflies were harmless, however, so he didn't bother to shoo it
away.
He noticed that Meelia hadn't twitched her hand either, and he
wondered why. He found that she was staring at the insect with a strange
look in her eye, somewhere between reverence and fear.
He said gently, "Meelia?"
She responded instantly, still whispering. "We ... my family ...
used that as a symbol."
"Used?" asked Nakaz. "Did they change it?"
"No," she said, still transfixed by the darningfly. "They ... they
disowned me."
The insect lifted from Meelia's hand with a buzz of wings, and the
woman hastily said, "They didn't. I ran away!" The bug landed again,
becoming as still as a figurine. Meelia continued, "It was Joal. He
showed me how life could be outside the rigid structure of my family,
which was all duty and responsibility, no freedom or fun."
Nakaz smiled briefly as he saw Aldan nod in sympathy. He said, "Go
on," eager to keep her talking.
"I thought that Joal and I would get married. We never even slept
together. But he introduced me to Bresk and the rest. I never regretted
running away. Until now."
"Why, Meelia?"
"Because ... I'm dying. Darningflies aren't just our heraldry,
they're legend too. It's said that they come to take the souls of the
dying. I always thought it was a stupid legend; we come from a marshy
area and there's darningflies everywhere. It's just a family
superstition. But now ..."
She fell silent again, but she still stared at the insect on her
hand. Nakaz decided to try to coax more information out of her while she
was in a loquacious mood.
"How did you end up in that cave-in, Meelia?"
She was silent for a moment, and then she sighed. "We were looking
for one of the pieces of the Margre Chalisento. Voesh, the man you met
yesterday, has been leading us all over the kingdom, looking. He came
back from a trip to Pyridain with a scar and a quest. He got this old
book in Magnus --"
"Very old?" interrupted Nakaz. "Blue binding with a small tear in
the lower left corner?"
"Yeah, that's it. You've seen it? Where? Oh, never mind, it's not
really important.
"Anyway, this book had clues in it that helped Voesh gather more
information. That, and a small, oval stone with a gold star-shaped leaf
inset into it. Somehow the stone helps him make decisions; it's very
uncanny when he does that.
"We've been chasing this legend for ages. For example, we spent two
years piecing together enough information to locate a certain ring,
which we hired a thief named Kale to acquire."
Meelia paused, her gaze sweeping across Nakaz and Aldan before
returning to the insect. She seemed to be gathering strength, and Nakaz
let the silence stretch until she was ready to continue. A moment later,
she continued, "The book helped lead us to Valdasly; the riddles
narrowed down where to look; the ring led us to this cave and keyed open
the hidden entrance. The map that your friend there interpreted showed
the true tunnel and every trap along the way. We got to the end and
found a cup on a little plinth set in an alcove with all kinds of
carvings around it. The cup was stone, but it had a grain, like wood.
Set into one side was a very small, very detailed stag-and-cat figure in
gold. Voesh called it the 'chalice of the body', which was how we knew
that it was what we had been looking for: part of the Margre. I guess
that Voesh's little oval stone must be another part, 'cause he told us
that we only needed one more part, and that he was sure that it was to
the north, somewhere in Dargon."
Nakaz looked at Aldan, who was staring back at him. Dargon.
Coincidence?
Meelia continued, "The last bit of the map was blotted with ink; I
think that's why the last trap got missed. Voesh did say something about
a curse compounding itself as the parts were gathered together, but it
was probably just Shan being careless. Of course, if we'd used the book
itself, this wouldn't have happened. But Voesh guards that book like it
was his child."
Meelia closed her eyes and suddenly coughed, convulsing her body
and making her cry out with pain. She turned her head, hawked and spit,
and the phlegm produced was heavily laced with blood. She tried to curl
up but only cried out again.
Nakaz hurriedly fetched his phial and smeared more blue on her
lips. She calmed down almost as soon as her tongue touched the color,
and soon she was lying still, a smile on her face. Only her very ragged
breathing, and the way pink froth occasionally bubbled to her lips,
showed how badly off she was.
Nakaz knew that he didn't have much time. He would have liked to
learn more about Voesh's stone, or about how the book that he had seen
in the vaults of the College of Bards had been acquired, but Meelia
wasn't going to last much longer. If he couldn't get the answers from
her, though, there were still the others of her group.
"Meelia, do you know how your friends are getting to Dargon?"
"Don't know," she whispered dreamily. Nakaz wondered if he had
given her too much prehidar. "But can guess. Direct route not using
Royal Roads. Bresk, he's our leader when Voesh isn't telling us where to
go, Bresk says that Royal Roads are too easy to follow and he doesn't
like to make it easy on any pursuit we might end up with. And we've been
pursued a lot!" She giggled, spit out a little blood, and fell silent.
Nakaz almost missed the moment when Meelia died. He would have if
the darningfly hadn't chosen that moment to dart off, up over the cliff
and away. Meelia's chest fell with a faint rattle, and didn't rise
again.
Nakaz stood sadly, and walked a little way away to wait for the
healer. Aldan followed. They stood in silence for a bit, and then Aldan
asked, "So, did you believe her story?"
Nakaz said, "Yes. At the end, at least. She was telling the truth
once the darningfly arrived."
"But isn't it a bit preposterous that they could have been guided
all over the kingdom by some ancient artifact?"
For some reason, Nakaz' mind flashed on the glass and metal-banded
stone sculpture in his saddlebags. Thrusting the irrelevant thought
away, he said, "The evidence is slim, but convincing. The ring, this
canyon, the cave-in, and her story all fit together. And I've read that
very book she talked about. I think we have to treat it all as fact."
Nakaz walked out of the canyon with a final glance at Meelia's
body, leaving a thoughtful Aldan behind. He reached Aldan's horse in
time to see two riders approaching: Taych and another.
The healer confirmed that Meelia was dead of injuries inside her
body. Nakaz thanked him, and asked him to let people know that the new
cave was very dangerous and it should be blocked off as soon as
possible. The healer left, taking Taych with him.
After putting Meelia's body back in the cave, which was as fitting
a burial as Nakaz could contrive, the two travelers returned to the
horses. Aldan asked, "What now?"
Nakaz was ready with the answer. "We follow. There aren't that many
paths north that aren't the Royal Road. They have half a day on us; we
can't let them get more of a lead. At any other time we could make up
that time by riding at night, but this is the dark of the moon. At least
they won't be able to increase their lead.
"Do you have any objections to that? Chasing them north won't even
take us out of our way."
Aldan said, "I agree. And if it ends up that we need to turn aside
from my destination, I'll gladly agree to it. Finding these people is
more important than my business in Dargon."
Nakaz nodded. He mounted Riesta and he and Aldan continued their
journey north with an additional purpose.
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