DDDDD ZZZZZZ // D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE || D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 12 -=========================================================+|) D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 9 DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE || \\ \ ======================================================================== DargonZine Distributed: 9/16/1999 Volume 12, Number 9 Circulation: 708 ======================================================================== Contents Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb A Tale of Two Families 2 Jon Ballinger End of Melrin, 1016 Talisman One 3 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Spring, 2347 ID Fate of a Child 3 Rena Deutsch Melrin 985 ======================================================================== 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 correspondance to or visit us on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/. Back issues are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon. DargonZine 12-9, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright September, 1999 by the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb , Assistant Editor: Jon Evans . 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 Since it's been another quiet month on the editorial front, I thought I'd take the opportunity to give you an idea of what a story has to go through before it appears in the pages of DargonZine. So let's take the three stories in this issue as examples, and see how they got here... Although it can be broken down in more detail, there are basically four stages in the development of a DargonZine story: developing the idea, writing it, revising it, and printing it. Sounds easy, right? In the beginning, every story is just an idea in the author's head. The first step in translating that mental image into words is writing an outline. The outline serves many purposes. For the author, it allows them to draft, revise, and refine the story's overall structure, and also serves as an aid to memory. In a collaborative writing project like DargonZine, the outline is also usually the first thing that other writers see. Posting the outline allows other writers to contribute their ideas and gives us the opportunity to discuss the process of formulating story ideas. It's also our first opportunity to offer criticism and direct the writer away from potential trouble spots before he or she invests a lot of time in writing. Because DargonZine is a single anthology, writers have to live within some very specific guidelines, and need to put in extra effort to ensure that their stories don't contradict other works. The author takes in all these nebulous contributions and criticisms and eventually comes out of the process with an outline he or she would like to proceed with, and which is acceptable to the other writers. The author then goes off and actually writes the story, which is probably the easiest part of the process. When the first rough draft is complete, most writers will solicit critiques of the story from a couple friends and make a first round of revisions in order to make sure it's ready for other writers to see. Then the writer posts the story to our writers' discussion list. The third step is sometimes the most difficult, but also the most educational: accepting critiques, revising the story, re-posting it, and getting critiqued all over again! Comments run the gamut, from thematic and stylistic concerns to nit-picking grammar corrections to questions about the motivations and depictions of characters. Accepting criticism is a perennial challenge because a writer always has a strong emotional investment in his or her work. But the interaction between writers is the most important part of the process for most of our writers, because they have chosen to write for DargonZine because of the opportunity to learn from one another and thus become better writers. The critique process can also be very time-consuming; it may take a month or two for people to read and critique one version of a story, and some stories go through six or seven versions before being finalized! But eventually, when the writer is satisfied with his work, he can finalize his story by declaring it "ready to print". All that's left then is to print it. Depending on what other stories are available and whether it is part of a series, the story might have to wait a few months to be printed. Once it is selected for printing, the author will need to proof both the formatted ASCII and HTML versions, provide a story summary, and submit new definitions and descriptions of everything that appears in their story (these are incorporated into our unique Online Glossary). After that, the issue is distributed and the story is emailed out and put on our Web site for hundreds of readers to see. For the writer, this is a proud moment, knowing that they have done a good job and learned a lot along the way. DargonZine has provided the vehicle for the writer to produce a final work of art and offer it to an interested audience, If you're interested in more of the specific details about what it's like to be a Dargon Project writer, there's an overabundance of information in our Writers' FAQ, which can be found on our Web site at . Looking specifically at the stories in this issue, all of them followed very similar paths on their way to publication. Interestingly, all three stories had their inception in August 1998, a little more than a year ago. Dafydd's first draft was posted just two months later. Dafydd has been with the project for a long time, and his story was merely one part of a series that he'd been thinking about for over two years. Jon and Rena took longer to post their first drafts; they had only just joined the project at that time, and had spent some time focusing on writing and publishing the first chapters of their storylines. Jon's story first appeared in draft form in February, and Rena's in June. Then came the revisions. Because of his experience with the project and the fact that he'd had time to kick his ideas around for a couple years, Dafydd got his revisions out of the way quickly, going through four versions on his way to declaring his story "RTP" in May. Jon and Rena both went through five revs, only finalizing their stories at the end of August, when the Editor was clamoring for new stories to print. The issue was assembled during the first two weeks of September, and was distributed on September 16th, after these stories has seen more than a year of work. While some stories take less time and some take more, these examples are pretty typical. Our writers put an awful lot of hard work into every story that you see, and there's an incredible amount of activity and discussion that take place behind the scenes in order to bring these stories to you. But it's something that we're passionate about, and we hope that you enjoy the results as much as we've enjoyed going through the process of creating it and bringing it to you. ======================================================================== A Tale of Two Families Part 2 by Jon Ballinger End of Melrin, 1016 Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 11-10 Jokal des Morest saddled his mare in silence, pondering the events of the previous two days. He remembered the feeling of wonder and awe he felt on arriving at Mathias Rerre's sumptuous estate. He remembered the joy that registered on Leila's face when she saw him, and he recalled that smile changing to one of annoyance when Jokal had dared to broach the subject of business on such a joyful day. His sister had scolded him and then proceeded to play the dutiful host's wife for the rest of the evening. Jokal had hoped that the night would never turn into day, but when the morning came, he had sought out Mathias Rerre. Jokal had told Mathias that Arran des Morest, Jokal's and Leila's father, did not sanction his daughter's marriage to Mathias and was demanding that she return home. Arran des Morest had disliked Mathias ever since he had discovered that Mathias had been nothing more than a shepherd who had befallen good fortune. Arran's dream had been that one day Leila would marry a fine, upstanding pillar of society. Leila's and Mathias' elopement had destroyed all hopes of that. Even the fact that Leila was carrying Mathias' child would not stop Arran from bringing her back home, at any cost. Jokal had delivered Arran's request and Mathias had flatly refused to accede to it. Jokal fastened the last strap on the saddle and patted the mare's side. The early morning breeze chilled his face and Jokal pulled his jacket tighter about him. The good weather of two days ago had gone, replaced by the slight chill that was all that remained of the dying winter. Jokal had preferred to leave early in order to make the most of the daylight and he had woken just before dawn. After a few menes spent uselessly pondering the situation, Jokal had dressed, eaten and then walked over to the stables to saddle the horse provided for his journey home. Unsatisfied with the light in the stables, Jokal had led the mare out of the stable and saddled her in the open air just outside the stables. Jokal heard the crunch of footsteps upon dew-coated grass and turned to face his sister Leila. "Jokal?" she asked. "Are you all right?" Jokal sighed softly, "No. I'm not all right. I have to go home and tell Father that Mathias refused his request." Leila looked at Jokal with an encouraging smile on her face. She said, "I'm sure it will not be as bad as you think." Jokal did not have time to say anything before Mathias approached them and slid his arm across Leila's shoulders, hugging her close to him. He nodded curtly in Jokal's direction and watched him quietly. Jokal decided not to say anything, and instead, placed his foot in the stirrup and swung himself onto the horse. Jokal said, "I'm about ready to leave. Where are my escorts?" "They are round the side of the house. All saddled and kitted up and ready to leave. I trust your stay -- if not pleasant -- has been comfortable." "Yes, Mathias," agreed Jokal, "It has. If circumstances were better I am sure I would have enjoyed the surroundings more. The fields look as though they will yield a strong harvest. "Until the next time we meet. Farewell, Leila." Jokal spurred his mare on and trotted round the side of the house to join his escorts. The journey home had taken a day and a half so far. Jokal looked at the sky, feeling the first raindrops splatter against his upturned face. The smell and sensation of fresh rain did nothing for him at that moment. Jokal breathed in deeply and then expelled the contents of his lungs out in an angry breath. The rain deepened into a steady torrent causing the horses to slow, lest they lose their footing. Jokal turned to check that his two escorts were still atop their horses. On seeing Darrant and Falris riding behind him, Jokal turned to face the front again. He could barely see ahead far enough to ride safely so he turned his gaze to the ground directly in front of him. It was not long before the rain abated slightly, and Jokal knew that the worst of the abrupt storm was over, but the rain continued to fall. It made no difference to Jokal whether the rain stopped or not as he was soaked to the skin and there was not enough of the journey left for him to dry off. Falris spied the forest that neighboured the des Morest estate and pointed it out to his charge. Jokal scowled in disgust as he realised that they had gone slightly off course; not enough to cause problems but enough to mean a weary end to the ride. The riders headed for the forest. The soft soil of the forest mixed with the heavy rains to become treacherous ground for the horses. After two bells of slow, torturous riding through the clammy mud, Jokal and his escorts emerged into the open grounds on the north side of the Des Morest estate. Jokal now knew he would not be able to put off telling his father of Mathias' response. As if embracing what he had to do, Jokal spurred on his mare and his escorts did likewise. As the party approached the Des Morest house, Jokal pulled on the reins to stop his horse. He dismounted and handed the reins to Falris. "Can you take her to the stables for me?" Jokal asked. "I'd better see my father as he'll be wondering where we've been." Falris nodded and watched as Jokal ran over to the door of the house. Jokal hammered on the wooden door until it was opened. Thanking the servant who opened the door, Jokal walked through the hallway to the dining room. The large table that resided within it was empty, save for a few remnants of the last meal. Jokal picked up a leg of meat and took a bite. Realising that he was beginning to shiver, Jokal opened his overtunic, shrugged himself out of it, and let it drop to the floor. Jokal put the leg of meat on the table and pulled his undertunic over his head. Another shiver passed through him as he wrung the water out of the garment. As Jokal pulled it back over his head, he heard the door of the dining room open and close. Jokal looked up and saw his father, who looked small against the closed door behind him. "What did he say?" asked Arran des Morest, fixing Jokal with his green eyes. "What did that runt say?" Jokal looked at his father. "What? No welcome home?" Arran sighed, "If need be. Welcome home, my son. Now, about your task?" "Mathias Rerre declined your request," Jokal said, as clearly as he could speak. "And?" asked Arran. "What of the ultimatum?" Jokal did not answer. "You never told him? Damn, boy! The honor of the des Morest name is worth far more than the happiness of a daughter." Arran closed the distance between himself and his son. "It hurt when Leila chose Mathias each and every time a choice needed to be made. I was hurt time after time by Leila and each time that happened, it was always due to Mathias." "She's still your daughter," Jokal countered, desperate to make his father listen somehow, but it sounded hollow. Arran looked away from Jokal and walked toward the door. "Is all this just because he used to be a shepherd?" Jokal asked, dimly aware that he no longer felt cold or wet. Arran laughed, a brief harsh sound. "Is that what you think this is about?" he asked. "That man is scum. He aided the Beinison in the war; he made his money aiding those bastards on the eastern side of the Kingdom. "That bastard was responsible for the death of my friend. *That* is what this is about. I've not spoken of it as, despite what you may believe, I don't want to be the one who breaks my only daughter's heart. But I'll not let her spend her life in the company of a traitor!" Jokal jerked his head up and fixed his gaze on his father. There was nothing in Arran's stance that betrayed a lie. "But would Leila -- could Leila love a traitor?" Jokal thought, now confused and unsure of things. "You may have heard me speak of Lars?" Arran asked. The anger, Jokal noted, had gone from his voice and was replaced with quiet reflection. Jokal shook his head at Arran's question. "I thought I had spoken of Lars," Arran said looking down at the ground, and allowing his train of thought to trail off. He looked up at Jokal and continued, "Anyway, he was a childhood friend and it broke my heart to see him join the army when the recruitment started. The Beinison war ruined a great many friendships, either through death or by changing one friend too much for the friendship to survive. Most of this information was related to me by the other person present at the time of this situation. Lars was patrolling the farms around here with another member of his battalion." Arran walked closer to Jokal almost as if he were reaching out to him but stopped short of contact. Arran explained, "One farm belonged to Mathias Rerre, and the agitation that he showed on being inspected led Lars and the two other soldiers -- Iob and Tyrn, I think their names were -- to search his barn. Mathias became even more agitated and when they discovered four Beinison soldiers ... Anger began to seep back into Arran's voice as he continued, "Well, Mathias jumped Lars, Iob and Tyrn from behind while the Beinisons attacked from the front. Iob was able to fight free and reach his horse but Lars and Tyrn were murdered. Iob was found dead some distance away from Jokal's house but it's obvious that that is what happened. I have it on authority that is the truth and believe me, I've tried to have him hung for treason. That's the story about Mathias and that's why I have no intention of accepting him as a member of this family." Arran turned his back on Jokal and walked over to the door. As he opened it, Arran quietly said, "And that's why I have to carry out my promise to Mathias, regardless of whether you told him of it or not." Jokal stood alone in the dining room for a moment or two before he realised he had subconsciously clenched his fists tight enough to break the skin of his palms. Relaxing his hands, Jokal thought of Leila and he saw her smiling face. He could not allow his father to harm her in any way and tears welled up as he pictured Leila lying in a field on the Rerre estate, dying or dead. He blinked twice; his mind was made up and he would help Leila. Jokal left the room and walked through the house until he reached the side entrance. Glancing about to check that no one was watching him, he opened the door and crossed the short stretch of muddy yard to the kitchen. Once inside the kitchen he grabbed a sack from the pile just inside the door and filled it with food for his return to Dargon. He left the kitchen and headed for the well. He filled his water flagon to the brim before letting it hang by his side again. He ran to the stables for the second time that day, sure that he was going to be apprehended by one of his father's men who somehow knew what he was up to. No one approached him and as he entered the stables, Jokal was gladdened to see only the stableboy there. "I need a horse" Jokal said. "Okay," replied the stableboy, eager to please, "I have one ready. I just finished grooming him. Do you want me to saddle him?" "That'll be fine," said Jokal. "I can manage." The stableboy nodded and walked down the row of stalls until he found the horse -- a three year old gelding -- and brought him over to Jokal who was waiting with a saddle. Once saddled, Jokal led him out into the courtyard and pulled himself into the saddle. He rode the horse through the des Morest estate and passed the border without any query. Jokal spurred him on, aiming to reach Dargon within a day: to tell Mathias to take Leila far away. Jokal arrived at the Rerre estate just as the sun crossed the apex of the sky. The journey had taken little over a day. Jokal was weary, yet alert. A guard rode up to meet him as he approached the main house and Jokal recognised him as Bakson -- a guard that Jokal had met on his first visit. "What is your business?" Bakson asked, his eyes surveying Jokal suspiciously. "I need to see Mathias," Jokal replied. "It's urgent." Jokal also noticed Bakson scanning the fields around them. "You're alone?" Bakson asked, with a hint of incredulity. "Yes, and I do need to speak to Mathias." "The master's not here. He's in Dargon, on business." "Leila then, can I see my sister?" Jokal asked, almost pleading. "I'll take you to the house, and I'll ask her. Follow me." Jokal rode alongside Bakson in silence, wondering just what to do now. His plan had been dashed: tip Mathias off and let him take Leila away from the estate before Arran attacked. By the time they reached the main house, Jokal had decided on what to do and waited patiently as Bakson rang the bell. The door was opened by Leila who saw Jokal and immediately grabbed his arm. "Come in," she said, smiling. "Come in." Bakson coughed, prompting Leila to add, "Oh, sorry. Did you want to say something?" "No my lady, your acceptance of this man is all the answer I need, I'll return to my duties now." "Jokal is always welcome here, Bakson," Leila said, fixing the guard with a short stare. As soon as Leila had closed the door and turned back to face Jokal again, he began speaking, "We've got to get away. Got to find Mathias and warn him. Father --" "What's Father done now?" Leila interrupted, confused by Jokal's rambling. "He's on his way by now, with as many men as he could raise," Jokal said. "On his way to get you." Leila shook her head, "No, he wouldn't do that." "He's determined to split you both up, one way or the other. Father doesn't care what happens to Mathias and would rather you remain unhurt, but should something happen ..." Jokal couldn't finish the sentence. Leila did not speak for a while, but finally she found her voice, "So you think we should find Mathias?" "Yes," Jokal said, nodding fast. "You know where in Dargon he went?" Leila nodded and told Jokal to wait while she went to change. Jokal waited and wondered what he would say to Mathias -- "the traitor?" his confused thoughts added -- when he finally saw him. Leila soon reappeared, dressed in trousers and an overtunic. "Come on then," she said, leading Jokal out of the house. Outside, Jokal figeted nervously as Leila waited for a servant to bring them horses to ride. It was late by the time Leila and Jokal reached Dargon and their eyes had long since adapted to the moonlit night. The streets were silent and Leila heard nothing but the clip-clop of the horses' hooves. They rode through the silent streets until they came to Belisandra's, the inn at which Mathias was staying while on business in Dargon. Leila dismounted and leashed her horse to the post outside Belisandra's and told Jokal to do the same. Once both horses were secure, Jokal tried the door and was glad to see it swing open. The inside of the tavern was dark; the only light came from a fire that burned in the fireplace. Shadows danced around the walls and Jokal scanned the room quickly. There was no sign of Mathias among the few drinkers left. Leila had already gathered that Mathias was not in the tavern proper and had walked over to the bar to ask after her husband. As Jokal moved to his sister's side, he heard the conversation. "Mathias Rerre, you say?" asked the barman. He was carefully watching Leila with narrowed eyes. "Yes," Leila replied. "He's my husband and I have to speak to him." "I think not!" the barman stated before turning away from Jokal and Leila slightly. He picked up a dirty looking, wooden tankard and placed it on a shelf behind him. "What is it?" Jokal asked, directing the question to the barman. "Do you not like the look of us?" A grunt escaped from the lips of the barman. He turned back to face them and said, "Mathias *is* here, but he's asked for me to keep him undisturbed. '*No* interuptions', he said." The barman held his hands up as if to say, 'that's it, end of story' but when Jokal leant forward and proferred a Round, the barman's attitude changed. "Now, will this loosen your tongue?" Jokal asked, twirling the coin in his fingers. "Aye," replied the barman as he reached for the coin. "Upstairs and third on your left. Be quiet, mind you. Others sleep now." The barman's fingers closed around the coin and took it from Jokal's fingers. "Thank you!" Leila said to the barman before turning to face her brother. "And thank you!" Leila ran up the rickety stairs to the room indicated. She opened the door, which crashed into the wall, and spied a sleeping figure in the bed. "Mathias," she said as she knelt beside the bed. "Mathias, wake up. It's Leila." The sleeper groaned and turned away. "Mathias," Leila said again, this time louder and with more urgency. She pushed him in the back. "What?" he grunted. "It's Leila. Jokal's here with me. You have to wake up, it's Father." "Arran?" Mathias asked, his senses suddenly awaking. "What's wrong?" "He's on his way to your estate -- if he hasn't already reached it -- to take Leila back home," Jokal said, his voice cold and joyless. "I suggest you wake up." Mathias rolled over and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Take Leila back?" "Yes, by force if necessary," Jokal said. "I should have told you before." "Gods!" Mathias exclaimed, as if he had just realised what was being said. "We have to get back." "Yes, we do. We have two horses, do you have yours?" Jokal asked as Mathias gathered his belongings and his saddle. "Yes, he should be refreshed now. I'll get the barman to find someone to saddle him." Jokal nodded and walked out of the room, leaving Leila and Mathias in there. He went back downstairs and left Belisandra's. Jokal was standing in the street, petting his horse when Mathias and Leila joined him. "He'll be saddled in a few menes," Mathias said. "Thank you for coming, Jokal." "I didn't do it for you," Jokal said, almost appending "traitor" to his words. "Whatever the reason, I thank you for the warning," Mathias said. "Now, Leila, we'll take you over to Urvan's first before continuing on home." "No," Leila said, her tone clearly stating her conviction. "I'm coming with you. There's no time to spare." Jokal said, "Leila, he's right. It's too dangerous." "He's my *father*," she said. "I refuse to believe that my *father* would pose a threat to my safety. I'm coming with you and that's that." She turned to face her horse and double-checked the saddle before swinging herself up onto the animal. They rode for a while in silence and it was not until the moon had started to sink toward the horizon that someone spoke again. "Jokal," Mathias asked, "How many men will Arran have brought with him?" "No idea," came the terse reply. "Jokal, you must have some idea?" Leila asked. "I *don't* know. I was there and had left in less time than it takes to eat a meal. I *do not* know how many men. Anyway, I wouldn't --" Jokal stopped short of completing the sentence. "You wouldn't what?" Leila asked. Jokal slapped his cheek lightly, killing a fly that had rested there. "Nothing. It's irrelevant." Mathias looked at Jokal but did not speak. "Nevertheless, you should have some idea of how many men your father can call on. You *live* there." "Ten or so, I'd say," Jokal said quickly. "But you can't be sure?" Leila asked. "No, I can't, sister," Jokal replied. "He may have taken only two or three, or he may have hired help for this. I really don't know. We should hurry." "What's wrong with you?" Mathias asked, skewing the conversation onto a different track. Jokal looked over at Mathias, thinking of the conversation earlier that day with Arran. He shook his head, "Nothing." Mathias looked at Leila and shrugged his shoulders. "Jokal --" she started. "I said it was *nothing*, now stop talking about it." Jokal dug his heals into the horse's flanks and moved on ahead of his sister and her husband, unwilling to talk any more. It took the rest of the night and most of the following day for the trio to ride back to the Rerre estate. The journey remained tense but Jokal had calmed down slightly as time passed. As Leila crested the final hill before the Rerre estate, Jokal and Mathias heard her moan. "No, no," she cried. "This can't be happening!" Mathias dug in with his heels and urged his horse over the crest. Jokal did the same and as he reached the peak of the hill, he saw plumes of smoke rising from the estate below them. Cornfields raged and burned in the distance. "Damn you, Father," Jokal shouted, all the anger he had silently directed at Mathias surfaced. "Ol *damn* you. She's your *daughter*!" Mathias joined Jokal in damning Arran but he was cut short by Jokal who said, "Don't you dare speak out against my Father. You of all people ..." Leila turned to Jokal, "What? What's he done?" "Ask him," Jokal spat before turning to look at the carnage again. "Ask him." "Well?" Leila asked Mathias. "What?" "I have no idea," Mathias answered. "No idea at --" "You bastard! The Beinison were our enemies!" Jokal turned his horse round to face Mathias. "You helped the enemy in a time of war." Mathias only looked at Jokal. "You don't deny it then? See who you married, a traitorous piece of scum who'd betray his Duke for money. Why did you do it, was it *just* for the money?" "What did Arran tell you?" Mathias asked, breaking his silence. "You know!" Jokal said, fixing Mathias in the eyes. "You know exactly what he said: That you gave shelter to murdering Beinison, and when *our* side happened to come along the scum, you aided them in murdering *our* soldiers. You make me sick. All your money, all your wealth are the spoils of war; sure is good business for a traitor, am I right?" "Wrong," Mathias said. "All wrong, but I would have been more surprised if Arran had told the truth. Yes, I sheltered four Beinison soldiers. They were youngsters; no older than you. They were also badly wounded and tired of war." Mathias' eyes glinted with unbridled anger as he recalled the dreadful war and its aftermath. "Boys, you hear. I couldn't let them die and therefore sheltered them on my master's land. I had *nothing* at that time and risked it all. War is ugly, but it's uglier when boys die for a stranger. That soldier of ours happened upon these boys when he was searching the premises with two of his comrades. He was about to execute them as they slept, so I knocked him over. The scuffle woke the boys and they *saved* my life. Killed them before they could kill me. "One fled like the whimpering dog he was once he realised the boys still had their spirit," Mathias revealed. His horse neighed loudly, annoyed at having to stand in one place. "Realising the danger they had put me in, the Beinison left. Bade me farewell and left me their spoils of war. A few trinkets and coins, nothing to shout about. The winter then began to set in and so I sold wool to the patrols that passed from time to time, sold the wool for a good price mind you. Yes; to both sides at times. No one should die in the winter's cold. I even sold wool to a passing minstrel at one time." Mathias smiled at his attempt to inject some levity to his tirade, his anger finally subsiding again. "Gradually over time I built up my wealth, and forged good friendships. One friendship turned out to be a good one and I was offered the estate I now live on. A gamble that I won. A gambling debt that was honoured by a man better than me." Mathias paused for breath and looked down at his estate, "And now that estate burns while we argue. I'm done with this conversation. You choose who you believe and let me know when you've decided." With that Mathias kicked his heels in and rode down the hillside toward his burning home. Jokal turned to Leila, only to see her looking at him with disgust. She, too, turned and rode down the hillside, following Mathias. Jokal des Morest looked down at the burning estate and struggled to resolve his inner conflict. He knew that both men believed that their version of events was the truth but what would happen if he sided with Mathias, or with his father? His horse whinnied and sidestepped, as Jokal looked down the hillside. ======================================================================== Talisman One Part 3 by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Spring, 2347 ID Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 12-7 For Bralidan, the rest of that week passed both far too swiftly and agonizingly slowly. A small part of each day was occupied with attending the entertainments, such as plays, concerts, tours, a hunt, that had been arranged for the visiting delegation from the Siizhayip. The visitors were at Plethiss to request a favor of the Duke of Grahk for access to the Plains of Rihelbak. He had to do his duty as heir, and that meant standing in for his father, Bralevant, who after all didn't like the Siizhayip all that much. Except for the delegation's speaker, the one named Kendra. Bralidan didn't find his duty onerous, but he would rather have been spending all of his time with Nikorah, instead of only most of it. She was the daughter of the One of the Sun, the man who was able to speak for the whole collection of nomad clans that made up the Siizhayip. Bralidan had met the young woman only a month earlier, and then only briefly. She had been in attendance at the ceremony in which the Treaty of Rihelbak had been confirmed. She had captivated him then, but he had not thought to see her again. Until she had turned up at the gates of Plethiss with the other Siizhayip. And in the short time they had had together so far, he had found that captivation turning into love. He was resolved to treat his time with Nikorah like a proper courtship, and so was the perfect gentleman in her company. But he wanted so much more. He burned with desire for her body. And even though opportunity after opportunity arose for them to satisfy those lusts, he passed every one by. Because he knew that he wanted more than her body. He wanted her: all of her, forever. What he couldn't quite work out, however, was whether she felt the same way about him. Kendra, another Sun clan member and nominal leader of the delegation, still preferred that Nikorah stay away from Bralidan. But Nikorah ignored Kendra and continued to see him. So she was defying her fellow clanswoman to be with him, but perhaps that was just because she was bored. She certainly looked at him with desire, but what if that was all it was? And then there was the problem of what to do if she did love him back. One of their favorite topics of conversation was the differences between the way Siizhayip and Kuizhack lived. Kuizhack meant People of the Stone, and was the Siizhayip word for people like him who dwelled in permanent, fixed houses. No matter what he said, he couldn't convince her that living in the same place year after year, confined inside stone walls, was a good thing, a thing to be wished for. She felt it was a punishment. Bralidan could certainly see her point of view much better than she could see his, and sometimes he even agreed with her. There was also the matter of his duty as heir to someday become the Duke of Grahk. It was a duty that he had always feared. No matter how hard he tried to learn, he just didn't think he had the aptitude to lead Grahk -- a squad of teraehran perhaps, or even an army, but not an entire duchy. Now, beyond it just being a position he felt unfit for, it took on the aspects of a prison, keeping him from the woman he loved. Each night, before sleeping and dreaming of Nikorah, he would spend time contemplating his falcon-stone. He had found the jagged-edged, intricately carved piece of sculpture in a hidden room in the catacombs, and had immediately felt attached to it. He would trace the interwoven ribbons of metal and glass that covered one face, and it made him feel calm and safe. The falcon was his symbol, his standard, and it almost seemed as though this falcon-carved stone was a piece of him, as though it belonged to him, and had long before he had found it. He eventually took to carrying the stone around with him as much as possible. His dreams of Nikorah weren't just the results of the heat of his youth, either. Yes, he had hot, sweaty dreams about her. But he also dreamed of the two of them living in a domed, hide-covered, easily movable ghur, or riding across endless open grassland at her side. There was such freedom in those dreams -- not just the freedom of the open land, but a freedom from his impending future, a freedom from walls and servants and duty. A freedom from decisions that affected anyone other than himself. It was a life he was coming to long for. Kendra, senior herd-keeper of the Sun clan of the Siizhayip, found herself still unused to living within stone walls. Even with the practice of more than three years of living at Plethiss about twenty-five years previously, she was still uncomfortable. She had tried back then to adapt to the life of a Kuizhack, for her husband and then their son, but it was just unnatural. She was Siizhayip, body and soul, and she hated being confined like this. Today, Kendra thought, the delegation would find out whether their petition would be granted. She didn't hold out much hope. Duke Bralevant had always been a grasping man, and she well knew his devotion to the empire to which Grahk nominally belonged. She didn't think he had changed enough in the twenty-two years since she had last seen him to give up the Rihelbak Plains. It was still mid-morning when the knock came at the door to her quarters. Kendra opened the door, and found one of the mansion's pages standing there. The boy handed her a rolled scroll, bowed, and walked away. She closed the door, then broke the wax seal bearing the symbol of Grahk and unrolled the scroll. It was another invitation to the duke's quarters. No gifts this time, just words. Bralevant had been trying to maneuver a moment alone with her for the entire week the Siizhayip delegation had been awaiting his decision. She wasn't sure, but she thought that he might even have put off his decision just so he could have this week to try to speak to her in private. She had resisted all week, rejecting the gifts, ignoring the letters, staying away from him at dinner and the entertainments he deigned to attend. But this time, maybe she should go. She knew she could resist his charm this time; she was no longer the child she had been at that long ago confirmation ceremony, when a handsome duke with mismatched eyes had charmed her away from the Great Steppes and her natural way of life. She dressed in a good tunic with a leather vest over it, beaded with fox designs. She put on her best leather pants and her best riding boots, and combed back her greying brown hair, tying it back with a leather headband covered with beaded foxes. Thus prepared, she made her way with familiarity to the duke's quarters. She knocked on the door, and Osirek opened it. The aide smiled neutrally when he saw it was her, and said, "Very good, Lady Kendra. I'm glad you came this time. I will tell the duke that you have responded to his summons." "Never mind that, Osirek. I'm sure that Bralevant is quite prepared for the eventuality of my visit. Why don't you go make yourself busy elsewhere, while the duke and I converse privately?" "As you wish, mi'lady. You *do* know the way." Osirek's smile turned frosty with restrained disapproval, and he retreated from her presence by leaving the duke's quarters. Kendra went into the informal receiving room and through it to the duke's sitting room. Bralevant was sitting in a simple wooden chair, sipping wine from a delicate glass. When he heard the door open, he lifted his head saying, "Yes, Osirek, did she ...?" When he saw her, he smiled, his eyes, one blue and one brown, twinkling. "I see she did. Welcome, Kendra." He stood, and finished, "I'm glad you decided to accept my invitation. Won't you sit down?" One of the seats in the sitting room was the kind of canvas-and-poles chair that the Siizhayip commonly used. She wondered whether she had left it here, or if Bralevant had fashioned one to try to make her more comfortable. She was proud enough to refuse the tactic, but she was wise enough -- not to mention, old enough -- to be able to be comfortable without giving the duke any ground by it. So she sat in the canvas chair and made herself appear at ease, but she didn't relax one bit inside, where it counted. She said, "So tell me, Duke, why have you asked me to your quarters?" Bralevant just smiled, and stood up. "Would you like something to drink? I don't think I have any of that wine left you liked so much, but this is a fine vintage. I'm sure you would like it." Kendra shook her head, and the duke continued, "Very well. Have you and your fellow Siizhayip been comfortable during your stay here?" Kendra frowned, and said, "I think you know just how comfortable any of us is likely to be, cooped up inside walls made of stone. Why have you forced us to endure your hospitality? Why could you not give us your answer a week ago?" "I asked you to await my careful consideration of the situation. You would not want me to make a mistake by acting too quickly, would you? You know what happened the last time we acted in haste." "If you hope to make me admit that it was a mistake to marry you, Alev, you hope in vain. After all, you made the result your heir. Bralidan has grown up handsome and strong, a fitting successor to the current ruler of Grahk. That our bonding only lasted three years is regrettable. That you tried to force me to stay with you, even as you began to dally with that Omelli woman, is why I hate you." "The past is the past, Kendra. Omelli died giving birth to my second son, and I have been alone ever since. And then, you return to me, and what can I do but hope? Hope that you forgive me, as I forgive you leaving me. Hope that you could love me again, as I have always loved you. Hope that you could stay again, longer than three years this time." Kendra shook her head in disbelief. "You spin your hopes like a storyteller spins childrens' fantasies. You always did live in your own little world, Alev. I tried to share it once, but I am not made for it. You hope, once again, in vain." Bralevant turned his back on her, walking over to the mantelpiece and tracing a finger over the wooden sculpture of a galloping horse Kendra had carved for him ages ago. He said over his shoulder, "Hope, as usual, fails me. Well, then I will cease to hope and instead, attempt to buy." He turned back to her and said, "If you stay with me, renew our bond, become my duchess, then I will allow your people access to the Rihelbak Plains. I will have the wall torn down, and I will tear up the treaty. And the Siizhayip will have room to grow for another hand-score of years." "Alev, you know I would die if kept within these walls." "But you would be with me until then. And isn't your life worth the future of your people? Can you make that sacrifice?" Kendra was silent for a while, thinking. She had a decision to make, just as she had twenty-five years ago. But it was not the decision that Bralevant thought. She stood up out of the chair with the ease of long practice, and said, "I must think, Alev. But tell me truth. Would you really return the Rihelbak to the Siizhayip?" Bralevant tried to look at her steadily, to convince her that he was sincere. But his eyes flicked to the side several times before he answered, and he tugged at his earlobe once. Finally, he steadied his gaze and said, "Of course, Kendra. Of course." She nodded. "I thought so." She turned and left. Bralevant called after her, "It's only one life, Kendra!" She muttered to herself as she walked back to her room, "You're right, Alev. It *is* only one life." Kendra sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the puzzle box in her hands. Puzzle boxes weren't common to Siizhayip culture, but she had learned of them from itinerant tinkers, and found them intriguing to carve. And they tended to keep the things hidden within them very safe. She remembered a similar puzzle box she had carried into this mansion twenty-five years ago. That one had contained a charmed fox-shaped brooch, and had been part of an elaborate plan set into motion by the Elder Speakers to the Anhilizharnoh. Kendra recalled the beginning clearly. It had happened several days after the Treaty of Rihelbak confirmation ceremony where she had met and fallen in love with Bralevant. Her continued pestering had almost convinced the One of the Sun, Demahh's predecessor, to allow her to leave the steppes to be with the Duke of Grahk. She had gone to sleep that night attempting to marshal her arguments for the next day, and had dreamed romantic dreams of her future in the stone halls of the place called Plethiss. She had been awakened in the middle of the night by an excessive chill, and had been greeted by the translucent and glowing forms of four people, two men and two women, dressed in stylized ceremonial shaman's robes. After her initial fright had passed, she had realized that she was being visited by the mysterious Elder Speakers who appeared to individual clan members in that manner. A voice that was a combination of four voices spoke. It said, "Kendra, We have learned of your desire to live among the Kuizhack. Ordinarily, We would caution you against this undertaking, and perhaps even go so far as to forbid it, knowing the difficulties you have before you. However, circumstances are different this time. We have a task that you would be perfect to undertake for us, in return for which we will grant you our blessing in leaving the steppes. "We, the Elder Speakers, have seen that our people are slowly outgrowing the land they have been given to live upon. Soon, more territory will be required. It is Our feeling that the only territory available is the place known as the Plains of Rihelbak. "But We also know that the Duke of Grahk grasps this land with an unseemly greed. The treaty that removes the land from our use is almost sacred to him. However, We believe that it is possible to render that very treaty into the instrument of our deliverance, the means by which we can regain access to the territory we will need to grow and prosper in the coming years. "We have spoken to the Anhilizharnoh, the Lords of the Sky, and it is with their advice and help that we propose the solution to our future need. Items have been enchanted toward this purpose, and all is in readiness. Only the method of delivery is left to assign, and your devotion to the duke aligns perfectly with our needs. Will you accept this task to serve your people?" Kendra remembered her hesitation, and the reassurances of the ghostly figures with one voice that no one would be harmed in the process of securing a future for the Siizhayip. Eventually she had agreed, and she had been instructed in the details of the complicated yet subtle plan that the Elder Speakers had devised. They had determined that the weak point in the Duke of Grahk's hold over the Plains of Rihelbak were the confirmation ceremonies. If the treaty was not confirmed five times in a row, then it would be rendered void and the Rihelbak Plains would become part of the Siizhayip's territory again. Seeing this weakness, the Elder Speakers had devised a way to turn it to their advantage. One of her favorite fox-shaped brooches had been enchanted heavily with the intent of making the wearer forget about the confirmation stipulation attached to the treaty. The enchantment was strong enough to make those that came into casual contact with the wearer also forget. If the brooch was given to the duke as a gift from his new love, he would be sure to wear it always, and the enchantment would do its work. The treaty itself would be secured within another carving of hers, a simple box enchanted with a spell that made it inconspicuous and easily forgotten, even if it sat in plain sight. And the third part of the plan involved altering any written references to the confirmation clause stored away in the ducal mansion, so that no one could be accidentally reminded of it. This would be accomplished by further enchantments on small pieces of parchment that, when slipped into the scroll cases or between flat bound leaves, would accomplish the rewriting. Kendra had received her permission the very next day, and had swiftly packed her things and set out for Grahk, eager to be with the duke and to carry out her mission. Bralevant had eagerly accepted the fox brooch, as the Elder Speakers had predicted. The other parts of the plan had been carried out surreptitiously. The keeper of the archives had been flattered by her interest in the history of Grahk, and once she had placed the treaty scroll in the enchanted box, she had just walked deep into the archives and placed it on a shelf. Time had passed, and the difficulties that the Elder Speakers had mentioned surfaced. Her fantasies had died; Bralevant had not been quite the man she had thought, and she found living the life of a Kuizhack all but intolerable. She'd had no choice but to leave. Once she had returned to the steppes, abandoning her only child, Bralidan, in the process, she had waited for the first confirmation ceremony with trepidation. She feared that her leaving would destroy the plan. Too many things could go wrong, and she wouldn't be there to try to make them right again. What if the enchanted items had been found? What if as soon as she had abandoned him, Bralevant had removed the brooch, and everything had been undone? But that hadn't happened. Four times in a row, she was part of the Siizhayip group attending the confirmation ceremony, and four times the Grahk Kuizhack didn't show up. But the last time, the twenty-fifth year since the last confirmation, the Fretheodan had shown up, ruining the plan. And then she was appointed to lead the delegation that would go to Grahk and ask Duke Bralevant to voluntarily give up the Rihelbak Plains. And as before, the night after she had been informed of Demahh's appointment of her as leader of that delegation, she had been visited by four glowing translucent forms. Whether they had been the same forms as before, or whether they represented the same retired shamans as before, she didn't know. What she knew now that she hadn't the previous time, was that the Elder Speakers were not supernatural intercessors for the Lords of the Sky, but just a body of old shamen who helped guide the Siizhayip by focusing on the future, something that the council of clans seldom had the opportunity for, burdened as they were by the day to day concerns of her people. This time, Kendra hadn't been given a choice. She had been given a phial filled with poison, and had been given her real mission to Plethiss: to ensure that the Siizhayip regained Rihelbak. The Elder Speakers had told her that an augury they had performed led them to believe that the successor to Bralevant would return use of the land to the Siizhayip. It was her task, in the rather likely eventuality that Bralevant refused the petition, to ensure that the duke's heir had the chance to make the prophesy come true sooner rather than later. Kendra's problem was that she wasn't sure. Not that the poison was required; she knew that Bralevant had lied to her about relinquishing control of the Rihelbak. He would never let that land out of his control, not while he lived. What she wasn't sure about was whether she could kill him. The hate of twenty-two years ago still lived within her, but so did the love. Bralevant himself had given her a convincing argument for carrying out the plan -- it *was* only one life -- but Kendra just didn't know whether she could take that particular life. Complicating the issue was the involvement of Demahh's only child, Nikorah, and her own son Bralidan. If she did away with Bralevant, then Bralidan would become duke. But did the heir feel the same way about the Rihelbak as the duke did? No matter his Siizhayip heritage, Bralidan had been raised by Bralevant as a Kuizhack. It was only natural that the son would think like the father. And beyond that, if Bralidan and Nikorah were in love, as their actions over the past week would suggest, then Nikorah would want to stay with him, and Kendra knew how ultimately destructive that would be. As heir, Bralidan had more freedom, and could at least spend *some* time on the steppes. So, by following her orders, she could be dooming her own son to ultimate unhappiness by forcing him into the role of duke and all of its restrictions. It was all too complicated, with dilemma atop dilemma. She almost wished to have such a simple plan to carry out as her first mission had been. Midway through dinner that night, Bralidan reached a decision. Amid the noise of the nobles and Siizhayip crowded into the great hall, enjoying themselves and their food, everything just came together for him. Perhaps it was the way he was so comfortable with Nikorah at his side. Perhaps it was the dread he felt in anticipation of his father's speech that would happen later in the evening, the speech wherein Duke Bralevant would tell the delegation from the steppes that he would not be giving the Rihelbak Plains back to them. It seemed almost cruel for Bralidan's father to have kept the Siizhayip here for a week just to tell them the same thing he could have told them a week ago. He felt embarrassed to be a Fretheodan, to be of Grahk, to be a Kuizhack. So perhaps his decision was a means of running away from all that. Or maybe he just wanted to try to find happiness for himself in a way that didn't involve the predestination of his heritage. He wanted to tell Nikorah right away, but the noise level in the room precluded that. Conversations were being conducted in shouts, and he didn't want to announce his plans to everyone just yet. So he waited eagerly for the moment when he could get her alone and give her the news. In the meantime, he continued to enjoy himself. He found himself wondering what gatherings of Siizhayip were like. He pondered what different kinds of food he might eat out on the steppes. He was looking at everything around him with new eyes, as if he might be seeing some of them for the last time. Instead of making him sad, each such realization only buoyed him higher, for each one reinforced the fact that he had decided to change his life. With or without Nikorah, he was going to go live on the steppes, and he didn't think he had ever been happier in his life. In the pause between the main and dessert courses, as the servants started to clear away the tables to make space for dancing, Bralidan lost track of Nikorah. Everyone had left their seats to stretch their legs and talk in groups that were different from their seating patterns. He had felt a touch on his arm and Nikorah had said something about being right back, and then she had vanished. The servants started bringing in the dessert course, setting the sweet confections on a table on one side of the room, and Nikorah hadn't reappeared. Perhaps he had heard her wrong? Was she expecting him to meet her in his or her rooms? Bralidan began to get a little worried, and frequently scanned the milling throng in the hall, looking for Nikorah's blonde hair. He made a slow circuit of the room, glancing down the various corridors that led away from the great hall. No sign of her, anywhere ... until he reached the windows and he looked out to see a figure standing atop the outer wall. The intense moonslight shone brightly, reflecting from the blonde hair of what had to be Nikorah. Bralidan hurried from the hall and made his way onto the walkway atop the wall. As he walked toward Nikorah, he marveled at the picture in front of him. The light of the two moons seemed focused on her, due to the lack of any other feature around her. She almost glowed as she stood there, her attention focused on something set on one of the merlons in front of her. His mind almost automatically rendered the scene in terms of how he would make a mosaic of it, separating out the handful of colors he would need -- several shades of black or dark grey for the night sky and the wall, off-white and pale yellow for the two moons, another yellow for Nikorah's hair, a host of greens for the gown she was wearing. He did his best to memorize what he saw in his mind, and then continued toward her. He was almost next to her by the time he was able to see what she was looking at, since she had it cupped in her hands. She seemed to be staring at it very intently, and when Bralidan saw it, he stared at it as well, though not for the same reason. What he saw in her hands made his hand go to the large pouch he had taken to carrying. He felt the irregular shape of his falcon-stone with relief that turned to curiosity. If his stone was still in the pouch, what was Nikorah looking at? It seemed to be an approximately pie-wedge shaped slab of stone with intricate carving and interwoven bands of metal and glass on its surface. Just like his falcon-stone. He undid the clasp of his pouch and drew out his stone. He compared the two carvings and saw that they were not the same in actual design, but he thought that they might both be from the same larger work. Bralidan cleared his throat so as not to startle her, and said, "Greetings, Nikorah. I couldn't help but notice that object you are holding. What is it and where did you get it?" Nikorah turned her green eyes on him, and he thought the glow her smile brought to her face outshone both moons. She looked back at her stone; it was carved with the figure of a cat, Bralidan noticed. She said, "It is a piece of a carving of something. My father bought it for me from a tinker several winters ago. It is musical, too -- if you tap the metal strips, they make notes. See?" She tapped at the silver and gold bars crisscrossing the surface of her stone with the ring on her smallest finger, and clear notes belled out of them. Bralidan said, "I wonder if mine does that too?" He set his stone next to hers and used his knife hilt to tap the metal ribbons. Delicate, pure notes issued forth, and Bralidan said, "That's amazing!" "You have one too?" asked Nikorah. "Did you also get it from a tinker?" "No, I just recently found it in the catacombs under Plethiss. But they certainly seem to be remarkably similar, don't they?" Bralidan stared at the two stones and something about them seemed to nag at his brain. The ribbons of metal and glass seemed almost like they should go together, though the large animal carvings didn't fit together. But what if ... Bralidan picked up his stone and tried to fit its edge to the edge of Nikorah's stone that it was next to. Some of the strands matched, but not all of them. And then he thought he saw something. He reached out for her stone, and just before he actually touched it, he realized that she might not like that. He turned to her and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. May I just move your stone a little?" She was staring at him with a gleam in her eye that had nothing to do with the moonslight, and he almost forgot about the stones altogether. But that something he had seen nagged at him, and he blinked, breaking eye contact. Nikorah took a moment to respond, but finally she said, "Oh, ah, yes. Sure, go ahead." Bralidan turned back to the parapet and lifted Nikorah's stone. He reversed their positions, set them back down, and stepped back. Nikorah gasped; the match was obvious. Those two pieces of stone had once been joined together. The beast that was entwined with his falcon wasn't a dog, but a cat: the very cat that was on Nikorah's piece. Bralidan stepped back toward the parapet, and Nikorah echoed his movement. They each reached out to their own piece, crossing arms. They looked at each other and smiled. Bralidan thought of the decision he had made over dinner. Was this some kind of confirmation of that decision? A sign from the gods? Or just coincidence? He turned back to the stones and gently pulled his stone toward Nikorah's, and she did the same with her own. The two stones touched, and fit together perfectly. Before he could make any remark, or even remove his hand from his stone, he felt a tingle in his fingertips where he touched his falcon-stone. He noticed then that both stones were starting to glow slightly, and this time it was no simple reflection of the light of the moons. The glow brightened slightly, briefly flared up, making Bralidan squint, and then faded away totally. The tingle was gone, but something else was also gone: the split between the two pieces! No dark, jagged line ran down the middle of the joined piece; each band of silver or gold or glass that had been broken between the two pieces was now joined up perfectly and whole again. Bralidan touched the middle of the now single piece of stone gingerly. The tingling did not resume, and he could feel no hint of the separation that had once split the piece. He was just about to ask Nikorah if she somehow knew what had happened, when she burst out with, "Look! Wykuza's Attendant is on fire!" Bralidan looked at Nikorah, and then followed her pointing arm up into the sky to see a great fountain of fire rising from Celene, the smaller moon. He stared at the spectacle, and then laughed out loud. Yet another omen! Without a doubt, the gods *were* trying to tell him something. Periodically, Celene produced a gout of flame that commonly lasted three or four days. Astrologers and priests were constantly trying to predict when the Fireflow Mountains on Celene's surface would erupt. They were seldom successful except, it seemed, by accident. Whenever the flame appeared, it was taken as a favorable omen by any with plans to promote. The Festival of the Fountain, which always followed the appearance of Celene's Flame, was a very auspicious time to begin anything. Bralidan's doubts and reservations about the decision he had made were all wiped away. This was what he was meant to do. He turned to Nikorah, who was still looking up at the celestial spectacle. He briefly wondered what Celene's eruption meant to the Siizhayip, but he decided that he would find out in good time. "Nikorah," he began, and she turned her attention to him. He continued, "Over dinner tonight, I came to a resolution in my heart, a resolution that has only been strengthened and confirmed by the mystery of the carved stones and the display above us. I have decided to leave Plethiss and Grahk. I wish to live on the Great Steppes, to live as one of the Siizhayip. And most of all, I wish to live my life with you. I love you, Nikorah. If I was going to remain in Grahk, I would ask you to pledge a bond with me over a krovelathad. But that is a Fretheodan custom, and I wish to leave my old life behind. So, if you will have me, I will promise whatever the Siizhayip promise when they love each other and want to live together forever." Nikorah's radiant grin shown forth again, and she hugged him. She said, "Oh, Bralidan, I love you too, and I would like nothing better than to take you away to my ghur and make you my mate. The ceremony does not matter; the words of love we have just spoken are as important as the rites of the shamen and the pledgings of the clans. I accept what you offer, Alin, my love." They kissed then. Bralidan knew that there were still obstacles in the way of his chosen future, but since his reward would be the woman who was in his arms right now, he knew that he would overcome those obstacles with ease. ======================================================================== Fate of a Child Part 3 by Rena Deutsch Melrin 985 Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 11-10 The traditional Melrin Ball at Dargon Keep was almost over. Music and laughter could be heard outside the walls of the keep where Tobias Held paced impatiently. When the first guests started to make their way home, Tobias headed through old alleys towards the south of the keep. Just where the fields began, a single tree stood tall and majestic. Tobias didn't have any trouble finding his way; he had located the meeting place in daylight and made a mental note of the surroundings. The location gave him the unique opportunity of seeing the main gate of the keep and the road leading to it without being seen. At night, however, all he could make out was swaying lantern light moving along the Street of Travellers. Nochturon had disappeared from the sky, but stars provided enough light for him to make out the meeting place. The night was chilly and dew settled already on the grass. He could feel wetness creeping through his shoes. Tobias' thoughts wandered. He was worried about Anna; worried about leaving her behind, sick as she was, with Jerel and Zarit, worried he would never see her again. Most of all, he was worried that all his efforts towards finding an answer to his questions would be thwarted. He had found Anna six years ago, a frightened little orphan girl, when he'd returned from his annual trip to Dargon. His efforts to find out about her family had come to a sudden halt after he had learned her mother had been killed in Cobbleswell, a village only two days travel away. The villagers thought that Anna's mother had been in league with Arom-Nok, an evil god, and that Anna was the child of that liaison. How the villagers had found out that Anna was still alive was a mystery to Tobias, but they had and then acted on it. They had burnt down his cabin and taken the girl. Tobias remembered the agony he had gone through when he had reached his cabin and found it burning. Not knowing at that point what had happened to the girl had been worse than fighting the fire and losing his cabin. According to Anna, a man called Drew had freed her that night. Exhausted as she was, Anna had tried to get back to the cabin, but collapsed before she could reach it. When he finally found Anna the next day, she was ill. He had rushed her to his friends Zarit and Jerel, who helped him care for her. After the fever broke, careful questioning had revealed the whole story, and Tobias had taken it upon himself to seek Drew. Anna stayed behind. Success came by means of a boy in ragged clothes who had passed on a message the day before. It had directed him to the south side of the keep and instructed him to wait by the tree until after the ball. The man he was looking for would meet him there, menes after the dismissal of Duke Clifton's guests. Tobias took a deep breath and climbed up the tree. He could see the swaying lantern light in the distance. One by one, he watched them move along the Street of Travellers to reach the bridge, cross the river, and go home. One by one, he watched the lantern lights disappear in the darkness. Tobias fidgeted on his branch, trying to find a more comfortable position. He let out a deep breath, wondering how much longer he would have to wait. Finally! Hearing the footsteps of a person walking alone, he slid closer to the trunk of the tree. "Tobias? Tobias Held? Are you there?" the voice in the darkness spoke softly. "Who's asking?" Tobias responded from above, just audible enough to be heard. "Stay where you are." The man halted in his tracks. "It is I, Drew Molag. The one who sent the boy to you." "How can I be sure?" "I am the one who can tell you about Anna, her mother, and grandmother. I know what happened to the family, and what will happen." "How can I be sure you are who you say you are?" "I have proof." Drew took a step forward. "What kind of proof?" "I'm the one who let Anna escape in the forest after the other two wanted to drag her back to the village and stone her, like they did her mother six years ago. I know who burnt your cabin. Couldn't do anything to stop them though." "Why the secrecy of the meeting?" Tobias demanded to know. "I'm leaving Dargon on Melrin's End, and don't want anyone to know I've been talking to you. There is too much at stake for me! I am risking enough by meeting you here." "Then why do you risk it? What do you get from it all?" Tobias climbed out of the tree and stood before Drew. He looked directly at the man, trying to find an answer in his face. "Nothing!" Drew shook his head. "I don't believe you!" "There is nothing to be gained for me anymore; it's too late for that. You, however, have a chance of saving Anna and protecting her from the curse." "What curse? And how can I protect her?" Tobias felt the urge to reach for the man's collar and shake him, but he resisted. Instead he clenched his fists. Even the slightest hint of Anna being in danger infuriated him. "Before I tell you, we need to leave here." A sense of urgency was in Drew's voice. "Where to?" "There is a place not too far from here; it's seldom used, and I have a few things there you'll be needing later on." Drew turned and led the way. Following closely behind, Tobias walked in silence, wondering where this meeting would lead him, and if it really would be of any help to Anna. The thought of what had already happened to the girl made him shiver briefly. "We're here." Drew stopped in front of an old hut. Opening the door, he gestured for Tobias to follow him in. Drew lit a candle, placed it on a small table, turned to the fireplace, and stirred the ashes. After adding a couple new logs, he got the fire going. Tobias took a good look around. The place was sparsely furnished. A cot, a small table, and two stools were all he could see. He remained silent. "Not very talkative, are you?" Drew commented while he pulled out two cups and a waterbag. "Care for some water?" "No thanks." Tobias' first words since they'd started walking came out wobbly. "I can see you have questions. Do ask." invited Drew. "I have many questions, but I would rather have you tell me your story first. I'll ask later." "Then sit down where it pleases you and I shall begin." Tobias made himself comfortable on the cot. He watched as Drew poured a cup of water and seated himself at the table. "The story begins five generations back, when a mage fell in love with a girl from Dargon. She, however, was betrothed. Her name was Zenia. Using potions and spells, the mage tried everything to win Zenia's love, yet the girl stayed true to her betrothed. On her wedding day the groom fell ill and died the same night, just after the vows had been exchanged. In her grief, Zenia insulted the mage, accused him of killing her husband, even though it hadn't been the mage's fault. Over the course of several years, she rejected the mage's attempts to win her. One evening after she had just turned down another proposal, Zenia and the mage had a fight. She told him that if he ever proposed to her again, she would marry the next bachelor who crossed her path, but never him. The mage was outraged and threatened to put a curse on her if she did that. Zenia just laughed at him, and he left fuming. "Thinking she'd forgotten about the fight, he proposed a cycle later and was turned down again. Zenia, however, had not forgotten, and exchanged vows with one of the lads who worked for the Duke. The mage was furious and cast his spell. For the first time a spell that he cast worked well. Too well I might add." "What kind of curse?" interrupted Tobias. Drew's tale had captured his attention. Drew took a sip of water and continued. "The curse was simple, stating that if Zenia had a child, her husband would die the day the baby was born, and that Zenia herself would die a violent death if the child happened to be a girl. But when he spoke the curse out loud, in his anger and frustration, he added that each girl in the family who crosses the path of any mage would be cursed." Drew slid back and forth on his stool; his hands played with the water cup. He took another sip of water. He looked sad and swallowed several times before he went on. "Years later, when he was near his death, the mage tried to take the curse off, but couldn't remember the exact words. He altered the spell so it could be broken. So far none of the descendants of Zenia have survived long enough to break the spell; neither did they remain childless." "Anna is a direct descendant of Zenia?" Tobias looked directly at Drew, hoping the answer was negative. "Yes, she is --" Drew began, but Tobias interjected. "How can the spell be broken?" "According to our family scroll, the curse will be lifted if Anna remains childless or dies a natural death. " "Not an easy task --" "True, but if you keep her away from people, it should be possible." Tobias shook his head slightly. He doubted that Anna would even believe him. Especially if it meant she'd never get to see Dargon. "Go on Drew; what happened to Zenia?" "Zenia was pregnant a few cycles after exchanging her vows. The night she gave birth to her daughter Tamari, Zenia's husband fell off his horse and was trampled to death. Zenia herself lived long enough to see her daughter grow up, exchange vows, and give birth to a baby girl they named Sidra. Tamari's husband, too, died the night the baby was born. He fell into the Coldwell and drowned. Only two cycles later the curse caught up with Zenia. Shivarees attacked her one morning. By the time help came, it was too late. "Tamari's suffering hadn't ended. She fell ill and was buried a year later. Her daughter Sidra lived only long enough to give birth to Anna's mother Meg. Sidra's husband died in a hunting accident the same day Meg was born. Meg was never married, so I don't know what happened to Anna's father. I doubt he's still alive. I believe you know what happened to Meg." Tobias nodded, remaining silent. Drew's tale was almost more than he could stomach. He despised violence and just hearing that one person would set up a curse because he was rejected didn't sit right with him. Tobias had noticed Drew's fidgeting throughout the story and his playing with the cup. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it. "You said you had some things that would help?" Drew nodded, got up, and picked up a pouch. He opened it and showed the contents to Tobias. "Use them wisely! Each of these papers contains a powder that will ward off a mage for a fortnight." Tobias looked at Drew in disbelief. "I never heard of anything that can ward off a mage." "But these can!" insisted Drew, "These can!" "How can you be so sure?" "I cannot tell you, I promised." Tobias decided not to probe any deeper, it wouldn't hurt to take the powder, and if it didn't work, nothing would change. He was willing to take the chance. "Why are you doing this?" Tobias inquired finally. "How are you involved? You're not a mage. How do you know so much?" "I," began Drew, "am the direct descendant of Zenia's brother, for whom I was named. Meg was raised by my parents. I was only a boy when she ran off one day. It took me years to find out what had become of her. I picked up where my father had left off. For some time I thought all had come to an end, then I learned that Meg had a child after all. So I tried to find Anna. When I came to Cobbleswell, I questioned the villagers. They were rather proud to have killed Meg and thought that Anna had been dead. I was about to leave when one of the villagers came forward and said he'd seen a red-haired girl in the woods. "The rest is told quickly. I convinced the villagers that I knew how to deal with the child of Arom-Nok, an evil god. They selected two men to go and bring Anna back to the village, and I went with them. When we got up there, we took Anna, and burnt the cabin. By nightfall we rested. Once the other two were asleep, I released Anna and told her to find her way to Dargon. My mistake, I should have gone with her. "When I heard someone was looking for me in Dargon, I thought it was Anna. I learned it was you, and couldn't understand why you would look for me. Then I remembered Anna calling for someone named Tobias. I took a chance and sent the boy. "Our family history is written in this scroll. I have a son who carries my name and will continue to try to take the curse off the women of my family when I'm no more." "There are more women involved besides Zenia's direct descendants?" Tobias was shocked. "The original curse included all female family members. The curse is strongest among Zenia's descendants. The female descendants of my ancestor's brother never lived past their tenth year. What became of Zenia's sister is unknown. I've lost three daughters to accidents and illnesses and my two sisters died in accidents." Drew's face was full of pain; his voice had a grief-stricken undertone. "I have a three-year-old girl at home right now; I would like to see her grow up." Tobias didn't know what to say. The information he'd gained was more than he had expected and more than he felt he could deal with. He put his face in his hands and slumped forward. A feeling of helplessness and despair overcame him. For moments neither man spoke, then Drew broke the silence. "I have to leave. Daybreak is only a few bells away. I intend to be on my way by then. You can stay as long as you like and rest." Drew packed his bag and swung it over his shoulder. "The best wishes to you and Anna. I hope you can help break the curse. It's best if I don't know where Anna is at this point. Take her far away from Dargon and keep her away from mages. You are her only hope." "Why do you have to leave?" Tobias inquired, "Why won't you come and see Anna?" "It's better if I stay away from her, maybe you have a better chance of keeping her safe." Drew reached for his bag and swung it over his shoulder. "How do I get in touch with you if I need your assistance?" Tobias lifted his head and looked directly at Drew. "I'll be in Dargon around Melrin, and sometimes in Seber. Don't forget the pouch. Keep it safe!" Tobias stood up, took the pouch, and placed it in his beltbag. "I'll do my best to help." He took Drew's hand and shook it briefly. "Safe travels." Drew nodded. "Safe travels to you as well." He turned, opened the door, and left. The darkness of the forest swallowed him quickly. Tobias closed the door, went to the cot, and stretched out. Feelings of helplessness and despair returned when he started to think about Anna and the story Drew had told him. He wasn't sure what to make of Drew. Too many questions about him remained unanswered. Tobias couldn't shake the feeling that Drew hadn't told him all he needed to know and that there were parts to the story that had nothing to do with a curse. Why would Drew leave Anna with him, if he was so sure she was his relative? His vague answer didn't help at all. Tobias considered Drew on the verge of being insane. A curse so powerful it would still work after four generations seemed unreal to him. Yet, when provoked and extremely angry, a man could summon strengths he hadn't before and wasn't likely to have again. Tobias felt he was left with more unanswered questions than before. It was midmorning when Tobias returned to the inn to pick up his belongings, paid the innkeeper, and made his way upriver to return to Anna, Jerel, and Zarit. Despite his brisk walking, it took him more than a fortnight to reach the small settlement. As he approached the village, he could hear laughter. It seemed that the entire village was gathered near the well. Tobias was curious to find out what the occasion was and approached quickly. He wasn't at all prepared for what he saw. A mage stood near the well and performed tricks for the applauding villagers. The mage held out his hand and a white ball appeared, turned into a beautiful flower, then into a dove. He sent the dove flying and pulled out a green crystal. Sunlight reflected off the crystal, making it sparkle. One of the girls couldn't contain her excitement. She was fidgeting and the woman next to her put her hand on the girl's shoulder. Then the girl turned her head, looking directly at him. It was Anna. "Tobias!" she shouted from the top of her lungs, jumped up, and collided with the mage. Everyone watched in horror as the crystal went up into the air. On its way down it hit the rim of the well, broke in half and disappeared into the well. "You!" shouted the mage, recovering first from his collision with Anna. "You clumsy brat! Look what you have done! Not only did you break my crystal, you made it fall into the well!" "I -- I --" stammered Anna, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I --" Sobbing, Anna stood up. She was horrified. "I didn't do it on purpose, really I didn't! It was an accident!" Anna turned and looked at the woman who'd been standing next to her. "Zarit, it was an accident!" "Mage," Zarit interjected, "I'm sure Anna had no intention of breaking your crystal. She just saw her guardian return from a long absence. She's only a little girl. We beg your forgiveness!" "She will pay for this!" hollered the mage, furious that he had lost his crystal. He looked at Anna and yelled, "Get out of my sight!" Anna ran towards Tobias, and jumped into his open arms, tears of joy and horror streaming down her cheeks. "I didn't do it on purpose!" Tobias sank to his knees, his breathing heavy, as he returned Anna's embrace. Suddenly his face turned ashen and a sharp pain ripped through his chest. His hand reached for his chest as he lost balance and fell, dragging Anna with him. "Too late," he whispered with his last breath, "I'm too late!" ========================================================================