To: archive site Status: O 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 13 -=========================================================+|) D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 1 DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE || \\ \ ======================================================================== DargonZine Distributed: 2/6/2000 Volume 13, Number 1 Circulation: 719 ======================================================================== Contents Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb The Julip Tree JD Kenyon Melrin 1017 Talisman Three 1 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Fall, 748 FE Friendships of Stone 5 Mark A. Murray Naia 6, 1015 ======================================================================== 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 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 13-1, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright February, 2000 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 Back when the Web was young, everyone had a links page, and they were a great way to navigate the Web. With fewer sites and no search engines or Web indexes, most sites maintained pages of links to other, related pages. The best way to find good sites was to start at a page you knew or had heard about and navigate successive links pages to find what you wanted. Today the Web is comprised of over a billion individual pages. As the Web has grown, individually-maintained links pages have given way to more sophisticated services. Search engines are able to index the Internet far faster than any human, and present users with lists of pertinent Web pages in seconds. Meta-search engines such as Ask Jeeves give the user the ability to obtain search results from several search engines at once. Portals and "vortals" serve as targetted gateways to sites dealing with specific topics. And in an updated twist on links pages, sites like About.com and AOL have organized communities that sift the Internet, ferreting out the best sites for their focus area. Amongst such well-organized competition, one has to ask whether individual links pages make any sense anymore. If you want your links page to be valuable, you need to spend a lot of time finding the best sites on the Internet, evaluating new ones that might be added. You also need to make sure that the sites already on the list are regularly updated and haven't moved, disappearred, or been abandoned. Links pages can still be useful ways to navigate the Internet (as the success of About.com demonstrates), but in order to be valuable to Web surfers they also require a lot of attention and maintenance. And even then, your page may just duplicate information that users can find more easily elsewhere. At DargonZine, we've maintained a links page for several years. It has always received only light use, and we haven't given it the attention needed to keep it up-to-date. We had links to a handful of great sites in four categories: electronic magazines, writing, fantasy and fandom, and medieval studies. However, we found that others did a better job of indexing those topics, and that we wanted to spend our energy on writing stories, not indexing the Internet. So when we looked at our links page, we came to the conclusion that it wasn't highly valued by our readers, and wasn't serving our organizational goal of helping aspiring writers improve. The following services will help you find sites of interest far more effectively than our old links page did. For search engines, Yahoo!, Alta Vista, and Google are all excellent, and for sites where guides compile the best links for specific communities, we suggest About.com (which used to be known as the Mining Company). We hope you understand the reasoning behind the dismantling of our links page. And we hope that you will agree with us that neither our readers nor our writers come to the DargonZine site looking for links; they come looking for fiction, and we can provide plenty of that! This issue is a great example of the fiction that brings people to our site. It contains another new story from JD Kenyon, who debuted in our previous issue, as well as the beginning of the fourth block of stories in Dafydd's epic "Talisman" series. It also features the conclusion of the "Friendships of Stone" series begun by Mark Murray back in September 1997. This issue also marks the beginning of our sixteenth year on the Internet. Refer to the Editorial in DargonZine 12-12 for a retrospective of how we got here and where we plan to go in our sixteenth year and beyond. But our immediate future holds another great issue featuring the continuation of "Talisman Three" as well as stories from two brand new writers. Look for those stories in DargonZine 13-2, which will follow this issue by just a couple weeks. ======================================================================== The Julip Tree by JD Kenyon Melrin 1017 Darienne stared across the room at the man who would become her husband in less than a sennight, and shuddered inwardly. Lord Guston Daeton was engaged in quiet conversation with Duke Clifton Dargon at the head table, reserved for the elite guests. She knew that she was the subject on his lips because his eyes would meet hers fleetingly each time he looked up, and the duke had made a point of turning his head in her direction. She squirmed on the bench and averted her gaze. There was a spicy-smelling feast spread on the table in front of her: platters of sliced roast pheasant and boar, bowls of steaming kale and honey-glazed carrots, as well as freshly baked breads and richly matured cheeses. The servants of the keep flitted between the tables replenishing wine and ale and were now serving crusty fruit tarts for dessert. Darienne lifted her goblet and sipped slowly, her appetite for food overwhelmed by a feeling of misery. "We all envy you." Darienne turned sharply to the young woman at her side who had gushed these words enthusiastically. "You *envy* me?" she said with a degree of skepticism as she took in her youthful dinner companion's pert little mouth and vapid blue eyes. There was a sudden lull in the conversation as the other young women at the table inclined their heads in her direction. "You're to be married to Lord Daeton, aren't you?" The woman was in fact no more than a girl dressed up for her evening out with Dargon's aristocracy -- her face flushed with naivety and her head filled with imagined romance. "Regretfully so," Darienne said bluntly -- and noticed their eyes widen. She knew what it sounded like. It was callous and an insult to someone of Daeton's stature, but she did not care if everyone in Dargon knew that she felt resentment. After a brief pause, the women around her started their twittering and snickering again. Darienne shifted sideways on the bench, looking for Melly, her chaperone, and stifled a sigh. Their small party had arrived at the keep less than a bell before, and instead of being shown to their rooms, her father's envoy had scuttled away and left her in the care of the steward. The six-day journey from Hawksbridge had taken its toll and Darienne had longed to change out of her traveling clothes, have a wash and retire to bed. Instead, the overbearing steward had insisted that she join the feast, leaving Melly to make the necessary room arrangements. Darienne had been compelled to follow the steward down the winding staircase from the guest quarters to the keep's great room. The lavishly adorned room was alive with chatter and laughter, with the melodic background strains of a jongleur entertaining Duke Dargon's diners. The first time she had seen Guston Daeton he was leaning heavily on his cane in the shadows of the great room, talking to her father's envoy. He had paused to look at her, and she had felt as if she was being inventoried by his brooding stare. She had matched his gaze, her lips set tight and her eyes flaring the unspoken bitterness in her heart. It had felt as if there were a hundred eyes in the room glancing over her as she had waited in the doorway, the guests suspended over their meals as they ogled the late intrusion. In that moment she had despised her father even more for having agreed to this marriage and had felt deeply humiliated at the thought of being paraded for all to see. Worse -- Daeton had made no move in her direction. Instead, he had stopped a passing servant and had issued his instructions. Soon she had found herself seated at a table with several of the young ladies from Dargon -- the same women who now ignored her, just occasionally flicking an incredulous look in her direction. There was still no sign of Melly, and Darienne was forced to stare down at the goblet in front of her and fiddle with the lace on her dress as she continued to distance herself from the company around her. A masculine voice at her side startled her. "Would you care for a walk in the garden?" She turned and looked up into the face of her future husband. This close she could see the dark intensity of his eyes, the hard lines of his nose and lips and the shadow of beard growth darkening his firm jaw. A brief fluttering of unease gripped her insides as she extended her hand wordlessly and stood up. The ladies around the table had ceased their conversations, and in the growing quiet, she could hear the clunk-clunk of Daeton's cane as they crossed the stone floor to the exit. As they descended the stairs, she had to pause and slow her pace to his. It was obvious from his tight-set lips that his leg pained with each step on the narrow staircase, and they descended without a word. Her mother had told her that Daeton had been badly wounded in the war -- almost crippled. He would never recover, but was sufficiently propertied and titled for her father to have deemed this "a worthy match" for his youngest daughter. She recalled how her aging parents, who had been discussing her future with growing concern, were delighted when the unexpected marriage proposal had arrived. Daeton had not delivered it in person -- in fact, she had never met him before coming to Dargon. Instead, he had acted through an intermediary: a merchantman who was an acquaintance of his and an infrequent visitor to her father's household. The prospect of having to pay very little in the way of a dowry was an added benefit for her father's ailing fortunes, but Darienne had felt betrayed. Both her sisters had married early, when the family's wealth and their noble stature were still in their favor. Many years had passed and successive seasons of failed crops and unwise decisions had left the coffers bare. Added to that, Darienne's sharp tongue and keen wit had discouraged the few would-be suitors, despite her mother's implored pleas for her daughter to be less headstrong and unyielding. For Darienne, the men were either passive and mindless, or brash and aggressive. She had repeatedly expressed the view that a lifetime of loneliness was preferable to marriage with either kind. This was probably why, without as much as a consultation, her father had merely informed her that he had a husband for her. That had been less than a month ago, and here she was, with a crippled stranger at her side. Leafless vines twisted and curled over the archway that led into the garden. As they stepped onto the pebbled pathway beneath it, Darienne realized that the evening air around them was crisp, a sign that winter had not yet fully yielded its grasp on the land. She could feel Daeton's firm hand under her elbow and the unevenness of his gait as they continued to walk in uncomfortable silence. "You should see this garden in its full glory." His words hardly stirred the air and sounded as if they were wrapped in distant thoughts. She stared about her at the lackluster foliage, naked twigs and stark branches. The grass looked hard and dry and the shrubs bordering the path had the same brittle quality. Hardly glorious -- but her gaze was drawn to an imposing tree in the corner of the garden, its bare branches silhouetted against the late afternoon sunlight. "I've never seen a tree like that." She realized that this was the first time she had spoken in his presence and felt a blush on her cheeks. "It's an uncommon tree," Daeton responded, following her gaze upward to where the branches broke the late sunlight into soft beams. He steered her in its direction. "It has quite a tale attached to it." As they neared the tree, she saw that the bark on its mammoth trunk was almost black in color, coarse and scaly, and made up of deep grooves and ridges. High above her, the tree's gnarled limbs reached out into the deep blue sky, their harsh starkness contrasting sharply against the azure backdrop. "A tree with a tale." Darienne reached out and touched the bark, feeling its cool moistness beneath her fingertips. "Tell me about it." "Would you mind if I sat?" Without waiting for her reply, he limped across the path and settled on a wooden bench nearby. Darienne leaned back against the tree, resting her hands on the hardness of the bark as she steadied herself. "Many years ago, Cabot Dargon, Clifton's grandfather, fell in love with a sea merchant's daughter. It was a chance meeting. The prosperous merchant was from a distant land and his daughter had accompanied him on his voyage. She was radiantly beautiful, adventurous in spirit and quite unlike any other woman Cabot had ever met. However, she was no noble and everyone knew it. It was a very unsuitable match. Yet, the young Cabot Dargon was so smitten that he proposed marriage within days of the merchant's ship having anchored in the bay -- ignoring his advisors and dismissing the public outcry. He was in love." Daeton paused and Darienne responded with raised eyebrows and a disbelieving expression. Daeton spoke again. "Her father was not happy about leaving his daughter in a foreign land. Cabot offered a generous payment for her hand and promised her father that, as the future Duchess of Dargon, she would have status and wealth, and a husband who adored her. Still, the people complained and, it is said, they even jeered her in public. The young couple took to meeting in this very garden, away from critical and prying eyes. Cabot eased her fears with his words of love and prepared for a lavish wedding feast, inviting guests from far and beyond." Daeton stopped and stood up, walking back to Darienne's side beneath the tree before he continued. "The day of the wedding dawned. The first thing that Cabot saw when he looked out from his turret window was that the merchant's ship was no longer in the bay. He rushed downstairs, only to find that the merchant and his daughter had left under cover of darkness. Shattered and heartbroken, Cabot came to the garden to seek solitude. As he walked along the path, he noticed that a sapling had been planted in this corner, the freshly turned soil the only evidence that someone had been there. He instructed his gardener to nurture the small tree. It grew rapidly, and within three years, just about the time when Cabot had overcome much of his grief and heartache, he awoke one day to discover the tree in bloom." Daeton reached out and braced himself against the coarse trunk. "To this day, once a year the tree bursts forth with a profusion of richly perfumed purple blossoms. Cabot Dargon called it the Julip Tree, after the woman who broke his heart." There was a sudden silence in the garden again and Darienne realized she had been completely absorbed and that she was staring at the teller of the tale. Daeton's gaze settled on her and she felt a slight flush. "Hmmm. " She straightened brusquely and stepped aside. "An unlikely story." "No -- it was a real love story, even if it had a sad ending." Daeton looked up at the tree, running his hand over the rough bark. "Love stories involve two people." Darienne stared at the darkening sky. "You only know Cabot Dargon's tale. Perhaps it was a happy ending. Perhaps even her choice." Daeton kept quiet and Darienne sensed that her words had cut deeply. She could not help but wonder at his strangeness. He was aloof and confident, but then there was also an intensity and sensitivity she had never expected. He stepped back onto the path next to her. Their arms brushed fleetingly and his sudden closeness caused her to twist her head away. "It's getting late and my chaperone will wonder what has happened to me." Her words sounded as startled as she felt, still taken aback by the rush of powerful feelings that flooded through her in that brief moment. She turned abruptly and started to walk back to the castle, aware that Daeton would not be able to keep pace with her. As she left the garden, she glanced back and saw him seated on the bench beneath the Julip tree. The first thing she heard the next morning was Melly's urgent tone from afar, "Mistress Darienne!" She stirred in the rumpled sheets just in time to see her chaperone burst through the door. "What is it?" She sat up and shoved the covers back. "Can't it wait?" Her head was still throbbing from a troubled sleep. "It's Lord Daeton. He wants to see you. In the garden." Melly was panting from the exertion of the stairs and the words came in short bursts. Darienne leapt from the bed, stripped as hurriedly as she could and donned her petticoats while Melly lay her pale green day dress on the bed, then scrabbled in the trunks for matching slippers. "Did he say why?" she asked as she slipped the dress over her head. "A scullion brought the word just a few menes ago." Melly was trying to comb her hair, but Darienne flicked her hand away and brushed her own fingers through the tangle of curls instead. She caught sight of Melly's beaming face and scowled at her. "The man is a rogue!" she chided, not once thinking she could actually dampen Melly's enthusiasm after the young woman had told Darienne the previous night how thoroughly handsome and charming she thought Lord Daeton was. To make matters worse, Darienne had been unable to fall asleep easily -- her head filled with words and images and feelings all churned up by a man she really wanted to despise. "Bother and bluster!" she cursed, steeling herself inwardly for another encounter with Guston Daeton. A light breeze stirred and rustled in the garden as she hurried down the pathway to where he stood waiting. In the early morning light she noticed that the garden seemed to be awakening to the warmer days -- a tender emerald grass shoot here and there and sprigs of green in the shrubs and trees were signs that spring had arrived. She saw with a strange sense of delight that the Julip tree was now also covered in delicate purple buds. "I'm sorry that you had to wait," she said breathlessly as she drew close. "One learns patience when you have a failing such as mine." He said the words matter-of-factly, pointing to his cane, but Darienne thought there was a bemused look in his eyes. He started to stroll ahead, leaving Darienne to clutch her skirts and follow him. After a few silent paces, he stopped suddenly and turned to look at her. "Do you know that when I asked about you, they described you as *unusual*." She felt the color sting her cheeks as the description sank in. It would typically be what her father would have said of her, his temperamental daughter with her odd ways and uncharacteristic looks. So unlike the painted and powdered ladies of Dargon who had been seated next to her last night. She looked away to hide the long-unexpressed hurt and anger she felt. There was an awkward silence when neither of them moved, but she sensed that he was watching her. "They were kind to me then," she said, trying to force a flippant tone. "Not kind," he said, his words hanging in the air until he continued in a lowered tone, "but not that wrong, Darienne." Her name sounded gentle on his tongue as he reached across and tilted her chin up with his fingers, forcing her gaze to meet his. "You are an unusually beautiful woman. Never be ashamed of your uniqueness." She swallowed, acutely aware of his light touch on her skin. He dropped his hand to his side and glanced away. She stared at his profile, the hard jaw and straight nose and the curve of his lips. He straightened and stepped away from her side. When he spoke again, his voice had a hard edge to it. "I may be a cripple, but I am not blind or unfeeling," he said through clenched teeth. "I've seen the reluctance in your eyes and sensed your disapproval." "Milord ..." she started, not sure what to say to the forthright man in front of her and thinking about her callous words at the dinner table. He paused before facing her again. "Perhaps what I have been is a fool." His tone was tinged with regret. He adjusted his footing and she noticed that the knuckles gripping his cane were white. "I suppose that I wanted a wife who would not see my limitations, but find comfort in my strengths." Darienne kept her eyes downcast but could feel the blood pounding in her ears and knew that her breathing had quickened. "That is the reason why I have decided to release you from this marriage obligation." The words, when he uttered them, were unexpected. It was what she had wanted to hear, but somehow it seemed unreal. "Lord Daeton, I ..." she stammered, not sure of what she was trying to say. She realized her father would lay the blame at her door, and rightly so. Daeton, too, had every right to be angry with her. "I will make it clear that it is my choice and see that there is no shame in it for you." It was as if he had read her thoughts. He glanced across at the Julip tree and spoke again in a rueful tone. "I suppose you could say that I am anchoring a ship in the bay for you." In the moment that stretched between them, "Thank you, milord," was as much as Darienne could muster. Sunlight streamed in through the window as Melly thudded and clumped around the room, folding clothes and moving their trunks out of the way. Three tumultuous days had passed. Darienne pulled the drapes aside and looked out over the garden, now jacketed in bright spring blossoms and filled with the tittering of joyful birdsong. She remembered how she had returned to the garden alone later that day, drawn to the strange tree in the corner. She had picked one of the tiny Julip buds and was caressing it in her hands, its scented tender petals half unfurled and already showing a hint of deep violet. In that moment, she had marveled at how the little bud was an assurance of color and fragrance that would transform the hardness and ugliness of the Julip tree. She had twirled around in the warm sunshine and watched the blossom glide gently from her fingers, surprised to find thoughts of love drifting into her mind. Then she had meandered back to the keep, pausing to smell the fragrant blooms and touch the fresh green sprigs along the way. "You look truly beautiful, Mistress Darienne." Melly's cheerful voice brought her back to the present as she fussed about at her mistress's side, straightening the pleats of the rich cream brocade and pulling the bodice tighter. "You are such a radiant bride!" Darienne smiled and hoped that Guston would find her beautiful too. In less than a bell, they would be man and wife. She trusted her instinct that he would be a wise and caring husband. After all, she suspected that he had known all along that unless she chose him freely she would never be able to truly love him. She reached up and adjusted the tendrils in her hair, carefully tucking the fragrant Julip blossoms into the dark red curls. ======================================================================== Talisman Three Part 1 by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Fall, 748 FE Author's Note: This segment of the Talisman Saga begins approximately 420 years after Talisman Two in a portion of the continent of Duurom that has all but forgotten the Fretheod Empire. Called Farevlin, which means 'thousand lands', it is made up of hundreds and hundreds of tiny kingdoms, dukedoms, city-states, and autonomous towns, some no larger than an average crossroads village. While Farevlin shares a common language, background, and legends of unity, each state within the area tends toward fierce individuality. Even so, there are always people who prefer the legends to the present day. The curtain opened, revealing a painted backdrop of a forest. The crowd that had gathered in front of the stage quieted in anticipation. The stage that now occupied the corner of the market square had been quickly and sturdily erected not more than two bells ago, which showed that the troupe -- Torenda's Troupe, as the proscenium proclaimed -- were professionals. But no one in Tilting Falls had ever heard of Torenda or her troupe before, and all were curious to see what was about to take place before them. Two people walked into view from stage left. They were dressed in tunics and baggy leggings and had swords belted over red tabards. They walked to the middle of the stage, looking around themselves wide-eyed. As they reached the center of the stage, they stopped advancing, though their legs kept moving as if they were continuing to walk. As their forward motion ceased, the backdrop started to move instead, increasing the illusion of movement over just the mimed walking. Some in the audience laughed in wonder at the clever trick. The downstage figure asked, "Are you sure we followed the directions properly, Samad?" The upstage figure, Samad, said, "Absolutely, Dirik. I followed every turn just like we was told. I don't know why we haven't found the stag's glen in the Forest of Hawks. The forest must have moved or something." The audience laughed weakly, but it wasn't much of a joke -- more of a pun on the moving backdrop, after all. Dirik said, "Well, if we're lost then how are we going to find Sir Mefes? We went to a lot of risk pilfering this jewel --" Dirik held up a large gold disk studded with sparkling gems of various hues, "-- from Narial's temple, and we aren't going to get paid unless we get it to Sir Mefes." "What do you mean, 'we'?" Samad said heatedly as he stopped his mimed walking in an exaggerated manner. Dirik ceased moving his legs too, but the backdrop continued to move for a bit. The audience laughed as both characters looked at the moving backdrop with exaggerated anger, and Samad stomped loudly. The backdrop stopped, started, stopped again, and then reversed its motion for several moments, as if returning to where it should have stopped in the first place. It stopped again, but the characters on stage waited for a beat or two, as if to be sure it was going to stay where it was. It did. They nodded to each other in satisfaction, and continued with their lines as the audience's chuckles faded. Samad repeated, "What do you mean, 'we'? *I* stole that jewel from the coffers of the temple, while *you* played 'hide the offering' with that cute slip of a temple maiden." The audience roared. "The only risk you took," Samad continued, "was of exhaustion." Dirik defended himself with, "Well, someone had to divert her attention, and Narial *is* the goddess of lust, after all. It was the natural thing to do." "Yeah, so why is it that you always get to do the natural thing when it is fun, and I get to do the natural thing when it is disgusting or dangerous?" The characters turned to face stage right again and started to walk. The backdrop started up right on cue as Dirik replied, "Just lucky, I guess." Samad shook his head resignedly as the audience chuckled again. The two thieves walked in silence for a few moments, and slowly, normal forest sounds began to be heard. Bird calls, rustling leaves, and the chittering of small animals sounded from backstage. Dirik looked around with a smile on his face and said, "Well, at least it's a nice day for a walk in the woods." Samad continued to be grumpy and answered with, "Never did like the woods. Can't see more than a couple of yards in any direction. Even the paths twist and turn too much, and don't provide much better visibility." Dirik said, "You worry too much, Samad. What do we need to see far for anyway?" "To see where Sir Mefes is, for one," Samad said darkly. "And for another, to see wild animals far enough away to have time to hide from them." "What wild animals?" "Boars. Or bears, even." "Bears?" asked Dirik. "Do you think there are really bears in these woods, Samad?" Samad sighed and said, "With your luck, Dirik, probably not. Probably not." Just then, a roar sounded from stage left. No one in the audience had ever heard a bear, but that certainly sounded like the noise they thought a bear would make. Everyone glanced to their left, and some even looked a little worried. The two characters looked over their shoulders and shouted oaths in fear. Samad turned back around and said, "Of all the times for your cursed luck to fail, Dirik. I dare say that this is Narial's fault -- her temple maiden probably thought she didn't get her bell's worth of pleasure or something. I hope our legs are better than our luck. Run, Dirik, run!" The two characters accelerated stage right and the audience naturally looked stage left to see what was chasing the two thieves. They clearly expected a stage prop of some kind: a bearskin hung on a cross-pole perhaps, or someone in a brown tunic with a mask on, or maybe something clever or innovative, like the moving backdrop. None of them were expecting what they actually saw, and when the roaring, angry bear walked out of the stage left wings, three quarters of the audience gasped in genuine fright. It stood half again as tall as a man and was twice as wide. It had brown, shaggy fur, huge claws and teeth, and small, angry-looking eyes. It lumbered after the two fleeing thieves who were just disappearing into the stage right wings. By the time it reached center stage, pursuing the characters and not reacting at all to the screams from the audience, most people realized it was a clever trick of some kind, or maybe a very well-trained real bear. The few who had started to run stopped and turned back in wonder. The bear stopped in the middle of the stage and roared. The backdrop continued to move, and the bear batted at it, giving a coughing grunt and stomping its paw. The backdrop stopped, and the bear turned its head toward the audience and winked, slow and broad, making them titter nervously, then laugh louder in relief. The bear turned back to stage right and with another roar, it lumbered after its prey. The moment it vanished into the wings, stage right, two screams of fear rang out, followed by sounds of general mayhem. Men shouting, pleading, screaming, a bear roaring, ripping sounds, thuds of bodies, all so exaggerated that the audience started laughing again after a nervous moment of hesitation. When the arm came flying out, trailing blood, the audience roared. The mayhem continued for some time, with an occasional limb flying out onto the stage until there were more parts than any two people could have had between them lying about. Another figure walked onstage from stage left. He was tall and handsome, clad from head to foot in chain mail -- coif, hauberk, and leggings. A large sword hung at his side, and a shield, painted red, hung at his back. He reached center stage and turned to the audience. He didn't seem to notice or react to the commotion still coming from stage right, nor did he acknowledge the body parts strewn around the stage. "Excuse me," he said. "I'm Sir Mefes, and I seem to have misplaced two of my hirelings. Perchance, might you have seen them?" The audience knew what was expected of them at this kind of moment in this kind of play. Somewhat raggedly but mostly in unison, they nodded. "By the Creaking Knee of Bovish, I knew they'd get it wrong!" Sir Mefes stormed, looking at the stage and stomping his foot. Behind him, the backdrop shifted hesitantly to the left, then back again. The audience cackled. Sir Mefes looked up and said, "I told them to meet me in the Forest Stag Inn in the village of Hawk's Glen. How could they have twisted that around to end up here?" The cue was unmistakable; there was only one reply and the person on stage was waiting for it. Without any hesitation at all, most of the audience chorused, "I don't know." "Neither do I," said Sir Mefes. "I don't suppose they had Norla with them, did they?" "No," replied much of the audience, while others just shook their heads. Then, a few loud members piped up with, "They had a jewel!" to which others added their voices belatedly, causing the sentence to echo around the audience for a few moments. In the spirit of the form, and as if he had heard it only once, and not a score or more times, Sir Mefes replied, "Right, a shining jewel, with golden hair and violet eyes: my daughter, Norla. I sent them to take her from the Temple of Narial and bring her back to me. How difficult could that have been -- she was the only one there at the time?" The audience shook their heads, and the boisterous, loud few said, "A real gold jewel, not Norla." "Damn them to Perda's Outhouse! But I should have suspected they'd get that wrong, too. All right, do you know where they are now?" "Over there," everyone said, pointing stage right. Sir Mefes seemed to notice the noise from off stage for the first time. He pointed stage right and asked, "There?" The audience nodded, and said, "There. Bear." Sir Mefes sighed, and said, "I suppose I should rescue them, shouldn't I?" The audience nodded again. "Very well, I'll be right back. Thank you for your help, you've been very kind." Sir Mefes turned and started walking towards the ruckus, giving the audience a little wave as he left. As the knight left the stage, the commotion changed. No more screams sounded -- instead, it was the bear who sounded in pain. Furry limbs flew onto the stage, and the audience cheered. The battle was soon over, and presently all three characters returned to the stage, none of them any the worse for wear. Sir Mefes walked between the two thieves and shouted at them for being blundering fools, while Dirik tried to give him the gem-studded golden jewel, and Samad just mumbled something dark about luck. The three kept walking across the stage, and exited stage left. The curtain closed on the audience's applause, but the stage outside the curtain didn't stay empty for long. Even before the applause had died away, a woman walked onto stage from behind the curtain. She wore a bliaut and underdress which were both sewn together from scraps of cloth of all shapes, sizes, and hues. "I'm here to keep your attention," she announced in an animated and cheerful voice, "while my apprentices pass among you with tins in which you can place representations of your appreciation of our skit in the form of any coin you think it was worth." Two more women, dressed in tunics and leggings like men, appeared at either edge of the crowd carrying tins. They began to work their way through the standing audience, one working from the front, the other from the back. The woman on stage continued, "Now, for my other apprentices -- Janile's Pack of Stretch-Rats." From both sides of the stage boiled half-a-dozen ferrets, all dashing across the boards toward Janile. As the stretch-rats scrambled up her skirts and under her bliaut, the audience laughed and handed over their coin in payment for the entertaining show they had just witnessed. In a cave many miles from Tilting Falls, a man stood before a room full of kneeling people dressed in simple robes of undyed linen. For a cave, it was a very comfortable room. Only the uneven rock of the ceiling betrayed its lithic origins; wood covered the floor, and the walls were smooth like plaster and painted a light tan color. There were three doors in the room: one on the wall the man faced, and two on his left. The only other furniture in the room at the moment was the ornate stone table that rested behind him. Lamps affixed to the walls provided plenty of light. That man was named Zarilt, and the people arrayed before him were his students. As such, they called him Tchad, which meant 'teacher' in an ancient dialect. It was a term of respect that Zarilt had finally come to accept without undue embarrassment. The door Zarilt faced opened and two figures entered. Both were dressed in the same kind of robe as the kneeling people, but one wore the hood up and the other had a blue belt tied at the waist. Zarilt gazed serenely at the two as they walked up the aisle between the kneeling people and stopped in front of him. "Welcome, aspirant Kersh." The one with the blue-belted robe, a fresh-faced young man with plain features and brown eyes, bowed slightly, nervously, when he was addressed. "And welcome to you as well, Virrila," said Zarilt in his rich, deep voice that filled the cavern room easily. The hooded one bowed in response. Zarilt continued, "You have undertaken to sponsor aspirant Kersh, and have seen to his education in our Way. Do you judge him ready? Has he learned what has been taught?" A low voice came from the hood, echoing the nod with, "He is ready, Tchad." "Do you feel yourself ready to become a student of our Way, aspirant Kersh?" Still nervous, Kersh stammered, "Y-yes, Tchad." Smiling like an indulgent uncle, Zarilt lowered his voice and whispered, "Now, Kersh, there's nothing to be nervous about. We're not like some of those death cults I'm sure you've heard about. If, by some chance, you are not ready to join us, or you decide you do not want to join us, you will be free to try again or leave as you wish. We will even provide an escort back to Bluebell Rock. "So, take a few deep breaths and steady your nerves, all right? I'm sure that Virrila has done her job as well with you as she always does." "Yes, teacher, ah, sorry, Tchad. I ... I'm more excited than nervous, I think." Zarilt looked out over his students, giving Kersh time to calm down. More young people than old knelt before him, but that was only to be expected. There were people from all over the thousand states of Farevlin, and some from the even wilder land of Drigalit to the south. Only a few of the many faces before him shone with the serenity he endeavored to teach, but that didn't discourage him. He only provided the philosophy of his Way, and an example of it. His students were encouraged to learn his Way at their own paces. That he had been able to teach anyone the serenity he possessed made all of the difficulties worthwhile. Zarilt looked back at Kersh, and found the young man calmer. He pitched his voice to the room again, and asked, "Aspirant Kersh, what is our Way?" "Ah ... your Way is serenity, Tchad Zarilt," answered Kersh. "And serenity comes from where?" "From within, Tchad." "How, aspirant?" "Serenity comes from within through simplicity, Tchad," recited Kersh. He didn't quite understand it, but Virrila had told him that understanding would come in time. "How, aspirant?" Kersh's mind stumbled, thinking that the Tchad had somehow read his thoughts about a lack of understanding. Then he remembered the litany he had memorized, and recalled the correct response. "Tchad, simplicity requires a break from the mundane world. Simplicity requires freedom. Simplicity is found here, in the Treasury of Farevlin. Simplicity gives us time to reflect and to find the serenity within each of us." "Very good, aspirant," said Zarilt, his face almost glowing with pleasure and serenity. "Now, do you understand what you have recited?" His heart hammering, Kersh searched his memory for the proper response. None came to him. The litany he had memorized was finished, yet there were more questions being asked. What was he to do? He recalled Virrila telling him that serenity came from truth, and so he gave the Tchad the truth. "Well, no, Tchad." "Few among my students do as yet, aspirant. But tell me, do you accept that the understanding will come, with time and effort on your part?" Zarilt watched Kersh think. His Way was no secret, and yet he was not flooded with aspirants. Not everyone understood his Way, and even fewer were willing to give up everything they knew, everything they had been taught by their parents and friends, to see if there really was meaning behind the words of the Way. Those that glimpsed that meaning journeyed to his caves, the ancient Treasury of Farevlin, where they were tutored in the rudiments of the Way. But to follow the Way required a commitment, and now it was Kersh's turn to decide if he would accept that commitment. Finally, Kersh looked up at the teacher, the Tchad, and said, "Yes, I do think that understanding is available, and I am willing to try to grasp that understanding and find what the Way means to me." "Then remove the blue belt of mundane concerns and take your place among my students. Be welcome here, Kersh." Applause rose from the kneeling students as Kersh untied his belt and handed it to Zarilt. Virrila lowered her hood, revealing to Kersh her strong-featured face and long black hair for the first time. Kersh had come to know Virrila only by her words and actions, and he found it odd to only now be associating a face with the person. Kersh and Virrila clasped arms, and she led him to an open spot in the front ranks of the students. Those near the open spot congratulated Kersh on his wise decision, accepting him into their number immediately and totally. Zarilt waited a few moments for the rejoicing to die down before he continued the ceremony. "Now, my students, before Kersh is shown to his new living space and you all introduce yourselves to him, let me begin his teaching the same way I began the teaching of every one of you. "Once I had a life out in the world, like each of you once had and may again. But I found that I was never happy, never truly, fully happy in that life. When my Uncle Taddis, the previous Treasurer, died, I was his only heir. So, I was removed from my former life and introduced to one that allowed me time for deep contemplation. And out of that contemplation came the Way. "I must say first that I am no prophet. I speak for no religion or god. My Way is available to any who can come to understand my words. Few of you worship the Wheel as do I, yet several of you have found the serenity of the Way as I have. You only need to understand the Way. "Out in the world, you have all been taught that happiness comes from others. If you are a good son or daughter, or a good father or mother, you can find happiness. If you please your master -- whether that master be your parents, the person you are apprenticed to, the person who pays your wages, the person for whom you farm your land -- you will be happy. If you own enough property, whether land or goods, you will be as good as or better than your peers, and you will be happy. "All I can say to those lessons you have learned is that they are false. "Happiness can only come from within. You are the only one who can make you happy. Happiness comes from simplicity, the simplicity you will find here as I did. Here, you owe no one fealty, you owe no one work or money. Here you will do your share of the work that needs to be done to support us all, and no more. Here you will find happiness in the simplicity of your new lives. And from happiness comes serenity. Serenity is our Way. "Let go of the concerns of the outside world. Forget power. Forget material goods. Forget position. Forget politics. Concentrate on yourself, understand yourself, and understand the Way. Once you have accomplished this, once you have let the lessons of your life go and accepted the Way, you will find the same serenity that I have." The students of the Way began applauding. Zarilt brought his hands together and bowed deeply to them, and then turned his back, dismissing them. As they filed out of the cavernous room, he contemplated the five items laid out on the top of the stone table, situated almost altar-like in front of him. These were the only items contained within the Treasury. These were the sum total of his charge, the purpose of his position. But no longer the only purpose he served here. Three of the objects had names and legends: the Chalice of Oronhil; Hekorivas, the Scepter of Unity; and the Orb of Sdanyip. The other two were unnamed. One of these was an oak branch carved from amber. It was an exquisite piece of work and looked just like a real branch of oak, except that it bore a leaf bud, an acorn flower, a fully grown leaf, and a ripe acorn all at the same time. Because of this, Zarilt suspected that it was an icon of some nature religion, perhaps from a sect of his own religion of the Wheel. While Zarilt had no knowledge of how the amber oak had come to reside in the Treasury, the last object in his care had a history, if no legends, associated with it. It had been left as payment for help that a former Treasurer had provided in a time of need to some nomads who called themselves Siizhayip. That object was obviously incomplete, perhaps broken. It was a stone sculpture of some kind bearing the figures of a cat and a falcon, along with some intricately interwoven bands of three different materials that filled the inner portion of the piece. It looked like about one third of a larger piece, judging from the smooth, arced edge and the other two jaggedly torn edges, shaping the whole into a large wedge of a disk of some kind. The three materials that the bands were made of were some kind of silver metal, some kind of gold-colored metal, and one made of glass. The glass band originated from the center of the falcon, and the silver band originated from the center of the cat. Zarilt turned from his charges and found the room behind him empty. He hoped that Kersh would succeed in his quest for serenity. His Way was not for everyone: for every student he had at the moment, he had lost five since he decided to spread his message. But he wasn't worried. He didn't see his mission as one of numbers of people enlightened, but rather one of spreading his vision. And, of course, living his serenity for all to see. The common room of the Headless Sheep Inn in Tilting Falls was full to bursting that evening. Over half of the patrons crowding the room were members of Torenda's Troupe. Most of the other half had seen at least one of the three skits that the Troupe had put on that afternoon in Tilting Falls' market square. The early part of the evening had consisted of the residents of the town reveling in being able to rub elbows with the troupe that had so entertained them. The troupe had been toasted and congratulated, and not one of them had to pay for the food and drink they were consuming -- at least, not in coin. They did, however, have to endure being cornered time and time again by townsfolk eager to inform them of their favorite moments, reliving the afternoon's entertainments in excruciating detail. It was fairly obvious to the entire troupe that Tilting Falls had experienced a dearth of performers for quite some time. Eventually, though, the townsfolk gathered into their normal groupings to eat or drink, and only occasionally glance over at a table of players and then excitedly tell their table companions yet again how good some part of the skits had been. This allowed the troupe to do much the same, glancing over at the townspeople and remarking on their odd tastes in clothing or applied scent -- or lack thereof -- or whether their own parts had been more favored by a table of people. This was all done very quietly, of course; the troupe was planning at least two more days in the market square, and it wouldn't do to anger the potential customers. At one table in the back, well-buffered from the townsfolk by a layer of players' tables, sat most of the people who ran the troupe. Bifrorlani was the owner and leader of Torenda's Troupe, having inherited it from Torenda when she retired. It was common knowledge that Orla ran the troupe far better than Torenda had, and it was only the reputation of Torenda's Troupe that kept Orla from giving in to the suggestions to change its name. Orla was in her late thirties and had been with Torenda's Troupe as actor, assistant manager, and then owner, for most of her life. She was a plump woman, but had a bearing that usually kept people from noticing her ample waistline. She had raven-black hair, pale skin and mismatched eyes -- the left was blue while the right was brown. One of the several earrings she wore in her left ear was a small blue disk bearing a silver symbol: two pairs of two concentric ovals set cross-wise to each other and interlaced. The small disk, less than an ebbit across and thus smaller than the nail of her smallest finger, echoed a larger, hands-width version of the same design tattooed on her right hip. Next to her sat Aborkendo, a leading man in the Troupe as well as their carpenter. Kend was swarthy-skinned, with brown hair and eyes, and the bearing of a leading man -- handsome and well aware of it. But he was also an accomplished carpenter and wood carver, and had no qualms about putting in his fair share of the work at what some might consider the more demeaning jobs that were required backstage. As usual, Kend was carving a small figurine with a small-bladed knife. Such was his skill that the rodent that was emerging from the small stick seemed almost lifelike. Hanging from his right ear, one of only two earrings he wore, was the same kind of small blue disk that Orla wore. His left hip also bore the same kind of tattoo. Sitting across from the first two was Elianijit, the Troupe's stage manager and scene blocker. Elin was fair of skin, with chestnut brown hair and dark grey eyes. She not only made sure that props, sets, and even actors were where they belonged during a production, she was also quite capable of creating an entire skit from scratch as well as starring in it. Elin's left ear was decorated by a blue-disk earring; her right hip, by a blue-disk tattoo. There was one more person in the room who had an absolutely vital part in running the troupe: Odonornaka, the Troupe's lead musician, was sitting by the main fireplace and entertaining the room with her music. Naka was a very pretty young woman, with long blond hair and grass-green eyes. Her most striking feature was her nose, which, despite its large size, was well-shaped and only enhanced her beauty. Naka was proficient in a large number of musical styles on a wide range of instruments, some of which she had invented herself. She composed almost all of the music that the Troupe used, and it was her job to teach and to lead the four other musicians that the Troupe employed. Naka also wore the blue-with-interlaced-ovals earring and tattoo. The earring in her right ear was the newest of the four, though all were equally clean and polished. The tattoo on her left hip was even newer than that; she had made her place in the relationship official with that tattoo only three months before, though she had been wearing the earring for a year. The three around the table had been discussing the day's performances for the past two tankards, and were almost finished. Discussing the first skit about the bear in the woods, Kend asked, "Was the bear realistic enough, do you think?" Orla responded, "Judging by the reaction of the crowd -- and that's what counts, after all -- it was perfect. I mean, did you see how many actually started to run?" "Oh yes, the bear, the bear," said an older man as he came over to the table. "You're talking about my bear ... our bear. It was great, wasn't it, Kend? They were scared out of their wits! I just love how that trick gets them every time." The newcomer was named Githanjul, and he was the Troupe's illusionist and mechanic. While his contributions to the Troupe were not absolutely necessary, items like the moving backdrop and the bear illusion certainly added a certain spark to even the most average skit in their repertoire. The four Troupe leaders often considered him as indispensable as any one of themselves. Thanj was tall and slight, which made him look frail and older than he was. His hair was strawberry-blond streaked with grey, and his wispy yellow beard that kept mostly to the point of his chin only enhanced the illusion of advanced years. His eyes, though, were sharp and keen, their brown depths alive with alert intelligence. His ears and hips were bare of relationship symbols, and many among the Troupe wondered if he had ever been that close to anyone. No matter how friendly and outgoing the illusionist was, there was always something hidden about him that kept people from getting too close. Kend said, "Yep, Thanj, as usual, your illusion was superb." "Oh, now," said Thanj, "you know as well as I that I didn't do it all myself." Thanj reached into the pouch at his side and withdrew a small carving of a bear standing on its hind legs. "Without your carving, Kend, that bear wouldn't have been half so realistic." "Well, thank you, thank you" said Kend as everyone enthused about his carving. "So, Thanj, should I carve some different bears, or can you vary this illusion beyond the model?" "Oh, ah ... I don't think you need to carve me any more bears, Kend. I can stretch this illusion enough to make them look different if we need to." Thanj put the bear figurine away, and withdrew another object from his belt pouch. "Oh, you've all got to see this. It's a new one; I've been working on it for quite a while." He held in his hand a metal cone about five ebbits tall and two-and-a-half ebbits wide at the base. It was hollow, and had some kind of spidery carvings, almost like writing, on the outside. "Another choreographed illusion, Thanj?" asked Orla. "What is it this time?" "Just you wait!" he said as he leapt up and made his way to the fireplace where Naka was playing. He whispered in her ear, then knelt down and spun the cone so that it twirled on its tip on the hearth in front of Naka. He then slipped back to the table, grinning from ear to ear. Only the people at the table had noticed him moving. The cone spun for a few more moments, and then suddenly flipped over, coming to a complete halt pointing straight up. Just as suddenly, a dancing figure appeared where there had been a cone. Naka changed the music she was playing, her notes fitting perfectly to the movements of Thanj's illusory dancer. At the abrupt change in music, most of the other people in the room turned to look at Naka. They saw the dancer, and murmurs of appreciation went up from almost every table. The illusion was perfect, and Naka was playing perfectly too, so that no one else knew that the beautiful, scantily-clad woman dancing on the hearth wasn't real. Her arms moved sinuously, but not as smoothly as her stomach and hips. She didn't move away from the spot where the cone had stopped, but she lifted her feet one after the other, shifting her hips, leaning sideways and backwards, arching her chest out, rocking her head back and forth. She even seemed to breathe in the middle of her dance movements. Elin watched for several moments, then said, "I remember her!" Thanj turned to her, his grin getting even wider. "Did I get her right? I think so, but I can't really be sure." "Oh, you did a fine job, Thanj. A fine job!" said Elin. "You have some memory, though," said Kend. "We saw Prancha dance what, a year and a half ago? Two years?" "Thank you, thank you. Yes, for some things my memory is useful." Thanj stared not at his illusion, but at the people watching his illusion, drinking in their appreciation of his craft. Eventually, the image of the dancing woman vanished, the illusion played out. The players in the room knew what had happened immediately, and started calling out praises to Thanj. The townsfolk, however, were very greatly confused by the disappearing woman, and the noise level in the room increased dramatically as they all speculated endlessly about just who or what had been dancing on the hearth. Kend said, "You know, Thanj, if you could get those special illusions to move away from their source, you wouldn't need my carvings anymore." "Oh, no, Kend," said Thanj, "no, no, no. My choreographed illusions cannot react at all to what is going on around them, while the person carrying your carving with my illusion on it can move around, act, react, do anything, and still look like the thing your carving is. No, even if I could ever get my special illusions to move, your carvings would still be just as required as ever." Kend smiled, and said, "Thank you. I suppose you're right." Thanj nodded, and left to retrieve his cone, while Kend went back to working on the rodent he was carving. It looked something like a rabbit, and something like a squirrel, and something like a ferret, and despite looking in parts like all three of those animals it also looked like it was just a dusting of magic away from coming to life. Elin asked, as she usually did, "So, when can we put on one of the serious plays, Orla?" With the cadence of a well-rehearsed speech, Orla replied, "You know as well as I do, Elin, that to do a serious play we need a proper theater. No one wants to watch a tragedy while standing in a market square. They just won't stay around long enough to get it. People who are likely to set aside their daily business for a time to watch one of our skits want diversion, not depth and plot. They want comedy, they want absurdity, mayhem, and, above all, stretch-rats. You devise me a skit with drama and pathos *and* gamboling stretch-rats, and I'll seriously consider putting it into our market-square repertoire." Everyone around the table laughed on cue, and some of the players at adjoining tables chuckled, too. Elin had once tried to write just such a skit as Orla had described, and the results *had* ended up in the repertoire -- as one more comedy/action skit. Rumor had it that Elin was still trying to write ferrets and drama into the same play. Orla whistled and held up three fingers. Moments later, one of the two waiters in the Headless Sheep Inn glided through the throng with three foaming tankards. She expertly set them in front of the three at the table and whisked the empties away, dodging pinching fingers and grabbing arms all the way back to the bar. Silence fell at the table as the three started in on their new tankards. Instinctively, they kept their ears open to the conversations filling the room with noise. The information gathering was almost second nature -- the more that the players knew about the townsfolk, the better they could fit their next two days of plays to them. One table was discussing the relative merits of two tailors in town. Orla noted several colorful turns-of-phrase that she was sure she could use at some time in the future. Another table was debating whether the wares of one particular farmer were worth buying. They went over in detail the way he plowed his fields, the products he used for fertilizer, the way he harvested his crop, even the conveyance he used to bring his wares to market. And yet, all it boiled down to was that his prices were too high and his produce, in the expert opinions of those at the table, just wasn't as fresh as it could have been. One table was relating a particular rumor that was circulating concerning the activities of someone calling himself Warlord Adamik. Various versions of the rumor were compared, and though each was different, they all held an aspect in common: that Adamik had taken up the mantle of Unifier of Farevlin. Every so often, someone would decide that the 'thousand lands' of Farevlin needed to be one land again. Adamik had been only marginally successful so far, having supposedly conquered two or three of the southernmost states in Farevlin. While he was, according to rumor, an accomplished war leader, he still had the hurdle of the fierce independence of the Farevlin states to overcome. Three people in the corner were talking about the charms of their current lovers. They were so drunk that none of them realized that they were all seeing the same person, and every one of them assured the others that their own lover was by far the superior one. Elin was intrigued by the situation, and started working out a skit based on the premise. Actual seduction, as opposed to tales of it, was sparsely represented in the room. Kend supposed that townsfolk had better places to spark than the Headless Sheep Inn. The inn door opened to let in three stragglers, and at that moment a bolt of lightning lit up the room, thunder crashing down very shortly after. The three newcomers struggled to shut the door against the suddenly howling wind, and Orla caught a clear glimpse of hail rattling to the ground. As the three new people squeezed in around the bar, conversation at several tables turned to the weather. Most were simply glad that they were inside, in good company, with such excellent entertainment as was playing by the fire. One table, however, started trading 'wild weather' stories, which made Elin and Orla, the writers, take notice. Local legends were always good fodder for skits, and the Troupe hadn't been in the south of Farevlin very often. The story that seemed most interesting concerned a figure known as Skrnahl, the Wild Hunter. Not quite a god, but not mortal at all, Skrnahl was constantly roving the worst nights. During wild storms, during the dark of the moon, or in the dead of winter, Skrnahl rode his giant demon stag across the land, with a crown of lightning circling his head and fire flashing from his eyes and dripping from his sword. He drove a flock of invisible hounds before him that cleared his path of anything living. He especially hunted cheats, bullies, liars: people who picked excessively on the weak. Elin privately wondered about that: she guessed that stormy or dark nights were good times to get rid of people who caused trouble, and blaming it on Skrnahl served to divert suspicion and serve as a warning to those of a similar ilk to the recently 'hunted'. The evening wore on, and eventually it was time to leave the revelers behind. Kend stood, and held out his hand to Orla. There was a nervous pause, and Elin stood instead, taking Kend's hand. Kend said in a confused voice, "But, it is Orla's turn tonight. You were last night, Elin. What ...?" Orla said, "Ah ... I'm not feeling well tonight, Kend, so I asked to switch with Elin. So ..." Kend look relieved, and said, "No, that's fine, just fine. I hope you feel better, Orla." He drew Elin close to his side, and together they walked to the stairs that led to the lodgings. Not very long after, Naka ceased her playing, much to the disapproval of the crowd. She walked over to the table and sat down beside Orla. The crowd wanted Naka to play more, and as long as she was in the room, they continued to implore her to take up her instrument again. Naka was very tired, so with some brief apologies, she and Orla made their way to the stairs as well, hand in hand. ======================================================================== Friendships of Stone Part 5: Corambis and Taishent by Mark A. Murray Dargon, Naia 6, 1015 Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 10-6 Corambis sat in a chair behind his large green table. Carved into the table was the Wheel of Life. Nine constellations divided the wheel. Eight of them, Knight, Oak, Harp, Ship, Maiden, Torch, Fox, and Falcon divided the wheel into eight divisions, while the ninth constellation, Mistweaver, took up the very center. Symbols inscribed on the outer edge of the wheel subdivided the constellations. These symbols were Air, Scepter, Fire, Sword, Earth, Shield, Water, and Crown. He had cast many readings on the table. Judging by the crowd outside that he had to push through upon his arrival, today would be no different. He called to Thuna, his attendant, to let the first one in. There were two rooms in the building: one for his castings and another for Thuna. Thuna's room was much smaller and was used as a foyer for the customers to pay or wait temporarily. There was no answer from Thuna that she had heard Corambis, but she brought in a young man before he could call out again. "I would like to know if my wife has been with any other men," the man said at once. "Sit, and we shall see," Corambis told him. Once the man was seated, Corambis pulled ten wooden discs out of a bag. Nine discs were blue while one was red. "Under what sign were you born?" "The Oak," the man answered. Corambis nodded, and placed the red disc on the area of the Oak and placed the other nine in a pile on Mistweaver. "Pick up the discs, hold them in your hands, think of your question, and then drop them on the table. You may say a prayer before throwing them if you wish." The man scooped up the discs, gave a silent prayer, and dropped them on the table. The discs bounced but once before settling on the table. Corambis studied the discs, and then asked, "Do you have children?" "No. I am newly married." "You have no children?" Corambis asked again, studying the young man's face, trying to read any lies. He didn't care about the fact that the man was newly married and unsure of his wife's fidelity. He was interested in the casting and its meaning. "No." "Do you have younger brothers or sisters?" "No, I am the youngest. I have two older brothers and one older sister." "Do you work with the earth?" "I am apprenticed to a merchant that ships things out at the docks. I am on a boat more oft than not." "I am sorry," Corambis told the man. "I can find no answer here to your question." "How can that be? You --" "It can *be*, because sometimes Fate chooses not to answer a question," Corambis said, interrupting him. "Now go. I will read for you another day, but today there is no answer here for you." The man silently got up and left. Corambis was thankful that he did not protest as he saw the anger on the man's face. Studying the discs one more time, Corambis shook his head. Things like this occur every once in a while. He hoped that it would not be like this the whole day. He called to Thuna to send in the next one. An older woman came in and wanted to know if her husband would be all right. He was sick and bedridden. She worried about him. Corambis told her to cast the discs. She picked them up, muttered a prayer, and dropped them. They bounced and settled onto the table. Corambis knew that the answer given was not for the woman, because the discs were in almost the same place as before. He extended his apologies to the woman and quickly ushered her out. Thuna watched as Corambis softly pushed the woman out the door before closing it. "Thuna," he said, turning to her, "Close the shop. I will take no more customers today." Moving back into his room, he picked up the discs in both hands and dropped them to the table. While they did bounce more than once, their ending positions were very close to the previous two readings. "Thuna!" he yelled. "Run and get Dyann. Quickly! There are things happening, and I need his help." Corambis could hear Thuna get up from her chair. She started to bolt the door shut to keep other potential customers out when someone started banging on the door. "Open the door!" a voice yelled from outside. "I've closed the shop *and* gotten Dyann," Thuna said, smiling. She had recognized the voice on the other side of the door. She walked to the curtain that separated the two rooms and moved it aside so that she could see Corambis. "Do you want me to let him in?" "Yes, you impish thing you, let him in!" Thuna let the curtain drop as she turned to open the door for Dyann. "Corambis," Dyann yelled as he walked through the door, ignoring Thuna. "I've had the strangest dream!" "The castings I've done today have all been alike," Corambis told him, not listening to Dyann's mention of a dream. "Yes, yes, but this dream was truly strange. There was this field of green wheat and -- the same?" "Very nearly the same," Corambis replied. "Come, cast the discs. I am anxious to see what comes of your tossing them." "How many readings did you do that were the same?" Dyann asked as he stepped over to the green table. "Two readings for customers, and I threw them once," Corambis said as Dyann picked up the discs. "All the same?" Dyann asked as he dropped the discs onto the table. They bounced and landed in nearly the same place as the previous castings. "The same as what you've just thrown," Corambis told him. "What would you make of that?" "Body," Dyann said, pointing, "is on Earth. Future Adversary is on the Fox. A very cunning adversary, I would say about that. Body on Earth ... I don't know about that part, though. Course of Action is on the Ship. Movement is needed soon, I'd guess. Spirit is on the Air. The Heart is on the Maiden." "Children," Corambis interrupted. "Heart on the Maiden is children." "Future Ally is on Mistweaver," Dyann continued. "The red disc is on the Oak. We're Oaks. I'd say that we have a very powerful adversary and our allies are either unknown to us or non-existent, but definitely out of our hands. The Body on Earth with the Spirit on Air tells me that someone will die. With the Course of Action on the Ship, it will be soon. And all this involves children." "I believe," Corambis said, slowly, "that it is the children who are going to die. And soon. But I think the Ship is there for us, too. I think we must act soon, but to do what, I don't know. Save the children, maybe. Our allies are unknown because we have no control over that. Either they will be there or they won't depending on their own actions." "Children!" Dyann yelled, suddenly. "What?" "My dream. I dreamt of a house near a field of green wheat. Near this house were several large men digging a grave. After the grave was done, they picked up these stone statues and threw them in the grave. These stone statues were of men, but the statues themselves were only seven or so hands high. Those statues had to be children. A smaller version of a man!" "You think your dream and my castings are connected?" "Yes!" "What do we do about it?" Corambis asked. "We find the house and save the children." "A house with green wheat?" "It was a dream. Dreams aren't always the same as reality. It's probably a field of new, fresh wheat that's still green." "It's Naia. Wheat hasn't even started to grow yet," Corambis argued. "What else do you remember about your dream?" "That's it," Dyann answered. "What I told you is all that I remember." "Not a very good start, is it?" Corambis sighed as he leaned back in his chair. "You know," Dyann said, "we've been all over the outside of Dargon in our searches for herbs and such." "And?" "And we should know the farmers' fields fairly well by now. But I can't remember where the fields of wheat grow." "Oh! I see. You still think your dream really meant a field of wheat. If you hadn't dreamt of wheat, you wouldn't have known what kind of field it was. Spring fields all look alike. Hmmm ..." "I remember a field of some kind of grass southeast of here," Dyann said. "It was a field of grass all right," Corambis retorted. "Just a field of grass. That was the field the farmer wasn't planting on last year. Remember?" "Right. I remember it now. He asked us to pick up the rocks while we were out searching for herbs and plants in his field," Dyann chuckled. "It's no wonder he wasn't planting in it with all those rocks. I wasn't about to pick them up for him." "We did find some rare mushrooms, even if they were almost dead," Corambis said. "That was all we found. Even on our way back when we searched the pine grove, we didn't find a single mushroom there. And we always found mushrooms in the pine grove." "That's it!" Corambis shouted. "You've just found your field!" "What? What are you yelling about?" "Your green field of wheat! The field next to the pine grove was a large hayfield, wasn't it? Not exactly wheat, but close enough. And the pine grove is green year round." "Come on then," Dyann said, heading out the door. "If your castings are right, we don't have much time!" Corambis grabbed his cloak as he followed Dyann out the door. "Where are you two going now?" Thuna asked as the two older men rushed past her. The closing of the door was her only answer. "From what I overheard, a trip to Jerid's office is in order," she muttered to herself. "Those two are most certainly going to get themselves into trouble. Children in danger, hmmph. More like they're the ones going to be in danger." "We should get some of the guard," Corambis told Dyann. "Bah, if we run across a patrol, we will stop and get them. But do you really want to waste the time hunting one down?" "No, I suppose not," sighed Corambis. "Not if time matters." "Besides," Dyann continued, "what is there that two of Dargon's most powerful mages can't handle?" "Don't joke about that," Corambis warned. "We both know the difference between common opinion and truth. Our reputations are going to get us in trouble one of these days." "Maybe," Dyann said. "I see the causeway," Corambis said, changing the subject. The two turned south just before the causeway onto River Road. Just south of that intersection stood one of Dargon's main gates. The two walked through the open gate. "I thought the pine grove was close to the gate?" Dyann said. "You say that all the time," Corambis replied. "It's about a league away from the gate." "It always seems closer on the way back." "Everything always seems a shorter distance on the way back," Corambis explained. "It is the way of the world. Getting to one's destination is ever rough, hard, and strewn with obstacles. It is unfamiliar and takes longer to get there. Once there, the way back seems easier and quicker, but of course it's easier. You've just gone over it and all the obstacles. You know it better now than you did before." "We've walked this road to and from many times," Dyann countered. "Why does it always seem to take longer to get there?" "I was speaking metaphorically," Corambis replied. "You were speaking something all right. Rambling metaphorically more likely, though." The banter continued as they walked down the road. "Look, there's the pine grove," Corambis said. "There is only one house next to it." "Yes," Dyann said. "Last summer that house was empty, too. What do you wager that it's still empty now?" "Your money," Corambis laughed. "Quiet!" Dyann ordered. "Did you hear that?" "No, what was it?" "Listen." Both stopped on the road and stood quietly listening. They could hear several birds nearby and the muffled sound of the river Coldwell. Just as Corambis started to speak, they heard a scream. "Sounds like a child or a woman," Corambis said. "Child," Dyann replied. "Or my dream and your casting is wrong. Come on." Dyann picked up the pace and headed for the house. When they got closer, they could hear a child yelling and screaming and crying. The sounds seemed to be coming from behind the house near the pine grove. Both men hurried around the house. When they got to the back of the house, they saw three large men carrying off two children. One of the boys was screaming and crying while the other boy was quiet. "Stop!" Dyann yelled as he ran toward them. Corambis was right behind him as he watched one of the men plunge a knife into the quiet boy, causing the boy to scream. The other boy stopped kicking and yelling and fell silent. "I said stop!" Dyann yelled louder when the other boy started screaming again. "In the name of Duke Clifton Dargon, I said stop!" Dyann was surprised to see that the three men stopped and stared at him. Then, suddenly, they turned and ran into the pine grove, leaving the two boys behind. "What did you do, Dyann?" Corambis asked as they reached the boys. "Nothing but yell," Dyann replied. Corambis knelt by the fallen boy and examined him. The sound of horses could be heard behind them. "He's alive. Can't tell how deep the wound is, but he still draws a strong breath." Corambis said. "The militia," Dyann said. "That's why those men ran. The militia is coming." "Eh?" Corambis muttered as he stole a glance behind him. Sure enough, four men on horses were drawing close. Behind them, he could see more guards running on foot. "It doesn't look good," Dyann said, looking down on the boy who was stabbed. "Dyann!" Corambis yelled. "Quiet! We'll save him!" "Matthew?" the standing boy whispered. "What's that?" Dyann asked. "Is his name Matthew or is that your name?" "It's his name," Ben answered as he knelt next to Matthew. "Is he going to be okay? He's my best friend." Ben looked up, teary eyed, at the two old sages. "I can't tell how far the blade went into his body, but his breathing is strong," Corambis answered, holding back his own tears. "Still, we have to stop the blood flow. But we'll make sure he lives." "You can't die, Matthew," Ben said. He reached out gently to feel Matthew's stomach. Blood was still trickling out. "You can't die," Ben repeated. He placed both hands over the knife wound and stared at them. His hands began to glow. Corambis and Dyann just watched. Ben's hands glowed a little brighter as he held them on Matthew's stomach. Matthew moaned, but the flow of blood stopped. "What's going on here?" Jerid said from behind them as he pulled his mount to a stop. "Thuna shows up at my office telling me you two are going to get killed and that there are children in danger." Corambis and Dyann blocked Jerid's view so that he couldn't see either of the boys fully. Getting off his horse, Jerid walked over to them. "Who's on the ground, father?" As he stepped between Corambis and his father, he saw who it was and quickly knelt to examine Matthew. "What happened? Ben, are you all right? This is a knife wound, although it's not very deep. We'll still need to get him to a healer. Who did this?" "Three men. They ran off into the pine grove," Corambis answered. "Did you see that?" "Yes," Dyann said. "He's a bit young and the wound didn't heal all the way, but he's got the talent for a fine healer." "See what?" Jerid asked. "The men running away? I saw them. Koren took some of my men into the pine grove after them. You didn't see them ride past you?" "Ben just healed that boy," Corambis told him. "How did you do that?" Dyann asked Ben. "It was a gift from a friend," Ben replied. "Matthew's going to live by the looks of things," Jerid said, interrupting them. "Can you two get him to a healer? That wound still needs to be attended to. I'm going to see about those three men that ran." "Sharin and Tara," Ben whispered. "What's that?" Jerid asked. "Sharin and Tara are in the house. In the cellar." "Come on!" Dyann yelled as he turned toward the house. "Father!" Jerid hissed. Dyann stopped and turned to his son. "The boy needs a healer," Jerid stated. "You and Corambis are the closest we have to that right now. I'll search the house." Not waiting for a reply, Jerid ran to the house. He cautiously opened the door and listened for sounds inside. "Lieutenant?" a guard called his name from behind him. Jerid ignored him and stepped inside the house. The guard followed. Both men moved slowly through the room as they listened and looked for possible attackers. "The cellar," Jerid whispered as he turned the corner and saw a door and a set of steps. "The girls are in the cellar." The guard moved ahead into another room while Jerid looked up the stairs. Seeing and hearing nothing, he turned back to the door and opened it. A set of stairs wound down into the cellar. "Tara? Sharin?" he called down into the darkness. He heard muffled sounds, but it was too dark to tell what was down there. "I don't see anyone here," the guard told Jerid as he returned from the other room. "The front door is wide open. Whoever was here is gone now." "Find a lamp," Jerid ordered. "There's one in the room we first entered," the guard replied. A moment later, he returned with a lit lamp. Moving down the stairs, the light flickered ahead of them and slowly lit the cellar. Jerid saw both girls when he reached the bottom of the steps. They were bound, gagged and dirty. The whole place smelled like rotten food. "Are you alright?" the guard asked as he started to untie them. "Yes," Tara answered once the gag was gone. "I will be," Sharin replied, "Once you get me out of here." She started to stand but her legs gave out and she collapsed on the ground. "Maybe not. My legs won't hold me." Jerid and the guard carried her upstairs and outside to fresh air. Tara followed close behind. Duke Clifton Dargon sat in his large, regal chair in his large audience chamber in his keep. He listened to each of the people in front of him as they told their story. Lieutenant Jerid Taishent related what he knew about the whole incident first. Captain Adrunian Koren was next, followed by Corambis, Dyann, Tara, Sharin, and finally Matthew and Ben. Jerid explained that the house had been empty when he had searched it, except for the two girls in the cellar. They had been dirty and bruised, but otherwise fine. Koren told how he and the guards had rode down the fleeing men and captured them. They had given up without much of a fight. Corambis and Dyann kept interrupting each other in relating what they knew, but they told of how they had come to the house and what they had seen when they reached it. Sharin told Dargon that although they had treated her coursely, they had valued her talents more than anything else. Tara spoke of what she knew and how the events in the house had transpired after her failed attempt at a rescue. Matthew and Ben took the longest in their views on what happened. Matthew was still wearing bandages, but he was healing quickly. As Dargon listened, he realized he should have let the boys speak first, but protocol insisted that the officers of the guard go first. It was a long and involved story and he knew parts of it already. His friend Lansing Bartol was standing to his right listening as well. "Am I to understand that the kidnapper is still free?" Dargon asked when all were finished relating their parts. "Yes sire," Jerid replied. "He was not in the house when I searched it. He must have fled when we were outside tending to Matthew." "And that he was not a noble?" "Yes sire," Koren said. "We are certain of that fact." "From the men you captured?" "They told us everything they knew," Jerid said. "Did you torture those facts out of them?" "No sire," Jerid replied. "Once they were brought back to the gaol, they told us everything they knew freely and of their own will." "He is a thief and a murderer, milord, but not a noble," Koren said. "He robbed a passing caravan, killing all and taking on the identity of one of the murdered traders. From there, he used that identity and told everyone he was a noble from Magnus." "The men you captured told you that and you believe them?" "They did tell us that, and we are checking on the truth of what they said," Jerid replied. "We sent riders to Shireton, Heahun, and Kenna to see if they recognized the trader's name. The story could be true." "I want to be informed of what you find as soon as you hear anything," Dargon ordered. "It will be one less burden if it was a noble. If it wasn't ... That's a situation I'd rather avoid confronting, especially now that we need all the nobles' support for rebuilding the town and duchy. The war has overtaxed us all. If this thief and murderer isn't found, I don't want anyone to know that he wasn't a noble." "Milord?" Jerid asked. "Do you understand, Captain Koren?" Duke Dargon asked. "No milord," he answered. "Lansing?" "Yes, milord," Lansing answered. "Tell them what you think," Dargon said. "If the thief was *not* a noble and word gets out, then every thief, murderer, and bandit with some intelligence will attempt to do the same thing. Whether they succeed or not would not matter. It could become a very large problem and the duchy would be in more turmoil." "Do you understand now?" Dargon asked. Koren and Jerid nodded. "Good. "You need to find this thief and make sure that he does not tell anyone what he did. Do you understand that, also?" He leaned forward and stared at the two men. "He is not to tell *anyone*," he emphasized. "Yes, milord," Jerid replied. "No one," Koren added. "You two are to be commended on what you have done so far. But see that you do finish this affair." Dargon leaned back into his chair and turned towards Corambis and Dyann. "It seems that you two are to be commended also. Your timely intervention saved at least one of the boys' lives, maybe both. However," Dargon's eyes narrowed, "if you put yourself in danger again without alerting my guard, I'll have you thrown into gaol. Is *that* understood." "It is, milord," Corambis replied. "Yes, milord," Dyann said. "Tara," Dargon addressed the young girl, "you are also included. You're lucky to be alive. I will *not* have people going off on their own and endangering the lives of others. You *will* alert the guard if there is a next time. I pray there won't be, but if there is ..." "Yes, milord," Tara said a bit weakly. "Sharin," Dargon began, "I understand that most of your sculptures were returned unharmed. I also am told that you are a very good sculptor. When you get settled back in and find time, I would like to commission a sculpture or two from you. I can't compensate you for your losses for what happened in my town without raising some suspicions somewhere. This is my way of doing that without arousing those suspicions." "Thank you, milord," Sharin replied. "I would be happy to sculpt something for you." "And you two," Dargon addressed Ben and Matthew. "Will our paths always cross?" Dargon watched the confusion in the boy's eyes. "You don't remember me, do you?" "No, milord," Ben said. Matthew looked hard at Dargon and then walked forward to stand in front of him. "Yes," Matthew replied. "I do remember you now. We ran into your guards. I recognized him," Matthew turned his head toward Lansing Bartol, "but not you. You've changed. I remember a light in your eyes and your smiles when we ran into you and your guards. You're ... different ... The light's gone and you haven't smiled since we've been here. And your arm is gone." "Yes, child," Dargon sighed. "I have changed. The war changed us all. I, too, remember the first time we met. It seems like a lifetime ago. I wish that only my arm had changed, but ..." Ben walked up to Dargon and threw his arms around him in a tight hug. "Rachel says," Ben said, "that nothing changes that can't be turned to a good light. She says someone called Cephas told her that. So you see, the light in your eyes can come back." "The innocence of children saves us all," Lansing Bartol laughed. Dargon's eyes grew wide and then he smiled. "If only the children were the rulers of the kingdoms," Dargon chuckled. "Come now, off my lap. Should anyone come in, I would have to throw them in the gaol to stop the rumors that I've a soft heart." "You wouldn't do that would you?" Ben asked as he stepped back. "No," Dargon laughed. "No, I wouldn't." Dargon turned his attention to Ben. "I've been told that you might have a healer's touch. I've arranged for an apprenticeship with Elizabeth here at the keep." Turning to Matthew he said, "And there's an apprenticeship in the militia open for you." Sitting back in his chair, Dargon relaxed a bit. "You've brought some small light back into my life, both of you. I am thankful for that. Should you ever wish to visit me, you have an open invitation to do so. I'll see to it that my staff knows that." "Thank you," Matthew replied. "How about tomorrow?" Ben asked. Lansing laughed. "You did say it was open," Lansing said. "Not tomorrow," Dargon said. "I have a wife and a daughter that I need to spend time with. It has been far too long since I did so. In fact, today is a better day to do that. Lansing, you can fill in for me for the rest of the day." "Milord?" Lansing asked, his voice squeeking just a bit higher than normal. "It's time you started being more than just captain of the militia. I think the meetings with the local merchants are a good place to start," Dargon chuckled. "I think I liked the other you better," Lansing replied. "Local merchants, indeed. You always hated those meetings." "You'll come to like them, I'm sure of it," Dargon said, a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye. ========================================================================