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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 11
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DargonZine Distributed: 11/03/2000
Volume 13, Number 11 Circulation: 742
========================================================================
Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Magestorm 5 Mark A. Murray Ober, 1017
Beloved Mark Murray and 1017
Rena Deutsch
A Fine Blade Mike Adams and Seber 17, 1017
Victor Cardoso
Talisman Seven 1 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Yuli 1-5, 1013
No Pity to Spare Rhonda Gomez Naia 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 <dargon@shore.net> 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 13-11, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright November, 2000 by
the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
<ornoth@shore.net>
I made some promises in recent Editorials. I promised an issue with
five new stories by six different writers. I also promised to balance
out our recent preponderance of multi-part serials with more single-part
short stories. Well, it's time for me to deliver, and this issue should
do the trick. It's filled with a diverse collection of short fiction
from a number of writers. I hope you enjoy it! Here's what you have to
look forward to ...
The first story is the conclusion of Mark Murray's ongoing
"Magestorm" serial. Having reached a surprising climax in the previous
issue, this chapter concludes the series from a different point of view.
However, this won't be the end of the storyline, as Mark has further
plans taking form even now.
Mark also teamed up with fellow writer Rena Deutsch on "Beloved", a
poignant story told in one of Dargon's sketchier taverns.
That story is followed by the second co-authored piece in this
issue, "A Fine Blade". This story was partially complete when original
author Mike Adams left the project due to lack of time. However,
collaboration doesn't necessarily have to occur at the same time, and
the story was picked up and finished (with Mike's blessing) by
contemporary Dargon writer Victor Cardoso.
The only other serial in this issue is the first part of Dafydd's
"Talisman Seven", which begins a new thread in his very lengthy
"Talisman" saga. After twenty-four chapters you may be wondering if
this series will ever conclude; I can tell you that Dafydd has an
outline of the remaining chapters, and there is an end in sight. Still,
it's great writing, and if you haven't read the previous episodes, I can
heartily encourage following its thread through our back issues. The
storyline began two years ago in DargonZine 12-1.
And the issue wraps up with our second piece from Rhonda Gomez,
the haunting "No Pity to Spare".
This issue exemplifies what DargonZine is all about: bringing new
writers together, and presenting their stories to you. I hope you enjoy
the artistic work they have freely shared with you through the medium of
this magazine.
So having fulfilled all my promises, I suppose it's time to make
some new ones! Our next issue, DargonZine 13-12, will follow very
closely on the heels of this one and will feature our third new writer
of the year and the return of a writer who had dropped out of sight for
a while. And if everything works out according to plan, we should have
the unexpected pleasure of a thirteenth issue before the end of the
year. I'll keep working on that, but for now you should just enjoy the
great stories we have for you in this issue.
========================================================================
Magestorm
Part 5
by Mark A. Murray
<mashudo@netzero.net>
Ober, 1017
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 13-9
"Free!" I yell as the rush of magic twists and warps around me like
a tornado dancing upon the plains. It is wild magic at first, but as my
prison walls weaken, I grab handfuls of that harsh, life-giving energy
and swim in its cold, hard currents.
My soul is free! *Free!* As I stand upon the solid rock stairs and
gaze down into the room below, I search for a body I can possess. The
physical air nestles my soul like an old lover's soft touch.
They stand there so fragile, so delicate, not knowing the power
just above them. The female has been here for a short time. She has
long, wavy red hair, high cheekbones, a small nose, and full lips. Her
eyes glow a stark green against her pale skin. She has a round, curvy
figure and she moves with an effortless grace. Megan. No, I decide. That
body would not last long.
Embraced in her arms is a strong man. Raphael. Just a bit taller
than her, he is wider at the shoulders, more muscular, and radiates
danger. Silver with red lights is flowing through his aura. No, I
decide. I would be fighting him all the while I possess him.
Ah, poor Niatha, looking lost and confused. You still don't know
who or what you are. You were a plaything I had created, a small piece
of dirt beneath my feet that I had trampled on. If I had not found a use
for you, I would have destroyed you and created something else. Perhaps
I still shall, if I get out of this accursed tower.
There! The boy. Lylle. Young, sturdy, and open. He is the one! He
is a street rat that knows only hardship and has no knowledge of the
arcane arts. His body will hold the magical energy that I need. And he
yearns for power and magic. Yes, he will do.
I open my senses to the tower to test the last remaining prison
walls. They hold true. Augh! It will not be! I will be free and I will
kill every Eelail I see. They imprisoned me here during our war with
them. They had no right to leave me here! I'll burn them from within and
without. I'll rot their hands and feet and watch them crawl in their own
vomit.
I feel my rage push against the magical wards still left on the
tower. My soul takes humanoid form and glows. I start down the stairs
towards my human receptacle.
"Illiena?" the mage asks, taking a step towards me. I had entered
his dreams and made him believe I was his goddess Illiena. The pathetic
fool! The other humans turn to me with confusion and fear spread widely
across their faces.
"No!" my brother Aechrose yells from somewhere above me. I would
have killed him long ago, but I had thought I would need his help to
break free.
"Yes!" I reply. "We are free!"
"What?" Merrif, the mage, asks, shocked and frozen. "You're not
Illiena!"
"You pathetic thing," I say. I should kill him now, but the look of
betrayal on his face is worth keeping him alive. "No, I am not Illiena.
I used your dreams to bring you here to set me free!"
"Nathrod!" my brother yells. He is coming down the stairs behind
me. "We are free! Don't walk down the same road as before."
"Do you believe," I say, turning to look up the stairs, "Aechrose,
oh, brother of mine, that the Eelail will let us go?" If I manipulate
him, he will aid me in breaking the wards.
"It has been a long time," Aechrose stops and replies. "They will
never forget, but they may forgive."
"They won't!" I yell. You're a whimpering fool, I curse mentally. A
weak, useless creature that pretends to be a mage. If I didn't need all
of my energy, I'd kill you right now.
"I will not be imprisoned again!" I hiss at him. I can feel the
Eelail now. They are rushing to get here. No time! I race down the
stairs and run straight into Lylle. It is pathetically easy to lure his
spirit down into a black void with dreams of magic and power and then
take over his physical body.
"Young again," I sigh with pleasure. A myriad of colors assaults my
eyes as I look about me. These are more pastel to the stark contrast I
was used to. Tingling, itching, and sometimes painful sensations travel
from my skin to my mind. I have forgotten what it was like to have a
physical body. Before I can get comfortable with the various senses, I
feel the Eelail mages' probing of the tower. "I'm leaving. Are you
coming with me, brother?"
"I won't let you go," Aechrose threatens.
"The Eelail are close! Come, let us flee together!" I reply as I
start for the door. I will have need of his magics to battle the Eelail.
I feel Aechrose move, but don't look back to see where.
"You must let me in," Aechrose pleads. "I can't do anything to stop
him without a host body. You must let me in."
"They made me!" Niatha screams. "I remember now! They created me!"
"Yes, little one," I answer as I step through the doorway. Wood
planks creak under my weight. "We did and you are what set us free." I
arrive at the other room and stop. Dopkalfar warriors stand in front of
the outer doorway. My muscles tense and a grating sound echoes
throughout my mind. I'm grinding my teeth as I gather magical energies.
"You are in my way! I am a god here!" I scream at them. With a
popping sound in my ears and a chill down my spine, I release magic.
"Die!" Flinging my hands outward, a funnel of wind sweeps straight for
the door, heading outside, taking Dopkalfar with it. Bodies tumble and
crash as the wind rips them from the room.
"I can't enter without permission!" Aechrose pleads. He is begging
a human in the other room. Begging! Fretheod do not beg! Fretheod mages
take what they want! I will kill him after I kill the Eelail. "You must
let me in! We can't let him get out of the tower!" he screeches.
More Dopkalfar stand in the doorway to replace the ones blown away.
They are holding swords and daggers, and behind them there are more
waiting to enter. "Augh," I scream mentally in exasperation. There are
too many. There has to be another way out! I push my senses out to the
tower itself. There are windows here to allow my physical body an access
out and the magical barriers on them are not as strong.
"Let them kill you!" I yell as I turn and fly up the stairs of the
tower. "I will be free!" As I gain the third floor, I find a round room
where a tear exists in the magical fabric that was my prison.
"No!" The tear isn't large enough to let me through and it won't
widen. I can feel the Eelail mages holding it together. Heat spreads
throughout my body and my vision blurs at the edges as I rage against my
prison.
The room is circular with two windows looking out into the bright,
sunny day. I strike a pane and it vibrates with my physical abuse, but
does not break. "Is there no end to my torture?" I scream. Looking
around, I try to find something to use to break the glass, but the room
is empty. Running, I leap at a window and curl into a ball. The window
resounds with my body and throws me back onto the floor. Rough wooden
slats rake small thin furrows along my arm. I get up and push at the
glass, only this time I use a fire magic. Perhaps I can melt it.
I feel my brother enter the room. He is inside the old mage,
Merrif. "There are too many of them for me alone," I say. Maybe I can
use his energy to break through this window. "Together, we can break
free."
"The world has changed, but we have not," Aechrose says. "It is not
our time now. We should have died long ago. Even now, we use other lives
to prolong ours." I hear the door shut and a bolt slam into place. Small
scratching sounds come from the other side of the door: Niatha. Has my
brother shut the door to save Niatha or just to keep me in?
"We can be free!" I urge, trying one last desperate attempt to gain
his cooperation. I can kill him later.
"We can never be free in this life," he replies. "I want to live as
much as you, but not like this. I don't want to use other people like
this, forever sharing thoughts and memories. And I will not go back to
the prison we just left! The only other choice is to walk on to another
life!"
"To die!" I hiss and turn around. Energy crackles around me. Small
arcs of fire flare up and then die around my fists. "Don't make it sound
like it is something nice!" He will not help me.
"To die, then," he agrees. "What else is there?"
"To live! We can find our people and once again be part of the
empire!"
"Our people are an empire no longer!" he yells. "You've picked up
the strands of thought from your host. You know it is gone!"
"I will not go back to that prison!" I shout, rage building inside
me. I feel energy play with my hair. "I will not die! I will live!"
"I won't let you leave here!" he says.
"You won't have --" I begin. A bolt of magic strikes me in the
chest and I am thrown to the floor a second time. There will not be
another! Gasping, I manage to stand and look at him. I can't believe he
has actually struck me. Perhaps my brother is a mage after all.
"Don't," he pleads. I am ready for him this time and as he sent
another bolt, I knock it aside. I've had enough. Twirling a small pocket
of fire, I shoot it into his face. He screams. I smile. Poor little
brother doesn't like to play with fire. I feel almost whole again as I
gather all the magic about me and suck it inside.
Walking over to Aechrose, I pick him up and throw him against the
wall. I have chosen well as this body is fit and healthy. As I start
toward him, Lylle's essence surges upward and fights to be free.
I had thought Lylle to be lost amidst the darkness, but I was
wrong. He had been biding his time to strike and I forgot about him.
Lylle pushes his way into this body's consciousness and tries to force
me out. I try shoving him away, but he is strong. Aechrose tosses a ball
of energy at me and I fling it aside, but it costs me. Lylle takes
control and steps back. I divert my energy to him and finally dislodge
him from the body. His screams cause me to smile as I turn back to my
brother.
Aechrose is walking toward me when the door behind him flies open.
Dopkalfar stand poised to enter the room. They are surveying us. As
Aechrose attacks me with a magical blast of energy, I block it and watch
the Dopkalfar strike. They are taking us down one by one. Swords pierce
Aechrose's back while magic twists his soul. He staggers to his knees
and I watch in fascination. The Dopkalfar's magic is a different kind
than I remember them having. I study what it does as my brother falls to
the floor and dies.
Flinging fire from my hands, I burn one and he falls screaming to
the floor. Pushing outwards, I send a wave of magic through their
bodies, ripping and rending anything I can inside them. Screams
reverberate off of the glass panes as a few of them die.
They try to physically reach me, but I light the air with fire.
Breathing in for them becomes a burning sensation and they fight to
negate my magic. There are only two left when I sweep one aside with a
small whirlwind. The other can't withstand the previous magic and falls
to the floor.
I thought I had some time to break free when another Dopkalfar runs
straight toward me. I build a line of fire between us, but he pays it no
mind. His hair sizzles and his skin blisters as he plows into me.
The wall slams into my back as something inside me cracks and pops.
Pain and fire explode inside my head. As if that wasn't enough, I see
through my slit eyelids that a Ljosalfar enters the room. Ice forms
around him and slides along the wall towards me.
The Dopkalfar holds me against the wall. I push fire down into him,
but he doesn't move. Freezing pain lances through me and I see steam
burst from my mouth as I scream. Icicles pierce my arms and legs and
gut. The fire within meets the cold from without and fizzles.
A blue haze covers my eyes as I cough and spit. "Enough!" I scream
mentally. "I will not die here!" I reach out, gather some residual
magic, and fling it outward as the Dopkalfar spins away. Both Eelail are
stunned and I gather a final spell to kill them.
Fangs and claws and fur assault my face and I have to turn my
attention to Niatha. The creature I had created wraps itself around my
head. "Not now," I think, panicking. "The Eelail will recover and I will
be trapped again." Pain rips down the sides of my head and teeth sink
into my cheek. I start to scream when something pushes through my chest,
followed by a heavy body forcing me back against the wall.
I scream, but Niatha's body muffles it. I bite down hard into
Niatha and feel him let go. "Free," I think. "I want to be ... free." I
won't die here. There are other ways to be free; I can't see, pain is a
sharp throb throughout my body, but I still command magic. And it will
set me free.
Gathering all that I can, I push and pull the magic of the tower
until it splits and bursts. If I could move, I would have broken the
window to escape. It is too late for that now, but not too late to suck
the life and soul from the Eelail and then spiritually inhabit one of
the empty bodies. "Free ..." I whisper as I raise my hand.
I feel the magic working as Dopkalfar spirits are rent from their
physical bodies. I can feel other magic battling my own and I push
against it one final time. It is time to go. I start to shake loose the
physical body so that I can find another, more suitable one.
Sight returns to one eye as part of my soul gains its freedom. It
is one last look at the room and I shake in horror to see the Dopkalfar
in front of me, knife raised.
"No!" I scream, but no one hears. "Not now, not when I am so close!
So close ..."
========================================================================
Beloved
by Mark Murray and Rena Deutsch
<Mashudo@netzero.net> and <Rena3@hotmail.com>
Dargon, 1017
With a sigh, Nai reached out to grasp the thick wooden latch. As
his large hand closed around it, a smaller, more delicate hand touched
his arm. Soft, smooth fingers traced paths through his black hair until
a cool, dry palm rested on his skin.
Looking to his right, he waited for his companion to speak. Her
head was tilted up to look him in the eyes while a mass of wavy black
hair danced in the wind. Small freckles along her cheek accented her
small, upturned nose and full lips. Some sort of blue dye painted her
lips to match her bright blue eyes. Most men found her dazzling and
charming. His love only had room for one woman, and she was gone.
"We can always play another song, Nai," she said.
"No," he replied. "It helps me remember her. I don't want to forget
her."
Looking past Nai at their other traveling companion, she pleaded,
"Kal, it's too sad. We want to get paid and if they're all crying,
who'll pay us?"
Nai looked to his left at Kalanu to see what his opinion was. Kal
always had something to say about everything.
"Simona's right, Nai. We need to get paid. And you won't forget
her; she'll always be part of you." Taking Nai's hand, Kal placed it
upon Nai's chest. "She's right here!"
"Straight." Nai nodded. Turning to Simona, he asked, "Will you play
her song before we go to sleep tonight?"
"Tonight I'll play it just for you, Nai." Simona patted the lyre on
her side. "I have one in mind that will do nicely."
Nai pulled the latch, opened the door, and let his companions enter
the Shattered Spear ahead of him. The inn was dimly lit; it took his
eyes a few moments to adjust.
"Close the door!" A voice bellowed from the left side of the room.
Nai quickly shut the door then took a look around the room. The inn
was nearly full. His trained eye spotted an empty table in the far
corner. He pointed it out to Simona and Kal and watched as the two made
their way through the crowd. Nai looked around for Jamis, the innkeeper.
It took him a few moments to locate the corpulent form among the people,
but then he found him standing in front of a barrel, pouring a tankard
of ale. Nai worked his way towards Jamis and tapped him on the shoulder.
"What do you want?" The innkeeper sounded annoyed at the
interruption.
"I have an offer to make you," Nai began.
"Why should I be interested?" Jamis put the tankard to his lips and
gulped its contents without stopping.
Nai waited until the innkeeper finished his ale before he
continued. "I can help you make some extra money tonight." Nai could see
the interest in Jamis' eyes and directed his attention to the table at
which Simona and Kal were seated.
"Money!" a loud, hard voice echoed behind them. Turning, Nai saw a
large woman staring at him. She was just a bit taller than he was, but
she seemed to tower over him. A long-sleeved dress covered most of her,
except for her hands, neck and head. A worn and dirty apron, which had
not caught all the spills that night, covered the front part of her
dress.
"Jahlena, please," Jamis said. Although his words were polite,
there was a hardness in his eyes. Nai looked back at Jahlena. Her stern
face softened a bit and a little smile played on her lips.
"I'll serve the ale," she huffed, her double chin jiggling
slightly. Grabbing mugs, she turned and made her way into the crowded
room.
"You mentioned money," Jamis said. His foot tapped the floor
impatiently.
"Yes," Nai agreed. "A bard is travelling with me. For a generous
twenty percent of our profit, she'll perform here tonight."
"Straight!" Jamis laughed. "And the king will dance before me
naked, too! You think I'm some wharf rat?"
"I think you're an innkeeper with an inn in the worst place in
Dargon trying to keep the whole place from burning down around you," Nai
replied, his muscles growing tight in his arms and neck. He hadn't
expected to argue his way to performing tonight and his short patience
was being tested. "Do you want a performance or not?"
"Twenty-five," Jamis said, not backing away from Nai. "And quit
puffing up like a sea-urlet. I've got enough trouble in here and you
don't need to add to it."
"Done," Nai said, relaxing. He held out his hand and they grasped
forearms. Letting go of Jamis's arm, he turned and made his way back to
the table where his two friends sat.
A young girl stood in front of Simona but Nai overheard them
speaking.
"... to attend the Bardic College," the girl said.
"Some day when you're older, make the trip to Magnus and ask them
to let you in," Simona said. "Practice every chance you get and they
won't turn you away."
"I'm practicing as much as I can, but father won't allow me to sing
here often. He says I'm supposed to make myself useful, clean tables,
and serve ale. I doubt he'll ever let me leave." The girl sounded
disappointed.
"Tira!" Jahlena yelled from across the room. "Get over here!"
"I better get going," Tira said. "Can I bring you a tankard of ale
and a bowl of stew?"
"Straight," Kal answered her and Simona nodded.
"For me, too," Nai added before Tira could walk away. "Who's the
girl?" Nai inquired when Tira was out of earshot.
"She's the innkeeper's daughter. Wants to be a bard, but doesn't
think she'll make it to the Bardic College. She saw my lyre and wanted
to know if I was a bard." Simona smiled as she summarized their
conversation. "What did the innkeeper say to your proposal?"
"He wants twenty-five percent of our profit. I agreed." Nai replied
as he sat down.
Simona drew in a deep breath. "Good thing the inn is so full
tonight. Let's hope the crowd is generous, too. We *need* supplies for
our journey. I don't want to delay much longer. I can feel my sister's
in trouble. I need to find her."
"We will have enough," Kal reassured her. "There are other inns
along the way where we can entertain and make some money. We'll find
your sister."
"Straight," Nai agreed and was about to say more, but Tira arrived
with their food and drinks. Hungrily, the three ate.
"Father said you can play over there." Tira pointed to a small
table almost in the center of the room.
"Thank you, Tira." Simona said. After she'd finished her stew, she
took her lyre, walked to the table, and seated herself.
Nai worried if Simona would be able to get the crowd's attention
without intervention from Kal or himself; it was very noisy inside. He
knew Simona preferred to get the audience's attention without anyone's
help and most of the time it worked. For a few moments Nai held his
breath as he watched Simona pick up her lyre and sound a few notes from
the tune she had played earlier. The noise in the inn subsided and the
people, mostly sailors, looked to see who was playing. And then she
began to sing. Simona's voice with its low timbre drew everyone's
attention. Her song told the story of two lovers and a jealous mage who
placed the woman under a spell when he realized he couldn't have her. As
she went on with her story, she described how the man sought to break
the spell of his beloved and finally succeeded, only to lose her again
in a quarrel. Nai realized she was telling the story of her visions. He
knew there was more; Simona had told him and Kal the whole story. Simona
finished her song and everyone applauded. Nai signaled Kal. Both got up
and collected Bits from the audience for the performance. Nai took one
look at Jamis and noticed that he was paying close attention to the
collection.
"Play another song!" an older sailor requested.
"What would you like to hear?" Simona looked in the direction of
the speaker.
"Tell us how Duke Dargon lost his arm!"
"Tell us! Tell us!" several others called out.
With a smile on her face, Simona began to play again. Nai grinned.
He knew they'd make more money if they could keep the crowd happy. It
would also make Jamis happy; the sailors drank quite a lot of ale. Nai
continued collecting Bits. When Simona told about Dargon's bravery,
commanding a group of ships against the Beinison fleet and fighting his
way to the captain of the lead ship, the sailors cheered. When she
reached the point where the duke killed the captain and saved the town,
some of the sailors stood up and danced.
"Quiet down and move!" a handful of sailors yelled. "I can't hear
the rest of the song!" When the dancing men wouldn't move, a group of
sailors got up and stormed toward them in an effort to force them to
quit.
When knives were drawn, Nai knew things had turned serious. He
reached to his side and in a deliberate, smooth motion, drew out his
sword. An eerie, greenish glow oozed from the steel blade. With the
glow, Nai was forced to remember his wife's death. Using his other hand,
he brushed aside the forming tears. Standing straight, he bellowed,
"Enough!"
His voice rocked the room and rattled tables. The sailors stopped
in their tracks, noticing the greenish glow for the first time and then
they turned toward Nai. Sadness radiated outward from Nai and permeated
the inn. Men breathed deeply and slunk a little lower where they stood.
Sniffles could be heard from within the room.
"I was there," a sailor breathed heavily. Nai noticed that it was
one of the sailors that had screamed at the others to stop.
"Who is he?" echoed in soft whispers throughout the room.
"What happened?" Nai asked. He lowered the sword.
"Lord Dargon," the sailor began, holding back tears, "was aboard
the ship next to us. He ordered both into the thick of the Beinison
fleet. When his crew jumped to the Beinison ship, our ship was right in
line. There we were. All three ships sitting pretty in a row.
"Another Beinison ship pulled alongside and started firing her
balistas across her sister ship at us. Then something took Dargon's arm,
and our ship was hit. Along with a volley of other rounds, his ship
rolled onto ours. The mast of his ship fell on our captain."
"We all lost those dear to us in that war," Nai said softly.
Turning, he looked to his two companions. "Bring the hammer and a mug of
water."
"He's going to sing it," Kal said, surprised.
"Get the hammer. I'll get the mug," Simona said. They retrieved the
items and made their way toward the fireplace. Nai joined them, still
holding the sword. He grabbed a stool and set it beside him, placing the
sword on top. The glow bathed them in green while the fire outlined them
in red.
Taking the hammer from Kal, he set it on the floor with the head
turned sideways. He took out his own hammer hanging from his belt and
tapped the other hammer. Clang. He nodded to Kal and Kal dipped his hand
in the mug. Flinging a drop of water from his finger onto the fire, the
inn heard a sharp hiss.
"Remember those you love," Nai said as he tapped the hammer on the
floor. Kal stood ready to fling drops of water upon the fire.
Clang. Hiss. Clang clang.
Clang. Clang clang.
"Illiena I bless the day you entered my life."
"Strong arms bring a heavy hammer down upon glowing red metal," Simona
sang, trying to paint a picture of what Nai had looked like when he had
forged the sword.
Clang clang. Clang.
Clang. Hiss. Clang clang.
"While I forged blades, you stood beside me and tempered with love."
"A tear journeys down a rugged, twice-broken nose to fall upon glowing
red metal."
Hiss. Clang. Clang clang.
Clang. Hiss. Hiss. Clang hiss clang.
"I bless the days you held me tight and I thank Illiena for the time you
were with me."
"Large hands deftly turn the long rectangular block of metal."
Clang. Hiss. Clang hiss clang.
Hiss. Clang. Hiss. Clang clang.
"But I miss you every day I rise and I miss you every night I fall."
"A muscular, barrel-chest rises and falls sharply with great gasps of
breath."
Hiss. Clang. Hiss. Clang clang.
Clang. Hiss. Clang clang. Hiss.
"Oh Illiena, I bless every moment your memories carry me along."
"The long block gives under pressure to form hard, sharp edges."
Clang. Hiss. Hiss. Clang clang.
Hiss. Clang. Clang hiss hiss clang.
"You were the link that bound my armor together and I'm a stronger man
for the love you gave me."
"Tears group together along small streams and run quickly over grit and
grime."
Hiss hiss. Clang. Clang hiss clang.
Hiss. Clang. Hiss. Clang clang hiss.
"And I'd give up my life for just another bell of your time."
"Cords of muscles bunch and flex in short powerful legs."
Clang. Hiss hiss hi-clang clang hiss.
Hiss hiss clang. Hiss. Clang hiss clang-ss.
"With your soft arms wrapped around me, you healed wounds that magic
could not cure."
"Knees tremble, hands shake, and eyes brim with tears."
Hisssss clang. Hisssss-clang clang-ssss.
Clang. Hisssss. Hiss. Hisssss. Clang hiss-clang-hiss.
"Beinison took you from me in a stroke of war and forever left me torn."
"Metal flashes under blows of love and pain."
Hisssss hiss clang. Hisssss-clang hi-clang-ssss.
Clang. Hisssss. Hisssss. Hisssss-clang hiss-clang-hiss.
"I bless the days you held me tight and I thank Illiena for the time you
were with me."
"Rivers of tears drown dark eyes and cool fiery metal."
Hisssss hisssss hiss hisssss clang. Hisssss. Clang hisssss clang.
Hisssss. Hiss clang. Hisssss. Hissss hissss clang hisssss hiss-clang-ss.
"But I miss you every day I rise and I miss you every night I fall."
"Head bows, hammer falls, and body drops upon a forged sword," Simona
softly sang and ended her part.
"And I'd give up my life for just another bell of your time," Nai
finished singing, bowing his head.
Nai returned the hammer to his belt and wiped the tears from his
eyes. Looking up, he noticed several sailors wiping their faces. No one
spoke. He made another round through the inn to collect for the
performance, but he only received a couple of Bits. Nai watched as the
sailors left the inn in small groups. Within menes only a few people
were sitting at the tables. Half of them were asleep or too drunk to get
up. Nai had a bad feeling when he saw Jamis' expression.
"You!" he bellowed, closing the distance between them quickly. "You
were supposed to entertain tonight, not clear out my inn! This will cost
you half of your earnings tonight to cover my losses."
"I broke up a fight that could have ruined your inn," Nai argued.
"I will pay the twenty-five percent we agreed on."
"She caused the fight with her song about the duke." Jamis pointed
his finger at Simona. "You will pay half and then get out of here!"
Nai was about to take a stand when Jahlena posted herself next to
Jamis. He felt the light touch of a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he
looked into Simona's face. He knew what she was going to say before she
opened her mouth.
"Pay him and let's leave," she said quietly. Nai took out his
purse, counted out half their earnings, and handed the money over to
Jamis.
"Get out," Jamis pointed to the door. Furious, Nai followed his
companions outside into the darkness of the night.
"Half the money lost! And no place to sleep tonight," he muttered
more to himself than attempting to talk to Kal or Simona. Kal must have
heard him because he let out a short laugh.
"You gave him half of the money you had, straight?" Kal said,
sounding amused.
"Straight," Nai grumbled.
"I guess Jamis wasn't paying close enough attention or he would
have demanded half of what I collected as well." Kal grinned. "And I
think I collected more than you did."
Nai let out a short laugh and his mood improved considerably.
"Let's put some distance between us and this inn and find a place to
sleep."
"What about Spirit's Haven?" Simona spoke up.
"It's clear across town!" Kal replied in a tone indicating he
wasn't in the mood to walk that far.
"I know that. But I have a feeling I will find some of the answers
I am seeking there."
"Then let's go there," Nai decided and led the way.
========================================================================
A Fine Blade
by Mike Adams and Victor Cardoso
<meadams19@earthlink.net> and <viktor@mac.com>
Seber 17, 1017
"Only fools and bards seem to be awake at this bell, Lansing."
"Your Grace," Lansing Bartol remarked, "I wasn't aware you, too,
had taken up the song?" He looked to Clifton Dargon expectantly as they
walked. The duke did not respond.
The couple traversed the short distance from the heart of Dargon
Keep to the armory, flagstones echoing the sounds of their feet off the
broad stone walls. The sun's crown, barely cresting the horizon, shot
long rays of soft light through the arched windows. Despite attempts to
maintain a jovial profile, inwardly Bartol's spirits sank. "Perhaps I
fit both of the duke's descriptions," the bard thought glumly. He began
to regret his impulsive decision to drag Clifton with him this morning.
Bartol's friend of two years, Bren kel Tomis, waited in the armory.
The mercenary had escorted Lansing's niece to her wedding, and since
then he and Bartol had struck a deep friendship. They enjoyed regular
morning workouts, sparring in the castle's weapons yard. Kel Tomis had
once been a herald in the distant land of Mandraka, trained to dispense
justice with the help of his sword. His presence in Dargon had taught
Bartol more than one move that could save life and limb.
The previous night, Lansing had found his duke in one of the black
fogs that had plagued him since the loss of his left arm, and had
thought watching a little friendly swordplay might brighten Clifton's
mood. The aging weapons master, Edlin, had considered it a good plan
when the bard had run into him that morning.
"It wouldn't do for our Grace to be so dismal when blessing the
fleet today," he had agreed, leaning on his cane.
However, since the knock at his chamber door, the duke had only
spoken short, grim sentences. Bartol sighed. Perhaps this wasn't a good
idea after all. He hadn't seen Clifton draw a blade once since his
injury in the Beinison war, but the lord had been a superior swordsman,
and his fighting arm was still intact. The gods were the only ones who
knew why he, if truly disgusted with the idea, had agreed to come.
Lansing descended a few wide steps into the cobbled court that led
to the armory's gate. Sea-blue pennants, in honor of the fleet's
blessing, hung from high timbers outside the massive stone structure.
The armory was a fortification unto itself, with an inner bailey for
weapons practice and fierce battlements along its perimeter. Lansing led
the way through the gates and into the covered section where a young
apprentice, Matthew, rubbed sleep from his eyes. Here were tables at
which weary combatants could rest after practice, and several barrels
contained various sovereign remedies for thirst, depending on the
thirst's taste. In the middle of the far wall was a large double door,
thrown open to the inner court, brightening in the morning light.
"Is kel Tomis in the yard, lad?" Lansing's friendly question came
out as a growl. Perhaps Dargon's mood was catching.
Matthew nodded enthusiastically. "Aye, milord," he replied,
somewhat loudly.
Lansing shot a strange look at the boy and stepped up to the
threshold, the duke in tow, when shouting reached their ears.
"Stupid boy! Get up! When the Beinisons took away the use of your
leg, did they numb your fingers as well?"
Lansing frowned. It sounded like Bren's voice.
"What's going on out there?" Clifton grumbled.
"I don't know," the bard answered. He walked out into the yard and
stopped dead cold.
The ebon-haired kel Tomis, red-skinned, muscled and visibly angry,
stood above the cowering shape of a boy, sparring sword in hand. The boy
tried rising to his feet but fell in the attempt. He was obviously
injured.
"This is the venerable kel Tomis?" Clifton asked.
Bartol hastily made his way to the sanded practice yard. "Bren, my
friend," he called, a sweating smile on his face, "how are you this
morning?"
"I am well, Lansing," Bren replied, taking a step back from his
inferior opponent. "I see you have brought company. Greetings, your
Grace," he said, bowing slightly.
Clifton stopped beside the bard. "And to you, Master kel Tomis," he
replied. "Lansing has told me much about you," the duke looked down with
a raised eyebrow at the boy sprawled on the floor, "albeit with a few
exceptions. If I might ask, what exactly are you doing here?"
Bren wiped a sheen of sweat off his brow. "Trying to make a man out
of a boy," he replied.
"By berating him to the point of humiliation?" Clifton countered.
"He appears hurt."
"Not so much in his body than his heart, sire," kel Tomis poked the
boy's chest with the tip of his sword. "He was apprenticed to the armory
until he could win his freedom as journeyman. I am helping him to that
end."
The duke nodded, as if in deep thought. "And you think to help
someone through the destruction of their self-worth?" he finally asked.
"A man's self-worth is not built by hiding behind a cane." Bren
chuckled, lowly. "The boy gave his word to fight until he learned enough
to be released. His path has been hindered by an injury, but it does not
undo his oath."
The morning's light had crept over the wall and cast Clifton's
features into sharp contrast. The duke looked to Bren and then down at
the child. "Boy," he called out. "Do you wish to remain in this
service?"
"No, sire," the child replied, his face turned aside in shame.
"Then you are free from its bonds."
"Your Grace!" Bren objected.
"Do you doubt my authority, Master kel Tomis?" Clifton's voice rang
throughout the courtyard, his profile appeared cut from stone. "No one
shall be a slave in my duchy."
Bren lowered his sparring sword, point-first into the sand and
leaned on it. "Your pardon of the boy's oath is admirable and, of
course, within your right. But you diminish his honor."
"You will not fight him," Clifton said grimly.
"I will not pursue it," Bren answered, his dark eyes never leaving
the duke's. "I come from a foreign land. I do not yet understand your
ways. But, in my land, if you wished to preserve the boy's reputation,
then you would appoint a champion. Someone to fight for his freedom."
Lansing stepped forward, his fists trembling in rage. What in the
world was Bren trying to do, get himself thrown in the dungeon? "Are you
disobeying the duke's directive?" he asked.
Clifton put his hand on Lansing's chest, a faint look of intrigue
on his face. "No, Lansing, Master kel Tomis has a point. The boy gave an
oath, and that oath must be fulfilled." He stepped forward and plucked
the sword from under Bren's hands. "And since I have given the pardon, I
will bear the burden of the boy's champion."
Bartol very nearly fell over. "Your G-Grace, don't be mad!" he
stuttered. Events had suddenly gotten out of control. A trained
mercenary fighting the crippled duke?
Clifton didn't even turn to look at his friend. "Lansing, help the
boy up."
Bowing first, Bren had turned to retrieve another wooden sword from
a stock barrel in the yard's corner. Bartol opened his mouth to object,
but Clifton refused to meet his gaze.
"Don't forget his cane," the duke murmured.
Lansing cursed under his breath and helped the crippled boy to his
feet. A cane lay on the ground, obviously the lad's only defense. The
bard took that as well, shaking his head at the entire affair. Bren had
always come off as headstrong, but never cruel and demeaning. The bard
was still muttering as he and the boy took a place on the side of the
yard, watching the two combatants.
Kel Tomis had returned to face the duke while movement in the
armory ceased. Matthew had come forth from the tavern and on the wall a
guard had turned to watch the event. The opponents stood a swordslength
apart. The sun, now fully risen, warmed the air; beyond the high walls
surrounding them, the muffled sounds of the keep's daily life could be
heard.
"The bard has spoken fondly of you, your Grace," Bren said quietly.
His brown eyes were coal-black in the morning light. "Lansing says you
were a fine blade, in your day."
Lansing winced at the back-handed compliment.
"That was not long ago, Master kel Tomis," Clifton replied.
A husky rasp was followed by a loud crack, as Dargon's sword swung
in a vicious backhand slash for Bren's throat, only to be met by the
other's blade.
"Well met," Dargon breathed.
The duke stepped back, he and the mercenary circling each other.
The air in the practice yard went still. Lansing could see the duke
gaining control of his emotions, the coolness of his command asserting
itself. Bartol let out his breath, unaware that he had been holding it.
He was glad to see his duke's grim determination returning. There hadn't
been this much passion in Dargon's face for months.
"A fine blade, indeed," Bren said off-handedly. "But your Grace
must surely know that it is a new day."
"A new day," Dargon agreed, his sword at the ready. "But a man who
recalls yesterday will not make the same mistakes tomorrow."
The ensuing flurry of motion took Lansing by surprise. Bren lunged
forward, intercepting the duke's attack. For a moment the two combatants
stood almost still, blades flashing and clacking through the armory.
Then they were moving, using the full length of the yard, attacking and
retreating, the space between them a quivering blur.
Bren parried a thrust to push the duke's blade aside then lifted
his sword double-handed; Clifton stepped aside quickly, turning as his
opponent's balance shifted, but his opportunity was thwarted. Kel Tomis
swiveled his torso and the two engaged again, back and forth, sand
taking flight at their feet.
Suddenly, quiet reigned again. The duke and the ex-herald stood
still, both breathing heavily. Clifton's blade rested on Bren's chest,
directly over his heart. For a long moment, neither man moved nor spoke.
Then, whispered, almost inaudible, Bren's words: "I yield."
Lansing relaxed where he stood and watched Bren reach for the
duke's sword, twisting the blade until its flat surface was parallel to
the ground.
"However, my lord, I would suggest you keep your blade positioned
to slide between the ribs, like this," Bren thumped the blade against
his chest, "else you might have trouble wresting it from my limp, dead,
body." A ghost of a smile crept across his face.
Then the two fighters laughed like fools, or more like men who have
seen darkness and preferred to contemplate the light.
Lansing ventured to speak, "Clifton, are you well?" He couldn't
recall the last time he had seen the duke smile so broadly.
Clifton pulled himself together and responded, "Of course. Can't a
man take some sword practice around here?" He straightened his attire
and looked to his opponent. "The matter is settled?"
Bren nodded, still catching his breath.
The duke bowed and walked to the side of the yard, handing his
sparring sword to the apprentice, Matthew. Grabbing Bartol's elbow,
Clifton pulled him into the doorway of the tavern.
"You old flingshell, this was a very clever trick of yours."
Bartol furrowed his brow in confusion. "Your Grace?" he questioned.
Clifton laughed. "You should inquire for a job in that troupe that
came to town a few days ago -- the one performing 'Ol's Ride.'" He
pointed to the boy he had championed. "I've seen that apprentice before,
and he's using Edlin's cane to boot, something the old weapons master
would never give away. This was a very clever ruse of yours. And it
almost had me."
Bartol looked at the boy who had been on the ground. Now that
Clifton mentioned it, Lansing could swear he had seen the lad just the
other day, without the injury he currently bore. And the cane he used to
prop himself up -- it did bear a resemblance to the one Edlin carried.
"It's good to know I still have friends who have faith in my
skills, even when I began to doubt myself." The duke touched his shorn
arm.
The words stabbed at Bartol's heart. "Clifton --"
"We have no need to speak of it further," Dargon interrupted. "Tell
me, that Bren kel Tomis, is he actually employed by the weapons master?"
"No, sire. Not at all."
"Well, speak to Edlin about changing that. He's obviously skilled
in weapons, and has an efficient, if brusque, teaching manner. I'm sure
we can make use of his talents." Clifton turned to the yard and called
out: "Master kel Tomis, come, have a drink with us, and tell me more
about that high line of attack you almost got me with."
Bren grinned broadly as he approached. "Certainly, my lord," he
replied, "It starts with a parry of a low thrust ..."
It was mid-morning before the duke departed and Lansing sat alone
with Bren in the armory's makeshift tavern. Sunlight beat heavily on the
ground outside, throwing the room's features into stark shadows. Bren's
dark skin looked almost maroon in the light, blending him in with the
environment.
Leaning close to the mercenary, Bartol finally broached the topic:
"You could have let me in on this little charade of yours, you know."
Bren stared at him in mock seriousness from across the table. His
stiff features then broke into a wide smile followed by a booming laugh.
"I wish we could have," he replied, chuckling. "But it was born this
very morning when Edlin ran into you. The look on your face was
priceless as I debated honor with his Grace. 'Are you disobeying the
duke's directive?' " he mimicked.
Bartol shook his head in disbelief as his friend continued to
laugh. "You could have been thrown in the dungeons for your impudence."
"Not with you as *my* champion," Bren replied. His laughter
subsided and he stretched two powerful arms behind his head. "It's been
a long road for me from Mandraka, my friend, in leagues ... and other
things," he sighed. "A dungeon would not have been the lowest point of
my journey. This was an opportunity, Lansing, and I knew through our
conversations -- and through conversations with Edlin -- that the duke
was doubting his worth. The weapons master and I knew he simply needed
some reminding."
"As ashamed as I am to say -- and don't you go repeating this to