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 11 -=========================================================+|) D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 2 DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE || \\ \ ======================================================================== DargonZine Distributed: 03/15/1998 Volume 11, Number 2 Circulation: 678 ======================================================================== Contents Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb The Broken Staff 2 Mike Adams Ober, 1015 Friendships of Stone 3 Mark A. Murray Naia 6, 1015 Deliverance: Praeludium John Doucette ======================================================================== DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet. We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project. Please address all correspondance to or visit us on the World Wide Web at http://www.shore.net/~dargon. 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 11-2, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright March, 1998 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 Jam-packed! Because DargonZine is still primarily distributed by email, we can't make issues any bigger than 100k, since many email systems will reject files which exceed that size. In fact, there are some mailers (the most notable being juno.com) who will not accept mail larger than 64k! For that reason, we consider 100k to be a hard limit, and we will not produce issues which, when emailed, exceed 100k. Well, we had to use a shoehorn, a liberal amount of KY, and a jackhammer to fit the following three stories into this issue and stay within our self-imposed 100k limit. In fact, things are so tight that there's really no room to say anything more in this editorial! But never fear! Whenever we have enough material, even though we can't print larger issues, we'll produce more frequent issues, and that's what you can look forward to, as DargonZine 11-3 is already rolling inexorably toward a distribution date in mid-April! So enjoy this issue, and I'll see you then! ======================================================================== The Broken Staff Part II by Mike Adams Ober, 1015 Dargon City Docks, just before midday I am sure the triple towers of Dargon Keep have awed and inspired many travellers to that city at first sight. Indeed, it compared favorably to The Breakers, the castle which stood on the promontory guarding the harbor of Seaport. However, in the past two bells, as the _Friendly Lion_ made its way through the channel and prepared to dock, I had become much less fond of the view. A ship might be the fastest way to travel long distances, but it seemed the slowest way to travel the short distance to the dock. I would have thought the harbor pilot would make good time, knowing the channel so well, but apparently not. I was more surprised by the constant light rain. In Mandraka, the weather was normally hot and dry, punctuated by occasional downpours. The rain never lasted for long, and the sun's rays provided dry clothing in short order. I had been on the deck of the Lion for several bells and had never felt so wet in my life. I didn't mind being soaked; the discomfort helped keep my mind from my personal miseries. I had once been a Herald of Mandraka, a respected knight, a man of importance. Having abused my position, my King stripped me of that position and my knighthood, and had exiled me to this cold, wet, miserable hole. There had been times during my long sea journey when I had looked forward to starting anew, but there were many more times that I seemed to be drowning in my shame. I tried to focus my thoughts on the cold water dripping down my spine. Kodo, bosun of the ship, ambled up to me at the rail, and pulling at his scrawny white beard said, "We'll be docking soon, wizard. You'd better get your things." I couldn't help grinning as the bosun headed forward to shout at two sailors readying a hawser. At the outset of my voyage to Dargon, Kodo had taken me, copper-skinned and dressed in black, for a wizard. Kodo persisted in the misapprehension that I was a sorcerer of some sort, and no amount of ridicule from his shipmates seemed able to budge the idea, which had settled on his brain like a barnacle. "Kel Tomis," came the strong voice of Captain Tennent, master of the _Friendly Lion_. "I wanted a word before we docked. I may be able to get you some work from a merchant who has cargo aboard. When he shows up, follow my lead, and we'll see what can be managed, eh?" The captain grinned, "He's an old acquaintance, and I probably won't fool him, but it's worth a try." I smiled back at Tennent. "Thank you, Captain," I said. "Your assistance is appreciated." Tennent nodded, and replied, "This merchant, Qanis Jetru, while a cunning businessman, is somewhat timid when his personal safety is involved. A few well-chosen words, and he'll probably beg you to protect him." Tennent chuckled to himself, then continued, "I know you have no great amount of coin, so let's just say you owe me a drink the next time the Lion docks in Dargon, yes?" Tennent grabbed my arm to seal our little bargain, then he went aft to check the pilot. A short time later we were moored, and the gangplank was extended. I saw a small man with a short beard emerge from the bustle and approach the ship. "Ho, the Lion! Permission to come aboard?" shouted out the man, who was wearing a heavy gray cloak, of excellent quality, over a brown tunic. He wore hose instead of trousers, which I thought insane in this weather. Tennent's voice boomed from the helm. "Qanis my friend, of course you may come aboard." Tennent kept talking as he came forward. "And what about your companion; will he be coming aboard as well?" Tennent waved at a perplexed sailor, who waved weakly back, and quickly strode away. Qanis whirled about in alarm, spotted the fast-walking sailor, and scurried up the gangway. "I have no companion," he said, his words hurried and high-pitched. "I came alone. Was someone following me?" The merchant's gaze darted around the wharf, looking for a suspicious character. I saw any number of persons who could fit that description, but then the drizzle became a downpour, so we went below. Soon we were in the captain's small cabin. Tennent was seated at his chart table, with the merchant at his left. I sat across from the trader. While Tennent exchanged trivial pleasantries with the merchant, I took the opportunity to examine Jetru more closely. He had a short, neatly trimmed beard, but no mustaches. His plain brown hair had been carefully bound with a dark ribbon, and there was an expertly mended rip on the sleeve of his tunic. The man may lack physical courage, I decided, but he displayed ample evidence of his success in business. His appearance meant that there was at least one servant in his house whose main function was to tend to his master's public image. The clanking sound of glass on metal proclaimed the arrival of Tennent's rum bottle. I had been subjected to the foul stuff once already on my voyage and I didn't look forward to another taste. Once Tennent had filled the small glasses in front of us with the pale brown liquid, he raised his glass and downed it all at once. I took a small sip, felt it burn down my throat, and tried not to cough. Qanis, however, emptied the glass with only a tiny shudder, and with no visible hesitation held out his glass for more. My respect for the trader rose a small notch. "I knew I was being followed," said Qanis. "I can sense it, you know. Many's the time I've looked over my shoulder only to catch some dirty peasant staring at me, as if to measure my wealth with eyes alone." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Why, once, I even made a grab for one of those rough types, a very small one, mind you." "My friend," Tennent interjected, as Qanis made to take another deep breath, "You know I love to hear your stories, but I've cargo to see to, and a crew itching for shore leave. As I said, I believe Bren can be of help to you. He is a renowned soldier in his homeland, but is in Dargon for a short time. He would be willing to act as your personal bodyguard until you have disposed of your cargo." Tennent waved a hand at me, and went on, "Even his appearance should serve to protect you; his dark skin and strange sword will give pause to most scum. And his ability with that sword is undoubted. I personally watched him slay a number of pirates on the very journey we have just completed. All this for the modest sum of four Rounds for a fortnight." Immediately, Qanis' nose twitched and his eyes glowed. I watched as Tennent and Qanis haggled like fishmongers on the pier. Offer was followed by counteroffer, percentages of sales offered instead of cash. I lost my thin hold on understanding when they started discussing exchange rates, but I kept listening, hoping knowledge of Dargon's complicated monetary system would somehow accrue to me. After all, I would be living here for the foreseeable future. The price for my labor was down to two Rounds, one Royal, for one fortnight's work, when Qanis apparently decided he'd done enough and sealed the deal. Tennent looked relieved to have the bargaining done, and I'd learned something else about my employer. Tennent and Qanis drank again, before the captain retrieved Qanis' goods from a locked chest, which was bolted to the floor. While Qanis checked his box and paid Tennent for delivery, I excused myself to retrieve my possessions from my cabin. The few things I had been allowed to bring from Mandraka fit into a rather small bag. The bulk was made up of several changes of smallclothes, a cup, a spoon, and the two pieces of my broken staff of office. As a herald of Mandraka, far to the south now, I had carried the symbol of my craft with pride. Then I had betrayed myself and the College of Heralds by giving a judgement in favor of Lady Kira tel Hon, to whom I had entrusted my heart and soul. I stood in the cramped, smelly cabin, staring at the staff, and I saw my life, broken and useless. On the voyage from Mandraka I had spent many bells in the bow of the Lion, staring at those two pieces of wood. Many times I had wanted to fling the offending fragments into the sea, but I never could. At my lowest, the pain of my memories seemed to do more to keep me alive than anything else. In the end, as always, my self-disgust overwhelmed me, and I shoved the sticks into the bag, tied it, and rose from where I knelt. Godsblood, I looked forward to getting off this ship; on board there was too much time to think. Before I left the cabin, I checked my weapons; if I was to be a bodyguard, I'd best be prepared. My saber was in prime condition, as I'd sharpened and oiled it that morning. The dagger strapped to my left forearm was lightly sealed into its sheath with candle wax. The two flat handled daggers in my boottops, while invisible to the casual eye, were easily accessible to my reaching fingers. Not the most knightly of weapons, but Mandraka was not the most chivalrous of kingdoms, and the blades had done me good service on more than one occasion. As ever, I was reassured by the ritual of touching my weapons, and with some small weight taken off my heart, I went on deck. While waiting for my employer to appear, I scanned the docks, trying to determine if anyone might be paying too much attention to the _Friendly Lion_. Tennent had only been trying to fool Qanis, but there was a slight chance someone *had* followed the trader. Qanis returned topside just then, and signaled me to precede him down the gangway and onto the wharf. I stayed at his side as he headed towards the stew vendor situated only a short distance from the _Lion_'s slip. The tantalizing smell reminded me I had eaten nothing all day. As we approached the stew seller Qanis called out, "My good Simon, how are you on this fine day?" I looked up at the clouds, which were gray with the promise of more rain before day's end. I looked at Simon, who winked at me. Oblivious to this byplay, Qanis went on, "How is that spice I obtained for you from Quinnat?" "Well, Master Jetru," replied Simon as he dished out the savory, steaming fish stew to a hungry-looking sailor, "I find it quite tasty, but it's too strong for any but the sunsweet stew." Qanis looked thoughtful. "I will keep that in mind. In the meantime, I've a short measure of dried kellis-weed going spare; could you use it?" Simon was a more challenging opponent for Qanis than Tennent was, and it seemed to me that the merchant enjoyed the bargaining all the more because of it. After terms were agreed, we left the vendor. The smell of the stew was enough to make me salivate, and I was sorry to go. I promised myself that I would visit Simon in the very near future. With our backs to the water, Qanis pointed in the direction of Commercial Street, where he said his office was located. As we moved through the crowd, I had to shoulder aside several of the more aggressive beggars. I could hear Qanis behind me, muttering, "Damned nuisance, these beggars. I pay enough in taxes, I don't see why the guard can't deal with this problem." I made no comment in reply, but the next beggar that approached got the back of my hand, and no more of them came near. Jetru's office, which from appearances served as his home and warehouse as well, was not far from the docks, and we arrived without further incident. A servant greeted his master at the door. Qanis dismissed the man with a gesture and led me down a hallway to a small room at the end, which held a cot, a small table with an oil lamp, and had precious little room left over. "Not much more than a monk's cell, I'm afraid, but you shouldn't be doing anything other than sleeping here. I hope it's acceptable," Qanis said, giving me a curious look. In my time as a herald, I had bedded down in pigsties that were more luxurious than this cubicle, but I managed to keep any ill expression from appearing on my face, and replied, "Having spent much of my life as a soldier, sleeping in my cloak on the hard ground, this will be quite acceptable." Qanis' face lit up, and he smiled, as if we were playing a game, and I had moved correctly. "Come to my office," he said, as he led me out of the room, and down the hall to a larger room, half-filled with a huge desk covered with papers, ledgers, and packages. He sat in a cushioned chair on the far side of the desk, and looked at the pile of papers. "A pox on taxes, and the papers that go with them," he said in an irritated tone. "And did you know," he said, looking at me intently, "I am still trying to get compensation for property and goods the Duke took for the war. I had a fine warehouse right on the dock; after it was destroyed I was told I could have it back 'and by the way, get this mess cleaned up.' I've not yet recovered enough to rebuild it. Damned war! It all but ruined me, and now I have to take on deals like this to try and recoup my losses." He gestured at the box he had carried from the _Lion_. Of course, since I had no idea what was in the box, I was in the dark as to exactly what type of deal 'this' was. Recovering his composure somewhat, he continued, "When I am done here, we will go to an inn called Spirit's Haven. I am meeting several men who may want to purchase this item. In the meantime I will have one of my staff show you to the kitchen. The cook should be able to find something to allay your hunger until this evening." He rang a small bell that was on his desk, and a young man quickly entered the room. "Yes sir?" said the man, apparently a clerk of some kind, wiping his hands on an ink-stained smock. "Ah, Landis, this is Bren, who will be with us for a short time. Show him to the kitchen, and then bring in the figures on that Arvalian shipment." The merchant then turned to his papers, while the clerk led me to the kitchen. Dargon, Layman Street It was one of the cheapest rooms in one of the cheapest inns of Dargon. There was no fireplace, and the cold, damp air seemed to cling to the walls. Mildew covered portions of the ceiling. The mattress was stuffed with rags, and the rags were stuffed with fleas. The room's only inhabitant paid no attention to his surroundings. He squatted in the center of the room, almost still but for the motion of his right hand over the open palm of his left hand. The long slim dagger held in the right hand met the whetstone held in the left. Ssskweet. The blade was turned over. Ssskweet. Back and forth. Ssskweet ssskweet. The man looked as if he would be content to remain there forever, patiently waiting for some signal known only to him. Ssskweet ssskweet. He waited for a voice. Ssskweet. The voices had filled Wern's head for as long as he could remember, a cacophony of sound that often drove him to pound his head against a tree lest he explode from the internal pressure. His father beat him whenever he told him about the noises in his head so he soon lived in a lonely, sullen world, filled with the ravings of hundreds of voices. About the time Wern turned twelve, a particular voice began to dominate the others. Some voices it shouted down, echoes of the thundering words ringing in Wern's ears. Others were subtly persuaded to leave. Soon there was only the one Voice. Wern, drunk on the silence, was pathetically grateful, and performed the tasks given him by the Voice without hesitation. It was some years after Wern had left home before all the parts of his father's body were found. Dargon, Offices of Jetru & Company, Commercial Street I was mopping up the last of the gravy when Landis entered the kitchen. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "There's someone at the door that says he knows you." I stood quickly, grabbing my scabbard, which had lain on the table. I strode towards the front of the house. I spoke over my shoulder to Landis, who followed me, "What does this man look like; does he carry a weapon? "He's a bit taller than you," he replied, "And he's carrying a staff." I stopped in my tracks. I looked back at the clerk. "Was the staff about this tall?" I asked, hold my hand flat at mid-chest height. Landis nodded quickly. "With carvings?" I asked. Another nod. "I want to look at this man," I asked. "Can I do that without his seeing me?" "Yes," Landis replied. "Back through the kitchen. I'll show you." As I trailed Landis back through the house my mind roiled with battling emotions. "Surely they can't be trying to kill me, they've only just exiled me," I thought. I didn't want to face a herald, the shame was too great. I hesitate to admit it, but even fear had its place in my heart that day. I didn't want to die. Maybe that was why I had never thrown my staff overboard. It goaded me, it tortured me, but it kept me alive. I didn't want to quit, and slowly a dark fury filled me. I would show the damned Heralds of Mandraka! Now I could strike at my shame, cleanly, with my sword in hand. But as we exited the house and stepped in the alley, dimly lit through the overcast sky, I stopped. I had to clear my head. Neither despair, fear, nor unreasoned fury were acceptable frames of mind, not if I had to fight for my life at any moment. I took a deep breath, and crept softly to the end of the alley. Landis pointed to the right. I crouched down, and then carefully poked my head around the corner. I'm sure that my reaction dumbfounded Landis. I rose quickly, and laughing out loud, ran to the tall blond man, and embraced him. I held my friend, Toran kel Bain, by the shoulders. "What are you doing here?" I asked, completely surprised. "Freezing, at the moment!" came his cheeky reply. "Have you got a warm drink in there? I'll explain as soon as my toes thaw out." Kingdom of Beinison, circa 1000 It was several years before Wern made a guess as to the internal voice's identity. During that time he scrabbled in the poorer areas of whatever town or city he was currently living in, killing for food when necessary, killing for blood when the Voice told him to do so. When he was directed to a secret temple where the followers of Amante worshipped their bloody god, Wern knew this was where he belonged. Wern became an acolyte, and rose quickly in the church. Of course he had heard the story of the Eye of Amante; what priest hadn't? The Eye had disappeared in the middle of a sacrifice many years ago. The older, more cynical priests thought it had been stolen and sold by the priests of the temple at that time, but Wern knew better. He knew what had happened. The Voice told him. And so Wern told the priests that they must search for the Eye, and return it to the sacred statue, so that Amante would look favorably on them again. At first he was laughed at; even by the more pious priests. Soon there was grumbling in council about this young upstart. After being beaten by a group of acolytes who invaded his cell in the dark bells of the night, Wern left the temple. The Voice spoke to him, and he knew what to do. He would go to Dargon, far to the north. Dargon, Offices of Jetru & Company, Commercial Street After seating my shivering friend near the fire, and handing him a mug of steaming tea, I asked him, "Tell me, Toran, what in all the gods' names are you doing here?" He smiled at me and replied, "You didn't expect me, then?" "Of course not," I said, frowning. "After being exiled, I never expected to see another Mandrakan again." Toran turned serious for a moment. "I remember that you fought over my prone body at Dukrah, and dragged me from that field. I remember the nights I would rage against my father, and you would calm me. I can remember the fever I had one winter, and how you were the only one who would stay with me." He reached out to me and placed an arm on my shoulder. I could feel his grip, could see the forgiveness in his eyes. My brother-in-arms was a good man, a steadfast friend, and I could feel him silently urging me to put his nightmare behind me. I was glad to know that he stood beside me, but it brought scant comfort. I spoke, slowly at first, then building in speed as I found the words. "My brother, whom I love more than my own blood, you have forgiven me. My spurs lie broken in the road; the Knights of the Banner have done with me. My staff is broken; the Heralds of Mandraka have forgotten me. I am exiled; my King has sent me from my home." I rose and walked past Toran, and stood in front of the fire, staring at the dying flames. "It seems everyone else has put my shameful behavior from their minds, but I cannot," I continued. "I betrayed myself, Toran. My honor is torn almost beyond hope of repair. You of all people should know that I cannot pretend that I have suffered enough to even start the mending." "It pains me to see you like this, my friend," said Toran from behind me. Quietly enough so that I am sure Toran did not hear me, I whispered, "It pains me also, brother, but not enough." After an awkward moment, Toran spoke, "Anyway, I've got some things of yours." I turned around as he opened the bag he had with him. "Your spare knives, some clothes, and other things." He paused for a smirk, an expression that fitted his face much better than the somber one it had replaced. "I even brought the pouch of silver you thought you had cleverly hidden under the loose stone beneath your bed." He tossed the pouch to me, and I caught it reflexively. "You came all this way to bring me this?" I asked in exasperation, holding out the silver. "Are you mad? What about your position in the College of Heralds? And what is your father going to say?" Toran frowned at the mention of his father, then smiled grimly. "I only wish he knew I was here. I'd enjoy knowing he was in an absolute rage." He shook his head and continued, "I told Lord Skel I had personal business to attend to, and might be several moons. He didn't question me; there are some advantages to being the King's son after all." "Only a bastard son, Toran, and your mother is long dead," I replied. "Your relationship with your father won't stand much strain." "I know," came his bitter response. "I'm reminded all the time that I should be grateful for the chance to become a herald. If it weren't for the likes of you, the heralds would be called the College of Bastards. I hope the gods piss on him." He paused to drain his mug, then continued, "I'll get back soon, and nothing will have changed. But even if it has, I don't give a damn. Sometimes I wish I'd been born a peasant; I'm sure my life would have been much easier." We sat, uncomfortably, for some time as we each brooded on our own particular inner torments. Dargon, Spirit's Haven, an Inn That evening Qanis, Toran, and I walked to the inn. I had introduced Toran to my employer, and as was Toran's way, he had charmed Qanis quickly, with talks of deals and negotiations. As they chatted about Qanis' latest escapade, a four way deal involving goat dung and Comarran wool, I had to laugh. They both glanced at me puzzled, and then continued, which only made me laugh harder. The look on Toran's face as he talked with Qanis reminded me of many long evenings spent in the weapons yard at the College, practicing some new move or style, over and over again. "Bren," he would say, "I may be the king's son, but that won't save my hide in battle. I have to do it better than the others, just to be the same." I attribute much of my own ability to the many bells spent with Toran, sparring under torchlight. We arrived at the Spirit's Haven, and entering the main room, were assaulted by the heat of the roaring fireplace. We quickly removed the cloaks we had worn against the cool night air, and took a table near the room Qanis had hired for his business. After a moment the servant, an older man, arrived at the table and said, "What can I get you to drink, good sirs?" I ordered cold cider, but Toran insisted on wine. He and Qanis spent several menes discussing wine with the servant, who seemed to know more about wine than anyone I've ever met. After a few menes, the server had convinced them that the best choice would be an Arvalian red from two seasons ago. Soon after that, we were served large platters of steaming cuts of beef, covered in thick dark gravy, accompanied by steamed vegetables, and crusty bread. The cider washed down the meal in a most efficient manner. The best part of a bell later, Qanis was the last to push his plate away. For a small man, he certainly ate heartily. Toran was admiring the last of the wine, which he swirled about in the beautiful clear glasses the inn used. As bells rang in the distance, Qanis stood. "It is time to do business." I quickly rose and said my goodbyes to Toran. We made arrangements for him to come to Jetru's offices the next day, and then he left for the inn at which he would be staying. I followed Qanis into the room which he had hired for the evening. Gathered in the room was an unusual assortment of six men and one woman. Most dressed as if they had money, power, or both. Their hose or trousers were clean, and made from good cloth; tunics were of soft, textured materials. They seemed well supplied with jewelry, all of them wearing several large rings, and several wore brooches that were bent into shapes reminiscent of sorcerous symbols. They stood apart from each other, as if the power they purported to possess would explode if forced into close proximity with a like power. There are very few magicians of any power in Mandraka, and I harbored my profession's usual dislike and distrust of that craft. None of these puffed-up popinjays looked as if they could do anything to change my mind on that issue. As I passed the one sloppily-dressed man in the room, a foul odor assaulted my nose. The scruffy man smelled of stale sweat and rotten food. In fact, I could see most of the courses of his last meal, still in his beard. I quickly moved to the front, near Qanis, and away from the man, who apparently had a deep, abiding fear of water. "May I have your attention, please," called Qanis. The noise level in the room slowly subsided, and the closet magicians turned to face the merchant. "Thank you for coming," Qanis continued. "I am sure the merchandise on offer will more than make up for any inconvenience you may have suffered this evening." "Get on with it, Jetru! I, for one, haven't all the time in Makdiar to waste upon your ramblings," came harsh words, in a rough voice, from the smelly one in the far corner. Several others murmured similar feelings. "Of course, you are right, Master Kultris. I shall proceed without further delay," replied Qanis, who appeared unruffled by the interruption. "What I have on offer is none other than the Eye of Amante." The abrupt announcement produced several whispered conversations, and two outright rejections of the apparently preposterous claim. I have deep antipathy towards religion and its artifacts, and it seemed several people here agreed. Then again, I feel similarly about magicians, and they didn't. I decided to keep my opinions out of it, and just keep any eye on my employer's back. One old man, white-haired and stooped with age, stood and walked out of the room without another word, shaking his head the whole time. Several others made as if to rise and leave. "Please, my gentles, remain seated," cried Qanis, holding his hands high, and edging towards the door. "This is indeed the fabled Eye. Only this afternoon Corambis the Sage did himself come to my office and examine the jewel. Here is his sworn statement to the effect that the stone I have in this box is that very holy and powerful relic." Qanis had correctly judged his audience, and had used the right word to woo them back to their seats. Now that he had regained their attention, he brought out the box. He slowly lifted the hinged lid of the box, and i could feel the stillness, as one by one the bidders released the breath they had almost unknowingly held in their chests, as they beheld the Eye of Amante. The jewel was as big as my fist, and it's color was the bright red of a dying man's blood. It did not sparkle as gems usually do, but seemed to draw the light to itself. I am sure it was just noise from the dining area outside the room, but I felt as if I could hear the murmuring of many voices, coming from the direction of the stone. Of its own volition, my hand reached up to touch the brooch pinned to my cloak, the brooch my mother had given me on the day I left home for the College of Heralds. It had always brought me comfort, and for some reason the Eye made me uncomfortable. I cursed myself for a superstitious fool, and pulled my hand away from the brooch. Without taking her eyes from the stone, the one woman raised her voice. "Ten Marks for the Eye." "Twelve," came a voice from the left. "Fifteen Marks," came the woman's reply. The bidding quickly escalated to twenty-two Marks, then stalled. Several men had made no bids, and had looked on glumly as the others had bid. It seemed that magic involved power more than cold, hard currency. After the bidding stopped at twenty-three Marks, Qanis appeared ready to strike the deal. At that moment, Kultris stood up and spoke, "Twenty-five Marks, and I know none of you damned magicians can match that. You'll all see that a man not born to the power can still get it." He cackled, as if well pleased with his work, and walked to the door. As he passed Qanis, he said he would send word about the arrangements for delivery and payment. The unsuccessful bidders straggled out of the room, drained of energy, as if a spell they had attempted to raise had gotten the better of them. After they left, several serving girls entered and started to tidy up for the next occupants of the room. "Twenty-five Marks!" exulted Qanis. By all the gods, I'll have my warehouse repaired and restocked in no time. Let us go now; I have a lot of planning to do." We left the inn and entered the cool, dark night. I clasped my cloak tightly about myself, but Qanis was inured to the cold, or his good mood had rendered him immune for the time being. We walked down the street for a moment, and as we came upon a small alley, Qanis stopped. "I need to piss," he said. "I had too much of that wine tonight. I'll be but a moment." He moved a small way into the dark alley, and shortly I could hear the flow against the wall. The noise ceased suddenly, and I heard a gasp, then a voice, "I knew you would be here. He told me. Where is the Eye?" I had heard enough, and I drew my sword, the rasp sounding especially loud in the night air. "What was that?" the voice asked. I heard Qanis protesting as he was shuffled back into the light, the knife at his throat glinting in the light from the torch down the street. The man holding Qanis was barely taller than the trader, but what I noticed was his eyes. I have seen rabid animals on occasion; the resemblance with this man was uncanny. His eyes glowed, as if there were a fire burning inside his head. I decided to treat the attacker as if he were indeed the mad beast his eyes proclaimed him to be. In as soothing a voice as I could manage, I spoke, "Let the trader go, and I won't harm you, little man." "Who *are* you?" he hissed. "He didn't say anything about you. leave us now, or I'll bring his wrath on you when I have the Eye." This was the second time he'd mentioned the Eye, and I decided that he was too dangerous to play with. He looked at me once more, then started to drag Qanis back to the alley. He looked back over his shoulder, and I flung my saber in a vicious backhand, slicing open the inattentive mugger's hand. With a howl, he dropped the knife, and shoved Qanis to the ground. He cradled the injured hand in his other hand, and stared at me with those blazing eyes. Suddenly he screamed, "He said I will have the stone! And when I do, I will you commit you to an eternity of pain so intense you will beg me to kill you!" Darting quickly past me, he ran up the street, shouting all the while, "You will beg me, beg me ..." I turned to Qanis, who had picked himself up, and I made sure he was uninjured. He appeared shaken, but not physically injured. "I guess that will teach me not to piss in a dark alley," he said, then laughed, very nervously. I chuckled with him, and turned him towards his home. In the meantime I thought deeply about a man who could find the correct dark alley in Dargon, and who called the Eye by name. ======================================================================== Friendships of Stone Part 3: Jerid and Koren by Mark A. Murray Dargon, Naia 6, 1015 Ben awoke before the dawn bell rang. He tossed and turned in his bed trying to get back to sleep, because he knew it was too early to go to Matthew's house. He was excited because today he would get to show all the people just what a dragon looked like. While in the marketplace yesterday, Matthew and he had found a sculptor who made stone figurines. Her name was Sharin, and she sculpted a dragon for them. To pay for it, they were to show it to everyone they met and to tell who sculpted it. Light from the morning sun peeked through the window and Ben got up. He looked at his mother's bed and found it empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, he got dressed. Normally, when she was home during the night, she had some man with her, both usually drunk. He hated those times. His father had left some months ago on a trading vessel and had not returned. There was a knock on the door followed by Matthew's voice, "Ben? I know you're awake. Can I come in?" Ben opened the door and smiled. It was a crisp spring day outside with the sun just starting to burn the morning mist away. "Mom's not here, come on in," he told Matthew. "I've been up for bells! Way before the sun came up." Ben let Matthew in and then hurried to change into warmer clothes. "So have I," Matthew said. "I thought the sun would never shine, it seemed so long." "I'm dressed, let's go!" Ben rushed to the door. "First one there gets to hold the dragon!" And with that, he ran outside and down the street. Matthew was close behind him. Being older, Matthew didn't have much of a problem keeping up with Ben. He could have passed Ben and reached the tent first, but he knew Ben loved that dragon sculpture. He would let him win. "I got here first!" Ben yelled as he touched the tent flap. "Ben!" Matthew warned. "She might still be asleep." "No, look, the tent flap isn't tied shut. It's just closed is all. She has to be up. Sharin?" "Sharin?" Matthew echoed as he pulled the flap aside and stepped into the tent. He looked around, but couldn't see much as his eyes weren't adjusted to the darkness, yet. "Ben, hold the tent flap open." When Ben pulled the flap open, Matthew's eyes grew wide. "Ben!" "What?" Ben asked, letting go of the tent flap and running into the tent. "It's dark in here again." "You let the flap close!" "Hello?" called a female voice outside the tent. "Sharin?" Matthew called back. "No," Tara said as she opened the flap. "It's Tara." "Oh," Matthew said. "I thought you were Sharin. What are you doing here so early?" "Sharin's not here? Oh!" Tara exclaimed as she saw that the whole tent was empty. Nothing remained inside the tent. "What happened?" "I don't know," Matthew said. "We just got here." "I know," Tara remarked. "I saw you from down the street. Sharin and I were supposed to look for new cloth to make dresses yesterday, but I couldn't make it in time. So I thought I'd show up early and we could look today." As she looked around the inside of the tent, she remarked, "She wouldn't have just taken her sculptures and left. Something must have happened. Even the small desk and the long workbench are gone." "My dragon's gone!" Ben cried. "So is Sharin, Ben," Matthew replied. "She's more important." "I bet that noble she argued with last night took it," Ben said. "And her, too!" "We have to tell my uncle!" Tara said, turning around to leave. "Your uncle?" Matthew asked, following her. Ben was the last one out, and he let the tent flap fall closed with a quiet rustle of fabric. He thought about tying it shut, but realized that there wasn't anything there to steal. His dragon was gone. Sighing, he turned to follow Tara and Matthew. "I told you last night, my uncle is the captain of the guard. He'll be able to find her." Tara turned south on the Street of Travellers and headed out of the marketplace. "Where are you going?" Matthew asked. "I told you! To see my uncle." "No, *where* are you going. Where is he?" "Oh! He's in the keep right now," she answered. Ben stopped suddenly. "We can't go there!" he said. "Ben's right, we aren't allowed to go there," Matthew agreed. Tara stopped and looked back at the two boys. She was torn between leaving them here and ... she didn't know what else to do with them. She realized that they were the only ones who saw the noble, and she needed them. "It will be alright. You're with me, and we're going to see Captain Koren of the town guard. He'll vouch for you once he hears what happened." "We aren't allowed to go there! Rachel said so!" Ben reiterated. "If Rachel said we aren't allowed there, then we aren't allowed there!" "But I need you to tell my uncle what the noble looked like," Tara pleaded. "Please." "I can't go," Ben said, stubbornly. "Ben, Rachel only said that we couldn't go there by ourselves. Well, that's what she meant, anyway." "She told us not to go to the keep," Ben said. "Yeah, but that was when we were headed out the door to go exploring. Remember. She got real serious and told us not to go very far. Besides, if she were here, she'd let us go to the keep with her. She's not much older than Tara, and Tara's uncle is captain of the guard." "I don't know ..." Ben said. "I guess I'll go, but if she gets mad, I'm telling her it was your idea!" Matthew grinned, accepting the responsibility. "Well then, come on! Sharin's missing!" Tara said, turning around to continue down the street. "Look Matthew!" Ben yelled as he caught sight of the stone causeway. He ran up to the beginning of it and looked across. It was built of large stones, logs, and bricks and spanned the Coldwell River. Arches underneath it let the river continue along its path almost undisturbed. The top part was brick, intricately woven from one side to the other. Ben ran out onto part of it and looked over the side. There were no railings and Ben could see that the river was murky and high from the spring thaw coming out of the mountains. "Don't get too close to the edge," Tara warned. "I don't want to have to explain why you fell over into the river." They crossed the causeway and continued on toward the keep. "It sure looks big," Matthew said as he looked toward Dargon Keep. Three tall towers rose from the keep, two facing the river and one facing the sea. "The keep is big," Tara agreed. "There are two large ballrooms for dancing and the Duke's reception chamber. That's larger than the ballrooms. It has to be; that's where he does all the public business, and lots of people are there. There are private chambers, too. Those are usually smaller. There's the Duke's library, and ..." As Tara continued to tell them about the keep, they started their climb up the road toward the main gate. The road twisted and turned to go around several large boulders as it winded upwards to the top. Once at the top, the road widened somewhat to pass through the keep's large outer gate. Matthew and Ben stared at the walls, the gate's opening, and the inner courtyard as they made their way into Dargon Keep. The inner courtyard was a flurry of activity, mostly from the militia. The militia was training in one section and Matthew could see that all of the trainees were young. With the war only being over a few months, all the older soldiers weren't home yet. There were also other people scattered about trimming hedges, digging the ground, and planting seeds. Tara led them past all the people to the keep itself and then down several corridors to a large, sturdy wooden door. She pounded on the door and waited for an answer. "Kalen! Quit knocking every time and come in!" boomed a voice from behind the door. Tara opened the door and smiled. "If you think I look like Kalen, you need to step down and let him take over," she teased her uncle. Koren looked up from behind his desk. He was a large man with grey hair and a long mustache that stretched out beyond his mouth, only to curl up at the ends. He was wearing a blue uniform jacket adorned with gold epaulets and brass buttons. "I thought you wanted the day to yourself," he replied. "You've come back to help me, I see," he teased back. "I'm sure I can find something for you to do." He looked behind her and saw the two boys in the hallway still. "What, you've brought help?" "Help, yes, Uncle Koren. But it is me that needs your help. Sharin's missing." "Eh? That friend of yours?" he asked. "Yes. She's gone and so are all her sculptures from her tent. You have to find her. A noble came and took her." "A noble?" he asked, his blue eyes narrowing. "And you saw this noble take her?" "No, but the boys saw the noble," Tara replied, masking the full truth. "They did, did they? Well get in here, you two," he said, his deep voice rumbling in the room. Matthew and Ben slowly stepped into the room. "Come on! I haven't got all day! Who are you? And what did you see?" "I'm Matthew and this is Ben," Matthew said. "And we really didn't see the noble take her." Koren gave his niece an icy stare, but said nothing to her. Turning back to the boys, he asked, "Well what did you see?" "He did it," Ben said. "I know he did it!" "Who did it?" Koren asked. "That noble," Ben replied, quickly. "Ben, we'd better tell him everything from the beginning. That way, he'll understand," Matthew explained. "We --" "We who?" Koren asked, interrupting. "Ben and me. We went to the marketplace to look around for any new stalls being set up. That's when we found Sharin's tent. She had some life-like figurines outside her tent. She came out, and we talked --" "About what?" "About her sculptures. She showed us some more, and Ben asked her if she could make a dragon. She said that if someone described it to her, she probably could --" "And she did! A neat one! It has wings this big," Ben said, spreading his hands to show how large the wings were. "And --" "Enough!" Koren commanded. "I want to hear what happened, not what a dragon looks like. Continue, Matthew." "She made a deal with us that if she made a dragon, we'd have to show it off and tell everyone about it for four days. If we told people that she made it and where to find her for four days, we could keep the dragon. We agreed, and she pushed us out of the tent so she could start sculpting. "We returned a bell later --" "Just when was this?" "It was yesterday. We returned and heard voices inside the tent. As we got closer, we could hear what they were saying. This man was threatening Sharin." "How?" "He was saying that she was going to work for him and she didn't have a choice and he would make sure she worked only for him. He sounded mad, too. She told him she would never work for him. He told her that she would whether she liked it or not and she didn't have a choice in the matter. "He stormed out of the tent right after he said that and almost knocked Ben and me down. We just got out the way in time or he would have run us over. He glared at us as he walked by." "What did this noble look like?" Koren asked. Ben giggled at the question. Tara smiled, too. They had made a game of remembering what the noble had looked like. "Can you remember, Matthew?" Ben asked, still smiling. "Not all of it. I remember he had a small scar above his left eye." "He was a mean noble with no name who's plump with a scar above his left eye without a beard who knocks people down," Ben recited. Koren raised an eyebrow at the boy's description of the man. "That's a fair description. How tall was he?" "I couldn't reach the top of him if I stretched my hand up," Ben answered. Koren stood up. "Was he as tall as me?" "No," Matthew said. Ben walked over to Koren and looked up. "He would have reached to about your eyes," he said. "He was rounder than you, too. Not as much muscle, either. His eyes were dark." Ben seemed to be staring past Koren as he described the noble. "And no beard." "Did you remember all that, or can you picture him in your head?" Koren asked Ben. "I can see him when I concentrate," Ben answered. "But he gets blurrier as time goes by. I don't think I'll be able to picture him like this by tomorrow, but I'll always be able to recognize him!" "You've got a sharp mind, boy," Koren said. "Are you apprenticed anywhere?" "Apprenticed? What's that? I work at the Golden Lion, if that's what you mean." "No, that's not what I meant, but it answers my question. Now, about Sharin. I can't just go arresting this noble. Are you sure Sharin isn't out somewhere on errands?" "All of her sculptures were missing from her tent," Tara answered. "Besides, it's still early. Where would she take all the sculptures? And why?" Koren grunted. "Okay, I'll send some men to look for her. Tara, you can give her description to the men. No, better yet, go to the barracks and see who's there. I know some of them have seen you and Sharin together. See if anyone there has ever seen her and bring them to my office. I'll also send someone with you to go back to her tent. I'll have him search for signs that might lead us to her." "But you can't arrest the noble?" Ben asked as Tara left the room on her Uncle's errand. "No, I can't, even if I knew whom it was -- which I don't. Just from what you've told me, I can't arrest him." "Then what good is it to even look into the matter? Just find Sharin," Ben said, disgustingly. "Because, Ben," Koren said, kneeling down to look Ben in the eyes, "if the noble did do it, then we may find something to prove he did it. And then we can arrest him. It's not a great chance that we'll find anything, but it's what we do. We look for evidence. And I want you to pay close attention to what and how my man looks for it, okay?" "Okay," Ben replied, slowly nodding his head. Tara returned a short while later with four men. "You've all seen Sharin?" Koren asked them. They all nodded. "Hmmph. More than I expected. Would you be able to spot her in a crowd?" "I only saw her once," one guard said. "I didn't ask how many times you saw her, Roji," Koren replied. "I asked if you could recognize her?" "Yes," Roji said. "Garay?" "Yes, sir," Garay replied. "Westerly?" "I'd know her." "I don't know you," Koren said to the fourth guard. "You're new?" "Yes sir," the guard replied, his voice breaking on sir. "My name is Dralyn Kepson." "You know Sharin?" "No, sir, but I've seen her before. I'll know her if I see her." "Well, Roji, Garay, and Dralyn," Koren pointed to them, "go search for her, then. Tara believes she's been kidnapped. If you see the patrols, give her description and tell them to keep an eye out for her. "The kidnapper could be a noble, but that's not known for truth. If you find her, report back to me but take no action -- unless her life is in danger. "And Westerly, take these boys back to her tent and see what you can find. See what tracks are there, if a wagon's been by, what it looks like inside, and explain to the boy here what you're looking for. On your way there, get the boys to fill you in on the rest of the details. Understand?" The men nodded. "Well, what are you waiting for?" The three men left the room while Westerly stayed, waiting on the boys. "It's the best I can do," Koren told them. "Go with Westerly here, and he'll show you what he knows and what he's looking for." Ben and Matthew followed the guard out the door, looking back at Tara. "I'll be along shortly," she told them. Matthew and Ben walked with Westerly back to the tent. The other three guards accompanied them, also. One mentioned that the best place to start looking for the girl was the last place she was seen. Matthew and Ben told the guards what they knew and saw. As they reached the marketplace, Ben showed them which tent was Sharin's and Westerly stopped them all several paces from the tent. "I want to look around first," Westerly said, "before we go adding more boot prints around the area. Ben, you'll come with me, but walk right behind me. Stop when I stop, got that?" "Walk right behind you and stop when you stop," Ben reiterated. "Got it." And so Ben walked behind Westerly, trying to see what the guard was doing. "What are you looking at?" "Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you, didn't I? I get so caught up in looking, that I forget to say anything. And if I don't tell you what I'm doing, Captain Koren will have my hide, now won't he? "See these tracks here," Westerly pointed to several sets of tracks in front of the tent. "I'm guessing that these are you and your friend's tracks. Looks like sandals and they are smaller tracks than an adult would make. Looking at your sandals and your friend's, I'm sure of it. The other track beside yours is probably Tara's. Everything else is too covered over to tell for sure. "I'm glad it's dirt up to the tent, though. If it was bricked, I wouldn't have an easy time of telling. Let's look round the sides now." Westerly walked around the sides, telling Ben about what he found. Once around the tent, Westerly walked into the inside of the tent. He pushed the flap open, but when it wouldn't stay, he had two of the guards hold the flaps open. With what light came in, Westerly examined the inside of the tent. He could see on the left side in the dirt that there had been figurines on the ground. Their depressions were still in the dirt. He made all kinds of remarks to Ben as he examined the ground. "Not much to go on, it isn't," he said to no one in particular as he walked out of the tent. "Well, what do you have?" Roji asked. "Not much," Westerly replied. "Except they were fairly good at what they did." "I don't follow?" Dralyn said. "It's like this," Westerly began. "If you kidnapped someone and knew that you left traces or tracks, you'd want to cover them. And that's just what someone did, they covered their tracks. But, if you're really good at it, you'll make it look as if things were normal and nothing happened. Whoever took this girl wasn't really good. They used something to smooth out the dirt where they had been inside the tent, they did." "I still don't follow." "Where they did smooth the dirt out; there's no tracks at all. It's just smooth dirt. But, you have tracks and depressions in the dirt along both sides inside the tent. Nothing in the center as it's been smoothed out, but they didn't smooth out the sides. So, either they aren't very good, or they just don't care that anyone knows she's gone; they just care that they aren't found." "If that's the case, they're planning on taking her out of Dargon. Which means --" Garay started to say. "That you'd better hurry and find her," Westerly interrupted, looking at the two boys. "If you search hard and fast, you'll find her in time, won't you?" "Yes, we will," Roji replied. He understood that Westerly was trying to keep the boys from the fact that Sharin was most likely not in Dargon anymore. "You two boys go home. I've done all I can here, and I'm going to help the rest search," Westerly said. "The more of us there are searching, the quicker we'll find her." "Can't we go --?" Ben started to ask. "C'mon Ben, let's go home," Matthew said, pulling on his friend's arm. "But, I want --" "*C'mon Ben*, let them do their job," Matthew told him. Ben turned around and walked slowly alongside Matthew. "I wanted to go with them," Ben whispered quietly, head tilted down looking at the street. "I have a better idea," Matthew answered. Ben looked up quickly at his friend. "What?" "Rachel's been seeing a lot of Jerid, hasn't she? And he works with the keep's guard, doesn't he?" "So." "So, if it was a noble that kidnapped Sharin, then don't you think the keep's guards would be the best people to look into it? And don't you think that Jerid, who's a Lieutenant in the keep's guard is the one to talk to?" "He would be!" Ben exclaimed. "But how do we get in to see him?" "We say that Rachel sent us," Matthew said, smiling. "But we have to go back to the keep again. This time by ourselves." "We do?" Ben asked, eyes getting big. "Rachel wouldn't like that." "Ben, please. It's for Sharin. She's in trouble, and she needs our help. Besides, we've been there once, what trouble can we get into? We know the way now." "I don't know ... we aren't supposed to be out wandering alone." "But we're not wandering," Matthew said. "We know where we're going." "We do, don't we," Ben replied, a smile forming on his lips. "Let's go see Jerid," Matthew said, and they walked back to the Street of Travellers to make their way back to Dargon Keep. "How do we find him?" Ben asked as they neared the keep. "We find one of the keep's guards and tell him that we need to see Jerid," Matthew answered. "And if that doesn't work, we'll say Rachel sent us. That should get us in to see him." When they reached the keep, they looked for a lone keep guard to approach. It turned out harder than they thought as the guards tended to move about in pairs or squads. Going around the courtyard, they managed to spot a guard sitting alone. He was on a bench eating an apple and relaxing. They walked over to him. "Could you take us to see Jerid?" Matthew asked. "Eh?" the guard mumbled, and then swallowed the bits of apple in his mouth. "Jerid? You mean Lieutenant Taishent?" "Yes." "What do you want with him? He's a busy man and doesn't see just anybody." "He'll see us," Ben told him. "He will? And how do you know that?" "Because he visits our house often," Ben replied. "He does? I've never seen you around the Lieutenant before. Why does he visit your house?" the guard asked, his curiosity aroused. "He comes over to see Rachel." "Rachel? Maybe Lieutenant Taishent will want to see you and maybe he won't," the guard replied. "We'll find out, though. And if he doesn't know you, I'll have you thrown into the gaol for lying." He took the boys into the main part of the keep and down a hallway to stop before a large wooden door. He knocked and waited. "Who is it?" called a voice from inside. "Sargent Ryal, sir," the guard replied. "I have two visitors to see you." "Visitors?" There was a scraping sound inside, and then they could hear boot steps toward the door. It opened and Jerid stood in front of them. "I told you I didn't want to --" He stopped when he saw who it was. "They say that you know them, and that you know a Rachel, sir," Ryal said, watching his commander's face for any reaction. If there was any, Ryal did not see it. "Ah, yes. I know the boys. Come inside you two. Thank you Sergeant Ryal, you may return to your duties," Jerid replied and shut the door after the boys entered. "What in Stevene's name are you two doing here?" Jerid asked, his voice edged with anger. "I know as a truth that you aren't allowed here." "But a friend of ours was captured by a noble," Ben spurted out. "And she was really nice to us. She made us a dragon and was going to let us work for it and she --" "Stop," Jerid commanded. "Tell me what happened Matthew." "We met this woman who makes stone figurines at the marketplace. She agreed to make us a dragon if we would take it around and show it off and tell people that she was the one who made it. She was making the dragon, and we came back to her tent to see if she was done. We heard this noble arguing with her. Then he threatened her --" "What did he say?" "He said that she would work for him, and she didn't have a choice about it. She said that she didn't want to work for him. He told her that she would work for him even if he had to make her. Then he came out of the tent and almost knocked us over. We got out the way just in time or he would have run us over." "What did he look like? And how do you know he's a noble?" "Ben?" Matthew asked, looking to his friend. "He was a mean noble with no name who's plump with a scar above his left eye without a beard who knocks people down," Ben recited. "And he was just a bit taller than I can reach." Ben raised his hand up to show how far he could reach. "He had a mustache, too." "He looked like a noble," Matthew added. "He had on real fine clothes. They looked expensive. He acted like everyone should get out of his way." "This is the responsibility of the town guard," Jerid told them. "Why didn't you go there?" Ben looked down at the floor, and Matthew looked over at the wall. "You did go there. Why come to me?" "They aren't going to find her," Ben replied. "They looked at the tent and couldn't find any trace of who took her." "We thought that if he was a noble ... well, you have dealings with nobles here in the keep, and we thought you might know who it was," Matthew said. "I don't know anyone that looks like you've described. But I will look into it." Matthew and Ben smiled. "However," Jerid went on to say, "you two are going home, and are going to stay there! Is that clear?" Both boys nodded. "Good. Now come with me." He led the two boys to the quarters of the keep's guards. "Where's Ryal?" he asked the closest guard. "In the courtyard, sir," came the reply. Jerid turned and led them back to the courtyard. He spotted Ryal sitting on a bench. Ryal happened to spot his commander, noticed the look on his face, and stood up at attention. "Relax," Jerid ordered. "Take these two boys home. They'll show you the way. Make sure that either Rachel or Eileen is there before you leave. If neither are there, you stay with the boys until one of them shows up." "Sir? I can't watch children. I --" "You brought them to me, you take care of them. Understood?" "Yes, sir," Ryal replied, and then turned to the boys. "C'mon you two. Show me where you live." "Thank you, Jerid," Ben said. "We didn't mean to cause any harm. We just want Sharin back. She was real nice to us." Jerid looked down at the boy and his face softened. "I'll see what I can do, Ben. Now go home." Jerid watched as the three of them left the courtyard. Muttering curses, he turned back toward the keep. The best thing to do would be to ask either Duke Dargon or Captain Bartol if they knew the noble. The duke was in the audience chamber listening to whoever was there. With any luck, there would only be a few people there pleading whatever case or quarrel they had. As he made his way to the chamber, he hoped it wasn't full. When he reached the audience chamber, he breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't crowded and it looked like the last few people were talking to the duke. As he made his way along the wall, he noticed Captain Koren standing alone. Koren looked around and noticed Jerid walking toward him. "Lieutenant Taishent," Koren acknowledged in a soft voice. Words tended to carry easily in this chamber, and it wouldn't be good to interrupt the duke. "Captain Koren," Jerid responded as softly. "What are you doing here?" "Cut right to the soul of things, eh?" Koren smiled. "I'm here about a noble. And you?" "A noble? This noble wouldn't happen to have a cut above his left eye, would he?" Jerid asked, already knowing the answer. Koren wasn't surprised at the question, or if he was, he didn't show it. "Two boys. Names of Matthew and Ben?" "Yes," Jerid replied, shaking his head. "Was my niece with them?" "No, she wasn't. Why?" "I told all three of them to go home. I just figured if those two boys showed up at your office, Tara would have been there, too. Now, though, I've got to wonder what she's up to. Did you send the boys home?" "Yes, and sent a man with them to make sure they got there." "I did that, too," Koren replied, a small smile on his lips. "If it didn't work for me, why do you think it will work for you?" "Because I don't think they have anywhere else to go. Unless ..." "You don't think," Koren said. They both looked around the room, searching for the two boys. Not seeing them, they both chuckled. "I still find it hard to believe I'm standing here waiting to talk to Duke Dargon because of two small children." "That both of us are here," Jerid amended. "We'll have to keep an eye on those two. The last time our offices worked together was because of Liriss. That I can understand, but two small children?" Jerid was watching the last of the people leave the presence of the duke. "Looks like no one else is going to speak," Koren said. "Is there anyone else who would like to appear before me?" Duke Dargon called out. "Milord," Jerid spoke up. Koren and he moved through part of the assemblage to appear before the duke. Duke Dargon was seated in a cushioned chair on a small dais. The war had not been kind to Clifton Dargon. He looked many years older now as compared to before the war. His left arm had been severed at the elbow while fighting in a naval battle. While still physically young, he looked tired, worn, and haggard. The smiles that once came often to his face appeared less frequently now. "Lieutenant Taishent *and* Captain Koren. For both of you to be here, it must be a matter of importance. Had I seen you earlier, I would have spoken with you right away," Dargon told them. "Milord," Jerid said, "we *are* here for the same matter." "That is something I have rarely seen," Lansing Bartol said, interrupting any further explanation. He stepped up beside them. "Milord Dargon," he bowed, "my apologies for being late, but to see two of our officers here together. Why, matters of utmost importance must be happening," Bartol said, chuckling. "Captain Bartol, you aren't here with them?" Dargon asked. "No milord." "Ah. I had thought that you showing up right after, you were here with them," Dargon replied. "No matter. Lieutenant Taishent, please proceed." "Milord," Jerid began, "I have received news that a noble may have kidnapped a merchant." Clifton Dargon's face grew solemn and his brows furrowed as he stared at them. "Come with me," he ordered. Getting up from his seat, he turned to his right and walked to a door near the corner of the chamber. A page opened the door for him and held the door for Jerid, Koren, and Bartol also. They followed Dargon into another room which held only a table and six chairs. "Sit," he told the three of them after the door was closed. "A noble, you say? How -- no, start at the beginning. I want to hear all of it. *All* of it, do you understand?" Jerid and Koren nodded. "Good. First you, Lieutenant Taishent." Duke Dargon sat in a chair on the opposite side of the table. He leaned forward to show them that they had his complete and undivided attention. Jerid and Koren did not realize that the duke would take the news so seriously. They did realize that it was too late to change things, so they told the duke the whole story as they knew it. At one point, Bartol gave out a short laugh, only to be silenced by a look from Dargon. "Are you telling me that you are here because of something two children told you?" Dargon asked seriously. "Not exactly, milord," Koren replied. At a nod from Dargon, he continued, "You see, my men found nothing at Sharin's tent. Everything inside had been taken. That makes me believe that something did happen. I do believe she was taken, but I don't know who took her. The only thing I have to go on right now is the words of two children, yes, but it's worth looking into. I can't arrest a noble on what I have, but I can search and try to find the truth. Also, Sharin is the friend of my niece, Tara. It's not some unknown merchant who may have packed up and left town, but someone we know." "Milord," Jerid added, "I know the two children. They wouldn't make something like this up." "Have you heard the bell sound, Bartol?" Dargon asked. "Not yet," Bartol replied. In public, Lansing Bartol was a bard, the Captain of the militia and Duke Dargon's personal advisor. Formalities were normally observed. In private, Bartol was Clifton's close friend, and formalities were dropped. "Fortunately," Dargon told them, "I have a meeting with some merchants and nobles about tax issues when the next bell strikes. You may accompany me and look for this noble. If he's not there, I will ask if any there know of this noble. That is the best I can do. "Family is important, I understand that. I also understand that there is the possibility, although small, that what you say really did happen. I won't allow *any* noble to get away with things like that. They, too, must follow the law. Whatever the case, I want to know what happened, but not at the expense that you disregard your duties. Is that clear?" "Yes, milord," Jerid and Koren said at the same time. Bartol could not contain his laughter and it echoed around the room. Clifton Dargon smiled, and the two men relaxed some. The meeting with the merchants and nobles about the tax issues went fairly well. It was held in a small audience chamber that contained one long rectangular table that seated twenty people. There was no sign of the noble that Jerid and Koren were looking for, however. Informing Bartol that they didn't spot the noble, Bartol told Dargon, and Duke Dargon gave the description of the noble to the assembled group. He asked if they knew whom it was. "Milord," a merchant said, stepping forward. "I have done business with a noble who has a very small scar above his eye. This noble has a mustache and no beard. I don't know for sure if he's the one you're looking for, but he fits the description." "Do you know his name?" Dargon asked. "That I do know, milord. I keep records of every sale and purchase I make," the merchant replied. Then smiling, said, "Just so I get the taxes right." "Just so," Dargon smiled. "What is his name?" "I'll have to look in my records, milord. I don't remember his name as I just met him. I remember faces, but not names. If I may look --" "Yes, look," Dargon agreed. The merchant searched through several sheets of parchment, turning them over and around. There was writing all over the parchment; some in the corner, some scribbled over others, but very little space was left free. "Here it is. Samual Gathaelis, from Magnus. He is staying somewhere just outside of town. One of my delivery boys can guide you there. They made a delivery not too long ago." "We do appreciate your help," Dargon said. He asked if there were any other matters to be decided, but no one spoke up. He concluded the meeting and sent them away, except for the merchant. "Lieutenant Taishent, Captain Koren, I expect you to use discretion. Have the merchant's delivery boys show you where to go. But I want to know one way or another about this matter as soon as possible." Jerid and Koren both acknowledged the matter, making sure that neither spoke at the same time. Bartol held his laughter in check as the two left with the merchant. "They'll never admit it, but they're more alike than not," Bartol said. "Yes," Dargon agreed, smiling. "And they'd both go out of their way to prove they aren't alike." Clifton Dargon absently moved both arms to help himself out of the chair, until he realized that his left arm below the elbow was gone. He sighed as he stood. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it being gone." "Maybe one day," Bartol suggested. "Maybe ... but not today. No, today has been far too serious. I'll provide the wine," Dargon said, changing the subject, "if you provide some songs." "Done," Bartol agreed, and the two left the room. ======================================================================== Deliverance Praeludium by John Doucette I In the Spring of 1012 B.Y., the Beinison Empire was looking to expand. For centuries, the Empire had been continuously increasing its holdings bit by bit until, by 1012, it had become one of the premier powers on the continent. Now, Untar II, Beinison's newest, and youngest, Emperor, decided the time was right for Beinison to make a bid for absolute and undisputed mastery of northwestern Cherisk and from there go on to dominate the entire continent. To do this, Untar would have to conquer or otherwise control the Kingdom of Baranur and the Galician Empire. Untar and his advisors quietly began sending agents into both of Beinison's larger neighbours, having already ruled out any action against the tiny kingdoms of Lederia and Comarr as an unwarranted diversion of resources. The information coming out of Galicia was sparse and unreliable. Many agents failed to return and those that did barely managed even that. The Galicians had closed their borders some centuries before and were, apparently, very determined to maintain the current state of affairs. Untar's agents in Baranur, however, reported much different results. The information flowing into Untar's Summer Palace in Cabildo was both exhaustive and accurate. Untar and his inner circle decided that Baranur would be dealt with first before turning Beinison's attention to the problem of Galicia. As Autumn, 1012, approached, Beinisonian agents were slowly making their way north, for it was in Baranur's Northern Marches that Untar had detected just the right kind of weakness he could exploit. The Northern Marches were sparsely populated and, more importantly, far from Magnus, Baranur's capital. As well, the people of the Northern Marches were not particularly war-like, the last serious conflict to occur there being the fighting in the Great Houses War nearly a century-and-a-half ago. This was in sharp contrast to the Southern Marches, long a target for Beinisonian raids. Untar's agents sought out those whose ambition and desire for wealth or power outweighed their loyalty to King and Country. One such was Baron Coranabo, a minor lord with holdings in the Duchy of Kiliaen very near to the Barony of Shipbrook in Duchy Dargon. Coranabo had long coveted the now-vacant Coronet of the Barony of Shipbrook, and the agents of Beinison offered money and the promise of more land should Coranabo work for Beinison against Baranur. Coranabo agreed and together with Untar's agents, set about a campaign to destabilize Duchy Dargon sufficiently that a power struggle in the north, possibly even outright warfare, would erupt, distracting King Haralan's attentions from his southern border. While this was going on, Untar summoned his generals and admirals to him in Cabildo. There, he informed his officers that the Beinison Empire would undertake a concerted effort to conquer Baranur by force of arms and that this would begin in the Summer of 1014, perhaps as early as Autumn, 1013, and that he, the Emperor, wished to have a plan for such a campaign presented to him as soon as possible. By early 1013, Untar's agents had sufficiently infiltrated Baranur's Northern Marches that the second part of the plan to destabilize Duchy Dargon could proceed. Also at this time, Untar's generals had come back to their Emperor with a plan as bold and audacious as it was simple: Baranur would be subjected to a two-pronged attack, the main effort in the south with a strong diversion/raid in the north. The exact details had yet to be worked out, but Untar gave his approval and the armies of Beinison began to quietly mobilize. II Events now began to move rapidly forward as Untar's agents put the second phase of their plan to destabilize Duchy Dargon in motion. An attempt to assassinate Duke Dargon as Winter drew to a close was a partial success. Though the Duke was not harmed, nor was the secondary target of the assassins, in the confusion of the botched assassination attempt's aftermath, Beinisonian agents were able to plant documents indicating that Duke Dargon, then in the midst of a dispute with King Haralan over taxes, had been in contact with agents of the Beinison Empire and was prepared to sell-out to Beinison. This fabricated evidence was "discovered" with the "aid" of Baron Coranabo and, in the Summer of 1013, Duke Dargon was summoned to Magnus to be tried before the King on the charge of treason. The evidence was discovered to be false by Baron Luthias Connall, the prosecutor, and that not only was the evidence false, but that Baron Coranabo had been working for Beinison all along. The trial turned into a Council of State, called by King Haralan to determine what action, if any, should be taken against Beinison. As this Council got underway, Baron Connall (now newly-created Count) was sent to Beinison as Ambassador with instructions to negotiate and attempt to puzzle out Beinison's true intentions towards Baranur. By late Autumn, 1013, the Council had dead-locked on the issue of whether or not to take action. The Knight Commander of the Armies, Sir Edward Sothos, head of the Royal Army, argued, surprisingly, against a military response. He knew the Kingdom was in no state to take on Beinison. All debate was closed, however, when Untar sent an Ambassador to Haralan bearing the head of Luthias Connall as Untar's answer to what he thought of bringing the crisis to a peaceful conclusion. Haralan ordered a War Council to be struck at once and all through the long winter, the Council debated, and, in a session marked by an assault on the Ambassador from Galicia by political enemies at home that left several guards dead and the Ambassador fled, the decision was taken to go to war and to attack Beinison in the Summer of 1014. During the Winter, Baranur's Knight Commander, Sir Edward, began sending more and more troops south to meet the threat posed by the armies of Beinison. At full mobilization, Baranur could field 114,000 to Beinison's 120,000, a figure which gave Sir Edward confidence that Beinison would not be able to defeat Baranur with such a small margin of difference. Baranur's strength was deceptive, however. Her standing army numbered 42,000, not counting the troops the various nobles could raise on short notice. The Militia, which comprised 50,000 troops, could be raised fairly quickly, but the quality of the troops varied widely, from the battle-hardened and competent Militias along Baranur's border with Beinison to the very green and untested Militias of the Northern Marches. An additional 10,000 troops could be mustered within a few weeks of an emergency by recalling discharged veterans to the colours, but these troops, too, would take time to get re-accustomed to life under the war-banner. Even given these obstacles, Sir Edward felt confident that all his troops would be fully trained and ready to fight by Summer. Unbeknownst to Sir Edward, Untar had already set in motion the machinery of invasion. Untar's generals had refined their earlier plan of attack. One hundred thousand of Beinison's one hundred-twenty would be hurled at Baranur as soon as the snow began to melt from the roadways and the ice began to break up on the sea. Beinison would not wait for the traditional Summer campaigning season. III As the violent storms of late Winter and early Spring coming in off the Valenfaer Ocean began to lessen both in frequency and strength, 35,000 soldiers of the Beinison Empire, including Beinison's famed elite Light Infantry Regiments, boarded ship and, escorted by the bulk of the Beinisonian navy, headed north. At the same time, 65,000 troops, among them the feared Knights of the Star, crossed the Baranur-Beinison border all the way from the tiny kingdoms of Lederia and Comarr, perched ever-so-precariously between Baranur, Beinison, and Galicia, to the Valenfaer Ocean, driving the unprepared and scattered Baranurian forces before them. In position facing them were the 20,000 troops under command of the Knight Captain of the Southern Marches, Dame Martis Westbrook. During the Winter, Sir Edward had stripped the garrisons of the Northern Marches to send to Dame Martis the reinforcements he knew she would need for the planned attack on Beinison that coming Summer. Winter, 1014, was the coldest, most brutal Winter in living memory and movement in the deep snows and bitter cold had been near-impossible. The result was that when the Beinison invasion force crossed the border, the majority of the 15 Regiments, 15,000 troops, sent south by Sir Edward were not yet half-way to the border, forcing Dame Martis to deploy her available forces in a thin screen that only served to delay the advance of the Beinisonians. Sir Edward, accompanied by the Royal High Magist, Lord Marcellon, hurried south as best he could through the Spring mud in order to make a first-hand assessment of the developing situation. Upon arriving at Dame Martis' field headquarters near a small crossroads town called Oron's Crossroads, Sir Edward went into deep conference with Dame Martis and immediately issued orders for the activation of all Militia Regiments throughout Baranur. He also sent word to the local Dukes requesting that they make haste to Dame Martis' headquarters without delay with as many troops as they could muster on short notice. As well, Sir Edward sent word to Magnus that the Royal Hussars, Baranur's elite heavy horse, should make immediate preparations to move south, a clear indication of the seriousness of the crisis. It was at this time that a man, by his dress a noble of high rank, was brought into the headquarters in a state of near-total collapse and close to death. Marcellon examined the man, practicing his healer's art to try and save the poor unfortunate. It was during this examination that Lord Marcellon discovered, to his utter shock, that the man before him was none other than Count Luthias Connall. Luthias told a tale of being imprisoned, drugged, and tortured. The "head" that those at the War Council thought was his was, in reality, a magical construct of Beinison's feared mage, the powerful Mon-Taerleor, like Lord Marcellon, a former student of Styles, one of the greatest magicians of the age. Luthias also imparted information he had overheard about the Beinisonian invasion plans. What he related spelled potential disaster for Baranur. Luthias told Sir Edward that 35,000 troops, the very same ones that had boarded ship at Cabildo just as the invasion rolled across the border, were headed north under large escort. Their objective was to land at the mouth of the Laraka River, a vital economic and communications lifeline with Magnus, and to march on the capital, hoping to take the city before sufficient force could be brought to bear to stop them. What Luthias did not know was that the Beinisonian force was to spilt into one group of 20,000, which would march on Magnus, and a smaller group of 15,000, which would sail for Dargon City and use the city as a base from which to conquer the disorganized Northern Marches. IV Sir Edward hurried north, fast messengers preceding him, ordering the Hussars to turn 'round and make for Magnus with all speed. He also sent word of the impending attack on the North to the King, asking that the King order the forces of the various nobles in the Northern Marches to send what force they could to the aid of Knight Captain Sir Ailean of Bivar, who now prepared to face the coming invasion at Shark's Cove, a port at the mouth of the Laraka, with just over five thousand men. Knight Captain Sir Ailean, meanwhile, drew up his tiny force at what he determined was the most probable landing site for the Beinisonian force, a stretch of beach just north of Shark's Cove. There he was joined by Lord Morion and a group of five hundred former students from Lord Morion's warrior school. As the Beinisonian invasion force approached, the Baranurian Fleet of the North, aided by the majority of the Laraka River Flotilla, sortied in an attempt to stop the Beinisonians. The attempt was a failure. Losses were high on both sides. The Baranurians were annihilated and the Beinisonian invasion force landed in safety. Knight Captain Sir Ailean met the enemy literally at the water's edge, his better-armoured troops succeeding, for a time, in holding back Beinison's Light Infantry Regiments. Beinison's greater weight of number ultimately prevailed, however. Knight Captain Sir Ailean perished leading a rearguard while Lord Morion led just over two thousand survivors away from the enemy. Following the north bank of the Laraka, Lord Morion mercilessly forced-marched his troops to Port Sevlyn, a large port-city halfway between Shark's Cove and Magnus. There, he attempted to convince the Lord Mayor to order the city's two Militia Light Infantry Regiments to follow Lord Morion and declare Port Sevlyn an Open City in order to spare it from the wrath of the advancing Beinisonians. The Lord Mayor refused, saying he could not give up Duke Quinnat's home without a fight. He also pointed out to Lord Morion that if the two Militia Regiments stayed in the city, the Beinisonians might possibly be delayed a day or two, time that Lord Morion could use to reach and fortify Gateway Keep, a small military town that commanded the river approaches to Magnus. Lord Morion departed with his troops and the inexperienced Militia Regiments prepared to meet the enemy. Lord Morion had barely departed when the Beinisonians arrived. The Beinisonian commander, General Joachim Vasquez, asked for the city's surrender, and, when the Lord Mayor refused, ordered four of his best Regiments to attack. To everyone's surprise, the Baranurian Regiments held off the enemy, though at great cost. General Vasquez attacked again and again, reluctant to commit too many of his troops, anxious that his force not be reduced too much -- he still had to reach and take Gateway Keep and then move on Magnus, all before the enemy could mount an effective defence. The increasingly-desperate defenders of Port Sevlyn fought as if they were possessed, holding off attack after attack for the better part of five days. Finally, on the sixth day of the siege, with fewer than 300 out of 2,000 troops left, the defenders were overrun as Vasquez threw his entire force at the Militia Regiments on the city walls. Realizing the danger to his mission the delay the six-day siege represented and the absolute necessity of avoiding a repetition, General Vasquez ordered that half the population of Port Sevlyn be put to the sword in order to demonstrate the penalty for resisting the forces of the Beinisonian Emperor. After slaughtering 5,000 civilians, Vasquez departed after the fleeing Lord Morion, leaving two Regiments in the city as a garrison. Lord Morion, meanwhile, was busily digging-in outside Gateway Keep. Lord Morion and the just-over two thousand survivors of Sir Ailean's doomed attempt to stop the Beinisonians from landing, arrived at Gateway Keep as the siege of Port Sevlyn was entering its sixth day. Lord Morion's troops had just completed a march worthy of note as a feat of arms. Ever since the defeat at Shark's Cove, Lord Morion had driven his troops with unflagging ruthlessness, covering the 550 leagues to Gateway Keep in just over eleven days, an average of 50 leagues a day, an accomplishment that elite troops would be hard-pressed to match, much less a mostly-green force that had fought and suffered a terrible defeat. Giving thanks to every deity he could think of, Morion prepared to move his troops into Gateway for some well-deserved rest only to find that the Keeper would not admit the Royal troops, saying that "this conflict does not concern Gateway Keep". Furious, Lord Morion made camp and began the construction of field fortifications at the only ford giving ready access to Gateway Keep. Morion knew his preparations were more-than-likely futile, but he was sick of running. V Morion's troops finished their fortifications certain in the knowledge that the pursuing Beinisonians were, at best, a day away. Lord Morion and the Regimental Commanders did what they could to keep up their troops' morale and determination to hold the enemy as long as possible. The Baranurians waited three days before their enemy made his appearance. Once again, the defenders faced the Light Infantry Regiments of the Beinisonian army, and once again, the Baranurians held the enemy off, but just barely. When night fell, Morion had lost nearly a third of his strength. He knew he would not hold his improvised fortifications for a second day. As the second day of Morion's desperate stand dawned, things were happening inside Gateway Keep that were to prove of tremendous importance to those facing the Beinisonians outside. Goren Winston, rightful Keeper of Gateway, slipped into the fortress to confront his brother, Ne'on, who had usurped Goren's place. Goren found Ne'on to be possessed by a demon or spirit and was forced to kill his younger brother so that Goren might thwart the spirit's plan and bring Gateway Keep back into the war against the Beinisonians. Outside on his makeshift fortifications, Morion had committed the last of his reserves and knew that the end was near when the closed gates of the keep opened. Morion tried to conduct an orderly withdrawal but his troops, who had faced deepest adversity for so long, finally cracked. Almost as one, the entire defending force broke and ran for the inviting safety of Gateway's stone walls. The Beinisonians, their discipline intact, pursued the fleeing Baranurians. Barely one thousand survived to gain the protection of the walls. For the next three days, the garrison, augmented by the remnants of Morion's force, held the enemy off as Gateway was slowly pounded to rubble by the siege engines Vasquez had brought up the Laraka by ship. On the third day, what was left of the defenders were preparing for the final stages of the siege when the Hussars, all eight Regiments, and a small contingent of samurai from Bichu, arrived from the south under the command of the new Knight Captain of the Northern Marches, Luthias Connall. Connall quickly formed his Regiments and threw all eight thousand heavy horse at the surprised Beinisonians. Nearly half the enemy force fell victim to the long, killing lances of the Hussars before Vasquez could affect a retreat. Connall pursued the retreating Beinisonians all the way to Shark's Cove, where he forced Vasquez to do battle. At the same time as Connall was arriving at Shark's Cove, the Baranurian and Beinisonian navies were nearing the small port at the Laraka's mouth, the Beinisonians intent on rescuing their expeditionary force, the Baranurians just as intent on preventing such a rescue. The battle, when it occurred, lasted nearly all day, on land and at sea. The warships of the two navies savaged each other, dozens of ships and hundreds of sailors vanishing beneath the waves. On land, the desperate defenders held off attack after furious attack while the Beinisonian transports began loading troops. Finally, his line threatening to break, the Baranurian navy endangering the transports, Vasquez called a halt to the evacuation and sailed for home. Seeing this, the Baranurian navy made one last attempt to crack the Beinisonian line. The remnants of the Beinisonian fighting navy gallantly put themselves in harm's way to allow the transports to escape. The battle came to an end, on land and at sea, when Duke Dargon's flagship and the Beinisonian flagship became locked in battle. The Duke was severely wounded and fell overboard. He was rescued and eventually recovered, though the healers were forced to remove his badly-injured forearm. The Duke's flagship defeated the enemy flagship and, upon seeing this, the Beinisonian navy's resolve faltered and the remnants fled for home along with the transports. The Beinisonian troops left on shore fought on for a few bells more until, at sunset, stranded and facing destruction, the survivors surrendered. VI The immediate crisis on the Laraka was over. Magnus was safe, for a time, a very brief time, for Sir Edward had received word that a huge army under the direct command of Emperor Untar II himself was approaching the Crown City. The Knight Commander of the Armies sent messengers speeding throughout the kingdom, summoning all who could quickly reach Magnus to the capital's defence. An army of nearly 20,000 gathered at the capital, preparing to meet the enemy. The enemy they found, however, was not the Beinisonians. For many months, political maneouverings had been underway to get Sir Edward, a Galician, removed as Knight Commander. Most vocal in his opposition to Sir Edward was Duke Northfield, the most powerful of the Great Houses. King Haralan resisted the pressure until, with the bulk of the Beinisonian army bearing down on Magnus, Northfield threatened to take his troops out of the army if he was not given command of the defence of the Crown City. Knowing that Northfield would take not only his personal troops but those of other nobles as well, Haralan reluctantly assented to placing Northfield over Sir Edward. The Baranurians met the enemy on several leagues outside Magnus. Outnumbered two-to-one and out-generalled, the Baranurians were hard-pressed. The end came when Northfield, seeing his flank turned, panicked and fled with his troops. Sir Edward took charge and managed to salvage the situation by getting the bulk of the army away from the field and to Magnus. Severely weakened, Magnus' defenders manned the walls and prepared for a siege. Not long after the disastrous attempt to meet the enemy outside Magnus' walls, Connall reached the Crown City with the Hussars and as many foot soldiers as he could muster. These reinforcements brought the defenders' numbers almost up to what they had been before Northfield's debacle. Even so, Sir Edward did not hold out much hope. He did not have nearly enough men to properly defend fortifications as large as Magnus' and moreover, the city was split by the Laraka. Untar's army arrived at Magnus and made camp. The Emperor was making his final preparations for the assault on Magnus. Untar knew that he could not simply throw his army at the walls, for, undermanned as Magnus' fortifications were, the city would be a tough nut to crack. Thus it stands. A Beinisonian army in the heart of Baranur with a battle and the fate of a kingdom to be decided ... ========================================================================