DargonZine Volume 4, Issue 3

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   D    D  AAAA RRR  G GG O  O N N N   Z     I N N N E     || Issue  3
   DDDDD   A  A R  R GGGG OOOO N  NN  ZZZZZZ I N  NN EEEE  ||
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 --   DargonZine Volume 4, Issue 3        06/06/91          Cir 1102   --
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 --                            Contents                                --
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
  What are Little Girls...?    Bryan Maloney          Yuli 3-4, 1014
  Pact                         Max Khaytsus           Yuli 10-11, 1014
  Fortunes 2                   Max Khaytsus           Yuli 15, 1014
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
1                   What are Little Girls Made of?
                         by Bryan Maloney
                  (b.c.k.a. <MALONEY@PURCCVM.BITNET>)

      Aimee held her breath when  she heard more crashing from outside.
 Were the Be-innyson soldiers coming again?  She wished that she was in
 the castle with Daddy and Grandfather.  She closed her eyes and wished
 harder, so hard  that she could feel her fingernails  digging into her
 hands. She  opened her  eyes and  saw she  was still  in Grandfather's
 shop. Wishing never worked by itself-- you  had to go and make it work
 for even the littlest things.
      She'd  been here  since yesterday,  when the  Be-innyson soldiers
 started throwing rocks at the city walls. She'd been taken to Old Town
 with the  other children  and put  near the  castle--but she  had left
 something very  important behind. When  Grandfather picked her  up and
 put her in the wagon to Old Town  her puppy Karl had jumped out of her
 arms and run into Grandfather's home.
      Grandfather told her that he'd make  sure to bring Karl if he had
 to go to Old Town too. Then  she'd heard that the Be-innysons had made
 holes in the New Town wall and were coming in. She was smart enough to
 know that Grandfather  would be too busy to find  Karl, so she sneaked
 out--it was easy enough with so many children around--to find Karl.
      When she  got to  Grandfather's, Karl was  there--but Grandfather
 wasn't. The puppy  was upstairs in Grandfather's rooms.  He had tipped
 over a jug of Grandfather's awful, bitter drink and was lapping at it.
 Aimee had  to laugh at  the way  the puppy staggered  and yelped--like
 Grandfather did  during the  Melrin festival.  Aimee had  gathered the
 puppy in  her arms  and was  about to leave  when she  heard marching,
 clanking feet.
      She ran to  a rope hanging over  a table and pulled  her feet up,
 dangling with one  hand while the other held Karl.  Slowly, the stairs
 to  the  attic  came down,  and  Aimee  climbed  them.  She sat  on  a
 projecting board she had fastened  to the stairs (when Grandfather was
 away once) and pushed them closed. Then she pulled the rope up through
 its hole. She carefully made her way  around the holes in the floor to
 the attic window. There she lay down to watch the street.
      Soldiers  were coming  from her  left. They  marched in  straight
 rows,  making a  terrible  noise.  She could  tell  that they  weren't
 Dargon's soldiers. They had square  shields and carried an ugly banner
 with a big metal bird on top of it. They had to be Be-innysons!
      Aimee  was  nervous,  but  not really  scared.  She'd  remembered
 hearing Grandfather tell Goodman Corambis that the attic had been made
 by  smuggil-ers to  hide in  and  see down  below. (The  next day  she
 sneaked into  the attic to  see. Grandfather was right--she  could see
 everything through  the holes in  the floor. Best of  all, Grandfather
 couldn't see her. The ceiling was  built very high with rough logs and
 painted to make the holes look like parts of a pattern.)
      Then she  saw Thomas Redcap. He  had been sleeping in  a doorway.
 Thomas was always drunk and he  smelled bad, so Aimee stayed away from
 him. But nobody ever did anything to him because he never hurt anyone.
 Two of  the soldiers  had picked  him up and  were shaking  him awake.
 Thomas   woke  up   and   the  head   soldier--did  Be-innysons   have
 captains?--said    something    to    him.    Aimee    suppressed    a
 laugh--Be-innysons  were stupid  people!  Everybody  knew that  Thomas
 couldn't say his own name just after he woke up.
      Thomas just  stared at the  soldier. When the soldier  started to
 yell, Thomas  tried to  run. The  soldier took  his sword  and stabbed
 Thomas in  the back. Thomas kept  trying to run, but  the soldier kept
 stabbing him. Finally, Thomas fell down and the soldier stabbed him in
 the neck.
      Aimee started shaking--these were  terrible men! They were demons
 like Mother Clariss the Priestess had  told her about! She watched the
 men pick up Thomas  and toss him in the gutter.  Some of them actually
 laughed! Then  the captain  shouted something Aimee  didn't understand
 and the men went into buildings.
      Aimee  froze,  clutching  Karl.  Three  of  them  had  come  into
 Grandfather's place!  If they would  kill harmless old  Thomas Redcap,
 what would they do  to her? She inched over to  a smaller peephole and
 looked into the rooms below. Karl squirmed and whimpered.
      "Be quiet, Karl!" she whispered.
      Karl tried to lick her face.  He began to wriggle more, and Aimee
 was afraid  that he would start  to bark. She couldn't  let him go--he
 might fall into one of the larger  holes and start to yowl. What could
 she do?
      Karl then belched,  softly. Aimee grimaced. he  smelled just like
 Daddy  and   Grandfather  did  at  the   Melrin  festival--of  course!
 Grandfather kept some of his jugs up  here in the winter so they would
 be cold when he  drank them. Maybe he'd forgot to  take some down this
 spring. Aimee looked around until she spied a pile of earthen jugs.
      "Will you be quiet if I give you a drink?" Aimee whispered as she
 crawled over to the jugs. The  clay stopper was fastened with wax, and
 she  had  to dig  at  it  with  her  fingernails. Karl,  smelling  the
 beverage, was whining in anticipation.
      Aimee  pulled  the stopper  out  and  poured  some of  the  brown
 contents into a depression on the floor. Karl lapped fast and furious.
 Aimee then went back to the peephole.
      The soldiers  had come up  the stairs  from the public  rooms and
 were searching Grandfather's rooms, turning over everything that could
 move. Aimee was glad  that the table was heavy oak,  or she would have
 to jump from the  bottom of the stairs when she  left. Finally, one of
 the  soldiers found  Grandfather's jugs  he  kept by  the table.  They
 laughed and stuffed them into their packs. Then they left.
      Aimee went back to the attic window and looked at the street. The
 soldiers  were gathering  together. The  captain yelled  something and
 they went  back into lines  and marched away.  After they were  out of
 sight, Aimee went to the board  nailed to the stairs and lowered them.
 Then she  scampered down and went  immediately to a cupboard  that had
 been ripped open. She ran her fingers  on the top of the bottom shelf,
 along the outside  rim, until she found a catch.  She pulled the catch
 and a  small door on  the opposite wall  swung ajar. This  was another
 thing made  by smuggil-ers, according  to Grandfather. She ran  to the
 secret cupboard and looked--it was there.
      Grandfather  had once  been  a soldier,  and he  had  kept a  few
 souvineers. One  was a big  greatsword, too  heavy for Aimee  to lift.
 Another was a decorated crossbow that Grandfather had gotten as a gift
 for  helping   in  some   battle  or   another.  The   greatsword  was
 gone--Grandfather  took it  with him  probably, but  the crossbow  was
 still there, hidden with Grandfather's  other treasures. She knew that
 she couldn't wield  it, but she would  still feel safer if  she had it
 with her. She grabbed the weapon  and a handful of silver-inlaid bolts
 and ran back into the attic, withdrawing the stairs behind her.
      "I know what  I'll do." She thought, "I'll wait  here until I see
 some Dargon soldiers  march by, and then I'll come  down and tell them
 I'm Aimee Taishent  and they'll take me to the  castle because Daddy's
 in the guard."
      She lay down by the attic  window and watched the street. After a
 while, Karl staggered next to her and collapsed in a heap.
      "Did you have enough?" Aimee whispered.
      Karl emitted an enormous belch and went to sleep.
      "Karl,   you  smell   worse   than  Thomas   Redcap."  Then   she
 remembered--Thomas lay on the street,  dead, holes poked into his body
 by  the Be-innysons.  Softly, Aimee  began  to cry.  The tears  flowed
 smoothly down  her cheeks until  they dripped  on the floor.  Then she
 began to  sob, trembling.  Her throat started  hurting, but  still she
 cried. Her  head started  hurting--still she  cried. Aimee  wept until
 after sundown. Then she slept.
      She woke the next morning to the sounds of battle. She looked out
 the attic  window to see  a mob fleeing  down the street.  Behind them
 were more  Be- innysons.  They were hitting  people, not  even chasing
 them. Just  running over  them and killing  them. Aimee  suddenly felt
 terribly guilty.
      "I'll  never   knock  over  another  anthill.   I  promise."  She
 whispered. "Just please, Bright Cahleyna,  don't let the soldiers come
 in here."
      The mob  passed and the  soldiers followed them, not  stopping to
 look in any buildings. Aimee breathed a sigh of relief. How long would
 it be before the Dargon soldiers  came by? Would they ever? There were
 so many  Be-innysons, what if they  won? Would they come  and kill her
 like they did Thomas Redcap? She started to cry again.
      She stopped when  she heard Karl whining. The puppy  was lying on
 his belly, forepaws over his ears, eyes tightly shut.
      "It  serves  you  right,  Karl."  Aimee  whispered.  "Now  you'll
 remember how  awful that stuff is  to drink." Aimee then  realized how
 terribly  hungry  and   thirsty  she  was.  She  also   needed  to  go
 outside--badly. But the Be-innysons were  out there! She looked around
 until she saw some old junk in a corner. Maybe there was a chamber pot
 in the pile!  Desperately, she climbed into the castoffs  and began to
 dig.  The pile  was huge--Grandfather  never threw  anything out.  She
 began to tunnel into the heap, which nearly touched the roof.
      "There's my toy cart!" Aimee stated.
      Karl  stood at  Aimee's exclamation  and dragged  himself to  the
 pile. He whimpered at his mistress.
      "Karl, I was going  to pull you around in this,  but a wheel fell
 off. Grandfather said he would fix it,  but I guess he just lost it in
 this mess.  I'll make him put  it together when he  comes back." Aimee
 stopped  digging.  Would  Grandfather  come back?  Would  anyone?  She
 started to cry, but her sobbing  breaths reminded her of a lower call.
 She quested further  into the heap. Finally, she caught  at glimpse of
 glazed clay.  Tossing small bits  of junk  aside, she found  a cracked
 chamber pot.
      After she relieved herself, she had a terrible thought--"How do I
 get rid of this?" she asked herself. Aimee decided that she would have
 to leave it here until she could think of something.
      She was still thirsty, though. Aimee grit her teeth and picked up
 a jug. She pried it open and took a drink. Yak! It was even more awful
 than she remembered. But it helped  her throat, so she drank more. She
 put the  stopper on  the jug and  sat down next  to the  attic window,
 watching the  street for  Dargon soldiers. Karl  wobbled over  and lay
 down beside her. Aimee picked him up.
      "Karl, I wish you were a  great knight like the old Duke Clifton,
 then you'd put me on your horse  and we'd ride straight to the castle.
 And if  any Be-  innyson soldiers  tried to stop  us, you'd  take your
 sword and kill them." Aimee thought about the Be-innysons; she thought
 about Thomas Redcap; she thought about the people running away, killed
 like ants; and a strange feeling  started inside her. It was cold, but
 somehow comforting. The more she felt it, the better she felt.
      "I hate  you, Be-innysons." she said,  and for the first  time in
 her life, she knew what that meant.
      Aimee watch  the street until  she had to relieve  herself again.
 She went over to the chamber pot--it stank. Aimee sighed, there was no
 helping it. Grandfather  would understand about the  smell. She walked
 to the chimney  and unlatched a metal door. Grandfather  had put it in
 himself so he wouldn't  have to hire a sweep to clean  the flue and he
 wouldn't have to go on the roof to clean it himself. The special bendy
 brush Grandfather used was on the floor beside the chimney.
      She opened  the door and poured  the contents of the  chamber pot
 down the  chimney. Grandfather kept  the flue  closed unless he  had a
 fire, so she  knew it wouldn't splatter in the  fireplace and give her
 away. She would have to remember to warn him before he opened the flue
 next time.  Again she relieved herself  and emptied the pot.  That was
 when she heard the crash.
      She crept to a peephole and looked down. A Be-innyson soldier had
 chased an older girl into the building  and up the stairs to the rooms
 below. He  had a terrible  grin on his face.  He grabbed the  girl and
 threw her onto the floor. Then he ripped her skirts and petticoats off
 and opened his codpiece. Aimee immediately knew that the man wanted to
 sex (or  s-e-x, as  Grandfather always  said around  her. She  was six
 already--she'd heard  what grownups did!  Anyway, she'd seen  Karl get
 born.), but  the girl didn't  want to--the  soldier was going  to hurt
 her!
      A flame started in Aimee's heart and crept up her throat. She was
 going to stop him! He was a Be-innyson, and all they ever did was hurt
 people. She didn't care  how big he was or what  weapons he had. Aimee
 Taishent was going to stop him!  She scampered to the attic window--no
 one was on the street. At least  it was only him. The girl had started
 screaming. Aimee went  to a peephole and looked down.  She saw the man
 forcing the girl onto the  floor. Desperate, Aimee caught the crossbow
 on a nail jutting  from a pillar and pulled back  the string with both
 hands.
      "Please, Father Ol, keep the string from breaking."
      Aimee pulled, leaning away from the crossbow. The string dug into
 her fingers, feeling like a knife. Finally, the catch clicked--the bow
 was cocked.
      Her fingers  hurt too  much to move--there  was already  a purple
 line across  them--but she forced  herself to  drop the bolt  into its
 slot, like  she had seen the  guards do in practice.  Then she started
 running toward the stairs.
      On her way,  a flash caught her eye. The  soldier was right under
 one of the  larger holes in the floor--Grandfather  called them murder
 holes. It was  very big, Aimee had  almost caught her foot  in it. She
 looked down and saw the soldier's back, right below her. She carefully
 aimed  into the  hole and  and  gasped as  the  bolt slid  out of  the
 crossbow and through the hole below. You had to hold the bow straight!
 She'd  heard Daddy  tell  that  to his  men,  but  had forgotten.  She
 remembered now.
      Aimee heard the soldier shout and then a crash. What would he do?
 He couldn't get  to the stairs, she  knew that, but what  would he do?
 She looked  down through the hole.  The soldier wasn't there,  but the
 girl was. Her head bled and she  lay in a ball, quaking. Where was the
 soldier?
      Aimee ran to another murder hole and looked down--no soldier! Had
 she scared him away? She ran to  the stairs to lower them, but stopped
 dead as  she saw them come  down by themselves. Frozen  with fear, she
 watched  as the  Be- innyson  soldier came  up the  stairs, holding  a
 pole-arm with a  hook upon it. He smiled at  Aimee and approached her,
 weapon held low.
      Aimee  stared at  the soldier  as he  walked toward  her. He  was
 talking, saying something she couldn't understand. When he had cleared
 half  the distance  between them,  Karl charged  the foreigner  with a
 squeaking snarl. The soldier batted the pup aside with his polearm.
      As  soon as  Karl  took to  the air,  yelping,  Aimee awoke.  The
 soldier wanted to hurt her! She ran around the soldier, trying to make
 for the stairs, but  he just turned and swung his  polearm in front of
 her. She tried to duck around the weapon, but the soldier just stepped
 and hit her with the haft.
      She fell over,  bruised, and heard the soldier  laugh. She looked
 up and saw him heft his weapon,  then he swung it. The blade descended
 upon her like a foot upon a beetle. Aimee tensed herself for the blow,
 her last, when  she heard a thump beside her.  The soldier had missed!
 Was he too drunk  to hit her? She looked at him and  her hopes died as
 she heard him start to laugh. He aimed another blow at her, missing by
 inches. He was playing with her-- just like boys played with rats!
      Aimee  scrambled backwards  on all  fours; the  soldier advanced,
 smirking. He said something in his own tongue and laughed. Aimee still
 went  back. The  soldier  stopped  to watch  her.  Finally, Aimee  hit
 something--it was  the junk  heap. She  started to  climb into  it and
 froze as the soldier yelled and charged toward her, weapon lowered.
      Desperate, she grabbed  at the pile below her. Her  hands came up
 with a  piece of wood. It  was the shaft from  Grandfather's old cloak
 tree. She had broken it last year  by swinging from it and knocking it
 over. Grandfather  was so mad he  didn't even spank her--he  just told
 Daddy!  She pulled  up  the piece  of  wood and  held  the end  before
 her--the top with a pointed bit.  It wasn't long enough! The soldier's
 weapon was  easily twice  as long.  And she couldn't  even pick  it up
 besides, the other end was tightly wedged in the pile.
      "I'm sorry, Daddy." she whispered.
      At that moment,  the soldier discovered one of  the murder holes.
 His right foot  came down exactly upon  a larger one and  went in. The
 bones of  his ankle  ground against  each other  and cracked.  Yet the
 momentum  of his  charge was  too  great to  be halted  by this  minor
 setback. Instead, his body flew the last few yards through the air and
 landed upon Aimee.  His polearm entered the  pile, headfirst, catching
 Aimee's skirts upon the hook.
      Aimee opened her  eyes. Above her lay the soldier.  Why wasn't he
 doing anything? Then she noticed that  her hands were warm. She looked
 down to  wher she had been  holding up the  end of the cloak  tree and
 gasped when she saw it go into the soldier. She looked up at the young
 man. He  was a youth, with  a light mustache beginning  to form. Aimee
 noticed  that his  hair  was  reddish and  looked  very  soft. He  was
 motionless, breath coming in ragged gasps. Tears poured from his eyes.
 Aimee  watched the  final spasm  shake the  soldier before  he stopped
 breathing. Then  she looked  at his  face. He had  the same  look that
 Thomas Redcap did when the soldiers cut him down.
      Aimee  went limp  on the  pile, sobbing.  She was  as bad  as the
 Be-innysons! She thought that killing  the soldier would make her feel
 better, but  it didn't. She felt  awful, even worse than  the time she
 had been throwing  stones to knock down apples and  accidentally hit a
 squirrel. She  dragged herself out of  the pile, tearing her  skirt on
 the hook. Sobbing, she ran down the stairs.
      More than  anything she had  to get away--she'd  killed somebody.
 That was the worst thing you could do! Grandfather had taught her that
 Ol and Cahleyna  valued all life, and now she  had killed someone. She
 had to hide--go where no one could find her. She ran for the stairs to
 the street level when she collided with a soft form.
      "Where did you come from?" Aimee heard someone say.
      Aimee looked  up and saw the  face of the girl.  Unable to speak,
 Aimee pointed up.
      "You say you came from heaven?"  The girl's eyes were wide. "Were
 you an angel sent by Cephas Stevene to rescue me?"
      "No." Aimee  was finally able to  say. "I came from  the attic. I
 tried to shoot the bolt at him and he--" Aimee burst again into tears.
 "I killed him!"
      The girl held Aimee tighter. "It's all right, honey. He was going
 to hurt me, and you only wanted to stop him." Aimee felt a hand on her
 chin, lifting her face.
      "I am Marta, what's your name?"
      "Aimee, Aimee Taishent." Aimee said.
      "Are you related to the mage?"
      "He's my grandfather!"
      "No  wonder you're  so brave.  Living around  magic must  be very
 exciting. I bet  you can even read." Marta smiled  and stroked Aimee's
 hair.
      "It's not all  that exciting." Aimee said, "Usually  he just sits
 and studies, except when he has a customer, but I can read."
      "Where is your Grandfather?"
      "He's  in Old  Town.  He went  there  when the  Be-innysons--when
 they--when--" Aimee began crying again.
      "It's  all right,  honey. One  way or  another, it  will be  over
 soon." Aimee and Marta embraced, each comforting the other.
      After a  time, Aimee snuffed and  said, "Go into the  attic, it's
 not safe to be down here."
      "What about you?" Marta asked.
      "I'll be right behind you." Aimee said. Yesterday she had been so
 scared that  she forgot  Grandfather's secret stash.  It was  where he
 kept all  the wonderful things he  wasn't supposed to eat  at his age.
 She crawled under the table  and pushed a knothole--smuggil-ers had to
 be the  most fun people. A  small trapdoor pushed up  and Aimee lifted
 it.
      Underneath were  pickled sweetmeats and  fish salted so  heavy it
 crackled. There were  also some pickled plums from  Bichu. Aimee liked
 these, even if  they burned on the  way down and made  her feel funny.
 She put it all on the table and closed the trap door. Then she climbed
 on the table and put the lot in her torn skirt. After she climbed into
 the attic she sat the food on the floor and raised the stairs.
      As  she  finished  pulling  up the  stairs,  she  remembered--the
 soldier was  up here!  She couldn't  turn around,  she might  see him.
 Aimee stood, trembling, and stared at the stairs.
      "It's all right, Aimee, I covered him."
      Aimee turned around.  Marta had covered him with  the blanket she
 had taken from  Grandfather's bed to cover herself up.  She was trying
 to pull her ruined skirts around her.
      "Wait, Marta."  Aimee lowered the  stairs and ran down.  For once
 she was  glad that Grandfather  got cold.  Sometimes she hated  how he
 always had two blankets--it made sleeping with him too hot. She pulled
 the  other blanked  out from  under the  bed and  brought it  into the
 attic. When she returned, Marta had already started on the sweetmeats.
      "I haven't eaten since before yesterday." she said.
      "Neither did  I." Aimee replied.  "I'll get something  to drink."
 She walked  to the  jugs and  got one.  The two  began to  feast, only
 pausing to drink the over-warm beer.
      When they had finished eating, Aimee went to the attic window.
      "What are you looking for?" Marta asked.
      "I'm waiting for Dargon soldiers."
      "Oh." Marta sat, quietly.
      After a  time, Aimee  looked back  at Marta.  The older  girl was
 sitting,  rocking back  and forth.  Tears flowed  down her  cheeks and
 throat. Her body shook with silent sobs. Aimee ran over to her.
      "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Aimee put her arms around Marta.
      "That man--he wanted to..." Marta put her head down.
      "I could  see that,  but I  stopped him."  Aimee was  puzzled. He
 hadn't been able to hurt Marta, but Marta still seemed hurt.
      "I know you stopped him, and he  didn't hurt my body, but he hurt
 my  heart." Marta  wiped  her face.  "He  scared me  and  tried to  do
 something terrible." Marta began sobbing.
      "He broke the Third Law of your Stevene, didn't he, Marta?"
      "What do you  know about that, Aimee? They don't  teach the Third
 Law to little girls."
      "I can  read. Mother Clariss is  a Priestess for Stevene  and she
 used to come around and talk to me before Grandfather chased her away.
 One time  I sneaked one of  her books out of  her pouch. I kept  it up
 here until Grandfather found it. He was so mad--I don't know why."
      "Perhaps your Grandfather is pagan...mine was."
      "I don't know about  that, but he made me pray all  day to Ol for
 that."
      Marta looked Aimee in the eyes, "Then you worship Ol?..."
      "Of course I do. Grandfather tells me all about him."
      Marta took Aimee on her lap. "Despise not the pagan, for they may
 still be good of heart." she whispered.
      "What did you say?" asked Aimee.
      "Just a little  prayer of thanks that you  were here, Aimee--What
 were you saying about the Third Law?" Marta dried her eyes.
      "Well, I think it goes: 'The sexyoual act is a sacrament. It is a
 holy gift of pleasure...' that means good feeling, you know."
      "Yes, I know, Aimee." Marta smiled, faintly. "Go on."
      "...'a holy gift of pleasure from  God. He who violates this gift
 shall burn,  but she who  is violated...'  Why did Seefas  Stevene say
 'she' there, anyway?"
      Marta sighed, "I  think he had some idea what  things are like in
 the real world."
      "Okay, anyway: '...she  who is violated is as pure  as before, by
 My  Holy Word.  Let  none gainsay...'  That  means disagree.  '...this
 decree."
      "Thank you Aimee." Marta hugged the young girl.
      "Do you want to pray, Marta?"
      "I would like that."
      Marta recited the  Plea to Stevene and the Creed  of Mercy. Aimee
 listened to  the alian phrases.  Stevene people prayed  strangely, all
 full of  begging and  pleading. Praying  to Cahleyna  and Ol  was much
 easier. You  just thanked them for  the good things and  asked them to
 help with  the bad things. When  Marta was done Aimee  looked into her
 eyes. They were brown and dark,  just like Karl's fur--Karl! Where was
 he? She looked around the attic and  then, to her horror heard, at the
 same time,  Karl barking  from below  and a roar,  like the  parade at
 Melrin Festival, coming down the street.
      "I've got to get Karl!" Aimee cried as she ran to the stairs.
      "No, Aimee, the battle's come  this way." Marta grabbed Aimee and
 held her tight. "Anyway, you've  already proven that the Stevene looks
 after brave little girls and foolish puppies very well."
      "Are you sure?"
      "Yes." Marta lied.
      The two sat by the attic window to watch, fearfully.
      "They're coming." Marta whispered.
      Around the  corner came a  Beinison legion, banner  torn, shields
 broken, ranks ragged. Behind them was a veritable mob of an army. Here
 a  soldier in  fine armor  hacked at  a Beinison  shield; there  three
 street  toughs pelted  a lone  Beinison  with cudgels.  Old men  threw
 rocks; young  men wielded spears.  It was a  rabble, but it  drove the
 foreigners back. Behind this line  were ranks of ill-matched soldiery.
 Dargon  personal guard  mixing  with town  militia. Noblemen  marching
 alongside common thugs.
      The two girls watched the  foreigners get pushed down the street,
 almost as if the stones of the city had risen against them. Then there
 was quiet.
      "Do you think we should go out?" Aimee asked.
      "We ought to  wait for our soldiers to look  for us. Things could
 change."
      Aimee nodded, and the two waited, breathlessly.
      Hours later, after sundown, the girls heard noise from below.
      "She's got  to be here!"  They heard a  man yell, "It's  the only
 place she'd go!"
      Aimee ran to the stairs and lowered them as fast as she could.
      "Aimee, stop, it could be a trick!" Marta called.
      Aimee, heedless, ran down the stairs, one word on her lips.
      "Daddy!" She ran into her father's arms.
      "I  guess we  found  her, Lieutenant."  a  soldier in  sergeant's
 livery said. "Anything else you want?"
      "No, thank  you sergeant."  Jerid Taishent  replied. "You  can go
 now."
      "Right!" The  sergeant saluted.  "All right, you  crowmeat, we've
 got Beinison cowards to mop up! Move yer asses!"
      The soldiers left at a trot.
      Marta walked down  the stairs, blanket wrapped  around her. Jerid
 looked up at the  sound of her. The first thing he  saw were her eyes.
 Somehow he couldn't look away.
      "Who is this, Aimee?" Taishent asked.
      Marta blushed and pulled at the blanket.
      "That's Marta, Daddy." Aimee said. "Some man tried to hurt her so
 I killed him."
      Jerid winced at his daughter's words.
      "Beggin' yer pardon, sir," the  Sergeant had returned, "but we'll
 be needin' ye to help wi' the moppin' up."
      "I'll be right  there," Jerid said. He put Aimee  down. "You stay
 here until Grandfather or I come for you. Will you do that? Don't come
 out of the attic unless you actually see one of us."
      "I'll  wait right  here."  Aimee said,  seriously. "Karl!"  Aimee
 dived under the  bed and retrieved the wriggling  puppy. "You'd better
 stay with  me, or  some Be-innyson  will come along  and cut  you into
 gloves."
      As Jerid left the shop, his sergeant approached him.
      "Me 'n  the men,"  he said,  "would like to  say that  we're sore
 happy that ye lost none o' yer family."
      "Sergeant," Jerid replied, "Thank you--and the men--for that, but
 you're wrong." Tears frosted his eyes. "My little girl died today."
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
1                               Pact
                          by Max Khaytsus
              (b.c.k.a. <khaytsus@tramp.Colorado.EDU>)

      Kalen stood on  a wharf at the  north end of the  town of Dargon,
 looking into the darkening ocean. The  sun, setting to the west, was a
 red disc half engulfed by the  water. Menacing red shadows fell across
 the port  and the city  walls as a  fresh reminder of  the Beinisonian
 invasion only a month ago.
      He paced, looking at the havoc  raised by the fighting. The piers
 were ruined, torn  apart so that the Baranurian fleet  had no place to
 dock after  the battle was won.  A large, hundred foot,  merchant ship
 was almost completely submerged in the water not far away. It had been
 in port when the Beinison ships  arrived and minutes later it was deck
 deep in the  water. Now the hull  was half buried in the  sand and the
 tides were slowly dismantling the ship. There was nothing to salvage.
      The city walls were battered as well. The solid stone was cracked
 and chipped and  in one place the  stone wall had all  but crumbled to
 dust.
      A creaking of  the wooden walk alerted Kalen to  turn. He noted a
 dark shape  walking towards  him from  the eastern  end of  the docks,
 almost completely hidden  by the dark. Two days ago  Kalen received an
 anonymous note  asking him to  meet the  sender here. The  missive was
 brief and  cryptic and could  not be  traced, but the  lieutenant felt
 that it was  something important. Ilona insisted that he  not go or to
 at least bring guards, but the note explicitly told him to come alone,
 so he did.
      The shadow approached and Kalen  recognized it for one of Liriss'
 henchmen. He wondered again if it was  a trap or a set-up, but the man
 he  was meeting  was not  armed. Kalen  likewise had  not brought  his
 sword, but  his eating dagger  could always be  used as a  last resort
 weapon, as it has done a few times in the past.
      Kesrin Mardos stopped  a few feet from  Lieutenant Kalen Darklen,
 carefully studying the acting Captain of  the Guard. He was carrying a
 heavy  proposition,  ready  to  create  a  life-long  associate  or  a
 life-long foe.
      "What did you want?" Kalen asked.
      "What my Lord wanted," Kesrin answered without emotion.
      "What did the rat send you for now?"
      Kesrin suppressed a smile. He would  have to use that line later.
 He often  thought of Liriss as  a rat, himself --  the same moustache,
 grown recently, unkempt  hair ever since the Beinison  invasion, and a
 growing need  to be the  master of all he  could, whether it  served a
 purpose or  not. Like a  dog on a  stack of hay,  will not eat  it and
 won't let a horse near.
      "The rat," Kesrin spoke in a dry voice, it was all he could do to
 contain his amusement, "asked me to deliver you a proposition."
      "Which is?"  Kalen was  just as dry.  There was  nothing pleasant
 about being propositioned by a gangster  in the middle of the night on
 a dark  pier with  no weapons  or guards  in sight.  It would  be like
 making a  deal with  the death  god, J'Mirg, or  Amante, or  Nehru, or
 Balen-Ruk, or whatever  all those religions called him,  and hoping to
 come out ahead. Kalen was not sure where he got all that religion, but
 these were all one and the same. In this case Liriss.
      "He wishes to hire you."
      "For what?!"  Kalen exclaimed, realizing  he had begun  to drift.
 Working on both sides of the fence was just what he needed.
      "For information! Control!"
      "No," Kalen shook his head,  the grim darkness agreeing with him.
 "That's absurd. That's against the law."
      "Hear  me out,"  Kesrin said  calmly. What  was Kalen  expecting?
 Information about  a whore-house to  close down?  "We are ready  to do
 things for you. We can make you the Captain of the Guard..."
      "You're not the only one," Kalen interrupted.
      "But we can do it now! We know you want it."
      "I'll wait until  Captain Koren retires," Kalen said.  He knew he
 was the logical choice for the  position as soon a the present captain
 would become tired  of the job, something he did  not expect to happen
 for years.
      During  the Beinisonian  invasion  of Dargon,  Captain Koren  was
 severely wounded and for  the last month had been in  the care of Duke
 Dargon's  personal  physician,  Elizabeth  of the  Pass.  He  was  not
 expected to be up and about for  at least another month more and Kalen
 held his job  by default, pending Adrunian  Koren's improvements under
 the care of the physician.
      "I'll wait  until he  is ready  to step down  on his  own," Kalen
 repeated.
      "You will  naturally be provided  with inside information  on our
 competition, to aid you in their apprehension," Kesrin continued.
      "You  don't  understand..." Kalen  started,  but  Kesrin did  not
 yield.
      "We will  also pay you the  exact same salary as  the Duke. Think
 about it! Double the money for one job!"
      "What would you want from me in return?" Kalen asked cautiously.
      "Nothing that you'd have to work  hard for. Just ignore what Lord
 Liriss does and make sure his competition stays out of the way..."
      A  rather simple  job, Kalen  thought to  himself, but  still not
 worth doing. Money is not everything. There was also a certain part of
 living  that's involved  in life  and to  live well  morality must  be
 upheld.
      "I can't say I'm interested," he answered.
      "There are others..." Kesrin let the threat trail off.
      "Not others that can make captain," Kalen returned.
      "Not if you're alive," Kesrin agreed.
      "If I  had my  sword, I'd  take you in,"  Kalen said  through his
 teeth.
      Kesrin  smiled. "What  for? Being  outside the  city gates  after
 dark? Curfew was  lifted a fortnight ago. Or are  you upset over being
 threatened? It's only  your word against mine...and  you're the acting
 Captain of the Guard." It was not  certain if that last was being used
 in a mocking way.
      "If  I had  my  sword,"  Kalen corrected  himself,  "I'd run  you
 through." He turned,  walking away from Liriss' right  hand man. There
 was nothing to  talk about and nothing to fight  with...or for. If not
 Kesrin, then  another. It never stopped.  It was better to  keep known
 criminals where they were, in order to track them with ease.
      Kesrin  grabbed  Kalen's  shoulder   and  spun  him  around.  The
 Lieutenant cringed from the pain that  shot down his arm. "If we don't
 hear from you by tomorrow night, we will assume you made up your mind.
 We'll make the same deal with someone else. You are neither the first,
 nor the last."
      Kalen grabbed Kesrin's collar, violently  yanking him up, but not
 being able  to lift him  off the ground  in this manner.  His shoulder
 screamed out in pain again. "Who else, you bastard? Who are you paying
 off?"
      Kesrin  broke the  grasp on  his tunic.  "Lieutenant Shevlin  was
 working for us.  He died an honorable death. Make  sure you don't wind
 up just another body on the street! You have until tomorrow!"
      Lieutenant Kalen Darklen watched Kesrin return into the darkness.
 He wanted  to follow,  but the  danger of that  was hundreds  of times
 greater than the meeting itself. He watched the man disappear into the
 darkness,  then   slowly  walked   back  through   the  hole   in  the
 fortification to return home.
      Although the darkness  had only settled, the streets  of the city
 were all  ready empty and quiet.  The winding street that  Kalen chose
 took him to the deserted market place.  He stood at the opening to the
 alley,  studying the  square, wondering  about the  proposition Kesrin
 presented. Kalen could  not imagine that Lieutenant Shevlin,  a man he
 worked so  closely with for a  number of years, could  be a turn-coat,
 but he had no evidence either way.  Shevlin always did his job and did
 it well -- he was Kalen's main competition for the position of Captain
 of the  Guard --  he was  one of  the most  efficient officers  in the
 guard, being  offered twice  to switch to  the Duke's  personal guard.
 Yet, Kalen had wondered in the  past about how Shevlin could afford to
 buy some of  the things he had  on a lieutenant's pay.  Either way, he
 died in the invasion. No answers would come from him.
      Kalen wondered if he should accept  the offer extended to him, to
 go in  under cover, to watch  the criminal underworld and  then strike
 when least expected, but then he remembered the price he would have to
 pay --  Adrunian Koren's life  -- and eventually  his own. It  was too
 steep.
      A pair of lanterns appeared on the other side of the square. They
 were carried  by six  men -- a  patrol. With a  sigh Kalen  decided to
 return home.
                    *         *         *
      Ilona Milnor paced back and  forth in her small rented apartment.
 She  had warned  Kalen not  to go  to the  meeting, but  he stubbornly
 insisted. When  she said  she was going  to go with  him, he  made her
 swear that  she would wait  for him to return.  Now she was  angry she
 made that promise. It could have been a trap and she just let him walk
 off. She walked  over to the table  on which she had  placed her sword
 and belt and  started putting them on, but then  unstrapped the buckle
 and returned the belt  and weapon to the table. She  had lost count of
 the number of times she went through this procedure this evening.
      Kalen was an ambitious officer. He became a lieutenant after only
 five years of service and at the age of twenty-nine was all ready, the
 best candidate for the position of Captain of the Guard. He almost got
 that that job,  not to long ago. Captain Koren  was gravely wounded in
 the invasion and there was some doubt as to weather or not the Captain
 would make it. Kalen was one of the few who said he would. He confided
 in Ilona that he was afraid  of taking the Captain's place, that there
 was still so much  he needed to learn and do before  he could admit to
 himself that  he could take care  of the town. For  now, while Captain
 Koren was still  recovering from his injuries, Kalen  was getting some
 of the experience  he claimed he lacked  and in the last  month he had
 done an amazing job of running the city on his own.
      Ilona once again went over to the table, contemplating the sword.
 If Kalen was not  back in a few more minutes, she  would go after him.
 The thought  of this  made her  chuckle. She  had been  thinking about
 going all  evening and accumulated two  or three hours worth  of these
 "few more minutes" intervals. This was  it. She put the sword-belt on,
 got the sword and went out. The  air outside was cooler, though it was
 very humid.  Ilona looked up and  down the street. The  way the street
 was situated, Kalen could return from either direction. She hesitated,
 not wanting to miss him because of lack of patience and an over active
 imagination. Kalen always complained that she was not patient enough.
      As she stood there, contemplating what to do, someone appeared up
 the  street, walking  towards  her. Ilona  immediately recognized  the
 person as  Kalen. She hurried towards  him, meeting him half  way. She
 immediately spotted the red stain on his left shoulder.
      "What happened to you?"
      "It was  Kesrin. He  wanted to talk,"  Kalen answered,  not quite
 grasping the question.
      Ilona gently touched Kalen's bloody shoulder. "You fought?"
      Kalen  shook his  head. "Kesrin  grabbed  me to  prevent me  from
 leaving. It's not his fault -- he didn't know."
      "Let's  go inside,"  Ilona suggested,  taking Kalen's  right arm.
 "I'll take a look at it."
      They slowly walked back to  her apartment, with Ilona thinking of
 a good way to get her message,  perhaps plea, across to her lover. His
 shoulder  was injured  during the  Beinison  invasion in  Yule and  he
 stubbornly refused to let anyone know  about it until they wound up in
 bed a  few days later.  It was not a  life threatening injury,  but it
 would not heal  without the proper care and rest.  Instead, Kalen felt
 the absolute  need -- that misplaced  loyalty of his --  to coordinate
 and supervise guard activities until Captain Koren was ready to resume
 his duties, ignoring his own needs in the process.
      Inside Ilona sat Kalen down on  the bed and helped him remove his
 tunic. The  scab on  his shoulder  was freshly torn  and a  trickle of
 blood ran down his  chest. She soaked a clean rag in  a basin of water
 and began cleaning the wound.
      "This is the second time this week," she noted.
      Kalen grunted in  agreement. It was hard to tell  if he was being
 sarcastic or not.
      "I want you to make me a promise..."
      "I'm  very bad  with commitments."  He tried  to smile,  but only
 gritted his teeth as Ilona ran the rag directly across the wound.
      "It won't heal unless you rest," she said as Kalen jerked back.
      Kalen took Ilona's hands into  his. "This town won't stop running
 just because I'm sick."
      Ilona looked into  his eyes with a pleading  expression. "It does
 not have to. I can do the job. So can Lieutenant Azyn."
      "You don't understand," Kalen  sighed. "Before the invasion there
 were four of us to help Koren. You telling me two people and less than
 half the regular staff can do the job?"
      Ilona picked  up the rag,  washed out  the blood and  returned to
 Kalen. "We don't have a choice, do we?"
      "We do. I'm here. I can do the work."
      "Kalen,  everything  is  returning  to  normal.  The  people  are
 beginning to  rebuild. The  looting has  stopped. The  Duke's personal
 forces are out on the streets along side the town guard..."
      "...a ship was stolen three  days ago," Kalen interrupted her, "a
 warehouse was  burned to cover  a robbery,  we have dozens  of urchins
 holding citizens up  in the night and I was  propositioned by the mob.
 We need people now more than ever!"
      "Kalen! You're  making it  worse. That wound  is turning  into an
 ulcer!"
      Kalen lay  back on  the bed,  staring at the  ceiling. "I  wish I
 could say there was a choice, but now there's a new problem..."
      "They  propositioned you?"  Ilona  asked,  Kalen's words  finally
 catching  up with  her.  She expected  anything from  the  mob, but  a
 blatant offer from the them to pay off a public official was too much.
      Kalen's expression was as grim as ever. "Kesrin told me they will
 match what I am getting paid if I help them out now and again."
      "Help  them out?"  Ilona picked  up  the strips  of bandages  and
 started wrapping them around Kalen's shoulder.
      "In addition  to the money, they  will insure my standing  in the
 guard, provide  leads on  other criminal  dealings and  the like...all
 they want is free run of the city."
      Ilona shuddered. "They can't be serious. What did you say?"
      "I said `no'. What else could I tell them?"
      Ilona put  her arm around  Kalen and pulled  him to his  side, to
 face her. "Please stop trying to be a hero. Let the wound heal."
      Kalen put his arms around her,  pulling her closer and hiding his
 face in her long light brown hair. "I wish I could..."
                    *         *         *
      The following  morning Ilona  left for  work at  sunrise, leaving
 Kalen asleep. It was late when they finished talking last night and he
 spent the night with her. She hoped  that he would sleep well into his
 shift, but knew  it to be an impossibility. The  day went normally; at
 least as  normal as  any this  week. Shortly before  lunch she  took a
 patrol on a quick tour of the  market place. This was the area of town
 that  suffered the  most damage  during  the invasion.  What could  be
 easily carried  off was and over  half of what remained  was burned to
 the ground. Then, a week after the Beinisonian forces were fought off,
 a mob  of people raided  the merchants restoring their  businesses and
 destroyed what  was left. The  town guard,  all ready reduced  to half
 strength, was  helpless to do  anything and the looting  extended into
 the rest of the city.
      It was not  until a week later, when the  remainder of the Duke's
 forces were  able to place a  greater effort into restoring  the Ducal
 Capital, that peace was restored to the city.
      Duke Clifton Dargon,  who was placed in charge  of King Haralan's
 navy, left  for Sharks' Cove where  the Beinison invasion was  in full
 swing. Most  of his  troops either went  with him or  were sent  on to
 other areas  of the  duchy. Only  fifty or sixty  men remained  in the
 town, in  addition to the  sixty-two members  of the guard.  Dargon no
 longer needed to be defended  against invasions. Any damage that could
 be done  to the city was  all ready inflicted. Besides,  Duke Dargon's
 flotilla was to engage the ships that posed the greatest danger to the
 city. Any  infantry troop would have  to first take two  other duchies
 and then most of Dargon, in order to reach the city.
      A temporary guard station was set  up in the middle of the market
 place. In  spite of  the damage  inflicted on the  market, it  was the
 first  part of  town to  be almost  completely rebuilt  and return  to
 normal. Ilona spotted Lieutenant Jerid Taishent of the Duke's personal
 guard  and after  telling her  troop to  spread out  and look  around,
 proceeded towards  him. Jerid was  the only man  of any rank  from the
 Duke's troops still in the city. The rest, together with Bartol, their
 chief, had either left with the Duke or with the troops distributed to
 keep peace in the duchy.
      "Are the natives restless today?" Ilona called out to Jerid.
      He turned to  her from watching the mobs pass  by. "They are well
 behaved. We arrested three or four since sunrise. What about your side
 of town?"
      Sometimes all sides seemed like here. "All right for now. Someone
 threw a dead rat through the Guard House window, but little more."
      "No trouble?" Rats were common these days.
      "None that I heard off yet."
      "Are you planning on staying here?"
      "In town or the market place?" Ilona smiled.
      "The market place," Jerid grinned back.
      Ilona shook her head. "Just looking around to see that everything
 is all right. You're not here because of those arrests, are you?"
      "I stopped by to pick up  a present for my daughter," Jerid said.
 "This war business is a little much for her."
      "You go on, then. I intended to stay here through lunch."
      Jerid saluted  Ilona and  called over  to one of  the men  at the
 guard post, "Ryal, get that package and let's go!"
      One  of the  men picked  up a  sizable package  and followed  his
 commander.
      Ilona returned the salute as Jerid left. She looked at the market
 place, studying  the people  and their  wares. Merchants  and shoppers
 alike looked tired and worn out, much as they had the first days after
 the invasion, but the bruises and  injuries they wore a month ago were
 now mostly gone.  The merchandise also looked better  and better every
 day.  New  merchants  came  daily  from the  villages  in  the  south,
 unaffected  by the  war,  and  a few  caravans  from  Tench have  also
 delivered their wares. Yet, in spite  of all this progress, Ilona knew
 that all was  not as well as  it would seem. The  economy was dragging
 along and  the prices were  very high.  The local merchants  could not
 compete with  those who  travelled to Dargon.  Many lost  their homes,
 capital  and stock.  All had  lost family  and friends.  Ilona sighed,
 knowing how lucky she was that Kalen was merely wounded.
      During the invasion she, herself, was put in charge of the castle
 defense -- the  last line of defense. Someone,  somewhere decided that
 since she was  the only female lieutenant in the  duchy, she should be
 as far  away from the fighting  as possible, behind the  castle walls,
 waiting,  just in  case she  was needed.  And she  was needed  indeed.
 Needed to tend the wounded when  they were brought in. Ilona was angry
 at the way  she was treated, simply  because she was a  woman. She was
 trained as  well as  any in  the guard and  quite likely,  better than
 most.  But then,  being behind  the castle  walls, she  was safe,  not
 injured, not  violated. It was something  Kalen did not have  to worry
 about and there were plenty of things to worry him where he was.
      Looking  around  the  market  place she  noticed  the  old  sage,
 Corambis, talking to  a few people on  the corner. His was  one of the
 few local  businesses that  did not  suffer the  after effects  of the
 invasion.  As  soon  as  his  booth was  rebuilt,  he  started  seeing
 customers, all seeking  advice for what to do next.  Ilona hesitated a
 moment, then, seeing the people leaving, hurried to Corambis.
      The  sage waited  for her  to approach,  then smiled.  "Good day,
 Miss."
      "Good day, Sage," Ilona returned the greeting.
      "Is there a reading I can do for you?" Cormabis asked.
      "I..." Ilona shuddered. She should  have thought first. "There is
 something I need advice on, but I can not discuss it."
      The sage  smiled. "State  secrets are the  most fleeting  ones of
 all. Come with me. I will only ask what I must."
      Ilona obediently followed the old sage into his booth. `I must be
 crazy!'  she thought.  `If he  doesn't sell  me out,  I'll get  killed
 pulling this stunt!'
      The sage  absentmindedly held the  door to the casting  room open
 for Ilona to come in. "My assistant is out helping a friend of mine, a
 doctor, so I have to make do on my own. Please, be seated."
      Ilona took a seat at the table sporting the wheel of life. It was
 so new that  it reflected what little light there  was in the darkened
 room.
      "From my daughter,"  Corambis said proudly, taking  a seat across
 from Ilona.  "She had a  wood-crafter make it as  soon as she  heard I
 lost the old one."
      "A good gesture,"  Ilona muttered. "You're a lucky man  to have a
 daughter like that."
      "Lucky, yes," the sage agreed, "but  she had it made of pure oak.
 Now  I fear  it favors  the Valonus,  but never  mind that,"  Corambis
 smiled, pride still on his face. He gave her the velvet pouch with the
 casting chips inside. "Hold this while you tell me your woes."
      Ilona accepted  the bag. "I don't  know where to begin.  Some new
 information has  reached us  in the  Guard and  I want  to act  on it.
 Lieutenant  Darklen may  missunderstand...and  if  Captain Koren  were
 around, he would tell me to keep out  of it as well, but I think I can
 do a lot of good by acting on it."
      "Give me that," Corambis took the bag from Ilona. "You don't need
 a fortune told. You need to do  some soul searching. It's a good thing
 I do both."
      Ilona smiled, in spite of herself.
      "Now," the sage continued, "don't think  yours is a one of a kind
 problem. We all have to make hard decisions. You must do what you feel
 is right."
      "But what if I'm doing something I shouldn't be?"
      "Like what? Taking  advice from someone who knows  nothing of the
 problem? What makes me more qualified  than you? That I tell fortunes?
 Lieutenant, in true  honesty, this is a case of  the blind leading the
 blind."
      "But what if I'm wrong?"
      Corambis shook his head in dispair. "Do you know the problem?"
      "Of course!"
      "And you know how you want to solve it?"
      "Yes."
      "And you believe yourself to be on the right track?"
      "Yes!"
      "Then why are you here wasting my time and your money?"
      Ilona  blushed lightly  in  the  dim light.  "Two  years in  this
 position and I still don't have  the confidence I need," she sighed an
 offered the sage his fee.
      Corambis sternly pushed the money  back. "If you're wrong, pay me
 later. If not, come back and tell me about it."
      "I will, sir," Ilona promised and  left the sage in his booth. At
 least now she knew she was  crazy. Corambis was right. She was wasting
 time. She was not assertive enough,  not confident of her abilities --
 she knew  what she had  to do.  She should just  do it and  accept the
 results as they come.
      Ilona again scanned  the market place, walking from  one booth to
 another. The crowd had been steadily growing all morning, now being so
 thick, it was hard to see more  than two booths away. Ilona fought her
 way through the crowd to an  intersection in the rows, where the crowd
 was not as congested. "Simon!" She  stopped across from the old sailor
 and his stew  cart. The monkey jumped  with a scream and  pulled out a
 spoon.
      "Yes, Lieutenant Milnor?"
      "How about some stew?"
      "Which will it be?" he asked.
      "Sun-sweet,"  Ilona answered.  "I'm in  a particularly  vile mood
 just now." She took  the spoon from Skeebo and gave  him the coins for
 the stew.
      "Here you  are," Simon handed a  steaming bowl to Ilona.  "If you
 feel bad enough, then even this will taste good going down."
      "Is it true that only you and Guiseppi have been able to finish a
 bowl of this?" Ilona asked, carefully sipping the spicy stew.
      "What do you think?" Simon asked.
      "I think it's a tall tale."
      "Actually it  is," Simon  laughed. "I only  poured myself  half a
 bowl and Guiseppi never had taste."
      "Then I'll just have to be the first to do it," Ilona said. "I'll
 see you later."
      "Ah!  But it  won't  be legitimate  if  I don't  see  you do  it,
 Lieutenant," Simon said and Skeebo took hold of her belt.
      She  petted the  monkey until  it let  go. "I'm  with the  Guard,
 Simon. You  know we don't  lie," she told him  and went back  into the
 crowd. Behind  her the old sailor  sadly shook his head.  Not all were
 pure and innocent and not all were as honest and reliable as one might
 expect.
                    *         *         *
      Ilona felt a  little better as she ate the  burning stew. She was
 determined to finish the spicy concoction and then go through with her
 chosen assignment. If Kalen was not going to take the opportunity, she
 was ready to do it on her own.
      Looking about the market place, she noticed a young boy carefully
 crawling between the  feet of the people gathered  around a merchant's
 table. As  soon as  he was on  his feet, he  started running  and she,
 dropping the bowl of Simon's finest,  leapt after him. It was not long
 before  the  crowd got  too  thick  to continue  and  after  a bit  of
 struggling and dodging,  Ilona grabbed hold of the boy  and pulled him
 up to his tip-toes by his ear. The boy was young, no older than eight,
 skinny and by the  looks of him, homeless. "So what  did you get?" she
 asked him, leading him out of the crowd. The boy did not answer.
      "Ten Bits for that ear!" somebody next to Ilona proclaimed.
      She  looked over  her  shoulder to  see a  man  in his  twenties,
 looking anxiously at her.
      The boy  jerked hard, but  she still firmly  held his ear  and he
 cried out  in pain.  "If he  does it again,  I'll give  it to  you for
 free."
      "You're not going to arrest a child, are you?"
      "Are you planning to adopt him?"
      The young man reached into his purse. "Five Silver?"
      "Are you trying to buy a human being?"
      "I wish to take care of his fine."
      "So he  can rob another merchant  to pay you back,"  Ilona's eyes
 narrowed. "Tell your boss I wish to  have a word with him about a deal
 he was making yesterday. I know someone who is looking for a job..."
      "I am not  leaving without the boy," the  man declared, seemingly
 missing what she said.
      Ilona pushed the child to him. "Tell Liriss he has until sunset."
                    *         *         *
      Kalen stared at  the ceiling, studying the crack  that ran almost
 directly above  him, dividing  the ceiling  of Captain  Koren's office
 evenly in half.  A sheet of parchment appeared in  his line of vision,
 held by Ilona.
      "That's it."
      Kalen thumbed  through the sheets.  "A bit sketchy.  There's more
 paper than report. You could fit it all on a page or two."
      "I've got a lot on my mind," she said.
      "Like what?"
      "Like you not getting enough rest."
      "That's not your problem," Kalen said. "I know my limits."
      "I won't  argue with  you," Ilona answered.  "You all  ready know
 what I think."
      "I know," Kalen nodded. "Just tolerate me, please."
      "I'd better go."
      Kalen got up. "I'll walk you out."
      Ilona put her  arm around his waist and her  head on his shoulder
 as they  walked through  the guard house.  Kalen returned  the gesture
 with his good arm. "Do you want an escort?"
      "I'll be fine," she said, hoping he would not insist. He did not.
 At the large  double doors they exchanged one final  embrace and Ilona
 hurried off  into the  darkness. She  was worried  about what  she was
 going to do, but the thoughts of what it might produce in the long run
 helped relax her  fears. More importantly, she believed  that if Kalen
 was not involved, he would not be compromised as the acting Captain of
 the Guard.
      The darkness hid Ilona's figure, draped  in a black cloak, as she
 made her way to the oldest part of town, just a few blocks from Dargon
 Keep and stopped in the shadows  of a building. When her eyes adjusted
 to the added  darkness of the alley, she spotted  a tall muscular man,
 also robed in black, walking in her direction.
      Releasing the strap holding her  sword, Ilona started towards the
 figure. The man stopped a few feet  from her and she recognized him as
 Kesrin, Liriss' lieutenant.
      "What do you want?" he asked.
      "I  wanted to  meet  with someone  of  authority," she  answered,
 trying to provoke him on purpose.
      Kesrin did not  appear to be affected by her  statement. "Tell me
 first."
      Ilona did not like the sound of  that, but if it was the only way
 she could get to see Liriss... She  told him all she had to; perhaps a
 little more colorful than it really was, but it was plenty to convince
 him to get her a meeting with Liriss.
      Kesrin considered deeply if he should,  but in the end decided it
 was  better not  to come  back empty  handed and  took Ilona  down the
 narrow winding streets of the old  portion of the city. It was obvious
 he  took the  long  way and  Ilona  was pretty  sure  she saw  someone
 trailing them, probably to make sure  that she was not being followed.
 Finally Kesrin stopped at what appeared to be a random door and opened
 it without knocking. Ilona followed him in.
      Inside,  at  the end  of  a  long  corridor,  was a  small  room,
 furnished with  a single table  and two chairs.  It was dirty,  with a
 musty smell and plenty of dark stains, some appearing to be blood. The
 walls and the ceiling were rough and in bad shape.
      "Wait here," Kesrin said once she was inside and left her alone.
      Ilona sat  in one  of the  chairs, looking  at the  single greasy
 candle burning  in the middle of  the table. It cast  little light and
 there were no windows, not that having any would provide more light on
 a night as  dark as this. There  were some noises in  the corridor and
 Ilona looked at the door, noticing deep  cuts in its surface, as if it
 had been attacked with an axe.
      As she watched, the door  opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man
 in his forties  walked in. His eyes  looked tired and the  hair at his
 temples was  beginning to turn  grey. The last  year must have  been a
 hard one for him.
      As Ilona  studied Liriss, he  took the opportunity to  study her.
 This was  not their first meeting.  They last saw each  other a little
 over a year ago, in the spring of 1013, at a celebration thrown by one
 of the local merchants on his daughter's wedding. Both were guests, on
 neutral ground, unable to confront each other, but this was different.
 Liriss tossed back his cloak, making  sure that Ilona knew that he was
 armed. "It's been a long time, Lieutenant," he greeted her.
      Ilona rose from the chair, politely greeting the crime lord. "Not
 so very long, Liriss."
      "Please be seated," he indicated to her.
      Instead,  Ilona  moved away  from  the  table.  "I will  be  more
 comfortable standing up."
      Liriss nodded.  "Up to you." Uneasy  silence set in for  a moment
 before he continued.  "If you are here to let  me know that Lieutenant
 Darklen  is not  interested in  my  offer, I  all ready  knew that  at
 sunset."
      Ilona faced Liriss, her face a  calm mask. There was no reason to
 stall. They both knew why she was  here and there was no turning back.
 "I did not come here for him. I came here for myself. I want the job."
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
1                              Fortunes 2
                            by Max Khaytsus
                 (b.c.k.a. <khaytsus@tramp.Colorado.EDU>

      Corambis  stood over  the large  table  with the  Wheel of  Life,
 scratching  his  head. "Thuna!  Thuna,  bring  me  a pebble  from  the
 outside," he called out.
      Something crashed with  a thud in the outer room,  but he ignored
 it, pressing his hand down on the velvet table. It tilted.
      "By Kurin's beard! Expert craftsman my ..."
      Another loud crash outside drowned  out the sage's words. "What's
 going on out there, Thuna?" he shouted.
      The door opened and Dyann Taishent stepped into the casting room,
 holding his hand in the air before him.
      "What is she doing?" Corambis demanded.
      "I'm not sure," Taishent looked back  out the door, "but she told
 me to give you these," he dropped some pebbles on the table.
      Corambis shook his head.
      "...and she asked me to tell you to stuff them in your ..."
      Another  loud crash  in  the other  room cut  him  off and  Thuna
 shrieked.
      "That  does it!"  Corambis snapped  and  went over  to the  door.
 "Thuna, what are you doing?"
      His assistant jumped  into the casting room and  slammed the door
 shut after herself. Her dark brown hair was a mess and in her hand she
 held a broken stick. "You have a mouse, Sir," she whispered, trying to
 maintain dignity.
      "A mouse," Corambis said flatly.
      "Well...a rat...maybe two..."
      "Then chase it out, girl! Get the broom and chase it out!"
      "I can't,  Sir. It ate the  broom." She handed him  the stick she
 was holding. Sharp grooves of tooth marks marred it on one side and it
 was splintered from being hit on the other.
      "In the  name of Ol!"  Corambis cursed.  "Three weeks and  we all
 ready have rats! Here," he handed her some coins. "Go get me a cat."
      "I don't think a cat will solve it, Sir," Thuna muttered.
      "Get me something," Corambis ordered and opened the door.
      Thuna peeked  out cautiously, then  retrieved the remains  of the
 broom from the sage and ran out.
      Corambis sat down holding his head.  "Rats all ready. It was fine
 when I had the grain merchant next door..."
      Dyann Taishent sat down across from Corambis. "If you're too busy
 to do a casting today, maybe we  can sip some cider and then chase the
 rats around..."
      Corambis let out  a laugh. "Here, give me a  hand." He scooped up
 the pebbles  on the table  and pointed to  one of the  corners. "Press
 down on that."
      Taishent put both of his hands  on the edge and tilted the table,
 while  the sage  fumbled at  the  opposing leg,  stuffing the  pebbles
 beneath it.
      "There," Corambis finally got up. "Stable for now."
      "Rats?"
      "I wish.  Trissa got some  wood cutter to  make me this.  All the
 legs are of  a different length. Twenty years bringing  her up and she
 gets me a casting table made of oak."
      Taishent chuckled. "How does it cast?"
      Corambis  shrugged.  "Madam  Labin  asked  me  to  cast  for  her
 pregnancy. According to my casting, she will have a puppy."
      Taishent's mouth dropped open. "What did you tell her?"
      "I said she  will have a healthy baby...if a  little on the hairy
 side. I will have to call her back for a second casting..."
      "Do you still want to do a  casting with the table acting up like
 that?"
      "Of  course,"  the sage  said.  "But  we  best  do it  under  the
 influence." He got up and took a  jug and two glasses from the corner.
 "At least the rats haven't gotten to this."
      "Jerid  has  been raiding  my  house  every few  days,"  Taishent
 sighed. "He  took all the  cider and just two  days ago carried  off a
 package of kavaliculi. Told me I was too old to eat all that."
      Corambis filled the two glasses and handed one to Taishent. "Live
 good while you live."
      "I've got a  new hiding spot," Taishent winked.  "I'll be picking
 up some pickled meats this evening."
      "Now,"  Corambis  produced a  bag  of  chips. "The  casting."  He
 chanted the incantation,  naming Baranur as the recipient  and let the
 nine blue and one red chips fall to the wheel carved in the table.
      The  ally  discs slipped  to  Pyrale,  the torch.  The  adversary
 markers landed on  Kafarn, the ship. The other discs  landed in random
 areas, some rolling out to the outer rim of the wheel, where the major
 power elemental symbols  took form. The red  disc representing Baranur
 danced around the table for a time  and finally came to rest on Aurus,
 the mistweaver.
      "Be better off chasing rats," Taishent muttered.
      "Allys in water, enemies in fire..." Corambis said. "That's a new
 one..."
      "Only  the body  is  on  Valonus," Taishent  pointed  to the  oak
 symbol.
      "Usually all of them are there," Corambis sighed.
      Taishent quickly unwrapped his deck  of cards and placed the Fate
 card  on the  table with  the wheel.  He shuffled  the deck,  said the
 incantation and placed another card on Fate, face down. After a second
 shuffling and casting,  he laid a pattern on the  surface. The top row
 held Sword,  Wizard and Moon, the  one below it contained  Sorrow, Air
 and Fortress.
      "If I  did not know any  better, I'd say we're  at war," Taishent
 smirked with sarcasm and turned over the hidden card on Fate.
      "The Jester again!" Corambis exclaimed. "That's the fourth time!"
      "Fifth," Taishent corrected. "I first cast him last summer."
      "Indeed  you did,"  the sage  agreed. "This  makes it  five times
 consecutively."
      "I guess we got it all right last summer," Taishent said, sitting
 back down.  "The unrest  of the  mob, the actions  of that  coven, the
 Duke's trial...the war..."
      "Do the far future," Corambis prompted.
      Taishent recast  the cards and  laid out  the last row  -- Water,
 Knight and Fire.
      Corambis fumbled to  refill their glasses with  cider. "Why water
 and fire?" he wondered. "Both of us..."
      "Clifton Dargon's fleet?" Taishent guessed.
      "But why the fire?"
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
1                                                   **
                                                 ******  ****
                                                  **   **  **
                                         ****    **   **  **
               ****              ****   **  **  **     *****
             **   **   **  **  **  **  **  **  **
            **   **   **  **  **  **  **  **
           **   **   **  **    *****
          **   **     ***
           ****
              **

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