DargonZine Volume 3, Issue 1 -1990

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 --   DargonZine Volume 3, Issue 1        01/26/90          Cir 934    --
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 --                            Contents                                --
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   Conflict of Interest I     John Doucette          Ober 31-Nober 1, '13
   DargonZine Index (Vols 1 & 2)
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1                       Conflict of Interest, Part I
                             by John Doucette

 Magnus, Royal Duchy, Baranur
 30 Ober, 1013 B.Y.

      The  column  of horsemen  rode  south  towards the  city,  having
 crossed the  river the previous  day. The soldiers' spirits  had risen
 upon leaving behind the seemingly endless mountains for the forest and
 grasslands  that  were  so  much   like  western  Galicia.  Then  they
 remembered  that for  all  that it  looked like  Galicia,  this was  a
 foreign country  and they  would answer with  their lives  if anything
 happened to  the ambassador or his  party. Their smiles and  grins and
 good-natured banter were  replaced with grim looks  and wary, watchful
 attention to all that took place around them.
      The  peasants  working the  fields  around  Magnus looked  up  in
 surprise,  and not  a little  fear,  at the  strange horsemen  heading
 towards the  Crown City. Granted, fifty  or so horsemen were  no great
 threat, but  the crest they bore  and the standard they  flew were not
 those of  Baranur or King Haralan,  and that was sufficient  cause for
 worry in and of itself.
      The peasants were not the only ones who noticed the column making
 its way south. A detachment of cavalry was riding north from Magnus to
 investigate. Jordaan saw  them approaching and barked an  order to his
 troops. The Galician horsemen formed  a protective cordon around their
 charges  while  Jordaan  himself  rode  to inform  his  liege  of  the
 approaching Baranurian cavalry.
      "My lord," he said, "a small  force approaches from the city." "I
 should hope so," Myros replied. "We  are strangers in this land, after
 all. Halt the column here. We'll wait for them to come to us."
      "Yes, my lord."  Jordaan galloped to the front of  the column and
 gave  the order.  A single  note  sounded on  a bugle  and the  column
 halted. Baron Myros  and Sir Grange Rarrack, one of  Myros' oldest and
 most  trusted advisors,  rode forward  and waited  for the  Baranurian
 horsemen to arrive.
      The Baranurian  leftenant halted his twenty  men line-abreast one
 hundred yards  from the  strangers. The leftenant  was no  herald, but
 garrison  duty  in  Magnus  does  expose one  to  a  large  number  of
 foreigners. In all his five years in the Crown City, he had never seen
 a standard resembling the one these strangers flew.
      "Well, I'd best get this over  with," he said to himself and rode
 forward.  When he  got to  within twenty  yards of  the strangers,  he
 stopped and  called out,  "Who are  you and what  is your  business in
 Baranur?"
      The old  man leaned  towards whom the  leftenant assumed  was the
 leader  and  said  something  inaudible.  Translating,  the  leftenant
 thought.  After receiving  a  reply,  the old  man  spoke in  accented
 Baranurian, "May  I present His  Lordship, Baron Myros,  Ambassador of
 His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Nyrull  of Galicia. His Imperial Majesty
 has heard  much of the Kingdom  of Baranur and desires  relations with
 His Royal Majesty, King Haralan."
      Galicia? the leftenant thought. I've never heard of such a place.
 Oh well, not my problem. "Welcome  to Baranur, Ambassador. If you will
 permit, my men and I will escort you and your party to Crown Castle."
      The old man again leaned over and translated. "His Lordship shall
 be most honoured," the old man replied.
      The leftenant  turned to  his squadron  and barked  out commands.
 "Squadron! Squadron will  turn to the right in column  of two's. Right
 turn!" The  squadron sharply  executed their officer's  command, backs
 ramrod straight,  eyes looking straight  to the front,  their thoughts
1focused only on  their next command. The Royal Horse  Guard would have
 been  hard-pressed to  emulate  them. "Squadron!  At  the trot!  Right
 wheel!  Forward!" The  leftenant brought  his squadron  onto the  road
 leading  south and  led  the Galician  embassy  towards Magnus'  outer
 fortifications.
      Magnus had originally  occupied only the west bank  of the Laraka
 River. Due to its increasing prosperity, Magnus attracted new citizens
 like  a magnet.  In time,  Magnus' population  had doubled  to 20,000,
 making for crowded living conditions. The tide of immigrants showed no
 sign of stopping,  so the decision was made to  expand to the Laraka's
 east bank.
      A wall, similar to the wall around Magnus' Royal District but not
 as massive, was constructed to protect Magnus' New District, which was
 designed to house  10,000 people. In time, New District  was filled to
 capacity and a  second district was constructed. When  that was filled
 to capacity, another was built.  All told, Magnus housed 50,000 souls,
 20,000 in  the Royal District  where Crown Castle, the  Bardic College
 and  the  homes of  the  nobility  were  located,  30,000 in  the  New
 Districts, home of the infamous Fifth Quarter.
      Myros was impressed with the Royal District's fortifications. For
 a minor  power, Baranur had  done well  in fortifying its  capital. Of
 course,  the Imperial  capital's defenses  far out-shone  Magnus', but
 Myros would still not relish attempting to reduce Magnus.
      The  walls protecting  the Royal  District stretched  for leagues
 around the  perimeter of the  city's west  bank. The fifty  feet high,
 twenty feet  wide walls  were adorned every  hundred yards  with fifty
 feet diameter, eighty feet high  round towers. Each gate was protected
 by a barbican  consisting of two forty feet diameter,  sixty feet high
 round towers. The gatehouse at each  gate was twenty feet wide, thirty
 feet long and twenty feet high and was set into the wall itself.
      Access to the  gatehouse was barred by two ten  feet wide, twenty
 feet high,  five feet thick  reinforced oak  doors. Once past  the oak
 doors, anyone wishing to gain entry had to pass through the gatehouse,
 its walls  lined with arrow slits,  its ceiling with murder  holes. If
 the person wanting to gain entry was hostile, an iron portcullis could
 be dropped down to block exit into the city.
      Myros  and  his  party  passed   through  the  massive  gates  of
 Northgate.  There were  three other  gates in  addition to  Northgate;
 Eastgate, Westgate, and Southgate. Eastgate and Westgate both provided
 access to the Merchant's Quarter;  Eastgate opened onto the waterfront
 and Kheva's Bridge. Kheva's Bridge  joined the Royal District with the
 New District across the river. The Bridge was named after the engineer
 who supervised its construction over a millenium ago.
      Northgate,  Eastgate,  and  Westgate  all saw  a  great  deal  of
 traffic.  Southgate was  not witness  to  the volume  of traffic  that
 flowed through  its sister Gates  however. Southgate was  for military
 use only, as  it gave direct access to Crown  Castle. It differed from
 the other Gates in one other way. Southgate was more heavily defended.
 If an  invader managed to  breach the Outer  Gate, there was  an Inner
 Gate that  remained to  be forced.  Southgate had  never fallen  to an
 enemy,   not  even   after   King  Caeron's   army   was  crushed   by
 Insurrectionist forces during the Great Houses War of 97-98 B.Y.
      Jordaan felt uneasy passing through the gatehouse knowing that at
 least twenty  archers were  manning the arrow  slits and  murder holes
 ready to  fill the passage with  death. Myros' party emerged  into the
 daylight of Magnus' Royal District.
      Apparent  chaos reigned.  Everywhere,  people  were shouting  and
 jostling with one another. It was market day. Every manner of item was
 up for sale. Animals, cloth, jewelry, food of every description traded
 hands in the large open marketplace. The Galician embassy threaded its
1way slowly through the throng, aided by its Baranurian escort.
      They  made their  way slowly  out of  the marketplace,  gradually
 working their way through the Merchant's Quarter. This Quarter, one of
 two in  the Royal District,  housed the wealthier merchants  and lower
 classes of  nobles. It was also  the site of three  large markets that
 saw a never-ending stream of goods, even in the dead of winter.
      The column  began making its  way uphill,  a sign that  they were
 about to  enter the second Quarter  in the Royal District,  the King's
 Quarter.  Ahead, they  could  see Crown  Castle,  its battlements  and
 snow-capped towers dominating the Royal District. The famed College of
 Bards could  be glimpsed above the  rooftops of the elegant  houses of
 the middle and upper-class nobles.
      Celeste stiffened slightly when she  caught sight of the College.
 Those within could  pose a threat to her mission.  She must be careful
 to avoid bringing undue attention to herself.
      Her attention  was drawn from  the College to Crown  Castle. More
 fortress than castle,  its many walls and towers were  situated on the
 hill that  dominated Magnus' landscape. The  complex of fortifications
 that was  Crown Castle occupied  an area  roughly three quarters  of a
 league north-south and one half league east-west. It was almost a city
 unto itself.
      To reach the King's Keep and the Inner Courtyard, one had to pass
 through three gates  in walls that dwarfed the  Royal District's outer
 defenses. The first wall was sixty  feet high and twenty feet wide and
 boasted sixty feet diameter, eighty feet high round towers every fifty
 yards. The  barbican defending  the gate consisted  of two  sixty feet
 high, forty feet square towers and a twenty feet wide, sixty feet long
 gatehouse thirty feet high. There  were massive bronze gates at either
 end of the  gatehouse, each door ten feet high  and fifteen feet wide.
 An iron portcullis could be dropped at either end as well.
      The second wall was thirty feet  farther up the hill and was even
 more massive than the first. The  wall was eighty feet high and thirty
 feet wide. Instead of towers, this wall had fifty feet square bastions
 every one hundred yards equipped with light catapults. The gate in the
 second wall was one hundred yards east  of the gate in the first wall.
 The  gate was  not  defended  by a  barbican.  Instead,  the gate  was
 incorporated into a sixty feet square keep eighty feet high. The outer
 gates  themselves were  bronze; twenty  feet high,  twenty feet  wide.
 There were also  two lesser gates inside the keep;  ten feet high, ten
 feet wide  oaken doors. Unlike  the Gates on the  outer fortifications
 and the gate  through the first wall, this gate  had no portcullis. On
 the  outer  fortifications  between  the second  and  third  wall  was
 Southgate.
      The third  and final wall barring  access to the King's  Keep and
 the Inner Courtyard was on the summit, one hundred feet farther up the
 hill. The wall  was one hundred twenty feet high  and fifty feet wide.
 It had  one gate situated  in the middle of  the wall, placing  it one
 hundred yards  west of  the second  wall's gate and  in line  with the
 first wall's gate.
      Of the  seven gates in the  Royal District, the gate  through the
 third wall of Crown Castle was  the most formidable, even more so than
 Southgate. Unlike  the other gates, this  gate was not made  of oak or
 bronze, nor  did it have a  gatehouse or keep defending  it. This gate
 was made of stone and was, in fact, part of the wall itself. Each door
 of the gate was forty feet high and twenty feet wide and opened onto a
 passage with  the same  dimensions through  the wall  that ended  in a
 similar gate.  Each gate was  operated by  huge winches. If  the gates
 were to be closed against siege, they would not be barred as is common
 with  most gates.  Instead, a  mechanism would  be tripped  that would
 prevent the  gates from swinging  on their massive hinges.  Shut tight
1thus, the only way  to gain entrance to the Inner  Courtyard was to go
 through the gates. Not an easy task.
      Once into the Inner Courtyard, one  would then have access to the
 King's Keep. The name was misleading, however. The King's Keep was not
 one building, but  a group of fortified buildings,  the most prominent
 of  which was  the  original keep  upon which  the  Castle grew.  Each
 building was  connected so that  once inside any given  structure, one
 never need see daylight in one's travels throughout the King's Keep.
      But perhaps  the most unusual  aspect of the Inner  Courtyard was
 the  series of  buildings to  the  west of  the King's  Keep known  as
 Barracks Row. There  were fifteen two-story buildings  in three groups
 of five  along the west portion  of the inner wall.  Each building was
 the headquarters  for one of  the fifteen  Regiments that made  up the
 Magnus  Garrison.  There was  nothing  unusual  about that.  What  was
 unusual was that the barracks for  the soldiers were located under the
 buildings. Fifteen thousand  men lived in an  underground complex that
 stretched throughout the hill upon which Crown Castle was constructed.
 The underground  quarters came complete with  recreational, eating and
 medical  facilities as  well as  stables for  the cavalry.  There were
 dozens of entrances to the King's  Keep to allow a rapid deployment of
 men and horses from their barracks.
      About half of the garrison was on duty at any given time with the
 rest  engaged  in  the  off-duty activities  for  which  soldiers  are
 well-known no matter what sovereign they serve.
      The Ambassador and his party were escorted through Crown Castle's
 defenses and taken  to the King's Keep. The embassy  was given several
 rooms in  the Diplomatic  Wing where  other embassies  were quartered.
 They were given  time to settle in and then  Myros, his wife, Jordaan,
 and Rarrack were taken by Coridan to an audience with the King.

      King Haralan and Sir Edward Sothos, Knight Commander of the Royal
 Armies and Haralan's close friend,  were in Haralan's study discussing
 matters  related to  the recent  trial of  Duke Dargon  on charges  of
 treason. The Duke had been framed by elements within Baranur supported
 by  Beinison. The  scheme to  start a  war between  Baranur and  Bichu
 nearly worked. If  not for the Count (then Baron)  of Connall's belief
 that  his  cousin was  innocent,  Baranurian  and Bichanese  would  be
 slaughtering each other  due to foreign meddling. When  it was learned
 that Beinison was behind the plot,  a large group of nobles called for
 war.
      Thus far, cooler heads had  prevailed. However, those who did not
 share  Duke Dargon's  views  on war,  or the  lack  thereof, had  been
 clamoring for action. In response, the  King called a Council to begin
 the first week in Nober. Already, several nobles had arrived with more
 expected within  the next  few days. For  Coridan, the  Falcon Herald,
 Ober was a  very busy time. And with the  probability that the Council
 would last  all winter, it  looked like Coridan  would have to  wait a
 very long  time before  he could  relax. As Haralan  put it  to Edward
 earlier that day,  "What with my birthday only three  days ago and now
 this Council, it's a wonder Coridan doesn't go mad!"
      "Since you chose to see me wearing full uniform, can I assume the
 news you bring is not good?" Haralan asked.
      "Yes, Sire. As you are  aware, I've asked certain merchant houses
 to instruct  their caravan captains to  keep their eyes and  ears open
 during their  journeys in Beinison.  The first reports have  just come
 in."
      "And?"
      "There  is   evidence  of  increased  military   activity  within
 Beinison. I can't say with total assurance that it is directed against
 us, however--"
1     "However, you think we should be on our guard."
      "Yes, Your Royal Majesty. In light of the discovery of Beinison's
 interference in our affairs, the Beinisonians will be forced to act. I
 can't see them doing anything until spring, but one never knows."
      "What is it you want done?"
      "First, we  should put the  Royal Army  on an increased  state of
 readiness. Second,  we have to give  serious thought to whom  we shall
 have as field commanders."
      "The first is easily enough accomplished. Who do you have in mind
 for the second?"
      "Jan is out on  an inspection tour now. I told  her to single out
 those officers  that have potential. If  war comes, I want  to promote
 those officers to major commands, even if it means promoting them over
 the heads of more senior, more noble officers."
      "Isn't that somewhat drastic, Edward?"
      "Perhaps, my friend, but consider this. These promotions are only
 going to affect the Royal Army,  not household troops. And if war does
 come, it will  be life or death  for Baranur. We can't  afford to have
 incompetent commanders."
      "We don't know that war WILL come, Edward."
      "Maybe so,  but one of the  first things my father  taught me was
 that a soldier must prepare for the worst possible case. If it doesn't
 come to pass, so much the better. But if it does, at least you have an
 even chance."
      "Very well. Now, are there any nobles that seem promising?"
      "Quite a few. I'd like to put Duke Dargon in command of the Navy.
 He is more familiar with naval warfare  than I. As for the Army, there
 is one  in particular that I'd  like to have. Lord...Morion  I believe
 his name is. Is something wrong?"
      "I  don't  think  you  should  count on  Morion.  He  prefers  to
 administer  his own  lands and  not  become involved  with the  King's
 tasks. Remember  when Kyle Bluesword  and his bandits were  raiding in
 the south?  I had to  send Coridan  to Morion to  get him to  agree to
 help."
      "He's the one Commander Rian spoke of?"
      "The same."
      "Then he'll make  a valuable commander. If he  refuses, why don't
 you just order him? You are the King, after all."
      "I  can't. You  see, my  uncle gave  Morion's lands  to him  as a
 reward for  personal service to the  Crown. Morion holds fealty  to no
 one. My father re-affirmed the dispensation  and I confirmed it: it is
 irrevocable. I can only ask, not order."
      "You can't be serious!? You are! I know I've been in Baranur long
 enough to know the customs, but by Nehru, Haralan! This Morion's lands
 are in effect  a separate country! How could you  have allowed this to
 happen!?"
      "I  didn't  'allow'  anything,  Edward.  Understand.  Morion  was
 granted his status for extraordinary loyalty to my uncle. Unless there
 was good reason, my father and I could not have refused to confirm his
 status. Lord Morion has served  Baranur well. He deserves his reward."
 Haralan paused, trying  to think of some way to  explain the situation
 from Edward's viewpoint.
      "Edward," he said, hoping he had  found the right words, "this is
 not Galicia. The  attitudes are not the same here.  You are accustomed
 to Imperium,  with all the benefits  and obligations that go  with it.
 That's part of your Galician heritage  and you should be proud of it."
 Haralan paused  briefly before continuing. "Don't  forget that Baranur
 is a younger nation. We don't  have the legacy of history that Galicia
 does.  Galicia has  had  six hundred  years that  we  here in  Baranur
 haven't.  That  in  itself  goes  a long  way  toward  explaining  the
1differences between us."
      Edward persisted.  "I just find it  hard to accept the  idea of a
 noble owning independent landholds inside Baranur."
      "Lord  Morion's lands  are  NOT independent,"  Haralan said  with
 frustration. "He depends on Baranur just  as much now as when my uncle
 ruled.  Call it  semi-autonomy. It's  not  such a  bad thing,  Edward.
 Morion may not help me with some  matters, but I think we can count on
 him to support Baranur IF war comes."
      "Yes, Sire." Edward sounded unconvinced.
      Haralan decided  to change  the subject. "Now,  who else  did you
 have in mind?"
      Edward sighed. "I would have liked to give Luthias a command, but
 you sent him to Beinison."
      "Don't you think he's rather young?"
      "Granted,"  Edward conceded,  "he is  young. But  he has  talent,
 Haralan. He reminds me--"
      "He reminds you of you at his age?"
      Edward smiled sheepishly, a rare  occurrence for Edward. "Yes, he
 does. I don't  think he's ready for a major  command. What I'd planned
 was to give him the Cavalry Wing. Luthias likes freedom of action. The
 cavalry would have given him that."
      "If he were here."
      "Yes, if he were here. Still, if  he makes it back before the war
 starts I think we should consider him."
      "Alright. Who else?"
      "I can't think of  anyone else off the top of my  head. Give me a
 day to go through my records?"
      "Done. There,  that's finished. I  don't know about you,  but I'm
 famished."
      "And I as well. Why don't we  go down to the kitchen and see what
 we can scare up?"
      "Excellent idea," Haralan said humorously. "Where do you ever get
 them?"
      "I'm  gifted, Your  Royal Majesty,"  Edward replied  in the  same
 tone.
      "Gifted my eye!" Haralan said in mock anger. "I ought to--"
      At that  moment, Coridan, the  Falcon Herald, entered  the study.
 "Forgive me for disturbing you, Sire," the young man said. "An embassy
 has arrived from Galicia. Shall I show them in?"
      Edward  turned and  went to  the window,  suddenly overcome  with
 emotion. Haralan glanced  briefly at his friend,  knowing something of
 what Edward must  be thinking. Edward hardly needed a  reminder of his
 exile from his homeland. He turned to Coridan. "Yes," he said. "By all
 means, show them in."
      Coridan  bowed slightly  then turned  and  went to  the door.  He
 opened it and announced the  embassy. "His Lordship, Baron Corneilious
 Myros, Ambassador of His Imperial  Majesty, Emperor Nyrull of Galicia.
 Her Ladyship,  Baroness Elaine Myros.  Sir Grange Rarrack,  Advisor to
 His Lordship. Captain Jordaan, Captain of the Guard to His Lordship."
      "Welcome to Baranur, Ambassador," Haralan said. "I'm sure that--"
      "Myros!"  Edward shouted  in Galician,  his gaze  fixed upon  the
 Ambassador.
      "Edward?!" Elaine burst out. The shock  on her face was plain for
 all to see.
      "Temper, temper, Edward," Myros replied. "Is that any way to talk
 to the Baron of Alphoria?"
      "Edward!" Haralan said forcefully. "What is the meaning of this?"
 Haralan asked. The King's guards were getting nervous. So was Jordaan.
      Edward paid  no attention to  Haralan's query. All  his attention
 was focused  on Myros.  "You lie!"  he nearly  shouted. "My  father is
1Baron of Alphoria!"
      "Not any more. He was tried  and executed for treason a year ago.
 Duke Markin gave me your father's lands as a reward for loyal service.
 I don't know why someone didn't  reveal your father sooner. How's that
 saying go? Like father, like son?"
      "Corneilious!" Myros' wife said, a  hint of outrage in her voice.
 "How can you say that?"
      "Because it's the truth, Elaine," Myros replied.
      Edward  went white  with rage.  "GET  OUT!" he  roared. "GET  OUT
 BEFORE I  KILL YOU!!!"  His hand  flashed to the  hilt of  his bastard
 sword. Jordaan  leapt in front of  his liege, sword drawn.  Edward and
 the King's  guards drew steel  immediately. Myros moved Elaine  out of
 harm's  way but  did  nothing  more. He  stood  his  ground, his  calm
 exterior hiding his uneasiness.
      Haralan interposed  himself between the two  would-be combatants.
 Edward had taught  Haralan enough Galician to get by,  but the accents
 and the rapidity  with which Edward and Myros were  speaking meant all
 he knew was that  Edward and Myros appeared to be  enemies and that he
 had to calm the situation down before  it got out of hand. "Enough the
 both of you!" Haralan said in passable Galician. "Sheath your weapons!
 Now!"
      Jordaan looked to  his lord and Myros nodded  his assent. Jordaan
 reluctantly sheathed his sword, but remained in a protective position.
 The King's guards relaxed visibly.
      "You  too, Edward,"  Haralan  said, returning  to Baranurian.  He
 could barely hear Rarrack translating in the background.
      "I cannot,"  Edward answered,  also returning to  Baranurian. "My
 family and  my honour have been  insulted. That is something  I cannot
 ignore."
      "Edward," Haralan said coldly, "as  your sovereign I order you to
 sheath your sword. If you do not comply, I shall have you arrested for
 treason."
      Edward  looked  his friend  imploringly  in  the eyes,  a  pained
 expression on  his face.  The look he  got back told  him that  he was
 talking to  his King,  not his  friend. Slowly,  he complied  with his
 sovereign's wishes.
      "Sir  Edward," Haralan  said,  speaking  formally, "your  actions
 today were inexcusable.  Go to your quarters and remain  there for the
 duration of this day."
      Edward bowed  stiffly and walked  mechanically out of  the King's
 study.  After  he had  gone,  Rarrack,  translating for  Myros,  said,
 "That's all? He isn't to be punished further?"
      Haralan turned to face Myros and said, "Ambassador, I know enough
 Galician to know that  Edward was not entirely to blame.  As I see it,
 you were as  much to blame as he."  Haralan held up a hand  to cut off
 Myros' protest. "Whatever the reason  for this conflict, it is between
 you  and  Sir  Edward. When  you  came  in  here  today, you  came  as
 Ambassador and  you insulted  the Knight Commander  of my  Armies. See
 that it does not happen again.  The audience is ended. You may leave."
 With  that,  Haralan  turned  his  back  on  Myros.  Coridan  led  the
 Ambassador and  his party out  of the study  and showed them  to their
 quarters.
      Haralan stood gazing  out the window for long hours.  As his mind
 re-played his dressing-down of Edward, Haralan's thoughts drifted back
 to  the day  he met  the man  who  was to  become one  of his  closest
 friends...

      ...Haralan  parried a  thrust meant  for his  throat and  slashed
 clumsily at  his attacker.  The eight remaining  bandits had  formed a
 semi-circle about their target.  The four knights comprising Haralan's
1bodyguard lay  contorted in death about  the man they had  given their
 lives to protect. Nine bandits lay on the ground also, having paid the
 price for their attempt to ambush Haralan and his party.
      The  King  of  Baranur  estimated his  chances  of  surviving  as
 somewhere between slim and non-existent.  He was bleeding from a score
 of wounds and knew  that he would be unconscious from  blood loss in a
 short time. From the looks on  their faces, his assailants had come to
 the same conclusion.
      The  bandit on  the right,  bigger  and stronger  than the  rest,
 signalled with his saber and the rest moved in. Haralan braced himself
 against a tree and prepared to sell himself dearly.
      One of the eight moved in from the left, wielding a double-bladed
 battle axe. Haralan saw the swing coming and did his best to parry it.
 He  succeeded, but  at  the  cost of  losing  his  sword. The  bandit,
 grinning, raised his axe. He never brought it down.
      A iron-tipped  crossbow bolt made  of black teak  punched through
 the back  of the man's  skull. He fell without  a sound. As  they were
 turning  to face  their  unknown  foe, another  bandit  fell, a  black
 crossbow bolt in his heart.
      A man dressed  in black and armoured in chainmail  charged out of
 the forest on a warhorse, yelling  a battle-cry in a foreign language.
 The suddenness of  his attack surprised the  six assailants. Haralan's
 unknown  benefactor opened  the  throat  of a  third  bandit with  his
 bastard sword before any of them could react.
      While Haralan  struggled to reach  his sword, the  five remaining
 bandits surrounded  his would-be rescuer.  Whomever he was,  he didn't
 seem concerned. His horse reared,  striking out with its front hooves.
 Brains splattered  everywhere as the  horse's hooves connected  with a
 bandit's skull.  The horse's rider used  the momentum of his  mount to
 put  extra force  behind his  downward swing.  The result  was that  a
 fourth  bandit lost  that portion  of his  sword-arm below  the elbow.
 While he was staring  dumbly at the bloody stump that  was his arm, he
 was dispatched with a thrust to the chest.
      The bandits' leader rushed at his enemy from the flank, hoping to
 catch him unawares. He almost  succeeded. At the last moment, however,
 the unknown rider turned, taking the  blow upon his left arm. Ignoring
 the  blood flowing  from the  deep gash,  he delivered  a stroke  that
 nearly hacked  the bandit's  arm off.  The three  unwounded attackers,
 seeing their leader seriously wounded, fled.
      The rider let them go. He bandaged  his arm and then got down off
 his horse and  came over to Haralan. To Haralan,  everything seemed to
 be happening in slow motion. How strange, he thought, then collapsed.
      When he  awoke, he found  his benefactor watching  him anxiously.
 The man's  helm was removed, revealing  dark black hair with  beard to
 match and deep brown eyes. He also  had a scar that ran from his above
 his right eye down to his right  cheek. Obviously he had seen his fair
 share of combat. "Thank you," Haralan said. He tried to get up and was
 abruptly halted by  intense pain coming from just about  every part of
 his body.
      The  stranger said  something in  a foreign  tongue that  Haralan
 wasn't familiar with. He's not from Baranur, Haralan thought. I'd best
 be  careful  until  I  know  more  about  him.  "I'm  afraid  I  don't
 understand."
      The  man frowned  in concentration.  "Who  you are?"  he said  in
 Merctalk, a hodgepodge of several  different languages that was common
 among  mercenaries. Haralan  had learned  the language  as a  boy from
 listening in on his father's  conversations with some of the mercenary
 officers serving  in the  Army. When Arenth  finally found  out, young
 Haralan couldn't sit down for a week.
      "Sir Haralan I be," he replied, not wanting this stranger to know
1who he was until the time was right. "Who you are?"
      "Sir Edward," the man replied. "You travel able?" he asked.
      "Little,  yes," Haralan  answered. "Village  that direction  is,"
 Haralan said, pointing in the direction of Dyunill, a small village to
 the northeast.
      "How far?"
      "Fifteen leagues it is."
      "Rest you till tomorrow. Morning, take you there I will."
      "Grateful I am."
      Sir Edward nodded and offered  his hand to Haralan. Haralan shook
 it, closed  his eyes  and slept,  determined to  convince this  man to
 journey to Magnus with him...

      ...That was almost six years ago.  Edward had indeed proved to be
 a true and caring friend and a loyal subject. I've never seen him this
 way, Haralan thought.  He's usually very reserved  in public. Whatever
 this is, it must  be serious. It's getting late. I  should go see him.
 We must get this out in the open.

      Edward sat in  the dining area of his quarters,  staring into the
 fireplace, lost  in memories of  the past. The  events of the  day had
 shaken  him, particularly  the news  of  his father's  death. A  large
 snifter of brandy sat untouched on the table beside him. A knocking at
 the door brought him out of his reverie.
      "I  don't want  to  be  disturbed," Edward  said  to his  unknown
 caller.
      "It's me, Edward. I want to talk to you."
      "Come," Edward said.  He rose from his chair and  faced the door,
 bowing as the  King entered. "Forgive me, Sire. I  wasn't aware it was
 you."
      "There's no need for formality, Edward," Haralan said. "I come as
 your friend, not as your King."
      "You  want  an explanation  about  what  happened today,"  Edward
 stated.
      "Yes I do. Edward, we've known  each other for close to six years
 now, and not once have I ever seen you act like this. What's wrong?"
      "It is...personal, Haralan," Edward replied. "I'd rather not talk
 about it."
      "I told you that I come as your friend. As your friend, I want to
 know. I want to help you."
      "And for that I am grateful, believe me. It's just that--"
      "Edward," Haralan  interrupted, "I had  hoped I wouldn't  have to
 resort to this, but I have no choice."
      Edward looked  his friend  in the  eyes. "What  do you  mean?" he
 asked.
      "As your King, I must know.  If this conflict between you and the
 Galician ambassador is going to ruin  any chance I have of reaching an
 agreement  with him,  I have  to know  why. Please,  Edward," he  said
 indicating the chairs by the table.
      Edward sighed.  "You are  right, of course."  Edward took  a seat
 opposite Haralan. "Do you remember what I told you of how I came to be
 here?" he asked.
      "You were exiled  from Galicia for killing some noble's  son in a
 duel, wasn't it?"
      "That's most of  it," Edward replied, looking down  at his hands.
 "I didn't tell you everything, Haralan," he said.
      The King sat back in his chair. "Go on."
      "When I was seventeen, my father sent  me off to Count Janos as a
 squire." Edward's  eyes lost all  focus and  he even smiled  a little,
 lost in  the days of  his youth. "How proud  I was. Janos  had trained
1some of the best knights in the  Empire. If I impressed him, there was
 a chance  I might have  been recommended  for service in  the Imperial
 Guard! Only the best serve in The Legion. It was my dream."
      "I spent  the next five  years trying to  bring myself up  to his
 standards. I was beginning to think I would never become a knight when
 Janos gave me a gift for my twenty-second birthday. He said that I was
 ready, that  my training  was over,  that I  was now  a knight!  I was
 speechless. He smiled and told me to  get some rest, and that we would
 talk the  next day. Then  I realized that I  would soon be  leaving. I
 might never see Janos or his daughter again. I wanted very much to see
 both of them. You see," he said,  looking at Haralan, "I was very much
 in love with his daughter."
      "She did not love you?" Haralan gently asked.
      "I wasn't  sure. I never  had the courage to  speak to her  of my
 feelings. Not  even when Duke  Markin's son Giles began  courting her.
 When I received my knighthood, I knew I had to act or I would lose her
 forever. So, that night I told her  I loved her." Edward paused in his
 recollections. His expression was grim and he radiated tenseness.
      Edward rose from  his chair and began pacing back  and forth. "It
 was  then that  Giles  came into  the garden.  He'd  overheard me  and
 challenged me to  a duel then and  there. I refused. I  could see that
 Giles was  in no condition to  fight. I suppose he  thought Elaine was
 about to  declare her  love for  me, and  simply couldn't  accept that
 possibility. He was too agitated to  be a worthy opponent. That's what
 I thought, anyway." Haralan had wanted to ask Edward several questions
 during his recounting, but thought better of it. Edward seemed to need
 to talk about his experience, to get it out in the open.
      Edward stopped pacing and went to  the window. A storm was coming
 on. "Giles  called me  a coward,"  he continued,  gazing out  onto the
 courtyard below, "and attacked. I had  no choice but to defend myself.
 He was  quite good, actually. He  almost had me twice  before I struck
 him. The  duel should  have been  over. Even though  Giles only  had a
 superficial cut,  blood had been drawn  and I was the  victor." Edward
 sighed. "But  Giles would not  yield. He came at  me like a  madman. I
 didn't want to kill him, damn it! I just wanted to disarm him!" Edward
 stopped, calming himself.
      "Giles rushed  at me, and before  I could halt my  attack, he had
 impaled himself on  my blade. Elaine screamed and  within moments, her
 father and his  guards had arrived. I told Count  Janos the full story
 and surrendered myself for judgement.
      "My trial  began in Rhylon,  the capital, two weeks  later. Janos
 defended me, risking reprisal from Duke Markin, Janos' liege-lord. The
 Duke wanted my  head on the block,  but Janos pointed out  that it was
 Giles who  was responsible for his  own death. Janos said  I should be
 acquitted of any wrong-doing.
      "Markin  wouldn't hear  of it.  He DEMANDED  that I  be executed.
 Clearly,  I  was   in  the  right,  but  the   Emperor  couldn't  risk
 antagonizing a powerful  noble such as Markin. And so,  I was exiled,"
 he said bitterly.
      "I was given  twenty days to leave Galicia. The  next morning, we
 rode out,  bound for  Janos' castle.  We arrived  two weeks  later. My
 parents  were waiting.  So  was  Elaine. What  followed  was the  most
 difficult thing I have ever had to do.
      "As soon as  we rode through the gate, the  verdict was plain for
 all to see." Edward paused for a moment, remembering the pain he felt.
 "In Galicia,  if a  knight is  convicted of any  offense he  must wear
 black whenever he  dons his armour. I still wear  black today, even in
 Baranur.
      "Janos and  I rode  over to  my parents while  a servant  went to
 fetch my belongings.  Mother and Elaine were crying,"  he said softly.
1"I said good-bye to both of them. Mother didn't take the news well, as
 I  expected." Edward  stopped and  drew in  a shuddering  breath. "But
 Elaine. She's  a strong woman. I  hadn't seen her like  that since the
 night her  mother died,"  he said  in a  pain-filled voice.  "She kept
 insisting it was all her fault. I  told her that was nonsense. I am an
 adult. I'm responsible for my own actions.  I said that if I had to be
 exiled, there was  nothing I would rather be exiled  for than fighting
 for her love and affection.
      "I made her  promise not to hold herself  responsible. She agreed
 and then her father led her away to calm her down. I was appreciative.
 I couldn't bear to see her that way.
      "Lastly, I said good-bye to  Father. I...couldn't look him in the
 eyes.  I  was  sure  he  was  about  to  disown  me."  Edward  paused,
 momentarily  overcome.  "Do  you  know what  he  did?"  he  continued,
 speaking reverently.  "He gave me  his sword. He didn't  say anything,
 just unbuckled it and gave it to me.
      "Emperor Nyrull  presented Father that sword  himself! Father had
 had it for thirty years, Haralan, thirty years! It was his most prized
 possession.  I looked  up at  him, not  knowing what  to say."  Edward
 turned  from the  window, tears  streaming  down his  cheeks. "He  was
 crying!  My  father, the  strongest,  bravest  man  I ever  knew,  was
 crying."
      Haralan, his own eyes watering, went  to Edward, laying a hand on
 his friend's shoulder.  "I--I'm sorry, Edward. I didn't  know it would
 be so painful for you. I had no right to put you through this."
      "Yes you did," Edward said,  trying hard to regain his composure.
 "You are my King as well as my friend." He blinked back his tears, and
 drew himself  up to his  full five feet ten  inches. "And as  King and
 friend, it is time you learned everything about me."
      Four hours later, Edward had  almost finished filling in the gaps
 of  Haralan's knowledge  of  Edward's past.  Edward  had explained  to
 Haralan why he had become a mercenary, for lack of a better word, when
 he could  as easily have sworn  allegiance to any number  of more than
 willing nobles. His conviction had  weighed heavily upon him. The fact
 that he  could never go  home, and that he  would never again  see his
 loved ones  was a  painful burden.  Edward felt  empty inside  when he
 began his wanderings.
      Edward  went  from  war  to   war,  from  skirmish  to  skirmish,
 unconsciously  looking to  re-establish a  place for  himself. In  the
 three years  during which he  was a mercenary, his  fighting abilities
 improved remarkably.  As his reputation  built, he was  offered higher
 and higher positions. He rose from being just another wandering knight
 temporarily in someone's service, to becoming one that any noble would
 gladly have command his  troops. In time, he came to  be known as 'The
 Wanderer'. Many a noble learned to fear that name.
      "Where does Myros fit in all of this?" Haralan asked.
      "He and I were opposing commanders in the infighting so prevalent
 in Alnor. I was  in the service of the Duke of  Valencia. Myros was in
 service to the Duchess of Dreknor.  We had been maneuvering for weeks,
 Myros trying  to catch and destroy  my force, myself trying  to find a
 place to fight on my terms."
      "And did you succeed?"
      "In a  way, yes. But  then so did Myros.  I had found  a location
 where the  terrain was clearly  in my advantage.  Unfortunately, Myros
 found me before  I had time to  prepare. I remember that day  as if it
 were yesterday..."

      ...Edward  stood  on  the  grassy knoll,  surveying  his  troops'
 dispositions. He'd anchored  his left flank to  the forest surrounding
 the  clearing, and  moved his  front rank  up to  the stream  that ran
1through the center  of the meadow. His right flank  he anchored to the
 knoll. I wish I had more time, he thought. He turned to Justarius, his
 second-in-command. "Well, what do you think?" he asked.
      "I would have preferred more time," the grizzled veteran replied,
 unconsciously echoing  Edward's thoughts,  "but all  things considered
 we've done all we can."
      "All we have to worry about now is the enemy."
      "Aye. That  and the fact  that all we've  got in those  woods are
 pickets."
      Edward sighed. He and Justarius had argued about this until early
 in the morning. "Justarius, you know we can barely cover what frontage
 we have.  I don't like it  any more than  you, but a thousand  men can
 only do so much."
      "I know, sir, I know. At least we still have a reserve."
      "If only it wasn't so small. Oh well, time for--"
      "Listen!" Justarius said. "Do you hear that?" he asked.
      "What?  I don't--"  Edward stopped  in mid-sentence,  cocking his
 head to one side. "Wait. Now I do." He stood quietly still for several
 seconds, trying to determine what the  sound was. Finally, he gave up.
 "What is it?" he asked his second-in-command.
      "An army," he said matter-of-factly.
      "How can  you tell?  I can't  even make  that out,"  Edward said,
 indicating the direction the sound was coming from.
      "I've  campaigned  for  thirty  years,  sir,"  Justarius  replied
 somewhat defensively. "I've heard a good deal more armies on the march
 than you.  And believe  me, that's  an army."  He paused.  "There," he
 said. "You can feel it now."
      He was right. Edward could feel the dull pounding of the drums as
 well as hear it. And it was growing louder.
      "Aye," Justarius  said, again voicing Edward's  thoughts. "It's a
 good bet they've found us." As if  on cue, rank upon rank of Dreknoran
 soldiers  emerged from  the  tree  line at  the  opposite  end of  the
 clearing,  sunlight  glinting off  armour  and  weapons. The  clearing
 reverberated to the sound a thousand drums beating out a cadence.
      "Nehru's Blood!" Edward  exclaimed. He had to shout  to be heard.
 "They outnumber us at least three to one! Perhaps more!"
      "You  didn't think  this was  going to  be easy,  did you,  sir?"
 Justarius  adjusted his  sword  belt  and loosened  his  sword in  its
 scabbard. "I'd best get down there."
      "Good luck, my friend."
      "Thanks," Justarius replied. "I'll need  it." He hurried off down
 the slope, bellowing  commands to his men. "Move you  lazy louts! What
 do  you worthless  whoresons think  this is,  a picnic?  Close up  the
 distance between the ranks! Look alive, look alive!"
      The Dreknoran commander arrayed his force in line-of-battle about
 halfway to the stream. The force of the drums set teeth chattering and
 made  weapons and  armour  vibrate. Then,  quite  suddenly, the  drums
 stopped.  Everywhere, ears  rang, protesting  the punishment  they had
 been forced to endure.
      Edward surveyed his line, looking for that one small mistake that
 could spell disaster. Hard as he tried, he couldn't find one. That did
 not comfort him though. He had  a thousand men to face three thousand,
 perhaps more. And  of his thousand, he  had pulled a tenth  out of his
 battle-line to form a small reserve  which he stationed on the reverse
 slope of the knoll, hidden from view.
      Then Edward had  no more time to study his  dispositions, for the
 enemy was on  the move, marching slowly toward his  line, their spears
 like a moving forest.
      Edward moved  his line up to  the edge of the  stream's bank, and
 prepared to receive the enemy. He didn't have to wait long.
1     The Dreknorans charged the last  hundred and twenty yards. Had it
 not  been for  the  fact that  the heavily  armoured  spearmen had  to
 struggle  through  knee-deep  water,  Edward's line  might  well  have
 broken.
      Edward's  troops, the  best  Valencia could  field,  were not  as
 heavily armoured as their Dreknoran counterparts. In the first minutes
 of battle, the Valencians took a  heavy toll of the Dreknorans as they
 floundered in the water.  Eventually, however, the Dreknorans' numbers
 began to tell.
      Several Valencians in the center fell at the same time, opening a
 gap in  the front rank. Raising  a great shout, the  Dreknorans poured
 into the breach. Justarius led a Quarter against the Dreknoran line in
 a desperate counter-attack. Justarius slowed,  but could not halt, the
 Dreknoran advance. The buglers trumpeted an alarm and in response, two
 Quarters of  the third  rank moved  forward to  deal with  the growing
 Dreknoran wedge.
      The situation on  the left was not going well  for the Valencians
 either. Edward's  line had been pushed  back from the stream,  and was
 sagging badly.  Every available Quarter  on the left had  already been
 committed. Edward was forced to take two Quarters from the right flank
 and send them to reinforce the left.
      The  right flank  was the  only place  the Valencians  held their
 ground. The  Dreknoran spearmen  lumbering up the  slope of  the knoll
 were easily dispatched.
      Edward judged the overall situation, while not pleasant, was much
 better than  it could  have been.  He was confident  that if  he could
 shore  up  the sagging  left,  he  might  be  able to  inflict  enough
 casualties on the Dreknorans to force them to retire.
      In the center, Justarius finally managed to contain the Dreknoran
 break-through, and was in the process  of slowly reducing it, when the
 buglers' trumpets sounded in high alarm.
      A badly decimated Quarter on the left, desperately trying to hold
 back  the Dreknorans'  inexorable  advance, finally  succumbed to  the
 overwhelming numbers of  the enemy. The Dreknorans  poured through the
 hole  and fell  upon  the other  Quarters.  All but  one  of the  nine
 Quarters on the left simply  disintegrated, attacked from in front and
 behind.
      The voice  of doom whispered in  Edward's ear as he  led the four
 Quarters of the  reserve towards his shattered left,  shouting to what
 remained of  his front lines  to form circle. Somehow,  Edward's small
 force held  off the Dreknorans  long enough for  him to build  a shaky
 all-around defense.
      The Dreknorans gave no quarter. They attacked from all sides, but
 the Valencian troops  showed their mettle. Their  ring contracted, but
 wouldn't break. Edward side-stepped a  spear thrust at him, and neatly
 hacked off the Dreknoran's arm  at the elbow. Another Dreknoran rushed
 him. Edward tried to side-step this  one's thrust as well, but tripped
 over the body of the soldier he had slain only moments ago.
      The Dreknoran paused, lifting his  spear. Edward prepared for the
 end, but it never came. Just as he was about to finish Edward off, the
 enemy  soldier was  struck  from behind.  The spear  fell  out of  his
 nerveless fingers as he toppled backwards.
      "Are you alright, sir?" Justarius asked with concern.
      "Fine,"  Edward said  somewhat  shakily. "Thanks.  I  owe you  my
 life."
      "Think nothing  of it, sir,"  Justarius replied. "After  all," he
 said with a grin, "if you died, I'd be left in charge of this mess."
      Edward smiled. "Wouldn't want that, now, would we?"
      "No, sir," Justarius agreed.
      "Dreknor can't have had this many troops," Edward said. "She must
1have gotten help from somewhere," he commented.
      "We'll worry about that later," Justarius said. "If we get out of
 this bloody mess, that is."
      Edward nodded in solemn agreement.
      "Time to get back at it," Justarius said and was gone.
      The Valencian  circle was now  so compressed that  the Valencians
 were fighting almost back-to-back. Of his thousand men, Edward thought
 it a miracle  if there were two hundred still  alive. Edward could see
 no hope  of surviving. He  decided that, at  the very least,  he would
 kill the Dreknoran commander. Or die trying.
      He made  his way to  Justarius and  told him his  plan. Justarius
 didn't even  flinch. Long  years of campaigning  had hardened  him and
 prepared him for anything.
      Fate had other ideas. Before  they could implement Edward's plan,
 the inevitable  happened. The  Dreknorans shattered  a portion  of the
 Valencian line and in they came.
      Edward barely had time to return Justarius' hand-shake before the
 enemy was upon them. Edward  and Justarius fought back-to-back against
 the  Dreknoran tide.  Edward deflected  a thrust  with his  sword, and
 killed his opponent with his riposte.
      A second  Dreknoran attacked him. Edward  parried the Dreknoran's
 thrust, then pursued him as he  backpedaled for his life. The luckless
 Dreknoran tripped over  a body and Edward finished  him. Edward paused
 for a moment to catch his breath and to assess things.
      Everywhere, the  battle had degenerated into  individual combats.
 Valencians and  Dreknorans intermingled in  their efforts to  kill one
 another. Edward looked  around for Justarius. They  had been separated
 when Edward  had pursued the  second enemy soldier that  attacked him.
 Edward finally located the  man he had come to think of  as a dear and
 close friend  fighting a one-sided  duel with an opponent  whom Edward
 assumed  was   the  Dreknorans'  commander.  Justarius   was  bleeding
 profusely from several wounds.
      Edward went  to the  aid of  his friend, but  was blocked  by two
 enemy soldiers. He feinted  towards the first Dreknoran's mid-section.
 The  Dreknoran tried  to parry  Edward's thrust,  but Edward's  actual
 target was  his opponent's throat. The  Dreknoran staggered backwards,
 vainly trying to stem the blood gushing from his wound.
      The second enemy soldier  succeeded in disarming Edward. Thinking
 quickly,  Edward  grasped  his  shield  in both  hands  and  beat  the
 Dreknoran to death with it. Edward retrieved his sword just in time to
 see Justarius fall, mortally wounded.
      "NO!" Edward screamed.  He threw himself at  his opposite number,
 letting the  battle-rage take him.  Edward put everything he  had into
 attack, giving no thought to defense.
      His opponent was hard-pressed  to defend himself against Edward's
 wild  onslaught.  Edward landed  several  blows,  but  at a  price.  A
 particularly vicious swing that the  Dreknoran barely managed to avoid
 left Edward  vulnerable. The  enemy commander  lashed out  blindly and
 struck Edward a hard blow to  his helm that sent it flying, staggering
 Edward. The Dreknoran aimed a  downward slash at Edward's head. Edward
 lurched  backwards just  far enough  to  avoid being  killed, but  not
 enough to avoid being struck.
      The Dreknoran's  sword cut  diagonally across Edward's  face from
 the right  portion of  his forehead  to his  left cheek.  Edward fell,
 unconscious.
      This  last was  the final  straw.  The sight  of their  commander
 falling, coupled with  the enormous casualties they  had suffered, was
 too much. The seventy-five or so remaining Valencians surrendered.
      The  Dreknoran commander  called  for a  physician  to attend  to
 Edward. The physician slapped a bandage on Edward's wound and gave him
1something to bring him around. "Will he live?" the Dreknoran commander
 asked the physician.
      The  physician  shrugged.  "The  next  few  days  will  tell.  If
 infection doesn't set in, he should survive."
      "Good," the enemy commander replied.  "Ah," the Dreknoran said at
 Edward's groan, "you're awake."
      Edward  sat  up groggily,  every  movement  painful. Through  the
 pain-clouded vision of his right eye,  he recognized the figure of the
 Dreknoran commander. "Who are you?" he asked.
      "Corneilious Myros,"  he replied.  "Captain of  the Guard  to Her
 Grace, the Duchess  of Dreknor," he said formally. "And  who might you
 be?" he inquired "I want your real name, not that alias you go by."
      "Sir Edward Sothos," Edward replied.
      "Well,  Sir Edward,  you've  been causing  quite  a stir  lately.
 You'll bring a fine ransom."
      "What of my men?"
      "We can't afford  to take prisoners," Myros  replied. He gestured
 to two of his men. "Take him away."
      "No! You can't!"
      "I can and I will. We've wasted enough time. Take him!"
      Edward's guards  led him  away, his  weak struggles  nothing more
 than a nuisance. He felt  himself sliding towards unconsciousness. The
 last  thing he  heard  before the  blackness took  him  was the  dying
 screams of his men...

      ..."I swore vengeance on Myros for what he did that day."
      "So long as he is Ambassador, I  must ask you not to do anything.
 Can you do that?"
      "I'll try. For Baranur's sake, I'll try."
      Haralan smiled. "Good." As he turned  to go, he noticed the first
 streaks of daylight breaking through the clouds. "Morning already," he
 commented.
      "I apologize," Edward said. "I shouldn't have kept you so long."
      "Nonsense. We both  needed our discussion. Now, I  think the both
 of us should get some sleep."
      "I couldn't agree more, Sire," Edward said with conviction.

 Duke Markin's castle, New Valencia, Duchy Valencia, Galician Empire
 1 Nober, 1200 G.Y. (1013 B.Y.)

      Garog pulled  his cloak tighter  about him  in a vain  attempt to
 keep out the rain. Just my luck,  he thought. As if drawing guard duty
 tonight, of all nights, isn't bad  enough. He sighed. Time for another
 round.
      He left the  minimal shelter of the doorway and  proceeded on his
 sentry-go of the battlements of Duke Markin's castle. He paused before
 one  of the  many  braziers positioned  along  the battlements.  Their
 normal function was  to allow the pots  of oil to be  easily lit. This
 night,  they performed  a second  role;  they allowed  the sentries  a
 modicum of  comfort against  the chilling rain.  Garog glanced  to his
 left and saw  two other sentries trying to warm  themselves by another
 brazier ten  yards away. He chuckled  and continued on his  rounds. He
 got no  more than ten  feet before he  stiffened in shock.  "Two?!" he
 said aloud. There's supposed to be only one!
      He turned  to see the  other two  sentries moving towards  him in
 such a manner that told him they had to have weapons drawn. Garog drew
 his sword and was about to sound the alarm when something slammed into
 him from behind, knocking  the wind out of him and  forcing him to his
 knees.
      There was a dull throbbing pain in his back. He tried to rise, to
1defend himself, but his strength was  fading. He just couldn't seem to
 summon the effort  necessary. He tried to cry out  but he couldn't get
 his lungs to work right.
      The two  people he had  mistaken for  sentries were no  more than
 five feet away. He willed his sword arm to rise, but nothing happened.
 Again something struck him from behind.  He felt his lifeblood well up
 and choke him.  He toppled forward, blood flowing down  his front. His
 last conscious  thought was that  he was going  to be in  big trouble.
 Then everything went black.
      Tarn bent  over and wiped his  dagger clean on the  guard's back.
 "The poison usually takes effect a lot sooner than that."
      "I just wish there was a better way than this," Julia said.
      "As  do I,"  Justin said  with regret.  "But I  can see  no other
 choice.  Help me  move him,  Tarn." Tarn  replaced his  dagger in  its
 scabbard and  helped Justin  carry the dead  guard's body  through the
 tower door the guard had been  sheltering in only moments ago. The two
 hid the  guard's body amongst some  crates of crossbow bolts  and then
 exited the tower.
      "I think I  can see the shed  from here," Julia said  as Tarn and
 Justin rejoined her.
      "Where?" Justin asked.
      "Over  there,"  she  replied,   pointing  to  a  large  two-story
 structure with  dozens of lighted windows  in the middle of  the outer
 courtyard.
      "That's the inn."
      "No, not there. Just to the right. You can barely make it out."
      "I think I see  it now," Justin said. "It's so  hard to tell with
 this rain."
      "Now all we need is a way down."
      "I believe I can solve  that problem," Tarn said. "There're steps
 on the other side of the tower leading down to the courtyard."
      "Good," Justin said. "Let's go."  The three companions made their
 way cautiously down the steps to avoid being seen. Once at the base of
 the wall, they paused while studying the sentries' pattern.
      "The  next time  the closest  sentry  comes to  a brazier,"  Tarn
 whispered, "we'll go." Justin and  Julia nodded their assent. Tarn was
 intently watching the  vague shape of the nearest sentry  when a flash
 of lightning  illuminated the  courtyard. The  three sentries  in view
 were clearly visible for several brief seconds. In those seconds, Tarn
 saw that the nearest sentry was warming himself over a brazier. "Go!"
      The trio sprinted across the  muddy ground toward the black shape
 of the equipment  shed next to the inn. Tarn,  in his leather cuirass,
 made it to the shed with no great difficulty. In their heavier armour,
 Justin and Julia found the going more difficult.
      When they were  about three quarters of the way  to the shed, the
 courtyard was again illuminated by  the lightning dancing in the night
 sky. Justin and  Julia were both quite visible, and  both expected the
 alarm to be raised immediately. But it was not.
      Providence, luck, Fate, call it what you will, was with them, for
 the thunder that  followed the lightning masked the  clinking of their
 armour. The sentries, intent on trying to see outside the walls, never
 heard the  sounds that would  have caused them  to look down  into the
 courtyard and see the two intruders.
      Tarn picked  the lock  with ease, and  soon all  three companions
 were  inside the  equipment  shed.  Tarn lit  a  torch, revealing  the
 contents of the shed. The shed,  perhaps thirty feet square, was piled
 high with saddles, saddlebags, and  the usual equipment that travelers
 own. From the look  of some of the items in the  shed, the owners were
 very well-off. Tarn sighed contentedly.
      "No, Tarn," Justin said. "Don't even think it.
1     "Can't a man have  any pleasure? I mean if this  Duke Markin is a
 traitor, the Emperor won't mind if  we 'acquire' a few souvenirs, now,
 would he?"
      "Perhaps  later," Julia  said. "Right  now, let's  concentrate on
 finding the entrance to the passage that wizard told us about."
      "You know,"  Tarn replied,  "you two  have got  to get  out more.
 Gamble, carouse, that sort of thing."
      "Tarn," Justin  said while checking  the walls for  the entrance,
 "stop yapping and start looking."
      "Okay,  okay. Some  people." Tarn  started checking  the southern
 wall for  the entrance, or  rather the  mechanism that would  open the
 entrance. Justin and  Julia were doing the same for  the east and west
 walls respectively. After about an hour of painstaking search, nothing
 was found and the trio were getting frustrated.
      "The mage said  the mechanism was located in  here," Justin said.
 "So where is it?"
      "We've checked all four walls," Julia said. "Maybe this isn't the
 right shed?"
      "No, it's the right shed," Tarn replied. "The wizard specifically
 said the equipment shed next to the inn."
      "Well  where is  the mechanism  then? It's  certainly not  in the
 ceiling and we've checked all the walls."
      "The walls yes, but not the floor!" Julia said triumphantly.
      "Where do we start?" Justin asked.
      "The first thing  we do is check under these  piles of equipment.
 If it was  somewhere else, we would  have stepped on it  by now," Tarn
 answered.
      The three began carefully moving equipment and checking the floor
 for something, anything.  Tarn was checking the  northwest corner when
 he noticed an impression  in the floor about the size  of a hand. Tarn
 applied pressure to it and the  impression sank about three inches. An
 audible 'click' was heard, and a  portion of the floor near the center
 of the  shed dropped  away to  reveal a shaft  fitted with  iron rungs
 leading down into darkness.
      "Shall we?" Justin asked.
      "You first," Tarn said.
      "Thanks."
      "Don't mention it," Tarn said cheerfully.
      Justin  leading the  way, the  companions descended  about thirty
 feet. There the  shaft ended. The trio found themselves  in an ancient
 passage about ten  feet wide and fifteen feet high.  The air was stale
 and the floor covered in a thick layer of dust centuries old.
      "There's the lever," Julia said,  pointing to a bronze lever five
 feet to the right of the shaft.  She walked over to it and pulled. All
 three very clearly heard the entrance to the shaft closing.
      "After seven hundred years it still works," Tarn said with awe.
      "Let's go," Justin said and led off down the passageway, lighting
 the torches  on the wall  as he went.  Two hundred feet  later, Justin
 stood in front of a wall with  another bronze lever next to it. Justin
 passed his torch to Tarn and drew his sword. "Now!"
      Tarn pulled  down on  the lever  and the  wall slowly  slid aside
 revealing a storage area piled high with crates and barrels. The three
 adventurers moved  into the room.  While Justin and Julia  conducted a
 brief inspection, Tarn  went to a section  of wall to the  left of the
 secret entrance and twisted a certain stone. The secret door slid back
 to become a nondescript portion of the room's west wall.
      "Tarn," Justin called. "Is the entrance closed?"
      "Yes."
      "Good. We found  another storage room to the east,  and there's a
 door over here on the north."
1     "Is the hallway outside lit?"
      "I think so," Julia responded.
      "I can leave the torch then," Tarn commented. He extinguished the
 torch and threw  it in a corner.  Given the amount of  items stored in
 the  room, the  torch wouldn't  be  found unless  someone conducted  a
 deliberate search.
      Justin opened  the door  and stepped out  into the  corridor. The
 corridor was ten  feet wide with a fifteen-foot  arched ceiling. There
 were  sconces bearing  lit torches  every ten  feet of  the corridor's
 thirty-foot length.  "That's more like  it," Justin said.  "Julia, you
 watch the rear. Tarn, you stay in the middle."
      Justin leading,  the trio made  their way to the  intersection at
 the end of the corridor. "Which way?" Justin asked. "East or west?"
      "One way is just as good as the other," Julia answered.
      "East, then,"  Justin said. The  three walked carefully  down the
 east corridor,  Julia turning around  and walking backwards  every few
 feet. All three  were getting nervous. They had  penetrated the castle
 some time ago, and had not encountered any guards thus far.
      The corridor turned south, leading  to a narrow stairway going up
 about thirty feet. A small oak door  at the top of the stairs had Duke
 Markin's crest  carved on  its face.  "At least  we're heading  in the
 right direction," Tarn said.
      Justin carefully  opened the door  and surveyed what  was beyond.
 "There's another  corridor that ends  in a  door," he reported  to his
 comrades.
      "How long is the corridor?" Tarn asked.
      "About fifty...sixty feet. No other doors, either."
      "Okay, let's go. But be careful. I don't like this."
      Sword drawn,  Justin proceeded down  the bare stone  corridor. He
 halted ten feet from the door and  let Tarn ply his trade. Tarn handed
 his bow and  sword belt to Julia so that  nothing would interfere with
 his task. He advanced cautiously on  the door, eyes scanning the floor
 for trip  wires or pressure  plates. Finding none, he  began examining
 the door itself, making sure to leave  the handle for last. He ran his
 hands gently along  the edge of the door, checking  for some mechanism
 that might trigger a trap, if there was one. He found nothing. Lastly,
 he checked the handle. As far as  he could tell, nothing was amiss. He
 turned to  Justin. "As well  as I'm able  to tell," he  said, "there's
 nothing wrong with the door."
      "Okay,  we'll go  through," Justin  said. Julia  handed Tarn  his
 weapons and Tarn took up a position behind and to the right of Justin.
 Julia  again  watched  the  rear.  "Everybody  ready?"  Justin  asked.
 Receiving nods of assent, he opened the door.
      The  corridor  continued beyond  the  door  for ten  feet  before
 opening into a larger area. The  beginnings of a large staircase could
 be seen. "It looks like a hall of some kind," Julia said.
      "Could be the entrance hall," Tarn suggested.
      "If it  is, it's bound  to be well-guarded," Justin  said. Justin
 paused for  a moment, considering  possible courses of  action. "We'll
 proceed," he  said a few minutes  later. "Julia and I  will handle the
 guards closest to us. Tarn, you take out any guards out of our reach."
      Julia  moved to  stand beside  Justin while  Tarn moved  back. At
 Justin's signal, the three of them rushed into the hall. It was indeed
 an entrance hall,  though not the main entrance hall.  There were four
 guards in view,  all armoured in chainmail and all  carrying sword and
 shield. One  guard was posted  at the top of  the staircase next  to a
 large  alarm-gong. Two  guards were  posted near  double doors  to the
 west. The  fourth guard  was posted near  the entrance  the companions
 came through.
      Justin and Julia fell upon  the startled guard before anyone knew
1what was  happening and  cut him  down. Tarn loosed  his shaft  at the
 guard on the  staircase. The luckless guard was half-way  to the alarm
 when the arrow punctured his armour  and found his heart. He staggered
 for a moment, then tumbled down the staircase.
      Justin and Julia  were both running at the  two remaining guards,
 who were also charging at Justin and Julia. Julia and her opponent met
 in the middle of  the hall. Julia swung at the  guard's temple, but he
 parried easily. He countered with  a low swing intended to disembowel,
 but  Julia deflected  it with  her shield.  Julia lunged,  drawing her
 opponent out of position and unable  to do anything as her sword swung
 upward and found the guard's throat.
      Justin found  his man to  be a tougher, more  experienced fighter
 than his fellow guardsman. The two thrust and parried, neither able to
 find an opening. The fight was  ended when Tarn, having managed to get
 around behind the guard without  being noticed, buried his short sword
 in the guard's back.
      "Let's get moving!" Justin said.
      "Shouldn't we hide the bodies?" Julia asked.
      "No time," Justin replied.
      "The stairs?" Tarn inquired.
      "Sounds good," Justin answered. He  led the way cautiously up the
 staircase.  Another  corridor,  this   one  decorated  with  expensive
 tapestries, led south for twenty feet before turning east.
      After following the  corridor for a hundred  feet, the companions
 came to  a four-way  intersection. After  only a  moment's hesitation,
 they continued east down a hallway with three oak doors. "Shouldn't we
 investigate?" Tarn asked hopefully.
      "Tarn,"  Julia said,  "I  know it's  hard for  you  to curb  your
 'curiosity',  but  we're here  to  obtain  information  on a  ring  of
 traitors. The best way to do that is to find Duke Markin's rooms."
      "And how  do you  know that  any one of  these three  doors isn't
 Markin's?"
      "I  think it's  safe to  assume  that Markin's  quarters will  be
 guarded," Justin said in response.
      "Oh really?"  Tarn said as  they rounded a corner.  "Just because
 you  think that  his quarters  will  be guarded  doesn't mean--"  Tarn
 stopped short, nearly  running into two of  Markin's soldiers standing
 guard at  a reinforced oak  door. Everyone froze for  several seconds,
 surprised at encountering each other.
      Tarn was  the first  to break  the spell.  His hand  flashed like
 lightning toward his dagger. In one  fluid motion, he threw the dagger
 at the nearest guard and drew his short sword. The dagger thudded home
 under  the guard's  chin strap.  He  fell, blood  spurting around  the
 dagger's hilt.
      Tarn rushed the remaining guard.  The guard was just beginning to
 draw his own weapon when Tarn  slammed his short sword into the guard,
 thrusting  upward under  the rib-cage.  The guard's  body slid  to the
 floor without a sound.
      "You were saying?" Justin said as Tarn recovered his dagger.
      "Okay  so maybe  Markin's rooms  were guarded  after all.  If you
 consider two  guards as 'guarded'." Tarn  walked over to the  door and
 opened  it. Or  tried to,  at any  rate. "Craanor's  Coins!" he  said,
 referring to a  previous Emperor whose 'gold' coins  were so worthless
 that the mere mention of them came to be a curse. "It's locked!"
      "Can you pick it?" Julia asked.
      "We'll soon see," Tarn replied. He pulled a set of lockpicks from
 his pack  and set  to work  trying to  pick the  lock while  Julia and
 Justin stood guard.
      Ten minutes later, an increasingly irritable Tarn was starting to
 swear at  the lock. Justin tapped  him on the shoulder.  "Don't bother
1me!  I'm thinking,"  Tarn snapped.  Justin  again tapped  Tarn on  the
 shoulder. "What?!"
      "I think this might help," Justin said, handing a key-ring he had
 gotten off one of the guards' bodies to the thief.
      "Well why  didn't you give  me that sooner?" Tarn  asked angrily.
 "Never mind," he said, cutting off Justin's response. Tarn turned back
 to the door and  began trying keys. On the fifth  try, he was rewarded
 with a click as the lock opened.
      Justin moved forward and kicked  the door open, Tarn covering him
 with his bow. "Nobody home," Justin stated.
      "Go  in then,"  Julia  said somewhat  anxiously.  "We're kind  of
 exposed out here."
      The three  entered the room and  shut the door behind  them. Tarn
 lit  a torch,  revealing  the room's  details. It  was  a large  room,
 roughly thirty  feet by forty  feet. From the exquisite  furniture, it
 was obvious that this room was a reception area. Two doors, one on the
 south wall, one on the east, led from the room.
      The companions  crossed the room  to the east door.  Tarn grasped
 the knob and twisted. As he feared,  it was locked. He reached for the
 key-ring and went to work. As soon as he applied pressure to the door,
 it swung open.  Whomever had locked it had failed  to shut it properly
 before leaving.
      Tarn stepped back,  allowing Justin and Julia to  enter the room.
 This new room appeared to be a  study. A fireplace was set against the
 north wall,  a desk in  front and  to the side  of it. The  walls were
 lined with  books, approximately  one hundred in  total. A  table with
 four expensive looking chairs sat in the middle of the room.
      "What we're  looking for has got  to be somewhere in  this room,"
 Julia stated.
      "We'll each take a wall," Justin  said. "But remember, be sure to
 put everything back in its exact place."
      The three friends began going through every book in the study. An
 hour went  by fruitlessly. Justin  pulled another book from  its shelf
 and began examining it. It was then  he noticed the oddity in the wall
 behind  the  shelf.  "Julia!  Tarn!  Come here.  I  think  I've  found
 something."
      "What is it?" Julia asked.
      "Help me  move this  shelf," Justin  replied. All  three wrestled
 with the  shelf for several  minutes before  managing to move  it away
 from the  wall. What the shelf  had been concealing was  a ten-foot by
 ten-foot stone door with no handles or other similar accoutrements.
      "Well?" Tarn asked. "What do we do?"
      "I don't know," Justin responded.
      "Why don't we try pushing it?" Julia asked.
      "Might  as well,"  Justin said.  All  three leaned  on the  door,
 pushing with  all their might.  Slowly, reluctantly, the  massive door
 began to move. The door came to rest against the north wall of a small
 corridor extending ten feet east where it opened into a twenty-foot by
 twenty-foot room completely bare of furnishings.
      Or almost bare. In the center of the room stood a stone pedestal,
 a small wooden chest sitting on top. Tarn slowly and carefully entered
 the room,  stepping over the  ankle-level trip-wire strung  across the
 entrance.  He  moved cautiously  toward  the  pedestal, eyes  intently
 scanning the floor for anything out of the ordinary.
      Five feet  from the pedestal  he noticed an  almost imperceptible
 change in the stone tiles on the floor. The tiles immediately in front
 of the  pedestal lacked the  rough texture  evident in the  floor thus
 far. Tarn bent down to examine the tiles in question.
      The  "tiles" were  not  tiles  at all.  They  were very  cleverly
 disguised pressure plates. Tarn began examining the floor more closely
1in  order to  determine just  how large  an area  the pressure  plates
 covered.  After ten  tense  minutes of  study, he  moved  back to  the
 entrance where Justin and Julia were calmly waiting in the corridor.
      "The  floor is  covered with  pressure plates,"  he told  his two
 companions, "but there  is a way to avoid them.  Stay within five feet
 of the south wall and you should have no trouble." Tarn turned and led
 the way into  the room, being careful to stay  near the southern wall.
 The trio  made their way  along the perimeter  of the room  until they
 came to  a position on the  east wall directly opposite  the pedestal.
 Tarn briefly  examined the floor.  The pressure plates  apparently did
 not cover the area behind the pedestal, allowing access to it. "Nicely
 done,"  Tarn murmured  to  himself. Instructing  Justin  and Julia  to
 remain where they were, Tarn proceeded  to the pedestal where he began
 examining the chest.
      The chest was  made of teak, a rare wood,  rarer still in western
 Galicia. There were two locks on the chest, one of which was obviously
 false.  The trick  was, which  one? And  more importantly,  what would
 happen if  the wrong lock were  opened? Tarn pondered the  problem for
 many minutes.  He reasoned that the  correct lock was the  lock facing
 the entrance, not the lock facing him now. Unfortunately, there was no
 way  to test  his hypothesis  without opening  a lock.  If he  guessed
 wrong, the consequences could be deadly.
      Taking a deep breath, Tarn leaned over the chest and inserted his
 lockpick in  the lock.  Silently sending  a prayer  to the  gods, Tarn
 twisted the  lockpick clockwise.  An audible click  sounded throughout
 the chamber. Tarn tensed, waiting for the trap to spring. When nothing
 happened, he opened his eyes and gently lifted the lid of the chest.
      Inside were  three gold  scroll cases  approximately one  foot in
 length.  "We've  found it!"  Tarn  exclaimed.  Justin and  Julia  came
 forward, intent on examining what Tarn had found.
      "GOLD scroll cases?" Julia asked incredulously.
      "I think this is what we were sent to find," Justin said.
      "We should take them and get out of here," Tarn suggested. "We'll
 read them later when we're in safer surroundings."
      Justin nodded his assent. Tarn handed him a scroll case, grunting
 with the  effort. Justin stepped  back and carefully began  making his
 way out of  the chamber. Julia took possession of  the second case and
 followed Justin.
      Tarn lifted  the final case  out of the chest  and set it  on the
 floor next to  the pedestal. As he closed the  chest's lid, he noticed
 that his  two friends were  almost out of the  room. He picked  up the
 scroll case and started to follow them. He was almost to the east wall
 when he heard it.
      A grating  sound like stone on  stone could be heard  behind him.
 Apprehension seized  him as  he turned  to face  the pedestal.  It was
 sinking  into  the floor.  "Craanor's  Coins!"  Whoever designed  this
 chamber did their work well.  Tarn hadn't even suspected anything like
 this. "Run!" he shouted to his comrades. "The pedestal's sinking!"

 Crown Castle, Magnus, Royal Duchy, Baranur
 1 Nober, 1013 B.Y.

      Commander Jan  Courymwen ("Coury" to her  friends), personal aide
 to Sir  Edward Sothos, strode through  the halls of Crown  Castle. She
 had just arrived in Magnus that morning after completing an inspection
 tour of  the Southern Marches. Her  weary body cried out  for rest but
 she had a preliminary report to make.
      The  guards on  duty outside  her office  came to  attention upon
 seeing her round the corner. She  acknowledged their salute with a nod
 and  went  in.  Seated  behind  her desk  was  Captain  Daniel  Moore,
1temporarily filling in for Jan while she was away.
      Moore  looked up  as the  door opened,  a harsh  comment for  not
 knocking  on the  tip of  his  tongue. When  he  saw who  it was,  his
 expression  changed remarkably.  He got  up  from his  chair and  came
 around the desk, his  frown turning to a warm smile  as he greeted his
 friend. "Coury! You're back!"
      "Just barely," she said with a tired smile. She removed her helm,
 allowing her fiery red hair to  flow freely over her shoulders. "Is he
 in?" she asked, referring to Edward.
      "Yes he is," Moore replied. Jan  started for the door to Edward's
 office. "Coury, wait."
      Jan stopped  and turned to  face her  friend. "Yes, Dan,  what is
 it?"  she asked.  Then  she  noticed something  in  his eyes.  "What's
 wrong?"
      "Coury,"      he      began      hesitantly,      "there      was
 an...incident...yesterday afternoon involving Sir Edward."
      "What  kind of  incident? Is  Edward alright?"  An icy-cold  ball
 materialized  in her  stomach  at  the thought  that  Edward might  be
 injured.
      "He's fine," Moore reassured her. "An embassy arrived yesterday."
      "So? What has  that got to do with anything?  Embassies arrive in
 Magnus all the time."
      "This embassy is from Galicia."
      Jan was  silent. Both she  and Moore  knew that Edward  came from
 Galicia and that he left under less-than-ideal circumstances. "Why are
 they here?"
      Moore shrugged.  "Who knows?  What I  do know  is this:  for some
 reason,  Sir  Edward threatened  to  kill  the Ambassador.  He  almost
 attacked him."
      Jan's jaw  dropped. For  a moment, she  couldn't speak.  When she
 finally regained  her composure all  she could manage was  a startled,
 "What!?"
      "You heard me," Moore said. "His Royal Majesty confined Edward to
 his quarters  for the rest  of the day. Last  night, the King  went to
 Edward's quarters and  the two of them stayed up  all night discussing
 things. Edward came in two hours  ago with instructions for me to pass
 on to General Wainwright. Edward said  he has some things to finish up
 and then he's going to go to his quarters and get some rest."
      "Thanks for telling  me, Dan. Well, I have a  report to deliver."
 With that,  she turned  and knocked  on the  door to  Edward's office.
 Receiving assent, she opened the door and entered.
      "Jan!" Edward  said, pleasantly  surprised. "It appears  this day
 won't be a total waste after all. How did the inspection go?"
      "Better  than I'd  hoped, Your  Excellency," she  said, taking  a
 seat.  "My main  concern is  Pyridain.  King's General  Tegran, in  my
 opinion, is not capable of commanding our forces there in the event of
 hostilities. We  do, however, have several  good regimental commanders
 in Pyridain. One or two may be capable of handling the duchy."
      "Good.  You look  tired, Jan.  Get some  rest. We'll  finish your
 report later."
      "If you don't mind my saying so, so do you, Edward."
      "Yes. Well, it was a long night."
      "Dan told  me what happened,  Edward," she said. She  leaned over
 and touched him lightly  on the arm. "If you need  someone to talk to,
 don't hesitate to call on me."
      "Thank you, Jan. I always could count on you."
      "Part of being a friend. I suppose  I should go. We both need the
 rest." She  stood and went to  the door. "I'll have  a complete report
 ready for tomorrow."
      "Good night. Or perhaps I should say good morning?"
1     Jan smiled briefly, then left.

 Duke Markin's castle, New Valencia, Duchy Valencia, Galcian Empire
 1 Nober, 1200 G.Y. (1013 B.Y.)

      "Run!" Tarn shouted. "The pedestal's sinking!"
      Justin  and  Julia didn't  ask  questions,  they just  ran.  They
 stopped outside Markin's quarters to  wait for Tarn. Tarn came running
 through the door and collided with his friends.
      "What are you waiting for?" he practically screamed.
      "You!" Justin shouted back. Just  then, a gong sounded. All three
 friends took one look at each other and fled down the corridor.

 Stormhaven, exact location unknown, Galician Empire
 1 Nober, 1200 G.Y. (1013 B.Y.)

      Sehrvat  Primus  Derek entered  the  Primus'  private study.  The
 Primus  was seated  at a  table with  his back  to Derek.  He appeared
 engrossed in a  large book lying on  the table in front  of him. Derek
 approached the Primus silently, cowl drawn over his head.
      "Thou hath some matter to bring to my attention, Sehrvat Primus?"
      "Yes, Primus," Derek replied uneasily. The man's awareness of his
 surroundings was uncanny! Derek  thought. "The three adventurers hired
 to  investigate  the  cabal  hath succeeded  in  penetrating  Markin's
 stronghold, Primus.  They hath succeeded in  obtaining the information
 we seek and even now are attempting to effect an escape."
      "Excellent," the  Primus replied without stopping  his perusal of
 the tome.  "Thou art dismissed, Derek,"  the Primus said in  a neutral
 voice.
      "Cha loth, Primus," Derek said. He bowed once to the Primus' back
 then turned and exited the room.
      After Derek had  gone, the Primus stopped reading  long enough to
 address one of  his guards. "Go to Markin's stronghold  and assist our
 agents in making  their escape. If their  situation proveth untenable,
 thou art  to eliminate them. Take  care that thou doth  not reveal The
 Order's involvement in this affair."
      The  silent   black-robed  figure  nodded  its   head  in  almost
 imperceptible acknowledgement then vanished on the words of a teleport
 spell. The Primus  went back to his reading as  if the entire incident
 had not occurred.

 Duke Markin's castle, New Valencia, Duchy Valencia, Galician Empire
 1 Nober, 1200 G.Y. (1013 B.Y.)

      Justin, Julia, and Tarn pounded  down the long corner. They could
 hear sounds of pursuit coming from the direction of Markin's quarters.
 "If we can  reach the entrance hall far enough  ahead of them," Justin
 panted, "we should be able to lose them."
      "I hope  so," Julia commented. "There're  far too many for  us to
 fight."
      "We won't have to," Tarn said. "The hall is just up ahead."
      The trio  rounded the corner that  led to the entrance  hall at a
 dead run. A startled guard began  drawing his weapon while at the same
 time shouting for the three to halt.
      Justin never  paused, nor did he  try to draw his  own weapon. He
 simply hurtled forward, slamming the  guard into the alarm-gong at the
 top of the  stairs. The three companions ran past  the dazed guard and
 down the stairs.  That's when they noticed four other  guards near the
 bottom of the staircase.
      Halfway down the  stairs, Justin leaped for the  nearest guard on
1the left. The two collided with a great clangor of metal-on-metal. The
 guard lay on his stomach,  unconscious. Justin wasn't much better off.
 He tried  to use his left  arm to raise himself,  but stopped abruptly
 when  pain lanced  through his  shoulder.  Giving a  strangled cry  of
 agony, he fell back to the floor.
      The three guards still active were  rushing up the stairs to meet
 Tarn and  Julia. Tarn removed  his longbow  from his back  and hastily
 loosed a  shaft at the  right guard. His  target saw what  was coming,
 however,  and brought  his shield  up at  the last  moment, harmlessly
 deflecting the arrow from its intended path.
      Tarn  notched his  last arrow,  took  careful aim,  and with  his
 target only eight  feet away, let fly. The arrow  covered the distance
 in a fraction of a second. The guard literally never saw it coming. It
 struck  the guard  in  the left  eye, sending  him  crashing down  the
 staircase. His  comrade, following behind,  tripped over the  body and
 tumbled to the bottom as well.
      Julia threw her shield at  her opponent, sending his blade flying
 from his nerveless hands. She drew her sword and thrust it through the
 back of the guard's throat before he  had time to bring his shield up.
 He died without a sound.
      Julia  rushed down  the  staircase  and went  to  Justin. He  was
 conscious, though  in great pain  from his dislocated  shoulder. Julia
 gently helped him to his feet, taking  great care not to move his left
 arm. She was so intent on helping  Justin that she never saw the guard
 behind her.
      The guard  had finally managed  to wrestle  the dead body  of his
 comrade off him. Burning with rage,  he leaped to his feet and focused
 his fury  on his nearest  opponent. The fact  that his opponent  was a
 woman  didn't matter.  The fact  that  she had  her back  to him  only
 increased his satisfaction. He approached  Julia, raising his blade to
 strike.
      Tarn shouted a  warning, but Julia couldn't do  anything with the
 burden  she was  carrying. She  tried  to interpose  her body  between
 Justin and the guard, knowing she was about to die.
      Tarn knew he was too far away to use his sword. He reached for an
 arrow, remembering too late he had  used his last one to dispatch this
 guard's comrade. In desperation, Tarn  drew his dagger and balanced it
 for throwing. It was a difficult  throw and Tarn wasn't at all certain
 he could  hit a vital spot  at this distance. Silently  saying a quick
 prayer, he threw  the dagger, aiming for the guard's  neck. Just as he
 was releasing the dagger, however, he  slipped on a step, throwing his
 aim off.  The dagger hurtled through  the air and struck  the guard on
 his left knee-cap, lodging between it and the joint. The guard let out
 an enormous  bellow of pain  and dropped  to the floor,  clutching his
 ruined knee.
      Tarn  could  hear  the  sounds of  many  running  armoured  feet.
 "They're coming!" he said to Julia. "Hurry!"
      "What about our shields?"
      "Leave them! We have no time!"  Tarn opened the northern door for
 Julia as  she helped  the still-dazed Justin  down the  corridor. Just
 before he closed the door, Tarn saw the first of their pursuers arrive
 at the top of the staircase.
      Reaching the small oak door at the end of the corridor, Tarn took
 charge of Justin,  thus freeing his more  combat-oriented companion to
 practice her  trade as the  need arose.  The three continued  down the
 narrow stairs and  moved as quickly as possible  toward the store-room
 and the  secret passage. As  yet, their pursuers hadn't  deduced where
 the quarry had gone; there were two possible directions the trio could
 have  taken. According  to what  their employer  had said,  Markin was
 unaware of  the secret passage's existence.  Therefore, the companions
1could expect a slight reprieve before the chase resumed.
      Finally they  arrived at  the store-room.  What had  taken twenty
 minutes before  took an hour  due to Justin's  condition. Fortunately,
 Justin had, by this time, recovered  his faculties. He was still in no
 condition to fight, be he no longer needed assistance walking.
      "I think  we can  relax now,"  Julia said.  "It should  take them
 about ten  to twenty minutes before  they discover we didn't  take the
 double doors. Figure another twenty to thirty to make it down here. We
 should be gone long before then."
      "We'd better be,"  Justin said, struggling to keep  the pain from
 his voice.
      Tarn walked  over to  the west  wall and  twisted the  stone that
 would open the secret entrance. A portion of the wall to his left slid
 back. The  torches the  trio lit  in the  passage were  still burning,
 illuminating the  seven hundred year-old  corridor meant as  an escape
 route for the original builder of the castle.
      The  three made  their way  down the  passage, going  as fast  as
 Justin could manage.  Tarn paused at the entrance only  long enough to
 pull the bronze lever that would shut the door.
      The companions reached  the shaft at the end of  the passage. The
 pain in Justin's shoulder had grown worse. Beads of sweat stood out on
 his forehead,  the only outward  sign of  his struggle to  control the
 pain his injury was causing.
      "Justin, can you climb?" a concerned Julia asked.
      "I'll have to,  won't I?" he answered in  clipped tones, fighting
 to keep the pain from his voice.
      Julia reached out and put her hand on his uninjured shoulder in a
 show of  support for her friend.  "Tarn," she queried, "why  don't you
 open the trap door?"
      "It already is," Tarn replied in a grim voice.
      "It can't be! We closed it! I'm sure!"
      "Take a look for yourself," he said, standing by the ladder.
      Julia came over  to the ladder and looked up.  There, thirty feet
 above, was an unmistakable circle of  light where the trap door should
 have been. "Gods! They must have discovered the passage."
      "We certainly can't go this way," Tarn stated.
      "What  other choice  do we  have?" Justin  commented from  behind
 them. He walked over to join his friends. "I don't know about you, but
 if I'm going to die, I'd much  rather die up there in battle than down
 here like a starving rat." With that, he reached out with his good arm
 and began hauling himself up the  ladder. Julia and Tarn hesitated for
 a moment and then followed.
      Justin climbed  steadily, painfully  toward the circle  of light,
 fully expecting to die. He paused to regain his strength ten feet from
 the top. The effort of climbing with  one arm was beginning to tax his
 endurance. Just  a little farther, he  thought, and then it'll  all be
 over.
      He  resumed  his climb,  all  thoughts  focused on  reaching  the
 flickering light  above. As he neared  the top, he forced  his injured
 arm to  adjust the  dagger on his  belt so that  he could  more easily
 reach it with his functioning arm.
      He was only a few inches from  the top now. He paused again, this
 time in  preparation for exiting  the shaft.  He gripped the  top rung
 with his good arm and, hauling  mightily, vaulted out of the shaft. He
 landed on his stomach but quickly  rolled to a crouch beside the hole,
 his dagger out of its scabbard and ready to throw.
      "Greetings," said a voice from the shadows.
      Justin  whirled, his  arm coming  down in  one quick  motion. The
 dagger flashed  toward the sound of  the voice. A word  was spoken and
 the  dagger seemingly  deflected off  air. A  figure attired  in black
1robes strode  out of  the shadows toward  Justin and  the now-emerging
 Julia.
      "What are you doing here?" Justin asked.
      "It is my  task to see that thee and  thy companions successfully
 escape from this  stronghold," the figure replied in  the same archaic
 form of  Galician that  the wizard  that hired  them spoke.  Only this
 wizard was not the same one who hired them.
      "Who are you?" Julia asked.
      "That is none of thy concern." He paused, not speaking until Tarn
 had emerged from the shaft. "I shalt take thee to the Sehrvat Primus,"
 he  stated. He  spoke  the words  of  a teleport  spell  and all  four
 vanished.
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   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     ||-Story-
 -=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
   D    D  AAAA RRR  G GG O  O N N N   Z     I N N N E     ||-Index-
   DDDDD   A  A R  R GGGG OOOO N  NN  ZZZZZZ I N  NN EEEE  ||
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                                                              \

 =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

 To request, specify: DARGONZ VOLvvNii, where vv ii = volume #, issue #

 Volume 01, Issue 01 (11/04/88)
 -------------------
 Unlikely Partners, Part 2  Max Khaytsus            12-16 Naia, 1013
 Runaway                    Michelle Brothers       29 Seber, 1012 and
                                                     16 Naia, 1013
 Steel Souls                John Sullivan           10-11 Yule, 1013
 Inquiries                  John Doucette           29 Yuli-7 Sy, 1013
 Trial by Fire, Prologue    M. Wendy Hennequin      6 Sy, 1013


 Volume 02, Issue 01 (03/17/89)
 -------------------
 A Night in the Town        Carlo N. Samson         28 Naia, 1013
 Trial by Fire, Part 1      M. Wendy Hennequin      7-12 Sy, 1013
 The Game Begins            John Doucette           13-14 Sy, 1013


 Volume 02, Issue 02 (05/06/89)
 -------------------
 Backtrail                  Michelle Brothers       17 Naia, 1013
 Dragon Hunt, Part 1        Max Khaytsus            19-23 Naia, 1013
 Dragon Hunt, Part 2        Max Khaytsus            20-23 Naia, 1013


 Volume 02, Issue 03 (9/22/89)
 -------------------
 Sons of Gateway 1: Ne'on   Jon "Grimjack" Evans   Vibr. 17-Fir. 7, '13
 Unwelcome Encounter        Carlo Samson           Melrin 5, 1013
 Fortunes                   Max Khaytsus           1 Yule, 1013


 Volume 02, Issue 04 (9/29/89)
 -------------------
 Dragon Hunt 3              Max Khaytsus           Naia 25-Yule 7, '13
 The Knight of Stone        Jon "Grimjack" Evans   Yuli 11-22, 1013
 Trial before Tribunal      Wendy Hennequin        Sy 15-22, 1013


 Volume 02, Issue 05 (10/13/89)
 -------------------
 Sons of Gateway 2: Magic   Jon "Grimjack" Evans   Naia 21-Ober 13, '13
 Dragon Hunt 4              Max Khaytsus           Yule 8-23, 1013
 Damsel in Distress         Wendy Hennequin        Sy 24-27, 1013


 Volume 02, Issue 06 (11/03/89)
 -------------------
 Trial Before the King      M. Wendy Hennequin     Seber 5-12, 1013
 Knight in Shining Armor    M. Wendy Hennequin     Seber 24-Ober 7, '13

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    ***     ***             -------------------              ****    ***
  ******   *****            The Online Magazine              ***********
  ******   *****        of Amateur Creative Writing         ************
                        ---------------------------


      Athene is a free network "magazine" devoted to amateur fiction
 written by the members of the online community.  Athene is not limited
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              QQQQQQ    uuu    aaaaa nn  nn tt   aaaaa
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              ______________________________________

              A Journal of Fact, Fiction and Opinion
              ______________________________________

 Quanta is an electronically distributed magazine of science fiction.
 Published monthly,  each issue contains short fiction,  articles and
 editorials by authors around the world  and across the net.   Quanta
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1   (C)   Copyright    January,  1990,    DargonZine,     Editor   Dafydd
 <White@DUVM.BitNet>. All rights revert to the authors. These stories may
 not be reproduced  or redistributed save in the case  of reproducing the
 whole 'zine for  further distribution without the  express permission of
 the author involved.