DargonZine Volume 3, Issue 4

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   D    D  AAAA RRR  G GG O  O N N N   Z     I N N N E     ||  Issue 4
   DDDDD   A  A R  R GGGG OOOO N  NN  ZZZZZZ I N  NN EEEE  ||
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 --   DargonZine Volume 3, Issue 4        03/09/90          Cir 966    --
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 --                            Contents                                --
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Materia Medica II           Max Khaytsus           Yuli 19-21, 1013
  Some Snatch of Honor        M. Wendy Hennequin     13 Janis, 1014
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
1                              Materia Medica
                                  Part 2
                             by Max Khaytsus
               <b.c.k.a. khaytsus%tramp@boulder.colorado.edu>

      Kera rolled  out of bed  with a long  yawn and looked  around the
 room.  Rien  sat at  the  small  table  by  the window,  reading  `The
 Realities of Myths'.
      "It's about time," he looked over. "It's almost noon."
      "Being jailed isn't  as harsh a reality when  I'm sleeping," Kera
 said. She walked over  to the table and sat down  on the second chair.
 "How many times have you read that book now?"
      "Thrice," Rien said. "And I learned something new every time."
      "Doesn't look like any of it is of much use to us."
      "It's not,"  Rien said.  "Most of it  is disputed  facts disputed
 once again."
      "We've been  locked up  in this  inn for two  days now.  Let's do
 something."
      "It's dangerous out there."
      "I know," Kera said, "but I can't  take much more of this. I need
 to see different walls."
      "All right," Rien said after a  moment of thought. He wasn't used
 to this much  indoor living either. "I'll make you  a deal. Instead of
 eating here we'll go outside of Dargon, hunt and eat there."
      Kera's eyes brightened. "Let's go!"
      "Get  dressed," Rien  stopped her.  "I  don't think  we need  the
 attention."
      "I was going to anyway!" she stuck her tongue out at him.

      "There's a rabbit," Kera pointed to a patch of dark grass off the
 path.
      Rien turned  his horse to look.  "Yes, it is," he  said, spotting
 the rabbit.
      "Aren't you going to shoot it?" Kera asked.
      "No. I got you a bow so you could do it."
      "Rien!"
      "It was your  idea to become my apprentice. How  do you expect me
 to teach you if you don't do anything?"
      Kera pulled out her bow, strung it and took aim at the rabbit.
      "Loosen up  your arm," Rien  instructed, "and don't pull  back so
 far. It's only a rabbit. It won't take much to kill it."
      Kera  loosened   up  and  reaimed.  "It's   moving  around,"  she
 complained.
      "Should I ask it to hold still?"
      "Please," Kera said.
      "Just shoot it!"
      The arrow passed well to the left  of the rabbit and stuck in the
 ground. The startled animal darted off into the bushes.
      "It was too far anyway," Kera said. "Now what?"
      "You retrieve  the arrow and  either track  your prey or  go find
 another."
      "There's a guy at the market who sells rabbits," Kera said.
      "You find it in the forest and you kill it."
      "Can I do it my way?" Kera asked.
      "Go  ahead," Rien  answered, "but  you'll have  to learn  the bow
 anyway."
      Kera jumped off  her horse and started examining  the bushes. Ten
 minutes later she found what she was looking for and returned to Rien.
 "If there's anything there, I'll have it in a minute."
      Rien nodded  in anticipation  and loaded  his crossbow.  "Just in
1case," he smiled.
      Kera got the  flint and steel off her horse,  scooped up some dry
 moss and  returned to the bush.  She cut off some  branches for easier
 access, spread the  moss at the entrance  to the burrow and  lit it. A
 moment later thick smoke descended into the hole.
      "What if there's more than one exit?" Rien asked.
      "Then it will get away. It happens sometimes."
      "Do you know why?"
      Kera shrugged.  "Just the way  it is,  I guess. Some  rabbits are
 smarter than others."
      "Rabbits don't dig  their own burrows," Rien said.  "If they find
 an abandoned one, they tend to  move in and depending on what creature
 built it, there may be multiple exits."
      Kera  brushed the  smoldering  moss aside  and  prepared for  her
 catch.  "All I  know is  that  when they  live in  burrows they  leave
 scratch marks in the ground, looking for roots."
      "Good method," Rien said.
      Kera proceeded  to kneel by the  hole a while longer  and finally
 swung her dagger, then triumphantly produced a rabbit.
      "Very nice," Rien approved.
      Kera  was about  to pick  up her  dagger as  a second  grey shape
 appeared at the  opening and darted for freedom. She  lunged after it,
 falling across  the first  rabbit, but  managed to grab  a leg  of the
 escaping animal. A high pitched squeak indicated the catch.
      "Two," Kera stood up, holding a  rabbit by its ears in each hand.
 "You can cook them."
      "I am  sure I  can, but  I prefer  mine raw  and yours  might get
 burned in the fire."
      "That's not fair."
      "Is it  fair to  ask my  apprentice to  prepare the  catch?" Rien
 asked.
      "I don't  think I want  to answer  that question," Kera  said. "I
 suppose I'll do it. Are you sure you want yours raw?"
      "I'll take it cooked this time," Rien said.
      Kera placed her catch on the ground and started laying a fire pit
 when Rien suddenly jerked his horse to the side and fired his crossbow
 into a tree.
      A small black creature fell to the ground.
      Drawing his long knife and dismounting, Rien approached with Kera
 behind him. On  the ground lay what  appeared to be a  cross between a
 bat and a man, no more than four inches tall. A large round hole gaped
 in its wing and part of its side was torn open.
      "I thought  I saw something like  this yesterday at the  inn," he
 said, scooping up the creature.
      "Is it dead?" Kera asked.
      "I imagine  so," Rien said. "See  why so much force  shouldn't be
 used?"
      Kera nodded. "What is it?"
      "I don't  know. An  enchanted creature,  I'd imagine."  He pulled
 open a small  pouch he got off  the horse and placed  the body inside,
 securely  drawing the  strings closed.  "Go make  lunch," he  reminded
 Kera.
      She looked back at the two rabbits by the fire. "I'm not sure I'm
 all that hungry any more..."

      "What happened?" Tsazia demanded of Mija.
      "The imp was killed," he said in a low voice.
      "How?"
      "The elf," he feared to raise his eyes. "The elf shot it."
      The old witch calmly turned to leave. "Get the book back tonight.
1I will personally see to the elf tomorrow."
                              *     *     *
      Rien knocked  on the  door frame  to Corambis'  shop and  a young
 dark-haired girl  hurried to  meet him. "Master  Corambis will  not be
 doing readings today," she said.
      "I  was  told I  might  find  Dyann  Taishent here  today,"  Rien
 explained.
      "I'm  sorry,  sir,  but  I  was  told  to  permit  absolutely  no
 disturbances."  She stepped  directly in  front of  Rien to  block his
 path.
      "I got  the horses secured!"  Kera's voice sounded outside  and a
 moment later she appeared behind Rien, wrapped in a cloak.
      "Kera?" the brown haired girl asked, trying to look around Rien.
      "Hi Thuna!" Kera  answered and Rien used the  distraction to step
 aside. The two  girls embraced as long lost friends  and Rien used the
 opportunity to sneak in through the second door.
      "What  happened to  you?"  Thuna asked  Kera.  "The whole  town's
 looking for  you! Liriss'  guards stopped  by to  ask about  you three
 times already!  If Corambis knew, he'd  throw me out on  my rump!" She
 turned to look around the room. "Where'd that man go?"
      "He's inside," Kera said. "He needs to talk to Taishent badly."
      "Who is he?" Thuna asked.
      "My lord and master," Kera said sarcastically, because he did not
 seem to be that  at all times. "I got caught stealing  from him and he
 made me his apprentice instead of turning me in." That was pretty much
 the whole story.
      "Are you  saying you got  lucky or it  would have been  better in
 jail?"
      Kera smiled. "He's not all bad.  A little demanding at times, but
 has a better heart than Liriss."
      "Did you know Liriss hired some guy to kill you?" Thuna asked.
      "I heard," Kera admitted. "Hopefully we'll be leaving town soon."
      "What are they doing in there anyway?" Thuna asked. "Corambis and
 Taishent have been working on something for three days solid now."
      "Rien, the guy I'm apprenticed to, hired them to translate an old
 book," Kera  said. "I'm not too  clear on it. It's  some magical work.
 What about you? How did you come around to work for this old geezer?"
      "He saved  my life  last year,"  Thuna said.  "I was  working the
 corner of Thockmarr Street and  Red Avenue, near the marketplace, when
 this really  disgusting geeb comes  up to me  wanting to roll.  I said
 fine, but then he wanted me  to do some completely sickening things to
 him, so I told  him to scrazz off, but he got mad  and pulled a blade.
 He would've cut me bad if Corambis hadn't come by and torched him off.
 After the man  scrazzed, Corambis didn't want to just  leave me on the
 streets, so he offered  to hire me as his assistant --  and here I am.
 He also got me  a job at Belisandra's in exchange  for room and board.
 It's really not all  bad working here; the pay is  good, even if there
 is less excitement."

      "Thuna!" Corambis looked up as Rien shut the door behind himself.
 "Can I help you, sir?"
      Taishent looked up as well. "Why  do you make my life miserable?"
 he complained.
      "Good afternoon,  gentlemen," Rien answered,  ignoring Taishent's
 remark. "I apologize for the intrusion, but I need a consultation with
 you. I am  under the impression that this creature  has been following
 me around..."  and with  those words,  he dumped  the contents  of the
 leather pouch onto the Wheel of Life.
      The two old men stood up to look at the dead form on the table.
      "Defenately a conjured thing," Taishent said.
1     "Probably someone's familiar," Corambis added.
      They broke into an exchange of  magical jargon which Rien did not
 fully comprehend, then turned to face him. "It probably belongs to one
 of the witches in Maari's coven," Taishent said.
      "Could it be Maari's?" Rien asked.
      "No,  no,"  Corambis  said.  "Familiars  are  released  upon  the
 conjurer's death. If it was actively watching you, it still belongs to
 someone."
      "That means  the witches want the  book," Rien said. It  was half
 statement and half question.
      "Probably," the two men answered in tandem.
      "Then I  feel I  should offer my  services for  your protection,"
 Rien said.
      "Most  defenately  not!"  Taishent  exclaimed.  "You're  far  too
 dangerous to have around!"
      It was  an insult, but  it was also  true. Trouble found  Rien at
 least as often  as he found it.  He thought for a  moment, then placed
 two  gold  coins  on  the  table.  "I want  you  to  hire  guards  for
 protection. Your success is very important to me. Good day."
      The last was said very dryly and  he left the room before the men
 could respond.
      "Kera," he called out. "Let's go."

      Kera sat  up on  the bed  with a  loud scream.  Next to  her Rien
 stirred at the noise.
      "What?"
      Kera sat with her hands covering  her face, shaking and when Rien
 touched her, he realized she was in cold sweat.
      "What is it?" he asked again.
      "I can see,"  Kera whispered. "Everything is red or  black, but I
 can see." She broke into quiet sobbing.
      "It's all  right," Rien  said, pulling her  close. "We'll  go see
 Taishent in the morning."
      "No...let's go now...please."
      Rien did not move. The development of night vision in Kera was an
 indication  that  the  disease  was  steadily  progressing  and  there
 wouldn't  be much  time.  There  were maybe  a  few  more weeks  until
 physical  transformations would  become  obvious to  observers...maybe
 even days. He thought that he himself had little time and a feeling of
 helplessness began to set in.
      "Rien?"  Kera tried  to break  his embrace.  "Can you  see me  as
 clearly as I see you?"
      He nodded. "I imagine so."
      "And all the furniture in the room?"
      He nodded again.
      "I'm scared," Kera whispered and embraced him.
      "My night vision is natural," Rien  said, knowing all too well it
 would  make things  worse. "I  see things  in darker  shades of  their
 natural color." He released Kera and got up to light a candle.
      Kera tried to follow him, but when the candle was lit, she gasped
 and covered her eyes.
      "I am  sorry," Rien was  startled. "I didn't realize  light would
 hurt you." He returned with her to the bed and sat down.
      After a  few seconds  Kera removed  her hands  from her  face and
 looked around the room.
      "How does it look?" Rien asked.
      "It's normal," Kera sighed and turned to face him.
      "Your eyes are grey," Rien said, looking her in the face.
      Kera's eyes watered and she placed her head on his shoulder. "I'm
 sorry," Rien  stroked her hair,  trying to  stop her sobbing.  After a
1while Kera relaxed.
      "Can we see Taishent tonight?" she asked.
      "Come on," Rien answered, getting up. "Get dressed."

      Taishent grumbled loudly, going to unlock the door. He pulled his
 robe tightly  around himself before  pulling open the bolt.  What sane
 man would disturb him  at this hour of the night?  To his surprise, he
 was  faced with  a  young couple  as  he opened  the  door. His  angry
 expression dissolved in confusion.
      "We heard you  have a shadow book in your  possession," the young
 man stated, not waiting  for a greeting. "We are ready  to offer you a
 high price fo it."
      "Do you  realize what time  of the  night it is?"  Taishent asked
 gruffly.
      "Yes, we do, but our business is urgent," Alicia responded.
      A stiletto flashed  in her companion's hand.  "It's urgent enough
 that we shall bypass payment," he finished for her.
      "Let's have the book, old man," Alicia said producing a dagger of
 her  own. She  didn't intend  to  use it,  but  it would  be good  for
 appearances' sake.
      As Mija stepped forward, an arrow hit him in his forearm, pinning
 it  to the  door frame.  Taishent  used the  distraction to  disappear
 inside. Mija, ignoring  the pain of the puncture, with  his free hand,
 pulled out the pearl he intended to  use the night before and flung it
 into the darkness of the street. He had no way of knowing the location
 the arrow came from, but in this  darkness the archer could not be too
 far away. Mija  hoped that between his estimate and  the radius of the
 spell's effect the problem would be solved.
      A bright blue  globe quickly filled the middle of  the street and
 exploded, filling the air with crackling noise and an overabundance of
 light.  In the  flash  both Alicia  and  Mija saw  Rien,  with a  bow,
 standing by the  wall of Taishent's house. The power  of the explosion
 threw  him  against the  wall,  the  half  readied arrow  flying  off,
 harmlessly falling on the ground.
      Alicia, forgetting  that she  did not intend  to kill  anyone ran
 down to where  she saw Rien stumble, to challenge  him and perhaps, if
 luck would have it, dispatch him before he had a chance to get up.
      Mija attempted to  remove his arm and arrow from  the door frame,
 but at that time Taishent stepped  back out, drawing a heavy old sword
 from its  sheath, one that he  probably used as a  young man. Expertly
 holding the heavy weapon, he warned the young warlock not to stir.
      Alicia, in the meantime, stumbled down the street, realizing that
 she had  no way of  identifying her target  in this darkness  and more
 importantly, probably would not be able  to kill him if she could find
 him, stopped in mid-stride. A noise behind her warned her to turn, but
 before she  could, a sword dug  into her side. Alicia  grabbed for the
 wall, to prevent  herself from falling, crying out "Wait!"  as she had
 no intention to fight, but the  sword struck her a second time, making
 her drop her dagger and crumble to the ground.
      Hearing  the  scream,  Mija  again struggled  against  the  arrow
 holding him,  but was hit with  the flat of Taishent's  blade. It took
 the old wizard  some effort, but he again readied  his weapon and Mija
 relaxed. Footsteps could be heard in the alley and a moment later Rien
 and Kera  appeared in the light  cast from Taishent's half  open door.
 Rien had his bow in hand and  Kera was wiping blood off her sword with
 a rag.
      "Murderer!" Mija  lashed out, startling Taishent  and tearing his
 arm off the arrow's shaft, as he charged at Kera.
      Rien took the  initiative of Mija's charge  and stepping forward,
 reduced the young man to an unconscious heap with two deft swings.
1     "Do you  want to  kill him?"  Kera asked, pausing  in the  act of
 putting the rag away.
      "No," Rien said,  stepping over the body.  Kera remained watching
 Mija while Rien went up to Taishent.
      "For once  I can't say  I am disappointed  to see you,"  the mage
 uttered.
      "What  where  they  after?"  Rien asked  and  then  assuming  the
 obvious, quickly added, "the book?"
      Taishent nodded.
      "I asked you to hire protection," Rien said.
      "Yes, yes,"  Taishent answered,  "but what good  is a  mere guard
 against magic? You were lucky not to get caught in that explosion."
      "A mere guard is better than nothing," Rien pointed out.
      "It's all beside the point now," Taishent said. "Why are you here
 this late?"
      "The disease is progressing. Kera can now see in the dark..."
      "And you?"
      "I haven't noticed any changes..."  Rien said and paused. Perhaps
 after all this time the old mage had  a right to know the truth. "I am
 half elven," Rien finally decided to go  on. "No one knows how it will
 effect me."
      "Elven?" Taishent echoed. "Ljosalfar?"
      Rien nodded.  Very few people  knew there  were two races  in the
 species and  even fewer  cared, even  though their  individual members
 were very different.
      "Well, your case is certainly a special one," Taishent said, "but
 you are still a carrier. Come back tomorrow at sunset. I may have news
 for you then."
      Rien nodded a silent thanks and turned to leave.
      "And please  take that  young man to  the guard  house," Taishent
 added. "I shall stop by there tomorrow morning and give my report."

      "What could he tell  us tomorrow that he has not  come up with in
 the last two months?" Kera asked.
      "I don't know," Rien shrugged. "Apparently he believes he will be
 able to help..."
      The pair  were walking  down one  of the  streets of  Dargon, not
 bothering  to cover  themselves with  their cloaks.  The darkness  and
 absence of people permitted them a certain freedom they hadn't had for
 almost a week and even with the  hunting trip the day before, this was
 a luxury that forced them to slow their pace a number of times.
      "Let's go  this way,"  Kera pointed  to a  street leading  in the
 direction away from the inn.
      Rien stopped, looking down both streets, then nodded and took the
 street Kera suggested. Although they were  on their way from the guard
 station to the inn,  some freedom and fresh air could  do no more than
 good. At  the guard house  the guards  hassled Rien somewhat  over the
 unconscious body  he brought in  and asked  to be held  until Taishent
 would stop by in the morning, but  just then one of the night patrols,
 headed by Lieutenant Darklen, stopped by and after a discussion of the
 events of  the night, Darklen took  down Rien's name and  where he was
 staying  and said  that  he  would visit  Taishent  personally in  the
 morning.
      During all this time Kera nervously  paced up and down the street
 a block over, jumping at the slightest noise, fearing to encounter one
 of Liriss' men  or a city guard  and for that matter,  anyone else who
 might,  by chance  take this  particular street  at this  hour of  the
 night.
      After  what seemed  like a  half  night of  pacing, Kera  finally
 decided to sit down by the wall  and wait. She knew that Rien would be
1questioned as to what he was doing with an unconscious, injured person
 in the middle of  the night and why exactly he  would want his captive
 held by the guards, but the amount of time it was taking was beginning
 to worry her more and more.
      She  spent her  time sitting  there thinking  about the  girl she
 killed. It  struck Kera as  the only  thing to do  at the time  it was
 happening, but on  the way to the  guard house Rien asked  her why she
 didn't stop when  the girl she was attacking called  out a yield. Kera
 explained that  she continued attacking  because her opponent  did not
 drop her weapon and backing off could force her to lose the advantage.
 Yet, in spite  of this seemingly sound explanation,  Kera now wondered
 if there was  something else. At the time of  the attack, Kera thought
 she felt  something different.  It was  a feeling  of great  anger and
 wanting to see  her opponent crippled on the ground.  She now wondered
 if this has some relation to the disease and the change in her vision.
 The whole  thought of turning into  a four legged beast  forced her to
 break  into sobbing  again. The  development of  night vision  was the
 factor that had finally made her realize just how real this was.
      Just then  something unexpectedly took  hold of her  shoulder and
 Kera let out a yelp loud enough to have Rien jump back. Kera looked up
 and recognizing  her companion smiled  through her tears.  "Sorry. You
 startled me."
      "Are you all  right?" Rien bent down in front  of Kera. She tried
 to  pull herself  together. "Don't  say `yes',"  Rien added.  "I won't
 believe you."
      "I'm scared,"  Kera said. "It's stupid.  I know I won't  die, but
 I'm scared. I don't want to go to  the inn. I'm afraid that if I go to
 sleep, I'll change..."
      "You  won't," Rien  put his  arm around  her. "Nothing  more will
 happen. We'll  go see Taishent tomorrow  and I'm sure he'll  give us a
 good lead."
      "You don't believe that any more than I do!" Kera insisted. "He's
 a foolish old man. I bet you he hasn't cast anything in years. He even
 had to get that old sword to fight with today."
      "Perhaps," Rien said, "but if we  don't have hope, what use is it
 for us to fight?"
      "Didn't you tell  me a while back to always  expect the worst and
 leave the good things to be pleasant surprises?" Kera asked.
      "Sort of  makes me a  hypocrite, doesn't  it?" Rien asked  with a
 smile and  Kera laughed.  "And I'll  do it more  often if  it provokes
 reactions like this one."
      He helped her up and they left  in the direction of the inn, both
 enjoying the night air.
      "How could Taishent help us?" Kera asked again.
      "I don't  know," Rien said.  "Your guess  is probably as  good as
 mine. I've come to learn early  on that those who understand magic are
 usually more  able than they  appear and if  a real need  arises, they
 will be able to do what needs to be done."
      "You think he was holding out on us?" Kera asked.
      "Could be,"  Rien answered.  "Maybe he  was. He  should certainly
 have a reason to be grateful now."
      They turned off the street they had taken at the docks and walked
 up onto an empty  pier. Off to the east a red  line was cracking along
 the horizon and the couple stood watching it for a few minutes.
      "Come," Rien finally said. "It will be light soon."
      Kera stood frozen for a  moment longer, then reluctantly followed
 Rien. "Do we have a few more minutes?" she asked, catching up.
      "Why?" Rien asked.
      "I have something to show you."
      "All right, but let's hurry."
1     Kera led Rien a few blocks  down along the docks, then stopped at
 an empty pier. "We need to go down," she said.
      Together  they made  their way  down  a narrow,  creaking set  of
 stairs that were in desperate need of repair. It was going to low tide
 and the  sand of the beach  was still wet and  swamp-like, making Rien
 glad they had not worn their armor.
      Kera guided  him beneath  the pier  to a  spot where  large rocks
 could be seen  emerging from the water. Something was  lying on one of
 the further  ones, just barely  sticking out above the  lowering water
 level.
      Rien and Kera  waded into the cold water until  it reached almost
 to their  waists. The  shape on  the rock was  a human  body, securely
 chained down and gagged. The man was dead.
      "What a way to die..." Rien sighed. "How did you know he would be
 here? Who is he?"
      "I never saw him before," Kera said. "I didn't even know he would
 be  here. This  pier belongs  to Liriss.  These are  the blocks.  When
 Liriss wants to dispose of someone  slowly, he has them tied down here
 at low tide and  a few hours later they're dead.  I just thought you'd
 want to see  it. Thuna told me something was  happening and Liriss was
 purging his staff. He must be very upset."
      "Thanks for the warning,"  Rien nodded. "It's certainly something
 to be aware of. Come, now. We need to get back to the inn."

      Taishent opened the door almost immediately after the first knock
 and stepped outside.
      "I found someone  who may be able  to help you and  is willing to
 try,"  Taishent said  to  Rien and  Kera. "Corambis  used  to be  King
 Haralan's personal astrologer and has worked with Marcellon Equiville,
 the High Mage of Baranur..."
      Rien begun to say something, but decided to keep his mouth shut.
      "...we went  to see him today,"  Taishent continued. "Marcellon's
 daughter, Lauren,  married the Duke two  weeks ago, you see,  so he is
 currently in Dargon. Anyhow, he said he  is willing to see what he can
 do."
      Rien  remained speechless  for a  bit longer.  "Where? When?"  he
 asked with great anticipation.
      Taishent  could  not help  but  smile  at  the reaction.  "He  is
 expecting you tomorrow morning at the  Connall Keep east of here. Take
 the River  Road some five leagues  along the Coldwell, then  turn east
 for a league or so more. The road will lead you directly there."
      Rien  and  Kera  remained  silent and  Taishent  chuckled  again.
 "Marcellon is not only a wizard. He is also a physician and a good one
 at that. If anyone can help you, I am sure he can."
      "I'd like to thank you whether  this works out or not," Rien said
 finally.
      Taishent nodded. "I expect to be done with the book by the end of
 the week. You may pick up the translation then."
      "Hopefully by then I shall not need it..."
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
1                          Some Snatch of Honor
                          by M. Wendy Hennequin
                 <b.c.k.a. Hennequi_wem@CTStateU.BitNet>

      For a moment, Luthias stared into the cup, wondering if his death
 or his  life lurked  within. He  glanced up at  the High  Mage's blank
 face,  and without  further hesitation,  Luthias quaffed  the purplish
 wine. Then, he and the High Mage waited.
      Luthias had  changed in the  two weeks  since he had  returned to
 Baranur. He had  arrived in Pyridain haggard and  ill; Marcellon cured
 his winter sickness, and  the good food that the Duke  sent to him had
 brought  Luthias near  to  his normal  weight.  Practicing with  heavy
 wooden weapons, Luthias  had regained much of his  strength. Two signs
 only remained  to mark the  Count's stay  in the Beinison  Empire: the
 addiction to ardon, for which Marcellon hopefully had just given him a
 curative, and the beard.
      Luthias had not wanted to retain the straggly beard, grown in the
 hectic,  half-remembered days  when he  had been  running. Soon  after
 Marcellon cured  his winter sickness,  Luthias began to shave  it off,
 but  he found  a  long knife  scar, running  along  the jawline,  from
 beneath his  left ear to  his chin.  The Count, resigned,  settled for
 trimming the  beard neatly, and  later he was  glad; it made  him look
 older.
      After a  minute or so, the  Count of Connall wondered,  "How soon
 will I be affected, Marcellon?"
      Luthias was  discomforted by the  stare that Marcellon  gave him.
 "It should work immediately."
      "Then I'm cured of the ardon  addiction?" Hope began to seep into
 Luthias' heart  after a hard fortnight.  The young Count had  found it
 hard to  hope when  his body  was irrevocably  addicted to  a magicked
 drug.  He would  have  stopped taking  it alone,  he  would have  even
 allowed himself  to be restrained,  but the  lack of ardon  would kill
 him. Now, at last, he would be free. Marcellon had promised him a cure
 or death.
      The  High  Mage  found  it  necessary  to  swallow  twice  before
 answering. "You  should be  dead by now,"  he muttered,  shocked. "The
 poison was  immediate. I've never known  a case where a  man has drunk
 ardonatus and lived!"
      Ardonatus? Now Luthias stared. He  had taken ardonatus, a lethal,
 magical concoction  derived from the  same spice that he  was addicted
 to,  and he  lived? "Ardonatus?"  the Count  questioned indredulously.
 "You're sure?"
      "I'm certain,"  the High Mage  answered, fascinated. "I  made it.
 There is can be no doubt. You are immune to ardonatus."
      Fury flooded  the world  of the Count  Connall, and  he, enraged,
 hurled the  golden goblet against  the stone wall of  Pyridain Castle.
 "Those bastards!" the  young Count screamed. "They've robbed  me of my
 life, and now of my death as well!"
      "You're immune  to ardonatus," Marcellon  repeated incredulously.
 "You cannot be immune to ardonatus."
      "I'm alive, aren't I?" Luthias yelled irrationally.
      "Perhaps there is  a cure to this," the High  Mage was murmering.
 "This should not  be happening. No one is immune  to ardonatus. Let me
 have some time..."
      "Time?" Luthias echoed furiously.  "Marcellon, I thought you said
 you didn't like your patients to live in Hell!"
      The High  Mage's eyes  focused abruptly.  "I don't,"  he snapped.
 "But this is extrodinary, Luthias. If  you are immune--if there are no
 effects--how do you feel?" the physician finished unexpectedly.
      The Count  blinked. "I don't  feel any different, if  that's what
1you're asking."
      "Never,"  Marcellon repeated,  "has any  man taken  ardonatus and
 lived to speak of it!"
      "Well," Luthias quipped, "there's always a first."
      "This   is  important!"   the  mage   emphasized.  "Immunity   to
 ardonatus...incredible!"
      Luthias replied, "This is insane. It's never going to end, is it?
 I'm living in Hell and I can't even die!"
      "That's the definition of Hell," Marcellon told him, chuckling.
      "This isn't funny," the Count snapped. "I can't die--"
      "You can die any time you wish," the High Mage's voice dropped to
 a deadly,  quiet level  as he  corrected the  young nobleman.  "Take a
 sword and  put it through  your heart. But I  won't keep your  death a
 secret, not if it comes about in that way."
      "You were willing to poison me," Luthias argued.
      "That was before I thought you had a chance," Marcellon retorted.
 "You have one now, perhaps."
      "There's no cure,"  the Count reminded the mage  hotly. "You told
 me so yourself."
      "I  told  you  I  did  not know  of  one,"  the  Royal  Physician
 corrected. "I  didn't. I  still know  no cure. But  you are  immune to
 ardonatus,  Luthias.  That means  something."  The  High Mage's  voice
 became  coldly calm.  "Now, you  may take  the cowards'  way and  kill
 yourself if you wish, but I am  going back to my laboratories and find
 out what  is happening to  you." Luthias' mouth twitched  angrily. "Do
 you really want death, Luthias, son?"
      "I want  this to  stop," the  Count spat thickly.  "I want  to be
 freed. I won't be a slave, Marcellon! I won't!"
      "Easy," the High Mage counseled. "Let me try."
      "Do I have a choice?" Luthias rued rhetorically.
      "I won't  give you  more poison, if  that's what  you're asking,"
 Marcellon decided. "Take a knife to your heart."
      The  young Count  smiled ruefully.  "Sir Edward  has suspected  I
 might harm  myself. He hasn't  let me near  any edged weapons  since I
 arrived." Luthias came close to laughing. "He won't allow me near high
 towers alone, either."
      Marcellon smiled  at the  wisdom of his  colleague. Edward  was a
 shrewd man. "Come with me, my boy. Let me see what I can do for this."
 The older  man held out  his hand to  the despairing younger  one, who
 would have taken it, had his attention not been stolen by the slamming
 door.
      The youngest  of Sir Edward's  squires rushed into the  cold room
 and slid  to a  stop. "Thanks  be to God  I have  found you!"  the boy
 exclaimed  with breathless  drama.  "Please,  your Excellencies,  come
 quickly."
      "What's wrong?" Luthias asked sternly, immediately on the alert.
      "Oh, your Excellency, the Beinisonians are in Pyridain!"
      Marcellon's  eyebrows rose  with appreciative  curiosity. Luthias
 expelled a  word that the squire  was too young to  hear. Blushing, he
 escaped the room with urgency which equaled his entrance.
      "It  seems  we  must  attend  the  Knight  Commander,"  Marcellon
 observed mildly.
      Luthias had already left the room. "Come on!" he urged as he sped
 toward the Duke  of Pyridain's office, which had been  made into a war
 room.
      "What's  happening?"  Connall demanded  as  he  opened the  door.
 Marcellon, serene but concerned, stood behind him. "They're here?"
      "Twenty  Beinisonians,"  the   tall  Knight  Commander  supplied.
 "Perhaps more. The scout just returned."
      "Through this storm?" asked the mage.
1     "How close?" the warrior inquired.
      Sir  Edward solemnly  shook his  head. "Very  close." The  Knight
 Commander  frowned.  "I  was  not prepared  for  this,"  he  admitted,
 sitting. "Marcellon, you warned me to expect the unexpected."
      "You  should have  expected it,"  Luthias said  without blame  or
 rebuke. "The Beinison  Empire is trained to attack at  any time of the
 year; they've staged winter invasions before."
      "Have they?" Edward smiled. "My history is not the finest."
      "When are we repelling them?"
      "As soon as I can assemble the army," Edward answered the younger
 warrior. "As soon as possible."
      "That will take a day and a half," Luthias surmised.
      The Knight Commander considered  the problem. Finally, he nodded.
 "At least that," he confirmed Luthias' guess. "A day and a half--after
 the snow  storm stops and  if the snow  is shallow enough  to mobilize
 without blazing trails."
      "Where are they?" young Connall  demanded, pulling the map toward
 him. "Show me, Sir Edward." Silently, the Knight Commander indicated a
 nearby area. "That's  damn close," the Count concluded.  The young man
 gave the  Knight Commander of  the Royal  Armies a serious  look. "You
 don't have a day  and a half. After the storm, they'll  be here at the
 castle within a half a day."
      "As usual," Sir Edward admitted after a moment's thought, "you're
 right, Luthias."
      "Can you  delay them  somehow?" Marcellon suggested.  "If nothing
 else, I can--"
      "Not unless it's  absolutely necessary," Sir Edward  cut him off.
 "Using magic  is unchivalrous, and I  won't allow you to  do so unless
 there is no other solution."
      "In this  case, there is  another way," Luthias assured  the High
 Mage. "Send a distraction. Send a single fighter there."
      "It  won't  delay  them  much,   not  one  fighter,"  the  Knight
 protested.
      "It  will be  enough," Luthias  argued,  "if the  fighter is  any
 good."
      "A squad perhaps--"
      "Perhaps  nothing," the  Count of  Connall interjected.  "One man
 will be  enough. You can't  risk an  entire squad, Sir  Edward. You're
 here in Pyridain.  You won't receive any  reinforcements until spring.
 One man is all you can risk."
      Omninously, the Knight Commander rose to face the younger man. "I
 will not order a lone man to  his death, Luthias. And I will not--nay,
 cannot--ask any fighter to--"
      "You needn't  ask anyone," Luthias  told him, his stance  and his
 voice becoming serious and firm. "I'll go."
      "I won't allow it!" Sir  Edward declared violently. "No, Luthias.
 I need you too much."
      "You don't need  me," the Count opposed him. "I'm  an addict, Sir
 Edward. I'm of no use to you. Let me go."
      Edward  took  Connall  by  the shoulders.  "You'll  die,"  Edward
 predicted, fear in his voice. "I won't be made to tell Lady Sable that
 I allowed you--"
      "Don't tell her anything," Luthias  commanded. "Let Sable think I
 died quickly  in Beinison. I  will die;  that's fine, Sir  Edward, but
 this way, at  least, I'll die with  some snatch of honor,  like a man,
 not a beast. Let me go."
      "Let him go," Marcellon pleaded softly. "You cannot win, Edward."
      "The ardon will  have you in fits by the  time you fight," Sothos
 made one more effort to deter him.
      "All the better," Luthias, with bitter joy, assured him. "I'll be
1fiercer. Let me go, Edward."
      With regrets, the Knight Commander  agreed, "As soon as the storm
 ends."

      Tired by the short ride (how  his father the great horseman would
 be ashamed  of him!), Luthias  neared the end  of the woods.  Soon, he
 would  reach  his destination  and  fight,  he hoped.  Fight?  Luthias
 smiled; it was  almost a joke. How could he  fight, wearing old armor,
 and bearing  a battered shield and  bent sword? Knowing that  he would
 soon die and that the Beinisonians  would loot his body, Luthias would
 accept nothing else. Yet he would fight, and fight his best, before he
 died, old armor or no.
      Through the  trunks of the bare  trees, he could see  a farmstead
 with a weathered barn and an old  house. Near the barn were at least a
 score of horses.  Unless there was some sort of  meeting, this was the
 place. These were the men that he would have to delay.
      Luthias was  suprised by  how easily he  could remember  what Sir
 Edward had told him about the force. Usually the ardon had him in fits
 by now.  Well, maybe Marcellon had  slipped some in his  food, to keep
 him going during the past few days.
      "There  will be  about  twenty or  twenty-five  men," the  Knight
 Commander  had  told  him.  "They  are led  by  a  personage  of  some
 importance; he has an elaborate device on his shield."
      Luthias didn't see  the man or his shield. He  didn't see anyone,
 anything, except  the horses. How  odd, the Count of  Connall thought.
 They must be hiding. Carefully, Luthias edged his horse forward.
      Like  a strike  of lightning,  a  girl's scream  split the  dawn.
 Luthias  reined  the horse,  listened  frantically  as another  scream
 issued, then spurred his horse toward the barn.
      With  old grace,  Luthias  leapt  from the  horse,  and with  old
 strength, he  threw open the door  to the barn. Oh,  yes, indeed, this
 was the place!  Inside, twenty men were abusing a  girl of perhaps ten
 years  (an  old  voice  called   within  him,  Sable!),  and  one  was
 threatening an older boy with a pitchfork.
      Luthias evaluated  instantly and acted. He  plucked the pitchfork
 from the brute  threatening the boy, swung it, and  contacted. The man
 fell. Luthias  set the pitchfork  on the  floor, leaned it  toward the
 boy, and  let it fall.  The boy  caught it, and  Luthias instinctively
 turned his attention toward the screaming girl.
      There was a crash behind him. Although Luthias looked, he had his
 sword out and flashing by instinct.  He kicked a man in leather armor,
 wounded  another, and  saw a  man in  a blue  tabbard enter  the barn.
 Luthias paid him no attention, and continued his defense of the girl.
      "Get back, you  animals!" the man shouted  in strong Beinisonian.
 "What sort of men are you,  attacking children? Have you no honor? Get
 back!"
      Amazingly, the men went back.
      The armored man turned to him. Luthias could see him clearly now:
 he was a dark-haired man, with blue eyes and a moustache, about thirty
 years of age. Over his mail, he wore a sky-blue tabbard of silk belted
 with leather. On the  belt hung a jeweled sword of  fine quality and a
 silver drinking horn. Draped over his shoulders, the man wore a silver
 chain, the  universal symbol of  Knighthood, from which hung  a silver
 star--the symbol of the Beinisonian order of Knights. "Well done," the
 man  began in  Beinisonian. "I  see you  have taken  my lessons--"  He
 paused, reached out  and raised Luthias' face shield. "You  are not my
 squire," the  Knight concluded. He  peered at Luthias' face.  "Who are
 you?" he demanded sternly. "Why are you here?"
      "I  am  not  important,  sir,"  Luthias  answered  carefully  but
 respectfully. "The  girl--" Luthias stopped,  kicked the brute  he had
1killed off her, and bent to examine her.
      No! The head  was bent in an impossible direction.  Her legs were
 covered with blood. Luthias pounded the floor in frustration.
      "We were too late," concluded the Knight behind him.
      The boy  rushed over, sobbing,  toward the girl.  Luthias reached
 out  and closed  her  eyes.  "I'm sorry,  kid,"  Luthias breathed.  "I
 tried."
      The  Knight  was boxing  a  man's  ears  as Luthias  stood.  "You
 bastards! Can't you barbarians leave even children alone?"
      "We were sent here to get information. The general didn't say--"
      "I command!" the Knight  reminded him harshly, delivering another
 blow. "You are under my orders, and while you remain under my command,
 you will comport yourselves with some honor. Do you understand?"
      The man looked away sullenly. "Yes, your lordship."
      "Go back  to your business,"  the Knight ordered, then  he turned
 back to Luthias. "Now, you, sir, answer my questions. Who are you, and
 why are you here?"
      At a  loss for  a moment,  Luthias found  himself staring  at the
 man's silver chain. Suddenly, he smiled. "I challenge you, Sir Knight.
 I am here to  stop you. You are invading my  homeland. I challenge you
 to a duel."
      The  men around  the Knight  laughed wickedly  as the  boy sobbed
 behind Luthias. Poor boy. Luthias knew what it was to loose a sibling.
 The laughter continued. Luthias stood straight and proud.
      "Let us kill  him, Lordship," the leader of  the rabble chuckled.
 "He's only  a boy, little older  than your squire. By  the Masked God,
 we'll teach him to interefere with his Imperial Majesty's troops!"
      "Silence!" the Knight commanded angrily. "He has challenged me as
 a Knight;  as a Knight,  I alone will  answer. Do not  interefere with
 me!" Calmly, the man turned back to Luthias. "To the death?"
      Luthias nodded. "As you wish, sir. I only ask that your men leave
 my country, should I win."
      "That is  fair," the Knight  agreed. "I accept. Call  Rience," he
 commanded.  One of  the men  ducked  out of  the barn.  "Rience is  my
 squire.  He will  ensure that  my word  is kept."  The Knight  stepped
 forward and offered Luthias his hand. "It is unchivalrous to fight one
 who is unknown. I am Sir Lawrence of the Silver Horn."
      Luthias took his hand and bowed slightly. "I am Luthias Connall."
      "I noticed that you do not wear the badge of Knighthood."
      "I am not yet Knighted," Luthias informed him, "but I give you my
 word to behave as one."
      "I will  accept that," Sir  Lawrence said. "Now, sir,  break your
 fast with me. I do not fight well on an empty stomach."
      "Thank you,  Sir Lawrence," Luthias replied  graciously, "but no.
 You know  as well as  I that eating  right before combat  enhances the
 injuries and makes them harder to cure."
      "You are right, Luthias Connall," Lawrence admitted. "Come out to
 the yard. If you are agreeable, we shall begin immediately."
      "Very well, sir."  Luthias moved to sheath  his sword. Lawrence's
 hand suddenly stopped him.
      "You will fight me with that?" he asked disdainfully.
      Luthias again looked  at the pitiful sword. It  was bent, rusted,
 almost dull. "It is what I have, sir."
      "Rience!" Sir  Lawrence bellowed.  A young  man with  dark, curly
 hair entered  the barn.  He looked  enough like Sir  Lawrence to  be a
 brother. "Fetch my  silver sword." Lawrence smiled at  Connall. "If we
 are to fight as equals, you will, at least, have a decent weapon. Come
 now, Lord Connall."
      Luthias followed  Sir Lawrence silently  to the field  before the
 house.  Rience,  whom  Luthias  supposed was  one  of  Sir  Lawrence's
1brothers, rushed forward with a  well-made sword. With a brief, polite
 bow, the boy offered the weapon  to Luthias. Luthias granted the boy a
 brief smile and inspected the weapon.
      Warily,  the Count  of Connall  swung  the sword  and tested  its
 balance.  It cut  the air  smoothly,  and it  balanced perfectly.  The
 sharp, steel  blade, beautiful  in the  cloudly winter  light, gleamed
 with care.  The workmanship,  Luthias judged,  was excellent,  and the
 taste of  the artisan was  superb, for  the only ornamentation  on the
 weapon was delicate etching in the silver hilt.
      "It is a fine weapon," Luthias declared his admiration.
      "I  thank you."  The Beinisonian  Knight paused.  "Are you  ready
 then?"
      Luthias  nodded and  pulled down  his  face shield.  "I am,  sir.
 Begin."
      With graceful  ferocity, Sir  Lawrence of  the Silver  Horn leapt
 toward Luthias,  his long,  jeweled sword flashing  with death.  For a
 wild moment, Luthias' mind panicked; it  had been so long since he had
 fought against an  actual person of his own  calibur...since Sy, since
 he fought Michiya. This time, Luthias thought, he would not be allowed
 to win. But despite his doubts,  Sir Lucan's training was still in his
 arm  and in  his  heart,  and Luthias,  without  thought, blocked  Sir
 Lawrence's blow  and struck  his own.  The Knight  of the  Star jerked
 backwards as Luthias' attack struck.
      For a moment,  Sir Lawrence paused, staring at the  drop of blood
 on the  muddy, slushy snow.  "First blood  to you, Lord  Connall," the
 Knight of the Star  said with surprise. "I had not  expected a man not
 yet a Knighted to strike so well."
      "Have at you," Luthias replied, and struck again.
      But Sir  Lawrence knew this  time whom  he was fighting,  and the
 jeweled long sword raced to meet  Luthias' wrapped blow. The Knight of
 the Star twisted and struck over the old, battered shield.
      Luthias retreated  as his  shield dropped with  the force  of the
 blow.  His shoulder,  just at  the joint  of the  arm, stung.  Luthias
 spared it a  glance. The plate protecting the  shoulder was shattered,
 and his flesh was cut, not deeply.
      "Recover your armor," Sir Lawrence allowed politely, but he stood
 ready to fight.
      "I have nothing to repair it with," Luthias confessed. Within his
 helm, the Count of Connall smiled. "I simply shall have to prevent you
 from hitting me again, Sir Lawrence. Lay on."
      Lawrence raised his  sword to strike. Luthias  readied himself to
 block with sword and shield. They moved toward each other--
      A  crashing  sound,  like   wooden  thunder,  shattered  Luthias'
 concentration. Instinctively,  he stepped  back, as did  Lawrence. The
 dull boom  sounded again, and  Luthias' head jerked toward  the sound.
 The boy  from the  barn was  beating the  structure with  a pitchfork.
 Luthias  stared  a moment,  then  saw  a man  in  the  loft above  the
 sorrowful boy.
      "What in the name of Gow--" Sir Lawrence started.
      And   then   Luthias   understood.   The   man-at-arms   in   the
 loft--crossbow--And even as Luthias'  shield was instinctively rising,
 he thought, my God, Roi, we'll even die the same way.
      And the bolt  impaled itself in the shield and  halted. Unable to
 think, Luthias stared at it.
      "That   dishonorable  whoreson!"   Sir   Lawrence  was   cursing.
 "Followers of Amante in my own--" He whirled. "Rience! Bring him here!
 By Gow, I'll teach him to interfere with a Knight's combat!"
      "He shot me," Luthias, stunned and staring, stated. "He shot me."
      "Aye, that  son of  Erida," Sir Lawrence  muttered. "Dishonorable
 whoreson. Interefering--I apologize, Luthias  Connall. I did not order
1or condone this."
      "He shot me," Luthias said again. They shot Roisart, too. Roisart
 died. How did he escape?
      "You are white  as the Moon-Jewel," Sir Lawrence  noted. "Are you
 all right?"
      "Fine,"  Luthias  assured  his  opponent quickly.  The  Count  of
 Connall shook  his head to  clear it of the  memories. He took  a deep
 breath and explained, "My twin  brother was murdered by crossbowmen--"
 Anger crept into his voice. "Assasins hired by your Emperor's spies!"
      "I am  vowed to  say nothing against  the Emperor,"  Sir Lawrence
 replied, but he was scowling. "Let me say that the Knights of the Star
 have no truck with activities of that sort."
      Luthias calmed. "I know." And he did; Luthias was well acquainted
 with the honorable reputation of the Knights of the Star.
      Rience, the young  squire, the boy from the barn,  and several of
 the men  at arms then  came forward, dragging the  struggling crossbow
 man. They  threw him into  the slushy snow in  front of his  lord. The
 archer looked at the knight defiantly.
      Sir Lawrence was not a man to be defied, however. "How dare you,"
 the Beinisonian Knight  began ominously. "How dare  you interfere with
 my combat? This is my fight, mine alone!"
      "The Masked God teaches us to win by any means," the crossbow man
 reminded his lord.
      "Fortunately," Sir Lawrence of  the Silver Horn answered loftily,
 "I am a follower of Gow."  Without warning, the Knight swung his sword
 hand and  hit his man-at-arms with  the hilt of his  weapon. The man's
 temple began  to erupt  blood. "Take him  away," Sir  Lawrence ordered
 angrily. "I'll deal with him later, and  be warned: the next of you to
 try something of this nature shall pay with his life!"
      The Knight of the Star turned back to his enemy. "Remind me never
 to cross you," Luthias breathed, but he smiled.
      Sir Lawrence  returned the  gesture and  hefted his  swords. "May
 Sanar help you if you do," laughed the Knight. "Lay on."
      Luthias delivered a quick blow  to the head. Sir Lawrence blocked
 with speed bordering on panic.  Without pause, Luthias swung his sword
 again, this time at the Knight's arm. Sir Lawrence dodged and moved to
 strike, but  found himself  blocking Luthias'  next attack  instead, a
 blow aimed at the left leg.
      Connall couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. He was in the rhythm again,
 the heartbeat  of fighting that  Sir Lucan  and his uncle  Clifton had
 instilled in him since he could walk. Luthias was blind to everything,
 except the  focus of the battle,  except the rhythm of  the combat. It
 had  been so  long since  he  had fought,  since he  had so  naturally
 delivered  blow after  blow  after blow,  as if  it  were a  graceful,
 well-remembered dance.
      For the first time in months,  Luthias felt good. With energy and
 skill, he contined the blows.
      Sir Lawrence was slowing, and it was no wonder; the Knight of the
 Star  had had  a longer  ride than  Luthias and  he hadn't  yet eaten.
 Lawrence stepped  back and paused  a moment, resting.  Luthias waited,
 refusing to fight a tired opponent. When Lawrence nodded, the Count of
 Connall  attacked again.  Lawrence blocked  the blow,  but it  was too
 strong. The  Knight fell in the  snow, his sword flying  away. Luthias
 nodded to the squire Rience, who ran and fetched the blade and brought
 it to his master.
      "Are you ready?" Luthias asked courteously.
      "Begin," Sir Lawrence answered.
      Luthias struck  again, furiously, like  the god of  war. Lawrence
 parried  brilliantly, but  again,  the blow  was  too strong.  Luthias
 quickly followed with a wrap to the head, which rang on Sir Lawrence's
1strong helm, but  did not cut it. Lawrence wavered,  then collapsed to
 his knees.
      Luthias quickly held  the sword in front of  Sir Lawrence's eyes.
 He could rise  any moment. Sir Lawrence did not  move. Luthias relaxed
 slightly. "Do you yield, Sir Lawrence of the Silver Horn?"
      Mutely, Lawrence held out his  sword in defeat. Luthias looked at
 the heirloom incredulously. "I will not take your sword, sir. Stand."
      Confused, Sir  Lawrence rose.  "My life is  forfeit to  you, Lord
 Connall. That was the term of our combat."
      "I don't want your life," Luthias  told him. "I want your men out
 of my country. You promised me that, should I conquer. I have. You are
 an honorable man,  and you will keep  your word. I have  what I want."
 Luthias smiled and raised his face  shield. "I won't kill an honorable
 enemy without need, sir. Return to your home."
      Sir Lawrence of the Silver Horn doffed his helm and stared at the
 Count of  Connall. "Whoever your teacher  was, he trained you  well in
 the ways of fighting--and in  the Knightly Code." Sir Lawrence offered
 Luthias his hand.  "Would to Gow we weren't  enemies, Luthias Connall;
 this day, you would have your Knighthood from me."
      Luthias smile  grew, and content  calm flooded his eyes.  "I have
 never  been so  honored,  Sir Lawrence,"  he said,  and  he shook  the
 Knight's hand.
      "I believe, Sir Lawrence, that I can fufill that office." Luthias
 whirled to see Sir Edward and  the High Mage, surrounded by troops, on
 the edge of the woods. When  had they arrived? Luthias wondered. Still
 suprised, Luthias  watched as  the Knight  Commander, who  had spoken,
 dismounted and  approached the Knight and  Luthias. Marcellon followed
 him. "Honor given  by an enemy is a high  complement, one that Luthias
 has well earned. Count Connall, kneel."
      Confused, Luthias knelt in the snow. Edward unsheathed his sword.
 "I, Edward Sothos--"
      Panic struck  Luthias hard when  he realized what Sir  Edward was
 intending, and he  instantly reached out and  snatched Edward's wrist.
 "Sir Edward,"  he protested desperately,  "you can't! You know  what I
 need!" How could the Knight Commander  make a drug addict a Knight? He
 would be weak, unpredicatable...
      "You no  longer need  it," the High  Mage announced,  smiling. At
 Luthias' confused stare, he explained, "The drink I gave you...I cured
 you. By accident, I cured you."
      "I don't believe  it." Luthias scorned the  very idea. Ardonatus,
 curing addiction? The Mage was mad.
      "How long since the last time, then?" Marcellon inquired.
      Luthias thought about it. Too long. He released Edward's hand. He
 was cured. Good God.  Oh, Sable, I'm going to be  a Knight. I'm coming
 home.
      "I, Edward  Sothos," continued  the Knight Commander,  "Knight of
 Baranur, have been  called upon to convey upon Luthias  of Connall the
 office of Knighthood.  Who asks this charge for  him?" Edward inquired
 in  the ritual,  then stopped  uncertainly. It  was tradition  for the
 master of the candidate to answer, or the father, or the noble.
      Luthias  saw  Marcellon  open  his mouth,  but  behind  him,  Sir
 Lawrence answered, "I so ask."
      "You know him worthy?" Edward continued.
      "I so know."
      "So  be it.  I, Edward  Sothos,  Knight of  Baranur, charge  you,
 Luthias of Connall, to take up the office of Knighthood. Do you accept
 the charge, with all its honors and obligations?"
      "I so accept,"  Luthias replied, his voice  strong and confident.
 He had known the ceremony by heart for years.
      "Do you  vow to protect and  serve your homeland, your  lady, and
1your King?"
      "I  so vow,"  Luthias replied  steadily,  but his  body began  to
 shake. He  was tired,  and his  knees were cold  from kneeling  in the
 snow.
      "Do you vow to  be in and above all things,  a Knight, a follower
 of Chivalry and Honor?"
      "I so vow."
      "How do you so vow?"
      "Upon my honor, my sword, and my life."
      "Then I, Edward Sothos, Knight of Baranur, with this silver chain
 do  convey upon  you, Luthias  of  Connall, that  office." Again,  the
 Knight Commander paused, for he did  not have the symbol of Knighthood
 to give to Luthias. Marcellon smiled, held out his hands, and murmered
 something.  A fine  silver chain  appeared on  his wrists.  The Knight
 Commander  smiled,  took  it,  and  placed it  on  the  Count's  broad
 shoulders. Then Sir Edward lightly struck Luthias' cheek with the flat
 of his blade. "Let that be your last unrequited blow." Edward sheathed
 his sword. "Rise, Sir Luthias, Count Connall."
      Sir Luthias  did so, laughing.  "I am  proud of you,"  the Knight
 Commander said, and that was all.
      The Count  of Connall  turned to  his opponent  and held  out his
 hand. "Return now, Sir Lawrence. You will have safe passage out of the
 country. You have my word, as a Knight."
      Sir Lawrence of the Silver Horn grinned. "Thank you, Sir Luthias.
 May you and I live to laugh about this someday."
      "I'll treat you to a drink," Luthias promised.
      "I  drink to  you  now," Lawrence  announced,  taking his  silver
 drinking horn from his  belt. He put it to his  lips, drained it, then
 offered  it to  Luthias. The  Count  Connall took  it uncertainly  and
 drank. He found the horn full of  sweet, hot liquid that made him feel
 better immediately.
      "Thank you," Luthias said, returning the silver horn. He suddenly
 remembered  the fine,  etched sword  he had  been allowed  to use.  He
 offered it. "Again, thank you."
      Sir Lawrence took it from him, but  did not sheathe it or hand it
 to his  squire. "This sword was  given to me  by my master when  I was
 made  a Knight,"  he told  Luthias. "Today  I took  the place  of your
 master; today you became a Knight."  He held out the sword to Luthias.
 "I have had no student more worthy than you."
      "I am deeply honored," Luthias accepted.
      Sir  Lawrence bowed.  "Let us  ride!"  he ordered  his men.  They
 grumbled,  but  mounted. Rience  brought  his  master his  steed.  Sir
 Lawrence mounted and  rode around his men to organize  them. He paused
 when  he faced  the south,  then turned  and drew  his jeweled  sword.
 Quickly,  he saluted  Sir Edward  and Sir  Luthias. Both  returned the
 salute, and the invaders charged back into Beinison.

      Epilogue

      Luthias watched the Beinisonians leave with satisfaction. "Well,"
 he said, "that's settled."
      "Indeed," Sir  Edward answered,  smiling. "Welcome back  to life,
 Luthias. Well done."
      "Thank you."
      "No more  talk about  abandoning your  wife," ordered  the Knight
 Commander. "No more talk about abandoning the country and the King. We
 all need you, as you have so aptly proven."
      "Yes,  Sir   Edward,"  Luthias  agreed,  chuckling   at  Edward's
 mock-scolding. "I'm  back to--" Luthias  felt a  tap on his  upper arm
 where his armor had shattered. He turned to see the boy from the barn,
1the boy who had warned him about the crossbowman.
      With an earnest look that  Luthias didn't understand, the lad put
 his hand  over his heart,  touched his  lips, then extended  the hand.
 Confused, Luthias  frowned. The boy  made an abrupt,  frustrated face,
 then pointed toward the barn and began  to swing his arms and point to
 his legs.
      Luthias  didn't  understand  the   pantomime,  but  the  boy  was
 obviously not  playing a game.  Unwilling to hurt the  lad's feelings,
 Luthias nodded.
      The boy's expression became anguished.  Once again, he placed his
 hands over his heart and then offered them to the Count Connall.
      His voice wry, the High Mage interrupted gently, "He is trying to
 thank you, Luthias."
      Luthias sent  the mage an  angry look; it always  annoyed Luthias
 that Marcellon  pointed out  mysteries as if  they should  be obvious.
 Then the Knight turned to the boy and remembered the ugly scene in the
 barn. The boy had a familiar grief in his eyes.
      "You are welcome," Luthias replied to  the gestures as if the lad
 had  spoken.  "I am  truly  sorry  about  your sister...she  was  your
 sister?" The boy nodded. "Had I  arrived a few moments sooner, I might
 have been  able to  save her..."  Luthias looked  down, ashamed  for a
 moment, and caught sight of  the ugly crossbow bolt protruding nastily
 from his  battered shield.  His heart wrenched.  "But I  couldn't save
 Roisart, either."
      The boy withdrew,  as if sensing the Count's sorrow,  but after a
 moment, he approached the Knight again. Luthias watched him curiously.
 Abruptly, the boy  touched the Count's chain of  Knighthood, then laid
 his hand on his own chest where a similar chain might fall.
      For  once,  Luthias  needed  no interpretation,  and  he  smiled.
 Turning to Sir Edward, the Count  of Connall wondered, "Since I am now
 a Knight, I will have need of a squire, won't I, Sir Edward?"
      "At least one," the Knight Commander confirmed.
      Sir Luthias  returned his attention  to the eager lad.  "Will you
 become my squire?" the Count wondered, his eyes certain of the answer.
 In reply, the boy nodded violently enough to decapitate himself.
      Marcellon had never seen Edward so suprised. "You can't make this
 boy your squire! He isn't of  noble descent; he isn't even close! He's
 a farmer's son, Luthias!"
      The  Count of  Connall gave  the Knight  Commander an  astonished
 look. "What  difference does that  make?" Sir Luthias argued.  "I know
 'noble" sons  who are  dishonorable cowards.  This 'farmer's  son' was
 brave enough to try to rescue his sister from twenty armed men--alone!
 That in itself  shows this boy's worthiness. Social  class has nothing
 to do with it!"
      The Knight Commander frowned  mightily. "I understand your point,
 Sir Luthias, but it is still unheard of to make a peasant a Knight. He
 will  have to  be Knighted  someday if  you allow  him to  become your
 squire."
      "That is the general idea," Marcellon agreed with a dry smile.
      "Look, Sir  Edward, he's  already displayed  knightly qualities,"
 Luthias reminded the Knight Commander.  "He tried to rescue and defend
 a lady. He faced the danger with bravery." Edward still maintained the
 awful frown.  "Look, Sir Edward,  I'd rather  Knight a peasant  with a
 noble heart than a coward with a noble name."
      "Again," Sir Edward admitted with resignation, "you have a point.
 I'm not certain I  approve, but I can't stop you. To  a degree, I even
 agree with you."
      "So," Luthias began,  returning his attention to  the boy, "would
 you  like to  squire  to  me?" The  boy  grinned  joyously and  nodded
 enthusiastically.  "Good. We'll  have the  ceremony later  this week."
1Count Connall grimaced. "But I  can't keep calling you 'boy,' though."
 Not even in my head. "What is your name?"
      With a  sudden feeling  of stupidity, Luthias  winced at  his own
 question. The boy  couldn't talk, or else he would  have warned of the
 crossbowman verbally. And he probably  couldn't write, either; he was,
 after all, a peasant.
      Well, he  would be a gentleman,  a Knight, someday, and  he would
 have to be literate. And he would have to have a name.
      The  announcement,  "His  name  is Derrio,"  saved  Luthias  from
 further  embarassment. Behind  the  dumb lad  stood  the farmer,  whom
 Luthias presumed was the boy's father. "Is it true?" the man asked the
 Count and the Knight Commander. "Is there a war coming?"
      "It is already  here," Sir Edward answered with a  grim nod. "The
 Beinison men  that were here  were an  advance scouting force  sent to
 find the  locations of  our forces.  As it  appears, they  will invade
 through this area. Your farm is no longer safe."
      "Let us  leave this place," a  pale woman at his  side suggested.
 Tears flooded her eyes. "I no longer have a desire to stay."
      The farmer paused. "Could your armies use another archer, my lord
 Knight? I  may not be  as good  as your regulars,  but I have  won the
 region's archery contests  for the last two years. My  wife could cook
 or care for the wounded."
      Kindly, the Knight Commander smiled. "We can always use archers."
 Sir Edward glanced at the woman who lowered her eyes.
      Luthias laughed. "And  a cook, a real cook,  would probably boost
 moral more than anything else!"
      With unusual nervousness, Marcellon  glanced over his shoulder at
 rising, dark  clouds. "Come.  We should be  getting back  to Pyridain.
 Another storm is  coming." The High Mage approached  Derrio slowly and
 looked at him oddly. "And I find  myself curious as to why this boy is
 unable to talk."
      "Let's go,"  Sir Luthias began,  but his new squire  dashed away.
 "What--"
      "Be  patient," Marcellon  advised, mounting  his steed.  "He will
 return."
      Luthias shrugged his large shoulders, a feat and a half in rusted
 armor. "My horse," he suddenly muttered, and quickly, he recovered the
 beast from behind the barn.
      By the time he returned,  Sir Edward and Marcellon had remounted,
 and the boy, holding a miniature  harp, had reappeared. The boy looked
 around. "Your parents will join us  later," the High Mage assured him,
 and Derrio nodded. Marcellon reached out and gently touched the harp's
 tiny strings. "A goodly  instrument," Marcellon muttered. "Your sister
 would approve."
      Derrio  smiled,   then  proferred  the  intrument   for  Luthias'
 approval. Lacking Marcellon's  insight, the Knight could  only nod and
 smile. "Is there  anything else you want to  bring?" Derrio considered
 briefly, then shook his head. "Let's  go then, squire. We have work to
 do."
      The boy  smiled; Luthias swung him  onto the horse; and  with the
 Baranurian army, they rode back to Pyridain.
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
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1------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (C)   Copyright     March,    1989,   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
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