DargonZine Volume 4, Issue 2 06/03/91
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-- DargonZine Volume 4, Issue 2 06/03/91 Cir 1129 --
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-- Contents --
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Two Bits and a Silver II Michelle Brothers Sy 20, 1013
Blood on Oron's Crossroads Wendy Hennequin Naia 12, 1014
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1 Two Bits and a Sliver
Part 2
by Michelle Brothers
(b.c.k.a. <brothers@tramp.colorado.edu>)
Teran glared angrily down at the open gate of Dargon. Two months
wasted on a wild goose chase and he was finally back where he started.
The trail was probably cold by now; Eliowy wouldn't be foolish enough
to stay in the city and that left Teran further behind her than he'd
been the entire chase.
He'd spend a fruitless two months searching for his charge up and
down the road to Tench on the chance advice of a person on the street.
The information--that the boy had seen someone answering Eliowy's
description leaving by the main gate and heading towards Tench--had
been completely wrong and Teran strongly suspected that it had been a
plant, although where Eliowy had gotten the bribe money and the time
to talk to the boy was a mystery.
Dusk was deepening into night, so Teran kicked his horse into a
trot so he could make it into the city before the gates closed. While
Dargon did have a smaller, secondary entrance that remained accessible
though the night, the graveyard watch asked too many questions for
Teran's comfort.
The gate loomed in the road and Teran urged his mount to a faster
gait, eager to be off the road, it only for one night. He deserved a
warm bed and good food before taking up his search again.
As he drew closer, Teran could make out a figure on horseback,
riding quickly down the main street, cloak streaming behind. The gate
guards stepped hurriedly aside as the rider charged through the gates.
Teran pulled the bay off the road. Horse and rider plunged past, and
Teran caught a glimpse of bright auburn hair in the last of the light.
Swallowing a shout, he pulled the bay around and sent him
charging after.
`This is getting to be a habit,' thought Eliowy in annoyance as
she charged over the wet sands and towards the stairs leading up to
Liriss' private pier. Behind her the sounds of combat rose soft as a
whisper over the beat of the rising surf. The guards who dragged her
here were being occupied by a lone man, who, for no reason that Eliowy
could see, had come to her rescue.
One of the guards was currently having a drink of seawater and
the other two were learning the finer points of losing a sword fight.
In an unoccupied corner of her mind, Eliowy was almost sorry that she
couldn't stay and help get rid of Liriss' minions, but getting out of
Dargon was much more important right now. She'd openly defied Liriss
and her life wasn't worth the time it would take for him to kill her
any more.
She had until dawn; Liriss shouldn't learn of her escape until
then.
The stairs creaked loudly above the beat of the waves and the
soft, tinkling clash of bladework. Slick with spray, the banister
imparted a splinter to Eliowy as she tried to keep her balance in her
hurried charge. Her arrival at the top of the stairs was ungraceful;
she tripped on the topmost stair while looking back to see about
pursuit.
Loud footsteps on the pier sent Eliowy scrambling for the dubious
cover of a small pile of shipping crates.
A man, clad in chainmail, hurried past and down the stairs
without sparing a glance to Eliowy's hiding place. Shouts echoed up
the steep walk, followed by more of the tinny sounds of steel on
steel.
Creeping to the edge of the stairs, Eliowy could just see the
pier guard engaging her rescuer in the gathering gloom. There was no
sign of Liriss' thugs. The fight entered the water and Eliowy drew
back from her vantage point. In a few short minutes the fight would be
over and by then she'd have to be well away. Better start running.
The question was, where to go. Liriss' connections within the
city were so extensive that there was no place she could hide from him
for long. Going to Tench was too obvious...hiking along the beach
might be an idea... She slipped away from the boxes, mind working
furiously on coming up with escape route that might be successful
against a powerful mounted enemy.
A soft, disgruntled whinny drew Eliowy to the one thing that had
kept her in Dargon for so long. A horse lipped idley at the worn
railing. For the first time since arriving in Dargon Eliowy felt in
charge of her situation.
`A quick stop at the house to get my stuff and I can be out of
the city and Liriss' reach by dawn,' she thought as she pushed herself
to her feet and advanced towards the animal.
A faded blue horse blanket was secured to its back by a well worn
saddle. Empty saddlebags hung on either side of the horse's rump and a
crossbow with a quiver of quarrels dangled from a snaffle on the right
side.
"Good horse," said Eliowy softly, patting the horse's neck.
Gratified by the attention, the animal nuzzled the top of the girl's
head. Beneath them, under the pier, the sounds of combat could no
longer be heard. "Good boy. I'm really sorry, but I need you more than
your owner does, so be cooperative..."
Eliowy swung into the saddle and with a clatter sent the animal
careening down the pier.
Dust was churned up and illuminated by the passing street
lanterns and the last shreds of dusk sunlight. Buildings flashed past
as Eliowy guided her mount through the main streets that were less
familiar to her than Dargon's back pathways and alleys. Few people
were abroad, even this early in the evening. The gang wars kept people
indoors as sunset drew near because in the dark, it didn't matter
whose side you were on.
Fear made her tense and she gripped the leather reins in sweaty
hands as she urged the horse into a full trot, wanting to be gone as
quickly as possible.
The brightly lit front and balcony of the house where Eliowy had
been staying came into view. Pulling the horse to a stop beneath a
sign depicting a blonde woman holding a sheet to her breast, she flung
herself out of the saddle and hurried up the main steps.
Warm colors decorated the main room where half a dozen women
lounged on couches and chairs. Pastel drapes and exotic tapestries
covered the walls and candles brightened the room. A welcoming chorus
followed the girl up the main staircase.
Eliowy had not had much contact with the dezins of the house she
was staying in. She was usually out on the streets when they had free
time and she'd been advised by the proprietress not to bother the
women in the evening. Eliowy usually spent her nights practicing sword
work in her room, limiting her contact with the women to quick
`hello's, `goodbye's and compliments on some particularly pretty piece
of frippery. She knew that her housemates were whores, but pretended
not to notice and for their part, the prostitutes never asked why the
girl didn't share their profession when she obviously lived in the
house.
Liriss had known that she wasn't practicing prostitution to
provide him with his required fee, but said nothing, assuming that it
would only be a matter of time before the girl couldn't make enough
picking pockets to pay him and resorted to the better paying
profession of lady for hire.
Eliowy's room was at the end of the hall on the second floor and
the heavy door swung partially shut as she ducked into its dubious
sanctuary. Like the rest of the house, the room was lavishly
decorated. Tapestries hung on the walls and a deep, double doored
window with a window seat let in moonlight across from the main
entrance. A large four poster bed dominated the left hand wall and a
wooden wardrobe covered the right. Thick rugs hid the floor. Light was
provided by a pair of lanterns placed on either side of the bed's
headboard.
The house's only servant always seemed to have them lit before
Eliowy returned from her day on the streets and today was no
exception. Warm yellow light pooled across the floor in a steady
stream.
Eliowy headed for the wardrobe first. Pulling open the doors, she
grabbed her worn pack from the cupbord's bottom. From pegs she pulled
her old travel clothes and threw them on the bed, followed by the new
pieces that Liriss purchased for her. They might remind her of his
foulness, but they'd keep her warm during her trek away from Dargon.
Winter was just around the corner and leaving now as a sure way to get
caught in the first autumn storms.
After the last piece of clothing was pulled from the wardrobe,
Eliowy went to the bed. From underneath the wooden frame she pulled
out her sword and scabbard and flung it on top of her clothes. Digging
a little yielded her harp.
Well worn goldenwood glowed in the light and the strings, made of
costly spun wire, glinted like bits of moonfire.
Sadly, Eliowy stood and wrapped the instrument in her old cloak,
placing it deep in the bottom of the pack. She'd had to sell the
harp's case months ago for a little bit of coin that fed her for less
than a week; true value of the case should have put her up in the best
hotel for a month, but desperation and hunger led her to accept the
first reasonable offer she came across. Guilt was still fresh and
Eliowy was glad that her mother wasn't alive to hear her pitiful
excuses.
Clothes were piled on top of the instrument to give it added
protection. She would detune the strings as soon as she was clear of
the city to keep them from snapping in the cold; the cloak wouldn't be
enough to protect it once full winter set in. She pulled the
drawstrings of the pack tightly shut then buckled on her sword belt
and spare dagger.
The sword itself was drawn a second later at the sound of the
door shutting completely.
"Tilden!" Eliowy lowered the sword point at the sight of the
hollow eyed ex-scout. "I told you to leave me alone."
"You're not usually this late," commented Tilden, leaning against
the door and surreptitiously engaging the lock. "And you rode in from
the direction of the docks. What happened?"
"Liriss tried to kill me," said Eliowy, surprised at how easily
the words came out. And how willing she was to talk about it. The
shock of nearly fulfilling the crimelord's death sentence hadn't quite
worn off. "I was late again last night and he said...he said I needed
to learn a lesson. He was going to...he tried to..." She choked on the
last few words, the realization that he was going to use her finally
sinking in.
Tilden closed the gap between them and gently pulled the sword
from Eliowy's limp hand. He put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
Eliowy didn't notice.
"I always carry a dagger," she continued, after a moment, staring
blankly at the open wardrobe door and seeing again Liriss' enraged
eyes glaring at her from across the room. "So when he grabbed me...I
cut him..."
Tilden bit his tongue to refrain from commenting on this foolish
audacity. No employee, in all the years that the scout had worked for
Liriss, had dared to pull a weapon on Dargon's crimelord, let alone
take one to his flesh. That he hadn't outright killed the girl was
surprising; that she was still alive at all to tell about the incident
was a minor miracle. Tilden listened in fascination as she continued
the tale, eyes staring blank and fearful at the door as she re-lived
the incident.
The wood paneling of the wall was smooth against her right palm,
the looped wire grip of her knife warming slowly in her left. Light
glinted off the blade's edge, staining the steel a dull, burnished
orange. Despite the tremors running through her body, her weapon arm
and dagger remained steady.
"You'll never get away with this, Eliowy," said her target icily,
large hand pressed firmly against the long cut on his chest. Though
shallow, the wound dripped blood steadily and clashed with the rich
gold of his shirt.
"Don't bet on that," said Eliowy. She took the final step that
brought her to the door. Fear, oozing out of her sub-conscious into
her body, had not yet reached her mind and even as she shook in
terror, she eyed the man calmly.
As she glanced over her shoulder to locate the door handle,
Liriss lunged for her, only to freeze again when she turned back to
face him. "Just stay back," Eliowy warned, treatening with the
bloodied knife. Pulling the door open, she sidestepped into the
opening. "If you take one more step," she said as Liriss moved again,
"I'll kill you."
"I'll see that you die slowly and painfully for this!"
"Not if you can't find me."
Both knew this was no idle statement. Eliowy was very experienced
at running and hiding and Liriss knew that if he couldn't get a tail
on her immediately after she left him, she was as good as lost. The
same skills that kept the town guard off her back and had kept her
safe through months of running cross country would keep her from
falling to Liriss' underlings.
Eliowy stepped carefully backwards into the outer office. Liriss
followed, eyes glittering angrily. His need to do something almost
over-rode the threat her knife offered and, as Eliowy glanced behind
herself to spot the outer door, he lunged for her.
The knife opened a foot long slice in Liriss' gut as Eliowy
brought the blade around to defend herself. With a bellowed cry of
pain, the crimelord fell to his knees, gasping, arms clutching his
stomach, trying to stop the blood.
Little crimson trails crawled down the dagger and across Eliowy's
hand to disappear into the embroidered cuff of her red tunic. She
stared at her attacker for an instant, before turning and bolting. The
door crashed back on its hinges just as Liriss collapsed to the floor.
"I ran into Kesrin in the hall," added Eliowy into the pause that
followed. Tilden said nothing, astounded that she'd been able to hurt
his former boss so easily. "And he brought me back to Liriss' office.
Liriss...wasn't in any condition to give orders so Kesrin sent for
guards to take me down to the blocks..." Her voice trembled at the
thought of how close she had come to dying in the rising tide.
"You're lucky to be alive," said Tilden, squeezing her shoulders
gently. "The guards let you go?"
"No...some man rescued me. I...didn't think it wise to stay
around and see if he won or not..." The image of the blonde haired man
fighting with the two guards rose before her eyes again. He had won.
He wouldn't have attacked the guards if he didn't think he had a
chance. Which raised the question of why he had rescued her at all.
Eliowy dismissed the question immediately. She didn't have time to
worry about the reasons behind the fortuitous rescue. She had to take
care of herself. If he survived the battle and she ever saw him again,
she would thank him properly. But until then, there were more
important things to worry about.
Eliowy realized that Tilden's arm was wrapped possessively about
her shoulders and glared at him. "I said that I didn't want to deal
with you again, Tilden." she said, annoyance pushing aside her fear.
She ducked under his arm to get away from him.
"What Liriss did to you was terrible," continued the former
scout, catching hold of her collar as Eliowy tried to duck away. "He
deserved what you did to him. More than what you did. I asked for your
help before and you said no. Now you have a reason. Help me to kill
Liriss!" The wild, almost mad light that Eliowy was used to seeing in
Tilden's eyes grew brighter. His sanity seemed to slip away as his
need to kill the crimelord took over. He shook her as she stared at
him. "Help me! You must help me kill him!"
"Let go!" Eliowy tried to yank out of his grip and did nothing
more than pull the cloth of her tunic tight around her throat. She
grasped at her dagger.
"If you won't help me willingly," threatened Tilden, pulling her
close. "I'll just use you as bait. To lure that creeping slime to me.
I don't need your cooperation. Just your body."
Eliowy could feel his hot breath on her neck as she reached
around and stabbed him in the arm with her knife. With a loud scream
of surprised pain, Tilden jerked away. Eliowy slashed him across the
throat as she turned to face him fully.
Tiny red bubbles formed at the corner of Tilden's mouth. His hand
reached towards his neck in confused surprise as he slid to his knees
making no other sound. Eliowy stared at him in fascinated horror as he
slumped to his side.
She'd never dreamed when Teran first started teaching her
bladework that she would ever be able to kill someone. Too many times
on this paniced escape she'd proven herself wrong. Tears of regret and
fear filled the girl's eyes and she started shaking again.
Heavy pounding on the door brought her to her senses.
"Eliowy? Is everything all right in there? Eliowy!" The voice of
Madame Tillipanary rang faintly through the heavy wooden portal. "Open
the door, Eliowy! What's happened?"
"Oh, no..." Eliowy looked away from the door. Calm settled over
her and she sheathed the knife after cleaning the point on the hem of
Tilden's dirty shirt. She pulled on her cloak and pack, then stepped
to the window.
The pounding became more insistent.
Eliowy pulled open the shutters of the double window. Stepping
out onto the balcony, she knelt down and let herself carefully over
the edge, leaving fingerprints, red from Tilden's blood, on the sill.
Sergent Coressa DaVrice let her patrol down Layman Street,
keeping eyes wide open for things in the alleys and shadows. Layman
Street and the area around it within a quarter mile of the dock were
not the best place to be caught daydreaming in. Her troop of six had
drawn night duty for the last three weeks and the territory had
steadily been getting worse as each week passed. They carried shields,
heavy swords and wore full corslets in this part of town these days.
It seemed that the local crimelord was consolidating his position and
the gang warfare had been bitter recently. The upper eschelons of the
town guard were even sure who was behind the trouble, but they
couldn't prove anything, so the street fighting continued. Except
where the guard could stop it.
"This is absolutely the last time I put the companies duty up as
stake in a card game and win!" DaVrice muttered to herself as they
passed in front of the most profitable brothel in town. A horse in
full riding gear was tethered out front. This struck Coressa as odd
because the _Lucky Lady_ also had one of the better stables in the
area and client's transportation usually received the same good
treatment as the client themselves.
She was about to comment on this to her second when he stepped up
beside her.
"Um...Sergent?"
"Yes, Caisy?" He was supposed to be guarding the rear and
shouldn't have come forward without orders. Not that she minded much,
but if the Lieutenant should happen by...
"Looks like there's someone hanging from the second story window
of the _Lady_," Caisy informed her, pointing.
Sure enough, when DaVrice looked, there was a slender shadow
dangling over the balcony's edge.
"You there!" she called, motioning the three of the four guards
directly behind her to get underneath the window. "Stay where you
are!" Who would be leaving the _Lucky Lady_ by anything but the front
door, DaVrice wondered as she led the rest of the patrol through the
invitingly cracked door. Not a thief. The _Lady_ hadn't been robbed
since it opened ten years ago, despite the amount of wealth rumored to
be held inside. It couldn't be a `client' either--if one started
harassing the employees he left by the front door, usually with a new
set of bruises. The _Lady_ was strict about screening visitors.
The cloaked form resolved itself into a slender female in the
light of the soldier's lantern as they clustered beneath the balcony.
She let go at the same time as the sound of splintering wood echoed
down the nearly deserted street. A scream from inside marked the
person landing on the nearest guard. They both tumbled to the ground
in an untidy heap.
Eliowy rolled free of the unconscious guard's body as one of his
companions grabbed for her. She dodged the ill-timed snatch and
ploughed into the other one, shoving him aside. He stumbled and fell
over his fallen partner, while the first one made another grab for the
girl.
She just missed catching ahold of the trailing cloak as Eliowy
ran for her stolen horse. Grabbing the reins, she was missed again as
she swung into the saddle. Curses erupted and the guard made a try for
the bridle. Eliowy ran her down, goading the horse into a trot, then a
canter, and finally a dead run.
Whistles and more shouts caught on the wind and followed her as
she headed towards Main Street.
"...scream so naturally I rushed right up," Madame Tillipanary
was saying when Kalen Darklen arrived on the second floor of the
_Lucky Lady_. Her well manicured fingers clasped and unclasped
nervously in her pale green wrap. "The door was locked and when I
knocked and called, there was no answer."
"So you had one of your bouncers break the door in," Sergent
DaVrice said. She inclined her head to Kalen as he stepped up beside
her, but kept her attention focused on the woman before her.
"Bernail, yes. The safety of both my girls and my clients is of
great importance to me, you understand." Madame Tillipanary looked
from the guard sergent to the lieutenant earnestly. "Anyway, HE was
lying on the floor when we got in. And the windows were open."
"We arrived upstairs a minute after he took the door out,"
DaVrice directed the comment to Kalen. "Just about the time our prime
suspect jumped. Roji, Paone, and Liat let her escape. I sent them to
try and warn the gate guards," she added at Kalen's frown.
"Tell me about our suspect," said Kalen, folding his arms. He was
easy-going, but letting a possible murderer slip right through your
fingers was one good way to make him angry.
"Female, sir, but that's as far as I got. Madame?" DaVrice and
Kalen turned their attention back to Tillipanary. The sheet clad woman
who had been whispering to her stepped hastily back and the madame's
expression abruptly smoothed.
"The child's name is Eliowy K'rill," Tillipanary said. "She's not
one of my girls. A friend of mine asked me to keep an eye on her, so I
gave her one of my empty rooms." Kalen glanced at DaVrice. Both could
guess who the woman's "friend" was and why he wanted the girl looked
after at a brothel. "She's not very tall," the madame continued, not
seeming to notice the exchange of glances. "She was pretty, but not a
great beauty. Fair, oval face, auburn hair and curious golden eyes."
Kalen gave the woman a startled look. "Are you sure about that?"
he demanded. "The eyes and the hair?"
"Yes, Lieutenant, I'm sure," said Tillipanary, puzzled. Under the
questioning look she studied the guard closely. "She was always such a
nice, polite child. She didn't seem capable of this..." She gestured
vaguely at Tilden's sheet shrouded body.
"Be that as it may," muttered Kalen. "Sergent, organize another
squad of six. Search the city for this Eliowy K'rill and inform the
other patrols to keep an active look out. Suspicion of theft and
murder."
"Yes, sir!" DaVrice saluted crisply and led the remnant of her
squad down the carpeted stairs.
"Only suspicion...?" Madame Tillipanary's voice trailed off
questioningly as the guards disappeared from sight.
"There is always the possibility that this was self-defense,"
said Kalen neutrally. One time luck, two times coincidance, three
times a charge. Kalen didn't think this incident was just a
coincidance. Red hair was rare enough along the coasts to be notable.
And those eyes... "Until I have a chance to question the girl, we
can't be positive. If you think of anything else, Madam, please report
it to the Guard."
"Of course, Lieutenant," said Madame Tillipanary agreeably. "I'm
sure that you'll want to investigate further, and there is the matter
of the body," the woman averted her painted eyes. "So I'll have his
hallway closed off. It's accessible by the back stairs. If you would
please use those, I would greatly appreciate it. To avoid the
customers, you understand."
"Of course," said Kalen dryly. "I'll have someone come to deal
with the body tonight. Good evening."
The last thing Kalen saw as he left the room was the same sheet
clad prostitute whispering frantically in her madame's ear and the
look of pleased speculation on Tillipanary's face.
Madame Tillipanary hurried through the chill autumn night, wind
pulling at her heavily embroidered cloak. She kept one hand on the
dagger belted around her waist, in case one of the punks thought she
might be a target. With the gang wars in full swing, being Liriss'
employee was no longer a guarantee of safe passage along the night
streets.
She arrived at the steps of Liriss' town house without incident.
Two personal guards, older men who had been with the crimelord almost
as long as Tillipanary herself, nodded to her as she hurried up the
stairs and pulled open the door. Of all the people who worked for
Liriss, the madame was the only one besides his lieutenant who was
permitted access to him at any time.
A gust of wind pushed the woman inside and set the expensive
beeswax candles dancing in their suspended chandelier. Shadows capered
around the sparsely furnished room, hiding doors to the left and
right. A staircase crawled up the far wall.
Her delicate slippers made no sound on the hardwood floor as
Tillipanary made her way towards the stairs. Picking up her disaphorus
skirts, she started up the steep walk, only to be stopped on the
landing by Kesrin, Liriss' lieutenant.
"May I help you, madam?" he inquired politely, blocking her way
to the second floor. Sharp hazel eyes studied the woman out of a
neutral expression.
"I must speak to Lord Liriss immediately," declared Tillipanary.
She'd considered Kesrin a nuisance since the day he'd risen to
prominence from obscurity eight years ago and she'd never bothered to
hide the fact. She was certain that his careful, precise manners hid
something and it frustrated the madame that she hadn't yet been able
to figure out what. "Get out of my way, Kesrin. This can't wait." She
tried to step past him again only to have him interfear once more.
"Lord Liriss isn't seeing anyone this evening, madame," said
Kesrin firmly, catching the woman's elbow. "You can tell me, if it is
so important and I'll see to it that my Lord hears of it."
"Let me go," Tillipanary ordered coldly. "I'll tell Liriss and no
one else."
"He's not seeing anyone this evening," Kesrin repeated,
tightening his grip on her arm when she tried to pull away.
"He'll see me."
"He's indisposed."
"Don't feed me that line," snapped Tillipanary. "He takes his
girls in his office, not his home. And if you do not let go of me this
instant--"
"My Lord Mardos." A new voice rolled through the argument,
followed by a tall, slender man in well cared for physician's robes.
"Lord Liriss is resting comfortably. I've bandaged the wounds and left
a jar of medicine for the pain by his bed. Mix a spoonful with water
or wine if he needs it. And don't let him up until the end of next
week, at least." The spate of instructions preceded him down the
stairs as he joined them on the landing. "My Lady." He nodded politely
to Tillipanary.
"Thank you, Doctor," said Kesrin calmly, while beside him the
madame paled. "Your fee will be delivered to you in the morning."
The doctor bowed. "Then I bid you good evening, my Lord, my
Lady," and he swept down the stairs.
Tillipanary waited until the door boomed shut before turning on
Kesrin.
"What in the name of the Red Garter of Randiriel is going on!"
"Lord Liriss was attacked this evening," said Kesrin after
considering the slender woman for a long moment. "By the girl he sent
to stay with you."
"Eliowy," breathed the madame. She shook off the chill feeling of
dread and explained softly; "She killed Tilden tonight just after
sundown. The City Guard got involved..."
"That's not possible!" Kesrin burst out, his unflappable poise
cracking for once. "I sent her to the blocks tonight. Just BEFORE
sundown. She's supposed to be dead!"
"Well she's not!" Tillipanary hissed, her expression going cold.
"You'd better plan on doing something about your lapse, Kesrin. Lord
Liriss will not be pleased to hear that she's escaped." Despite her
concern about Liriss, the madame spared enough emotion to feel pleased
that her hated rival was in a very dangerous situation.
"I will deal with it," responded Kesrin just as coldly, his
poised manners and neutral expression back in place. "Thank you for
bringing me this information. I'll mention to Lord Liriss that you
dropped by."
"I appreciate that," Tillipanary said, voice too sweet. "I'll
drop by tomorrow to see Liriss. He'd best be alive tomorrow." She
pulled away from Kesrin and made her way back down the steps,
solitiously accompanied by the lieutenant.
`Of course Liriss will be alive tomorrow,' he thought, escorting
the madame to the door. Despite all the years of planning, it was
still too soon to move and until the time was right, he had a part to
play.
As Tillipanary disappeared into the blowy autumn night, Kesrin
turned to one of the door guards.
"Find me the assassin, Kendall," he ordered. "And I want him here
yesterday."
Pale, early morning sunlight gilded the grass and leaves and
reflected in bright sparkles from the stream beside the road. A cloud
of dust settled gently back to the ground, eddying in mini-whirlwinds
as Eliowy led her horse towards the thick trickle of water. Sweat
dribbled down the beast's coat, cutting narrow tracks in the foam.
"Sorry, boy," she said softly, patting the horse's shoulder as he
wearily bent his head to drink. "But we needed to put lots of distance
between us and Dargon." The horse didn't react, greedily filling his
stomach with the cold water. Eliowy scratched his ears, wondering if
the creature's original owner had survived the pier-side fight. In a
way she hoped he had. Someone that kind didn't deserve to die in a
battle with cutthroats. But at the same time, she hoped he hadn't.
Someone that kind also didn't deserve to have his mount stolen. "As
soon as you're rested," she added, "we're leaving. We're still too
close to the city for comfort."
She pulled the horse away from the water so he wouldn't drink
himself sick, and tied him to a nearby bush so that he could browse.
After quenching her own thirst, she settled by the stream's edge,
planning to rest until the horse had eaten enough to continue on.
Good, paranoid intentions fell by the wayside as weariness
combined with the unusually warm autumn sun caught up with Eliowy and
she drifted off into much needed sleep.
A shadow across her face, blocking the sun's heat brought Eliowy
abruptly out of an uneasy doze. She opened her eyes and had her bleary
sight filled by a horse's nose.
"How did you get loose," she mumbled, sitting up and reaching for
the reins. She froze, seeing someone else's hands on the smooth
straps. "Oh no..."
"Good afternoon, Eliowy," Teran said quietly, sitting stiffly in
the saddle. The bay twitched its ears restlessly.
The blue of his tunic matched the rich blue of the sky and Eliowy
found her attention caught by the embroidery at its neck; tracing the
interlocking patterns with her vision meant she didn't have to meet
her teacher's azure-blue gaze.
She climbed to her feet, eyes still fixed on Teran's throat.
"Good afternoon to you," responded the girl, more out of habit than
politeness. She backed up a step, towards where her horse was
tethered. Teran didn't move. She took another step back and still the
man didn't shift. Eliowy took one more step, turned to bolt for her
horse and froze.
It wasn't there.
She whirled back to face Teran, eyes wild. His expression hadn't
altered. With casual deliberance he swung out of the saddle to the
ground.
Eliowy twitched, but stood her ground. There was no way to
escape; she couldn't out-run him and she wouldn't return home with
him. Fear crawled into her throat, drying it instantly, leaving behind
the bitter taste of panic. The desire to be left alone overwhelmed
her. A hand crept to the hilt of her sword. The sword that was a gift
from the same man she contemplated using it on.
Something caught her back before she could do more than bare an
inch of the blade. Perhaps the memory of the man beating her around
the practice yard or of him giving her the blade on her last birthday
penetrated her paniced mind. Either way, she allowed the sword to
slide back into its sheath.
And still Teran did not move.
Eliowy didn't pause long enough to wonder why he'd done nothing.
Cloak swirling in a self-created wind, she turned to run.
She made it away only so far as the edge of the stream before
Teran caught her by the trailing cloak. And found the cloth loose in
his hands when Eliowy pulled the clasp open. He reached again and
grabbed the girl's collar, pulling her close before she could slip out
of that too.
Eliowy's tiny wrists nearly disappeared in the blonde man's grip
and she tugged uselessly against his strength. Fury penetrated her
panic and she slammed her heel down on his foot, hard. Teran grunted
in pain, drawing his leg back, but did not loosen his grip. A second
later he thrust her away from him when she bit him in the wrist.
"You're not taking me back," Eliowy informed him firmly, suddenly
calm. Amber eyes blazed like a torch, at odds with the level
declaration. This time the sword did clear the sheath, glinting with
the same fire that burned in her eyes. "I refuse to go. Just leave me
alone."
"Eliowy, we need to talk," said Teran quietly, gaze flickering
between her face and the sword. "But not with blades. Put it away."
"As soon as you go," Eliowy replied, slipping into a guard
position. The leather wrapped hilt felt warm in the palm of her hand
and as she extended the blade, sparks seemed to glint on its edge.
Teran drew up short. His eyes narrowed as he studied the girl.
Then he nodded sharply. "So be it, then." And he drew his own weapon,
matching Eliowy's stance almost exactly.
Surprise flickered though Eliowy's eyes, but she didn't hesitate
when he came at her.
The parry was automatic and strong. As their blades connected the
crash echoed through the air, followed by a gentle whoosh and a white
hot explosion. The force blew the combatants away from one another and
withered the grass into crumbling grey ash around them.
A shocked silence spread away from the stream on the summer-hot
wind that followed the blast.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 Blood on Oron's Crossroads
12 Naia, 1014
by Wendy Hennequin
(b.c.k.a. <HENNEQUI@CTSTATEU>)
I. Martis Westbrook, Knight Captain of the Southern Marche
I wasn't sure what happened. No--I knew--I *saw*--but even as the
Beinison army thundered into our ranks and the troops of Houses Bivar
and Redcrosse and Othuldane and Equiville fell like heavy hail, I
could not believe.
I gave the order to retreat. I gave the order to *retreat*!
"Fall back!" Caedmon, beside me, shouted. I heard him--he stood
not yard from me, defending me as I stood stock still in shock. No one
else heard. "Fall back!"
"Sound retreat again!" I screamed at the bugler and the drummer.
"Retreat!" I moved my sword arm and prepared to defend myself again as
I watched--I stared--as the Fist of the Emperor and with its
incredible Cavalry demolished the House troops.
The idiots *charged*. They actually charged! I gave the order to
retreat. What did they hope to gain by sailing headlong into the
Emperor's strongest troops? They knew we were outnumbered and that the
best we had to gain today was a stalemate and escape. Why did they
charge?
Next to me, the bugler played the notes of retreat once more; I
heard other buglers throughout the army picking up the music and
repeating the call. But retreating was no longer enough; I had to stop
the Beinson charge. "Order the Assault Brigade and the Archers
forward," I shouted. What I was doing was horrible; the Archers could
hardly last ten minutes against the Fist of the Emperor.
Beside me, Caedmon's sword flashed and rang.
I should have married him this morning.
"One of us may die today," Caedmon had said softly, touching my
mouse- brown hair.
Looking at the Beinison Knight coming towards me, I thought
Caedmon had been right.
He was a big man, six feet, broad, and his armor heavy. I lunged
forward without waiting.
Unexpectedly, my sword sliced through a weak spot in his armor
and he fell.
"So much for Beinison armor!" Caedmon called gleefully as he
dispatched his opponent. Blood spattered his Knight's chain as he
removed his sword from the corpse. "Let's get out of her, Martis."
But I couldn't move. I saw the men of House Othuldane, House
Redcrosse, and House Bivar being slaughtered like pigs in their stupid
charge, and the Fist of the Emperor pounded the Archers like wheat in
a hurricane. The Assault Brigade fought, bleeding and dying. In a
moment, Beinison would overrun us all.
"Martis!" Caedmon screamed, and the retreat sounded again on drum
and horn. The ranks behind me were in chaos; men and women ran
screaming into the hills behind Oron's Crossroads or the woods beside
us. I could see part of the Fist chasing them into the woods and hear
the screams of the Rangers as they fell. The only piece of sanity on
the field was the incoherent voice of Lord Kinseley--praise Stevene
there were *some* loyal commanders left to me-- rallying the House
Troops.
"Dear God," I whispered. "Cephas Stevene, save us."
The Fist kept coming and coming. The troops were done for. Good
God. I had lost--lost!
Those damn fools! Their charge was killing them--killing us! The
Fist poured over them like heavy rain, and I watched as blood
splattered on the new grass and brains spilled out of heads. The
shouts deafened me; I knew that the drums and horns were sounding
retreat, but I couldn't hear, I couldn't move, I almost couldn't see.
"Martis!" Caedmon screamed. Oh, God, I loved him, and I knew I
would never see him tomorrow. One of us was going to die.
"Martis, let's go!"
A fine Knight would I be, a fine Knight Captain, to be running
from the field while the Fist of the Emperor pounded my troops and
slaughtered them like pigs. But Caedmon was right; we had to leave. It
would be enough for the King to loose these troops today; he didn't
need to loose the Knight Captain, too.
So I moved, finally. I took my sword and turned with Caedmon
toward the woods. We would have to go through them, back to Westbrook.
Perhaps we could regroup and stop this madness...
Perhaps we could, with more troops--troops who followed orders!
Two of the soldiers of the Fist stepped between Caedmon and me
and the woods. My sword flashed; Caedmon raised his blade. I struck,
and the blow rang like thunder. But he was quick, both hands holding
weapons, and it was all I could do to keep his blows from raining on
me. I twisted and threw a blow from my waist and hip and arm, as Sir
Edward had taught me. It contacted, shocking my arm, but the blow
glanced off his armor.
"Damn!" I muttered. I heard Caedmon exchanging blows with the
other one, and I could hear him grunting.
Caedmon, forgive me. I should have married you this morning.
The man before me raised his arms to strike again. I could hear
the chaos behind me, and I cried internally for those dying, but I
could not turn and watch the horror. I stepped forward instead and
jammed my shield against Fist-soldier's right arm. I pushed my armored
knee against his groin. He stumbled; I lunged; he died.
"Caedmon!" I cried. He was still fighting, and I regretted my
weakness. Good God, don't let me distract him. God, save him. Save me.
Save us all.
The man was bigger than Caedmon; he was huge. *All* the soldiers
in the Fist of the Emperor seemed huge. Beinison was huge. God, how
could we keep them out of Baranur? No one has ever defeated the
Beinison Empire.
I stepped forward to help Caedmon. We had to defeat this man; we
had to leave, flee to the woods and then to Pyridain. Somehow--how? I
didn't know; I only knew I had to leave. Oh, Caedmon!
There was suddenly a Knight of the Star ahead of me--a giant,
hulking man, left handed. Caedmon cried out as a blow rang on his
helm. I couldn't look to see if he was hurt; the Knight of the Star
charged me.
I raised my shield.
His first blow nearly felled me by its sheer force. I staggered
and shook my head to clear it. Oh, God, I was a dead woman. Yes, the
dead woman who led the troops to slaughter (I could hear them now: If
only we had a *man* to lead them!), who ruined Baranur. The bards
would destroy me nightly.
But the Knight waited patiently for me to recover. When I rose, I
saluted him for his courtesy and his honor. Not every Knight practices
his chivalry on the battlefield.
He raised his sword, his strong left hand against my strong
right.
We charged.
Our shields collided like two strong ships; I shuddered from the
impact. My sword sailed high over his, aimed at his head--
I screamed as his steel sword tore through my upper arm.
Something made a horrible, ugly, grating noise. My shoulder wrenched;
the pain convinced me that my arm had left its place in my shoulder.
I stumbled, slipped on the bloody grass, and fell, the Knight's
sword still gone through my arm beside the bone. I couldn't move my
arm.
I couldn't move my arm! Oh, God, I'll never fight again!
Then I realized that death--at best--was staring me straight in
the eyes and I was foolish enough to be mourning a wounded arm.
"Forgive me, lady," the giant rumbled, stepping closer. He pulled
the sword from me smoothly, but the pain increased, and my blood
gushed from my arm and reddened the scarlet ground. "We have been
ordered to take no prisoners."
The Knight of the Star raised his sword. "Caedmon!" I cried.
I should have married him this morning.
The Knight of the Star fell.
Caedmon grabbed me with his right arm, and with his left, he
retrieved his sword from the neck of the giant Knight. "And don't you
dare lecture me," Caedmon snapped, pulling me roughly toward the
woods. "I know it was unchivalrous."
I shivered within my armor; my sweat was cold. Lecture him? I was
so relieved I couldn't speak.
"Caedmon," I whispered weakly. I was still bleeding. My God, I'll
never make it out of these woods alive. "Go. Run." I tripped on a
protruding root. "I'll never make it. Save yourself."
I could see his blue eyes beneath his helm, and they were angry.
"I didn't betray my Knightly code to leave you to die," he retorted.
"I won't leave you to die, love."
I loved him too, with all my heart. "I can't hold you back."
"Stop talking nonsense and run!"
I stumbled along, Caedmon half pulling me. My blood pounded in my
ears; the trees flew by in a blur. I staggered over the bodies of dead
rangers; the Fist was in the woods, slaying archers like helpless
birds. I heard other people running, crashing into the woods,
hurricane winds driven by the Fist of the Emperor.
My foot was yanked, and my face suddenly hit the ground. My arm
throbbed protest at the abrupt jolt, and I bled. Caedmon was pulling
me upright. Dazed, I sat.
"Your foot's caught," Caedmon informed me. I looked dully; I felt
exhausted. But he was right; my steel boot was pinned beneath a root.
Weakly, I tried to remove it; then, using my one good arm
hindered by my shield, I pulled. My foot would not budge.
How marvelous. First, a paralyzed sword arm to keep me from
fighting, and now a paralyzed foot to keep me from fleeing. I was
dead. The Fist was coming.
Caedmon raised his sword. He was going to kill me.
"Stop!" a voice behind him cried. Caedmon whirled; I looked past
him at another Knight of the Star. He wore a blue tunic over his plate
armor, and at his belt hung a silver horn. He advanced.
Caedmon looked back at me, then again at the Knight of the Star.
"Sir," Caedmon said, "will you give me single combat?"
"I will," the man answered, his voice strong.
Caedmon went forward, his sword drawn. He struck the first blow.
I should have married him this morning.
II. Lawrence Fanez of the Silver Horn, Knight of the Star
I was, I confess, a little sorry when the Baranurian line broke.
I am a loyal man; I have given my vow to the Emperor, and I fight here
for his victory. Still, I hate to see another Knight so defeated, for
the Knight Captain of Baranur had commanded wisely and had only lost
by the treason of her own troops.
"Charge!" Untar bellowed at the Fist of the Emperor. He has a
loud voice for one so young. Beside him, the Fist screamed their
victory call, and Mon-Taerleor began chanting.
I seethed. "Your majesty," I begged, cutting my way forward, "let
the High Mage stop his spells. We are winning; we do not need them."
For once, the young Emperor saw my reason. "Yes, stop," he
commanded Mon-Taerleor, and the chanting ceased. Although he stood
behind me, I could feel the wizard's gaze burning into me.
Let him gaze. Let him be angered and chagrined. It is little
enough after what he has done.
"They're going into the woods!" the Knight Commander called.
"Your majesty, shall we follow?"
I stopped my butchering. Yes, butchering, for the Baranurian
troops were helpless. I looked; my uncle, the Knight Commander, nodded
at me in approval as I waited for the Emperor's order.
Gow, let us give chase, I prayed. This slaughter is not
honorable. My Lord, let me have a Knight's combat this day.
"Yes, Sir Horace, follow," the Emperor decided. I saluted him
gratefully; I was ill with fighting a war on Amante's terms, and
gladly I ran to the woods.
"Sir Lawrence!" the Emperor stopped me. I slid on the blood, but
paused. When I looked at him, he ordered, "Take no prisoners!" He
looked at mine uncle. "No prisoners! Sir Horace, no prisoners!"
The buglers picked up the call: give chase, and take no
prisoners. I sprinted into the woods.
Archers littered the ground like storm-torn leaves. I stepped
around them, leapt over them, looking for my battle. May Gow grant me
battle, a Knight's battle. I am weary of the Masked God's slaughter.
The noise in the woods was deafening, like the cries of my own
brain. I ran, not knowing whom I sought, trusting Gow to lead me to
honorable victory.
The moon was rising over the trees. The moon, My Lady Alanna's
jewel, given her by Gow: I will let My Lady lead me. I fight for her
now, now that Liadan is dead. Yes, Alanna is My Lady; her I will
follow.
So I ran eastward, listening. A branch crashed in front of me; I
sprinted. I heard a man speaking in Baranurian, but the words were
muffled. I entered a clearing.
His sword was above his head, ready to slay a helpless Knight
whose foot was trapped. That I would not allow, be he Baranurian or
Beinisonian. "Stop!" I cried in Beinison, and then in Baranurian.
The man turned. He was a Baranurian; he wore no Star on his
chain. The helpless one twisted to see me too, but could not move much
because of the trapped foot and the horrible wound in the right arm.
The mobile Knight looked at the caught one, then at me. "Sir," he
asked politely, and I admired his courage and courtesy in speaking to
me at all, "will you give me single combat?"
A Knight's battle! Gow guide my arm. "I will," I answered gladly,
and I stepped forward to meet him.
I allowed him, out of courtesy, to strike the first blow; I knew
that he would be tired. The blow hit my shield, rattling me without
pain. I struck back, but he deflected my blow with blade and shield.
I struck again, but missed when the other Knight moved. He
stumbled on a dead archer and fell. I paused for him to rise; I will
not strike a fallen man. The Baranurian looked up at me with eyes as
blue as mine own and nodded his thanks for my gesture. I switched my
father's blade to my left hand and offered the Knight assistance. He
took the hand and rose.
"I ask a boon," the Knight said softly.
"What do you wish?" I wondered. What boon could I grant an enemy?
How, will all loyalty to the Emperor and all honor to my country,
could I grant this man a boon?
"I ask that if I am defeated that you kill me, and quickly," the
Knight asked softly. He looked back at the wounded one. "I have heard
what the Beinisonians do to prisoners."
"Have no fear, sir," I answered him in his own language. "I have
been ordered not to take anyone prisoner."
"Then have at you!" he cried, attacking.
I sidestepped, and the blow rang on my arm, stinging me below my
armor. I felt the dent press into my muscle; I would have a bruise
there tomorrow if I lived so long. I readjusted my shield with a shake
of my elbow and whirled my sword above my head. The other Knight
caught it and pushed it away.
I smiled. An honorable, skillful enemy whom I could fight like a
man and not slaughter like a beast. Gow be praised and thanked that if
I were to kill or to die, I should do so as a Knight and not a
butcher.
I struck my blow still smiling. His armor sang with my soul in
the joy of the fight. His blade danced forward at mine helm, and I
ducked and hit his leg in recompense. He withdrew his hand to ready
it; I lunged forward but pierced only his quick shield.
"I hold," the Knight said. He held his shield toward me, and I
reached for the blade and withdrew it.
"I thank you." Then I struck.
The blow thundered in the suddenly quiet forest. His blade on my
shield sounded like drums. We were dancing again, and the battle sang
in our blood. His blows fell like hard hail; I fought without
thinking. My sword struck his arm, his helm, his chest, his leg. He
battled me valiantly and struck me back. He raised his blow to counter
my high-flying sword; I flicked my wrist, and the blade hit the back
of his helm. The Knight tried to hit me, but his sword slid down my
shield like melting snow. I pushed it away and thrusted.
A woman suddenly screamed--the other Knight was a woman!--and I
knew the sound--the cry my heart had made when Liadan lay dying in
mine arms--and I suddenly knew what I had done. My blood ran cold.
I killed her beloved before her. I had committed the crime of the
man I most hated, the one who plunged a dagger into Liadan's back, who
murdered her in her wedding gown, who served the Emperor as High Mage
and was immune to all justice--
I was hateful in mine own eyes.
Slowly, I turned, and I was shaking in mine armor at the horror
of it all. She--the other Knight--good Gow, the Knight Captain!--spat
curses at me as I approached.
I did not blame her, nor do I now. Have I not cursed Mon-Taerleor
in such a way?
Her foot was caught beneath a root, and now I understood why the
man had raised his sword: to cut the wood and free the foot. The
Knight Captain stared defiantly at me as I lifted my sword and let it
fall.
She scrambled to her feet and faced me belligerently. Her arm
bled like a flood. I knew she could not fight me. "Go," I said.
Hazel-green eyes stared out at me angrily. "Do you know who I
am?"
"I know, Dame Captain." I took the horn off my belt and thought
of healing potions. The silver horn immediately filled with one. I
handed it to her. "Drink; it will help you."
The Knight Captain fearlessly downed the potion and flung the
horn back toward me. It bounced on the gory moss, and as much as my
heart tore to see Liadan's gift so carelessly handled, I did not move,
but stared only at the Knight Captain steadily.
Her hazel eyes glared like enraged fire. "Why didn't you kill
me?" she demanded.
I blinked, shocked. "I will not slay a wounded enemy." I looked
at her arm; the potion was already helping to heal it, and it had
ceased bleeding. "You are too hurt to fight adequately; I cannot, in
all honor, combat you."
"And yet you tell me to go," she seethed furiously, her words
dripping like poison from a wounded adder's tooth. "You will not even
capture me?"
Suddenly, I smiled, vindicated. "Yea, Dame Captain, go," I
invited, almost ready to laugh. "I have been ordered to take no
prisoners."
Something in her broke; her eyes were no longer jewel-hard. I
heard a sob catch in her throat, and she turned suddenly and ran.
"Gow guide your arm next time," I wished softly, "and Sanar walk
with you."
I turned to go. I looked toward the dead Knight whom I had
killed; I had no more wish to fight today.
He had died quickly, as he had wished. I stooped to close his
eyes, then pulled back as I saw the moon glow in them.
I knelt, put my blade before me, and rested my helm on its hilt.
"To you, My Lady of the Night, I dedicate my deeds of arms and honor.
Grant me your blessing to act, with My Lord your husband, as your
Knight."
I fell silent after the ritual prayer, and said one from mine
heart. "I give you also, My Lady, my deed of mercy, and beseech mercy
of My Lord Gow that her vengeance fall not hard upon me, for I knew
not he was her lover."
But let my hand fall hard on Mon-Taerleor for murdering mine!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Quanta is the electronically distributed journal of Science Fiction
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