DargonZine Volume 4, Issue 4 12/17/91

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   D     D A  A R  R G    O  O N N N     Z   I N N N E     || Volume 4

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   D    D  AAAA RRR  G GG O  O N N N   Z     I N N N E     || Issue  4

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 --   DargonZine Volume 4, Issue 4        12/17/91          Cir 1215   --

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 --                            Contents                                --

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  The Changeling Never Known, Parts I and II

                               Wendy Hennequin        Yule 1, 1014

  Pact II                      Max Khaytsus           Yuli 12-13, 1014

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1                    The Changeling Never Known

                             * Part I *

                         by Wendy Hennequin

                    (b.c.k.a <HENNEQUI@CTSTATEU>)

      Richard just  Richard ducked into  the Sword and  Serpent Tavern,

 and, putting  his back  against the  wall, he  searched the  dim room.

 Luckily, the  dusky room  matched the  exterior twilight,  and Richard

 needed no time for his eyes to adjust. He kept his hand on his cutlass

 all the  same. Eel Harbor,  on the shores  of Duchy Northfield,  was a

 dangerous place at night.

      "Richard!"  a  voice  called  out,  and  Richard  cursed  himself

 although the voice  was a known and friendly one.  The bowmaster hated

 to be seen before he himself had  seen. "Richard, come over and have a

 drink. Dinner's on the way."

      After  another moment's  quick  survey,  Richard located  Captain

 Gaoel  Fynystere of  the Eclipse  sitting in  a corner  table--the one

 Richard would have chosen himself, in fact. It was hardly visible from

 the doorway.  Satisfied, Richard approached, then  paused hostilely as

 he saw the other man at the table.

      After a  moment, Richard  resumed his approach  slowly, carefully

 observing  the stranger  as  he  came closer.  The  man  was tall  and

 elegantly slim in  the dimness, and he held beside  him a large, lumpy

 object which Richard could not  identify at the distance. Another step

 and the object became a plump lute,  and the glowing lamp on the table

 glittered suddenly on a metal chain hung with pendants. Two more paces

 showed  the  man's face  in  the  lamplight: handsome,  dark,  perhaps

 Richard's age. Not  taking his eyes off the  stranger's dark, pleasant

 ones, Richard sat  in the chair Fynystere kicked to  him, and observed

 final  details: the  colors and  cut  of the  stranger's clothes,  the

 designs on the medallions, and the other side of his face.

      The clothes  were well made  of fairly expensive  and comfortable

 silk--the cloth Richard  preferred for his own  clothes, but Richard's

 plain  white  blouse  and  close-cut  breeches  were  not  exquisitely

 embroidered with  gold and  silver threads.  The stranger's  taste was

 excellent; his  suit was  elegant, colorful but  not gaudy,  and would

 look at home here in a tavern or in a nobleman's hall.

      Still, Richard felt wary, as he did with all strangers, and so he

 looked at the medallions to see what they could tell him. The first, a

 badge  denoting  the  second-highest  rank in  the  Baranurian  Bardic

 College surprised  him; Richard  doubted that the  seedy port  town of

 Eel's  Harbor ever  sheltered a  bard of  such high  rank before.  The

 second medallion,  a gold coin  depicting King Haralan's  head, seemed

 inconsequential to Richard,  for he was familiar with  the practice of

 bards  wearing their  first coins  as trophies.  The third  medallion,

 however, intrigued him: it was a gold executioner's hood.

      The stranger  smiled at him,  and then Richard saw,  with wonder,

 the  unusual jagged  scar,  perhaps  a burn,  perhaps  a  cut, on  the

 stranger's face.  Richard shook  his head  to clear  sudden, disturbed

 feelings from it--there was no reason for them--and smiled back.

      "Richard,"  Fynystere  began, and  Richard  could  tell that  the

 captain had already been in his cups, "this is Matteo." A bard with no

 other  name? Richard  wondered.  "Matteo, my  bowmaster, Richard  just

 Richard."

      "Pleased to know  you, Bowmaster," Matteo said,  and Richard knew

 Matteo  was from  Magnus  by  his accent.  Of  course, Richard  chided

 himself; the  Bardic College was in  Magnus, and many bards  came from

 there.

      Praying  that  Matteo  had  never seen  him  in  Magnus,  Richard

 answered formally, "And I you, sir. Tell  me, what does a bard of such

 high skill as yourself do in Eel Harbor in a dump like this?"

      "Ask  no questions,  Rich,"  Fynystere growled  one  of the  most

 important rules of the Eclipse.

      "Do  our  rules  apply  off  board,  captain?"  Richard  wondered

 amiably.

      "Do  you want  me  to start  asking  *you* questions?"  Fynystere

 snapped pointedly, and Richard felt a  chill in his heart. His secrets

 were deep and dangerous, and the bowmaster guarded them jealously as a

 dragon. If he were asked--if anyone knew--

      But Matteo laughed,  and his eyes were shrewd. "I'm  a bard; I'll

 tell  freely. I  was  at the  battle of  Oron's  Crossroads, sir.  The

 Beinisons weren't gentle with Lady Martis' army."

      Richard abruptly suspected  two things: the man was  no bard, and

 he was a liar. No bard of  such high distinction would mistake a Royal

 Officer's rank and refer to a  Knight Captain as merely "Lady." As for

 the scar--

      "Damn well healed for two months," Richard muttered.

      Matteo laughed,  "Yes, and I  have a good mage-healer,  Hrina, to

 thank for it.  Trained by Marcellon Equiville  himself--have you heard

 of  him, sir?  The  High  Mage and  Royal  Physician.  Hrina has  been

 attendant  on  Lady  Martis  and  myself since  we  were  together  in

 Magnus--I an aspirant  to the Bardic College, Lady  Martis an aspirant

 to Knighthood, and Hrina a student of the High Mage."

      That explained  the scar  and the  familiarity with  Dame Captain

 Westbrook, but Richard still wondered  about some things. "Is it true,

 as I hear," Richard began  carefully, "that Dame Captain Westbrook may

 never fight again?"

      Matteo nodded sadly.  "My poor lady," he rued,  sighing. "A wound

 in  the upper  arm, Bowmaster,  and a  bad one.  By the  time my  lady

 arrived back in Pyridain, Hrina could do but little for her."

      Richard found  that odd, and odd  too that such an  old friend as

 Matteo claimed  to be  would leave  Dame Captain  Westbrook at  such a

 time. "It's a long way from Pyridain," Richard commented.

      "Indeed," Matteo agreed, sipping from  his goblet. "I work my way

 north to Magnus, but my business I cannot tell."

      Richard nodded,  satisfied. The  man probably  bore some  sort of

 message from Dame  Martis to Magnus--probably to  the Knight Commander

 or   the    King.   Still,   Richard   felt    unjustifiably   uneasy.

 Something--Richard couldn't tell what--bothered  him about the way the

 man spoke.

      "I hear you sing, Bowmaster," Matteo continued. "Your captain has

 told me you have even written songs."

      Something was wrong with his  accent. Oh, it sounded like Magnus'

 voice, but something  wasn't quite right about it. Perhaps  he grew up

 somewhere else first, Richard reasoned.  More to keep the bard talking

 than anything  else, Richard replied  casually, "Oh, Bron  of Beggar's

 End writes the songs. I merely clean them up."

      "Clean them  up," the  captain grumbled,  reaching for  his grog.

 "Clean them up. Why  should you clean them up, Rich?  A song can never

 be too bawdy."

      "I meant fixing the rhythm,"  Richard explained, rolling his eyes

 in exasperation. He looked back at  Matteo. "Bron has all the metrical

 skill of a blacksmith."

      "You  would think,"  Matteo replied  smiling, "that  seamen would

 take to rhythm naturally, what with  knowing the tides and the rocking

 of the ship and all."

      "Not  Bron.  He's about  as  much  a  poet as  Donegal,"  Richard

 replied, relaxing a little.

      "Your leech, I believe?" Matteo wondered.

      "The same,"  Fynystere belched. "Where is  that whoreson, anyhow,

 Rich? Wasn't he to meet us here for dinner? And where is that damn cat

 of yours?"

      Richard smiled  at the  reference to the  Red Tiger,  Richard and

 Donegal's pet and the Eclipse's  mascot. "Damn cat" was what Fynystere

 called her  when in a good  mood. "Donegal and Cedric--the  mate--" he

 added  for Matteo's  benefit, "--are  off somewhere  getting wild,  as

 usual. Kitty insisted on keeping an eye on them."

      "Kitty? Your lady?" Matteo wondered.

      "You could call her that, I guess."

      "A lady on a pirate ship," Matteo chuckled, pulling his lute out.

 The  strap touched  the medallions  and moved  them. Matteo  plucked a

 string and adjusted its pin slightly.  "I should put that into a song.

 Where  did you  find her,  Bowmaster, this  lady who  dares sail  with

 pirates?"

      "The  Islands  of the  Sun,"  Richard  answered, staring  at  the

 executioner's hood  medal to  shake his  preoccupation with  the man's

 accent. "She wouldn't let us leave her."

      "Tell me about her," Matteo said. "What does she look like?"

      "I'll tell," Richard  promised, leaning closer for  a better look

 at the pendants, "if you'll tell me where you got that medal."

      "What, the coin  or the hood?" Matteo wondered.  "Surely you know

 where I got the Bardic Medal."

      "Of course," Richard retorted, and  his voice was sharper than he

 had  intended.  The  man's  not-quite  Magnus  accent  grated  on  him

 inexplicably. "I meant the hood."

      "The hood was given to me  by the Lord Executioner of Welspeare,"

 Matteo explained  as he tuned  another string. "I've been  thinking of

 melting it into a ring. It's rather gruesome."

      Richard couldn't argue with that.

      "And the coin I earned when singing for the Duchess of Narragan."

 Matteo  reached  for it  with  his  right hand  and  held  it out  for

 Richard's  inspection. "A  gold  sovereign, and  my first  performance

 before a noble, too."

      Richard knew  that no bard  whose singing  was worth less  than a

 sovereign even  earned the right  to perform  before a noble.  He said

 nothing, however, and  stared at King Haralan's  head, stamped rigidly

 into the gold.

      Matteo noticed  Richard's gaze  and picked  up the  sovereign. He

 looked  down  at   the  King's  head,  then  at   Richard.  "Tell  me,

 fellow-Magnan, does it look like the King? I've never seen him."

      He lived  long enough in Magnus  to go to the  Bardic College and

 acquire  the city's  accent, but  had never  seen the  King? Richard's

 stomach tightened. Something  was wrong with this  man, definitely. It

 didn't  make  sense:  Matteo  had  lived  in  Magnus  long  enough  to

 acquire--perhaps  *learn*?--Magnus' accent,  but  had  never seen  the

 King, who appeared in parades and pageants and law courts?

      Richard carefully kept his eyes  calm despite the sudden quake in

 his heart and replied, "I really  don't know. I haven't been to Magnus

 in fourteen years. King Arneth was  still alive then, and King Haralan

 was a young man."

      Matteo again turned to coin so  he could view the face. "I always

 wondered if  this is what he  looked like," the bard  mused. "I should

 like to know a King when I see him."

      The food came  then, and Matteo returned to tuning  the lute. The

 captain perked up slightly. "Where is that bloody Donegal?"

      Richard rose smoothly and  stilled his nervousness sternly. "I'll

 go look for him, Captain."

      Suddenly, Matteo's  eyes widened  in horror,  and Richard  felt a

 hand on  his shoulder.  Before Richard  could attack,  Donegal's voice

 said, "Sit down."

      Richard nearly jumped  despite the friendly voice. Why  was he so

 edgy?

      "'Evenin', Captain,"  the leech greeted with  his normal cheerful

 casualness. Suddenly, Donegal's voice changed. "Good evening, sir."

      Richard's hands tightened when Donegal's  tone did. The Red Tiger

 nudged beneath Richard's  palm but growled softly  instead of purring.

 Suddenly, Richard wanted very badly to leave.

      "What  *is*  that--that--"  Matteo  gasped,  and  Richard's  mood

 improved spitefully at the bard's fear. Let *him* be uncomfortable!

      "Damn cat," said Fynystere.

      "Hey,  Rich,"  Donegal  began,  and Richard  could  tell  without

 looking that Donegal's usual cheerfulness was now being feigned. "Hey,

 Rich, you've *got* to see this wench across the street. She's just the

 kind you like--big and--"

      "Let's  go,"  Richard agreed  quickly,  and  he left  the  tavern

 without turning.

      "See  you later,  Captain," Donegal  ended the  conversation, and

 Richard heard in the leech's voice that he was under strict control.

      "Something's wrong  with that  bard," Richard muttered  when they

 had crossed the street. "Something's wrong."

      "You're damn right," Donegal breathed, and Richard, for the first

 time that  evening, looked  at his good  friend. Donegal's  white eyes

 were wide and wild  in his dark face. "I don't know  who the hell he's

 after, but I  can't risk being in there  with him. If he knew  I was a

 slave--"

      Richard shook his head. "What  are you babbling about? There's no

 slavery in Baranur."

      "He'd drag me back to Beinison--"

      "He's from  Magnus," Richard corrected  the leech, then,  after a

 moment, he corrected  himself: "He says he's from Magnus,  but I don't

 believe it."

      After a  moment of silence,  Donegal asked quietly, "How  did you

 know, Rich?"

      "Something about his accent isn't right."

      "He's not from Magnus, Rich."

      Richard  rubbed  his  arms;  the  midsummer  night  had  suddenly

 chilled. "How do you know?"

      "Did you see that scar on his cheek? The hood medal he wears?"

      "Aye." The bowmaster  shivered, afraid of the answer  to his next

 question. "What are they, Donegal?"

      "They're the signs of the Masked God, Rich. That so-called Magnus

 bard is a priest of Amante the Masked God. He's an assassin."

                           * Part II *

      When  Donegal  na  Valenfaer  returned to  the  tavern  with  the

 skittish  Red  Tiger,  he  found only  Captain  Fynystere,  more  than

 half-drunk  and  half-  asleep,  at the  corner  table.  Ignoring  the

 astonished  stares  and frightened  murmurs  of  the patrons,  Donegal

 turned  and searched  the common  room quickly.  That so-called  bard,

 thank Sanar, was gone.

      Heaving a  grateful sigh, the  leech slid into the  corner beside

 the  captain, and  the Red  Tiger settled  peacefully at  his feet.  A

 pretty wench  smiled at Donegal  and motioned  to an ale  mug. Donegal

 nodded and began to feel much better.

      "Hey, Captain," he jostled Fynystere, "having fun, sir?"

      Fynystere groaned,  lifted his dangling head,  and gazed blearily

 at his  leech. "Oh, Donegal,"  the captain slurred, "you're  back. You

 missed dinner. Matteo sings like an angel."

      "Who?"

      "The Magnus bard. Richard really liked him," Fynystere continued,

 sliding forward to  rest his head on  his hands. "He took  him back to

 the ship."

      "He *what*?"

      Donegal practically flew  out of the chair and ran  for the door.

 Kitty, the Red Tiger, sped at his heels.

      Richard took that bard back to the ship?!

      "He's  an assassin,"  Donegal had  told Richard  when they  stood

 outside the  tavern two hours ago.  "All the Masked God's  priests are

 assassins,  torturers, executioners,  something.  And he's  important,

 Rich."

      "What  the hell  is a  Beinison priest  doing here?"  Richard had

 wondered, his face pale and his breath short.

      "Going to  kill someone,  I suppose,"  Donegal had  shrugged. The

 leech hadn't really cared; all Donegal  wanted to do was get away from

 that "bard" as soon as possible.

      "Who?"

      Donegal had been surprised at  the question. "How the hell should

 I know?"

      More surprising than the demand were the sudden, violent hands on

 Donegal's shoulders.  Richard shook him  once. "Think, damn  you," the

 bowmaster hissed, murder  in his voice. "Who could he  be here to get?

 You said he's important. What did you mean?"

      Donegal struggled  beneath Richard's  large, hard  hands. "Gold's

 the highest rank in their priesthood. That executioner's hood is their

 symbol, and it was gold."

      Richard  was silent  a moment,  but his  strong fingers  dug into

 Donegal's flesh. "So he wouldn't be here to kill just anybody?"

      "I guess not, but Rich--"

      "My God," Richard abruptly breathed. "Oh, my God."

      Donegal had never seen the  bowmaster so frightened, and they had

 faced death--and  worse--together so  many times that--  But Richard's

 blue eyes held terror, and  his face was corpse-grey. Donegal couldn't

 swear to  it, but he thought  the strong archer was  shaking. "What is

 it, Rich?"

      Richard didn't answer.  Face stony, Richard turned  slowly in the

 darkness  and began  to move  away as  if sleepwalking.  "Don't worry,

 Donegal. We won't let him take you."

      "Wait, Rich--"

      "Bowmaster?" Donegal shrank into the darkness as soon as he heard

 the voice; he  did not want that disguised priest  to see him. Richard

 turned to the  so-called bard. "Where is your friend?  I've never seen

 his like, except among the Beinison slaves."

      The  final word  had sent  Donegal  fleeing into  the night,  and

 Donegal had not seen Richard since  then. But he must have returned to

 the  tavern; Captain  Fynystere had  said that  Richard had  taken the

 "bard" back to the Eclipse--

      Donegal  groaned internally  and quickened  his already-sprinting

 pace. Sanar guard him, Donegal prayed. Alanna, guard him on your ship.

      The Red Tiger rushed ahead impatiently, and Donegal increased his

 speed with great effort. What am I doing? he wondered at himself. That

 priest could haul me back to Beinison--

      And hurl Richard into the grave.

      The  Red  Tiger   leapt  easily  onto  the   gang  plank,  turned

 expectantly,  and  waited  for  Donegal. "Go!"  he  breathed,  panting

 slightly. "Find  him." The  Red Tiger  seemed to  nod before  she sped

 away. Donegal tried to breathe deeply enough to shout, "Watch!"

      The  word came  out less  impressively than  Donegal wished,  but

 Morise of  Equiville, the  boatswain, heard. "Ev'nin',  leech," Morise

 greeted him casually. "Th' law on yir back?"

      "Richard!" Donegal huffed, trying to  slow and calm his breathing

 and his pounding heart. "Where is Richard?"

      "Th'  bowmaster's  b'low  decks  with a  bard  ir  sech,"  Morise

 supplied readily. "'E sings richt purty--"

      Donegal dashed for  the stairs and fell down them  noisily in his

 haste. "Rich!" Donegal rasped, throwing open the door to the officers'

 shared cabin.

      Empty, dark space stared back at him. Donegal grabbed the lintels

 for support.

      "Whaire's  th' fir',  Donegal?" Donegal  sprang into  the air  at

 Morise's words. "What's wrong wi' yir?"

      Donegal closed  his eyes tightly.  Richard could be in  that dark

 room, dead on the floor. How would  he know? How could he know without

 lighting the lamp--and giving that false bard time to leap out at him?

 Donegal took a deep breath and tried to think. How could he know where

 that false bard  and Richard were? "Where's the  bowmaster?" he panted

 again. "Morise--"

      "Cap'n's cab'n, I  think," Morise obliged, staring  at Donegal as

 if he were mad. "What's in yir, boy?"

      Donegal turned with all the energy  he had left and stumbled down

 the hall to the captain's quarters. Impatiently swinging her tail, the

 Red  Tiger  waited  at  the  captain's  door.  Donegal  swallowed  and

 attempted normal  breathing. He failed  miserably. "Has the  bard left

 yet?"

      "No' yet."

      Thank Sanar. Maybe  there was time left to  save Richard. Donegal

 staggered the  last few feet and  collapsed beside the Red  Tiger, who

 continued to scratch the captain's door impatiently.

      The  bard's sudden,  low laugh  chilled Donegal's  blood, and  he

 shivered. "Am I?" he said with a voice pleasantly evil.

      "Do  you  think I  don't  know  the  marks  of the  Masked  God's

 priests?"  Richard  challenged  with   even  confidence,  and  Donegal

 released a  momentous, grateful  sigh. "I'm  no stranger  to Beinison.

 I've seen your like before."

      "Come, be  logical," the pseudo-bard soothed,  and Donegal shook.

 "Why  would a  Beinison  priest  be here  in  Northfield--in an  enemy

 country, for Stevene's sake?"

      Donegal reached  for the  doorknob as  Richard emitted  a careful

 laugh. "Do you think using the Stevene's name will fool me? Or that it

 will distract me?" Richard returned, his voice suddenly filled with an

 inexplicable power  which made  Donegal shiver  in responsive  awe. "I

 know what you are, and I can guess why you're here."

      Donegal turned the doorknob  silently. Locked. Damn you, Richard!

 Didn't the man have better sense?

      "Why am  I here?" the bard  demanded, his voice sinking  into the

 frigid tones of the Masked God's priests. "Tell me, O bowmaster."

      "Where are the keys?" Donegal  hissed to Morise, who drew closer.

 "We've got to unlock this door."

      "None but the cap'n has  keys," Morise whispered loudly. Angry at

 his noise, Donegal chopped the air to silence him. "We can't get in."

      "There's got  to be  another set," Donegal  argued. "Rich  got in

 there somehow, and we've got to go in after him."

      "And what,  pray, makes  you think that?"  the fake  bard laughed

 coldly.

      "You revealed  it through  your carelessness,"  Richard answered,

 his voice still flowing with that new might. "It does not matter."

      The  bard  chuckled sinisterly.  Before  he  could speak,  Morise

 interrupted, "How're yir gonna get in thaire?"

      Donegal looked  at Morise, and  his mind raced.  "Porthole. Isn't

 there a porthole?"

      "Ne'er go through it, Donegal," Morise objected. "T' small."

      Richard's voice raised suddenly  without losing its control. "You

 will not kill the--"

      "Oooooh--"  someone  bellowed, and  Donegal  whirled  to see  the

 drunken captain  sway into the  hallway. Donegal motioned  sharply for

 Fynystere's silence,  but the captain  ignored him. "Ooooh,"  he began

 again, then  started to  sing a drunken,  bawdy ballad  with deafening

 tunelessness.

      "Then  you  will  die!"  the bard  shrieked.  Something  crashed.

 Donegal  heard  Richard  cry  out.  The  Red  Tiger  roared  in  angry

 helplessness.

      Donegal sprang  to his feet and  rushed at the captain.  "Give me

 the keys!" Donegal screamed. "Give me the keys!"

      The captain  staggered without hurry, singing  his ditty merrily.

 "Ooooh," he started the refrain again.

      Glass  shattered. Something  thudded against  the wall.  The bard

 snarled. Richard howled in pain, his power gone.

      "Give me the keys!" Donegal  shrieked, taking hold of Fynystere's

 shoulders and shaking him. Fynystere  fumbled in both pockets. The Red

 Tiger pawed the door anxiously. Something crashed again.

      "Rich!" Donegal called desperately.

      The bard laughed.

      Another thud. Fynystere fished the  iron key ring from somewhere.

 A heavy  object slid across  the floor  in the room  beyond. Donegal's

 shaking hands  searched the  keys. Above decks,  men were  running and

 calling. The world thundered in Donegal's ears. He shoved the key into

 the quivering lock and turned it.

      The   Red   Tiger  lunged   into   the   room,  distracting   the

 knife-wielding, gory bard who spun and smiled through the blood like a

 dragon. The blade rose. Donegal  charged into the false bard's embrace

 and cried out as they both fell. Metal clattered on the floor. The Red

 Tiger leapt and roared at the bard who reached for the knife. The bard

 shouted a curse.

      Suddenly, without willing  it, Donegal rolled onto  his back. The

 bard cried  out, and blood  spurted by Donegal's eyes.  Gleaming metal

 danced on the edge of Donegal's  eyesight. He reached--it was warm and

 slid in  his hand--  and when  it hit  home, Donegal's  wrist wrenched

 painfully.

      The bard collapsed onto Donegal's chest.

      Magic hands appeared from nowhere  to haul the bard off Donegal's

 body. The surgeon rolled toward  the Red Tiger, who stood protectively

 between the bard's  corpse and Richard's bloody  body. "Rich!" Donegal

 croaked.

      The bowmaster was still.

      Despairing, Donegal  staggered to  his feet  but crashed  when he

 slipped on  the blood.  Feebly, the  leech crawled  to his  friend and

 tried to  rip away the  gory shirt.  Even with it  obscuring Richard's

 chest, Donegal knew there were at least two wounds.

      By magic, Donegal's  medical bag appeared on his  lap, and voices

 buzzed around his head as he drew out his tools--

      "--Did you see Kitty? She nearly bit his hand clean off!"

      "--Wonder what the bowmaster was doing?"

      "--Ain't no bard can fight like that!"

      One  voice was  Morise's. "Stow  th'  trash, and  we'll heave  it

 t'morrir when  we set  sail. Can't  be lettin' 'm  know we's  killed a

 bard."

      "Water!" Donegal demanded. He was barely conscious of the gentle,

 thin hands  of Luen Half-Elven,  the youngest  of the crew,  setting a

 small cauldron and a pile of clean bandages near him. Richard's wounds

 were deep and dangerous, and Donegal could see nothing else.

      Luen's slender  fingers sponged away  the blood so  Donegal could

 see,  and the  frantic surgeon  groaned for  his friend's  life. Blood

 gushed from wounds. He tried to thread the needle with a quaking hand.

      Richard cried  out when  Luen touched  him, and  Donegal started,

 losing  the needle  completely.  "My brother,"  the bowmaster  moaned,

 thrashing. "My brother."

      "Hold him  down!" Donegal  shouted, and several  disembodied arms

 appeared to hold Richard still. Luen handed Donegal a threaded needle,

 and Donegal stitched.  Richard screamed his pain, but  was held still.

 Horror-struck and numb, Donegal stitched.

      And then it  was done. Richard lay still on  the floor, breathing

 shallowly  as his  patched  chest  rose and  fell.  There was  nothing

 Donegal could do but wait and pray and hope.

      Trembling,  Donegal  fell  against  a wall  and  finally  allowed

 himself to  think. "Rich, you're a  stupid ass," he choked.  "Attack a

 Masked God's priest."

      "Dead?" Richard  gasped, and  Donegal jumped. Sweat  peppered the

 bowmaster's forehead  and streaked his  bloody hair, but he  turned to

 Donegal. "Dead?"

      Donegal  pulled  himself  to  Richard's side.  "He's  dead,"  the

 surgeon  answered, cradling  his  friend's  head. Unexpectedly,  tears

 spilled from Richard's  blue eyes as they closed,  relieved. "What the

 hell did you think you were doing?"

      "My brother," the bowmaster  murmured, relaxing beneath Donegal's

 hands.  Richard's  eyes  opened   again.  "His  necklace...the  King's

 head...his necklace..."

      "What's he talking about?" Luen asked, sliding toward them.

      Donegal wasn't  too certain himself.  "Go tell Morise I  want the

 necklace that...bard was  wearing. Now," Donegal snapped  when the boy

 didn't move. As  Luen left, Donegal looked back at  Richard. "You're a

 god-damned fool, Rich."

      Richard shook his head weakly. "My brother..."

      "And you  may die  for it," Donegal  finished, his  voice rising.

 Balancing Richard's head on his  leg, the leech scrambled for bandages

 and began to wrap the wounds. "I told you he was an assassin. Why--"

      "My brother," Richard croaked.  "He said...something he said...he

 was going to kill my brother."

      Donegal  laughed nervously  and  tucked the  bandage  to keep  it

 fastened  securely. "Your  brother?  You've got  to  be kidding.  That

 priest was of the highest rank--" Donegal laughed again, frightened by

 the  unthinkable,  and  asked   thoughtlessly,  "Is  your  brother  so

 important?"

      Richard closed his eyes and nodded weakly. "Essential."

      Donegal shuddered. Who was Richard's  brother, that a High Priest

 of the Masked God was sent to deal with him?

      Good Sanar, who was Richard then?

      "Promise me."  Startled out  of his  fright, Donegal  looked down

 into Richard's pained blue eyes. "Promise me."

      "Anything, Rich," Donegal vowed,  watching blood seep through the

 bandages despite the fine stitching.

      "If I die--"

      "You won't die," Donegal  asserted stubbornly, suddenly unwilling

 to face the fact.

      Before Richard could  answer, Luen rushed in  again, panting, and

 gave Donegal the  necklace with the three pendants,  which the surgeon

 gave immediately to Richard. "Go  get me the healing potions," Donegal

 ordered sternly, "quick!" If Donegal  could get enough healing potions

 into him--special  healing that  the old leech  his master  had taught

 him--he could avoid a fever, increase  the healing, and give Richard a

 better chance at life.

      "And a sleeping potion?" Luen wondered, pausing at the door.

      Donegal nodded.  Richard might  need one, in  his pain.  But when

 Donegal looked down at his old friend, Richard was already asleep, the

 coin on the "bard"'s necklace clutched to his heart.

      In the hallway, Fynystere snored.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------

1                           Pact

                           part 2

                      by Max Khaytsus

         (b.c.k.a. <khaytsus@TRAMP.COLORADO.EDU>)

      "You did  what?" Kalen demanded,  shocked. Without waiting  for a

 more complete explanation, he jumped  out of bed and started dressing.

 He had had a bad feeling brewing in his stomach ever since his meeting

 with Kesrin. When  Ilona told him the news of  her evening trip, those

 fears came to life.

      Ilona stared at him from the bed, full of surprise. Where was the

 execution?  Kalen  had   never  reacted  this  way   to  her  personal

 investigations  before, but  something  was wrong  now  and there  was

 genuine fear in his eyes.

      "What's wrong?" Ilona asked.

      Kalen looked at Ilona, jamming  his tunic in his pants. Obviously

 his intentions did not include neatness. "Damn."

      But he did not look angry. He never really looked angry and Ilona

 could not recall  any rumors to that effect. None  the less, something

 was absolutely wrong.

      "Get dressed and go to the  guard house," Kalen told her. "I want

 two men watching Koren at all times."

      "What? What does he have to do with this?"

      Kalen pulled Ilona out of bed  and held her by her shoulders. His

 voice was low  and a bit excited.  "I didn't agree to  work for Liriss

 because a  part of the  deal was to have  me replace the  Captain. The

 only way for me to achieve the  position is to kill him. Liriss agreed

 to your proposal just because you're so  close to me. If he puts me in

 charge now, the  effect will be the same. Now  get dressed!" His voice

 rose only at the end.

      Ilona started dressing, too concerned  about what could happen to

 think about what she had done.  Kalen strapped on his belt and grabbed

 his sword. "Where are you going?"

      "The castle. I need to be sure nothing's happened yet." He kissed

 her quickly, missing her lips, but not making a second try in his rush

 to leave.

      Ilona was  dressed and ready  only moments after Kalen  had left.

 She grabbed her  scabbard and made for the door,  strapping the weapon

 on as  she hurried out. Only  now did she realize  the consequences of

 the decision she had made, but  now she was committed, as was everyone

 else. It was  not the decision she  would have made if  Kalen had told

 her everything, but what was done  was done. Hopefully they could turn

 this seeming mistake to their  advantage. If they could dismantle just

 a small part of the underground, it would be worth the risk.

      Under normal circumstances if the Captain was killed or even hurt

 due  to her  actions,  she would  have resigned  and  faced any  legal

 charges that would have been levied, but in this case she did not have

 the luxury  of giving up.  That made her  even more determined  to see

 everything through and to make the people responsible pay.

      Jerid Taishent tensely paced the  office of Duke Clifton Dargon's

 leading general, Captain Lansing Bartol. The Duke was off leading King

 Haralan's  fleet against  the  Beinison flotilla  that,  just a  month

 before, had attacked the town of Dargon, hoping to secure the Coldwell

 as an access  point deep into Baranurian lands, where  it could easily

 resupply the army moving up the Laraka towards Gateway. Captain Bartol

 himself was currently off in the southern portion of the duchy raising

 troops for the King's army, now struggling against the invading forces

 on the Laraka.

      With Captain Bartol gone, and all the other Ducal lieutenants out

 in various parts  of the Duchy helping with the  recruiting, Jerid was

 in charge of the castle and all the troops that were within his reach.

 The office was one of the luxuries of carrying such a responsibility.

      There were  certainly better things  to do  in the middle  of the

 night than pace an office, but something had happened. A page woke him

 up not long  ago, saying that a  man was caught committing  a crime in

 the keep itself. There  was more, but Jerid was not  in a condition to

 listen to long sentences  and the boy did not look  awake enough to be

 making them.  All that was made  clear was that the  crime was serious

 and Jerid's presence was required.

      Now  Jerid  waited  for the  man  to  be  brought  to him  to  be

 questioned, and Jerid did not know what questions to ask.

      A  knock sounded  on the  door and  a second  later three  guards

 entered. It took Jerid  a moment to realize that the  hands of the one

 in  the middle  were tied.  "Guralnik,"  he said  to the  only man  he

 recognized. With  the war on, the  staff was mixed right  and left and

 these days  it was perfectly  normal for him  to not recognize  a good

 half of the men.

      Guralnik stepped forward, his scabbard clanking against the metal

 greaves on  his outer leg.  "Sir, we caught  this man trying  to break

 into Captain  Koren's room. He  put up a  fight when we  first stopped

 him.  And he  had  these  on him,"  Guralnik  offered  Jerid items  he

 confiscated from the prisoner.

      "Is he  a member of  the Guard?" Jerid  asked. The last  thing he

 needed now was a break in. Worse yet, all he needed was one of his own

 men trying to kill the town's war hero.

      "He was hired  last week," Guralnik said, casting  his eyes down.

 The man was a new recruit.

      Jerid accepted the lockpick and the vial filled with green liquid

 from Guralnik  and examined them  closely. "Thank you,  Sergeant. When

 she wakes  up, have Elizabeth  examine the  potion. Have her  come see

 me...and send a message to Lieutenant Darklen or whoever is on duty."

      "Yes, Sir," Guralnik barked.

      "Have him  sit down,"  Jerid motioned  to the  tied man.  The two

 guards brought him to  a chair and forced him into  it. Jerid took the

 time to place the vial on the desk and returned to the prisoner. "What

 were you after?" he asked.

      The man did not respond, blankly staring at the wall.

      Jerid stepped between  the man and the crack he  was focusing on.

 "I asked you what you were doing."

      Again there was no answer.

      "Lock  him  up," Jerid  ordered.  He  was  not about  to  torture

 anybody, particularly with as little information as he had. He was not

 much for torture anyhow and the Duke  had a set policy on dealing with

 prisoners anyway.

      Watching  the guards  lead the  man out,  Jerid retreated  to the

 corner of  the room and  considered looking the  man's name up  in the

 file, but  he neither  had the name,  nor any idea  of where  the file

 would be. Keeping files up to date was the least of his concerns these

 days and men and  their records were hardly ever in  the same place at

 the same time.

      There was another knock at the door.

      "Enter."

      It opened and Kalen Darklen walked in, a guard on his heels.

      "Am I to  assume my man covered  a league both ways  in under ten

 minutes?" Jerid asked. He knew the answer.

      "Can we talk alone?" Kalen asked.

      "Leave us," Jerid told the guard.

      "Is the  room secured?" Kalen  asked when the man  left. Whatever

 brought him  here must have  weighted heavily on his  mind. Ordinarily

 this  question  was  left  for war  councils  and  strategic  planning

 sessions.

      "Better than the Duke's personal  quarters," Jerid said. "All the

 spiders report in at midnight."

      Kalen's  expression remained  grim. "I  just spoke  with Sergeant

 Guralnik. He told me what happened.  I don't want the prisoner to have

 contact  with anybody.  I'll have  him picked  up in  the morning  and

 interrogated by my men."

      "Hey, hey! Slow down. I've got  him locked up. He's got the whole

 cell block to himself. Why are you here in the middle of the night?"

      Kalen paced  nervously for a  moment, than  sat down in  a chair.

 "Yesterda y...night before last, I  received a proposition from Liriss

 to join the underworld. In exchange for my loyalty Captain Koren would

 be killed  and I  would get his  position. Shevlin..."  Kalen stopped,

 wondering  if Jerid  Taishent  was on  the  take. Anyone,  anywhere...

 "...Shevlin was  working for them  before he  was killed." He  was not

 going to  say a word about  Ilona's involvement just yet,  in order to

 keep it safe.  At least this way  she would not be  killed for telling

 him what she had done if Jerid  was bringing in extra pay from Liriss.

 "I had  a bad  feeling they  might try  to give  me some  incentive to

 accept anyway."

      Jerid nodded and picked up the  vial he placed on the table. "The

 man had this with  him. I'll have the healer test it  as soon as she's

 up."

      "What about security?"

      "The  door's  locked.  There  are guards  making  rounds  in  the

 corridors and  there are bars  on the window,"  Jerid did his  best to

 relieve Kalen's  fears. There really was  no reason to be  worried. No

 one  was going  to  get to  Captain Koren,  particularly  the man  who

 already tried it once.

      "Who has the keys?"

      "I do, the castellan has one and Elizabeth has a spare."

      "Do you object if I put my own guards here?"

      "I'll be  surprised if you can  spare them, but I  don't object,"

 Jerid answered.

      "So be it. Can you hold that man in isolation until morning?"

      "Yes."

      "I'll be back then."

      Jerid watched Kalen leave, then closed the drawer with the files,

 never having  found the right one.  He picked up the  confiscated vial

 and  left  the  office,  locking  the door  after  himself.  He  could

 understand  Kalen's fears.  The mob  was not  something to  be trifled

 with. Liriss was  a criminal with little respect for  law and life and

 could cover his tracks well.

      Having  left  the  vial  for the  Duke's  personal  physician  to

 examine, Jerid  returned to his  quarters, checking up on  Aimee along

 the way -- she was no longer  staying with his father -- and went back

 to bed.

      Ilona walked into the guard house and directly up to the guard at

 the desk.  The station was  almost deserted, the  way it had  been for

 some time. The  casualties taken during the  Beinison invasion reduced

 the available force  by half and the recruiting efforts  of a backward

 town out on the frontier were no match to what the Baranurian army was

 offering.

      "Yes, Ma'am?"  the guard asked,  surprised to  see her at  such a

 late -- or was it early -- hour.

      "I need two guards."

      The guard sputtered. "Everyone's on patrol, Lieutenant."

      Ilona looked  around in  disbelief. She knew  they were  short on

 staff, but not having anyone available  at all... For an emergency, no

 less. This emergency in particular.

      The door  to a back office  opened and Sergeant Cepero  came out,

 talking to a  young woman in a guard uniform.  "You!" Ilona pointed to

 the woman,  "and you," to  the guard at  the desk. "You're  going with

 me."

      Sergeant  Cepero  opened  his  mouth, apparently  trying  to  say

 something and not managing. "Isn't it a little late?" he finally said.

 "What are you doing?"

      "Lieutenant Darklen  needs two people immediately.  He'll explain

 when he gets here," Ilona said.  She realized that she was pulling the

 last of  the staff when  regulations required  that a minimum  of four

 people be on duty at the guard house at all times. But that regulation

 was made for desperate situations just like this and when it came down

 to worrying  about other  emergencies and the  Captain's life,  it was

 obvious which would take presidence.

      Both the young woman -- Ilona guessed that she was not much older

 than eighteen  -- and the other  guard watched her in  confusion, torn

 between which  of their superiors  to follow:  the one trying  to obey

 regulations or the one with the rank to ignore them.

      Cepero challenged Ilona. "This is  highly unusual. Coming here in

 the middle of the night, pulling  guards, and neither you, nor Darklen

 on duty."

      Ilona took  a piece of parchment  off the table the  guard sat at

 and  scribbled on  it. It  was some  document, but  she did  not care.

 "Here. The highest priority I can  authorize," she handed the paper to

 Cepero.  He could  not disobey.  He whispered  something to  the young

 woman, too quiet for Ilona to hear  and she announced she was ready to

 go.

      "My sister's youngest," Cepero explained. "Don't get her into any

 trouble."

      "Let's go," Ilona  said and the two guards followed  her out from

 under the Sergeant's reluctant stare.

      Kalen met  Ilona and the two  guards at the castle  gate and gave

 them their orders. He realized  they were young and inexperienced, but

 they were all that was currently  available and due to their age, more

 than likely  not asso ciated  with Liriss. He would  select additional

 people  he could  trust  during  the night  and  have  them posted  by

 morning.

      On  the way  home neither  Kalen, nor  Ilona said  anything, each

 thinking their own thoughts, planning out what they were to do next.

      The die  had been cast  and it was obvious  to Kalen that  he was

 committed to seeing this business  through. He wanted, desperately, to

 do something  about Kesrin's  offer when  it was  first made,  but the

 threat to Captain Koren's life held him back. He was glad that someone

 made the difficult  decision for him, permitting him  to challenge the

 crime that was running rampant in the  city. He wished it had not been

 Ilona who forced his  hand, but in a way it was his  own fault; he had

 not told her all that happened, so  she acted on what little she knew,

 just as he would have. His task  now was to keep the Captain alive and

 with a  shortage of manpower  it would perhaps  be the hardest  of all

 jobs.

      Ilona, next to him, could not help but feel a little worried over

 what she had done. It was her duty  to find out what was going on, not

 to  act on  information impulsively.  She  had not  thought about  the

 consequences. None  the less, it  was done and  she felt she  had only

 herself to blame.  She considered returning to Liriss  and telling him

 to forget it, but that was bound  to do little more than aggravate him

 and  perhaps make  matters worse.  She glanced  at Kalen,  but he  was

 oblivious to  the world, a  thoughtful expression spread on  his face.

 This was not the time to bother him with questions.

      "It's still dark," Kalen said suddenly.

      "Yes," Ilona agreed.

      "It's just been a few hours..."

      "Kalen, are you all right?" she grabbed hold of his arm, but then

 remembering his wound, released him. He did not react to what she knew

 was painful.

      "Get  Taishent. Bring  him to  Captain  Koren's room.  I have  an

 idea."

      Ilona watched  him run off,  back towards the castle,  then shook

 her head and followed him in.

      Kalen was almost out of breath by the time he made it to the room

 where  his Captain  was recovering  from his  wounds. There  were four

 guards present; the  two members of the town guard  that Ilona brought

 with her  and two castle  guards. They  stopped talking and  turned to

 face him,  his own subordinates  at attention,  the other two,  in the

 middle of their rounds, simply watching.

      "You," he called the young woman wearing the insignia of the town

 guard, "find the physician and bring her here. Wake her up if you have

 to. The  rest of you,  bring the assassin and  make sure no  one knows

 that you're doing so."

      They all rushed off.

      Kalen felt his shoulder, realizing  that the wound had once again

 come open and started bleeding. He held his hand over it for a moment,

 thankful that there was no pain yet and then took out his dagger and a

 long thin metal bar.  Using the two he bent at  the door and attempted

 to pick the lock. It required some doing in the darkened corridor, but

 he finally succeeded.

      It took Kalen some determination to  push the door open, but when

 he did, he had made up his mind to go through with his plan, no matter

 how  dangerous. He  hoped that  the things  he would  now do  could be

 justified by a satisfactory resolution in the days to come.

      "What the hell are you doing?" he heard Jerid's voice behind him.

 "Can't I even get some sleep around here without trouble cropping up?"

      "Step inside," Kalen said and let  Jerid and Ilona walk past him.

 His behavior was strange, but not as strange as it was going to get.

      Captain Adrunian Koren lay in  the large bed, faintly illuminated

 by the  dim torch light coming  in from the corridor.  His chest moved

 rhythmically up and down, but there was no sign of him being awake. In

 fact, Kalen  did not expect him  to be alert  for at least a  few more

 days, as  the healer's treatment required  the use of some  drugs that

 would concentrate all his bodily energies on regenerating his health.

      Kalen lit a candle and closed the door. "I'm going to give Liriss

 exactly what he wants," he said, placing the candle into a tray on the

 table.

      "What? You can't be serious!"

      Kalen had come to the decision  to trust Jerid. Jerid, the son of

 the mage Dyann  Taishent, had to be trustworthy based  on the fact who

 his father was. There was simply no way that affiliation with Dargon's

 crime lord would go unnoticed by the mage and knowing Dyann as well as

 he did, Kalen had  no doubt that Jerid could be  trusted. There was no

 way he could be involved.

      "Liriss wants to  kill Captain Koren to put me  in charge," Kalen

 said. "Then  he can use  Ilona to manipulate  me. He extended  her the

 same offer he did to me and I  thought it might be worth while to have

 her play along. I had the guards get the assassin. When they bring him

 in here, play along with what I do  and let me do all the talking. I'm

 going to try to convince him we already work for Liriss."

      "He'll never fall for it," Ilona protested.

      "We'll see. We're not losing anything for trying."

      Kalen started pacing back and  forth. "Jerid, you'll have to make

 me the Acting  Captain of the Guard because both  the Duke and Captain

 Bartol are  out. Ilona will have  to play along with  Liriss and maybe

 we'll get him this time. Him and all his men."

      "You're already the Acting Captain," Jerid protested.

      "Yes, but that's in light of the real Captain's pending recovery.

 I need..."

      Footsteps in the  corridor made Kalen stop speaking.  There was a

 knock at the door. Jerid, closest to it, opened it, letting two castle

 guards bring the assassin in.

      "Leave us," Jerid said and the two men left the room.

      "That was stupid of you," Kalen  walked up to the assassin. "Look

 at him," he gestured to the Captain lying on the bed. "He's as good as

 dead. I have the city and  Taishent commands the Ducal lands. What the

 hell are you  people doing?" Kalen emphasized his words  by giving the

 man a push with his good arm.

      The assassin's eyes grew wide with surprise.

      "Where the  hell did  you get  the idea that  you needed  to kill

 him?"  Kalen continued.  "If  he dies  now, and  by  poison, no  less,

 that'll point the finger of blame right at me. You're compromising the

 whole deal, not to mention my life!"

      "I..."

      "Who told you to do this?"

      "Uh..."

      Kalen  grabbed the  man  by the  neck and  slammed  him into  the

 nearest wall. "Who?! Kesrin? Ovink? Cissell?"

      "Lord Liriss. He ordered the death!"

      "Liriss? That rat  told me not to kill Koren  until he's well and

 can be had by a mugger!"

      "It was him, I swear!"

      With lightning speed  Kalen pulled his dagger and  thrust it into

 the assassin's chest. Jerid grabbed Kalen's arm and spun him around as

 the assassin collapsed to the floor.

      "What the  hell are you doing?"  His own dagger was  out, flat of

 the blade against Kalen's cheek.

      Ilona, who  had bent down  to check if  the man was  still alive,

 stood up, unsure whose side to take.

      "If he lives, they'll know he  failed and I need him to succeed,"

 Kalen let out a sigh. His shoulder  wound started to throb and he knew

 he could not fight  Jerid. "This way we can say  he was successful and

 was himself killed by the guards."

      "He's dead," Ilona  announced. "No need to discuss what  we do if

 he's alive."

      "But Captain Koren is alive," Jerid argued. "Word will get out."

      "There are catacombs under the castle, aren't there?"

      Jerid  replaced  his dagger  and  stepped  away from  Kalen.  "Of

 course, but they're sealed off. A  few months ago that crazy mage Cefn

 and that guard that used to work for you broke in there..."

      "I remember  her," Ilona said.  "Je'lanthra'en. She came  up from

 Magnus, trained with Sir Morion before joining the guard."

      "And then  she and the  mage disappeared after starting  that big

 fire on the wharf," Jerid added.

      Kalen nodded grimly.

      "Of course!"  Jerid exclaimed.  "We can hide  the Captain  in the

 catacombs."

      "And there are only four guards who know the truth, so we can put

 them on  duty there,"  Kalen added. "I've  sent for  Elizabeth. She'll

 also need to know."

      "I don't know about pulling that many guards," Jerid protested.

      "We'll need  the guards now that  the Guild is after  the Captain

 and these four already know the situation, or at least part of it."

      "For now," Jerid agreed reluctantly.

      "And have the Captain moved before sunrise, so no one knows."

      "What are you going to do?"

      Kalen paused. Everything would have  to be done to appear normal.

 "Ilona and I  will spend the night together, just  like we intended to

 in the first place."

      Kalen  and Ilona  left the  castle soon  after leaving  the final

 instructions for the  physician. The trap was set, now  waiting to see

 its prey.

      "Should I contact Liriss again?" Ilona asked.

      "No need.  He'll come to  you. Just  don't be surprised  that the

 Captain was  killed and agree  to provide information in  exchange for

 information  from them."  Kalen slid  his arm  around her  waist. "And

 above all,  be careful and  no heroics.  We're not losing  anything by

 trying this. Let's keep it that way."

      "I'll check with you before all my heroics," Ilona smiled.

      "You do that.  If we do this  wrong, it could get  worse than the

 war. In this one we won't know who's on which side."

      "It'll be all right," Ilona assured him.

      "I know,"  he agreed, but  to himself  he wondered how  crazy his

 idea was and how many people would get killed if he went wrong. But at

 the same time  he felt it was  a risk that needed to  be taken. Liriss

 had long  been getting out of  hand. Just before the  war started, the

 mob became restless. The upper class started taking a beating from the

 criminals;  known  brigands and  street  thieves  were found  dead  in

 groups; at least one body was fished  out of the sea each morning; two

 or  three  shops  burned  every  month.  It was  as  if  there  was  a

 territorial conflict  and it was  spilling out  all over the  city. If

 nothing else, Kalen was sure of one  thing, this had to stop, or there

 would not be much of a city for the Duke to return to.

      Kalen again  squeezed Ilona's  waist tightly  with his  good arm.

 "Just be careful."

      "You already said that," she looked at him.

      "I meant it. You're the closest thing I have to a family."

      "And you still don't want to get married?"

      "If we get married, people will expect children and I'm not ready

 for that. Not during a war, of all times."

      The knocking at  the door grew more insistent  as Kalen hurriedly

 pulled his  pants on. Ilona sat  up in bed, arms  folded, watching him

 stumble about, a faint smile on her face.

      Kalen grabbed her  clothes off the chair and tossed  them at her.

 "Get moving." He rushed to the  front room, tunic in hands, and pulled

 open the door. "Yes?"

      It was  still night outside  and a town guard,  breathing heavily

 and sweating hard from a long run, stood at the door.

      "Sir, Captain Koren has been killed!"

      "What?"  The shocked  reaction was  easy. For  just one  horrible

 instant Kalen believed  that he had made a mistake  and another killer

 succeeded where  the first had  failed. He pulled himself  together as

 the guard repeated the report.

      "Captain Koren was killed in his sleep by an assassin. Lieutenant

 Taishent sent word just minutes ago."

      Kalen started  pulling the  tunic he  had in  his hands  over his

 head, careful of his shoulder wound. "Who did it?"

      "I don't know, Sir. The messenger didn't say."

      "Does Sergeant Cepero know?"

      "No, Sir. He's out on patrol at the south gate."

      Ilona appeared behind Kalen. "What's  happened?" She did not need

 to pretend to be sleepy, tired as she was.

      "Something's happened to the Captain,"  Kalen said. "I have to go

 to the  castle. You get to  the guard house and  keep everything quiet

 until we know for sure."

      Concern was all over Ilona's face.

      "Just do it," Kalen stepped around her. He picked up his belt and

 sword off the table. "Stay there until I come or send word."

      He  paused long  enough to  sloppily kiss  her on  the cheek  and

 rushed off.

      Ilona looked at  the guard waiting for her and  sighed. "I'll get

 my blade."

      Kalen took the castle stairs three and four at a time, rushing to

 Captain  Bartol's office,  which  was currently  being  used by  Jerid

 Taishent. He  burst in,  almost without knocking,  practically running

 down the Duke's new physician.

      Elizabeth  of  the Pass  was  a  tall  blond  woman in  her  late

 thirties. She folded  her arms and glared at Kalen,  not moving out of

 his way.

      "If you get  hurt tonight, Lieutenant," she said in  an icy tone,

 "it may just be by my hand."  Obviously she did not approve of what he

 and Jerid were doing.

      Kalen  side-stepped her,  only to  come  face to  face with  Rish

 Vogel, who  hurried out of his  way. The old chronicler  was a problem

 Kalen never  considered, but now,  if played right, Rish  could become

 the only, and the most credible, witness he would ever need.

      "What's  happened?" Kalen  demanded, finally  getting to  see his

 castle counterpart.

      Jerid was  calm. "A few hours  ago an assassin made  his way into

 Captain  Koren's room  and  killed  him. A  passing  guard caught  the

 assassin and killed him in a struggle."

      "Wasn't  the  door  locked?  Where was  the  door  guard?"  Kalen

 demanded,  hoping Jerid  was  ready for  an improvised  interrogation.

 Everything had to look and sound right.

      "The lock  was picked and  there was no  guard. Just the  one man

 assigned to the floor."

      "One man?" Kalen bellowed. "Adrunian  Koren is the highest law we

 have in town and you put one man on the floor?!"

      "I know!"  Jerid shouted back. "I  know and I'll have  to explain

 all of this to the Duke when he gets back. We're stretched so thin now

 that I couldn't even afford that one man." His voice dropped off as he

 finished.

      Kalen scowled.

      "Look, it happened!  We just have to deal with  it now, no matter

 how we  feel about it.  I'm ready  to take the  blame, but we  have to

 solve this first."

      Something clanked and both men looked over at Rish who sat at the

 desk, busily  scribbling away on a  sheet of parchment, a  tipped over

 bottle of ink by his hand, spilling  dark liquid on the surface of the

 table and staining his arm and sleeve.

      Jerid took a  deep breath and slowly let it  out. "You're already

 the acting guard captain. We'll hold  a ceremony to reaffirmed it this

 afternoon. Clifton will have to make a final ruling when he returns."

      Kalen sank  down into a chair,  rubbing his face as  if trying to

 convince himself this was not a  dream. He looked up at Elizabeth. "Is

 he...?"

      The physician was not much of  an actress, but she nodded grimly.

 "He was poisoned.  I couldn't save him. The assassin  died from a stab

 wound to the chest."

      "I  want to  know who  that man  was working  for," Kalen  warned

 Jerid.

      "I already have men working on it," Jerid answered.

      Kalen sat in  what officially used to be  Captain Koren's office,

 studying the roster of guards and  what what they admitted about their

 pasts. He  was hoping  to find  some tell-tale  event or  slip-up that

 would  indicate shady  character, but  half way  through the  stack he

 still  had  not  found  any  real  evidence  of  false  documentation.

 Everything  available was  consistent and  true,  as far  as he  could

 determine.

      Tossing the latest file to be examined on the floor, Kalen leaned

 back in  his chair.  He had  been at it  all day,  trying to  find any

 problem people under his command, like  the one that attempted to kill

 the Captain. Instead he was rewarded with eight hours of lost time and

 a splitting headache.

      Shortly after noon  he was reaffirmed as the Captain  of the Town

 Guard, in view of Captain  Koren's untimely demise and pending Clifton

 Dargon's  final appointment  of  him  to the  post.  It  was a  small,

 semi-official gathering,  since he was  already the Acting  Captain of

 the Town Guard due to his  superior's war injuries. A few minor nobles

 and bureaucrats were  invited to be witnesses. A  priest helped Jerid,

 the highest  ranking representative of  the Duke's personal  guard, to

 conduct the ceremony.  By the time Kalen returned to  the guard house,

 the city was buzzing with the news of Captain Koren's death.

      The plan was  slowly coming together, but the trap  was yet to be

 set off.  For now  he only hoped  the secret could  be kept  and Ilona

 would not run into too much danger.

      Rish Vogel fumbled with the large key ring he had stolen from the

 castellan who  had fallen asleep  in a large  chair in the  great hall

 right after dinner.  It was a simple  matter to slip it  off his belt.

 There were  literally dozens of  different keys  on the ring  and Rish

 hurried to open  the door before the guard would  pass this way again.

 It took a dozen or so attempts, but Rish was finally rewarded with the

 sound of the turning tumblers and the screech of the opening bolt.

      Pocketing the keys,  Rish stepped into the room where  just a day

 ago the now  dead Captain of the  Town Guard slept. He  never knew the

 man personally, but  had met once or twice in  official capacity, with

 the large, powerfully built soldier  with silver-grey hair and a bushy

 walrus mustache that made it seem as if he was always smiling, even in

 times of crisis.

      Adrunian  Koren  had   been  with  the  town   guard  for  almost

 twenty-five years, in which time he progressed from a rookie guardsman

 to the  Captain of the  town militia and one  of the closest  aides to

 Lord  Clifton  Dargon. His  death  was  a  strong  blow to  the  city,

 especially after  his successful  defense against the  Beinison fleet.

 This was as large an event as  the deaths of Fionn and Roisart Connall

 just a year ago and very bad for morale during the war.

      The chronicaller pushed the door  shut behind himself and studied

 the room from where he was. It  was large and bright from beams of the

 setting sun.  The bed remained unmade,  a chair lay overturned  on the

 floor and in a corner was a pool of dried blood.

      Rish pretended  he was the assassin.  He walked from the  door to

 the bed, poured  the vial of poison into the  sleeping man's mouth and

 made him swallow. The physician Elizabeth  said it would require a few

 minutes to take effect. Would the assassin stay?

      Rish decided he would.

      So the  assassin stayed.  Rish took  a few  deep breaths  to time

 himself, all the  while looking around. The chair and  the blood stain

 were at opposite ends of the room. Was there a struggle?

      Satisfied  that his  victim was  dead, Rish  walked to  where the

 overturned  chair lay  by the  window.  Was this  a way  out? Had  the

 assassin thought to use the window to leave unnoticed and tripped over

 the chair?  The window opened  to the courtyard.  Not a way  to escape

 during day  or night, with  guards and  keep residents passing  in and

 out. And  there was no  trace of a  struggle. All other  furniture and

 decorations seemed to be in their  proper places. A ceramic vase stood

 peacefully on the window table right next to the chair. So why was the

 chair overturned? The old chronicler got down on the floor to look for

 drops of blood. None. Just the big puddle in the opposite corner.

      Rish scratched his  head. Something was missing. He  lit a candle

 to  compensate  for the  settling  darkness,  although he  knew  Jerid

 ordered nothing to be disturbed, and  pulling out his quill and a roll

 of  parchment,  sat down  at  the  table in  the  room  to record  his

 findings.

      Ilona  Milnor stood  on the  second  floor balcony  of the  guard

 house, looking  into the darkness of  the street below. The  night was

 cloudy and dark,  dark enough that she could not  see the ground below

 the balcony.  The air was calm  and heavy, just like  before a violent

 summer thunderstorm.

      She pulled her  cloak tightly around herself, trying  to ward the

 chilly night air away. The night before she visited Liriss to make the

 deal and  now had her  doubts about it.  Liriss acted promptly  on his

 plans to  put Kalen in  charge and now her  heart was heavy  with even

 more doubts than before. Would the next attempt be made on Kalen?

      She saw a young boy walk down the street and was about to yell to

 him about  violating the  curfew, but  seeing him  head for  the guard

 house door  did not. She  watched him  until he disappeared  below the

 balcony and then  seeing the light from the opened  door decided to go

 down. She met a guard half way down the stairs, on the landing between

 floors.

      "This was just  delivered for you, Lieutenant," he  offered her a

 fist sized box of plain wood.

      "By whom?" She took it.

      "A young boy."

      Ilona pushed past the guard down  the stairs and ran to the door.

 The boy  was gone  and the  street was empty  in both  directions. She

 waited until a flash of  lightning illuminated the street, then walked

 back to the door, where the guardsman waited.

      "I can go look for him," the man offered.

      "Don't bother," she sighed. "The intent was obviously for him not

 to meet me. I'll be upstairs."

      Ilona  did not  open the  box until  she was  in Captain  Koren's

 office with the door firmly closed behind her. Only after sitting down

 did she permit  herse lf to lift  the case's lid. In it,  settled in a

 velvet  lined cradle,  lay a  sparkling g  em, clear  even in  the dim

 candle light. As she took it out, a note fell to the floor.

      It read: 'You're well on your way. Liriss.'

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------

1     (C)    Copyright   November, 1991,   DargonZine,   Editor    Dafydd

 <White@DUVM.BitNet>. All rights revert to the authors. These stories may

 not be reproduced or redistributed (save  in the case of reproducing the

 whole 'zine for further distribution)  without the express permission of

 the author involved.