DargonZine Volume 5, Issue 4 10/15/92

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 --   DargonZine Volume 5, Issue 4        10/15/92          Cir 1130   --

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 -- Archives at FTP.EFF.ORG (192.88.144.4) in pub/journals/DargonZine  --

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 --                            Contents                                --

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  Pact VI                      Max Khaytsus           Yuli 17-19, 1014

  Beginnings                   Max Khaytsus and

                               Michelle Brothers      Mertz - Sy 5, 1015

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1                                 Pact

                                 part 6

                            by Max Khaytsus

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

      "Sergeant, sergeant!" a female voice echoed down the corridors of

 the catacombs beneath Dargon Keep.

      Aimee, looking around the maze she was in, turned and bolted. Did

 someone see  her? What happened? She  ran into the first  dark doorway

 she saw and hid in the corner of the room.

      "Sergeant!"  The  female  guard  ran past  Aimee's  room  without

 slowing down.

      Aimee made herself as small as  she could, hoping the woman would

 not come back and find her.  Long moments passed with Aimee not moving

 from her hiding place, not even daring to breathe, then she heard more

 footsteps as people ran back down the corridor.

      "Are you sure?" she heard the Sergeant's voice.

      "Sure seemed  like he  was. And just  like Elizabeth  said, too,"

 Altura answered. "I didn't wait around to see. Arellano is still there

 in case something happens."

      "You best go get the physician, then," the sergeant answered.

      Through the doorway to the room  she was hiding in, Aimee saw the

 female guard hurry towards the stairs  leading out of the dungeon. The

 sergeant's  heavy  footsteps  could  be heard  heading  in  the  other

 direction.  As soon  as all  was  quiet, Aimee  snuck up  to the  open

 doorway and looked into the  corridor. She desperately wanted to leave

 the dungeon, thinking Altura would leave open the door into the castle

 hallways, but instead,  impulsively, turned the other  way, heading in

 the wrong direction,  wanting to see what had  happened that Elizabeth

 had to be called.

      Keeping as  quiet as  she could, Aimee  carefully snuck  down the

 corridor  after  Sergeant Guralnik,  towards  the  room where  Captain

 Koren's body lay resting.

      Dyann Taishent angrily slung a handful  of mud into a clay jar on

 the table  before him. The  vessel shifted  away from him,  making the

 cooks in the kitchen turn and look.

      "Careful, careful,"  Corambis tutted. "You know  what will happen

 if Madam Sepagary sees you treat her dishes that way."

      "I'll seal her mouth  shut with clay if she so  much as thinks of

 opening it!" Dyann snapped.

      Thuna,  watching the  two men  work  and helping  them when  they

 needed something, let out a laugh.

      "What  is  it, girl?"  Corambis  asked.  His assistant  had  been

 unusually quiet all morning, after the failure the night before.

      "I'm sorry,  sir, but I  can just imagine Madam  Sepagary serving

 the Duke with her mouth full of clay."

      Corambis and  Dyann both chuckled  at that, but the  mage's laugh

 quickly disappeared, replaced by a grim expression.

      "Don't worry,  we'll find her,"  Corambis assured him.  "This has

 never failed before."

      "Last time we did this, it blew the top off old Sweeny's tower!"

      "That was  his own  fault," Corambis said.  "Anyone who  keeps so

 much dung around and plays with fire is asking for it to happen."

      A laugh escaped Dyann's lips. "Oh, that expression on his face!"

      Corambis also  laughed. "But  then the  other spell  never failed

 either," he added thoughtfully.

      "I've been thinking about that," the mage admitted.

      "And are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Corambis asked.

      Dyann nodded.  "That would explain the  mutt's new habits...let's

 take a look before we start blowing doors off hinges."

      "Well, at least one door,"  Corambis said. "Thuna, repack the ash

 and the spirits of hart's horn. We'll be back soon."

      Long before  Aimee could  get her  courage up  to enter  the room

 where the  guards were,  she heard hurried  footsteps in  the corridor

 behind  her and  darted into  the  room across  from the  one she  was

 looking in. From across the corridor,  she could still hear the guards

 talking  quietly  in   the  second  room,  now   overshadowed  by  the

 approaching footsteps and female voices.

      "...Lieutenant Taishent both know, but  I want to be sure first,"

 the physician said.

      "He didn't say anything," Altura  answered, "but we really didn't

 wait. Sergeant Guralnik bid me to find you immediately."

      Aimee watched the two women  enter the room and disappear inside.

 She waited  for a while, then  not seeing anyone exit,  snuck into the

 room to see what was happening.

      "...healed  over pretty  well," the  physician commented,  "but I

 don't want you going  anywhere. A few more days of  rest will have you

 solidly on your feet."

      Aimee carefully snuck up to the doorway and peeked in. The guards

 were once again gathered around the Captain's bed.

      "There will  be a scar," the  physician went on, "but  I can give

 you some salve to clear that  up. It won't disappear, though. That was

 a pretty big gash."

      "A  soldier  isn't a  soldier  without  scars, doctor,"  Sergeant

 Guralnik said.

      "Well, I  don't know  about you or  the Captain  here," Elizabeth

 said, "but I know most women prefer men whole." She looked down again.

 "It's really  up to you. I'm  just offering you  what I think to  be a

 good solution."

      Who was  she talking to? Aimee  edged forward a little  more, her

 curiosity getting the better of her.

      "Why am I  in the catacombs?" a weak, but  deep voice sounded. It

 was the voice of Captain Adrunian Koren!

      Aimee gasped,  realizing as  she did  so that  she had  given her

 presence away.  The four guards  and the physician turned  towards her

 and between them she spotted  Captain Koren's face, eyes open, looking

 at her.

      Aimee took a  step back, tripping over something at  her feet and

 falling over backwards. A loud yip sounded as she fell to the floor.

      "I tell you that door has been  closed for over a year!" the keep

 castellan declared,  hands on  his hips. "The  Duke ordered  it locked

 ever since that thief broke into the vault!"

      "Open that door now, you tub of lard, or I'll give you a hex free

 of charge!" Dyann demanded of the large man.

      "`Tub o'  lard'? You old windbag!  I'll show you a  tub of lard!"

 The castellan stepped forward, pushing the old mage back with his huge

 stomach.

      "Castellan,"  Corambis   pushed  the   two  arguing   men  apart.

 "Castellan, if you don't open this door for us, we'll take it by force

 and  then  instead of  replacing  the  key  on  your belt,  you'll  be

 replacing the  door on its  hinges. Do what will  be right for  all of

 us."

      The castellan grumbled.

      "Please," Corambis insisted. "We just  need to look around. We'll

 be quick."

      Karl darted out of the way with a yelp as Aimee fell over him and

 quickly scrambled up to her feet.

      The  six  people in  the  other  room  stared  at the  girl  with

 astonishment. None of  them expected her to be here  and for a moment,

 no one knew what to do.  The girl quickly scrambled up and disappeared

 from site.

      "After  her!" Guralnik  was the  first to  recover and  the three

 younger guards charged out of the room, after the girl they knew to be

 lost. Her seeing Captain Koren mattered in  that no one was to know he

 was alive and she could ruin the entire plan of eliminating crime from

 Dargon.

      "What is going on?" Koren groaned, trying to sit up.

      "Don't exert yourself, Captain," Elizabeth forced him to lay back

 down.

      "Sir, there's been a lot that happened in the last month..."

      "The war? How's the war?"

      "Dargon is safe,  Sir. We ran them all off!  The Duke even chased

 them."

      For a moment Koren smiled. "And the Southern Marches? The eastern

 boarder?"

      "Captain, you need to rest!"  Elizabeth cut in, stopping Guralnik

 from revealing the bad news.

      "Perhaps it would  be better if one of your  own men briefed you,

 or perhaps Lieutenant Taishent," the sergeant caught on.

      Koren nodded. "Did Darklen make it?"

      "Yes, Sir."

      "And Azin? Shevlin? Milnor?"

      "Lieutenant Milnor is all right, Sir," Guralnik said, "Lieutenant

 Azin is with the Duke's  forces...Lieutenant Shevlin..." He glanced at

 the physician, but went on. "Lieutenant  Shevlin held the West Gate to

 the last man. I'm sorry, Sir. He didn't live to see us drive the enemy

 away."

      Koren  nodded with  a  sigh, his  expression  grim. "And  Lansing

 Bartol?"

      "He's well."

      "Have Kalen come  see me if you  refuse to let me  get up," Koren

 told Elizabeth.

      "I'll pass  on the message,"  the physician said, not  having the

 intention of  saying anything  to the  lieutenant for  at least  a few

 days. "Send for me if you need anything."

      "Before you go," Koren  added, preventing Elizabeth from leaving,

 "tell me why that girl was being chased."

      The castellan fumbled  with his keys until finding  the right one

 and inserted it in the lock. "Just to show you no one ever goes here,"

 he complained, twisting the key in  the door. "Why, even I haven't set

 foot  in here  since winter  and the  only other  key's in  the Duke's

 study. Look!"

      The  door swung  open  to  reveal a  corridor  lit with  torches,

 alternating on the opposing walls. The  dust was disturbed with a well

 defined trail.

      "No one, eh?"  Dyann snapped. "I knew that mutt  kept coming here

 for a reason!"

      The castellan angrily removed a torch from its sconce and hurried

 down the corridor. "We'll just see who's been here!"

      Aimee ran down  the lit corridor as quickly as  she could manage,

 with Karl right on her heels,  jumping and barking loudly. Behind them

 Aimee could  hear the  running feet  of the guards.  She did  not even

 think to  run into  one of the  dark rooms or  side tunnels.  Not only

 could she get lost there, but Karl's insistent barking would only help

 the guards find  her faster. She did  not know what she  would do upon

 reaching the  heavy oak  door, or if  it would even  be open,  but she

 could always kick and scream and maybe someone on the other side would

 hear her and tell her father.

      Aimee breathlessly scrambled up  the stairs, almost tripping over

 Karl. She could hear the guards not  far behind her. She darted out of

 the corridor,  now running  after the  puppy, looking  for a  place to

 hide.  As  she   turned  the  corner,  she  spotted   three  men,  her

 grandfather, one  of his friends  and the castle castellan.  All three

 stood astonished, looking at her.

      "Grandfather!" she wheezed, breathless from her run and dashed to

 hide  behind him.  Right  on her  heels the  three  guards turned  the

 corner.

      The  old  mage held  his  granddaughter  behind  him and  took  a

 confident step forward. "What do  you want from my granddaughter?" His

 words boomed in the corridor.

      "You  know," Ilona  said to  Captain  Koren, "you  and Kalen  are

 equally pig headed! Like you came  from the same mold!" Their wait for

 the others to arrive was taking longer than either of the two expected

 and Ilona decided to  use this as an opportunity to  take care of some

 unfinished business.

      The guard captain laughed. "How so, Lieutenant?"

      "Kalen was injured in the war," she told him, "and now he doesn't

 want to take the time to let that damn wound heal!"

      Koren laughed. "I remember just over ten years ago bandits set up

 camp four or five leagues south of  town and were exerting a road toll

 from caravans  and travellers. Kalen  was just a rookie  then. Captain

 Tamar Armstrong was the head of the guard -- it was a few years before

 he went to serve as a general in the King's army -- and he sent me and

 some men, including Kalen, to break that band up..."

      The  Captain  fell silent  as  Elizabeth  walked into  the  room,

 followed by Kalen and  Jerid. "Didn't I tell you to  stay in bed?" she

 demanded.

      "I've stayed  in that  bed for a  month!" Koren  snapped. "Wounds

 heal better when they know they need to heal."

      "I'll have  a sleeping potion mixed  in with your food  next time

 you eat," the physician threatened.

      "Kalen," Koren ignored  the physician, "have you  ever told Ilona

 of your first great adventure?"

      "When I  was two?" Kalen  looked a  bit shocked that  the Captain

 would remember a story told at a party where everyone had a little too

 much to drink. He fought back a slight flush that covered his face.

      "No, in the guard!"

      "I haven't, Sir," he wiped his brow with his sleeve.

      "Well, do and get those wounds tended to."

      "Wounds?" Elizabeth turned to Kalen.

      "Don't you touch me," he warned her.

      "Did you two get everything straightened out?" Koren asked Jerid.

      "We did, Sir,"  he said. "Aimee found the door  open, wandered in

 and got locked in here. I  should have thought to check the catacombs.

 That is just like her."

      Koren chuckled. "I can understand her  fright when she saw me not

 moving. I'd have run, too, if I were her age."

      "All's  well that  ends well,"  Jerid said.  "Next time,  I hope,

 she'll be smarter than going where she shouldn't be. That scare was so

 bad for  her, I won't  even punish her for  being irresponsible...even

 though I should."

      "Good," Koren approved. "Now, about Liriss."

      Everyone pulled up a chair and sat down around the Captain, ready

 to plan.

      "Jerid, I want  you to extend your patrols to  the docks. I don't

 want a single ship to leave before we're finished."

      "You can be sure of that, Sir," the castle Lieutenant answered.

      "You, Ilona,"  Koren went on,  "I want  you to secure  the market

 place when Kalen  takes Liriss' hold. That way we'll  cut off the best

 way out of town."

      "Sir, if  I may,  I'd rather  be there as  it happens.  With your

 permission, I'd like to have Caisy do that job."

      Koren thoughtfully twisted his mustache.  "Let's get back to that

 in a moment.  Kalen, I want that building surrounded  and broken into.

 Use all the force you can. This is an excuse to kill criminals without

 having to  answer for it. Anyone  who doesn't yield when  told doesn't

 get a second chance, clear?"

      "Yes, Sir."

      "And since  Kesrin is willing to  turn evidence, try to  take him

 alive, but if that doesn't happen, I won't be too concerned.

      "Elizabeth, I'll  need to  rely on  you to  doctor my  people. We

 simply don't have  the manpower to do everything. I'll  need my medics

 in the raid itself. I want you and what physicians and healers you can

 scrounge  up to  be ready  and  close by.  Stay with  the patrols  and

 they'll bring you in when it's time."

      Kalen looked at Elizabeth, expecting her to protest the plan, but

 she did not  say a word. In a  way, Kalen hoped that he  could avoid a

 mass slaughter  and he knew  that in  an ideal situation,  his captain

 would have wanted the same, but he also realized how understaffed they

 were and how important it was to end the criminal reign over the city.

 Perhaps Elizabeth knew it as well  and held her tongue for that reason

 alone.

      "Now," Koren turned  back to Ilona, who waited  for his decision.

 He had no doubts that she was among the best officers he ever had, but

 he needed to hear her reasons and push her a little, to see if she was

 willing to push back. "Ilona, any reasons?"

      Ilona  did not  answer for  a few  moments, putting  her thoughts

 together. "Captain, I'm a Dargon town  guard," she said. "I want to be

 there because that's my  job. That's what I signed on  to do. I'm here

 to  protect, not  be protected.  Isn't it  enough you  barred me  from

 fighting in the war?"

      "Your efforts were  important where they were  applied," he said.

 "Elizabeth tells me you were invaluable."

      "But you  put me in the  keep so that  I wouldn't be hurt  in the

 fighting!"

      Koren smiled. "Yes, I did. It was  both for you and Kalen. One of

 you  worried was  enough.  I  couldn't afford  to  have  both of  your

 performances affected."

      "Then overlook that I'm a woman this time," Ilona asked.

      Koren shifted in  his bed. "I understand you're on  the take with

 Liriss?"

      "Of course,"  the Lieutenant smiled  back. "He's been  sending me

 jewelry." A few of the gathered laughed.

      "Kalen, how  injured are  you?" the Captain  asked his  second in

 command, ignoring the laughter.

      "I'm fine, Sir."

      "Fine like me?"

      Kalen did not answer.

      "I want you to take charge  of the market square," Koren decided.

 "Ilona will lead  the raid. And after  you're done, I want  you to see

 Elizabeth. I  may be as  stubborn as  a mule when  it comes to  my own

 health, but I'm smart enough not to risk my best people needlessly."

      Ilona  waited patiently  until all  of the  twenty people  in the

 raiding party gathered  in the alley. They had  surprised two brigands

 here and took  them prisoner with minimal resistance. Now  they lay on

 the  ground,  tied,  waiting  until  the raid  was  completed,  to  be

 transported to  the guard house.  It would be  a great success  if the

 rest of the raid went as smoothly.

      Looking  around in  the darkening  alley, Ilona  wondered if  she

 should wait until it was completely dark, but not wanting to waste too

 much time. Each  minute she and the  guards were here was  a risk that

 they would be  noticed from inside the building.  The sergeants slowly

 gathered around her, waiting for instructions.

      "Caisy,"  Ilona turned  to the  man  next to  her, "first  floor,

 straight  through. Hold  the rear  stairs  and the  exits. Tess,"  she

 turned to the  tall red-headed sergeant that could put  fear into most

 men she fought. "Second floor. No  risks. As soon as you're done, back

 Caisy."

      "Yes, Ma'am."

      "Garay, Streed  and DaVrice, you're  with me. Go easy  on Kesrin,

 but bring  everyone in.  The third  floor is the  only place  I prefer

 prisoners to bodies. Everyone clear?"

      All the guards nodded.

      Ilona signaled for  Caisy to begin and two of  the Sergeant's men

 quickly broke down the door. Caisy led his small group in, followed by

 Tess' larger unit.

      "Go," Ilona nodded  to the three guards remaining  with her. They

 went in and, drawing her sword, Ilona followed.

      The building was dark inside, not  yet lit to accommodate the the

 setting  of  the sun.  The  first  floor  corridor was  mostly  empty,

 although sounds of a fight could  be heard from further down, where it

 took a turn. Caisy  and his men secured a good  half of the building's

 first floor and were now working at the other end of the corridor.

      Ahead of Ilona, her team's heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.

 Not wanting to let opportunity slip by, Ilona quickly followed them up

 the stairs.  As she passed the  murky second floor, she  heard someone

 yell "archer", but  there were already plenty of people  on this floor

 to take care of the problem and she had a job to do one floor up.

      Hoping that the alarm would be  taken care of by the men assigned

 to the floor, Ilona continued up the stairs.

      The  instant  the outside  door  cracked  and swung  open,  Caisy

 followed his men into the building.  They both paused to fight the two

 brigand guards at  the door and he ran past  them, towards the stairs.

 The flood of  men that followed through the doorway  carried the fight

 after him  and the  two brigands were  quickly overpowered  and thrown

 behind the stairs.

      Caisy himself  ran deeper  into the  building, looking  for other

 inhabitants.  At the  stairs  he found  another  man, wearing  studded

 leather decorated with  metal, a sailor's cap and a  wild glean in his

 eyes. "Yield!" Caisy ordered. Wearing the  dark blue tunic of the town

 guard he did not feel the need to declare himself.

      Instead of  surrendering, the  brigand drew  his sword  and leapt

 over the banister. Caisy backed up, blocking the first strike with his

 sword.  The man's  attack  was  so determined  that  he quickly  found

 himself on  the defensive. Two more  blocks and a parry  later had him

 five yards further down the hallway.

      "Damn you!"  he swung his  blade across the corridor,  making the

 man pause  his advance to  avoid getting  hit. Behind him  Caisy could

 hear  a battle  cry and  someone's rushing  feet. He  decided to  risk

 facing the  new opponent, hoping that  his own men, now  moving up the

 corridor, would take care of the crazed brigand from the stairs.

      He turned,  bending down,  swinging his sword  at knee  level. It

 impacted with  the new  opponent, changing  the war cry  to a  yell of

 pain. Instead of attacking, the brigand simply collapsed over Caisy.

      "The door!" Caisy indicated to the other alley doorway to the two

 guards that caught up to him.

      Another  armed man  rushed  at  them from  the  back stairs.  The

 corridor was not wide enough for the three men to fight together.

      Tess followed  her men up the  stairs, knowing full well  that at

 least three  or four of her  people were still in  the entry corridor,

 helping Caisy's  men. This was a  large reduction in strength,  but it

 was a necessary loss.  No part of the building they  had been in could

 be left unsecured.

      She made  it to  the top of  the stairs to  find her  men already

 engaged in combat. With a quick  and precise thrust of her sword, Tess

 cut  deep in  the side  of one  of Liriss'  henchmen and  proceeded on

 without stopping. The second floor  corridor was clear, but there were

 plenty of rooms to worry about.

      Tess opened  the first door she  came to and stepped  inside. She

 ducked under the  fist of the man  who met her and  quickly pulled the

 door  shut, catching  the thug  in  between it  and the  frame. As  he

 screamed, she hit him  with the flat of her blade  and shoved him back

 in to the room.

      Two other men rushed  at her, but only one at  a time could fight

 successfully  through the  doorway. Tess  met the  first one  with her

 sword as her own men rushed  down the corridor behind her. She blocked

 the first swing of the sword  with hers, then followed through and cut

 deep into his shoulder.

      "Yield!"

      He did.  His companion  also tossed his  sword down,  having seen

 what had happened to his friends.

      "Get out here," Tess ordered, stepping back.

      The three men came out into the corridor.

      "Face down, on the floor!"

      A yell made everyone look up as a half dozen men charged down the

 corridor, holding  a bench sideways, knocking  everyone over, sweeping

 them backwards  off their feet. The  bench slammed into the  three men

 Tess challenged, then into her. She lost her sword as she slammed into

 the wall and  the next thing she  knew, she had a set  of hands around

 her throat and a heavy body on top of hers.

      "You son of a bitch!" she yelled  at the man and grabbing hold of

 his  shoulders, slammed  him sideways  into the  wall. The  man's head

 impacted the fine grain wall with  a crack. It took three full thrusts

 to get him to let go of her neck and by that time she was covered with

 his blood, dripping  down on her from the injuries  to his skull. Tess

 shoved the unconscious  body off her and  got up, only to  see the man

 she wounded earlier holding her sword.

      "Poetic, isn't it?" he turned the blade, wet with blood.

      "Not  for you,"  Tess  drew  her long  dagger,  preparing for  an

 unbalanced fight.

      "Archer!" someone further  down the corridor yelled and  as if on

 cue, the brigand with her sword fell over, an arrow shaft in his back.

      Tess also dropped down, hoping it was only one archer and that he

 did not have many arrows. She  could see pretty far down the corridor,

 but not far enough to distinguish what  was going on at the other end.

 As she looked, she  again heard a rush of running  feet and rolled out

 of the way, towards the wall, as the men with the bench charged in the

 other direction. There were only four of them now and with her dagger,

 Tess managed to put  a deep cut in the leg of the  man on her side. He

 stumbled, ham  strung, and fell  forward, pulling the bench  down with

 him. The bench end ground against the wall and the whole column of men

 went tumbling down.

      Tess quickly grabbed her sword off  the floor and got up, only to

 have another arrow  whiz by her ear. That made  her back up, carefully

 looking down the corridor where her men were fighting in small groups.

 Three of the men  that carried the bench got up off  the floor, two of

 them drawing their swords  and the third bent down to  get his off the

 floor. As  she prepared for  fighting two  men, one of  them staggered

 forward and fell, with an arrow in his back. His companion spun around

 to see  what was happening,  giving Tess  a perfect opportunity  for a

 strike. She did not let it go to waste.

      Having  heard someone  yell "archer",  Caisy rushed  up the  back

 stairs, leaving  his men to secure  the first floor. Two  of them were

 wounded, one  unable to continue  to fight,  but the battle  there was

 almost over.

      On the landing, Caisy stopped just short of being hit by a sword.

 He was  at a great disadvantage,  having to fight a  man towering half

 his  height over  him, but  that  was the  luck  of the  draw and  the

 disadvantage of being lower down on the stairs.

      Yells of combat could be heard both above and below as he blocked

 the vicious swings  of the blade of  the man on the  landing. One hard

 blow  forced Caisy  to  fall back  three steps,  but  as his  attacker

 followed him down,  Caisy lunged at his feet, making  the man lose his

 balance and tumble down over him.

      The way was clear and deciding  to let the five guards downstairs

 deal with  the swordsman, Caisy  rushed up to  the landing and  up the

 second flight of stairs. In the  growing darkness of the second floor,

 Caisy could  see men fighting down  the corridor and an  archer in the

 foreground, letting an arrow lose from his long bow.

      The man was  dressed in a light tunic reaching  down to his knees

 and had no sword.

      "Put it  down!" Caisy ordered  as the archer drew  another arrow,

 but instead of complying, the man  tried to catch the arrow's notch on

 the string of the bow.

      Caisy swung  his sword,  not wanting to  become the  archer's new

 target, but the  man was barely at  the tip of the  sword's reach. The

 weapon hit the bow, shearing through  the narrowest part of the weapon

 and breaking the string, making the shattered bow snap out with a loud

 crack. The  archer screamed in pain  as the broken string  cut through

 the flesh of  his unprotected forearm and the bow  twisted in his hand

 like a  writhing snake. The arrow,  barely caught on the  torn string,

 jumped off the bow and stuck in the wall not far away from Caisy.

      Ilona made her way up the stairs on the heels of Sergeant Streed.

 An unconscious guard already lay at  the top of the landing. The first

 set of doors on each side of the corridor was open. Sounds of crashing

 furniture could be heard from the door on the left side.

      "Help him," Ilona  pointed Streed to the room, not  sure if Garay

 or DaVrice was in there.

      As Streed  disappeared in the room,  Ilona made her way  down the

 corridor to the end of the  building overlooking the market place. The

 central  room  on  the  far   wall  was  suspected  of  being  Liriss'

 headquarters and  pausing only long  enough to ready her  sword, Ilona

 burst in  through the door.  The first room  was empty. It  was richly

 decorated with rugs  and pieces of art. On one  wall stood a luxurious

 sofa with soft  pillows scattered at its base. Across  from it stood a

 large cabinet displaying bottles of liquor and spirits.

      Not wanting to waste the time exploring the room, Ilona rushed to

 the next  door and burst  through into an  office with a  large window

 showing the last of the setting sun's  light over the town wall a half

 league away. At the desk in the  center of the room sat Liriss, facing

 Ilona, full  of surprise. It took  Ilona a moment to  notice the young

 woman who had  brought her Liriss' message a few  days prior, standing

 in the shadows at the wall to her left.

      "What is this?" Liriss asked, surprise evident in his voice.

      "It's a raid, rat."

      "You can't do this!" he got up, then calming himself, added, "you

 have to  believe what I told  you three days ago.  I'm not responsible

 for Koren's death!"

      "What about two kidnappings?"

      "What kidnappings?!"

      "Do you  know what the  sad thing  is?" Ilona asked.  "I actually

 believe that for the first time  in your miserable life you're telling

 the truth. You  usually gloat over your victories, but  ever since the

 war started, you've been running like a scared rat. You're free to go,

 assuming you can get out of this building. If not, that's your luck."

      Ilona  paused, thinking  about  the young  woman.  Should she  be

 arrested or let go?  "You..." It would make more sense  to let her go.

 That way there would be no  witnesses to her releasing Liriss, to make

 a bargain to be set free.

      "You  have to  let her  go!" Liriss  hurried to  say. "I'll  turn

 myself in if I must, but you have to let her go!"

      "Who is she?" Ilona asked.

      "Please!"

      Ilona knew  that she had little  time herself. "Go, both  of you,

 but next time you won't get off this easily!"

      Without waiting  for Liriss to  respond, Ilona rushed out  of the

 room, knowing full  well that her people would be  looking for her. In

 the long hallway she found Garay guarding two men and a woman.

      "Lieutenant, are you all right?" he hurried to ask.

      "Fine. What's happening?"

      "The first floor  is secured and the second is  being cleaned up.

 Sergeant Caisy sent three men to give us a hand here."

      One of the  doors slammed open and one of  the guardsmen shoved a

 beat up man out. Ilona hurried to finish the sweep of the floor.

      Captain  Adrunian Koren  sat in  bed in  his second  floor castle

 room, twisting his mustache, watching  Kalen pace before him. The news

 from yesterday's raid was both good and bad. Four guards dead, a dozen

 wounded, three of them badly enough that they would be off duty for as

 long as a month, but that was  nothing to compare to what had happened

 to Liriss' men.

      "The  whole corridor,"  Kalen repeated  himself. "It  wasn't like

 this even  in the invasion...  Wall to wall  blood. The men  said that

 before I got  there, you couldn't put a foot  down without being ankle

 deep in blood..."

      "How many?" Koren asked, his voice a mere whisper.

      "It's hard  to say.  You had  to see  it... We  took thirty-three

 alive, about half were whores who  refused to fight. Half a dozen were

 barely children.

      "The men pretty much fought with  all they had. I understand some

 went after our people with furniture  or whatever they could lift. One

 man attacked Caisy swinging part of a dead body..."

      Koren shook his head. "How sad we've come to this..."

      "I'd guess there were two or  three dozen dead total," Kalen went

 on. "We  took them by complete  surprise. There was no  way they could

 mass an organized defense."

      "I wish  I could give everyone  some time off to  get over this,"

 Koren said,  "but getting over our  own losses will be  hard enough. I

 can't afford to let anyone take time off now."

      Kalen nodded.

      "And Liriss?"

      "I'm sorry, Sir. It was my  fault. We could have arrested him for

 trying to bribe me."

      "Kesrin,  not   Liriss,"  Koren  reminded  the   Lieutenant.  "He

 protected himself well."

      "Either way,"  Kalen answered.  "I should  have arrested  him for

 what has been happening."

      "You told  me you  didn't think he  was responsible,"  Koren said

 thoughtfully.

      "Not after  his meetings with Ilona,  but he's still guilty  of a

 lot that happened before this."

      "But that's the..." there was a knock on the door "...thing. Come

 in," Koren shifted in bed. "If  we could prove it without overstepping

 our bounds, this wouldn't be a problem."

      The door opened and Ilona Milnor came in.

      "I just feel guilty that he would charge on that horse right past

 me and I couldn't lift a finger. Wouldn't." Kalen glanced at Ilona. "I

 should've been smart enough to have a few men with horses."

      Ilona looked down, avoiding his eyes.

      "What's done  is done," Koren  said. "He's not our  only problem.

 Kesrin's with  him because  we made a  deal and one's  as good  as the

 other. Hopefully this  will put them out of business  for a few months

 at least."

      "Do you really believe that?" Kalen asked.

      "No," the Captain  sighed. "If not them, someone  else will come.

 It never stops."

      "Kesrin gave us a statement before  we let him go at noon," Ilona

 injected. "What he  claims happened was Ovink found  out about Liriss'

 attempts to  bribe Kalen  and ordered  your death,  Sir. He  wanted to

 start a war  between us and Liriss  and lay low until we  won. Then he

 would set up his own shop..."

      "His one  error was that  he underestimated Kesrin,"  Koren said,

 "but that's the way  things go in a nest of wasps.  I don't suppose it

 will take Liriss and Kesrin too long to rebuild."

      "Especially considering  the number  of men that  escaped," Ilona

 added. "Tess said they were jumping  out of windows, afraid they'd get

 killed whether they surrendered or not."

      "They'll  need   time  to  get   over  the  scare,"   Koren  said

 confidently, "and to lick their wounds.  And we need time to take care

 of ours.  But we'll be ready  next time and you'll  have horses, right

 Kalen?"

      Lieutenant Kalen Darklen smiled. "Yes, Sir, I will."

      "Well,  then," Koren  turned to  Ilona. "What  did you  come here

 for?"

      "To ask you how you were and if you needed anything."

      "I feel  like a  tired old  bull that  needs to  get back  on his

 feet!" Koren's voice boomed. "Keep that  guard house in shape! I'll be

 coming home soon."

      "And Tara, Sir?"

      "Better than I understand she was.  I saw her this morning. She's

 been through quite a scare."

      "If  you don't  mind, Sir,  I'll ask  her to  stay with  me until

 Elizabeth lets you go."

      "That will be fine, Lieutenant. And thank you."

      "My pleasure, Sir. One more thing..?"

      "What is it?"

      "About  replacements  for Lieutenants  Shevlin  and  Azin. I  was

 wondering  if  I  could  give you  a  recommendation."  Ilona  glanced

 cautiously at Kalen as she said that and he nodded his approval.

      "Who did you have in mind?" the Captain asked.

      "Sergeant Caisy. He did a fine  job handling the extra shift over

 the last month.  And Tess, if Azin  decides to stay with  the Duke. If

 anyone, it was she who made last night a success."

      "Tess? The Lederian? She studied with Lord Morion, didn't she?"

      "Yes, Sir. The whole town knows that by now."

      "Get  me their  service records  and  we'll take  a look,"  Koren

 agreed.

      "I best go, Sir," Kalen said. "My shift starts soon."

      "Go, nothing. You  need to see Elizabeth,"  Koren ordered. "Don't

 think I've forgotten.  Have Tess do your job today.  We'll see how she

 does."

      "Yes, Sir," Kalen sighed.

      "And you make sure he gets there," Koren told Ilona. "Dismissed."

      "You let  him escape,  didn't you?" Kalen  asked Ilona  once they

 left the Captain's room.

      "You mean Liriss?" she asked.

      "Yes, Liriss."

      "Yes. Are you angry?"

      Kalen put his arm around Ilona.  "No. I don't think he was guilty

 either, but he still needs to be punished for his past."

      "We'll get him," Ilona said confidently.

      "We will," Kalen agreed.

      "You know that woman I told  you about, the one who delivered the

 message to me in the guard house?"

      "Uh-huh."

      "I saw  her again  in Liriss'  office when I  let him  go," Ilona

 said. "While I  contemplated whether or not to let  her go, he offered

 himself for her!"

      "Liriss?" Kalen asked in disbelief.

      "Liriss."

      "I wonder who she is..."

      "So do I," Ilona said. "You  didn't see her in the market square,

 did you? She wore a light colored skirt and a green tunic."

      "I may have...I  wasn't really watching for unarmed  women at the

 time."

      Ilona sighed. "I hope we find out some day. It struck me that she

 was very important to him."

      They soon  reached the physician's quarters  and Kalen hesitantly

 knocked on the door.

      "Don't look so intense," Ilona mocked him. "It won't hurt a bit."

      The market square was once again busy, oblivious to the raid that

 took place there the night before. Shoppers rushed about from booth to

 booth, haggling for the best deals.  Shop keepers waved their arms and

 yelled,  expressing the  quality of  the products  and the  unbeatable

 price they had to offer.

      "And  you can  let  this  lay around  for  months," the  merchant

 explained to Dyann as he paid out the money. "It will be good at least

 through Deber."

      "I'm not buying it to let it  lie around," the mage said. "When I

 buy food, it's to eat it."

      "After  you buy  it,  do with  it what  you  will," the  merchant

 snapped and  turned to the  next customer,  no longer having  to worry

 about making the  sale. The mage sighed and walked  across the crowded

 street to Corambis' booth where Madam  Labin was still telling him how

 appreciative she was of his services.

      "And thank you again, Sage," she said yet again. Dyann heard that

 exact phrase before he left to buy  the pickled sweet meats he was not

 supposed to eat.

      "My  pleasure," Cormabis  answered with  what appeared  to be  an

 exasperated smile and a forced pleasant voice.

      "And don't forget that I need to  see you again in a few days. No

 later than the end of the month, so you be sure to have your assistant

 stop by my house and remind me."

      "Of course, Madam," Corambis' smile did not fade as he spoke.

      "Well,  actually you'd  better have  her drop  by tomorrow,"  the

 woman went on. "My maid made this wonderful new cake that I'd like you

 to see. It tastes just heavenly,  but it's..." she looked around "...a

 Beinison recipe  and I'm  just not  sure if that's  good or  bad." She

 crossed herself. "I'm  sorry Cephas. So you must tell  me before I try

 it again, with the war on and everything."

      "I'll have Thuna stop by tomorrow," Corambis promised.

      "Thank you again, Sage," Madam Labin repeated.

      "I'm always glad to help out," he released a deep breath.

      "And I  also want  you do a  reading for my  sister. She  will be

 going to Asbridge early next month and  you must help her plan for the

 weather. I hear the  rains are due to be stronger  this year than last

 and I want  her to be ready.  She just doesn't believe me  when I tell

 her!"

      "Of course. Just have her stop by  and I'll be more than happy to

 help."

      "That's just so  kind of you," Madam Labin went  on. "You know, I

 was told that..."

      "Excuse me," Dyann rushed up to them. "We need to talk. Would you

 please excuse us, Madam?"

      "Well, if you  need..." Madam Labin began, but  Dyann had already

 pulled Corambis aside. "Well, how rude!" she exclaimed.

      "I'll  kill that  woman,"  Corambis confined  in  his friend.  "I

 swear, she'll not last long if she continues to visit me."

      Dyann laughed. "That's why I don't sell my advice."

      "Did you hear about the raid?" Corambis asked.

      "Every word of  it, from Jerid. Just look at  that empty building

 now. I hope they tear it down!"

      Corambis looked north to the  old three story structure. "If they

 don't, we can. Get Sweeny and Arbogast and some others..."

      "We're all in our sixties," Dyann reminded Corambis.

      "Well, yes, but..."

      "I wanted to talk to you about Adrunian Koren," Dyann said.

      "Yes," Corambis'  eyes lit  up. "I told  you that  casting didn't

 lie!"

      "Which still  leaves us with  a problem," Dyann pointed  out. "If

 the casting was right, what's going to happen to Lord Dargon?"

      Corambis  scratched his  head.  "I  wish I  knew  what that  damn

 casting meant..."

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

1                            Beginnings

                        by Michelle Brothers

                          and Max Khaytsus

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

 Mertz, 1015

      Pristine  sails rose  stark  and white  against  the sullen  sky,

 flapping slightly  in a  salt encrusted  breeze. Dull  sunlight raised

 bright  patches on  the ship's  worn  wooden railing.  Nicks and  cuts

 caused by sword strokes and  grappling hooks caught and pooled shadows

 like the blood that had so recently washed the vessel's deck.

      Tarilane sat on a barrel filled  with fresh water and sadly noted

 the still  present marks of  war; a pale stain  on the deck  that salt

 water could  not scour away,  carefully mended rents in  the otherwise

 perfect sails, and the swords that the sailors still wore. She touched

 the hilt  of her  own blade  reflectively. The war  was over,  but the

 peace was tenuous at best.

      Shakin had not been  directly involved in the Beinison/Baranurian

 conflict. Located to  the southeast of Beinison, the  huge country had

 simply never felt  the need to conquer the  intervening territories to

 gain control of  the independent state. That Shakin  also produced the

 best alchemists and  physicians on the continent and  could deny their

 services  to anyone,  made  the  decision to  let  them alone  easier.

 Leaving  them autonomous  was  easier than  being  denied medical  aid

 sometime in the uncertain future. The Shakinian crown, held jointly by

 the  Royal  Consorts, having  no  interest  in land  acquisition,  had

 remained neutral, as they had throughout the war torn centuries.

      This was  not to say  that they did not  take part in  the latest

 squabble between the  two powers. Healers and alchemists  were in high

 demand by both sides, and since past attempts to limit enemy access to

 Shakinian healing resulted in the  complete withdrawal of all support,

 both sides  were allowed to bargain  for these services. If  it had no

 other  exportable resources,  Shakin's highly  skilled physicians  and

 herb mixers more than made up for the lack.

      The country  itself had remained  physically apart from  the war,

 being  on the  wrong side  of Beinison  to experience  the devastation

 directly, until  their neighbor,  Kimerron, a tribal  country Beinison

 did not  consider worth their time  to subdue, decided that  it needed

 more land.  Thinking their large  neighbor was busy with  other games,

 Kimerron attacked  from behind, making deep  incursions into Beinosian

 territory. After recovering from the shock of the unexpected bite, the

 tip of one of Beinison's many fingered army crushed the raiders.

      Tarilane had spent  most of her life in  Sahni, Shakin's capitol,

 learning the  alchemist's trade. The  skirmish right on  her country's

 border  provided her  with  plenty of  opportunities  to practice  her

 lessons--both healing  and sword.  Because her master,  Derimiahn, was

 one of the most skilled alchemists of his time, he was in great demand

 by  the crown  to assist  the  physicians in  easing the  pain of  the

 refugees and  in providing  components to  the royal  mages. He  was a

 gentle  man, who  refused  to use  even  one of  the  many titles  the

 Consorts had conferred upon him during his life, but at the command of

 his royal cousins,  travelled to the front to represent  them with his

 art.  Tarilane,  his  second  eldest  apprentice,  had  the  honor  of

 accompanying him,  while the eldest  apprentice attended the  shop and

 the youngsters.  Together, master and student  labored beside healers,

 trying to save the lives and limbs of the young victims and beside the

 mages  to  provide ingredients  to  fuel  protective spells.  Tarilane

 learned more in the months spent  building potions for the healers and

 mages  than she  ever  could  have during  the  normal  course of  her

 studies.

      They had  returned to Sahni  a bare two  weeks ago and  five days

 after the homecoming, Tarilane found herself on her way to the nearest

 port, Derimiahn's last words echoing emptily in her ears.

      "You have learned  all that I can teach you,  Tari. I release you

 from the  rest of your  apprenticeship before  you watch the  walls of

 this shop grow too small around your  spirit." He placed a hand on her

 head in  almost fatherly benediction.  "Know that you have  pleased me

 and show great promise. You will do well."

      And he left her.

      Tarilane  found herself  standing alone  in her  cramped cubicle,

 watching the dividing curtain-wall rippling  in her master's wake. She

 did not follow; could not have thought of anything to do or say if she

 had.

      She took  her leave of the  other apprentices at the  night meal,

 which Derimiahn was conspicuously absent from, and spent hours talking

 with Shauvandier,  the senior apprentice, plotting  a destination. The

 youngesters helped  out by packing  her few belongings  while Tarilane

 and Shaw pored over a worn map.  The single, barely full bag waited by

 the   front   door  with   the   tiny,   hastily  gathered   pile   of

 parting-gifts--Sonshallan,  the next  oldest apprentice  gave her  his

 first blown potion  bottle, a lopsided affair that  would barely stand

 upright. Castellei,  next in line, gave  her a writing pen,  with soft

 apologies that he could  not afford ink or a case  yet, and Shaem, the

 youngest, gave her her favorite string  of blue beads. Later she would

 find the  green scarf Shaw had  stashed in his herb  storage chest for

 the last few months in the top of her pack; his final gift to her.

      Much later, after the children  were tucked away in bed, Tarilane

 shared a glass of mead with Shauvandier before the dying fire.

      "Is there anything else you  need?" he asked softly, watching the

 firelight play across Tarilane's features,  catching in her pale brown

 hair.

      "Courage,"  she  quipped  back  with a  faint  smile  that  faded

 immediately. "Seriously,  Shaw, it's like  leaving home for  the first

 time. Except  this _is_ the  first time.  I don't remember  living any

 place but here. I'm really scared."

      "You'll do  fine, little sister."  Shauvandier pulled her  into a

 gentle embrace.  "Master's right  to send  you off...I've  watched you

 prowl the house and watch the road  like you wonder what's at the end.

 You'll  do fine.  You're good,  practical, everything  that it  takes.

 Don't worry so  much. And don't forget  to keep a sense  of humor," he

 added, taking her by the shoulders  and shaking her a little. "You get

 too serious sometimes."

      Tarilane  chuckled softly,  unable  to deny  the accusation.  She

 could be  very intense when working,  to the exclusion of  the gentler

 emotions. "You always know the right  things to say, Shaw. You're like

 the brother I never had."

      They sat  in companionable silence after  that, until Shauvandier

 shooed  Tarilane off  to  bed.  As she  drifted  into sleep,  Tarilane

 remembered  their ill-fated  attempt to  deepen their  friendship into

 something more  personal. They had just  gotten themselves comfortable

 on the bed when Derimiahn pulled the dividing curtain aside.

      He  said nothing  for what  seemed  like the  longest time,  then

 pulled  it shut  again.  They  had parted  as  soon  as his  footsteps

 disappeared down  the stairs, the  ardor of the moment  chilled. After

 that, they  never felt quite right  about the quick kisses  and stolen

 caresses, even though the Master never said a word about the incident.

 The  decision to  keep the  relationship  platonic was  made not  long

 after, and neither one could say they regretted the decision.

      Tarilane  recalled all  of this  with a  faint flush,  and chided

 herself for getting lost in memories.  The present was what she had to

 worry about now, not the elusive  past. Salt breeze cooled the burning

 in her  cheeks, catching the  scarf that had been  Shauvandier's final

 gift to her and causing it to  dance. The loneliness she had been able

 to hold at  bay during the journey  to the coast rolled  over her with

 the slap of the water against the hull.

      "Lady?" The  sea roughened  voice shattered  her mood  like waves

 breaking on rocks.

      Tarilane was  glad for  the interruption; she  had had  enough of

 remembering. She  slipped off  the keg  and turned  to face  the First

 Mate,  noting the  cutlass belted  to his  side. Pirates  and warships

 still roamed the sea, not realizing  that the war was over. Or perhaps

 not caring.

      "Yes? What did the captain say about the job?"

      "Cap'n says,  if'n y' kin  cook, y'  kin have passin',"  the Mate

 said. "With  th' clear understand'n  that y'  pull y'r own  weight. We

 won' coddle y'.  This ain't no easy  job. Fact `tis, we  lost our last

 cook t'  pirates." He  folded his  arms, waiting  for her  to politely

 decline. He either  did not see or did not  believe the sword attached

 to her waist.

      Tarilane laughed. "Sir, I spent six months near to the war border

 and  I don't  wear this--"  she  patted the  hilt of  the broad  sword

 "--because it's  pretty. Sometimes  it was the  only thing  that stood

 between my Master  and those who would have stolen  what we would have

 given freely. I'll be fine. And I'm a darned good cook."

      "Hope so, f'r y'r sake,"  said the Mate doubtfully. "'Cause we'll

 put y'  over th' side if'n  y' can't cook.  I'll show y' where  y'r t'

 sleep."

      Tarilane grinned and followed him towards the galley.

                              * * * * *

 Sy 5, 1015

      "I really  hate this,"  muttered Darion, just  loud enough  to be

 heard by the  youth he rode beside.  The clop of the  horses hooves on

 the cobblestones effectively prevented the whisper from traveling much

 farther. He hunched a little in  his dark tunic and studied the houses

 and businesses.

      "What?" replied his companion with a mocking grin. "Coming out in

 daylight or riding?"

      "Bodyguarding," Darion  snapped, careful  that his voice  did not

 carry over the steady beat of  the horse's hooves. "I don't like doing

 this. You do. I'm not a fighter."

      Ranth chucked,  remembering their  last bar  fight, a  few nights

 ago. They had gotten into a brawl  with a pair of burly sailors out of

 Lediria over a dice game and Darion had taken quite a beating, serving

 more as a distraction than an actual participant.

      "Gotta  step  out of  the  shadows  sometime, my  friend,"  Ranth

 advised. "You can't spend the rest  of your life creeping down alleys.

 Come  to mention,  you  have been  doing a  lot  of midnight  prowling

 lately. What's been up?"

      Darion  opened  his mouth  to  respond,  but  the man  they  were

 following interrupted harshly.

      "Pipe down, you two," he ordered, without looking back.

      "Yes, my  lord," Darion  and Ranth  said in  chorus. The  man did

 glance back  at this, and glared,  one hand on the  heavy, peace-bound

 dagger at his hip. He hated when  his proteges did this, and they knew

 it. The knife promised what would happen to them if they did it again.

      Darion and  Ranth traded glances as  he turned back to  study the

 heavily trafficed  avenue. Lord Silvas was  in a poor mood  today, and

 they did  not know what had  caused it. Deciding that  being silent on

 the  matter would  greatly  increase  their life  span,  they made  no

 further comments.

      Lord Silvas  was not  a man  to be trifled  with. A  high ranking

 member of  Comarr's booming Thieves  Guild, he  had taken the  pair in

 when they were just runny nosed  urchins on the streets. To Ranth, the

 larger of the two  boys, he gave an education in  combat and arms. For

 someone of his age, just over  eighteen years, he was quite handy with

 any  weapon that  came  into reach.  He  would make  a  fine guard  or

 mercenary in the not so distant future.

      Darion was taught  the art of spying. Tall, slender  and agile he

 could sneak into and out of places with ease, and, unlike his partner,

 Darion was literate, so that he  would know exactly what parchments to

 acquire on his regular trips into Ciara's merchant quarter.

      Since the  day Silvas  picked them  up, Ranth  and Darion  were a

 team. They did  everything together, from their first  drink, to their

 first theft. Though  not exactly a kind master, Silvas  did teach them

 the necessary skills  to survive on Comarr's seedier side,  as well as

 other cities.

      Buildings grew  up around  the little group  as they  rode deeper

 into the Ciara's business district. The  air filled with the sounds of

 hurrying people  and street haukers;  mingled scents of new  bread and

 garbage drifted out from taverns and  inns. Above it all, a faded blue

 sky reflected  the smoke  from the many  chimnies, confusing  the true

 white clouds.

      Lord  Silvas  pulled  to  a  halt before  a  dry-goods  shop  and

 dismounted.  His  bodyguards  followed suit.  Darion's  gaze  scuttled

 restlessly along the avenue, marking  the people who passed, the dusty

 goods in the store's display window, an odd mark burnt into the shop's

 door jamb, and the bar across the street.

      He nudged Ranth, who was keeping  an eye out for obvious threats,

 and motioned  quickly at the  building across the street.  Ranth wiped

 his answering smile off his face as Lord Silvas turned to them.

      "Keep an eye on the horses," he ordered. "I have some business to

 attend to. I will return shortly."

      "Yes, my lord," Ranth and  Darion acknowledged, careful to not do

 it in chorus this time. Silvas disappeared into the shop in a swirl of

 cloak.

      "Hot out, isn't  it," Ranth said, after a pause,  eyeing the bar.

 When Silvas said `shortly' that usually meant long enough for a drink.

      "Sure is," agreed Darion, as  he watched a gaily painted carriage

 rumble past.

      "Could stand for a drink to cut the dust."

      "Same here. So long as you're buying. It's your turn."

      "Since when?"  Ranth glared at  his friend. "I bought  the rounds

 last night!"

      "Yeah, you  did," confirmed  Darion. "But I  paid Olivia  for you

 last night, because you'd drunk all your silver. You owe me at least a

 drink for that, if not more."

      "You did?" Ranth looked confused.

      "Sure did."

      "Did I have a good time?"

      "I assume so. I had to carry you home."

      "Oh." Ranth studied  the stitching on his horse's  tack. "In that

 case, I'll buy you a drink."

      "Or three," laughed Darion. "Let's go."

      Leaving  the horses  tethered  in  front of  the  shop, the  pair

 trotted across  the cobbled  street and into  the Silver  Platter. The

 interior was  well lit for  a tavern, and  much cleaner than  the ones

 Darion and Ranth were used to frequentinging. The smell of alcohol was

 strong in the air, but the floor and tables were clean and the patrons

 fairly  well dressed.  Ranth  looked  a little  out  of  place in  his

 battered corslet, but, as usual, that did not bother him in the least.

      They walked up to the bar, noting that the place was doing steady

 business despite the earliness of the hour.

      Finding a space was easily  done; Ranth squeezed his bulk between

 a half drunk  merchant and a tipsy  youth. He pounded his  palm on the

 counter a little.

      "Two glasses of  ale," he called over the high  pitched babble of

 the common  room when the woman  behind the bar turned  in his general

 direction. Two battered  mugs appeared a second later  and passed into

 Ranth's possessions after an exchange of coin.

      "You know," commented Darion as they sipped at the frothy glasses

 in a  corner. "I'm broke.  I spent my last  copper on that  spice cake

 this morning."

      "Then I  guess it's  time to earn  another stipend,"  said Ranth,

 swallowing a great mouthful of ale. "Picked out a bird yet?"

      "The scarlet jay  you stood next to at the  bar," Darion replied,

 nodding in that direction. "He's paid in silver twice and doesn't show

 any sign of leaving."

      "All right. I'll distract him, you pluck him."

      Darion disappeared into the crowd, while Ranth shouldered his way

 through the bodies to the bar.  In the process he tipped the remainder

 of his drink all over the front of the red clad man's fancy tunic.

      "`Ey! Wash it,  y' clunsy oav!" The man rounded  on his attacker,

 slopping rich purple wine out of his glass as he turned.

      "So sorry, my  lord!" apologized Ranth, brushing  futilely at the

 spreading brown stain, causing more  wine to spill. He glanced quickly

 down and saw that the purse was gone and Darion was no where in sight.

 Ranth  set out  to  extricate himself  from  the situation.  "Terribly

 sorry. Let me buy you a drink to make up for the trouble."

      "I don'  wan' a  drinth," slurred  the merchant,  weaving around,

 trying to  orient himself on the  youth. "`Y damned bashterd!"  And he

 cut loose with a wide roundhouse swing that missed Ranth entirely, but

 ploughed satisfyingly into the next nearest person.

      Ranth ducked away into the crowd  as the merchant swung again and

 the cry of `fight' rocked the rafters.

      Darion  sauntered back  across the  street, casually  tucking the

 stitched leather pouch into his pocket. He leaned against the flank of

 his horse and watched the entry to  the Silver Platter. The sound of a

 soft crash drifted across the bustling  street and he winced a little.

 A soft rustle behind him caused him to turn quickly.

      "Ready to go,  my lord?" he asked, seeing Silvas  stepping out of

 the shop.  Darion's sharp  eyes noted  the dagger at  his side  was no

 longer  peace bound  and he  filed the  scrap of  information away  to

 contemplate later.

      "Where's Ranth?" Silvas asked  sharply, straightening the sleeves

 of his dark tunic, baleful gaze pinned on Darion.

      "He--had to go to the  alley," lied Darion quickly. Not original,

 but  better  than telling  the  lord  that  they  had left  his  horse

 unattended so  they could both get  drinks. A loud crash  sounded from

 across the street and the youth forced himself not to turn to look.

      The stool flew out the  splintered shutters of the Silver Platter

 and skidded to a  halt in the middle of the  street, nearly tripping a

 horse.

      "Then he can catch up," Silvas decided, mounting. "Let's go."

      Darion did  look back  to the  bar at  that statement  and Silvas

 turned his  glare onto him. "Are  you worried that Ranth  can't handle

 his business on  his own?" he asked bitingly. "Or  did he go somewhere

 else."

      "Uh, no, my lord." Darion  mounted quickly and fell into position

 behind  his  master  without   another  backwards  glance.  Ranth  was

 perfectly able  to take care  of himself, Darion reminded  himself. He

 was a  natural with most  weapons and could hold  his own in  either a

 formal fight or a brawl. Better than Darion could, in fact.

      Hard on the heels of this  thought came the clatter of hooves and

 Ranth pounded up to his place beside his partner.

      "Have fun?" asked Darion in undertone.

      "Yeah. Took a right cross for you."

      "Everything  come  out  all  right?"  asked  Silvas  caustically,

 without looking back at the pair.

      "Yes, my lord!" Ranth responded quickly. "What did you tell him?"

 he demanded quietly of his friend.

      "Nothing terrible," grinned Darion. "Stick close, though. He's in

 a mood again."

      "Figures."

      "I'll give you  your cut when we get back,"  Darion added after a

 second.

      "Good."

      "Any other stops,  my lord?" asked Darion when  his master turned

 to glare at the pair of them.  The innocent look on his face fooled no

 one.

      "No. Now shut up."

                              * * * * *

      Tarilane clutched the straps of  her bag and surveyed the streets

 and buildings  past the bustling  pier. Like  the port city  Karine of

 Shakin,  Ciara was  busy,  filled with  people  ignoring one  another,

 hurrying about their business. Salt air  mingled with the smell of tar

 and fish,  smell she had gotten  used to during her  time aboard ship.

 Dappled afternoon sunlight speckled the  sky and a stiff breeze caused

 her cloak to flap sharply. Reflexively  her fingers reached up to make

 sure the dark green scarf around her neck had not blown away.

      The scents from Shauvandier's herb chest still clung to the silky

 fabric  and Tarilane  felt  the  now familiar  tug  of loneliness  and

 homesickness.  She sighed  and  made  her way  off  the pier.  Letting

 herself sink  into depression was  hardly the way to  achieve anything

 constructive. She set her mind to working out her upcoming problems.

      She needed to find a place to stay first, so that she could start

 to make serious  plans. Tarilane wanted to open a  shop of her own--an

 apothecary. She  had grown  up in  Master Derimiahn's  shop--could not

 remember living any place else, in  fact. He claimed that he found her

 sitting on  his doorstep one day,  a precocious two year  old, with no

 way of telling where she had come from. He had kept her because it was

 more trouble to try and take her  into town, than to simply raise her.

 At least, so  he said. Tarilane always suspected there  was more to it

 than that,  but had  never been  able to find  anything else  out, and

 eventually,  it did  not much  matter  any more.  After sixteen  years

 surrounded by the work, she realized that  she did not want to live or

 labor anywhere else.

      Watching Derimiahn mix potions was  one of the earliest childhood

 memories she had. As she grew  older, Tarilane was allowed to join the

 Master and  his apprentices,  never less than  five, usually  seven or

 eight in all, on their forays to  gather wood and herbs. At the age of

 nine, she was officially apprenticed  and started learning to identify

 plants in  all seasons, learned how  to blow the little  glass bottles

 that would  eventually contain the  concoctions they made;  learned to

 prepare  the condiments  that mages  would eventually  use to  produce

 miracles--the liquid  and powder magic  that was the trademark  of the

 alchemist,  that  mages could  not  work  wonders without.  She  spent

 tedious hours learning to read,  write, and figure, keeping the shop's

 tally-books current  and accurate.  Long hours spent  learning, before

 she was ever allowed to create anything.

      Since  the day  she had  made her  first simple  potion, Tarilane

 realized that  she wanted nothing more  than to have an  apothecary of

 her own, and  her Master, seeing the drive and  the talent, taught her

 everything  he  could.  Now,  freed  from the  onerous  duties  of  an

 apprentice and ready to pass through journeyman to master, she did not

 know how to proceed.

      `Inheriting a  shop would have  been easier,' Tarilane  sighed to

 herself. `But no use in wishing for  what I haven't got, so I'd better

 make the best of what I have.  Enough silver and coppers to put a roof

 over my head for  a few days, at least, and the  food the Captain gave

 to me should last about as long.'  One clean set of clothes, the heavy

 cloak around her  shoulders, the pack, and her parting  gifts were the

 sum total of  her possessions. Hardly enough to open  a shop with, not

 that she would  even consider selling them. `I'll start  looking for a

 job tomorrow...'

      The scuffle  of Tarilane's salt  encrusted boots was lost  in the

 general bustle of the street traffic.

                              * * * * *

      Lord Silvas'  residence was well suited  to his high rank  in the

 underground and to  his front as a wealthy merchant.  A six foot stone

 wall surrounded the  house and the small, tree  filled garden secluded

 him from the  outside world. Traps were hidden in  the green expanses,

 just in case a guild member got  greedy. The house itself was only two

 stories tall and  constructed of grey stones a little  darker than the

 wall. Gates kept out any curious passers-by.

      Inside, the  house was subdued rather  than ostentatious. Nothing

 spoke of overt wealth, but everything  had the stamp of quality. There

 were  a few  extravagances. Glass  window panes  replaced dull  common

 shutters  and heavy  velvet  drapes concealed  the  interior from  all

 outside viewers.  Rugs, in the few  places Silvas was willing  to have

 them, were plush and colorful.

      Ranth and Darion sat in the fanciest room in the house, the front

 room,  usually  used for  receiving  guests.  Pictures and  tapestries

 covered the walls and the furniture was deep and comfortable. Sprawled

 in velvet covered chairs they  played cards with their latest pickings

 as stakes.

      Ranth flipped a well worn card  at his partner and waited. Darion

 studied it, then compared it to the others in his hand.

      "Well?" Ranth said impatiently.

      "Well what?"

      "What's your bet?"

      "I'm thinking about it."

      Ranth  waited, tapping  his toes  against the  heavy rugs  on the

 floor.

      "Young  masters." The  quiet voice  caused both  youths to  jump.

 "Lord  Silvas requests  your  presence in  his  study immediately."  A

 slender woman stood  in the doorway, in the black  gown Silvas had all

 his house staff wear. Ranth and  Darion were positive the woman worked

 for the Guild,  but so far had  not been able to prove  it. Her manner

 was ever that of a well trained  servant, and they always seemed to be

 too busy to follow her when she had her day off.

      She waited patiently by the door while the pair redivided the pot

 and made a  show of reshuffling their hands back  into the deck. Ranth

 pocketed the deck as they followed her into the hall.

      Lord Silvas was  seated in a comfortable  chair, taking advantage

 of the late afternoon sunlight to read a letter that had arrived while

 he was  out. He  looked up as  Ranth and Darion  entered the  room and

 arranged themselves before him.

      "You've learned  quite a  bit in  the last  few years,"  he said,

 closing the letter with a low rustle. He studied the pair for a minute

 before continuing.  "Now it is  time for  you to practice  what you've

 learned on  your own. I want  both of you  out of the house  by sunset

 tonight."

      Darion and Ranth stared at him in shocked silence.

      "You're kicking us out?" asked Ranth.

      "Isn't this a little sudden?" said Darion at the same instant.

      Silvas looked amused,  the faint smile smoothing  the worry lines

 around his eyes for just an instant.

      "Yes,  I'm kicking  you out."  He directed  his first  comment to

 Ranth. "And no, it isn't sudden. You're both capable of taking care of

 yourselves and I don't want to deal with you any more."

      "We'll do fine," said Ranth confidently.

      "I don't  doubt it. And  I'll be checking  to make sure  that you

 only  take what's  yours, so..."  Silvas  let the  sentence trail  off

 threatingly,  dark eyes  piercing the  two youths.  After a  moment he

 found his place in his letter again and started reading.

      Ranth and  Darion recognized  a dismissal when  they saw  one and

 headed for the door, trading uneasy glances.

      "Don't forget to watch your  backs out there." Lord Silvas' voice

 followed them out  into the hallway. "The Guild will  contact you when

 you have  proven yourselves."  When Darion glanced  back, the  man was

 still busy with his letter.

      The pair  climbed the stairs to  their room in silence,  with the

 black clad servant trailing after them.

      Packing was a five minute  affair; Lord Silvas had not encouraged

 having  many  possessions.  Darion  had  leather  armor  that  he  had

 purchased just a  month ago, a short sword, and  some daggers, plus an

 extra set  of clothing and his  lockpicks. Ranth carried a  full broad

 sword and a battered metal  corslet that provided better than adequate

 protection. Both  weapon and mail  were highly polished, for  if Ranth

 had any loves, it  was that of weapons and combat. He  too had a spare

 set of clothes, and each carried a pack, where they were able to stash

 several  days worth  of food  when they  thought the  servant was  not

 looking.

      They found themselves staring at each other as the front gate was

 shut firmly behind them.

      "We never  did find out  if she  works for the  Guild," commented

 Darion irrelevantly, watching  the woman make her way  back inside. He

 turned back to  his partner. "So what  do we do now? I  feel like I've

 just been stabbed in the back."

      "We always  knew this would  happen," countered Ranth.  "Just not

 this soon..." He sounded less confident than he looked.

      "Why did  he say `The Guild  will contact you when  you've proven

 yourselves'?" Darion wondered aloud. "The Guild's always eager to make

 up the money they spent on training people as soon as possible."

      "He probably  just forgot," Ranth  said, looking up and  down the

 street.

      Darion turned to look back at  the house through the heavy gates.

 "He didn't forget. He _doesn't_ forget. You know that."

      "Ah,  forget it,"  Ranth pulled  his friend  away from  the gate.

 "We've got things to  do. Tomorrow's the first day of  the rest of our

 lives."

      "So what do we do today?" asked Darion.

      "We go get drunk. Then we find a place to stay."

      "Sounds good to me."

                              * * * * *

      The Sailor's Rest  Inn was not exactly on the  wharf. It was well

 over five blocks away from the port, in fact, the scent of the sea and

 fish barely  tainting the air. The  worn sign had a  sailor in classic

 pirate costume laying  in a hammock painted on it  and was nailed just

 above the front door. Inside, the common room was large, lit by ship's

 lanterns giving the place a ship-like atmosphere.

      Tarilane found the place after  wandering around the city streets

 for several hours.  It was the cleanest places she  had run across all

 day, and with night falling, the  young woman decided that it would do

 for the night. Bargaining with the innkeeper brought the price down to

 something reasonable and Tarilane had gotten dinner in the bargain.

      She sat beside one of  the greasy windows overlooking the street,

 picking at the fish  stew she had been served. At  least the bread was

 almost fresh and  the ale was not  bad, and was cheaper  than the mead

 she wanted to buy.

      Tarilane watched the people coming and  going from the inn as she

 slowly finished her  meal. Lower ranking ship's  officers, rather than

 rough sailors  made up  a good  part of the  crowd, along  with lesser

 merchants and  people who could not  afford a better place,  but would

 not go to a cheaper one. People like herself.

      Ordinarily  she had  no interest  in  watching people,  but in  a

 strange city  keeping track of  the patrons gave  her an odd  sense of

 security.  And  it beat  thinking  about  what  she  was going  to  do

 tomorrow.

      As  she watched,  an armed  man entered  the inn,  followed by  a

 heavily  painted  woman,  and  a  second later  by  two  youths  about

 Tarilane's own age. All four stopped briefly at the bar to get drinks,

 then the woman wandered off into the  crowd. The man stayed at the bar

 and the youths commandeered a table as close to a corner as they could

 get.

      Tarilane's attention wandered to the  next arriving people and to

 the last few bites of fish stew still left in her bowl.

      Out of  the corner of  his eye Darion kept  a close watch  on the

 shifting  humanity that  surged  past  the edge  of  their table.  The

 location was  not far enough  out of the press  of bodies as  he would

 have liked, but  it afforded a reasonable view of  the room, and Ranth

 could always  watch his back.  His eyes  skipped over the  people, and

 settled on a young woman seated near  the front window of the inn. She

 was reasonably good  looking, so when she stood and  made her way past

 the table, he smiled up at her,  hoping to gain company for the night.

 She did not seem to notice.

      Ranth laughed at him when he swore.

      "That's  twice," he  grinned,  taking a  large  swallow of  beer.

 "You're going to bed lonely tonight."

      "Not a chance," retorted Darion. He took a long pull from his mug

 and wiped  his mouth on his  sleeve. This was the  pairs second tavern

 for the evening, and both were more than a little tipsy. Darion poured

 himself another mugful of  beer and set the jug down  in the middle of

 the table.

      "Hey,  leave  me  some!"  Ranth snatched  the  pitcher  back.  He

 refilled his own mug, managing not to  spill to much of the dark brown

 liquid.

      "We'll need to get a job tomorrow," Darion advised as they slowly

 went  about emptying  their glasses  again.  "Want to  check with  the

 Guild?"

      "Nah. Let's try something different for a change," said Ranth.

      "Like what?"

      "Caravan guarding?"

      "You trying to get me killed?"

      Ranth  chuckled,  then hiccuped.  "Let's  talk  about it  in  the

 morning, when you're sober enough to  listen to reason. We should find

 a place to stay for the night. And before you ask, no, we can't afford

 to stay here."

      "Think one of your so called friends'll put us up for the night?"

 Darion's  eyes gleamed  in the  flickering lantern  light and  his red

 cheeks took on a burnished orange glow.

      "We can always ask. Let's go."

      Ranth lumbered to  his feet, followed by Darion.  While not quite

 drunk, both were sufficiently inebriated  that they did not walk quite

 straight. As  they passed one of  the barmaids, Darion tripped  over a

 crack in the floor boards and stumbled into her.

      "Hey, beautiful,"  Darion smiled  at her,  helping her  to steady

 herself. "Want to get off your feet for an hour or two?"

      Ranth had  to help  Darion steady himself  after the  maid's slap

 knocked him sideways.

      "What'd I say?"

      "I'd say you're going home lonely," snickered Ranth.

      "Thanks a lot," muttered Darion. "I don't feel so bad though. You

 don't have anyone either."

      "I've got you and I haven't even been trying."

      They stepped  out into the warm  summer night. The air  was still

 and almost as  hot as the interior  of the inn itself.  The street was

 quiet and  empty, with  street lanterns shedding  pale light  over the

 cobblestones. Out  of habit each  checked a direction  for potentially

 dangerous oncoming traffic.

      "Let's stop at the alley," said Darion abruptly.

      "You should have  gone before we left." Ranth veered  to the left

 and into the  dark alley-way. "Bet I  can hit higher on  the wall than

 you can."

      "No way!" retorted  Darion, following him in. "Not  a chance. And

 no hands this time," he added, unfastening his breeches.

      "You've got to be joking!"

      "Don't think  you can do it?  Silver says you can't.  There. Just

 try and beat that!"

      "No problem. Hah! You owe me a silver."

      "No way! That is not--" Darion  cut himself off abruptly and held

 up a hand so that Ranth would not jump in.

      "What?" hissed his friend.

      "Listen!"

      "To what?"

      "Shhh!" Darion cocked  a hand to his ear,  exaggerating the order

 for his friend to keep his ears open.

      Ranth cocked his head to one  side and concentrated. He heard the

 soft chatter of  children's voices just seconds before  the pack burst

 out of the shadows to mob them.

      Shouts bounced  off the walls  as the group divided  and attacked

 each of  the young men with  sticks, rocks, daggers, and  their little

 bare  hands. Surrounded  on  all sides  by  raggedly dressed  urchins,

 neither was  able to  get an  arm free  enough to  successfully defend

 himself.

      Someone yelled in triumph as Darion stumbled.

      Tarilane opened her  eyes to the dark beamed  ceiling, the voices

 from her uneasy  dreams solidifying into reality  and drifting through

 her window. Annoyed,  she pulled open the shutters to  give the little

 brats a piece of her mind, just in  time to see one of the youths from

 the tavern bowled over by a pile of children.

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

1                                                   **

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           ****

              **

 Quanta is  the electronically distributed  journal  of Science Fiction

 and Fantasy.  As such, each issue contains fiction by  amateur authors

 as  well  as articles, reviews  etc...   Quanta    is published in two

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

      (C)   Copyright   October,   1992,  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

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