From: "Avid Reader - Fledgling Writer" <[email-masked]>
Date: Tue, 12 May 92 10:29:47 EDT

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   D    D  AAAA RRR  G GG O  O N N N   Z     I N N N E     || Issue 1
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 --   DargonZine Volume 2, Issue 1        03/17/89          Cir 882    --
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 --                            Contents                                --
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   DAG                        Dafydd                 Editorial
   A Night in the Town        Carlo N. Samson        28 Naia, 1013
   Trial by Fire, Part 1      M. Wendy Henniquin     7-12 Sy, 1013
   The Game Begins            John Doucette          13-14 Sy, 1013
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                           Dafydd's Amber Glow

        This will  be brief, as  this issue is  going to be  very long.
    First, please don't  be alarmed by the fact that  this is Volume 2:
    yes, there was only  one issue in Volume 1. I  have decided to make
    each volume cover a Calendar year and, as Volume 1 went out in 1988
    and it is now 1989, this issue must be in the second volume.
        Second,   I   would  like   to   announce   that  Rich   Jervis
    ([email-masked])  is handling  orders  for the  DargonZine
    tshirt. He needs a few more  promissory orders before he can get an
    estimate from the printer.
        The shirt will  bear a design based on the  the DargonZine logo
    in either  silver on blue or  black on blue. Current  estimates for
    price are  around eight dollars but  a large response to  this will
    cut   the  price   accordingly.  Please   contact  Rich   for  more
    information. No profits are expected as  he will no doubt go in the
    hole from shipping costs.
        Lastly, the next issue of Volume 2 will be out within the month
    - I  have enough stories right  now to make this  issue about three
    times the  size it is,  so you won't have  to wait almost  5 months
    before reading more about Dargon.
        Thank you and good reading,
                 Dafydd, Editor DargonZine
                   (m.k.a. John L White)
                   (b.c.k.a. [email-masked])

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1                         A Night in the Town
                           by Carlo N. Samson
                      (b.c.k.a [email-masked])

     The sun was setting as Cydric  Araesto arrived in the coastal town
 of Sharks' Cove.  He rode through the gates and  onto the main street,
 seeking a  place to rest after  his journey up from  Magnus, the Crown
 City of Baranur.  After a short while,  he decided to stop  at a place
 called "The  Hawk & Dragon Inn",  as it looked a  bit more respectable
 than the other taverns he had passed.
     Cydric snorted at the thought that  anything in this rat- bag of a
 town could be respectable; all manner of thieves, smugglers, murderers
 and whores infested Sharks' Cove, so  he had heard. Some even said the
 local guard were afraid to venture onto the streets at night.
     Cydric entered the common room of the Inn and sat down at a corner
 table. An odd feeling  came over him; it seemed like  he had done this
 before. And indeed, he had.  His thoughts traveled back several months
 and several  hundred leagues, to the  northern town of Dargon.  He had
 come into a  tavern just like this one,  met a girl who took  him to a
 Sage, who took him on a  strange adventure into a realm beyond dreams.
 But that time, he had been searching for an answer; this time, he just
 wanted to get away.
     At the  bar, a group  of revelers sang and  drank, led by  a young
 girl  strumming skillfully  on a  mandolin.  Her voice  was light  and
 pleasing, yet Cydric didn't think she was a bard.
     He  called a  serving  girl  over and  ordered  a  drink. When  it
 arrived, he took  a sip and stared into the  brown liquid, remembering
 the whole Dargon episode as if it had happened yesterday.

     It had all started with  a strange, recurring vision, which always
 ended with the name "Corambis the Sage" and a map showing the location
 of Dargon. He told  no one about it, since it wouldn't  do for the son
 of King  Haralan's Royal Treasurer to  be thought insane. After  a few
 months, though,  he decided to  follow up on  the vision. He  left the
 castle  in the  middle of  the  night, leaving  only a  letter to  his
 fiancee Lysanda, King Haralan's niece.
     He arrived  in Dargon and met  Corambis, who also had  been having
 visions. It turned  out that their visions were being  sent to them by
 an Elder, trapped in another realm of existence, who needed Cydric and
 the Sage to  free him. They entered the realm  through a portal opened
 by the  Elder, but  when they  found him they  discovered that  he was
 really a sorcerer called Nephros, who  needed them as part of a ritual
 to free a powerful demon from the  Nether Realms. But with the help of
 Corambis'  patron  goddess  they  managed to  escape,  battling  giant
 lizards and crystal skeletons along the way.

     Cydric smiled and took another sip.  It had been a rather exciting
 experience,  even  though  they  could have  been  killed  on  several
 occasions.  Then his  expression  sobered as  he  remembered what  had
 happened after they returned to their own realm.

     A  royal messenger  had arrived  at the  house of  Corambis, where
 Cydric had been staying, and informed the young noble that Lysanda was
 expecting a child, and had been for three months. Cydric had no choice
 but to  return to  the capital  and marry her  immediately to  avoid a
 scandal.  Unfortunately,  rumors  of Lysanda's  pre-marital  pregnancy
 began circulating, and were confirmed when the child was born only six
 months later. The High Church of Magnus was extremely shocked, but the
 Master Priest made no official comment  after being taken aside by the
 King himself. Still,  the public knew, and soon it  got so that Cydric
1and  Lysanda couldn't  even go  into town  without people  giving them
 looks and quietly  whispering about "heathen fornication".  This put a
 strain on  their marriage, and  a month later  they had a  fight which
 ended  with Lysanda  taking  the  baby and  moving  back  in with  her
 parents.  She then  petitioned the  Church  for a  dissolution of  the
 marriage, and when  it was granted she and her  parents moved far away
 from the  capital. Cydric fell  into disfavor  around the court,  so a
 month after  Lysanda left  he decided  to leave as  well, much  to the
 relief of the courtiers and to the sorrow of his parents and friends.

     The sound of  cheering interrupted Cydric's thoughts.  The girl at
 the  bar bowed  with  a  flourish, her  song  apparently over.  Cydric
 returned to  his drink.  "Sharks' Cove," he  silently mused.  "Not the
 best place  in the world  to end  up in." He  shook his head.  "But at
 least no  one knows  me here. Time  to make a  new start.  Hopefully I
 won't make such a mess of my life this time around."
     "Hello there," a voice at his elbow said. Cydric looked up and saw
 the mandolin  girl standing next  to him. "The tavern's  full tonight,
 isn't it? Hardly any place to sit. Would you mind if I sat with you? I
 noticed you  came in here alone.  But if you're meeting  someone I can
 just go somewhere else, but if you're  not, I'd like to join you, if I
 may. Well?"
     "Uh, be my guest," said Cydric,  after taking a moment to decipher
 what she had said.
     "Many thanks." The girl carefully placed her instrument on a chair
 and plopped her slender figure onto  the table, dangling her legs over
 the edge. She was dressed explorer- style: billowy white shirt, maroon
 velvet   vest,  cotton   breeches,  and   deerskin  knee   boots.  Her
 tawny-auburn hair, short and curly, was quite unlike the long, braided
 style  currently in  fashion among  the young  ladies of  the kingdom.
 Cydric guessed  that she was just  a bit younger than  him, perhaps no
 more than 19 or 20.
     "You're dusty," she said. "Have you just ridden into town?"
     Cydric self-consciously ran  a hand through his  short brown hair.
 "Yes, as a matter of fact. I've been traveling."
     "You also  sound tired. Is that  the reason you didn't  applaud my
 playing?"
     Cydric shrugged. "I suppose so."
     "Sorry," she said, laying her hand on his arm. "I don't mean to be
 so forward, especially with a  stranger." She leaned over. "So, what's
 your name?"
     He introduced  himself as Cydric Artovan.  "Very pleased, Cydric,"
 she said,  extending her  hand. Cydric  went to  press it  against his
 cheek, in the usual  manner of greeting; but after he  had done so she
 gripped his forearm warrior-style. "My name's Amanda Lynn."
     "A mandolin?" Cydric said.
     She  laughed. "That's  what everyone  says the  first time  I tell
 them. Just call me Mandi."
     "Very pleased, Mandi." Cydric sloshed the drink around in his mug.
     "Well, Cydric,  now that we're  no longer strangers--at  least not
 _total_ strangers--tell me, what strange  force compelled you to visit
 this town?"
     "Just passing through," Cydric replied.
     "Passing through?" She chuckled, then gathered her legs under her.
 "Most people go out of their way to avoid the Cove."
     "Actually, I may  have to stay for  a few days. I'm  low on money.
 Would  you   happen  to  know   if  there  are  any,   um,  employment
 opportunities available around here?"
     "That depends." She peered over the  edge of the table at Cydric's
 lap. "Hmmm, very nice."
1    "I beg your pardon?"
     "Your sword and dagger, I meant. How well can you use them?"
     "Well enough to defend myself."
     "That's  not   quite  good   enough  for  a   mercenary  position.
 Although...."
     "Yes?"
     "Is your codpiece in working order?"
     Cydric grinned uncertainly. "Ah, why would you want to know that?"
     Mandi cocked her  head and winked at him.  "Prostitutes aren't all
 women, you know."
     Cydric coughed. "Ah, I'm also able  to read and write. Do you know
 of any children that need tutoring?"
     A scruffy-looking man  from the next table leaned  over and looked
 at them.  "Why sure, son," he  called. "Take my partner  here--all 'is
 talk's  babble, it  is. Thinks  you could  teaches 'im  to grunt  some
 words, eh son?" He and his companions laughed uproariously.
     "Your  mother  eats flies,  dung-breath!"  Mandi  called back.  To
 Cydric she said, "Ignore those fools."
     "Yeah, you just  be sure and show  the old son there  a good time,
 pretty missy," the man replied, leering. He turned back to his table.
     "I take  it the whole town  needs tutoring," Cydric said  in a low
 voice.
     "You've got  that right,"  Mandi replied.  "Anyway, have  you ever
 been on  a ship  before? A  friend of mine  is looking  for additional
 crewmembers."
     Cydric's heart  quickened. While  in Dargon  he had  met a  man, a
 former ship's captain turned stew-seller,  who told him about his life
 and experiences at  sea. After hearing his stories  of action, danger,
 and romance, Cydric  had decided to give the seagoing  life a try. His
 marriage to  Lysanda, however, put an  end to that ambition;  but now,
 things were different.
     "What does  your friend do?"  Cydric asked.  "Is he a  merchant, a
 fisherman?"
     "A slave trader," Mandi replied. She giggled at Cydric's surprised
 expression. "No, he's really a  shipping merchant, as you guessed. Are
 you interested?"
     "Well yes, but I've never actually been on ship before."
     "Oh, that's  all right. You'd get  used to it eventually.  But are
 you really sure you want to join up?"
     Cydric was silent for a few  moments. "Yes," he finally said. "Why
 not? It'll keep me off the streets for a while."
     "Oh goody," Mandi said, sliding off  the table. "I think he's over
 at the Abyssment  tonight. Do you want  to meet him now,  or would you
 rather get cleaned up first?"
     "Give me a few minutes," Cydric said.

     After Cydric had checked his  belongings into an upstairs room and
 washed up, he and Mandi set out on foot into the darkening streets.
     "On second thought,  maybe we should do this  tomorrow. I've heard
 that this town isn't safe after dark," Cydric said.
     "Oh  really, Cydric,  this place  isn't as  bad as  you've heard,"
 Mandi said.
     "Are you sure?"
     "Of course I am." She leaned close to his ear and whispered, "It's
 worse."
     "I hope you're jesting."
     Mandi laughed and  put her hand on Cydric's  shoulder. "Don't look
 so  worried. The  Abyssment's not  far. Besides,  my friend's  leaving
 tomorrow morning, as  he only needs a  few men to replace  the ones he
 lost overboard on his last run."
1    "Lost overboard?"
     "Storm at sea.  Really, don't worry, they didn't die  of plague or
 anything. He's a damn good captain, Thorne is."
     The sound of their footsteps  echoed on the cobblestone streets as
 they walked along.
     "What is this Abyssment place,  anyway?" asked Cydric. "It doesn't
 sound very wholesome."
     "It's  only the  best  tavern this  side of  the  Darst Range!  My
 favorite night spot in all of Shark's Cove."
     "So why don't you work there, instead of at the Hawk and Dragon?"
     "Well, The Abyssment has it's  own musicians, and alas! they don't
 need another one right now. But they  do let me perform with them once
 in a while."
     "I don't see why they won't  hire you permanently. You're the best
 mandolin player I've ever heard."
     "Oh! Do you really think so? Or are you just flattering me?"
     "No, I mean it. Who taught you?"
     "My father. Oh, now he really deserves to be called best mandolin.
 He  gave me  my  name, you  know.  Said it  was a  charm  to pass  his
 abilities onto me."
     "It seems to have worked," Cydric said.
     Mandi smiled and laughed. "Oh Cydric, you're the one with charm!"

     A short while later they arrived  at the establishment know as The
 Abyssment.  The  sign   above  the  door  spelled  out   the  name  in
 black-trimmed red letters, and  the words "Gaius Caligula, Proprietor"
 appeared beneath.
     "Here we are," said Mandi.
     As soon as they entered, Cydric  saw that it was unlike any tavern
 he had  ever seen. The tables,  booths, and bar were  arranged so that
 there was  a clear space in  the center of  the room where a  crowd of
 people, most of them around Cydric and Mandi's age, danced to the fast
 and lively music  being played by the trio of  musicians near the bar.
 Glowing spheres set in the rafters sent out rays of rainbow light into
 the smoky air.  The aromas of tobacco, ale, perfume,  and food all hit
 Cydric at once.
     Mandi began moving her body to the beat of the music. "Wait for me
 at the bar," she said. "I'll try to find Captain Thorne." She vanished
 into the crowd.
     Cydric decided that whatever the people in the room were doing, it
 certainly wasn't dancing. They were  swaying and gyrating their bodies
 to the driving beat  of the drums; he found it hard  to tell if anyone
 had  a  partner,  since  none  of  them  were  holding  hands  in  the
 traditional manner.
     As he made his  way to the bar he passed a table  at which a group
 of young persons were sharing a pipe.
     "Excuse me," Cydric  said to the boy who currently  held the pipe,
 "but  what sort  of tobacco  are you  using?" The  boy looked  up with
 glazed eyes and said, "Beezorg, yo-man,  beezorg." He gave the pipe to
 the girl across from him, smiled dreamily, then slumped headfirst onto
 the table.
     "Ah. I see. Thank you very much," Cydric said. He continued on his
 way,  unsure of  whether  the boy's  statement was  an  answer to  his
 question or just an incoherent mumble.
     "What'll you have, squire?" asked the bartender as Cydric made for
 an empty stool.
     "A Lederian, please. In a clean mug, if you don't mind."
     "A clean mug, if I don't  mind?" the bartender echoed. "Well, what
 if I did mind? What would you do about it?"
     "Please,  just get  me the  drink," Cydric  said, trying  to sound
1rugged.
     "Very well, squire. But supposing I  brought it to you in a really
 filthy, really disgusting mug? What would you do then?"
     Cydric started  to reply,  then noticed that  the people  near him
 were watching the exchange with interest.
     "Well, I'd...." Cydric hesitated.
     "You'd what?"
     "I'd...be sick."
     The bartender gave a hearty  laugh. "This one's all right, folks!"
 he declared. From behind the bar he took a mug, wiped the inside clean
 with a  rag, filled it  with the requested  drink, then set  it before
 Cydric. "On the house."
     Cydric thanked  him. The bartender  grinned, then went to  tend to
 another customer.
     Looking around the room, Cydric saw that the majority of the young
 patrons  bore little  resemblance  to  the youths  that  lived in  the
 capital and other civilized areas. Many of the girls wore short skirts
 that exposed their knees, and had short hair like Mandi's; most of the
 boys wore leather jerkins decorated with strange symbols, and some had
 hair that reached past their shoulders.
     The person to Cydric's right got up and left, and a moment later a
 thin  girl dressed  in a  black-striped red  chemise sat  down in  the
 vacant seat. "Are you alone?" she asked.
     "Ah, actually, I'm waiting for someone," Cydric replied. "You?"
     "How about a dance?" She pushed back a lock of her straight blonde
 hair.
     A glint of light on the girl's face caught Cydric's eye. He looked
 closer, and saw that she had a small gold ring in the left side of her
 nose.
     "Back off, missy, he's with me," Mandi said, approaching them. The
 blonde girl gave Mandi a disdainful look, tossed her head, then left.
     "Did you see that? She had a ring in her nose," said Cydric.
     "Must have been  a queenie," Mandi replied.  "Anyway, Thorne'll be
 here later. He's got some other business to take care of."
     "How much later?" Cydric asked. "I don't want to stay too late."
     "Don't worry, he'll show up. Come on."
     "Where to now?"
     "I thought we might dance a little."
     "Dance? But--"
     "You don't  know how? I'll teach  you." Mandi pulled him  onto the
 floor just as the musicians started another number.
     "The King doesn't dance like this," Cydric said.
     Mandi giggled  and bumped  him with  her hip.  "What does  he know
 about dancing? Look, it's easy. Just do what I do."
     "This looks extremely sinful, Mandi."
     "Why Cydric, that's  why it's so fun! Come on!"  She put her hands
 in the air and began shaking her shoulders.
     Cydric watched her for a few moments, shrugged, then began shaking
 as well.

     After a while, the musicians decided to take a break. As the crowd
 broke up, Cydric and Mandi quickly occupied the nearest table.
     "Whew! Wasn't  that the most  fun you've  ever had in  your life?"
 Mandi asked breathlessly as they collapsed into the chairs.
     "I'm exhausted," Cydric said, wiping the sweat from his brow.
     "Oh now, you enjoyed it, didn't you? You're a natural born dervish
 dancer if I ever saw one!"
     "Is that  what it's called?"  Cydric said, grinning  faintly. "How
 appropriate. But--yes, I did rather enjoy  it." He sat up a little and
 scanned the  faces at the bar  and the other tables.  "Has the captain
1arrived yet?"
     "Relax, Cydric," Mandi said. "I told you, he'll be here."
     "If you say so," Cydric answered.
     "Yes, I do." Mandi felt her stomach, then said, "Why don't we have
 something to  eat while we're waiting?  I haven't had a  single morsel
 since midday and I'm positively _starving_. How about you? You've been
 traveling all day, right? You must be completely _famished!_"
     "Now that you mention it, I could use a light meal."
     Mandi signalled to a serving  boy. She whispered something to him,
 and he nodded and left.
     "What did you say?" asked Cydric.
     "I just told him to bring  us some specialties of the house," said
 Mandi.
     The serving boy returned a short  time later and placed two wooden
 bowls before them.
     "Right then  Cydric, have a  taste of  this one." She  indicated a
 bowl  that  contained  several  small white  objects  covered  with  a
 brownish gravy.
     "What is it?" Cydric said, eyeing the dish suspiciously.
     "Try it and find out." Mandi spooned  up a portion and held it out
 to him.
     "Well, all right...."  Cydric let her feed him.  The white objects
 were crunchy, but with a soft chewy interior.
     "Interesting. There's  a touch of wine  in the sauce, but  I can't
 place anything else. What is it?"
     "It's   called   'kavaliculi',   but    it's   better   known   as
 snails-in-sauce."
     Cydric made a choking sound. "_What_ in sauce?"
     "Snails. Don't worry, they're fully cooked." She dipped her finger
 into  the bowl  and licked  up  a bit  of  the wine  gravy. "Isn't  it
 delicious?"
     Cydric swallowed hard. "Quite a, uh, unique dish," he said, trying
 not to think about what he had just eaten.
     "Now try  this," said Mandi,  pushing the other bowl  towards him.
 Cydric saw  that it  was full  of what  appeared to  be bits  of dried
 twigs.
     "Ladies first," he said.
     "Silly, it's only a dessert," she said, scooping up a small amount
 and stuffing it into her mouth.
     "A dessert?  Well, why didn't  you say  so." Cydric ate  some. The
 bits were crispy and coated with a sweet substance.
     "What do you think?" Mandi asked.
     "Hmmm. Very tasty."
     "I knew you'd like it! Do you want to know what these are called?"
     "I have a feeling you'd tell me anyway."
     "'Lyr-filas', or 'leaf-wrigglers dipped in honey'."
     Cydric smiled  bravely as  he felt  the last  bits slide  down his
 throat. He  firmly resolved not to  eject the contents of  his stomach
 onto the table--at least not in  front of Mandi. "How, ah, delicious,"
 he  said.  "I never  knew  insects  could be  made  to  taste so,  um,
 flavorful."
     "They  are  good,  aren't  they? Well,  let's  finish  the  snails
 first--they're best eaten while warm." She handed Cydric a spoon.
     "Tell me something, Mandi," he said as he watched her dip into the
 bowl,  "what  do you  have  for  breakfast?  Glazed  fly larvae  on  a
 biscuit?"
     "Only during Melrin," she said, grinning.

     Cydric had  downed three mugs of  water by the time  they finished
 their unusual meal.
1    "It's getting late,  Mandi. I think I'll go back  to the inn now,"
 Cydric said.
     "Oh, can't you wait just a few minutes longer? I'm sure he'll show
 up."
     "That's all right. I'll just look  for a job tomorrow. I shouldn't
 have any trouble finding unschooled children in this town."
     "Don't  you want  to join  a ship's  crew and  have adventure  and
 excitement on the high seas?" Mandi  asked. "Or would you rather teach
 some runny-faced urchin how to spell 'cur'?
     "What do you suppose is keeping him, then?"
     "I don't know. Be patient, I'm--"
     "--sure he'll  be here," Cydric  finished. "Thank you  anyway." He
 got up to leave.
     "Well--you're right. I'm sorry I kept  you so late. But aren't you
 at least going to walk me home?"
     "Certainly, if you'd like."
     "I certainly would. We're going the same way."
     "We are? Oh--you live at the Inn, don't you?"
     Mandi smiled merrily. "It's where I hang my mandolin!"

     Dim yellow  light from street lanterns  provided pale illumination
 as Cydric  and Mandi stepped  out into the  cool night air  and headed
 back toward the Hawk & Dragon.
     "So,  Cydric, what  did  you  think of  your  first  night at  the
 Abyssment?" Mandi asked.
     "Well," he  replied, "if  suggestive dancing,  open drug  use, and
 brazen  prostitution becomes  socially acceptable,  it'll be  the most
 popular tavern on Makdiar!"
     "Does that mean you liked it?"
     Cydric  chuckled  and made  no  reply.  Looking  up at  the  black
 star-strewn sky, he  saw that there was no moon.  He remembered an old
 childhood  warning about  thieves  and nightshades  preying on  people
 foolish enough to be out on  moonless nights. He'd long since lost his
 belief  in nightshades,  but thieves,  he knew,  were a  grim reality.
 Turning to Mandi he said, "We'd better hurry back."
     "What for?" said Mandi, giving  a little skip. "It's a magnificent
 night, absolutely beautiful. We should enjoy it."
     "I don't fancy having my throat slit by a brigand."
     "Oh Cydric,  there's really  nothing to  worry about.  I've walked
 home at night many times and as you can see, I'm still alive."
     "That may change one day."
     As they  made their  way through the  silent streets,  Cydric kept
 glancing at every shadow, down every  alley, any place that might hide
 a potential attacker. Once or twice he thought he heard bootsteps.
     "My  heart's on  fire for  you, hmm  hmm hmm  hmmmmmm hmmm,"  said
 Mandi.
     "Beg your pardon?" Cydric said.
     "Oh, that's just a song I'm composing. Would you like to hear it?"
     "Maybe later. We shouldn't call attention to ourselves."
     "And what's  wrong with  a little attention?  I want  everybody to
 hear this song. I want everybody to  know my name!" She flung her arms
 wide and twirled in mid-step.
     "Mandi, please!"  Cydric hissed. "I  have the feeling  we're being
 followed."
     "Really? How many people?"
     "Shhhh." Cydric  stopped and listened  intently. He heard  a faint
 scuffling, then silence.
     "Well?" whispered Mandi.
     "I'm not sure.  Two, maybe three. They've probably  been behind us
 ever since we left the Abyssment."
1    "Oh good, an audience. Let me sing for them."
     "It'll be the last thing you ever do. Come on." He started walking
 rapidly, pulling Mandi along.
     "You  don't  have to  act  like  a  warrior  for my  benefit.  I'm
 perfectly able to take care of myself," she said.
     "Are you any good with a blade?'
     "Well, no. But I can outrun anything on two legs."
     "Your own legs?"
     "Of course my own legs."
     "And  I'm sure  they're very  nice legs.  Now move  them a  little
 faster."
     Their  shadowers soon  abandoned all  attempts at  stealth. Cydric
 looked back  down the street  and saw two figures  silhouetted against
 the lantern  light. The  sound of their  footfalls echoed  through the
 still night.
     "Damn," muttered Cydric.
     "What?" asked Mandi.
     "Don't look behind you, but they're starting to close in on us."
     Mandi looked  anyway. "What do  you think  we should do?  Are they
 going to hurt us?"
     "Well, they're certainly not going to  ask to hear your song! Now,
 when I say run, run."
     "Okay," replied Mandi. "Last one back to the Inn is a dead man!"
     Literally, thought Cydric. He counted to five, then shouted: "Run,
 Mandi!"
     They shot away  down the street. Cydric heard  faint laughter over
 the clatter of bootsteps. Suddenly Mandi screamed.
     A dark-skinned man armed with a  large curved sword stood in their
 path. They stopped in their tracks.
     Cydric looked back and saw  one of their pursuers advancing toward
 them. The other one was nowhere to be seen.
     The man indicated a nearby alley. "In there," he said in a thickly
 accented  voice. Cydric  and Mandi  raised their  hands and  walked to
 where he pointed. When  they came to the wall at the  end of the alley
 the man ordered them to turn around.
     "Your money," he said simply.
     As Mandi handed  over her purse, Cydric recognized the  sword as a
 shivash,  a blade  used  by the  warriors of  the  Lashkir Desert.  He
 wondered what this particular Lashkirian was doing so far from home.
     "Now  yours."  The Lashkirian  waved  his  blade threateningly  at
 Cydric.
     "Look, just leave us alone and  we won't give you any trouble," he
 replied.
     The man  pressed the point  of the shivash against  Cydric's neck.
 "You will give it now, you blistered son of a jantral!"
     "Better do as he says," said Mandi.
     Cydric slowly reached for his belt  pouch but found it missing. He
 patted himself  all over, with  the same negative result.  "Sorry," he
 said. "I seem to have lost it all somewhere."
     The desert  warrior let  loose a  string of  curses in  his native
 tongue.
     "Easy, friend," said another voice.  Cydric saw another man, their
 initial pursuer, appear at the mouth of the alley.
     "He says he has no money," said the Lashkirian.
     "He said that, did he?" the  other man replied, coming up to them.
 He scratched his stubbly brown beard. "What do you think, Scarabin, is
 he lying?"
     "Like a dog-skin rug," answered  the Lashkirian. "Let us kill them
 both, master Kayne."
     "Well, not before  I get to know the girl  a little better," Kayne
1replied. He moved  closer to Mandi, who delivered a  solid kick to his
 shin.
     "Ouch! Spunky little  wench, isn't she?" said Kayne  as he hobbled
 back several paces.
     "Don't you try to take advantage of me!" said Mandi.
     "Be silent, girl!" Scarabin ordered.
     "And don't _you_ tell me what to do, lizard man!"
     The desert warrior growled. Cydric realized that she had delivered
 a dreadful insult to the Lashkirian.
     "I  shall cut  your throat  out!" Scarabin  shouted. He  lunged at
 Mandi.
     "Temper, temper," said Kayne, catching Scarabin's arm. In a flash,
 Cydric  kicked the  shivash out  of the  Lashkirian's grip,  delivered
 another kick  to Kayne's stomach, then  dropped back and drew  his own
 sword. He was about to aim a  sharp slash at Kayne's face when he felt
 Mandi grab his sword arm.
     "Let go, for gods' sake!" yelled Cydric.
     Instantly, Kayne came up and wrested the sword from Cydric's hand.
 He shoved the  young man against the wall. Cydric  drove his knee into
 Kayne's groin and  shoved back. As Kayne staggered,  Scarabin swung at
 Cydric's face. He stopped the blow  with a left-arm rising block, then
 punched the Lashkirian  in the chest. Scarabin fell  back, then leaped
 forward, catching Cydric's  head in his hands.  Cydric felt Scarabin's
 thumb jab a  spot behind his right ear, then  suddenly he felt himself
 go weak. His knees buckled, then he collapsed to the ground.
     "You better not  have killed him!" he heard Mandi  say. She rolled
 him over, then sighed with relief as he dazedly shook his head.
     "Oh  Cydric, you're  all right,  aren't you?"  she asked,  concern
 edging her voice.
     "Fine,  just...fine,"  he  replied,  struggling up  to  a  sitting
 position. He  saw Kayne  and Scarabin standing  over them.  "If you're
 going to kill us, why don't you get it over with!" he said fiercely.
     "Relax, Cydric,"  Mandi said, smoothing  his hair. She  turned and
 glowered at Scarabin. "Did you have to do that to him?"
     "My apologies, mistress Mandi. It was done out of instinct."
     "You  know these  people?" Cydric  asked Mandi.  "What's going  on
 here?"
     "I suppose  it's time we told  you," said a female  voice from the
 mouth of the alley. Cydric looked  up and saw a tall dark-haired woman
 striding towards them. She was clad in black and silver, and carried a
 lantern. As she helped  him to his feet she said,  "I hope they didn't
 hurt you, Cydric. I told them to not to be too rough."
     "He's fine, all right, but what about  me? I won't be able to make
 love for a  month!" Kayne said, rubbing at the  place where Cydric had
 kneed him.
     "What do you mean?" Cydric asked  the woman. "Who are you? And how
 do you know my name?"
     "One question  at a time,  please. First let me  introduce myself.
 I'm Brynna Thorne,  captain of the trading  vessel _Vanguard Voyager_.
 You've already met  my crew, I think. Tyrus Kayne,  my First Mate, and
 Scarabin, my best warrior."
     "You're  Captain Thorne?  But Mandi  said--I mean,  I thought  you
 were--"
     "Thought I was what?"
     "Well, a man."
     "Is that  what you  told him?" Brynna  asked, glancing  sharply at
 Mandi.
     The young lady grinned sheepishly. "Well...."
     "I can't wait to hear your explanation for this one," said Brynna.
     "Well, you see, everyone I  asked seemed interested in joining the
1crew. But  when I  told them about  your being a  woman, they  sort of
 laughed and left."
     "I see."
     "Well, what else could I do?"
     "We'll speak about  it later," Brynna said. She  turned to Cydric.
 "Now then,  I suppose  you're wondering  why I didn't  show up  at the
 Abyssment tonight?"
     "The question had crossed my mind."
     "Well, when  Mandi told me  you wanted to  become a member  of the
 crew but hadn't had any experience  on a ship before, my first thought
 was to dismiss you outright. But she told me that you were desperately
 poor and in need of employment, so  I decided to conduct a little test
 to see  if you  were suitable. I  had her take  you to  the Abyssment,
 where I observed you for the whole night."
     "But how did Mandi contact you? I was with her all the time."
     "Not always," Mandi said. "Brynna was  in the gaming parlor of the
 Hawk & Dragon. I spoke to her  while you were checking your stuff into
 your room."
     Cydric nodded in understanding, then said to Brynna, "And you were
 at the Abyssment the whole time?"
     "I was  indeed. And  I must say,  I was impressed  by the  way you
 handled  yourself  in  the  various situations  you  encountered.  For
 instance, most people would have pulled  a knife on that bartender, or
 simply  left.  You  also  seemed open-minded  enough  to  try  dervish
 dancing, even  though it's  been officially banned  by the  Church for
 ages.  And  you  are one  of  the  few  people  I've seen  who  hasn't
 immediately  become sick  after trying  snails and  wrigglers for  the
 first time.
     "What this  all means, Cydric,  is that you  seem like you'd  be a
 good addition to our crew. I need people who are level-headed, and not
 afraid to  experience new things. So,  if you want to  join us, you're
 most welcome. The decision is yours."
     "This attack was also part of my test, I gather."
     "Yes, it was. I was looking to  see if your combat skills were any
 good, and from what I saw, yours appear to be above average."
     "Exactly what sort  of trading do you do, though?  I mean, there's
 not  much need  for  a fighting  crew unless  you  travel outside  the
 patrolled sea lanes."
     "That's  quite true,"  Brynna replied.  "The nature  of our  trade
 takes us outside the normal routes,  and consequently we run a greater
 risk of pirate  attacks. You see, there's a great  demand nowadays for
 unusual and  exotic goods;  we travel  to the  lesser known  places of
 Makdiar in  search of these  things. We've collected  heavenspice from
 Bichu, fire crystals from Karmitan, orchids from Sanctus Island...."
     "Not to mention relics from  the temples at Yaltark, and sea-snail
 shells from the Wild Coast," added Kayne.
     "But  understand, Cydric,  that shipboard  life will  sometimes be
 hard, and  there may come  times when  you'll wish you'd  never signed
 aboard.  And there  often may  be  times where  our lives  will be  in
 danger--not just  from pirates,  but from things  unknown even  to the
 most worldly wizard. Are you still interested?"
     "I'm willing to  give it a try. And I'm  not worried about death,"
 answered Cydric.
     "Bravely spoken,"  Brynna said.  "One more  thing, though;  do you
 mind the fact that  I'm the captain? That is, do  you object to taking
 orders from a woman?"
     Cydric paused, then said: "Not when she has a right to give them."
     "Wise answer, Cydric," remarked Kayne.
     "Does  this  mean  you've  accepted  him?"  Mandi  asked,  looking
 hopefully at Brynna.
1    "It does indeed. Welcome aboard,  Cydric," she said, extending her
 hand.
     "Oh goody!"  exclaimed Mandi,  as Cydric smilingly  thanked Brynna
 and  gripped  forearms  with  her. Kayne  repeated  the  welcome,  and
 Scarabin bowed politely. Mandi smiled broadly and gave the young man a
 hug.
     "We'll discuss  terms and duties  later," Brynna said.  "But right
 now we  should all go  back to the Inn  before some real  thieves show
 up."
     As the  group filed out of  the alley, Mandi walked  between Kayne
 and Scarabin.  "Great acting,  you two!" she  said. "Sorry  about that
 'lizard man' thing, Scar. I wasn't thinking."
     "I am not  offended, mistress Mandi. I know your  intention was to
 make the attack seem real to the lad," the Lashkirian replied.
     "But  _you_!"  she said,  whirling  on  Kayne,  "If you  ever  try
 anything with me again, acting or  not--I'll personally see to it that
 you're _never_ able to make love again."
     "Ouch," said Kayne, chuckling in amusement.
     While the three were thus conversing, Brynna took Cydric aside and
 whispered, "Since you've no previous shipboard experience, your duties
 will be simple at first. But there's one thing that I'll expect you to
 do, above all else."
     "Yes?"
     "Keep  Mandi  out  of  trouble.  My young  cousin  seems  to  have
 developed a talent for it, ever since she stowed away and persuaded me
 to let her be part of the crew."
     "I'll do my best, my lady--er, captain."
     "I can tell you right now, though, it won't be easy."
     "That's right, it won't!" Mandi said, popping up between them. She
 slipped her arm around Cydric. "You and I are going to have such fun."
     "I can hardly  wait," Cydric replied, grinning.  Mandi pinched his
 cheek as they walked off into the night.

                            The End

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

1                            Trial by Fire
                                 Part I
                                Accused!
                         by M. Wendy Henniquin
                    (b.c.k.a. HENNEQUI_WEM@CTSTATEU)

     As Luthias  opened the door,  the Duke of Dargon  whooped, scooped
 his pretty  wife into his  arms, and twirled  her in the  air. Lauren,
 clad in a  sunshiny yellow gown, clung to the  Duke's neck and laughed
 gaily as a debutante. Luthias paused, unsure of the situation and what
 to do about it. He looked at Myrande for guidance. She shrugged.
     Above the laughter, Luthias called  irritably, "Well, I'm glad you
 two have something to be happy about."
     Clifton set his wife gently on  the floor and sprang across to the
 room to his cousin. "Luthias!" he  greeted him. "You're going to be an
 uncle!"
     At this, Luthias  blinked. "What? You're joking!  Roisart went out
 and got some girl pregnant before  he died?" A smile seeped across the
 young Baron's lips. "That wasn't Roisart's style at all."
     Myrande swatted  him. "You  dullard," she  groaned. She  looked at
 Lauren. "When, your grace?"
     "The seventeenth of Feber," Lauren stated confidently.
     "Lauren,  you  can't  know  that  accurately,"  Clifton  protested
 affectionately.
     Lauren nodded with assurance. "I just know."
     "I didn't  think you'd start  having children this  soon," Luthias
 commented, collapsing into a chair. "Don't  you want to be alone for a
 while?"
     "Oh, we'll  find time  enough to be  alone, don't  worry," Clifton
 assured his cousin.
     "Sure, cousin, and make more babies," Luthias finished irritably.
     "Married people have a tendency to  do that sort of thing," Lauren
 teased her  kinsman. "Of course,"  she continued, eyes  twinkling, "it
 isn't exclusive to marriage, eh, Luthias?"
     Luthias glared at the Duke. "You told her! I don't believe this!"
     Clifton opened his mouth to reply,  but his wife silenced him with
 a quick gesture. "Wait. Does Myrande know about this?"
     "What, about his wenching days?"  Myrande asked. She smiled, waved
 Lauren's concern away. "Certainly. I'm  the seneschal. I'm the one who
 holds the keys and lets arrant  knaves in when they've been wenching."
 Luthias scowled at her teasing  grin. "However," Myrande defended him,
 "he always  made certain that there  were no babies involved."  He had
 almost been  fanatic about it, as  Sable recalled. Then she  looked at
 the young  Baron. "You  haven't done  anything like  that in  over two
 years, though."
     "That's  because my  father  started hearing  about it,"  grumbled
 Luthias. He glared at his seneschal.
     "It  wasn't me!"  she  protested. "Don't  you  think that  Roisart
 noticed your coming in late all the time?"
     "Besides, your  father wasn't  easily fooled,"  Clifton concluded.
 Seeing Luthias' discomfort,  he moved behind his desk  and changed the
 subject. What was past was past, after all. "So, Luthias, I gather you
 aren't having the  best of days." The Duke scanned  his cousin's face.
 "You don't look well."
     "Oh,  I'm well  enough," Luthias  assured him  sarcastically. "I'm
 just losing  my mind." He  flung one of  the letters across  the desk.
 "Take a look at that."
     Clifton opened  the folded  parchment and  skimmed it.  "The legal
 elections? I've  already been  informed," he  said, handing  the paper
 back to Luthias. "So?"
1    "Clifton, I'm going mad just trying  to run the barony. I can't be
 Duke's Advocate,  too. The mere traveling  takes up so much  time, and
 the preparation...besides,  I know nothing of  law. Even if I  had the
 time to dedicate to this, I wouldn't be a good Advocate."
     "As I understand  it," Lauren interposed, "you  wouldn't be trying
 many cases, Luthias. You'd only be involved in cases where a member of
 the nobility were being tried, and then only for major crimes, such as
 murder or treason."
     "Right,"  Clifton  confirmed.  "That  doesn't  happen  too  often,
 manling. You should do well enough."
     "Can't you get  someone else?" Luthias requested.  "I really don't
 need the extra responsibility."
     "It's not my  decision," the Duke reminded him.  "By royal decree,
 the members  of the  Tribunal and  the Duke's  Advocate are  chosen by
 election. Sorry." The  Duke leaned back in his chair.  "I hope you two
 are going to stay the week.  The Tournament's only five days away, and
 besides, it's cooler here than in Connall."
     Luthias wiped the back of his  hand against his sweaty forehead. A
 few grains  of grit from the  road scraped annoyingly across  the scar
 above his  right eye. It  didn't help; nothing  did. Not even  the sea
 breezes sweeping the  air of Dargon brought much relief  from the heat
 and humidity. "I don't know," Luthias said. "There's so much to do..."
     "You mean  you aren't  entered in  the Tournament?"  Clifton asked
 incredulously. "You almost won last year!"
     Luthias  smiled, almost  sheepish.  "I don't  have  much time  for
 games. I've got too many responsibilities at home."
     "That's what Michiya  said, too, and you told him  to go ahead and
 enter," Myrande  pointed out. "Besides,  what duties will you  have at
 Connall? Most of the  people of the barony are coming  to the city for
 the Tournament!"
     "True," Luthias sighed. "Michiya's fighting, Macdougalls is a sure
 bet to take the archery--"
     "Again," Clifton interjected.
     "And God  only knows how  many men  you'll have fighting  for you,
 Sable," Luthias finished tiredly. "And not one of them asks for you."
     "Someone has, haven't they?" Lauren asked, looking at her husband.
 "I  recall  you saying  something  to  me a  day  or  so ago  about  a
 letter..."
     "I had wanted to forget it,"  Clifton almost snapped. He opened up
 his desk drawer abruptly and pulled  out a folded piece of fine velum.
 "I think you'd better see this, cousin."
     Luthias' mouth twisted angrily when  he recognized the seal of the
 Baron of  Shipbrook, and a  red cloud of rage  covered his face  as he
 read it. "That son of a  bitch!" Luthias exploded furiously. "How dare
 he!"
     Frantically,  Myrande  snatched  the  letter  from  the  Baron  of
 Connall. "I don't believe this,"  she murmured. "He threatened this in
 his letter to you, but this was sent before yours."
     "What did  you tell  him, Clifton?"  Luthias asked,  only slightly
 calmer than he had been. "Are you going to take Myrande's guardianship
 from me and give it to him?"
     "Are you mad?"  Clifton demanded. "Do you think I'd  let any woman
 of this  Duchy marry Baron Oleran?  I've already written him  and told
 him to mind his own barony."
     Luthias took the  letter from Myrande, read it  again. "He's right
 that I should have found a marriage for her..."
     "No, he isn't," Clifton argued. "I know why your father refused to
 marry her off, and I agree with his reasons."
     Myrande stared at  the Duke. "Uncle Fionn told  you!" she accused,
 incredulous.
1    "Only because he wanted my advice," the Duke explained.
     "He wanted your advice?" Luthias echoed.
     "Well, I am the Duke."
     "Yes," Luthias  agreed, "but you're  twenty years younger  than he
 was!"
     "Actually, my age made me closer to  the man she was in love with,
 and your  father wanted  to know  whether or  not I  thought something
 would  develop," Clifton  explained casually.  He leaned  back in  his
 chair.
     Luthias glared at his seneschal. "Does everyone in the whole Duchy
 but me know who you're in love  with? I'm the only one who can arrange
 your marriage, and--"
     Clifton grinned,  amused. "Luthias,  I don't  think you'd  want to
 handle this one."
     "I agree," Lauren advised quietly. "You're much too close--"
     "And  you know  too?!" Luthias  cried, enraged.  He turned  toward
 Myrande  and shoved  her  slightly.  "Thanks a  lot  for trusting  me,
 Sable."
     Myrande blinked once, then turned  and silently left the room. The
 door closed quietly behind her.
     "Now you've gone and done it," Clifton grumbled. "And you said you
 had 'the touch' with women."
     "She doesn't  keep it from you  out of spite or  distrust," Lauren
 said quietly, carefully keeping anger and accusation out of her voice.
 "Her reasons are just."
     Luthias  sat  again. "I  don't  mean  to  yell  or hurt  her,"  he
 confessed. "I want to see her happy, and she won't let me arrange it!"
 He slammed  his fist into his  open palm to emphasize  the point. "She
 won't even tell me about it."
     "Never mind," Lauren soothed. "I'll  go make sure she's all right.
 Excuse  me." She  touched  Luthias' shoulder  reassuringly, smiled  at
 Clifton, and left his office.
     Clifton sighed  and shook his head  at his cousin. "The  hell with
 all of this nonsense, Luthias. Go marry her yourself."
     "I'm  getting that  advice  from  all over."  The  young Baron  of
 Connall smiled ruefully. "Roisart said the same thing in my dream last
 night."
     "Well,  he's  right," the  Duke  continued.  "It would  stop  your
 constant  arguing and  get Shipbrook  off your  back." Luthias  looked
 reluctant. "What's  wrong? I thought  you liked Sable. Would  you mind
 marrying her?"
     "Not  at  all,  if  it  were me  she  wanted,"  Luthias  admitted,
 shrugged. "Or if she didn't care who she married. But I refuse to have
 her resent  me because I kept  her from whoever she  loves." Suddenly,
 the Baron  smiled with irony  on his lips.  "I'll tell you  one thing,
 though, Clifton: if she ever steps before me again in nothing but that
 nightgown, I'm not responsible."
     Clifton lifted his eyebrows. "Responsible? Why? Was it that ugly?"
     Wickedly smiling, Luthias shook his head. "No. Nearly invisible."
     "Ah,"  the Duke  said knowingly,  relaxing in  his chair.  "One of
 those nightgowns." He  smiled, thinking of his bride.  Then he teased,
 "Why didn't you do something about  it, manling? Then we wouldn't have
 to worry about marrying her off."
     "I wouldn't so dishonor her," Luthias protested, dignified.
     "Dishonor? I don't think any dishonor is involved."
     "Nor I,  but she'd see it  that way," Luthias sighed.  "She's been
 saving  herself, and  I wouldn't  deny her  that privilege."  A shadow
 crossed his eyes.  "My father once...screamed at me when  he thought I
 was fooling with  Sable. He said..." What  had he said? It  was a long
 time ago, and it still shamed him.  "He said if I toyed with her body,
1I'd be toying with her heart, that I'd do nothing but hurt her."
     "Sable's a big  girl now," Clifton commented. "I  also don't think
 any  man--including  you--would  be  able to  touch  her  without  her
 allowing --and wanting--it. Still, manling, you should have tried."
     "No,  Clifton, I'm  not going  to try  to force  her to  marry me.
 That's how  she'd see it," Luthias  added, seeing an objection  on his
 cousin's  face. Then,  suddenly,  the young  Baron  of Connall  smiled
 wickedly. "Of course, if I see her  like that again, I just might lose
 control  of myself."  The  Duke  grinned. This  sounded  like the  old
 Luthias, or rather, the young one.
     The young Baron of Connall  looked over his shoulder. "Speaking of
 Sable,  I suppose  I ought  to go  apologize to  her. "See  you later,
 Clifton."
     The  Duke reached  for some  of  his paperwork.  "Staying for  the
 tournament?"
     "Might as well," sighed the Baron.  "Put me on the lists." He shut
 the door quietly.
     The  Duke  pushed  the  parchment  away,  mused  silently  at  the
 situation. "I  give up,"  Clifton muttered finally,  pulling paperwork
 toward him.

     Luthias found Myrande standing in front of three tall portraits in
 Clifton's gallery. The  long, white hall ran almost the  length of the
 keep, and in it were hung paintings of the Dargon family, Luthias' and
 Clifton's  ancestors.  Myrande  was  standing before  the  three  most
 recent.
     To her  left was a  grand gentleman,  in grand armor,  holding his
 helmet beneath his arm  and his sword in the other  hand. He was tall,
 dignified, solemn; his brown eyes  were Clifton's eyes, Luthias' eyes.
 This was the Duke of Dargon, Clifton's father, Luthias' uncle, the man
 who had  given Myrande's father  his knighthood. The Baron  of Connall
 gazed at the painting with respect. He had always admired his uncle.
     To Myrande's  right, and  Luthias', was  the newest  portrait, not
 more than seven years old. The young  man in it stood, like his father
 to  Myrande's  right, with  a  dignified  posture,  but this  man  was
 surrounded by books,  papers, and musical instruments as  well as war.
 Luthias smiled  at Clifton's image  and thought, this is  what Roisart
 might have been like, had he gone to the university.
     The center portrait held Myrande's  dark eyes, however. The man in
 the center  of the painting, a  man in his thirties,  perhaps, had the
 looks of both the Dukes of Dargon.  He was seated before a desk spread
 with  papers,  and  although  he  looked  as  if  he  were  trying  to
 concentrate, his  lips were twisting  into a  quiet smile. He  was not
 alone; behind the  desk, a nine-year-old boy challenged  a lion's head
 with a sword, and  seated on the floor by the  man's chair was another
 boy, a twin of the first, reading a book of fairy tales.
     "I hate that picture," Luthias remarked.
     "I know it," Sable returned laconically.
     "You're angry with me."
     "You're perceptive," she returned coolly.
     Luthias grimaced angrily. "I came to apologize," he snapped.
     "You should," Myrande returned in kind. "You know I trust you."
     "Then why don't you just tell  me?" Luthias demanded. "I'm the one
 who can do something about it! Just tell me who this man is!"
     "No."
     "Why, Sable?" Luthias growled, taking her shoulders. Her onyx eyes
 glared at him. "Give me one reason why. One good reason."
     "I've given you my reasons," Sable reminded him coldly.
     "Not good enough. Tell me!"
     "I can't!"  Myrande spat between  her teeth. She  squirmed beneath
1his hold. "I  tell you, I can't.  If you knew, you'd  understand why I
 can't tell you!"
     "But I *don't* know," Luthias  shouted, "and I *don't* understand!
 Don't you  think I  want to  help you? And  you don't  even give  me a
 chance!" He released her in disgust. Scornfully, he added, "I'll wager
 you haven't given him a chance, either, whoever he is."
     Myrande turned  her back coldly to  him, as if she  didn't want to
 hear or see  him. "By God, Myrande," Luthias exploded,  "it's your own
 fault! You don't want him to love you--you'd rather languish on like a
 simpering heroine  in one of  Roisart's romances  than give the  man a
 chance to accept you!"
     "Why bother?" she asked. "I don't want his pity. Why should I tell
 him and watch him reject me when I already know he doesn't love me?"
     "How do you know? Has he told you this?" Sable was silent. Luthias
 wrenched her shoulders  again so that she was forced  to face him. She
 struggled, but  the Baron held  her fast, and  while she was  the more
 determined, Luthias'  arms were stronger.  He shook her once.  "Has he
 told you?"
     Myrande opened her mouth, but only glared at him furiously.
     "No, I  thought not." He released  her again. For a  wild, furious
 moment, he  wanted to strike  her with all  his strength. He  began to
 speak, but fell silent  as his eyes met her hard  stare. His eyes lost
 the anger  and suddenly all  Luthias felt was hurt--that  she couldn't
 tell him, and that she was hurting. "Sable, damn it, if you can't tell
 me, at least tell  him. He'd be crazy if he didn't  love you. Give the
 man a chance."
     The sorrow  in the young  Baron's eyes  and voice pierced  the icy
 wall  behind Sable's  black  eyes.  "I can't,"  she  said tiredly.  "I
 can't."
     "Why?" Luthias coaxed softly, reaching for her hand.
     "For the same reason I can't  tell you," she whispered. She paused
 and raised her eyes. Luthias felt  strangely, as if she were searching
 for something in his face. "Luthias, I would tell you--oh, God, I want
 you to know--" Luthias heard her voice break, and she averted her eyes
 and turned away as  she tried to regain control. She  would not cry in
 front of him, Luthias  knew, not if she could help  it. Her hands flew
 to cover her  face. "It's the same as always!"  she cried out. Luthias
 reached to touch her, but for some reason, unknown to him, he withdrew
 his hand. "I don't have the courage," she finally choked.
     "Oh, Sable."  Luthias put his  arms around her waist  and shoulder
 and pulled her  close. She shook once beneath his  arms, a silent sob.
 "Don't cry," he whispered.
     "I'm not crying," she insisted thickly.
     "Sable, let me do something."
     Beneath his hand, her head shook negatively.
     Luthias felt tired.  "Then do something yourself. I  don't want to
 fight you...I've got  enough to fight...but I want you  to be happy. I
 can't stand seeing you like this."
     "There's nothing you can do," she  said sadly, her chin resting on
 his arm. "There's nothing anyone can do."
     No, Luthias  denied it. There  was something  he could do,  and by
 God,  he would  do it.  Luthias  slowly, gently,  tightened his  grip.
 Myrande's body snuggled  against him, her form and  her warmth welcome
 even in  the obscene  heat. Luthias  bent toward  her ear,  received a
 wonderful  view, and  buried  his  head in  her  rose-scented hair  to
 concentrate.  "Forget   him,  Sable,"  the  young   Baron  of  Connall
 whispered. "If he's hurting you, he isn't worth it. Forget him, and--"
     "Luthias!" The Baron  of Connall gave an inward,  violent curse as
 he heard  his cousin call him.  He turned to see  Clifton, Lauren, his
 castellan  Ittosai  Michiya,  and two  visitors  approaching.  Luthias
1silently swore again and reluctantly,  he released Myrande. Before she
 stepped slightly away, the Baron saw unshed tears shining in her eyes.
 She  blinked once,  but  did not  cry.  Luthias put  his  hand on  her
 shoulder and gently squeezed it.
     "We'll talk later," he promised softly  as the Duke and Duchess of
 Dargon,  the  Castellan of  Connall,  and  the visitors  came  closer.
 Luthias recognized one  of the men: Baron Richard Vladon,  a member of
 the  Tribunal and  an old  friend  of his  father's. Luthias  politely
 offered his hand. "Good day, Baron Vladon."
     Vladon, a  serious-looking, gray-haired man in  his sixties, shook
 Luthias  hand  firmly.  "Good  day, Lord  Luthias--forgive  me,  Baron
 Connall." Luthias smiled. He preferred the first title.
     "Luthias," the  Duke of  Dargon interrupted,  "this is  Sir Edward
 Sothos, Knight Commander  of the Royal Armies. He's come  to judge the
 tournament. Your excellency," Clifton  continued politely, "my cousin,
 the Baron of Connall."
     Luthias bowed slightly to  dark-haired Knight Commander, over whom
 Luthias towered slightly. He had met  Sir Edward once, five years ago,
 when he was sixteen and Edward  had come to visit Sir Lucan Shipbrook,
 Myrande's father, a few weeks before Sir Lucan fell ill and died. As a
 youth he  had stood in  awe of the stern,  reserved man with  the scar
 across his face. But Luthias grew,  learned to bear his own scars like
 a  warrior,  and  learned  to admire  the  strong,  black-clad  Knight
 Commander.
     Luthias  extended his  hand. "How  do you  do, your  Excellency. A
 pleasure to meet you."
     "How  do you  do, Baron,"  Sir  Edward returned  gravely, but  not
 unpleasantly. His grip on Luthias' hand was firm and hard, the hold of
 one warrior to another. "An honor and a pleasure, sir. Ah," the Knight
 Commander continued,  smiling as Myrande  turned toward him.  He bowed
 low and pressed her small palm to  his cheek. "How do you do, my lady.
 I believe I have the pleasure of addressing the Baroness of Connall?"
     Clifton glanced sharply at Myrande. She paled as she heard Sothos'
 words. Luthias seemed caught between smiling and frowning, but did not
 lose any  composure. "Unfortunately,  your excellency,"  Luthias rued,
 "it is  not the  case. My  friend, ward,  and seneschal,  Lady Myrande
 Shipbrook."
     Sir Edward straightened. "Oh, yes, Sir Lucan's daughter! How could
 I  forget a  face like  that?  You are  the  image of  your mother.  A
 pleasure, my  lady." He  smiled by  way of  apology. "Forgive  my rude
 assumption. I saw  you in the arms of Baron  Connall, and naturally, I
 thought--" The knight faltered and smiled sheepishly. "Things are very
 different in Dargon than they are in the capital."
     "There's  no  need to  apologize,"  Myrande  said. Luthias'  mouth
 twitched; somehow her voice sounded strange. He wanted to put his arms
 around her again; she felt too good to let go of.
     After a lame moment of  silence, Lady Lauren suggested, "Come, Sir
 Edward. My father  will be pleased to  see you again. He  should be in
 the  library  now." Sir  Edward  bowed  to  Myrande again,  nodded  to
 Luthias, and left  with the Duke, the Duchess and  his cousin. Ittosai
 lingered.
     "I  hear  you  are   entering  the  lists,  Luthias-san,"  Michiya
 commented, smiling. "I am eager to meet you."
     "Any  objection  to  practicing  now?  The  servants  should  have
 returned by now with my armor and weapons."
     "You want  to impress Sir Edward,  don't you?" Myrande asked  in a
 low voice.
     Luthias smiled. "Of course. He's the greatest knight in the land."
 For a moment, the young Baron was wistful. "I always wanted to be just
 like him and Sir Lucan. He's the greatest Knight in the Kingdom." Then
1he clapped his seneschale's back. "Come  join us, Sable. I want to see
 how good you really are with this naginata."
     "You may regret  it," Myrande warned. Ittosai,  her tutor, smiled.
 "But I'll join you later."
     "Let us go then," Michiya suggested. He bowed in the Bichurian way
 to the lady and left with the Baron.

     The  atmosphere had  not  cooled  by the  day  of the  tournament.
 Luthias had barely slept fourteen hours between the time he arrived in
 Dargon and  the day  of the  tournament; it  was too  hot, and  he was
 plagued by bad dreams. But the little vacation from the barony and the
 concentration of fighting had done him good; he had been more relaxed,
 and he was ready for the fight when it came.
     The fact that  Sir Edward was judging the tournament  had made him
 nervous, though.  The greatest  Knight in  the Kingdom,  watching him,
 watching  Ittosai, watching  all  the  men, young  and  old, who  were
 entering the tournament. Sir Edward himself, the Knight Commander. And
 with war coming--
     That was  nonsense. He and  Sir Edward  had discussed it  over the
 dinner table at  Clifton's home days before. The  Knight Commander and
 Ittosai Michiya  had agreed with  him that Bichu and  Baranur fighting
 was  close to  impossible. Bichu's  navy, primitive  as it  was, could
 hardly reach Baranurian  shores, and were there  ever a confrontation,
 the encumbered Baranurians would never be able to withstand the light,
 quick  weapons  born  by  the Bichanese.  But  still  the  rumors--and
 Luthias'  nightmares of  horror  and war--continued.  The young  Baron
 didn't like it.
     Despite the pressures and the ugly rumors, Luthias had enjoyed the
 tournament,  which  had  taken  place earlier.  Macdougalls  took  the
 archery,  bow  down, and  no  one  was surprised.  Carrying  Myrande's
 colors--and  the  struggle  Luthias  endured  to  win  that  privilege
 surpassed  the  tournament  fighting--the  Baron of  Connall  won  the
 tournament by defeating his castellan in the final round.
     Luthias glanced  around the  ballroom, slightly  uncomfortable. He
 had always  hated balls, hated dancing,  and now he hated  wearing the
 baldric of the  Duchy champion. He didn't deserve it,  and he knew it.
 Ittosai had allowed  him to win. Oh, Luthias didn't  realize it at the
 time, but as  soon as he struck  the final blow, he  knew that Ittosai
 had  allowed it.  He  understood  Michiya's reason  for  doing it,  so
 Luthias said nothing  to his castellan, but Ittosai  knew that Luthias
 understood.
     He made his  way through the crowds, searching  for his seneschal.
 He supposed  he should  dance with  her. She was  clumsy, but  she did
 dance well, and she looked stunning tonight in a gown of ruby silk. He
 caught sight of her, dancing with the Knight Commander, so he moved to
 the side of the dance floor and watched.
     "Luthias!" someone  called. Luthias  frowned, trying to  place the
 slightly familiar voice, and turned. Facing  him was a thin young man,
 shorter  than Luthias  and  slighter, blond,  and  hazel-eyed. He  was
 dressed in the  fashionable clothes of Magnus, as was  Sir Edward, and
 this man's clothes  were also black. He bore  himself confidently, and
 however serious his face was, he moved as a fighter.
     Luthias peered at him as he  came forward. Then he recognized him:
 "Warin!" Luthias smiled. Warin Shipbrook, like his brother Tylane, had
 been good  friends with the  Connall twins  and Sable since  they were
 small. It certainly wasn't their  fault their father was crazed. "When
 did  you get  back?"  Luthias  asked, clasping  his  friend's arm.  "I
 thought you were still at the University in Magnus!"
     "I've graduated," the  scholar admitted proudly, "and  I came home
 with Sir Edward. I've got to learn  to rule, now that I've studied all
1the laws."  Warin smiled, then  sighed. "Roisart would have  loved the
 library." He paused,  tried to smile again. "And it  seems I'm not the
 only one learning to rule."
     Luthias shrugged,  looking away. It  had been months, but  part of
 him still grieved for his father and brother. "I do what I have to."
     "If you need help, you know where I am."
     Luthias almost laughed. "As if your  father would let me near you.
 He hates me."
     A cross expression  triumphed over Warin's face. He  kept his deep
 voice low.  "My father and  his notion of family  honor. As if  he had
 any, throwing Uncle  Lucan out of the family! And  marrying Myrande to
 Oleran!" Warin looked Luthias in the  eye. "Damn it, Luthias, give her
 to me, if there's  no one else. I could bear living  with her. She's a
 sweet girl--"
     "Whom you haven't  seen for five years,"  Luthias chuckled. "She's
 grown into  quite a  hellcat." He  lost his  good humor.  "A stubborn,
 proud hellcat,  in love  with a  man who  doesn't love  her--she won't
 accept anyone else." The young Baron threw his hands out in confusion.
 "It's not for lack of anyone to marry her to--*I'd* marry her. She and
 I would get along excellently. But she won't do it!"
     Warin smiled.  "Just like her mother.  No one but Uncle  Lucan for
 her!"
     "Sir Lucan loved her back."
     "True," Warin agreed.
     "Well, when I  get my hands on the fiend,  I'll kill him," Luthias
 vowed. "She's been hurt enough in her life."
     "Luthias-san," Ittosai Michiya announced  himself. He bowed to the
 Baron, then to the Baron's friend.  "How do you do," he said carefully
 to Warin, using  Baranurian manners. "I am  Ittosai Michiya, Castellan
 to the Baron of Connall."
     "Lord Warin  Shipbrook," he introduced  himself, and bowed  in the
 Baranurian fashion.
     Ittosai continued, "There  was a Bichanese merchant  at the market
 with katanas.  I am in need  of a new one,  and I thought that  you as
 well would like to have one." He held out a supremely crafted katana.
     Luthias smiled. "Thank you, Michiya. You didn't have to do that."
     "You  well  earned  it  today  on  the  field,  Luthias-san,"  the
 castellan cut  him off.  Ittosai smiled.  "We shall  practice together
 tomorrow."
     Small hands suddenly appeared before Warin's eyes. Luthias smiled,
 recognizing them.  Warin removed the  hands and turned.  "Myrande!" he
 greeted his cousin, kissing her warmly  on the cheek. He stepped back,
 inspected her. "You've grown no taller."
     "Nor have you," she teased testily.
     "But at least you're bonnier," Warin offered.
     "Bonnier? I'm falling apart, and he says I'm bonnier." But Myrande
 was smiling.
     "I must  go," Ittosai interrupted,  "for I have promised  to dance
 with the Duchess. But these are  for you, Myrande," he stated quickly,
 pushing two  ivory sticks,  tipped in silver,  which were  carved with
 Bichanese characters on the blunt end.
     "Thank you," Myrande said politely. She looked confused though.
     "They are  chop sticks," Michiya  explained. "In my  country, they
 are used for eating, but the ladies also wear them in their hair. Like
 this," he explained. He took the ivory sticks and slipped them, silver
 pointed end  first, into  the pile  of hair at  the back  of Myrande's
 head. Michiya took  a step back and admired the  effect of the crossed
 sticks.  "There. You  are perfect,  except your  eyes are  too round."
 Myrande laughed. "Excuse me, prease,"  he concluded, hearing the music
 paus. He  bowed to his  lord and his company.  "I must dance  with the
1Duchess."
     Luthias took  him aside as he  was leaving. "Let me  know how much
 the katana cost," Luthias asked quietly.
     Ittosai smiled.  "I have  more than enough,  Luthias-san. It  is a
 gift; besides,  you give me too  much gold for my  services." He bowed
 toward the Baron slightly. "I shall see you on the later, my friend."
     Luthias turned back to his ward and his old friend Warin, who were
 trying to catch up  on four years of one another's  lives in less than
 an hour. "Do you want to dance, Sable?" the Baron of Connall asked.
     She smiled  shyly. "I already  promised Warin." Shy? Why  does she
 look shy? It wasn't as if he had never asked to dance with her before.
     Come to think of it, he hadn't.
     "Go ahead," young Shipbrook offered easily.
     "No, I'll dance with you  later," Luthias insisted. "I see Clifton
 wants to see me." He nodded to his friends and left.
     "Now," said Warin, taking his younger cousin's arm, "we shall have
 to see if your dancing has improved."
     Myrande laughed. "Improved? You must  be joking." She stepped with
 him, and they began to dance. "Are you glad to be home, Warin?"
     The  scholar considered.  "I  am, and  I'm not.  I'm  glad to  see
 everyone again,  Tylane and  you, Luthias,  the Duke...but  still, I'm
 having a hard time getting along with my father--"
     "You're not alone."
     "I  realize   this.  Has  he   really  tried  to   supersede  your
 guardianship  from  Luthias?"  Myrande   nodded.  "I  wonder  if  he's
 insane--belittling the Baron of Connall  and trying to marry his niece
 to Oleran. And the way he treats Tylane..."
     "What's he doing  to Tylane?" Myrande asked quickly.  She was fond
 of  Tylane, her  cousin, and  had  been very  happy for  him when  his
 engagement to  Danza Coranabo,  who had been  offered to  Luthias, had
 been announced several weeks ago. "Is he disinheriting him?"
     "Worse.  Whenever Tylane  does so  much as  disagree with  him, he
 threatens to refuse Danza."
     "How can he do that? The  banns have been announced, and the dowry
 paid."
     "Tylane's only nineteen, Myrande, and  my father legally can still
 speak for him," Warin explained, as if he didn't really like the fact.
 "And disinheriting him isn't a threat; Tylane will be one of the heirs
 to Coranabo when he marries Danza.  No, disinheritance is what he uses
 against me."
     "For what?"
     "For anything. For  disagreeing with him. He  wants total control,
 Myrande; he wants his  family to think of him as  King and God." Warin
 made a sound  of disgust and turned away. Neither  mentioned the Baron
 of Shipbrook again; neither wanted to think about him.

     Luthias  approached his  cousin,  the Duke,  and  Sir Edward.  The
 Knight Commander smiled. He and Luthias  had spoken much over the last
 few days. "Come into the study," the Knight Commander invited. Luthias
 nodded  and  walked  with  his  cousin and  the  Knight  Commander  to
 Clifton's office.
     "Baron!"
     Luthias turned  his head  and grimaced  when he  saw the  Baron of
 Shipbrook.  Unlike  his  two  congenial  sons,  the  Baron  was  tall,
 dark-haired, and bore himself arrogantly.  Luthias didn't like him and
 had never  liked him.  He found  it difficult  to tolerate  people who
 insisted that their will govern the world.
     "What do you want, Baron?" Luthias asked, trying to keep his voice
 low, steady,  and polite.  He motioned to  his oncoming  manservant to
 wait a moment.
1    "A word with you, nothing else."
     Luthias' mouth quirked  with annoyance. He didn't  exactly wish to
 speak with this man,  now or ever. But he was  the Baron of Connall...
 He looked at the Duke, who nodded. "Come to the study, and speak."
     "I wish to discuss my niece's marriage to Baron Oleran," the Baron
 of Shipbrook announced as soon as the door closed.
     Curse him! Tactless brute, bringing this up at a ball, in front of
 the Knight Commander! Luthias' eyes  caught the metal of the Bichanese
 katana at his side. It was  an excellent weapon, quick and sharp, just
 the thing to remove this cretin's head.
     Fine thing, for the Duke's Advocate to be tried for murder...
     "We  have  arranged  for  the   ceremony  to  take  place  on  the
 twenty-fourth of Seber."
     "There will be no marriage,"  Luthias contradicted, his voice firm
 and low. His hands began to curl into fists.
     "You have no right to  deny her this," Shipbrook stated guardedly.
 "I am her kinsman, and I know best for her. If you have your will, you
 will keep her as your slave for the rest of her life, but she deserves
 better--a home and title of her own."
     "I  am her  guardian,  and I  have every  right  to protect  her,"
 Luthias replied carefully. "I will not have her wed to Oleran."
     "She is of my blood. I have more right to her--"
     "You have NO  right," Luthias seethed, his  words slipping tightly
 between his teeth. "You gave up any  rights to her and her family when
 you cast Sir Lucan out! Myrande is my ward, and it is I, sir, not you,
 who holds sway over her life."
     "Lucan  left her  to  your  father, boy,  not  to you,"  Shipbrook
 argued. "You have neither the wisdom, nor the--"
     "Sir Lucan left her guardianship to the Baron of Connall; I am the
 Baron  of Connall,  Shipbrook,  and I  shall judge  what  is best  for
 Myrande." Luthias  wondered fleetingly how  his cousin and  the Knight
 Commander would react  if he began to strangle the  Baron of Shipbrook
 before their eyes.
     "She was left to Fionn Connall--"
     "She  was  left  to  the *Baron*  of  Connall,"  Luthias  repeated
 angrily. "I  have seen the words,  sir. Now leave!" The  young Baron's
 hands were at  his side, clenched so tightly that  the entire fist was
 white. His eyes were wild and dangerous.
     "You want her dishonored, an old maid to be mocked!"
     "I want  her alive and happy!"  Luthias shouted. He wished  he had
 more--or less--control. "You  want her miserable, or dead.  Get out of
 here, Shipbrook!"
     Shipbrook  took a  step back,  seeing the  fury in  Luthias' eyes.
 Silently, he left. Luthias cursed him  mentally. He shook his head, as
 if  to clear  it,  and bowed  his  head  when he  saw  Sir Edward.  "I
 apologize, sir, for my outburst."
     "Think nothing of it, Luthias," the Knight Commander said gently.
     "Excuse me," the Duke said, and he brushed past Luthias on his way
 out.
     "Not a discreet man, this Baron of Shipbrook."
     "No, Sir Edward."
     "Not at all like his brother,"  Sothos continued. "Sir Lucan was a
 good man. Is it all that hard to find a suitor for his daughter?"
     Luthias smiled, and  his fists loosened. "Not at  all, Sir Edward.
 Her cousin, Warin  Shipbrook, has offered, and I would  marry her, but
 she doesn't want either of us."
     "Proud?"
     "And   stubborn,"   Luthias   agreed.   "But   I'll   get   around
 it...eventually." He didn't add that  he hoped that Shipbrook would do
 nothing  stupid before  he, Luthias,  could figure  out how  to handle
1Myrande.
     "Good luck to you, then, Luthias," laughed the knight. "However, I
 called you here for something of a different nature."
     Luthias sat. "What?"
     The Knight Commander  perched himself on the edge of  the desk. "I
 know--just as you and your Castellan say--that war with Bichu would be
 ludicrous. But I  still sense war coming; from whence,  I know not. Do
 you have any opinions?"
     "The countries to  the east are too small; would  Benison risk it?
 They've waged wars without warning before."
     "True, but I doubt they would be  so stupid as to attack us. We're
 too evenly matched with them."
     "Of course," Luthias said.
     "No matter  what, the army  needs preparations. Did you  know that
 your father had asked that you train beneath me?"
     Luthias blinked. "What? No--he never told me..."
     "Yes, the Duke  tells me he was killed before  he had the chance."
 Edward smiled.  "I wanted him to  tell you this part,  but your father
 had intended for you to come to Magnus and become a knight beneath me.
 Your brother, I'm told, was to have gone to the University."
     "I knew Father was planning to tell Roisart that on our birthday."
     "I see.  But he didn't  live that  long." Luthias nodded.  "In any
 case, Baron Connall, I would ask that you return to Magnus with me, to
 become a officer in the Royal Army."
     Luthias  leaned back  in the  chair and  considered. "Am  I to  be
 Knighted, then?"
     Sir Edward smiled.  "I would think so, but not  yet. You're a fine
 fighter, Luthias,  as far as  that goes, one  of the finest  I've ever
 seen. But there's more to Knighthood than fighting. Honor." Sir Edward
 frowned. "Were you aware that your  Castellan threw away his chance to
 win the tournament?" Luthias nodded. "Why did you allow it?"
     "Because I understood why he did it," Luthias explained.
     "Knighthood involves truth, Luthias.  You won dishonestly, and you
 accepted the prize and honor for that victory without a word."
     "I  would  think that  discretion  is  also a  knightly  quality,"
 Luthias argued  easily. "There are  rumors of a Bichanese  attack, Sir
 Edward. If  Lord Ittosai won the  tournament, the panic would  rise. A
 Bichanese man  better than  every fighter in  Dargon, better  than the
 Duke's cousin? The people would go  mad. How long do you think Ittosai
 would have  lived, if he had  won? I would rather  sacrifice the truth
 than my friend's life," Luthias  concluded firmly, his jaw tight. Ever
 since he was a tot training under  Sir Lucan, Luthias had wanted to be
 like him--a  great fighter,  a great  Knight. But  if wanting  to keep
 Ittosai alive was a fault to Knights, then he wouldn't be one.
     Sir Edward sighed. "You are right, Lord Baron Connall." He smiled.
 "I would be pleased if you would  join me in Magnus. I think you would
 be Knighted by spring."
     Wild hope rushed inside Luthias.  Go to Magnus--become a Knight in
 the spring. Go to Magnus... "My lands," he murmured. "Myrande."
     "What?"
     "I'll have to wait and see,  Sir Edward," Luthias replied. "I have
 no one to govern  my lands, and the way Baron Shipbrook  is, I doubt I
 should leave Lady Myrande."
     "Bring her with you."
     "You said things were different there. They wouldn't understand my
 friendship with her."
     "People  aren't very  tolerant  of...that sort  of thing,"  Sothos
 agreed.  "The Princess'  marriage was  dissolved due  to that  lack of
 tolerance. But you said you wanted to marry her."
     "She won't let me," Luthias rued,  but he smiled slightly. "I will
1think on it, Sir Edward."
     A knock sounded. "Come," Sir Edward invited.
     Baron  Vladon entered  the room.  Behind  him stood  the Baron  of
 Winthrop and the  Baron of Coranabo. "Please  excuse our interruption,
 your excellency,"  Baron Coranabo apologized. "We  must speak urgently
 with the Duke's Advocate."
     Sir Edward glanced at the Baron of Connall. "Should I leave?"
     "No, stay, Edward," Vladon advised his cousin. "It is well that we
 should have a Royal Official as a witness."
     Witness? "What is it?" Luthias asked, wary.
     "We have evidence," Coranabo began slowly, as if it were difficult
 for  him.  Yet  his  eyes  were  cold,  not  at  all  as  if  he  were
 uncomfortable. "That there is a conspiracy to start a war with Bichu."
     "I  know  there was,"  Luthias  replied  gravely. "My  father  and
 brother died because of it."
     Baron  Winthrop,  obviously  unsettled,   coughed.  "My  boy,"  he
 addressed the Lord Baron of Connall, "this is gravely serious."
     Luthias grimaced. "Tell me."
     "There are  witnesses," Coranabo continued slowly,  "that say that
 some people of this area are plotting with Bichu against the Kingdom."
     "Who?" Luthias demanded.
     "Your Castellan," Coranabo told him, "Ittosai Michiya."

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1                            The Game Begins
                            by John Doucette
                        (b.c.k.a JDOUCETTE@UPEI)

     A man dressed  in plain grey clothing entered  the bed-chamber and
 went to the figure sleeping  peacefully in the elegant four-poster. He
 bent down and  gently shook the slumbering figure  awake. "Primus," he
 said with great respect tinged with fear. "Wake up, my lord."
     The figure  turned over. "I  told thee I  was not to  be disturbed
 under any circumstances," he said in a whispering voice.
     "Y-Yes, Primus," the servant stammered. "B-But--"
     "ANY  circumstances, Lothan.  If  thee cannot  carry  out my  most
 trivial commands, then I must search for another man-servant."
     Lothan trembled  in the  darkness. He knew  what the  Primus meant
 when he  said he would  have to  search for another  man-servant. None
 save those who were  part of The Order could know  the identity of the
 Primus.  Lothan  swallowed  hard.  "F-Forgive  me,  my  lord.  Dra'nak
 Valthorn has returned."
     At the  mention of  Valthorn, the  Primus sat  upright in  bed and
 fixed  Lothan with  a  piercing stare,  even though  the  room was  in
 near-total darkness. "If  this is a contrivance to  save thyself, thee
 art a dead man, Lothan," he said without emotion.
     "No, Primus!  I swear it!  The Dra'nak stepped through  the portal
 only ten minutes ago!" For long  seconds, Lothan could feel the unseen
 gaze of his master upon him.
     "Inform the Dra'nak that I will see him in my study in one quarter
 of an hour," the Primus said to his terrified servant.
     "Y-Yes, Primus,"  Lothan said, the  relief plain in his  voice. He
 bowed once and fled the room.

     Dressed  in  velvet-soft black  robes,  the  Primus of  The  Order
 entered his private study accompanied by his ever-present guards, also
 members of The Order. Waiting for him was Dra'nak Valthorn, one of The
 Order's enforcers,  the most feared  men, next  to the Primus,  in The
 Order. Of the four Dra'naks, Valthorn was the most powerful, second in
 ability only to the Primus himself.
     The  study  was  large,  almost a  laboratory.  There  were  books
 everywhere, as well as three  large tables for conducting experiments.
 The  portion  of the  library  closest  the  entrance was  devoted  to
 leisure.  A small  table surrounded  by six  chairs sat  in a  corner.
 Behind   the  table   were   book  shelves   containing  hundreds   of
 midnight-black bound tomes  of magic. One could almost  feel the magic
 emanating from them.
     Seated at  the table  was a  man wearing the  same clothes  as the
 Primus and  his guards wore. In  fact, all two hundred  members of The
 Order wore black robes. Their  servants, those that had servants, wore
 grey.
     Valthorn rose and  bowed to the Primus from the  waist. His robes'
 cowl  was  pushed back,  revealing  the  face of  a  man  in his  late
 thirties. "Cho dakh, Primus," he said in a deep voice.
     "Cho dakh, Valthorn," the Primus replied. "What news?"
     "I hath  succeeded in  tracking down one  of the  cabal's members,
 Primus. I was not able to  determine the identity of his confederates.
 However, I was able to extract some information as to their purpose."
     "And it is?"
     "They intend treason,  Primus. I am not certain  whether they wish
 to secede, or whether they wish to take our Master's throne."
     "Hath thee uncovered any mention of Baron Myros?" the Primus asked
 intently.
     "Nay, Primus,"  Valthorn replied.  "Hath some event  occurred that
1would suggest otherwise?"
     "Myros hath journeyed to Magnus."
     "Baranur?" Valthorn said incredulously.
     "Yes.  Baranur.  Celeste  hath  reported to  me  that  Myros  doth
 undertake this journey to visit an 'old friend'. She suspects Myros of
 having ulterior motives.  Our Master decided to  make Myros Ambassador
 to Baranur,  in order  that we  may more readily  observe him.  I hath
 given Celeste the task."
     "Celeste? Dost thou trust her?"
     "Trust, Valthorn? Nay, I do not trust her. But she knows what will
 happen to her if she betrays me," he said with the faintest trace of a
 smile.
     "What dost thou wish me to do regarding the cabal, Primus?"
     "Summon  the   Conclave,"  the   Primus  said  after   a  moment's
 consideration. "This decision must not be taken lightly."
     "At once, Primus."

     The  chamber  where  the  Conclave   met  was  hundreds  of  miles
 underground. It was a circular chamber, sixty feet in diameter. It was
 unlit except  for an  area in  the center of  the chamber  twenty feet
 across.  Illumination  was provided  by  a  brilliant globe  of  light
 suspended thirty feet above the floor.
     Contrasting sharply with the polished  white marble from which the
 chamber was hollowed out, seven  large, black stone chairs were spaced
 evenly about the periphery of the lighted area, facing inwards. Seated
 in one of these was the Primus. He was dressed, as was custom when the
 Conclave  was in  session, in  his  formal robes  of office.  Midnight
 black, they were inscribed with runes that glowed a silvery radiance.
     The cowl, normally drawn  over his head so as to  hide most of his
 features,  rested on  his shoulders,  revealing a  man whose  face was
 marked by the passage of countless years. He kept his snowy-white hair
 shoulder length,  for longer hair  was difficult to conceal  under his
 robes' cowl. He  had been Primus for  so long that his  given name was
 but a dim  memory. The Primus sat  back in his chair,  waiting for the
 other six members of the Conclave to arrive. His thoughts were on days
 long since fled. Days when Galicia was young.
     Five  hundred  years  ago,  the  final  victor  emerged  from  the
 Consolidation  Wars and  proclaimed  himself Emperor  of Galicia.  Two
 hundred years of bloody warfare had  finally resulted in a lasting, if
 forced,  confederation  between  the  Galician  city-states.  The  new
 Emperor, realizing  that not  all of his  new subjects  were overjoyed
 with their new ruler, called together  all the mages that he knew were
 absolutely loyal to  him, and created The Order of  Galicia, now known
 as The Order.
     No one but the Emperor and his most trusted advisors even knew The
 Order  existed. To  head The  Order he  chose the  one man  he trusted
 completely, his personal  magist. This mage, known as  the Primus, was
 tasked  with  protecting  the  Emperor's  person  and  with  gathering
 intelligence concerning the Emperor's enemies. To accomplish this, the
 Primus could  call on the resources  of two hundred of  Galicia's best
 mages.
     A fortress  was constructed to  house The Order, a  fortress whose
 location was kept from the Emperor. Only those of The Order knew where
 it was. The fortress was warded by powerful spells; the only way in or
 out was by way of a teleport chamber. Other spells prevented anyone on
 the outside from using their art  to view the happenings inside. Still
 other  spells   existed  that   would  activate  only   under  certain
 circumstances, such as combat.
     The  Primus at  the time,  the  very same  man who  was Primus  at
 present, formed  a council  to help  him run The  Order, a  council he
1called the  Conclave. Realizing the  need for a secure  meeting place,
 both from physical  and magical attack, he began to  work on a chamber
 deep underground.
     It  took him  two  months to  hollow out  space  for the  chamber.
 Another month was  spent on applying various spells to  the chamber to
 proof it against  magic. Among those spells was a  spell that formed a
 column of force that trapped the light emanating from the light sphere
 in the central area. The  column also prevented individuals inside the
 lighted area from seeing out, and those outside from seeing in. Within
 the column  itself, a permanent dispel  magic spell was in  effect, so
 that none of  the Conclave members could use magic  on each other. The
 only way to  reach the chamber was by teleportation,  and then only if
 the mage in question was a powerful one; not every mage could teleport
 himself the distance required to reach the chamber.
     The Primus  was brought out of  his reverie by the  arrival of the
 first member of the Conclave. Valthorn stepped through the force-wall,
 turned  to face  the  Primus, and  bowed from  the  waist. "Cho  dakh,
 Primus."
     "Cho dakh, Valthorn."
     Valthorn  took his  seat, the  second from  the Primus'  left, and
 waited.  He did  not wait  long. Within  the space  of the  next three
 minutes,  the other  five members  of  the Conclave  stepped into  the
 lighted area, greeted the Primus, and took their seats.
     "Thee  art aware,"  the Primus  began, "of  the recent  happenings
 regarding the  discovery of a  cabal working against our  Master. What
 thee art unaware of, with the exception of the Sehrvat Primus, is that
 Dra'nak Valthorn hath discovered the  identity of, and interrogated, a
 member of this  cabal. Unfortunately, this individual did  not see fit
 to impart  to the Dra'nak a  great deal of information.  He did reveal
 the cabal's intentions, however. They  intend to commit treason. We do
 not know whether they  wish to secede, or whether they  wish to try to
 oust our Master."
     "Therefore, this assembly hath two decisions to arrive at: whether
 or not  our Master should be  informed at this early  juncture, and we
 must decide what action we shall  take with regards to the cabal. What
 say thee, Xavier?"
     Xavier, Lokhmahst  of The Order,  turned in  his seat to  face the
 Primus. "We must inform our Master of this at once, Primus," the sixty
 year-old mage said. The Primus had been afraid of this. The Lokhmahst,
 or loremaster, commanded great respect within The Order.
     "Were  circumstances different,  Xavier, I  would say  aye to  thy
 suggestion. However, the  information gathered thus far  is not worthy
 of our Master's attention."
     "How so?  We hath uncovered a  plot to commit treason  against our
 Master. Whether  this treason  is against his  person, or  against the
 state, he must be informed."
     "What  of the  rest  of thee?"  the Primus  asked.  "What art  thy
 opinions?"
     "What  Lokhmahst Xavier  hath said  hath value,  Primus," Valthorn
 said. "However,  I agree with you.  There is not enough  hard evidence
 against the cabal. If we were to inform our Master, the members of the
 cabal might  get wind of  our discoveries and conceal  themselves even
 better than they now are."
     "I side  with you also,  Primus," said Derek, the  Sehrvat Primus.
 The position  of First Servant  originally entailed being head  of the
 Primus'  household  and in  charge  of  acquiring servants  for  those
 members of The Order that wished to have servants. Over the years, the
 duties  and  responsibilities  of  First Servant  evolved  to  include
 overseeing the hiring of mercenaries for tasks that were unworthy of a
 member's participation,  or tasks  in which The  Order could  not risk
1direct involvement.
     "What of thee?" the Primus  asked the three remaining Dra'naks who
 had not voiced an opinion.
     "I support you, Primus," Dra'nak Anton replied.
     "Xavier," Teng answered.
     "You, Primus," Lenore stated.
     "It is  decided," the Primus  said. "Rest assured, Xavier,  that I
 shall impart knowledge of the cabal  to our Master the instant we hath
 better information."
     Xavier  nodded slightly,  acknowledging  defeat gracefully.  "What
 then, is to be our course of action?"
     The Primus considered  for a moment. "This matter  is too delicate
 for direct involvement." He turned  slightly to face Derek. "Dost thou
 hath someone that could be relied upon?"
     Derek thought for a moment.  "I believe," said the Sehrvat Primus,
 "I know of three that could be useful."
     "Excellent.  Thou  shalt  seek  these  three  out  and  hire  them
 forthwith."
     "Yes, Primus."
     "Our business is  concluded. The Conclave is  disbanded. Cha loth,
 Ull."
     One by one, the Conclave bowed to the Primus, bidding him farewell
 in the  ancient Galician  all members  of The  Order were  required to
 learn. Valthorn was  the last to depart. "Cha loth,  Primus," he said.
 The chamber  echoed with the sound  of chanting as the  members of the
 Conclave teleported to the fortress.

     "This is all your fault, Tarn!" Justin said as he parried a thrust
 from his grey-clad attacker.
     "Me? What  did I  do?" the  little thief  asked plaintively  as he
 knocked another arrow.
     Justin caught his  attacker's slash on his shield  and delivered a
 vicious kick to his opponent's knee, sending the luckless man crashing
 down the  hill. He whirled on  Tarn. "You just couldn't  resist, could
 you? You simply had to let  your natural tendencies run away with you,
 didn't you? Didn't you!?"
     "I didn't steal anything! Honest! I wanted to, but I didn't!"
     "THEN WHY ARE THEY TRYING TO KILL US, YOU LITTLE--" Justin stopped
 short at the sight of Tarn  aiming his bow in Justin's direction. "Now
 wait a  minute, Tarn. There's  no need--" Before Justin  could finish,
 Tarn let  his arrow fly. Justin  cringed as Tarn's arrow  whizzed past
 his ear and  struck something behind him. Justin turned  around to see
 one  of their  assailants  staring blankly  up at  the  sky, an  arrow
 embedded in his chest.
     "Would                                                         you
 two..(parry)..mind..(parry)..rejoining..(parry-riposte)..this
 debacle?" Julia asked somewhat heatedly.
     Just  as  Justin  was  about  to  re-enter  the  fray,  the  enemy
 retreated,  leaving  six of  their  comrades  behind. "Now  it's  only
 fourteen-to-three," Justin commented.
     "You're  just full  of cheery  pronouncements today,  aren't you?"
 Julia asked.
     "Look," Justin said, turning to face Julia, "this wasn't MY idea!"
     "You're the  one who suggested we  take the southern route  in the
 first place!"
     "I'm not the one that got the town guards upset!"
     "This isn't the time or place!"
     "I hate to interrupt," Tarn said, "but we seem to have a visitor."
     Justin and Julia forgot their argument and looked in the direction
 Tarn was pointing. A man dressed  in black robes was walking calmly up
1the hill. "Damn," Julia said. "They've brought up a wizard."
     Tarn aimed his  bow at the approaching mage.  "Wait, Tarn," Justin
 said.  "If he  wanted to,  he probably  could have  killed us  without
 showing himself. Let's  see what he wants."  Reluctantly, Tarn lowered
 his bow.
     The mage stopped twenty feet from the crest. "I wish to speak with
 thee," he called out. "May I approach?"
     Justin looked  to Julia  for confirmation. "Not  much else  we can
 do," she said.
     "You may."
     The mage travelled the remaining  distance between himself and the
 group on the hill-crest unhurriedly. He coldly regarded the corpses of
 the six slain  attackers. "Fools," he said. "I must  apologize for the
 actions of my retainers," he said  to the three companions. "They were
 over-zealous in their pursuit of my wishes."
     "And just what are your wishes?" Justin asked suspiciously.
     "I hath a task I wish thee to perform for my Master."
     "And just who is your master?" Julia asked.
     The mage reached  inside his robes and pulled out  a chain with an
 amulet on it. He handed it to Justin without saying a word.
     "She asked you who your master is," Justin said, trying to control
 his mounting anger. "What sort of answer is this?" he demanded.
     "Look at the amulet."
     Justin looked  down at the amulet  in his hand. "By  the gods," he
 said softly.
     "You're  as white  as a  ghost, Justin,"  Julia said,  the concern
 plain in her voice. "What is it?"
     Justin held  up the amulet  for her and Tarn  to see. It  bore the
 relief of an eagle with a  crown upon its head. "The Emperor's crest!"
 Julia breathed.
     "Here's where the fun begins," Tarn said.

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