From: "SilentElf" <[email-masked]>
Date: Tue, 12 May 92 09:03:29 EDT

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   D     D A  A R  R G    O  O N N N     Z   I N N N E     || Volume 4
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   D    D  AAAA RRR  G GG O  O N N N   Z     I N N N E     || Issue  2
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 --   DargonZine Volume 4, Issue 2        06/03/91          Cir 1129   --
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 --                            Contents                                --
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  Two Bits and a Silver II     Michelle Brothers      Sy 20, 1013
  Blood on Oron's Crossroads   Wendy Hennequin        Naia 12, 1014
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1                        Two Bits and a Sliver
                                Part 2
                           by Michelle Brothers
                  (b.c.k.a. <[email-masked]>)

      Teran glared angrily down at the  open gate of Dargon. Two months
 wasted on a wild goose chase and he was finally back where he started.
 The trail was probably cold by  now; Eliowy wouldn't be foolish enough
 to stay in the  city and that left Teran further  behind her than he'd
 been the entire chase.
      He'd spend a fruitless two months searching for his charge up and
 down the road to Tench on the chance advice of a person on the street.
 The  information--that the  boy  had seen  someone answering  Eliowy's
 description leaving  by the main  gate and heading  towards Tench--had
 been completely wrong and Teran strongly  suspected that it had been a
 plant, although where  Eliowy had gotten the bribe money  and the time
 to talk to the boy was a mystery.
      Dusk was deepening  into night, so Teran kicked his  horse into a
 trot so he could make it into  the city before the gates closed. While
 Dargon did have a smaller, secondary entrance that remained accessible
 though the  night, the  graveyard watch asked  too many  questions for
 Teran's comfort.
      The gate loomed in the road and Teran urged his mount to a faster
 gait, eager to be  off the road, it only for one  night. He deserved a
 warm bed and good food before taking up his search again.
      As he  drew closer, Teran could  make out a figure  on horseback,
 riding quickly down the main  street, cloak streaming behind. The gate
 guards stepped hurriedly aside as the rider charged through the gates.
 Teran pulled the  bay off the road. Horse and  rider plunged past, and
 Teran caught a glimpse of bright auburn hair in the last of the light.
      Swallowing  a  shout, he  pulled  the  bay  around and  sent  him
 charging after.

      `This is getting  to be a habit,' thought Eliowy  in annoyance as
 she charged  over the wet sands  and towards the stairs  leading up to
 Liriss' private pier.  Behind her the sounds of combat  rose soft as a
 whisper over the  beat of the rising surf. The  guards who dragged her
 here were being occupied by a lone man, who, for no reason that Eliowy
 could see, had come to her rescue.
      One of  the guards was currently  having a drink of  seawater and
 the other two were learning the  finer points of losing a sword fight.
 In an unoccupied corner of her  mind, Eliowy was almost sorry that she
 couldn't stay and help get rid  of Liriss' minions, but getting out of
 Dargon was much  more important right now. She'd  openly defied Liriss
 and her life wasn't  worth the time it would take for  him to kill her
 any more.
      She had  until dawn; Liriss  shouldn't learn of her  escape until
 then.
      The stairs  creaked loudly above  the beat  of the waves  and the
 soft,  tinkling clash  of bladework.  Slick with  spray, the  banister
 imparted a splinter to Eliowy as she  tried to keep her balance in her
 hurried charge. Her  arrival at the top of the  stairs was ungraceful;
 she  tripped on  the topmost  stair while  looking back  to see  about
 pursuit.
      Loud footsteps on the pier sent Eliowy scrambling for the dubious
 cover of a small pile of shipping crates.
      A  man, clad  in  chainmail,  hurried past  and  down the  stairs
 without sparing  a glance to  Eliowy's hiding place. Shouts  echoed up
 the  steep walk,  followed by  more of  the tinny  sounds of  steel on
 steel.
      Creeping to  the edge of  the stairs,  Eliowy could just  see the
 pier guard engaging  her rescuer in the gathering gloom.  There was no
 sign of  Liriss' thugs. The  fight entered  the water and  Eliowy drew
 back from her vantage point. In a few short minutes the fight would be
 over and by then she'd have to be well away. Better start running.
      The question  was, where  to go.  Liriss' connections  within the
 city were so extensive that there was no place she could hide from him
 for  long. Going  to Tench  was too  obvious...hiking along  the beach
 might be  an idea...  She slipped  away from  the boxes,  mind working
 furiously  on coming  up with  escape route  that might  be successful
 against a powerful mounted enemy.
      A soft, disgruntled whinny drew Eliowy  to the one thing that had
 kept her  in Dargon  for so  long. A  horse lipped  idley at  the worn
 railing. For  the first time since  arriving in Dargon Eliowy  felt in
 charge of her situation.
      `A quick stop  at the house to get  my stuff and I can  be out of
 the city and Liriss' reach by dawn,' she thought as she pushed herself
 to her feet and advanced towards the animal.
      A faded blue horse blanket was secured to its back by a well worn
 saddle. Empty saddlebags hung on either side of the horse's rump and a
 crossbow with a quiver of quarrels dangled from a snaffle on the right
 side.
      "Good  horse,"  said Eliowy  softly,  patting  the horse's  neck.
 Gratified by the  attention, the animal nuzzled the top  of the girl's
 head. Beneath  them, under  the pier,  the sounds  of combat  could no
 longer be heard. "Good boy. I'm really sorry, but I need you more than
 your owner does, so be cooperative..."
      Eliowy swung into  the saddle and with a clatter  sent the animal
 careening down the pier.

      Dust  was  churned  up  and illuminated  by  the  passing  street
 lanterns and the last shreds  of dusk sunlight. Buildings flashed past
 as Eliowy  guided her mount  through the  main streets that  were less
 familiar to  her than  Dargon's back pathways  and alleys.  Few people
 were abroad, even this early in the evening. The gang wars kept people
 indoors as  sunset drew  near because  in the  dark, it  didn't matter
 whose side you were on.
      Fear made her  tense and she gripped the leather  reins in sweaty
 hands as she urged  the horse into a full trot, wanting  to be gone as
 quickly as possible.
      The brightly lit front and balcony  of the house where Eliowy had
 been staying  came into view.  Pulling the horse  to a stop  beneath a
 sign depicting a blonde woman holding a sheet to her breast, she flung
 herself out of the saddle and hurried up the main steps.
      Warm  colors decorated  the main  room where  half a  dozen women
 lounged on  couches and  chairs. Pastel  drapes and  exotic tapestries
 covered the walls and candles  brightened the room. A welcoming chorus
 followed the girl up the main staircase.
      Eliowy had not had much contact  with the dezins of the house she
 was staying in. She was usually out  on the streets when they had free
 time and  she'd been  advised by  the proprietress  not to  bother the
 women in the evening. Eliowy usually spent her nights practicing sword
 work  in her  room,  limiting  her contact  with  the  women to  quick
 `hello's, `goodbye's and compliments on some particularly pretty piece
 of frippery. She  knew that her housemates were  whores, but pretended
 not to notice and for their  part, the prostitutes never asked why the
 girl didn't  share their  profession when she  obviously lived  in the
 house.
      Liriss  had  known that  she  wasn't  practicing prostitution  to
 provide him with his required fee,  but said nothing, assuming that it
 would only  be a matter of  time before the girl  couldn't make enough
 picking  pockets  to  pay  him  and  resorted  to  the  better  paying
 profession of lady for hire.
      Eliowy's room was at the end of  the hall on the second floor and
 the heavy  door swung partially  shut as  she ducked into  its dubious
 sanctuary.  Like  the  rest  of  the  house,  the  room  was  lavishly
 decorated.  Tapestries hung  on the  walls and  a deep,  double doored
 window  with a  window  seat let  in moonlight  across  from the  main
 entrance. A large  four poster bed dominated the left  hand wall and a
 wooden wardrobe covered the right. Thick rugs hid the floor. Light was
 provided by  a pair  of lanterns  placed on either  side of  the bed's
 headboard.
      The house's  only servant always  seemed to have them  lit before
 Eliowy  returned  from  her  day  on the  streets  and  today  was  no
 exception.  Warm yellow  light pooled  across  the floor  in a  steady
 stream.
      Eliowy headed for the wardrobe first. Pulling open the doors, she
 grabbed her worn pack from the  cupbord's bottom. From pegs she pulled
 her old travel clothes and threw them  on the bed, followed by the new
 pieces that  Liriss purchased for  her. They  might remind her  of his
 foulness, but they'd  keep her warm during her trek  away from Dargon.
 Winter was just around the corner and leaving now as a sure way to get
 caught in the first autumn storms.
      After the  last piece of  clothing was pulled from  the wardrobe,
 Eliowy went  to the bed. From  underneath the wooden frame  she pulled
 out her sword and scabbard and flung it on top of her clothes. Digging
 a little yielded her harp.
      Well worn goldenwood glowed in the light and the strings, made of
 costly spun wire, glinted like bits of moonfire.
      Sadly, Eliowy stood and wrapped  the instrument in her old cloak,
 placing it  deep in  the bottom  of the  pack. She'd  had to  sell the
 harp's case months ago for a little  bit of coin that fed her for less
 than a week; true value of the case should have put her up in the best
 hotel for  a month, but desperation  and hunger led her  to accept the
 first  reasonable offer  she came  across. Guilt  was still  fresh and
 Eliowy  was glad  that her  mother wasn't  alive to  hear her  pitiful
 excuses.
      Clothes were  piled on  top of  the instrument  to give  it added
 protection. She would  detune the strings as soon as  she was clear of
 the city to keep them from snapping in the cold; the cloak wouldn't be
 enough  to  protect  it  once  full winter  set  in.  She  pulled  the
 drawstrings of  the pack tightly shut  then buckled on her  sword belt
 and spare dagger.
      The sword  itself was drawn  a second later  at the sound  of the
 door shutting completely.
      "Tilden!"  Eliowy lowered  the sword  point at  the sight  of the
 hollow eyed ex-scout. "I told you to leave me alone."
      "You're not usually this late," commented Tilden, leaning against
 the door and surreptitiously engaging the  lock. "And you rode in from
 the direction of the docks. What happened?"
      "Liriss tried to  kill me," said Eliowy, surprised  at how easily
 the words  came out.  And how willing  she was to  talk about  it. The
 shock of nearly fulfilling the crimelord's death sentence hadn't quite
 worn off. "I was late again last  night and he said...he said I needed
 to learn a lesson. He was going to...he tried to..." She choked on the
 last few words,  the realization that he was going  to use her finally
 sinking in.
      Tilden closed  the gap between  them and gently pulled  the sword
 from Eliowy's limp hand. He put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
 Eliowy didn't notice.
      "I always carry a dagger," she continued, after a moment, staring
 blankly at  the open  wardrobe door and  seeing again  Liriss' enraged
 eyes glaring at  her from across the room. "So  when he grabbed me...I
 cut him..."
      Tilden bit his tongue to  refrain from commenting on this foolish
 audacity. No employee, in all the  years that the scout had worked for
 Liriss, had  dared to pull a  weapon on Dargon's crimelord,  let alone
 take one  to his flesh.  That he hadn't  outright killed the  girl was
 surprising; that she was still alive at all to tell about the incident
 was a minor  miracle. Tilden listened in fascination  as she continued
 the tale, eyes  staring blank and fearful at the  door as she re-lived
 the incident.

      The wood paneling of the wall  was smooth against her right palm,
 the looped  wire grip of her  knife warming slowly in  her left. Light
 glinted off  the blade's  edge, staining the  steel a  dull, burnished
 orange. Despite the  tremors running through her body,  her weapon arm
 and dagger remained steady.
      "You'll never get away with this, Eliowy," said her target icily,
 large hand  pressed firmly against the  long cut on his  chest. Though
 shallow, the  wound dripped blood  steadily and clashed with  the rich
 gold of his shirt.
      "Don't bet  on that," said Eliowy.  She took the final  step that
 brought her  to the door. Fear,  oozing out of her  sub-conscious into
 her  body, had  not yet  reached her  mind and  even as  she shook  in
 terror, she eyed the man calmly.
      As  she glanced  over her  shoulder  to locate  the door  handle,
 Liriss lunged  for her, only to  freeze again when she  turned back to
 face  him.  "Just  stay  back," Eliowy  warned,  treatening  with  the
 bloodied  knife.  Pulling the  door  open,  she sidestepped  into  the
 opening. "If you take one more  step," she said as Liriss moved again,
 "I'll kill you."
      "I'll see that you die slowly and painfully for this!"
      "Not if you can't find me."
      Both knew this was no idle statement. Eliowy was very experienced
 at running and hiding  and Liriss knew that if he  couldn't get a tail
 on her immediately  after she left him,  she was as good  as lost. The
 same skills  that kept the  town guard off her  back and had  kept her
 safe  through months  of running  cross  country would  keep her  from
 falling to Liriss' underlings.
      Eliowy stepped carefully backwards  into the outer office. Liriss
 followed, eyes  glittering angrily.  His need  to do  something almost
 over-rode the threat  her knife offered and, as  Eliowy glanced behind
 herself to spot the outer door, he lunged for her.
      The  knife opened  a foot  long slice  in Liriss'  gut as  Eliowy
 brought the  blade around to  defend herself.  With a bellowed  cry of
 pain, the  crimelord fell  to his knees,  gasping, arms  clutching his
 stomach, trying to stop the blood.
      Little crimson trails crawled down the dagger and across Eliowy's
 hand to  disappear into  the embroidered  cuff of  her red  tunic. She
 stared at her attacker for an instant, before turning and bolting. The
 door crashed back on its hinges just as Liriss collapsed to the floor.

      "I ran into Kesrin in the hall," added Eliowy into the pause that
 followed. Tilden said nothing, astounded  that she'd been able to hurt
 his former boss so easily. "And  he brought me back to Liriss' office.
 Liriss...wasn't in  any condition  to give orders  so Kesrin  sent for
 guards to  take me down  to the blocks..."  Her voice trembled  at the
 thought of how close she had come to dying in the rising tide.
      "You're lucky to be alive,"  said Tilden, squeezing her shoulders
 gently. "The guards let you go?"
      "No...some  man rescued  me.  I...didn't think  it  wise to  stay
 around and see if he won or not..." The image of the blonde haired man
 fighting with the  two guards rose before her eyes  again. He had won.
 He  wouldn't have  attacked the  guards if  he didn't  think he  had a
 chance. Which  raised the question of  why he had rescued  her at all.
 Eliowy dismissed  the question  immediately. She  didn't have  time to
 worry about the reasons behind the  fortuitous rescue. She had to take
 care of herself. If he survived the battle and she ever saw him again,
 she  would  thank  him  properly.  But until  then,  there  were  more
 important things to worry about.
      Eliowy realized that Tilden's  arm was wrapped possessively about
 her shoulders and  glared at him. "I  said that I didn't  want to deal
 with you again,  Tilden." she said, annoyance pushing  aside her fear.
 She ducked under his arm to get away from him.
      "What  Liriss did  to  you was  terrible,"  continued the  former
 scout, catching hold  of her collar as Eliowy tried  to duck away. "He
 deserved what you did to him. More than what you did. I asked for your
 help before and  you said no. Now  you have a reason. Help  me to kill
 Liriss!" The wild, almost mad light  that Eliowy was used to seeing in
 Tilden's eyes  grew brighter. His  sanity seemed  to slip away  as his
 need to kill  the crimelord took over.  He shook her as  she stared at
 him. "Help me! You must help me kill him!"
      "Let go!"  Eliowy tried to yank  out of his grip  and did nothing
 more than  pull the cloth  of her tunic  tight around her  throat. She
 grasped at her dagger.
      "If you won't help me  willingly," threatened Tilden, pulling her
 close. "I'll just use you as bait.  To lure that creeping slime to me.
 I don't need your cooperation. Just your body."
      Eliowy  could feel  his hot  breath on  her neck  as she  reached
 around and stabbed him  in the arm with her knife.  With a loud scream
 of surprised pain,  Tilden jerked away. Eliowy slashed  him across the
 throat as she turned to face him fully.
      Tiny red bubbles formed at the corner of Tilden's mouth. His hand
 reached towards his neck in confused  surprise as he slid to his knees
 making no other sound. Eliowy stared at him in fascinated horror as he
 slumped to his side.
      She'd  never  dreamed  when  Teran  first  started  teaching  her
 bladework that she would ever be  able to kill someone. Too many times
 on this paniced escape she'd proven herself wrong. Tears of regret and
 fear filled the girl's eyes and she started shaking again.
      Heavy pounding on the door brought her to her senses.
      "Eliowy? Is everything all right  in there? Eliowy!" The voice of
 Madame Tillipanary rang faintly through the heavy wooden portal. "Open
 the door, Eliowy! What's happened?"
      "Oh, no..." Eliowy  looked away from the door.  Calm settled over
 her and she sheathed the knife after  cleaning the point on the hem of
 Tilden's dirty shirt.  She pulled on her cloak and  pack, then stepped
 to the window.
      The pounding became more insistent.
      Eliowy pulled  open the shutters  of the double  window. Stepping
 out onto  the balcony, she knelt  down and let herself  carefully over
 the edge, leaving fingerprints, red from Tilden's blood, on the sill.

      Sergent  Coressa  DaVrice  let  her patrol  down  Layman  Street,
 keeping eyes  wide open for things  in the alleys and  shadows. Layman
 Street and the area  around it within a quarter mile  of the dock were
 not the best place  to be caught daydreaming in. Her  troop of six had
 drawn  night duty  for  the last  three weeks  and  the territory  had
 steadily been getting worse as each week passed. They carried shields,
 heavy swords and  wore full corslets in this part  of town these days.
 It seemed that the local  crimelord was consolidating his position and
 the gang warfare had been bitter  recently. The upper eschelons of the
 town  guard were  even  sure  who was  behind  the  trouble, but  they
 couldn't  prove anything,  so  the street  fighting continued.  Except
 where the guard could stop it.
      "This is absolutely the last time  I put the companies duty up as
 stake in  a card game  and win!" DaVrice  muttered to herself  as they
 passed in  front of the  most profitable brothel  in town. A  horse in
 full riding  gear was tethered out  front. This struck Coressa  as odd
 because the  _Lucky Lady_ also  had one of  the better stables  in the
 area  and  client's  transportation  usually received  the  same  good
 treatment as the client themselves.
      She was about to comment on this to her second when he stepped up
 beside her.
      "Um...Sergent?"
      "Yes,  Caisy?"  He was  supposed  to  be  guarding the  rear  and
 shouldn't have come forward without  orders. Not that she minded much,
 but if the Lieutenant should happen by...
      "Looks like there's someone hanging  from the second story window
 of the _Lady_," Caisy informed her, pointing.
      Sure  enough, when  DaVrice looked,  there was  a slender  shadow
 dangling over the balcony's edge.
      "You there!" she  called, motioning the three of  the four guards
 directly  behind her  to get  underneath the  window. "Stay  where you
 are!" Who would be leaving the  _Lucky Lady_ by anything but the front
 door, DaVrice wondered  as she led the rest of  the patrol through the
 invitingly cracked  door. Not a  thief. The _Lady_ hadn't  been robbed
 since it opened ten years ago, despite the amount of wealth rumored to
 be  held inside.  It couldn't  be  a `client'  either--if one  started
 harassing the employees he left by  the front door, usually with a new
 set of bruises. The _Lady_ was strict about screening visitors.
      The cloaked  form resolved  itself into a  slender female  in the
 light of the soldier's lantern  as they clustered beneath the balcony.
 She let go  at the same time  as the sound of  splintering wood echoed
 down  the nearly  deserted street.  A  scream from  inside marked  the
 person landing on  the nearest guard. They both tumbled  to the ground
 in an untidy heap.

      Eliowy rolled free of the unconscious  guard's body as one of his
 companions  grabbed  for her.  She  dodged  the ill-timed  snatch  and
 ploughed into the  other one, shoving him aside. He  stumbled and fell
 over his fallen partner, while the first one made another grab for the
 girl.
      She just  missed catching ahold  of the trailing cloak  as Eliowy
 ran for her stolen horse. Grabbing  the reins, she was missed again as
 she swung into the saddle. Curses erupted and the guard made a try for
 the bridle. Eliowy ran her down, goading the horse into a trot, then a
 canter, and finally a dead run.
      Whistles and more  shouts caught on the wind and  followed her as
 she headed towards Main Street.

      "...scream so  naturally I  rushed right up,"  Madame Tillipanary
 was  saying when  Kalen Darklen  arrived on  the second  floor of  the
 _Lucky  Lady_.  Her  well  manicured  fingers  clasped  and  unclasped
 nervously in  her pale  green wrap.  "The door was  locked and  when I
 knocked and called, there was no answer."
      "So you  had one  of your  bouncers break  the door  in," Sergent
 DaVrice said. She  inclined her head to Kalen as  he stepped up beside
 her, but kept her attention focused on the woman before her.
      "Bernail, yes. The  safety of both my girls and  my clients is of
 great  importance to  me, you  understand." Madame  Tillipanary looked
 from the  guard sergent to  the lieutenant earnestly. "Anyway,  HE was
 lying on the floor when we got in. And the windows were open."
      "We  arrived upstairs  a  minute  after he  took  the door  out,"
 DaVrice directed the comment to Kalen.  "Just about the time our prime
 suspect jumped. Roji,  Paone, and Liat let her escape.  I sent them to
 try and warn the gate guards," she added at Kalen's frown.
      "Tell me about our suspect," said Kalen, folding his arms. He was
 easy-going, but  letting a possible  murderer slip right  through your
 fingers was one good way to make him angry.
      "Female, sir,  but that's as far  as I got. Madame?"  DaVrice and
 Kalen turned their attention back to Tillipanary. The sheet clad woman
 who had been  whispering to her stepped hastily back  and the madame's
 expression abruptly smoothed.
      "The child's name is Eliowy K'rill," Tillipanary said. "She's not
 one of my girls. A friend of mine asked me to keep an eye on her, so I
 gave her one of my empty  rooms." Kalen glanced at DaVrice. Both could
 guess who the  woman's "friend" was and why he  wanted the girl looked
 after at a  brothel. "She's not very tall," the  madame continued, not
 seeming to notice the exchange of  glances. "She was pretty, but not a
 great beauty. Fair, oval face, auburn hair and curious golden eyes."
      Kalen gave the woman a startled  look. "Are you sure about that?"
 he demanded. "The eyes and the hair?"
      "Yes, Lieutenant, I'm sure," said Tillipanary, puzzled. Under the
 questioning look she studied the guard closely. "She was always such a
 nice, polite child.  She didn't seem capable of  this..." She gestured
 vaguely at Tilden's sheet shrouded body.
      "Be that as  it may," muttered Kalen.  "Sergent, organize another
 squad of  six. Search the city  for this Eliowy K'rill  and inform the
 other  patrols to  keep an  active look  out. Suspicion  of theft  and
 murder."
      "Yes, sir!"  DaVrice saluted crisply  and led the remnant  of her
 squad down the carpeted stairs.
      "Only  suspicion...?"  Madame  Tillipanary's  voice  trailed  off
 questioningly as the guards disappeared from sight.
      "There  is always  the possibility  that this  was self-defense,"
 said  Kalen neutrally.  One time  luck, two  times coincidance,  three
 times  a  charge.  Kalen  didn't   think  this  incident  was  just  a
 coincidance. Red hair was rare enough  along the coasts to be notable.
 And those  eyes... "Until  I have  a chance to  question the  girl, we
 can't be positive. If you think of anything else, Madam, please report
 it to the Guard."
      "Of course, Lieutenant," said  Madame Tillipanary agreeably. "I'm
 sure that you'll want to investigate  further, and there is the matter
 of the  body," the woman averted  her painted eyes. "So  I'll have his
 hallway closed off.  It's accessible by the back stairs.  If you would
 please  use  those,  I  would  greatly appreciate  it.  To  avoid  the
 customers, you understand."
      "Of course,"  said Kalen dryly.  "I'll have someone come  to deal
 with the body tonight. Good evening."
      The last thing Kalen  saw as he left the room  was the same sheet
 clad prostitute  whispering frantically  in her  madame's ear  and the
 look of pleased speculation on Tillipanary's face.

      Madame Tillipanary  hurried through the chill  autumn night, wind
 pulling at  her heavily embroidered  cloak. She  kept one hand  on the
 dagger belted around  her waist, in case one of  the punks thought she
 might be  a target. With  the gang wars  in full swing,  being Liriss'
 employee was  no longer a  guarantee of  safe passage along  the night
 streets.
      She arrived at the steps  of Liriss' town house without incident.
 Two personal guards, older men who  had been with the crimelord almost
 as long  as Tillipanary herself, nodded  to her as she  hurried up the
 stairs and  pulled open  the door.  Of all the  people who  worked for
 Liriss, the  madame was the  only one  besides his lieutenant  who was
 permitted access to him at any time.
      A gust  of wind  pushed the  woman inside  and set  the expensive
 beeswax candles dancing in their suspended chandelier. Shadows capered
 around  the sparsely  furnished room,  hiding  doors to  the left  and
 right. A staircase crawled up the far wall.
      Her  delicate slippers  made no  sound on  the hardwood  floor as
 Tillipanary made her way towards the stairs. Picking up her disaphorus
 skirts,  she started  up the  steep walk,  only to  be stopped  on the
 landing by Kesrin, Liriss' lieutenant.
      "May I help  you, madam?" he inquired politely,  blocking her way
 to  the second  floor. Sharp  hazel eyes  studied the  woman out  of a
 neutral expression.
      "I must speak to  Lord Liriss immediately," declared Tillipanary.
 She'd  considered  Kesrin a  nuisance  since  the  day he'd  risen  to
 prominence from obscurity eight years  ago and she'd never bothered to
 hide the fact.  She was certain that his careful,  precise manners hid
 something and it  frustrated the madame that she hadn't  yet been able
 to figure out what. "Get out of  my way, Kesrin. This can't wait." She
 tried to step past him again only to have him interfear once more.
      "Lord  Liriss isn't  seeing  anyone this  evening, madame,"  said
 Kesrin firmly, catching the woman's elbow.  "You can tell me, if it is
 so important and I'll see to it that my Lord hears of it."
      "Let me go," Tillipanary ordered coldly. "I'll tell Liriss and no
 one else."
      "He's  not   seeing  anyone   this  evening,"   Kesrin  repeated,
 tightening his grip on her arm when she tried to pull away.
      "He'll see me."
      "He's indisposed."
      "Don't feed  me that  line," snapped  Tillipanary. "He  takes his
 girls in his office, not his home. And if you do not let go of me this
 instant--"
      "My  Lord  Mardos." A  new  voice  rolled through  the  argument,
 followed by a  tall, slender man in well cared  for physician's robes.
 "Lord Liriss is resting comfortably. I've bandaged the wounds and left
 a jar of medicine  for the pain by his bed. Mix  a spoonful with water
 or wine  if he needs it.  And don't let him  up until the end  of next
 week,  at least."  The spate  of  instructions preceded  him down  the
 stairs as he joined them on the landing. "My Lady." He nodded politely
 to Tillipanary.
      "Thank you,  Doctor," said  Kesrin calmly,  while beside  him the
 madame paled. "Your fee will be delivered to you in the morning."
      The  doctor bowed.  "Then I  bid you  good evening,  my Lord,  my
 Lady," and he swept down the stairs.
      Tillipanary waited until  the door boomed shut  before turning on
 Kesrin.
      "What in the name of the Red Garter of Randiriel is going on!"
      "Lord  Liriss  was  attacked  this evening,"  said  Kesrin  after
 considering the slender woman for a  long moment. "By the girl he sent
 to stay with you."
      "Eliowy," breathed the madame. She shook off the chill feeling of
 dread  and explained  softly; "She  killed Tilden  tonight just  after
 sundown. The City Guard got involved..."
      "That's not  possible!" Kesrin  burst out, his  unflappable poise
 cracking for  once. "I  sent her  to the  blocks tonight.  Just BEFORE
 sundown. She's supposed to be dead!"
      "Well she's not!" Tillipanary  hissed, her expression going cold.
 "You'd better plan  on doing something about your  lapse, Kesrin. Lord
 Liriss will  not be pleased to  hear that she's escaped."  Despite her
 concern about Liriss, the madame spared enough emotion to feel pleased
 that her hated rival was in a very dangerous situation.
      "I  will deal  with it,"  responded  Kesrin just  as coldly,  his
 poised manners  and neutral expression  back in place. "Thank  you for
 bringing me  this information.  I'll mention to  Lord Liriss  that you
 dropped by."
      "I  appreciate that,"  Tillipanary said,  voice too  sweet. "I'll
 drop by  tomorrow to  see Liriss.  He'd best  be alive  tomorrow." She
 pulled  away  from Kesrin  and  made  her  way  back down  the  steps,
 solitiously accompanied by the lieutenant.
      `Of course Liriss will be  alive tomorrow,' he thought, escorting
 the madame  to the  door. Despite  all the years  of planning,  it was
 still too soon to move and until the  time was right, he had a part to
 play.
      As Tillipanary  disappeared into  the blowy autumn  night, Kesrin
 turned to one of the door guards.
      "Find me the assassin, Kendall," he ordered. "And I want him here
 yesterday."

      Pale,  early morning  sunlight gilded  the grass  and leaves  and
 reflected in bright sparkles from the  stream beside the road. A cloud
 of dust settled gently back  to the ground, eddying in mini-whirlwinds
 as Eliowy  led her  horse towards  the thick  trickle of  water. Sweat
 dribbled down the beast's coat, cutting narrow tracks in the foam.
      "Sorry, boy," she said softly, patting the horse's shoulder as he
 wearily bent his head to drink. "But we needed to put lots of distance
 between us and  Dargon." The horse didn't react,  greedily filling his
 stomach with the  cold water. Eliowy scratched his  ears, wondering if
 the creature's original  owner had survived the pier-side  fight. In a
 way she  hoped he had.  Someone that kind didn't  deserve to die  in a
 battle with  cutthroats. But at  the same  time, she hoped  he hadn't.
 Someone that  kind also didn't deserve  to have his mount  stolen. "As
 soon as  you're rested,"  she added, "we're  leaving. We're  still too
 close to the city for comfort."
      She pulled  the horse away  from the  water so he  wouldn't drink
 himself sick, and tied  him to a nearby bush so  that he could browse.
 After  quenching her  own thirst,  she settled  by the  stream's edge,
 planning to rest until the horse had eaten enough to continue on.
      Good,  paranoid  intentions  fell  by the  wayside  as  weariness
 combined with the unusually warm autumn  sun caught up with Eliowy and
 she drifted off into much needed sleep.
      A shadow across her face,  blocking the sun's heat brought Eliowy
 abruptly out of an uneasy doze. She opened her eyes and had her bleary
 sight filled by a horse's nose.
      "How did you get loose," she mumbled, sitting up and reaching for
 the  reins. She  froze,  seeing  someone else's  hands  on the  smooth
 straps. "Oh no..."
      "Good afternoon, Eliowy," Teran  said quietly, sitting stiffly in
 the saddle. The bay twitched its ears restlessly.
      The blue of his tunic matched the rich blue of the sky and Eliowy
 found her attention caught by the  embroidery at its neck; tracing the
 interlocking patterns  with her vision  meant she didn't have  to meet
 her teacher's azure-blue gaze.
      She  climbed to  her feet,  eyes still  fixed on  Teran's throat.
 "Good afternoon  to you," responded the  girl, more out of  habit than
 politeness.  She  backed  up  a  step, towards  where  her  horse  was
 tethered. Teran didn't move. She took  another step back and still the
 man didn't  shift. Eliowy took one  more step, turned to  bolt for her
 horse and froze.
      It wasn't there.
      She whirled back to face  Teran, eyes wild. His expression hadn't
 altered. With  casual deliberance he  swung out  of the saddle  to the
 ground.
      Eliowy  twitched, but  stood  her  ground. There  was  no way  to
 escape; she  couldn't out-run  him and she  wouldn't return  home with
 him. Fear crawled into her throat, drying it instantly, leaving behind
 the bitter  taste of panic.  The desire  to be left  alone overwhelmed
 her. A hand crept to the hilt of  her sword. The sword that was a gift
 from the same man she contemplated using it on.
      Something caught her  back before she could do more  than bare an
 inch of  the blade. Perhaps the  memory of the man  beating her around
 the practice yard or of him giving  her the blade on her last birthday
 penetrated  her paniced  mind. Either  way, she  allowed the  sword to
 slide back into its sheath.
      And still Teran did not move.
      Eliowy didn't pause long enough  to wonder why he'd done nothing.
 Cloak swirling in a self-created wind, she turned to run.
      She made  it away only  so far as the  edge of the  stream before
 Teran caught her  by the trailing cloak. And found  the cloth loose in
 his hands  when Eliowy  pulled the  clasp open.  He reached  again and
 grabbed the girl's collar, pulling her close before she could slip out
 of that too.
      Eliowy's tiny wrists nearly disappeared  in the blonde man's grip
 and she  tugged uselessly  against his  strength. Fury  penetrated her
 panic and she  slammed her heel down on his  foot, hard. Teran grunted
 in pain, drawing his  leg back, but did not loosen  his grip. A second
 later he thrust her away from him when she bit him in the wrist.
      "You're not taking me back," Eliowy informed him firmly, suddenly
 calm.  Amber  eyes  blazed  like  a torch,  at  odds  with  the  level
 declaration. This time  the sword did clear the  sheath, glinting with
 the same fire that burned in her  eyes. "I refuse to go. Just leave me
 alone."
      "Eliowy, we  need to talk,"  said Teran quietly,  gaze flickering
 between her face and the sword. "But not with blades. Put it away."
      "As  soon as  you  go,"  Eliowy replied,  slipping  into a  guard
 position. The leather  wrapped hilt felt warm in the  palm of her hand
 and as she extended the blade, sparks seemed to glint on its edge.
      Teran drew  up short. His eyes  narrowed as he studied  the girl.
 Then he nodded sharply. "So be it,  then." And he drew his own weapon,
 matching Eliowy's stance almost exactly.
      Surprise flickered though Eliowy's  eyes, but she didn't hesitate
 when he came at her.
      The parry was automatic and strong. As their blades connected the
 crash echoed through the air, followed  by a gentle whoosh and a white
 hot explosion. The force blew the combatants away from one another and
 withered the grass into crumbling grey ash around them.
      A shocked silence  spread away from the stream  on the summer-hot
 wind that followed the blast.
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
1                         Blood on Oron's Crossroads
                                12 Naia, 1014
                              by Wendy Hennequin
                        (b.c.k.a. <HENNEQUI@CTSTATEU>)

 I. Martis Westbrook, Knight Captain of the Southern Marche

      I wasn't sure what happened. No--I knew--I *saw*--but even as the
 Beinison army thundered into our ranks  and the troops of Houses Bivar
 and  Redcrosse and  Othuldane and  Equiville fell  like heavy  hail, I
 could not believe.
      I gave the order to retreat. I gave the order to *retreat*!
      "Fall back!" Caedmon,  beside me, shouted. I  heard him--he stood
 not yard from me, defending me as I stood stock still in shock. No one
 else heard. "Fall back!"
      "Sound retreat again!" I screamed  at the bugler and the drummer.
 "Retreat!" I moved my sword arm and prepared to defend myself again as
 I  watched--I  stared--as  the  Fist  of  the  Emperor  and  with  its
 incredible Cavalry demolished the House troops.
      The idiots *charged*. They actually  charged! I gave the order to
 retreat.  What did  they hope  to gain  by sailing  headlong into  the
 Emperor's strongest troops? They knew we were outnumbered and that the
 best we  had to gain  today was a stalemate  and escape. Why  did they
 charge?
      Next to me,  the bugler played the notes of  retreat once more; I
 heard  other buglers  throughout the  army  picking up  the music  and
 repeating the call. But retreating was no longer enough; I had to stop
 the  Beinson  charge.  "Order  the Assault  Brigade  and  the  Archers
 forward," I shouted. What I was  doing was horrible; the Archers could
 hardly last ten minutes against the Fist of the Emperor.
      Beside me, Caedmon's sword flashed and rang.
      I should have married him this morning.
      "One of us  may die today," Caedmon had said  softly, touching my
 mouse- brown hair.
      Looking  at the  Beinison  Knight coming  towards  me, I  thought
 Caedmon had been right.
      He was a big man, six feet,  broad, and his armor heavy. I lunged
 forward without waiting.
      Unexpectedly, my  sword sliced through  a weak spot in  his armor
 and he fell.
      "So  much for  Beinison armor!"  Caedmon called  gleefully as  he
 dispatched  his opponent.  Blood spattered  his Knight's  chain as  he
 removed his sword from the corpse. "Let's get out of her, Martis."
      But I  couldn't move.  I saw  the men  of House  Othuldane, House
 Redcrosse, and House Bivar being slaughtered like pigs in their stupid
 charge, and the Fist of the  Emperor pounded the Archers like wheat in
 a  hurricane. The  Assault Brigade  fought, bleeding  and dying.  In a
 moment, Beinison would overrun us all.
      "Martis!" Caedmon screamed, and the retreat sounded again on drum
 and  horn. The  ranks  behind me  were  in chaos;  men  and women  ran
 screaming into the hills behind  Oron's Crossroads or the woods beside
 us. I could see part of the  Fist chasing them into the woods and hear
 the screams of the  Rangers as they fell. The only  piece of sanity on
 the field  was the incoherent  voice of Lord  Kinseley--praise Stevene
 there were  *some* loyal  commanders left to  me-- rallying  the House
 Troops.
      "Dear God," I whispered. "Cephas Stevene, save us."
      The Fist kept  coming and coming. The troops were  done for. Good
 God. I had lost--lost!
      Those damn fools! Their charge  was killing them--killing us! The
 Fist  poured  over them  like  heavy  rain,  and  I watched  as  blood
 splattered  on the  new grass  and brains  spilled out  of heads.  The
 shouts deafened  me; I  knew that  the drums  and horns  were sounding
 retreat, but I couldn't hear, I couldn't move, I almost couldn't see.
      "Martis!" Caedmon  screamed. Oh, God, I  loved him, and I  knew I
 would never see him tomorrow. One of us was going to die.
      "Martis, let's go!"
      A fine  Knight would I be,  a fine Knight Captain,  to be running
 from the  field while the  Fist of the  Emperor pounded my  troops and
 slaughtered them like pigs. But Caedmon was right; we had to leave. It
 would be  enough for the King  to loose these troops  today; he didn't
 need to loose the Knight Captain, too.
      So I  moved, finally.  I took  my sword  and turned  with Caedmon
 toward the woods. We would have to go through them, back to Westbrook.
 Perhaps we could regroup and stop this madness...
      Perhaps we could, with more troops--troops who followed orders!
      Two of  the soldiers of the  Fist stepped between Caedmon  and me
 and the woods.  My sword flashed; Caedmon raised his  blade. I struck,
 and the blow  rang like thunder. But he was  quick, both hands holding
 weapons, and it was  all I could do to keep his  blows from raining on
 me. I twisted and  threw a blow from my waist and hip  and arm, as Sir
 Edward had  taught me.  It contacted,  shocking my  arm, but  the blow
 glanced off his armor.
      "Damn!" I  muttered. I  heard Caedmon  exchanging blows  with the
 other one, and I could hear him grunting.
      Caedmon, forgive me. I should have married you this morning.
      The man before  me raised his arms to strike  again. I could hear
 the chaos  behind me, and  I cried internally  for those dying,  but I
 could not  turn and watch  the horror.  I stepped forward  instead and
 jammed my shield against Fist-soldier's right arm. I pushed my armored
 knee against his groin. He stumbled; I lunged; he died.
      "Caedmon!" I  cried. He  was still fighting,  and I  regretted my
 weakness. Good God, don't let me distract him. God, save him. Save me.
 Save us all.
      The man was bigger than Caedmon;  he was huge. *All* the soldiers
 in the  Fist of the Emperor  seemed huge. Beinison was  huge. God, how
 could  we keep  them out  of  Baranur? No  one has  ever defeated  the
 Beinison Empire.
      I stepped forward to help Caedmon.  We had to defeat this man; we
 had to leave, flee to the  woods and then to Pyridain. Somehow--how? I
 didn't know; I only knew I had to leave. Oh, Caedmon!
      There was  suddenly a Knight  of the  Star ahead of  me--a giant,
 hulking man,  left handed.  Caedmon cried  out as a  blow rang  on his
 helm. I couldn't  look to see if  he was hurt; the Knight  of the Star
 charged me.
      I raised my shield.
      His first blow  nearly felled me by its sheer  force. I staggered
 and shook my head  to clear it. Oh, God, I was a  dead woman. Yes, the
 dead woman who led the troops to  slaughter (I could hear them now: If
 only we  had a  *man* to  lead them!), who  ruined Baranur.  The bards
 would destroy me nightly.
      But the Knight waited patiently for me to recover. When I rose, I
 saluted him for his courtesy and his honor. Not every Knight practices
 his chivalry on the battlefield.
      He  raised his  sword, his  strong  left hand  against my  strong
 right.
      We charged.
      Our shields collided like two  strong ships; I shuddered from the
 impact. My sword sailed high over his, aimed at his head--
      I  screamed  as  his  steel  sword tore  through  my  upper  arm.
 Something made a horrible, ugly,  grating noise. My shoulder wrenched;
 the pain convinced me that my arm had left its place in my shoulder.
      I stumbled, slipped  on the bloody grass, and  fell, the Knight's
 sword still  gone through my arm  beside the bone. I  couldn't move my
 arm.
      I couldn't move my arm! Oh, God, I'll never fight again!
      Then I realized  that death--at best--was staring  me straight in
 the eyes and I was foolish enough to be mourning a wounded arm.
      "Forgive me, lady," the giant rumbled, stepping closer. He pulled
 the  sword from  me smoothly,  but the  pain increased,  and my  blood
 gushed from  my arm  and reddened  the scarlet  ground. "We  have been
 ordered to take no prisoners."
      The Knight of the Star raised his sword. "Caedmon!" I cried.
      I should have married him this morning.
      The Knight of the Star fell.
      Caedmon grabbed  me with  his right  arm, and  with his  left, he
 retrieved his sword from the neck  of the giant Knight. "And don't you
 dare  lecture me,"  Caedmon  snapped, pulling  me  roughly toward  the
 woods. "I know it was unchivalrous."
      I shivered within my armor; my sweat was cold. Lecture him? I was
 so relieved I couldn't speak.
      "Caedmon," I whispered weakly. I was still bleeding. My God, I'll
 never make  it out  of these woods  alive. "Go. Run."  I tripped  on a
 protruding root. "I'll never make it. Save yourself."
      I could see his blue eyes  beneath his helm, and they were angry.
 "I didn't betray  my Knightly code to leave you  to die," he retorted.
 "I won't leave you to die, love."
      I loved him too, with all my heart. "I can't hold you back."
      "Stop talking nonsense and run!"
      I stumbled along, Caedmon half pulling me. My blood pounded in my
 ears; the trees flew by in a blur. I staggered over the bodies of dead
 rangers;  the Fist  was in  the woods,  slaying archers  like helpless
 birds.  I  heard  other  people  running,  crashing  into  the  woods,
 hurricane winds driven by the Fist of the Emperor.
      My foot was  yanked, and my face suddenly hit  the ground. My arm
 throbbed protest at  the abrupt jolt, and I bled.  Caedmon was pulling
 me upright. Dazed, I sat.
      "Your foot's caught," Caedmon informed me. I looked dully; I felt
 exhausted. But he was right; my steel boot was pinned beneath a root.
      Weakly,  I tried  to  remove  it; then,  using  my  one good  arm
 hindered by my shield, I pulled. My foot would not budge.
      How  marvelous. First,  a paralyzed  sword  arm to  keep me  from
 fighting, and  now a  paralyzed foot  to keep me  from fleeing.  I was
 dead. The Fist was coming.
      Caedmon raised his sword. He was going to kill me.
      "Stop!" a voice behind him  cried. Caedmon whirled; I looked past
 him at another Knight of the Star. He wore a blue tunic over his plate
 armor, and at his belt hung a silver horn. He advanced.
      Caedmon looked back at me, then  again at the Knight of the Star.
 "Sir," Caedmon said, "will you give me single combat?"
      "I will," the man answered, his voice strong.
      Caedmon went forward, his sword  drawn. He struck the first blow.
 I should have married him this morning.

 II.  Lawrence Fanez of the Silver Horn, Knight of the Star

      I was, I confess, a little  sorry when the Baranurian line broke.
 I am a loyal man; I have given my vow to the Emperor, and I fight here
 for his victory. Still, I hate  to see another Knight so defeated, for
 the Knight Captain  of Baranur had commanded wisely and  had only lost
 by the treason of her own troops.
      "Charge!" Untar  bellowed at the  Fist of  the Emperor. He  has a
 loud  voice for  one so  young. Beside  him, the  Fist screamed  their
 victory call, and Mon-Taerleor began chanting.
      I seethed. "Your majesty," I begged, cutting my way forward, "let
 the High Mage stop his spells. We are winning; we do not need them."
      For  once, the  young  Emperor  saw my  reason.  "Yes, stop,"  he
 commanded  Mon-Taerleor, and  the chanting  ceased. Although  he stood
 behind me, I could feel the wizard's gaze burning into me.
      Let him  gaze. Let  him be  angered and  chagrined. It  is little
 enough after what he has done.
      "They're  going into  the  woods!" the  Knight Commander  called.
 "Your majesty, shall we follow?"
      I  stopped my  butchering.  Yes, butchering,  for the  Baranurian
 troops were helpless. I looked; my uncle, the Knight Commander, nodded
 at me in approval as I waited for the Emperor's order.
      Gow,  let  us  give  chase,  I  prayed.  This  slaughter  is  not
 honorable. My Lord, let me have a Knight's combat this day.
      "Yes, Sir  Horace, follow,"  the Emperor  decided. I  saluted him
 gratefully;  I was  ill with  fighting a  war on  Amante's terms,  and
 gladly I ran to the woods.
      "Sir Lawrence!" the Emperor stopped me.  I slid on the blood, but
 paused. When  I looked  at him,  he ordered,  "Take no  prisoners!" He
 looked at mine uncle. "No prisoners! Sir Horace, no prisoners!"
      The  buglers  picked  up  the  call:  give  chase,  and  take  no
 prisoners. I sprinted into the woods.
      Archers  littered the  ground like  storm-torn leaves.  I stepped
 around them, leapt over them, looking  for my battle. May Gow grant me
 battle, a Knight's battle. I am weary of the Masked God's slaughter.
      The noise  in the woods was  deafening, like the cries  of my own
 brain. I ran,  not knowing whom I  sought, trusting Gow to  lead me to
 honorable victory.

      The moon  was rising over the  trees. The moon, My  Lady Alanna's
 jewel, given her by  Gow: I will let My Lady lead me.  I fight for her
 now, now  that Liadan  is dead.  Yes, Alanna  is My  Lady; her  I will
 follow.
      So I ran eastward, listening. A  branch crashed in front of me; I
 sprinted. I  heard a man  speaking in  Baranurian, but the  words were
 muffled. I entered a clearing.
      His sword  was above his  head, ready  to slay a  helpless Knight
 whose foot  was trapped. That I  would not allow, be  he Baranurian or
 Beinisonian. "Stop!" I cried in Beinison, and then in Baranurian.
      The  man turned.  He was  a Baranurian;  he wore  no Star  on his
 chain. The helpless one twisted to see me too, but could not move much
 because of the trapped foot and the horrible wound in the right arm.
      The mobile Knight looked at the caught one, then at me. "Sir," he
 asked politely, and I admired his  courage and courtesy in speaking to
 me at all, "will you give me single combat?"
      A Knight's battle! Gow guide my arm. "I will," I answered gladly,
 and I stepped forward to meet him.
      I allowed him, out of courtesy,  to strike the first blow; I knew
 that he  would be tired. The  blow hit my shield,  rattling me without
 pain. I struck back, but he deflected my blow with blade and shield.
      I  struck again,  but  missed  when the  other  Knight moved.  He
 stumbled on a dead  archer and fell. I paused for him  to rise; I will
 not strike a fallen  man. The Baranurian looked up at  me with eyes as
 blue as mine own  and nodded his thanks for my  gesture. I switched my
 father's blade to  my left hand and offered the  Knight assistance. He
 took the hand and rose.
      "I ask a boon," the Knight said softly.
      "What do you wish?" I wondered. What boon could I grant an enemy?
 How, will  all loyalty  to the  Emperor and all  honor to  my country,
 could I grant this man a boon?
      "I ask that if I am defeated  that you kill me, and quickly," the
 Knight asked softly. He looked back  at the wounded one. "I have heard
 what the Beinisonians do to prisoners."
      "Have no fear, sir," I answered  him in his own language. "I have
 been ordered not to take anyone prisoner."
      "Then have at you!" he cried, attacking.
      I sidestepped, and the blow rang  on my arm, stinging me below my
 armor. I  felt the dent  press into my muscle;  I would have  a bruise
 there tomorrow if I lived so long. I readjusted my shield with a shake
 of  my elbow  and whirled  my sword  above my  head. The  other Knight
 caught it and pushed it away.
      I smiled. An honorable, skillful enemy  whom I could fight like a
 man and not slaughter like a beast. Gow be praised and thanked that if
 I  were to  kill or  to die,  I should  do so  as a  Knight and  not a
 butcher.
      I struck  my blow still smiling.  His armor sang with  my soul in
 the joy  of the fight.  His blade danced forward  at mine helm,  and I
 ducked and  hit his leg in  recompense. He withdrew his  hand to ready
 it; I lunged forward but pierced only his quick shield.
      "I hold,"  the Knight said. He  held his shield toward  me, and I
 reached for the blade and withdrew it.
      "I thank you." Then I struck.
      The blow thundered in the suddenly  quiet forest. His blade on my
 shield sounded like drums. We were  dancing again, and the battle sang
 in  our  blood. His  blows  fell  like  hard  hail; I  fought  without
 thinking. My  sword struck his arm,  his helm, his chest,  his leg. He
 battled me valiantly and struck me back. He raised his blow to counter
 my high-flying sword;  I flicked my wrist, and the  blade hit the back
 of his helm.  The Knight tried to  hit me, but his sword  slid down my
 shield like melting snow. I pushed it away and thrusted.
      A woman suddenly  screamed--the other Knight was  a woman!--and I
 knew the  sound--the cry my  heart had made  when Liadan lay  dying in
 mine arms--and I suddenly knew what I had done. My blood ran cold.
      I killed her beloved before her. I had committed the crime of the
 man I most hated, the one who plunged a dagger into Liadan's back, who
 murdered her in her wedding gown,  who served the Emperor as High Mage
 and was immune to all justice--
      I was hateful in mine own eyes.
      Slowly, I turned,  and I was shaking in mine  armor at the horror
 of it all. She--the other  Knight--good Gow, the Knight Captain!--spat
 curses at me as I approached.
      I did not blame her, nor do I now. Have I not cursed Mon-Taerleor
 in such a way?
      Her foot was caught beneath a  root, and now I understood why the
 man had  raised his  sword: to  cut the  wood and  free the  foot. The
 Knight Captain stared defiantly at me as  I lifted my sword and let it
 fall.
      She scrambled  to her  feet and faced  me belligerently.  Her arm
 bled like a flood. I knew she could not fight me. "Go," I said.
      Hazel-green eyes  stared out at  me angrily.  "Do you know  who I
 am?"
      "I know, Dame  Captain." I took the horn off  my belt and thought
 of healing  potions. The  silver horn immediately  filled with  one. I
 handed it to her. "Drink; it will help you."
      The Knight  Captain fearlessly  downed the  potion and  flung the
 horn back toward  me. It bounced on  the gory moss, and as  much as my
 heart tore to see Liadan's gift so carelessly handled, I did not move,
 but stared only at the Knight Captain steadily.
      Her hazel  eyes glared  like enraged fire.  "Why didn't  you kill
 me?" she demanded.
      I blinked, shocked.  "I will not slay a wounded  enemy." I looked
 at her  arm; the  potion was already  helping to heal  it, and  it had
 ceased bleeding. "You  are too hurt to fight adequately;  I cannot, in
 all honor, combat you."
      "And yet  you tell me  to go,"  she seethed furiously,  her words
 dripping like poison from a wounded  adder's tooth. "You will not even
 capture me?"
      Suddenly,  I  smiled,  vindicated.  "Yea, Dame  Captain,  go,"  I
 invited,  almost ready  to  laugh. "I  have been  ordered  to take  no
 prisoners."
      Something in  her broke;  her eyes were  no longer  jewel-hard. I
 heard a sob catch in her throat, and she turned suddenly and ran.
      "Gow guide your arm next time,"  I wished softly, "and Sanar walk
 with you."
      I  turned to  go. I  looked  toward the  dead Knight  whom I  had
 killed; I had no more wish to fight today.
      He had  died quickly, as  he had wished.  I stooped to  close his
 eyes, then pulled back as I saw the moon glow in them.
      I knelt, put my blade before me,  and rested my helm on its hilt.
 "To you, My Lady of the Night,  I dedicate my deeds of arms and honor.
 Grant me  your blessing  to act,  with My Lord  your husband,  as your
 Knight."
      I fell  silent after the  ritual prayer,  and said one  from mine
 heart. "I give you also, My Lady,  my deed of mercy, and beseech mercy
 of My Lord  Gow that her vengeance  fall not hard upon me,  for I knew
 not he was her lover."
      But let my hand fall hard on Mon-Taerleor for murdering mine!
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 Quanta is  the electronically distributed  journal  of Science Fiction
 and Fantasy.  As such, each issue contains fiction by  amateur authors
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      (C)    Copyright   June,    1991,    DargonZine,   Editor    Dafydd
 <[email-masked]>. All rights revert to the authors. These stories may
 not be reproduced or redistributed (save  in the case of reproducing the
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