Subject: File "DARGONZ VOL05N02" being sent to you.

From: [email-masked]
Date: Thu, 24 Sep 1992 14:40:55 -0400

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 --   DargonZine Volume 5, Issue 2        09/24/92          Cir 1192   --
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 --                            Contents                                --
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  Sons of Gateway 5: Goren     Jon Evans              Janis 29 -
                                                         Vibril 27, 1014
  Pact IV                      Max Khaytsus           Yuli 15, 1014
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1                 Sons of Gateway, Part 5: Goren
                          by Jon Evans
                 (b.c.k.a. <[email-masked]>)

      "Saren and Nehru be damned," cried  Goren, as he dove through the
 snow towards  the wood  line of  the forest.  The riders  were closing
 quickly,  even with  the snow  to slow  the horses,  but his  own feet
 weren't as  light in the  high drifts as  he had hoped.  "Finally, the
 suffering end  you deserve," he said  to no one. "Payback  is a bitch,
 isn't it?"
      Bark splintered  on the tree next  to him, a quarrel  burying its
 head  into the  wood. "Why  in the  name of  Ol did  I burn  the bow?"
 Strangely, he answered himself: "Because it wasn't yours, usurper."
      In the woods, Goren knew the snow would be lighter. He had hunted
 here many  times, in his  youth as well as  recently, and he  knew the
 paths that would be  hard to follow on a horse.  There were times when
 he came hunting on his own, and  he had missed the aelo with his first
 arrow. They  aren't fierce  animals, but  when they're  attacked, they
 know how to hurt the men that hunt them down.
      Another bolt, landing quietly and  dangerously close in the snow,
 brought him out  of these thoughts, and he hurried  down a little used
 path towards  a cabin his  family had used  for years. There  would be
 weapons there,  perhaps, and at least  a place to defend  himself from
 his attackers.  He didn't know  who these men  were, or why  they were
 chasing him  down, and  he didn't  much care. All  he cared  about was
 staying alive.  "Do you really  think you  deserve to live,"  he asked
 himself, "after you  murdered your father in cold blood?  Let the hand
 that serves the poison be cut off."
      Running through  the woods, the  horses losing ground  slowly, he
 toppled over  a mound of  snow into a  bank he hadn't  remembered. The
 horses were too  far behind to have  seen him fall - he  was safe, for
 the moment. He rested.
      "Haven't spent  much time in  the winter woods, have  you?" Goren
 whirled to  see another  rider, wearing  the same  white armor  of his
 followers. "Just  because you're out  of sight, doesn't mean  we can't
 follow your trail." The man released  his blade from its scabbard with
 the sharp, crisp scratch of steel on steel. Goren stood up, waist-deep
 in the snow covered gully, and  turned to flee. Behind him stood three
 more riders,  swords drawn and  dismounted from their  steeds, staring
 down at him from the bank of the pit.
      "Now you'll meet the suffering  end you deserve," Goren said. The
 four were  mildly amused,  as the  leader walked  his horse  closer to
 Winston.
      "I rather  think you're wrong,"  the leader replied,  pulling his
 blade back to swing.
      "No, wait! I didn't mean-"  Blackness engulfed Goren as he landed
 in the cold, soft snow.

      "He  burned  the bow."  Marcus  stared  silently, sadly,  at  the
 remains of a small fire someone  had reported seeing under the dock at
 the south ford, two  days past. Marcus had known who  it was, and took
 his time  investigating. The curved  wood was charred  beyond definite
 description, but  Marcus knew no  rotted plank would take  that shape,
 and the blackened remains of six  arrow heads were only just below the
 surface of the soot, when he  scraped through it with his knife. "What
 idiocy has taken the boy? Bad enough  I had to hit him... never had to
 take steps  with Goren  before... couldn't stop  babbling... squirmin'
 mess, that boy is..."
      Marcus mounted  his horse  once more, noting  the lack  of tracks
 anywhere near the area. No one fords the Laraka in the winter, and the
 ripping wind covered well any traces Goren had left behind. Riding the
 rest of his nightly rounds, he thought he should have gone with Goren,
 but decided  against it. "Who'd be  left to take care  of Kald's home,
 with Ne'on running  the place? And besides, I'd probably  have to kill
 the men  following me, instead  of just avoiding  their opportunities.
 Ne'on needs a lesson in subtilty..."
      As the Castellan of Gateway trotted his horse away from the area,
 three  dark  figures  crawled  slowly   over  the  ridge  behind  him,
 contrasting the  white landscape  with their  black clothes  and arms.
 They had been following  him for the past day and a  half. They had no
 idea that he had been keeping track of them, as well.

      Soft warmth,  in the form of  bear skins and female  flesh, awoke
 Goren from his fevered haze. He had  been sick with the Red Skull, his
 benefactors told him, and they were  glad he was alive. Looking around
 him, he saw he  was in a tent some twenty feet  square, with about ten
 other men and women. He was also in chains, as were the others.
      "Where  am I?"  he asked  of the  woman looking  down at  him. He
 quickly thought of his clothes and checked to see if he was decent. He
 was; but not in the clothes with which he had left Gateway.
      As if sensing his thoughts, the woman - or girl, for she couldn't
 be older  than 17 summers -  blushed shyly, and began  to answer, when
 she was interrupted by another voice.
      "Hell," it stated plainly, in a tone that was at once ancient and
 young, rough and gentle. Goren looked to  see a woman of not more than
 five heads tall, with the eyes of  an angel lined with more years than
 she had lived. "You can go, now,  Vercona; the man appears to be well.
 Although I'd take it  easy from now on, if I were  you." This last was
 directed at Goren.
      "I'm not dead, and I can think  of worse places to awaken than in
 the presence  of beautiful women, so  I think you might  be mistaken."
 Goren looked  around. The general  populace didn't think the  jest was
 very funny, and the woman wasn't smiling much, either.
      "Then perhaps you should stay here:  women come and go every day,
 and the food isn't half bad. You have to pay dearly for it, though; or
 you will, as soon as you've been  sold." With a cold stare, she added.
 "If you  decide to  live through the  next two weeks,  I'll be  in the
 corner. Happy  attitudes and light jokes  aren't going to do  you very
 much good."
      Goren decided he didn't like this woman.

      A white clothed figure, sitting tall in the saddle, rode his pale
 horse through the snow covered woods 100 leagues North West of Magnus.
 His  mount's light,  muffled hoofs  echoed softly  through the  nearby
 trees causing small clouds of billowy white snow to fall gently to the
 cottony masses  below. Pausing  briefly, he reached  down to  his left
 boot, covered with  the grey-white fur of winter  wolves, and adjusted
 his stirrup. The howling wind passing  through the trees blew open his
 light blue cloak,  revealing his heavy suede  protective vest beneath,
 and the short cropped blonde hair  around the fair complexion and pale
 blue  eyes common  to  most northerners.  Pulling  the cloak  securely
 around his body, he huddled against  the sharp wind biting through his
 too-thin clothing, and muttered a prayer  to Stevene as he spurred his
 horse into a walk.
      "Stevene, keep  her safe  and whole,  let her  not feel  the cold
 sting of winter, and may the Communers  find more need for her in this
 life than myself."
      A light figure almost seemed to blend into the gentle snow of the
 plains as  it emerged from  the northern edge  of the woods  less than
 fifty leagues from Gateway Keep.

      "Fine," he  said, turning from the  exit of the tent  and sitting
 down on a red  silk pillow. The pillow was soft, but  it did little to
 comfort  him from  the  frustration at  his  failure, especially  with
 everyone  in the  tent  staring  at him  with  the  mixed feelings  of
 pessimistic knowledge and disappointment.
      "Goren," the angelic voice sighed, and  he felt a firm hand grasp
 his shoulder, "I've  tried everything already. You know  that. You are
 feeling panic,  now, and  you have to  let it go."  Rho looked  to the
 opening of the tent. "It's not strong magic, but it's enough."
      "I  hate magic,"  he muttered,  looking around  him at  the other
 trapped souls. "Even more, I hate  being confined!" He stood up again,
 and began  walking toward  the flaps.  "I'm going  to break  this damn
 force if I have to spend the rest of my life doing it."
      Rho grabbed him and spun him  around. "You may well do that. That
 field doesn't wear  down. It's there. Now sit down,  and calm down, or
 I'll knock you down." She was  tired of this stubborn man who wouldn't
 listen. She was tired of his ranting  and raving. She was tired of his
 childish  tirades. She  didn't  understand  how a  man  could seem  so
 rational, and  act so  immature. And,  most of all,  she was  tired of
 being locked  up, too. His  words had struck a  chord in her,  but she
 wasn't going to allow them to disturb her thinking.
      Goren was  tired, too.  This woman had  been demanding  since the
 moment he met her. Who did she  think she was, treating him like this?
 He was  the Keeper of  Gateway. He was the  nephew of a  respected, if
 minor, House of Magnus. And, she was a woman.
      "Get out of my way," he said, teeth clenched.
      "Sit down," she said coolly.
      He reached to  move her. There was a blur  of movement, the blunt
 sound of  flesh hitting flesh, a  gasp of air, and  Goren flew several
 feet backward, landing  not too softly on a pile  of silk and pillows.
 Goren lay doubled over, his breath short and infrequent.
      "Don't  come to  me  again  unless you're  in  the  mood to  take
 orders."

      Hanlar moved his large bulk back into the trees, a narrow beam of
 energy burning a  thin branch off the tree beside  him. The trees were
 safe, he thought,  just out of their distance.  His commanding officer
 looked at him  dazedly from behind the large boulder  he was using for
 cover.  They all  looked  at him,  asking how  they  were expected  to
 succeed where a man his size had failed. The cold winter snow mixed in
 with the dirt they  were forced to sleep in, covering  them all with a
 muddy  complexion.  They had  quarreled  on  the  way here,  the  poor
 travelling conditions  and their bad temperaments  mixing to aggravate
 their situation. Some of them had broken bones from fights, cuts where
 the fights had gotten out of control.  Two of them were asked to leave
 the group. Ne'on would  have to deal with them, if  they lived to make
 it back.
      "Why didn't you  keep going?" The commander  looked desperate. He
 was only 21 years old, and most of his troops had more experience than
 he. Experience  in what, Hanlar  wondered. Most of these  "troops", as
 Ne'on called his Black Arm, were cut-throats and thieves, muggers, men
 who hadn't worked an honest day in their lives, unless it was to stake
 out a prospective target.
      Their commanding  officer was  a man  known in  the Keep  and the
 surrounding area. It  had been a politically wise choice  for Ne'on to
 put him  in charge. It  had been a  tactically stupid move.  He didn't
 want the position. He  had joined the Arm for the  sake of making some
 extra money  for his family.  Ne'on knew this,  and asked if  he would
 like to make even more. Needing it, he jumped at the chance. He hadn't
 known what he was doing.
      "Keep goin'?" Hanlar looked at  his captain in amazement. "Are ye
 crazed, boy? Them  wizards jist took out  all me men, an'  me near wi'
 'em. 'Ow would you like to be chargin' out there, eh?"
      "If I weren't  the commanding officer, and in  charge of bringing
 this  damn precious  stone  back, I  would be  out  there!" Damn  this
 corporal, thought sergeant  Howen, he shouldn't dare speak  to me that
 way. As soon as this is over, I will discipline him.
      "Well, then,  mister commandin' officer," Hanlar's  face wrinkled
 with the sarcasm, "maybe you'd best  be findin' a way tha' what's left
 of this troop kin git along into  this devil's hole wi' out yuir help,
 eh?"
      "I'm working  on it, corporal."  The sergeant stared back  at the
 cave entrance, wondering how he could fight the cold, his men, and the
 magicians holding Ne'on's stone, and  still stay alive in the process.
 "I'm working on it."

      Marcus glanced behind  him slowly, letting the  men following him
 know he  was turing, and giving  them time to hide  themselves. In the
 time it  took for them  to get out  of his field  of vision -  one had
 jumped  behind  the rain  barrel,  he  noted  by the  barrel's  slight
 movement, and  the other had stepped  into the River Snake's  Den - he
 was able  to duck  down the alley  to the side  before they  could see
 where he had  gone. It shouldn't take  them long to figure  it out, he
 thought, glancing at the snow on the ground.
      Looking down  the alley, he noticed  the back door to  the fabric
 store, and made his  way towards it. He wasn't sure  if these men were
 still Ne'on's guard,  or some of the ruffians the  winter weather, and
 Ne'on's new policies, had attracted to Gateway. Before he could get to
 the door, he heard their muffled  footfalls behind him. He turned, and
 saw the  two men following him.  They weren't dressed like  men of the
 Arm, being clad mostly in winter  hides and light cloaks. They paused,
 noting the exposed position in which both parties stood.
      "You're either thinking you should  run away now," Marcus said to
 them,  unclipping his  sword  belt,  "while you're  still  out of  the
 dungeons..." Marcus drew his sword slowly, letting it's scrape against
 the scabbard  be heard quite plainly  by the two men.  "..or that it's
 time to draw your weapons, and face this keep's Castellan with steel."
 Pulling the  cloak off his  shoulders, he  twirled it around  his left
 forearm and hand,  resulting in an effective  defensive weapon against
 two opponents. "Me... I've already made my decision."
      The two  men paused,  looking at  each other  doubtfully. They're
 judging each  other's value, Marcus  thought. After two  seconds, they
 turned and ran. The Castellan let them go.
      "They're getting  brave," he  mused. "Sooner  or later,  if those
 were Ne'on's men, they're going to have to do something."

      The tent  was wrapped in a  silence broken only by  the sounds of
 deep slumber,  and a body  navigating across the pillows  and sleeping
 forms.  He crept  closer  in  the darkness,  making  little noise  and
 disturbing no  one despite the  sparse light  cast by the  hanging oil
 lamp. He didn't need  to see where she lay sleeping; he  knew as if by
 instinct. As he  drew closer to her,  he reached his hand  to her, and
 gently touched her.
      "Rho," he whispered,  not intending to wake her if  she was truly
 asleep.
      "What is it, Goren," she replied.  Her voice was clear and smooth
 - she had been awake for some time.
      "I, uh..."  He wasn't expecting  her to  be awake. It  would have
 been much easier  if she was actually asleep. He  knew he had intended
 to say something to  her, on his way over, but now  he fumbled for the
 words. He had a respect for her  which he felt for few people. She had
 been  able to  knock him  across  the room.  And, of  course, she  was
 beautiful.  "I just  wanted... I  was stubborn...  What I'm  trying to
 say-"
      "Goren, forget it." Rho turned to her left side, resting her head
 up  on her  left  hand.  She looked  at  him  seriously, gauging  him,
 determining his value  at what she had planned. She  decided. "Can you
 fight? I mean, not hand to hand, but with weapons?"
      "Can't everyone?"
      "No, Goren,  not everyone can. And  I don't mean just  carry them
 and know how to  hold them - any mother's son can do  that. I mean, if
 it comes down to it, could I count on your sword arm?"
      Goren  smiled. "No."  Rho gave  him a  dissapointed look,  but he
 stopped her before she could reply.  "You'd get your head chopped off,
 if you had to rely on my sword arm.  But, give me a bow and I can show
 you  some  magic."  He tried  not  to  sound  too  proud of  his  next
 statement, but  he wanted  to impress  her. "I  won the  Keep's Silver
 Arrow the last  five years in a  row. Of course, Marcus  and my father
 weren't competing,  but..." At  the thought of  his father,  he became
 quiet and sober. For the first time in over a fortnight, he remembered
 his father laying on the ground,  twisted in pain. Rho's voice brought
 him back.
      "Good," she said. "Gather all the clothing you can, we're leaving
 here tonight."  Throwing off the  blankets she was resting  under, she
 stood up fully clothed, and removed a bundle from beneath her pillows.
 Goren  ran for  his  own  possessions, waking  several  people in  the
 process as he stumbled over their sleeping forms.
      A flickering yellow  light began emanating from  outside the tent
 near  Rho's  bed.  It  grew brighter,  turned  orange,  and  darkened.
 Suddenly,  the  tent  material  peeled  away under  the  heat  of  the
 red-orange flames. The inhabitants of the tent were in chaos, shouting
 their surprise and fear, as a white-clad warrior entered the tent.
      "Come on!"  Rho called, grabbing  the bundle and  running through
 the opening.  Goren ran  close behind,  clasping a  bundle of  his own
 close to his chest.

      Sorya waited in the gathered silence, her brothers and sisters of
 the  order huddling  about the  rocky entrance  to their  habitat. Her
 light green robe,  signifying her status as Leaf, stood  out among the
 browns and greys - the Branches and  Barks - of the rest of the group.
 The cold  winter wind  did not  reach into  the cave,  whose enchanted
 opening permitted only  gentle breezes to pass  through. Sorya lowered
 her blonde-capped head and rubbed the  short bristles of her hair with
 her left  hand... for luck,  she smiled.  Glancing up, her  keen brown
 eyes sensed something in the distance. Her jaw set.
      "Prepare," Sorya's soft, raspy voice called out.
      "No, wait..."  Haren, one  of the Barks,  called. "I  don't think
 it's an offensive attack. Not a direct one..."
      Haren was  the sensitive of  the group.  He could feel  things of
 this nature, sometimes, but Sorya wanted  to be sure. Any mistake, and
 the Crystal might  be forfeit. No one  was going to take  it while she
 was acting leader of the Nar-Enthruen. "Explain," she commanded.
      "It's  movement, that's  all. Not  necessarily an  attack, but...
 part of one."
      "Where to?"  He was nervous,  she noted.  So was she.  These men,
 from out of no  where, had staged an attack on  the Guild. Normal men,
 without even a  magician to help them discover the  illusion cast over
 the cave's  entrance. Another  effect of the  Crystal, she  noted. She
 wondered if it was losing its power.
      "I can't  say... around...  I don't know."  He dropped  his head,
 shamefully, wishing he could have told the group. It would have been a
 great deal of help. "Look!"
      In front of the cave, about thirty yards away, stood a large man,
 looking battered  and tired  from the  siege. The  leader of  the last
 group that had attacked the cave,  Sorya noted. As he stepped forward,
 he drew his sword, intending to attack. Easily defeated, she thought.
      "Karin," she called, and the Bark stepped out of the cave to meet
 him. The worst aspect of the Crystal, Sorya thought, was that no magic
 within  fifty feet  of it  was functional,  unless it  was a  powerful
 conglomeration of magi, and that only happened during a Draining.
      Karin stepped out  of the cave, and greeted her  combatant with a
 nod. She  expected to  have little  time to cast  her spell  before he
 swung his great sword in her direction - her first spell would have to
 be a  protective one. She called  on the magic, feeling  it enter her,
 shaping its form about her.
      Sharp pain, in  the form of an arrow, entered  her side. A warmth
 spread about her left hip, and she could feel wetness running down her
 legs. The energy she was summoning began slipping away, she could feel
 the spell dissipating. Concentrate,  damnit, she thought, focusing her
 mind once again.
      A new warmth, pleasurable, gathered  at her side, and she glanced
 over to see Haren sitting next to  her, his hands glowing a light blue
 as they touched her wound, the arrow easing out slowly and painlessly.
 Another shaft flew  through the air, striking the ground  next to her.
 She  knew  she  had to  finish  the  spell,  but  there were  so  many
 distractions.
      Haren, run  back inside,she thought.  He was risking his  life to
 save  hers; there  was no  way he  could have  covered himself  with a
 protective spell before he began healing her. Another idea occurred to
 her, and she  began expanding the spell to include  him. It would take
 only a moment longer...
      Hanlar's long sword  came down on her shoulder blade  with a note
 of finality,  splitting her torso  half way. Karin cried  faintly, and
 slumped  onto  the  magus  sitting  next  to  her.  Haren  looked  up,
 surprised,  and  shouted  something incomprehensible  to  Hanlar,  and
 Hanlar was sent  sprawling backward, a gash opening in  his chest. Two
 more  arrows were  fired,  and  these hit  their  mark. Haren  slumped
 forward over the body of his dead friend.

      "Gods, it worked!" Sergeant Howen ran forward, his troops staring
 at him in  wonder. "Corporal, get up  here, we've got a  man down, and
 I'm not losing any more  men. McCullen! Braddock! Hold your positions!
 If another one of those robed freaks comes out of that cave, I want it
 looking like my grandmother's pin cushion!"
      The sudden victory where defeat had seemed so imminent struck the
 men dumb, but they followed the new strength they saw in their leader.
 They didn't like him, they had thought he was weak, but he showed them
 that  a good  plan  could go  a  long way.  As one  of  the men  began
 bandaging  Hanlar, Hanlar  looked  up at  his  commander, twisted  his
 craggy face into an exaggerated wink of his left eye, and slumped back
 down.
      "Will he be alright, corporal?" Howen was worried. Out of all the
 men he had the dubious pleasure to lead, this man was his favorite. He
 wasn't particularly nice  to the sergeant, but he  treated him fairly,
 and gave him a chance when most of the troops would not have.
      "'E'll be  fine, comman'er. Jist  a bit  o' a scrape...  'e's 'ad
 worse,  I can  tell you  that."  The corporal  continued wrapping  the
 bandage  around  Hanlar's  newly  exposed  chest,  the  blood  already
 beginning to coagulate.
      "Well, just  make sure  that wound  is kept  clean. And  keep him
 warm, I'm not losing anyone for  any reason." Howen turned to the rest
 of his gathered troop. "The rest of you, form ranks, two rows, bows in
 the back,  swords up front. We're  going into that cave  and bring out
 that bloody stone."

      "Sorya, they're coming! How are we going to stop them?" The young
 Bark,  new to  magic itself  let  alone battle,  cried desperately  to
 Sorya. They  all look desperate,  she thought. "They killed  Karin and
 Haren, Sorya. How can  we stop their arrows if we  can't even cast any
 spells? There's only twelve of us left!"
      Twelve of  us and twenty of  them, Sorya thought, looking  at the
 massed  robes  around  her. Twelve  hysterical,  panicking  beginners,
 against  twenty  trained  men.  She  thought  about  the  cave,  their
 advantages, what  few weapons they  had, and  the men who  were coming
 towards the  entrance. She  began to  feel the  uneasy turning  in her
 stomach which precluded her own panic, and had to force herself not to
 lose control. If  she lost command of herself, the  entire group would
 be  cut down  like lambs  for  the slaughter.  Then she  thought of  a
 chance.
      "Twelve  will be  enough,"  she announced  to  the robed  figures
 around her. "They  can't fire their arrows into  the illusion covering
 the cave, and the few magical traps  on the path should slow them down
 a bit. Falen, take two men and go  to the chamber. I want you to bring
 the Crystal up here."
      Her words  echoed off  the walls,  taking time  to sink  into the
 minds of  the magi around  her. Falen  rose, picked two  Barks nearest
 him, and left. The others still  looked at her, wondering. They didn't
 understand.
      "You all  know the Crystal  can be  used to drain  latent ability
 from... incompetent... students. Well, there's another function of the
 Crystal that isn't discussed very often-"
      A  scream filled  the  cavern as  a man  crumbled  to the  ground
 outside the cave. About twenty feet  from the entrance, the center man
 in the front line  grasped at where his left leg used  to be, a small,
 fiery explosion burning it completely  from his hip. The advancing men
 halted, looking about them carefully. Someone hesitantly stepped up to
 help  the now  unconscious  soldier  whose wound  -  mercifully -  had
 cauterized with the  injury. A few others began to  back away, until a
 yell from their commanding officer  stopped them. Sorya wished that he
 had been the one to suffer the  injury - the entire assault might have
 been halted right there.
      "As I was  saying, there is another function." Falen  and the two
 Barks arrived  with the  large stone,  its mass  being carried  by the
 three  of them  between two  large, wooden  poles. The  purple, oblong
 stone  pulsed slightly,  slowly, in  the presence  of the  magi. "That
 function is to drain life."
      There  was a  subtle  change  in the  expressions  of the  massed
 magicians; the change from confused wonder to fearful awe. One of them
 spoke the  thoughts of  all the young,  inexperienced magi,  "We can't
 manage  the Crystal..  it's too  powerful...  there's not  many of  us
 here..."
      The  time they  had left  was drawing  short. The  men had  begun
 advancing, again, this time prodding the  ground in front of them with
 spears,  branches,  anything they  could  find  to trigger  the  traps
 without  being caught  in them.  They would  be entering  the cave  in
 another minute,  and then  the slaughter  would begin.  Sorya realized
 there was a  second time constraint: the Crystal  was pulsing slightly
 faster,  a little  brighter,  it's  dweomer causing  it  to drink  the
 plentiful magic  potential gathered in  the room  so close to  it. The
 incantation must begin immediately.
      "I tell you, twelve  will be enough! Am I not a  Leaf of the Nar-
 Enthruen? Do  I not know of  what I speak?  Or would you wait  for the
 soldiers to cut you to pieces? Look  outside, and tell me we are still
 not enough to use the Crystal." The magi glanced about themselves, saw
 the first man  coming near to entering the cave,  and quickly formed a
 circle around the Crystal. Sorya stepped into her place, and began the
 spell.

      "Are we  sure this is the  exact entrance?" The corporal  next to
 Howen looked at  him with the question. The entrance  was difficult to
 detect, at  best, with the  illusion cast over  the cave. It  was only
 Ne'on's instructions  that had allowed  them to  find the cave  in the
 first place. The  closer you got to it, somehow,  the more defined the
 illusion appeared.
      "I'm sure,  damnit, now let's  get in  there. We don't  know what
 else they  might have  planned for  us, and we're  running low  on man
 power." He yelled  loudly to his men to pick  up their spirits, "Let's
 go, men! Give these  demon wizards a piece of steel  to take with them
 to Risseer!"
      As  they passed  through the  illusion, they  could see  the cave
 entirely, including  the circle of  magi around a huge,  purple stone.
 They  charged, fearing  the possible  attack by  the conclave,  but no
 wizards turned  to meet their steel.  Suddenly, a man screamed  out in
 pain, and dropped to the ground.  Then, another man fell, and another,
 writhing in agony for a moment, and laying still.
      "Magic!" cried one of the men.  And the charge stopped yet again.
 The bowmen worked their way forward and nocked their arrows.
      "Aim, and  fire at  will," Howen commanded,  and the  arrows flew
 out, striking their targets.
      A  feeling  of sickness  came  over  Howen; his  insides  started
 turning,  and a  pain crawled  up his  left arm,  working towards  his
 heart.
      "Get the  green-robed one,"  he gasped,  clutching at  his chest.
 Several  other  men also  stopped  their  attack, clutching  at  their
 chests. One fell to the ground, dead.
      More arrows  flew through the  air, some striking  their targets,
 most missing  completely. There were  only six more  standing, damnit,
 Howen thought.  And thirteen of us.  The odds are still  in our favor.
 Blackness closed in around his  vision, his heart rate jumping faster.
 The green robe called something  out, and another man collapsed behind
 him. Still, he fought the desire to give up, to let the life spill out
 of him;  he had something to  live for, a  job to finish, a  family to
 support.
      Another magus felt  the bite of an  arrow and the men  of the Arm
 closed with their enemy. Swords were  drawn, steel bit into cloth, and
 screams  reached  Howen's ears  as  he  felt Celine's  tranquil  pull.
 Another  cry, the  sound of  rusted metal  hitting stone,  feet moving
 around him. Someone gasped for air.
      Air  began making  its way  into his  own lungs.  His heart  beat
 slowly, steadily.  His vision  cleared, and when  he focussed,  he saw
 several silhouettes leaning over him.
      "Is he dead?" one asked.
      Then he heard a familiar voice - a voice he was growing to love -
 the voice of Hanlar. "He's lookin' you square in the face, lad, and ye
 think he's dead?" Hands reached out to grasp him, and pull him up, and
 he saw the green  robed magus laying in a pool of  blood by the stone,
 Hanlar's own sword sticking out of  the woman's chest like a monument.
 Nehru forgive us, he thought, we were fighting women.
      "We'll take  some time 'ere,  lads, to  rest. We'll not  be goin'
 any- where, for a scant bit 'o time."
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
1                            Pact, part IV
                            by Max Khaytsus
               (b.c.k.a. <[email-masked]>)

      The only instruction in the letter that Ilona Milnor followed was
 to come alone  and that was only because she  had plenty of confidence
 in herself. She ignored the lines about not carrying weapons or light.
 She needed  those, especially in  the middle  of the night  around the
 docks, outside the protective city wall. She received her instructions
 to come here  just after she reported  for duty at sunset.  She had no
 idea who  the note  was from, but  it was delivered  by a  young blond
 woman, perhaps  in her early  twenties. She was obviously  upper class
 and very polite.
      "Who is this from?" Ilona asked, re-folding the message.
      "I  can't say,"  the  woman  answered, as  if  she  did not  know
 herself.
      "And who are you?"
      The woman shrugged. "I'm just a messenger."
      "That's not how I do business," Ilona warned her.
      "Then you'll have to adjust."
      "I could have you locked  up," the lieutenant threatened. She had
 no patience for games.
      "Aren't  we past  the time  when they  killed the  bearer of  bad
 news?" the  woman continued in  her calm voice.  "I told you,  it came
 into my  hands with  intent of  being passed into  yours. Take  it and
 follow the instructions."  With those words she turned  and walked out
 of the guard house.
      Ilona could have  had her arrested, but the woman  was right. The
 days  of  killing the  messenger  were  long  gone. Besides,  she  was
 obviously a member of  the local mob and Ilona did not  want to be the
 one to cast the first stone. It seemed she was on her way to being one
 of the  organization's members and the  means to that end  seemed more
 important. If she were to succeed  in infiltrating the mob, a lot more
 than one criminal would be her prize.
      Ilona  shone the  light of  the lantern  down the  length of  the
 docks,  watching for  movement  and examining  the  rebuilding of  the
 piers. Large portions of the dock  were covered with fresh wood, while
 other sections  were completely torn  down. Most remained in  the same
 bad condition that the war had left them in.
      There were  two large merchant  ships that  had come in  over the
 last few days to sell their wares  in town, braving their way past the
 enemy fleet  and the pirates. She  shuddered to think how  many others
 failed to  make it through.  The ocean  floor must have  been littered
 with greedy merchants wanting to make a profit on the war.
      Since most of the pier markers  were lost in the fighting and the
 subsequent fires,  Ilona had  to count the  piers before  locating the
 proper one.  Like the rest,  it appeared to  have been damaged  in the
 fighting and was patched up in some places. She shone the lantern down
 the  pier, then  at  the small  clipper  ship docked  at  it. By  some
 miracle, some of the ships in Dargon's harbor managed to survive. Many
 were only lightly damaged and repair  and raising work had started the
 same day the Beinison fleet moved on.
      "I told  you no  lights!" a  harsh male  voice floated  down from
 above and Ilona  shone her light up  to the deck of  the ship. Liriss,
 the crime  lord of  Dargon stood  on deck, dressed  in a  black cloak,
 shielding his eyes from the light. "Come up here."
      Ilona made her  way to the boarding plank and  walked up on deck.
 Liriss was alone as far as she could tell.
      "Kill the light," he asked in a quiet voice. "Please."
      Ilona did so. She never imagined he could be polite.
      "Please,  sit  down,"  Liriss   told  her,  standing  before  her
 nervously. He was not armed and there did not seem to be a weapon near
 by.
      "Why am I here?" Ilona asked.
      "Your first assignment."
      She sat  on the second  step of the  ladder leading to  the upper
 deck. "What do you need?"
      "Your help. You're one of the very few I can trust."
      "Me?" She was ready for anything but that.
      "Yes, you. Not even any of  my lieutenants. Not one of the three.
 You see,  I was framed.  I never gave the  order to have  your Captain
 killed  and I'm  already being  blamed..." He  did not  often let  his
 speech trail, but he was obviously deep in thought.
      "What?" Ilona stood up. She was even worse prepared to hear that.
      "I never gave the order,"  Liriss repeated. "Someone else did and
 used my name. I suspect that one of my aides did this."
      "But the man said you ordered it.  I was there!" She bit her lip,
 realizing she had given vital information away. In the official story,
 the assassin  was killed long before  she ever arrived at  the castle.
 "And that note from you..." she hurried to mask her slip.
      "Note? What note?"
      "The note you sent last night, with the gem."
      "I  never sent  you a  gem," Liriss  protested. "I  wouldn't dare
 leave evidence like that around. And I  sent no note. What did it say?
 I must see it!"
      "It said `You're well on your way,' and was signed by you."
      "You  must  believe me,"  Liriss  insisted.  "I didn't  send  you
 anything and I did not order Koren's death."
      "Kesrin told  Kalen that Koren's death  was a part of  the deal,"
 Ilona said. She intended to corner the rat.
      "For Darklen,  not for  you! I  would have told  you up  front! I
 can't afford  the risk  so soon  after trying to  make this  deal with
 Darklen. Besides, Koren was too well guarded  for me to send my men on
 a suicide mission.  I have too few  people now as it is.  I would wait
 until he was home, alone, before acting."
      "You expect me to believe that?"
      "Yes! You must!"  Liriss took a deep breath. "I  did NOT have him
 killed. You have access to Darklen and that's all I need for now. I've
 learned to be patient rising to where I am. And believe me that I sent
 no gem. If I wanted to pay you  off, it would have been done with Rand
 gold, just like the Duke pays."
      "Liriss, you're  a thief, a  liar, and  a murderer. Why  should I
 believe you?"
      "You have  to." He shifted  uncomfortably. "You must  believe me.
 You're an  outsider to my organization.  You're one of the  very few I
 can trust. Help me and I'll help you."
      "How?" she sighed. The song was not going to change.
      "You must prove that someone is trying to set me up. And you must
 find that person.  I know that he or  she is one of my  people. If you
 find out who it is, I will gladly  give them up to you, along with any
 evidence you will need to put them away."
      "All right," Ilona  sighed, "but you must tell  me everything you
 know."
                         *          *          *
      It  has been  a whole  month since  Aimee Taishent  moved to  the
 Duke's castle to live with her father, Jerid, who worked for the Duke.
 The Duke  and all  his soldiers  were gone,  even Captain  Bartol, who
 always told  wonderful stories, and  her father  was in charge  of the
 whole castle. But he  was also very busy and could  not spend any time
 with her.
      Once Aimee snuck away and went  to her grandfather's house in the
 new part  of the city, beyond  the old city's walls.  There were other
 kids where her grandfather lived and  he always talked about magic and
 showed her interesting things. But then two castle guards came looking
 for her and took her home.
      Her father was furious. He said he did not want her going outside
 the castle alone any more and told her stories about bad Beinisons and
 that they were still out in the new city, stealing little children and
 that is why so many of her friends were gone.
      She cried and cried, until he took  her into the city to show her
 that the  Beinisons had gone  far away, but told  her not to  go alone
 anywhere anyway.  And then  the guards  would not let  her out  of the
 castle by herself. Her father bought  her some new toys that she could
 play with, but all alone she could not keep her interest in the games.
      Aimee had prowled  the entire castle by now. She  had been in all
 the corridors  and halls  and in  many of the  rooms. She  checked the
 kitchen and  the stables  and the  gardens. She had  even been  in all
 three spires  of the  keep and  up on  the wall  that went  around the
 castle.  All the  buildings on  the other  side looked  small and  the
 people even smaller.
      But a  month was  more than enough  time to see  all of  that and
 Aimee was  once again getting bored.  She had been sulking  around the
 castle all morning when she found  a large wooden door that had always
 been locked in  the past, slightly ajar. She peeked  through the crack
 and saw a long hallway with flickering torches and stairs at the other
 end.
      Aimee  wondered if  she  should  get her  puppy,  Karl, from  the
 kitchen, where he  was begging and stealing scraps from  the cook, but
 decided that he would bark and  make too much noise and instead pulled
 the heavy door open and went inside.
      Behind the  door the corridor smelled  like the ditch out  by the
 docks and remembering  the loud and rough sailors she  had seen, Aimee
 thought about going back, but at  the same time she desperately wanted
 to see what was at the bottom  of the stairs, behind the door that has
 been locked for the last month.
      The stairs were narrow and dark  because the row of torches ended
 in  the corridor  above, but  light shone  in from  the bottom  of the
 stairs. Aimee  carefully made  her way  down to  where there  was more
 light. The  walls here looked  grayer and  were much older,  dusty and
 cracked  and  the ceiling  had  arches  and  was rounded,  unlike  the
 ceilings in the castle.
      There were many doors and cross passages everywhere Aimee looked,
 but the  torches marked  a single  path, twisting  and turning  in the
 maze.  Before Aimee  could go  too  far, she  heard running  footsteps
 behind her and hid in a dark  corridor. A moment later a castle guard,
 carrying something in his hands, ran  by, his sword loudly bouncing up
 and down on his belt. As soon as he was out of sight, Aimee turned and
 ran back up the stairs.
      To her dismay, the heavy oak door was locked.
                         *          *          *
      Rish hid his hands in the folds of his robe, glad that he managed
 to get all three letters off by different messengers. He had spent the
 entire morning out at the market,  taking his time, making sure no one
 knew what he was doing. He was  charged an exorbitant price for two of
 the messages, due to their destination  and the course of the war, but
 he knew  the people taking them  were reliable and the  messages would
 arrive in less than a month. The  third message was not going very far
 and Rish expected to get the most use out of it.
      He made his way down one of the keep's main corridors, trying not
 to look as satisfied as he felt.
      "Good morning, Lord Chronicler," a maid greeted him.
      "Good morning," Rish smiled back. He felt as if the weight of the
 world was lifted  off his shoulders as the letters  left his hands and
 felt more personable than usual as a result.
      "You have not seen Sir Taishent's young daughter, by chance?"
      "Of course not," Rish muttered. The child was always lost.
      "The girl has been missing all morning."
      "I..." Rish began when an armored man ran into the hall.
      "Hildy!"
      "Excuse  me,  Lord  Chronicler,"  the maid  hurried  towards  the
 soldier.
      Rish proceeded out  of the hall, thinking  about the Lieutenant's
 young daughter.  She was a  curious child, always underfoot.  Once she
 saw him writing and  asked for a bottle of ink, which  he gave her. By
 the following day she had stained  half the castle. He heard back from
 Jerid Taishent  about that.  Heard so  much in fact,  that he  was not
 going to  give Aimee anything ever  again. To this day,  almost a full
 month later,  the servants still found  ink stains here and  there and
 had to spend  hours scrubbing them away. And the  ink bottle was still
 missing, the girl claiming she had lost it.
      He hoped  she had not  gotten into any  trouble or found  the ink
 bottles he stashed away in the the library behind the old books on the
 far shelves.
      For now, if he  were to see her, he would  bring her to someone's
 attention, but he  would not go searching  for her on his  own. He had
 plenty of things to  do and being as busy as he  was with his research
 into Captain Koren's death, he  had neglected to maintain the detailed
 records he usually made.
                         *          *          *
      "Shut up!" Kalen shouted at the youth. "I don't want to hear it!"
      The young man fell silent.
      "Now," Kalen went  on to one of  the guards, "you throw  him in a
 cell and  keep him  there and  you find that  merchant and  ask what's
 missing. If it matches, bring him here to talk to me. If not, tell him
 to go home and wait. Now get out of here, all of you!"
      "But I  didn't do anything!"  the boy  wailed again as  the guard
 turned him to lead him away.
      "Shut up!"  Kalen shouted again. "If  I hear your voice  one more
 time, you're not getting out of that cell until you're forty!"
      The teen fell silent with a whimper and the guard led him away to
 the back of the guard house.
      "Rough day?" Jerid asked from the doorway.
      "Yeah," Kalen sighed, turning, "but if  that brat was just a year
 older,  I'd backhand  him  so  hard... Just  look  at me,  threatening
 violence on kids..."
      "If  he  stole  something,  the  least  he  deserves  is  a  good
 whipping," Jerid noted.
      "You know  me. I'd just  as soon  let their parents  thrash them.
 Come on, we can talk in my office now."
      Jerid nodded. "You know what this is about?"
      "I have a good idea. Some of your men dropped by this morning."
      They  walked  up the  stairs  and  into Captain  Koren's  office,
 shutting the door so they would  not be disturbed. Jerid paused at the
 door for a moment, looking about the room. It has been months since he
 stood here talking  with Adrunian Koren. The  normally spotless office
 was a mess with  papers and boxes and a pair  of crates of merchandise
 in the corner.
      "What happened?" Kalen asked.
      Jerid had to  force himself away from looking at  the mess around
 the room.  "Aimee's missing. I  saw her  at breakfast, but  she didn't
 show up  for lunch  and her mutt  has spent the  whole morning  in the
 kitchen. The staff has been searching for  her all day. No one saw her
 leave the castle. My father hasn't seen her. No one."
      "No one..?"
      Jerid shook  his head. "The  cook, the castellan,  the physician.
 She hadn't even gone to the stables today."
      "Do you think she was kidnapped?"
      "What  else is  there to  think?" Jerid  said bitterly,  "but why
 would someone go to  all this trouble and how would  they ever get her
 out of the castle?"
      "Would Liriss try to use her to blackmail you?"
      "What for? I'm not the one who deals with the grief he causes."
      "I don't know," Kalen said. "It's just a thought."
      "I'd  rather someone  kidnapped  her than  anything else,"  Jerid
 admitted. "If  they took her,  she'll be  okay. I'm worried  about the
 alternatives."
      "Do you  need more people to  look?" Kalen asked. He  had none to
 spare, but he would gladly give some up for a task such as this.
      "I  just want  you and  your  people to  watch out  for her.  She
 probably just wandered off on her own like she always does, but I want
 to be sure. I'm amazed the guards didn't see her leave the castle."
      "I'll let Ilona  and Caisy know," Kalen promised,  "and we'll let
 you know if we find anything. Aimee will be fine."
                         *          *          *
      Unable to open the dungeon  door, Aimee followed the lit corridor
 to where the guard disappeared. She  reasoned that it was only a guard
 and she  should not have gotten  scared just because it  was her first
 time down here. Her father would probably yell at her for coming here,
 but at least the guard would let her out.
      She followed the lit torches to another staircase and down again,
 deeper  into the  dungeon. The  walls became  darker and  the passages
 narrower. The shadows from the  torch light cast frightening shapes on
 the walls. Aimee lost her courage  many times, but each time she would
 remind herself  that there are no  such things as monsters,  just like
 her father told her when tucking her in after nightmares. Shadows were
 just dark spots made by things standing in front of the light.
      She  made it  very far  into the  dungeon before  she could  hear
 voices.
      "The chiurgeon's  due soon,"  a man said  somewhere up  ahead and
 Aimee carefully crept forward.
      "Should I hide the mead?" a second voice laughed.
      "After  begging  the cook  for  some?"  yet  a third  male  voice
 queried.
      Aimee crawled up to a doorway  and peered inside. In the room sat
 three men and  a woman. Two wore blue jackets  that identified them as
 city guards. The  other two wore the Duke's crest,  making them a part
 of the castle guard. They all  sat around an old wooden table, playing
 cards.  Every so  often one  or another  would take  a sip  from their
 goblet.
      "You know,  Elizabeth is  really pesky," the  blond man  with his
 back to Aimee  said. "She always complains that  we're doing something
 wrong. At least old Griswald let us be."
      "He sold out, Tesky," the man  on his right said. This one seemed
 to be  in charge. He  was older and  wore sergeant insignia  and spoke
 with a deep, strong voice.
      "And now we've got the war because of him," the last man said.
      "It wasn't  just him,"  the sergeant corrected.  "It was  all the
 greedy people willing to sell out to Beinison."
      They finished the hand and moved something about on the table.
      "I'll hide this,"  Tesky got a jug and got  up. Aimee shrank back
 as he turned around, but he did not notice her.
      "Let's go check  on the Great One, Altura," the  sergeant said to
 the woman. "Arellano, see that the torches are still burning."
      They all got up and left in different directions. Aimee hid in an
 alcove as  Arellano passed by, followed  by the man who  took the jug.
 Sergeant Guralnik  and Altura  went into  an adjoining  chamber. Aimee
 held her breath until  the two men that passed her  were out of sight,
 then snuck into the room where the four guards had sat. The cards were
 still lying on the table, with some coins and mugs and two daggers. In
 the  corner across  from the  second  door lay  sleeping bags,  packs,
 weapon belts and some food. Feeling hungry, Aimee picked up a piece of
 dried meat, a large slice of cheese and a skin of water. She retreated
 into the corridor  without checking what was in the  next room and hid
 the meal  up the corridor,  then waited for  the guards to  pass back,
 nibbling on the cheese that she had stolen.
      Aimee had  no idea  what the  guards were doing  here or  why the
 Duke's physician was coming to visit  them or who the `Great One' was.
 All this became  an interesting mystery she felt she  needed to solve.
 She picked contentedly  at the cheese, waiting for  her opportunity to
 arise.
      "...be fine," voices sounded in the corridor again. "Two or three
 days and we'll be  out of here. I doubt there's a  reason to be hiding
 for weeks. It's not like we killed the Duke or anything."
      Aimee hid in  the shadows of her  room as the two  men passed by.
 She wondered what they were talking about. Hiding? Killing?
      "Well, I  want to  see my  wife before  I become  a part  of this
 place," the  other man  complained. "I'm  already beginning  to forget
 what she looks like."
      They entered the lit room and  Aimee snuck out into the corridor,
 still holding the cheese, and listened in at the door.
      "We'll need to replace the torches at the bottom of the stairs in
 an hour or so," Arellano reported.
      "Get 'em when Elizabeth leaves," the sergeant said.
      A chair creaked.
      Footsteps.
      "What happened here?" someone complained.
      "Where?" Altura asked.
      More footsteps. Aimee peeked in.
      "Damn rats!" the  man who carried the jug examined  the pack that
 held the food.
      "Put it up  on the chair, Tesky," the sergeant  told him. "We can
 live with these rats. It's the ones up above that I worry about."
      Arellano dug into his pack and pulled out a slingshot. "Just wait
 'till I see one!"
      Aimee  shrank back  from the  door  in fear,  realizing that  the
 slingshot was really meant for her.
                         *          *          *
      "My Lord?" a man bowed before Kesrin. "I have news for you."
      "What is  it?" Kesrin asked  without turning to look.  People had
 been having news for him all morning  long and he now wanted some time
 to think about the unrest in the ranks of the mob.
      "A letter,  Sir. It was carried  by that merchant who  refused to
 pay for protection.  The boys and I  got him outside of  the town wall
 just after lunch. He was leaving a day early."
      "Let me see it," Kesrin put out his hand.
      The scroll was handed to him.
      "Did you break the seal?"
      "No, my Lord, of course not! It was broken by the merchant."
      Kesrin's eyes narrowed and the brigand took a fearful step back.
      "You have read it?"
      "Uh... Yes, my Lord. I read it to see if it was important."
      Kesrin unrolled the parchment and  slowly read it, not dismissing
 the man.
      "I didn't tell  anyone else, Sir. I was the  only one sorting the
 loot."
      Lines appeared  in Kesrin's brow  as he read  on, but he  did not
 respond to the man.
      "And, of course,  I thought you might want to  bring this to Lord
 Liriss' attention yourself, Sir," the brigand went on.
      "You did  well, Misgen,"  Kesrin said.  "Remember not  to discuss
 this with anyone. Come, we'll show this to Liriss together."
      They walked  out the door  and down  the corridor leading  to the
 stairs side  by side. As they  approached the stairs, Kesrin  drew his
 dagger and sank it into Misgen's back.
      "Are  you sure  you're  the  only one  who  saw  the letter?"  he
 demanded.
      "Yes," the brigand gasped. "I was the only one."
      "My Lord won't appreciate others knowing his grief," Kesrin said,
 twisting the blade  and pulling it out.  He let the man  fall down the
 stairs with a second thrust and continued on his way up.
                         *          *          *
      Aimee recognized the  sound of the physician's  soft sandals long
 before the  woman appeared in  the hallway. Aimee hid  while Elizabeth
 passed by, then  carefully followed her down the  corridor towards the
 room where the guards were staying.
      Maybe now  that the physician had  come down, she would  hear why
 the guards were  playing cards in the dungeon and  who the `Great One'
 was.
      Waiting for the physician to show, Aimee ate some of the food she
 had stolen  and thought  about what  she might  tell her  father about
 where she had been. She probably  should have told the guards that she
 got locked in by accident and asked  to be let out instead of sneaking
 around, and spying on them. It was an honest mistake on her part after
 all, but having  heard the guards talking, Aimee's  curiosity grew and
 she wondered about just who was in  the next room and why he would not
 come out.
      Now that the physician was here,  she could just wait and see and
 then sneak out before the others  finished talking and simply tell her
 father that she was out on the  castle wall and forgot to come back to
 eat lunch.
      Elizabeth  entered the  room where  the guards  were sitting  and
 greetings were  exchanged, then she asked  how `he' is and  one of the
 men said `he' was the same as they had left him.
      "Some doctor you  are," Elizabeth frowned and  continued into the
 next room.
      "Told you," Tesky said to the sergeant, who smiled joyfully.
      "At least she means well."
      Arellano picked up  his slingshot off the table  and followed the
 physician. "Better watch her, lest the rats get her."
      "Just shoot her once," Tesky followed him in.
      A moment later Sergeant Guralnik and Altura went in after them.
      Aimee waited a while, making sure  none of them were coming back,
 then entered the  room and went to the doorway  through which all five
 disappeared.
      She could hear muffled talking as  she reached the door, then saw
 the  backs  of  the  people  before her.  They  were  all  looking  at
 something, but  she could  not tell  what. A moment  later one  of the
 guards moved and Aimee  realized that lying on a bed  was a large man.
 The man's hand slipped off the cot and swung limply down to the floor.
 Aimee's eyes grew wide and she bit her lip. The man was not moving! He
 was dead!
      Then the physician also stepped  away from the bed, revealing the
 man's face and  Aimee instantly recognized Captain  Koren, the Captain
 of the Dargon Town Guard. She  heard the servants talking the past few
 days about his murder and now,  having finally seen his body, she knew
 that these guards and the doctor were involved.
      Trying to be  as quiet as possible, Aimee backed  out of the room
 and into one of the unlit corridors of the underground maze, hoping no
 one realized that she was there and what she had seen.
                         *          *          *
      "My Lord?" Kesrin entered Liriss' office almost without knocking.
      "I said I didn't want to be disturbed!" Liriss snapped.
      "My Lord, this information is of great importance," Kesrin forced
 himself  to  remain pleasant,  always  his  most difficult  task  when
 dealing with  his boss.  He had  no idea that  Liriss was  troubled to
 start with, but he was not sorry to interrupt.
      "Let me have it," Liriss ordered sharply.
      Kesrin delivered  the rolled up  parchment into the  crime lord's
 grasp, then stepped back expectantly.
      "Now leave."
      "My Lord?"
      "Leave and close the door behind you!"
      "Of course,  my Lord," Kesrin  smiled uneasily and backed  out of
 the room. If Liriss  was in a bad mood now, it was  bound to get worse
 as soon  as he read  the letter and  violent mood swings  often caused
 violent reactions. As he stepped out  into the hall, Kesrin made hasty
 plans to find  something to do in the city,  to avoid being underfoot.
 He shut the door firmly behind himself and went.
      As the  door closed,  Liriss examined the  roll Kesrin  had given
 him. What  could be so important  that he would have  to be disturbed?
 Usually Kesrin  was bright enough  not to  disobey a direct  order. He
 unrolled the scroll and read.

      My Dear Captain Bartol,

      I write you  this letter in fear for my  life and the future
      of the  Duchy of Dargon  and our Lord Clifton's  rule. Three
      days ago Captain Adrunian Koren  was found dead in his room,
      poisoned  by an  assassin. Action  was taken  immediately to
      find out who  sent his killer, but as time  went on, I began
      to notice severe inconsistencies in the stories told and the
      actions taken.  Please consider  the following  factors that
      have  forced me  to write  you  this dispatch  and plea  for
      immediate assistance.

      When I personally had a chance to examine the room where the
      Captain was resting, I found that the supposed struggle that
      took  place between  the guard  and the  assassin could  not
      possibly have left the room in the fine condition in which I
      found it.

      More surprisingly, having  locked myself in the  room, I had
      learned that no one outside the  door was able to hear me or
      see the light of the candle that I had lit. Based on this, I
      refuse  to believe  that  a guard  making  rounds found  the
      assassin in  the room  by accident. You  see, the  only keys
      were  held  by your  aide,  Lieutenant  Jerid Taishent,  the
      Physician, Elizabeth  of the Pass, and  the castle Castellan
      Molinar. A guard would be  unable to enter this room, locked
      from the inside, by any legitimate means.

      Even more astonishingly yet,  the guard that apprehended the
      assassin  was   reassigned  the   following  day   and  made
      unavailable to my  inquires. In addition, while  the body of
      the assassin  has been returned  to his family, the  body of
      Captain Koren has effectively disappeared.

      The  final  factor  in  my  decision to  write  to  you  was
      information delivered to my  attention by Tara n'ha Sansela,
      the Captain's  niece. In the possession  of Lieutenant Ilona
      Milnor,  of the  Town Guard,  she had  found a  valuable gem
      stone together with a note from the crime lord of the city's
      underground, thanking her for her  work and making a promise
      of things yet to come.

      In the past three days I have also noticed a newly developed
      comradery between  Town Guard  Lieutenants Ilona  Milnor and
      Kalen Darklen and your  own aide, Lieutenant Jerid Taishent.
      The  three  of  them  have  been  instrumental  in  blocking
      information and dragging out the facts of the investigation.
      I believe that their involvement with the assassination goes
      much further than it first appears and sincerely believe the
      Ducal  seat to  be in  jeopardy. Once  again, I  beg you  to
      return to the capital to relieve the developing problems.

                           < Signed, >
                           Your humble servant,
                           Rish Vogel,
                           Dargon archivist, chronicler and historian

      "Damn them!" Liriss  slammed his fist on the  table, flinging the
 scroll across the room. The silver  wine goblet that stood on his desk
 tipped  over, spilling  the rich  red wine  on the  table. "The  bitch
 tricked me!"
      He shoved his  chair back, furious. Then, after a  moment, a calm
 smile spread  across his face. "Just  as well. It always  works out in
 the end."
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    (C)   Copyright  September,   1992,    DargonZine,    Editor   Dafydd
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