Subject: File "DARGONZ V06N05P" being sent to you.

From: [email-masked]
Date: Fri, 10 Dec 1993 16:10:16 -0500

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 --   DargonZine Volume 6, Issue 5        12/10/93          Cir 1109   --
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 --          Archives at fir.cic.net in pub/Zines/DargonZine           --
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 --                            Contents                                --
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  Startled Birds               Carlo Samson           (Guest Commentary)
  Resolutions                  Carlo Samson           Yuli 4, 1013
  Sons of Gateway 6: Running   Jon Evans              V. 30-Yule 12, 1014
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1                   Startled Birds:  A Guest Commentary
                           by Carlo N. Samson
                        (b.c.k.a. <U20190@UICVM>)

      Seasons Greetings to all our new and current readers, and welcome
 again to another edition of  _DargonZine_! Yes, the previous issue was
 another single-story blockbuster; while we  endeavour to have at least
 two stories  in an issue, sometimes  a large story must  be printed in
 its entirety in order to preserve the narrative integrity.
      Some of  you may recognize two  of the authors featured  in issue
 6-3. Jeff Lee ("Heroic Couplet") was a member of the Dargon Project in
 1988, and his story "Stranger in  the Mist" appeared in _FSFNet_ 11-1.
 He is now back with us and is currently at work on his next story.
      The  other returnee  is  David  "Orny" Liscomb,  of  whom I  made
 mention  in the  commentary for  issue  6-2. Orny  founded the  Dargon
 Project  in 1984  and  was its  mentor until  he  stopped putting  out
 _FSFnet_ (the predecessor  of _DargonZine_) in mid-1988.  At that time
 he, like  many college graduates,  dropped off  the net and  was never
 heard from again. "'Bout 'Majin'"  is his first story since returning,
 and he also has a considerably  more ambitious story that is currently
 in the  editing cycle. We're glad  to have his familiar  style gracing
 our pages once again.
      Lastly, in this issue we have the sixth installment of Jon Evans'
 "Sons of Gateway" series, as well as one by this writer which wraps up
 most of the loose ends from  my previous stories. Upcoming issues will
 feature the  conclusion of  the "Campaign for  the Laraka"  series, in
 addition to stories by Bill Erdley  and Max Khaytsus. So stay with us,
 tell your friends about us, and let us know how we're doing.
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
1                              Resolutions
                           by Carlo N. Samson
                  (b.c.k.a. <[email-masked]>)

      (Author's Note: This story takes place about a year before the
      Baranur-Beinison war.)

      Brynna Thorne  stood alone at  the top  of one of  Crown Castle's
 many towers.  She leaned on the  rough stone battlement and  gazed out
 over the city of  Magnus in the direction of the  Laraka River. A warm
 breeze caressed  her long dark hair  and brought with it  a mixture of
 scents: the briny  smell of freshly-caught fish being  unloaded on the
 docks; the  sweet fragrance of  bright flowers from the  Royal Garden;
 and the  faint, familiar  smell of  the river itself.  The sight  of a
 small  merchant ship  slowly  moving downriver  under  the broad  grey
 expanse of Kheva's  Bridge brought on a twinge of  longing; she wished
 she could be out there on the river, back aboard her own ship, instead
 of  being cooped  up  inside the  cold  walls of  a  castle, even  the
 majestic residence of the King of Baranur.
      She heard  a voice in the  distance; it sounded like  someone was
 calling her  name. Brynna looked  around, and spotted a  figure waving
 vigorously to her from far down below in the courtyard. It appeared to
 be a  woman, and  next to  her was  one of  the castle  guards. Brynna
 politely  waved  back,  unsure  of the  woman's  identity.  Apparently
 satisfied,  the  woman  spoke  to  the  guard  and  the  two  of  them
 disappeared into the castle proper.
      Brynna's brow furrowed  as she mentally reviewed the  list of all
 the people she  knew in Magnus. Within the first  week of her arrival,
 before the  trial started, she had  visited with all the  friends whom
 she knew still lived  in the city; a few of them  had moved away since
 the last time she was in town.
      She was still pondering over this when she heard footsteps behind
 her. Turning, she saw  a tall young woman in a  simple white and green
 dress  coming  toward  her  from   the  tower  entrance.  The  woman's
 sandy-blond hair  was tied back with  a lavender ribbon, and  her oval
 face was dominated  by a wide full-lipped mouth, beaming  with a broad
 smile.
      Brynna felt  herself returning the  smile as recognition  came to
 her. "Kadie! So it's you!"
      The  other woman  extended her  arms as  she closed  the distance
 between them. "Brynna Brynna Brynna! Surprised to see me?"
      "As a matter of fact, yes," Brynna replied. The two women briefly
 embraced. "The last time I saw you was...how old is your son?"
      "Sons," Kadie corrected her.
      "Another one?" Brynna shook her  head. "Don't you and Alexio ever
 talk anymore?"
      Kadie giggled. "Well, what do you think we talk about?"
      Brynna rolled  her eyes. "You still  look like the same  old girl
 who used to hide whenever boys came around."
      "And you  look--darker," Kadie said,  squinting one eye.  "But at
 least you've  kept your mage  mark." She  reached out and  touched the
 streak of  blue that colored the  strands of long ebony  hair near the
 left side of Brynna's face.
      "As if I could get rid of it!" Brynna said with a laugh. "Now, do
 you want  to tell me  just what the  freezing hell you're  doing here?
 Dawna said that you moved back to the country two years ago."
      Kadie looked over  the battlements. "My, but we're  high up!" She
 gathered her skirts and sat down  in a crenel. "Anyway, my husband has
 friends in the castle guard, and one of  them came by a week ago for a
 chat. He happened to mention that the whole city was talking about the
 trial of some  famous pirate who had  been brought in by  a woman ship
 captain. And  I thought  to myself,  there's only  one woman  who that
 could possibly be! So I...persuaded Alexio to take me here to see you.
 He had to call in many favors  and do a bit of persuading himself, but
 it all worked out and here I am!"
      "I'm impressed,"  Brynna said. "And  I'm very glad that  you did.
 Living in the Castle isn't quite how people imagine it to be."
      "So  what exactly  is your  part in  all this?"  Kadie asked.  "I
 thought you'd be  away in some far-off port  seeking ancient treasures
 or the like."
      "Well, it's...it's quite a story," Brynna said.
      "You know how much I like stories."
      Brynna  sat down  against  the parapet.  "Well,  the whole  thing
 started a few months ago with a book."
      "A book? What book?"
      "I was on  a trading run to  Dargon, and a day before  we were to
 leave I wanted to  get a birthday gift for my father.  So I stopped in
 at a local  book shop and ended up buying  this very unusual tome--I'd
 never seen it's like before. The owner suggested I take it to a scribe
 he knew...."

      The  scribe's name  was  Genarvus  Kazakian, and  he  lived in  a
 private residence east of the marketplace. He was middle-aged, shorter
 than Brynna,  and dressed rather  more formally than she  expected. He
 seemed  a bit  nervous when  he answered  the door,  but was  pleasant
 enough as he  ushered her into his small but  comfortable study. A boy
 of  about  fifteen  years  was   busily  cleaning  the  fireplace;  he
 straightened up as they entered  the room. Kazakian introduced the boy
 as his assistant Abiro, and sent him away to make them some tea.
      They  sat down  at a  table  in the  center of  the room.  Brynna
 watched Kazakian examine the book; he  used a large round lens mounted
 on a wooden handle to peer closely at the cover and pages.
      "It  is  certainly very  old,"  Kazakian  murmured after  several
 minutes. "And the  writing is very precise." He put  down the lens and
 looked up.
      "What about the language it's written in?" Brynna asked.
      "That I am not entirely sure  about. The letters do not belong to
 any script or alphabet that I am familiar with. Although, I do have an
 idea...." He got  up and pulled a book from  a nearby shelf. Returning
 to the table,  he opened the new  book to a certain page.  He used the
 lens to scrutinize the cover of Brynna's book, then looked over to the
 open pages  of the  other book.  After a few  minutes of  reading, his
 expression became  triumphant. "By the  beard of Ol! I  cannot believe
 this!" He  turned to Brynna  and said excitedly, "Captain  Thorne, you
 have purchased a most significant tome!"
      "How significant?" asked Brynna, her interest mounting.
      "Firstly, have you ever heard of the Mystics?"
      "Of course. They were an ancient race that lived on Makdiar about
 three or  four thousand years ago.  My mother used to  tell me stories
 about them."
      Kazakian nodded. "But if my  suspicions about this book are true,
 then it may  be that the Mystics  did not merely exist  in stories, as
 most people believe."
      Brynna was  about to ask  him what  he meant when  Abiro returned
 with the tea.
      "Just put  it over there, will  you?" Kazakian motioned to  a low
 table in  front of the fireplace.  "And fetch my writing  desk." Abiro
 nodded  and  moved to  comply.  Kazakian  turned  back to  Brynna  and
 continued his  explanation. "You  may know,  Captain Thorne,  that the
 Mystics  are widely  considered mythical  by most  scholars, and  that
 those who do  research on them are generally scorned.  I fall into the
 latter category, and have gathered much information during my years of
 study." He went on to reveal  that the Fretheod people, who ruled much
 of Baranur over  two thousand years ago, sometimes  made references to
 the Mystics  in their literature,  and even included samples  of their
 script in various texts.
      "The symbol on  the cover of the book you  bought is exactly like
 the one depicted here in this  Fretheod volume on religion. The symbol
 was  apparently used  by a  Mystic sect  known as  the Ara'la  Takkon.
 Unfortunately, not much is know about  the sect, but their 'holy book'
 is commonly known as the Codex Araltakonia."
      Abiro returned with the writing desk. Kazakian opened it and took
 out a sheet of  parchment, a quill, and a bottle  of ink. Brynna moved
 the books aside to make room on the table.
      "Will that be all, milord?" Abiro asked.
      "Yes,  yes," muttered  Kazakian.  Remembering  Brynna, he  added,
 "Unless you  would like some  tea, Captain Thorne?" She  declined, and
 Abiro left the room with the tea tray. "As I was saying, this book may
 very well be the  sacred text of the Ara'la Takkon. If  so, it will do
 much to prove  that the Mystics did once exist."  He paused and looked
 at Brynna with a serious but hopeful expression. "If I may ask a great
 favor of you,  Captain Thorne--would you be willing to  take this book
 to Magnus for proper study?"
      Brynna  considered  for a  moment.  The  capital was  a  two-week
 journey upriver from Port Sevlyn,  her home and final destination. The
 crew of her ship was due shore  leave, though, and the ship itself was
 in need of repairs; but it would  be no trouble for her to continue on
 to Magnus by  herself, and besides, it would give  her the opportunity
 to visit some old friends there.  "If it's that important, I'd be glad
 to do it," Brynna said.
      The  scribe nodded  his  thanks and  hurriedly  scribbled on  the
 parchment. "It  is imperative,  then, that  you get  this book  to the
 Royal  Scholar. He's  an open-minded  fellow--I  met him  while I  was
 studying at the University--and he will no doubt be very interested in
 properly  authenticating  and translating  the  tome."  He signed  the
 parchment  with a  flourish. "Present  this  letter to  him, also.  It
 contains a brief  summary of my conclusions, and  instructions for you
 to be compensated for delivering it there."
      Brynna  smiled  in  mild  amusement.  The  scribe  had  certainly
 loosened up upon  determining the book's significance. "I  had no idea
 it was of such historical value when I purchased it."
      Kazakian  nodded  vigorously as  he  imprinted  his seal  on  the
 parchment. "It  is most fortunate  that you  came across the  book and
 brought it to me.  A devout man might see the hand of  a god or two in
 this!"

      "Do you believe it was written by the Mystics?" asked Kadie.
      "Well,  I looked  at it  very  closely during  the voyage,"  said
 Brynna, "and as I said the  writing wasn't like anything I'd ever seen
 before. But in  any case, as we neared Port  Sevlyn the _Voyager_ came
 under attack by Commander Challion--"
      "He's the one who's on trial, right?  Didn't he used to be in the
 Royal Army?"
      Brynna nodded.  "He was Knight  Captain of the  Southern Marches,
 but was discharged for forcing himself on a peasant girl."
      "Disgusting," Kadie said, making a face.
      "Exactly my  thoughts," Brynna  agreed. "After his  discharge, he
 became the  leader of  a band  of pirates, and  was widely  sought for
 various  crimes. He  wanted the  Codex, but  I refused  to give  it to
 him...."

      "You haven't answered my question," Brynna said. "Is this a raid?
 If  not, I'd  very much  like to  get under  way. Tell  your mage--the
 conscious one, that is--to give us the wind back."
      Challion leaned over the rail. "I have one other objective, and I
 think you know what I mean."
      Brynna shrugged. "Do elaborate."
      "The Codex  Araltakonia, Captain  Thorne. I  wish to  purchase it
 from you."
      Cydric turned to Mandi. "The what?" he whispered.
      "That book  you were  looking at  in the  cabin," she  replied in
 hushed tones."The one  on her desk--it's supposed to be  as old as the
 Mystics!"
      "Sorry. I  don't have what  you're looking for,"  Brynna replied,
 folding her arms.
      "No  lies, no  games, Captain!  I know  you acquired  it back  in
 Dargon. But I'm prepared to offer twice what you paid for it."
      "In  truth, Commander,  I  never thought  our  paths would  cross
 again--the dragon whale seemed rather attached to you, as I recall."
      "I  got  the  better  of  the creature,  in  the  end,"  Challion
 answered. Hitching  his trousers up  around his ample waist,  he said,
 "Well, three times your purchase price, then. You'll be making quite a
 profit."
      "The knowledge in the Codex is beyond price. In any case, what do
 you  want with  it? You're  by no  means a  scholar--neither are  your
 mages."
      Challion rubbed  his fleshy  face and  exhaled loudly.  "My final
 offer--quadruple the amount you paid to acquire it! A fine trader such
 as  yourself cannot  fail to  recognize  a wonderful  bargain such  as
 this."
      "True, but I also recognize barjee squat when I hear it. And I've
 heard enough,"  said Brynna. "Spear detail,  forward!" Several crewmen
 went over to the remains of the scorpion and picked up spears from the
 storage box. After dipping the points  into the tar pot, they lined up
 alongside Brynna  at the rail. Kayne  lit up a torch  and stood behind
 them.
      "It always comes to violence, hey Skoranji?" Challion said to the
 balding man. To Brynna he said, "Very well. If you do not wish to sell
 the book, then I am afraid I will just have to take it."
      "You and  what battle fleet?  Your men  won't set foot  upon this
 ship," Brynna shot back.
      The balding  man spoke. "Truly  now, m'  dear? Be you  willin' to
 test your pups 'gainst me bloodseekers?"
      "Would you  be willing  to bet on  it, Captain  Skoranji?" Brynna
 asked, smirking.  The _Voyager_  crew laughed.  Even from  his vantage
 point, Cydric could see Skoranji turn red.
      "Please,  please,  let's  not  bring  my  friend's  fondness  for
 gambling into this," said Challion.  "I appeal to your reason, Captain
 Thorne. Give  the Codex  over peacefully, and  we'll part  on friendly
 terms."
      Brynna shook her  head. "You raffenraker, do  you seriously think
 you intimidate me?"
      Challion motioned to the green-robed man, who lifted his arms and
 spoke a short  phrase. An intense green glow limned  his hands, then a
 ball of  light the  same color  formed and  shot toward  the _Vanguard
 Voyager_. It  came to hover over  Kayne, then sped downward  to strike
 him full  in the  chest and  knock him backwards.  It then  ringed his
 neck, and slowly the First Mate rose into the air.
      "Certainly not, Captain. I know  better than to threaten you. But
 a threat to your friend is another matter," Challion said, smiling.
      "True  men do  not hide  behind magic,"  Brynna returned  coldly,
 gripping the  rail so hard her  knuckles turned white. "Let  him down,
 Commander Challion. Now."
      "We are  going to  board your  ship. If  you or  any of  your men
 resists, mister Kayne will no longer have the use of his head."
      "First let him down, damn you. Then I'll give you the Codex."
      "The book  first, in  exchange for  his life.  That is  your only
 option."
      Brynna chewed on her lower lip, then finally agreed.

      "You didn't!" Kadie exclaimed.
      "Well, at  that moment I didn't  have much of a  choice ," Brynna
 said. "But when I found out that Cydric and Mandi were hiding on deck,
 I secretly instructed  Mandi to get my bow and  arrows and have Cydric
 make ready to kill the wizard when I signalled."
      Kadie's eyes widened. Brynna slowly shook her head and sighed. "I
 don't like having to kill, you  know that. But sometimes it's the only
 way."
      "I understand," said Kadie. "But then what? He was able to do it,
 I suppose, or else you wouldn't be here telling me about it!"
      "He did, and that enabled us to fight back...."

      Gulping a quick  breath of air, Cydric leaped up,  drew a bead on
 the _Black Swan's_ magic-maker, and let the arrow fly. It sped through
 the air  in a flash  of silver, and  smacked deep into  the sorcerer's
 left eye.
      The man screamed, clutched at his face with both hands, staggered
 forward, and pitched over the rail into the river.
      Kayne fell to the deck as the green ring vanished from around his
 neck. "Battle  positions!" shouted  Brynna. The _Voyager_  crew surged
 forward, scooping up their weapons and whooping in defiance.
      Cydric  ran over  to check  on Kayne.  Challion cursed  as Brynna
 severed the grappling lines.
      "Are you all right, sir?" Cydric asked, helping Kayne to sit up.
      "Never did  like wizards,"  the First  Mate replied,  rubbing his
 throat.
      Brynna instructed two  crewmen to take Kayne  below, then ordered
 the spear detail forward again. She retrieved the torch and re-lit it.
      Challion  ordered the  _Swan's_ oars  back into  the water,  then
 directed Skoranji to prepare the ballista for a counterattack.
      Brynna handed  the torch to  the first  spearman, who lit  up his
 weapon and passed the  flame to the next man. After  the torch made it
 down the line and  all the spears had been lit,  Brynna gave the order
 to let fly.
      Several  of the  burning spears  struck  the side  of the  _Black
 Swan_. A  few of them  landed on  the deck, and  one managed to  hit a
 sail. The fire  spread quickly, forcing Challion to  abandon his plans
 for a retaliatory strike in favor of saving his ship from the flames.
      Cydric and  Mandi watched the  action from the rail.  As Skoranji
 dashed madly about the deck of the _Swan_ calling out orders, a breeze
 rippled across  Cydric's cheek. At  the same time the  helmsman cried,
 "We've  got the  wind back,  Captain!" Cydric  looked up  and saw  the
 ship's sails billowing proudly once more.
      "Get us under way immediately!" called Brynna.
      As the _Vanguard  Voyager_ slowly pulled away  from the enkindled
 _Black Swan_, Cydric could  see Commander Challion standing motionless
 at  the rail,  flames licking  at his  back. Suddenly  he shouted  out
 across the widening gap between the ships.
      "I will not  forget this, Brynna Thorne! I cannot  be defeated so
 easily--revenge will be mine, in the end!"
      Brynna came over and took the bow and arrows from Cydric. "Wrong,
 Challion. It  ends now!" she said.  She nocked an arrow  and fired. It
 struck the Commander square in the chest, penetrating his breastplate.
 Challion gasped and fell back into the fire.

      "Was that really necessary?" Kadie asked.
      Brynna was  silent for  a moment. "You  have to  understand, that
 wasn't the  first time  he and  I crossed  each other.  I was  just so
 frustrated and angry that he had attacked me and put my crew in danger
 again. I really wanted it to end."
      "And I suppose it has, hasn't it?" said Kadie.
      "With the  trial, yes. When  we arrived in  Port Sevlyn, I  saw a
 Royal Navy ship in dock, under the command of Captain Xane Hellriegel.
 He's the one who actually went back and captured Challion and the crew
 of his ship."
      "And  you rode  with  them all  the way  here  to Magnus,"  Kadie
 finished.
      "Yes," said  Brynna. "I was  rather surprised to see  how quickly
 they brought  Challion to trial,  though. Apparently this is  one case
 the Crown wants disposed of as soon  as possible. And, since I was one
 of his victims, I testified against him. The King is going to announce
 the verdict soon, so I came up here to wait."
      "Well, I'm  sure there's no doubt  about what it's going  to be,"
 said Kadie. "But how did Challion even know you had the Codex?"
      "He claims that a woman hired him  to obtain the book from me and
 deliver  it   to  her,  in  exchange   for  a  large  sum   of  money.
 Unfortunately, the woman he described hasn't been found, and he claims
 he knows nothing else about her."
      "What about the Codex itself?"
      "The scholars  have been debating  over it since  practically the
 moment I brought it  in," Brynna said with a grin.  "They seem to have
 divided into  two armies--those who  believe it's authentic  and those
 who believe it isn't. I still got paid, though."
      "You've  certainly made  your  mark on  this  city, haven't  you,
 Brynna?" Kadie said with admiration.  Her emerald-green eyes took on a
 faraway look.  "Your life is so  much more exciting than  mine. You've
 seen and done far more that I could ever hope to!"
      "That's what  many people think,  but the truth of  it is...well,
 don't tell my mother this, but sometimes I think of giving it up. Just
 settling down and raising a family like you've done."
      "Would you really do that?"
      Brynna  half-shrugged and  gave a  slight shake  of her  head. "I
 don't know--I mean, you remember what happened with Tarant?"
      Kadie nodded, remembering the time  when a 23-year-old Brynna had
 accepted a marriage proposal from a young man, but later broke off the
 engagement in  order to  take advantage of  the opportunity  to become
 captain of her own  ship. "So what you mean is, you  don't know if you
 even could settle down?"
      Brynna sighed. "Well,  I suppose I eventually will,  but it won't
 be  for a  while, at  least.  Maybe someday  if  I ever  get tired  of
 adventuring."
      They talked a  while longer about family  and friends. Presently,
 the castle guard who had escorted Kadie came up the tower and informed
 Brynna that the King was about to render his verdict.
      "Oh, came I come too?" Kadie asked hopefully. "I've never been to
 a trial before!"
      "Of course. Let's go," said Brynna.

      The Audience Chamber of the  castle had filled almost to capacity
 with  various  courtiers and  nobles  by  the  time Brynna  and  Kadie
 arrived. The guard led the two  women through the murmuring crowd to a
 bench near the front of the room where sat the other witnesses against
 Commander Challion. Kadie  marvelled at the vast expanse  of the great
 hall, and  expressed great interest  in the colorful banners  and huge
 tapestries that hung on the walls.
      A few minutes later, a black-haired man in a gold and green tunic
 strode  solemnly into  the room  from the  double doors  at the  rear.
 Brynna  explained   that  he  was   the  Falcon  Herald   of  Baranur,
 distinguished by  the image of  the blue falcon  in the center  of his
 tabard, and by the silver circlet he wore on his head.
      The Falcon  Herald reached  the front  of the  hall and  stood in
 front of  the throne. "Your respect  for His Majesty, King  Haralan of
 Baranur!" he intoned. The room fell  silent. A moment later, the doors
 opened to  admit an entourage  that included several guards,  the High
 Priest, the  opposing Advocates, various functionaries,  then the King
 himself surrounded  by soldiers of  the King's Own.  Brynna instructed
 Kadie to bow  her head like the  rest of the crowd as  the King passed
 by.
      When the entire assembly had installed itself at the front of the
 hall and the King had seated  himself on the throne, the Falcon Herald
 motioned for  the congregation  to be  seated. Commander  Challion was
 then brought  in, flanked by  guards and iron-shackled at  the wrists.
 Brynna saw  that although his arrow  wound had fully healed,  he still
 carried himself as  if he was in  great pain--no doubt a  ploy to gain
 the King's sympathy.
      The guards  made Challion kneel  before the throne.  King Haralan
 stared at  him for several  long moments, stroking his  chin. Brynna's
 heart pounded in her chest as she waited to hear the verdict. Finally,
 the  King stood  up. A  page  handed him  a golden  scepter, which  he
 pointed at the large man kneeling before him.
      "Artemus Challion, former Knight Captain of the Southern Marches,
 the accusations that have been brought against you are most grave. You
 have committed crimes against your  country and stained your honor. It
 is my judgement, then, that you be declared guilty of all charges, and
 punished accordingly."
      The hall  exploded with  scattered cheers and  excitement. Brynna
 leaped up and shouted with elation. Dimly, she heard Challion shouting
 in protest.  The Falcon Herald  called for  quiet, and when  the noise
 died down the King continued.
      "Because of  your past service  to the  Crown your life  shall be
 spared, but you shall be held in the dungeon for fifty years, or until
 the end  of your days. Furthermore,  all of your possessions  shall be
 seized  and used  to pay  restitution to  those whom  you have  caused
 injury. This  I decree,  before God  and the  Kingdom." He  handed the
 scepter back to the page. "This tribunal is concluded."
      "No!"  shouted Challion  as the  guards forced  him to  his feet.
 "Your Majesty, please!  You cannot do this to me!  I implore you--" He
 roared in  defiance as  the guards began  dragging him  away. Catching
 sight  of Brynna,  his face  contorted with  rage. "I  *will* have  my
 revenge,  Captain Thorne!"  he snarled.  Brynna gazed  coolly at  him,
 smiling faintly in  satisfaction. When he was finally out  of the room
 Kadie remarked, "My, but he was angry! Aren't you frightened?"
      "Not at all. He won't be bothering anyone for a long while."
      The  High  Priest  said  a  brief  benediction,  then  the  royal
 entourage moved out of the hall.  The crowd broke up, some leaving the
 hall, others milling about.
      "So what do you do now?" Kadie asked as she and Brynna headed for
 the doors.
      "I collect my restitution, I  suppose!" Brynna said with a laugh.
 Just then  she spotted a familiar  face coming towards her  out of the
 crowd. "Come on, let me introduce you to someone."
      A tall well-muscled man in the  uniform of the Royal Navy stopped
 and congratulated Brynna. She thanked him and gave Kadie a little push
 forward. "Captain Hellriegel, may I present Acadia Farrondale."
      "A  great pleasure,"  Hellriegel  said, taking  Kadie's hand  and
 pressing  it to  his cheek.  The young  woman gave  a nervous  giggle.
 "Ah--it's--I'm delighted  to meet  you," Kadie falteringly  replied, a
 wide grin on her face.
      Brynna  explained that  she and  Kadie grew  up together  in Port
 Sevlyn, and that Kadie moved to  Magnus upon her marriage. "And didn't
 you say  you moved again?" she  asked, casting her friend  a prompting
 look.
      "Oh--ah, yes,  we did,"  Kadie answered,  casting her  eyes shyly
 downward. "After  my second son was  born, my husband decided  that we
 would need a bigger  place to live, and so we moved to  a town not far
 from the  city." She flicked her  gaze up at Hellriegel,  then over to
 Brynna.
      Hellriegel made small talk with them for a few more minutes, then
 asked Brynna if she  would like to join him later  at a local dockside
 pub.
      "I'd like to, but..perhaps some other time," Brynna replied.
      "Are you  sure?" asked Hellriegel. "You  do, after all, owe  me a
 dinner."
      Brynna smiled. "We'll see."
      "That's as  good an answer as  I'm going to get,  eh?" Hellriegel
 said with a  slight nod of his  head. "Hope to see  you, then, Captain
 Thorne. A pleasure,  Lady Farrondale." He smiled as he  took his leave
 of them.
      Kadie stared open-mouthed  at his retreating back.  "Did you hear
 that? He called  me lady!" She put  a hand on her chest  and turned to
 Brynna. "WHY didn't you accept his invitation?"
      Brynna shrugged. "I...it didn't seem appropriate."
      "You  spent two  weeks on  a  ship with  the man!  Don't tell  me
 nothing happened!"
      "Nothing did."
      Kadie sighed  and mimed slapping  Brynna across the  face several
 times. "Is  your mind  still there, Brynna?  HOW could  nothing happen
 between you and..." She glanced back and breathed a sigh. "And him!"
      "Don't let Alexio hear you talk like that. He might get jealous."
      "Realm  of  the gods,  Brynna,  it  looks  like you're  not  even
 trying!"
      Brynna put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "You haven't seen the
 Royal Gardens yet,  have you? They have the most  beautiful variety of
 roses that my mother would give anything for. Would you like to go see
 them?"
      Before Kadie could reply,  a young disheveled-looking man dressed
 in red  and gray  scholars' robes  came rushing  up to  them. "Captain
 Thorne?" he asked breathlessly, looking at Brynna.
      "Yes, what is it?"
      "My  name  is Cullan,  I'm  with  the  Scholar's Council  at  the
 University of Magnus. May I speak with you?"
      "Concerning what?"
      "It's about--well, we, that is, the Council, would like to make a
 proposition--I mean, we'd like to make an offer, uh...."
      "An offer of what?" asked Brynna with slight annoyance.
      The young  scholar visibly  composed himself. "Are  you available
 this afternoon?  The Council would  like to  see you before  you leave
 Magnus. It's about a possible expedition."
      "An  expedition to  where?" Brynna  asked, concealing  her sudden
 rise of interest.
      "That  will be  discussed at  the meeting.  Will you  be able  to
 attend?"
      "Yes, of course. Thank you," Brynna replied.
      "Very good, Captain.  Um, someone will be sent for  you at around
 three bells."
      Brynna nodded, and the young man departed.
      "He seemed  excited," Kadie  observed. "Do you  know what  he was
 talking about?"
      "I'm not sure. I should have at least asked him about the Codex,"
 Brynna said.  She turned to  Kadie. "Well, why  don't we go  see those
 roses now?"

      Meanwhile,  in the  infamous  Fifth Quarter  of  Magnus, a  gaunt
 dark-haired  man  angrily   made  his  way  into  a   pub  called  the
 Silverchance Tavern. The man swept  through the common room and pushed
 through the  crowd in the  gaming parlor until he  came to one  of the
 private booths  at the  back. He  flung aside  the curtain  and stared
 wordlessly at  the older, more  expensively dressed  man who sat  at a
 small table with a slender auburn-haired young woman beside him.
      "Ah, Veltain!  What news, eh?"  the older man said,  turning from
 his young companion.
      "Challion has  just been  sentenced," Veltain said  tightly, eyes
 narrowed.
      "At last," the older man replied. "Well, sit! Tell us about it."
      The gaunt man stood for  a moment, breathing heavily, then ripped
 the curtain back across the  booth's entrance and slammed himself into
 a chair. "You were wrong, Javaro.  Challion has only been sentenced to
 imprisonment, not death!" He rested his elbows on the table and cupped
 his face in his hands.
      "Then it would  seem that the King is in  a merciful mood today!"
 Javaro chuckled and  took a sip of wine from  the silver goblet before
 him.
      Veltain  looked  up, annoyance  clear  on  his face.  "Don't  you
 understand? They may interrogate him  further--he might even lead them
 to her!"  He stabbed a  finger at the young  woman, who calmly  took a
 long  puff on  the  pipe  she was  smoking  and  exhaled in  Veltain's
 direction.
      "Why must you  always be so scared?" she said  in a smooth voice.
 "You're nothing but a mouse in a  pit full of snakes." She looked away
 and sucked on the pipe.
      "Damn you, Taja!" Veltain said tensely.
      Javaro  sighed. "Calm  yourself,  Veltain.  Nothing has  changed.
 Challion still knows nothing of us. What does it matter that he wastes
 away in  a rat-infested dungeon  instead of twirling  at the end  of a
 rope?" He  slipped his  arm around the  young woman's  bare shoulders.
 "And do  you really think  he could recognize  her outside any  of her
 many disguises?"
      Veltain slapped both palms on the  table. "The true issue here is
 that the Codex is now lost to  us, thanks to your total mishandling of
 the whole matter! If you had done as I suggested--"
      Taja looked  at him sharply.  "If we  had done as  you suggested,
 every mage in  Baranur would be knocking at our  doorstep! You have no
 concept of subtlety, mouseface."
      "You call hiring pirates subtle?"  Veltain sneered. "I would call
 that desperation born  of ineptitude. I'm going to  recommend that the
 both of you be expelled from the Triarch at once!"
      Javaro  leaned  across the  table.  "There's  no need  for  that,
 Veltain,"  he  said in  a  low  voice.  "The  situation may  still  be
 salvaged."
      "You utter  fool!" Veltain  spat, nearly  rising from  his chair.
 "Without the  Codex, the Triarch will  remain no more powerful  than a
 band of street  urchins! I find it incredible that  they entrusted the
 task to you!"
      Javaro's  eyes narrowed.  "One  cannot foresee  all  that may  go
 wrong,"  he said.  "Nor  can  one accurately  predict  the actions  of
 another."
      Veltain  smirked.  "You thought  retrieving  the  Codex would  be
 simple, given  that Captain Thorne  is a  woman." He ignored  the look
 that Taja threw him.
      "I am a patient man, Veltain, but I am starting to become annoyed
 with you," said Javaro, gripping the stem of the goblet.
      "You've become  soft. Soft and  weak. You  have no place  with us
 anymore!"
      Taja  took the  pipe  out  of her  mouth.  "You quivering  little
 mouse," she said  with sharp disdain, her pale blue  eyes mocking him.
 "Why don't you go  find a cat to put you out of  your endless state of
 fright?"
      "Bitch," Veltain said.
      "Meow," replied Taja.
      Javaro frowned. "I don't want to ever see you again, Veltain," he
 said. "Leave us."
      Veltain  threw up  his hands  and  quickly rose  from his  chair,
 nearly knocking the  table over. "Gladly." He turned and  made to open
 the curtain. Suddenly he spun around and with a motion almost too fast
 to see,  hurled something at Javaro.  Taja screamed as the  man's eyes
 popped wide, a  many-pointed metal star embedded in  his throat. Blood
 bubbled from the wound as Javaro gurgled and slumped over.
      Veltain's arm flashed  again. Taja jerked aside  as another metal
 star buried itself  in the wall. She ducked down  and shoved the table
 hard  against Veltain's  legs.  The  gaunt man  lost  his balance  and
 tumbled backwards,  bringing the curtain  down as he fell.  Several of
 the patrons in the gaming parlor  looked up in startlement as Taja ran
 out of the booth, screaming wildly.  Veltain scrambled to his feet and
 started to  pursue her, but  changed his  mind after seeing  the young
 woman tearfully imploring a pair of leather-clad men to help her.
      Veltain almost made it to the back door before the two men caught
 him. At Taja's insistence, they took him outside into the alley behind
 the  tavern. Taja  followed, sobbing.  Her expression  changed as  she
 watched the men  punch and kick Veltain. After a  few minutes she told
 them to stop. She took a pinch  of tobacco from one of the pouches she
 wore around her slim waist and sprinkled it into the bowl of her pipe.
 After lighting  it, she told the  men to stand Veltain  up against the
 wall and move  away. She approached the man's bruised  and bloody form
 and put her face next to his.
      "You shouldn't have killed Javaro,"  she said icily. "And another
 thing;  just because  you're dealing  with a  woman doesn't  mean that
 things will be simple." She took a step back and puffed on the pipe. A
 moment later, she exhaled a cloud  of smoke into the gaunt man's face.
 Veltain coughed and waved his hands in  front of him. Taja and her two
 confederates watched from  further down the alley  as Veltain's coughs
 became ragged  gasps for breath. Soon  he was on the  ground, wheezing
 violently. He  kicked and struggled,  clawing at his chest.  Finally a
 tremor rippled  through his body  and he  lay still. Taja  smiled with
 satisfaction as she led the men away.
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
1                Sons of Gateway, Part 6: Running
                          by Jon Evans
                  (b.c.k.a <[email-masked]>)

      My name is Cara  Shem Fenib. I lead my clan. It  is the cold time
 in the  plains, but we  have survived. I have  been a good  hunter, so
 there has  often been meat,  instead of the  hard roots that  leave my
 insides almost as  empty as not eating at all.  Sickness among my clan
 also has been rare: the wind spirits have been kind.
      This light time marks the middle  of the cold time. If we survive
 now, my clan lives  until the next cold time. But,  the last few hunts
 have not  gone well. Each  member of my  clan gets hungrier,  and with
 hunger  comes  desperation: a  young  one  challenged me,  earlier.  I
 refrained from  hurting him, and avoided  hurt for myself, but  if the
 hunts do not improve, things will get worse.
      I sent the mothers  and the weak to the thick  trees in search of
 roots. I and my  brothers will hunt what we can,  and alert the others
 if we kill. Separation  is bad for the clan. If we  kill, it will take
 longer for the  others to arrive, and another beast  or clan may claim
 it before the rest of my clan  arrives. But, at least the hunters will
 have eaten. I have no choice. Our mothers will starve, and will not be
 able to make milk for the young when the warm time comes and our loins
 burn.
      My  brother's call  disturbs my  thoughts: he  has found  a fresh
 trail. It is near  the darkness, now is the best  time. The tracks are
 from a  large beast.  The depth  of its tracks  show much  weight. The
 scent tells us  its taste, and our legs tighten,  and our stomachs cry
 out to be filled. We follow quickly.
      The scent gets thicker in a spot: it rested by this tree, it does
 not know we follow it. The trail continues, away from the thick trees,
 and we  see a structure lit  by Spara-Kla, the burning  air. There are
 many worshipers around it. They  are the Spara- Klani, the man-beasts,
 and they do not travel without  the burning air. They roam the fields,
 burn the land, and hunt in the  thick trees with the long claw and the
 flying stick. And  they kill my clan  when we are many  and strong. We
 war with the Spara-Klani, but we are too weak now.
      The trail continues  past here, back to the trees,  and we follow
 it, knowing  that it is the  riding-beasts of the Spara-Klani  that we
 follow.

      "I couldn't  reach you until  I was  about a hundred  feet away,"
 Kenneth told Rho  as they rode through the darkening  woods. They left
 the burning tent and its occupants behind, trying to put out the fire,
 find out what its cause was, and control the slaves at the same time.
      "I know. The  device must be very powerful." Rho  looked over her
 shoulder  to Goren,  who sat  in the  saddle behind  her. Kenneth,  it
 seems, was only able to acquire  one extra horse from the camp ground,
 and wasn't expecting  any company. The silk clothes Goren  and Rho had
 been wearing  in the tent were  not nearly warm enough  for the winter
 evening, even with five layers of the material wrapped about them, and
 sharing the  horse allowed  them the double  benefit of  sharing their
 body heat.
      "I am thankful for your rescue, Kenneth," Goren spoke as a way of
 getting  into  the conversation.  For  some  reason, Kenneth  had  not
 treated him terribly respectfully in  the past half bell. Goren wished
 he knew why. "My family will reward you greatly for my return, when we
 get to Magnus. I'll make sure of it."
      Both Rho and Kenneth turned and looked at him disapprovingly when
 he said this,  but it was Kenneth  who spoke next, as  if Goren wasn't
 even there.
      "I would have warned  you if we had the time,  but I was being...
 followed."
      "Looks like nothing's coming, now,"  Goren said, glancing back to
 make sure  there was nothing behind  them. This time, Kenneth  did him
 the courtesy of acknowledging his remark.
      "There are other ways of knowing when you're being followed, boy.
 We are still in danger of those  who are behind us." He looked down at
 Rho, almost scolding her with his expression.
      "I had to make a decision, didn't I?" She seemed almost childlike
 to Goren with  this remark, and he glimpsed a  softness that he hadn't
 seen  from  her  in the  tent.  He  wondered  if  he could  like  this
 demanding, oppressive  woman whose angelic eyes  concealed experiences
 he didn't wish to live, and a fire he feared... and shared.
      "It  was  wrong," was  Kenneth's  only  response, and  he  looked
 forward and  down as if  to end the  conversation, but he  mumbled one
 last phrase in the next half bell. "The Fenib still have to be fed."

      The trail  enters the thick trees,  again, and I send  my brother
 for the mothers and the weak. We are close now, and the man-beast will
 be stopping, and our numbers will be greater. It is very dark, and the
 Spara-Klani do not travel in the darkness.
      A strange  thing happens: a  man-beast walks toward my  clan, not
 covered in its usual hide, and lays down in the white cold. My brother
 starts forward, but  my bark stops him. The Spara-Klani  are not to be
 trusted.
      I step  closer, coming near his  leg. He does not  move. Smelling
 him, I do  not sense fear. This  disturbs me, and I  warn my brothers.
 But this man-beast is foolish. The white cold surrounds him, makes him
 weak, and all we must do is wait.
      Then I feel  him in me, speaking  to me, showing me,  and I know:
 this one  is for us.  I wait,  and the white  cold takes his  heat and
 leaves him with the  smell of the Black Fenib. I  bark to my brothers:
 we shall survive this cold-time.

      Cold air greeted  Goren as he stirred from under  the blankets he
 and Rho  had shared to keep  themselves warm. The small  lean-to which
 Kenneth had built the night before kept some of the wind out, and most
 of the  snow, but the rest  of the blankets and  materials were needed
 for the  horses. He looked  around, searching  for his many  layers of
 thin clothes and found only a few of the items with which he had left.
      "Here, wear these," were the first  words Rho greeted him with as
 she entered  the slight structure, a  gust of wind following  her. She
 threw a small pile of clothes -  a cape, suede vest, thick white pants
 and a pair of white boots which were a little large for him, and added
 as she walked out, "We're leaving soon."
      He dressed quickly, finding that most of the items fit him rather
 well, over the thin layer of  clothes he had taken from their previous
 lodging. What was that place,  anyway, he found himself wondering, and
 where are we going in such a  hurry? And where were these clothes last
 night, when I needed them? And what's happened to... He left the tent.
      "I don't understand," was the first thing he said to her. She was
 dressed in some new clothes, also; probably taken from the saddle bags
 she was  strapping onto the horses.  She gave him a  hard look, filled
 with sadness and determination.
      "He left last night," was  her only explanation. This did nothing
 for Goren's need for information, and  only made him wonder who he was
 dealing with, now that they were free.
      "Oh, so he always just gets up and walks off without his clothes?
 In the middle of the night?"
      "The Fenib had to be fed." She looked at him, almost accusing.
      "Who  in Risseer's  feast are  the  Fenib?" He  was getting  very
 annoyed. He knew she  could knock him on his back,  if she needed, but
 he didn't care. He only wanted answers, something she owed him at this
 point.
      "Inhabitants of  these woods.  Creatures who  live in  the winter
 because we help them, because  they need help. All Stevene's creatures
 need help, some time or other."
      "Nehru's pointy  nose! A Stevenic!" He  threw his arms up  in the
 air and began pacing around the fire Rho had built earlier. "Listen, I
 don't care what religion you follow, as long as it's not bloody Saren.
 All I want is  answers. Why did he leave, what's  happened to him, and
 why am  I wearing his clothes?  These are his clothes,  aren't they? I
 mean, is he coming  back, or isn't he? How does he  intend to feed the
 Fenib? No  one in their  right mind just  wanders off into  the winter
 night without anything to wear. No one can live through..."
      His words trailed off slowly, their meaning finally hitting home.
 He knew why  Kenneth had left, now, and what  had probably happened to
 him. He had only one reply. "Ol, that's disgusting."
      Again, she said, "The Fenib had to be fed."
      "Why him?"
      This question  only resulted in  Rho's accusing glare.  He didn't
 know why, but he  had the feeling she thought it  was his fault. Then,
 she stopped.
      "I'm sorry,  it's not  your fault.  It's mine."  Goren understood
 this statement  about as well as  he did all her  opening thoughts, so
 she reinforced it. "If I had not taken you with us, you would have run
 on your own, when the tent burned, wouldn't you?" Goren nodded. "Well,
 you would have  been caught by the  Fenib, and they would  have fed on
 you. You would be dead, now, and not Kenneth."
      "He gave his life...?"
      "I didn't know! The magic field around the tent was preventing me
 from contacting Kenneth. The Fenib were in danger of dying out."
      "But he's a human being!"
      "It doesn't  matter, in the long  run. There are plenty  of human
 beings, but  the Fenib who hunt  in winter are slowly  dying off. It's
 our fault, you know."
      "What?" That last  one was a little  much. As hard as  it was for
 him to  understand that Kenneth's life  had been forfeit for  his own,
 that Rho thought she was the reason for Kenneth's death, and the Fenib
 had  to be  fed, he  had no  concept of  why she  thought the  Fenib's
 inability to survive was his and Rho's fault.
      "Not  'ours' meaning  yours  and mine,  but  'ours'... the  human
 race's. We kill them  in the summer, when they hunt  the game we think
 of as  our own, the game  we cage in  to make the slaughter  that much
 easier. It reduces their chances of surviving the winter."
      Goren  looked  at her,  seeing  pain,  happiness, confusion,  and
 remorse all over her face. It crumbled, her eyes became cloudy and her
 shoulders drooped. He thought of going to her, resting her honey-brown
 head against him, but she stiffened immediately.
      "There. You have your answers. Now,  we head for Magnus to return
 you to your family."
      Goren  began scooping  snow into  the  fire and  listening to  it
 simmer as the flames became lower and lower.

      "What can possibly be taking them so long?" Ne'on asked no one in
 particular as he looked at his map  of Baranur. He traced a line, once
 more, from Gateway to the Nar-Enthruen  where he had sent a company of
 men to take  the Stone of Strength.  That gem was a giant  piece of an
 important spell component.  With it, he could open a  gate the size of
 this hall.
      Ne'on paced in  front of the fireplace slowly,  reflecting on the
 comfort of the warmth. Lifting his black hand, he tilted his head back
 slowly to empty the goblet's contents  down his throat. What was that,
 his third this evening? He hadn't kept count. He didn't care, anymore.
 Things had gotten out of control. He could barely even remember how he
 had gotten here. He reached for the bottle.
      Everything had gotten so chaotic.  And then there was Phos. Phos,
 whose   logic  was   infallible,   who   rationalized  everything   so
 convincingly until, before  he knew it, Ne'on was sitting  on the Seat
 of Gateway  and heir to House  Winston. Phos, whose magic  filled him,
 gave him the strength to do the things he couldn't control on his own.
 But it felt so good when the energy filled him. It was better than the
 wine he was  drinking. It was better than anything  he had ever known.
 He could fly, if he wanted, or make lightning strike from the sky.
      And people listened to him. Yes, he admitted, that was definitely
 something to  consider. The power  and respect that he  commanded. The
 way people accepted  what he told them, listened  to his instructions,
 and things went along so smoothly.  There were actions which had to be
 taken before that happened. Ne'on didn't like to think of those times.
 He could  hardly remember them  happening, as  if he had  dreamed them
 during the night, only to wake up and find himself here, now. Phos had
 taken care of them. When things became confused, and Ne'on didn't know
 what to do - that seemed to be happening often, in the last few months
 - he called Phos. All Phos asked  in return was a way into this world.
 Ne'on liked to think of Phos as his guardian angel.
      "Why not  look for  them?" Clay  suggested from  the edge  of the
 firelight. "You have magic..."
      "That wouldn't work for our -  my - benefit. It'd be like turning
 on  a bright  light in  a forest.  Equiville would  pick it  up in  an
 instant."
      "I don't understand," Clay returned,  stepping out of the shadows
 to  peer at  the bottle  of  Lederian red.  Why not?  he thought,  and
 reached to fill an empty flask with the wine.
      "I thought you didn't drink."
      "I don't," Clay  returned, and swallowed a large  quantity of the
 liquid.
      Ne'on stared silently at his Captain.  There were a lot of things
 he hadn't  bothered to learn about  Clay. He hadn't thought  he needed
 to, but perhaps now...  no. It would all be over in  a few weeks. This
 damn magic - it can take control of a man.
      "Picture yourself  sitting in the  hills, watching a  field. It's
 night time, heavy  clouds, no moon. Someone is in  the field, but he's
 not using anything to light the way. Can you see him?"
      "Very  difficult," Clay  answered. He  finished the  rest of  his
 goblet, and put it back on the table. Instictively, he wandered toward
 the edge of the light. "But what does that have to do with it?"
      "To use  my magic," Ne'on explained,  "I would have to  lower the
 Garthian Blind. That would be like lighting a torch in the middle of a
 dark field. Gateway  would become very visible  to Equiville's senses,
 and we can't afford that... not yet."
      Bartholemew Clay stepped back into the darkness.

      "Just  remember  what  I  told you,"  Rho's  voice,  surprisingly
 neutral, reminded  him. "Don't  stay at Gateway  too long.  You're not
 meant for that, anymore."
      "I still don't understand what you're telling me. First-"
      She looked  at him again, and  he became silent. The  winter thaw
 had come and gone on their trip to Magnus, and the horse he had ridden
 had broken  a leg  in the muddy  trail. They were  forced to  kill it.
 Something else  for which  she would  remember him. She  had a  way of
 making him feel sorry, making him  want to repent for simple mistakes.
 She had an  influence on him which  he had never known  by his father,
 and couldn't remember from his mother.  No one, in fact, had ever made
 him feel so much like a child, an inexperienced, immature infant. Yet,
 it wasn't malicious. It was more like... being instructed.
      "Don't understand,  Goren. Just  listen to  people who  know what
 they're talking about. Go to Gateway, do what you have to do, and then
 leave."
      "What am I  supposed to do after that?" He  scowled slightly when
 he said that, realizing that he had been taking orders from her for so
 long he began to rely on her input. "Forget it. I'll find something to
 do."
      "Good." She  began to  walk away,  then turned  around. "Remember
 what  I told  you about  Stevene. He'll  forgive you,  as long  as you
 forgive everyone  else. And He  loves you, no  matter who you  are, or
 what you do."
      Goren waived  as she pulled her  horse in front of  her, down the
 cobblestone drive,  and onto the  road that would eventually  lead her
 out of  Magnus. She wanted  him to go to  Dargon for some  reason. She
 hadn't said  it exactly like that,  but he knew she  would be there...
 maybe he would go. She was very trying, as a friend, he thought. Never
 gave him an  inch. He smiled as  he turned to walk up  the steps... he
 liked her like that.

      Haralan  squinted  his  eyes,  surveying  the  battle  plans  his
 advisors and War  Council members had drawn out before  him. It didn't
 appear  favorable  on the  field,  out-manned  and out-horsed  by  the
 Beinison  Army, but  Magnus -  and  Crown Castle,  particularly -  was
 strong, and held the loyalty of every good citizen. It would take more
 than Beinison had, he hoped, to claim victory here. But these Councils
 went on forever; and with Marcellon's condition...
      "My  Lord King,"  Edward  Sothos, Knight  Commander of  Baranur's
 Armed Forces, spoke slowly and intently. "If the Beinison Armada makes
 its way down  the Laraka and joins forces with  the Emperor's Fist and
 the regular army in our  Southern Marches, Magnus *will* be endangered
 seriously. It may be necessary to draw plans for evacuation."
      "Surely," spoke High Priest Redcrosse,  "such plans were drawn up
 years ago. This discussion hardly seems necessary."
      "Surely, they were,  my Lord High Priest," the  Knight Captain of
 the  Northern  Marches,  Luthias  Connall, interupted,  not  a  little
 contempt for the pompous clergyman in his voice. Haralan realized just
 how much Luthias had aged these past two years, with the beard roughly
 outlining his tired face, but he  had yet to learn the complete wisdom
 of restraint. "However," Luthias continued, "those plans were drawn up
 over one hundred years ago, when  Magnus only had three sections. Only
 chaos,  confusion, and  death would  result if  we tried  to implement
 those plans today."
      "Well, then," returned the  clergyman, "surely we should consider
 the safety of the Church-"
      A loud noise  from the hall outside the chamber,  followed by the
 main doors opening, interupted the High Priest.
      "Your Majesty," announced a guard, "Goren Winston of Gateway Keep
 insists on appearing before you."
      One more thing, he thought. The  King sighed heavily, sat back in
 his throne,  and motioned for his  council members to sit  down. "Show
 him in."
      A ragged, tired, and disshevelled man appeared before the throne,
 hardly  presentable to  a king  under normal  circumstances. "My  Lord
 King, my  name is Goren Winston,"  he began, and the  King's patience,
 worn  thin by  the  demands  of war  and  unhelpful clergymen,  failed
 immediately.
      "I am quite aware of your name, your title, and your heritage, my
 Lord Keeper. The Winston Household is one of the most well known among
 the minor  nobles, and  your resemblence to  your father  -beneath the
 dirt and blood on your face - is  a striking one. I am also aware that
 you are  now Keeper  of Gateway, following  your father's  demise, and
 that you hold one of the key  strongholds at the joining of the Laraka
 and the Vodyanoy rivers. Am I to surmise, then, by your appearance and
 your  urgency, that  we  have  lost that  stronghold  to the  Beinison
 invasion, or have you finally decided - after six months of delay - to
 take the  time away from  your country's  defense in order  to receive
 your formal title by my hand?  In light of the desperate situation the
 first example  places us in,  I prefer to  believe that the  leader of
 this potential military point of contention hasn't the wits to realize
 where he is needed most! Further more, the question of who was left in
 charge comes to  mind, with the only possible answer  being Knights of
 the Star!"
      The King rose  from his throne, and Goren  stared haplessly about
 the room, receiving no help from its other occupants. "My Lord King?"
      "We are at war, man - do you know what that means?"
      "War..."  the  word came  out  slowly,  comprehension sinking  in
 deeply and suddenly.
      "Yes, war -  or haven't you been reading the  royal messages sent
 from duchy to duchy these past months?" Haralan could not believe that
 Gateway  Keep had  been  ignorant  of the  movement  and  news of  the
 Beinison and Baranurian armies. He had sent a message less than twenty
 days  past  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  who  had  replied  with  Gateway's
 readiness.
      "Begging your  forgiveness, your  Majesty," Goren began,  "in the
 past six months I have witnessed my father's death, been imprisoned by
 my brother,  beaten by guards,  hunted by  slavers, and told  that the
 feeding of a man  I hardly knew to a pack of  beasts was indirectly my
 fault. I  have spent  the last  three months trying  to cover  the two
 weeks' distance  between Gateway  and Magnus for  the sole  purpose of
 clearing my name and requesting the aid of your Majesty in bringing my
 brother - the true  murderer of my father - to  justice. The idea that
 this country was at war never  entered my mind, nor are royal messages
 passed on  to slaves from their  owners to keep them  abreast of world
 news."
      Haralan returned to his throne,  raising his hand to halt Goren's
 speech. "Something,  then, has  halted your  freedom, my  Lord Keeper.
 Lord  Marcellon informed  me four  months  ago of  your situation  and
 dispatched a letter  to a fellow practitioner of the  arts in order to
 reinstate your  position by  royal decree.  Obviously, this  was never
 executed.  We had  thought you  in the  Keeper's Seat  these last  two
 months, at least."
      Haralan searched about him for  a quill and parchment, moving the
 maps and  scout reports  and hypothetical troop  movements out  of his
 way.  "This letter  of appointment  will  have to  do," he  continued,
 dipping the quill and scratching  it onto the parchment, pausing every
 so often to  speak. "I can't... afford the men...  for an envoy... but
 reveal  this  to... Castellan  Ridgewater,  isn't  it?... whom,  I  am
 told... was  very loyal  to... your family."  Haralan signed  his name
 with  a flourish,  dripped  some wax  onto it,  and  punched his  ring
 finger's royal seal into the wax.
      "How am I to deal with my brother, Ne'on?"
      "We all have our situations to deal with if we're to overcome the
 Beinison forces, Lord Keeper. See if your uncle can spare a few of the
 House Guard  to accompany you.  And please, do  the court a  favor and
 find your uncle's  baths before you embark. Looking  like that, you're
 not likely to instill loyalty in a dog."
      Goren sighed deeply. "Thank you, your Majesty."
      "If  you'll excuse  us, Lord  Keeper, we  have a  War Council  to
 continue. You'll be receiving orders from  us shortly, so take care of
 your business as quickly as possible."
      "Yes,  my  Lord King."  Goren  bowed  for three  backward  steps,
 turned, and exited the hall.
      Edward Sothos  looked at  the King.  "A little  hard on  the boy,
 weren't you?"
      "He's no boy... Untar is  younger, and his scheming threatens our
 nation. It's time Winston started accepting the responsibility for the
 title he's claiming."
      Sir Luthias nodded his head in grim agreement.
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
1  (C)    Copyright  December,  1993,   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 whole  'zine  for further  distribution) without  the
 express permission of the author involved.