THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Rating: PG-13 Classification: Alternate Universe Distribution: Okay for Gossamer, Xemplary, The Annex. All others please ask, though permission will probably be granted. Summary: Life goes on in the Realm, even when Mulder and Scully aren't there to enjoy it. The Realm is rebuilding after the devastation wrought by the Dark Queen, but problems still beset the inhabitants. The beings look forward to a Royal Wedding, but first Shannon must pass the test of her life, while safeguarding her off-world origins. Meanwhile, brigandage is widespread, causing death and economic havoc, and the Noble Houses are up to their necks in conspiracy and treason. But from one House comes a leader who can alter the course of Realm history. Disclaimers: This is another story in the Magician series, and as such is about 99% "unborrowed". But since Mulder and Scully do make some appearances in this story, it is only fair to tell you that they belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. Acknowledgements (Suzanne): Many thanks to Jennifer Lyons, who had the original idea for the series; to a super team of beta readers, which included Ten, Elizabeth Medina, Marybeth Cieplinski, and Methos; to my co-author Matt, who suggested the basic concept for this story and did such a monumental job with his share of the creative process; and most especially to the long-suffering fans of the Realm, who have waited so long for this installment. The next one will follow much faster, I promise! Acknowledgements (Matt): My thanks go to Jennifer Lyons and Suzanne for creating this tremendous universe, and for allowing me to take part in its development. Suzanne's contribution to the creative process as well as her editorial efforts have been the core on which the growth of this story has spun, and it has been an honor and pleasure to come to know and work with her. The nearly 1,500 mails that we sent back and forth in creating this work are a testament to the patience, frustration, delay, creativity and inspired late-night writing that go into a work like this, and I can only reinforce Suzanne's thanks to the beta-readers for their support and thoughtfulness in helping to get this surprisingly long and complex story done and in your hands. Foreword: This addition to the Magician series is a little different, in that it takes place chronologically between two existing books. As such, it presented certain difficulties, since what came before and what comes after are "carved in stone" and could not be altered. One of those unalterable facts is that Mulder and Scully are in the "Real World" for the entire book. They do make appearances, however, courtesy of the Oracle Cloud. It is our fervent hope that the inhabitants of the Realm, both the familiar characters and the new ones we have created, will capture your interest and your hearts enough to offset Mulder and Scully's small but critical roles in this book. The Magician V, due out next autumn, will again feature Mulder, Scully and Skinner in the Realm, picking up where The Magician IV - The Warrior Priest left off. Enjoy! THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Chapter One CLANG! The clash of metal shook Ballorca from the unease of his thoughts. For nearly a moon-cycle now, the priests had been busy trying to find a day which augured best for the Royal Wedding. Although there was nearly a season-cycle to pass before the event took place, it was important to set the date. The most highly born of the Realm and beyond needed time - to order their finery to be made, to find a gift suitable for a king, to make myriad other preparations to attend. The Goddess only knew that the Realm's subjects had earned a respite from the horrors which had beset them for most of the young King's regency and reign. But now it seemed that the priests and priestesses were having trouble choosing an auspicious wedding day, just as they had in determining the day for Andalor's crowning. They had been correct enough then, choosing the best of a bad lot, a day which foretold trouble for the boy monarch. And now! First a broken betrothal, unheard of from time immemorial, then betrothal to Shannon. A winsome girl, certainly, courageous and a budding beauty - but not of noble blood, and most mysterious in background. Mage Mulder's halla and Mage Hannu's daughter she might be, but that was just another mark against her, as far as Ballorca was concerned. Her own nascent Mage ability was just another impediment to bonding with the people of the Realm. Why, oh why could Andalor not have wed Livirnea, he mused regretfully. A perfect lady, born and bred to be the consort of a King. The Minister of Protocol sighed. Now, at the sound of metal on metal, he glanced up at the practice fields in the near distance where Aldara was drilling her charges. No! It could not be...! Infuriated, Ballorca hustled over to Aldara. Diminutive though the half-elf was, she still stood a handspan taller than the pudgy official. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Good morning, Minister," Aldara replied pleasantly. The little man shook with anger. "Th-this is impossible! Surely, you see that!" Aldara sighed and, praying to the Goddess for patience, sheathed her sword. At best, she tolerated the fussy, officious little man. At worst, he had an unerring talent for sparking her legendary temper. "What seems to be the problem, Minister Ballorca?" "Great Sweet Goddess! Is everyone a complete fool but me? *That*! *That* is the problem!" He pointed a trembling finger in the direction of a group of students working with a tall, lithe and obviously skilled instructor. "Oh, that. Yes, Lady Shannon's been assisting me with training some of the beginners. Good, isn't she?" Aldara responded mildly. She and the horrified Minister of Protocol watched as Shannon whirled and spun, parrying the 'attacks' of three trolls and a young male human. The morning sun glanced off the hilts of their swords, the tips all shielded in leather. "This must stop! Immediately!" he babbled. "She is Andalor's bride- to-be. What if she were injured, or killed?" The music of Aldara's laugh did nothing to calm him. "Minister, she is a Warrior, and a talented one. She is in no danger." Ballorca's mouth hung open in fury, then snapped shut. "We'll just see about this," he spat out, "and if any harm comes to her, it will be on your head!" He wheeled around and made for the Castle as fast as his short, fat legs could carry him. Blind in his outrage, he automatically navigated the corridors and staircases, arriving breathless and panting at an iron-bound wooden door. Impatiently, he pounded at it until it opened to him. "Minister Ballorca! Is Mage Reinald expecting you?" Pitir swung back the door as Ballorca strode through to the chamber. "Probably not. But I am here nonetheless and must speak to Reinald on a matter of the gravest importance!" The stocky troll scratched his head. "I don't know, Minister. Royal Mage Reinald is working on a spell. He really can't be disturbed right n- " "He *will* see me, and he will see me *now*!" Ballorca roared. There was a loud bang from behind the closed door to Reinald's private study, and an anxious Pitir raced toward the sound. As he did so, the door swung open to reveal the Royal Mage, his figure clouded by smoke, his long white hair and beard singed, and his cheeks and nose colored an unnatural pink. "What in the name of the Goddess is going on out here?" he demanded irritably. "Oh, Mage Reinald, are you all right? I am sorry, Master, but Minister Ballorca...." The troll gestured helplessly towards the seething official. "Oh, all right. Yes, I am fine, Pitir - stop fussing. Prepare tea for the Minister and myself, and then see what you can do to clear away the mess in my study. Minister Ballorca, take a seat by the hearth." There was no warmth in the invitation. Clearly, Ballorca was bursting to give Reinald a piece of his mind, but as custom and protocol demanded, waited until the mugs of tea were passed. Then, "It must be stopped!" he demanded without preamble. "Stopped? What must be stopped?" The Mage sipped his tea calmly. He well knew that Ballorca lacked perspective, and was inclined to become easily horrified or enraged by the slightest breech of protocol. "Lady Shannon. Do you know where she is right now?" "No, I cannot say that I do." The Royal Mage's calm only intensified the little minister's outrage. "Swordfighting. She is swordfighting! Captain Aldara has her teaching a class of youngling warriors. Can you imagine anything more preposterous?" he demanded. Actually, Reinald could imagine many more preposterous things, but with effort, he held his tongue. "And?" "And nothing!" Ballorca spluttered. "She could be killed!" "Oh, I think there is very little chance of that happening, Minister. She is a fine, seasoned Warrior, and I understand that beginners always have their blades guarded in any case. Was that all that was bothering you?" "No, that was *not* all that was bothering me," he snapped in reply. "Instead of exposing herself to possible injury and death, she should be here, in the Castle, learning what she needs to know to become a suitable Queen." Reinald's brow furrowed. That was a different matter. Much as he might hate to admit it, the Minister of Protocol had a valid point. The Council had accepted Andalor's betrothal to Shannon, but only because it was still reeling from the traumatic events which had preceded it - the terrible interspecies bloodshed, the attack of the Dark Queen, the deaths of many of the Heads of Houses, the unprecedented overturning of the betrothal between Andalor and Livirnea. But Andalor was besotted with Shannon, and Livirnea had no wish to wed the king, as much as she valued his friendship. At length Lord Ranfaus had listened to the heartfelt pleadings of his daughter and had withdrawn his approval. Livirnea would have needed no such schooling. She had been strictly raised and educated in those things that a noble lady needed to know - protocol, custom, Realm languages and history, how to make polite conversation to those both above and below her station. But Shannon! She was wild, headstrong, undisciplined. She had virtually no tact or diplomacy, only the faintest acquaintance with Realm customs, and knew none of its history. How could she, since she had come from Mulder's world? The origins of Mulder, Scully, Professor Neumann and Shannon were a tightly guarded secret. If anyone even suspected the Queen-to-be's true origins, the Realm would rise up in revolution against the young King. Goddess knew there had been enough calamity visited upon the Realm.... Reinald sighed. Yes, Ballorca had a valid point. With less than a season-cycle until the Royal Wedding, Shannon would already have difficulty learning everything she would have to know in the time left to her. "Yes, I believe you are correct, Minister," the Royal Mage admitted. Mouth open to counter Reinald's expected reply, Ballorca was for a moment shocked into silence. However, it did not take him long to reassert his authority. "Excellent, Royal Mage," he said, smiling for the first time that day. "I'm glad you see it my way. Very well, I shall see to Lady Shannon's lessons myself. I-- " "I think that would not be wise," replied Reinald, smiling pleasantly. "By all means, you should draw up the curriculum, if you wish. But the King will decide who shall be the most effective teacher for the Lady Shannon." And Goddess help the poor being who would be chosen for that formidable job, he thought. "But... but the Minister of Protocol has historically taken the King's betrothed in hand," Ballorca protested. "I am aware of that," Reinald admitted. "And certainly your input will be invaluable. That is why you will be in charge of the curriculum. But the King will decide who is to teach her." I'm probably saving your life, you little fool, he mused. Shannon's temper was nearly a match for Aldara's, and her nascent Mage talent would soon become sufficient to make her a possible danger to others until she learned control of both. Haughtily, Ballorca stood. "Very well. But as you know, I will conduct the Ritual of Readiness. And unless Lady Shannon succeeds in fulfilling all the requirements during the Ritual, there will be no Royal Wedding. Protocol is my sacred responsibility, and I would be failing it if I allowed an unsuitable candidate to become Queen. I demand- " "Granted," said Reinald tiredly. "Now, if you will excuse me, Minister, I will meet with Andalor to apprise him of our discussion." With a curt nod, the Minister of Protocol left, feeling he had gained more than he had lost. The Royal Mage sat, watching Ballorca's exit. His examination of the Queen-to-be would be rigorous, and Shannon would need to be letter- perfect. Reinald knew what the Minister of Protocol did not - that Shannon would have far more to learn than merely what Ballorca's lessons held. The Minister, believing as others did that Shannon was from a distant part of the Realm, assumed she had at least a working knowledge of Realm history, perhaps a smattering of Realm languages, some familiarity with custom. That they had been able to hide the child's ignorance thus far was no small miracle. Sighing again, he rose from his chair to go to the King's quarters. Ah, Mage Mulder, Warrior Healer Scully, he thought with wry amusement. Where are you when I need you? * * * * "You haven't lost your edge, I see." Startled, Shannon wheeled around to find Andalor standing in the entrance to the weapons shed. Spying a few of her students looking on avidly, she dropped into a deep curtsey. "Thank you, Your Majesty." Andalor's expression was a mixture of amusement and impatience. "You're welcome, Lady Shannon," he said with mock gravity. A slight sideways flick of his head communicated much more - . "Flocko, Trell, Gampi - if you are so interested in staying, I have several dozen weapons here which need polishing and sharpening.... No? I thought not," Shannon laughed. "All right, go home then, and be prepared to work hard tomorrow." Giggling, the three trolls scurried off. "Well, Your Majesty," she said mischievously, emphasizing his title. "Your wish is my command. It would appear we are all alone." "You never know," he replied grimly, and drew her deeper into the shadows of the shed's interior. There, he cupped her face tenderly and brought his lips to hers, lightly at first, then deepening into a passionate kiss they broke reluctantly a few moments later. Frowning, Shannon looked beyond Andalor into the sunny stableyard. "Andy! What if someone saw?" "Oh, I'd have him beheaded at sunrise. Or have your father turn him into a fieldbeast or something." "Moron! You would not," she giggled. "No - but I'd want to. Goddess, Shannon, I wish we were in Mulder's world right now. There are dangers enough there, but at least we'd have time to ourselves, and no one would give a damn what we did." "I know," she sighed. "Besides, I miss them." Feeling they had probably spent too much time in the darkened shed - enough to incite rumors if they were being watched - Andalor took Shannon's hand and they walked out into the brilliant sunshine. "Do you miss your world very much?" he asked, his voice gentle. She shook her head. "No. Not really. Some things at times - Coke, fast food, movies. But for the most part, I don't miss it at all. It might be the world I was born into, but my memories of it aren't exactly all that... well, you know." He nodded sympathetically and clasped her hand a bit more tightly. "But I do miss Mulder and Scully." "Have you spoken to them since they returned to their world?" "No. I want to, of course. But I'd rather they contacted me first. I don't want them to think that I'm homesick, or having second thoughts." He stopped dead. "You aren't, are you?" he asked anxiously, his eyes seeking out hers. "Having second thoughts, I mean." "Moron!" she said affectionately. Here in public, Shannon had to let her eyes do most of her communication, while she checked the almost overwhelming urge to throw her arms around him and hold him tightly. Those odd tawny eyes, her face, softly shone with her love for him. "Not for a split second." Heart pounding, he squeezed her hand in response. Slowly they began walking once again toward the Castle. Jokingly, he said, "Oh, you just love me for my title." Shannon snorted. "Believe me, I love you *in spite* of your title. By the way, Ballorca was at the practice fields today. I saw him waving his stubby little arms and talking to Aldara. Well, more like yelling at her. He looked really pissed off, though that's nothing new for him." Andalor frowned. The eagle-eyed meddler couldn't have failed to notice Shannon. What was up Ballorca's sleeve? The young King knew all too well that before long, more demands would be made of them both. I'm at least used to it, he thought. All the interminable ceremonies, the rigid traditions, the stultified, polite, meaningless talk. But Shannon wasn't used to it. She- "Andy? Did you hear anything I said?" "Um.... Sorry, no. What did you say?" "I asked if we were going to meet tonight, up on the battlements as usual?" "Of course. In full view of the guards there - also as usual." Shannon chuckled. "Better that than that ogre poor Livirnea had as a chaperone." Andalor smiled weakly. Little did Shannon know, but they had come horribly close to having "that ogre" chaperone them. It was only by giving the most persuasive speech of his life, and having Aldara come to his aid in promising to keep Shannon active, occupied and out of trouble that they had avoided that fate. He also had to promise to keep their behavior completely proper. But Goddess! It was getting more and more difficult with every day that passed. Everything about her made his blood pound in his veins and his loins ache from longing. He was almost glad they didn't have more time to spend together. He was aware that nothing short of a miracle brought him to be engaged to this lovely, seductive woman, and that their conduct was being carefully watched. The slightest impropriety would be enough to convene a full session of the Council to overturn the betrothal. The Realm expected its Queen to be pure, unsullied, and virginal when she came to the marriage bed. But with Shannon, filling him with such urges.... Wryly, Andalor thought how easy enduring the long betrothal period would have been, had his intended bride been one of the horrible Dordinal girls. "Cold, Andy? You just shivered." "No," he chuckled. "Just something I was thinking about. Look, I'm sure Mulder wouldn't think any the less of you if you got in touch with him." She ruminated on this for a few moments, then said determinedly, "No. No, it's all right. He'll get in touch with me when he wants to. *If* he wants to, that is.... He probably doesn't even remember me," she ended gloomily. "Don't count on it. You tend to make a... umm... lasting impression... on people," teased Andalor. Her eyes lit with amusement as they slid towards him. "I'm sure you mean that in the nicest possible way, *Your Majesty*." He turned to her, grinning. "Of course, *Lady Shannon*. How else?" Surreptitiously, her elbow nudged him sharply in the ribs. "How else indeed?" she smiled. Hand in hand, they walked through a stone archway and into the Castle. * * * * Far from Fairwoods, a tall noble viewed his lands from the battlements of his manor. House Forst had suffered greatly as a result of the Dark Queen's wrath. Ian's death had begun yet another period of confusion and disorder, weakening the family even further. Some feared that the House would collapse altogether, its former vast strength finally sapped by centuries of infighting and poor political planning. But at least one young noble stood ready to rectify the situation, his focus and drive becoming a force with which the Realm would soon have to reckon. His name was Margul, and he intended to drive the rabble at Dordinal from their seat and into the sea. It was their rise to power that had shattered Forst's formerly invincible hold on the Realm and decimated its land holdings. Other houses had suffered even worse fates. These semi-mythical families, now forced to eek out a living in the far northwestern wastes, still hungered for revenge. Unfortunately, much as his anger at the Dordinal mobs burned, there still seemed to be little opportunity for the revenge that he had dreamed of since he was a very young child. Margul knew that he would have to bide his time until he could gather the pieces he needed to deal with his family's ancient enemy. Little could he know that events at Fairwoods and in other parts of the Realm would deliver him a great weapon. If used correctly, it could make possible the mighty blow that he had dreamed of, and simultaneously return the woman whose beauty and personality had haunted his dreams as often as his plans for vengeance against Dordinal. * * * * Many miles from Margul's position at his family's traditional seat, news of the resumption of the throne's long-standing purge against Black Mages came to an unusual Mage, whose allegiance was to the study of magic, whether good, bad or indifferent. Her name was Charla, a young woman with the bearing on an aristocrat whose aura -- when she let others see its true depth -- was nearly a match for that of the Royal Mage. She had refused a position as village Mage, claiming that the duties would be too trivial, and the magic routine and unchallenging. As a result, she was forced to perform menial tasks in order to support herself until such time as she chose to return to the full practice of her art. Therefore, the young man who was her local contact was not surprised to find her working the fields when he came to deliver news that was to change the fortunes of Houses great and small. She was deeply frightened by his report of the mission that King Andalor had set Mage Tarnor. Her spy's report was incomplete, but it was obvious to Charla that the King had ordered the gargoyle Mage to return to his work of ridding the Realm of those who, like her, were proficient in the so-called Black Arts. Although not a true Black Mage, she was certainly open to the things that blood, flesh and sex-based magics could teach her. Her choice to learn such arts went directly against the wishes of the Royal Mage. Many season-cycles earlier, when she had been sent to Fairwoods to seek apprenticeship with Reinald, he had been aghast at her desire to learn the forbidden spells. He given her an ultimatum: she was to choose between learning the white arts only, under his supervision, or give up her training. She had a burning desire for knowledge, but no interest in the power that Black Mages could wield. She had told Reinald this, but he had not believed her, and given her one final chance to decide her fate. In a fit of pique and youthful rebellion, she chose to continue her quest for the forbidden knowledge. As a result, she had been expelled from her apprenticeship. After leaving Fairwoods, she had wandered the Realm, intimidating Mages far less powerful than she was in order to learn what she hungered to know. The extra time that she had been forced to take learning in this way meant that it had taken nearly two extra season- cycles before she felt ready to assume her blue. Though she knew well that she was more than a match for Tarnor's magical ability, she doubted that she would be able to stand against Reinald. And if she could not defeat the Royal Mage, she would definitely lose to Hannu, whose training and experience far exceeded even that of her former teacher. She knew she would need to find a sponsor, someone strong enough to give her the protection she needed from the King and his blue- cloaked lackeys if she would remain safe and free. Charla could think of only one such person. Margul. End of Chapter One THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Two It was not until after the evening meal that Reinald was able to gather all the parties he wished to consult on the matter of Shannon's training. The Mage was too unsettled to eat much, earning anxious glances from Pitir. The young troll appeared to think that apprenticeship to the Royal Mage also involved being a nursemaid. It had taken a disturbingly long time for Reinald to return to his former self after creating the security shield over Fairwoods. But while Reinald appreciated Pitir's devotion, the constant fussing irritated him at times. After the troll had cleared away the remains of the meal and set a kettle of water for tea on the hob, the Royal Mage dismissed him for the evening with a sigh of relief. A knock at the door, and Andalor entered with Hannu. Aldara and Jourdain arrived only moments later. When they had settled before the fire with their tea, Reinald cleared his throat and began. "I had a visit from Ballorca this afternoon." At the mention of the protocol minister's name, both Aldara and Andalor shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They had an idea what was coming. "He was most... concerned... that Shannon was assisting the Swordmaster in the training of young warriors. He protested that she could be injured in the activity." Andalor laughed out loud and Aldara smiled knowingly at the young King. "Yes," continued Reinald, his blue eyes twinkling, "a ludicrous thought, and I told him so. However, he also stated that her time would be much better spent in beginning her preparation to be Queen. That, I am afraid, is a much more difficult statement to argue against. Much as I may hate to admit it, Ballorca is correct." "By the blood of the Dark Creatures!" cursed Andalor. "Why can't-" The Royal Mage held a hand up for silence. Andalor might be King, but he was young yet, and still needed the guidance of his former Regent. "I'm sorry, Andalor. But it must be," he declared firmly. A little more gently, he went on, "Those of us in this room are privy to knowledge that Ballorca, thank the Goddess, does not have. We, and very few others, know that Shannon is not born of the Realm. If that knowledge were to get out... well, I do not wish to consider the consequences. Even if by some miracle you were able to keep your throne, the betrothal would certainly be overturned by the Council and you would be forced to marry whomever they chose for you. And none of us wants that, least of all you, Andalor." "I know, and I agree with you, Reinald - about that anyway. But all that I went through, season-cycles of endless boring lessons, all the... the... the *crap*-!" The Royal Mage winced at the young man's use of the slang he had picked up in Mulder's world, and felt a flare of anger. "What did you expect? Yes, you went through a long preparation! And you are certainly neither stupid nor naive. You must have known that your betrothed, no matter who she might be, would have to undergo similar preparation to be a good Queen. You must have known about the Ritual of Readiness." "I know all that," the King flared back. "But Shannon - she's different, Reinald. She's so wild, so free!" Andalor rose and began to pace before the fire. His cheeks burned with the fever of emotions felt so strongly only in the adolescent - his rebellion against the rigid confines of his society and his duty, his love for Shannon, and his desire to protect her. "She has a wonderful, fiery spirit! To have that broken, to have her forced to sit for hours, learning useless, trivial *crap*-" The Royal Mage scowled, and with a bang slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair. Keeping his voice low only with effort, he leaned forward and spat out, "Shannon is different, I will grant you that. Those differences could well topple your rule! Now sit down, and start thinking like a king, instead of a lovesick whelpling!" No one had ever spoken to him like that before. Shocked, Andalor stopped pacing and locked eyes with his former Regent. Reinald might be his subject, but he was also the man who had brought him up, almost since he could remember. He sat down, his expression the closed, sullen look of the thwarted teenager he was, while the others sat, uncomfortable, nearby. "That's better," the Royal Mage said gravely. "Andalor, I know that Shannon is different. Do not misunderstand, I like the girl, and I admire her courage. I can never be grateful enough to her for saving your life. I also understand that her differences are a part of what attracts you to her. But think! Yes, she has adapted astonishingly well to the Realm. But Ballorca is assuming she knows what any young woman born in the Realm knows - our history, traditions. Yet she knows next to nothing!" The consequences of Reinald's line of thought finally began to dawn on the young King. "Goddess, Reinald! If he spends any time around her, Ballorca will figure out Shannon's an outworlder in a New York minute!" "Though I am unfamiliar with 'Noo Yoruk minnut'," the Mage said stiffly, "I assume that it means a very short time. Why do you think I am pressing the issue? You have other matters which you must apply yourself to. Much of your kingdom has sustained terrible damage and loss of life. Even now in outlying areas there is continued bloodshed, acts of revenge for atrocities committed under the influence of the Dark Queen. The deaths of the Heads of Households in the destruction of the Great Hall has further shaken the security of the Realm. At least we knew what we were dealing with before. Now, young nobles with half a brain and even less of a claim to their Householderships are fighting amongst themselves, leading to Goddess knows what. The situation between Dordinal and Forst in Cresscreek is becoming critical. The issue of Shannon's training must be decided immediately, so you can get on with doing your job for the Realm." Andalor sat frowning, lost in thought. "What are we going to do?" he muttered. "Oh, Goddess, what are we going to do? If she doesn't pass the Ritual, the betrothal will be broken!" Panic began to leech into his voice. "Obviously we have a tremendous task ahead of us," said Reinald wearily. "And I am open to suggestions." "Is it necessary that Ballorca be her instructor?" inquired Aldara hesitantly. Though still a terror on the battlefield, she tended to be intimidated in situations such as this one. "I don't see how we can keep the truth of Shannon's background from him if he is her teacher and has so much access to her. Unless you feel he might be persuaded to keep that information to himself?" "Not much chance of that, I'm afraid," Reinald sighed."Mark you, I have no doubt of Ballorca's loyalty, but that loyalty is to the Realm, not necessarily to whatever king is on the throne. To him, keeping the traditions of our land pure is all that matters. Discovering that Shannon is an outworlder, that we have all known about this and allowed the betrothal to take place -- no, he would take his chances with a more 'traditional' king. And I do not doubt that one or more of the Houses would be more than happy to supply him with a candidate. And that is why...," Reinald paused dramatically, "I have told Ballorca that he will *not* be Shannon's preceptor." "All *right*!" Andalor crowed. "I'll bet *that* went over like a fart in church." Fortunately, his analogy didn't translate. The Royal Mage again winced. "I do not think I wish to know what that means," he said with distaste. "But no, he did not take it well. I told him that he would develop the lesson plans. And of course as Minister of Protocol he would play a major role in the Ritual of Readiness to determine her fitness to be Queen." The King's grin abruptly disappeared. "Reinald, are you mad? No one would be able to meet Ballorca's standards, especially not Shannon!" Hannu, quiet up until now, waved dismissively and said, "That part was inevitable, Andalor. There was no way he could have persuaded Ballorca to surrender that point. It is his right and duty. In my opinion, Reinald has bargained extremely well. At least the Minister will be kept away from Shannon until her studies are finished." "But she'll have so much to learn!" "And she does not have the advantage of your - what does Mulder call your memory?" "Eidetic." "Yes, precisely. So Shannon is going to have to learn all of what Ballorca will insist that she knows to be Queen, not to mention all of the basic things he assumes she knows already. A formidable task is ahead of us," Reinald said, scanning the silent ring of faces around his hearth. "And that's not all," Hannu observed gravely, "I am most concerned about her emerging Mage powers, Reinald. I am just beginning to know my daughter, but that 'wonderful, fiery spirit' Andalor finds so attractive could present some real problems. I fear that Fairwoods will be in for Magestorms such as it has never before experienced if Shannon reacts to this plan as I suspect she will." "I share your concern," Reinald admitted. "Which is why, on top of everything else, Shannon must continue her lessons with us. So far she appears not to have enough Mage energy to cause a Magestorm, but it seems every day the blue in her aura grows brighter. Lita herself has remarked on it. So learning to control her increasing Mage power must be a priority. Otherwise she could unwittingly injure or even kill her preceptor." "Do you have any idea who that will be, Reinald?" Aldara said with some trepidation. "I know Shannon has bonded closely with me since Mulder and Scully left, but really, I do not-" "No, Warrior Aldara," Reinald said kindly. "You have an excellent relationship with the girl and certainly your assistance in reinforcing the basics of her Realm knowledge will be invaluable. But Shannon's preceptor must be someone of noble status, someone who can speak Old Realm and other languages, someone with flawless deportment, someone-- " "Someone like Livirnea!" exclaimed Andalor. "Lady Livirnea?" Reinald frowned. "I had in mind someone older, more experienced...." "No! This could work, Reinald. Listen! Shannon already knows and likes Livirnea, admires her in a lot of ways. Livirnea is intelligent, has a sweet, serene personality, and no one can say she isn't a perfect example of a Realm noblewoman." "All quite true. But she isn't in Fairwoods - she's still nursing Lord Mandor at their country estate. I doubt Lord Mandor could do without her right now." Jourdain, silent until now, interrupted. "I've heard that Lord Mandor grows stronger every day. I was speaking with Raviar the other day, and he gave a glowing report of his master. He is out of danger and now needs only time and the attention of his Healers to restore him to active health." "Thank the Goddess, I am delighted to hear that. Ranfaus House has been an excellent friend, it is true," Reinald mused aloud. "Lord Mandor may not offer an objection, then. But Lady Norilka will be less than pleased about Livirnea acting as teacher to her successor as Queen-to-be." He paused, then shook his head. "Even if Mandor agrees, Livirnea is too young, younger than Shannon, even." "Reinald, think about it," persisted Andalor. "We can name Livirnea Shannon's Lady in Waiting. One should be appointed soon and Livirnea would be a perfect choice. So they'll be spending lots of time together anyway. Why not make use of that time? And who is Shannon more likely to listen to -- some wizened up old crone who never did a useful thing in her life, or Livirnea? Besides, if you choose a noblewoman from one of the other Houses, how do you know you can trust her? She might teach Shannon everything wrong, just for the satisfaction of having her fail the Ritual." The King could see that he was winning over the Royal Mage, and pressed home his final point. "Say Shannon slips up, says or does something that would give away the fact that she's an outworlder. Who would you trust more with that information - Livirnea, or some noblewoman from Dordinal or Maalfees?" The Royal Mage stroked his luxurious white beard. "An excellent point. We will probably be forced to let Shannon's teacher in on our little secret. I feel we can trust Lady Livirnea with that knowledge. What say you all?" Hannu nodded. "A good choice. Excellent, Andalor - and most well- reasoned." He smiled at his future son-in-law. "I too agree," Aldara said. "Although I must say I do not envy Livirnea, given the task before her." Wryly, Andalor murmured, "I'm feeling a little guilty about that myself." The others laughed. "Very well. Jourdain, would your other duties permit a journey to Mandor's country estate? Someone will have to present our proposal to Lord Mandor and Livirnea, and provide protection for her on her way back to Fairwoods should they find the plan acceptable." The grizzled commander nodded. "In fact, I needed to follow up reports of brigandage on the highways in any case. This journey will give me the opportunity to do that." "Very well," Reinald said. "Meanwhile, Hannu and I will continue our lessons with Shannon to help her to control her use of magic. Andalor, you have a message of your own to deliver to Shannon, I believe." The young man's smile abruptly disappeared. He knew what was coming. "Oh, Goddess!" The group around the hearth chuckled. Mildly, the Royal Mage went on, "You have the betrothed you wished for, Andalor. Surely you knew there would be a price to pay?" The young King grinned nervously. "Yeah, you're right, Reinald. Well, I'm going up to the battlements to meet Shannon for our nightly walk. I suppose I should tell her now, huh?" The Mage shrugged. "Her lessons must begin tomorrow, whether you tell her tonight or not. Whatever you think best." The King sighed and stood up, stretching. "No time like the present, I guess." As he reached the door, he paused and said over his shoulder, "You might want to double the guards on the battlements, Aldara. I may need them!" "Probably so," Hannu called to the young man, just before he stepped through the door. "Would you like one of us to cast a protective spell for you?" "Goddess!" Andalor said with a laugh. "I hope it won't be necessary! But if you can cast some spells that might assist Shannon in her learning, I'm sure that Livirnea will be most appreciative." As the door closed behind the young King, Reinald and Hannu looked thoughtful. * * * * Clad in her warrior-green cloak, Shannon was already on the battlements when he arrived. Formally, he bent over her hand and kissed it as she curtseyed deeply. He took her hand in his and they strolled past the first guard post. "Show's over, boys," she murmured in her native tongue. Fervently hoping it was true, Andalor cleared his throat nervously. "Shannon, we have to talk." "Since you're speaking English, I presume it's serious and you don't want the guards to overhear," she said, quietly tense. "Bungo." "That's 'Bingo'," she corrected automatically. They walked in silence to the end of the wall, and half the length of the next. Shannon sighed impatiently. "Okay, since you're evidently having a problem telling me, I can assume I won't like it. Does this have anything to do with Ballorca?" Her eyes slid across to read his expression. He waggled his head noncommittally. "Indirectly, I suppose. But even if he hadn't pressed the issue, it would have come up soon anyway." "What issue? I know he was pissed off that I was helping Aldara train the young warriors. Is that it? I can't do that anymore?" Already her words were heated by anger. Oh Goddess, help me, the young King thought. "That's part of it. He was afraid you'd be hurt." Shannon laughed shortly and without humor. "How touching that he's so interested in my welfare. I trust you informed him that I was perfectly safe?" "Yes," he admitted slowly. "Everyone has reassured him on that count. But in fact, it really doesn't matter. You're going to be too busy to help Aldara." "Too busy? I have nothing *but* time on my hands! My lessons with Reinald and my father certainly don't take up my entire day." "I know." He stopped and faced her, folding both her hands into his own. "Shannon, you know I love you more than anything, right?" She searched his face, reading the earnestness, gravity and yes, guilt, etched on his features. "Oh, hell! The shit's really going to hit the fan, isn't it?" "I seriously hope not." Andalor took a deep breath and plunged on. "Shannon, I've been in training to be King my entire life. Granted my training may have been more intensive, because my father died when I was just a kid. There was no one on the throne, and naturally, the Council wanted a ruler as soon as possible. What past Kings may have had decades to learn, I had to know by the time I was fifteen." She nodded gravely. "I know. I can't imagine how awful your childhood must have been - all those lessons, no time to just be a kid...." Andalor winced. Still holding her hand, he began strolling once more. "At the time, of course, I resented it. But now that I'm on the throne, I realize how valuable those lessons were." He lapsed into silence for a dozen or more paces. "So what are you trying to tell me, Andy?" "Even though you won't rule - the laws of the Realm forbid it - as my Queen there's an awful lot you need to know, and the wedding only a season-cycle away." She smiled. "Oh, is that all? Well, of course I figured that there'd be a few things I'd have to pick up on. Don't worry about it." Although surprised and encouraged by her attitude, the young man doubted that she fully understood what was involved. Resolutely, he went on. "More than a few things, Shannon. You know what our ceremonies are like. You'll have to be familiar with all of them -- and know enough Old Realm so you can take part in them." She frowned. "I don't know. Languages were never my thing in school." "Shannon, there's no alternative here. This isn't a case where your aptitude or even your choice enters into it. These are things a Queen must know. You have to learn enough of the languages of all the other beings in the Realm to be able to communicate with them during formal functions. You have to know Realm history -- all of it. You have to know exactly what to say and do in every possible situation -- and what you must *not* do or say. You have to learn every custom and tradition of every sort of being in the Realm, as well as those which apply only to Royals and nobles. Shannon, you weren't born here, and no one must ever suspect that. As a result, you have even more work to do than someone who is a native." She stopped and faced him, her expression stony. "And just who is to teach me all this?" she inquired stiffly. "And so help me, if you say Ballorca, I'll --" "No! No, it won't be Ballorca. You will continue your lessons with Reinald and your father regarding your magic talents. At least for now, Aldara will help you with the basics." "I see you have all this planned out for me. Well, tell me, *Your Majesty* - who's going to teach me the Queen stuff?" He sighed. "Lita will teach you Elvish, and Pitir will teach you the troll tongue. Tarnor, when he is around, can handle the Gargoyle. Livirnea is being named your Lady in Waiting. She'll teach you Old Realm, the ceremonies, history, how to comport yourself like a Queen-" "Well, isn't that great? My whole life has been decided, and I have no say in it whatsoever. I'm shocked you even proposed to me, since evidently I'm so *flawed* I need to be drilled for an entire year just to make me suitable!" Anger and hurt glinted in her tawny eyes. "Shannon, please don't do this," Andalor begged. "Do you think *I* like it? I love you! I wish more than anything you didn't have to go through all this. But I'm the King. You *know* what I went through. Did you seriously think you wouldn't have some sort of training?" "No. I know there'd be something. I just didn't plan on it taking every waking minute from now until Hell freezes over to do it! Andy," she entreated, "you know most of this stuff is crap. I've caught on to things here pretty well so far, haven't I? I can fake it!" Andalor grabbed her arms, perhaps a bit more roughly than he intended. "No, you can't 'fake it'. All eyes will be on you as my Queen. First of all, this stuff can't be faked, and secondly, there's a test." She stopped dead. "A test? What kind of a test?" Shrugging out of his grasp, she backed away from her fiance. "Before the marriage can take place, there's an... examination of sorts. It's called the Ritual of Readiness. Every would-be Queen has had to pass it successfully...." Eyes narrowed, she asked suspiciously, "And just who will be testing me?" Andalor sighed again. "The Head Priestess will act as Witness. But the examiner will be Minister of Protocol Ballorca." "Ballorca! Oh, fine. Great! What genius thought that one up? Ballorca hates me! I could never pass any test he gave, he'd make sure I flunked." "We'll just have to see that you don't. If you work hard and learn everything Livirnea teaches you-" "Right! The perfect noblewoman, Lady Livirnea. You think I don't hear the gossip -- that you should have married Livirnea, that she'd be the perfect Queen?" Angrily, Shannon stalked back and forth. Above them, clouds appeared from nowhere to scud across the sky and blot out the light from the twin moons. "Well, maybe you *should* have married her, *Your Majesty* Obviously she's a paragon of virtue and nobility. I have no doubt *she* could pass Ballorca's test. Probably could have passed it when she was five," she muttered resentfully. She stood against the battlement wall seething, her arms crossed stiffly in front of her. Andalor approached the wall to stand near her, but neither touched nor looked at her. Instead, he gazed out over his domain - snug little cottages, the fields, some neatly plowed and others fallow, the dense woods. "I don't love Livirnea; I love *you*," he replied wistfully. They stood in silence for some time. Finally, Shannon dropped her arms and moved to Andalor's side, looking down on the scene with him. More quietly though no more happily, she said, "Okay. Say I study my ass off, but don't manage to come up to Ballorca's standards. Then what?" Andalor looked grim. He had been trying not to think about that possibility. "You won't fail." "But what if I do?" she persisted, staring at his profile. Andalor didn't meet her eyes, but continued to look out over the crenellated wall. He shrugged. "I don't know," he responded evasively. "Don't give me that," Shannon snapped. He could feel the tension take over her body, feel her tremble with it. "Give me credit for some intelligence! You know very well what will happen. If I fail Ballorca's test, they won't let me marry you. Because I won't be good enough. That's it, isn't it?" she exclaimed furiously. She resumed her pacing, her arms gesticulating wildly as she spoke. "And you won't do a damn thing about it. You won't do a damn thing to stop them." Clouds even blacker than the night rolled across the sky to obliterate the stars. Once distant, the thunder now rumbled overhead. The wind picked up, crazily swirling the cloaks of the two lovers. A flash of lightning illuminated two faces - one set in stony fury, the other hurt and anxious. "Shannon! Shield now! I know Reinald has taught you how, so do it! You're causing a Magestorm! Shield your powers!" Lightning again lit her face as the rain began to pour down. In an icily furious tone, she replied, "Screw my powers." Hands tightened into fists, her whole body shaking, she backed away from him. "Screw my powers. Screw my shield. And while we're on the subject - screw *you*!" Sobbing, she whirled around and ran to the staircase at the end of the battlement, leaving Andalor alone, drenched, and bleak. End of Chapter Two THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter One Chapter Three Lost in thought, Reinald put his tea mug down on the table beside his armchair and resumed stroking his beard. It was a chilly morning, and he was glad of the fire crackling merrily before him. Not unexpectedly, the young King had sought him out after his fight with Shannon on the battlements. The sudden Magestorm had sent servants more accustomed to strictly controlled magic running in all directions. Knowing Andalor's errand, Reinald didn't have to guess twice at the storm's source. It had taken the Mage some time to calm the Castle residents before he could give his full attention to Andalor. Then for candlemarks he had listened sympathetically to the young man, knowing he needed someone to unburden himself to, someone to offer warm comfort and wise advice. Finally, with Reinald's assurances that he would have a plan, the King had withdrawn to bed. While the Royal Mage was happy he had been able to reassure the young man, now he had to come up with the promised plan. The first order of business, completed only when the first pink-gold rays of sunlight announced the new day, was to cast two shielding spells -- one to prevent Shannon from creating any more Magestorms, and one for the protection of the King. The girl's unexpectedly growing and unmastered powers alarmed him; coupled with her temper, she might inadvertently do real harm to her fiance. He had told Andalor he would have a plan, and had been spending his energies on little else for several days. Somehow, by the end of this very day, he would have that plan. But the girl was so... impossible! Lovely and strong, she appeared as if she would be able to bear many sons, and would be a formidable Queen, like few before her. If true, it would pull the Realm back from the brink of disaster, where it had teetered ever since King Barnas and his Queen had been unable to produce more than Andalor to keep the dynasty alive. Life in the Realm was too uncertain to rest easily with but one male child standing between stability and anarchy. Against all odds at times, Andalor had survived, and looked to have all the markings of a truly great ruler. But sons would have to come from his union with Shannon to give his rule the security and permanence the Realm needed. So the young woman's strength was indeed promising. But stubborn! Reinald didn't know when he had come across someone so stubborn. Well... on second thought, he did.... Shannon was so like Mulder that at times even the Royal Mage forgot they weren't related by blood. Both tall, lithe, and dark-haired, both with such strong emotions they were all too often ruled by them. And both stubborn enough to eschew good advice and stride down their own path, no matter how fraught with disaster it might be. Suddenly Reinald's hand stilled. Mulder.... Mulder had always been close to the girl, and she to him. There was a special bond there. Perhaps Mulder could make her listen to reason as no one else had succeeded in doing. The Royal Mage was out of his chair and halfway to the Oracle Cloud before he was conscious of it. Whipping the blue velvet cover from the orb, he noted its depths began to glow and swirl immediately, as if his intentions were strong enough to set the device in motion even before his mouth uttered the spell. He closed his eyes and raised his arms. Soundlessly his lips moved to the Old Realm words his mind focused on, as the cloud in the crystal ball danced and swam. An indeterminate amount of time later, it was a muffled exclamation followed by peals of laughter that popped his eyes open. "What are you laughing about, Scully? It could have caught the whole damn bed on fire!" There was a low, throaty chuckle. "Don't sell yourself short, my love. You were doing a pretty good job of that yourself." There was a suspicious silence interrupted only by the rustle of what sounded like bedclothes which went on for some moments. "Mulder? Mage Mulder? Reinald called anxiously. Finally, the clouds coalesced into the image of the young man's face. "I'm here, Reinald." Mulder's cheeks were flushed and his hair tousled. From the little that Reinald could see of him, he appeared to be shirtless, wearing only the finely-wrought gold chain that held the oracle crystal pendant. Though not privy to such intimacy himself, the Mage had a pretty good idea of what he had interrupted. "I trust I'm not calling at an inconvenient time?" he asked with mock innocence. For some reason, his question seemed to amuse Scully; she was giggling again. The Royal Mage smiled, already feeling better, being with his friends again. "Er... well, no.... No, Reinald, of course not." His face turned to the left . "Scully!" he whispered urgently. There was some attempt to stifle the giggling. "Well, in a few moments I'll let you two get back to... whatever it was you were doing. It's just that I needed a few words with you, if it's not too much trouble." Mulder sat up and ran a hand through his hair, without noticeable effect on his coiffure. "No trouble at all. What's up, Reinald? No invading monsters or evil-doing Mages, I hope." "No, my boy, no. Nothing like that. We are having a bit of a problem, however." Mulder frowned. "Serious?" "Not at this point, but it could become so, I'm afraid. It's about Shannon." "Shannon! She's all right, isn't she?" he blurted, obviously alarmed. "She's not sick, or injured, or anything?" "No, Mulder, calm yourself. She's unharmed and healthy. It's nothing like that." He looked around, then pulled a chair closer to the table on which the Oracle Cloud sat. "Can you still see me, my boy? Ah, good! It's a long story and I'm rather tired today." "You don't look all that great, either, if you'll forgive my saying so. So what's she done now, Reinald? Because if there's nothing wrong with her physically, I can only assume she's gotten herself into some sort of trouble." Mulder held his breath, expecting the worst. "Well... why don't we start at the beginning?" The Royal Mage proceeded to fill his protege in on the week's events, starting with Ballorca's visit. The young man listened quietly and intently to Reinald's recitation, frowning at times -- especially when Reinald mentioned Shannon's Magestorm. "Damn it! What the hell is she thinking?" he exclaimed. In the background, Reinald heard Scully's soft, pragmatic tones. "What do you expect, Mulder? She's been a renegade her whole life. Yes, she adjusted to being in the Realm eventually.... But do you remember what happened when her aura was read? She went ballistic, feeling she was being pushed into something she wasn't sure she wanted. Even if it were something she wanted - and wanted badly, as much as she wants this marriage with Andalor - if she felt she were being forced into something, she'd rebel. That kind of strength has sustained her her whole life. Sometimes it saves her, sometimes it makes things more difficult. But remember - she eventually accepted training as a warrior, took pride in it and excelled." "Very wise, Warrior Healer Scully. I too feel that in time she will become more amenable to the idea. And I would personally be very pleased to wait for her to become fully enthusiastic about her training - if we had the luxury of time. But we do not. There is already so much she must learn in so short a time that I feel quite anxious about it." "And she has to learn to control her Mage powers as well. Hell, that in itself is a full time job," Mulder added, frowning. "You did it." It was Scully's disembodied voice. "Yeah - but only because of my eidetic memory. I never would have been able to remember all those spells - in Old Realm, a totally different language - if it hadn't been for that. Andalor also had that advantage, as well as a hell of a lot more time...." A thoughtful expression crossed the young Mage's face. "What is it, my boy?" "I was just thinking, Reinald. I don't know the spell books as well as you do. Is there anything in them that could, well... assist Shannon to learn what she has to?" "Great minds work similarly," he smiled. "I had a word with Hannu just last night about that very thing. There's nothing in current books, no, and I was asking him about any spells he might know of from the distant past. He is doing some research into the matter, but feels that most of those spells have been lost to us forever. We may never know if one even existed. And there are potential ethical issues involving any spell that we may have to deal with." "But it is not impossible that one could be devised." "Impossible, no. Extremely difficult and uncertain, yes. I would not wish Shannon's future to be completely dependent upon our success. But Hannu and I were planning to start work this very day." "So what would you like me to do?" "Contribute any ideas you might come up with, for one thing. I know you are at a disadvantage there as far as being able to experiment, but you might have a theory or two to pass on that could make all the difference. But the most valuable assistance you could provide right now is to talk to Shannon. Reason with her, try to make her understand exactly how important her training is. And her cooperation. We wish to give the Houses as small a target as possible. And of course, if our little secret were to get out...." Mulder grimaced. "You don't have to tell me what would happen if that little bombshell ever went off, Reinald. All right. I don't pretend to have the answers to this one. Let me have some time to talk this over with Scully. Right now, I'm torn between wanting to take Shannon over my knee and give her the spanking of her life, and wanting to protect her from the hell that this training period will be for her. Once Scully has talked some sense into me, I can do the same for Shannon. Fair enough?" "I could not ask for more, Mulder. I thank you." "And give Andalor my best. I'm sure he's going through hell, too." "I will, and he'll be most grateful." "Well, have Shannon standing by. I don't know how time is flowing these days. You might consult the Professor. Let's see, it's the middle of the night here... fortunately, tomorrow's Saturday..." he muttered. "Sorry, Mulder... didn't quite catch that." "No, it's all right, Reinald. Ask the Professor to give us about eight of our hours. Whatever works out for you there. Have Shannon contact me, either through the Oracle Cloud, or through one of the crystals." The Royal Mage sighed in relief. "I can't express to you how much better I feel, Mage Mulder, Warrior Healer Scully. At least now we have a fighting chance." "Don't expect too much, Reinald. Shannon might tell me to pound sand." "Pound... pound sand? Why would she- " "Sorry. There's no way to put that in New Realm. Andalor would know. Suffice to say, I may not be able to enlist her complete cooperation," he said dryly. "I have great faith in you and Scully, my dear boy. You have performed miracles in the past to save us." He chuckled wryly. "This may be the biggest one yet." * * * * Autumn's grip had descended fully on the land, and a thick sheen of ice was beginning to form on the lake surrounding Forst's traditional seat. However unpleasant though it was, the weather was not Margul's major concern. Rather, he was increasingly vexed by the damage being done on Forst lands by the warring bands of Dordinal lackeys who were occupied in the worsening struggle for leadership amongst several of Dordinal's clans. He sat atop the outer wall of Forst's fortress-like village, in a place that allowed him a tremendous view of the water surrounding his family's home. Water whose lapping waves and gentle breezes often calmed him. Today, however, there were simply too many things in his mind and as a result, he nearly missed the small boat that was struggling across the water toward the family's private key. When he at least saw the tall, blonde passenger sitting at the stern, her dark blue cloak marking her as one of the Realm's most powerful Mages, he immediately knew who it must be. His beloved 'cousin' Charla, who had been forced from the family by the former Householder many season-cycles previously, had finally returned. Ian -- Margul's uncle -- had banished her from Forst lands due to the embarrassment that she had caused the family by her dismissal from the Royal Mage's tutelage. But that had been just an excuse. More to the point, Ian's eldest brother-- her purported father -- had faced continuing mortification as a result of her growing magical talents. Those gifts could not have come from him, and her mother's side of the family was also devoid of Mages. Thus the talents that had marked her out as a Mage also proved beyond doubt that she was illegitimate. Margul alone had accepted her for who and what she was, treating her as a member of the family though in fact they were no more closely related than any two humans who lived in this part of the Realm. Had it not been for her obvious Mage talent, she would doubtless have been put up for fosterage, as was common with the bastard offspring of the noble class. Margul was saddened by the realization that it might well have been better for her if this had happened, as the life that she had been forced to lead had been far from easy. It had been nearly twenty-five season-cycles since Margul had last seen her. Her beauty had only grown in the intervening time. However, it was his memories of her as a wonderful companion and source of uncommon wisdom during their childhood that brought a broad smile to his usually closed features. A smile that grew as he saw the reaction that the presence of such a powerful Mage caused amongst the laborers who had gathered to offload boats on the great stone key. It was clear that she had not lost her ability to intimidate. But those laborers could not know the extent of the damage done to her gentle spirit when her own family shunned her. "Charla!" he called. His voice reverberated in the artificial canyon made by the walls that enclosed the family's private landing area. He smiled in response to the small wave that she gave him, then descended rapidly down the hundreds of protected stairs that ran from the top of the wall to the wide stone key. "It has been far too long since I last saw you," he said, on catching his breath. Her response to his greeting was subdued, her nerves at being back on ground that she had been banished from, evident despite the warm welcome. His smile broadened and found his eyes as she spoke in that deep and lilting voice that had captured his heart during adolescence. "I am glad to see you too," she said, touching him lightly, immediately returning to the habits that they had developed as they grew toward adulthood so many season-cycles earlier. The electric tingle of her touch reminded Margul of the powerful effect that her presence had on him, and his blood raced in remembrance. He was very glad that he had found her before one of the other, less open-minded, members of the family did. "Come," said Margul quietly, "your return makes it obvious that you have much to tell me. I too have news that you may find useful." As they walked up the broad staircase cut into the face of the manor's outer walls, Charla looked about at the place that she had left so long ago. Others had told her that the childhood home always seemed smaller when seen through the eyes of an adult, but the great gray walls and high towers of the manor still seemed the massively imposing structures that she remembered from her last sight of them when she had been sent away for training during her sixteenth summer. All had not remained the same, however. Most notably, Margul himself had grown into the tall and powerful man whose form could have only been guessed at when she last saw him so long ago. His jet hair was now flecked with silver at the temples but his eyes were the same clear gray that she remembered -- eyes that could turn steely with anger or determination, or soft with affection. His features were irregular enough to save him from being branded as handsome, instead communicating his intelligence and character. He had reached full maturity and if she judged things correctly, the beings who passed them on their trek from quay to village were showing him a very high level of deference. Much as she wanted to ask about this, she held to the Realm's customs concerning sitting and taking tea before business could be discussed. By the glances that her 'cousin' was giving her, it was clear that he was equally curious concerning the reasons for her return. She was glad to see that their minds were already functioning in lock-step, much as they had when they were younger. Some of her questions were answered when he led her into the manor house and up to the Householder's apartment. Clearly then at least part of his news concerned his rise to the leadership of the branch of the clan based here, far from Fairwoods. This change, more than anything that she had seen in him since her return, gave her hope that she would be able to protect herself from Andalor's lackeys. Margul's newly found fortunes would also meant that she would not be forced to do the worst work of the manor in recompense for its protection. When they had seated themselves before the roaring fire with mugs in hand, Margul turned to Charla, curious as to what might have driven her to return to the family home. However, before he could ask, she preempted him by beginning to tell her own story, just as she had always done when they were children. "Before you ask me why I am here, Margul, know that my presence may pose more trouble for you than it is worth," she said. "Charla," he said quietly, his usually hard gray eyes softening as they surveyed her face, "your presence in this house will never be an inconvenience to this family so long as I stand as Householder." In like tone, she replied, "Thank you. You can't know how difficult the last few season-cycles have been. Not to have family in a place where family means everything.... It was very hard to provide for my needs, not to mention keeping an eye on those here and at Fairwoods who would have seen me banished from the Realm." "I was told that you were forced to leave the Castle at the tip of the Guard Captain's sword," Margul said. "I nearly went to take my vengeance on the man myself, but unfortunately, a boy of only fifteen summers would have done you, and himself, little good by such an attempt." "Very true," responded Charla. "It would have done me no good, and unless you had managed to kill Reinald as well, I would have been even less safe than I have been." "So I thought at the time," he replied. "Tell me in your own words what the problem was that led to your banishment." She sighed. "As you know, I have always felt that my knowledge of the magical arts could and should be extended to its maximum reach so long as I posed no threat to those around me. Certainly I know how to bespell others, and how to bring disease and death by casting against them, but I have never desired to do so. The problem was, and is, I'm sure, my willingness to learn these magics in the first place. To say that Reinald was... uncomfortable... with my interest in the so-called Black Arts, would be more than fair. It finally became clear that I would never be able to learn what I desired to from him. So, only a season short of acquiring my blue, he forced me to leave the castle at Fairwoods. "Having no other choice, I completed my training with other Mages. But now King Andalor has renewed his decree that all Mages who practice the Black Arts must either be stripped of their powers or banished from the Realm. In light of the Dark Queen's acts, I suppose it is not surprising. But I am faced with losing my arts, my gifts. My only true alternatives were to leave the Realm, or return here in hopes that the new Householder would be more sympathetic to my situation than your uncle would have been." Margul sat back to think. The King's decree, which had been largely ignored at Forst as there were no Black Mages in residence in its lands, posed a serious threat to Charla and, if she stayed in the manor, to the family as well. No matter what his plans might be, he had to ensure that if they failed, there would still be a House from which others could, at some point in the future, take revenge against Dordinal. More importantly, however, Charla had fought at his side against the others when he was young, much as he had stood with her as they got older. He would not break any of the commitments that they had made to each other so long ago. "I must say that this news doesn't please me," he finally said quietly. "Obviously you must be protected by this house. If it weren't for the fact that you have already been seen here and your aura is so distinctive, we could probably have hidden you within the manor's walls for many season-cycles. Since you have been seen and it is certain that your presence will be reported to Fairwoods, I believe that it is best if we proceed as though you were any other member of the family. I also think that your capabilities may help me in my effort to take advantage of the confusion on Dordinal's lands, finally avenging our House on them for their insults both past and present." "How will you handle matters if the King or one of his Mages should demand that I be stripped of my powers?" "I shall simply tell them that you haven't used your powers in any untoward way. Although they may suspect that you are controlling me in some way, they won't be able to prove it. And with no proof, they won't dare move against us. It would be too costly. They need our political support against Dordinal and Maalfees too much to turn us against them. Further, the cost in lives that would result if they tried to break our walls should also make the King's lackeys think twice. The Royal Guard and the energies of the three Mages at Fairwoods are stretched thinly as it is, given the state of the Realm after the Dark Queen's wrath." Relieved, she smiled. "I see," she said. She was truly pleased by Margul's growth and maturity. He had become wise beyond his years, and had grown into a man who was both was attractive in form and politically skillful enough to ensure her protection. Unfortunately, she would not be able to stay there forever, as she knew well that sooner or later, King Andalor would demand that she submit herself to the mercies of her former mentor or Mage Hannu. She also knew that although Forst's walls were strong, they were not indestructible, and that the combined strength of the three Mages would, indeed, be enough to break them, given time. However, for the moment, she would be able to rest and recuperate, and for this she was grateful. "I truly do appreciate your willingness to help me in my time of need," she said solemnly, her hand moving to touch his wrist. Again, his heart raced at her touch, but his tone remained even. "Think nothing of it," Margul replied. "After all, it will be good to have you here. Later we will talk of family business, and the problems which beset us. I'm sure that there are solutions, and with both of us working to find them, it will be far easier to make them reality. But for now... rest, and make yourself at home." "I agree," she said, rising to her feet. "No matter what happens, it is good to be home, and it will be good to re-enter the games. It has been far too long." "That it has," Margul agreed. He ushered her across the hall to the quarters that she would occupy. As he turned to leave her to her unpacking, he smiled grimly. After all, forcing his rival at Fairwoods to find other accommodations on her occasional visits to the manor was the first of many political benefits that would come from having Charla back at his side. End of Chapter Three THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter One Chapter Four Jourdain walked at a relaxed pace through the hallways of the pleasant manor house. So far, he had little to complain about, other than the separation from his beloved wife and daughter. The roads had been quiet on the way south, the weather clement, the journey unmarred by the smallest delay. Since their arrival the night before, he and his men had been treated like royalty, with servants drawing their baths almost as soon as they had dismounted, and a delicious hot meal waiting when they had dried off and changed. But the hour had been late, too late for Lord Mandor to be able to see him. Though the noble was indeed making a nearly miraculous recovery from severe wounds he suffered in the destruction of the Great Hall, he did so only by obeying every instruction of his Healers. His early bedtime was not open to negotiation. In reality, Jourdain was just as glad to put off his errand. He was a soldier, and as such felt awkward when called upon to perform diplomatic duties. He was far better at them than he gave himself credit for, as Aldara and the King never failed to remind him. But he would have been far happier riding into battle than sitting down in a formal salon, having to mind his manners and keep his temper in check. Though he doubted that his temper would be tried on this errand. Rather, his reluctance stemmed from having to ask Lord Mandor, who had been such a friend to the Crown, for yet another favor. Jourdain was the sort of man who wanted to be beholden to no one, whether he be friend or foe. He looked around appreciatively as he strolled. The manor house was certainly different in design and function than the thick stone walls at Fairwoods Castle. The Ranfaus manor was built to be a country estate, a working farm that was a place of respite from the politics of the capital and the machinations of the other Noble Houses. Surrounding the house on its rise, manicured wooded hillsides looked down on orderly fields belonging to the manor, even now being harvested of their crops by sturdy peasants. The house itself was a large but charming half-timbered affair. Whitewashed plaster walls were criss-crossed with beams blackened with age, and leaded windows holding panes of bevelled glass threw rainbows of color everywhere as the sun poured in. Inside, the chambers were spacious and comfortable, with gleaming hardwood floors spotted with islands of soft carpet, and walls hung with rich tapestries. Everything spoke of quiet, downplayed luxury. Aldara would love it here, he thought. He arrived at the door of the salon and knocked. His interview with Lord Mandor's son Tallor had gone well that morning, though the young man was obviously curious regarding his errand. Jourdain had told the young man that his purpose must wait for Lord Mandor's ears, but he promised not to upset the recuperating noble. Tallor had to be content with that. He gave Jourdain directions to the salon, and a meeting time of just after the midday meal. An elf servant opened the door to admit him. The salon was the primary meeting chamber at the manor. Thickly cushioned armchairs ringed small, exquisitely carved tables scattered about the room, perfect for conversation. But Lord Mandor was by the hearth, reclining on a sofa which looked as if it had been placed there since his injuries. His legs were covered by a hand-loomed blanket of softest wool. Tallor and a stern-faced Healer stood in close attendance. Jourdain bowed low before the noble he both liked and respected. "Lord Mandor, I bring you greetings from His Majesty, King Andalor, and his best wishes for your continued recovery. And may I say, milord," he continued less formally, "I bring the good wishes and prayers of all of us at Fairwoods." "Captain Jourdain, please sit," the noble smiled. "This is a pleasure. Things have been far too quiet here of late." He shot a meaningful glance at the tall, brown-cloaked man, who rolled his eyes. Evidently now that Lord Mandor was on the road to recovery, he was beginning to try the patience of his Healers. While tea was distributed, Jourdain took the opportunity to study the Ranfaus Householder. His hair was grayer than it had been short moon-cycles before, and new lines of pain were etched into his face -- evidence that his recovery was not as easy as he would like everyone to believe. Still, his color was surprisingly good, and his pleasant baritone was both strong and tinged with his trademark dry humor. The noble took a deep swallow of restorative tea. "Your good wishes and prayers are gratefully received, Captain. But surely that is not the reason for so long a journey." Trust Mandor to want to get straight to the point, thought Jourdain. "No, milord, it is not. I am here with a request from King Andalor, meant for your ears only." Mandor nodded. "Anything you say may be said in front of my son and my Healer. Both are discreet and know full well that nothing said here may leave the room." He caught their eyes and they nodded gravely in response. "Tallor has temporarily taken on my duties, and I'm proud to say he's doing a fine job of it." The young man flushed in pleasure at his father's words of praise. It was clear they had a warm, close relationship. "Very well, milord. Please understand that King Andalor was hesitant to make this request. You have been a valued friend to the Crown, one to whom we already owe so much. It seems unappreciative to ask for more. But this is a matter of some urgency. Still, His Majesty wants you to understand that you may turn down his request without prejudice." "Understood, Captain Jourdain. I know it must be of great importance or he would not have sent you. How can I help?" Much as Mandor might trust his son and his Healer, the truth of Shannon's origins was simply too explosive to divulge in this setting. He was unsure of how even Lord Mandor would take the news. Livirnea had to know the whole truth, if she hadn't guessed it already. If he could get a few moments alone with the noble, he might tell him yet. But for now.... "The time has come to name a Lady in Waiting for Lady Shannon. It is well known that the King's betrothed was not born to the nobility. The woman named to the position of Lady in Waiting must be a paragon of feminine nobility, it goes without saying. But because Lady Shannon has so much preparation to do before she can take on her duties as Queen, it was hoped that her Lady in Waiting, both by example and by instruction, could teach her what she needs to know." "A sound plan," Mandor said cautiously. "However, I hope you are not here to ask Lady Norilka to serve in that capacity." Lady Norilka, Lord Mandor's wife, was a known bigot, scold and harridan who made the lives of everyone who lived around her miserable. "Lady Noril- ! Oh, Great Goddess, NO!" The words were out before he could stop them. Jourdain looked at Lord Mandor in horror. But Mandor was helpless with laughter, as were his son and even the grim Healer. "Oh, Captain, thank you!" he said, when he could finally speak. He wiped tears of mirth from his cheeks. "That was the first laugh I've had since I can remember. You should have seen your face!" That provoked a new wave of giggles. "I apologize, Lord Mandor," Jourdain said, flushing. "I should have known you would think that, as the Lady in Waiting is usually an older woman." Mandor waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "And I apologize for having a joke at your expense. The thought of my wife, trying to instruct Lady Shannon, after everything that has taken place...! Andalor would have to have taken leave of his senses!" he chortled. Once more he wiped his eyes, then he continued more seriously. "Then I take it you mean Livirnea." "Yes, milord. Lady Livirnea is young, but no one could think of a finer example for Lady Shannon to follow." Mandor smiled in genuine pleasure. "Well, that is a compliment indeed, Captain, and I thank you for it. In truth, Livirnea has been begging for the past week to be allowed to go back to her studies at Fairwoods. She wouldn't leave my side when I was first brought here, and did as much to speed my recovery as did my Healers. But she knows now that it is only time which will cure me, so she feels quite useless here, which she hates. And of course there is my Lady wife...." he concluded darkly. He looked meaningfully at Tallor. The young man blanched before his eyes. "Goddess! You mean *I'll* have to tell her?" Tallor choked. Jourdain was strongly reminded of Aldara's story about Andalor having to confront Shannon. "It will be a true test of your courage, son. But I'm afraid my Healer would have it no other way. Am I correct, Fedil?" "Entirely, milord. No excitement, no stress, and above all, no Lady Norilka." Though the Healer's voice and face gave nothing away, his eyes twinkled with humor. Mandor shrugged. "You see how it is, Tallor. When she starts screaming, just be sure to let her know that I said the option to be banished to our frontier outpost still stands. It should help." "Very well, Father." "You make me proud, Tallor. Well, why don't you send for your sister, and then inform your mother of my decision - subject to Livirnea's acceptance, of course." He looked over at Jourdain as his son left the room. "His Majesty would have it no other way, Lord Mandor. You know Lady Shannon. She has many wonderful qualities, but is a bit wild and headstrong. This will be no easy task for Lady Livirnea. If she wishes to decline, she will continue to have the King's close and most valued friendship. It is only that we could think of no one that would be more inclined to succeed in this mission than Lady Livirnea, with her impeccable upbringing, keen intelligence and sweet personality." A short time was spent in exchanging news of the Castle and the politics of the Realm. Jourdain kept the tone of the conversation light, and did not bring up any subject which could excite the noble. Soon, there was a tap at the door, followed by Livirnea's entry. Her color had improved as well, Jourdain noted. She had probably been spending as much time out of doors and away from her scourge of a mother as possible. The roses in her cheeks made her even more lovely, and the thick ashen braid down her back contrasted nicely with the simple dark blue gown she wore. "You sent for me, Father?" "Yes, child. Captain Jourdain has come all the way from Fairwoods with a request from the King." "Andalor? What would he want of us?" she asked with curiosity. "His Majesty is hoping you will do him and Lady Shannon the great honor of consenting to be her Lady in Waiting. But he also wants you to know that an even more important task is needed - to instruct Lady Shannon in the ways of the nobility, how to dress and act, perhaps teach her Old Realm and some of the ceremonies she will have to attend - in short, how to be a Queen." More gently, Jourdain went on. "Understand that His Majesty is not insensitive to your position, Lady Livirnea. He realizes that few young women would accept the role of having to teach their successor what you already know so well - not for all the gold in the Realm. And Fairwoods being Fairwoods, there will be talk, not all of it complimentary to you. You may turn down his request and it will not change his affection for you." Livirnea's light laughter rang out. "Let me guess - Shannon didn't take it very well that her days of freedom were coming to a close." Jourdain grinned back. "Not well at all." "I'll wager that was some Magestorm." "Yes, well... Reinald has since taken some steps to help ensure that won't happen again. And Lady Shannon's lessons to control her Mage powers will continue. That will give you time on your own to do what you wish. Perhaps, to rejoin the Professor in his laboratory. He has missed having your help." She looked uncertain. "I think I can do what you ask. And I would be most anxious to get back to Fairwoods and assist the Professor in his experiments. But if Father needs me- " "Go, child. It will be good for you, and you will bring honor to our House. I trust the roads are safe, Captain Jourdain?" "I won't lie to you, milord. There has been widespread trouble from brigands. But our journey here was peaceful. That is why we brought so many Guards, all well-armed and among the best the King has." "Lord Mandor, I am afraid- " began the deep-voiced Healer. The noble raised a placating hand. "All right, Fedil, all right. I am coming. Livirnea, my dear, I will leave you to entertain our guest, if neither of you has an objection. It appears my jailer is insisting on my having a treatment and then a nap, as scheduled." "But one cannot argue with the results, milord," Fedil rejoined good- humoredly. "And thanks be to the Goddess and your good efforts," declared Jourdain. He rose as the door opened and the elven servant entered, pushing in a strange-looking contraption. It was an ordinary straight- backed chair, but small wooden wheels had been attached to the bottoms of the legs, and an iron tray jutted out from the bottom front of the chair. "Ah, you see my very special wagon, Captain Jourdain! Designed by none other than my lovely daughter, in a moment of intellectual boredom," Mandor explained, looking on Livirnea with pride. She blushed prettily. "The Professor said such a thing might be possible. I merely drew up the plans, and then gave them to Derig, a master carpenter. He did the real work." Effortlessly, Fedil lifted the noble and set him in the chair. The servant covered his legs once more with the blanket and began pushing his master toward the door. "I hope you will join us for dinner," Mandor called back over his shoulder. "I'll send Rendi here to fetch you. A bit earlier than you are used to dining, because of my cursed schedule, but not an inconvenience, I hope." "I will be looking forward to it, Lord Mandor." He waved in reply and disappeared through the door. Jourdain and Livirnea settled themselves once more. "Actually, Lady Livirnea, I am glad to have this moment alone with you. There are certain conditions and... difficulties... that the King feels strongly you must know about before you make your decision." "Do you mean any resistance on the part of Lady Shannon?" "That is a big part of it, yes. I know the two of you have been friends, but that friendship will be sorely tried. She will not give up her present independence without a fight, and I fear that both you and the King are the ones most likely to feel her anger. I am sure that in time she will come to see the wisdom and necessity for her training, but right now...." he trailed off, shrugging. Livirnea nodded, her serenity unruffled. "Knowing Shannon as I do, I would expect that. I have envied her that freedom, as she well knows. But I have no doubt that she will come around eventually. She has no choice - she must." "Granted. But until that time she will take all the patience both you and the King can muster." "If Andalor is willing, then so am I." Satisfied on that score, Jourdain nodded. "I thank you, my Lady. But there is something else you must know. And once knowing it, you must promise to keep it a secret - from everyone," he said gravely. She frowned. "Including my father?" "For right now, that is the case, I am afraid. The King does not wish to create a problem between you and your father. He knows you are very close. Moreover, he trusts Lord Mandor implicitly. But with his healing treatments, there is the small chance that, if he knew, one of the Healers might discern the secret. Much as the King regrets the need for secrecy, let me assure you it is of the most critical importance. If it became known, it would surely mean his Crown, if not his head." Livirnea gasped. "I would never do anything to endanger either. If Andalor feels it is necessary, then I would never reveal what I know -- to anyone." "Thank you, Lady Livirnea. In that case -- this involves Shannon's origins-- " "Oh, that. I know about that already. Well, I have a pretty good idea anyway. I have theorized that Shannon comes from the same place that Mage Mulder, Warrior Healer Scully and the Professor are from. Wherever that might be." Jourdain's face must have shown his horrified surprise. If this mere girl had heard a rumor, or had been able to figure it out, how many others, he thought, his stomach churning. His nightmarish musings were interrupted by Livirnea's low chuckle. "Don't worry, Captain Jourdain. I feel the secret is safe. I have told no one. It is only that I spent so much time around the Professor and Shannon that I began to see a pattern emerging. The Professor's acquaintanceship with Shannon seems to go back much further than her relationship with anyone else. But nothing was said directly. And the Professor said I have great powers of... inductive and deductive, I think he said... reasoning. I daresay no one else would have even noticed." "Let us pray to the Goddess you are correct, Lady Livirnea. And you know what it also means - that you will have much more to teach Shannon, for she is ignorant of many of the things that anyone raised in the Realm would know." She nodded. "How much time do we have?" "The day has not yet been chosen. But we believe it will be late next harvest season." "So there is no time to lose." "Precisely. So, Lady Livirnea -- do I understand that you will accept the position of Lady in Waiting?" "It shall be my great honor to do so, Captain Jourdain," she replied formally, but her eyes were twinkling as he bent over her hand. "Very well then. We shall depart for Fairwoods in the morning." End of Chapter Four THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter- Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter One Chapter Five "Go. Away." Lita humphed, a sound only she could make convey scorn and annoyance so brilliantly. Her dark eyes narrowed. Oh no you don't, missy, she thought. She rapped on the oaken door once more. "I said, go away. And if that is His Majesty, King Andalor - go far, far away!" The little elf pushed open the door and stood glaring at Shannon, her hands on her hips. The teenager barely raised her head from where she was sprawled, face down, on the bed. "No, it's not His Majesty," Lita snapped. "He's busy trying to carry on the work of the Realm. Though with no food or sleep for the past week or more, it's a wonder he can do it." She stalked to the end of the bed. "And how long are you going to carry on like this?" The answer was muffled. "You don't understand. No one understands." "Aye, you'll get no argument from me on that," the servant replied sourly. "You've spent eight days moping about and acting like the child that you must still be. Meanwhile, the King and Mages Reinald and Hannu have been trying to hold both the Realm and your betrothal together. Well, get yourself out of bed. There's someone who wants to talk with you." Shannon pushed herself up and sat crosslegged on the bed. Her hair was mussed, her tawny eyes reddened in a tear-streaked face. "Reinald, I suppose. Wanting to read me the riot act." "No - though I'm surprised he hasn't. It's not like you don't deserve a good talking-to." She paused. "It's the Oracle Cloud. Mage Mulder wants to talk to you." "Mulder!" The girl's face lit up for a fleeting moment, quickly replaced by uncertainty. "It can't be a coincidence. Did Reinald squeal on me?" The idiom did not translate easily into New Realm. "Now why should the Royal Mage want to make a noise like a swinebeast, I'd like to know." Lita shook her head, her silver-frosted dark curls dancing. "What I mean is - did Reinald tell Mulder about... you know, me and Andy?" "I really have no idea. But in any case, I don't expect Mage Mulder will wait forever. The Royal Mage has vacated his quarters so you can have some privacy. Now, I strongly advise- " "I'm going." Shannon hopped down from the bed, straightened her simple pale green satin sheath, and pushed some stray locks of hair back into its long braid. Grabbing her warrior green cloak, she fastened it around her neck. She took a deep breath, then opened the door and ventured out into the hallway. All along the labyrinthine corridors to Reinald's quarters, Shannon's mind whirled. She was sure of one thing -- Mulder was going to give her a thorough reaming. She could only imagine what he had been told to inspire this little talk. As she strode along the drafty stone walkways, servants darted out of her way or gathered in knots of twos and threes to peer at her, whispering behind their hands. The girl did not fail to notice. Great, Shannon thought. In just a few days I've become the Wicked Witch of the West. Why can't anyone see *my* side? At last she came to Reinald's door. Pitir answered her knock, gestured to the Oracle Cloud on a table in the center of the disorderly room, and silently withdrew from the chamber. She approached the crystal orb, its center opaque and swirling in ever-changing patterns of blues, grays and white. Pulling a chair up to the table, she sat, her heart pounding as she waited for Mulder's face to appear in the depths of the sphere. He's gonna be so pissed, Shannon thought miserably. Finally, when she felt like she would jump out of her skin if something didn't happen soon, the swirling in the Oracle Cloud increased and with it, a soft blue glow began to emanate from the orb. In a few moments, she could see Mulder's face, and behind him an unfamiliar background. Here goes, she thought glumly. She had played out various scenarios in her head on the walk over from her quarters, trying to judge which one might be more palatable to her Taabsut - the Homesick Waif, the Misunderstood Outsider, the Wronged Young Maiden, the Misjudged Teen. She decided that none of them would fool Mulder for a heartbeat. In the end, she crossed her fingers and hoped the timing of his contact was indeed just a happy coincidence. "Hi, Mulder!" she said brightly. "Where are you? I don't recognize the background." He smiled. "I'm at work, in my office. How's it going?" She relaxed just a little. Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad after all. He didn't seem pissed off, so maybe no one had told him what had been going on for the past week. Maybe - just maybe - she was home free. "Well, you know," she giggled nervously, "same old, same old. How's Dana?" "Oh, Scully's fine," he said smoothly. "She'd be here, but she's out at Quantico doing an autopsy right now. She said to pass on her love." Tears stung the girl's eyes. Hoarsely, she replied, "And mine to her." She cleared her throat, and continued less emotionally, "Business must be pretty slow if you have time to call me from work. No interesting cases?" "Maybe. We'll know when Scully's finished slicing and dicing." He paused and looked at her... *really* looked at her. "So... you're sure there's nothing you want to tell me?" "Like - like what?" she stammered, her heart racing. He didn't say anything, just regarded her with those hazel eyes that were windows to his soul and showcased every emotion he was feeling. Eyes that could reflect the same in others. Yelling she could have taken, tuned it out as she had for most of her school days. Nagging, lectures - piece of cake, she could have dealt with them easily. But his silence, his gaze, showing so clearly his disappointment in her.... That she could not withstand. Her eyes filled and then spilled over. "Oh, Mulder! I've screwed things up royally!" she wailed. He chuckled, not unkindly. "No pun intended, I'm sure. Okay, baby, tell me what happened," he said. His hand went to his tie, loosening it, and he leaned back in his seat. Out of focus, the Oracle Cloud blurred then sharpened again as Mulder found a comfortable position and held it. She made several abortive attempts to speak, each one halted by several minutes of sobbing. Finally she managed to get the story out. "So-so I'm going to have to take Ballorca's test, and he hates my guts and he'll make sure I never pass it, no m-matter how h-hard I work. And then -- and then Andy will have to marry someone else and I'll just get tossed away like t-trash and Andy won't d-do a th-thing to s-stop it!" The sobs shook her tall, lithe frame. Mulder let her cry it out, using the time to think about what he was going to say to her. Scully had been planning on taking part in the conversation, but the sudden appearance of the body, laid out in ceremonial fashion with glyphs carefully carved into the extremities and torso, put an end to that. He felt her absence keenly, needing his partner's strong pragmatic streak to balance his own more emotional tendencies. He let himself seek her out through their unique bond. <> <<...Liver, some changes associated with alcohol abuse. Weight... one point six eight kilograms.... Yes, I did, Mulder. My advice is this - realize you're getting just her side of the story here. I love Shannon almost as much as you do, but I recognize that she could always wrap you around her finger. I know she's a stranger in a strange land, so to speak, but from what you said Reinald told you, she's been behaving badly. If she loves Andalor and she wants to be Queen, there are certain things expected of her, and she's just going to have to face up to it. And the sooner she does it the better.>> His head waggled. <> <> Affectionately, he smiled. Trust his bondmate to go straight to the heart of the matter, cutting away all the emotions that distorted the real issues and made giving practical advice so difficult. <> Scully sent a burst of love down their link. <> <> The wistfulness of his reply was more than apparent to his bondmate. Her spirits lifted, then, when seconds later he continued in a more upbeat tone, <> She felt his own psychic hug, then a light shield came down on their connection as she returned to work. Mulder turned his attention back to the girl in the crystal. "All right, Shannon. Wipe your eyes and let's talk about this." She composed herself and looked hopefully into the Oracle Cloud. "Do you think there's something you can do, Mulder?" He spread his arms out questioningly. "Like what?" She shrugged. "I don't know. Like maybe casting a spell on Ballorca? Or getting Andy and Reinald to see all this from my point of view? "I would be very surprised if both of them hadn't already seen things from your point of view. Reinald has chosen you friend Livirnea to teach you what you have to learn and he's keeping Ballorca away from you, at least for now. I would say they had both been extremely sensitive to what you'll have to go through." Shannon gaped at him. "Do you mean you're not on my side, either?" He sighed, trying to retain his patience. "It's not a matter of sides, Shannon. Do you remember, way back when we were looking for Hannu, and you knew you were in love with Andalor, but it didn't look like there was any way that you would be able to get together? I told you at the time that because of his position, some things just had to be the way they were. That's no less true now. And the same will be expected of his Queen - there's no escaping that." Long dark lashes drooped onto her cheeks. "I know, but- " Gently but insistently, Mulder said, "There are no 'buts', Shannon. Do you have any idea how far Andalor and Reinald have stuck their necks out for you? If it's discovered that you come from an entirely different world, it could well mean not only Andalor's throne, but his and Reinald's heads as well. Literally. And the lives of all of our friends there who have helped to perpetrate this myth. Do you understand that? It was because Andalor was in love with *you* that everyone went to these extraordinary lengths to make sure you two could be together." Shannon gulped back fresh tears and nodded. "I know, and I'm grateful, I really am. But Mulder, it's impossible! You have no idea how much there is to learn." "No one has a better idea of how much there is for you to learn than Andalor and Reinald. And they obviously feel you can do it, or the betrothal never would have taken place," he replied reasonably. Bitterly, she smiled. "Maybe they do think I can do it. But look at the people they know from our world. You. Dana. The Professor. Hell, they probably think that everyone from our world is a friggin' genius! Dana's super brilliant, and so are you, plus you have that photographic memory thing going on. And then there's Dr. 'Missed a Nobel Prize By the Skin of His Teeth' Neumann. That's not me! I'm not in that league, or anywhere close to it! When I was in school, I had to work my ass off just to pull a C average. And nothing short of a straight A performance is going to satisfy Ballorca." Mulder frowned. She had a point. It was true that the first three visitors to the Realm from their world were of higher than average intelligence. It had never crossed his mind that they had perhaps set a standard of expectation for their friends in the Realm. He also accepted that Ballorca's test was going to be rigorous. The Minister of Protocol took his responsibilities very seriously. No matter who the King's betrothed was, the test would be tough, designed as it was to separate those worthy of the position of Queen from the unworthy. And in truth, he knew little about Shannon's life before her mother's death had brought them together. He knew that she hadn't gotten along with Karen and had been somewhat of a discipline problem. He had assumed that, having a scientist for a mother, Shannon would have been at least above average in intelligence, and would have been brought up in an environment that fostered education. "You really had to work that hard for C's?" he asked with misgiving. "Well...." She hesitated and had the grace to blush. "Maybe I didn't exactly work my ass off, but for me, I worked hard. Mom always thought I could do better, based on my IQ test scores and stuff like that, but grades just never came as easily to me as she seemed to think they should." "I can't tell you why school was difficult for you, Shannon. Maybe it was distraction, maybe a lack of goals, some sort of borderline learning disability, who knows? None of that matters. All I can say is that now you have the best of all possible incentives. Work hard, and the whole enchilada is yours - the man you love, fame, position, power...." He stopped, hiding a smile as he regarded her, deep in thought. Time to play my ace, he decided. "Of course, you can just give up. You can decide that Andalor's not worth the effort. Then you can come back here, go to boarding school and college, and forget the Realm even exists. Or stay there, and be a warrior and maybe some day meet a nice guy and settle down. He won't be Andalor, but- " "No! No, Mulder, I love Andy, I do. I want more than anything else to be his wife." He nodded approvingly. "That's my girl! Shannon, you are an extraordinary young woman. You're courageous, lovable, funny, smart, strong and beautiful. You're going to make a wonderful Queen." "If Andy still wants me, and Reinald hasn't decided to call the Council of Representatives together to overturn the betrothal," she replied mournfully. "Mulder, I really have been a bitch on wheels for the past few days." He laughed out loud. "So I understand. But for a start, young lady, you are going to have to keep your magical abilities under control. When you don't, it reflects badly on Hannu and me. Got it?" "Yeah," she smiled. "Secondly, Andalor loves you so much he can't see straight, and Reinald has not given me any sign he wants the betrothal overturned, if that makes you feel any better." "That's a relief." She frowned. "Though I can't help but feel like I've flunked the first test in becoming Queen, reacting like I did." He shrugged. "You can't change the past. What's done is done. What you *can* do is go out there, show them all you've learned your lesson, and you're ready to get serious about your preparation." "Okay, Mulder. I just wish I felt like this is something that is actually in my power to succeed at. I'm scared to death that I'll do my best, but it won't be good enough." He nodded. "I know, baby. I'll have a talk with Hannu and Reinald." At her inadvertent squeal of joy, he held up an admonishing finger. "Don't get excited. First of all, we can't use magic to give you all the knowledge you need, nor bespell Ballorca so he gives you an easy test, nor bespell you so you can pass the test. That would be a betrayal of the ethics of magic, and none of us would be a party to that, understood? And don't get any ideas about using your magic to try it yourself. You'll end up killing yourself or somebody else. However... there should be something we can do. I don't know whether the spell even exists yet, but if we put our heads together we should be able to come up with something that will help. Remember, though... you're still going to have to do the lion's share of the work." She smiled, obviously relieved. "That's fine, Mulder, that's great. I'd just like to think I have a fighting chance of passing Ballorca's test, and if you and Dad and Reinald can come up with anything - and I know you will - it would help so much." Almost shyly, she continued, "Thank you, Mulder. I've really missed you, both you and Dana but especially you. I guess I've been feeling kind of alone since you left, and then when all this came up about the test, I just kind of lost it." He felt a flush of pleasure suffuse his features. "Well, I'll try to keep in better touch. It's hard, without the Professor around to calculate the time-flow difference between here and there. How long has it been since we left?" "Almost seven weeks." There was a hint of plaintiveness in her answer. "Hell, I'm sorry, Shannon. It's been less than two weeks on this side. No wonder you were feeling deserted." "Well, don't worry about it. Mulder, thanks so much. Look, is there any way you could talk to Andy and Reinald and maybe- " Not unkindly, he laughed. "Sorry, baby. You're going to have to make your own apologies. If it's any comfort, I think you'll find them very relieved and happy that you're going to cooperate, and willing to let bygones be bygones. But I'll call back soon to see how you're doing and to touch base with Hannu and Reinald on our little project. If you need to talk to me or to Dana before then, you call us, okay? We love you, baby." Eyes shimmering with tears once again, "I love you, Mulder. You and Dana stay safe, okay?" "Okay, Shannon. You work hard. We're all pulling for you." His features began to cloud and waver in the center of the orb. "Bye, Mulder," Shannon whispered, as the face of her Taabsut disappeared. She sat there a moment longer, gathering her thoughts. Then she stood, her back straight and head held high. "Time for me to start rebuilding some bridges," she murmured. With a last look back at the now-dimmed Oracle Cloud, she left the chamber. End of Chapter Five THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter - Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Six Elbows on the age-polished surface of the old oak table, Aldara rubbed her temples wearily. Darliss of Forst and Hegan of Dordinal had been at it for candlemarks now, and had yet to get to the point of the Crown's concern. Had yet to accomplish anything, for that matter. Sometimes she wondered if the King had misplaced his faith in her. There must be someone he trusted that could better deal with the Noble Houses and their incessant squabbles. She was a warrior, not a diplomat. With an effort, she pulled her focus back on the two nobles with whom she shared the table. She groaned inwardly as Hegan droned on. Surely, it was a test - the Goddess was testing her patience. "Lord Hegan, while I sympathize with you over the injustices of two hundred season-cycles ago, that is not why we are here," Aldara said firmly. "I must insist that we address the subject at hand - Cresscreek." "I agree," declared Lady Darliss in her high-pitched voice. "What happened that long ago is hardly the point. What is happening now, in Cresscreek, is!" Aldara sat back to assess her companions at the table. Lord Hegan was one of the young bucks of Dordinal, no better and no worse than the rest. Dordinal in particular had suffered from the Dark Queen's attack on the Great Hall. All of their elders had perished, crushed beneath massive beams or swept into the great crevasses that appeared in the floor of the edifice, never to be seen again. What was left was a gang of young nobles, indoctrinated in the hatreds and prejudices of their House, and at each others' throats in a fight for supremacy. At the present time, it seemed that Hegan would emerge the victor. He was darkly handsome, with streaks of premature gray in his hair that gave him an air of distinction and sophistication that was wholly undeserved. Like most of those who had fought for the leadership of his House, he was clever but not particularly intelligent. Unlike most of his predecessors, however, he could be charming when the situation warranted. Personally, Aldara wouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him. Not even half that far. House Forst had lost only Lord Ian in the Dark Queen's attack. But Forst was still bearing the scars from reverses suffered season-cycles before. Once they had been a major House, pre-eminent among the others. But a combination of bad luck, bad leadership and an unfailing ability to support the eventual loser in any difference of opinion had rendered them impotent. Since then, the families of Forst had spent most of their time fighting amongst themselves and squandering any opportunity to better their House's position. Even with charitable consideration, they were a second-class House, and as such, easy prey for the others. Lady Darliss was indeed the personification of the Fairwoods contingent of House Forst. A homely woman, she had bulging, watery blue eyes, a jutting nose, and a chin that receded almost unnoted into her ropy neck. Completely ineffectual, she could not even tame her wispy mouse-brown hair, which escaped from its bun at every opportunity. Inbreeding amongst the families had assured that intelligence hadn't been among the most prominent features of the leaders of the House for generations, and she was no different in this regard. It was hardly a fair match, thought Aldara. Not that there was anyone in Forst's manor in Fairwoods who was any more formidable. "Very well," said Lord Hegan pleasantly, "let us speak of Cresscreek. I was unaware there was any problem there." "Un- ! Unaware!" Lady Darliss screeched. "I have sent message after message to your House, insisting that Dordinal cease and desist its encroachment on traditional Forst lands! How could you possibly have been unaware of the problem?" "I must apologize, gracious Lady," Hegan responded. "After all the tragedies we have lately suffered, things have been somewhat... muddled. Until quite recently, the... chain of command, shall we say?... has been uncertain. I give you my complete assurance that communication will improve, now that everyone is clear who should receive such messages." He was smooth, Aldara would grant him that. She was in a position to know, however, that the 'chain of command' had been established through a ruthless campaign of intimidation, blackmail and, when all else failed, assassination. Her Guard had discovered several up and coming Dordinal nobles, their throats slit ear-to-ear, their corpses stiffening on Fairwoods' midden-heap outside the Castle walls. "Very well," Darliss sniffed. "But what do you propose to do about it?" "My dear Lady, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Suppose you tell me all about what is happening, and we can discuss it." Yes, please, Aldara thought. Anything to move things along. "I have been receiving reports from Cresscreek. As you very well know, Lord Hegan, Cresscreek has always been considered a Forst village-- " "I think, dear Lady, it may be more accurate to say that Cresscreek is in a neutral area, though admittedly the village has looked to Forst for assistance more than to Dordinal. At least they have in the past...." Hegan's smile was oily. Aldara was new to diplomatic negotiations, but she sat up a bit straighter and paid closer attention to the conversation after Hegan's interjection. Surely, Lady Darliss couldn't be stupid enough to have missed the implication in the Dordinal noble's words. "I'm sure you think of it that way," the Forst noblewoman replied coolly. "In any event, there have been reports of trouble - barns burned, crops destroyed, villagers driven from their homes, fieldbeasts stolen or slaughtered. Then a small contingent of Cresscreek artisans, their wagons loaded with their summer's toil, was set upon by brigands. Three townsfolk were killed and the fruits of their labors stolen or destroyed!" Lord Hegan feigned his most heartfelt expression of sympathy. "My dear Lady, I had no idea! What terrible misfortune!" "Misfortune nothing!" she snapped. "Dordinal is behind this, I just know it. For generations you have had your greedy eyes on Forst lands. And now, when the Realm is trying to recover from the calamity that has befallen it, you think you can just walk in and take over. Well, I'll tell you something, Lord Hegan of Dordinal- " Hegan extended his palms outward in a gesture of innocence. "Lady Darliss, you misjudge us! Surely a Lady as fair as yourself will give me a chance to explain...." His hand chanced to come into contact with his adversary's, and he held it warmly for a moment before freeing it. Aldara had difficulty not rolling her eyes, as Darliss simpered under the attentions of the handsome Dordinal noble. "Well, of course I will listen, Lord Hegan. But I promise nothing," she concluded archly, toying with the jewels hung around her scrawny neck. He nodded. "First of all, I support you wholeheartedly in your pursuit of justice. Dordinal has long been associated with passion for justice in the Realm, where, sadly, there has been so little in recent times...." Goddess, I'm glad I wore my long boots, Aldara mused. The manure was getting deeper than in the Guards' horse stalls.... Hegan prattled on. "Forst is not the only House to suffer from brigandage, gracious Lady. Why, just the other day, several of our own Guard were set upon, for no other reason than to steal their weapons. Happily, they were able to beat off their attackers. Yes, the Crown has taken little effective action to stem the lawlessness outside Fairwoods' gates. Oh - no offense intended, Captain Aldara." "None taken," she ground out between clenched teeth. Hegan turned his attention again to his adversary. "So you see, Dordinal is quite innocent of such an outrage. We would hardly rob our own clan. We of Dordinal are victims like you of Forst." "Perhaps," Lady Darliss diffidently admitted. "Perhaps. But there are the other occurrences...." "For which I am sure there are many potential explanations. For instance," he went on slyly, "during the recent unpleasantness, there were several incidents which resulted in spilled blood in that area. Could it not be possible that some Fawnleaf elves are finally taking their revenge for acts committed when the Dark Queen- " Aldara felt her part-elven blood beginning to boil. "Such baseless accusations are getting us nowhere, Lord Hegan." He shrugged. "They are no more baseless than any other theory. Still, if it is a tender subject with you, Captain, we can move on," he replied with a smirk. "So you deny Dordinal's involvement. I suppose it could be elves," Lady Darliss said tentatively. "Or even bandits...." He patted her hand soothingly. "Well, of course it could. I tell you what, Lady Darliss. I could never resist a fair maiden in jeopardy. Why don't we form an alliance? Surely, our similarities far outweigh our differences, is that not so? We have neighboring estates to the north, similar histories, similar... philosophies.... Let us draw up a non-aggression pact between Forst and Dordinal. More than that, we can agree to assist each other. I know how stretched your resources are, after the damage caused by the Dark Queen. Dordinal would be more than happy to provide a Guard in Cresscreek to prevent such lawlessness in the future -- wherever its source," he concluded, looking smugly at Aldara. Forbidden by her role as facilitator to advance an opinion, she shifted restlessly in her chair. Come, Lady Darliss, you cannot be that witless, Aldara thought. You are inviting a soul-eater into the very midst of your flock! "I will put your idea before the elders of our House," the noblewoman said slowly. An idea had occurred to her. How better to cement this alliance than with a marriage? She had never completely resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood, no matter how likely it seemed. And now... marriage to a Dordinal noble to seal the deal - perhaps even the dashing Lord Hegan himself! Her heart thudded but she forced herself to remain calm. Better not to show her cards yet. But before the deal was final, there would be one or two things added to the formal agreement. More energetically, she went on, "But we both have enemies enough. I must admit to drawing some comfort from the idea of an alliance in this difficult time. I will inform our elders that as Head of House, I support your offer, Lord Hegan. I think there will be little trouble convincing them it is for everyone's good." "Excellent! And I can assure you that Dordinal, too, will be overjoyed with this plan." And why shouldn't Dordinal be overjoyed, Aldara groaned inwardly. Darliss just did everything but hand you the keys to her keep. "You are both sure this is the step you want to take?" she asked, looking Darliss straight in the eyes. "Quite," the noblewoman shot back icily. Her expression made it perfectly clear she wanted no mere low-born half-elf questioning her decisions. Aldara sighed. "Very well. I shall report your decision to His Majesty." "See that you do," Lady Darliss said grandly, rising from her chair. She giggled as Hegan bent deeply over her hand and kissed it. Then the two nobles swept out of the room, leaving Aldara once again rubbing her temples. The arrangement the brainless Lady Darliss had agreed to almost guaranteed further strife in the Cresscreek area. It would be a miracle if open warfare between the two Houses were not the eventual result -- now, when the cooperation of everyone was needed to rebuild the Realm. Andalor would not be pleased. * * * * Despite the growing impatience that he felt at being away from Aldara, Jourdain was pleased with how the trip had gone so far. Raviar had reported possible brigandage between the Ranfaus estate and the Castle, but their return to Fairwoods seemed to be as peaceful as the trip to Mandor's home had been. The delays brought about by the need for diplomacy had frustrated him greatly, and Livirnea's concern that time was growing short for training Shannon brought him much worry as well. For these and other reasons, Jourdain pushed his men and their horses hard. They responded to the pressure with the skill and endurance that marked the warriors who made up the Royal Guards regiment. Thanks to the Goddess, they were now only a candlemark's ride from the Castle. If all went well, they would reach it by nightfall. It was too bad, he thought, that they were not able to enjoy the comforts of the road as harvest season was, without doubt, the most beautiful time of year in this part of the Realm. The fields, golden with ripe grain and green with the leaves of other crops were a marvel to behold, and the diverse colors of the leaves in the forests were a wonder that could only have been wrought by the Goddess herself. A pleasure equalled only by the joy that his life with Aldara had become. He felt a warmth in his loins at the thought of spending the night with his wife in the new bedroom which had seen far too little use. He had no doubt that this above all others, was the best of reasons for the pleasant feelings with which he rode. Feelings that could not be damped by the worries that he knew awaited all of them on their return to Fairwoods. However, as the Goddess well knew, pleasant times were short-lived in the Realm lately, and so he was less than surprised by the slowly growing sense of disquiet that slowly overcame his thoughts. Later, he would be unable to say what it was that brought him to the realization that they were fated to fight for more than just life and limb in that place. Maybe it was the sudden lack of sound from the birds whose chatter had made their passage such a happy one. Maybe he had seen a glint of metal from an ill-concealed weapon or a lookout's spyglass. No matter the signs that had caught his warrior's subconscious, he was unsurprised when he found himself hunched low over his horse's back in a desperate attempt to avoid the arrow that passed dangerously close to his right ear. "To arms!" he cried. All too soon therafter, the quiet of the forest road was shattered by the shouts and clashing of metal that exploded around him like one of Reinald's spells gone awry. However, much as he might concern himself with his warriors' safety, he knew his primary responsibility lay with the Lady Livirnea. The frenzied activity of battle that now crashed down on his companions was a distraction but even so, it took him only moments to find the Lady and the horse on which she rode. Fortunately, her reflexes had served her well, and she had already turned her animal away from the brigands who were bursting out of the trees like a flock of startled vultures. Bashar, the lieutenant who had served him so well during the violence in Waterrush only a few moon-cycles earlier, was hastening to intercept two green-clad men who were trying to prevent her escape. Once he was satisfied that she would succeed, he turned his attention to the fools who would attack a troop of warriors traveling under His Majesty's colors. He bore down on his foe. The first to fall to his sword was a hardened- looking youth who was completely unprepared for the shock of having to defend against the mass of nearly a ton of horse and rider baring down upon him. Jourdain smiled with little satisfaction as the boy's sword rose to meet his and was flicked aside by his far more experienced blade. The motion continued, separating the boy's head from his body in a spray of gore that covered several of the near-by warriors. The youth's head flew past another of the brigands who was moving against Mythra, an elf who was the sole female warrior on the mission. Jourdain was able to take advantage of the older brigand's surprise and strike the ruffian on the arm with the flat of his blade. Trained by Aldara's predecessor, Mythra was probably the best of the female warriors serving in the Guards' regiment. She was quick to take advantage of the enemy's distraction at Jourdain's attack. Only moments later, her opponent lay bleeding from a fatal chest wound, his sword trampled into the ground under the hooves of the Guards Captain's horse. Before he could find a new enemy, yet another arrow from the archer hidden in the woods passed all too close to his lightly protected back. This situation was as intolerable as it was bizarre. There were far more attackers than in a normal band of thieves; the presence of the archer, a rare and well-paid trade in the Realm, made it all the more strange and dangerous. Although his Guards were an elite troop and far better trained than their attackers, it would take much time and too many losses to defeat those who clashed with them. Fully engaged in hand to hand combat as they were, they would be unable to stop the deadly rain of bolts from the archer hidden somewhere in the tree-tops. Jourdain screamed in sheer frustration, realizing the trap into which he had fallen. He could neither spare the force necessary to deal with the archer directly, nor do anything to prevent the rain of arrows that was, even then, killing and maiming some of his best warriors. He would simply have to do his best and try to assuage his guilt later. Unfortunately, before he could draw breath to call out orders, the combination of a woman's scream and Bashar's cry of dismay brought his head around, and sent horse and rider racing to the rear. He cursed violently as he discovered that Lady Livirnea had been one of the victims of the well-hidden sniper. "She is hurt badly, sir," Bashar cried. As they looked at the young girl in his arms, her blood was soaking through the tunic Bashar wore under his light armor. Much as he hated to leave his troops to handle the brigands, he knew that his first responsibility lay with the young woman whose presence was so desperately needed at Fairwoods Keep. And Lord Mandor! Livirnea was so precious to him. The personal and political ramifications to the Realm were so great that they threatened to shake the grizzled warrior right out of his saddle. Firmly, he put them from his mind. "I know," Jourdain yelled over the din of battle. "I must get her to Kyla immediately. Bashar, you're in charge here. Either drive them off or kill them, whichever makes it easier for you to withdraw to the Castle." "Yes, sir!" Bashar saluted crisply. "We'll defeat the pack of souleaters, don't worry about us." Scowling at the choice that fate had forced him to make, Jourdain reached over to lift Livirnea's body from Bashar. Panting from the effort, he then called out to his warriors, only one choice now possible in his mind. "Mythra, Tellok - with me. The rest of you are under Bashar," he cried, wheeling his horse around. Then, as horse and rider raced forward through the wild melee, he hunched over the girl, in a desperate attempt to protect himself and his precious burden from further harm. Another of the brigands fell under the churning hooves of their horses, then he and his chosen guards were at last clear of the battle site and racing at full speed for home. He dared not look back. The Goddess and their own skills would have to save his men. Right now his priority was the frail girl in his arms whose death could mean disaster for the Realm. End of Chapter Six THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND by Matthew Weed and Suzanne Bickerstaffe (matthew.weed@yale.edu, ecksphile@earthlink.net) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and Acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Seven She had covered every part of the castle, looking for Andalor, even going up to the parapets where all the problems had started. Was that only eight days ago? Shannon asked herself. If she had been hanging by her thumbs, she couldn't have spent a more miserable week. Finally, she headed back to Reinald's quarters, thinking that if she couldn't find Andalor, then apologizing to the Royal Mage wouldn't be a bad start for the New, Improved Shannon. Hearing voices inside, she tapped at the stout, iron-bound door. Pitir swung it wide. On seeing who was requesting entry, he looked anxiously back over his shoulder to the two figures sitting by the hearth. "Who is it, Pitir?" Reinald called. "I-it's the Lady Shannon." There was a silence as deafening as any rock band Shannon had ever heard. "Please, Royal Mage, I must talk with you. And with His Majesty, too, if he is there with you." "Very well, Lady Shannon. Please join us. Pitir, you may have the rest of the afternoon for yourself." The little troll gave his master a long look. Though he would be glad of the free time, he was reluctant to leave the Royal Mage and His Majesty in the company of such a firebrand. Why, if just half the stories making their way around the castle were true, then the Lady Shannon was truly a force to be reckoned with. A possibly dangerous force. Reinald smiled wryly, knowing well what was in Pitir's mind. "Go on, Mage Apprentice. We shall see to tea ourselves. You have earned a rest." "Very well, Royal Mage." With a low bow to the King, he left, a very doubtful expression on his face. "Now, Lady Shannon, please have a seat here by the fire and speak your mind." His expression was neutral, and his blue eyes, which could mirror such fearsome anger, were benign. Taking a deep breath, Shannon sat on the edge of the straight-backed chair. Her eyes found a spot on the hearth rug, and stayed trained on it. "Royal Mage Reinald, I have come to apologize to you, and especially to Andalor." "Tea first, child," he corrected mildly. He poured her a cup and pressed it into her hand. Reinald busied himself at the hearth for a few more moments, then finally sat with his own steaming mug. "Now what is it you have to say?" "I've behaved badly, Royal Mage, and I want to apologize," Shannon said, her eyes still cast downwards. "It won't happen again.... Well, I'm going to try my hardest to see that it doesn't happen again, anyway. I wish I could promise, but...." "You got scared," Andalor said softly. "Didn't you?" Silently, she nodded. "Shannon, look at me." Her eyes lifted finally, filled with tears but her bearing still erect, queenly. Suddenly, Andalor smiled. "I should have figured it out myself. I've seen you, when you've been cornered. In your world, remember? You don't sit there and shiver and shake. You strike out at what's scaring you. I guess we should just thank the Goddess you didn't go after Ballorca. Though I think I would have given a lot to see it," he added wistfully, winking at Shannon. "Andalor!" Reinald said, but the disapproval in his voice was offset by the twinkle in his eyes. "Shannon, my dear, I am glad you have arrived at this point. I was extremely worried." "*You* were worried!" the young King exclaimed. "What about me?" "Well, Lady Shannon, I take it then that you are ready to commence work?" "I'll do everything I can, Reinald," she vowed. "I just wish I thought that that would be enough. I'm not smart, not like Mulder and Dana are, anyway. And I can't promise I won't panic again. But I'll work hard, I will promise you that." "Excellent!" he beamed. He darted up from his chair and went to a bookcase filled with beautifully bound volumes. After perusing the selections, he slid two thick books from the shelves. "Start with these, a brief history of the Realm. That will keep your mind occupied for a while. And Livirnea should be here within the next day or two. After she has had an opportunity to rest from her journey, she will begin your training in earnest." "Thanks, Reinald," she said shyly. "Thank you for giving me a second chance. I won't let you - or Andalor - down again. At least, I'll do everything I can not to." "I couldn't ask for more, my dear," he said kindly. "I daresay I would not manage as well in your world as you do in ours. Now, children, I am sure you have some things to say to each other, and I have some work to do. Why don't you go along to one of the salons - observe the proprieties, mind! - and become reacquainted." "Great idea," Andalor said, smiling broadly. He offered his arm to his betrothed. "My Lady...." She had just lain her arm on his when there was a pounding at the door. Before Andalor or Reinald could respond, it burst open. It was one of his Guard. "Your Majesty! I apologize for the intrusion, but it was necessary. You are needed down in the courtyard - immediately!" Andalor was about to protest, but the grim visage of the Guard cut short any reply. Instead, he turned to Shannon. "Go to the West Receiving Room. I'll go down to the courtyard and see what's going on. If I do not join you within a candlemark, I will catch up with you later, all right?" Normally, Shannon would have protested at being cut out of the action. But this was an opportunity, hers to either make the best of, or fail miserably. Even the Queen obeyed the King's direct orders. Any protestation on her part would just demonstrate her unreadiness to assume that position. "Yes, Your Majesty," she said simply, no hint of sting in her tone. He smiled gratefully, then nodded and headed out the door with the Guard. * * * * Livirnea's body rocked in Jourdain's arms, her limbs bouncing limply off both horse and rider as they charged over the road to the castle. Blood continued to flow from the wound which Jourdain had bound as best he could from pieces of his tunic and clothing from his saddlebags. They hadn't stopped to bind the wound properly; the Guards Captain felt that any delay in their desperate race for home might either allow the brigands to catch them from behind, or worse still, make the difference between life and death for the pretty young woman whom he had failed so miserably to protect. "Not long now," he panted to Tellok, riding next to him whenever the road was wide enough to permit him to do so. "Yes, Goddess willing," replied the Guard grimly. His concern for his Captain was nearly as great as that which he held for the Lady Livirnea. "I shall ride ahead and make sure that all is prepared," Mythra cried. She spurred her powerful steed forward the moment the heavy walls of the Castle came into view. When the tiny elven woman came racing toward them, the King's colors flying from the staff clutched spasmodically in her right hand, the startled sentries opened the gates. Moments later, they had all thundered through. Jourdain barely noticed the mad scramble of men and women fleeing from the path of his mount. His only thought was to get Livirnea as close to the Healer's cottage as he could. Fortunately, the castle sentries had done their duty well. They had already called for the Healer as soon as they saw the small party racing for the gates, one of its members obviously in need of immediate attention. He halted his mad rush at the inner wall of the courtyard. He turned his eyes from Livirnea to find the tall form of the Healer standing beside his horse, her face taut with concern at what she could already see. "Set her down gently," Kyla ordered. He turned and swung Livirnea down into the arms of Tellok and the Sergeant of the Guards, who had rushed from his post as soon as news of the Captain's arrival reached him. The soldiers set her down a safe distance from Jourdain's panting, jittery steed. The Guard Captain growled in a mixture of anger and fear when his eyes rested on the blood that covered Livirnea's dress and cloak. Kyla moved past Jourdain's men and took the injured young noblewoman in hand. He watched as she fell into her healing chant, her eyes closed in concentration. "What happened?" demanded a voice from behind him. Jourdain spun around, his heart dropping into his stomach at the sight of Andalor striding towards him. The King looked horrified - at the girl on the ground, then at his Guards' commander. The officer was also covered in blood and looked like a wild man, his hair windblown and his eyes haunted. "Jourdain, are you all right? Were you injured?" "Nay, the blood is Lady Livirnea's. Mostly, anyway. We were attacked on the road," Jourdain explained bitterly. "We were fully engaged in battle when an archer's bolt hit the lady. Having no Healer and since the castle was barely a candlemark distant, I brought her here. The wound seems grievous. I... I fear that she may not live," he added brokenly, not thinking fully what that report would do to the young man who stood before him. Andalor's face paled notably, while the sound of Kyla's healing chant went on behind him. "Flying the King's colors, and you were attacked?" Andalor demanded. His face was set in stony fury. "You did well to get her here without delay. Why don't you clean up? As soon as I know more of her condition, I shall call for a meeting in Reinald's chambers." "Thank you, Your Majesty," Jourdain said. Someone should say something to encourage the lad, but he had no words of his own. Rather than clean up, however, the exhausted commander swung once more onto his horse to ride from the gates. The rest of his troops had not yet reported in. If the battle still raged, his place was with them, and indeed, his sword thirsted for revenge. Even if the fighting were over, he wanted to check on his men and if lucky, get some insight as to who had dared strike against the King's own Guard. It would be many candlemarks before Jourdain would realize that in his determination to assist his warriors, he had left the castle without benefit of Aldara's company and counsel. As much as her presence might have buoyed him on the desperate ride to retake command of his troops, Jourdain knew well that any threat that the recent battle posed to the castle would be apparent to her. If worse came to worst, Aldara was the only being whom he trusted with Fairwoods' defense. Andalor's eyes followed the Guards Captain through the gates, then focused again on the two women at his feet - one terribly wounded, and one trying her best to save the other's life. After nearly half a candlemark, Kyla's chant wound to a close and shakily, she stood. Andalor clasped her arm to steady her. "Thank you, Your Majesty," Kyla said coolly. She did not quite manage to disguise the tremor in her voice, however. "Well, how is she? Will she live?" "She is out of immediate danger and in healing stasis. But I have much more healing to do for her before she will be well, and many things may still go wrong." Glancing at the soldiers standing nearby, she ordered, "Guards, take her up on the stretcher to my cottage. I will be right there." The Guards looked to the King for permission. He nodded, and they rushed to do Kyla's bidding. Andalor and Kyla followed more slowly behind them. "I am sure I do not need to tell you the seriousness of this, Healer Kyla," the King said grimly. "We depend on House Ranfaus for support. I trust Lord Mandor, but if the Lady Livirnea dies while under my protection, I do not know that we could count on that support any longer. Nor can I say that I would blame him. Not to mention that Livirnea is a close personal friend, and here on a mission vital to the Crown." "And I am sure I do not need to tell you I will do everything in my power to save her," Kyla replied. "The rest is up to the Goddess." She hurried to catch up with the slim body on the pallet. "In that case," Andalor said heavily to himself, "I hope She is paying attention." He motioned to one of the nearby Guards, and murmured an order. As the soldier raced off to do his bidding, he slowly traced the path to the Healer's cottage. That familiar path was all too easy to follow, stained as it was by Livirnea's blood in livid splashes on the dusty cobblestones. Moments later, Healer Sirisa flew past him, her new male troll apprentice in tow. Andalor felt a hint of relief. Livirnea must live - so much was resting on her frail shoulders. Besides her value to the Realm, his affection for her was deep and sincere. Adding Healer Sirisa to the cause might make Livirnea's recovery more of a reality. He knocked at the door of the cottage, taking in the distinctive scents of the surrounding herb garden with each breath. The troll apprentice opened the door cautiously. "Your... Your Majesty!" stammered the awed apprentice, bowing awkwardly. "May I see the Lady Livirnea?" "I-I.. I am not sure...." The troll looked nervously over his shoulder and Andalor heard a few muffled words. "The lady is being bathed and made more comfortable. If-if perhaps I could ask of you, Sire... I mean to say, would it be possible for you to wait a few moments...?" At an order from inside, he scurried off to do the bidding of one of the Healers. Andalor gently closed the door, and wandered along the neat rows of the garden, occasionally stopping to inspect a plant, or break off a leaf and sniff at it curiously. Soon the door reopened and the apprentice beckoned him inside. He ducked his head under the low lintel and stood for a moment while his eyes adjusted from the brightness of the setting sun to the dimness of the hearth-lit cottage. Livirnea lay on a low pallet by the fireside, her skin terrifyingly similar to the hue of the snowy sheets covering her. Alarmed, Andalor looked up at Kyla. "She has lost much blood," the Healer said, obviously fatigued. "We have stopped the flow, but...." "Is there any chance I could talk to her?" Andalor asked. "Not... not if it would harm her, of course. I just... I just want her to know we're all thinking about her." Kyla observed the King, who was at this moment was no more than any ordinary teenaged boy, desperately worried about a friend. Before she could respond, however, Livirnea stirred on her pallet. Andalor was kneeling at her side in an instant. Hesitantly, he took her hand. "Livirnea?" he whispered. "Livirnea?" The girl's head slowly turned toward the sound of his voice. Wanly, she smiled up at him. "Don't try to talk," he urged. "Liv - I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for all of this. If I had had any idea you would have been hurt, I never- " Weakly, she shook her head. "It is all right... not your fault." He allowed himself a small smile, more for the girl's sake than because it mirrored his emotions. "Kyla says you're going to be fine. We're all thinking about you, praying to the Goddess. She's with you, Livirnea." "I know," she whispered. "But... don't.. tell my father.... I don't want him... to worry." Andalor bit his lip. Much as he wanted to do his friend's bidding, he also feared that Lord Mandor would learn of his beloved daughter's injuries through the amazingly efficient Realm grapevine. That would be disastrous - a terrible breach of etiquette, of diplomacy... and worst of all, a breach of friendship and trust. "It's growing too late to send a runner tonight," he said softly. "Let's see how you're doing in the morning. All right?" Gratefully, the young noblewoman nodded, and her eyes drifted closed. On the other side of the pallet, Healer Kyla knelt down and, placing her hands on Livirnea's head and chest, again fell into a healing chant. Sirisa nudged the King. "Your Majesty, there's little you can do right now. We will perform healing treatments constantly for the next several candlemarks. It will take some time for Lady Livirnea to return to health, and there are yet some complications we must avoid. But we will do everything in our power to make her healthy and strong again." Andalor got to his feet, keeping his head bowed to avoid striking it on the cottage's low, smoke-stained beams. "Thank you, Healer Sirisa. I appreciate all you and Healer Kyla are doing. Jourdain's men should be arriving back soon. Please tend to them and send a runner when they arrive. I want to be on hand to thank them myself." "Very well, Sire. Ferdig, open the door for His Majesty. King Andalor, I am sure that Healer Kyla will want to update you herself when she is finished with this treatment." He paused by the door. "I would be grateful. I shall be in the Royal Mage's chambers." Solemnly, Sirisa nodded. When the door closed behind the King, she knelt by the pallet and joined her colleague in chanting over the pale, slim girl. THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Eight The soft knocking on the door told Reinald that at least some of his guests were at hand. Before Mulder and Scully had arrived, almost all the business of the Realm had been done in the Council Chamber, among squabbling nobles. Now, most of it was done before the roaring fire that dominated one wall of his sitting room. After all, if the Houses' foolishness didn't get in the way of running Fairwoods, Reinald was happier, Andalor was better advised, and everyone was healthier, or so Kyla said every time the matter came up. The fire also drew them in times of darkness, worry and sorrow. This night, it was as much for comfort as business that the friends came together. "Pitir, be a good boy and get the door," he said, rising to begin preparing tea for his guests. When he turned around, the door had been opened to admit Aldara and Jourdain. In spite of the battle and the injury to Livirnea, Jourdain looked more rested, no doubt buoyed by being once again with his wife. Reinald smiled. The two warriors' love had been born at one of the darkest moments of the Realm's history. In a very real way, they, along with their strangely gifted daughter, were a personification of the Realm's hopes and dreams, struggles and promise. "It is good to see you back, my friend," he said to Jourdain, handing the Guards' Captain a cup of fragrant tea, "and you so happy," he continued to Aldara, winking at both of the warriors. Sobering, he asked, "Has either of you seen Andalor?" "No," Aldara replied, "or at least not since this morning when I spoke with him about Shannon." Yet another topic for discussion in front of the hearth. "I'm sure that he'll be along in a moment," Jourdain said. "He was very worried about Livirnea. No doubt he wanted to look in on the Healer's progress with her before he came here." "I see," Reinald said. A flash of concern passed over his face for the young man whom he loved as a son. "We will have to remind him to be careful about how much time he spends with Livirnea over the next few days," he said with a sigh. "True," Aldara replied. "The last thing we need is for Shannon to blast him as a result of misplaced anger and jealousy." "Blast whom?" Andalor asked from the doorway, his deep violet eyes shadowed with disquiet and weariness. "You," Reinald replied, handing a cup of tea to the King as he sat in another of the room's well-cushioned chairs. "You will have to be very careful that your concern for Livirnea is not misinterpreted as something more by Shannon. Although she will not be 'blasting' you, nor will she be throwing any more Magestorms for a while. I have taken steps to prevent both." Andalor began to protest, but stopped when Reinald held up an admonishing hand. "I know, I know. I remember what Shannon promised earlier and I have no doubt she was sincere and will try her best. But her nature is that of a warrior - fiery, quick to anger. In spite of her best intentions, we would be foolish not to expect... outbursts... from time to time. She will be under great pressure. And pressure can make even the best-tended pot boil over." The King thought over the Royal Mage's words and grudgingly accepted the truth in them. "What is this? Has there been a reconciliation, then?" asked Aldara eagerly. Andalor flashed her a relieved smile. "Yeah. Shannon came and apologized to both Reinald and me. I guess her conversation with Mage Mulder got her thinking. She's promised to work hard to get ready for Ballorca's test. I have a feeling Warrior Healer Scully was also a party to the conversation, one way or another," he went on, musingly. "Shannon can wrap Mulder around her finger without even trying. Scully is a different story, and she's always been the more practical of the two." The half-elven warrior chuckled. "So once more we have to thank the Companions for saving the Realm." "Truer words than you know," Reinald said dryly. "I need not remind you of the calamity which would befall all of us sitting here and the Realm in general should it become known where Shannon comes from. Not to mention our part in keeping that knowledge from the Council of Representatives and the Noble Houses." There was an uneasy silence while each contemplated Reinald's words. "In any case," the Royal Mage declared more brightly, "progress has been made, the lass has turned over a new leaf, and we must all support her as well as we can. No matter how much we may have tried to warn her about the differences between her world and our own, she could not have fully realized that this wasn't a fantasy world. It appears her culture is full of such stories, from what Gunther tells me. In those myths, the princess has few responsibilities, other than choosing the handsome prince. The realities are, of course, quite different. What do you think, Warrior Aldara? After all, you've spent more time with the girl recently than any of us." "I believe that you are right, Mage," she replied softly from where she sat next to Jourdain. "I think if we give her time to work through her feelings about the responsibility that has been laid on her, she will be fine. After all, she is a warrior by aura, and she had already developed a great deal of discipline in her training on the fields. Yet remember how much she resisted even her warrior training at the time. She came around then. I think that sense of discipline will reassert itself and flow into her other work, given time and patience." She smiled encouragingly at Andalor. "Unfortunately, Shannon's training will be set back some days by the injuries Livirnea took on the road from Ranfaus," Jourdain said mournfully. "How is she, Your Majesty?" He sighed. "She is stable, in a healing trance and in no pain. That's the good news. The bad - her recovery will be a long and slow one. Gifted as she is, Kyla is still only one person. Already she appears exhausted by the demands of starting the healing process on Livirnea's injuries. "I don't have to tell you that Livirnea is of tremendous importance to all of us," the King continued. "Not only for the reason Reinald alluded to, her pivotal role in readying Shannon, but also as the daughter of our staunchest political supporter. Without Mandor's aid, the Crown would be in severe trouble. And finally, she is a close friend whom I love as a sister. Because of all these reasons, I have commanded Healer Sirisa and her new apprentice to assist Kyla in bringing Livirnea back to good health as soon as possible." He noted Reinald's look of alarm. "I know, Reinald. But I feel there is little risk that Sirisa will learn anything that could prove... awkward. Her healing duties while Livirnea lies so grievously wounded will be mainly to support the healing stasis and assist in regeneration of blood cells to replace all that was lost. Once that task is done, the healing will not be so complex or demanding that Kyla cannot perform it alone. At that time, Sirisa will return to her other duties. While I believe we could rely on Sirisa's discretion, there is very little chance that she will learn anything of note during her healing sessions with Livirnea. And Kyla already shares our secret. I'm sorry, Reinald," he said, looking up at his mentor. "Perhaps I should have discussed this with the group first, but if you could have seen how pale she was, how much blood she had lost...." He shook himself. "We cannot risk Livirnea's life. Not even if it means our downfall." "I quite agree, my boy," Reinald responded warmly. Jourdain had seemed to age while the King spoke. "I am only sorry I did not protect her better, Your Majesty. Then none of this would have been necessary. Perhaps the time has come for me to consider retirement." "Much as we might miss Mage Mulder, Jourdain, you don't have to take on his habits," Aldara observed. "Guilt doesn't look any better on you than it does on him." Her comment had the desired effect, and the tension that had gripped the room was broken by wry chuckling. Reinald was glad to see that Jourdain joined in. While not as wholehearted as with the others, it was a relief to see the smile lift years from the Guard Captain's visage. "As always, you speak with wisdom," Jourdain said. "Indeed she does, and you would do well to remember it," agreed Andalor. "I do not see how you could have done anything more to prevent this, Captain Jourdain. Furthermore, your quick and decisive action undoubtedly saved Livirnea's life. Once more I am in your debt. So let us hear no more about retirement." "What we need to find out is who is responsible for this atrocity," Aldara declared. But before she could say anything further on the matter, a knock preceded Kyla's entrance, the Professor discreetly offering her a supporting arm. Although warned by the King's speech of moments before, the fact that such support was necessary shook all of them. Although not as gifted a Healer as Corvay had been, Kyla was an excellent practitioner of the art, and a tall, strong, vibrant woman. The fact that she had been badly drained by working on Livirnea's injuries told all of them how serious they were. Jourdain rose quickly in order to help the Professor guide Kyla -- who was in truth both taller and heavier than the older man -- into a chair and then brought a stool over for her to put her feet on. Reinald quickly warmed some restorative tea and brought it to her. "Thank you, Mage," she croaked. The strain that she had faced in keeping Livirnea alive had weakened her voice to a breathless whisper. She noticed Andalor, hunched and miserable by the fire. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty," she said. "I hadn't realized that you were present." "It is of no consequence, Healer Kyla," Andalor said. "The important thing is that your talents have been well used and I am more grateful than I can express. I am only sorry for the draining effects on you." The Healer waved her hand tiredly. "It is an expected part of my profession. What is more important is that, given several more days' worth of intensive treatments by both Healer Sirisa and myself, she will recover. Full recovery may take several weeks, but she will get there. Had Captain Jourdain not gotten her here when he did, I have no doubt that she would have died. But as things stand now, we can only wait while her body restores the blood that she lost. Then I will be able to assist her in recovering from her injuries." "That is good to hear," Andalor said quietly, the relief that Livirnea would live shining on his young face. This most pressing concern resolved, his attention turned to Aldara's question -- the sequence of events that had brought about many of the problems that they now faced. "Captain Jourdain, you told Reinald that you were attacked by a large band of brigands only a candlemark's ride from the castle?" "That is true," Jourdain replied, his face darkening at the memory. "We were riding quickly, and I had hoped to arrive at the castle by nightfall. The road was unusually quiet, but I assumed that this was due more to the merchants being at the fall festivals than to brigandage. I think we also assumed that flying His Majesty's colors would be enough to protect us from anything that we might meet. Unfortunately, the leader of this band was neither afraid of His Majesty's best soldiers, nor was he a poor tactician. They caught us in a perfect trap, and had at least one archer with them." "An archer with a band of brigands?" asked the Professor in surprise. "I thought that the skills of an archer were very expensive. Surely too expensive for a band of common thieves." Jourdain nodded grimly. "Aye, that has been bothering me as well. Black mages, whose skills could be bought for less than those of an archer, were far more common among such highwaymen. But they have, for the most part, been driven out of the Realm. As a result, archers for hire have become even more expensive and difficult to find. Which means," he concluded, "that this band of brigands is both unusually well financed, as well as unusually skilled in strategy and tactics. "I see," the Professor said, lapsing back into his chair. The implications of this new threat were as clear to him as to everyone else in the room. If the King's own Guard was not safe, then who was? The effect on trade could be devastating. "What happened after the first attack?" Reinald asked. Quickly, Jourdain related the details of the battle. "After we left, Bashar was able to find the archer, and literally cut down the tree from which he was firing. When they lost their advantage, the brigands fled, but only after having killed four of my men, and wounding several others." "You did the right thing by leaving and bringing Livirnea with you," Andalor said. "I know it ran against your instincts to leave your men, but it was the right decision." "That I know," Jourdain said with a sigh. "Still, I did not like having to run like a frightened child, and I hope that I never have to do it again." "Unfortunately, I fear that unless we find out who is sponsoring these brigands, you will have all of the chances to take revenge on them that you could wish for," Aldara said. "You believe that they are being sponsored by someone?" Reinald asked, his concern at this news nearly bringing him out of his chair. Aldara nodded vigorously. "Without doubt. It is the only explanation which fits." Her emerald green eyes solemnly surveyed the group. "Moreover, I do not feel that the ambush was an accident." "What!" cried Reinald. "As Jourdain said, few brigands have the resources needed to recruit an archer. Further, that particular road is not a profitable one on which to hunt right now. The trade caravans passed through that area several weeks ago. A leader smart enough to lay that ambush would also be informed enough to know that. No, I am almost certain there must be a spy here in Fairwoods who reported that Jourdain had been sent to Ranfaus for some vital purpose. No matter the reason, ambushing the Captain of the King's Guard on the road, and possibly killing him, would be of great benefit to any of the Noble Houses. Whatever booty or message might have been carried from Ranfaus to the castle would be a further reward to whomever was responsible for the attack." "True," Jourdain agreed. "It is almost certain that things were arranged as Aldara says, for I could name a hundred better places to set such a powerful force if one were simply interested in plunder and goods. Had Livirnea and Bashar not shown as much sense and skill as they did, things might have turned much more disastrously." "Livirnea's injury might have been an accident - but it might just as easily have been deliberate," Reinald murmured gravely. "Think what the loss of his daughter -- on a mission requested by the King -- would do to Lord Ranfaus. I doubt if we could have expected his House's support in the future. And Goddess knows we need it. Jourdain, do you think that this was an attack on the Crown, Ranfaus, or yourself?" "I think that it was probably an attack on the King and his ability to rule," Jourdain said after a moment's thought. "After all, a successful attack would show the King just how powerful his unknown enemy is, and could make the Crown look weak in the eyes of the Realm. It goes without saying that a successful assassination of His Majesty's Guards' Captain would have been an added benefit," he concluded dryly. "So you don't think that they knew that you would have Livirnea with you?" asked Andalor. Jourdain considered the question. "No," he said finally. "After all, only those of us in this room knew that she was the object of my mission to Ranfaus. Though it is certainly possible that the archer recognized her, and realized that her death would be a further blow to the Crown." "I agree." The group was startled by the sudden decisiveness in the King's tone. "Fortunately, we've got some time before the next trading season. I hope that we'll be able to determine who is responsible for these attacks by then." "We'd better," Aldara said softly. "If we don't, the next trading season will be even bloodier than this season has been, and far too many have died already." Silence fell over the room as each contemplated the possible consequences to the all-too-fragile society that remained in the wake of the Dark Queen's assault. All knew that the Realm could not stand yet more seasons of bloodshed and violence. Finally, the King spoke. "Very well. Jourdain, you will devise a plan to increase security along the roads of the Realm, particularly those most used by the trading caravans. You may have to recruit more guards, and if so, do it. Put out a call throughout all the villages for those with warrior talent. "Captain Aldara - your job will be even more daunting. First, you will of course be in charge of training any new recruits. Then, I want you to do whatever you can to uncover who is behind these attacks. Use whatever sources of information you currently have, and try to extend your network of informants. And finally, and most daunting of all..." "Yes, Andalor?" prompted Aldara. The young King grinned. "Please take over Shannon's history lessons until Livirnea is back on her feet." End of Chapter Eight THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter One Chapter Nine They were grouped by the glowing embers of a dying hearth. The chamber was luxuriously furnished, though the tapestries that covered the walls were there less for decoration than to cover the cracks made when the destruction of the Great Hall had shaken all of Fairwoods. Few torches were lit so as not to draw attention to the activities within the chamber. The fewer who knew the details, the better. Only the inner circle, those who could be trusted absolutely, gathered to discuss this, the first stage of a plan that could see them rise to the highest stations in the Realm -- or die as traitors. "Mandor's daughter was seriously injured - they say she might yet die," observed one, a young man with old eyes. The tall, austere noble shrugged. "Her injuries were unplanned, but could work well for us. Granted, I would have preferred that Captain Jourdain was struck down, as intended. But the death of the beloved daughter of Ranfaus while under the protection of the King's Guard could deprive Andalor of his strongest ally among the Houses." The young noble looked up. "Her death can be assured, if you desire it." The leader shook his head. "No need, Ruloth. Even if she survives, the alliance between the Crown and Ranfaus will be badly shaken, possibly even as effectively as her death. Either way, we gain. No, let us limit our risk, especially here in Fairwoods, for now." There were grunts of agreement from around the hearth. "Vestor, you are sure there is no way we can be tied to this attack?" The stocky noble, in his rough mercenary's disguise, smiled grimly. "None. The 'brigands' bear no identification and have little love for the King or the law of the Realm. Only their leader knew who was providing the gold and weapons and planning. And, as luck would have it, he perished with a Guard bolt through the chest. The assumption will be what we want it to be - that he was killed by the King's Guard. I chose my moment wisely." The austere older man's lips twitched. "You were born for this kind of work, Vestor." "Indeed I was," he replied smugly. "I had feared I would never have the opportunity to use my talents." "There will be a cornucopia of opportunity for you, before this is all over. May I remind you that this is just a first step. The Dark Queen did us more than one favor, first by ridding us of a Householder grown fat, lazy and ridiculed, then by the widespread bloodshed and chaos that can't help but undermine that arrogant young pup's reign. But we must be disciplined and have patience. An ill-considered act, a moment of carelessness, a word or gesture to the wrong person, and we'll be kneeling before the headsman's ax. It may take two or three season-cycles to realize our goals. But the rewards will be worth it. Ruloth, what is your next step?" "We will continue to supplement the brigandage on the roads, leaving all but the most important caravans and travelers to the riff-raff and common criminals. When there is a particularly rich trading caravan or noble's party, we will strike with a ruthlessness that will ensure the event causes fear and unrest among the King's subjects. And as always, we will be alert for any gossip or careless talk that could open up more opportunities." "And I will work within the Council and among the other Houses, doing what I can to keep things stirred up," added the older noble. "Though the gods know that most of the Houses are quite capable of doing that on their own. We must keep an eye on Hegan of Dordinal, however. He grows too big for his britches, that one. His best use to us is in distracting the attention of the King and Captains Jourdain and Aldara. With his mouth, if any House involvement is suspected in the unrest, it will be Dordinal that invites speculation and suspicion." "And Forst - well, we will just wait for Forst to destroy themselves!" Vestor laughed, and was joined by the others. "Very well. We will meet again in a week. We should know more about Mandor's actions by then. Remember - not a word of this to anyone, not even here in our own House. There is too much to be gained - and lost." * * * * Ghalbar kicked his heels into his mount's flanks, yet again wishing his journey could be shorter. His horse was still young and did not have the endurance that a full adult would have. The fact that he had disappeared would tell Darliss that the faction of the family headed by Margul would soon know of her treachery. Although she was not smart enough to stop him, the Dordinal vermin with whom she had allied herself would send a party out to kill him if they could. Therefore, it was essential that he get himself -- and the news he carried -- to Forst's traditional seat before they could catch up with him. He had ridden hard all of the way from the Castle to his family's ancestral home, and now man and horse teetered on the edge of exhaustion. Fortunately, they were drawing closer to the great star- shaped fortress, whose towers could be seen on the horizon. Four days after hearing about the agreement that would seal Darliss' proposed marriage and transfer of land, the anger the announcement had brought still burned. But Margul had a reputation for coolheadedness. Given the explosive nature of the news, as well as the rancorous relationship between the leader of the home-based faction and his Fairwoods-based aunt, Ghalbar hoped that this reputation would hold. As he drew closer to the shores of the lake surrounding his family's home, he began searching for the small stables that he had last seen as a young boy. He had left his home with his grandfather Ian, when the old man had taken a powerful contingent from Forst's lands to Fairwoods, to better assert his House's claim as one of the great Houses of the Realm, and had not been home since. For all he knew, the stables might well have been moved in the intervening years. Moments later, however, he caught sight of the structure, and gently directed his exhausted steed toward the building that lay low on the near shore of the lake that surrounded his family's home. His mount gave a final burst of speed, knowing instinctively that the stable ahead represented the end of its long and painful journey. Long, painful - and desperately important. If Margul was not the skilled leader that he was supposed to be, there was little question that Forst would fall to the ravening pack of Dordinal wolves, with Hegan at its head. However, if Margul was as competent as he was supposed to be, he just might be the only person in the Realm who could deflect the terrible disaster that seemed to await all who were loyal to Forst and its allies. Ghalbar knew there could be no question that Hegan was unusually cunning -- even in a family known for its infighting and willingness to stab its own members in the back. He had made Darliss' stupidity, which had led to scandals both great and small at Fairwoods, his best ally in his effort to gain control of his own House, and destroy his family's ancient enemy in the process. She had willingly gone along with his ploy, and her treachery, whether intended or simply accidental, would lead to the virtual theft of a large chunk of Forst's oldest and most treasured lands. It saddened Ghalbar greatly that he had not known of the plot in time to warn his family's home-based contingent. It would have saved them much embarassment, or worse, in the future. As his mount slid to a stop in front of the newly expanded stables, he sighed, partly in relief at reaching home, and partly in anticipation of the difficulties that lay ahead. He was inordinately pleased to see that the young attendant was already moving to receive both himself and his horse. In truth, he was too tired to look for the stableboy wanting only to find Margul, report his news, and then collapse into a warm bed. The youngster's eyes were nearly round with shock at his superior's obviously weary and bedraggled state, widening further at the brusque manner to which he was now exposed. "I need to get across the lake immediately," Ghalbar said, cutting short the customary exchanges that etiquette demanded, even here in the stables.The boy began wiping down the animal, whose sweat ran in great frothing waves down its flanks. "I'm sorry, milord. My lord Margul ordered the boats held in shore as the ice is becoming too dangerous to pass," he said. "The gods be damned!" Ghalbar cried, wondering if the celestial beings were, indeed, plotting against him and his family. "I must get across the lake," he said, the desperation that he felt leaking into his voice. "I'm sorry, Milord," the boy repeated, "but there's no way that it'll be happenin' a'fore the lake freezes, and that could be days yet." "Do you know of anyone on the shore whom I could get to take me across?" Ghalbar asked. He knew that many of the peasants who lived near the shore had small fishing boats that could serve his purpose. After a few moments' thought, the stable boy's face broke into a wide grin, and the words that he needed so desperately to hear caressed Ghalbar's wind-burned ears. "Well, sir, if it's really that important that you get to see Lord Margul.... I s'ppose that he's the man you're here to see?" At Ghalbar's quick nod, the boy continued, "I have a small boat that I could take you over in, so long as you tell 'im that I did it at your order." Although he was acquainted with Margul only by reputation, Ghalbar knew that he was said to be highly utilitarian, and willing to make exceptions to his own rules when the necessity for them became clear. Given the current situation, he had no doubt that the leader would not only make an exception, but would probably reward the boy for his initiative. "I will tell him so, and if he does not reward you handsomely, I shall," Ghalbar told the boy. The boy's smile grew at the approval from one who was as important as his elder seemed to be. "I can be ready in a few minutes, milord. Do you know where the piers are?" "It's been a while, but I think I can get there." "All right then," the boy said, turning to finish his work. "I'll be ready for you as soon as I find Ardok to care for the horses." "Very well. But hurry," he urged. Once again, his mind turned towards his mission. * * * After reading the documents Ghalbar had delivered, Margul turned to his cousin, his expression tight with anger. "You are certain this is true?" "Positive, Lord Margul. I heard of the matter myself, and would have put a stop to it if I could. However, things had progressed too far by that point," he said morosely. "I am sure that the plan was hatched by the Dordinal nobles who are doubtless trying to build the position of their champion, Hegan. Indeed, all the Houses seem to be embroiled in their own wars of succession, and other plots run rife throughout the Realm." "I see," Margul said softly. "This tallies with other news I have heard. I have had some difficulty in maintaining contact with our contingent in the castle and so your report on Darliss' stupidity and treachery is helpful. It is unfortunate that she either doesn't recognize or care about the likely consequences of her actions. Now, I must talk with Charla and see what she thinks of the matter." Startled, Ghalbar blurted out nervously, "Charla? She's here?" He clamped his jaw down hard. Too late he had remembered that this woman who had inspired so much fear and scandal within the family had shared a special relationship with the boy who would grow into the powerful noble before him. Had he come all this way only to lose Margul's favor now? He hastened to make amends. "I- I'm sorry... I meant no insult. I know that you were close to her, but most of us younger ones feared her," he said, hoping his explanation would pass muster. "It is of no matter," Margul said quietly. Indeed, he was reassured by Ghalbar's ignorance of Charla's whereabouts. It was precisely to keep such news from leaking back to Fairwoods that he had ordered the boats taken in several days before it had truly been necessary. Fortunately, there was no risk of such news reaching the castle via Ghalbar. The young man wouldn't be able to get back to Fairwoods Keep for some time, a result of the rapidly worsening weather. Not to mention his likely status as a hunted man. Either or both would more than suffice to make him unable to leave the family seat for quite some time to come. No, Charla's presence at the Forst manorhouse would remain a secret to the outside world. Always mindful of the vagaries of the politics of the Houses, Margul analyzed his cousin's errand and the motives behind it, for there were always motives - some hidden, some out in the open for all to see. Ghalbar seemed straightforward and honest, having no agenda save that of bringing this unfortunate news to his family. For the moment, this would have to be enough, though if Charla could sit down with him and learn more of his motivations in this drama, Margul knew that he would feel better still. For the moment, he knew that he would simply have to trust that he could control the situation. He hoped that further good could be done by offering his cousin the chance to become involved in the plans that were, even now, forming in his mind. If he had read the emotion that Ghalbar's report had carried correctly, the younger man would agree to help out in a variety of ways. Most importantly, he would be able to give Margul and his advisors a better sense of what was going on at the castle. Breaking the long silence, the leader of the home-based faction spoke his mind. "I may need to confer with you later concerning things that are going on here, things that I think you might be able to assist me in accomplishing, if you choose to. Before I do, though, I think that you should get a bath, some hot food and some rest. You've obviously had a hard journey, and I will need you at your sharpest when we speak again." "I understand, and I am grateful," the younger man said. "Very well, you will take the apartment directly below this room. I shall send a servant with bathwater and food and wine shortly." "Thank you," Ghalbar said. Suddenly, his fatigue hit him like a charging fieldbeast. The younger man began dragging himself from Margul's chamber, supporting himself against the door. Before he could leave however, his body jerked and he turned back toward Margul, his face tight with worry. "What is it?" Margul asked, his respect for the young man's determination and courage rising as quickly as his concern for him. "I almost forgot to tell you of two events that occurred at the castle in the days before I left. I believe that it is possible that both are of great importance." "Yes?" Margul prompted when the younger man paused. "The first concerns Shannon, the young woman to whom King Andalor is betrothed," he replied. "It is said that she has Mage talent, and in a spat with the King five nights before my departure, she took anger at him and struck at him using her magics. I do not know what the outcome of the matter was, other than that the King seemed physically well when I passed him some days after the Magestorm that I assume was the young lady's creation." "I see," Margul said thoughtfully, not sure what the implications of this news might be. On one hand, a magically gifted queen would pose a serious threat to plans that Houses such as Dordinal might raise against the throne. Given her age and the apparent lateness of the onset of her powers, it was not likely that she would be as great as the Realm's foremost Mages, but her offspring might inherit enormous power -- both magical and temporal. However, Ghalbar had reported that the young couple had quarrelled, and it was well known that the Lady Shannon had a violent temper. Possibly this would wreck the marriage before it could begin. Although he had his own, very private reasons for hoping that the young king would be able to marry the woman that he loved, the necessity to plan for the possible outcomes of a broken betrothal was obvious. The House leader's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Ghalbar's clearing throat, and he remembered the young man brought other news. "You said you had something else to report?" "Yes," the young man replied. "On the day of my departure, the Guards' captain Jourdain returned from a secret mission to House Ranfaus, carrying the Lady Livirnea on his horse. She was gravely injured, and I don't know whether she lived or died, though Healer Kyla came to her aid almost immediately. I had to use the confusion of Captain Jourdain's arrival to execute my own plans and leave the castle so I could report these things to you." "Thank you for this information." This news was even more intriguing than the information of the lady Shannon's apparent outburst. There was no obvious reason for Livirnea to come to the castle at that time of year, particularly as she was known to be very concerned about her father's health. However, it was said that Mandor was recovering well and so it was possible -- though not likely in Margul's opinion -- the Lady Livirnea had chosen to return to the castle for the winter. It seemed far likelier that she had been asked to act as mediator between the King and his fiancee, both of whom were known to be close friends to her. The attack against the royal guards' party concerned Margul greatly. Andalor's House had supported Forst in the past, and the fact that someone had been sufficiently daring to organize a band of attackers large enough to seriously challenge the wily Jourdain was worrying indeed. One of the other Houses was obviously plotting against the King, and Margul would have to devote resources to finding out which one was doing so. Such information would be valuable, and could be slipped to the King in exchange for support of Forst's cause -- or Charla's. Remembering his guest, Margul spoke without raising his eyes from the small fire burning in the grate. "Go now and get some rest, Ghalbar. I will call you when you are needed. Your service to this House, and to me in particular, shall not be forgotten." "Thank you," the other man said softly, his uneven footsteps sounding hollowly as he left the room. Some time later, the light tap that Margul had come to recognize as Charla's knock roused him from his thoughts, and he rose quickly to open the door for her. "Can I offer you some tea?" he asked as soon as she had been seated. "No, thank you." she replied, her face creased in a small frown. "Who was that young man who left here some moments ago? He was nearly dead on his feet, and I had to assist him downstairs before I came to see you." "He is Ghalbar, one of the younger ones that Ian took to the castle when he expanded our contingent there." "Oh," she said, her face clearing slightly. "I thought I recognized his... essence... from somewhere, but couldn't place him." "Not surprising," Margul said shortly. "He is one of the children to whom Darliss and the others told stories about you. Though you may not have recognized him, he certainly knew your name when I mentioned it." "I see," she replied, the words barely more than a whisper. "I wish the stupid bitch had kept her mouth shut. It would definitely have made my life easier -- both here and at Fairwoods." "Well, it would seem that she has proven her stupidity yet again." "In what way?" demanded Charla, her attention ripped back from her memories, and now fully fixed on the man in front of her. Margul updated his cousin on the news that had come via Ghalbar, and was not surprised by her strong response to her half-cousin's actions. "Of all the stupid, half-witted, brainless things she could have done!" Charla cried. She barely remembered to shield before the sky, which had begun to cloud over in response to her anger, could unleash the torrent of ice crystals characteristic of a Magestorm in the winter. "When we were young, I always knew she was just smart enough to get everyone else into trouble. And now she has proven it by going and trying to marry a man who would just as happily see this House torn assunder and cast to the carion-birds on the Uriin Plains!" she thundered, rising and moving angrily about the room. "I know all of this well," Margul said, more than willing to allow her the time to work off her anger. Her words came to him as she stood looking out of a small window across the room, her arms flailing with the force of her emotions. "It seems that it is not only her mouth, but other parts of her body as well that get us into trouble," she ranted. "What is worse, we will have to figure out how to keep her mouth and her libidinous nature from concurring to an agreement to marry that greedy swinebeast. Our House will end up being ruled by Dordinal, just as she hopes that her desires will be mastered by Hegan's presence in her bed." Margul noted how closely attuned their thoughts were on the matter. But he chose to slow his fiery-tempered cousin's rush to judgment, reminding her why she had come home and why she had so wished he had been available to her in the one way that had been forbidden them when they were younger. "What we must do now is plan. Plan for the time when we can deal with her treachery and the acquisitiveness of her new, and I'm sure, very temporary, ally. We also musmust also think carefully on how we can use the news concerning Lady Livirnea and the royal couple to our benefit. Only by finding our best option will we be able to make the most of the possibilities that this situation offers us." "True," Charla admitted softly, her mind obviously still focused on what she saw as the greatest problem. Margul knew that, given time, she would realize that all of these things were, or could be, linked together, allowing Forst to gain much from the strife that seemed to be spreading throughout the Realm. For now, however, he was willing to let her usual hot-tempered reaction pass, and give her the chance to center her frustration on the one person who, he knew well, must be the fulcrum on whom their plans must center in the future. After all, Darliss had been the cause of much of the hatred and fear that Charla had faced as a child, and it was her right to think in terms of vengeance against the older woman, now that she had the chance to get it. Whatever form it might take, her revenge would be creative, terrible and yet utterly legal in all senses. Almost as much as he anticipated the ruin of Dordinal, Margul truly looked forward to seeing the shape that vengeance would take. End of Chapter Nine THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and Acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Ten "All right, Shannon, that will do." The girl sighed with relief. "How was I that time?" "Well... better. Definitely better," Livirnea said kindly. She reclined on a sofa, a warm woolen blanket covering her. It had been three weeks since her injuries and she was by no means fully recovered, as the Healer's trips to her chambers several times a day attested. But a week before she had demanded that she be allowed to start Shannon's lessons, only too aware of the passage of time. Kyla had reluctantly agreed, providing that she spent no more than three candlemarks a day in the effort, and that her healing treatments continue on schedule. Pale even when healthy, Livirnea's skin now seemed almost transparent, the blue of her veins and the dark smudges under her eyes standing out in stark contrast. Her brother Tallor was dispatched by a frantic Mandor when Andalor's runner arrived at their manor with news of the attack. He had been shocked by her appearance. Only Kyla's reassurance that Livirnea's progress was slow but steady had prevented him from taking his sister back to the manor. But he had listened with an open mind when Andalor told him of the details of the attack, and all that had been done to save his sister's life. A draft of the meeting had been sent to Mandor who, quite generously, absolved Jourdain and Andalor of any responsibility for his beloved daughter's injuries. The relationship between the Crown and Ranfaus had passed its first major test, and those who might have hoped to gain by its unraveling were keenly disappointed. Tallor brought other news as well. Lady Norilka had died suddenly, to the sorrow of no one. Already in high dudgeon about Livirnea's mission for the King, she was prevented from venting her spleen on her recovering husband by his Healers, remaining frustrated and angry. A combination of what she perceived as unforgivable errors on the part of her beleaguered servants was all it took. In the middle of a furious temper tantrum in the kitchens at the manor, she suddenly dropped like a stone. At first Livirnea felt guilty - not at accepting the King's invitation, but rather at the thought that her severe injuries may have played a part in her mother's mood prior to her fatal attack. Dryly, Tallor assured her this was, unfortunately, not so. Norilka had remained as self-centered as always, right up until the end. By custom, the manor house was in mourning, but in truth, the sense of relief in Norilka's passing made the mood less tense, and Mandor's recovery seemed to progress even faster. And so Livirnea remained at Fairwoods. In truth, the lessons with Shannon were good for both girls. The Queen-to-be was clearly in need of assistance, and Livirnea gained the sense of purpose she had always sought from the work. "Belabas the Third was married to Shephala, not Hepha. And his father was Harath the Second, not 'that old guy who looked like a goat'." She giggled. "Actually, I guess he *was* an old guy who looked like a goat, but that is an answer that Ballorca would never accept." Clad as she preferred in her warrior garb of linen shirt and breeches, Shannon threw herself to the floor beside Livirnea's couch. She hugged her knees, looking mournful. "It's hopeless! I studied for candlemarks and candlemarks, and I still can't keep them all straight. Maybe Ballorca won't ask any questions about this kind of stuff," she finished hopefully. "Well, no one knows exactly what comprises the Ritual of Readiness. It is a closely guarded secret," Livirnea admitted. "The only people who would know are Ballorca and the High Priestess -- and they are certainly not going to tell -- and former queens. And since they're all dead.... But, I think it is almost certain that there will be some questions about Realm history, such as reciting the Line of Kings, or the last ten generations of Dordinal Householders. You have to be ready." Shannon looked thoughtful. "You know, I heard a story once about Sir Winston Churchill - he was a famous guy in my world," she explained to a mystified Livirnea. "He was supposed to study the geography of the entire world to past a test. Well, my world is huge, you couldn't walk across it in a season-cycle. I mean, I'm talking *big*. Well, Churchill was not a great student, and he knew he could never do it. So he just plunked his finger down on a map, and it landed on New Zealand. So he studied New Zealand, and didn't bother with the rest of the world. And when he took the test, guess what?" Fascinated, Livirnea shook her head. "All the questions were about New Zealand, and he passed the test," Shannon said triumphantly. "Maybe that could happen to me." "I would say that your Sir Winston Churchill was extraordinarily fortunate," the noblewoman replied dryly. "I think it would be unwise to rely upon that kind of fortune." There was a knock at the door, and Lita entered, bearing a tray. "Time for midday, my ladies. And Lady Livernia, you are to eat, not just nibble. Orders from Healer Kyla." On a low table nearby, she spread out the food - hot crusty rolls, cheese, soup, fruit, and tiny rich cakes - and stepped to the hearth to begin tea preparations. "What do you want, Livirnea? Never mind - you'll just play with a piece of fruit or something." Shannon placed a roll, a small wedge of cheese and a bowl brimming with woodfowl soup on a wooden platter and handed it to the recuperating noblewoman. "And I want to see a clean plate when you're done!" she added with mock severity. Livirnea took the platter with a sigh. "I never eat this much. I'm going to get a big as a fieldbeast." Shannon looked up from her own hearty lunch. "Not much chance of that. You're way underweight as it is." "It's sweet of you to care about me, Shannon." The would-be Queen smiled warmly, then reverted to the brash persona she was more comfortable displaying. "Of course I care. Without you, I'd have a snowball's chance in hell of passing this 'Ritual of Readiness'." She spent the remainder of the repast explaining the concepts of 'snowball' and 'hell' to the always intellectually curious Livirnea. Lita cleared away the lunch things, noting with satisfaction that both girls had eaten well. Kyla entered as the elven servant left. "Time for a healing treatment, Lady Livirnea." "Really, Kyla, I feel well. Can we not miss this one?" "Very well, prove it. If you can get off the couch and walk over to me without getting dizzy, I'll consider it." The healer crossed her arms, waiting. Livirnea swung her legs over the side of the couch, and sat up. Carefully, she stood, taking deep breaths. But she got no further than ten paces before she was panting and swaying on her feet. Shannon rushed to her side and helped her back to the sofa. Kyla joined them. "You are getting better, my lady," she assured. "But these things take time. You were perilously close to taking the Great Journey. If you're patient, in less than a moon-cycle you will be completely well." "But we were working- " "It's okay, Liv," Shannon said. "I have Mage training with Reinald and my father now, anyway." "Come back when Kyla's finished and I have rested. I have more plans for you," she called after her friend's retreating form. "How to serve tea like a Queen. And you must wear a dress!" Shannon groaned as she closed the door behind her. * * * * Margul stood silently surveying the men and women of House Forst who sat before him in the dining chamber. The great vaulted ceiling and thick columns made an impressive backdrop for the great convocation that now held sway on its heavy stone floor. There were nearly a hundred people present, all of whom he considered trustworthy, and whose determination to serve him and the family had been proven to his satisfaction. There were a couple that Charla didn't trust, and he was more than happy to allow her to watch them. Her intuition, supported by her magical gifts, had been one of the many things about her that had terrified the children of the House so many years before. If she proved correct in her suspicions, he would cast the guilty parties out of the house, and challenge them to survive the two-day trip across the deeply frozen lake, with neither supplies nor proper clothing. If, as he was sure, her suspicions were misplaced, nothing would be said of the matter. However, now was not the time for worrying of such things.The news that Ghalbar brought nearly a moon-cycle before had spread through the House like wildfire. He knew that it was his time to act and gain final control over the home-based contingent of his family. Once done, he would move against his foolish relative, putting her idiocy and the plans of the current claimant to the title of Dordinal Householder to an ignominious and, he fully expected, bloody end. His eyes swept the crowded chamber, settling on Charla's blonde head. Her deep blue eyes locked with his. If she were nervous at being with so many of those who had ostracized her in the past, it did not show. Rather, that anxiety had been replaced with an emotion he could not name and did not dare to think about at the moment. He smiled at her, and then straightened, ready to speak his mind concerning what had passed and what was yet to come. "Ladies and lords of the House of Forst," he began, his voice amplified by the room's tremendous natural acoustics. "All of you know of our cousin Darliss' long-standing short-sightedness. Now she has gone too far; she has forayed into the land of treachery. And that is not too strong a word for Darliss' plans. Even now, she plots to marry a rascal of the House of Dordinal, whose sole intention is the downfall of our family and the theft of our land. We all know of Dordinal's heinous acts against House Forst in the past. They are a heavy weight in our hearts that we carry with us throughout our lives. We all know that Dordinal thirsts to put an end to House Forst, to eliminate Forst as surely and as viciously as they have eliminated so many other Houses. Either Darliss is more ignorant than I have always thought or she has taken leave of her senses. Or," he thundered darkly, "Lady Darliss, in seeking her own goals, has traitorously put the welfare of House Forst behind her. "Well, I, for one, will not stand idly by while members of my own family move to stab us all in the back. I will not watch as we are cut down with a blade that is rusty and heavily poisoned with Dordinal's age-old hatred of House Forst." The room exploded into cheers, as many of the younger nobles jumped to their feet, waving their own well-oiled swords in the air. Margul waited for the pandemonium to quiet before continuing with his speech. "I, for one, will not stand idly by while peace-loving beings of all types are handed over to a pack of thieves whose sole interest is, and has always been, their own aggrandizement at the expense of all around them. I therefore propose that we take action to stop the dastardly plot that our cousin and her puppetmaster have hatched. A plot that will serve none in this room and which will, ultimately, only serve the needs and desires of the ravening pack of soul-eaters in the seat of Dordinal. In doing this, we will have done what is necessary to protect our future, as well as the lands held by the village of Cresscreek. Even now as we gather here, Darliss plots to hand over Cresscreek to Dordinal in her marriage bed." The room erupted with boos and jeers at the expense of the lady who, even had she been present, would have been unable to defend herself from Margul's words. "We haven't the force here to stop her in her tracks," Margul said once the room had quieted again, "but we all have friends and connections who can help us, and whom we must contact in our time of need. I therefore propose that we all collect the names of warriors whom we trust and who will serve our banner, in preparation for a full war council as soon as the roads are cleared, and winter has loosed her grip on our lands. When the lists have been completed, I shall take ten brave souls into the winter wilderness and seek out these honorable men and women. Once our forces are together, we will strike against our enemies, smiting them to the ground and leaving nothing but ashes in our wake!" The cheering that rang through the hall was even more deafening than before. Groups of excited men and women began forming, each working to think of respectable warriors on whom the House could call and who would serve its banner. * * * * So far, the dinner party was a resounding success. Lady Darliss leaned back in her throne-like chair, one bony hand clutching a goblet of wine, the other resting proprietarily on the arm of Lord Hegan. Servants scurried to clear one course only to bring in the next, and the next, and Lord Hegan and his contingent of loyal Dordinal nobles had more than done justice to the feast. Dordinal may have power, she thought smugly to herself, but Forst is second to none in the social graces. The banquet had two purposes - to show the rough Dordinal crowd the right way to host a party, and to showcase herself as the absolute leader of House Forst. That her overworked servants cursed her body and soul to the Dark Creatures, she cared not a whit. That members of her House such as the young fool Margul and his home-based cabal protested against her plans showed their foolishness, not hers. That the House Treasurer had railed against such extravagance as the Realm tried to rebuild itself meant nothing. Newly purchased jewels, more fitting for a Queen to wear on the most special of occasions, dangled from her earlobes and encircled her scrawny neck and wrists. Her gown was shot through with so many threads of real gold that she could scarcely stand under its weight without assistance. But it was worth it. Hegan's eyes had lit up the moment he saw her, and he had been wonderfully attentive all night. "Lady Darliss, you do your House proud," he murmured next to her ear. "And shortly, you will do the same for mine." She bit back an appreciative titter. First things first, and this was the opportunity she had sought all night. "True, but when, my Lord Hegan? When?" Ah! The opportunity he had sought all night! He patted her hand. "These bothersome marriage contract negotiations, my dear. They take so long to work out all the details. What do the negotiators and scribes know of true love?" He picked up her hand and kissed it. "If we could only dispense with all the tedious details. But...." The claimant to Householder of Dordinal shrugged. "From what my people tell me, it is the Forst negotiator who is holding things up, demanding unreasonable concessions and guarantees of this and that. I had thought he was doing so on your orders...." He turned a guileless face to hers. Darliss looked stricken. All her plans, her future happiness, were not going to be undone by some clerk carried away by his own self- importance. "Under my orders? Certainly not! I am as anxious as you are to set a wedding date. Never fear, my love. I shall speak firmly to Lavol in the morning. There will be no more delays, I promise you." "Ah, my delicate flower! Yet beneath, you have a wit sharper than the finest blade, and the leadership of a Queen. I knew you would be able to clear these endless obstacles to our betrothal! Will you dance with me, my jewel? I want the whole Realm to see you in my arms." Cheeks flushing pink with pleasure, Darliss took Hegan's hand and struggled to her feet under the enormous weight of her gown. She motioned to the musicians, who struck up a lilting ballad. Skillfully, Hegan guided her around the dance floor, grimacing only slightly whenever she trod on his boots. What a beautiful, enviable couple we are, she mused happily. * * * * "If the she-beast had stepped on my feet one more time, I would have grabbed her scrawny neck and wrung the life out of her!" Hegan strode into his study, unbuckled his sword and tossed himself into an armchair. "But you accomplished your goal, Lord Hegan. Surely that is balm enough for your injured feet." Hegan smiled. "True enough, Krellian." He took the cup of wine proffered by his lieutenant and drank deeply from it. "See to it Shelgar knows that his counterpart, Lavol, will be instructed to accede to our demands in tomorrow's negotiations. It's time to raise the stakes. Did you see the jewels draped on the bitch tonight? Forst evidently has much more wealth than we surmised...." He tapped absently on the rim of the cup as he pondered. "Shelgar is to ensure that Forst property comes to Dordinal, should my dear bride meet with an untimely end. It never hurts to think ahead," he said reasonably, smiling at Krellian. "Help yourself to some wine!" When his lieutenant had poured the dark red liquid, Hegan stood next to him. Turning towards the magnificently carved coat of arms over the hearth, he held out his cup and cried "To Dordinal! And to our bright future!" "To Dordinal!" End of Chapter Ten THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Matthew Weed and Suzanne Bickerstaffe (matthew.weed@yale.edu, ecksphile@earthlink.net) Winter- Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Eleven Charla stood tall and imposing on the outer walls of the village. The winter's chill was growing stronger every day, and she took much pleasure from it. Though she normally despised the cold weather, this year's winter promised to be a fearsome one, carrying with it the kind of weather that would detain those whose pursuit she feared most in Fairwoods Keep. They could do nothing to prevent her from helping her cousin to begin his campaign against Dordinal from there. A campaign whose success would give Margul - and the family as well - greater power in the Realm; power that would translate into increased protection for her. And that protection would allow her to build the relationship that she had wanted with him when they were young. However, before any such thoughts could dominate her attention, she knew she would have to help her family win its upcoming battles against Dordinal. Though there was still great wealth within the walls of this grand fortress, it was not what it had been in generations past. The number of warriors and mercenaries that Margul could hope to field would be far fewer than his enemies could retain. They would need magical help, and she would have to provide it in ways that would do what was needed, while preventing her from sliding into the use of the Black Arts that she knew well and abhorred with equal passion. There were spells of all sorts that might help her, many of which she had collected in the years after she had been banished from Fairwoods. That exile had taken her to places that she was quite sure Reinald had never seen, and probably never heard of. Recently, she found some ancient books hidden in a magically-sealed strong box -- hidden by the very Mage who had bespelled the walls on which she now tread. This discovery, along with her diverse education and her own creativity would give her the arsenal of spells necessary to add greatly to the effectiveness of those who wielded more conventional weapons for her House. This thought in mind, she turned away from the icy world outside, returning to the mix of magic, politics and strategy she loved as a child, and was rediscovering with the passion of a mature adult. * * * * Dorbo answered the knock at the door of of the Royal Suite, bowing low when he saw who asked admittance. "Please have a seat by the fire, Your Worship. 'Tis a chill day today. I will ask the King if he can see you." He withdrew, returning a moment later to make tea. By the time the kettle sizzled and spat on the hearth, Andalor joined them. The High Priestess rose, but he gestured for her to sit. Once they had steaming mugs in hand, Andalor observed noncommittally, "You are always welcome here, of course, High Priestess, yet I rarely have the pleasure of your company." She inclined her head. "Such is the nature of our work, Your Majesty. It keeps us busy -- too busy for the simple pleasure of a visit just for its own sake." The King frowned slightly. "Then I take it that this is a work visit, rather than one of pleasure?" "I always hope it will be both, Sire," the distinguished older woman said with a touch of humor. "But yes, I admit that my presence here is more in the nature of my work. As you know, it is the business of the priests and priestesses to discern the most auspicious time for the rituals of the Realm to be performed, the time that will most please the Goddess, and most favor the proceedings." Andalor nodded. He knew they had been trying to work out the best time for the wedding, just as they had decided his coronation day and the day of his betrothal ceremony to Shannon. He had expected a visit eventually, but surely it was too early-- "Our most gifted members, those who are most intuitive, who have the clearest vision of the future, have come to me. They say there is no doubt. In fact, they are in rare accord. While working to find the best day for your wedding, they saw instead a different vision. They have divined the day for Lady Shannon's Ritual of Readiness. Since that must come before the wedding in any case, I thought that you would want to know." "I see." Andalor hoped the anxiety he felt did not show. "And that day is?" "The morning after the third twin full moon of Planting Season, Your Majesty." "You mean Harvest Season." "Indeed I do not. Planting Season. The Seers' vision was quite unmistakable." "Planting Sea- But that's much earlier than we had thought!" Andalor's mind reeled. Shannon's test would be almost three moon-cycles earlier than they had planned. Time they couldn't afford to lose. "Are they certain?" "Quite certain, Sire. In fact, the chosen day is remarkably bright with promise, and any other day, both before and for a long while after, would be quite disastrous. Rarely has a vision been this unequivocal. For the Ritual of Readiness, that is the only day that portends well for Lady Shannon.... Your Majesty, I feel your distress. May I?" She extended a hand out to him. "Sorry?" Andalor, shrugging off his thoughts, looked up to see the High Priestess looking at him with a puzzled expression. "Oh! Oh, no, that will not be necessary, High Priestess. It was just a surprise. If the Seers say that is the day, then that is the day it shall be. Please give my thanks to them." Much as he craved the solace and comfort her touch would have brought, he could not take the chance that she would somehow discern the source of his unease. He rose, and the High Priestess stood as well. "Do me a favor, if you would," Andalor requested, walking her to the door. "Please allow me to divulge this news. I will see that the Minister of Protocol is informed." "But of course, Sire." "And please come back soon to visit me -- for pleasure the next time." She smiled warmly. "I will. The Goddess be with you." Andalor closed the door and leaned against it, shaking. Goddess! Shannon needed every moment of the time they thought they had. It was going to be a difficult enough task, even with that amount of time. But with three moon-cycles less! Reinald. Reinald must hear of this immediately. Now, it was only the Mages -- and the Goddess -- who could make his union with Shannon possible. * * * * "Reinald! Reinald, I must speak with you immediately. I-" Andalor's words halted abruptly as he entered the Royal Mage's chambers. Before him, Hannu and Reinald watched as Shannon, her brow furrowed in concentration, levitated a teapot over a small table by the fireplace. Suddenly, she turned towards her fiance, her expression of delight falling as the teapot crashed to the flagstones. The Mages sighed in tandem. "Shannon, you must not let anything interfere with your focus!" Hannu began, but was cut off by his daughter's exuberant squeal. "Did you see that, Andy? Did you see what I did?" She ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck. He held her briefly, then released her and stood back a bit. As he intended, she understood his signal to revert to more queenly decorum and quelled her enthusiasm. "I'm making wonderful progress in my Mage training, Andalor." "I know, I saw," he smiled. "Reinald, if I am interrupting...." "No, no, my boy. Lady Shannon has worked hard and deserves some respite. That will be all, Shannon. But remember this lesson -- nothing must interrupt your focus when you are applying your gifts. The consequences could be far worse than a smashed teapot." "I understand, Royal Mage. Andalor, is something wrong? The way you rushed in here...." The King shook his head, but kept a steady gaze on Reinald. "No, just a small matter of politics I must discuss with the Royal Mage. Why don't you do as he suggested and have a rest?" "All right, I'll go. But I can't rest. Livirnea has plans for me," she said with dramatically exaggerated dread. Andalor snorted in amusement. "Oh, I'm sure you'll cope somehow," he said, eyes twinkling. With mock gravity, she assured him, "I'll do my best." Casting a defiant glance at the Mages, she gave her fiance a quick, unqueenly kiss and was out the door. "I think I had better be running along, if you have matters of state to discuss," Hannu said, gathering up his books and parchment. "No! Please stay," urged Andalor. "That excuse was for Shannon's benefit. I would be pleased to have your counsel. Gentlemen, we have a problem." Something in the King's tone caught Reinald's attention, sending up alarm bells. He held up his hand for Andalor to keep silent, then said, "Pitar, please clear away the rubble and prepare tea. Then you may have the rest of the afternoon off." The stocky troll did the Royal Mage's bidding swiftly, then left. "Now, Andalor, you seem upset. What is the problem? Lady Shannon is doing well in Mage training, despite the little accident you witnessed. And Lady Livirnea tells me that she is making progress in her other studies - applying herself, studying hard, and keeping her temper in check. All appears to be going well, so I am at a loss to understand your anxiety." Andalor took a gulp of daytime tea, welcoming the badly needed restorative kick it gave him. Gazing into the mug, he said, "That would all be fine, if I had not just had a visit from the High Priestess. The Seers have set the date for the Ritual of Readiness - the morning following the third full twin moon of Planting Season." He glanced up, seeing the awful realization dawn on both Mages. "Great Goddess! Even a Realm-born queen-to-be would have difficulty being prepared by that date!" Hannu exclaimed. "Shannon will never be ready by then!" Dolefully, the King nodded. "The Priestess said there is no doubt. That particular day is very promising for Shannon, and all others after bode badly." "While I realize we should trust in the Goddess's wisdom, in this case it would take a tremendous leap of faith," agreed Reinald dryly. "You were quite correct in keeping this from Shannon. Such news could well undo much of the progress she has made. One moment...." He went to the door and spoke a few words to a passing servant. Moments later, Tarnor joined them and, mug in hand, settled into an armchair. "I am glad you are in Fairwoods right now, Tarnor," the Royal Mage began. Quickly, he told him of what had transpired. "All the deities of the Realm would have to work in concert to bring this one off," the gargoyle Mage observed with his customary good humor. "It is no coincidence that there are three Mages in the room, is it, Your Majesty?" Andalor shrugged disconsolately. "I don't pretend to know what you can do. All I know is that Shannon and I need your help. We've spoken of what could happen if Shannon fails the Ritual of Readiness. At the very least I could be forced to break the betrothal and choose another bride." He paused to gaze at his companions, his demeanor and tone deadly serious. "I have done a lot of thinking about this, and have decided that I will not break my betrothal with Shannon, regardless of the outcome of the Ritual. If she fails, I will abdicate." "Surely, Your Majesty, there is no need- " "Andalor, you can't be serious! You- " "Damn and blast, Your Majesty! There- " Andalor's small, humorless smile was tight. "Oh, but I assure you I shall. I love Shannon, and nothing is going to keep me from marrying her. There is even precedent -- Volar the Second abdicated when Doloria failed the Ritual." Reinald snorted. "But the situation was entirely different. Volar was not exactly the brightest light in the Realm, and Doloria was dimmer than a fieldbeast. From what we know of their progeny, Volar did the Realm a favor by abdicating. Besides, he had twelve brothers, all smarter, healthier and more capable than he, ensuring the dynasty. What of the other six dozen or so Kings in our history whose betrotheds failed the Ritual? None of them abdicated." "And all of those betrothals were purely political. Those Kings were probably thrilled when their brides failed and the betrothals were broken. In fact-- " "Andalor, you will not abdicate because it will not be necessary for you to do so," Reinald said with finality. "Shannon will be ready." "But how?" "You leave that to us." "But Reinald, you can't do anything unethical. Somehow Ballorca would find out. It could mean your head," the King reminded him. "I am well aware of that, my boy. That's why I asked Tarnor to be here. He is probably the best Mage ethicist in the Realm. Don't worry. We will come up with something. Now leave us. You must inform Minister of Protocol Ballorca of the date of the Ritual, but I would advise that you also swear him to secrecy about it. It is within your power to do so. Shannon cannot learn of the nearness of the Ritual until we can offer her some hope that her task is not impossible. And that will be hardest on you, Andalor. You must school yourself to hide your anxiety from her. It is critical." "I know." The King rose. "Fortunately, we have both been so busy that we rarely see each other privately -- or as privately as the chaperones allow," he added dryly. "Very well. But please keep me apprised of your progress." Feeling a bit more hopeful than when he had arrived, the King left to meet with Ballorca. "Well!" Tarnor said, rubbing his ear. "The first thought that occurs to me is to contact Mage Mulder." Hannu nodded. "I agree. His approach to magic is completely unconventional. In this case, that might be the best way to come up with something." "Then, gentlemen, if you would join me at the table...." The Royal Mage stood and made his way to the large round table in the center of the chamber. They pushed three chairs together and Reinald uncovered the Oracle Cloud. He murmured the Old Realm words of the spell as the colors in the orb swirled. At length they began to coalesce into a familiar figure. "Shit! Reinald, I wish to hell you could do something about this crystal! Much as I love hearing from you, one of these days I may end up as a case of spontaneous human combustion!" "I'm sorry, Mulder," Reinald said blandly. "Is this a convenient time?" "I'm not sure there *is* a convenient time for third degree burns," Mulder groused, rubbing his chest. "Yes, now is fine. It's three in the morning and we're in a hotel room, on a case in Georgia. In fact, we're not far from the swamp where you and Tarnor landed when you came to this world, Reinald." "Ugh! Don't remind me!" Tarnor shuddered. Mulder smiled, then he turned to his left in response to a muffled question. "It's okay, Scully, go back to sleep. It's just Reinald. Everything's all right, isn't it, Reinald?" "Oh, yes. This is more in the nature of a professional conference. Warrior Healer Scully may go back to sleep with an easy mind." "Hear that, Scully? Hold on, Reinald, I'm going to go into the bathroom so we don't disturb Scully. She needs her beauty sleep.... Ouch!" The orb dipped and swirled, and moments later Mulder's image formed again. He was rubbing his shoulder. "Okay guys, what's up?" "The date for Shannon's Ritual of Readiness have been advanced considerably. Without our intercession, I fear her chances of successful completion are very slim indeed." "Uh-oh. How's Shannon taking the news?" Hannu smiled. "We have elected not to inform her. Since your conversation with her, my daughter's attitude has improved remarkably and she's making progress." Mulder nodded. "Good thinking. She'd probably throw the Magestorm of all time and give up completely. I assume we're going to try to help?" Tarnor nodded, looking more solemn than usual. "If we can do so within the constraints of our ethical code. Please understand, no one wants Shannon to pass the Ritual more than I do," he said earnestly. "No one wants to see Andalor marry the woman he loves more than I. Especially after his announcement tonight. But the ethics of Magedom, the constraints by which we're bound -- I have taken a solemn vow to abide by them, as we all have, and abide by them we will. Regardless of how just the cause, I cannot be party to anything that would be unethical." "Nor would we want to be, Tarnor," Mulder assured him. "I'm certain we can come up with something that will leave all of us with clear consciences. Now, what's this about an announcement?" Reinald sighed. "Andalor has announced that if Shannon fails the Ritual of Readiness, he will abdicate rather than break the betrothal." "Then it looks like we'd better get to work and find something." "Unfortunately, that is not as simple as it sounds," the Royal Mage said, shaking his head. "The spell we want probably doesn't exist. That means we have to conjure up something that is completely new, effective, and allowed by our rather strict ethical code. Conjuring a new spell alone, even for the simplest action, is difficult enough. It can take season-cycles." "Which we don't have," Mulder finished thoughtfully. "Well, do we have to reinvent the wheel? Is there a spell we can modify in some way to have the desired effect?" Hannu, because of the peculiar circumstances of his very long life, had the best knowledge of extent spells. "That will take some research. Offhand, I don't know of any, but that doesn't mean one may not exist in some dusty old tome or decaying scroll. But there is also the problem that changing a spell in any way can have undesired effects -- sometimes disastrous ones. We may be better off to 'reinvent the wheel'." Tarnor was uncharacteristically serious. "Not to throw a bucket of cold water on the creative process, but it might be best to first determine what kind of a spell we can ethically use or create. I think we can all agree it would be a major breech of ethics to divine a spell that will simply place the knowledge she needs into Shannon's mind -- even if such a spell were possible." The assembled Mages nodded, Mulder joining in somewhat reluctantly. "So let me understand this. Anything like Reinald's language spell would be off-limits," he said. The Royal Mage nodded in agreement. "I'm afraid so. Shannon will have to learn Old Realm, at least enough to get her through the Rituals in which she would have to participate as Queen. As we can assume that that knowledge may be part of the test, then we would be wrong to use the language spell. No, what we must do is to conjure a spell which will facilitate her learning, without actually giving her the knowledge that she will be tested on. Would that pass muster, Tarnor?" The little gargoyle looked pensive, then flapped his hands in frustration. "I don't know. It seems reasonable enough, but somehow I am not completely comfortable with that idea." Mulder's brow knit in worry. Much as he admired Tarnor's integrity, much as he prized the ethics of his Realm calling, he still felt a natural drive to protect Shannon, and to help her pass the toughest test of her life. Probably better than anyone in the Realm, he appreciated that Andalor's threat to abdicate was a real one. He had met the boy when he was at his most rebellious, as a runaway to an unfamiliar world. Andalor had tasted freedom, and it had been no easy decision for him to go back to the Realm and again assume the mantle of responsibility he had worn since childhood. Mulder knew it was a very thin thread which bound the young man to the throne. If he and Shannon could not marry, Mulder didn't doubt for a moment that Andalor would carry out his threat to give up his kingdom. And he felt his fellow Mages really could not conceive of that happening. "We're just trying to level the playing field, Tarnor," Mulder reminded him gently. "We're not trying to make Shannon a genius, nor are we trying to make her the best qualified candidate in the history of the Realm. All we're trying to do is make up for the fact that Shannon wasn't born in the Realm, and doesn't have that sixteen or so years of advantage that any other candidate would have." Tarnor's ears waggled while he considered this. Detecting a softening of the gargoyle's position, Mulder pressed his case home. "To add to that disadvantage, through no fault of her own, Shannon now has even less time to accomplish the impossible. It's like the deck has been stacked against her. All I want is to make things fair." The gargoyle's expression brightened. "Well, looking at it from that standpoint... I suppose I would agree." "So!" declared Hannu. "At least we have a starting point now. Tarnor, will you help me research the spell books and scrolls to see if we might get some ideas?" The gargoyle nodded enthusiastically. "And Mage Mulder - what can you do in your world?" the Royal Mage asked. "Well, I do have some of my spell books at home. I wouldn't be able to test anything I came up with here, of course. I do have an idea.... Perhaps I could work out the theoretical aspects of it, and then turn it over to you, Reinald, for the practical aspects and to test and refine it." "An idea? What is it?" Mulder shook his head, smiling. "Let me work on it. Give me, say, a week in your time, and then contact me again. We'll get Shannon through this -- somehow." "Please give our love to Warrior Healer Scully," grinned Tarnor. Continuing in English, he added, "When she has finished with her 'beauty sleep'." Mulder grinned back. "The Professor's lessons are paying off, I see. I will do that, Tarnor. It hasn't been that long, but already I'm dying to get back to the Realm." He sighed. "Unfortunately, duty calls here. It was great seeing you guys. I'll talk to you in a week." Mulder's image shimmered and faded. Reinald stood up and covered the Oracle Cloud once more. "Well, we have our duties, gentlemen. Let's get to work." End of Chapter Eleven THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter 2000-2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Twelve The snow fell lightly around the small party of Forst representatives who had ridden together for three days along the ancient northward highway. This road had been the main trade route between Forst and the trolls' forested home for hundreds of season-cycles. Although the House had lost much of its power, the lands on either side of the road were still loyal to it and Margul knew that many warriors could be recruited here. Some of his men would continue north and learn what they could of Dordinal's activities from the trolls and, if possible, purchase supplies from them as well. Supplies that would be delivered to Forst's troops once they retook Cresscreek - if they could. Margul wanted to accompany his representatives on this journey but knew that he would have to satisfy himself with talking with the local lords as he could not be away from the Manor for long. Charla's presence on the journey also complicated things. Much as he cared for his cousin and valued her counsel, he didn't want to risk allowing either Dordinal or the King to know that she now stood with him. Her presence and the scale of her power would be a shock to the Dordinal troops at Cresscreek, and possibly at other sites as well. He dared not risk losing her capabilities to an inquisition order by Andalor. However, she wanted to come, and her presence made their travel on the winter-blocked roads much easier, and two days shorter than it otherwise would have been. The spells that she had cast on the riders who would travel further north would aid them through the rest of the day. As a result, they could reach the trolls' southern- most villages by nightfall. Margul turned to give Ghalbar and their companions his final instructions, a heavy burden on his mind. "All that you need do is find out what the trolls have heard and seen over their fall travels, and ensure that the supplies we need are on hand at Cresscreek. Pay them what you must in order to ensure their assistance and silence. We shall set watches for you at the landward stables. We pray your journey is safe and successful." "I understand," Ghalbar said. "If the trolls whom I have met at Fairwoods are home this winter, I will speak with them and hear their news. Without their help, things will be more difficult, but all can be accomplished easily enough." He hesitated, then put his thoughts into words. "Thank you for entrusting me with this mission, my lord. I will do my best to succeed." "I know," Margul said with a smile for the younger man. "You have worked hard to help me plan for what must come, and this mission is a reward for your diligence. Succeed here, and I will give you further responsibilities, as your connections to those outside of our lands are far better than those of anyone else save Charla. Sadly, her network will be able to help us little in our struggle with Dordinal. Hopefully it will be of greater use to me when I am called to account before the King, as I am sure will come to pass." "Accounts are written by the victors," Ghalbar replied resolutely, "and I intend to do my best to ensure that we give the first version of events. Now, however, I must be off if Charla's assistance is to be of maximum benefit." "Then go with speed and silence, and find only success on your journey," Margul said, as he swung up into his saddle. He turned his horse toward the strongly fortified manorhouse that stood atop the hill. The main north road curved around it before driving northeast toward the trolls' forests. Ghalbar kicked his heels into his mount's flanks and with a wave for Charla, struck out on his own mission. His heart was warmed by the friendship of the young nobles whose acquaintance he had renewed over the past moon-cycles. They now rode with him as he sought support in the chilly northlands, a company of honorable people in whose companionship he reveled as he thought of the long road ahead of them. He glanced back for one last look at the man whom he had come to respect more than any other over the past moon-cycles. In doing so, he happened to see his Householder and the striking woman, side by side on their horses, hands entwined in the security that few - if any - would see. Ghalbar smiled to himself. Even when war's dark clouds gathered on the horizon, love's brilliant light could shine through them and, he hoped, illuminate the lives of two people who had not yet basked in its radiance. * * * * Once more the Mages sat around the Oracle Cloud. The orb showcased the image of the one missing from the table, Mage Mulder. "I hope you have had better luck than we have," Reinald began glumly. "Hannu had the idea of extrapolating from my language spell, but we had precious little success." "That's putting it optimistically," commented Hannu. "You might more accurately say it was a resounding failure. The second we finished casting it, both Reinald and I were struck dumb, unable to utter a coherent word in any language. Thank the Goddess that Tarnor was not a part of the casting. If he hadn't come along, figured out what our problem was, and cast the rescue spell which nullified ours, we would be tongueless still!" Tarnor blushed a steely gray. "My pleasure. But Mulder, what progress have you made? And may it please the Goddess you have made some." "I'm not sure I've made any," he admitted. "Being here in my world has certain drawbacks, not the least of which is the inability to test out any of my theories. But my idea centered around my eidetic memory. If we could impart that same ability to Shannon, it might solve our practical as well as ethical problems. She would still have to read the history, language and customs books, and she'd still have to learn to behave as a Queen. But her memory of those lessons would be enhanced. What do you think, Tarnor? Would that be ethically acceptable?" The gargoyle's heavy brow knit in consideration. "Yes, I believe it would. There would be no magical implanting of knowledge into her mind that she had not studied. As you point out, she would have to do the work, or the spell would be of no advantage to her. Yes, I think that would be most acceptable," he concluded with a ferocious grin. "Well, we've cleared the first obstacle, then," Reinald declared. "Now - how do we do it?" "I've given that some thought as well," replied Mulder. "Though with the disastrous result of your attempt, Reinald, I can't say I feel too secure about this." "At the moment, any idea is better than none," Hannu observed good-naturedly. "Out with it, lad!" "Well, I thought... how about mixing portions of Gremelion's ancient Spell of Mystic Reading with Trahlahl's Spell of Binding?" The brows of the three Realm Mages shot up in astonishment. They were silent for a long time. "Well? Don't leave me hanging here, guys," Mulder said nervously. "I mean, I know I'm the new kid on the block as far as being a Mage goes, but I just thought--" Hannu waved dismissively. "No! No, I realize you are not trying to show us up." He nodded slowly. "A radical thought, Mage Mulder. I am amazed you are even cognizant of Gremelion's spell." In the Oracle Cloud, the young man's image shrugged. "It's on one of Reinald's old scrolls. I just happened to remember coming across it when we were searching for a way to defeat the Dark Queen. So... what do you think?" "I must admit, I barely remember that spell's existence," said the Royal Mage. "And I don't think I have cast the Spell of Binding, at least not in many, many season-cycles. But that is not to say that it cannot be done. Tarnor?" "Never heard of the mystical reading spell. But I have cast the Spell of Binding, and quite recently, too," he responded cheerfully. "If Hannu can guide us through Gremelion's spell, I think we're in business." Hannu smiled. "I believe it is possible, theoretically at least. Not being gifted with Mage Mulder's memory, I will have to study the fine points of the spell, but the idea is certainly worth the effort. Have you given any consideration to the necessary physical elements, Mulder?" "I figured, minimally, an old book and a pot of glue, which are the main physical elements of each spell. Beyond that, it's anyone's guess." "We can always start with some of the old standbys," suggested Tarnor. "Luminescence of fireflies, powdered raptor talons, ash from the burning of old magic scrolls, various charms. And if those don't work, we can get creative!" He seemed to enjoy the prospect. "We do have one problem, however," Hannu said. Mulder laughed. "Just one?" Shannon's father smiled, then sobered. "How do we know when we have divined a spell that will work? We can't experiment on ourselves - you know how close to disaster Reinald and I came. We can't experiment on a lower creature that doesn't have the ability to read. And we can't experiment on other beings because it would be unethical. Sometimes," he continued, a glint of mischief in his eyes, "I almost envy the Black Mages. They have the advantage of being able to experiment freely, without such constraints." Tarnor looked outraged at his companion's comments, until it was clear that he was being baited. Then he chuckled. "In truth, from a purely practical standpoint, I must agree. Well, we shall just have to work on the spell from a theoretical viewpoint, be sure that it cannot harm, whether or not it can help. Then try it on Lady Shannon." "Yeah- - let's make sure she won't end up simply sticking like glue to any book she touches," Mulder joked weakly, not quite able to disguise his unease for Shannon's safety. "Do not worry," Hannu kindly replied. "Shannon will be no worse off for the experience, I promise you." "I suggest that Hannu and I work on the words of the casting," suggested Reinald. "Tarnor, you can work on the physical elements. We will meet here each day just after the midday meal to discuss our progress." There were nods of agreement. "You've done it again, my boy," Reinald continued, smiling. "You have given us hope just when things looked their darkest." "Just keep in touch and let me know if it works." Mulder still did not look entirely happy. "We will. And give our love to Scully." At the mention of his bondmate, his features brightened. "I will. She's just visiting her mom, or she'd be here. Andalor okay?" "Doing well, although I believe he will sleep better once we have found the spell we're looking for to help Shannon." Smiling, Mulder said, "He's not the only one. Okay. Same time next week, everything permitting?" Reinald nodded. "I'll ask Gunther to work out the calculations." "Great... see you then." The image faded and the colors swirled, then were no more. * * * * Finally! Ghalbar thought as the lights of the large troll village came into sight. His party had been on the road for nearly a week and all were exhausted. They had been told that the trader Krolgar and troll general Kergidor lived here and, if the necessary arrangements could be made at all, it was these beings that could do it. They had also been told that these beings would have information concerning the families that were supposedly in hiding in the northernmost part of the Realm. The cold rain had taken much out of all of the members of his party. Much as he wished that their business could wait until the next day, Ghalbar knew that the trolls wanted their party dealt with as quickly and quietly as possible. Though Dordinal could not communicate with its spies now, they would be able to report back in the Spring. Since the announcement of Darliss' marriage to Hegan, many in the Realm did not want to be seen as being overly supportive of Dordinal's enemies. "I am certainly as tired as I have ever been," said one of his companions, a fresh-faced young noble who now sagged in his saddle. "As am I," Ghalbar agreed, his eyes sweeping the large open space where they now waited, searching for the beings they were to meet. After some moments, he saw the squat form of Krolgar, and the somewhat older but equally corpulent form of Kergidor. The pair moved toward them, the former dressed in what must be troll finery, while the latter clanked along in the best armor that the trolls could forge. Ghalbar swung out of his saddle and moved forward on stiff legs to meet the troll leaders, his back straightening in recognition of the importance of his mission as much as it did from respect for the troll leaders whom he now faced. "I am Ghalbar of House Forst," he said, bowing first to Kergidor, then Krolgar, as troll custom demanded. "Welcome," Kergidor replied. His suspicion at seeing a noble-born human traveler at this time of year was barely masked behind the diplomacy that the situation required. "I am Kergidor, chief warrior of the troll nation. This is Krolgar, one of our leading merchants," he said. "I have been told that you have important business to discuss, and would ask you and your party to join us at the inn so that we may see if our nation has anything to offer you." "My companions and I shall be honored to sit at supper with you and then to discuss our business as best serves our needs and those of your people," Ghalbar replied, holding to the customary forms that he had been taught so many years ago when his unusual intelligence and diplomatic skills had first been recognized. Kergidor nodded slightly, obviously impressed by the young human noble's diplomacy if not by his actual presence in the trolls' village. Few members of the majority of the Noble Houses cared enough about what they called the "lower species" to bother to learn their customs. He then gestured toward a large building that Ghalbar now realized must be the local inn. "Then join us in our meal, and benefit from the bounty of our lands," said the troll general. With a nod to the others, he led the way toward the warmth and shelter that the inn promised. * * Nearly a candlemark later, his feet warmed by the great fire in the inn's main room, Ghalbar sighed, and pushed his plate away, unable to consume another mouthful. The rest of his party had given up far earlier, but Ghalbar knew well that one of the ways in which trolls proved their appreciation of the hospitality that they had been shown was to make a particularly noteworthy dent in the food that they were offered. He only hoped that he wouldn't become ill before the negotiations were completed. "You have shown great sensitivity to our customs," Kergidor said from his position at the head of the table. "I am both impressed with your respect for us, and your ability to eat like a troll!" "My thanks to you, General," Ghalbar replied, "however, it is your people who have shown us respect and honor by offering us such a fine feast and commodious lodgings. I thank you for both, and hope that your people will see such bounty as to make the fare that you have served us pale in comparison to the end of next year's harvest." "Here, here!" cried the rest of Ghalbar's party from their positions around the table. "My thanks for your good wishes," Kergidor replied. "But now, we must discuss the things that you have come to ask of us, and see whether we can do the business that you seek to complete." "My mission here is two-fold," Ghalbar said. "First, I am here to purchase supplies for an attempt to take Cresscreek back from the Dordinal rabble that occupied it last fall. Second, I wish to ask if you have knowledge about the old Houses whom, it has been said, dwell in the far north." "Why not use your own supplies for your attack against Darliss's holdings?" Krolgar asked, for the first time taking a major role in the conversation that had flowed around the table. "We are, Merchant Krolgar," Ghalbar said. "Unfortunately we don't have the food and some of the materials that we will need to equip a force of the size that we hope to put into the field. Since my cousin Margul feels that Darliss's actions are treasonous to our house, he has chosen to try to retake Cresscreek before Dordinal's hold on it becomes unshakeable." "Good strategy," Kergidor commented thoughtfully before sitting back, his chair groaning under his massive weight. "Yes," Krolgar agreed. "We have the supplies that you need, but you must understand that they will come at a high price, given the legality of Dordinal's claim to the property that you want to retake." "I understand," Ghalbar said. "However, I would point out that should Dordinal gain control in Cresscreek, they will be one step closer to choking your main southward trade route and setting high tolls on it. I would think that such a situation would be intolerable to your people." "It would make things more difficult, but as my wren-brother Larka is mayor in Hotspring, I'm sure that we will be able to make some kind of arrangement with Hegan." "Possibly," Ghalbar replied. "But I wouldn't want to bet my future on such a hope, given Hegan's history of intolerance toward your species. As I ask only for supplies, and can pay for them in gold, you lose nothing on this deal, whichever House wins the forthcoming war." "Not necessarily so," Kergidor said, "but any insult done Dordinal by our selling you supplies would be more than overcome by Hegan's pleasure at seeing Margul run through with a sword. So, I think it safe from the military standpoint to offer you what you need. Of course, Krolgar has final say on any such arrangement from the standpoint of our trade relations with our southeastern neighbor." "How much do you seek and how much would you be willing to pay?" Krolgar asked, recognizing that the profit to be made from Forst's internal politics could be great. Indeed, it might even replace the losses that he had taken when the last caravan of the northward march was attacked and utterly destroyed nearly a moon-cycle previously. "We are interested in 150 swords, 50 shields, and 500 light spears. We also seek enough food to supply the needs of two hundred human warriors for a period of twelve days." "Such supplies will not come easily," "I am prepared to offer 3,000 silver and 2,000 gold pieces for what I seek," Ghalbar said. "It will cost you at least a thousand more in both gold and silver," came Krolgar's counter-offer. "3,500 silver and 2,200 gold," Ghalbar replied quickly. "3,700 silver, and 2,700 gold." "3,650 silver and 2,400 gold but only if you add transportation into the bargain," Ghalbar replied. "3,600 silver and 2,600 gold with transportation as part of the bargain and you will have an arrangement." "I will consider this bargain complete if you will accept a price of 3,600 silver and 2,500 gold," Ghalbar said knowing that they were now closing in on an arrangement. "Very well," Krolgar sighed, seemingly distressed at the hardness of Ghalbar's bargain. However, in reality, he knew well that a great profit was being made, and was willing to give a little extra, considering the Forst noble's respect for his people's customs. "On the matter of the northern houses," Kergidor said, retaking his place as lead negotiator, "We have only marginal contact with them, but can assure you that they do exist. They have suffered greatly from raids by others even more distant from Fairwoods than they are. If you can promise Forst's support in their hope to reestablish communication with His Majesty, I believe that you might succeed in convincing them to ally themselves with you. "You will, of course, have to send a representative to speak with them on this. The way is incredibly dangerous in the best of weather, and you will have to take a Mage to guide you if you hope to survive the journey now. You will have to pay one of our local Mages to make the trip with your representative. Given the dangers, the trip will be neither easy nor inexpensive. " "Very well," Ghalbar said with a sigh, wishing now that Charla had continued on with them in spite of the dangers to herself and to their House. "As lead of our party, I shall go and speak with them. I would ask that my companions be allowed to stay here until my return, when we will depart and return to Forst lands." "I'm sure that the inn-keeper will be pleased of their patronage," Krolgar replied for the middle aged troll who had been quietly observing the proceedings. "That I shall," he said, bustling up to offer the young men and women of House Forst his best rooms. The bargaining went quickly, and within half a candlemark, all were abed, preparing for the day to come. End of Chapter Twelve THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Thirteen "And Lord Maalfees, how is your lady wife?" Lita, playing the part of the Householder, threw herself into her role. "Very kind of you to ask, I'm sure, Your Highness. Fit as a soul-eater, she is. Why only yesterday, I caught her fiddling with the codpiece of one of my young proteges." Shannon and Livirnea exploded into a fit of giggles. Finally, Livirnea wiped her eyes and declared, "Lita! If you want to help Shannon learn the social graces, you have to stop doing that!" The young would-be Queen snorted. "I don't know. This is the first lesson I've really enjoyed." Lita sighed. "I am sorry, my Lady. But they're such a contemptible bunch, I can't help myself." Livirnea rolled her eyes. "All right. Would it help if you changed roles, perhaps? Can you think of a noble that you could play who would not be quite so tempting to lampoon?" The elven servant's brow's knit in thought. "Well, there's your father of course. But-- I know! How about Prince Mavor?" "Excellent! And Shannon, this will give you an opportunity to test your knowledge of elven language and history. Very well, let's start again." At the noblewoman's nod, Shannon spoke the traditional Elvish words of greeting, and inquired if the 'Prince' would join them for tea. Livirnea looked on approvingly. Shannon had made good progress. She took to the elven language surprisingly easily, though she still had her problems with the pronunciation of the guttural troll tongue, and with the intricacies of the unique gargoyle grammatical structure. She was approaching the level of competence in those languages that any young noblewoman who would be Queen would have. Unfortunately, Old Realm, the language in which she would have to be fluent in order to take part in the diverse royal rituals, was much more difficult for her. While she was becoming more conversant with Realm history, the myriad aspects of the culture, customs and traditions still posed problems. Not a lesson went by that Shannon did not trip up on some minor, but telling, point or other. Once it might be forgetting to sit down so guests could seat themselves. Another time it might be an inappropriate informality of speech, and another it might be an awkward movement or omitted phrase in a traditional verbal exchange. Such gaffes frustrated and frightened Livirnea, because she had not anticipated them. In every case they had been small but noticeable mistakes, mistakes a Realm native never would have made. Even worse, they had come up in the course of a perfectly normal exchange of words or custom that the young noblewoman took for granted. She simply hadn't recognized the dangers until it was too late. Thank the Goddess there were still many moon-cycles to drill her in what must now become her way of life. Shannon was doing well, but they would need every candlemark of the time available to them. "Well done!" The three women around the tea table jumped, and turned toward the door of Livirnea's beautifully appointed quarters. King Andalor and Reinald stood observing, the old Mage nodding happily. Instantly, the women got to their feet. "Andalor! What a surprise!" Shannon glided to her fiance's side, dropped a graceful curtsey, and took him by the hand. "How long have you been here?" The young King smiled. "Long enough to be very impressed with your progress." "Very impressed, indeed," agreed Reinald. "Why, you walk like a Queen now, Shannon!" "I have Livirnea to thank for that. And Lita's been helping too! Liv had this great idea that I might learn better in realistic situations, so Lita is the mystery guest of the day. Today she's been Prince Mavor." "That is an excellent idea. And, 'Prince Mavor', what report have you for me?" the King asked, his purple eyes twinkling. "Lady Shannon will speak Elvish as well as I do soon. She has a real knack for it, she does. And in our discussion of elven history, she did well. Got the name of Prince Mavor's great great grandfather wrong, but otherwise good. Aye, quite proud of her, I am." "Thank you, Lita. We can always count on you." "That you can, Your Majesty. I'll do anything to see you two happily married," she declared, looking the King straight in the eyes. "Anything." She paused, smiling mischievously. "Though you might not have been thanking me a candlemark ago, when I was doing my impression of Lady Darliss of Forst. It's very popular down in the kitchens." Reinald chuckled as Andalor smothered a grin. "Some people just beg ridicule, Lita. Though if you ever quote me, I'll deny it." "It'll be our secret then, Sire. Now, I must be off - I have many duties before I'm done for the day. Tomorrow afternoon, as usual, Lady Livirnea?" "Please. If you have time." As the elf left, the King exclaimed, "Liv! I'm so sorry, I forgot you've been standing all this time. Please, sit." Instead of seating herself, she walked to meet him and took his free hand. "Nonsense, Andalor. I've been pampered long enough. I am well and strong again, as Kyla promised." While the others seated themselves around the tea table, Shannon set to brewing a fresh pot. "I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that, Liv," the King said fondly. "Your father should be so proud of you. Coming here, and doing what you are for Shannon, for me, and for the Realm is a tremendous service, one we will be hard-pressed to repay. That you were injured is bad enough; if it had cost you your life, I never would have forgiven myself." "Well, I'm fine now." Livirnea affirmed, patting his hand. "Besides, I fully accepted all the possible risks. And for once I feel useful, which is the best medicine of all." Shannon brought the tea to the table. "I'll pour." Andalor's brows rose in surprise. Not only was she pouring, but doing so beautifully, a far cry from the slap-dash hospitality she would have meted out only a few moon-cycles before. She sat on the edge of her chair, her spine ramrod-straight, sipping at her tea daintily. But beneath that ladylike exterior, he knew beat the heart of a warrior, a strong woman upon whom he could count for love and support. He felt tears sting his eyes. His Shannon. Goddess, he was fortunate. "So tell us of the horrors of kingship, Andalor," Livirnea asked, smiling. "What dangers lurk?" He returned her smile, but it was a grim one. "For a starter, my marriage to Shannon is not the only one which occupies my thoughts these days. A catastrophe is in the making." "Lady Darliss and Lord Hegan?" guessed Shannon. He nodded. "Even in the dismal history of the Noble Houses, this is a new low. I simply cannot believe House Forst has been so ill-advised as to allow this marriage to take place. As you know, I see all the contracts of marriages between the Houses. This one-- ! It gives Dordinal everything, absolutely everything. I will be surprised if House Forst survives at all after this marriage takes place. The carnage wrought by the Dark Queen may not yet be over. So many Householders and leading nobles were killed in the collapse of the Great Hall. Not that they were an easy bunch to deal with, but to have an imbecile like Darliss in such a position is insanity. This marriage will totally upset the equilibrium of the Houses, with Dordinal emerging much stronger than the others. And Lord Hegan is both ambitious and cold-blooded. He will waste no time in making use of his advantage." "But Andalor, can't you stop it?" his fiancee asked. Reinald replied. "Unfortunately not, my dear. You see, by our traditions, the King must be informed of House marriages, but he does not specifically have the power to deny them." "That would take a special meeting of the Council of Representatives," explained Livirnea. "Although many of the Houses may be against this particular marriage and see the dangers in it, they also know it would not be in their interests to set a precedent by stopping it. That only occurred once, many generations ago. A terrible war broke out as a result, leaving the Realm in ruins, most of the Houses without leaders, and the King who called the Council to deny the marriage dead by assassination." "Goddess! Andalor, don't-- " He took Shannon's hand and stroked it. "Don't worry. I have no intention of calling a Council. We can only hope that something happens so their marriage never takes place. A lover's spat, perhaps." Livirnea noticed her friend was still in full 'Queen mode'. "Shannon, you've worked hard today. Just relax and be yourself now." The girl smiled a bit self-consciously. "You know, it's funny, but it's almost becoming natural now. I don't even have to think about it." Andalor and Reinald traded glances again. "I'm so happy to hear you say that, Shannon. I have some news for both you and Livirnea." His fiancee tensed. "Good news? Or bad?" "Both." "All right," she sighed. "Hit me with the bad news first." "The High Priestess informed me that the date for the Ritual of Readiness has been set. As you probably know, the Seers choose the dates of important occasions based on their visions." He paused. "You may not believe in such things, and there are certainly times that I question if I do, but that is our way." She nodded warily. "Well, apparently the day that most favors your passing the Ritual of Readiness is a bit sooner than we were expecting." The King studied his teacup diligently. Across the table, Reinald's eyes were closed and his lips moved silently with the words of a spell that would reinforce the shield around Shannon, should her emotions get the better of her. The girl did not fail to notice. "Andalor, what exactly is your definition of 'a bit sooner'?" she asked evenly. "Uh... three moon-cycles?" Later, Reinald could not decide who gasped louder in dismay, Shannon or Livirnea. "Three. Moon-cycles. That's your idea of 'a bit'?" Shannon's struggle to control her emotions -- panic, self-doubt, resentment -- was clear to everyone in the chamber. "Andalor, I know we have no choice in the matter, and I'm sure the Seers believe what they're doing, but... have you lost your mind?" Livirnea took an unsteady breath. "I apologize. Look, Shannon has made wonderful progress and has worked herself hard, harder than I have ever seen anyone work. But this is just not fair! We needed every moment as it was, but now-- !" The King raised his hand. "That's the bad news. And believe me, I do not take it lightly. But I said there was good news, as well." "Ballorca's dead?" Shannon joked darkly. "Not that good," Andalor admitted, smiling. "But nearly. Reinald?" "Well, my dear, your father, Mage Mulder, Mage Tarnor and I have been working on something to help. A spell. Actually, it was Mulder who had the initial idea. Since he's a bit handicapped by his world, we have developed it further. The spell, assuming it works correctly, would give you what Mulder and Andalor were gifted with naturally - an eidetic memory. You would still have to read the history books and so on, but you would be able to remember perfectly everything that you had read. It won't help you learn our traditional dances, or the troll tongue, since that is not a written language. But it will help you to learn anything that's written down. The Old Realm language, the rituals, our history and customs...." Trembling, Shannon rose. "Just... give me a minute." She paced slowly over to the windows across the chamber. As she stared out at the bucolic scene before her -- fieldbeasts happily munching at haystacks, younglings bundled up against the cold playing hoopball -- her mind raced. Suddenly, she turned. "This spell -- is it ready?" "Nearly," replied Reinald. "Tarnor wanted to make some adjustments to the material aspects. But it should be ready in a day or two." She rejoined them at the table, pulling her chair closer to Andalor's. He grasped her hand in his, shocked at how cold it was. She was badly shaken, he thought, far more shaken than her restrained behavior would suggest. He had never been more proud of her. "You said 'assuming it works correctly'. What precisely did you mean by that?" she asked quietly. Again, Andalor and the Royal Mage exchanged glances. "We haven't tested it. We're not even sure it can be tested," Reinald admitted. Shannon's expression was distant as she considered. "So, if it doesn't work correctly, it could, for example, wipe my memory clean of everything I've learned so far." "But that won't hap-- " Andalor began, but the Royal Mage broke in. "No, my boy, she's asked an excellent question and deserves an honest answer. Which is, my dear," he said, turning to her, "that we don't know. Wiping your memory clean is certainly not a result that I would expect, but I honestly cannot tell you that there is no possibility of that happening. All new spells, even perfectly composed and flawlessly cast, involve an element of risk. I believe that risk to be small, but I could be mistaken." Slowly she nodded, and stood up. "I have to think about this. I know you're all trying to help, and I am grateful. But if I lose what I have learned, what I've worked so hard for, it's a certainty that I will fail the Ritual of Readiness. I'm not sure I want to risk that." "I'll walk you to your quarters," Andalor said quietly. Reinald stood, approached Shannon and embraced her warmly. "My dear, no matter what you decide, in my books you have already passed the Ritual. This evening, you have behaved as a true Queen in every way." Shannon's smile did not reach her eyes, which were clouded with worry. "Thanks, Reinald." His arm around her shoulders, Andalor led Shannon slowly down the length of the chamber and closed the door softly behind them. "Livirnea, you have been extremely quiet," Reinald observed. "What say you?" "Come, let us get more comfortable." She gestured toward the sofa, and they sat down together. "I must tell you, I am torn. Shannon has applied herself and is doing wonderfully. She has already accomplished so much. But every time I dare to hope that we will be ready, I find there is some small thing I have not thought to teach her which trips her up. I am frightened that something of the sort will happen during the Ritual -- that she will fail and it will be my fault." "Oh, my dear-- " "No, Royal Mage, let me finish. Because of that fear, I would take comfort in the spell that you Mages have composed. Surely, most of our customs and traditions have been recorded in some tome or other, and Shannon would not be forced to rely only upon me. Especially now that the preparation time has been so severely curtailed." She laughed humorlessly. "I suppose, in that, I am being selfish. But I can also well understand Shannon's fear. If the unthinkable happened and the spell made things worse instead of better, there would be no hope at all of her passing the Ritual." She sighed. "I do not envy Shannon her decision. I doubt she will get much rest tonight." Reinald nodded. "I know, and I agree. The other Mages and I have agonized over this, repeatedly going over every word of the spell, looking for traps, making sure that the meaning is unambiguous. That is one of the greatest risks in spell composing. Tarnor has even started devising a 'rescue' spell, so in case the worst does occur we have a means of undoing it. But the completion of that spell is many weeks off, and there is no guarantee that that would be effective either." "Royal Mage, tell me honestly - what do you believe are the chances of success with your spell?" "As the Professor would say, better than average. Perhaps as high as seventy five percent. But-- " "But that still leaves a one in four risk of disaster," Livirnea concluded. "Regrettably, that is so. Shannon will have to decide for herself if the risks are worth it. We can do nothing but support her decision." Livirnea looked grim. "And deal with the consequences." * * * * The negotiations had been going on for nearly three candlemarks, and Randock was pleased with Margul's plans. However, his House had never been known for its haste where agreements were concerned, and Randock felt it was his duty to his family and its supporters to maintain this honorable tradition. Unfortunately, doing so was a strain on the negotiators. He knew that he would soon have to agree to the plan or risk serious diplomatic problems with the high House at Forst. However, he could afford to play out the string a little further; he wanted to test the younger man's diplomatic skills. Not only would such skills be important for the building of the coalition that Margul wanted to throw against Dordinal, but also in maintaining it once victory had been achieved. "No matter how many men and how much money the others and I give you, Dordinal will be able to outmatch you by at least five to one," Randock said, focusing on the one part of the plan that caused him true discomfort. "True," Margul admitted. "But you know as well as I do that they will not be able to concentrate their resources against us unless leaks occur. Particularly when those resources are being expended in useless feuding amongst a number of well-matched and equally foolish pretenders. Only Hegan poses a threat, and by destroying his position at Cresscreek, we will weaken him sufficiently to guarantee years of war within Dordinal." "And you suspect me of contemplating such a leak?" Randock demanded, honestly angered at the younger man's presumption of his disloyalty. "Actually, no," Margul replied. "Your family has been loyal to mine for longer than any other, and you were the first from the outside to come to me and demand that I take control at Forst. But as you know well, rumors move faster than a Mage through a gate, and we daren't take such chances." "True," Randock agreed quickly. Secretly, he was pleased by the young noble's wisdom. "But I am still concerned by the comparatively limited strength of your forces." "As I would be, save for the fact that we have access to some... unusual capabilities... that will strengthen my forces greatly," Margul replied, somewhat uncomfortably. "I will not speak further of them, other than to say that as my liege, you need recognize that it doesn't benefit me to have your House weakened by losses." "Not necessarily," Randock snapped. "After all, if you had direct control over my lands, your base would be greatly strengthened." "Only if I could control that base. If I lose in the forthcoming campaign, it is likely that you will be given the option to join Dordinal instead, should you desire such a fate." "No!" the old noble said quickly. "That fate I would not wish on my worst enemy." "Then we are agreed on a plan?" Margul asked. Randock considered for a moment. He had put himself in the position of having to accept Margul's guarantee, much as he would have liked to know more of these special capabilities. "Yes, we are agreed." "Then I wish you the best in collecting your resources," Margul said. As he rose, the woman who had accompanied him moved to stand beside him. "I shall look forward to accompanying your contingent into battle at the end of the third twin full moon of planting season." "As you say," Randock said, rising to see them from his study. He bowed to Margul, and then turned to his companion, ready to give her the same obeisance. His eyes widened in shock. While his back was turned, her clothing had shifted in aspect from that of a noblewoman accompanying her Householder on a long and cold journey, to that of a powerful Mage, whose cloak was nearly as dark a blue as that of the Royal Mage Reinald. Before he could say anything to her about this fantastic change, her aspect shifted back to that of the wealthy noblewoman. The small smile with which she greeted him when he bowed over her hand made it clear that the change had been intentional. It was as much a guarantee of Margul's resources as it was a warning of the consequences, should he speak of what he had just seen, and the deliberations which had gone before. "My lady," he said quietly, bowing deeply before her. "Sir," she replied as she stepped through the door, neither Margul nor the servant accompanying them aware of the exchange that had just occurred. End of Chapter Thirteen THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - The Firebrand By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Fourteen The first rays of sun glinted through heavily frosted windows as the Mages sat in front of Reinald's hearth. Fatigue showed on their faces, in their reddened eyes, in the slump of their shoulders. Ever since Shannon had been told of the possibility that could bring success or ruin, they had worked ceaselessly on every facet of their creation, trying to foresee any problems, making it as safe and effective as possible. "We have done everything we can," Hannu commented wearily. "Now it is up to Shannon." Indeed, the teenager had yet to make a decision. It had been three long days and nights since she was told of the shortened preparation time, and the spell that could mean everything. Days of work and worry, nights of tossing and turning for everyone involved. The Mages did not even look up as Lita entered to set breakfast out on the refectory table. "I agree," said Reinald. "I can well understand Shannon's reluctance. However, at this point, we are losing valuable time. Lady Livirnea has noted scant progress in the last few days. It is no wonder -- the child has gotten little sleep, has thought of little else, so consumed is she with making the right decision. But she will have to make it soon." In the manner that had made her privy to so much knowledge in the past, Lita kept her ears open, went about her duties quietly, and tried to blend into the background. A big decision? Why had she not caught wind of this before? "As Hannu says, we have done everything we can. This spell has been picked apart, syllable by syllable. Infinitely more care has been taken with it than usual -- which, of course, under the circumstances, is only right," Tarnor observed. "The fate of the Realm hangs in the balance." The bowl she was holding slipped from Lita's hands in her astonishment, and only by her quick reaction and some deft juggling did she manage to avoid the crash that would focus unwanted attention on her. What was this spell that was so important, she wondered. "I would just feel better if we could test it," Hannu persisted. The Royal Mage sighed. "We have been over this, Hannu. While I appreciate your feelings for your daughter, the only possible test subjects are ourselves. If the spell were to have unexpected consequences, it would take the talents of all of us to undo the damage. If even one of us were incapacitated, that would be impossible." As Hannu opened his mouth to retort, Reinald continued. "Because of our efforts of the past few days, Tarnor's recovery spell has languished. As that spell could save us from disaster, it is a priority should things go wrong." His expression softened. "I know what's at stake here, Hannu. Andalor is no less threatened by the failure of this spell than Shannon. But even you must admit that no spell has been more thoroughly researched, has had the care taken that this one has." "That is true," Hannu replied heatedly. "But we are venturing into unknown territory with this spell. It is innovative and extremely intricate." Tarnor shrugged. "Agreed. But the same can be said for most new spells -- they all attempt to do something that has not been done before. I believe Reinald's argument holds, in spite of the threat to the Realm -- and of course Shannon --should the spell fail. We simply have no other options." "Aye, you do. Test it on me." The heads of the Mages snapped around. They had obviously forgotten her, if they had ever noticed her at all, and now Lita stood stolidly, hands on hips, surveying them. She might be afraid of the possible consequences of her offer, but was equally determined to see it through. "Uh... Lita, we didn't realize you were here," Tarnor said uncomfortably. "That is a generous, courageous and selfless offer, Lita, but I am afraid we can't accept it." "And why not, I'd like to know," she demanded, her temper flaring. "Am I not good enough?" The Royal Mage rose and went to her, taking her hand and leading her to the hearth. "We're very proud and grateful to you that you would offer, and we know you want to help. But this is not the way," he said kindly. "First, even though you are volunteering, we cannot ethically accept." "But-- " "And secondly," he went on, patting her hand, "it appears that eidetic memories occur only in humans. The spell was composed based on that fact. If we cast it on you, we would have no idea of its effects. You would just as likely sprout feathers or grow to the height of the roof beams as become able to remember everything you had read." "But I appreciate the offer, more than I can say." Shannon closed the door and paced down to the hearth. Leaning over, she hugged the servant warmly. "Thank you, Lita. But there are some things I'm just going to have to face by myself." "Very well, Lady Shannon. But if ever I can help out-- " "I'll call on you, Lita. I promise. You're a good friend." The servant felt a lump in her throat. Curtly, before her emotions showed, she nodded and left the chamber. "So, Shannon -- have you made your decision?" "I think so, Dad. But before I give you my answer, I want to ask a favor." "What is it, child?" Reinald asked, curiosity lighting his eyes. "I'd like to talk to Warrior Healer Scully." His brows rose in surprise. "Not Mage Mulder?" Shaking her head, she took a seat by the hearth. "No. No, his instinct is to protect me - like you, Dad. And if I know Mulder, he is already having a fit of the guilts about all this - what he might be exposing me to in this spell. Scully will give me an honest opinion. She can separate her emotions from her intellect much better than Mulder can. She'll be able to help me think straight, so I can make the right decision." Hannu nodded. "Very wise, my dear. All right then - shall we?" The Mages rose and congregated around the large circular table in the center of the chamber. Reinald drew back the dark blue velvet covering from the Oracle Cloud and the Mages began their chant. The mists in the Cloud swirled and deepened in hue. "Ouch! Dammit!" The image of Dana Scully sharpened in the Oracle Cloud. "Mulder was right, Reinald, you have to do something about this overheating problem." He chuckled. "Well, we have quite a bit on our plates at the moment, but we will get around to it eventually. You are just who we wanted, by the way." The expression of relief on her face was so fleeting it might not have ever been. "Someone here would like to talk to you." The Mages withdrew, closing the iron-bound door securely as they left. "Shannon! It's wonderful to see you." Her tone changed and she frowned. "Is everything all right? You don't look well," Scully observed shrewdly. "I haven't been sleeping. Scully, I have a decision to make, and I'm not sure what to do. Mulder told you about the spell he's been working on, right?" She smiled. Her bondmate had worked on that spell with his customary obsessiveness. Through their unique bond, only Scully was aware that the man who appeared to be paying rapt attention to briefings and budget meetings was actually engrossed in the building of a magic spell for use in another reality. "It occupied all of his spare time for several weeks. Yes, I know about it." "Well... it might help me to pass this Ritual of Readiness, and you know how vital that is. The problem is, the spell can't be tested, and even Reinald admitted it could wipe my memory clear of everything I've learned so far. And if that happens, I'm screwed. Scully, what do you think I should do?" "There are rarely any guarantees in life, Shannon. The trick is knowing when you should take the risk and when you should walk away. All right. Say you don't have the spell cast on you. What would be the result?" The girl smiled grimly. "Unless there's a miracle, I'll fail. The test date has been moved up -- way up. I can't possibly learn everything I'm supposed to know in the time left. Plus, I've never been very good at tests, anyway. Even when I know the stuff, my brain just sort of freezes." "Well, then I'd say your decision's been made for you," Scully said reasonably. She smiled. "Look, if the other Mages have worked as hard as Mulder has on this, and I'm sure they have, then I think you have very little to worry about." Shannon nodded and sighed. "Yeah, I had pretty much figured that out. It just helps to hear you say it. You're the most sensible person I know, Dana, and if you think the spell is the only way to go, then that's the way it is." She peered at the Oracle Cloud image. "By the way, you don't look so good, either. What's wrong? Is it Mulder?" Scully bit her lip, then replied, "I guess I'm a little short on sleep myself." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Mulder's been in the hospital, Shannon. He was injured on one of our cases." "Oh, no -- not again!" Shannon had learned a great deal when the bondmates related stories about their work to pass the time on the long journey to find Hannu. Some were funny and some scary, but all too often they ended with one or the other in the hospital. "Is he okay?" Her smile, meant to be reassuring, was trembling and half-hearted. "He will be. But it was a close one. He's home with me now, sleeping in the next room, but he has a lot of recovering to do. Look, do me a favor, Shannon. Don't mention this to our friends there. They would only worry, and there's nothing they can do. He'll be okay. That's Mulder, he always bounces back, right?" Shannon could tell that the Warrior Healer was near tears from exhaustion and concern. "Yes, he does, and you need to remind yourself of that. Try not to worry, Dana." Wordlessly, Scully nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. The girl continued, "Anyway, it's a deal. I won't tell anyone here. But you have to promise me something. Don't tell Mulder I talked to you, okay? I don't want him to think I'm ungrateful for all the work he put into the spell, or that I don't trust him and the other Mages. And especially I don't want him to think I'm a wimp!" "He would never think that, honey. He's seen you in action. And he'd be happy to know that I spoke to you and you were okay." "All right, then. Give him my love, okay, Dana? And... and tell him I miss him, and that he'd better stay out of the hospital for a while, or... or we'll all show up at his bedside, including Tarnor and Jhorghab! And he can try explaining *them* to everyone!" Scully laughed for the first time in a week. "It's a deal! I'll tell him." Sobering, she advised, "The spell will work, Shannon. Go into it confidently, and the Mages won't let you down." "I will, Dana. Thanks." The mists swirled and the image of the Warrior Healer was gone. Shannon was still sitting there deep in thought when the Mages returned. Andalor was with them. He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaning down, kissed her cheek. "Andalor!" Smiling, she rose and took his hand. "Mages, I have made my decision. I will have the spell cast." The King squeezed her hand, his admiration for her shining in his eyes. "Ah, excellent! You will not regret this, Shannon, I swear to you," Reinald said heartily. "Come join us for breakfast, and tell us news of our far-off friends." She blanched. That was just about the last thing Shannon wanted to do. "Wish I could, Reinald, but I'm due to have a lesson with Livirnea." "Then I have some good news for you! Lady Livirnea is not expecting you today. Tomorrow will be a big day -- a day of focus and work for us. So today will be a day of rest for us all." The Royal Mage gestured to the refectory table. Uncomfortably Shannon took her place between Andalor and her father. Reinald flipped his hand, muttered a few words and the items which had cooled on the table were once again piping hot. "I was not expecting to see Warrior Healer Scully. Usually it is Mulder who wears the Oracle Crystal," Tarnor commented conversationally, dipping into his steaming bowl of elven porridge. "Yes -- lucky, wasn't it, seeing as it was Scully I wanted to speak to anyway." Shannon took a large bite of fruit, hoping that the talk would pass on to other subjects. She should have known better. The Mages looked at her expectantly, waiting politely as she chewed so that she could continue. Swallowing the delicious morsel she no longer had any taste for, she yielded to the inevitable and went on. "Mulder was occupied -- something he couldn't be disturbed from. Scully was at home so she took the crystal, just in case." Well, none of it was an outright lie, she reasoned. Still, Andalor seemed to pick up the tension in her voice and was looking at her questioningly. "I understood they always worked together," Hannu observed mildly. "Oh, well, I'm sure that this is an unusual circumstance," his daughter dismissed. "So, tell me about the spell. Is there anything I have to do?" To Shannon's relief, the conversation veered onto matters closer to hand. But she ate little, her thoughts on her faraway friends who had rescued her a lifetime before. * * * * "I cannot understand it!" His palm came down with a bang on the mantelpiece in frustration. "His daughter injured while under the protection of the King, and still Mandor remains a strong ally of the royal house! What in the name of the gods is he thinking?" Ruloth threw himself into a chair. "Perhaps Mandor enjoys the role of the King's lapdog," one of the other nobles joked. "Possibly," replied their leader. "Possibly. Or it is just possible that Mandor knows something that we do not -- some strength that Andalor has not yet shown, some asset he has kept hidden from the rest of us." That the Householder of Ranfaus could simply cherish the concepts of honor and fidelity would not occur to them. The Heads of Households, the leaders of the Noble Houses, tended to distrust those attributes as counterproductive to their goals. "What hidden strength could Andalor have?" scoffed Vestor. "Maybe none. Mandor could be just what we expect - a lackey, a toady. But still, it is never wise to underrate an opponent. We must redouble our efforts to learn more about what secrets the Castle could hold." Ruloth, in charge of intelligence for the group, scratched his chin. "There just may be something in that. There has been a certain air of secrecy at the Castle of late." He shook his head in frustration. "Perhaps that is putting it too strongly. But there has certainly been a degree of tension. Some of it might be explained by the tasks Andalor has before him -- rebuilding the Realm; the interspecies bloodshed that continues in remote areas; dealing with the unfortunate state of brigandage on the roads." He smiled over at Vestor. "But still I think there is something else. Very well, I will prod our informants. Perhaps I might motivate them to become more observant." "Whatever you need in terms of 'motivation', you shall have," their leader promised. "Now as for my report, I have not much that is new. Of course the Houses here have been buzzing over Hegan's ascendancy at Dordinal. He appears also to be courting Darliss of Forst. A nauseating thought, to be sure -- 'tis a wonder he has the stomach for it. But he has few attributes to bring to his position, and I suspect he knows it. Forst is a minor power, nowhere near what they were some generations ago, but an alliance with Dordinal would bode badly for the rest of us. There has not been an inter-House marriage for many season-cycles that has the potential this one has to promote Dordinal's interests at the expense of all the other Houses. It bears watching. "However," he continued pensively, "there may be some help on that score. Things at Forst are almost too quiet. I have no proof of this, nothing I can put my finger on, but I suspect an undercurrent of dissention. I feel that surely there must be someone of Forst who will emerge to fight Darliss for control of the House. If I were of House Forst, that is surely what I would do, rather than see the family led by someone like her." He was silent and thoughtful for some long moments, then said, "Vestor, your report." "I daresay we have done well. We have pulled off three ambushes. A troll caravan carrying the proceeds from the sale of their wares netted several fat purses of golds and silvers. In their present state, those trolls will have no use of such worldly items." There were guffaws from the assemblage. "There is nothing quite so satisfying," Vestor continued, "as the slaughter of non-humans, and to be enriched in the process...." The rough noble winked at his companions, then continued. "And there were two parties of nobles ambushed - one from Highlands and one from Dordinal. We took everything of value but allowed enough of them to survive to ensure that word of the attacks would get back to their Householders." "We kept nothing that could be traced back to us?" demanded the leader sharply. "No, milord. Just the money. I distributed the weapons, armor and jewels to the mercenaries." He nodded curtly. "Good." "But I was thinking, milord. Sooner or later, it is going to be noticed that our own House has not yet fallen victim to these attacks. At the same time, there are some presumptuous members of this House who would overthrow you if they could -- the same ones who would object most strongly to our plans for our future." The austere older noble eyed him speculatively. "Yes? Go on." "Well... I was thinking -- both problems could be dealt with quite effectively and efficiently. At least once every moon-cycle, we send a party out to our lands far to the West, bringing news, supplies and so on. If such a party were to be composed of our more... troublesome... members, and were to meet with a particularly savage attack from brigands...." Vestor left his thought hanging. "B-but that would be murdering our own!" huffed one portly older noble. "I don't like it!" "Truly, Kevath? I thought you were committed to our plan, our goals," the leader said silkily. Ruloth rose from his chair to wander restlessly around the chamber. Beads of sweat appeared on Kevath's brow. "Oh, but I am, milord! Most solidly, most faithfully! B-but this is a bit different, don't you think? I mean, mur-- " His words were cut off as Ruloth came up from behind and, grasping Kevath's head firmly in his hands, violently pulled in a clockwise direction. Some of the men assembled winced as they heard his neck bones splinter. Kevath lolled lifelessly in his chair. "Now, do we have any other dissenters to Vestor's plan?" The lead noble looked at the mostly pale faces around the hearth. "I thought not." His tone turned harsh. "Before we are through, before we have caused the downfall of the King and the ascendancy of our own House to an unprecedented position of power, we will have many such decisions to make. Did you think this was going to be easy?" he thundered. He looked toward the closed door in alarm and lowered his voice. "Sooner or later, the entire House is going to have to unite behind our plan. That means that those who would disagree, who would work against us and turn us over to the King, must be weeded out. Vestor's plan is elegant in its efficiency. We deflect suspicion from ourselves, give the Noble Houses more ammunition against the King, further undermining his reign, while at the same time ridding us of those who would thwart us. I say we go with it." There were nods, some enthusiastic, some more reluctant, from the men assembled. "Very well. You are dismissed." He caught Vestor's sleeve as the noble stood to leave. "Vestor, you and Ruloth take charge of Kevath. He can't be found here. In a candlemark or so, when most of the House will be in the Refectory having dinner, take Kevath up to the third floor, where his quarters are, and toss his body down the staircase. Extinguish enough torches that it will appear he lost his footing in the dark. This must look like an accident." He stood, surveying the two men, his eyes narrowing. "I chose wisely in bringing you two into our plans. Stay loyal to me, and you will not regret it." THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Matthew Weed and Suzanne Bickerstaffe (matthew.weed@yale.edu, ecksphile@earthlink.net) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Fifteen Margul rose late, the exhaustion and consequent illness that had attended the last few days on the road finally banished as a result of two nights' sleep. The trip had worn on Charla even more than on him, and he had been deeply concerned at her tremendous loss of weight near the end of the journey. The cold weather combined with her continuing efforts to speed their progress through the use of her magical talents had cost her greatly. Fortunately, the Manor's Healer and cooks were doing much to see her back to health, and the slumped posture and trembling hands that she had greeted him with on their first morning back were already gone. A gentle tap at his door told him his servant, Takil, had left breakfast for them on the hearth, and was going to summon Charla for the morning meal. When she arrived a quarter of a candlemark later, Margul was just sitting down, preparing to serve both of them the hearty fare that was warming there. "Good morning," he called out in response to her knock, allowing her to let herself in, as had become customary between them over the past moon-cycles. "Morning," she replied, as she moved quickly across the room toward the table. Margul was pleased to see that at least some of her characteristic vigor was, finally, in evidence this morning. "I trust you slept well?" "Yes, thank you," she responded, sitting across the low table from him, her long legs crossed before her. "Good," Margul said. "I have been worried about you." "I know," she said softly, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand before turning to her food. "I was exhausted when we reached Randock, and the long trip thereafter was, in retrospect, too much for me to take. Much as I have practice at it, maintaining a false image and concealing my aura is exhausting, as the spell must be continually recast in order to ensure that it remains in place." Margul sighed. "I suspected as much. You should have told me carrying on in that way was tiring you. We could have arranged things differently, or I could have delayed our return across the lake for a couple of days while you got some rest. As exhausted as you obviously were, our return to the Manor itself could have been delayed long enough to allow you to regain your strength." "Thank you for carrying me in and seeing to me," she said quietly, unable to meet his concerned gaze. The need to thank him for his help and the concern that it implied was in deep conflict with her desire to deny any weakness. Only three days before, she had been so enervated by the trip that she had collapsed on the quay-side, only moments after exiting the ice-boat that had brought them across the deeply frozen lake. "I was glad to do it," he replied in the same soft tone. "After all you have done for me recently, it was the least I could do. Having you here has been a tremendous joy." More energetically, he continued, "And I am truly looking forward to the Spring and the challenges it will provide. After the last few weeks, I'm quite sure we will succeed against Dordinal. The minor Houses are all in support, and although Ghalbar hasn't returned as yet, I fully expect his journey has also been successful. He is quite the diplomat, and if anyone could convince the trolls and the northern Houses-- " "If they exist," Charla interjected, not fully sure they did, in spite of her extensive travels throughout the Realm. "--yes, if they exist," agreed Margul, before continuing his thought, "I'm sure that he can convince them to take part if they are able." "I hope so," Charla replied quietly as she served herself another helping of the thick elven soup that had come with their meal. "Don't worry yourself over-much about that, or anything else." Margul said, injecting some false confidence into his voice. "Whether we succeed against Dordinal or not, I am sure I will be able to make an arrangement with the King where your problems are concerned. He knows well that he cannot afford for Forst to be subsumed by Dordinal, as it would too seriously threaten his rule. If we lose, Forst will have need of a Mage capable of defeating Dordinal's armies. It is in Andalor's interest to have you stay as much as it is in mine." Charla was not so sure, and after the peace of the past few months, was truly terrified of the possibility of being forced to leave her home again. "I hope that you are right in what you say," she said. "For Reinald is very close to the King, and I fear the damage that his influence could do to my case. It is a sad truth that my survival away from this place -- and more importantly, away from you," she said, her voice and manner softening with this admission, "-- would be impossible. I need what you have given me too much to be able to do without it again." "Then know well that I will not let you leave," Margul promised, his voice soft with emotion. He reinforced his words with a gentle touch, his long fingers sliding down her arm, their hands finally becoming tightly entwined. "I would never let you come to harm. I would see myself dead first.... Charla, I must tell you-- " Before things could go further, there was a loud pounding on the door. Margul glared at it, not wanting to stop a process that he had long desired, and which he had not believed might be possible. However, the business of the manor came first, and he had to put his personal aspirations aside in favor of the needs of his family. "Enter!" Margul called, releasing Charla's hand as he did so. Moments later, Ghalbar filled the door, his heavy outer clothing covered with the snow that was falling outside. "I am glad to see you back," Margul said, though his tone understandably lacked the enthusiasm he otherwise might have shown. He moved quickly to the hearth to make tea. "As I am glad to be back," Ghalbar said, waving off the mug Margul offered. "I just wanted to tell you we had returned, and all in the party are well." "Good," Margul said, as he placed the unused cup of tea on the mantlepiece. "In that case, be sure to join us in the council chamber in two candlemarks. We will discuss your news, and Charla and I will tell you of our adventures." "Understood. I will see you then," he said, waiting for Margul's permission to leave. At his elder's wave, the younger man ducked through the door. Moments later, the thump of booted feet on the stone staircase faded away, only to be replaced with the rustle of soft cloth behind him. Margul spun round, chagrined to see Charla standing by the table, obviously preparing to leave. "His return should not be a sign for you to depart," Margul said softly in protest. He had hoped they could return to the special place they had occupied only moments earlier. "No," Charla agreed, "however I must prepare for the meeting and I am sure that you need to do so as well." "My preparations will not take two candlemarks, and I would be glad of your company," he pressed. "As I would be of yours," she said, though her eyes did not meet his, "but I must go to my apartment and take another healing treatment before the council, which will doubtless be long and wearying. The Healer has been very specific where my care has been concerned, and I would hate to disappoint her now." "So would I," Margul said with a deep sigh, realizing that the battle had, yet again, been lost. Charla moved past him, her fingers barely touching his sleeve as she passed. "I will be in the old council chamber in two candlemarks," she said softly, her words barely registering on Margul as she stepped through the door. Only when the loud thump of its closure reverberated through the room did Margul shake himself out of his lethargy. He stepped across to the mantlepiece where he had left Ghalbar's tea. He intended to collect the mug and set it on the tray, ready for Takil's return. However, touching the mug, he was suddenly reminded of the hope for a more complete relationship with Charla that had been reborn during their conversation. He had been on the brink of confessing his love for her. Another candlemark might have seen them break new ground, pass into uncharted territory. This hope had been smashed by Ghalbar's ill-timed entrance. Margul shook his head bitterly. Time didn't seem to change anything. In their youth it had been the same. Just as Margul was coming into manhood, and finally realizing the depth and character of his feelings for Charla, her magic abilities had come between them. She had welcomed his friendship, certainly, but gave no hint that she would welcome something more. How could she? He knew well Mages did not succumb to the needs and desires of the flesh, those same desires that rushed through his veins in a torrent. Then, just as he had worked up the courage to dare her to break with convention, to turn her back on her abilities and instead claim the love he offered, Fate had stepped in. Whether it was coincidence, or indeed Ian suspected Margul's intentions, the old Householder ordered Charla to Fairwoods to commence her Mage training in earnest. What prompted Ian's action didn't matter, as the effect was the same - to shatter the young man's hopes of ever having the woman he loved. Only when the sound of shattering pottery broke through his turbulent emotions did Margul realize he had thrown the offending mug against the wall. As he watched the brown liquid trickle down the whitewashed stones, he felt his hopes for a future with the only woman he had ever loved trickle away as well. * * * * Taking a deep, steadying breath, she knocked determinedly on the thick, iron-bound door. The Royal Mage himself opened it. "Ah, Shannon. Good. We're ready for you." The rain drummed at the tall windows and the light coming in was pale and cold. Illumination of the room came from the fireplace and the torches flickering in their sconces set into the wall. Tarnor and Hannu stood by the roaring fire, flexing their arms and fingers, warming up for the exertions to come. The armchairs and other furniture had been moved back into the center of the chamber, clearing a wide space in front of the hearth, save for one small table. "Now, you have not eaten breakfast, correct? It might not make a difference, in fact it probably does not, but I always feel sharper when my stomach is empty. And every little edge we give ourselves can't but help, eh, my dear?" Reinald was doing his best to alleviate the girl's anxiety, but his uncharacteristic chatter served only to communicate his own. "Reinald, it's okay. I'm ready for this. Now where shall I stand?" Her voice was low and controlled, her manner calm and confident. "Over by the fire, my dear, about three meters away from it and next to the table, if you please." "Lady Shannon, stand over here just for a moment," Tarnor called. He climbed onto a chair, holding a long strip of something. "Yes, that's right. This is my own contribution to the spell. This is some leather binding from an old history book. I took it apart and sewed the strips together myself, chanting incantations as I did so. Ah, that's right, that's it," he murmured, wrapping the strip around her head and tying it tightly. Pulling his Mage robes away from his knobby legs, he hopped off the chair. "Gentlemen, I do believe we're ready." As Reinald extinguished the torches, Hannu approached and embraced his daughter. "Do not be afraid," he said softly, as much to encourage himself as Shannon. "I'm not," she replied, seriously. "I don't know why I'm not, but I'm not." "Very well. Shannon in the center, please," the Royal Mage said. He lit the solitary candle on the small table. "Quiet, now." They stood silent for several long moments, so silent that Shannon swore she could hear all of their hearts beating, as the Mages grounded and focused their thoughts. Then, as one, they began to chant. It went on for some time, though less than the candlemark that it seemed to her. Tarnor left the circle briefly and, still deep in chant, returned with a large book which he handed to Shannon. From little leather pouches strung from their waists, the Mages took pinches of multicolored powder, sprinkling it over the book and the girl's head as blue-white sparks danced from their fingertips. The powder made her nose itch, and she held her breath for a moment, afraid to disturb the Mages' concentration and ruin the spell with an ill-timed sneeze. After another lengthy incantation, Hannu broke the circle to return with an earthenware jar of glue. Carefully, he placed it on top of the book, and placed Shannon's left hand on top of the gluepot. Then the Mages joined hands, arms as high in the air as Tarnor's stature would allow, and the chant grew louder and more insistent. Rings of iridescent color encircled the group, throwing rainbow-hued shadows onto the whitewashed walls. Very gradually, their voices diminished in volume and the rings faded, finally disappearing altogether when their hands dropped and the last syllables of the chant were uttered. No one moved for several moments. Then the circle broke up as the Mages pushed the armchairs back to the hearth and dropped into them gratefully. Shannon was almost finished making a potful of restorative tea when there was a tentative knock on the door. Andalor poked his head in. "I don't hear chanting. Is it over? Did you do it?" "That we did, Your Majesty," Tarnor said tiredly. "Come sit and have some tea with us." Andalor took a seat by the hearth, fingers drumming in impatience, ready to scream the question that had been burning in his mind since well before first light. Shannon passed around mugs of tea and sat next to her fiance. "Well?" he demanded finally. She flashed him a grin. "I don't know if the spell worked or not," she admitted, "but I remember my lessons from last week -- King Leviath and his wife Queen Mima, and their six sons. So at least I'm no worse off than I was, and that's the main thing." The Mages exhaled in relief. "Well, no point putting it off, I suppose," declared Reinald. He got to his feet and chose a volume at random from one of the bookshelves nearby. Trembling slightly -- whether from nerves or fatigue, no one could tell -- he handed it to Shannon. "Choose a page, read it to yourself, then give the book to Andalor." They held their collective breaths as the girl silently read a page of the old tome on magic theory. At last she handed the open book to the King and began reciting from memory. "The material elements of any spell have a dynamic effect on the results. One of the foremost Mages of his day, Manioc of Fairwoods Glens, wrote during the reign of King Dulas: "The choice of material elements is as consequential to the finished spell as the words and the intentions of the casters-- " She got no further when a whoop of joy went up around the room. The Mages sprang to their feet, hugging each other and clapping each other on the back. Andalor swept Shannon into a tight embrace, and they luxuriated in the unaccustomed chance to be physically close. Finally, the celebrating and congratulations ended, and the group dropped back into their chairs, smiling. "You know now what you must do, Shannon," Hannu told his daughter gravely. "Read every book you can get your hands on, especially those dealing with material that is troublesome for you -- the history, the customs, the Old Realm language and the rituals you will have to know by heart." "I will, Dad. Mages, thank you all. I think I can really do it now. I think I can pass Ballorca's Ritual, because of what you've done for me." "And you also have the thanks of a grateful King," Andalor said earnestly. "But what I must do right now," Shannon declared, "is eat! I'm famished!" The group laughed. In truth, none of them had had much of an appetite in the preceding days. Suddenly, Tarnor's stomach grumbled alarmingly, and his faced flushed a deeper gray in embarrassment. Andalor chuckled. "Well, I am going to bring Shannon down to the kitchens, where she will no doubt consume a very unladylike amount of food. Can I have Lita bring up a tray for you Mages?" "Yes!" cried Tarnor. "I am hungrier than a troll!" Still grinning and feeling much more lighthearted than they had in moon-cycles, the young lovers left, hand in hand. The smiles on the faces of the tired Mages slowly faded. Hannu voiced the question all of them were thinking but had not asked. "So -- how long do you think it will last?" Reinald shrugged. "That remains the one unknown. It may last only a day, it may be with the girl the rest of her life. We have no way of knowing. We must take each day as it comes, and Shannon must work even harder than she has already, wasting no time while she is still under the effects of the spell." "Now that we know the spell poses no danger, perhaps we can experiment with it on ourselves," Tarnor said thoughtfully. "It may well be renewable -- many spells can be cast over and over with great effect." "And others will work one time only," Hannu reminded him. "But I agree with your idea. Now that the recovery spell is unnecessary, we can devote ourselves to experimenting with this spell, refining it. Determining how long it will be in effect. And if our fears are realized -- that one day Shannon will awake and discover her new-found abilities have deserted her -- perhaps we will be able to recast this spell. Or perhaps we can conjure a more effective version of it." "The vital point is that knowledge of our uncertainty concerning the life of the spell must be kept from Shannon," Reinald said grimly. "If she as much as suspected that the spell would not be there to assist her, it would destroy any confidence she has in her ability to pass the Ritual." He sighed. "We will do all we can. But ultimately, it is in the hands of the Goddess." * * * * Ghalbar was the last to enter the chamber, and Margul was glad he had regained his focus and rationality after the outburst whose effects still marred the wall of his study. Unaware of the scene that had preceded his entrance, Ghalbar did not deserve his elder's fury, and Margul was glad that the young man had not been there to witness his unreasoning loss of control. "I want to keep this session short, as all of us have been drained by our recent travels," he said, as soon as Ghalbar had settled into his seat. "Our discussions, I am told, have all been successful, but I would like for all to hear what has happened over the past moon- cycle." "I agree," Charla said from the seat at Margul's left. "But as you and I know our own accomplishments well, I would like to hear of Ghalbar's party first." At his Householder's nod, Ghalbar rose, supporting himself with a hand pressed on the top of the great marble table that dominated the council chamber. This table was every bit as impressive as that which Andalor used in the royal council chamber, and served as yet another reminder to House Forst of its by-gone glory. "As we agreed, I went north to speak with the trolls, and procure supplies from them. I was successful on this account and was able to get a fair price for the items that I purchased. I was also able to confirm the continued existence of the northern Houses and hired a troll Mage to act as guide on the journey." At this point he turned toward Charla, a wry smile on his face. "I should never have agreed to allow my cousin Margul to keep you with him. The road was dangerous and the troll Mage, who was far from your equal, was nearly overmatched by the weather and the other hazards that beset us for the five days it took to reach the valley where the northern Houses have settled. Considering what I had to pay the Mage, I would have been sorely disappointed had things not gone well while I was there." "Well I, for one, am glad that I had Charla with me, and pleased that you were able to make a successful journey without her assistance," Margul said. He noted with pleasure that the younger man now felt comfortable around a woman whose presence had frightened him badly only a few short moon-cycles before. "As am I," Ghalbar agreed before going on. "The road-- in truth a narrow path that clings to the cliff faces at the sides of many deep gorges-- is beset with rock slides and other hazards that the troll Mage suggested to me might have been created by Mages long past. I do not know why the northern Houses blockaded themselves in their upland fortresses so long ago, but whatever their problems were then, they are now beset by raiders from lands with no allegiance to, and little awareness of, the Realm. The northerners' numbers have been badly reduced over the past few season-cycles, and they said they were unwilling to support us without certain guarantees in return." "What guarantees?" Margul demanded. He knew simply finding the northern Houses was miracle enough, but he was still concerned by Ghalbar's words. "They were obviously interested in what I had to say. Though poor and far less powerful than they must once have been, they maintain the fires of hatred against Dordinal. They are afraid, however, of their own enemies, and asked us to agree to support them in their campaigns once ours is done." "Reasonable," responded Randock. He had come south to await Ghalbar's return and make final preparations for the work that he, and the other lords who allied themselves with Forst, would have to do in order to be ready for the upcoming events. "I thought so, too, and agreed quickly enough," Ghalbar replied. He barely recognized the older noble from the visits he had paid to Ian, before the now-deceased Householder took Ghalbar and other young men to Fairwoods Keep to add to Forst's contingent there. However, if Margul had managed to convince this crusty old man to support him in what was to come, Ghalbar was sure that the other landholders had probably agreed to throw their lots in with Forst as well. "I also told them that if they captured any of their traditional lands and if the people there were willing to swear allegiance to them, we would support their claims against Dordinal before the King." "This would certainly seem for the best," Charla said. "After all, the chance to return to their traditional lands will be a great motivator for them, and will open a second front on which Dordinal will have to defend itself." "That is what the leader of the northerners said to me once I had made the suggestion. Needless to say, they are very excited by the chance to gain vengence against Dordinal and possibly return to the homes that they remember as being far more than they actually are." "Good!" Margul declared. "This is all that we can ask of them for now, and later, if things go well for us here, I will be pleased to take a party north to help them evacuate their temporary homes and return to the Realm. I have always wanted to see the northern lands, but as Ian was told that the journey there is as perilous as your path was, I was not allowed to go. That was the only part of the Realm -- save Dordinal's lands around Hotsprings -- that I did not visit when I was a young man, and spent two season-cycles learning about the ways of the beings of the Realm." Charla did not miss the note of wistfulness in his words and determined to ask him about his adventures as soon as she could. "The rest you know," Ghalbar said with a sigh. "We were fortunate to return here with no losses, though it may be spring before I feel warm again. I am sure that our presence in the troll lands will be reported to the other Houses when the roads become passable in the Spring, but there seemed nothing that could be done to prevent this." "I agree," Margul said. "We can not control things beyond our lands as tightly as we would wish. You have done well on this mission, and I thank you for the service that you have rendered your family." "My thanks for your praise," Ghalbar said, returning to his seat with a relieved sigh. With this, the assembly's attention turned to Margul's part of the mission. "Most of you already know what Charla and I have been able to accomplish. I have asked Randock to organize the landholders and bring their forces to us, so that we may depart on the third twin full moon of planting season. This will give us four moon-cycles to complete our campaign against Dordinal, though all of you must know that our best hope lies in a lightning-quick strike against our enemy. We must remove them from Cresscreek and then push on to Hotspring as quickly as we can. If we are lucky, we will get to the seat of Dordinal by the end of the Spring trading festival. Hegan has promised them the safest and most profitable festival in a thousand season-cycles, and I intend to make him eat that promise just before he tastes my sword," Margul vowed darkly. "Here, here," the small group around the table cried. "But before that, there is much to think about and even more to do." Margul said. "You already know your tasks, so see them through and I promise you I will mount Hegan's head in the place of prominance our ancestors gave to the greatest of their vanquished enemies. Fail this House in its time of need, and we will be the ones whose heads lie rotting on the fields of Dordinal's ill-gotten empire." End of Chapter Fifteen THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Matthew Weed and Suzanne Bickerstaffe (magician@galaxy.med.yale.edu, ecksphile@earthlink.net) Winter 2000-2001 Disclaimers and Acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Sixteen The rolling thunder of the traders' caravans made clear the fact that the Spring trading season was now in full swing. Beings of all shapes and sizes moved about the great marketplace, the vibrant center of activity in a rebuilt Hotspring. Already it had regained its prominent place as primary trading center of the northeastern corner of the Realm, only ten season-cycles after its destruction in the attack of the dark armies. The invasion of the evil hoards caused the death or departure of more than half of the beings whose ancestors made this place a center of trade, culture and activity for nearly a thousand season-cycles. That period of peace and tranquillity had begun at the time of the arrival of the great family at Dordinal, which protected and nourished this place in hopes that some day it would become their capital. Larka, who became the mayor of Hotspring when its last mayor died during the invasion, watched happily as activity in the marketplace continued to increase as the traders went about the business of setting up their stalls. The fact that so many were from the south was encouraging. The previous Autumn's festival was marred by the continuing violence and disruptions that racked the Realm after the defeat of The Dark Queen. Beyond the range of the normal patrols of the King's Guard, the fires of revenge smoldered and bloodshed continued. Now that Dordinal's new Householder had promised protection for traders and their wares, there was hope that normalcy would return. As the day passed Larka began to realize that something wasn't quite right with the traders and their caravans. It took him some time to pinpoint the cause of his unease. In the old days, the caravans were enormous processions whose arrival could be foretold candlemarks before they actually passed the gates of the town, so great was the noise and dust they created on the roads. But the incoming convoys were smaller than he had expected, and the traders less boisterous than normal. Only after too many of these too-small caravans passed before him did it become obvious that many had suffered greatly on their trip north. Much as he might want to find out what was happening on the roads, he would have to wait until the merchants could be welcomed to the village later that evening before making any specific inquiries about the difficulties that had arisen. He already heard from Darman and the other innkeepers that the merchants who arrived early reported much brigandage, and he feared that Hegan's promise of protection would prove illusory, as Marvick's promises had before his death. The rumor that the merchants were threatening to stop coming to market if trade continued to be dangerous worried him greatly. The town's marketplace was an important source of income for the innkeepers and others who chose to return shortly after the armies from the Dark Place had been defeated. He knew that if the caravans stopped coming... Sweet Goddess! It didn't bear thinking about. The caravans and the trade they brought were the lifeblood of the region at large, even if Hotsprings had other sources of income. Without the traders, and the activity that they brought, many towns would have to be abandoned. The people would have to go elsewhere -- to parts of the Realm where they would have little chance of finding either soup or succor for themselves or their families. Thousands were still homeless or barely able to feed themselves as a result of the Dark Queen's wrath. The comings and goings of the nobles at Dordinal would never be enough to ensure the innkeepers and smiths of Hotsprings itself a safe and reliable livelihood. Worst of all, impassable roads would mean that those who came to enjoy the town's hot and purportedly healthful springs wouldn't be able to come either. These were the main source of income for the town, and if they stopped coming, the loss of trade would be disastrous. Larka turned away from his worries with a deep sigh knowing that he could do nothing to lighten them. He knew that he could only continue about the process of organizing the traders who had managed to survive whatever travails had faced them on the road. * * * * Margul strode into the great hall of the manor, his plan to break Dordinal ready to launch onto his unsuspecting enemies. Unfortunately, there were too many risks, too many weaknesses and too many unknowns. However, Darliss had given him no time to repair the problems that still beset his plans, and he would simply have to trust in the Goddess to provide the things that his forces needed in order for them to meet success. Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed as Ghalbar joined him. The young man had risen from obscurity to his current position as a result of his intelligence, diplomatic skill, observant nature and bravery. Margul was very glad that he had come back to the family seat the previous autumn. Without this good fortune, much of what he now knew and planned to do would never have come to pass. He was pleased by the nearly three hundred young men and women who filled the great chamber to overflowing, their green cloaks and their weapons making it clear that these were, indeed, the best warriors that money, personal charisma, and family loyalty could obtain. It was a smaller force than he had hoped to field, but with trouble already brewing on the roads in the North, these warriors would be enough to tip the balance of power in that region once and for all. A silence fell as he took his place. "Warriors," he said quietly, his voice amplified by magical aids, "it is time to begin the work of cleansing our land of the weaklings and filth who have ensured that for too many years the alien cabal at Dordinal have been able to lord their power and position over Houses such as ours." The roar of approval from his listeners made it impossible for him to speak. As soon as the room quieted, he continued. His words allowed those who had been collected over the past moon-cycles to glimpse into the mind and heart that he had kept so carefully guarded from all but a few. "It is now time for those of us in this room to repair the mistakes of history, and throw Darliss and the rest of Dordinal back into the sea from whence they came. As you know, Dordinal has plotted to take Cresscreek from us, continuing a plan to strip us of all the lands our ancestors won from the woods thousands of season-cycles ago. I, for one, shall not permit this, and know that you will support me in defending our family's property." A thunderous roar of agreement rose from those standing in the room. Margul smiled to see his message take root in these hot-blooded young people. "You know well that Dordinal has already taken possession of Cresscreek as a result of Darliss' treacherous bargain." Booing and hissing filled the room, and Margul bit back a grin, knowing that whether the plan succeeded or failed, his foolish aunt would never walk these corridors again. "Our first goal will be to retake the town," Margul said, and the young nobles standing throughout the room cheered wildly, waving bows and swords over their heads. "Our second goal is the one that will bring glory, honor and great wealth to all of you, and I look forward to accomplishing it immediately after." He allowed a moment's pause to heighten the tension in the room before he went on. "As you know, the great Spring festival opens at Hotsprings tomorrow, and it is my intention to make sure that by its end we, not Dordinal, will hold the town. In this, we will be aided by the brigands, whose privations have bled the strength of Dordinal since last Fall. These brigands are neither our responsibility nor our long-term allies, but their activity and apparent numbers will help us as we strike a blow against our enemies." Heads nodded throughout the room, particularly those belonging to the younger nobles who had volunteered en mass to join Margul's forces. After all, they knew the ways of the nobles at Dordinal, many of whom they had fought against as honor demanded at Fairwoods. They knew that such a mighty blow, struck at a time when Dordinal was still deeply split by factionalism and strife, would light anew the fires of intranescine conflict that still threatened to tear it apart. Noticing the hotheads' sentiments, Margul smiled, glad that all was going as he had so meticulously planned. "When done, we can simply wait for Dordinal to rip itself apart, and then fall on what remains of their forces, retaking what once was ours, and gaining new territory in the process." A young warrior who was not of the House rose and, as Margul knew must happen, asked the most obvious question concerning the plan. "My Lord," he said diffidently. "This is a great and terrible plan, and if it works will benefit mercenaries like me, ready to fight for a good day's wages, as much as it will you in this House. However, I do not see, with the forces we have arrayed in this room, how we will accomplish all that you intend." Margul nodded. "You are right," he admitted frankly. "Normally, such a small force could not overcome Dordinal's wealth and resources. But you forget that one of the Realm's most powerful Mages stands with us, and will, I'm sure, have much to say concerning the battle and its likely outcome." "I can see that this might make a difference," the man said, "but Dordinal has Mages of its own who can take the field." At this, Charla, who was standing at the back of the room, spoke for herself, her voice soft and yet commanding in the sudden silence. "They may have Mages, but they will first have to deal with me, and will be utterly unprepared for what I know and what I will be able to do to help you in your fight. There is no chance...." she said firmly, the fact that she was not as sure of herself as it appeared never showing on her face, "that their powers will be a match for mine, nor their soldiers' valor will match your weapons' effects. More than this you need not know, and," she said as her voice rose in volume, "you should not ask." With this, the young man decided that he knew what he needed to, and sat down. Whether Charla could defeat Dordinal's Mages or not, he would certainly risk more than he wished to if he dared question her further. "You now know all that you must," Margul continued. "We shall take to the boats this evening, and will, barring unforeseen circumstances, stand outside of Cresscreek ready to take it by the dawn of the day after the morrow. At that point you will get your final orders and whatever assistance Charla feels you will need for the forthcoming battle. Until I see you then, I wish you a safe journey, silent footsteps and most importantly, tight lips," he said, his eyes locking with Charla's before her gaze swept the room. Cowed by this far from subtle message, the warriors began their preparations for the forthcoming campaign. * * * * What if? What if? The looking glass held no answers, merely reflecting back the worried features of the attractive girl. Her eyes squeezed shut. I can do this, she vowed. I will do this, she demanded of herself. The weeks and moon-cycles had rocketed past in a blur. Every waking moment were spent in study, in drills, in quizzing. Even sleep promised no respite, as the Realm kings and queens of ages past cavorted through her dreams. And all too often she would awaken, sweating and trembling, to Ballorca's nightmare words pronouncing her unfit to be Queen, unfit to marry her beloved Andalor. True, Andalor had promised he would marry her anyway. But that wasn't good enough for him, Shannon thought miserably. What chance would their marriage stand if it came at the cost of his kingdom? She knew he meant his promise, and she knew he'd keep it. She loved him all the more because of it. But his lifetime of training, of discipline, of denial would be for nothing. Keeping his promise could result in the destruction of their marriage, the Realm and of Andalor himself. No. If she could not pass the Ritual of Readiness, she truly wouldn't be worthy of him. It wouldn't be right, she thought, and I don't think I could live with that burden of guilt. But staying in the Realm, trying to make a life for herself was no solution. Shannon knew that despite intense pressure - and possibly because of it - Andalor would never agree to betrothal with another woman. If she stayed in the Realm, she was certain that Andalor would eventually wear her down. Some day, when she was lonely and frightened, she would accept his proposal, and in doing so bring disaster to them all. So the alternative was clear. If she failed, she would have to leave the Realm. She would ask the Mages and Professor Neumann to create the vortex one last time, the vortex that would bring her back forever to Mulder and Scully and to their world. Shannon's eyes grew moist and she quickly blinked back the tears. Funny. She didn't think of her birthplace as 'her world' anymore. Her place was here in the Realm, in Fairwoods, by Andalor's side. All right, she thought. I'll do it. I'll show that fussy, overstuffed jerk of a Protocol Minister that I'm good enough. I *will* pass. I *have* to. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Andalor entered, leaving the door open out of habit for decorum's sake. His mood was subdued. "Shannon, it's almost time. I thought maybe... maybe we could talk?" She stood, brushing the wrinkles from the rough cloth of her plain beige dress. It had been sewn by her own hands, the traditional dress of the woman who would be Queen. Custom held that the prospective Queen, even the wealthiest and highest-born of nobles, would be attired in plain, unassuming garb. The purpose was twofold -- so that the new Queen be reminded of the poorest of her subjects, and to underscore the fact that it was only the results of the Ritual that mattered. Money and position would not elevate her to the throne if she failed the test. Tonight, Shannon would sleep in a wing of the Castle cleared of any other occupants, left to whatever mental, emotional and spiritual preparations she could make for the all- important ritual the following day. She had been waiting for Ballorca to escort her when the knock came at the door. "Where do you want to talk? Ballorca may come at any time, and-- " He smiled and held out his hand. "We have close to two candlemarks. Come. It's a beautiful night. Let's go up on the battlements." Silently they traversed the corridors and climbed the stairways. On the way, Andalor could not help but cast his mind back to his conversation with the Mages almost a moon-cycle before. They had been a grim-faced lot, gathered for comfort and warmth around the hearth. Try as they might, the Mages were unable even to replicate the spell they had cast on Shannon, much less refine and improve it. They reproduced it in every detail, every utterance and gesture, but it had no effect whatsoever. The only difference was that there were only two Mages casting it, with Hannu as the intended recipient. Unfortunately, there was no other Mage whom they trusted enough to include, as the reason for their work could be discovered. Foiled in their attempt to recast the spell, they looked anxiously to Shannon for signs that their spell might be waning, but the girl was cheerfully plowing her way through every volume of Realm lore she could get her hands on. Regretfully, the Mages concluded that the spell would last as long as the Goddess wished, and no longer. They finally passed through the final archway and onto the battlements. Shannon gasped. A billion stars and the twin full moons glittered in the sky as if displaying their splendor solely for the young couple. Her eyes roamed the walls, flickering to the empty sentry towers. "Andalor! Where is everyone, all the guards?" The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. "Aldara thought this might be a good time to brief them on some uniform changes, and have them measured by the Castle seamstresses." "Oh she did, did she? And did a certain Royal Personage suggest something of the sort to her?" Shannon grinned broadly at her fiance. He looked at her in mock indignation, then smiled and shook his head. "No, I was as surprised as anyone. In fact, I'm beginning to believe that I am surrounded by conspirators. Reinald and Livirnea at this very moment are speaking to the - ahem! - fine, upright dowagers who serve as our chaperones, on what subject I have no idea. And Hannu himself suggested this might be an opportune moment for us to spend a bit of time together." "Certainly looks like a set-up," Shannon agreed. "What's over there?" "Right this way, my beloved." Andalor held out his arm, and giggling, Shannon took it. They went to the furthest corner of the battlements, where a small table had been laid. Andalor helped her into a chair as Lita arrived, carrying a tray. "Eat up, chicks. You must both keep up your strength." With a flourish, she uncovered all the dishes and platters, and began filling their plates with some of the most prized delicacies of the land. "There. See that you eat, now. I will be back in exactly one candlemark, Your Majesty. One candlemark - no more, no less. If you catch my meaning," Lita said, winking. She could not have made her message more clear if she had screamed it from all four corners of the battlements. Then she disappeared down a staircase. Andalor poured wine for the both of them, then picked up his goblet. "To you, my wonderful Shannon. I am so proud of you, working so hard. As far as I'm concerned, you have shown all that it takes to be Queen, and more." "I'm just praying that Ballorca thinks so," she said, setting her wine down untasted. She surveyed the table. "This is starting to look like the condemned woman, having her last meal." "Don't think like that," Andalor pleaded. "You will do fine tomorrow, Shannon. I know you will. After all, you still have the Mage's spell working for you." A forkful of fieldbeast casserole hesitated for a moment on its way to her mouth. Then the fork completed its trip and chewing, Shannon shrugged. "There, you see? It will be fine, I promise. Please eat. Let's just enjoy this time together. Goddess knows there's been little enough of it." "I certainly can't deny that." For his sake, she made an effort. Both of them avoided the topic which would make such a difference in their lives, preferring small talk and gossip as they ate. In the end, they managed to do justice to Lita's feast. Shannon rose and moved to the battlement wall, looking over the quiet cottages that slept in the moonlight. Coming up from behind her, Andalor engulfed her in his arms, kissing her neck. "Soon," he murmured, "soon we shall be married, with no chaperones, no one to follow us around, spying on us to make sure our behavior is 'proper'. Shannon, it's been so hard for me not to be able to show you how I feel." She turned in his arms, holding him close. "I know, Andy. I know. But you must promise me something." He tensed. "What?" "If... if tomorrow does not go well, if it does not go as we wish, I want you to promise me that you'll accept it without question, and that you'll also accept whatever I decide about my future." He stepped back from her and surveyed her gravely. "I can't do that, Shannon. Without you beside me, I have no life, not one that has any meaning for me. To do my job, to continue to function, I need *you*." Closing the distance between them, he wrapped her once more in his arms. His lips moved closer, finally touching hers in a long, deep kiss that left them breathless and wanting more. He stroked the skin of her cheek, bleached pale in the moonlight. "You see how it will be for us? I want this, Shannon, I want it more than I have ever wanted anything in my life." She grasped him tightly around the neck. "I swear I'll do my best, Andalor. I swear it." Goddess, help me, she thought. End of Chapter Sixteen THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter 2000-2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Seventeen When the knock at the door came, Shannon didn't know whether to exult that the long wait was finally over, or dive back under the covers of her bed. She had slept well, thanks to a visit from Kyla the night before. Her chamber was comfortable but unfamiliar and her nerves were understandably on edge. Without Kyla's healing treatment and relaxing psychic massage, the girl doubted she would have gotten any rest at all. But she refused the hearty breakfast that Lita brought. Maybe there was something to Reinald's theory that the mind functioned better on an empty stomach and maybe not, but she needed any advantage she could get. In any case, Shannon doubted she could keep anything down. Sitting stiffly on a chair by the hearth as she waited, she wore the traditional garb of the Candidate for the Ritual of Readiness - the sleeveless self-made dress and the hooded scarlet cloak. At the soft tap on the door she jumped, and, heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst from her chest, she rose to answer it. "The appointed time has arrived. Are you Ready?" the High Priestess asked in Old Realm. There was an entourage of perhaps two dozen priests and priestesses with her. Here we go, thought Shannon, and she quietly uttered the requisite reply, "I have prepared to be worthy of the King and the beings of the Realm." The High Priestess gave her an encouraging nod and a hint of a smile. "Then follow me to the place of testing, that you might prove your Readiness to support your King in his leadership of the Realm." She and the other clergy drew the hoods of their white cloaks down low over their faces. Shannon did the same, and stepped out into the hallway. She put out a hand in the automatic act of closing the door behind her, but caught herself at the last moment. By tradition, the door must remain open, symbolic of the Candidate's lack of presumption of passing the Ritual. Sweat broke out on her brow at the thought of such a tiny mistake costing her everything. But again came a small smile from the High Priestess. Shannon let out an unsteady breath and, flanked by the clergy, followed the holy woman the prescribed five paces behind, her head bowed in humility. They wound their way down corridors that had been emptied of the beings that would normally be scurrying about in their duties. As the party descended the last staircase and exited the Castle, the cool spring morning air, redolent of new growth and early flowers, gave Shannon cause to hope. The cobbled courtyard was uncustomarily devoid of beings as well, but she could feel the stares of her friends and enemies alike as they peered furtively down from the tall Castle windows, only too aware of the drama being played out before them. The first stop was the temple. Before the altar, Ballorca awaited the women in the traditional hooded cloak of deepest black lined with scarlet. The newness of the garment did not escape the nervous girl. I hope he doesn't plan on getting a lot of use out of that, she thought uncomfortably. The High Priestess mounted the white marble steps of the altar and turned, facing Shannon and Ballorca. The other priests and priestesses formed a semicircle behind them. Shannon knelt, then prostrated herself on the floor, and the High Priestess began the first long chant of the day. At times Ballorca would join in, at times it was the other clergy, but for now, all Shannon had to do was lie prone on the cold marble floor and await her cue. Finally, after nearly a candlemark, the High Priestess took a small torch and ignited some fragrant herbs in a wide, shallow bronze bowl. "Who presents herself to undergo the Ritual of Readiness?" she intoned in Old Realm. The girl pushed herself to her knees, her tense and now thoroughly chilled muscles protesting. "I, Shannon, daughter of Hannu and betrothed of King Andalor, present myself for the Ritual, in humility and hope." Ballorca extended a hand to assist her to stand. Shannon accepted it gratefully. With some difficulty, as she was over a foot taller than he, he pulled back the hood of her cloak, and resumed his place at her side. "Who shall administer the Ritual of Readiness?" chanted the High Priestess. "I, Ballorca, son of Myrak and Minister of Protocol, shall administer the Ritual." He then began to chant in a surprisingly rich and melodious baritone and went on for some time, listing his antecedents and affirming the traditional rights and responsibilities of his office. Shannon waited tensely for her first important chant. It had been one of the last things she had learned, as Ballorca had delivered the text she was to know by heart only a week before. Whether that was decreed by tradition, or the Protocol Minister had 'forgotten' to give it to her until then, she did not know. But the timing could not have been worse. Ballorca's chant quieted and the High Priestess descended the altar steps to stand immediately in front of her. "Shannon, Candidate for the Ritual of Readiness, declare to all here present your intentions." The girl closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then, in a strong alto only slightly shaky with nervousness, she began her chant. She sang the Old Realm words of her love for the King, her determination to be a supportive wife, her promise to produce heirs. Shannon was so deeply focused that a short time later she was startled to realize she was hearing the echos of her final lines reverberating around the great temple. Again, she was rewarded by a small smile from the High Priestess, and Ballorca's eyebrows raised in surprised approbation. The High Priestess began the next chant, shared with interjections from Ballorca and Shannon. The girl never missed a beat, picking up her cues and chanting her part with a confidence alien to her. At one point, even Ballorca tripped over the words of the little-used rite and earned the startled glance of the Priestess. But Shannon was letter-perfect, ending the chant with her contribution to the three- part harmony. She felt movement behind her as the assembled holy men and women knelt. The High Priestess charged them with praying for the duration of the Ritual, imploring the Goddess for her wisdom and fairness in its conduct. Then she drew down the hood of Shannon's cloak once more. She nodded and recessed up the aisle. Shannon followed, with Ballorca in the rear. So far so good, the girl thought. But at least she had known what to expect up to this point. The Ritual to come was a total enigma, and any joy she felt at her success thus far was dampened by her fear of the unknown. The sun, now high in the sky, beat down on the herbs and flowers of the temple garden, releasing their fragrance as the trio weaved their way along the serpentine path. Finally, they came to a small timber cottage that stood near the high wall enclosing the castle. The High Priestess opened the door and stood aside to allow Shannon to enter. A blaze crackled comfortingly in the hearth. On the raised dais in the center of the small room, another fire flickered in a low iron container that reminded Shannon of an hibachi. Two wooden-handled implements of some kind extended from it. The dais also held three chairs cushioned in scarlet velvet and a small table. On the table were a huge old book and a silver tray bearing a gold flagon and three tiny golden goblets. Scarlet velvet also draped the chamber's sole window, effectively sealing the room from the outside world. The High Priestess closed the door behind Ballorca and approached Shannon, once more drawing back the girl's hood. Then she crossed to the dais, poured a ruby-colored liquid from the flagon and handed around the goblets. She raised her own, as if in a toast. "By the blood of the Kings and the beings of the Realm, we here present affirm our loyalty to this land and its customs. We affirm the Ritual of Readiness and will abide by its wisdom. And on our lives we swear never to divulge what passes here this day." Nodding at Ballorca and Shannon, she drained the contents of the little cup and returned it to the tray. The other two did likewise, Shannon somewhat relieved to find that rather than blood, the cup contained a very pleasant fortified wine. At a gesture from the Priestess, the three mounted the dais and sat. Though the language was still Old Realm, the words were spoken rather than chanted as Ballorca stood and began. "The next phase of the Ritual has commenced, wherein you will prove by your knowledge your worthiness to serve as Queen. Candidate Shannon, please stand." Nervously, the girl rose. "The first of three tasks I put to you - name the progression of Kings, from the rule of Glendor the Proud to the rule of Bishepo the Lame." Inwardly, Shannon sighed with relief. The order of Kings was one of the first things she had studied after the Mages' spell had been cast. Unhesitatingly, she rattled off the thirty Kings in chronological order. Again, Ballorca's eyebrows ascended in grudging approval. Then he picked up the book from the table and leafed through to a particular page. "On the left page is a passage written in the Elvish tongue, and on the right is a passage written in Garsintil, the language of the Gargoyles. You will read both aloud, demonstrating your literacy, and then you will translate each passage into both Old Realm and New Realm." He took his seat, his small, dark eyes never leaving her. This was a more difficult task, as it demanded fluency in four languages, none of them her native tongue. Heart pounding, she read the Elvish passage, translating it fairly easily into New Realm, and haltingly into Old Realm. She noticed the High Priestess smile slightly as she finished. However small the gesture, it imbued her with confidence as she started the more difficult Garsintil passage. She read it aloud, stumbling occasionally, but on the final line her heart sank. Resolutely, she began the new Realm translation, stopping just short of the end. She was torn -- should she try to bluff her way through, or take the riskier but more honest path? Ballorca prodded, "Go on -- or is there a problem?" Sighing, she opted for the latter. "Minister Ballorca, the word 'falousch'.... "Yes, what is it? Do you not know the meaning of this word?" "Well... there is no precise translation of this word in New Realm. Or Old Realm either, for that matter." "Oh, really? Would you care to expand on that?" he demanded. "The- the word is a sacred one to the gargoyles who venerate Hortha. It implies a oneness with the god and all gargoyles. But it is... it is more than that." Shannon recalled her lessons with Tarnor, and the discussion they had held about the intricate, highly symbolic language of his species. "It embodies the gargoyle belief system and work ethic and... well, just about everything that is of importance to their culture." Anxiously, Shannon stood waiting for Ballorca's response, wondering if he thought she was merely trying to cover up a lack of knowledge with a glib excuse. The High Priestess beamed. "I do not think you will hear a better explanation than that, Minister Ballorca. Well done, Candidate Shannon." "Yes... well...." huffed the Protocol Minister. "Very well, you will translate the passage into Old Realm -- with the exception of that word. Begin." Slowly and carefully, she translated the passage from one unfamiliar, rich old language to the other. When she had finished, Ballorca removed the book from her hands without comment. Then, "In the troll tongue you will recite the Twelve Beliefs of Trolldom, and how they correspond to the laws of the Realm." Goddess help me, thought Shannon. She knew the Twelve Beliefs, but trying to tie them to all the laws to which they could apply, and in an unfamiliar language on top of it, was a herculean task. Haltingly, the girl began, and spoke until she was exhausted and trembling from the effort of her concentration. Curtly, Ballorca nodded. "Acceptable. Not perfect, but acceptable." Shannon could have sworn the High Priestess winked at her. "You may take your seat for the final task, Candidate Shannon," she said kindly. Gratefully, the girl sank into her chair. Between nerves, fatigue, and not having eaten in nearly a day, she felt lightheaded and shaky. Ballorca paced around the dais. "For the final question in this part of the Ritual, I will propose a situation to you. It is the first full moons of winter and you and His Majesty are hosting a party at the castle. The full Council of Representatives is in attendance. You are dancing with Prince Mavor, with whom the King is in negotiation for mining rights to a quarry in the southeastern area of Fairwoods Glens. What is the nature of your conversation with His Highness?" Shannon sat perfectly still, her mind racing over the thousands of pages of material she had read, thinking about the countless conversations she had had, recalling the role-playing sessions with Lita. Why the little bastard! she thought. It's a trick question! "I have no answer for you, Minister Ballorca." "No answer? Really! And why not? Do you not wish to be Queen? Have you not prepared for this examination?" "I have done nothing *but* prepare, Minister." Shannon kept her tone polite and respectful, refusing to be goaded. "The reason I cannot answer your question is that the situation you describe could never arise." "Is that so? And perhaps you can enlighten me as to why?" "With all due respect, I would be happy to, Minister." Shannon rose from her seat, back straight, posture regal. "In the first place, the day you describe, the first full moons of winter, is Rashel, the Day of Reflection for all who worship the Goddess. There would be no party that day. Secondly, the full Council of Representatives would not be at Fairwoods that day out of respect for Rashel and the traditional gargoyle feast that celebrates the strength of their family ties that is also held on that day. With the gargoyles missing, the full Council would logically not be present. And finally, Minister, the King would not be in negotiation with Prince Mavor for two reasons. The first is that by the Treaty of Naroun, all elven lands reverted to the King, but to be held in trust in perpetuity by the ruler of the elves. Since the land is technically the King's, he would not have to negotiate for it. And in any case, there would be nothing to negotiate for - the southeastern portion of Fairwoods Glens is all forests and marshes. There is no quarry there to mine." She surveyed the back of the Protocol Minister, heart pounding. It seemed to take forever, but finally he turned to face her. And when he did, Shannon nearly fell over. Ballorca was smiling! Not a gloating, nasty sort of a smile, but a real, honest to goodness smile. "Well done, Candidate Shannon. Please take your seat." "A word of explanation is necessary before we proceed to the final and in many ways, most important part of the rite." He began to pace and avoided her eyes, as if uneasy about something. "The Ritual of Readiness is among the most ancient and time-honored of our ceremonies. Some of it follows what has been written from time immemorial, such as the passages you have read. The purpose of other parts of it is described, but the Ritual leaves it up to the Minister of Protocol to devise the specifics, as in your last task. "The final portion is dictated by the Ritual. It is a test of courage. While it is necessary, and will always be carried out if I have anything to say about it, it is admittedly a remnant of a more violent past. Even I will admit a certain... distaste for it. I will tell you frankly that there have been candidates in the past, successful to this point, who on hearing a description of this test have declined to participate and have failed the Ritual for that reason. There have been others who participated, but either could not complete it or who did not meet the exacting standards required. They also failed." Shannon sat, stunned. What could be so awful that a woman would come so far, and then back out, with so much to be gained? "M-may I ask a question?" Ballorca nodded gravely. "May I ask what this test of courage is?" "Of course -- it is your right. I can tell you only that it involves pain - a great deal of pain. It is symbolic, though perhaps anachronistic in a way. But it is also, as I said, the most important part of the Ritual. It is meant to cull out those women who are not prepared to give up their lives and comfort for the King and for the Realm." The Minister of Protocol paused uncomfortably. "I want you to know that I derive no personal satisfaction from carrying out this part of the Ritual. It is only my duty to my office and my steadfast belief in our traditions that give me the will to oversee the test of courage. I will give you a moment to decide." The Minister's unease did nothing to quell her anxiety. But she hadn't come this far, she hadn't worked as hard as she had to wimp out now. "There is no need, Minister," Shannon said quietly, with more fortitude than she actually felt. "I am ready to undergo the final part of the Ritual." "You are certain?" the High Priestess asked gently. Shannon took a deep breath and nodded. "So be it," Ballorca said solemnly, but he looked a bit pale. "You see the brazier at the edge of the dais?" Warily, Shannon nodded. "In it are two implements made of iron. As you can see, they have been heating in the flames of the sacred fire for some time. Since last night, as a matter of fact. At the end glowing in the coals, one bears the crest of Andalor's clan. It is small, no larger than a silver coin. At the end of the other is a slightly larger figure, a circle symbolizing the Realm. The Ritual dictates that either the Minister of Protocol or the High Priestess will hold the first implement to the skin of the Candidate's arm for a count of five. Then, should the Candidate... qualify... and wish to go on, she herself shall hold the other implement to the same area, also for a count of five. The Candidate may stop at any time. But of course in so doing, she forfeits the chance to marry the King and rule at his side." Ballorca drew himself up to his full height and stood stiffly before her. "The rite having been fully disclosed, do you, Candidate Shannon, wish to participate in this final portion of the Ritual?" She closed her eyes. Did she *wish* to? Hell, no - she wasn't stupid, nor masochistic. But it wasn't a question of what she wanted. It was what she had to do. Goddess, Mulder and Andalor, be with me, she prayed. Please help me to be strong. "I do," Shannon whispered, her eyes never leaving the hypnotic glow of the brazier. She tore her glance away to confront Ballorca. "Who's-- who's going to do it?" "That is your choice. Either myself or the High Priestess will perform the task. Either of us will adhere strictly to the Ritual." She looked from one to the other. Both were pale and composed, though it was evident that neither would enjoy carrying out this part of the Ritual. That makes three of us, Shannon thought grimly. But Ballorca had that "oh, please, please don't pick me" look that she had worn so often herself in high school. "High Priestess, would you mind?" The Minister of Protocol relaxed visibly, and Shannon calculated that she may have gone up a few points in his estimation. "You are sure?" the High Priestess questioned again. She nodded. "Yes. I have to do this." "Very well. Please remove your cloak." With trembling fingers, Shannon unfastened the cloak. Now I know why they insist that this dress be sleeveless, she thought with grim humor. "Do you use your right or left hand?" Both! she thought, a little hysterically. "My-my left. That is my weapon hand." "Extend your right forearm on the arm of the chair. Do not move it." Easy for you to say, she thought. She noticed the High Priestess's lips were moving in prayer as she went to the brazier and selected the little branding iron. The tip was red hot, and Shannon could discern the small eagle that was Andalor's family crest. Indeed, she couldn't take her eyes off it, like a rabbit mesmerized by a cobra. Inexorably, it descended onto the tender flesh of her forearm. For the first second she felt nothing, just heard the sizzle as the iron burned into her skin. Then the pain hit her with the impact of an avalanche. Mulder, be with me, be proud of me, she thought, gritting her teeth and willing her arm not to move. "For Andalor!" she whispered. Suddenly, the iron was gone and the pain, while not gone, was bearable again. "Well done," the High Priestess said softly into her ear. "Well done." Weakly, Shannon smiled as the High Priestess resumed her seat. She noticed the woman was trembling. Evidently, she hadn't relished her part in this any more than Ballorca did. The thought was somehow comforting. "Let me know when you are ready," the Protocol Minister said gravely. Let's get this over with, she thought. "I am ready." The Minister of Protocol pulled the second branding iron from the brazier. Shannon looked him straight in the eye as she extended her left hand to take it from him. "Thank you, Minister Ballorca." He appeared startled, and uncustomarily moved. She didn't hesitate. Drawing things out would just make it worse. "For the Realm!" she declared, and pressed the red hot iron over the first burn, perfectly encircling it. Eyes shut, she held her breath, thinking of Andalor and her love for him, thinking of her friends in the Realm, of Mulder and Scully. She forgot to count, forgot everything but her loved ones and the pain, the terrible, awful pain. The next thing she was aware of was Ballorca taking the iron from her grasp. "Enough," he said. "More than enough." He returned the implement to the brazier and once more filled the little gold goblets with wine. Shannon took hers with a hand shaking so badly she thought she would surely spill it. With great dignity, the Protocol Minister stood in the center of the dais, and raised his cup. "Lady Shannon, word will be sent out to all corners of the Realm that the King's betrothed has, this day, passed the Ritual of Readiness, demonstrating great wisdom and uncommon courage in the process. My congratulations." He nodded and the three drank deeply. The High Priestess stood and grasping Shannon's left hand, chanted a prayer. Something about being fruitful and multiplying, the girl thought muzzily. That would have its attractions later, she was sure, but for now all she wanted was to get out of this place and get back to her room and sleep for a week. The holy woman fastened Shannon's cloak and helped her to stand. Dizzy, she would have fallen off the dais had Ballorca not rushed to support her. "Take some deep breaths. It has been a long and trying day." You're telling me. Wait a minute, I must really be out of it, Shannon thought. Ballorca is actually being compassionate and kind -- to me! She shook off the dizziness. Finally feeling steadier, she nodded and they made their way to the door. But she was totally unprepared for the sight that greeted her. Illuminated by torches in the deep dusk, the garden was filled with what seemed to be the entire population of Fairwoods, with Andalor and her friends at the forefront of the crowd. Ballorca motioned to the King, and he was beside his fiancee in a moment, gathering her into his arms. Shaky and exhausted, she laid her head on his shoulder and tuned out everything else. Ballorca cleared his throat, and the hum and rumble of the crowd ceased. "Beings of the Realm, be it known that King Andalor has chosen his betrothed wisely. Lady Shannon, daughter of Hannu the Magus, has undergone the Ritual of Readiness and has been found worthy." Wild cheering and shouting broke like a damburst from the crowd. Tarnor and Hannu did a joyous dance, as Livirnea and Reinald hugged each other. The reception from the Noble Houses was more tepid, merely polite and politically-expedient applause covering what was no doubt a huge disappointment for them. One man alone -- a tall, gaunt older noble -- stood silent, his expression grim. The King acknowledged the crowd, waving and smiling. "Don't worry, Shannon. I'll get you back to the castle as quickly as I can," he murmured. Ballorca and the High Priestess melted into the throng. Eventually, the crowd began to break up, doubtless making their way to the many alehouses to celebrate. Their friends rushed up. "Oh, splendid, my dear," chortled Reinald. "You have done marvelously, simply marvelously." Livirnea beamed. "I knew you could do it, Shannon. I'm so proud of you!" It was Lita who finally noticed that Shannon wasn't really responding. "Look at the poor chick! It's some food and some sleep she needs now. We can celebrate tomorrow, when she has rested. Don't fret, Your Majesty. I'll have Lady Shannon's room nice and cozy, a hot meal ready in the twitch of a gargoyle's ear." She scurried off in the direction of the castle. Reluctantly, the others withdrew, words of congratulations to Shannon, to the King and to each other still being exchanged. Andalor maneuvered himself and the girl to a stone bench nearby. She made no effort to fight the mind-numbing fatigue that overtook her. "How was it?" Andalor asked anxiously. "Can't tell you. Shhhh!" Shannon put a finger up to her lips. "Secret. I promised." "I know you can't tell me details. But was it difficult? As difficult as you thought it would be?" "Oh yeah. Yeah, it was hard." She snuggled further into his arms, then cried out softly as her right arm came into contact with his leather belt. "What is it?" he demanded. She resisted, but he pulled her arm out from under their cloaks to scan it in the flickering torchlight. "What-- oh sweet Goddess! Was this a part of it?" "Can't tell you." "I remember my mother had a similar mark, but I never knew where it came from... Oh Goddess, Shannon, I'm so sorry, I had no idea. If had had known, I never would have asked-- " She held her hand to his lips, quieting him. "You couldn't know." Then she smiled mischievously. "But you owe me -- bigtime." Andalor laughed and held her closer. "I know I do. For this and for so much more. Oh Shannon, thank you. You passed and now we can be together forever. And thanks to the Mages, too. Their spell made all the difference." She roused herself to chuckle dryly. "Oh, it helped. It was great while it lasted. But it stopped working over two weeks ago." "Stopped! But-but you never said anything!" "Not much point. Just make everyone a lot more worried," she explained sleepily, once more snuggling into her fiance's arms. "Shannon, my Queen! You are a marvel, do you know that?" He glanced down to see her sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. Tenderly, he scooped her into his arms and began slowly walking towards the castle in the darkening night. End of Chapter Seventeen THE MAGICIAN 3.5: THE FIREBRAND By Matthew Weed and Suzanne Bickerstaffe (matthew.weed@yale.edu, ecksphile@earthlink.net) Winter - Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Eighteen Margul jumped in surprise at Charla's light touch on his shoulder. His head snapped up to meet her eyes which seemed to have taken on an unusually deep shade of blue. "Walk with me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I would be happy to." He rose from his writing desk, and put the document that he had been working on into a drawer, ready to return to later. Margul turned to the woman whose quest had become as important to him as his desire for revenge on his family's traditional enemies. They began walking through the camp, its fires and other sources of light provided by magically-treated wood that gave off minimal light and no smoke. These preparations, as well as the deep valley in which they settled for the night, hid Forst's small army well from any prying eyes that Dordinal might have set outside of the thick earthen wall built around Cresscreek the preceding winter. The silence between them seemed only to disturb Charla further, and as they moved away from the camp, Margul grew increasingly worried by her apparent restlessness. "What troubles you?" he finally asked, stopping their progress after nearly a quarter of a candlemark's walk away from camp. "I am worried about tomorrow, and the days that come after that," she admitted, her eyes shadowed by emotions that Margul could only partly name. "Why?" "Though I believe that I have done everything that can be to prepare myself for what is to come, and think that our warriors will come out of tomorrow's struggle as healthy as magic can make them, I am very afraid of losing one of them before I can tell him that ... I love him more than life itself." "Who?" Margul asked. His tone was not fully able to contain the flood of unreasoning jealousy that crashed over him. "I fear more than anything else -- more than the loss of my powers, or my freedom -- losing you to a swordsman's lucky stroke, or Mage's carefully cast spell." Margul staggered, shocked by Charla's words. She had been careful to maintain physical space between them ever since their abortive conversation nearly four moon-cycles earlier. Though he loved her no less now than he had then, he had come to accept that his feelings were not returned -- and would never be. To be told that they might be was... much more than he could have hoped for. However, he was still not sure what form her love took and needed to know more before he could truly rejoice in what she had just told him. "I must know... what you mean by what you have just said." "I thought that I was clear enough," she replied tensely. So mired in the turmoil of her feelings was she that she barely remembered to shield before her emotions took control of the weather. With a shock, she realized that a Magestorm now would warn Dordinal of the presence of a near-by Mage of unusual talent. She tried to get a grip on herself. "No!" Margul snapped. "I have desired you as man does a woman since I was but fourteen summers old, and have always understood that my hopes for a relationship with you would be impossible as a result of your damned Mage creed of non-involvement. You have given me some sense that you might possibly want me as well, but have never made things clear. On the night before the most important day of my life, I must know whether I go to war with all of the love of the woman whom I have always felt was my destiny, or just a shadowed part of it." "I see," Charla whispered, only now realizing what her uncertainty over this very choice must have cost him -- now and in the past. "First, allow me to tell you something of the path that has led me to take this choice, and the fear that has followed me on every step." She paused, and then turned off the path, guiding their steps down a small animal trail that neither would have seen without the aid of the diffuse Mage-light that bobbed gently over their heads. As they walked down the new path, she continued to tell her story. "When I was younger, I was caught between the hope that I would be able to lay claim to you as a woman will the man she loves, and the fear of the loss of my powers and consequent inability to defend myself. I had only the village Mage to ask on such matters, and she did not know whether a relationship with you would cost me my livelihood and defenses or not. Further, I believe that she may have told Ian of my intentions. Rather than letting me learn what I hoped to, Ian sent me away to train under Reinald. The Royal Mage was able to tell me that there were records of such things in the very distant past, but over time it came to be considered unseemly and even dangerous. In any event, very few Mages in more recent times have felt the stirring in their hearts and loins which would even give them cause to think of such a thing. Mage Mulder and his bondmate, the Warrior Healer, is possibly the only Mage in the Realm today who has sought out such a relationship. Or perhaps, it sought him," she mused. There was a slight pause as she collected herself and moved to sit by the side of the path. Margul, shocked by her admission, could do nothing but join her, his eyes locked on her increasingly flushed face. After a moment's further thought, she continued to tell him just how close they had come to avoiding the twenty-five year long separation. That separation was a primary reason for the restlessness that had led each of them on the difficult and sometimes dangerous adventures of their youths. "While with Reinald, I missed you terribly, and my training suffered much as a result. I decided to complete my training and then come back to the manor, a decision that was as much against Reinald's wishes as was my ultimate choice to learn my craft *my* way." "So why didn't you come? Why did it take you *twenty-five* season- cycles after your banishment to return?" he demanded. His eyes burned with tears that he saw Charla shared. "I'm getting to that now," she replied. Her own raw emotions forced her to reinforce her shield before she went forward. "I studied the laws of the Realm carefully, and learned that if a woman should become pregnant by a man of noble blood and his identity was known to her, she has the right to demand marriage, if he were not already married. She also has the right, whether married or not, to demand resources and protection from his family for herself and the child that she brings into the world." She paused for breath before plunging forward. "Any powerful female Mage is more than able to control her cycle, and the training I received from the village Mage and the elves at Fawnleaf included this skill. The feelings I had for you made me realize that my powers were not worth what I was missing -- whether I lost them or not. So I intended to come as close to our family home as I could, call you to me, and seduce you. Thereby... thereby creating a child, and an unbreakable bond between us and by extension, myself and the rest of the family. But before I could implement my plan, I fought with Reinald over my training and he banished me from Fairwoods. "He must have communicated with the village Mage at Forst, as the approaches to the manor were heavily guarded, and there was no way for me to get either myself or a message across the waters to you. I was forced away from the manor by the patrols that Ian set against me, and then chased from Mage to Mage, always in fear of pursuit by Reinald's henchmen. By the time I believed he must have lost interest in me, I feared that you had found another, and later, once I realized you had not wed, worried that you would reject my advances. I did not think about the possibility again until you became my only hope for rescue from the King's decrees last autumn. You can not imagine my joy at finding you unwed, and apparently as pleased to see me as I was you." Margul was so tense his muscles screamed. "So why did it take you nearly a full season-cycle to come to this point, Charla? Why did you reject me when I tried to tell you what you must have known I intended to last winter?" he demanded sharply, pained at the time that they had lost, and the apparent lack of trust she had in him. She made a fluttering, helpless gesture with her hands. "Many reasons. I was not sure that we were still compatible. I was not sure that what I remembered as being so passionate when I was younger still stood as my true destiny. Even when we were interrupted by Ghalbar's return that day, I was still uncertain of my feelings for you.... Not sure that I was ready to risk giving up all that I have been, for the joy that loving you would be for me." "And now? Are you certain now?" Margul inquired gently. "I know much less of Mages than you do. I cannot assure you that my love, no matter how great, will balance any loss in power that you may suffer." "It would not matter," she said softly, her fingers moving to untie the sash that held her cloak closed. "For I have realized that the thing that I fear above all others is not knowing what it feels like to be held by you, and to know that you have the same desire for me. A desire that leads me to be as willing to give up my powers now as I was when only a half-grown woman." The sash dropped loosely on the ground. He stayed her hand, and frustration twisted his features. "Much as I want this -- and oh, Goddess, do I want it! -- we must *think*. Our victory tomorrow rests largely on your powers, Charla. Do we have the right to do this now, to put all of our plans in jeopardy, to risk the lives of those we have recruited to follow us on this great venture? What if, by allowing ourselves to finally partake of the happiness we have craved for so long, we condemn our House and our troops?" She wrapped her hands around his. "There is no accident in my timing, Margul, nor any lack of care for our mission." In reply to his quizzical gaze, she continued. "Just before we left, I found a scroll in the ancient library of spells I came across in the manor, only days after my arrival. The scroll dates back to the earliest days of recorded time. In it, it speaks of a time even earlier, when the few Mages who had the inclination were known to marry. The scroll makes it certain that I will not lose my powers. In fact, they may well grow as a result of opening myself to you." She paused for a moment in order to gather her courage. "If it is not too late, I want to tell you that I want to be your lover. Your wife. The mother of the new generation, that will lead our House into a brighter future." Once again, Margul felt near tears, but for an entirely different reason. The long wait, the seeming hopelessness of his desires -- all were banished by her words. His heart nearly burst with an overflow of unaccustomed joy. "I hope that you know that I love you in every way that a man can a woman. I will love you all my days and beyond," he promised softly. With these words, the Magecloak she always wore slipped from her shoulders, baring her body to the man who would, she knew now, be her lover, and ultimately, husband. The man whom she would fight along side and, if necessary, die for on the morrow. But also the man with whom this night she was determined to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, a yearning that, though dormant for many season-cycles, now crowded everything else from her mind. * * * * The Professor smiled. Even the stoutness of the iron-bound door could not keep the sounds of merriment from spilling into the hallway. It had been far too long since they had had cause for joy in the Realm. He knocked loudly, then let himself in. "Ah, Gunther! We are so happy you could make it!" Reinald embraced him, then plucked a goblet of wine off a nearby tray, and handed it to him. Neumann surveyed his friends approvingly. Living under the shadow of the Ritual and its potential consequences had aged all of them, but now it seemed those same season-cycles had dropped from their faces. Everyone stood straighter, glowed with health and happiness, shone with relief. Laughter tinkled from every corner of the chamber, every group of two or three chattered animatedly and smiled easily. "Go ahead," Reinald urged. "Why don't you mingle?" The Professor toasted his friend with a sip of wine, then made his way to a group by the fire. "Professor Neumann! I'm so glad you were able to get away from your workroom for a while," Shannon exclaimed. "Can I get you something to eat?" "Perhaps later," he replied smiling. "I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you, Shannon, how proud your mother would have been. And of course, to wish both you and Andalor every happiness." "Thank you, Professor. I think that maybe for the first time, she really would have been proud of me," the girl replied wistfully. "Not for the first time, child. Have no doubt about that." Andalor clasped his fiancee's hand. "Isn't she wonderful?" he enthused. Shannon giggled. "Andy, stop it! The whole Ritual was an exercise in humility, and you're going to undo all of that by swelling my head." "I don't care," the King said stoutly. "You are wonderful and you are going to be the most beautiful, talented Queen in the history of the Realm. And our distant friends said the same thing -- Shannon and I spoke to them earlier. Mulder was beside himself," he said, grinning at the memory. "They both got carried away," she murmured, but her pleasure was apparent in the pretty blush on her cheeks. "And does this mean I will have my able assistant returned to me on a full-time basis?" Neumann asked mischievously. Livirnea looked to Shannon, who shrugged. "Due to Liv's excellent lessons, I now know what a Lady in Waiting is and what she does. But I still haven't figured out why the heck I need one, and probably never will. So as far as I'm concerned, Liv can do whatever makes her happy." Livirnea grinned and hugged her friend. She had been chafing to get back to the Professor's laboratory and the wonders that it held. She had tried her best to hide it, but clearly had not done a very good job of it. "You've earned it," Shannon said warmly. "After putting up with me for all these moon-cycles!" By the large round table in the center of the room, Reinald and Hannu were conversing, with Lita listening on avidly. "And just before the poor thing passed out, do you know what she told Andalor? That the spell had died, two weeks before! She didn't let anyone know, she just carried on as if it hadn't happened and walked into that Ritual, knowing that she had only herself to depend on!" "Aye, Shannon doesn't need a ceremony to make her Queen," Lita declared. "Shannon has made herself a Queen." "Indeed she has," Hannu agreed, beaming with pride. Only Tarnor's sharp ears picked up the sound of the timid tap at the door. He excused himself from Jourdain and his family and went to answer it. "Oh, High Priestess," he cried in a loud, clear voice. "This is an honor!" Instantly, as intended, the conversation dropped to a murmur and then died. "I do hope I am not interrupting," the Priestess said, uncomfortable at the sudden silence. "By no means, Priestess. Just a little celebration," replied Andalor smoothly. "May I offer you a cup of wine?" "No, thank you. It is late and I was just going to bed, but I thought you should know this." The High Priestess paused. "Yesterday, at exactly the same moment as Lady Shannon passed the most difficult part of the Ritual, the Seers had a vision. I will not bother you with the details -- there was much symbolism and imagery that would have no significance to you. Suffice to say, the Seers have divined the day of the Royal Wedding." There was an excited rumble from the assembled friends. "And that day is to be?" Andalor inquired. "The first twin full moons of summer," Daanna blurted out. "That is correct!" the High Priestess said, amazed. Daanna shrugged. "I saw the vision, too. I usually do, you know." "Perhaps we should start some training for you among the clergy," the Priestess mused, then continued her message. "I know it is short notice -- lately that seems to be all I have been able to give you, and I do apologize. But the vision, shared by all, was a unique occurrence. I know Minister Ballorca will not be pleased, having to orchestrate a Royal Wedding with so little time." "Well, the Seers could not have done a better job predicting the proper day for the Ritual. I am sure the case will be the same for the Royal Wedding," Andalor said. For once, the boot was on the other leg. Now Ballorca would have to race against time to meet an impossible deadline. For his part, Andalor was extremely pleased that the wedding would be so soon and the long period of waiting was almost over. He had never taken so many cold baths in his life, and if he had to endure one more ribald comment from Dorbo about it.... "Minister Ballorca will manage -- somehow." "There is one more thing," she said. "Something else that will no doubt cause the Minister some consternation." "Which is?" "As you may know, Royal Weddings by tradition are held when the sun reaches its highest point in the sky. I am not sure what it all means, if anything, but the Seers saw your wedding taking place in the last rays of the setting sun, as the torches in the courtyard are being lit." "Then that is the way it shall be, and Minister Ballorca will just have to adjust," Andalor replied. "Now -- are you sure I cannot get you a glass of wine?" "Quite sure, thank you, Your Majesty." She bowed low before him. Then, she bowed just as deeply to Shannon. Everyone in the room gasped. This was a totally unprecedented gesture, for the King's betrothed to be accorded the same respect as a crowned Queen. With a small smile, the High Priestess made her exit. * * * * Hegan cast yet another look at the pouting, aggrieved visage of Lady Darliss and again wondered if he had taken leave of his senses. He only hoped that his House appreciated his sacrifice. His fiancee had not been pleased with his decision that they were to be wed in Hotsprings. Actually, 'not pleased' did not go quite far enough. She had been enraged, and he had an opportunity to witness the temper that thus far she had been successful at hiding from him. For a full three candlemarks she ranted, cursing her fate at being denied the huge, elaborate Fairwoods wedding she had always dreamed of. How from childhood, she had dreamed of a wedding in the Great Hall, a ceremony rivaled only by that of kings. A reception at Forst House, a party which she would plan herself, with all the delicacies the Realm could produce. Musicians playing non-stop, dancing that would last well past the first rays of sun the next morning. A wedding that would have set the standard for all the Noble Houses forever after. In vain, Hegan tried to explain that such a display of wealth would be looked upon as self-indulgent and insensitive in this time of rebuilding. He had his thoughts on the matter, of course, his own reasons for wanting the wedding at Hotsprings that his fiancee would never be privy to. Equal to the political considerations were the financial ones. Hegan well knew that Darliss would drain the Forst coffers for their wedding, and if there was one thing he did not want, it was a further impoverished Forst. On Darliss's death, Forst's lands and wealth would be transferred to Hegan of Dordinal, by the provisions of their nuptial agreement. He did not intend to inherit an empty vault. At one point she had even threatened to nullify the nuptial agreement. Although Hegan never for a moment believed her threat, he put on the performance of his life, even working up a few tears to convince his fiancee of his undying love for her. He wisely chose that moment to present her with his wedding gift, a dazzling matching set of jewels -- earrings, necklace, bracelet and ring. The rubies and diamonds of each piece sparkled in the heavy gold setting of the crest of Dordinal House. For Hegan, what made the gift even better was that he had acquired it at no cost to himself, as it had been among the property of one of his recently deceased rivals. The effect on Darliss was as intended -- she was rendered speechless by the extravagance of the gift. That precious silence lasted far too short a time in Hegan's opinion, but at least any talk of the cancellation of the nuptial agreement was permanently put to rest. Lady Darliss was not finished, however. She managed to extract several additional promises from Hegan in return for her willingness to be wed in Hotsprings. One of those promises explained their present mode of conveyance. Darliss was adamant that their arrival in Hotsprings was to be equal to their station in life, and from somewhere she heard sedan chairs mentioned. Likely introduced from somewhere outside the Realm, the idea of an elaborately decorated compartment, drawn not by horses but on the strong shoulders of members of their Houses, appealed greatly to her. If only to stop her whining, Hegan had ordered the wheels removed from one of Dordinal's best coaches, and carrying poles installed in their place. More difficult was finding 'volunteers' from Forst and Dordinal to convey the unusual vehicle, and he had had to deplete his contingent of warriors and Lady Darliss's bodyguards by a dozen to do so. As they jostled along the road, the curses of those volunteers were occasionally audible inside the compartment. Hegan sighed. "What is it, my lovely? You seem troubled." "This just isn't the way I pictured it. I should never have agreed to this." She sniffled unappealingly. He grit his teeth, determined to be pleasant until they were wed. "But, my beloved! You are being conveyed like no queen has even been, we have no less than ten wagon-loads of food, wine, your clothing and jewels with us -- what could you possibly lack?" "The eyes of all those she-bitches in Fairwoods who thought I would never marry!" Her lower lip quivered and tears spilled from her eyes. "A ceremony by some village priest in front of a bunch of moronic peasants and lower beings is no compensation, no matter how we get to Hotsprings!" Hegan pulled her hand into his, resisting his urge to crush every bone in it. "But we spoke of this, my joy, did we not? While it is a great privilege to enjoy a life of nobility, there is also duty. You must know that I, too, am disappointed I could not demonstrate my undying love for you before all of Fairwoods. But duty calls us to Hotsprings. Blame me only for the fact that I cannot bear to remain unknowing of your soft feminine secrets a moment longer than absolutely necessary. I swear to you, Darliss, I feel I shall explode if we do not consummate our great love for one another at the earliest possible moment." At that, she tittered, and her cheeks grew rosy. He patted her hand. "Fear not, my precious flower. I promise, you will have an extravagant Fairwoods gathering soon." She could not know that Hegan was thinking of her funeral. End of Chapter Eighteen The Magician 3.5 - The Firebrand By Matthew Weed and Suzanne Bickerstaffe (magician@galaxy.med.yale.edu, ecksphile@earthlink.net) Winter - Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Nineteen Margul's hands were scraped raw by the long struggle across the night-darkened fields outside of Cresscreek. Though Charla's spell could make his warriors' weapons sharper and their armor stronger, it was useless in protecting undefended flesh against the sharp rocks and other obstacles that were impossible to avoid in the dark of night. Fortunately, sunrise now drew near, and with it the light needed to allow his hand-picked warriors to sweep into the village. But first -- Charla would once more need to do what she alone could to ensure their success. * * Gaptel sat atop the earthen barrier that his warriors had forced the beings of Cresscreek to build for them over the preceeding winter. Lord Hegan had assured him that such defenses would not be necessary, but as captain of Hegan's men, Gaptel knew that a defenseworks could be as imposing to the beings trapped within as they were to an enemy outside. Stealing from the villagers, torturing the males and enjoying the pleasures of the village's females did not provide his warriors with nearly enough distraction. So he ordered them and the villagers they guarded to build the fortification on which he now sat. The morning light was just becoming strong enough to see the fields beyond, and he knew that his men would soon be marching the locals out to do their day's toil. A flicker of movement caught the very periphery of his vision, and moments later a terrible shockwave threw him to the ground. He jumped to his feet and began running toward the great clamor rising a short distance away. But before he had run more than twenty paces, another terrible noise assaulted his ears and he was felled again by another, more powerful shockwave. When his head cleared, he rose and scrambled up the wall, fully intending to run the rest of the way to where sounds of battle could be heard. Before he could do so, a green-clad figure bore down on him from the wall-top, sword in hand. Gaptel quickly drew his own blade, ready to do battle with his shorter foe. He smiled contemptuously. His longer reach and notable advantage in youth and skill would more than carry the day against this foolish female. However, the moment his sword impacted against her blade, he knew something was terribly wrong. His sword seemed to shatter before her strokes, and was quickly reduced from one of Dordinal's oldest and finest weapons to a short stub. It dawned on him that their dance would end in his death unless he could escape. His enemy stepped forward, a confident smile on her face, ready to deliver the killing blow. Having nothing better to do with his weapon, he threw its remains at her with all the force his growing terror could exert. The blow slowed her only slightly, but it was enough to give him the chance to kick her feet out from under her and escape. For the moment, this would be enough to save him from a warrior whose weapon had certainly been bespelled by a very powerful Mage. A Mage powerful enough, he realized with rising concern, to throw the thunderbolts that had broken his well-constructed defenses. Those strikes were sufficient to open two gaps nearly fifty paces wide in the wall. Squads of men and women wearing Forst's colors now ran through them, brandishing their weapons. There wasn't time to curse Hegan's pride or the over-confidence of the foolish woman whom he was soon to marry. Clearly there were members of the Forst clan who had no intention of giving up their lands simply because someone of Darliss' rank said they should. Members of Forst who were willing to part with tremendous riches in order to hire a Mage powerful enough to pose a serious threat to Hegan's plans. Gaptel was glad that he had taken the danger of a Forst reprisal seriously and ensured Dordinal's position at Cresscreek with the powers of one of the Realm's now-rare Black Mages. * * When Charla's first thunderbolt passed over them, Margul and his troops rose and began running toward the smoking gap in Cresscreek's defenses. His squad numbered but twenty warriors. These, and the thirty who would soon join them through the second gap Charla would open in the palisade surrounding the town, would have to take the northern half of the village. It would then be possible to bring the rest of Forst's small army up to destroy what little remained of Dordinal's resistance. Or so Margul dearly hoped. Much had to go right for things to happen as they desired, but the chaos that had sprung up in the village was encouraging. Margul scrambled across the ditch that was the village's only remaining defense against attack, and waved the rest of his people forward. The destruction Charla's power had wrought was truly awesome; those who were atop the palisade died on it. This gave his people a few moments' time to cross what remained of the structure and select the best possible path toward the village common. With Dordinal troops as thick as beast-bugs, any path they chose would be risky. Margul could only hope Charla's efforts would be as effective against Dordinal's on-rushing warriors as they had been against its engineers. As more and more of the enemy fell before his companions' skill, Margul saw that Charla had succeeded beyond their wildest hopes. Some of his people were struck down -- after all, hands, necks, elbows and knees could not be fully protected. However, it appeared that ten of the Dordinal lackeys were falling for each of the warriors lost by House Forst. If his enemy continued to lose people at this rate, Forst would claim victory by high-sun at the latest. * * * "Lord Gaptel!" The stripling raced to catch up with his captain. "What!" Gaptel snapped, turning his growing frustration at what he saw happening around him on his unlucky subordinate. "My blade," the youth cried. He held out a sword that had lost most of its former impressive length. "When the first Mage bolt hit our defenses I was standing with Gramber and Polkar on the parapet, watching for movement in the forest. We saw nothing and as the sun rose, we prepared to take the wine that we had liberated--" "Is there a point to this?" growled Gaptel. "Sorry, milord! Helgas and Malkil were killed. The rest of us met them in battle, and before I could take a breath, my companions were dead, and I was facing all three of the enemy, whose weapons glistened with my friends' blood. I thought to charge them, but knew--" "Will you get on with it? If you hadn't noticed, we're under attack!" "Yes, milord, I'm trying." "Extremely," Gaptel thundered. "Now, out with it!" "I was in battle with a female. Her sword reduced mine by half, but I was able to get a good swing at her head. But her helmet! It was like hitting solid rock, I tell you, and my cursed sword shattered again! Had my feet not taken wings, she would surely have ended my life there and then." "Where is this woman now?" Gaptel demanded, wondering if, by some mischance, it was the same female warrior who had attacked him on the other side of the village. "She is over there," replied the youth, pointing at a slender form who was engaged against four of Gaptel's best warriors. She bore no resemblance whatsoever to the far older warrior who had attacked him, but Gaptel watched in growing consternation as she ducked and dodged, clearly toying with his troops. Their blades clanged off of her helmet and the light armor that all of the Forst warriors were wearing. Light or not, it was terribly effective against his people's weapons, and he watched horrified as each of his soldiers fell before her skill. Soon, the bodies of Dordinal's best fighters lay sprawled at her feet. Gaptel's blood turned to ice, fearing that his family would lose what Hegan had worked so hard -- and paid such a price -- to win. "Have our warriors pull back and take as many of the villagers with them as they can," he commanded the stripling. "It seems that if we are to hold this cursed place we will have to take some hostages." He knew he had sealed his people's fate with this command. Their only hope lay in his next orders. "And while you're at it, find Mage Alkem! See if she can do something to even the odds." The younger man blanched. "Y-yes, Sir!" he cried. His heart heavy with dread, he ran off, searching for warriors whose blades had not yet tasted the power of Forst iron. The surge of hopelessness that crashed over him was nearly as deadly as Forst's swordplay. He didn't need his leader's comparatively well-trained mind and hands to see that their situation was hopeless. For even if they escaped Forst's attack, King Andalor's justice must ultimately catch up with all of them. Everyone in the Realm would demand it, and they would be right to do so. For warriors learned from the moment they were able to pick up a sword that taking innocents hostage was the lowest form of cowardice. A cowardice that must and would be punished by death. * * * "Lord Margul!" The cry brought Margul to a halt, his head turning rapidly to identify its source. Fortunately, the distraction did not cause his prey to escape the fate that he had intended. Others were already in pursuit and would soon take his enemy down as they had so many this morning. Things were going far better than Margul had hoped. He knew that several of his leading force had been injured or killed as a result of a lucky blow or carefully thrust spear, but his losses were minor at worst. The seeming invincibility of his troops was doing more than either their surprise attack or Charla's presence alone could to destroy Dordinal morale. The call came from Vestra, one of the best of his female warriors. She was with his squad as it charged across the remains of Cresscreek's defenses. She disappeared, however, only moments after their first charge and was working her way around the southern part of the village, looking for ways to disrupt the defenders' position from behind. The fact that she had chosen to come this far north meant either there were few defenders in her region, or she had seen something that deserved his attention. "What news have you?" he asked, one eye on the battle. The older woman stopped before him, reeling on her feet as she did so. "I was not far from the site of our first assault when I came upon a single man who was attempting to retake the top of the wall. His weapon was very well made and his accoutriments the finest of any Dordinal warrior I have ever seen. We fought and had it not been for the improvements to my blade and armor, I am not sure that I would have beaten him. As it was, he escaped, and led me on a merry chase through the village. I thought that he might be the guard commander for this place, and so followed him. "Unfortunately, I encountered other Dordinal scoundrels and so lost him for a time. When I saw him again, he was conferring with a younger man whom he seemed to send on an errand of some import. I could not get close enough to challenge him further. In truth, his blows seem to have affected my vision in some way. I felt it best to describe him to you before going to see the Healer." "You were right to leave the front -- though I would hardly call any part of this village safe." Margul scanned the battle before turning back to her report. "Describe him to me and then find Healer Marik and have him see to you." "He is tall -- probably a handspan taller than you are, my lord -- and garbed in Dordinal's silver and black, with a blue sash 'round his waist. He was wearing no helmet when I first saw him, though I must assume that he was going to the armorer for a new weapon as his was destroyed in our combat. So I can't say whether he will wear a helmet or not when he rejoins the battle. If not, his hair is dark like most of the Dordinal chieftains', and I think that his eyes are either blue or hazel." "Good," Margul growled. "This will be more than enough for me to find him and take his head." He slung his sword over his right shoulder and turned toward the village square, ready to seek his prey. * * * Charla lay drained some distance from the battle site. The spell to strengthen the troops' weapons and armor had been tiring. More importantly, she had been exhausted by producing the energy needed to open gaps in fortifications as large as those built by Dordinal. However, she could take grim satisfaction from the fact that she had done what was needed, and would soon be able to watch the main part of Forst's small army complete the crushing victory that seemed well within their grasp. A victory that would be spoken of for generations to come, if the reports that were coming from the village were to be believed. How satisfying it would be to gather their troops, claim their victory, and then drive on Dordinal's seat. She knew that she would meet Darliss there. She shied away from thinking about what she would do when the traitorous lady lay prostrate before her. There was too much temptation along that path.... * * * Margul's rush to the village common was delayed by a short but bitter battle with a Dordinal scamp whose blade was virtually useless against his magically-enhanced weapon. The Head of Forst didn't even wait to see the havoc wrought on the soldier's body from the tremendous downward stroke of his sword. Rather, knowing that his enemy was dead, he ran on, now determined to find the Dordinal captain. Moments later he stood in the small and formerly well-kept common, watching as his warriors began securing it as a base from which they could move outward, pushing all resistance before them. Margul saw that they were confident of victory, a certainty that he was coming to share. He was shocked, then, by the pounding of feet and a sudden impact against his spine. The agonized scream that blasted his eardrums as he rolled with the impact and tried to rise shook Margul to his very soul. His eye found one of the mercenaries that his family had hired. The younger man's right arm and shoulder were withered away, his hand nearly decomposed, the flesh dripping between the blackened and smoking bones. Margul didn't need his lover's knowledge to recognize the Black Arts at work -- the evidence was before him and the stench filled the air. The soldier had saved his life, his body taking the brunt of the evil spell. Margul grabbed the tunic of another of his troops who, in spite of his panic at the display of black magic, stopped and assisted the struck man to shelter. Cursing violently as pain radiated from his ankle and up his leg, Margul started after his men. He could only scramble for the protection of a near-by building ,as warriors both young and old began to run in all directions, the sweet taste of victory now replaced in their mouths by bitter fear. * * * It had taken much time for Charla to regain her strength, and even now, candlemarks after her castings on the troops' war-gear and against the village palisade, she felt weak and only partly in touch with the Mage energy that usually flowed through her body like a rushing river. She was conscious however, and when she heard voices calling her name she knew the news they brought her could not be good. "Lady Charla!" a voice cried. "Your help is needed immediately! A Black Mage has appeared in the village, and has attacked our lord Margul's party." Exhausted though she might be, Charla's fear at the thought of losing what she had found the night before was more than enough to drive her to her feet, her aura blazing in nearly uncontrolled waves. She didn't care that her energies could now be sensed by any Mage within two days' ride. All that mattered was the danger to the man she loved, and the terrible threat that a Black Mage could pose to the Forst troops who had been sweeping to victory only moments earlier. She ran toward the village, aura and eyes blazing with equal intensity. None who saw her dared stand in her way as she ran, hair streaming behind her, toward her goal. She took the ditch in two mighty leaps, feeling something snap in her knee as she did so. The cries of the battle and the blossoming pain from her injury were but minor distractions as she charged toward the center of the village. She needed little time to see where her enemy must be working, as members of both armies were fleeing the village common, terror stark in every face she passed. She slowed only slightly when she saw Ghalbar, his cloak askew and face taut with concern. "Where is he?" she demanded, not needing to tell the younger man whom she meant. "The last I saw of him he was crawling toward what is left of the inn. I am sure that he was hurt, but I was too far away to do anything for him." "He lives then?" "When I last saw him, yes." Relief washed over her, instantly replaced by cold determination. "I will break the Mage. Find someone to help Lord Margul to the Healer's tent." "I will!" Ghalbar responded. He motioned for the attention of a small group of warriors who had gathered in the protection of one of the village's cobbled alleys. * * * Although Alkem's intervention slowed Forst's advance through the village common, Gaptel knew she would not be able to stop them from recapturing the town. Though dedicated to the Black Arts, she was far from the most powerful of Mages, and could only make the recapture of the village horribly expensive for his enemy. The Mage who had worked on Forst's weapons and broken the palisade would, he was sure, soon arrive to crush this threat to her employer's plans. Gaptel feared that Alkem's dwindling power would soon be lost to his forces, leaving them to continue a hopeless battle. Her sole claim so far had been to destroy the squad of warriors who had been setting up a command tent on the abandoned green. Even that left her reeling. But Gaptel had seen another warrior, one with unusually fine clothing and weapons whom he thought might be Forst's commander. The man had been injured, and forced to crawl into the old inn where the Black Mage's power would be wasted in hunting for him. Armed with a new weapon, Gaptel also had his seething emotions in his favor. These, along with his enemy's injuries, would be enough to give him a good chance at victory, no matter the spells that must have been cast in support of his enemy. He began circling around the village square, sword in hand and ready for battle. * * * It took Charla only a moment to find the Black Mage once she reached the open area that had once been a well-maintained park. The elf was bent over one of Forst's dead, apparently collecting his eyeballs. Charla knew many of the spells that could be cast using these highly prized bits of flesh, and was equally determined that this Mage, at least, would cast none of them again. "Turn and face your better!" she commanded, hands already moving in readiness for her first spell. Alkem turned, eyes widening in shocked recognition. Charla had been a young and very angry woman when they had last met. Her powers were frightening even then, and Alkem saw that where she was badly outclassed before, her enemy now had truly awesome power. She could only shake her head in envy of the human woman's obvious abilities, evidenced by the power that destroyed the defenses the Dordinal commander was so sure of a few disastrous candlemarks before. A power that gave the Forst warriors near indestructibility. Alkem knew that these abilities would destroy her as well if she did not do something, and quickly. * * * Margul slumped against a table in the inn's dusty main room, a place where beings of all kinds had eaten, drunk, talked and laughed for untold season-cycles. A space that had seen much happiness, sadness and often love, now it lay dark and filthy under Dordinal's iron-fisted occupation. After his long and painful journey across the inn's yard, he had no doubt that his ankle was broken. Though, he thought with some bitterness, better a broken ankle than the horrible injury that the young warrior had taken for him. The sound of a door closing somewhere in the old inn told him that he was not alone. He was fairly certain that the elf-Mage had not seen him enter, and so whatever being made the noise was at least not gifted with Mage powers of evil. He prayed that one of his subordinates had the presence of mind to call Charla. Hopefully, weakened though she might be, she would be able to destroy or at least negate the decimating effects of a Black Mage, who would draw the line at nothing. A heavy footstep told him that whatever being drew near, the time for contemplation was over. He moved as quietly as his injury would allow, taking up a position next to the door through which the other must enter. As soon as it opened, he swung his sword like a club, striking the other at the knees. As he hoped, his well-dressed victim dropped heavily to the floor, cursing violently and scrabbling for the sword he dropped. Margul knew instantly that this must be the Dordinal commander. Before his enemy could reach his sword, Margul leapt on his back, to be joined moments later by other, as yet unidentified, warriors who stormed into the room when they heard the sounds of the struggle. "Surrender!" Margul grunted as his enemy fought to break away. "No!" the other cried, redoubling his effort to escape the growing mass of men. "None of the house of Dordinal will ever surrender to such as you." Margul's head snapped around in response to the sound of Ghalbar's voice, as the younger man pronounced the Dordinal commander's fate. "In that case, I pray that the Goddess will accept your soul once you have completed your journey," he exclaimed as his sword fell, taking Gaptel's head with it. The battle over, the pain from Margul's ankle now became blinding in its intensity. The last things that he remembered as he slipped toward unconsciousness were Ghalbar's concerned voice, and the shrieking of a terrible wind accompanied by the crash of Mage-born thunder. * * * Charla smiled when she recognized the small elfish Mage. Though a skilled magician in her own right, the other had been one of those whom she had coerced into teaching her what Reinald would not. Much as the other might know her weaknesses, Charla knew well that if she kept her head about her, Alkem, Black Mage of the Darkwoods forest, would not be able to defeat her. She was familiar with her opponent's favorite spells and how to negate most of them. Those that could not be reversed could be deflected easily enough. With her victory certain, Charla began to focus on the rage that she felt toward Alkem. The elf had resisted teaching her what she wanted to know more than any other, and the fact that her former teacher very recently posed a mortal threat to Margul added to Charla's determination to destroy her opponent. She began murmuring the spell that would negate Alkem's shield. The other, sensing her intent, tried to reinforce her defenses, but was simply not strong enough. When the shield fell Charla let her emotions run wild. The resulting Magestorm grew into a terrible tempest, lightning crackling in the air like flash-mites at the height of summer. With a flick of her hand the storm concentrated its fury, wind rising and rain pelting down in ferocious counterpoint to Charla's rising temper. Finally, with storm and emotions at a peak, the Forst Mage moved her hand and a blinding bolt of lightning came from the boiling cauldron that the heavens had become. A terrible crash of thunder split the air, the sound alone sufficient to shatter windows and rock the nearby trees. The sound and light were replaced by a deafening silence, and a smoking crater where the Black Mage Alkem had stood. End of Chapter Nineteen The Magician, Book 3.5 - The Firebrand By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter - Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Twenty "Will there be anything else, Mage Reinald?" Pitir placed the lid on the old teapot and rose expectantly. The Royal Mage sat at the refectory table a short distance away. His eyes never glanced up from the hastily scrawled parchment he was studying. His apprentice cleared his throat and waited.... Still nothing. "Mage Reinald? Is everything all right?" Pitir demanded at length. Reinald's head shot up, his brow furrowed. "Eh? Oh yes, fine, my boy. Make the tea, would you?" "It is all made and ready for your guests, Mage." "Ah yes, so it is." The Royal Mage got up as swiftly as his stiff bones would allow and chose a thick old book from the shelf. "Very well. I want you to select three spells from this book, and we will work on them in the coming weeks." The troll took the volume and looked at his master in wonder. This was the first time he had been given the opportunity to decide his course of study. Catching his apprentice's expression, Reinald shook his head advisedly. "Make no mistake, this is an important landmark in your training. The spells you choose will tell much about you. There are no wrong spells and no right spells. Still, there are spells which connote more or less wisdom, more or less selflessness, more or less courage. I will be quite interested in the choices you make." "Thank you, Mage!" The troll's homely features shone. "I will not disappoint you. I will put much thought into my selections, indeed, I will stay up all night if need be, working by the light of candle and hearth, until--" In spite of the seriousness of his former expression, Reinald's eyes twinkled. "At times, you remind me of Jhorghab, Mage Apprentice. Run along now, and choose wisely. I will see you tomorrow, bright and early." "Yes, Mage!" Pitir replied, backing from the chamber. "I will choose most wisely, you will see, you will be so proud...." The troll's voice trailed with him out into the hall and didn't cease even when the massive iron-bound oak door swung shut. But this Reinald did not notice. Once again, he sat engrossed over the parchment. It was not long until Andalor arrived at the Royal Mage's door and knocked. Receiving no answer, the King cracked the door open and peered around it. "Ah. You got the news, I see." He swung the door open, admitting himself and Jourdain and Aldara, who had just arrived. "Yes, I received it. But I wonder if you make of it what I do. I am deeply disturbed, Andalor, deeply disturbed." Aldara waved the Mage back into his chair and bent over the tea tray. Quickly, she handed out mugs of restorative tea and took her place at her husband's side with their friends around the hearth. "All right," the King sighed. "Now what do you find so disturbing?" "Do you not see it?" Reinald demanded, incredulous. "Clearly, there has been the use of magic by Forst in making this attack at Cresscreek! From the description in this report and from what I know about House Forst, I can make only one guess as to who supplied that magic. And my experience with that person can only give me great unease about this whole situation." "Yes, I admit it appears magic was used. But who are you talking about, Reinald?" Andalor asked, mystified. "It was before your time, my boy." Reinald rose to pace restlessly. "Many season-cycles ago, well before you were born -- in fact, not long after your father ascended to the throne -- a young woman was sent here for training by her House. Now, it certainly does not happen every day that a member of one of the Houses has Mage talent." "Or any talent whatsoever," Aldara muttered under her breath. Andalor caught her words and smothered a grin. Unaware of the interruption, Reinald went on. "It was rumored that her father was not her father, if you know what I mean. Who he may have been was never disclosed, as the family chose to ignore the gossip and perpetuate the myth of her parentage. It was unlikely that he was a Mage as Mages do not tend to indulge in that sort of thing... with the exception of our beloved Mage Mulder, that is. Certainly he was someone with considerable Mage talent in his line. But Charla was an embarrassment, and was sent to me for training." Reinald paused, remembering. "She was immensely talented, and could have become one of the most powerful and respected Mages of our time...." "Could have become?" Aldara repeated. "What happened?" Jourdain nodded. "I remember her. Lovely thing she was - tall, strong. Would have made a good warrior, too, had her gifts not been for magic. But--" "But for her headstrong insistence that her training include the Black Arts!" Reinald boomed dramatically. "She actually expected you to teach her those?" Andalor asked. "She wanted you to train her to be a Black Mage? He shook his head slowly. "No. No, she denied wanting to be a Black Mage. She said, for what it was worth, that she only was interested for the sake of knowing, not for the sake of applying that knowledge. But of course I could not take that risk. Certainly not with a Mage of her potential and strength. The temptation to use that knowledge would be overwhelming. I gave her an ultimatum - comply with my decision to teach only the White Arts, or leave. She left." Reinald threw himself once more into his armchair. "So you think that she has acquired this knowledge elsewhere, and is now using it to further Forst's cause?" inquired Jourdain gravely. "I know she has acquired the knowledge of the Black Arts -- it is a small and close Mage community and word does get around," Reinald replied. "What I do not have is absolute proof that she has used them. Otherwise, her name would have been on Tarnor's list of Black Mages a long time ago." "Reinald, may I see the report?" asked Aldara. He handed her the piece of parchment. Andalor frowned. "Do you think she used the Black Arts to further Forst's cause?" "I do not know -- I only suspect." Reinald's expression was closed, his jaw set. The King was puzzled. "I read the message we received. Obviously it was written hastily, and seemed, to me anyway, to be the usual mixture of fact, conjecture and rumor. But I saw nothing that would lead me to believe that Forst has used the Black Arts. True, the use of Mages in battle has its ethical detractors. But strengthening of weapons and armor by magical means has been done before, though many generations ago in our past." "I must agree with His Majesty," Aldara commented, looking up from the parchment. "If anything, there seems to be clear evidence that it was not Forst but rather Dordinal who, fearing the battle was lost, employed the skills of a Black Mage." Reinald nodded. "Yes, that appears to be the case. And I would not doubt that Dordinal would sink to that level -- they have done it before. But this Margul is an unknown, both the man himself and his methods. Who is to say he would not employ the same heinous ways that Dordinal has?" Jourdain shook his head. "I know little of this Margul. But what I have heard leads me to believe the best of the man, unless proved otherwise. I have heard he is both intelligent and charismatic -- a far cry from Lady Darliss, whom he wishes to replace as Head of Household. As to whether or not he has plans after he achieves his objective, I cannot say." "And what do your sources say, Aldara?" asked the King. Aldara indeed had excellent sources. Over the season-cycles she had put into place a remarkable network of beings who supplied her with a constant stream of information. Some were paid to keep their eyes and ears open for anything which might be important to the King. Others were mere vendors or servants who became privy to such information in the course of their work, and were only too happy to pass it on to show their support for their King. And others still were gossips, whose stories might or might not have any truth to them. "That is why I wanted to read your report, to check what I have heard. Some of my sources were on the scene in Cresscreek. They have confirmed Forst's use of magic - only to strengthen weapons and bring down the fortified walls." "That is still more use than I would approve of, myself," Reinald said stubbornly. "Perhaps so, Royal Mage. But it is also true that those fortifications were built by Dordinal with the equivalent of slave labor." Aldara's tone, originally mild, began became more heated with the passion of her words. "Dordinal has held Cresscreek in an iron grip for almost a season-cycle now, taking advantage of a time when the Realm was still in the process of rebuilding after the War with the Dark Creatures and when the Dark Queen began to make her evil presence felt. They knew they could get away with this, as the energies of the King and his troops were necessarily directed elsewhere. They took advantage of the interspecies fighting by going in to 'calm' the region. They stayed to steal the villagers blind and force them to labor under their direction. I cannot weep for Dordinal -- for those who would use those same villagers as hostages in this battle." "What?" Cries of outrage came from both Jourdain and Andalor. "It's true," Aldara said, emerald eyes flaring with indignation and anger. "I have it from three separate sources that Dordinal rounded up the villagers to use them as hostages, perhaps even living shields if it became necessary. If the use of some magic by Forst prevented this horrible act from occurring, then I can only applaud." Jourdain rubbed his grizzled beard. "That does put things in a different light. By the Dark Creatures, this is a new low, even for Dordinal!" Andalor nodded. "It is just as well their leader was killed. I assume he was the one to give the command, and he would have given his head to the axman for doing it!" "Just because Dordinal was in the wrong does not make it right for any means, including the Black Arts, to be used against them," the Royal Mage insisted. "Quite true, Reinald. But it remains to be seen if the Black Arts were indeed used by Forst. My sources say nothing of this." "That may be so, Aldara, but your sources may not have been objective, either. Dordinal inspires very little love or loyalty outside their own House. Knowing Charla, knowing the kind of knowledge that she has, makes me very nervous. Perhaps she used the Black Arts, perhaps -- this time -- she did not. But will she always be capable of resisting the impulse to use them?" Aldara shrugged. "That I cannot say, Royal Mage. I hope so, for Forst's sake. From what I have heard, Margul is the kind of leader Forst needs. And if my information is correct, he and his troops are on their way to Hotsprings to make that a reality." * * * * "Milord, Vestor is here to see you." The austere old noble looked up from his accounts book. "Very well, show him in." He rose to greet the stocky man. "We were not scheduled to meet. I therefore assume something has happened." "That it has, my lord. Another opportunity -- an unexpected one." "Interesting. Come, sit by the fire and have some wine. I would offer tea, but I remember your disgust for that beverage." They settled themselves in deeply cushioned armchairs. "There is news from Cresscreek, milord," Vestor announced. "You may have heard rumors, but I can now confirm them. Margul of Forst has taken Cresscreek from Dordinal. Beat them soundly, even though they were outnumbered." The elder's brows rose. "So. Hardly a surprise. Dordinal has been getting by on the l reputation of its supposedly unbeatable troops for a long time. But you and I know that reputation hasn't been deserved in many season-cycles. " "True," Vestor replied, nodding. "Others, including ourselves, might have also beaten them. But there is an important difference." "And it is?" "They had help, milord. Many of the heads of minor Houses, smelling the blood of the despised Dordinal, have rushed to this Margul's side. He has made some shrewd alliances. I do not know whether he intends eventually to turn on them and steal their lands and treasuries, or not. But should he successfully depose Darliss as Householder, he will be a force to be reckoned with in the Council. He already has many votes swung to his side. And there are few in the Realm who would weep to see Dordinal taken down a peg or two." Vestor's eyes narrowed. "He could make Forst acsension into the higher ranks of the Noble Houses a reality." "Not necessarily good news for us, then," the elder responded. "Dordinal is a known entity, living on a reputation earned in by-gone days. Margul is a mystery man, with a growing reputation which apparently is deserved. He might prove to be a problem for us." "And that's not all, milord. The other source of their help -- and probably the greatest factor in their victory at Cresscreek -- was a Mage." "A Mage? Forst using a Mage? Who was he?" "She, milord. From what my sources tell me, it is Charla of Forst, returned to help make Margul's dream a reality." "Charla? ...Ah, Charla!" he exclaimed in sudden enlightment. "Though how much 'of Forst' she is is questionable. Interesting.... Certainly, neither Margul nor Charla has any reason to support Darliss. So they have decided to join their talents against her, eh?" The elder noble was silent for some time. "Where are Forst's troops now?" "By all accounts, on their way to Hotsprings, to move against the bulk of Dordinal's troops there. Hegan brought them with him to take part in his procession." "And your assessment of that situation?" "It will be a difficult battle for Margul to win. He will be even more outnumbered than he was in Cresscreek. But he has momentum on his side. If some of Darliss's troops decide to switch sides in the middle of the battle, it could become quite interesting to watch. And there is always Margul's Mage...." "Very well. Vestor, I want you to go to Hotsprings... to protect our interests, shall we say. If nothing else, with the trade fair at Hotsprings, there will be untold riches and goods there. It would be a shame if such wealth were to fall into anyone's hands but our own, wouldn't you say? And who knows -- you may be able to use your unmatched skills in relieving the Realm of an upstart or two in the process." "With pleasure, milord." Vestor smiled in anticipation. "Just mind -- all identifying regalia must be removed from you and your men. We don't want to show our hand yet." "Agreed, milord. But this a too great an opportunity to miss!" * * * * "Finally!" Charla thought, spying Margul's dark head bent in discussion with one of the nobles from Highlands. The camp had grown significantly over the four days of their march toward Hotspring, and now that they had reached it, troops from many of the other Houses were pouring in as well. The minor Houses had come out in support of Forst's attack on Dordinal for reasons that varied as widely as the quality of their warriors. The only thing binding the allies together was a growing mistrust of Dordinal and its apparently insatiable thirst for power. Most happily of all, nearly every one of the hundred and fifty Forst warriors based at Fairwoods had joined their small army. A few were still loyal to Darliss, but with the entire council now present, Charla knew that Margul would soon be able to declare himself head of House. Highlands brought nearly their entire strength and Norwood sent much of its Fairwoods contingent. Charla smiled grimly as she watched the byplay between Margul and Linder of Highlands. The Highlands Householder was one of the few older nobles to survive the Dark Queen's assault on Fairwoods, and as a result had been able to take notable advantage of the confusion that racked Dordinal. His reasons for being here were obvious: land and wealth. A defeat of Dordinal would benefit Highlands nearly as much as it would Forst. Norwood's attendance on the camp was more difficult to understand. Unlike Highlands, whose traditional seat was nearby and so could be threatened by Dordinal, Norwood had no obvious reason to join Forst in attacking Hegan's House. Other than the wealth that their warriors could carry off, little financial benefit would come to them. But Norwood did have traditional ties to the north, and apparently wanted to be included for that reason as much as anything. Charla hoped, for their sake, that Norwood had a seer in their ranks, as victory for the allied Houses was far from assured. There could be no doubt that if they were defeated, Norwood would pay a terrible price in exchange for its support of Dordinal's enemies. The negotiations between Margul and Linder of Highlands had closed by the time she reached her lord's side. Margul turned on hearing her light footsteps, a wide smile creasing his normally stern features. "How are the preparations proceeding?" he asked, barely remembering to keep his hand from touching hers in public. Both felt that the other Houses might respond badly to news of a relationship between the claimant to Forst's position on the counsel and a powerful Mage. As a result, the two were, as Ghalbar had said with mirth that they did not share, "behaving themselves' until the battle was over. But both were feeling the strain of not being able to touch when they were in close proximity to each other. "All is well," she announced softly, her steps leading them toward a quieter section of the camp. "I spoke with Ghalbar and he is doing what is necessary to make sure our allies will have their war-gear ready for me on the morrow. We have nearly four times as many warriors as we did before Cresscreek and our morale seems very high." "All good news," Margul approved. They strolled further from the great cook fires that dominated the center of the camp. "Yes, all that is best," Charla nodded. "I can, of course, remove the spell from our allies' gear should they attempt to strike against us." "A wise precaution," Margul said. "Though I doubt it will be necessary. Highlands and Norwood seem ready to fight honorably, and the mercenaries we have picked up along the way are sufficiently terrified by the rumors surrounding our victory at Cresscreek to make me fairly sure they will act as we want them to. But I don't think the military preparations are the reason for your coming to me like this," he guessed. They stopped beside one of the tents that had sprung up like the early flowers of planting season. "You are right," she sighed, knowing he would almost certainly refuse to do what she so desperately hoped for. "I want to cast a shielding spell for you." "Absolutely not!" Margul replied with more heat than he knew. "I cannot afford to go into battle with any more protection than any other Forst warrior. It would damage my crediblity before the troops and make me appear weak before the other Houses." Charla stiffened, barely suppressing her emotions -- both her anger and her concern for her beloved Margul. "Your warriors will think you the fool if you don't go into battle with every advantage!" she cried, her aura flaring around her. "No!" Margul exploded, "it is you who doesn't understand! I cannot be seen as a coward, hiding behind a Mage's protection." He raged on, "It does our House no good for me to appear like a youngling forest-beast, ready to run to my mother at the first sign of danger!" Suddenly, his expression changed and the light of understanding appeared in his eyes. Before she could interrupt him with another argument that might sweep away his newly-found calm, he spoke. "I know, my dearest. I know that you are afraid for me," he sighed, reaching to embrace her. "But the spells that you will soon cast on our gear, along with the hundreds of warriors who have come to our banner from throughout the Realm, will be protection enough." "But--," she whispered, eyes filling with tears. "No, Charla, there can be no buts in this, you must allow me to be seen as willing to accept the risks that our warriors have agreed to take," he murmured, gently rubbing her back. "I will do everything to see myself safe, for I would not want to die after knowing the joy that you are to me. But I must do this without undue help from you." "I understand. I promise not to cast a shielding spell." What she did not say is that she would be on the battlefield, ready to shield him with her own body if necessary, if he would not accept her magical support. Their kiss bound her to a silent promise that no matter what might happen, she would ensure his safety. THE MAGICIAN - BOOK 3.5: THE FIREBRAND By Matthew Weed and Suzanne Bickerstaffe (magician@galaxy.med.yale.edu; ecksphile@earthlink.net) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Twenty-One No time was wasted in the allied army's drive toward Hegan's far larger forces. After all, there was no chance of surprising Dordinal as had happened at Cresscreek. Fortunately for the allies, Hegan paid attention only to their inferior numbers rather than attending the rumors that were now running rampant throughout the Realm. Had he listened, he would have been warned about the unusual toughness of his enemies' war-gear, and might even have given credence to the tales of the powerful Mage who had apparently thrown in on Forst's side. As a result, his army was gathered before Dordinal's impressive walls. The great castle on the rocky crag loomed over the army that spread from the castle walls all the way to the outskirts of Hotsprings, which lay near the center of a wide, shallow depression. Between the two, a plain that ended by the narrow river that carried Hotsprings' healthful waters toward the west. A lot of space to cover, ground to win, and warriors to kill, if success were to stand with the allies. Hegan stood at the top of the highest tower of Dordinal's great defenses. Where many Houses like Forst chose to include the near-by villages within their walls, Dordinal never saw the need to shield mere landsmen behind its gates. There were quarters sufficient to protect those whom the House would need should a siege ever occur, but beyond this, Dordinal's energies were always focused on making sure that the House would be so much stronger than any possible enemy, that a seige would never happen. It had been a thousand season-cycles since a battle had been fought on Dordinal's lands. That victory saw his family's progenitor destroy the Forst Householder who had been headquartered here. Given the history of the place, one could not blame him for his confidence in his ability to destroy another Forst leader -- and the House as a whole, for that matter -- on this day. * * The smell of sweat-soaked leather was thick on the air as Forst's division charged toward the center of Hegan's lines. With Highlands between Forst and the village and Norwood in reserve, Margul hoped he would be able to sweep Dordinal's troops toward the castle, where they and the brigands he had set on that side of his force would be trapped in close combat against each other. In this way, he would rid the Realm of a notable part of two of its worst problems. If, for some reason, the brigands were able to break over or through Dordinal's stone-built defenses, they would, as he had promised, be able to raid through the castle, taking what they could carry as payment for their services. The enemy's great numerical strength became shockingly apparent as Forst's troops drew closer to Dordinal's lines. In spite of the enormous pressure being placed on Dordinal's northern forces by the arrival of the armies of the Lost Houses, Margul saw Hegan had managed to pull in hundreds upon hundreds of troops of all kinds. In a normal battle situation there would, frankly, be no hope. However, the situation was far from normal. The fact that Hegan had chosen to place his army outside of his walls was strong evidence he had not paid attention to the rumors that surrounded the events at Cresscreek. Margul was pleased to see that whether Hegan believed them or not, many of the warriors who stood before the allies' advancing forces did. The fear that greeted their approach was palpable. It grew exponentially when Forst's warriors began cutting down their enemies like stalks of grain before the farmer's scythe. * * A woman's scream was the first of the morning's many signs that things were not going well for House Dordinal, and by extension, Larka's beloved Hotsprings. So far, the Spring trading festival was a success, goods and money being traded at a pace not seen since before the Dark Creatures' privations. Many were concerned when rumors about the events at Cresscreek arrived two days earlier. Some merchants left, but most stayed, and others poured in to replace those few who went home. If Lord Hegan had not arrived the night before the news came, things would have been much worse. However, his appearance with the Forst woman whom he was to marry helped matters greatly. Since then, things settled down, though some grew fearful the night before, when news of a large body of warriors moving in from the west came from a Dordinal guard, his lips by too much wine. Until now, Larka had been sure that Lord Hegan had saved the Spring trading festival. The woman's cries, almost immediately followed by the sound of the clashing of swords, could not be ignored. Within moments, rumors ran rampant amongst the thousands of beings who had camped on the broad plain to the south and east of the village. The murmur of voices engaged in the early morning's exchanges was quickly replaced by fearful discord. Soon, however, even the rising hubbub of panic-filled voices was overcome by the magically-assisted tones of the town crier, whose call to arms made it certain all would know of the danger approaching the formerly peaceful village. Larka hastened across the square, looking for the young Dordinal noble who was in command of the local militia. The morning's danger did not change the commander's habits at all. He took much time and equal pleasure from ignoring the mayor, preferring to take reports from his subordinates. Larka could only fume silently, helplessly listening to the growing sound of battle and increasingly frequent cries that attended it. "What do you want?" the young man sneered, finally unable to find further reason for delay in giving the ugly troll-mayor his attention. "I would like to know what is happening to my village," Larka said, knowing that he wasn't likely to get straight answers from the Dordinal representative. "It is being attacked." "Obviously," Larka replied, his chin firming in defiance as yet another death-scream split the air. "It is none of your concern," the other snorted, trying to dismiss this grotesque little problem from his attention. "The only thing that should concern you is finding your Mage, as it will be able to help us defend the valuable goods the merchants have brought here for trade." Talla had helped to build the Gate that had allowed much of House Dordinal to escape to Fairwoods when, ten season-cycles earlier, many there feared that the fortress would not stand against the incredible strength of the dark armies. "I will have Talla brought to you immediately," Larka replied, and strode off to find the middle- aged elf. The Dordinal noble could not hide his disdain when Talla presented herself to him. Larka thought her response to her orders and the manner in which they were delivered was the epitome of diplomacy. "It is fortunate for the honor of your House that my desire to protect the lives of those who have been my neighbors for many season- cycles will do much to assure the merchants' economic survival. For if it were up to me, I would be happy to see your enemies do to you what you and your accursed family have been so willing to do to others in the past," Talla declared. The young Dordinal noble frowned, but knew it would do him no good to ignite the wrath of a Mage at a time like this. So, sneer curling his lip as he did so, he turned back to directing his troops' failing efforts to defend Dordinal's showplace. * * Margul was pleased. His warriors were driving forward with near impugnity, much as they had at Cresscreek. They were more careful than they had been then, as all learned that, much as Charla's spells could add to their effectiveness, a careless warrior could still die. The absence of the twenty-four dead or permanently crippled beings whom they were forced to leave behind was mute testimony to the dangerous nature of the warrior's profession, no matter what a Mage might try to do to reduce the high price of battle. As Forst's division crested a small rise located midway between the center of Hotsprings and Dordinal's imposing fortress, Margul saw his left flank was ironically being endangered by the successes of his warriors and those of Highlands. Their spell-enhanced gear was cutting down the Dordinal troops faster than the enemy could replace them. Although the brigands' gear had been reinforced as well, most didn't wear armor and their swords were, generally, not as good as those carried by their noble brethren. As a result, the brigands' division was taking serious casualties and not able to move forward as quickly as expected. "Carry this message to Linder of Highlands," Margul said to Charla, who had disguised herself as a tall, blonde warrior. Much to his mixed frustration and pleasure, she had followed him throughout the morning. "Tell him that we are going to stop here as we are at risk of breaking with the brigands' division. We will push our right flank forward but he will need to swing left and push the enemy toward the Darkwoods forest if we are not to lose contact with him as well. Tell him that when he reaches the treeline he will need to turn toward Dordinal's castle. In this way we can trap the enemy's forces between our army, the forest and Dordinal's castle. We can then kill them where they stand," he said, voice thick with emotion. "My lord," she responded dutifully, hastening off in pursuit of her errand. Much as she might want to do otherwise, Charla had to follow Margul's orders. She was frustrated by the fact that she would be unable to protect him. The afterglow of a soul-shattering bout of passion finally allowed her to understand that, for their relationship to maintain its current health, she would have to respect his needs, much as they were in stark contrast to her own. The decision had been a hard one. It had taken the modification of her disguising spell and much further thought before she could be satisfied she could follow him as a warrior and protect him if need be. Nor had it been easy to convince him to accept this compromise. It took mere moments to find Linder and give him Margul's message. The older noble frowned for a moment, and then nodded, doubt showing on his face. "I assume, Mage Charla, you realize such a maneuver will put my warriors at great risk?" She tried to cover her shock at the Highlander's ability to see through her disguise with an understanding nod. "As, I am sure, is Margul. I believe he plans to send Norwood to your aid." "If he did not intend to do so, make sure that he does when you return to him," Linder snapped. "Your House has been honorable so far, and we cannot lose contact with the left flank, but I will say having my people put at such risk makes me wonder about Forst's long-term plans." "I understand," Charla sighed. She wondered whether she should remind Linder that, while his people would have the longest road to travel during the battle, Forst and whatever remained of the brigands would be attacked from Dordinal's high walls while facing danger on the ground as well. The eddies and currents of the battle flowed around her as Charla moved to return to Margul's side. Had an over-eager warrior from Highlands not knocked her aside in his rush to return to the front, she might not have seen the large bands of brigands that were charging toward Hotsprings. Margul threatened the leaders of the bands who joined forces with his with unimaginable consequences if they struck at the village rather than supporting the troops as they had promised. She was there when the threat was made, blue cloak flowing around her legs as the wind gusted through a nearby stand of trees. She had no doubt that her power was more than apparent. She thought her willingness to carry out her lord's orders was equally so. Obviously, the brigands were less afraid of either Margul's wrath or her capabilities than they seemed. The whip-crack of Mage-born lightning brought her up short, all senses primed and alert. * * It didn't take Talla long to see things were far worse than the Dordinal commander realized. Brigands were thick on the ground, and arrows from unseen archers filled the air. The militia had little chance of defeating such an assault without her help. She stood as tall as her elven form would allow, throwing bolts of Mage-energy into the largest concentrations of the enemy, scattering them like song-birds at the sight of a hunter. Those that were struck directly fell stunned, the Dordinal militia killing them where they lay. However, there were simply too many of the roving bandits and too much protection for them from the hidden archers in the nearby trees. A terrible sadness swept over Talla as she realized without help she would not be strong enough to protect the village from those who hoped to pillage it. * * Charla knew that the little elf-mage would never be able to protect her village without some help. She couldn't do too much in support of the undefended landsmen and merchants in the town, but Charla knew as well as anyone else in the Realm that brigands weren't usually able to hire archers. Whoever was funding these bands was willing to spend a great deal in order to ensure their success. Success she could deflect by removing this unusual advantage. By focusing her Mage-sight on the nearby forest, she was able to find the three humans whose bolts were making life perilous for those on the ground. By knocking them from their perches, Charla would swing the balance toward even, as the bandits were still far more numerous than the Dordinal militia against whom they fought. Only the presence of the elf-Mage would be enough to prevent the capture of Hotsprings and the slaughter of the thousands of innocents who huddled behind its meager defenses. It took but a moment and a tiny sliver of her energy to blast the three trees, in which the brigands' archers had thought themselves safe, into kindling. * * Hegan swore violently as he watched his formerly invincible army lose ground. His far larger forces were being driven toward the impenetrable forest that surrounded his family's rocky seat by a smaller but stronger force. He cursed himself for listening to Darliss, who had bitterly denied the possibility of a Mage in Forst's ranks. He had accepted her word as, so far as she knew, he was looking out for her interests as much as he was his own. When questioned on the matter, his underlings were sure that she did not know of their plans for her once the marriage was complete. But it was now quite obvious that Forst and its allies must be receiving some kind of outside help. He snarled with frustration as yet more ground was captured by the enemy. His subordinates were fools if they thought he would allow them to lose this all-important battle. He would simply have to go down and take charge himself, in the process showing his family and the Realm at large the kind of metal of which he was made. * * * * When Pitir opened the door to Reinald's chamber to admit the King, it was clear the apprentice had had a tough session with his master. Andalor hoped that his errand might take both his and Reinald's minds off their disagreement concerning Forst's apparent use of magic to defeat Dordinal at Cresscreek. After the meeting had broken up, Andalor remained to talk with Reinald. The Royal Mage just wasn't acting like himself, not with his stubborn insistence that Charla of Forst had the potential of being a Black Mage, if not in actuality. It wasn't like Reinald to be so stubborn, so closed-minded. So Andalor had stayed behind to talk to him about it. It had been a mistake. Reinald was already annoyed that the others did not seem to take his warnings about Charla seriously. When Andalor, too, questioned them and stated he was inclined to take Aldara's word for Charla's actions, the Royal Mage's temper flared. Reinald was too practiced to allow a Magestorm to occur, but the skies nonetheless grew dark and forbidding as he pressed his case against Charla. What was worse, he seemed to take Andalor's failure to agree with him as a betrayal of their close relationship. The two had spoken little since then. "Changed your mind, have you?" Startled, Andalor brought his thoughts to the present and stared at his mentor. "No, Reinald, I have not. Unless I see evidence that Forst used Black Magic, I will probably not change my mind. And that evidence, if it exists, has not turned up." "By the Goddess, I --" Andalor stretched out his arms placatingly. "Look, Reinald, I know you are doing what you feel is best for the Realm, I do not doubt that. And I do not blame you for how you feel. You know better than anyone what the Black Arts have done to the Realm -- when I was enchanted and turned to stone, when you were tried and nearly convicted of using the Black Arts to do it. How the Dark Queen nearly destroyed us all. But you are seeing dangers where they don't exist!" "Charla has the knowledge, and she cannot be trusted not to use it. I just hope someone heeds my words before there is yet another crisis. Obviously, you no longer regard my counsel as valuable." "Not valu-- ! Reinald, that simply isn't true!" The Royal Mage made an impatient, dismissive gesture. "Then why has Your Majesty graced my chambers today?" "I was wondering if you might help me to reach Mage Mulder." "For what reason?" Reinald's tone stopped just short of being frosty. "Well, now that the Royal Priestess has given us the wedding date, I wanted to invite him and Warrior Healer Scully to our wedding. No doubt they will have arrangements to make." Reinald grunted noncommittally, but his expression softened a bit as he strode to the Oracle Cloud and whipped the blue velvet covering from it. After the Mage finished casting the spell, there was an uncomfortable silence while the Oracle Cloud's colors swirled. They became aware of a voice speaking as from a distance. Suddenly, from much closer in proximity, they heard a gasp and then a sharp yelp. Just as they were settling into recognizable shapes, the colors began to dip and swirl again, accompanied by softly muttered curses. They heard a door slam shut, and then Mulder's voice, echoing as if it were coming from a cave or vault, and the sound of running water. "God *damn* it! No, that's all right, Scully, I think the fire's out. It's not smoldering any more." "Maybe not, but let me check your chest. You might have a pretty bad burn there. Yes, it's red, it'll probably blister." "This better be good, Reinald!" The colors finally stopped moving and Mulder came into view, his tie flipped over his back and a blackened area noticeable on his blue shirt. Just at the edge of their field of vision, Scully's red hair could be seen. "I'm sorry, Mulder, I asked Reinald to contact you. Looks like the Professor needs to make some alterations to the Oracle Cloud." "It would be appreciated. Scully would have had a tough time explaining my spontaneous combustion to my boss and a roomful of other agents. So to what do I owe this, er...." Andalor smiled. "The High Priestess has set the wedding date for the evening of the first twin full moons of summer. Shannon would be heartbroken if you two couldn't make it. And I must say I'm looking forward to seeing you again as well." Mulder frowned. The King noticed that Mulder didn't look well -- he had lost weight, there were circles under his eyes, and his face was haggard with worry. "Has the Professor done any of the calculations yet?" "No, why?" "We just started a case," the agent sighed. "It looks like a nasty one and I have no idea how long it might take. A lot might depend on how the Professor's 'gel-flow' is going." "You can't get a few days off?" Andalor did not relish the prospect of having to tell Shannon that her beloved 'uncle' would not be able to come to their wedding. Scully came more fully into view. She too looked drawn, and cast frequent concerned glances in the direction of her bondmate. "Not if the case is still going on, no, Andalor," she responded quietly. "This is one of Mulder's specialties. We're after a serial killer of children, and Mulder has a gift for getting inside the head of these kinds of people so we can find them and stop them. So his being here could well make all the difference." Andalor was appalled. The idea that any being could deliberately take the lives of the young.... And Mage Mulder was expected to understand such a beast, to get inside of his head, think those horrible thoughts, feel that kind of pain? No wonder their friends looked so haunted. "Are you all right there?" Unexpectedly, the question came from Mulder. "Reinald, you haven't said a word and you look a little... Well, you look like you did when you were first training me, when I kept smashing every bit of pottery you owned." "Everything's fine," Andalor said quickly. Reinald shot an aggrieved look towards the young King, then said, "It is nothing, Mage Mulder. I am delighted to see you again." The agent looked doubtful. Reinald's tone had been stiff, with little of his usual warmth. In the Oracle Cloud, Mulder's image looked over towards Scully and some communication evidently took place between them. "Well, okay," Scully replied. "Look, have the Professor work out the details, how the gel-flow is going right now. It might end up working in our favor and allow us to come. Needless to say, Shannon isn't the only one who would be heartbroken if we couldn't make it." "Fair enough, Warrior Healer," Andalor replied. "I'll speak to the Professor today. It may take him several days to work it out. I will contact you again when he has the information." "That would be great, Andalor. And how is Shannon?" Mulder inquired. "Staying out of trouble, for a change," the King laughed. "Very busy with the wedding preparations. She's even managing to work alongside Ballorca without throwing lightning bolts." Mulder smiled for the first time, and noted Reinald did as well. "That is an improvement. The Realm must be having some magical effects on her." There was the echo of raucous laughter. Reinald couldn't fail to notice his friends' expressions darken. "How do you manage not to strike back at them with your powers, Mulder? How can you let them insult you and Warrior Healer Scully like that?" Mulder's smile was bitter. "Maybe it's a good thing my powers don't work as well in this world, Reinald, or the FBI would be minus a lot of agents and have a huge vermin infestation problem." "Most of it's just envy, Reinald," Scully said. "Unfortunately, Mulder's had to get used to it." "Well, we'd better get back to the briefing." He pulled his tie back to the front, and it managed to cover most of the scorched spot on his shirt. "If the Professor has any spare time, you might get him to work on the combustion problem." "I will mention it to him, Mage Mulder," Reinald replied, a small smile curving his lips. As the images of Mulder and Scully swirled from view, awkwardness again took over the room. "Reinald, please. You're my best friend, the one I trust more than anyone else," Andalor pleaded. The Royal Mage sighed. "Then you have a very odd way of showing it. Leave me now, Andalor. I'm quite tired." Nodding slowly, the King did as he was bidden, both men still burdened with the weight of their differences. End of Chapter Twenty-One THE MAGICIAN BOOK 3.5: THE FIREBRAND By Matthew Weed and Suzanne Bickerstaffe (magician@galaxy.med.yale.edu, ecksphile@earthlink.net) Winter 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Twenty-Two Until recently, the allied warriors had done very well, taking many scores of Dordinal lives at limited cost to themselves. Much land was gained and Dordinal's army would soon be trapped against the foundations of their castle. While a break-out through the Darkwoods Glens was a risk, the incredibly dense undergrowth would probably prevent an organized counter-attack, and many would be lost to the predators known to live there. The rumble of hundreds of feet and sound of a wild battlecry were the only warning Margul had before a wildly charging mass of Dordinal warriors swept down on the allied lines at the break between Forst and Highlands' divisions. Both Houses responded quickly, but the overwhelming number of fresh warriors could be enough to allow Dordinal to break the allied lines and change the sweet taste of the victory into the bitter tang of defeat. * * * Hegan was pleased. His direct intervention led to a near break-out and with only a bit more effort, he was sure that his warriors would pierce the enemy lines. It would then be an easy matter to roll them up from the center and kill them where they stood. There could be no question that these were the toughest, best equipped warriors that he had ever seen, and their success in battle against his troops was surprising. But no matter what might have been done to their gear, they were neither skilled nor numerous enough to defeat the heavily armored nobles of Dordinal. This troop was Dordinal's best division and always held in reserve. Their greater numbers and the incredible mass of their gear was enough to give them the momentum that they needed to break out. And break out they would, if he had anything to say about it. * * Margul quickly realized that the situation was worse than he had feared. The sheer mass of the enemy's troops was doing terrible damage to their lines. There were no reserves to call to stiffen the local opposition. Therefore, a small group of warriors from Houses that had been enemies far more often than they had been allies would have to hold until others could be pulled from quieter parts of the battle. Of course, if the enemy commander could be found and destroyed, the momentum that the Dordinal division established would be lost in an instant. If this could be achieved, the troops his warriors faced would lose some of their cohesion and could be destroyed more easily. Much as he hated to do it, Margul knew that finding the enemy commander was even more important than maintaining control over the division as a whole. Ghalbar would have to take command so he could track the enemy commander to whatever fate awaited them. Charla had stayed with him since her brief foray to find Linder of Highlands, and much as he knew she would hate it, he would have to send her on another mission. By doing so, he would keep her busy and give himself time to find and fight with his enemy before she could return and protect him as she had sworn to. "Find Ghalbar and tell him that he must take charge," Margul cried to her, pointing toward the left-hand edge of Forst's formation, where a particularly wild melee was taking place. "My lord," she replied. She hastened off, though well aware that the mission mostly to keep her busy and her mind off the dangers her lover was throwing himself into. * * Hegan charged, blade swinging above his head in order to further encourage the efforts of his troops. The curving line that marked the boundary between two divisions of his enemies' army wavered yet again before his charge but did not break. Whatever else might be said of them, these warriors were certainly determined to hold. Fortunately, he was just as determined to win this day. Doing so would guarantee that any remaining rivals within his House would be powerless to remove him. Even better, his performance on the field of battle this day could put him in a position for the throne of the Realm itself. Much could happen to the young King -- a dread malady, an accident, even assassination. Until Andalor produced an heir, Hegan had time. And even then.... A cruel smile curved his lips. Yes, 'King Hegan' definitely had a fine ring to it. With a wild cry, he dashed forward. * * Margul smiled grimly when he caught sight of the Dordinal commander's latest attempt to encourage his troops to even greater deeds. He was foolish to make himself so conspicuous. Any number of warriors would be proud to take his head, but Margul intended for that task to fall only to himself. Hegan was surprised by the sudden impact when one of the Forst nobles slammed into him, obviously trying to tackle him to the ground. No Dordinal noble would ever allow himself to be taken down in such a fashion. He kept his feet, swinging around to match his enemy's charge with one of his own. Margul jumped aside, surprised by his enemy's ability to maneuver in his extremely heavy armor. However, the Dordinal noble whom he faced was nonetheless burdened by his gear. Margul was sure that he would be able to defeat him, given time. Hegan grew increasingly frustrated as combat with the Forst noble continued. The thickness his heavy armor admittedly provided protection against his enemy's magically enhanced blade. But it also meant he could not move as quickly as his foe did, and he found it increasingly difficult to keep up with the welter of slashing attacks the Forst noble threw at him. It was clear the other man was well-trained, and his lighter gear left him unburdened in movement. However, heavy armor did have its advantages, and Hegan knew he would need to act quickly if he were to benefit from them. Margul was beginning to enjoy himself now. The enemy commander was an excellent fighter, and he had no doubt that if Charla hadn't worked her ways on his own gear, he would have been destroyed. Her skill, combined with the light weight of his armor, ensured him equal protection and better maneuverability than that which his enemy's gear offered. He was now dancing around his increasingly fatigued foe, forcing him to expend his dwindling energies in defending against strikes that grew in number and intensity as Margul's confidence did. Hegan realized he would have to strike his enemy down now or be defeated himself. Fortunately, other Dordinal warriors had seen his plight, and seemed to be cutting their way to his aid. Margul was more than surprised when his enemy suddenly reversed direction, charging for him with renewed energy. His enemy's shoulder crashed into him with awesome force, nearly driving him from his feet. Fortunately, Vestra was nearby, and had just destroyed a warrior who was making his way to assist his commander. Her leg whipped out, tripping the Dordinal commander and giving Margul the time he needed to recover from the nearly-successful charge. Hegan groaned in disappointment, knowing now that his time was limited in the extreme. He was infuriated that Forst would win this day. In the victory, Forst would reverse hundreds of season-cycles of his family's most determined efforts to break their traditional enemy, not to mention putting all of his personal plans for power and glory to the flame. He struggled to rise, knowing his only hope lay in the Dordinal troops who continued to battle towards him. But Margul struck him down before he could rise. It took mere moments for the Forst noble to find a weakness in the Dordinal commander's armor, and drive his sword hilt-deep into his enemy's body. He quickly withdrew his weapon and flipped the dead man over. Charla, who had just returned from the errand that he had set her, came to his side to see the enemy's face. "That is Hegan," she cried joyfully, using her Mage-enhanced strength to pick up the body and throw it far behind the Forst lines. "You are sure?" Margul demanded, shocked that Hegan would have broken Dordinal tradition by choosing to lead his troops in battle. She nodded vigorously. "Yes, I'm sure. He tried to woo me when I was at Fairwoods. Apparently my status as Mage-apprentice wasn't enough to prevent him from trying to act on his desire for me. Needless to say, I was uninterested, and Reinald was furious." "In that case, let the word go forth that Hegan has been destroyed!" Margul exulted, his troops joyfully spreading the news. It did not take long for the enemy's troops to realize the truth of it as well, and almost immediately thereafter, confusion broke out on the Dordinal side. Victory suddenly meant nothing to Dordinal nobles who were more interested in establishing their positions for the newly vacant Head of House. Their squabbles were mirrored by an army suddenly unable to fight. "Take his sword as an embassy to Darliss," Margul said to Charla, knowing she wanted to find their aunt and take revenge on her for all that had been done when they were children. "Thank you," Charla said. "I shall go through the rest of his gear and see if I can find any papers detailing their strategy. Tell me when you are ready and I will do what needs be done to help you enter and take their seat." "I shall assist you," Margul told her. "We need to be very sure to check him over completely. I don't want you to be in danger from any Dordinal trooper who might slip through our lines and attack you." She smiled knowingly. "Small chance of that. The troops have little appetite left for the fight, and their commanders are too busy plotting their next moves within the House. Besides, what about the army?" she demanded, surprised that Margul would abandon his responsibilities. "Ghalbar commands them skillfully," Margul said. Hands on hips, he surveyed the battle around them. "We will need a strong figure to control things at home when we are called to Fairwoods. The best way for him to gain credibility is to complete this victory." They began walking back to the Forst lines to find what was left of Hegan's corpse. Charla was not convinced by Margul's argument but chose not to question it. There were still too many things for her to worry about, not least of which was the indignity that she was about to do the dead Dordinal lord by stripping him of his possessions. She was never so pleased to have inherited her mother's long-legged stride as she was now, walking through the battle-ruined Dordinal seat. The village of Hotsprings had been spared most of the fighting, as Margul intended, but the once-proud castle was a shambles. After a hard-fought battle, the allied army drove Hegan's forces from the field with the same ease that Forst's troops had at Cresscreek. Even now, the vagabonds and mercenaries who had flocked to Hotsprings in hopes of plunder and other less savory rewards were pillaging the great house, taking what they could with them as Margul's payment. Dordinal would survive this blow, there could be no doubt of that. But with their western allies declaring allegiance to Forst and their northern territories overrun by the armies of the Lost Houses, nearly half of their lands were lost to them. More importantly, the sword Charla now carried was proof that Dordinal's most effective leader had been destroyed as well. * * "Away with you!" Darliss screetched. "Away with you all! Where are my servants? Herea? Drafi? Where are you? I will have you skinned alive for this! Come when I call you!" She cowered in the corner of what had been her very comfortable dressing room. Now, bandits and even some of the villagers were going through drawers and closets and little wooden chests, gleefully pulling out trinkets and valuables, and stuffing them into leather bags to carry off. "No! Not my bracelet!" Ineffectually, she used her fists to beat on one brigand who barely appeared to notice. Again, she retreated, her eyes popping more than usual in outrage at what was going on around her. The most valuable of the Forst jewels she had hidden someplace safe, where the scoundrels would not think of looking for them. But this was her property, her things, and she was beside herself with fury. "When Lord Hegan returns, I will see you flogged, hung, drawn and quartered for our amusement!" Her chin trembled with fury. "Along with my cursed servants, who have deserted me." His eyes knowing, a dark, stocky brigand approached her, laughing. "Should Lord Hegan appear, then we will heed your words. But for now, allow me to relieve you of the weight of that fine necklace and broach." Fending off her flailing fists easily, he took the jewelry and stuck it into a bag hung at his waist. "You will regret this insult," Darliss said, her voice a low growl. "How dare you touch my person?" "Believe me, my Lady, I would have preferred to have no contact with you whatsoever. I prefer my women to have more wit and heart, not to mention curves. But you see...." He jiggled the bag. "The sacrifices I must make for my trade!" he exclaimed dramatically, to the amusement of his compatriots. Darliss shrieked again, sounding not unlike a hogbeast being slaughtered. But in her case, it was pure temper and frustration, as the bandits and villagers alike withdrew in search of more chambers to 'liberate', and she was left to survey the ruins of what was left of her belongings. They won't get away with this. I will make it my life's work to see that every thief, villager and servant dies in agony for what has happened to me this day, she swore to herself. They will scream for the mercy of a quick death, and there will be no mercy to be had. And speaking of Hegan, where was he? How dare he leave her so unprotected? In Fairwoods, she could have had a wedding that would have rivalled the King's own, but no! That son of a she-goat Hegan had to drag her to this Goddess-forsaken place, to be married surrounded by sullen villagers and beings of all contemptable sorts. Well, he would have to answer for this latest outrage. Kicking aside garments and personal articles strewn in her path, she charged out into the hallway in search of her betrothed. * * Margul's revenge had been wrought, and now, Charla thought with a grim smile, it was her turn. The only problem was that she was having trouble finding the woman who, twenty-five season-cycles earlier, had done so much to destroy her dreams. She never would have chosen to train under Reinald -- his views on the Black Arts were well-known. After much soul-searching over the past weeks, she had to admit to herself that Reinald reacted the only way he knew how. It was Darliss who knew of her ambitions. It was Darliss who was instrumental in manipulating Ian to send her Fairwoods to be trained under the Royal Mage's scrutiny, knowing full well what it would do to Charla's dreams. After making her childhood a misery, Darliss had taken pains to see that the young Mage's adulthood would be the same. Her thoughts were disrupted by a sudden impact with a shorter human female. "You stupid bitch!" A voice that she remembered all too well came from somewhere below her left elbow. The well-remembered tones of Darliss' scorn drew her attention to the woman she had run into. "Here this House is falling apart, and a strapping warrior such as yourself is simply wandering about in a haze. You should be out there defending your Lord Hegan's home and honor!" Charla's eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed as she remembered the illusion that she had created for herself. With Hegan dead, and the rest of his people in rout, she could safely return to her normal appearance. Her image shifted from that of a well-favored female warrior into that of a statuesque Mage of enormous talent. "Charla!" the noblewoman gasped. Her hatred knew no bounds for the beautiful Mage who now stared down on her in undisguised contempt. "Are you the one who leads an army against my betrothed?" Darliss demanded, her face nearly purple with rage. "No," Charla replied with a smile, "the honor of defeating your fiance goes to Margul alone." "Margul!" Darliss' eyes widening with surprise. "That is impossible! He has neither the military skills nor the passion to support him in such a foolish attack." "Oh, he definitely has the passion," Charla murmured, shivering at the memory of the incredible fire Margul had lit in her only candlemarks before. "Fortunately, his underestimation of the depths of your stupidity is matched only by your misfortune in knowing him solely as the young man that he was when you left, and not the asset to House Forst that he has become." "He is no asset to *my* House," Darliss said peevishly. "That much is true," Charla replied. She moved slightly so as to protect her aunt from the prying eyes that even now covetously measured the value of what was left of her gawdy accoutriments. Darliss took Charla's momentary inattention for weakness and struck at the younger woman with a hand that would have done serious damage, had it not bounced off Charla's spell-enhanced aura. "As I was saying," Charla said, barely acknowledging her aunt's attack, "as you claim the head of Dordinal as your future husband, the Forst council has decided that the House need not take responsibility for you and your support." "I am Head of House. Only I can call the counsel into session," Darliss said, smirking at the apparent stupidity of the rival whose intelligence, beauty and skills she had envied when they were younger. "*That* is not the case," Charla said flatly. Her satisfaction at springing the trap laid by Darliss' own poor treatment of those around her was clear to see. "The home-based faction of the House never ratified your seat in Forst, and the Fairwoods faction was more than happy to cast you off when Margul called them to do so last night." "Lord Hegan will never permit you to carry out your plans," Darliss shrieked. Everything she had fought so hard to attain was slipping through her fingers like lamp oil. "Quite so," Charla agreed, smiling smugly at what she knew would come next. "For he is dead, and so unable to dish out the fate he had planned for you." "Hegan -- dead!" The noblewoman was blessedly quiet for several moments. "What do you mean, his plans for me?" Darliss demanded, uncertainty showing in her formerly confident voice. "It is actually rather simple," Charla replied. "Lord Hegan is now dead, and we have incontrovertible proof of his intention to kill you once your marriage was sealed and the marital agreement you signed was in full force." "Nooooooooo!" Darliss screamed, unable to believe the news of Hegan's death, and unwilling to hear he had planned her execution as well. "All true," Charla said, drawing out this moment in what she recognized, half-ashamedly, as churlish glee. "We found the papers detailing Dordinal's plans for your murder, in Hegan's script. He had them with him and, in his moribund condition, was unable to stop us from taking them." The noblewoman stood quite speechless, unable to believe that she had been defeated so soundly by a pair of upstart children -- one of whom she had seen driven from Forst lands with her own eyes, and the other nearly destroyed by the loss of the woman he desired above all things. Darliss seemed to shrink before Charla's gaze, as recognizing the inevitable, all the fight fled from her, deflating her like a ruptured wineskin. "What I don't know at the moment is what should be done with you," Charla murmured. "After all, you are now an outcast from House Forst, and not yet a true member of Dordinal." Darliss said nothing, her mind turned inward on how all her plans could have gone so horribly wrong. "No matter what, I think that I'd better take those robes and other finery from you. After all, they are Forst property," Charla decided, noting yet another group of bandits' covetous glances toward Darliss' clothes. "You wouldn't," Darliss whispered hoarsely, but there was no power behind her words. "As the brigands will if I don't, I think it best if I recover family property before it is lost," Charla told the other woman. She knew she was being insufferably smug, but was unable to resist baiting an enemy who had done so much to hurt her in the past. "Then what will I wear?" Darliss cried, fear for her modesty temporarily overcoming her shock-benumbed mind. "I think that I have a solution that will work quite nicely," Charla purred, a broad and incongruously mirthful smile crossing her face. End of Chapter Twenty-Two The Magician 3.5 - The Firebrand by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net; matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter - Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Twenty Three Scene Two "Excited?" Andalor looked fondly at his betrothed. They were alone together, a rare enough occurrence these days. Between Andalor's duties of state and Shannon's involvement in the wedding preparations, they had barely seen each other in passing. "Excited. Thrilled. Nervous...." "Nervous? Not about me, I hope. Not having any second thoughts, are you?" The King's tone was light, but there was just a tremor of the unsure adolescent in it. "Never, Andalor. I'm afraid you're stuck with me forever." She pecked him lightly on the lips. "No, it's just that, after all the preparation for the Ritual of Readiness, now I have another ritual to learn." He slipped his arms around her and drew her close, trying to ignore both the hardening in his groin and the insistent tapping at the door of the salon. "Well, it's not so bad -- I have much more to do in this one than you do-- All right! Come in!" he yelled, and grudgingly dropped his arms from around her waist. Ballorca bustled through the door. "I trust I'm not interrupting anything?" he inquired archly. "Not bloody much chance of that," muttered Andalor. Louder, he said, "Well, Minister Ballorca, you seem intent on seeing us. What is the problem now?" "Problem? No problem, Sire. I merely wished to update you on the wedding plans and to get some information." Yielding to the inevitable, the Royal Couple sat on one of the burgundy brocade settees and indicated for Ballorca to take a chair. The official wasted no time. "Well, as Lady Shannon knows, the invitations have gone out, the musicians are practicing, the regalia is being made by the court seamstresses, and the menus have been planned." Automatically, Andalor nodded. He had the groom's typical amount of interest in the proceedings -- little to none. As long as Shannon was happy and they could finally be wed and start their life together, he really didn't care about the details. He let Ballorca's drone recede into the background, preferring to occupy his mind with fantasies about the wedding night. It was only when he heard the unfamiliar rattle of Ballorca's chuckle that he returned his attention to the present. "Oh, no, my Lady," the Protocol Minister tittered. "Most assuredly, the most highly born in the Realm will witness the wedding ritual and your crowning. No, I was speaking of the Witnesses." Confused, Shannon turned to her fiance. "What witnesses? What will they witness that everyone else will not? Is that like a Best Man or Maid of Honor or something? Andalor... what's wrong?" The King froze. Truly, he had forgotten all about the Witnesses. While he was trying to think of a way of explaining their function without Shannon hitting the elaborately decorated ceiling of the salon, Ballorca broke in. "Surely you know of our traditions, my Lady! The gaps in your knowledge are quite puzzling, I must say. Very well. The Witnesses watch the consummation of the Royal Marriage and announce to the Realm that it has taken place successfully. Now, usually the Witnesses are people close to the Royal Couple -- kinsmen, such as a Taabsut, would be completely appropriate, or close friends. I was thinking perhaps Reinald, Hannu and Lady Livirnea might be asked to serve, or perhaps Mage Mulder and Warrior Healer Scully." He blinked expectantly at the young couple. "Let me see if I understand this correctly," Shannon said with remarkable, if tenuous, restraint. "You want us to choose some people who will... who will watch while Andalor and I... who will watch us as we...." "Of course!" The Minister seemed surprised she would even ask. Shannon's eyes grew wide. "Annndaaaalooooorrrr....?" Scudding clouds momentarily obliterated the sun while she fought for control. The King smiled and folded her hand into his own. "It's all right, Shannon. Minister Ballorca, there will be no Witnesses." The Minister's smile faltered for a moment, then returned. "Oh, I see what Your Majesty means. Yes. I can see that perhaps the particular Witnesses I mentioned may not be to your liking. Well, there is precedent for choosing strangers for this particular function. I can see where performing before those who are unknown to you might be less... stressful. It is irregular, to be sure, but in the case of King Herath IV and Queen Ardiss--" "You misunderstand," the King said firmly. "There will be no Witnesses of any kind. None." Ballorca's squeal mimicked that of Shannon short moments before. "Your Majesty! Sire! Surely, you are jesting!" Andalor shook his head. "Oh no. I am quite serious." "B-but our traditions!" The King sighed. "Minister, I am completely in favor of those traditions that still have some sort of meaning for our people. But even you must admit that certain of our traditions have long been unnecessary and even counter-productive. The Witnesses are not a part of a sacred ritual, but only a tradition that no King before me has had the good sense to eschew. In fact, do you know where the use of Witnesses started?" Ballorca shut his gaping mouth to think. "No," he admitted finally. "But I am sure it was for good reason, begun so long ago that the rationale has been lost in the mists of time." "No, I am afraid not. Check our history, Minister. You will find it quite enlightening, at times even scandalous and very amusing. It appears that the Witnesses were first called into service for King Gerath the First, who so despised the woman whom he was forced to marry that it was feared he would never consummate the marriage. Fortunately for Gerath, the one coupling was enough to produce a son, and it is said he never approached his queen again." Andalor leaned over towards Ballorca. In a low voice, he said, "Now, if you think for a single moment that it will take the presence of Witnesses for me to bed my beautiful and adored Shannon, then you are truly demented and should be removed from your post. Our marriage *will* be consummated that night. Probably many times that night," he said with a wink to Shannon, who blushed and covered her giggle with her hand. "Witnesses will just be a distraction, and counter-productive to the process. I have not had to take cold baths almost daily for the last dozen moon-cycles for no reason, Minister. Trust me, I have both the will and the ability. There is no cause for concern. Now, if there is nothing else...?" Dazed, Ballorca shook his head and rose, muttering to himself as he exited the salon. "Was that true, Andy? Was it true what you said?" "Which part? About the cold baths, or King Gerath? Yes, it was all quite true." "No, idiot," she smiled fondly, snuggling closer to him on the couch. "About how you think I'm beautiful, and that you adore me." Andalor took her in his arms. "Yes, my love. All true. And in a few weeks, I'll be able to show you how very much I adore you." He kissed her on the mouth, warmly, deeply. They were both trembling by the time it ended. "But in the meantime... more cold baths," he sighed. * * * * A tremendous sense of peace gathered around the victorious army as it moved toward Forst's citadel. Happily, it was far too large to be threatened by any band of mercinaries or brigands no matter how daring. Besides, a good many brigands had been killed in the recent fighting. As a result, Charla was confident that the roads of the Realm would see many season-cycles of peace. Sadly, her own heart was not nearly so quiet. The war was over and rumor ran rampant that Forst had used Black Magic in its victory over Dordinal. She was sure Reinald would now call her to him. She also knew well Margul would be called to Andalor's court to answer for his recent actions. He would not run from what he had done and so would respond to His Majesty's summons. Much as she didn't want to go to Fairwoods, she had sworn herself to his side the night before the battle at Hotsprings. She would go with him -- a decision that would make a confrontation with Reinald a certainty. Her fear of the possible outcome of such a meeting was nearly as strong as her desire to protect Margul with a shielding spell the night before the battle of Hotsprings. Had he known all of this, Ghalbar would have left her to her contemplations. Of course, he didn't have a healer's telepathy and so, seeing her pain, he dropped back in their line of march in hopes of offering whatever counsel he could. "What bothers you so?" he asked, his voice nearly startling her off of the surprisingly ugly mount that she had chosen for the ride home. After a moment's pause to ensure her shield's integrity she turned to him, face taut with the weight of her decisions. "You know much of what bothers me," she sighed, not really wanting to reveal what was on her mind. "Some, yes," Ghalbar nodded, "but much as he knows of what lies on your heart, Margul has been unable to engage you in conversation for nearly two days. Most of the rest of us haven't had a word from you since you left what remains of Dordinal's seat, and so we know even less than the little than he does." A moment passed while she thought back on recent days. She relaxed slightly, recognizing that she had been truly insufferable of late. "In many ways he is as much the cause of my pain as he is the source of my joy," Charla replied, looking forward toward the head of the column where Margul rode. "I must go with him to explain our actions to King Andalor. You have heard the rumors that abound. It is being said everywhere that I employed the Black Arts to help Margul defeat Dordinal. My past experience with Royal Mage Reinald was most... unhappy. I am under no illusion whatsoever he will have the smallest amount of mercy when he hears the charges against me. The fact that I used no black spells, that everything I did was in the cause of what we and many others believed was right, will not make a difference. And if I am labeled a Black Mage, Margul is in no less jeopardy, as he will be charged with consorting with me for his own ends." Ghalbar looked her right in the eyes. "Do you think that what you did was right?" "Yes," Charla replied firmly. "I did the right thing in helping to free Cresscreek and used no inappropriate magic in doing so. But Mage Reinald will certainly find fault with what I did and will do everything he can to destroy me." "Are you so sure?" Ghalbar asked. Nothing he had heard about the Royal Mage would lead him to believe him capable of such a punishment. "More so than you can possibly imagine," Charla confirmed, her voice heavy with dread. "Then why not run away?" Ghalbar asked, curious. "I can't do that!" Charla exclaimed, turning eyes burning with tears and more on the younger man. "Margul would run with me and all we have built in the last months would be swept aside in less time than it took to fashion." "A terrible choice indeed," Ghalbar admitted, his formerly brash character now subdued by months of hard labor in support of his family's resurrection. "I have wrought my own fate," Charla sighed. "Had I not pledged myself to Margul and given him my love, I might have been able to run from what must now happen." "Not true," Ghalbar countered, "He made a pledge of equal strength to you many season-cycles ago and would do anything to see it through now. You must not blame yourself for the position that he has -- and will -- put himself in where you are concerned. It is also true that you must not blame him for the choices that you have made. He loves you greatly and would do anything for you. Much as you would for him. What you must now do, hard though this will be for one who has had to survive on her own for so long, is to trust that his love will bring him to find a way to protect you. Your love made it possible for you to find a way to make his dreams come true, and his will do the same for you. You must give him -- and the rest of us -- time to work our own particular magic on your behalf." Her spirits lightened at Ghalbar's words, for she knew that they contained more than a little truth. "I shall, and thank you for what you will do for me, 'Mage Ghalbar'," she laughed, giving him a brilliant smile in thanks for his kindness. "At your service, my lady." he concurred with a slight bow. The mood held for a moment and then a slight shift in Ghalbar's expression told Charla he had yet more to ask of her. "While we are speaking of the combination of politics and magic, I wanted to ask you what had been done about Darliss. Margul doesn't seem to know and yet you told him that the matter was under control." "Yes," Charla agreed. "I have the problem under control for now." "If I may ask...?" Ghalbar prodded, curiosity painted on his features. "You probably shouldn't," Charla said with a little laugh. "I hope that it wasn't fatal," Ghalbar demanded. A sliver of the fear he had once held with respect to his kinswoman twisted in his stomach. "No," Charla assured him. "But I had to be creative in order to get both her, and the vast amount of treasure that she had taken with her, out of Dordinal's seat." "Creative in what sense of the word?" Ghalbar pressed. "I had to find a way to get her and the Forst family jewels out of Dordinal's seat," Charla repeated. "But there were far too many of them to carry directly and I couldn't exactly walk out with the enemy Householder's betrothed under my control. Had I done so, one of the many troopers who remained loyal to Hegan after his death would have attacked either or both of us...." At this she paused for a moment, gathering herself against what she must say next. "So?" prodded Ghalbar, fascinated yet almost dreading the response. "... So I turned her into a horse and packed her with everything of Forst that I could find." "You turned her into a horse....." Ghalbar repeated, the light of some horribly twisted comprehension dawning in his eyes. "And carried off the family jewels," Charla concluded flatly. "And where is she now?" Ghalbar demanded. For answer, Charla simply nudged the ugly beast on which she rode in the flank, allowing Ghalbar to figure it out for himself. End of Chapter Twenty-Three THE MAGICIAN 3.5: THE FIREBRAND By Matthew Weed and Suzanne Bickerstaffe (magician@galaxy.med.yale.edu, ecksphile@earthlink.net) Winter - Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Twenty Four The Forst council chamber was crowded as it had not been for hundreds of season-cycles. Nearly the entire family was home for the first time in longer than most could remember. This alone was sufficient reason for the crowding of the great room. The fact that dozens of nobles from the Houses that had declared for Forst were also present strained the great manor's hospitality to the maximum. Fortunately, Margul's demands that all who sheltered under his roof act with decorum and civility toward each other had gone a long way to ensuring peace. More than a few faced the upcoming meeting with a great deal of fascination. The family had won tremendous territory and much wealth in the recently completed campaign and curiosity abounded as to Margul's response to the enormous change in his fortunes and those of his House. The first test would be his handling of the Darliss situation. A silence gathered over the room when Margul stepped through the great southern door, a portal that had not been used for centuries. One of his ancestors had declared that this artfully carved entrance would not again be used until such time as the family had won a final victory over Dordinal. Though some were unsure of the permanence of Forst's gains, Margul was sufficiently confident in his new-found power to feel justified in choosing to enter the great chamber in this way. "My friends," he said quietly after assuming his seat, "we have much to celebrate on this day. I will not keep you from the party for longer than necessary." General sounds of approval swept the room at this statement. "Unfortunately, there are problems this family and its new allies must face. Many of these will be handled in the traditional way. I am sure we will see a profusion of marriage celebrations and trade agreements in this part of the Realm. We will see a period of joy not rivaled since the rule of Balkast the Venerable in a time when writing was but newly given to us by the gargoyles. I, for one, anticipate these celebrations. They will represent a chance for our Houses, many of which have been wrongly divided by Dordinal, to reorder themselves and build a new future." "A pretty speech," cried one of the nobles who sat at the long table, "but how do we know that we haven't traded one oppressive overlord for another?" "You don't," Margul told the other, his voice hard. "But the fact that you felt safe enough to challenge me openly when a Mage of Charla's talent stands at my side should be some sign -- even to you -- of your confidence in what you have heard of me and those who serve me." The other had no choice but to sit back, tacitly admitting that Margul had a point. "As another sign of my belief that all stories should be told before a decision is taken, I will now allow Darliss to explain to all of us -- including the village head at Cresscreek -- why she thought Dordinal would serve as better protection for that village than those of Forst, who have seen to its welfare since nearly the time of the founding of this House. Hopefully she will also be able to explain why she thought Hegan's contract represented a wise bargain for any save herself." At this, Darliss was led into the room, clothed as a member of the council. The shocked glances passing between those who sat around the table told Margul that he had, yet again, surprised many with his forbearance. Margul needed say little in introduction, so when she found her place at the table, he prompted her to begin her story. "Your statement?" Darliss made every effort to come off as the wounded Head of House some part of her still seemed to think she was. "How do you play Head of House when that role is truly mine?" she demanded of him. "Because he has the right to play that role," Alkara, the new mayor of Cresscreek remonstrated from where she leaned against the wall. "While you were consorting with your family's enemies, Margul did as any true Head of House should. He marshaled the resources of his clan and its allies to making good the oaths that his forefathers had sworn to the villages they promised to protect. He found a way to free my village and remove the threat that the Dordinal scavengers posed to nearby villages like Fawnleaf. He managed to find out what was going on behind the horrid walls that his enemies were forcing my people to build, and when the time came, he had the things needed to rebuild Cresscreek ready at hand. You did none of these things, save possibly making a shamefully self-serving effort to ensure our safety -- an effort doomed to fail since you never took the time needed to find out whether the lies that Hegan told you had any truth behind them." "I was given assurances," Darliss whined. "That you were," Margul agreed, retaking control of the meeting, "and never checked their veracity, never went to see the suffering of the beings first hand, and never worked to see that things would change once the truth was known to you -- as it must certainly have been, had you only listened." "I never!" Darliss cried. Then she hesitated when the faint memory of the warning given her by a young troll trader who had passed through Cresscreek late the previous autumn touched her mind. Her mouth gaped open in sudden horror, realizing that Hegan's duplicity was probably fact, rather than what she had continued to hope was a mere invention of the Mage-gifted bitch who ultimately managed to defeat her. "Exactly," Alkara's voice came to her. "You never checked because you were too concerned with your own dreams to take the responsibility that a truly great Head of House wears as I wear the mantle of my own office. Margul has worn that mantle well, and I for one, hope that he does so for many season-cycles to come." The cheering and foot-stomping that greeted this speech were overwhelming to Darliss. For the first time she realized she had lost much more than mere dreams of a marriage and children of her own. She now saw that she had also lost her chance at the power she had craved since she was a young child. But there was one thing she could do to bring down those who had plotted against her and who had killed her husband-to-be as a part of their victory over her. "Whether your charges against me are true or not, I have my own truth to reveal here," she cried, bringing the violent expression of support for Margul to a sudden halt. When silenced had returned to the room she began speaking, the pleasure at what she was about to say twisting her face into a grotesque parody of a smile. "I wish to charge Mage Charla with the use of Black Magic, and Margul with ordering her to employ it." A profound silence gripped the chamber. "On what do you base these charges?" Ghalbar demanded. "She turned me into a beast of burden and forced me to divulge the location of the jewels that I brought with me from Fairwoods to my new home." She did not hear the murmured charge that she had probably stolen them, but Margul did. His storm-eyed gaze caught the warrior Vestra's anger- filled eyes before they could flick back to the table-top before her. The older warrior blushed deeply, embarassed that she had been caught in such a lapse of control. "How did she force you?" a quiet voice asked from one of the room's smaller gathering tables. "She... she... she threatened to leave me to the packs of vermin who were all about Lord Hegan's home. She told me she could either take the jewels back to the family herself or bring me back to you and let me explain how they had been lost." "I have heard nothing that would lead me to think her a Black Mage in this," replied the Mage Vandira, who had been village mage at Forst for longer than anyone at the table could remember. "Did she do or say anything else before she turned you into a beast of burden?" she continued, nearly certain of Darliss' answer. "No, but she could have affected my mind in some way as to cause me to forget what she did." "Did you?" Vandira demanded of Charla, who rose immediately, knowing how important it was that those who were sensitive to auras could see as well as hear her. "The only spell I cast against her was the transformation spell," she replied. "I did not need to force her to tell me where the jewels were as she was more than willing to tell me of them on her own. I did not use Black Magic against her, and in fact, have never practiced it." A sigh of relief broke over the chamber as the elves and other beings sensitive to aural fluctuations saw that Charla had not lied. "As her aura shows her to be telling us the truth, I see no basis in your charges," Vandira declared. "The use of magic to turn one being into another is certainly not black in its nature, and without doing so, she would never have been able to see to your safety while recovering what belongs to House Forst. All in all, I think her actions wise and well-measured." "And what do the rest of you think?" Ghalbar demanded, knowing Margul could not pose the question himself. Although understated at first, the response that met his question left no doubt as to the council's belief in Charla's innocence. It went without saying Margul must also be so, and Ghalbar didn't waste time on unnecessary pandering to his great aunt's agenda. "Then I see only one other matter for our consideration," Margul said, relieved that this river had been forded, "and that is the disposition of the Lady Darliss." "Disposition?" Darliss demanded, only barely able to sense the danger that now surrounded her. "And a bad one it is indeed," a voice murmured from the opposite end of the table. A burst of laughter greeted the comment, effectively lightening the tension that had gripped the room. Margul waited for the mirth to pass before turning his attention to Ghalbar. "I felt that neither Charla nor I could lead the council effectively in its search for a just conclusion to this matter. I, therefore, asked Ghalbar to lead our discussions this morning. He will now read our decision." Ghalbar rose, his features calm under the authority that he had been given. "After careful consideration of the facts in the matter, and the damage done to Mage Charla and our family as a whole by Darliss' actions, the inner council of House Forst has decided to exile her to our holdings at the headwaters of the Greenswan river. She will reside there for the rest of her days and will have no contact with the outside world save that by the Head of House or as ordered by His Majesty the King. There will be no objection statement to this decision and she will begin serving her sentence immediately." With these words pronounced, Ghalbar relaxed into his chair while the guards who would see Darliss to her future entered. They bore her off toward the boat in which she would begin the journey to the desolate land which would be her final home. Although there were few in the room who held any love for her, the swiftness of Darliss' departure came as a surprise to those who were used to civility in the council chamber. Knowing this well, Margul rose, ready to divert his family and its guests with a victory celebration unmatched in Forst's long history. "Unless there is other business, I suggest we all take part in the merry-making that the younger generation has been enjoying for some time now." "Agreed!" Ghalbar cried. He was younger than many of those who had not been invited to the council. He still enjoyed dancing and the fruits of the vintner's labors as well. Many of the older nobles smiled at his enthusiasm. However, none objected to the thought of a celebration, and the doors of the chamber were soon crowded with those who were hastening to the party. All were impatient to remove themselves from the responsibilities that had lain heavily on their shoulders for so long. The rush of bodies covered Margul's quick movement to Charla's side. For though the family's business might be completed, there were important matters that they had to discuss. "What is it?" Charla asked once the room had cleared and they had reseated themselves at the table. "I wanted to talk with you about our forthcoming journey to Fairwoods," he said, voice strong with purpose. "What journey?" she asked, not aware of any set plans to go to the royal seat. "The journey that you and I must make before King Andalor and the Royal Mage summon us there." "Why must we go before they call for us?" Charla cried. Her voice was sharp with the terror that gripped her heart at the thought of a confrontation with Reinald. "Because if we go before we are summoned, we will gain something in the eyes of the King and not lose anything in Reinald's view -- whatever that may be." "You know what I think he will say," Charla snapped, angered that Margul would so blatantly disregard her opinion. He folded her hand into his own. "I do, and I believe you as much as I love you." he said gently. "But I also know that we will do ourselves a favor if we go before the King now." "You may," Charla said petulantly, "but I risk my life by going before Reinald now." "And won't that risk be just as great on the day that Andalor summons me to him?" he asked reasonably, knowing that she would not stay behind. "For you know that he will call me to him." "Yes," Charla said softly, her defenses crumbling before Margul's logic. "Then let us go together before we are summoned so I will have the maximum possible credibility with His Majesty when I tell him you have done nothing wrong. Credibility I must have if the confrontation you fear is to be avoided." "You are right, for what little good it will do me." Charla sighed deeply, her normally imposing figure seeming to shrink before Margul's eyes. "Trust me in this and all will come out well." Margul encouraged, only dimly aware of the depth of his lover's fear. "Do as I ask of you in the next few days and all will work out for the best." "I will," Charla whispered, tears flowing in great rivers down her cheeks. She then rose and ran from the room before Margul could do or say anything more to comfort her. He sat down heavily, knowing that although he had won a tremendous battle against his enemies, an even greater one might lie before him. A gentle tapping on the door roused him from his funk and he rose to let whatever being might desire his attention into the room. He was surprised to see that his visitor was Mage Vandira. "And what can I do for you, Mage?" he asked after offering her the obligatory tea. "I think, lord Margul, in this case we should be discussing what I can do for you." she countered, sipping from the cup he had prepared for her. "I see...." "I feel I have had much to do with the way things are working out in this House and hope I can repair some of my mistakes." She sighed, not wanting to tell the story that she knew she must. "Many season-cycles ago I met a young Mage-gifted child whom I knew would be one of the great Mages of our time. I didn't have the skill to train one such as her and so, even though she begged me not to tell Lord Ian, I spoke of her growing talents with him. Only a few short moon-cycles later, she was sent to train with the Royal Mage Reinald. I watched as she was taken away from the one person who loved her, heart breaking a little more with every stroke of the oarsmen's paddles. I knew then that I had made a terrible mistake and swore I would do whatever I could to help her if she returned here -- though I knew mine would be the last assistance she would accept. "When I was told, some seasons later, that she was returning, her training with the Royal Mage at a premature end, I knew my time had come. I did what I could to ensure that guards who were friendly to her would be waiting for her. But one of them happened to mention the change in his schedule at a time when Lord Ian was sure to hear of it. Little time passed before Ian's investigation told him of Charla's return. He needed even less to blanket the entire region with guards, all intent on driving her away from a family that had disavowed her existence and declared her an enemy. Only now, twenty-five season cycles later, am I given the chance to make reparations to Charla for the hurts I have done her." "What can you do?" Margul asked. "I would like to attend your party on its way to Fairwoods, and speak with the King about her actions over the last few moon-cycles. She is innocent of any charge where the use of Black Magic is concerned, and I have it on good authority that Mage Reinald is determined to see her charged as a Black Mage if he can." "Who is your source?" Margul demanded, certain that Dordinal must have a hand in this. "Lita, chief servant at Fairwoods Castle is a second cousin on my father's side and has kept me up to date on the events there since the beginning of this spring's campaign. She is utterly loyal to King Andalor and to her family as well. If she tells me Reinald has been angered by what he mistakenly believes Charla has done, I -- and you -- must believe her." "Then what good will your testimony do?" Margul exploded, horrified that Charla's fears concerning Reinald's likely actions were proving justified. "Both King Andalor and Mage Reinald will have to listen to me as an observer who knows magic well and lives near your family seat. I am told that the King is not at all sure that Charla is guilty of the things Reinald thinks she is. He will have to listen to me and give my word much weight when it comes time to bring the matter before the Council at Fairwoods. With the Houses loyal to you and the support of the elves -- who will believe my report as well -- Charla should be safe." "I see," Margul said with a sigh of relief. "In that case, Mage Vandira, I would be honored to have you as a guest of our family when we make the ride to Fairwoods Castle. We will leave at first light on the day after the morrow. I look forward to seeing you then." She bowed deeply, and left Margul to consider what he had been told. Hopefully, he thought as he rose to find Charla, Vandira's help would be enough to save both of them -- Charla from the Royal Mage, and Margul from the insanity and death that would surely be his if she were lost to him. End of Chapter Twenty Four THE MAGICIAN, BOOK 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Twenty-Five Andalor strode through the hallways, his expression making him uncharacteristically unapproachable. His brows were knit in a frown as he mulled over the news from Hotsprings and his continued difference of opinion with Reinald. Just as things looked like they might be getting better between him and his old mentor, the announcement of Forst's incredible victory at Hotsprings touched off the Royal Mage's suspicions once more, dividing them as deeply as ever. The two had barely exchanged words for nearly two weeks now, and the strain was affecting more than just them. Shannon had feared that Andalor was, in spite of his words to Ballorca, indeed having second thoughts, so deep was his gloom. Finally he had shared with her the cause of his depression, finding her more than understanding, and furthering the bonds of love and trust between them. Pitir was not so lucky, as Reinald found fault with nearly everything the poor little apprentice did. Even Lita had had words with the Royal Mage about the rudeness with which the servants were being treated of late, the elven servant giving better than she got, to no one's surprise. The Mage grudgingly apologized to her. And even Jourdain had come to Andalor, deeply concerned about his friend's extended miserable mood. The only other argument he had ever had with Reinald had been over Shannon, Andalor mused. And even then, the Royal Mage was able to see the King's point of view; it was only that he could not think of an alternative. This was the first time Reinald completely refused even to consider another opinion. The King's frustration flared again at the stubbornness of the elderly Mage. He arrived finally at the door to his chambers. Dorbo, who also had been treated to flashes of the Royal temper, set freshly-made tea on the table by the fireplace and made an excuse to leave. Sighing, Andalor threw himself into an armchair by the ashes of the hearth. Something had to be done -- neither he, nor Reinald, nor the inhabitants of Fairwoods Castle could withstand much more of this. This was supposed to be a happy time, a time of celebration with his wedding and the crowning of a Queen. Instead.... Sighing again, Andalor pulled an oracle crystal from his pocket. He had a strong feeling that this particular duty was not going to do anything to improve his mood. Murmuring the words Reinald had taught him so long ago, Andalor concentrated and was at length rewarded by seeing the flare of light and color from the crystal. "Mulder? Is that you?" If Andalor had thought Mulder looked unwell the last time they spoke, nothing could have prepared him for his friend's appearance now. He hoped he did not look as shocked as he felt, as he took in Mulder's red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes bordered in smudgy dark circles. The man looked like he hadn't eaten a meal nor slept a candlemark in days. It was evidently night wherever the Mage was -- the only illumination came from what must have been a very dim lamp, somewhere out of the field of Andalor's vision. Mulder's voice was a hoarse whisper. "Shh. Hold on a sec, Andalor. Scully's had a tough day and she's finally sleeping." The colors swam for several moments, then there was more light and the sound of a door closing. "That's better. Well, I hope you have good news from the Professor." Andalor's heart sank. He had been hoping for good news from Mulder, that their terrible case was over. Just from the man's haggard appearance, he could tell that there was little chance of that. "Didn't set fire to you this time, did I?" the King asked, desperate to lighten the mood. The agent's lips twitched in what was supposed to be a smile. "Not this time. Did the Professor work a miracle?" "I'm afraid not. He did say though that the effects using an oracle crystal would probably not be so pronounced as using the Oracle Cloud. He began to explain why, but I couldn't follow it. Mage Mulder, no offence, but you look awful." Mulder rubbed his face tiredly. "I haven't been sleeping. We've had three more dead kids. Scully had to do two of the autopsies today, and it really shook her up. The bitch of it is, I think I know who's responsible, but none of the local law enforcement will believe it. We're going to have to collect the evidence and put together an airtight case, because this guy will walk if we don't. He's got such a following in this town that even if we caught him in the act, I don't think anyone would believe it." "I'm so sorry, Mulder. I was selfishly hoping that you would say that the case was over...." "The news from the Professor isn't good, I take it?" "Actually, it couldn't be much worse," Andalor sighed. "It appears the gel-flow of time is more active and convoluted than usual, which is why it took him so long to come up with the calculations. For a short period, Realm time will briefly speed up in relation to time in your world, making it necessary for you to leave in only three of your days if you are to get here for the ceremony. What makes matters worse is then Realm time will abruptly slow and retreat in relation to your world, so that spending even two days here would equate to nearly two weeks in your world." Andalor shrugged. "I didn't think it looked good." He hated to bring his friend this news. If anyone deserved and needed some good news now, it was Mulder. "Shit." He rubbed his eyes and blinked blearily. "I guess it was too much to hope for. I'm sorry, Andalor. It breaks my heart not to be able to be there for your wedding. Shannon's going to be a beautiful bride, and I would give anything to see her. But we can't. Well, I can't, anyway. Maybe Scully can get away, but I doubt she'd leave me right now. You know how she worries, especially with these kinds of cases.... With the attitude of local law enforcement on this case, it's pretty sure that no one but me is going to be able to bring this monster to justice. I can't walk away from that, no matter how much I might want to." "I understand, Mulder. I'm disappointed, but I understand." He smiled grimly. "Yes, I believe you do, Andalor. You better than anyone knows about the chains of responsibility and duty. You've been living with them all your life." He paused for a moment, then went on. "You know, you don't look so good yourself. Not having cold feet about the wedding, are you?" Andalor laughed. "No! Goddess, no. If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that I love Shannon and want her to be with me always." "Then would it have something to do with Reinald?" he guessed shrewdly. "It shows that much, huh?" Andalor sighed. "Yes, I thought it would be impossible for you not to pick up on it. You are pretty sensitive about that sort of thing." "Well, it's my job to pick up on things like that. All right, tell Uncle Mulder what's going on." "No, Mulder, you have enough on your plate right now." "Believe it or not, it's therapeutic for me to be able to occupy my mind with something other than the sick bastard we've been chasing. Go on, shoot." So the King told him everything - about the political situation with Margul and Forst, Charla and her talents, the reports from the field, Reinald's insistence that the Black Arts were involved and his taking Andalor's disagreement as betrayal. "Ever since then, he has been a different person," Andalor continued mournfully. "Ill-tempered, stubborn, terrorizing poor Pitir. I know I have never felt so alone, like my right arm is missing or something. Possibly he feels the same, I cannot say. But I cannot agree with him on this, Mulder. I really believe that this Charla has not used Black Magic. There's no evidence to support it." "Scully would be proud of you, Andalor, insisting on evidence," Mulder smiled. "Shannon said that she thinks Reinald is losing it. What is 'losing it', Mulder?" He barked out a laugh and quickly stifled it, for fear of waking his sleeping bondmate. "That sounds like Shannon. 'Losing it' means losing his mind, going insane or possibly senile." Seeing Andalor's blank look, he explained, "Senility is a disease that very old people in my world sometimes get." "Reinald is old, but he is not that old." The agent smiled and shook his head. "I know. No, Andalor, I don't think Reinald is losing it. I think there's two things at work here, maybe three. First, there is Reinald's history with Charla. I think he might have been quite fond of her, had great expectations for her gifts. Looked upon her as a protegee, someone with whom he could work, and who might even take his place as Royal Mage one day. When she insisted on knowing the Black Arts, I think he felt betrayed and his hopes for her were crushed. I'm willing to bet he probably didn't invest such interest in another apprentice for quite a long time afterwards." "Probably not until you came, Mage Mulder." "Possibly," the agent agreed. "Or maybe Tarnor." "So what's the second thing?" "I think he's scared shitless of the Black Arts. After the devastation of the Realm thanks to the Dark Queen, I think he's terrified of any Mage with a lot of power who also has knowledge of Black Magic. And especially with it being this particular Mage with whom he has a past. He is prejudiced against her, and doesn't want to give her the opportunity to betray him again." "Makes sense." Andalor nodded. "In fact, I pointed out to him that he had a very unbalanced reaction to even the rumor that the Black Arts had been used. But you said maybe three. What's the third?" Mulder shrugged. "Reinald has been like a father to you ever since you were a small child. I think a lot of what he's dealing with is what every parent has to deal with eventually. He's having a hard time coping with the fact that you've grown up. He still sees you as that small boy with the old eyes, the child who had tragically lost both parents, and would have to be prepared to take on all the problems of the Realm. A part of him still feels that you should need his advice as much now as you ever did." "But that's the truth, Mulder! I do!" "I know that, and you know that. But does he? Not only is he frightened that, by not listening to him, you and the Realm will be endangered. Another part of him is afraid that you don't need him anymore." Andalor considered what Mulder had said. "So I should convince him I still need him...." Quietly, Mulder said, "I can talk to him for you, if you want." The King was silent for several moments. "No.... No, thank you so much for the offer, Mage Mulder, especially now, with everything you have on your mind. But this is something I really must do myself. I just hope I say the right thing." "You will, Andalor. I have every confidence in you. You are an extraordinary young man." A faint pink blush came to the King's cheeks. "Thank you, Mulder. I value your words more than you can know." "And thank you for letting me get my mind off things here. It helped, it really did. Please give Shannon my regrets. You have no idea how much I want to be there. But it's just not possible." "Shannon will understand, Mulder. She won't be happy, but she'll understand." "Scully and I will try to get in touch when this case is over. We still have a hell of a stock of crystals, and have made far too little use of them. And don't hesitate to call if either of you needs anything. Er... you know about the... the, ah, facts of life and everything, right?" Andalor roared with laughter. "This is the Realm! Younglings know about such things from early childhood. And don't worry about Shannon in that department, either. With the chaperones and bloody Ballorca, we unfortunately have not been able to spend much time together, and of course there is protocol to be observed. But from what Shannon has whispered in my ear, I would say she has an excellent theoretical knowledge of married life." Mulder laughed as well, but seemed relieved. "Well, my offer remains open, just in case. Please take care of yourself, Andalor. You are as much a part of my family as Shannon is, and I want you to be rested and ready to put all of Shannon's theoretical knowledge to good use." "I will, Mulder. And thank you." The colors in the crystal dimmed. * * * * A sharp rap on the door of the west receiving room told Andalor his guest had arrived. The human servant who was responsible for the room allowed Lord Margul to enter, and hastened to serve tea. The young man withdrew silently in order to ensure the privacy that the King desired. Andalor looked at his guest, taking his measure. It did not take him long to realize the sharp gray eyes were doing the same for him. He was both pleased and reassured to see respect and a certain gentleness in their depths. "I thank you for coming of your own free will. I know that the road from your seat to the castle has been badly affected by storms of late. I hope it did not make your journey too difficult," Andalor opened. He hoped that his tone as well as his words would assure the new Head of House Forst that he did not want this meeting to be any more confrontational than necessary. "Too many things have happened of late for me to avoid coming," Margul said impassively. "Aside from the political changes, I had another reason for seeking an audience with you." Andalor's brows rose. "I see. And that would be...?" "Yes...." Margul paused, gathering his thoughts. "I need to speak with you about the likely disposition of my House and its recovered lands, of course. But more importantly, I have come in hopes of gaining relief for Charla. She believes herself to be at risk of unfair judgment under the royal decree against those who know how to use Black Magic." "Each is a difficult matter," Andalor parried, surprised that Margul would have made Charla a part of the negotiations of his own accord. "Dordinal has been badly hurt by your actions, and the northern Houses have captured almost a quarter of the territory that Hegan's family once held. Some minor families have been destroyed altogether. Needless to say, Dordinal is angered by the loss of their allies, not to mention vast tracts of territory." "As well they might be," Margul agreed. "But you must know I will not return what I have gained, and with the lost Houses wanting to reinstall Norwood as their leading House, I am sure the pressure to return to their former lands will be great within Norwood as well. A difficult situation indeed." "The other Houses seem willing to accept things as they now stand." Andalor chuckled dryly. "Why should they not? Dordinal was becoming a danger to all of them. But there is a great deal of grumbling, and I am not sure that I will be able to keep Dordinal from trying to get redress against either you or Norwood in the future." "That is your problem, not mine." Margul remonstrated, voice hard with the certainty of his position. "It is, save for the fact that both of us have the other problem you mentioned, one that could seriously upset all of the Houses and which causes me much trouble in my own family." "Mage Charla." "Yes." The King replied, drawing himself up in his seat. "The other Houses have been badly frightened by Charla and her gifts. Even more difficult for me is the fact that Mage Reinald is near to demanding she be stripped of her powers as a Black Mage. As he is Royal Mage, I would be unable to stop him from bringing the matter to the Council, unjust though I think his action might be. Needless to say, Dordinal, Maalfees and their allies would support him, and the vote would be extremely close." "Mage Vandira chose to accompany our party specifically because she knows Charla to be innocent of the charges. The elves who were present for her testimony were certain her aura never flickered when she denied using Black Magic. Vandira, who is an elf as well, has spoken of this to Prince Mavor's representative and is also willing to testify to you." "All well and good. Unfortunately, Reinald is acting out of emotion where Charla is concerned," Andalor responded with a sigh. "I have already damaged my relationship with him by supporting her right to remain unaffected without direct proof of a use of Black Magic. Since their gains depended on her powers, your allies will support her for now. They would be foolish not to since they would incriminate themselves if they supported Reinald's resolution. Mage Vandira's testimony could prove invaluable in clearing Charla of Reinald's suspicions." Margul nodded and seemed ready to rise to his feet. "Then we should find Vandira and make sure she sees the Royal Mage as quickly as possible." Andalor interrupted Margul's momentum, holding up his hand. "I understand better than you might think how important it is to you that Charla's name be cleared. I, too, have had to fight for the woman I love. But Charla is not our only problem. There will be great consternation and instability as a result of the political changes you have wrought. For that reason, it would not be wise for you to return to your seat right now. Others would interpret this as an attempt at an undue consolidation of your gains." "So what do you suggest?" Margul asked. He felt his respect for the King growing. His assessment of the political situation was surprisingly astute for one so young. "The northern Houses will need time and assistance to move their people back into the lands they have recaptured. If you were to take Charla with you on a trip to the north and assist the lost Houses with their return to their ancestral lands, much of the immediacy of what has happened of late would be lost. You could leave one of your lieutenants in temporary charge at Forst. You have several competent people in this generation. Thus I believe your house would be able to consolidate its gains while acquiring long-term political support from your new allies in the Council. If Vandira does testify in Charla's behalf, and it is proven to my satisfaction that she is as innocent as I truly believe her to be, then I will happily support you where her future is concerned." Margul nodded, pleased by the elegance of Andalor's solution. "I like this idea for a number of reasons," he said aloud, determined to show the young King his appreciation. "I have always wanted to explore the northlands. Further, if I were to take a powerful Mage with me, the northerners' enemies could be properly intimidated until such time as a more stable form of protection could be established." He dared not admit that the opportunity to spend time with Charla away from the politics of the houses was by far the most desirable of the plan's many benefits. "Then we have an agreement?" Andalor asked, thankful the negotiation had gone as well as it had. "Yes, in principle. You will, of course, have to get the Royal Mage to allow Charla to prove her worth to him before he judges her. Much as she is frustrated by her memories of her time with him, she respects and fears him greatly." "As well she might," Andalor agreed. "Fortunately, there is more at work here than Reinald's concern over her ability to make mischief. I have spoken with other advisors on the matter -- including another Mage whom I trust as well. I think that there may be a way to convince the Royal Mage to withhold judgment. It will be up to you to make sure that she proves me correct in supporting her right to keep her powers." "I see," Margul murmured, sure Andalor was referring to the mysterious and equally powerful Mage Mulder who seemed to appear at times of great need in the Realm. "I am not sure Reinald and Charla will ever work through their differences, but hope that you and I will be able to keep matters from getting completely out of hand." Andalor nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. "I agree, we will have to work together on this matter if we are to have any hope of success." "Then let us get started by finding Mage Vandira and going to Reinald's quarters," Margul suggested. Andalor rose to lead the way to Reinald's chambers, but before he reached his feet, the floor shook violently. Only moments later, a terrible crash of thunder nearly deafened both of them. As soon as they recovered from the shock, Andalor raced for the Royal Mage's quarters, Margul hot on his heels. Neither needed to say anything, as the growing violence of the Magestorm that shook the castle was more than sufficient evidence that the situation had already slipped well beyond their control. End of Chapter Twenty-Five THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Twenty-Six "R-royal Mage Reinald, someone is at the d-door to s-see you." Reinald looked up from the scroll he had been perusing. "Yes? So? Let him in. I'm not so busy that I cannot stop for a bit." "B-but, Master...." "Pitir, what is your problem? Go - show him in and make tea. Then you may have the rest of the afternoon to practice your sleep spell. It could do with some work." Reinald rolled up the scroll and returned it to its carved ivory case. Study was a fine panacea, he thought. Just a few candlemarks, immersed in the arcane lore of his craft, and he was feeling almost himself again. That feeling lasted exactly as long as it took for him to look up and recognize his visitor. His face froze. "Pitir, you may leave us now." "B-but Master. The tea-- " "I said, *now*!" The Mage's voice rivaled thunder. Pitir fled. "I see you remember me, Royal Mage," Charla observed coolly. He rose from his seat. "How could I not? It is one of life's misfortunes that we seem to better remember our failures than our successes." Charla flushed. "Well, I see nothing has changed. I told Margul it was a mistake to come to Fairwoods. Fine. I shall not take any more of your time." She turned to leave. "Stay!" It was not a plea, but a command. Charla whirled to face him. "Why? I have not changed and neither have you. What purpose could possibly be served by my staying?" "I have waited a long time to set eyes on you again and have more than enough to say to you," Reinald growled. "You will stay, and you will listen." Charla's eyes never left his as she deliberately chose a comfortable armchair and seated herself. To the uninitiated, it would not have appeared to be cause for trouble. But a younger Mage sitting while a Master with Reinald's experience was still standing was like a slap in the face of the Royal Mage. "You could have been something. You could have been the most influential Mage of your time," he accused. "But you had to know the Black Arts, and as a result you have wasted your gifts, sullied and perverted them, and brought yourself shame!" She sprang to her feet. "It was your narrowmindedness which drove me to leave here, old man," Charla spat. "I was young and curious. I never would have used that knowledge! It is my right to have it, my *right*! But you could never understand that. It was beyond your comprehension that someone could know black spells and have the strength of character not to use them!" Outside, storm clouds extinguished the sun. "The ingratitude!" ranted Reinald. "Do you know how many young Mages petition me for an apprenticeship? Anyone else in your position would have given their right arm to have what I gave you. And what was my thanks? To have you turn against everything I had taught you, and waste your opportunity!" "I never asked to be sent here! It was my Uncle Ian who forced me to come. No one cared about me, what I wanted, what I needed! Not you, not Ian, not anyone! And I should be grateful? I'd sooner have spent that time in the Royal Dungeons!" "That can still be arranged!" Reinald shouted, pounding his fist on the table. Charla stamped in fury. "Go ahead. Try it, old man!" Thunder rumbled nearby, and the very air in the chamber crackled and sparked. "And give you the opportunity you want? To cast some hideous and loathesome spell from your precious store of Black Magic? You are probably quite practiced at that by now!" Charla screamed. "You fool! You still do not understand. Get it through your head -- I do not use those spells. Though Goddess knows, right now I would dearly love to!" "I knew this would happen. Well, do not let me stop you!" "As if you could!" "By the Goddess!" Reinald roared. Had there been anyone foolhardy enough to be looking on, he could not have failed to notice the burgeoning storm clouds roiling within the walls of Reinald's chambers. Suddenly, it all came together -- emotions long buried, the accumulation of seasons-cycles of anger and hurt. The room hummed with their force, as two enormously powerful Mages forgot, in their fury, to shield. Lightning shot from the mass of turbulent clouds near the ceiling, striking some armchairs clustered near the hearth and leaving them in smouldering ruins. Simultaneously there was a crash of thunder that shattered every window and piece of glass in the chamber. Both Mages were thrown to the stone floor, momentarily stunned. Shakily, they climbed to their feet, then glared at each other, their anger unabated. "A few moments with you, and look at the result," Reinald charged. "I haven't neglected to ground and shield since I was a child. I was so right to expel you." "Ex-- ! Expel! You didn't expel me, old man. I left of my own volition." "You did nothing of the sort! It was I, in my desire to remain pure of the ideas you were so anxious to espouse, who threw you out of Fairwoods." Charla's face was white with fury. "You are saying I am impure, that my gifts were perverted? How dare you? Have you heard nothing? Are you so stubborn that you cannot for a single moment entertain the idea that perhaps-- " The door flew open and Andalor and Margul skidded to a halt on the glass-strewn floor. Wordlessly they took in the smouldering furniture, the tense stances of the two Mages. "What in the name of the Goddess is going on here?" the King demanded. "Ask her!" "Ask him!" The Mages continued to glare at each other, seething. "All right, that is enough. My patience is at an end with this," Andalor declared. "Lord Margul? West receiving room, if you please." "With pleasure, Your Majesty." Margul strode up to Charla, grasping her firmly by the wrist. "You are coming with me, Charla. We must talk." "Talk to him!" she replied angrily, with a toss of her head toward Reinald. "I will talk with *you*," the Forst noble thundered, and jerked her toward the door. "No! I have not finished here. Margul, let me go!" "You *have* finished here. You may have 'finished' us both! Now come along!" With Charla resisting every step of the way, Margul finally dragged her from the room. * * The bang that accompanied the closing of Reinald's door took Margul by surprise. His attention slipped for a moment and Charla was able to break his fierce grip on her wrist. Though many servants and other passers-by were frightened and had found hiding places they hoped would be safe, others were fascinated by the Mage's histrionics. Charla's wild-eyed gaze was enough to terrify even these brave souls. But Margul was not impressed by her anger. He was far too furious himself. He was, therefore, none-too-gentle when he took her by the waist, slinging her over one shoulder moments before she could burst through Reinald's door once more. Her greater height could not serve her in her struggles against his iron grip, as he staggered through the palace toward the west receiving room. Neither her wildly kicking legs nor her equally violent threats could divert him. When the great door to the salon thudded closed behind them, he took no time in literally throwing her into a chair. The unfortunate piece of furniture slid some distance across the highly polished floor before crashing to a halt, its momentum stopped by one of the tables that dotted the great expanse. Charla, silenced by the violence of his anger, stared at Margul in mute rage while he made sure that she knew of her many mistakes. "Of all the stupid, thoughtless and poorly timed things you could have done, you force the issue and go before Reinald!" he cried, infuriated by far more than simple mistimed actions. "I told you I would make sure that you needn't confront him, and rather than trusting me to see to this, you went off and sought him out well before anything could be done on your behalf. Needless to say, this has not been one of your best decisions," he grated, voice carrying throughout the room. Charla's mouth opened in an apparent attempt to deflect his anger. "Don't say a thing!" he exploded, certain he had never been angrier at anyone in his entire life. "Had you simply allowed me to continue as I was, I would have seen to your safety by the end of the day. His Majesty was more than ready to support you and, in fact, we were just going to find Mages Vandira and Reinald when you interrupted us with this foolishness. Now, not only am I in a difficult position, but His Majesty is as well. We had everything nearly worked out between us and were ready to talk things over with Mage Reinald. But now! Now! You have made things nearly impossible for our combined talents to redeem." Charla, shocked by Margul's fury, knew only one acceptable way to assuage it. The honest way. "I am sorry for what I have done," she said softly, voice thick with tears. "I thought that by going to him and trying to work things out directly I might have the same kind of success you expected with His Majesty. I was terribly, nearly disastrously, wrong." Margul, the worst of his anger now passed, moved to her side. "In another time and place you might have been right to do things this way, but both of you have been far too badly hurt by what has come before to let things go so easily. I know how important your independence is to you, but when you combine your need to stand tall with your fear of Reinald, you have a truly terrible mix indeed," he noted, lips twisted in a wry half-smile. "I know that now," Charla sighed. It was at times like this that she feared she would never be more than the angry child-woman who had hidden herself away from most of the goings-on in the Realm for so long. Margul, who could well guess what she was thinking, moved behind her, his fingers gently rubbing some of the tension out of her shoulders. "You have grown a great deal over the last few moon-cycles, and have survived more before them," he encouraged softly, reinforcing his words with long, gentle strokes of his talented fingers. "But now it is time for you to trust me as you have been afraid to so far. I know that you trust me with your heart, but now you must trust me with your future as well." "It will be hard," she murmured, the exhaustion caused by her recent battle of wills with the Royal Mage coloring every word. "I know. But everything that is truly worthwhile is," Margul said softly. "I love you greatly and will not disappoint you now," he promised, seeing she was teetering on the edge of badly needed sleep. "As I love, and will not disappoint, you too." she promised, moments before her head slumped forward. Margul lifted her gently and placed her on a nearby couch. It took only moments to collect sufficient coverings for her. He was sorely tempted to move her to their quarters. But as tired as she was, he knew it would be best to let her rest and prepare for whatever the future might bring. * * "You see? You see what she's like! *This* is the Mage that you have been defending, Andalor. I hope you realize now-- " "Enough!" the King exploded. "Now sit down in one of the chairs you haven't managed to destroy and listen to me." Reinald's mouth hung open for a moment, then closed with a snap. Speechless, he dropped into the nearest chair. "I have at hand incontrovertable evidence that Charla did not resort to the use of the Black Arts during the campaign against Dordinal. Further-- " Andalor looked warningly at Reinald, who appeared about to interrupt "--I have proof that she has never in her life employed black spells.... Never." The Royal Mage appeared thunderstruck. He sat in silence for several moments. "Never?" he whispered. He shook his head wonderingly. "But how could I have been so.... What is this proof?" he demanded. "She swore before the Forst council, in the presence of aura-sensitive beings and the Forst Mage Vandira, herself an elf. There was no tell- tale flickering or darkening of her aura." "Well, perhaps she used the Black Arts to fortify her aura in some way," he countered. "If she had used Black Magic, would there not have been the characteristic stench? All have denied such a thing ever occurred. And besides... think, Reinald. She was beside herself here in this chamber, out of control enough to forget to ground and shield -- as you yourself were. Do you not think that if she were accustomed to using the Black Arts, she would not have done so against you?" This time Reinald was silent for quite a long time. Andalor allowed him to think it through. "There is no doubt?" he asked finally. "I still need to talk to Mage Vandira, and I plan to have Lita and some other aura-sensitive beings present when I do. But if Margul and Vandira are telling the truth, then no, there can be no doubt. And I do not think Margul would lie to me. He has too much at stake." The Royal Mage rubbed his face with his hands. "I do not understand," he admitted, genuinely puzzled. "I simply do not understand how I could have been so mistaken." Andalor heaved a sigh of relief and pulled up a chair next to Reinald's. "I may have some insights on that," he replied, seating himself. He smiled at the man who was like a father to him. "Reinald, you were espousing what you believed was best -- for me, for the Realm. But I think you were basing your judgement on the events of the past -- your disappointment over Charla, what you thought was her betrayal of not only you, but all that you hold dear, all that is good and pure in magic. "No one is claiming that Charla is an easy person. In fact, I think Margul may have his work cut out for him," the King mused. "But I think you let your feeling of betrayal add to your instincts to protect me and the Realm. It simply added up to the wrong conclusion in this case." "Even before she announced her intention to study the Black Arts, Charla was a handful," Reinald remembered. "We used to have some terrible arguments. The only thing that kept me from ending her apprenticeship earlier was her awesome natural talent. I would have helped her to become one of the best Mages in the Realm -- maybe *the* best," he concluded sorrowfully. "And don't you think she knows that?" Andalor said gently. "Don't you think that if she allowed herself to think about it, she would regret much of what has happened between you?" Reinald shrugged non-committally, but the King could see he was considering it. "Besides, she may yet attain that," the King added. "Only, by her own path." They were quiet for a while, appreciating the renewed warmth between them. The King's tone was low but affectionate. "You know, Reinald, I have missed you terribly. I don't think you know how much I depend on you to be there for me, to prevent me from making a mess of things. True, you were wrong on this matter, but no one is perfect. Just because I may disagree on occasion does not mean I value your counsel any the less." "You seem to have acquired an amazing amount of wisdom in the past few weeks," observed Reinald, the twinkle at last restored to his kindly blue eyes. Andalor chuckled. "Well, much as I would like to claim it as my own, honesty forces me to admit that I had some help." "Ah! Mage Mulder, I assume." The King nodded, his expression becoming grave. "He looks bad, Reinald. I swear, I don't think I have ever seen him look worse, not even during the war with the Dark Creatures. He really could use a break, but.... He and Scully won't be able to come to the wedding. That horrible case is still going on, and the Professor's gel-flow calculations aren't cooperating. I am disappointed he will not be here to watch us wed, to be sure, but mostly I am very worried about him -- and because of the lifebond, about Warrior Healer Scully as well. I would feel so much better if they were here, with us." Reinald nodded. "I noticed how tired and drawn he looked the last time I saw him. And you say he looked worse when you spoke to him?" "Much worse." He shook his head. "Though we may feel better having them here, the truth of the matter is that our friends have not been any more free from care when they visit us than they are in their world. May the Goddess protect him and bring his case to a rapid close. Then Scully can help him to heal." He smiled at the King. "Will you join me for tea? We have some catching up to do. And then I have to do some visiting. I have some apologies to make." Andalor returned the Royal Mage's smile. "With great pleasure, Reinald." End of Chapter Twenty-Six THE MAGICIAN, BOOK 3.5: THE FIREBRAND By Matthew Weed and Suzanne Bickerstaffe (magician@galaxy.med.yale.edu, ecksphile@earthlink.net) Winter - Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Twenty Seven "I do not like this in the slightest," Vestra cried from her place near the foot of the table. "And neither do I!" Randock concurred. "All the Realm is giving credit to you for the tremendous victory over Dordinal. As a representative of the land-houses, I feel that it is very unwise to have you away from your House when its gains are still tenuous. We of the smaller Houses who do not have seats on the Council depend on greater Houses such as yours to maintain their stability and strength. Strength that protects our possessions as much as it does your own. Protection that is greatest when the Head of House is present and able to look after the needs of his allies." "Not only that, but Charla's departure and long absence will allow Dordinal to whisper against her -- to make all in the Realm fear she has somehow subverted our House. They will also say our victory came as a result of her use of the black arts. The proof, the clarity of her aura, manifests her innocence in ways that mere words cannot," Vestra said forcefully. "If she is not here to display that clarity--" It was the first meeting of the new Forst Council at its Fairwoods family seat. Seeing that the debate was rapidly slipping out of control, Margul moved to retake the initiative. "Enough!" he thundered from the head of the table. When the protest quieted, he went on. "You are right to worry about these things. But it is also true that the King will support us in holding these lands, support that must be maintained if our victory is to be consolidated. Our departure will make it easier for him to rule - unless, of course, you propose to overthrow His Majesty...." The shocked glances that flew around the table showed him the others had forgotten how important Andalor's support was to the future of their family. "As I was saying," he continued, voice now quieter but no less powerful. "The journey will strengthen our alliances with the lost Houses and Norwood, and will give me the chance to remind them of how much they owe our House - and Charla in particular." "Why should we care about the King's rule?" a young hothead interrupted. "After all, we have one of the most talented Mages in the Realm as a member of our House, and should the King have difficulties, we can use her powers to further benefit ourselves." "Yes, we could do that," Margul said softly, "if we were like the honorless Dordinal garbage that we spent so much blood and treasure defeating only days ago. Fortunately," he continued, voice rising, "we are not like Dordinal. This house has honor and it will stand by those who support it. The King's family has been a reliable ally to us and I will not allow further discussion of the use of Charla's powers as a tool. We are all fortunate that she has chosen to return. I see no reason to act like Lord Ian did where she is concerned." Though there were some grumblings from various quarters, Margul saw a majority of the family agreed with him. Now, attention would have to return to the King's request that he spend time away from Forst's seat and his position on the Council of Representatives as well. His words would have to be chosen carefully. Too much rested on the Forst council's acceptance of the King's terms. "I know that you are not pleased at the thought of my being away for such a period of time. Remember that our allies' debt to us will only increase if we help them further now. Debts that they will be long in repaying and which they would be foolish to deny. They might try to stab us in the back, but Charla's presence will force them to remain honest for many season-cycles to come. We will have to measure our steps if we are to have true success against the likes of Dordinal. But with care and thought on our part, we can build what we have gained into a political power unlike any that our family has held in a thousand season-cycles and more." "You may be right," Vestra sighed, "but I still don't like it. There are too many untrustworthy beings on the Council, many of whom would be more than pleased to take advantage of your absence." "Not as many as you might think," Margul refuted. "I am sure that Norwood will support us, as we are helping them. Ranfaus will go where King Andalor tells them to. It is likely that our historic clashes with Highlands will only grow in tandem with the length of the border between us. However, they owe their recent gains in land, treasure and safety to us and so will remain quiet for a while. The elves and gargoyles will support us for their own reasons and the trolls have had much trouble with Dordinal of late. Maalfees is a problem and Dordinal will never be our friend. These will bear watching, but aren't enough to cause problems so long as the acting Head of House is chosen well." "And who will that be?" Charla asked, knowing well the man whom Margul had in mind for this essential role. "Unless there is an objection, I wish Ghalbar to act in my stead until I return." A pause ensued while those sitting around the table considered the matter. When there was no objection to his suggestion, Margul nodded, pleased that the family had agreed so quickly. "Though I am not sure that I am the best person for the task, I will serve as you see fit," Ghalbar declared from his place at Margul's left. "You are one of only a few in the family who is not tainted by an association with Darliss' cause but yet has connections with most of the other Houses. Further, I'm told that Tallor of Ranfaus holds you in the highest esteem. He is still carrying out many of Mandor's duties and will be for some time to come. He is a friend of the King. The Norwood warriors spoke very highly of you after they saw your prowess at Hotsprings. And your diplomatic skills will serve you well with the non-human representatives as well." "Then I will be honored to stand as your second," Ghalbar declared. He rose, quickly withdrawing his sword from its sheath. Before Margul could stop him, he had slashed one of his palms in preparation to offer a warrior's oath in blood. The blood represented a bond between the acting Head of House and those who sat on Forst's council. Such oaths were almost never offered, as no other carried the weight of a pledge given in blood. In doing so, Ghalbar showed the seriousness of his commitment to Margul and his family. By making the oath in return, all present would commit themselves to do whatever was needed to see to the safety and strength of those who had been joined by blood. Normally, anyone could have witnessed such a pledge. In this case, Margul and Andalor had agreed that the oaths were important enough to Forst and the Realm to make the presence of the royal priestess a virtual necessity. "Hold!" Margul cried. His shout stopped Ghalbar from carrying out the needed slash on his other hand. "Find Healer Marik and send him to attend Ghalbar's wound," Margul said to one of the pages who stood respectfully near the door. "When you have found him," he snapped, stopping the teenager in his tracks, "find the High Priestess and tell her that the oaths that she is to witness for the King will be sworn as soon as she arrives." The young man bobbed his head in respectful compliance and hastened from the room. Ghalbar's injury was far from serious and so there was nothing to keep him from participating on the council while they waited for the Healer and High Priestess. "While we await Healer Marik's arrival, I would like to ask Warrior Vestra to act as my representative to those who will guard the family seat while I am in the northlands," Margul said. A brief silence greeted his words. When it became clear that no one would say anything before she did, Vestra rose and bowed deeply to Margul. "I would be honored to act as your representative to the guardians of our family seat for as long as I am needed," she declared. "When the High Priestess arrives, I too will take the warrior's oath, in subservience to your wishes and those of my nephew as well," she added, knowing that her loyalty to Ghalbar had to be made known and left unquestioned. Margul nodded, pleased to see that those few whom he thought of as troublemakers were impressed by the others' determination. The power of the oaths being offered made more than clear Ghalbar and Vestra's determination to ensure that the family would not be torn by the factionalism that had proven its downfall in the past. A light tap on the door presaged the Healer's arrival and within moments the flow of blood from Ghalbar's hand had stopped. "Please wait for a few moments if your other duties permit," Margul requested before Marik could withdraw. "There are many warriors' oaths to be sworn this day and your services will be required as soon as the High Priestess arrives." The middle aged human who had accompanied their party from Forst's seat nodded briefly. As a Healer, he was in principal opposed to the deliberate self-injury he was to witness, but as a member of the family he recognized its symbolic importance. Silently, he took the chair that one of the younger warriors offered him. Moments later, the High Priestess entered the room. "I am ready to witness your oaths of loyalty on behalf of the Goddess and His Majesty King Andalor," she proclaimed, coming to stand behind Margul's chair. "Very well," Margul replied. "Ghalbar, as you've already done it once today, I'm quite sure that you know what needs be done now," he prompted, receiving a somewhat embarassed smile in return. Without another word, the younger man rose, unsheathed his sword and slashed his palms -- first the left and then the right. Margul unsheathed his own sword and used it to slash open his palms. Each man took the other's weapon and, swords balanced between them, laid hands one above and one below on each blade. In doing so, they demonstrated the strength of the oath being taken. By placing his hands on top of the blades, Margul's position as head of house was reaffirmed, while Ghalbar's as lead counselor was shown by the presence of Margul's sword. None of the others would be allowed to touch Ghalbar's blade when their oaths were offered to him, as they were not swearing themselves to him as equals. When Margul and Ghalbar had sworn the warriors' oath, the rest of the council rose and bowed to each of them. Various swords, daggers and other implements of the trades that they represented were placed before Ghalbar as tokens of the pledges that they represented. He accepted them with the respect that they were due. As soon as the person offering his or her pledge had offered a blood oath, Ghalbar placed his still-bleeding hand on each of the implements before him. When the last of the items to taste blood that day had been added to the pile, the Priestess stepped forward, her hands raised over it. "The blood of those here today, and the items that they offer in the sight of all present bind them to each other as they are bound to the earth, the sky and the Goddess who watches all with equal interest. The Goddess will know if any here break the oaths that they have sworn and will look on them with the disdain that those who break oaths sworn on their own blood deserve," she proclaimed, voice carrying to all who stood around the table. "Under the scrutiny of the Goddess, now take back these items, and keep them with you as reminders of the commitments that you have made to each other and to her. Keep them well and she will look on your deeds with love. Keep them badly and she will know this as well." She stepped back so that the items could be returned to their owners. "Thank you," Margul murmured to her as he sat down. "I appreciate your assistance in this and will find you before I leave tomorrow to offer a gift to the Goddess and those for whom she cares." "Any such gift will be accepted with the same love and in the respect in which it is offered," she replied. "I shall be pleased to speak with you of this and other things before you leave." "Very well. I shall find you shortly after the evening meal and before you must retire for the night." "Until then," she replied, leaving the room as quietly as she had entered it. Fortunately, there was little other business and moments later, the Forst Council meeting broke up. "What now?" Charla asked, once the room had cleared. "Now, we prepare to return home with the small contingent that Vestra will need to protect our seat." Margul sighed, mind turning to the problems that still beset his family. Though the oaths that had been sworn would keep most from causing trouble, there would be a very few whose word would not hold. He knew that it was far better for most of the House to be at Fairwoods Keep where Ghalbar could keep an eye on them. There was little doubt that Lord Randock could be trusted to advise Ghalbar well until he found his own cadre of trusted advisors. However, most of the other land-houses could not be trusted, and Ghalbar's comparative inexperience might prove problematic in dealing with them. His enthusiasm could get him into trouble, and only time would teach him how to deal with some of the plots he would face. Charla's gentle touch on his arm brought him back from his musings. "What?" he murmured, still not fully focused on the question she had apparently repeated several times. When she next spoke, her voice did not mask the frustration she felt at having been ignored. "We must make final decisions about the beings who will go with us on our journey," she reminded him. Margul's eyes narrowed. He could make a very good guess at what she was about to say next. She would want to bring along the young troll Jhorgab, who babbled more than the brook that ran along Fairwoods' north wall. "He's not coming. I mean that young troll whom I have seen following you around like a watch-beast will not be coming with us." "And why not?" Charla demanded, temper flaring in concert with her aura. "He talks incessantly, is too young for a journey of this length, and knows nothing of the kind of work that must be done to help the thousands whom we will be assisting to reach their new homes." "Only partially true," Charla countered. "He knows much of the Realm, and has far more experience on dangerous journeys than you might think." "How could a troll as young as little Jhorgab possibly have such experience?" Margul challenged. He had a sinking feeling that Charla's next argument would sway him toward bringing the annoying little being with them. "He was one of the company who accompanied Mage Mulder and Warrior Healer Scully on the journey to find Mage Hannu. Further, if you demand a political connection, his uncle is Krolgar, the troll trader who supplied us with so many of the tools we needed to defeat Dordinal. Having a member of his family along on such a journey will, doubtless, facilitate our relations with the trolls once we return." "Hmmph!" Margul grunted. Much as the little being was loud and sometimes obnoxious, he had to admit that the youngling troll was not as intolerable as he had thought on first meeting him. His energy and enthusiasm had penetrated even Margul's stiff defenses. "Besides," Charla went on, "I find him gregarious and entertaining and completely charming." "I shall have to think on it," Margul growled, rising to leave the table. "Evening meal is in two candlemarks, and I will have a decision for you by then." "As you say," Charla said with a knowing smile. Margul's love for her would deny her nothing that was in his power to give. In the end, he would acquiesce to her request to bring the youngling troll along on their 'wondrous, exciting, dangerous and most fascinating adventure'. * * * "Oh, Lord Margul, I am so pleased that you have decided to allow me to join your fine and most thrilling party!" Jhorgab babbled early the next morning. Needless to say, the troll youngling had been extremely vociferous in his appreciation. Margul was only glad he had been able to delay announcing his decision until after the evening meal. As a result, the trolls had a sleepless night as Jhorgab excitedly collected the materials that he would need. "I am sure we will have a wonderful journey full of the kind of adventure one can only find with the finest beings of the Realm. Why, when I was with Mage Mulder and Warrior Healer Scully on their desperate trek to find the legendary Mage Hannu, I was sure many times that we would come to a nasty end. From the Dark Queen's terrible privations to the horrid Rax, there were so many barriers to overcome and challenges to meet. The Mage and his bondmate -- not to mention the wonderful Lady Shannon - took them all in stride, much as I am sure that you and Lady Charla will as well...." Margul turned and glowered at Jhorgab, hoping to intimidate the youngling troll into silence. Even Charla had become somewhat tired of his incessant chatter. Margul knew that he would have to watch these two closely over the next few days. In an unguarded moment, Charla might be inclined to take action against Jhorgab, much as King Andalor had warned him might happen. Andalor had laughed long and loud on hearing of Margul's grudging willingness to take Jhorgab. The young man slapped Margul on the back, reminding him to make sure to count the horses every morning as Charla might well turn the little troll into one in order to 'shut him up'. Much as the little being irritated him, Margul knew His Majesty's prediction might well come to pass if care was not taken to keep Jhorgab's verbal excesses away from her from time to time. Margul was distracted from thoughts of the youngling troll by the arrival of King Andalor and Lady Shannon. "Travel well and safely," King Andalor declared loudly, so that all in the party might hear him. "The Realm and its many new subjects thank you for your willingness to take on this valuable work. Your deeds and sacrifices will be remembered by me and all of the beings of the Realm. Travel in peace and safety, return in health and joy." "Your sentiments are deeply appreciated by all in my party and in the Houses represented here," Margul responded. "Whether Forst or Ranfaus, Highlands or Norwood, all who travel under your banner on this journey will do their best to ensure the safety and prosperity of those whom we seek to help." He had deliberately chosen to take some of Forst's hotheads along in order to allow them to spend their energy in battle against enemies rather than in making trouble for Ghalbar. Even so, most of the party were older, more experienced warriors and nobles well-versed in the diplomatic and other skills that would be desperately needed on their journey. The thirty beings who would accompany Margul all of the way to the Valley of the Lost Houses cheered loudly, as the party prepared to move out through the castle's gates. Vestra's party of nearly fifty warriors and support staff would follow them on the morrow. One final celebration would be held at Forst's seat before the expedition finally left for the north. The celebration would be as much a show of Margul's support for Vestra as it was the glorious send-off that he wanted it to appear to be. When all were settled on their horses, Margul gave the signal to advance. He waited for the party to pass through the gates before falling in beside Charla, who had taken up a position at the rear of their small column. As they passed under the great stone lintel of the castle's mighty gates, Margul took her hand, and raised it in a final salute to the young king for whom he had developed a profound respect. As they set off on their own challenging journey, Margul could only hope Andalor would face no great problems on the path leading from his marriage to the family that he knew the King desired above all things. Sadly, the fog of plots and maneuvering that shaped things at Fairwoods had already encompassed the King and his beautiful fiancee. Margul could only hope that its mists would not conceal the evil that had brought so many of Fairwoods' previous rulers to an early and undeserved end. End of Chapter Twenty Seven THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter - Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Twenty-Eight Andalor signed contentedly, feeling the best he had in... well, the best he had felt ever, now that he thought about it. The Realm was relatively peaceful; the Noble Houses were again busy with internecine squabbling, leaving the rest of the land ignored for the moment; and the woman he adored lay naked and sleeping in his arms.... * * * * There had been an air of anticipation throughout Fairwoods for a week, as numerous parties and receptions were held for the dignitaries who streamed into the capital to attend the Royal Wedding. The excitement was contagious, and affected everyone with the exception of the Royal Couple, who wanted nothing more than for everything to be over so they could begin their lives together. The day had begun with stormy weather, driving Ballorca to distraction as he scrambled to make contingency plans for the wedding that evening. But gradually throughout the day, the sky cleared, treating the Realm to a glorious sunset as the torches were lit in the courtyard and the wedding guests filed into the Great Hall to the sound of trumpet fanfares. The Hall was still in the process of being rebuilt. The walls were up, as was the massive door that opened onto the wide center aisle of the edifice. The design of the building was the brainchild of the Professor, Ballorca, and a guild of Mages who specialized in the spells of Construction. What had been completed thus far showed an eclectic mix of gothic and contemporary -- the Professor's contribution -- and traditional Realm design. But no one doubted that the finished structure would be just as splendid as the old Great Hall, destroyed by the Dark Queen. The roof had yet to be raised, allowing the twin moons and a profusion of stars in a midnight-blue sky to shine down into the packed hall. Even Ballorca had to admit that despite the defiance of tradition, the seers had been wise to insist that the wedding must be held in the evening. Indeed, the resplendent canopy of the heavens seemed to be the natural finishing touch to the flowers and decorations swathing the Great Hall, the courtyard, and the castle itself. The common beings of the Realm had lined up early to claim a place in the tiers of stands that lined the walls of the Great Hall. It was a wonder those stands bore the weight of all that pushed and crowded their way onto them. Andalor's popularity among his subjects was the greatest of any King in living memory, and his choice of a bride from the commoner class only served to endear him more to them. Beings in bright traditional costumes came from their distant ancestral homes - the elves from Fairwoods Glens, the trolls from Jinderling, the gargoyles from Goodearth Caverns - to become a part of the spectacle. When the stands were filled past the groaning point, the procession of nobles and dignitaries began, each informed in no uncertain terms what the crowd thought of them. Prince Mavor and his party earned the cheers of onlookers as they processed down the aisle, waving to the crowd. Representatives of the trolls and gargoyles received similar plaudits from their vocal factions in the stands. The parties of the Noble Houses were generally much less enthusiastically received. There were exceptions, however. Though still in the process of rebuilding their hierarchies after season- cycles of exile, the newly-named Householders of the Lost Houses marched in proudly beside colorful banners bearing crests not seen in generations. They received an extended ovation from the crowd, as they were welcomed back to their long-empty places in the Hall. Ghalbar, accompanied by a small delegation from Forst, was also cheered. Many in the crowd of onlookers were somewhat disappointed; they had been looking forward to getting a glimpse of Lord Margul and his consort Mage Charla, about whom they had heard so much of late. But they were content to give the Forst representatives who were there an appropriate welcome in return for the benefits they had brought the northern area of the Realm. There were exclamations of surprise, then cheering as Lord Mandor, leaning heavily on his son Tallor, limped down the aisle at the head of the Ranfaus delegation. It was his first public appearance since almost being killed in the collapse of the Great Hall, and the onlookers made sure he knew how much he was respected and missed. But the arrival of Dordinal in the hall was greeted with jeers and catcalls. No one could have failed to notice that the House's ranks were markedly diminished. Not only had their numbers been decimated in the disastrous war with Forst, but the in-fighting to replace Hegan as Householder had been bloodier and deadlier than usual. Onlookers took note of who appeared in the procession, less because they cared personally for the nobles than because most had wagered money or goods on the eventual winner of the battle. When all the members of the Council of Representatives had finally filed in with their retinues and taken their seats, the fanfare stopped. There was a brief period of silence, broken by the trumpets blaring the plaintive, haunting anthem of Andalor's House. The High Priestess was first, accompanied by her chief acolyte. They mounted the dais and stood before the two thrones. Next came those who were closest to the King -- Captain of the Guards Jourdain and Captain Aldara, followed by Lita holding Daanna's hand. Royal Mage Reinald and Mage Tarnor were behind them, then Professor Neumann and Mage Hannu, and finally Healer Kyla and Lady Livirnea. They filed into the seats immediately in front of the dais. It was strikingly obvious that two chairs remained empty -- Andalor had ordered it so, for the friends who meant so much to both him and the Realm, who had not been able to be with them on this happy occasion. Finally, the King began the long walk up the center aisle, alone. His steps were measured, in time to the haunting music, now taken up by fiddlers and harpists and lutists. The mood had turned solemn, reflected in the silence of the formerly boisterous crowd. Outwardly, he was the picture of regal calm. Inwardly, his heart thumped painfully in his chest. He hadn't been able to see Shannon all day, separated by both custom and their last-minute duties, and every bone and muscle in his body ached to see her. He wondered how she was feeling. At last he reached the dais and climbed the steps to join the High Priestess. The music stopped, the last notes floating skyward. He began his first chant of the night, once again mentally thanking the Goddess for his eidetic memory as he did so. The chant lasted every bit of a candlemark, reciting his long list of forebears and their accomplishments. Then the High Priestess began her chant, solo at first, then with responses by her acolyte, and finally Andalor joined in. Most of the onlookers shifted from one foot to the other during the long chants. But now that the chants had ended, their attention was rivetted to the huge door as it swung open on noiseless hinges. A fanfare was struck, a new one composed for the occasion, that would always be Shannon's own. The melody was exotic by Realm standards and conveyed to the onlookers a message of fierce courage and deep love. They were spellbound by the music, then thunderstruck by the image of their Queen-to-be as, alone, Shannon began to walk slowly down the center aisle. There was an audible intake of breath from the crowd. Her gown was new, but made in the traditional style -- a shimmering rainbow composed of the narrowest imaginable strips of heavy matte satin, representing all the colors from every ensign, crest and seal in the Realm. It should have been gaudy, but it wasn't, giving merely the impression of marvelous, indefinable color. Far from the simple straight sheaths that were worn even for formal occasions, the skirts of the gown were full, trailing off in a train some five meters long. The sleeves were long and flowing, more diaphenous than the skirts, but glowing with the same colors. The bodice, however, was so tightly fitted Shannon might have been poured into it, and was low cut not only by the Realm's but any standards. Her head was bare by tradition, but her abundant dark tresses had been sculpted into an elaborate arrangement that had taken candlemarks, and a good bit of patience by the girl. She wore the Crown Jewels, never seen except at occasions such as these. Andalor himself had removed them from the vault, entrusting them to Jourdain and Aldara for delivery to Shannon and the myriad of servants helping to ready her. The Queen's Crown was removed from the vault at the same time and placed into the hands of the High Priestess, who would say the traditional prayers and blessings over it. But the brilliant sapphire, diamond and emerald necklace now graced Shannon's neck and the matching earrings sparkled from her ears, and the crowd murmured its appreciation of her beauty. The acolyte waited at the bottom of the dais steps, and assisted Shannon to climb them. She looked graceful, feminine in the traditional finery, though Andalor well knew that the leather breeches and flowing white shirt of the warrior was her preferred garb, and better reflected her strength and independence than what she now wore. But Andalor was spellbound nonetheless. He knew what the dress was to be -- it was after all a traditional design -- and he knew what the jewels looked like. But never could have he imagined the total effect of the clothes and jewels, added to his bride's inate loveliness. Shannon stepped to the left of the High Priestess, who stood in the center of the dais with Andalor on her right. At a nod from the holy woman, she began her chant in her rich, pleasant alto. The chant was mercifully short, as the excitement rose in the onlookers. Before long, Reinald was summoned to the dais. The High Priestess addressed the crowd in New Realm. "We meet on one of the happiest occasions our lives offer, the acknowledgement of true love and a deep bond between two beings, in this case, the King who in his wisdom guides the Realm, and the woman with whom he has chosen to share his life. She has proven by her courageous performance in the Ritual of Readiness to be worthy of the position which marriage to the sovereign of the Realm will bring her. Your Majesty, Lady Shannon...." She took the right hand of each and held them in her own. "May the Goddess bless your union. May you comfort and be comforted, demonstrate strength and wisdom and impart it to each other, and derive from each other all that is good in life. And may the Realm find bounty in the children you produce. In the name of the Goddess...." "In the name of the Goddess!" responded the crowd. The Priestess nodded to Reinald, who approached the pillow the acolyte was holding. From it, he took a thin, ornate chain of purest gold. With a wave of his hand, the length of chain became two, which he handed to the priestess. She draped one over Andalor's right wrist, the other over Shannon's. With trembling fingers, Reinald held the two ends of Andalor's bracelet, closed his eyes and muttered something in Old Realm. Instantly, there was a glow and the two ends fused, fitting the bracelet to his wrist, to remain there forever. Then he did the same with the length of chain on Shannon's wrist. Tears in his eyes, he kissed both of them on the forehead, then stepped back. "From this moment onward, Andalor and Shannon belong to each other," the High Priestess intoned. There was a whoop from the audience, and wild cheering, almost drowning out the triumphant air struck up by the musicians. Smiling, the youngsters waved to the crowd. Andalor turned to his bride. "At last," he murmured close to her ear. "Goddess, Shannon, I love you so much. I feared so many times this day would never come, and now you are mine forever, as I am yours." He cupped her face in his hands, and brought his lips to hers. To say that the crowd went wild would have been an understatement. Finally, she pulled away, tears glistening in her eyes. "And I love you, Andy. I just hope you know what you're doing." He laughed. "I do, though I wish more than anything we could miss the rest of the ceremony and the reception, and get back to our bedchamber." She smiled up at him, and her voice was low and sultry. "I like the sound of that... 'our bedchamber'." He returned her smile and said playfully, "You are not making this any easier, wife." "All things worthwhile are worth waiting for," she promised with a wink. He feigned a groan. "Not making it any easier at all." He kissed her again, and waited for the crowd to finally settle down. He squeezed Shannon's hand as he addressed the throng. "I now bestow upon the Realm the greatest gift I can think of -- to crown my beautiful new wife as their Queen, to help me guide our land to harmony and prosperity, to love all our beings as I love them." He began an Old Realm chant, which was taken up by first the High Priestess, then their closest friends, and finally by all in the Hall who had studied the ritual. The chant became louder and louder, the accompanying music more rhythmically insistent. Andalor nodded at Shannon, and she knelt before him. He took the crown the acolyte bore on a pillow, holding one side of it, the High Priestess holding the other side. The music and chanting suddenly stopped, as the two began a different chant, more ancient than any other in the Realm. Their voices twined in harmony as together, they placed the crown of sparkling emeralds and diamonds on Shannon's head. They assisted her to stand between them and face the crowd. Then her voice joined theirs, the harmony now in three parts which wove over and under each other in a complex and compelling web of sound. Finally, it drew to a close, and the assembled all stood. Andalor announced, "Your Royal Highness Prince Mavor, honorable members of the Council of Representatives, good friends and loyal subjects -- I present to you -- Queen Shannon!" All bowed deeply in respect, then wild cheering once again broke out. She smiled and waved to the crowd, then at a nod from Andalor, grasped his hand and they went down the dais steps together. It took much longer to exit the hall than it had to process in, as they stopped to thank well-wishers along the way. Lord Mandor received a handshake from the King and a kiss from the new Queen for his services in their cause, and even Ghalbar, new as he was to such gatherings, got a nod and a smile. The crowd, on the other hand, left the hall much more quickly than they had arrived, anxious to partake of the sumptuous delicacies, fine wines and music in the courtyard. The summer night was perfect for an outdoor reception. Torches flickering in the warm breeze lit the jewels and finery worn by dancers and merrymakers until, candlemarks later, the dawning sun assumed the task.... * * * * Andalor unconsciously tightened his arms, and Shannon stirred. "I'm sorry, love... did I wake you?" he asked softly. "Not really, I've just been dozing." She ran her hand down his chest, pleased, as she had been candlemarks earlier, with the abundance of light brown hair her fingers encountered. "I wish so much Mulder and Scully could have been here." "I know, love. In the morning we will use an oracle crystal and get in touch with them. How would that be?" In answer, she kissed her husband long and hard. When he could breathe, Andalor asked, "Sorry we didn't stay longer at the reception?" "Are you kidding? I thought we put our time to much better use." Her chuckle was low, sultry as her hand teased his chest, the smooth planes of his abdomen. "As a matter of fact, if you're not doing anything else right now...." Quickly, he rolled on top of her, his elbows supporting his weight. He licked and nibbled and kissed at the sensitive skin of her neck as she squirmed delightedly beneath him. "Queen Shannon, I do believe you are insatiable! I thought I had tired you out." "Just doing my part for-- oooh, Andy! -- for the Realm," she breathed. "I think I'm going to love being your wife!" * * * * They met in the winecellar, back where the oldest and rarest bottles rested on their dusty shelves. The tall patrician man inspected the bottles, handling them gently to avoid stirring up the sediment. "So the King has married his Queen, and all is right with the Realm," the austere noble said quietly. "Well, we will have to see what we can do about that...." Ruloth grunted. "The loss of Vestor in the fighting at Hotsprings is not going to help our cause." The noble shrugged. "Perhaps not as great a loss as you might expect. Vestor served his purpose, but he was, shall we say, not the most subtle of men. We will now be entering a phase of our activities where the more subtle we can be, the better. No, I think that Vestor had outlived his usefulness to us." "Then his death... was not what it appeared to be? He did not die from a Dordinal arrow?" The older man spun around. "Of course he died from a Dordinal arrow! But you do not need to know who fired that arrow. I trust I make myself clear?" "Crystal clear, my lord!" Ruloth paused, thinking. Obviously the old man was wise enough to see the threat as well as the benefits Vestor presented. Possibly, he had even come to know Vestor's plans for his future. It would explain the stocky noble's unlikely death on the field of battle. Ruloth promised himself not to make the same mistake of underestimating the cunning, tenacity and ruthlessness of his Head of House. "Then what are your orders for me?" He went back to checking over his wine collection. "Keep a cool head, and your eyes and ears open. I have put certain people into place, people who hold to our way of thinking. They have their assigned tasks. It is up to them now." "What are they supposed to do?" The old noble turned to peer at his lieutenant through narrowed eyes. "You are becoming quite curious all of a sudden, Ruloth. If I did not know you better, I would suspect you of the same treachery as our late friend Vestor." "I am completely loyal to you, to our plan, my lord!" the younger noble protested. "I know that. If I thought for a single moment otherwise, you would not be standing there." He considered for a moment. "Let us just say that now the King has married his outworlder bitch, it is vital to our plans that they do not produce any heirs. What I have said will have to suffice. It is our unhappy task now to present the picture of a reasonably loyal Noble House. That, and to wait for the people I have put into place to see to it that Andalor is the last of his line." He smiled. And Ruloth felt his blood chill. End of The Magician 3.5 - The Firebrand