One Quarter Saurian

Bits of stone, splintered timber, and seared bone crunched under the feet of the two Harmonant brothers as they moved to the last building standing at the end of Oak Street. It was the last house they had left to check. Walther rested a casual hand on his sword hilt as he kicked the front door of the battered home as hard as he could. The door slapped back against the inside wall and it bounced back part way before coming to a stop. Thin clouds of dust swirled in the shaft of sunlight that streamed in through the open door. The hint of charred flesh still hung in the air like an afterthought.

Simon sighed. “You don't have to keep doing that Walther. It’s unseemly.”

“I like kicking doors open,” he said as he headed into the long deserted space. “I’d break glass if I could find any.”

“Dukes do not kick open doors. They have men for that.”

Walther pushed a chair away from a few pieces of crate that had been used for a table. “The barracks are a little thin this week.” He checked an ink bottle, found it empty, and tossed it to the side.

“Do you really expect to find anything of any value in this loose collection of bricks and boards?”

“It's something to do,” Walther sighed as he turned over an empty wooden box. With a quick hand, he reached inside and pulled out a scrap of paper with writing on one half of one side. “This might be something.” He handed it to Simon and waggled it until his brother took the half- finished note.

“It’s in one of the darker tongues,” Simon said. “It has a sergeant telling his girl that she should be with him because he is the strongest in his squad.”

Walther put his hands on his hips and stared at the walls one by one. “So, I looked around and found a decent fire- starter. Great.”

“And, our sargeant says that the town of Lord’s Ferry, the town where she lives, is about to be quote swallowed by a thousand devils endquote.” Simon turned to page over in his hands until he was sure that there was nothing more of interest. “Bad day to be in Lord’s Ferry.”

Walther walked out of the building and snapped the note away from his brother on the way. “I’d imagine any day in Lord’s Ferry is a bad day. We have any idea where that is?”

“Down the coast and inland, I think.”

“That’s the last of the intact buildings in this quarter,” Walther said. “Next, I guess we search the piles of rubble.” He started toward a pile of charred stones, that might have been a building once upon a time. “Look at this, I’m the Duke of Rubbleville.”

Simon laughed a little and followed as well as his bad leg would allow. “Sure, the city could use some work...”

“I wouldn’t mind moving five miles down the coast and starting over.” He stopped for a moment and looked around at the piles of debris. “The walls are full of holes and the hoard, they just disappeared. That means they might come back. This place is totally indefensible.”

“You’re being a bit harsh.”

“You’re right. I could be the Admiral of a sunken fleet. That would be much better.” Walther kicked a stone out from a pile and a skinny rat scurried back deeper into the stone pile. He looked up at the sound of a rider coming their way. One of the guards was working to get his attention.

“Sir, we have an army coming at us from the North. It must be two hundred of them coming on foot.”

“I’ll be right there,” Walther said as he swung up into the saddle on his horse Lucky. “There are only a hundred of us. Looks like my tenure in the position of Duke might be mercifully short.”

Simon swung has bad leg up and onto his steed. “You aren’t that lucky.”




Walther and Simon joined their brothers at the North Gate. Duke Walther pointed to his left and spoke directly to the leaders of the two squads. “Sir Tancred, I want your guys on the wall, ready to fire. Sir Adrian, I want your guys at my back, securing the gate.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Adrian said as he gestured to his squad.

“That’s not going to get tiring,” Walther said as he shifted in his saddle. “Come on. Let’s get out there.” He rode out a few steps with his brothers at his side. Three of the approaching Saurians broke off from the mob and walked forward slowly. They came within twenty paces of the brothers and fell to their knees and bowed while speaking with a series of clicks and hisses. “Simon, what are they saying?”

“They are begging for sanctuary, milord,” Simon smiled.

Walther slung a leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. He pulled a waterskin from the saddle horn and walked toward the three beggars. “I think these are women. I mean, female Saurians.”

Simon rode along beside Walther. “Now I know how you got the job. Eyes like an eagle.”

“What else are they saying?”

“They were driven from their homes by the, ah, mannish hoard up the coast.”

“That’s where Duke Melicter set up, right?”

“Yes. If you take them in, it will be trouble.”

Walther pulled the stopper out of the end of the waterskin and took a drink. “Tell them to get up.” The three women stood as he continued. “They will all have to work as best they can. They’ll need to help rebuild the walls and they will need to fish. If they do that they can have sanctuary here in Hiadron.”

“Are you sure you want me to translate that?”

“No,” Walther shrugged, “but a city needs people.”

Victor called out from behind the two men. “They outnumber us two to one.”

“And they are not armed. Get a good look. Maybe five people in this lot could fight if they had to. They must have been walking for days.” Walther handed the waterskin out to the reptilian woman in the center of the three.

She stepped forward slowly and took the waterskin from Walther. As Simon spoke, she watched the two men with dark lidless eyes. She tasted the water and drank a little before passing it on to her sister to the left. She spoke slowly in a series of hisses and clicks, eyeing Walther.

“She wants to know your name,” Simon said.

“Walther Harmonant. I’m the Duke of Hiadron.” He extended a hand to her, hoping it was a universally friendly sign.

She took his hand and they pumped their arms up and down for an uncomfortable moment.

"That's it then," Walther said as he walked back to his horse. He slung up into the saddle and wheeled his horse around. "Let's go find a good place for a Saurian Quarter."




“This place is as hot as Hell’s hinges,” Victor said as he set his dinner plate aside.

“You have an opinion about everything,” Oberon said.

“So. Am I not entitled to my opinion?” Victor started twirling his chin whiskers, warning the others of the coming debate.

Walther stood to get their attention and change the subject. “I’m loading my gear onto one of the ships tomorrow and sailing south. I’m headed for this little town of Lord’s Ferry that has some kind of threat hanging over it.”

Simon put his glass aside and spoke slowly. “To do that, you’ll have to go through Endoch. And that will require a state meeting.”

“No. I’ll just ride past it and explain later.”

“That’s just going to cause problems, Walther.”

“I do not care. And I am not going to be having another silver plate dinner while Lord’s Ferry is on fire.” He refilled his glass and sat back down.

Lukas pushed his plate away. “These guys can’t possibly hold the city by themselves.”

“The saurians will help.”

“Our troops do not trust them.” Lukas cracked his knuckles.

Walther laughed. “They went out to fish this afternoon and started working on the city walls. Feeding troops is a pretty good way to get trust.” He leaned forward and looked at the brothers one by one. “We could sit on this pile of stones or we could ride out and help the people of Lord’s Ferry. What do you say?”

One by one the other Harmonant brothers agreed.



-- by Bill

Schedule July-September 2007

The Schedule for July and September:

Saturday July 28, 2007: 11 am to 5 pm
Sunday August 12, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm
Sunday August 26, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm (cancelled)
Sunday September 16, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm
Sunday September 30, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm

Schedule March-June 2007

The Schedule for March, April, and May:

March 4, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm
March 18, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm
April 1, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm *
April 22, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm
May 6, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm (possibly later -- maybe 8 pm? -- dinner included)
June 3, 2007 12 noon to 6 pm
June 17, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm


* Note: This is no April Fools' Day joke -- we will be playing.

The Fallen

The tiny drops of blood flew out in a lazy three foot arc from the monster’s shoulder where Lukas had cut a fresh new valley. The mountainous gray-skinned beast hung still for a moment as his blood lost momentum and fell like rain on the scattered stones of the ruined peak. After a long pause, gravity decided to drop him in a heap and he fell like he was always meant to lie in a meaty pile at our worn and beaten feet. I staggered over and watched the last of the malicious light drift from his wicked eyes. Then I raised my sword and with a couple of swings, separated his knobby head from his shoulders just to be sure.

“I thought that troll would never fall,” Victor said.

“Are you sure that wasn’t an ogre?” Simon deadpanned.

“Yeah, he’s sure.” I groaned as I weaved away from the last of the battlefields. All across the outpost, the granite was slippery with the life that had dripped and flooded from us over the course of the last half hour. Sticky battle axes and scorch marks and armored dead bodies dotted everything in sight and the wind was bringing us the fresh scents of the sea making the whole scene a little unreal and distant.

Picking a trail through the dead barbarians, I ended the short walk at the cliff’s edge where Taylor and Swain had fallen. Taylor had dropped across his ally and they were resting eternally within easy reach of the climbing rope back down to the rowboats that we had used to come over to the reedy shore. Taylor was staring up at me with dead accusing eyes. Kneeling, I looked into his eyes for a moment and found no spark of life. Letting go of my wounded belly, I closed Taylor’s eyes with my left hand, not wanting to let go of the sword in my right. I said a quick prayer for their souls in the Celestial tongue of my faith.

Oberon made his way up behind me. “Walther, are you all right?”

“No,” I croaked is a low voice.

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Did you know them well?”

“Well enough.” I pointed at Taylor. “He had a couple of elderly parents that he was helping. He worked on their farm a couple of days a week. He was from Prendor like us.”

“What about the other one?”

“Swain had a wife and a couple of kids. It’s all on a piece of paper in his belt. I wrote it down for them last night after we finished going over the plans for the invasion.” Using the sword point as a brace, I stood and stared down at the two. “By my count, there are seven of us left.”

Oberon pulled me back a few feet to a nearby stone and sat me down. After opening up a leather carrying case that resembled a small bed roll, he started examining my wounds. “That seems right. How many wounds do you think you have?”

“I dunno. Four or five bad ones.” My eyes were still fixed on the dead men in my charge. “I feel like I need to do something for them. I’m not sure what the plan was, but I want them prepared for funeral and taken home to Prendor.”

Oberon pulled a black lacquered wand from his case and checked the inscription on the narrow base. “The fallen were to be prepared and buried at a holy site here.” With a kindly smile he waived it across my shoulders for a moment.

“Maybe we can make some sort of accommodation. Anyway, I want to give the families 100 coins each. It’s not enough to make up for the loss, but it’s important. I want to show my respect, my esteem for these two. They were good soldiers and they died like men should.”

Oberon smiled as he checked the bite marks on my shoulder. “I always thought old age would be a good way to go.” He moved the breastplate to get a better look into the wound. “This one is pretty deep.”

I turned my head and let him work. Long- necked sea birds had landed on the freshly dead bodies of the barbarians and they were making quick work of the flesh still left on the bone. Newcomers hopped sideways along the still cocked catapults looking for a place at the dining table. “The worst of the lot is along my belly.” Looking back at Taylor, I unbuckled the left side catch and pulled the chest plate back a little.”

Oberon blanched. “When did this happen?”

“When the archers along the low wall opened up on us, I made a run at them. I didn’t know that they had battle axes behind that thing, but we needed a minute to regroup.”

“There is a lot of blood here.”

“All mine,” I quipped.

Oberon moved to get a better look at the injury. “Are you sure you have any left inside?”

“Just enough.” Our presence was keeping the carrion feeders away from my men. “Look Oberon, I owe you an apology. I was getting furious at you guys back there.”

“When we were bringing the rest of the men up the ropes?”

“Yeah. I was watching those savages work the catapults and I wanted to rush them. This team sank two ships as I watched.” A shooting pain ushered in a clingy cold across my stomach and I knew the wound was closing. “But if I had rushed them, I’d be as dead as Taylor.”

“I would imagine so.” Oberon refastened the catch on the breastplate. “Your stomach wound should be good as new in a few minutes.”

“I’ll try to stay off of it for a while.”

“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“No, but I know why old soldiers have that particular look in their eyes.”
We looked out across the open water for a long moment before he spoke. “Why?”

“Old soldiers have seen things no one should see. And they know that they have managed to survive only by the grace of God. Behind that is just a touch of guilt for the ones left behind.” With a flick of the wrist I slung the last of the fresh drops of blood off of the end of the blade. “I suppose we should go through that last tower so that we can give the all clear signal.”

“I think we have time enough,” Oberon said. Looking across the battlefield, he said, “Victor seems to need me for something.”

“Yeah. He almost got knocked out of the saddle. Thanks for the mending, Oberon.” As a reply, he smacked me on the shoulder and then he was across the field checking a wound on Victor’s side. The wind drove a fresh scent across the carnage of the field and under a bright blue sky, I looked for something to cover the bodies of the fallen.

-- by Bill

Reflection

The day’s light faded slowly towards dusk breaking into all of the familiar beauties of sunset. Looking out over the sea, Victor watched the thickish storm clouds on the homeward side of the island plowing towards the waning colors with their thought provoking contrasts. At once ominous and threatening with the quick flashes of lightning reminding of the dark gray-white truth of the storm then returning calmly to the wash of breathtaking skyfire, crimsons, tangerines, and indigos.

With a faint huffing of breath the shapeshifting youth that had come along to see the advent of war stepped up the southern slope stopping a few feet behind Victor.

“What do you see?”

Victor hesitantly broke his upward gaze recognizing the voice and wondering with a slow blink of his eyes what face he would see this time. As his own face prepared to master any outward signs of surprise he started to glance toward the voice. Calmly checking that sideways motion of his head he resumed his slightly raised westerly view deciding his poise was better kept without seeing whichever unfamiliar or uncomfortably familiar visage his enquirer might choose to show.

“I see a reflection of myself, my mind, my heart, my spirit, my past. What is it that you see?”

The boy, Aushedar, choosing now to look out with eyes strangely resembling Victor’s own said, “I see a reflection of the world around me, storms behind me, fading beauty in front of me, darkness to be.”

“Darkness is ever the herald of tomorrow’s light. You have seen much of the world at the same tender age I had. Your parents killed, enslaved by those who care not for your well-being and now you travel with your mother’s killers to see more bloodshed in the name of a just god whose service you have been asked into. I will confess that often times I have thought that tomorrow’s light be far more terrible than it’s precursor. Ironic that we both go forward under the banner of this god Elos, god of the sun, giver of light.”

The storm drifts closer as the setting light changes to only a lingering blush withdrawing from the blue-black curtain of dusk. Aushedar’s voice struggles to rise in his throat, this time less certain.

“Y-you speak truly. I came here with you murderers that would be saviors to see something of men and this Elos and the evil beyond my mother. I am a-afraid. H-how do you do it, how do you calmly wait for the light?”

A soft sprinkling of rain gently started to fall on them as the last reminder of tomorrow reluctantly fell beyond the eastern horizon. Victor regretted his bluntness and turned to face the faceless whose face was none other than his own though younger and afraid, as he had been, as some part of him still was. No surprise arose this time for he was prepared now to look in that face, his own face, the face of truth, anger, the past. In the last half-light he answered honestly and with compassion.

“I will show you. Now, as you feel these tears of Narduna, my chosen goddess, wetting your brow, now is the time of all men who would ask such questions. Now you must let your own tears fall until you can no longer tell hers from your own. She will cleanse you in the darkness, she will listen as you spill out your truths. She will wait as you empty yourself, hollow yourself, making a dark void within, for darkness is ever the herald of light. That is how I do this. Would you take a knee now beside me?”

The rain poured a little heavier now, the clouds blending their grays into the dusky beyond. Without another word Aushedar moved close enough for Victor to hear that familiar sound, the choked muffling of sobbing barely discernible from the pattering water falling about them. Their hair sponging full dripped forth its streams with the impact of knees meeting dampening earth.

Victor let his mind sink deeply having glimpsed the face of himself, so young, fighting back pain, not so different. The sky, the ground, the sound of rain, all fading away as the sun until all that was left was the warmth on his face. It was good that the rain was warm tonight, warm as tears.

- by Jon

Swimming With Lizards

A fair morning dawned, not too warm yet still lacking the chill of most mornings, that kind of perfect morning that rouses lusts in men and finding no relief for such affections stirs him to action instead. So Victor arose amidst the encampment of men awaiting battle and looked to the nearby beaches. “This morning deserves a swim. Akreth come.”

A laughable sight, a man clad only in short leathers and a horse sized lizard strolling towards the water as if for a morning swim. A few hails and hellos along the way and the two companions arrived at the pristine salt sea.

A couple of hours passed when Simon came back dripping atop his gleaming clockwork steed, a laughing air about him, to tell his brothers of his play. “You all must see this. Come down to the water for a minute. Even I could not resist a wash in the sea. Really though, Victor has half the camp in fits.”

A quizzical glance from Oberon, “Whatever do you mean brother? Stop your suspense and tell us. Is he in trouble?”

“No, no. You must see it. He has been trying to teach that overgrown iguana to swim, to no avail of course. He even recruited a dolphin for his lessons. I saw him trying to talk to the animals earlier, as if they’re intelligent enough for that. That’s amateur magic for you. His beast will hardly put a toe in the water, true comedy.”
After a quick change the remaining Harmonants strolled to the water’s edge listening to Simon’s chastising review all the way. Even Lukas couldn’t hold back a giggle. “There, there, look at that.”

There was Victor, as serious a face as ever trying in vain to coax his lizard forward into the water as a dolphin playfully leapt over the waves a dozen yards behind. “Come on Akreth. Look there, see, he can do it. It’s so simple. One foot after another, then a bit of paddling and you’re doing it. Almost like walking on cavern walls. Come on.”

The large drake stared at Victor in almost human disbelief. Any onlooker could practically hear his gaze saying, “Me, do what?”

Many men of the camp, stirred by the wondrous morning, had gathered by now and many a snicker playfully rose into the soothing morning air. “Look at that thing.” “Just the thought of it!” Some of the men were rolling in the sand trying hopelessly to disguise their amusement.

Victor only smiled and seeing his brothers said, “My brothers, the water’s fine. Have you any suggestion for making reptiles amphibian?”

With that, Walther, the youngest, charged the rear flanks of the creature hoping to push him in by sheer force and only managed to force another reluctant toe as he flopped into the laughing waters aside the great beast. “Sorry Victor, there’s no hope for it. He’ll just have to stick to walls, ha, get it?”

Walther shot a stream of salty water from his mouth, cascading over the lizard’s back before diving with a laugh back into the water.

“You’re right Walther. I’ve been at it for hours. He’s hopeless. Looks like all my entertainment will have to be splash my brother instead.”

As Victor swung his arm like a sword to send a great wall of water towards Walther, Lukas already at a run, landed a full body splash all over his brother Victor. He came up for a laughing breath saying, “I’m, winning,” and swam off to get another good one in on Walther.

- by Jon

How many halves make a whole?

It has been too long since I have written to my sisters, yes, well, my half-sisters as I have been now informed. Caged a year in a cave, under royal restraint another year in a city I had never seen for a “crime” I still don’t wholly understand and now? Now waiting to fight for an almost obsessed holy war to engulf the known world, more or less trapped again within the church’s most powerful city. In the midst of it all, a mysterious letter in the hand of my deceased mother and another in the hand of whom I now am to recognize as my second dead father, though he be my true sire.

“Victor. What’re you doing, always brooding about?” My youngest half-brother Walther comes out onto the balcony. It’s far too nice of a day for two able bodied men to be just staring off at nothing. As I lean over the railing, I hardly notice the panorama of the holy city below.

“Thinking about things Walther, the past, the future. Trying to compose a letter.“

“You’re always thinking about things. The past is gone and the future is looking more exciting all the time. Why don’t you just leave it at that? Who’re you writing to anyway?”

Walther steps towards the little table behind me were my paper lay to try a peek. I do not move to intercept him as I haven’t written a word yet.

“You have the great wisdom of youth Walther. I will try my best to heed your advice. I am writing a letter to my sister in Hathaine.”

“You have another sister? Do I know her? Does that make her my sister too? I kind of miss our sister Elissa.”

Even with his head bowed towards the table, I can see Walther’s longing as his hand glides over the blank paper.

“Yes I miss Elissa as well, but no this sister is of my mother not of our father. I have not seen her in over three years now, her and my other three sisters. I hope they are untouched by this war. They are as dear to me as you all are now.”

“Well, I don’t know exactly about being dear to someone, but if that means I protect you like I would Elissa then I agree. I’d protect your other sisters too ‘cause I can and you’re my brother.”

He smiles broadly and steps back away from the balcony railing with enough room to draw his sword if need be.

“You have a great spirit Walther. I will accept your protection. Gods know in this coming war we will all need protection. More than even brothers can give I imagine.”

“Brothers can give more than you would believe Victor. At least I believe that. Elos is our brother also and look what he can give. Well, have fun writing your letter. Tell your sister that the great Walther Harmonant offers his protection to her and her family. See ya’.”

My young brother whirls around and strides through the balcony doors and out through the room beyond, his warrior’s stride echoing heroically off of the stone walls. He is already protecting us all. I sit down to write.

“My dearest Danielle,
I am blessed to be in good hands here. Today marks the……..

- by Jon

The Dark Green Bottle

The low fire guttered and hissed while throwing a soft light into the night’s sky. I was sitting on the edge of my traveling chest, enjoying the crisp breeze coming off of the bay in the relative silence. That heavy piece of furniture made of oak and iron had been doubling for all sorts of things that we were missing in the military camp. Tonight it was a makeshift bench as the crude footstool held the point of my sword. The encampment was muffled by the night and the size of the challenge in front of us. I watched the way the fire light played across the blade as I dragged the whetstone the length of the sword’s blade time and again. The stone sang a low song as it played down the blade.

"If you’re trying to start a fire, you’re running a little late." Simon was standing behind me and smirking at his joke.

"I’m early for the next fire," I said. "Pull up a chair." I scooted to the edge of the chest to make room for my brother.

Simon pulled his bad leg over to the chest and sat at the edge of the fire’s warmth. "Nice night."

I put the whetstone down and dragged an oiled scrap of cloth down the length of the sword. "I hope I didn’t keep you awake with this."

"Nah," Simon said as he glanced back at the leather tent that he shared with Oberon. He put a concerned hand on my shoulder and used his serious voice. "But I am worried about you, Walther."

Thinking about the comment, I finished cleaning the weapon and slid it into the scabbard. He spoke again before I could come up with anything clever.

"Do you want to become some sort of holy warrior?"

"Why do you ask?" I pulled out a dagger and started sharpening it with the same flat stone.

"Every where we go, you hand over what can only be described as an enormous amount of coins to the local church. Are you trying to buy your way into some bigger station?" Simon looked like he was pondering a deep flaw in my character.

"Not really. We just find so much, that I don’t mind sharing. And I have no interest in working for the church." I checked the edge of the dagger in the firelight. "Too many rules." Balancing the whetstone and dagger on one thigh, I pulled off my signet ring and handed it to Simon. I asked him a question. "What do you think?"

Simon turned the ring over and across his fingers for a moment. "Your ring has the family crest and a little ‘W’ etched into the corner. Very stylish. And the ring is a little thicker than usual." He looked at me for a second and spoke. "I guess I did not get a good look at the sides of the ring before. One side has the sun divided into quadrants, the Holy Symbol of Elos. And the other side has a sword embedded in stone." He handed the ring back. "That’s the symbol of Geshana, Mistress of Valor."

The ring slid back onto my finger with little effort. "You are correct."

"What’s your point?" Simon looked down his nose at me for a second. "We all know you know how to use a sword."

"The point is that I run on faith. I give away coins to people that I share a common interest with. To expect to get something back would be, I don't know, presumptuous." Wanting to change the subject, I pointed at Simon’s bad leg with the dagger point. "You know, if we can find the right healer, I’d be happy to break your leg for you. Maybe you could get it fixed for good." Cleaned and sharpened, I put the dagger back in its scabbard.

"That is possibly the worst nice thing anybody has ever offered me," Simon said. He stood and patted me on the back. "I want you to be careful tomorrow, Walther." When he spoke, he looked me in the eye and punched the word ‘not’. "Do not rush into trouble when we are facing the hoard."

"But I can rush into trouble because I know that you guys are watching my back." Smiling, I stood and opened the trunk. "Before you go... I got you something." Tossing aside the winter blanket, I pulled a wine bottle out of a few layers of expensive cloth. "I picked this up back at the last port."

He took the dark green bottle in his steady hands. "Ah. I’ve heard good things about that island’s wine." Simon examined the label and extended the bottle to me. "Feel like sharing a glass?"

"Make it a mug and you have a deal." I rummaged in the trunk and pulled out a pair of low ceramic mugs. Simon twisted a finger at the end of the bottle and the cork pulled itself out of the neck to land back in his outstretched hand. A hundred banners of Prendor and its allies flapped in the low wind creating a dull buzz about the camp as a hundred thousand men tried to get some sleep. Most failed. Simon and I drank that bottle of wine as the fires of the camp danced like a thousand fireflies against deep shadows.

-- by Bill

The Man Described

There was a soft drumming sound coming from somewhere as I studied the problem in front of me. The words had to be in the right order for me to pass the test and move on to the next lesson. I glanced to my left and stared at the arrangement of candles for a moment and parlayed that to a look around the room. Hard wooden desks and unyielding wooden stools were pushed to face the walls and everything was immaculate. Even the three students in the windowless room with me practically sparkled with holiness. My voice sounded distant when I finally spoke. "Where is that drumming sound coming from?"

"You are drumming your fingers on that piece of armor that you insist on wearing to my study room," Brother Johnathon said in his most insistent tone. "Celestial is an easy language to grasp. Just write the sentence."

"I keep getting the words backwards," I said and I put my hands back on the table. "I know the right words, but I keep getting them out of line. Order is important, right?"

"Walther, order is everything," Brother Johnathon said as he pulled over an empty wooden stool. He aimed his gleaming teeth and large ears at me and knitted his brows to let me know he was serious and that I should listen carefully. "In Prendorian, adjectives come before nouns. Use a sentence with a subject, verb and object for me."

"All right Brother. Prince Edward is a weaselly man." I straightened in place, pleased with myself.

The good Brother rubbed his temples. "Subject matter aside, that was good. In Celestial, the adjectives come after the nouns. Use the Celestial structure in Prendorian." He showed me his palms. "When you are ready."

"Okay", I said, hands flat on the table. "Prince Edward is a man weaselly, sinister, duplicitous, vile, wicked, ..."

Brother Johnathon touched my arm as he said, "that's good."

"..., black-souled, damnable, repellent, detestable, stinking, ..."

"Enough," he said, raising his voice loud enough so that the other students swung a careful eye in our direction. Brother Johnathon stood and spoke through a tight expression. "Let's step outside for a moment, Walther."

With a bounce, I was on my feet and out in the hallway a few steps behind the Brother. "I got it. And I like it, you can go on just forever with the description."

Out in the hall, he leaned in like he was sharing a secret. "Walther, it is unwise to speak like this in front of others," he said.

I chucked him in the shoulder and grinned, "You're assuming that I don't want Edward to know that we're coming for him. I do." I knocked on the breastplate. "That's why I wear the armor to class." Someone coming down the hall toward our class room caught my eye. In a half-second, I knew it was my pious brother. "Oberon..?"

Oberon looked up from a small wooden box that he had in his right hand. He was more than a little startled. The little box snapped shut. "Walther, what are you doing here in this part of the church?"

"I told you I was going to learn to speak Celestial." Smiling, I jerked a thumb at Brother Johnathon who was waiting patiently.

Oberon turned his head to the side a little. "I thought that was a... Were you trying to be funny?" He kept moving and walked backwards to see what I was going to say.

"I am funny." We said goodbye with a shrug and I turned back to my teacher. "So I'll focus on the lessons from here on out." I threw an arm around my teacher's shoulder. "Do you know where I can get some holy water?"

"Why?" His eyebrows reached for his receding hairline and almost made it.

"A few months back, we were under Larrae and we ran into something that smelled like vomit, rust and wet dog. It turned out to be something called a Chain Devil."

Brother Johnathon stood in the door to the study hall. He motioned at the little desk with my unfinished lesson. "I think we can work something out, if you can focus on your studies."

-- by Bill

The Clerk and the Chamberlain

"Don't you ever sleep?" Chamberlain Jay Melicter stood in the doorway to his office, stroking his immaculate goatee with a knowing smirk. The darkness obscured the orderliness of the the Chamberlain’s office, leaving the impression that the entire office operated under the same scattered chaos as the one lamp-lit desk.

The single lamp’s soft glow reminded him of the shadowy chamber he had left just moments ago. He could still smell her perfume. Lady Anne Melicter, his sister-in-law, had summoned him in the late hours of the evening. That was not unusual in and of itself, but the discussion had been about everything but the usual. The time is now, my dear, with or without Edward’s goblin mercenaries. Our hand has been forced. If they have not yet seen the girl, they will soon. So many secrets, and now so little time… Even in her panic, she had been stunning. He sighed softly at the thought of her soft touch.

Jay's eyes passed over the books on the clerk's small oaken shelf. Two stood out. "How to Spot a Doppleganger" and "The Secrets of the Stars and Sands: a Diviner's Tale". So his young clerk was taken with the arcane, divinations in particular. That was slightly disturbing, but ultimately, the chamberlain thought, of little consequence on a night like tonight.

The pale Courbon clerk looked up from a stack of loan notes, his bleary eyes peaking out from behind a lock of auburn hair. "Sleep? He stretched, looking vaguely annoyed by the interruption. He gave the chamberlain a dark look, "My dreams are too dark. I hate sleep."

He did indeed. Philippe de Molliens was frequently at his desk well into the morning hours. It occurred to him that perhaps Philippe might have heard something the night Sir Victor died. He decided not to mention that, though.

"And the girl? Does she hate sleep as well?"

The clerk stared back, his eyes saying nothing. "Girl?"

"The mousy one I saw rushing down the hall just now with a smile on her face. Lady Melodia Gryne." The clerk stayed quiet. "Philippe, are you a complete fool? I say this to you as a friend and mentor, be careful with that one. She is a noble, and a daughter of an important duke. Do you think he will allow her to marry a commoner? It doesn't matter who your father is. That simply does not happen in Prendor."

The chamberlain sighed at his clerk's stony stare. "That was not why I came here tonight. Philippe, you know I have been pleasantly surprised by your aptitude in the time you have been my clerk. Your skill at finding coin where none exists is unmatched in Larrae. And there will always be a place for such a person in the King's Court if... if... you can keep your head low and out of sight. Especially in the next few days."

"The next few days? What..." Philippe began carefully.

"What did I just say. Is asking questions keeping your head low? No. As I have said, I am fond of you, and find you quite useful... to the realm. When the time comes to choose sides, and it will come, I would suggest you be nowhere to be found. For a clerk of such skill, your stupidity astounds me! I would hate to lose an asset such as you because you rushed headlong into politics." The chamberlain turned to leave, "Stay out of sight, Philippe. There are dark times ahead in Larrae."

As he walked away, the chamberlain thought to himself that Philippe was far too intelligent and competent to be as naive as he seemed. Perhaps the Queen had already gotten to him. Or perhaps Prince Edward. He dismissed the notion, and his mind moved on to other, more pressing matters.

As soon as the chamberlain was gone, Philippe darted from the room, voices shouting at him in his mind. His friends… his sword… his money… Melodia…

The Proposition

“But by selling your raw wool to the Simbelese brokers, you leave most of the profit laying on the table for the dyers and the weavers guild. What the Aggregate needs here is a complete vertical operation—sheep, dye manufacture, spinning combine, weaving, and manufacture and then our merchants and ships can clothe the peoples of the Long Sea and extract the entire profit from the end users. Isn’t it obvious and self-evident!?” exclaimed the skinny but royally clothed teen cripple in a final crescendo of logic.

The blank faces of most representatives of the Benthian Wool Aggregate said it all. Martyk, the oldest of the group and its unofficial leader, however, had heard enough. “But you know the dyes needed to compete in the market are to be found only in Simbelin, and that there is no more closely guarded secret in all of Simbelin than the formulas for those dyes. You could sooner access the maps of the many portals of Ranoc’s Tower than get your hands on the secrets of the Simbelese Dyers Guild. We are shepherds, not magicians, we know sheep and the shearing, not the ways of the vat, wheel, and loom. Look at yourself, young popinjay, in your fashionable court garb in the latest cuts and frills and colors, you would not be caught dead in the locally crafted dross available to those of lesser means, you are a walking advertisement for the Simbelese monopolists”. The leader of the Aggregate concluded his remarks and began to rise along with his more silent fellows from the plain wooden table in the backroom of the wool warehouse in the docks district of Larrae.

The teen smiled and seemed flattered by the compliments on his dress. “Martyk, you like?”, he asked, awkwardly twirling with his staff in hand to show off the long tails in back which fluttered behind as he spun. “That’s great—because I made these here in Larrae, with wool I purchased at this very warehouse, spun into yarn by my own hand, dyed in my own bathtub, and woven on the loom in my bedroom. I must confess, I had some help with the tailoring. This is merely a copy of a Simbelese original from the House of Dontre, purchased three weeks ago from Hillbottle Clothiers for nearly 200 crowns.“ Reaching into the well-worn Haversack on the table next to him, he pulled out the original outfit and held it up for inspection and comparison. “Can you tell the difference?”

Martyk and his grizzled fellows crowded around the youth, rubbing their fingers across the materials of both the original and the copy, pulling him closer to the small lone window to get a look at the colors in the natural light. “It’s good, Martyk”, said one member who sheep farmed 300 acres below the Castle of the Star in central Benth. “I can’t tell the difference in the feel—and I’ll swear the colors are BETTER in the copy—look at the sheen on that purple and the blood red on the sleeve”.

After everyone had gotten a feel and a look, and satisfied themselves that the copy was at least as high quality as the original, everyone returned to their seats. Martyk looked at the boy appraisingly, and said “My young prince, you are not the first to buy smuggled dye out of Simbelin, but unless you manage to get a wagonload, there is just no commercial application to this idea.”

“That is the beauty of my idea”, beamed the now smug looking Simon Bale. “I did not buy this dye—I MADE it!” And reaching into the bad, he pulled out a handful of small blocks of sharp color, each stamped with Simon’s personal seal of a stylized loom. “And I can make more.”

The group of rough shepherds exploded in talk all at once at that. “Young Simon”, warned the grizzled Martyk, “you have just made yourself some powerful enemies, Duke Melicter at the head of the list. You know he get a tithe of all profits from the whole of the Simbelese textile trade for his “protection”, not to mention the Hillbottles and the textile guilds of Simbelin.”

Simon sighed resignedly and said “that rival merchants would be offended is inevitable whenever a monopoly is threatened is inevitable. As for Duke Melicter…. I’m afraid that die was already cast four years ago and he was already no friend of me or mine. Perhaps in this way though I’ll acquire the means to…well..no matter, let’s talk terms!”

--by Kelly