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                       Lords of Regalos

                        by Mike Kochis

                          Chapter  I

   Not deterred by the coming of the morning sun, the warrior climbed.  Sweat
gleamed down every scale, sweeping away dust only so that more could gather.
From an occasional spot, raw flesh showed where the scales had been torn free
by some rough area or estranged root.
   But the warrior took no heed of this, and continued upward at a steady pace.
His eyes darted along the cliff above him, looking for his next handholds.
Twice, they came loose, sending gravel and dust to the base of the cliff, nearly
forty feet beneath him.
   This is going too slowly, he thought.  This is the third cliff today, and
if legend is accurate, they will increase in frequency until I reach the peak.
Were it not for the sun, I'd probably be frozen into a coma when I get there.
   He chuckled at this thought, an immortality of being frozen in ice.  Hardly
the cure he was seeking.  But then he had other concerns.  The chuckle became
a cough, and the cough a wheeze.  For several minutes he hung there, trying to
gasp for breath.
   By the time his throat cleared, his muscles were aching, and he was barely
able to continue his ascent.  The climb that had seemed so easy in the morning
twilight was now as hard as the walls of Onyx keep.  The fond memories came
back, all the horror and peril washed clean by the water of years.  But he
pushed the Grand War aside, and reached for another handhold.
   Three minutes later, he was atop the cliffside, breathing harshly among the
pebbles and stones.  He tried to ignore the spots before his eyes, the warm
ache in his elbows.  His eyes raised to the peak, observing the slopes.
Perhaps if I had one more day's rations, he thought wistfully as he lifted
himself to his unsteady feet and proceded to walk upward.

   "I will not hear of this madness!" the blue-clad wizard said, slamming his
fist into the table.  "You have yourself seen the horrors of dragons.  The
marching armies of the Necromancers.  Your own eyes have seen the carnage caused
by but a single vampire.  You would advise this?"
   "Those were soldiers." said the elder scribe.  "You and your friends are
heroes, made and tested.  Your mettle has proven through the worst that
nature and magic could throw at you.  Even your battle-slave held off the
fire of the dragon, although it brought forth a scream most piercing from his
lips."
   "Slithir was free long before that battle took place."
   Tink sighed, and rubbed his nose.  "That is a matter of opinion, and one
I would sooner leave unresolved.  The point is this- he has seen the flame of
dragons with his own eyes, but his eyes did not melt.  His flesh was burned,
but he healed without a scar, even though no cleric attended him.  I saw him
run a stalactite through the heart of Baron Rell, the warrior-vampire.  And
he is the least among you!"
   "We have all had our moments of glory, Tink.  But heed well my words.  We
are long past those times.  Younger folk are now holding at bay the growing
tides of orcs and ogres.  We have more than many of our age could want."
   "But it doesn't satisfy, does it?  Has there been a day when you did not
wish for a challenge to overcome?  A treasure to be recovered?  A risk that
might spell your own doom?"
   "I have assassins enough who wish my doom, thank you.  As for demons, there
have been two sent to my tower in the years since my retirement.  And they were
the lesser sort.  You are a man of education.  How can you even THINK I would
accept this challenge?"  The mage grasped his cup, slightly bending the silver
out of shape.
   "The lady Mignureal would be at your side again." said Tink.  He watched as
the wizard downed his wine in a single drought.  He noticed the hand slightly
shaking.  "Yes.  She is not happy in her castle, and we both know it.  Were
the two of you not ready to marry before your team disbanded, each to their
own fief?"
   "No, Tink, we were not.  I would grow old while she would remain as young
as the spring breeze.  I will not put that form of strain between us.  We were
happy as friends, and as friends we shall remain."
   "Were you ONLY friends?  Are you certain?"
   The flash of light was as sudden as it was potent.  When Tink was able to
see again, Myrok's hand was coated in bright orange flames.  "Do not think,
my friend, that even you may prod into those areas.  Your life is based on
finding knowledge.  It would be a pity to have to boil you in your own fat."
   Tink almost replied, and then met the iron-hard stare behind the reflected
image of a flaming hand.  "I shall leave then, friend Myrok.  But think of this.
The Fount of Massanna is real, and you are strong.  If you succeed, you need
never fear age again."
   "Get out of my house." said the wizard.

   "Duffed by my own son!" exclaimed the knight.
   "You are not hurt, father?"
   "Only his pride." chirped in the jester.
   "Nay, not even nearly." said Sir Rothschild.  "Who could be anything but
pleased with a son who can deliver such a sturdy blow?  Well done, Dedrick.  I
may yet make a mighty warrior out of you."
   "The time of warriors is past, father.  We need broader leaders than those
who build up the army at the cost of all else."
   "Indeed, well spoken." said Rothschild, getting up.  "People led by kindness
are ever the superior of those led by fear.  Just be certain that in your
want to be fair to the people, you do not give them too free a reign, else
they will go soft on you when you most need seasoned warriors."
   "But we got seasoned warriors." said the jester.  "Or the orcs did, anyway."
   "Dirk, have you no-one else in this castle to bother?"
   "No, not that comes to mind.  Wait!  I haven't yet insulted the Lady Morrin's
hair style of the day.  I must be off!  Duty calls!"
   "Honestly, father.  I don't know why you put up with him.  He lives the part
of a jester too well."
   "Dedrick, some day you will find that not all friends are civil, nor all
civil people your friends.  Those of chaotic temperment can still have hearts
that shine as pure as a knight's."
   "This isn't going to lead to a discussion of the old days, is it?"
   "Well, actually...  They were good years to me, Dedrick.  Even though the
order has disavowed me for them.  If I had the choice, I would certainly join
them agian."
   "Father!  They were a band of cutthroats and marauders!"
   "Is that what Mor is teaching you?"
   "You said I may trust his judgement.  I have listened to his histories of
your quests.  No matter where you went, you had a confrontation with the local
populace.  In the king's own palace, you killed his ministers instead of
bringing them to trial."
   The elder Rothschild laughed.  "Justice seems differently when one is locked
in mortal combat with an adversary, Dedrick.  Have you never noticed it?"
   "I have limited my conflicts to evil, father.  I do not slay men."
   "The orcs are hearless and savage, Dedrick.  Never mistake that for evil.
Not all the lines taught to you by your teachers are really there."
   "There is the caste system."  replied Dedrick.  "Those of superior quality
are in the noble classes, and the inferiors remain in the peasant class."
   "Is that so?" asked Rothschild.  "And which class does Prophos come from?"
   "That is different.  The House of Prophos has stood for a long time on its
dark magic.  Were events not in such dire straits, his ancestors would have
been slain generations ago."
   "Men are more than their professions, Dedrick.  How can you be so open and
yet so closed?"
   "I see not why we are discussing this."
   "You will rule while I am out on seminary, Dedrick."
   "What?  But Brandon is the elder."
   "And Brandon is away in the King's army.  My decision is made.  I will be
gone over the Feast of Heroes, to meet with the others at Highwall."
   "They are beneath you, as the grass beneath a strong oak!  Your strong arm
saved them more often than that of any other."
   "That is the purpose of a leader, my son.  When all else fails, it is we
who must pull a miracle from the air."
   "Pull too many miracles and they will grow soft.  Where does that put you
when your tricks run out?"
   Rothschild smiled at his son.  "A true leader will never need to use all
his tricks.  Now, what say we get our swords sharpened and our armor polished?"

   "I will kill you, wizard!  Nobody does this to Baratakkus and lives!"
   "Come then, demon." came the hollow voice at top of the stairwell.  "Come
then and kill me."
   And Baratakkus came.  Strait into the hanging spell, the one that melted
the stone of the steps, the one whose heat could be felt in the walls hours
later.
   "How DARE you use fire to hurt me!  I will not be stopped by a few molten
steps."  The demon lept over the molten area.
   "Come then, demon.  Come then and kill me."
   "I shall!  Behold, with a wave of my hand I dispell this next and final
trap."  With the spell of levitation removed, the stones fell from the ceiling,
crashing into the horned skull of Baratakkus and sending him sprawling.  "Now
warlock, there is naught but a door betwixt us!" he said, charging up the steps.
   "Come then, demon.  Come then and kill me."
   With the force of a battering ram, the demon flung himself through the door,
throwing splinters in all directions.  He tripped over the chest and fell face
first into the silver and iron caltrops.  With a scream of incoherent rage,
he raised himself and hurled his massive body at the smiling albino wizard
before him.
   Rubbing his head, the demon looked about him.  Pieces of marble lay thick and
sharp about him, barely needing a trace of the illusion to look like the skin
of the necromancer.  "No, wizard.  You have not this easily escaped me.  I am
Baratakkus, first born of Rahajama, and I will track you to the ends of this
world."
   "Come then, demon." the detatched head said.  "Come then and kill me."
Baratakkus crushed it under one of his heavy feet.


                             Chapter  II

   Mignureal sighed, and looked at the sheafs of mail, unopened since
the day before.  "Tella, see if there's anything in there I'd be interested in."
   The true elf smiled at her mistress.  "Certainly not this blue-bound
envelope." she said, waving it in the morning light.
   "Why, Tella!"  The envelope crinkled slightly under her deft snatch.  "Take
the day off with Gallan.  By this one action, you have earned it."
   Mignureal recieved the bow, and tried not to sneer at the elf.  After all,
her father was elven.  If only Myrok had been ... worthy.  The thought faded as
she read the first sentence.  "Tella!"
   "Yes, my lady?" came the voice.  "All is well, is it not?"
   She almost told Tella the truth.  "Yes, Tella, all is fine.  I'll tell you
the contents of his letter this evening."
   "Only by this evening?" whined Tella.  "You *never* tell me the good stuff
until after sunset."
   "Oh, do get out of here while I am still in a good mood."
   It was four minutes after the door had closed before she could open the note
again.

     Dearest Mignureal,

         The group is reforming.  While it is far against my will, I shall have
to leave my tower and you will be unable to reach me for weeks at a time.  Have
faith, I will write to you so long as I live.  Am eager to see if the rest of
Rothschild's hair has fallen out yet.  Please write soon,

                                             Myrok

   Mignureal folded the note and began packing.  She did quite well, and broke
into tears only once.


   "You know what they'll do to you, Gustavian." said Julian.
   "Jules, it's been nice.  It really has.  And I got lots a friends here.
But somethin' ya gotta understand is dat dey was my friends first."
   "What have they given you that the Glass Dagger hasn't?"
   "Privacy."  Gus wondered if he sounded as bitter as he felt.
   "They may send me to kill you."
   "Dey won't kill me.  I'll be back lookin' for dem if dey tried it."
   "They know, Gustavian.  But the organization told you-"
   "De organization can go to hell, and ya can quote me on dat!  If dey leave
me alone, I'll be back.  Otherwise, I'll show 'em how much I've learned."
   "You are a braver man than I, Gustavian.  But I will follow my orders.  And
I am the better assassin than you."
   "Yeah, yeah, yer breaking my heart."  He shoved the parcel at Julian.  "A
going away present." he explained.
   "It isn't going to blow up in my face?"
   "Not unless ya open it." said Gustavian.  "Well, go ahead and open it."
   Slowly, Julian pried loose the sheets of cloth, and uncovered the dagger.
It was Hynthian, and the rubies in the scabbard glinted even in the moonlight
of the street.  "Gus, I -"  He dropped the dagger.  Gustavian had vanished into
the night, another piece of shadow.

   The gong was rung, and the young man came forward.
   "Green Mantis who prays in the fields." said the elder.
   "I have come." said the young man, and bowed to the floor before his seated
master.
   "Your crab-claw has become popular study among our monestary.  It is much
better than the manuever we trained you to do from birth.  Your birth, of
course, being the time you were admitted to this humble monestary."
   The young one remained silent.
   "You have recieved a letter from the outside."
   "Yes."
   "Are you aware that the companion to that letter reached me today, also?"
   "I have suspected, master."
   "And you have requested this audience to ask for leave?"
   "Yes." said the student.
   "You have brought great wealth to this monestary, and great honor.  But this
is not the way of a true student."
   The younger man remained silent.
   "What is the purpose of a student?"
   "To learn, master."
   "And how is one to learn among the barbarians outside?"
   "It is a matter of honor, master."  He bowed his head, ashamed.  "I would
leave this monestary before abandoning my friends in their hour of growing
need."
   For a long time, there was silence in the hall.  "By your words, you have
disgraced none.  Because I know of your love of this monestary, I grant you
your leave.  You may return when your task is finished."
   The student bowed, and departed the next morning.


   "They are gathering." said the first darkness.
   "Good." said the second.
   "Have you no other orders at this time?"
   "Be careful."
   "Because they will be close to the gods?"
   "No, fool.  Because they are adventurers.  These will not be like unto the
gods, whose power flows in strait channels.  These have other, individual
concerns that cannot be uncovered easily."
   "The way we smaller powers think swifter than you larger ones."
   The cuff came, large and powerful.  The lesser darkness was thrown back,
only stunned by a blow that would have felled two score of mortal men in their
prime.  "We can think when we are provided enough stimulus.  Do not think to
challenge your elders."
   "Never, great one." said the lesser darkness.  "What of the traveller?"
   "He seeks to return home.  He is of no concern to us.  Just be certain he
does not interfere with our plan."
   "On the contrary, great one.  All evidence seems to indicate he will also
be protecting the adventurers."
   "This is good.  What of those called gods by mortal men?"
   "They are going about their affairs, great one."
   "Is there any indication of change?"
   "Only among the younger gods, who are of no concern to us."
   "Have your servants keep tabs on them;  at least one is certain to meddle
in a bid to increase their power."
   "*MY* servants?  But if they are found out-"
   The greater darkness rumbled, shifted.
   "It will be as you say."
   "Then you are dismissed."
   And so the darkness returned to the material world, riding on waves of
power.  It arrived near its home, a smouldering volcano.
   "All hail and heed the words of Grey Claw!" said the robed figure.  "These
are our commands from the greater one!"
   From nooks and shadow, from the swirling clouds of sulfrous fumes, even from
the blistering pools of lava they came, to hear the words of their master.
   He looked forth among his minions.  "Where is Barataccus?"
   Myn'nar stepped forward.  "He is still after the necromancer, my lord.  He
was unable to dispatch the wizard in his tower."
   "And he is in pursuit?"
   "Yes."
   "Join the others.  All of you, listen!  The time of our hiding is past!"
When the cheers died down, he conveyed the orders of dispersal.  When he was
done, only three of his trusted luitenants remained.
   "Is it wise to leave Barataccus on the chase?  He may destroy them."
   "These are the ones who turned Battarishisikk aside at his own temple?  The
ones who brought order and a semblance of peace to the world below?"
   "All things grow old, Master Claw." said the second.
   "Time does not quence the spirit, nor its desires lessen.  This much have
I learned from six hundred years of existance.  Well, Myn'nar?  You also may
bear one question."
   The short red demon thought for only moments.  "What is our part to be in
this matter?"
   The Grey Claw laughed, and told them.  They were not pleased.



                          Chapter  III


     I almost dragged myself through the cave entrance.  Even travelling light,
the climb had exhausted my weary body.
     The thin man looked up.  "Slithir the Serpentine, gladiator of Arnad's
famous pit of sand."  If I had been close enough, I would have kicked his teeth
back into his skull.  "Please sit."
     The word and gesture had a simple effect:  I collapsed to the floor, still
ten feet from murdering the man who had used my old alias.  I noticed my
breathing, harsh and deep.  Phlem clouded my throat, and I decided that it
truly did not matter.
     "I know why you came." he said, still smiling in triumph.  "Do you know
why I waited?"
     If only I had been younger... but such is life.  "No, Forsyte, I know not
this."
     "Then learn a bit of wisdom.  A diviner is a source of information to all.
Even those who come to slay him.  Do you see now the folly of your actions?"
     "You have lied of the future, old one." I coughed.
     "Really?"  He leaned forward with an air of confidence my father might have
had.  "In what way?"
     "Once, you predicted the fate of a band of champions for the king."
     The eyes closed, nearly hidden by the wrinkles in his face.  "Yes, I
remember it as though it were yesterday.  These are destined for greatness.
Their deeds shall free them from all bonds.  In what way is that a lie?"
     Forgetting my limits, I yelled at him.  It came out as a wheeze.  "You
forgot the bond of age!  Although I am but thirty two years of age, my body
is beginning to fail me.  ME!  I once survived the breath of dragons, and now
I dread the coming of each winter.  Tell me, old one, how I have been freed of
this bond?"
     "Do all warriors face death so graciously?" he asked.
     "Death is on the field!  Death comes swiftly, on wings of lightning.  This,
this is a wasting disease, for which there is no cure."
     "There are always potions..."
     "My view on such matters is widely known."
     "And widely recorded." he said.  "You may find that long after your death
people are still admiring your writings.  Your contribution to literature, while
small of itself, is admirable when one thinks of it as a warrior's writing."
     I shuffled, and hefted myself into a sitting position.  The coughing came,
and I ignored it.
     "You would live longer if you resorted to magic." said the diviner.
     "I have no taste for temporary cures, nor those I cannot effect myself."
     "Such is the way of warriors.  You are not unique, you know.  There have
been others-"
     "Others of my kind?" I asked.
     "No, but of your mind-set.  Many have been taken from their homes and
grown up in cultures alien to them."
     "Where is my culture, then?  The one from which I have been stolen?"
     He leaned back, and gave a parched laugh.  "At last we get to the point at
hand!"   Was he truly so ignorant?  Had I not come to kill him?  I reached to
my sword to assure myself that I hadn't dropped it along the mountainside.
     "Oh, no, my friend.  I am laughing with you, laughing at all that has
brought you to my retreat."  He paused, as if waiting for me to continue
his thoughts for him.  "You come from an alternate reality."
     "I have heard this theory before."
     "Know it now as truth." he said.  "And your history is not yet spun
its course."
     "I am to quest for my origins." I said, gloomily.  "For all of the three
years that remain to me."
     "Only three?"
     "Do not think me a fool!  I understand math, and have worked the
calculations myself."
     "In my youth, I found that all my foresights about myself were biased,
and most of them were wrong.  You may find that you have more life in you
than you expected.  Are you still tinkering with magic?"
     "Yes, and I have still to master anything more than the most basic of
cantrips."
     "Lord Gakkon tells me you constructed a wave of earth, that buried and
crushed your enemies at Modok pass."
     "A runaway spell, feuled by a fortune in gems, nothing more."
     "Truly misfortune follows you and your group.  Prophos has just three
nights ago been forced to flee his tower, pursued by a demon.  That is his
cause for joining the party again, by the way."
     "The party is reforming?"
     "You seem very interested, for one who is too old to slay a helpless
old man."
     "Slaying the helpless is a job for cowards and weaklings.  I came
to slay a powerful mage gone beyond his own few rules of conduct."
     "Truly a worthy quest.  Just like the one gathering at Sutton."
     "Sutton.  Isn't that on the south side of Lake Black?"
     "Geography was always one of my weaker points, but if you follow the
road south from Dannon Wood, you should be unable to miss them."
     I rose to my feet, and breathed deeply the crisp mountain air.  (I
succeeded in holding back a fit of coughing.)  "I feel as though years have
been drained from me."
     "Good news often has that effect."
     "Then I shall use your news to good standing.  I can be at Dannon Wood in
six days, and that on foot."
     "Surely you don't plan to travel alone?"
     "I have sword-brothers.  There are SOME advantages to being a guild-member,
even if I do find some of its other features reprehensible."
     "Do you intend to sell all you own for this quest?  You haven't even asked
what the object is."
     "It doesn't matter, old one.  If they will have my, my skills are intact.
When my body fails me, it will be on the field.  I will die without this
needless waste of time."
     "Time is indeed of the essence, but your future is uncertain even to me.
What will you do if you succeed in this quest?"
     "If I survive?  As aged and feeble as I am?  The idea is laudible and
almost beyond thought."
     "Then I fare thee well, and bid you a good death, Jagaddo Rhishisikk.
You will find an easy path down the southern side of the mountain.  The
peasants are actually building a trail.  I may soon have to find another
place to retire to."
     I stood, ignoring the cramping of my muscles.  "Good and long life to
you, Forsyte."
     "And to you."
     If my throat had been clear, I might have whistled as I began the long
and seemingly endless journey down the Mountain of Visions.



                      Chapter  IV


   I sat, rested, and watched the brigands moving through the woods below.
The tree felled in the road was clearly visible from my hilltop, and even
my fading eyes could find their shadows hidden among the shrubbery below.
   While I sat, they shifted again.  I was well within bow range, so I decided
to ease their fears.  Acting as naturally as I could, I yawned, scratched,
rose to my feet, scratched again, and proceded down the path.  While my sword
was obvious, I did not expect any of them to have heard of Silverfang.  I also
expected none of them to recognize me as not-quite-lizard man, and especially
not as Jaggado Rhishisikk, wandering sellsword extrordinaire.
   I was not surprised.  Even nearing the forest, I heard the clinking of their
chainmail, the hushed calls to silence.  I began to doubt whether they were
truly bandits when the leader stepped forward, sword in hand.  I harumphed,
and tried not to shake my head.
   "Your purse or your life."  Cliche, stupid, and straitforward.  Was this
the worst my journey had to offer?  (It wasn't, but I was entirely nonplussed
with the situation anyway.  For two days I had travelled and met nothing more
dangerous than a wolf.)
   "Oh my," I said.  "Swordsmen.  Swordsmen and ruffians all."  As if on cue,
the other four stepped forward, two on my left, two on my right.  Incredibly
bad tactics.
   "Your purse, please."  He extended his hand and walked forward as though
he expected to just walk forward and take it.
   "Oh, helpless me.  I give you payment."  My hand reached beneath my cloak,
at which point any decent bandit would have skewered me.
   He smiled, wide enough for me to fire the crossbow bolt into his mouth.
On impulse, I did so.  There was a crunching noise, followed by a whine as he
collapsed.
   My sword was out before any of the others could move, and I had positioned my
back to the fallen log by the time they were upon me.  While Silverfang was
heavy in my grasp, I was well conditioned to using it in battle.
   A parry and a slash dispersed the first, cutting him from the base of his
neck to the ear.  The second clashed swords thrice, and retreated.
   "By Alraad, this one's good." said the second.
   "Then we take him together." said the fourth.
   "Help me." pleaded the first, losing blood quicker than I cared to watch.
   "His blade glows." said the third.
   "So we have a magic sword." said the fourth.
   "EEAargh!" said the second.  I recovered clumsily from my lunge, sweeping
a defensive swing through the air between myself and the remaining thugs.
He coughed, and reached for his sword.
   I backed slowly, breathing heavily.  Was I sweating already?  Just the day
before it seemed that I had torn into a rank of soldiers so equiped and torn
them apart.  How could these ones move so fast in armor?
   A light cut on the forearm brought me back to reality.  I slashed when I
could, but both of them were deft fighters.
   "I've got him!" yelled the fourth, slightly before I took off his leg at the
kneecap.  He fell, and his swing was off.
   A flash of hot sensation.  My eyes watered, and I knew I had been hurt
severely.  He jerked his sword out without twisting it, leaving my hip to bleed.
   I crouched, and tried to compensate for the cramping of my abdominal muscles.
As rapidly as I fell back, he still advanced, and was able to circle me nearly
twice as I began to return to the path.
   Sparks flew, and tendons tore, as the bards love to sing.  Most of the sparks
were his, as his sword dented against mine.  The tendons, however, were mine and
I could scarce afford the loss.  His flushed face was kept close, and I could
almost feel his breath.  He fought as though he could not lose, and that was
his undoing.
   He kept making fancy moves, only to cut me instead of going for a killing
strike.  He flourished, feinted, and circled his blade.  I fell back two paces,
returning to the road some sixty or seventy feet beyond the fallen tree.
   He flourished, demonstrating a style of technique taught to nobles.  It
made heavy use of the wrist and elbow, and moved the sword in ways most warriors
believe that it can't.  I was not fooled, and caught the true thrust when it
came toward my face.  I stumbled forward, loosing my footing on the rough
gravel.
   Reaching out for the only support, I grasped his shoulder.  We both fell,
our swords leaving our hands to fall in the same area not two feet beyond my
reach.
   "You cannot win." he said.
   "Why not?" I asked, trying for an armlock.  He slipped from it and wrestled
himself on top of me.
   "I am of House Dethek, a warrior house unbeaten by your kind."
   "My kind?" I asked through a consticted throat.  He tightened his grip.
"Yes, your kind.  The sub-humans.  The half-breeds.  The slights on nature's-"
   I bit him, and my teeth closed on the bones in his left forearm.  He
screamed, and pulled away, ripping more flesh from his bones than I would have.
He didn't knee me in the groin as he rose.
   Still, he beat me to the swords.  I rose, ignoring his brandishment and
show-offery.  His foot locked my blade to the ground, so I made no effort to
reach it.
   "Now."  He took a step forward.  "Now we see who is the greater fighter."
Every step he took, I fell back one.  I had my dagger, (I had readied it during
the aforementioned grappling) but dared not throw it.  With my off hand, I
reached into one of my pouches and dropped the contents behind my back, so that
they fell between my legs and cloak.
   "All my life I have awaited this day.  One thrust and you are dead.  One
thrust (he faked the movement, and I faltered) and your worthless life is
removed from existance.  One step brings me in range."  He took it and fell.
   I put a sandaled foot over his hand, pinning it and his sword.  My knife
pressed against the soft flesh of his neck.  He looked up with emotionless
eyes.  "How?" he asked.
   "Caltrops." I said, and brought my left hand up hard enough to knock him out.
He remained unconcious for the half-hour it took me to bandage my wounds and
clean my weapons.

   It was almost nightfall, so I decided to rest in the Golden Inn rather than
make the luncheon visit I had planned.  The serving maid was new, but smiled
at me anyway.
   "M-may I help you, sir?"
   "What is the special today?"
   "Green pea soup, sir.  Only four silver coins."
   "Is the beef still six golden?"
   She twitched.  "It has been eight golden since the new taxes came into
effect.  I believe we are out..."
   "Have you any meat at all?"
   "There are some birds, but those are for special customers we are expecting
tonight.  Perhaps a large salad?"
   I grunted.  "Place is falling apart.  I like the new wood, though."
   "It was replaced three weeks ago, after the fire."
   "At the same time as the taxes?"
   "It is not wise to speak of such coincidences.  Will you be staying the
night?  I'm afraid you'd best stay clear of the main room if you are."
   I placed a gold coin on the table.  "Why is that?"
   "House Dethek does not like ... your kind.  It is widely known that
humanoids are no longer welcome in these parts."
   "I have suspected as much, from what I heard today.  I will take four orders
of the roasted peanuts, half a circle of cheese, and a large bowl of salad with
oil.  If they are not being used for the feast, use one of the brass bowls."
   "Yes, sir.  That will come to seven golden, seventeen silver-"
   She gasped as I put my coinage on the table.  "I trust this will suffice?"
She nodded, and swept the coins into her apron pockets.
   "I would also like a bowl of whatever mead Aceroth would care to suggest."
   "I doubt that he would give you anything special, times being what they are."
   I shrugged, and let the low fire warm my back.  It hurt, but I'd given up on
noticing my wounds long before.  Still, a few day's rest wouldn't do me too much
harm, and I had made fairly good time up to the forest's edge.
   "This is not the place to rest." he said, pulling up a chair beside me.  His
form was lighter, and he still limped.  His cane, however, was gone.
   "Your leg is better?" I inquired.
   "I am not yet ready to throw a spear like I used to, if that's what you mean.
However, I have found that the muscles are repairing themselves over the years."
   "Even if your hair has lost in the bargain.  Do you not have children?"
   "Aye, and the eldest is fifteen years of age.  Already she is talking of
adventure and finding a husband.  As though the two were the same."
   "I am not off to find a mate, it is far too late in my life for that."
   "Then you are off for adventure."  His face looked like a mask of pity.
Hardly the jealous joy I had anticipated.  "The years have been kind to neither
of us."
   "I wonder what they have done to Rothschild."
   "Probably blended the flesh into his armor.  Do you know he still wears it?"
   "I have heard.  Is it true he has bested eight of the order who came to
remove it from his possession?"
   "Yea, and that in what they call a fair joust.  Though with five of them
dead, I'd say they got under his skin..."
   We both enjoyed a hearty laugh, and relived times not even seven years past.
My food was brought to me, and I disposed of it quickly.  At Aceroth's
suggestion, I consumed a loaf of garlic bread and two bowls of cow's milk.
   "Did you just yawn?" he asked.
   I squinted at him.
   "Slithir, I realize this is hard of heart for me to ask-"
   "You wish me in my room while the Detheks eat here in your hall."  He lowered
his gaze.  "I shall honor your request, Aceroth.  It is your house, to run as
you please."
   "Thank you.  Not for myself, but for my family.  Thank you."  He visibly
relaxed, his face almost collapsing into a frown.  "You may have a time
studying.  They are loud."
   I reached for my pack, and found it gone.  "Ester." he said.  I blinked,
and took my key from his outstretched hand.
   "Your wife should have been a thief."
   "Yes." he said.  "She is great at backstabbing.  Do you know what she told
her gossiping friends just two days ago?  Ah, but that is their carriage in
the distance."
   "So it is.  Good night, Aceroth."
   "Good night, Jaggado."
   I ascended the steps to my room, but I neither enjoyed nor studied that
evening.