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 c