From a celestial viewpoint, the dull gray of the southern marshes was 
split by a thin silver thread as the Kirender river snaked to the marshes 
from eastward across the plains, and even further from the Mysty 
Mountains, where its headwaters touched a similarly sized snake. This one 
was somewhat thinner and a dusty beige in colour, and where river and 
road met the union was tied with a small white cluster that was the 
merchant caravan.
        The wagons that ringed the campfire in a semi-organised jumble 
were all similar, being roughly crafted of elven cedar, road worn, and 
covered with plain cloth. All similar, that is, except two. One was 
obviously a guard wagon, larger than its traveling companions in order 
to carry troops and their equipment, its cover easily removed when the 
small ballista within was needed. The other was more finely made and had 
seen fewer miles than the others, its covering emblazoned with the 
heraldic crest of a silver sunburst. It was from this wagon that the Duke, 
Gallan Valiast, emerged into the early afternoon sun to help the others 
with the horses.
        One immediately liked the Duke, he was that kind of man. Tall and
handsome, he had a muscular build and hands that had seen much manual 
labour in their time. The laugh lines around his eyes spoke of his nature 
as much as the beautiful rapier that never left his side, giving a kind,
no-nonsense air to the man. Supporting this was his powerful voice that 
he now cast in the direction of the river.

"Rollik!"
.
.
"Rollik, my son!"
.
.
"Curses. whatever is keeping that boy?"

                              *****************

The section of the Kirender at which the caravan now rested was narrower 
than further down on the plains, but it was still more than twenty feet 
across in some places along the pool-and-riffle system that flowed under 
the graceful willows bowing reverently to their source of life. Perched 
atop a willow branch, a Vascondine Flitbird warbled its latest composition 
to the sky. It was answered from below by the shrill chirp of a leaf-
whistle, and as the bird started to argue the slim tree shuddered as 
something dropped from a lower branch into the water with a joyous 
"YAHOO!". The bird fluttered away in search of a less critical audience.
        Timelord's head broke the surface, scattering crystal droplets. 
He flicked his lengthening hair out of his eyes in a spray of water, then 
cast his attention to the other seven-year-old on the bank.
        "Hurry UP, Rollik!" he said impatiently. "I've finished mine."
        "Last one." the child responded. He capped the waterbag he had 
been filling, then cast off his shirt and threw himself into the water. 
The coolness of the river closed over him in a soft embrace, and the 
dust and weariness of the road swirled away and was gone. He let himself
be carried along by the current for a long moment, then returned with a
gasp to the world of the air-breathers and reached for a handful of 
whiplike willow tendrils hanging from above. Tethered thus in the midst
of the rushing water, he sighed and relaxed as it washed over him. A 
head swept by and halted as Timelord followed Rollik's example.
        He had forgotten the reason for his friend's unusual name, 
something about his birth and a Seer saying something about destiny and 
truenames and whatnot. The two boys had met only two weeks previously 
when the caravan of merchants (one of whom was Timelord's father) passed
through the Duchy of Valiast. Gallan had taken the opportunity to go 
along and visit some of the barons and earls along the route on matters
of diplomacy, and Rollik had come along for the experience, leaving his 
elder brother at the keep.
        "What I don't understand" Timelord had mentioned "is why your 
father travels with a group of lowly merchants when Dukes usually have
an official party with pomp and ceremony"
        "That's not the way he is" Rollik had replied. "Though ceremony
and stature has its place, he likes to stay in touch with ordinary 
people. Besides, then our guards can protect the whole caravan rather 
than just us."
        Rollik now raised himself in the water and cast his gaze 
upstream to where he could see the guard's wagon at the near end of the
camp. Even from this distance he could easily make out the brilliant 
purple plume of Skerg, captain of the guard. A huge man, Skerg always
gave an egotistical and slightly untrustworthy impression of himself 
by his constant bragging of his (unverified) past heroic deeds. Rollik's
focus suddenly switched to the foreground, to his father stomping 
toward him with a we-needed-those-waterbags-fifteen-minutes-ago look on
his face.
        "Er.." said Rollik "I guess we'd better be getting back".
        "Come" said Timelord, releasing the willow. "On the morrow we
reach Verland". He splashed for the bank.

                           *******************

Pugbok was a baker. Pudgy, squat and grumpy (though the best baker in
Verland) he fed his ego by bullying and refusing the beggars that came
to his door for crusts and scraps. He also considered himself a shrewd
businessman, and so when a child came in looking little better than a 
street kid he refrained from running him off when he saw the well-
dressed lad on his heels. Mind filled with thoughts of rich parents, he
ignored the first child and began working on the second.
        "Well now, me foine young sar, 'ow can I 'elp yer?" he grinned
toothlessly.
        "I was-" began Timelord until rudely cut off by the baker.
        "Not you, urchin. I was addressing 'is lordship 'ere".
Timelord cast his friend a hurt glance. Rollik winked.
        "Greetings, kind sir!" Rollik piped up, and bowed low. "My 
father and I travel from the fair Duchy of Valiast, merriest of lands 
in the Great Heath. I hope, in our travels, to see other lands and places
(such as Verland in which I find myself this morn) and ascertain what 
manner of people dwell there. And, of course, to tell of my beautiful
homeland. I prithee, hast thou heard of Valiast?
        "Why, no!" said Pugbok with a sweet smile."I'd be moighty 
pleased to hear of yer, ah.. rich land, child." (Hopefully his father'll
be 'ere by the toime e's finished. 'Sides, ain't never 'eard no blue-
blooded ankle-biter carry on like this before).
        "My land is best described" said Rollik, pushing aside a chair.
"By a folk song that has been sung for many generations at our annual 
moonripen festival. It goes thus." With that, the child launched into a 
merry jig. His shiny shoes made a rythmic tapping on the floor, light 
flashing from the buckles as he sang.

        I from the land of Valiast be
        far from the desert, far from the sea
        my forested valley, green of hill
        e'er I loved her, and e'er I will.

Right from the start the baker was captivated by the youngster's dance 
and the sound of his voice. A peasant girl came in the door and was 
immediately caught up in the dance with Rollik, and laughed as he 
continued.

        hard our folk are, yea, and harder we toil
        but the harvest we reap comes not just from the soil
        for together we sweat and we work in the field
        so the friendship of workmates is part of our yield!

And so it went, through all eight verses, describing the history of 
the Valiast family back to the Great Conquerer, the lifestyle of the 
folk, and some of the landmarks in the duchy. A small crowd had gathered
and some clapped along, enjoying the free entertainment. Rollik 
eventually reached the last verse.

        my friend, if your travels come to the Great Heath
        there's a duchy to visit, all others beneath
        so come to our home, ask the way if you must,
        and you'll always be welcome at Valiast!

He finished with a grand pose that looked (according to the mothers 
watching) unbearably cute on one so young. He kissed his dancing partner
on the hand (she blushed), then thanked the people watching and Pugbok,
and left. The baker was immediately flooded with questions and comments.
        It was more than half an hour before Pugbok noticed that two 
cream cakes were missing.


Timelord, who had come out midway through the fifth verse, handed 
Rollik his cake when he came out. It was accepted with a sly grin, and
both boys gave muffled "mmmmmm"s that praised Pugbok's prowess as a baker
if not as a gentleman.
        "I thought you'd have regrets about pilfering from even such as
he" Timelord commented with his mouth full.
        "Bah!" said Rollik sternly "if he is so low as to judge a child 
on the clothes he wears let him be taught a lesson". He left unsaid what
the dance had done for the baker's business, and licked at his prophetic
moustache of cream.
        The two had not been looking forward to this day. While the 
traders would continue to the city of Generica, the duke had planned to
go up through Bottleneck Pass to the Barony of Stifer, staying with the
young Baron until the caravan's return. For almost a month, then, they 
would not see one another, an age in a child's mind.

        Later that day when time came for farewells, the Duke had a 
parting gift for the traders.
        "My friends" he addressed them  "This has indeed been a 
momentous journey, one that I am sure will be of great benefit to your
land when you return. I feel privileged to be part of it, and feel sad
to leave you all even for this short time. Yet I will be with you on 
your travels not only in spirit but in representation, as I now instruct
my personal guard to remain with the caravan until its return, providing
protection from the miscreants that lurk along the remainder of your 
route."
        Most of the guards thought this was a good idea (especially one
that had fallen for a lady in the caravan), and this was reinforced by
the announcement of a pay bonus to spend in Generica. Skerg, however,
had been looking forward to a month of lazy inactivity, and voiced a
veiled protest.
        "But sir.. 'tis our solemn, noble and sworn duty to protect 
our Duke! We cannot take any risk that harm may befall our leader!"
        "Relax, friend Skerg." spoke Gallan cooly. "If any threat 
manages to break through Stifer's guard, you know well that few can 
match my blade" he held his empty hand aloft and with a crack of magic 
the rapier vanished from the scabbard and appeared in his hand, drawing
a gasp from the onlookers. Skerg said nothing more, but his scowl was 
vocal enough.
        The boys shook hands, then Timelord turned and clambered up to
sit alongside his father in their wagon. He turned to face Rollik as 
the caravan prepared to move out of Verland.
        "Until we meet again, my friend."
        "And you." Rollik stood at his father's side and watched the 
caravan until it was out of sight.
        "You'll see them all soon, son" Gallan said soothingly.
        But it was not to be.
Three days out of Verland the caravan was ambushed, and (according to 
Skerg) the guards were cut off and the caravan destroyed to a man. It
would be many years before Rollik once again laid eyes on the friend he
had known for such a short time.

                           *******************
The blade flicked out again, quicker this time, but Gallan blocked it 
with his own just as easily. He stood in a calm, informal stance, seeking
not to perfect his own techniques but to judge his opponent's. Rapier 
fluid in his hand, his eyes studied the swordplay of the other with 
critical observation.

"Good, you're not standing your ground so much anymore. Move back and
forth with the play, and don't keep it linear. Sidestepping is a 
valuable tool, and is almost essential when dealing with techniques such
as a thrust" the ornate rapier darted in to illustrate his point, 
meeting steel with a sharp ring as Rollik gave a fast parry and riposte
that his father blocked hurriedly. Gallan then called for a rest, and the
sweating youth readily agreed to the iced water offered by a manservant
standing near the door.
        Rollik slumped wearily on one of the benches lining the sparring
hall, the cold liquid giving refreshing compensation for the perspiration
of three hours' training in the deadly fencing style of the Valiast 
family. He rested, letting his eyes drift over the many weapons and 
armour lining the walls. Many types of fencing blades rested reverently
on various racks; the Tuck, Verdun, Pappenheimer, Foil, Sabre, Spadroon,
Estoc, Fleuret, even the small Bilbo thrusting sword. Cup and Stirrup 
hilts, Full and half basket hand guards, and quillion designs galore
were represented in the centuries-old collection. Also present were the
more traditional long, broad and bastard swords, but these held lesser
places of honour, being of a different nature than the weapons of the
nobility.
        Rollik had eyes only for the rapier. All the portraits of his
ancestors lining the great hall featured them posing with a particular
rapier, the same one that he had just faced in training. His father's 
sword, which had been in the Valiast family for an age, returned to 
the hand when willed. It had seen many wielders and taken part in many
adventures, from defeating the Dark Elven General Ecch'las in single 
combat (barely a year after it was forged) to leading the rescue of 
the centaur Soesor tribe in Gallan's younger days. When Rollik came of
age in four weeks it would pass to him.
        This was the topic of some controversy in the Duchy. The sword
had always been passed on to the eldest son, for him to use in the 
name of justice and good. The aspiring generation's eldest son, however,
had taken a solemn oath not to wield a sword for the remainder of his
life. Those who assumed that this was from motives of cowardice did not
know Kethnak Valiast, Rollik's only brother (and his elder by two years).
As if on cue, Kethnak entered the hall that moment, the robes that 
identified him as a mage whispering as he walked. He was slightly 
taller than Rollik, had the blond hair of their mother (who had died 
while Rollik was very young), and his nature contrasted Rollik's 
happy-go-lucky attitude by being more serious and stern. This outlook
lent itself well to hard study, which Kethnak had just come from.
        "Father, the court will soon be in session."
        "Very well" Gallan responded after he had finished emptying
the glass.  As he left the room Kethnak turned to his younger brother.
        "I hear your swordsmanship is improving in leaps and bounds."
Rollik shrugged. "I enjoy my training, it's better than boring hours 
over ancient tomes." He whipped his plain rapier out and twirled it 
easily. "Give me arms over abracadabra any day".
        The young mage made a rude gesture with his hand and a small
flame popped into existence over his finger as punctuation. Both 
brothers grinned.
        "Come on, a quick round"
        "Agreed" Rollik unbuckled his scabbard, and raised his fists.
"But no illusionary extra hands this time!".
Although Kethnak was a mage and thus was denied all blades but a 
dagger, he could use his fists and use them well. Since an early age
the brothers had boxed with each other, their father, and anyone else
that would teach them new techniques. They launched into an informal 
spar with enthusiasm, mage and fighter fighting the same, brothers 
sharing the intimacy of single combat.

                        ********************

It was a valley. That much was definite, but the term was only loosely
applied because few valleys were the size of the one that was the 
entire Duchy of Valiast. The encircling mountains performed the triple
functions of horizon, border, and supports to the blue hemisphere 
overhead. Forests spread down from these into the foothills and even 
covered much of the flats, blurring the definitions of the grazing and
cropping lands. These were dotted with small villages and towns, but 
none could compare with the great town of Valiast in the middle of the
valley. 
        The onion-ring structure of the town spoke of its growth over 
the years, spreading in an ever-widening ellipse that was bisected by
the Noimbyda river. Atop a small hill near the river stood the castle;
tall, proud, flags and banners fluttering in the morning breeze. 
Towering over the town, vigilant, protective, this was castle Valiast.
        The staccato clatter of hooves on stone instantly became a 
thick wooden echo as Rollik's horse thundered across the drawbridge 
leading out of the fortress. The guards snapped to attention and 
Rollik gave them his usual nod, but his thoughts lay many miles from 
the keep. In five weeks the annual moonripen festival would transform 
the Duchy into a whirling, colourful land of music and happiness, and
this year the Duke was planning to invite the leaders of all 
surrounding lands. Rollik, eager for adventure and a change of scene,
had pleaded with his father until allowed to deliver one of the 
invitations. His destination was the Earldom of Dreht, two days ride 
hence. With the wind in his face and the smooth green hills before 
him, he stood in the stirrups and gave a joyous whoop.
       Later that day, three hours after the drenching downpour had 
set in, his enthusiasm was not all that had been dampened. As his 
horse made slow headway against the whipping wind and rain, Rollik 
pulled his oilskin tighter at the collar and sneezed. He bent low and
steered his steed under a branching oak by the side of the rough road,
dismounting with a sigh.
        "Rest awhile, Wisp. 'twould be fruitless to continue in such
depressing drizzle" his face suddenly brightened. "But a comfortable 
day hardly makes for an adventurous one!" he patted Wisp's neck 
affectionately.

The horse, revealing the strength and understanding of the bond that
can be forged between man and beast, ignored him completely and 
nibbled on a tussock.
        As Rollik's faithful horse, Wisp was a patient, long-suffering
animal- he had to be. Any youth that practices fencing with either 
hand whilst balancing atop a railing tends to get up to strange antics
on horseback. Every so often the horse produced a random manouvre in
retaliation (such as galloping under tree branches or screeching to 
a stop before a water trough) but this merely had the net effect of 
increasing the dexterity of his unorthodox master.
        When the rain stopped about an hour later, the resumed journey
became a pleasant one. The rain had settled the dust and rinsed it 
from the vegetation along the road, and once the sun burst anew from 
overhead Rollik found himself in an ideally picturesque setting. He 
whistled his way into the afternoon and Atsham, a small village near 
the border.
        Rollik set off early the next morning, leaving some gold by 
his bedside (the innkeeper had refused payment the night before on 
account of being so honoured as having the Duke's son as guest). The 
day's ride was hot and uneventful (apart from conversing with a 
farmer or two), and before long the road wound its way up to the 
mountains that supported the town of Dreht.
        The hub of the earldom was constructed on a somewhat different
design to the town of Valiast. Rollik's home town was originally only
the castle, and as the town grew it spread out over the valley with 
the keep as its seed. Keep Dreht was situated on a peak of basalt, 
and had grown down the mountain until it was realised that further 
growth would hinder the defensive advantages of the mountaintop. This
explained the supportive town below, into which Rollik now rode with 
a parched throat. The promise of a cool drink beckoned from a tavern
with the somewhat intriguing name of "The Frothing Hound".

        The old door had been cracked, splintered and repaired many a
time, and it creaked its welcome in Rollik's ear as he pushed it open.
It was the only welcome the youth received, for as he sidled up to the
bar and asked casually for an ale the bewhiskered regulars gave him
nothing but indignant stares.

Someone coughed nervously.

As an uncomfortable silence settled on the tavern a small thought piped
up from the back of Rollik's brain and suggested that Dreht may not 
have the same drinking age as Valiast. He told it to shut up.

        In situations such as this, according to some unknown all-
encompassing law, the man with the greatest chest, girth and odour 
arises with false originality to challenge the newcomer. A chair 
squeaked in timid protest as a burly woodcutter named Sweaty stopped 
picking his toenails and stood upright.

"No children allowed in here, BOY. Now get outa here!"

"My apologies, sir. You see, in my-"

"NOW!!"

Rollik scowled. Although nearly of age now, he resented the man's 
attitude more than the insults. He flicked his gaze to the bartender,
who was trying his best to look neutral in the matter, then back to 
Sweaty. He thought hard.

"I'm more a man than you'll ever be, you grease-girthed sewer toad,
and I'll prove it. If you can follow me with an ale I shall depart 
and be seen no more. However, if you cannot match my drinking 
technique you buy us all -(he waved his hand to encompass the patrons,
who suddenly perked up)- a round. Agreed?"

Even had Sweaty wanted to, he could not refuse the pride-based 
challenge. He drew himself up, and snorted his agreement. The bartender
drew two foaming mugs with practiced speed, and placed them tensely
on the bar. Everyone in the room strained to see.

Sweaty had spent many evenings of many years in the Frothing Hound 
(his bulbous gut testified to that), and fancied himself able to drink
any man (not to mention child) under the table. As his friends gathered
round he grasped the handle of his mug and waited confidently to see 
what Rollik's "drinking technique" would be.

Rollik suddenly snatched the mug off the bar and flourished it high in
the air, not spilling a drop.
Sweaty followed instantly (he never spilled good ale).

Rollik dropped the mug to his lips and slurped off only the foam.
Sweaty copied his every move, giving a loud slucking sound.

Rollik, with his ale, saluted the four points of the compass.
They were twins in movement.

Rollik suddenly tilted his head back, poured the entire ale down his 
throat and slammed the mug back on the bar.
Sweaty downed the draught in unison, slamming it before the barkeep and
grinning triumphantly.

Rollik spat the last mouthful back into the mug.
Sweaty gaped.

The tavern was instantly in an uproar. Most thought Sweaty had been 
outwitted fair and square, some thought that Rollik was a bit too 
smart and needed to be taught a lesson. Within seconds it came to blows
and the whole crowd was in a rowdy brawl.
        Two thick-set men came at Rollik, and rather than get involved
in the general ruckus (which would not have looked good for an official
messenger) he simply turned and dived out an open window into the 
street. The men gave chase, but fast feet and a few random turns into 
side streets succeeded in losing them.
        And Rollik.
        The youth found himself alone in a small street identical to 
the rest, along which tall, old houses were squeezed together and 
clapped their window shutters in sarcastic applause at Rollik losing 
both his pursuers and his way. The wind was cool, and the late afternoon
sky threatened to become twilight soon if Rollik didn't find his way 
back to the tavern and Wisp. He squinted at the sun to get his bearings,
then listened intently for sounds of the brawl. The narrow streets did 
not carry sounds well and no noise from the tavern reached his ears,
but instead he heard the muted sounds of a scuffle and a muffled cry.
Rollik instantly ran toward the sound, weaving through alleys until he 
reached the scene.
        Three men had stopped a cart driven by a woman and were in 
the process of dragging her from the seat. One threw her to the dirt 
and, assisted by the others, pinned her arms to the ground. As one 
clamped a grubby hand over her mouth he fumbled with her blouse until a
fist-sized rock caught him in the small of the back. He yelped, and the
heads of all three thugs snapped toward Rollik leaning nonchalantly 
on a window sill.
        "Unhand her" he spat with contempt.
        One rose from his expectant crouch and approached Rollik, fists
clenched. Behind him, another spoke.
        "Not worth the effort, Gurk. He's not even a man".
        "No men stand here this day" replied Rollik. "I am but a youth,
and it is no man that forces himself upon a lady."
        Gurk snarled, and charged.
        Rollik remained in his pose as Gurk bore down upon him, waiting
until he was only a few feet from him before flicking open the window
shutter. There was a crash and splintering of wood, and the dazed thug
found himself suspended by his neck from the frame with a faceful of 
splinters. Rollik slammed the shutter back to its original position 
with an effort, and there was a shattering of glass as Gurk was expelled
from the shutter onto the street, out cold.
        Rollik now had the full attention of the other two. As one held
the struggling woman the other came at the youth cautiously, shaking
his arms loosely in preparation for the fight. Blood pounded in Rollik's
ears as adrenaline coursed through him. Nervousness fluttered in his 
stomach, but there was no backing down now. He shifted his feet and 
raised his fists.
        The thug took his time, more calculative than his fallen fellow
felon. Rollik normally would have been equally cautious, but with another
of the fiends holding their would-be victim, time was crucial and risks
had to be taken. He went in quickly, hoping to disable his opponent with
a right to the throat, but the thug blocked it roughly and threw a right
of his own that split Rollik's lip and sent him reeling. The youth 
retaliated with a flurry of punches, two getting through his opponent's
guard and hitting to the shoulder and nose.
        Pain exploded in Rollik's stomach as he was hit by a punch he
hadn't even seen coming. He stepped back, gasping through clenched 
teeth at the leering face of the thug, which changed to a snarling 
grimace as Rollik spat blood in his eyes. When he swung blindly at 
Rollik it was a simple matter to catch the arm and break it with a 
punch to the outside of his elbow, and the thug dropped to the street,
whimpering.
        The hooded woman's remaining assailant pushed her violently
against a wall and came at Rollik with a cutlass until he produced his
rapier from beneath his cloak. Fear in his eyes, the thug grabbed the 
woman again and held up the blade threateningly.
        "No closer, kid, or IAAAAGGHH!!!" the threat broke off as 
teeth closed on his arm and the blade met the road with a ring of metal.
As he scrabbled for the cutlass again the woman ran for the wagon and
Rollik sprang between them, waiting. When the assailant rose to his 
feet with the cutlass Rollik's blade whisked out once, twice, three 
times. The footpad's face and groin were wounded and the blade was 
flicked away, leaving him defenseless. As Rollik thought to look for a
rope to bind the fiend he suddenly pitched forward into the dust, the
ivory hilt of a dagger in the man's back pointing accusingly up at 
the woman who had moved behind him. She was frozen with shock at what
she had just done.
        Instantly Rollik was at the woman's side.
        "Milady, are you hurt? I could fetch..." his voice died away 
as he saw her beneath her hood.
        She was a girl of Rollik's own age, and never had his eyes 
beheld such beauty. Her skin was.. "pure" was what came to mind, 
smooth, perfect, like the surface of a glistening pearl. Her hair was
black and somewhere between wavy and curly, flowing gracefully down 
past her shoulders in turbulent locks. The eyes that looked gratefully
back at him were blue and seemed to have.. depth, as if you were 
looking past them into her very soul. What Rollik saw there was relief,
changing to gratitude, and finally to fear.
        The girl suddenly broke eye contact and scanned the streets
nervously.
        "Madam, what ails you?" said Rollik. "These vagabonds are-"
        "You have not seen me this eve" she interrupted quickly. "Tell
no one you have seen me. No one! if word reaches the ears of HIM, his
jealousy may cost you your life!" She leapt to the wagon seat, gave 
Rollik a final, haunted glance, and drove off in a clatter of hooves
and squeaking of wood.
        "WAIT!" Rollik shouted vainly, running after the wagon, but
in moments it had turned a bend and was gone.
        He stood there for a long moment pondering her words, puzzled
and concerned at the turn of events. When a course of action was 
decided, he went back to where one of the would-be rapists sat nursing
his broken arm.
        Rollik smiled sheepishly.
        "Aah, excuse me, but would you be so kind as to direct me to
the Frothing Hound?"

                            *******************

The next morning, when the guards ushered him under the portcullis and hence
through the curtain wall of castle Dreht, Rollik beheld the view that was the 
walls concealed from the town below. The castle, an enclosed town in miniature,
was intended to be self-contained in the event of a siege. Small gardens and 
animal pens dotted the steep slope, and as Wisp climbed toward the keep he 
passed stables, barracks and a smithy. The lack of a temple was not surprising.
(There are few temples in the Heath regions. It is a standing joke among 
Genericans that those of the Great Heath are great heathens).
        Ever since he had arrived in the Earldom Rollik couldn't help noticing
that there was something that differed between Valiast and Dreht even more
than their geography. It was the FEEL of the place, that was it. Dreht had a
totally different atmosphere (and he didn't just mean the mountain air that he
now breathed). Though Valiast could produce some tavern brawls to rival the
best of them, the crime rate was lower, and generally speaking people in his
homeland were more cheerful. No-one Rollik passed on his way to Dreht's keep
bade him a good day, and those he greeted replied with a mere grunt. The
men-at-arms in front of the keep's portcullis weren't much better as Rollik
dismounted, gave Wisp's reins to a stable boy and, after identifying himself,
strolled through.
        In the open-air courtyard his attention was immediately drawn to two
fencers practicing with vigour. One gave the appearance of a veteran soldier,
his body toughened from supporting armour and scarred in places. Facing his
foil was a young man not much older than Rollik, a tall youth in black who
wore his hair slicked back tightly against his skull. He wielded a very
uncommon fencing sword whose blade was triangular in section for almost a
foot from the hilt and then narrowed to a flat section for the remainder of
its length, giving great lightness and flexibility. Rollik mentally saluted
the man in black; few people even knew of a Cglichemarde, much less used one.
In moments it was apparent to Rollik that he had the better form, and as he
watched the youth systematically whittled down his opponent's defences and
finished with a wicked slash to the back of his sword hand. As a crimson line
appeared the man hissed angrily.

        "You cut me!"
        "You should have parried me then, shouldn't you?" the young man replied
emotionlessly. He turned as both of them noticed Rollik, who was beginning to
identify the youth in black from rumours he had heard.

        "Why, hello there. Do you have business here, lad?"

        "Indeed I do" Rollik replied. "I bear a message for the Earl of
Dreht from the Duke of Valiast, a personal invitation."

        "You come from just across the border" the youth in black said
haughtily "and do not know the Earl's son when you address him?"

        "YOU come from just across MY border" Rollik replied. "And yet you do
not know the Duke's son, Annak."

        Annak Dreht fell silent as he realised that 1) he was addressing
someone of equal stature, and 2) he had just revealed in himself the ignorance
he had just accused Rollik of.
        He smiled thinly.
        "Welcome.....Son of Gallan. Let us go to my father."

                         *******************

Wisp seemed happy to leave, or maybe it was just because it was an easier ride
down the mountain than up. This time the bored guards on the curtain wall paid
him almost no attention at all, as likely intruders came from without rather
than in. That was why they concentrated on the cart coming up the hill instead,
paying no heed to Rollik's warm greeting. Rollik sighed, then turned his eyes
to the road and his mind on the ride home.
        Then he recognised the cart.
        Then he recognised the driver.
        "Ho, lady!" he raised an arm. Startled as she recognised him, the girl
slapped the reigns and sped through the gate.
        "Stop! I only.." Rollik thought of pursuit until the pikes of the
guards blocked his way.
        "Just keep going, you fool!" one said. His voice was without malice,
merely warning.
        "Who is she? why can't I speak with her?" Rollik said, puzzled.
        The guard raised an eyebrow. "New here, huh? that's young Annak's
woman, Kayem. He's the obsessive possessive type. Chap asked her to dance once,
and without a word Annak slashed him through the heart. Big cover-up of
course, but people talk. Anyone even talks to her now, he hates them. It isn't
good to be hated by that lad." His tone suggested that "isn't good" was a nice
way of saying "fatal". Clearly there was more to the Earl's son than met the
eye.
        Rollik grimaced. "She seems a virtuous lady. Why does she love such a
beast?"
        Both guards laughed. "She doesn't, you fool. If she wasn't so scared
she'd have left him long ago. Now get outa here afore we're seen talking too
much on the job."

        Reluctantly Rollik complied, taken aback at the emotional havoc that
could be wrought by a savage heart coupled with power.


The town of Valiast was beautiful, especially at this time of night.
Rollik sat atop the battlements with his legs dangling into space, taking in
the scene below him. Lights winked and wavered into the distance, some shining
through the windows of warm houses, some swaying with the movement of wagons.
The gentle breeze was cool on his face, and over to the right music floated up
to him from a dancing hall, laughter following.
        Silver and steel, he swore to himself. I love my home.
        The soft sound of a footstep reached his ears, too light to be one of
the patrolling guards. Rollik pushed himself back onto the catwalk, hand
already on hilt before he recognised the familiar figure walking toward him,
magelight bobbing around his head.

        "Still brooding, Rollik? it's all you've done for the past three days."
Kethnak tended to come straight to the point, especially if he was concerned.

        "I just can't stop thinking of that poor girl's plight" he answered
after a moment, staring back out over the town. Within him, suddenly, a
floodgate seemed to open. "You didn't see her, Keth. She was..trapped. She's 
hurting, and saying that it's none of my business won't change that. And she 
didn't stop and talk because of the consequences to ME, not to her. How could 
anyone abuse so selfless a lady?"

        His brother gave no answer, having none.
        They sat on the battlements for a while, the magelight dismissed with
a wave of Kethnak's hand. Wisdom was a desirable quality in the heir to the
Duchy (his official title was Marquis), and Kethnak recognised the need for
Rollik to speak his mind. He kept silent and waited.

        "Must I stand helpless while such injustice rages unchecked?" Rollik
fumed at last, frustration at his inactivity surfacing in his tone.

        "Even if you attempted to remedy the situation" Kethnak pointed out.
"You are officially Lord of a neighboring land. It wouldn't look good for
relations if you interfered with-"
        "-self centered slime that abuses both his birthright and a lady that
deserves better." Rollik finished.

        "Better" Kethnak echoed. "such as you?"

        Rollik glanced sidelong at his brother. "What are you implying? I
know not the lady. It is the pain, the injustice of the situation that
concerns me, not some selfish jealousy of Annak. Through many generations our
family has shown a deep love of our Duchy and its people, and stories such as
what now occurs in Dreht can tear it all down, if people curse the ruling
class. As part of that class is it not our duty to weed out the corruption in
our midst?"

        "And what if you're not capable of such action?" said Kethnak, ever the
realist.
        Rollik hadn't thought of that.

                         *************************

Kethnak was not surprised in the least when he awoke the next morning and found
that Rollik had gone. Wisp's stall was empty, and the guards said that he had
left shortly before sunrise.
        When Kethnak saw his father in the dining hall breaking his fast, the
Duke had already been informed of Rollik's absence, and demanded to know the
reason. Keth didn't mince his words.
        "Well father, it seems that Rollik has found himself a maiden in
distress."
                         ************************

The apprentice was young, and probably not as good at his art as Kethnak.
Rollik was not surprised. His job was to sell this stuff, not make it.
        "Five doses" the mageling said importantly. "Each one lasts up to an
hour, unless you will the spell to end or attack someone."
He handed over the flask only when Rollik's coins slid over the counter.
        "Remember, you can still be partially seen in thick fog, and your
footprints.."
        "Thank you very much." said Rollik sweetly, having heard such things
from his brother. The apprentice scowled at having his spiel interrupted, but
Rollik was out the door and gone. He opened his grimoire with a sigh and
proceeded to study until Rollik's head poked through the door again.
        "Say, will this stuff work on a horse?"

                         ************************

Sweaty paused for effect.
"...So then 'e sez to 'er: Who cares, yer a woman!"
As great guffaws filled the Frothing Hound, the large woodcutter turned back
to the bartender and gave a scooping gesture with his index finger that was
Sweaty's own sign language for "Draw one, 'keep!". The foaming mug was slid
expectantly in front of him and he reached for it by drinker's reflex alone,
his fingers closing on air as it vanished from both the bar and his vision.

Sweaty blinked. This didn't usually happen this early in the evening.

He slowly walked his fingers spiderlike along the bar, trying not to make it
appear too obvious that his vision was impaired after only eight ales and a
Dwarven Beardscorcher. However, since the attention of all the patrons of the
Frothing Hound had so recently been on him, there were a few casual observers
that not only noticed him groping for the drink but noticed that they couldn't
see it either. A clue voiced itself from the empty stool to his left.

"<gurplegurplegurplegurple>"
"Aaaah. <BELCCH!> oops! pardon me."

The mug- now empty- appeared back on the bar, followed by a coin. The
bartender was catching on by now and swiftly drew another one in an attempt
to appease Sweaty's forthcoming anger.

"Silver and Steel!" the voice swore. "What some people have to do to get a 
drink around here!"

Even though nobody could see Rollik, people were staring in his general
direction with the same attention to novelty as the last time he had entered
the tavern. He felt he was developing a taste for dramatic entrances.

"Yer swiped me ale!" bawled Sweaty suddenly, turning heads all over the bar
through sheer volume. He swung a grubby fist toward the voice, meeting only air.

"Have some manners, sir!" said the voice, now to his right. "I merely purchased
an already poured ale, in order not to alarm the owner of this establishment."

Sweaty merely snarled, and swung again. When Rollik saw that there was no
reasoning with him he remained silent and simply dodged. In the state that the
woodcutter was in it was inevitable that sooner or later he would hit someone
in the intoxicated throng, and before long the tavern erupted into flailing
fists.

The door swung open, then closed again. It could have been only the wind.

                          ***********************

The small wagon that Kayem's father had given her had made the run from
her little cottage to castle Dreht more times than she had cared to count,
because, as the page always quoted, HE had summoned her, or HE felt that she
should leave. He never sent a wagon for her, had probably never considered it.
She knew full well that the reason he didn't want her to live at the castle
(thank the light!) was because of the other women he had. She knew, and didn't
care. If she let herself care about anything she would try to escape again,
and how could you escape from someone whose eyes and ears were an entire
Earldom? And even if she COULD escape, there was.. she clenched a fist and
forced thoughts from her mind.
        She was only permitted to associate with the castle staff, and they
couldn't be trusted. Take that man a few days ago, who had recognised her
entering the castle. The guards were probably nice to his face, but after he
left they had reported that he had called Annak a "beast".
        Who was he, anyway? perhaps an outsider, he didn't seem to realise the
danger he was in. He was probably nice, too. No matter, she couldn't-WOULDN'T
be responsible for another life. It was bad enough that she would suffer
without dragging others in too. There was no-one to talk to, then, during
these lonely journeys. Lonely journeys? she scoffed to herself. Life was
loneliness.
        Kayem was brought out of her depressed musing by the sound that her
horse was making. The hooves seemed to be drumming too rapid a beat on the road
for the relatively low speed they were going. The reason for this was, of
course, that she could hear two horses, and she realised this when the rider
spoke from the thin air alongside her.
        "Don't be afraid."
        She sat bolt upright in a startled movement, glancing in all directions
for the source of the voice. It spoke again.
        "I'm using an invisibility spell. I just want to talk to you. I'm a
friend."
        Kayem pondered courses of action and their consequences.
        "Very well." she said. "But you must forgive me for speaking softly
and looking only ahead. We may be being watched. I usually am."
        She was briefly silent, then spoke again.
        "You're the one that came to my aid a few days ago, aren't you?" her
voice perception was acute.
        "The same" Rollik answered. "I am Rollik of Valiast, youngest son of
the duke.
        "Kayem." She declined to give her surname not through reluctance to
be identified (as everyone in the Duchy knew her anyway), but to show Rollik
that she didn't fully trust him. He deduced this immediately, and nodded his
acceptance (which was, of course, unseen).
        "Why did you want to speak with me?" she questioned, keeping her voice
soft and low.
        "Forgive my boldness, good lady, and I do not mean to pry, but.. if the
castle guards and tavern gossips speak true, your involvement with Annak has
brought much suffering both to you and others in this Earldom. Why do you endure
it?"
        She opened her mouth to reply, then thought better of it.
        "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that. Now please leave me be."

        For a short moment there was silence, broken only by steady hoofbeats.
Then Rollik said sadly "As you wish. Fare well." and the sound of the other
horse receded into the distance. Kayem was left alone. Always alone.

        Rollik dropped back to a comfortable following distance, and kept Wisp
at an easy trot for some time. Periodically he squinted at the sun, and when it
reached the desired position he led Wisp into the surrounding forest, staying
a few minutes until the spell wavered them into visibility. He absently 
stroked the horse's nose while thinking aloud.
        "Even with many watchers on the roads, Wisp, she could escape if she
had to, through disguise and nightfall. Some other wicked bond keeps her to
that villain, and it must be found and broken". And, he added to himself, 
retribution meted for those bruises he wasn't supposed to notice.
        He unbuckled the saddlebags, gave an apple to Wisp and had one for
himself, then produced the bottle of potion, now containing only two doses. 
Rollik wrinkled his nose in disgust as Wisp eyed it expectantly.
        "No wonder you like it, you narcissistic nag. It tastes like molasses
and fermenting vegetable peelings." He sighed, and uncorked the bottle with a
hollow popping sound.

        When they reached the castle Kayem had already passed through, and they
had to wait for another cart to follow in, thereby disguising their sound.
Rollik had a tense feeling of apprehension as they passed through the gate, as
Valiast keep's guards had a (very expensive) helmet used to see invisible
intruders. This was far from common, though, and many rulers (being the 
hard-headed warrior type) wouldn't use magical devices anyway. Whatever the 
reason, they entered castle Dreht undetected. Rollik left Wisp at the stable 
near the keep entrance (Kayem's cart was also there), and slipped into the 
inner courtyard.
        He had no way of knowing where Kayem would be, but many keeps followed
similar design logic. Servants quarters on the ground floor, Administration on 
the second, noble quarters on the third. Rollik crept his way to the third 
level and followed the corridor around so that he was on the opposite side to 
the kitchen and its resultant smoke and odours, and there found the best 
quarters. He could hear Annak's voice resounding angrily from beyond a thick 
door.  
        "..ago! I wanted you here TODAY, not tomorrow! you're trying to push
me again, aren't you? What if I wanted to push back, huh? what if I called off
the search for your old man?"
        "Annak, you're drunk again!"
        "SHUT UP!! JUST SHUT UP!!"
        Anger exploded inside Rollik as a flaming holocaust, and a hand flew
to the door as the other clutched the hilt of his rapier and started to draw.
        Then he froze.
        His mind had just produced the glimmerings of a theory. It might be
just a hunch, but if it happened to be true Rollik could no more harm Annak
now than Kayem could leave him. He inwardly wrestled with himself in front of
the door, reasoning battling instinct. Then, resolved, he turned back the way
he had come, his stride purposeful.

                           *******************

        Underneath the servant's quarters a mouldy smell stabbed at Rollik's
nostrils, as displeasing to the nose as the damp walls and decaying straw were
to the eye, dim in the flickering torchlight. Still, dungeons were not intended
for comfort.
        This view was shared by the guard that sat beside the entrance. He
was relatively young and fit, but had a brain nullified into sedation by hours
of boredom. Rollik playfully waved an invisible hand in front of his face on
the way past. He didn't blink.
        The dungeon was large, and the corridor continued well out of the
guard's hearing range. Rollik was glad of this fact when he eventually found
the only inhabited cell. The dancing torchlight that crept between the bars
illuminated a man older than Rollik's father, weakened by the meager prison
diet and lying on a pallet of straw. His build and hands indicated him to
be some sort of laborer.
        "Ho, sir!" Rollik hissed softly. The man sat up wearily and looked
to the door.
        "Don't worry that you can't see me, I'm using an invisibility spell."

        The man cast him a puzzled look.
        "What sort of an idiot are you?" he retorted. "I thought they kept
madmen in the town cells."

        "Eh?" Rollik looked down. The spell had worn off.

        "Well I was, then. Are you, perchance, the father of a lady named
Kayem?"

        The man sprang from the bed with astounding speed. "What have you done
to my girl?"

        "Peace." Rollik soothed, holding up a hand and fuming inside. He knew
it! Annak, the swine, was keeping Kayem on a pretense that her father was 
missing. Even if she found out the truth, he could still blackmail her into
giving what his twisted mind called love.
        "I'm a friend. I've come to free you."

        The man reasoned fast, as much a thinker as his daughter. If Rollik
meant him harm he would hardly bother with such a charade.
        "Good. Yes, I am Beign Benevolle. Do you have the key?"

        "Er" said Rollik, feeling somewhat incompetent as a rescuer. "Be right
back".

        The guard still hadn't moved when Rollik approached him again, this
time from behind. Rollik was starting to think he was dead, but then he 
moved his arm slightly. He moved it even more when Rollik's hand snaked under
his chin and drove his head backward into the unforgiving stone. The guard,
being unconscious, declined to give Rollik thanks for brightening up his dull
day, so the youth settled for the keys instead.  

        They cautiously made their way up from the dungeon. At the top of the
dungeon stairs Rollik motioned for Beign to wait, checked the corridor, motioned
again for them to continue, then gave a shocked look at the patrolling guard
rounding the corner.
        Rollik drew himself up as the guard opened his mouth to speak.
        "Halt! who goes there?" challenged Rollik.
        The guard stood at a loss for words, his line stolen. Finally he
spoke.
        "I'm...well, I'm a guard."

        Rollik was unimpressed. "Password." he said, eyeing the guard
suspiciously.

        "Glimfeather."

        "Pass, friend." Rollik feigned relief. It became real when the guard
vanished down the corridor, somewhat confused. Rollik reached into the
darkness and pulled Beign quickly up the passage from where the guard had
come.
        As they passed through an archway into the courtyard Rollik
immediately moved both of them behind one of the flanking pillars. From their
new vantage point he could see out the gate to Wisp, and immediately noted
that Kayem and her wagon had left. Good, Rollik thought. Only one person to
worry about now. Oh, and myself.
        He set into motion a fast line of reasoning. The guard's uniform
downstairs wouldn't fit either of them, so the old captive-and-guard trick
wouldn't get them past the keep's guards, portcullis and drawbridge. Then
there were the guards on the curtain wall down the hill. At least they might
be able to race past them, as then (with luck) they would be on horseback.
But if they'd lowered their portcullis.. oh well, first things first.
        "Okay" he said to Beign. "see my horse out the gate there? no, the
one that looks bored. When the guards are gone from the gate run out to it
and wait for the count of three dozen, no more. If I'm not there by then try
to surprise the guards on the curtain wall and go. If you're challenged,
you know the password".
        "Right" Beign agreed, adrenaline surging. "But- what do you mean, when
the guards are gone?"
        Rollik was gone.


"Guards, Guards!!"
This much-used phrase targets a select group of individuals, and the two of
those outside the gate were instantly attentive. On investigation they beheld
a dramatic scene: Young Niais, the dungeon guard, was grappling furiously
with a young noble in front of the northern stairs. As they watched, their
comrade forced the youth back onto an empty barrel, which collapsed under his
weight. The two rolled on the ground, struggling violently until the guards
arrived on the scene and noticed 1) the noble was the young man that had
visited the castle a week earlier, 2) Niais was snoring softly, and 3) he was
a bit less active when Rollik wasn't holding him up.

        "Er.." said Rollik, getting to his feet. "I don't suppose you fellows
can take a joke?"

        They couldn't. Rollik ran.

        His plan was to double back and run out the gate, but this was foiled
by the appearance of the guard Rollik had duped earlier. Rollik swerved up a
spiraling staircase, legs pumping furiously and mind racing. Twisting and
turning was out, as his pursuers knew the castle better than did, and there
were more of them. A desperate situation was presenting itself.
        Which called for a desperate remedy.

        Rollik climbed the stairway to the top, the clanking sounds of
pursuit below him. Out on the battlements, over the side, hang on for dear
life and hope they thought you've gone somewhere else.
        He now clung to the outside of the keep wall, feet wedged between
large stones and wondering what he was doing in such a situation. Everything
would have been fine if only that other guard hadn't appeared.
        Rollik, he told himself, you should have allowed for something like
that. There are three things you will now remember when busting people out of
castles: prepare, prepare and prepare. You are a brainless moronic idiot and
this is about to be remedied because you will soon plummet to your death.
        (Actually he was being overly hard on himself. He WAS only young and
besides, it's a bit hard to have a plan "B" when your language consists of
runes).
        After a few thousand years the squeaky sound of armour was heard
above him. voices followed.

        "..not up here. Let's try the offshoots, and split up."

        Rollik looked down, and instantly regretted it as the view was not all
that encouraging. He tried to estimate the depth of the moat and failed.
Valiast's moat wasn't all that deep and had spikes at the bottom. What if
they had swarm eels down there? another nice thought. Rollik, this was not a
good idea.
        He looked up again, into a snarling face, watching the blade descend
toward his fingers.

        Reflex took over, followed shortly by gravity.

                         ************************

He had almost finished counting, and was intending to stay longer, but it
didn't matter if Beign wanted to go or not. Wisp didn't.
        When they saw the figure blur downward into the sludge the horse
responded at once, and galloped toward the figure crawling up the bank. Rollik
had a painful welt up his right side from where he had struck the water, and
had sprained his ankle on the bottom, but he'd had worse. He just couldn't
remember when.
        Once astride his horse Rollik felt partly better, and was already
deciding on their next course of action as they made their way down the hill,
shouts of alarm behind them. With Rollik so conspicuously wet, a bluff was
beyond them. Unless..
        "Are you injured?" Rollik queried.
        "No, I made it though unchallenged." was the reply.
        "You are now." Rollik said, reaching into a saddlebag. "Hold still."
        He then emptied the entire contents of the water bottle over his
passenger.
                          ************************

When they heard the shouts from the keep, the guards at the curtain wall knew
that an emergency was at hand. When two men galloped down soaked to the skin,
their suspicions were confirmed. One was not moving, water trickling out of
his mouth. The other was nearly hysterical with grief.
        "One side! one side, or the healers will be too late!"
As the portcullis grated upward the man composed himself.
        "And tell our escort" -he indicated the party following at speed from
the keep- "that we need them not. My horse is fast". With that, they were under
the barrier and away. The spiked gate was lowered again.

                          ************************

As they raced through the town and east toward Kayem's cottage, Beign
supplied Rollik with some more of the story. Two months previous Beign had
been apprehended for not being able to pay his taxes. When Kayem had appeared
at the keep with him she had caught Annak's eye, and after she had left Beign
had been cast into prison. Rollik surmised that Annak had created a false
escape story, and Beign's absence could be explained by his reluctance to
get Kayem involved. Annak's oppressive "charm" would then have come into play,
and the rest was- tragic- history.
        They caught up with Kayem before she reached home. The reunion of
father and daughter was a joyous one, and Rollik respectfully left the two to
their happy scene until he was forcefully included with much hugging and back
slapping. Rollik's next instinct was to go back for Annak, but Beign soon saw
the folly of this action and talked him out of it by explaining that they
could no longer live in Dreht and needed protection over the border. Rollik,
naturally, suggested that they move to Valiast, and without further ado they
were off again. Since they were still being pursued they forced a fast pace,
not even stopping at the little cottage for the few items they valued.

                           ************************

Annak stood on the battlements gazing sightlessly down at the town, barely
controlling his all-consuming rage as he interpreted the guards' descriptions
of the stranger. He nodded to himself, shaking slightly.
        The guard, standing rigid, was quite familiar with Annak and his
ways.
        "As usual, sir, your father will hear none of this?"

        "Yes, you're quite right". Annak clenched and unclenched his fists,
his breathing rapid. Suddenly he grasped the guard around the neck with both
hands, his thin features white with lunacy, and pushed the guard over the
battlements into space.
        Being heavily weighted with scale armour the guard had no chance, but
he was particularly unlucky as he hit the water. The moat's fifteen-foot-long
razorserpent happened to be around that side of the keep at that time, and
the guard vanished in a crimson froth.

                           *******************

"No, no, no!!!"

Rollik had thought that the senior instructor of dance could not fit any more
wrinkles on his face, but the impossible was achieved as he frowned with
gentle displeasure at Rollik.

"You keep slipping back to the more modern styles." he said gruffly. "As the
score is crisp and sharp "- he nodded toward the patient musicians- "So must
your movements be. Keep that neck stiff, and we'll try it again."

Rollik obeyed with a sigh. Sometimes his cultural duties as a noble went
beyond his personal taste, and he was obliged to undertake ventures merely
for the sake of traditions upheld. One of them was the learning of historic
dances of many regions, and this particular one didn't even require a
partner. Alone on the dance floor (apart from the instructor), Rollik felt
vulnerable, almost naked. As the musical introduction strained from the
instruments he readied himself, and started into the dance anew.
        He had loved dancing from an early age, and as the music filled the
small practice room he forced a compromise between letting himself get
carried away with the music and performing the practiced moves puppet-like.
He concentrated hard on rigidity, not letting the sounds distract him but
using them to his advantage, smoothing the steps into expression.
        Midway through the fourth stanza, with the instructor nodding his
approval, his concentration faltered. Rollik's feeling of vulnerability in
the room had heightened to a degree where he felt eyes upon him, and as he
gave a gracious spin his feeling was given hard proof by the sight of Kayem
standing in the doorway. Rollik stopped awkwardly, the instructor frowned
down his nose, and the music slurred to a stop as the musicians rolled their
eyes and prepared to start again.
        Kayem laughed, her eyes bright, as Rollik came over to her with an
unabashed look on his face. Kayem had changed much since her arrival in the
Duchy, and all changes had been for the better. She was now free to be
herself, to have friends, to be happy. To Rollik, it was as if a rosebud had
finally been allowed to flower.
         The Benevolles now lived in the keep, Beign's trade as a weaponsmith
earning him a solid living. Rollik had spent much time with Kayem as he had
introduced her to her new home and its ways, and the two had become firm
friends. Because of Kayem's recent (and emotionally injurious) experiences,
Rollik kept his thoughts away from wanting more than that friendship. Time,
he thought, to let a fragile heart heal.
        "You're early." he said in mock surprise.
        "I've finished for the day." she answered matter-of-factly. She had
found a place in the school, and had proven to be excellent with the children
of the Duchy.
        "Just a moment." he held up a hand in emphasis as he turned and walked
back to converse briefly with the instructor and band. They nodded, and he
strode back to her.
        However, instead of motioning them to leave the dance room, he bowed
gracefully as the musicians struck up a beautiful ballroom ballad.

        "Shall we?"

        She was momentarily embarrassed as she beheld the musicians throwing
themselves wholeheartedly into the music, the instructor leaving with a
grin, and Rollik's slightly bemused face. She gave an answering smile.

        "Why not?"

        They came together, separate entities merging into a couple, whirling
into the dance.

                           ***********************

They had been looking forward to the day for some time. As the moonripen
festival neared, some of the best entertainers from faraway lands were
employed for the merriment of the people. Although the event was still four
weeks away, many auditions and much preparation was needed, and this meant
that entertainment second to none could be found within the Duchy. As night
fell Rollik and Kayem took a carriage to the town hall, and there met Arg
Boolan, the festival chairman, for a special preview performance.
        Pleasantries exchanged, they entered the hall. Many seats were
already filled with both commoners and nobility, who politely rose to their
feet at the entrance of Arg and Rollik. Self-consciously they proceeded to the
center balcony of the immense theater, reserved for special guests. Kayem took
a seat (followed by the gentlemen) and took in the splendour of the building.
Exquisite woodwork was everywhere, from the carved railings to the rows of
velveted seats. Fine drapery adorned the walls, also honoured with paintings
of the most famous performers to grace the Valiast stage.
        Before long the curtain rose in front of the expectant audience. The
night's first performers were one of the more renowned bard-and-illusionist
combinations that had come all the way from Generica itself. As the
illusionists took up their positions the bard (garbed as a sheep-herd)
introduced the group, then unstrung his mandolin and began to sing in a
herder's drawl.

        One night while droving sheep
        My companions lay asleep
        there was not a star to 'luminate the sky.
        I was dreaming I suppose
        for my eyes were partly closed
        when a very strange procession passed me by.

His voice and musical skill proved that he was good at his trade, and as the
illusionists began to illustrate the song by producing phantom creatures,
they proved that they knew their work as well.

        First there came a dragon, blue,
        then a white, and black one too.
        A red one followed last, through dark'ning sky.
        They were flying mighty fast
        but they shouted as they passed
        "Peace, human! it is not your time to die!"

The audience gasped as illusionary dragons seemed to burst through the wall
and sweep overhead. Kayem grasped Rollik's arm in a reflex movement, then
they laughed together and watched the stage intently as the bard continued.

        I then beheld a dancing ring
        and watched a fright'ning creature sing.
        It had more than twenty mouths, and all spat flame-
At this point the illusionists turned their art on the bard himself, and the
singing entertainer assumed the hideous form of a gibbering mouther. Then
instantly he was the bard once more.
        -so I sat and scratched me head,
        for I knew I should be dead,
        but I listened and enjoyed it just the same.

The stage had now become a dancing ring, in which all manner of evil
creatures were acting with courtesy and good-naturedness. They seemed to be
having a good time.

        When the dreaded manticore
        hushed its fear-inducing roar
        and began to dance a jig, I gave a smile.
        Then a lich-lord tipped 'is lid
        to a lady illithid
        and a succubus sang solo all the while.

        As the creatures, large and small
        began to dance as at a ball
        why, I couldn't help but laugh with sheer delight!
        for the evil in these things
        had taken flight on snowy wings
        and for once, across the land, was peace tonight.

The rapt audience could not have asked for more splendid entertainment. Below
the balcony the commoners were laughing, gasping, clapping. Next to them Arg
was scribbling furiously on a section of parchment. Rollik suddenly realised
that Kayem's hand was in his own, and he couldn't remember when that had
happened. The performers reached the conclusion of their song.

        I was dreaming, I suppose
        of these entertaining shows
        but it never crossed my mind I was asleep.
        'Till the dwarf who owns the cart
        woke me up with such a start
        with-
As the magical scene suddenly dissolved the mundane scene of a typical sheep-
drover's campsite appeared in an effectual contrast as one of the stageside
illusionists flung back his hood to reveal a dwarven face (was it real?) that
delivered the last line:

        "Dreamy, where by Reorx are all the sheep?"

The hall interrupted into thunderous applause. The team came to center stage
and bowed, then left to make way for the next act.

                        *********************

When the performance finished later that night, they emerged with the crowd
into the street. After Arg had left with cheerful salutations Kayem suggested
they walk back, and being as hot and breathless as the rest of the crowd,
Rollik was inclined to agree. The sky was clear, and millions of crystal stars
overhead winked knowingly about something that Rollik couldn't work out.
        Throughout the night and even still as they walked, Kayem had not
released her hand. Rollik had given it some thought, and deduced that its
significance could be any one of many reasons. Affection shown for a friend
was one. Perhaps she simply needed physical reassurance of his protection
after all she had been through. He dispelled further musing, If she needed him,
he was there.
        Their walk back to the keep took them along the scenic banks of the
Noimbyda, spared from housing in order to beautify the town. The moon, becoming
larger as the ripening approached, danced its reflections from the water,and
as they made their way silently amid the trees they simply enjoyed each other's
company. When Kayem's arm slipped around Rollik the youth was very conscious 
of her hair against his cheek.
        Then Rollik gave himself a hard mental kick for being so blind.

        "Milady, I.." he drew away from her, reading again her feelings in her
eyes. Momentarily, reflexively, she was afraid of him as he ended the embrace.
Rollik knew why, and cursed Annak for having done this to her. 
        "What is it?" she said, dreading his answer.

        He couldn't answer for a moment.

        "I.. I'm not sure we should be together" he blurted, instantly
regretting his choice of words.

        She looked away, blinking back tears.

        "No." Rollik said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "No, that's not
what I meant. I mean that.. What Annak has done has left you vulnerable, holed
in the heart. I love you, more than any I've met, but what sort of man would 
I be if I took advantage of that vulnerability?"

        As she turned to him, he looked into her eyes. He saw sincerity there.

        "It's because you think like that, Rollik" she whispered "that I
know exactly what I'm doing."
        Their lips met, and the world around them dissolved into nothingness,
fading, receding, until there existed only the blissful intimacy.

                        ********************

There were people like the man in every town, in every land. In Valiast there
were fewer, but they still existed. Money, that was what motivated him. Yes,
money. One had to be good to turn idle gossip into money, and as Skerg saw the
young couple embrace on the riverbank, he knew that it was a simple matter to
produce money from the stories he had heard in Dreht.
                         *******************
All thirty of the horns blared an aggressive fanfare that spread rapidly
out from the keep, blasting up the valley in a sonic flood. Given the 
time of year, the music, and the decorations, one could be forgiven for
thinking that the moonripen festival was upon the land. Anyone who 
thought so was a week premature. No, this occasion was similar to the 
celebrations of two years past, as the younger of the Duke's sons came of
age.
        The great hall was filled to capacity, and this was by no means a
small feat. All of the nobles of the Duchy were present, and many from
surrounding lands, garbed in splendour and murmuring amongst themselves.
Armed guards lined the walls (for both practical and ceremonial purposes),
and their commander stood proudly on the raised dais at the front of the 
hall. Skerg seemed to be a mass of plumes, epaulettes, medals and gold 
braid.
        The crowd suddenly hushed at the entrance of Gallan from the bronze
doors at the rear of the hall. Following him was Rollik, and both men (for
Rollik could now be called a man) made their way at a solemn pace up the
aisle to the dais. Although both wore blue cloaks emblazoned with the 
silver sunburst crest, Rollik had chosen to wear white for the occasion to
indicate his devotion to the causes of good.

        Gallan's mind was awash with sentimental turbulence as he performed
the same ceremony that his father, Bolst, had performed for him many years
before: the passing of the blade. Though his ruling of the Duchy would
continue unchanged, the blade that had served him well for over twenty 
years would from this day be wielded by his son.
        With practiced ease the Duke unbuckled the scabbard and reverently
laid the blade on the velveted weapon-stand erected on the dais. Kethnak,
openly proud of his brother, presented Rollik with the traditional white 
glove for the first drawing of the blade, and the young lord slipped it on
his right hand with some anticipation. He glanced to Kayem in the front 
row, and she smiled her encouragement. It worked.
        Silent, inward awe filled Rollik as he at last touched the blade he
had seen nearly every day for as long as he could remember. He buckled the
scabbard to his own swordbelt clumsily, then swallowed and bared the blade
with a swift ringing draw.
        He spoke the oath.

        "I, Rollik of the house of Valiast, swear on the blade of my
forefathers that it shall be wielded in the name of justice and good alone.
That it shall be used to protect the innocent and the lands in which they
live, that it will cast down evil wherever it may lurk. By my power as a son
of Valiast and the power of the blade, it will be done."

        As Rollik bowed at the end of the oath the assembly broke into
applause (some politely, some with vigour). Several servants took their cue
as the applause degenerated into casual conversations, and began serving
trays of exquisite delicacies.
	Rollik was in a whirl as various guests congratulated him. The 
weight of the sword was new on his hip, but it felt comfortable, at home.
Kayem took her turn in the congratulations, kissing him gently on the
cheek. 
	"You look great" she said, and meant it. "That single glove is
definitely fashionable".

	Rollik looked down and seemed to notice it for the first time.
	"For you" he said "I shall wear it always."
As Rollik peered into her eyes he saw, as usual, her very self bared to him, 
all her feelings betrayed. There was love, pride for him, but something more. 
A glimmer of fear lay under the surface. Dread.

	That night, when the guests had left and they were alone save
for a few passing servants, Rollik voiced his concern.

	"My love, there is fear in your heart."

	She was quiet for a moment, then tentatively spoke.
	"The festival is in but a week." she said, as if it explained
everything.

	It did. Rollik pondered her words for several seconds, thinking of
the festival, the entertainers, the guests...
	Annak.

	"Fear not." he said. "Although the Dreht family will be present at
the grand celebration, It is tradition for a Valiast to celebrate with
the commoners, and I have arranged for us to be at the costume ball on 
the other side of the city. You will not see nor hear of him." 

	That may be,thought Skerg from the shadows,fingering his money pouch,
but he will hear of you.

			********************

"How do I look?" Rollik asked the servant girl casually, stepping out of
the doorway.

"Ridiculous" she answered truthfully, appraising his outsize hat, four inch
long nose (that was starting to become unstuck), and a beltbuckle that could
be used to pound grain.

"Perfect." Rollik said with a wink.

The young lord was garbed as Zorr de Hooderac, legendary long-nosed outlaw
that took from the rich, gave to the poor and slashed a strange rune on
people's chests. He adjusted the phony rapier on his hip, and waited at the 
bottom of the stair.

When Kayem made her somewhat shy appearance, Rollik could not help but 
whistle his appreciation. The woman was stunningly beautiful in a flowing
ball gown that rippled behind her like an extension of her wavy locks.
She was dressed as a well-known fictional character whose name translated to
something like "Frozen-water-burnt-woodella-who-sleeps-beautifully",
the drugged-apple addict with a fetish for short people who drove a pumpkin,
couldn't use a spinning wheel for nuts and could only be awakened by the 
kiss of a handsome frog.

Rollik took her arm and they walked slowly to the waiting carriage in the
courtyard. With twelve minutes to go, Rollik estimated that they would be
fashionably on time. He glanced out the window.

Even though it was night, the fields were lit with the seasonal brightness
of the moon that provided the accelerated ripening of the succularants, the
fruit that provided the Duchy with much of its income. The celebratory
festival was in full swing, and the carriage drove through a city 
transformed. Banners, streamers, colours, dancers. The streets were full
of revellers (some more than a little drunk), but they still made it to
the watch-house on time.
	The building was constructed as a smaller version of the keep. As
the city had grown out over the valley four had been built spaced evenly
along the perimeter, providing convenient barracks, armory and lookout
for the city guards. With all the nobles at the Keep Valiast celebrations,
a better place could not have been chosen for Kayem to keep her thoughts-
and herself- away from Annak Dreht.
	The commoners' costume ball was just starting to create itself.
People from all works of life were streaming into the decorated watch-house
in many different costumes. A man disguised as a hooded Wraith was "attacking"
a group of women, who laughingly feigned terror. A tall man wandered past
dressed as an Ettin, his fake second head sitting awkwardly on one shoulder.
Two young farmers even waddled into the party in the composite costume of a
Black Dragon. 
	Rollik and Kayem linked arms and drifted, free, into the merriment.

			********************

Gallan gave a gentle, polite bow, and left yet another small cluster of
guests engaged in animated conversation. The nobles' party was large indeed,
larger than most years' festival banquets, but it was still his duty as
host to ensure that everyone was enjoying themselves. True to form, he 
even approached the main entrance to chat to the guards when his attention 
was diverted by a pair of centaurs that had just come in.

	"Silver and Steel! Nathal Darkmane! I was unsure that my envoy would
reach you!" He shook the huntmaster's well-muscled hand heartily.
	"Greetings, Gallan. Your envoy located us during a rest period. I
trust you remember my wife and tribe priestess, Shalla ?"
	"Of course." the Duke bowed gracefully.
	At that, the beautiful female centaur reached down and clasped 
Gallan in a loving embrace.
	"Greetings, Gallan. We have missed you since the incursion. And 
where is your lovely wife?"

A shadow crossed Gallan's features.
	"Darna has.. joined the light." he said, holding up a hand in
acknowledgment of their comforting expressions. "But she left me with
the two joys of my life, my sons Rollik and Kethnak." Keth was nearby
talking to an aged, shrunken husk of a man: the Earl of Dreht, and Gallan 
beckoned them both over for formal introductions. As the centaurs appraised
Gallan's elder son the huntmaster gave a rare show of emotion.
	"We, too, have a colt." stated Nathal with an edge of pride to
his voice. "But Helios stayed with the tribe, as is custom".

	"Keth, Earl" Gallan said politely "I present centaurs Nathal and
Shalla Darkmane, of the tribe Soesor. Centaurs, my son Kethnak and the
Earl of our neighboring land of Dreht. I say, Dreht old boy, where's 
your young lad?"	
	"He's-" the elder glanced around the room for a moment.

	"Why, he was here a minute ago."

			****************

Hot and breathless, Rollik and Kayem joined all others in the watch-house
in another chorus of "Do-the-do-si-do'ing-dragon-dance", bringing the 
room to life with flapping arms and chomping teeth. As always, on the last
chorus, some local wag lit a spurt of flammable alcohol from his mouth and
produced whoops of laughter. Rollik was suddenly distracted by a six-foot
pickle that tapped him on the shoulder politely.

	"Pardon, yer lordship. Seems there's some dockymentashun needs
signin' back at the 'all".

	Rollik thanked the commoner and kissed Kayem quickly. "Pardon,
my love, but the call of duty is not to be ignored". He made his way 
through the rowdy throng to the entrance.
	How easily Rollik had lost track of time. The moon was now higher
in the sky, and yet the night seemed darker. A cold breeze contrasted the
costume ball's warmth of fire and company as Rollik began the two-block
walk to the city hall.

	His first indication that something was wrong was when the 
blackjack caught him at the base of the skull and drove him to one knee
with the force of the blow. Despite the pain, this told Rollik something
about the nature of the attack. A quick knockdown was usually ensured by
striking to the temple, which meant that either the attacker was a novice
or they wanted to toy with him.
	Head swimming, Rollik swung a reflexive backfist that connected
with a crack. The young Lord used the momentum to spin around to face his
attacker, standing up again as he did so.
	This enabled him to see that his attacker had eight companions.

	All nine of the men facing Rollik were complete strangers. Rollik
was mildly disappointed at this, as if a group of people was going to 
pound him into oblivion he liked to know who they were, and perhaps why.
One of them offered an indication in a smooth, cultured tone.

"We'rr teacha ta nick the bosses wommun!". 

Another also spoke flawless cretin.

"I'm gonna FUMP you!"

Reasoning was out, Rollik was a realist. However, they didn't know that.
He adopted a pompous pose, one foot forward with the toe down and heel up,
and put his hand in the air with his nose.

"Do you know, sirs, what kind of trouble assaulting a blue-blooded
gentleman such as myself can deposit you in?"

They hesitated for a moment, then several chuckled. One imitated his pose while 
another attempted to mimic his haughty tone.

"Of course not, dear chap. Pray, tell us".

Rollik did. His stance, which enabled him to covertly bury his toes into the
loose dust of the road, changed to a kick with a blur. The scoop of dust
caught the two closest thugs unawares, and before they could scrabble in
irritation at their eyes Rollik was upon them.
	Fists darting and head bobbing, he fought among them. He had no clear
plan, save the one that had given him a momentary advantage that he made full
use of. 
	There was a time when he had them all at bay. The hapless image 
erupting into motion was an unexpected turn of events, and while the men
were of the back streets of Dreht, Rollik fought with the desperate courage
of the cornered fox.
	For a moment, he even thought he had a chance to win.

	Delusions eventually faded, and hope with it, as the thugs regained
the initiative. Blows seemed to come from nowhere, behind him, everywhere.
He fought on into the greying of his consciousness, which dimly heard a 
shouting voice of distant challenge:

"Makkla Tel Fussw Braqc Wol Yalca!!!"

	More fists were suddenly there, disembodied, marbled, glowing blue.
Filled with the strength of magic, they were joined by their creator who 
waded in with fists of his own. With the assistance of Bigby's Bashing Boxers,
Kethnak reduced Rollik's assailants to inert forms within a minute. Rollik
sagged to the ground, his strength momentarily gone.

"Rollik!" Kethnak's voice preceded him to his brother's side. "How fare
you?" Behind him the blue gloves shook themselves triumphantly in the air
and began slapping each other.

"I'm all right." Rollik lied. 

That was when his sense of logical reasoning, dismissed during the fight,
rushed back and processed what the thugs had said.

"Zounds!" he said, leaping to his feet. "There may be treachery afoot. Keth,
all speed to the Keep, to safeguard the guests and our father. Myself to
the watch-house. Make haste!"

The brothers parted. Kethnak, not yet being able to teleport, produced a small
figurine from a pouch and set it on the road, murmuring softly. Silently
it swelled to his phantom horse Graylander, and Keth was on it and gone,
blue gloves bobbing hurriedly behind him. Rollik ran for the watch-house.

As he approached he could see through the door that the party seemed normal.
A flash of white raised his eyes to the parapet, where by the light of the
moonripening he could see two figures struggling. Rollik unbuckled the
ridiculous belt, letting it slide with the fake sword to the ground. He
noticed for the first time that his foppish hat and false nose had not 
survived the fight.
	Grasping the trellis, he began to climb.

Though she was free to move, save from the hands that grasped her 
shoulders, Kayem felt paralyzed. After such freedom of the last weeks
the sudden appearance of her former oppressor left her inner self cringing,
mind recoiling in turbulence as Annak dragged her up the stair to the 
watch-house roof. His breathing rapid, his eyes darting, he spoke the
thoughts of an insane mind.

	"How.. how could you LET that accursed slime take you away, you
cheap slut? you KNOW you love me. You do! Just punishment is his. And
you- you let yourself be dragged from your one true love!"
 
	She gave no reply, muted by the constricting grip of fear.

	The door to the roof crashed open, and suddenly above them was
the bejewelled sky, an emptiness of free space that Kayem wanted to 
fly to, to soar, to begone. Annak took her roughly in his arms, and
began to force his lips upon her. She pushed at him wildly, panic
ensuing, calling vainly for help she knew wouldn't come. Her mind began
its reflex action, distancing herself from painful reality and withdrawing
into its forgotten morass. She heard a voice:

"Let her go". 
The voice, too familiar to be real, was barely controlled. Annak spun with 
the sound.

The swollen moon was low in the sky, and silloutted against it was a young man.
He held a commanding stance, arms folded, eyes burning with anger barely
suppressed. For Annak, blind rage was instantaneous with recognition.

"It isn't her you want" said Rollik icily "You're too twisted to want any
woman the way love dictates. What you want is power. Power to rule others'
lives, power to bend people to your rule."

"Power" said Rollik "to remove those in your way". He raised a hand to the
sky. On the other side of the city, the sword of Valiast heard his call and
came to him.

"Annak" he said "you do not have that power."

For a moment the high son of Dreht said nothing. Then his black cloak swirled
around him and the Cglichemarde sprang willingly to his dextrous hand. He left
Kayem trembling against the battlement and approached Rollik, who closed
his eyes momentarily, sensing the approach of destiny.


Tense, warily, the two fencers circled. Rapier high, Rollik readied
his attack from classic first-position; Annak adopted a more lateral
stance, in classic answer. Without telegraphing his move, Rollik
suddenly cut straight down with his blade. When Annak moved to parry,
Rollik feinted and cut low. Annak counterparried, letting the impact
carry the Cgichemarde toward his opponents' throat. Rollik met the
riposte and stepped back, the first bloodless blows traded.
	Even from the first few seconds of the duel, Rollik was 
astounded by Annak's speed. The Cglichemarde was a blur, and while
Rollik had considerable skill it took great concentration to
ward off Annak's attacks, much more to press his own. Instinct was
there, the sharpened combat reflexes that heightened his senses.
So was skill, the results of countless hours of practice and
self-discipline. What had fled Rollik was reason: the calm, 
calculative part of him. It was gone at first sight of the woman
he loved being treated as a plaything by the monster before him.
	They fought on. Annak had a slight advantage in that Rollik
could not prevent his anger from affecting his techniques; Rollik
had an advantage in that he had seen Annak fight before, in keep Dreht.
	It was Rollik who drew first blood, a deceptive move timed to
perfection. He went in with a thrust, high but slow. When Annak moved
to parry, Rollik increased the speed of his thrust suddenly so that the
parry forced the Rapier up onto Annak's chin. A shallow cut, and far from
fatal, but from a psychological point of view very effective. Dreht
stumbled back for a second and Rollik pressed his attack hurriedly, but
Annak regained form in moments and the advantage was gone.
	The moon above had darkened with the moment, and at certain
times all that could be seen was the rapid glinting of steel flashing
to and fro. Perhaps it was the poor light, perhaps Kayem's vision was 
blurred with tears, but with the rage the two combatants expressed in
swordplay, their differences vanished and they became alike.
	With a quick <thwip> sound, Annak scored a hit, and a telling one.
The Cglichemarde pierced Rollik's left shoulder and he could not withhold 
a gasp of pain that made Annak leer evilly in the moonlight. From Dreht's
point of view, he had gained a significant advantage.
	Rollik held a different view. He had been tired and sore since 
before the duel began, but the new wound produced an unexpected result 
in Rollik's fighting. Pushed past his limits now, the pain faded to a 
dull throb, and with it anger and rage. What Annak faced now was twelve
years of fencing training coupled with the love of a lady and a good deal
of natural talent. The rapier flipped in Rollik's fingers. 
	He began to force Annak back, a blurring wall of steel before him.
In less than a minute Dreht found his back to the battlements, but with
characteristic skill turned the direction of the play to one side. Thus
given much more room, Annak launched into a running flurry of attacks, a
fleche.
	The move was coldy calculated. Annak knew that a swordsman such
as Rollik would know that an excellent defence against the fleche was
to strike low and let the enemy's oncoming weight bend and break the 
blade, thus impaling the enemy on the rest of it. Annak guessed Rollik
would try this, and he was well prepared for the parry that would put
Rollik's sword on the stones and his own in his heart. As he started
the fleche, he saw that Rollik indeed was striking low, and falling for
his trap. Annak pressed the fleche.
	Rollik's blade didn't break. It hardly even bent. 
 	Annak barely had time to feel surprise before the fiery pain
exploded within him, steel transfixing his left thigh as Rollik's 
other arm -the wounded one- smashed the Cglichemarde from his limp fingers.
As Annak stumbled back with a cry Rollik withdrew the rapier into ready
position.
	Annak, however, was far from beaten. Staggering backward, he
whipped a dagger from his boot and, grasping Kayem roughly, forced it
to her neck.
	"Drop the blade, son of Valiast, or she dies. We leave, and you
cannot stop us. Cannot stop ME."
	Rollik's eyes blazed. Let Kayem go back to the miserable 
existence whence she came? he would sooner die. He judged the distance
between him and Annak, the margin for error that was Kayem's life.
	"Drop it. NOW" Annak insisted, pressing the dagger tighter.
	The blade of Valiast flashed outward, incredibly fast, with all
of Rollik's skill and training behind it. Annak's head flew from his 
shoulders and disappeared over the battlements into the darkness. The
dagger fell from his lifeless fingers, and Kayem fell into Rollik's
arms.
	"My love, be still" Rollik soothed. "He is gone, never to
return, and I am here for you always". Below them, sound seemed to
return, as Rollik noticed for the first time that the revellers below
were launching happily into the Valiast festival song.

	"<I from the land of Valiast be>
	 <Far from the Desert, far from the sea>"

	Rollik looked into Kayem's eyes, and saw that her gaze was 
distant. She suddenly pressed her lips to his own, then slumped back
with a sigh. 
	"<My forested valley, green of hill>"
	She looks hurt, Rollik thought. But he never-  he glanced to
her neck, saw the small bead of red. To the dagger, covered with an
oily yellow substance. No.nononononono
NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
	"<Ever I loved her, and ever I will>"

	The victor knelt atop the parapet, defeated.