Chimeron's Library
Stories
Stories
The Dragon
It was a dark and stormy night. No, I know... but it really was! Rain and hail so heavy you couldn't see the stables from the tavern door, and thunder growling at you like some pissed-off bear. The lightning didn't help you to see, just blinded you with its flash and left you seeing purple floating splotches. Running out to the outhouse would get you drenched before you got there and freezing before you got back. The cloaks steamed dry by the fire, making the tavern nearly as damp inside as it was out. The few customers sat and nursed mugs of hot cider, sullenly watching the rain fall, and hoping it would let up before it was time to go home. It was no fit night for man or beast. So I suppose I should not have been surprised when the beast agreed.
We all knew there was a dragon in the Marrow Woods - had been since Midsummer or shortly before. Occasionally a brave and doughty knight would stop by the tavern on his way out to slay the beast. We'd direct him out to the woods, and a few days later the town undertaker would go collect the body for transport back to wherever it belonged. But the dragon didn't bother us townsfolk. It didn't raid the herds or attack the children, apparently preferring venison and wild boar from the crispy carcasses we found in the woods. The stream through town ran clearer for passing through the charcoal upstream. And there were no wolves around the village this winter - wolves and dragons being natural enemies and all. So we were not inclined to complain at its presence. "Dragons have a right to live, too," we told ourselves around the tavern and the town moot hall when the topic came up. "He leaves us alone, we have no call to do aught else to him."
So I was standing by the open door watching the storm. There was nothing else to do, there being so few customers, and them not wanting anything more than a break in the storm so they could get home. So I was standing there, when the wind went WHOOP, and the rain stopped for a second right outside the door, then went sideways straight at me. I went from warm and dry in my good wool shawl to cold and dripping on my ass on the floor where the wind had knocked me, and no recollection of an in-between. And the dragon had his big green knobbledy head stuck in the door. He was laughing at me.
"Your pardon, miss" he said when he'd managed to collect himself. "I had not anticipated an open door in the way of my back wind."
I grumbled and swore and picked myself and my soggy shawl up off the floor. Then, gathering my damp and bedraggled dignity around me, I bowed to the dragon and offered it the Tavern's hospitality.
"Thank you," it said, and began to come in.
Now this was a problem. Dragons are somewhat narrow and snaky, and this one could easily get through the door. Except for the wings - they were a bit of a crush. But while they're thin, dragons are also long, and there was a lot to this one. And now I had a tavern full of thirty feet of dripping wet muddy dragon in the middle of my nice clean tavern floor. And on the nice clean tables, sprawled over half the chairs, with his head on the hearth and his tail on the bar. And our regular customers looking rather nervous in the corner.
The dragon twisted his neck around to look at me by the door. "Forgive the intrusion. I would not readily invade your village, but the weather made the temptation of a mug or two of spiked cider or hot wine irresistible. My coin is good and I will tip well for willing service."
"Well, merry meet, then, Sir Dragon. I always welcome the big tippers... My name's Meg, that's my brother Bart behind the bar, and that's Clef and Tom and Ulf in the corner."
"My name," said the Dragon, "is unpronounceable."
"I beg your pardon?" I said.
"My name is unpronounceable. By the human tongue, I mean. Something about the glottal stops."
I took a deep breath. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Unpronounceable."
The dragon got the weirdest look on his face, blinked at me for a second, then burst into hysterical giggles. I know, dragons and giggling just don't work together in the same thought, but that's what he did. Lying with his head on the hearth and all the length of him shaking, the beast giggled.
Bart mixed him up a drink in the largest mug we had, and I went to fetch all the clean sheets to help dry the dragon off. Now, I don't know if it was just this dragon, or if all dragons are susceptible to a wee drop, but he wasn't halfway through the mug before he was under the table. Figuratively, I mean. He was already under the table, on the table and over the bar to begin with. And this monstrous fabled beast that had slain many of the flower of knighthood was sitting there in my own tavern, with Tom and Clef and Ulf leaning on his shoulder, singing bawdy songs and spilling wine on the floor, with the rain pouring down and the thunder rolling over the Marrow Woods. And when the storm ended and the regulars staggered off for home, the dragon was still there, passed out and snoring.
Well, it was a bright and sunny morning the next day, and I was hanging out the damp sheets and towels to dry when I heard a jingling and a clashing, and here came a knight in shining armor down the village road. He jingled right up to me, looked down his nose at me from way up there and said "Wench, I have been told there is a dragon in these environs, a beast of power and grace, and a fit opponent for a worthy and honorable knight."
Well, I looked up at him, tilted my head like I was thinking. "Um," I said, "I don't know about no dragons in the inn-vee-rons, but there's a dragon at the inn, right enough." The knight looked at me like I was loopy. "Go ahead," I said. "Go right on in. But don't wake him up. He was drinking until the wee hours, and he'll be hung over for sure."
The knight sure as hell didn't believe me, and he wasn't sure what kind of a fool I was trying to make him, but he went and looked anyway. He peeked in, jumped back like a singed cat, drew his sword and went charging in to the tavern howling at the top of his lungs. Half a second later, there was a roar that made my ears ring for an hour, and that knight FLEW out, tumbling at the top of his arc, and landing flat on his back in last night's mud. He scrambled up, lunged for his horse, which, understandably upset by the noise, the smell of dragon, and its master's haste, shied away and cantered off down the road. Our last view of the worthy and honorable knight was of him chasing his horse down the road, howling at the top of his lungs and clanking like a tinker's cart.
Since that lovely morning, knights no longer come to Marrow Woods. Tax collectors have learned to avoid that village, too. But every dark and cold and stormy night, the dragon Unpronounceable comes to the tavern to drink a cup and pass the time. And every morning every dark and stormy night finds him sleeping it off on the tavern floor. And nobody ever wakes him up.
The Bedtime Story and the Dragon
"Once upon a time, there was a brave and mighty warrior named...">
"Elizabeth Rose," said Elizabeth Rose, from her nest of blankets on the bed.>
"...Elizabeth Rose," said Cassia. "And Elizabeth Rose was the bravest, strongest, best warrior of them all. One day, Elizabeth Rose rode out into the wide world on her horse..."
"Brandon."
"Brandon? Um, OK. Her mighty white charger, Brandon, looking for adventure..."
Elizabeth Rose studied her image in the mirror, satisfied with her appearance. Quite adult. Very mature. She picked up her new sword, a gift from Meg, and swung it experimentally, liking the way it felt as it cut the air. The new chain mail coif, a gift from Sir Pyr, felt solid and heavy as it rested on her blonde curls. Yes, she felt quite grown up. Of course, that was how it should be, now that she had reached the mature age of three years old.
Dragging her painted wooden sword along the floor behind her, Elizabeth Rose wandered out the door of her bedroom and down the hall. Servants smiled at her as they dodged past her, intent on their chores. Sir Angus Coville and McKrye paused in their conversation to greet the birthday girl. Heron Silver made her giggle by dropping to his knees before her, and kissing her hand, just like some of the gentlemen did to Mommy. Yes, it was obvious that all of the people in the castle recognized Elizabeth's new maturity. She tipped her chin back, and tried to walk with all of Mommy's grace and dignity.
On her way out the door into the fields behind the castle to meet her Daddy, who was sparring with some of the castle guards, she stopped to pick up her favorite birthday present, given to her by her favorite uncle, her mighty charger, Brandon. Brandon had white floppy ears, pretty blue eyes, and a real horsehair mane attached to the hobbyhorse's wooden head. With some difficulty, Elizabeth Rose managed to get the hobbyhorse's long narrow pole between her legs with one hand, without dropping the wooden sword in her other. She skipped out the door into the sunlight, caroling a greeting at her Daddy.
"Elizabeth Rose rode through the woods, her trusty sword in her hand. She hadn't been riding for long, when she came upon a Fox.
"'Oh,' said the Fox, 'you must be Elizabeth Rose, the bravest warrior in all the land. Can you help me?”
"Elizabeth Rose said 'Of course I will help you. That's what brave warriors do. Tell me what’s wrong.'
"The Fox told Elizabeth Rose that there was a great BIG, scary Dragon in the woods. And all of the animals in the woods were scared of the Dragon. He was so big, and so strong, and so HUNGRY-looking, that all of the animals were afraid to go out and play. They just hid in their holes all day, waiting for the dragon to come eat them.
"’Don't be afraid," said Elizabeth Rose, the mighty warrior. "I will save you!“ and off she rode into the woods to fight the dragon."
"A dragon?" said Daddy. "Are you sure?"
"Yep," said the guard, swinging the tip of his unstrung bow casually through the autumn-gold tall grass of the practice field. Elizabeth sat with her hobbyhorse and toy sword at Daddy's feet, listening with half an ear, while she watched a ladybug crawl up a grass blade.
"Hmm," said Daddy. "Any reports on what kind? Anybody recognize it?"
"Nope," said the guard. He didn't talk much.
The guard nodded, and headed off down the hill to carry his lord’s message. Magnus went back to his sword practice. Elizabeth wandered off down the hill a little way, down near the forest edge, near the wild grape vines that were starting to show ripening fruit. She sat in the long grass, singing to herself, carefully combing Brandon's mane with her fingers.
"So off Elizabeth Rose rode through the woods, looking for the Dragon. She found it in the middle of a clearing deep within the forest.
'Raaaah!' said the Dragon when he saw Elizabeth Rose on her mighty charger.
'Rooooahhh!' to him, and she bopped him on the nose with her sword. 'You're frightening people. Speak nicely!.'
"'Oh,' said the Dragon, 'oh, dear! I didn't mean to frighten anyone! Good heavens, no! I was just being dragonly and loud. Oh, dear, oh, dear! Well, I most certainly apologize for having frightened you.'
"'You didn't frighten me' said Elizabeth Rose. I am the brave warrior Elizabeth Rose, and I don't get scared. But you must say you are very sorry to my friend the Fox, and all the other animals in the forest, for they were very scared.'
"’Oh, yes, indeed!' said the Dragon. 'And I shall have them all for tea, to make up for having scared them all.'
"’You're a nice Dragon,’ said Elizabeth Rose.
"And so, Elizabeth Rose, the Dragon, and the Fox, all sat down and had a very nice tea."
The warm early-fall day was drawing to a golden close, when a shadow passed across the sun. Magnus looked up, just in time to see a huge green shape hurtling towards him. Then, the wind of the dragon's landing knocked him over backwards.
Elizabeth Rose looked up from her nest in the grass as the shadow passed over. She saw the dragon land on the grass ten feet from her. And she saw her daddy fall over. And, with the courage of generations of warriors in her blood, she grabbed her wooden sword, leaped to her feet, and charged the huge emerald beast standing over her fallen father.
Magnus lay on his back, staring up at the brilliant green eyes of the dragon. The beast started to open its huge jaws, when its attention was drawn away to something beyond the prostrate man at his feet. And the last thing in the world that Magnus expected to happen, happened. His daughter ran past him, right up to the huge monster in front of him, and she smacked the dragon on the nose with her wooden sword.
"Ouch," said the dragon. "Hey, what was that for?"
"Don't you hurt my Daddy!" said Elizabeth Rose. Magnus surged to his feet, and snatched up his daughter, hauling her back out of harm’s way. She struggled in his arms, trying to keep her weapon in a defensive position.
"Hurt your, oh, oh dear," said the dragon. "Um, no, look, I don't want to hurt anyone. I beg your pardon, kind sir," he said, backing up a few paces, as half a dozen castle guards ran up, practice weapons in their hands, "I'm truly terribly sorry I knocked you over with my backwind. I always forget just how LIGHT humans are - I’m always knocking somebody over. But I truly don't mean any harm. I’m just here to visit an old friend."
"Friend? Who?" asked Magnus, harshly.
"Meggie, Marguerite Quickfists. Umm, I was given to understand that she had moved to this area. Do you, by any chance, know her?"
"Queen Meg? You’re a friend of Queen Meg's?"
"Yes, I had heard that she was crowned a Queen. Heh, heh now that must be quite a tale. I quite look forward to hearing it. Do you say you know her, then? Perhaps she mentioned me. My name’s Unpronounceable."
And so, Elizabeth Rose, the Dragon and the Fox all sat down and had a very nice tea.
"The End. Now, go to sleep. Good night, Elizabeth Rose."
Cassia's Dragon
"Your Majesty!" Lady Cassia's voice was barely audible over the noise of preparation in the Great Hall as the warriors prepared to depart. "Your Majesty, I have to talk to you!"
"Not now, Cassia! The bad guys have assembled their forces, the Nameless One is about, and we've got to go save the world. We'll be back by dinner," said the Queen as her squires buckled on her pauldrons.
"But, Meg, there's a dragon in the upper pastures! And..."
"Yes, yes, we know. But we don't have time to deal with it right now. Maybe next week," said the Queen, hauling her tabard over her armored chest. "Meanwhile, we're having the Baron Diamond for dinner tonight, so make something extra special, okay?"
"But, Meg..."
"And make sure there's lots of beef!" said Shane, hefting his shield and slamming his sword against it with a really loud bang. "Man needs a good hunk of beef after a good battle."
"But, Shane...."
"Oh, definitely beef," said the Queen, examining the edge of her sword before slamming it into its sheath. "And pick a nice, young, tender one to butcher. You know how the Baron likes prime rib."
"But, the dragon..."
"We're off, men!" cried the Queen. "Cassia, we'll be back by sunset. For your usual delicious roast beef dinner." The door slammed behind the last of the men. Cassia stood in the middle of the hall, staring around at the suddenly empty room. "But... that's what I've been trying to tell you," she said forlornly into the sudden silence. "There won't be any beef for dinner tonight. The dragon ate all the cattle."
"This is an emergency of huge proportions," said Cassia to the assembled servants, as she stirred cake batter. Rebecca Silver perched on the counter nearby, with Michael Tuppence at her side. Owen and Brynn stood by the pantry door, and Aeston, her apprentice, was by the hearth testing the spice mix in the sauce. "The dragon has devoured every last cow in the meat herds in the upper pasture. And the deities know what it's going to go after next. Not to mention the problem of how I'm going to explain to Sir Shane that he's going to have to make do with chicken for the next few weeks." Several of the servants grimaced at the thought of an unhappy, beef-less Shane.
"Now our factor down in Freeport has already received orders to ship up another herd of beef cattle. They'll arrive in two weeks or so. But there's no point in buying more cows to let the dragon eat them again. We have GOT to get rid of that dragon. Fast! And if the knights don't have time to do it, we'll just have to do it ourselves!"
There was a moment of silence. Then, "You wanna do WHAT!" said Rebecca.
"Kill the dragon," said Cassia, complacently. "It can't be too hard. Shane and McKrye and Peregrin seem to do that sort of thing all the time."
"Yes, but Cassia, they're KNIGHTS! Knights slay dragons. Cooks do not."
"Well, that's why I need you, Rebecca. You're a squire. That's pretty close to being a knight. And if the rest of us all help, I'm sure we can kill it easily."
Rebecca jumped off the counter. " I can't allow this. I mean, besides the risk to you, Lady Cassia... it’s a DRAGON! I like dragons."
Cassia stopped mixing the cake batter. "Rebecca, some dragons are very nice, intelligent creatures. This dragon... well... isn't. Even you must accept that there are different breeds of dragons, and some of them are menaces that need to be destroyed. Think of it as improving the species."
Rebecca shook her head, muttering under her breath. She looked up. "All right, I guess you're right. But I don't have to like it. And I guess I'd better be involved - if only to make sure that you," she pointed at Cassia, "don't do anything too stupid." She hopped back up on the counter. "So... do you have a plan for killing this monster?"
"Actually, yes. You see, I was walking through the courtyard last week, and I overheard Sir Angus talking to a new fighter. He said that you should always go into battle with the weapons that you know best, even if they look like a poor choice against a particular enemy. So we're going to do just that..."
The dragon was laired in a small valley above the keep's high pastures. It was about 40 feet long, a bit small for that breed of dragon, but still a respectable opponent for a brave knight, with it's barbed tail, wicked claws and fiery breath. Regretfully, for the six arrayed against it at the head of the small valley, the opponent was a bit overwhelming.
"Um..." said Cassia. "That's a little bigger than I expected."
"Does that mean we can go now?" said Michael hopefully.
"No, we're here. Let's give this a try," said Owen.
"Besides," said Aeston, "I think I'd rather face a dragon than Shane without meat..."
The brave warriors... um.... servants stepped forward. The dragon's spiky head swiveled to train on them. It snorted. It almost sounded like a laugh. The beast lazily raised its torso a bit and inhaled.
"Ready..." said Cassia. "Aim..." The dragon began to exhale, flame jetting out about thirty feet, making Rebecca dive for cover as she circled to the dragon's right.
"Fire one!" said Cassia, as the dragon paused to breathe again. A small bundle flew from the miniature table top catapult Lady Anne had lent Cassia for the last feast. It arched through the air and burst as it struck the dragon square between the eyes. A brownish red powder burst out and drifted around, and into, the dragon's eyes. His next breath was exhaled, not in flame, but in a scream of pain.
"Dead shot!" cried Cassia! "Brilliant, Michael!"
The dragon writhed in pain and anger, as the hot chili powder stung its sensitive eyes.
It breathed in and exhaled flame blindly, totally missing all of the servants.
"Ready, Aeston?" called Cassia. "Fire two!" And just as the dragon began to inhale, a second bundle flew through the air, this time to burst against the dragon's nose. Black and white specks of pepper were drawn deep into the beast's nasal passages.
The dragon froze. "Ah..." it said, rearing up. "Ah..." It leaned back.
"ACHOOOOO!"
The dragon convulsed, its head rocking forward, its whole body thrown almost to the ground by the force of its sneeze. The tongue of flame stretched 60 feet down the hillside, and the force of the wind knocked Brynn over backwards.
"Ready!" cried Cassia, as she braced herself against the wind.
"Ah... " said the dragon, rearing back again. Rebecca and Owen were ready. From either side of the blinded dragon they leapt forward, and braced their heavy oak boar spears against the ground in front of the dragon, pointing back at a steep angle.
"AAAAAACHOOOOO!"
The dragon convulsed as it sneezed again. But this time, the spears were in its way. The mighty beast's own strength forced the sharp points through its own thick hide and deep into it’s heart and lungs. Rebecca and Owen dove out of the way as the beast went into its death throes. Sneezing and coughing, the mighty dragon died...
Cassia and the servants sat on the edge of the field, eating the picnic lunch that Aeston had thoughtfully packed for them, watching Rebecca perform the appropriate rituals over the corpse of the dragon, and congratulating themselves on their victory.
"I have to admit, Cassia, I NEVER would have thought of defeating an enemy by spicing him," said Brynn.
"Like Angus said - use the weapons which best suit you. I happen to be very good at finding the correct blend of spices."
"Well," said Aeston, "that solves one problem. I just have one more question."
"What's that?" said Michael.
"What are we serving for dinner?"
"Oh..." said Cassia, and she turned to look across the field.
Lady Cassia's famous Dragon Chili recipe can be found in our Kitchen.
The Fox
The Courtship Begins
"Your Majesty, we've captured a brigand," Sir Shane announced.
Queen Meg looked up from her embroidery. "A brigand? Near the royal castle? What happened?"
Shane shrugged. "Nothing interesting, your Majesty. He was fencing goods down in the low town, and was recognized by someone who had a brief 'acquaintance' of him a month or so ago. We took him without too much of a fight." He stepped further into the solar and lowered his voice. "It appears he might be one of the Fox's men."
"The Fox! That dastardly knave! I thought we ran him off years ago." The Queen's lips tightened in anger. "I still haven't forgotten the last time we met. I can't believe he'd had the audacity to come here!"
"The Fox?" said the Queen's guest, laying down her own needlework. "Who is the Fox?"
"No one knows, my lady. He is a masked brigand and a highwayman, albeit a chivalrous one," said Sir Angus from his seat by the fire. "He would not have traveled so far as to raid in Blackavar, so 'tis no surprise you should not have heard of him."
"A chivalrous highwayman? An interesting oxymoron," Lady Anne said, retrieving her needlework.
"But true,"said Sir Angus. "He kills no one unless forced to it, and he takes no souls. He robs only those who can afford it, and then takes only half of all they carry. And the ladies say that he speaks fairly and gently to them. The fairest of the ladies that he robs, he gifts with a single white rose."
"And no one has ever seen his face,"said Lady Cassia with a romantic sigh.
"You all sound as if you approve of the knave," said the Queen. "Well, I for one will tolerate no brigands or thieves in my kingdom. I hope to see the man unmasked and hung." She tossed aside her embroidery and stood up. "Come, gentlemen, ladies, I am restless. Who'll to weapons practice with me?"
'Tis said," whispered Lady Cassia into Lady Anne's ear as they collected the sewing, "that at one time the Queen herself received a rose from the Fox!"
"I feel no need to risk ourselves to save that turncoat! Let him rot in the Chimeron jail. Stealing from his own friends like that..."
"I would let him rot, Berin, old friend," said the Fox, "but for two things. First is that I have sworn to defend all my men, no matter how stupid or dishonest they are." He raised his hand to forestall an outburst. "We can cast him out when we get him back, but I am honor-bound to get him back first. And second," he said, pouring himself a cup of wine, "he knows where we camp. We'd better fetch him back before he talks too loud."
"Oh, well, now there's good reason to fetch him out. He'll sing like a canary, no doubt." Berin took the cup from the Fox's hand and drank its contents down, handing back the empty cup.
"Now then, what's the plan?"
The plan involved sending a single man up the smooth, vertical side of Chimeron Castle and in the window of an empty bedroom. From there, he would descend into the castle cellars where he would take the secret tunnel from the wine cellar to the village moot hall. The moot hall was guarded day and night by Chimeron's own royal guards, but the guards were posted on the outside and the main floor of the building. No one was supposed to know of the passage to the hall's basement and jail, and invasion was not expected from the castle. So no guards guarded the prisoner himself. The rescuer and the rescued man would return to the castle and exit out the garbage hatch in the scullery. Ideally, neither man would be seen, and there would be no need for a fight. The lone man who made this daring rescue was, of, course, the Fox.
"All went well?" said Berin when the Fox and the ex-prisoner glided into the temporary camp in a valley a mile or two away from Chimeron Castle. "No trouble?"
"Not much," said the Fox. "The Queen had a guest, so the bedroom I passed through was occupied. But the sleeper did not stir." He turned to his friend as the ex-prisoner headed for the fire and food, and said softly, "I did some thieving as I passed through that room, but I fear 'tis I who have been robbed."
"Of what, my Lord," said Berin, startled.
"Of my heart, old friend," said the Fox, holding up a long strand of golden hair. "Of my heart."
The Courtship Continues
"Is he still there, Midge?"
"Aye, my Lady. He's still there."
Lady Anne sighed. "I am pleased that her Majesty the Queen of Chimeron deems me valuable enough to gift me with a personal bodyguard. But I cannot believe that the risk is so great, nor that the Fox is so strong an adversary that this is necessary. That man Magnus follows me everywhere. Upstairs, downstairs, outside and in. Truly, I expect to find him under my bed at night."
"I would rather find him in my bed than under, my Lady. He's a handsome one, he is!" said her maidservant.
"Midge!" said the Lady, "you have been spending far too much time with Lady Cassia!"
"But 'tis true, Lady. Look at him as if you were not annoyed at his presence."
Lady Anne turned slightly so she could see Magnus Brave, who was currently standing at parade rest at the edge of the rose garden she was currently pruning.
"Perhaps," she said thoughtfully, "but he still is driving me to madness with his constant hovering... but wait! What is this."
A young page was sprinting down the path towards Magnus. He came to a gravel-spraying halt in front of the guard and handed him a folded scrap of vellum. Magnus opened it, scanned the contents, nodded sharply, and sent the boy on his way. Then he began to walk over to the Lady Anne.
"My Lady, it would seem that that rogue, the Fox has gotten even braver, or more mad. He has been seen in this area."
"I see..." said the Lady. Her hands tightened around the basket she held. The basket contained a bouquet of carefully cut white roses.
"We will, of course, be increasing security around this castle. There is no chance we will allow him anywhere near you, so there is no need for you to fear."
"I do not fear the Fox, Magnus."
"Good," said Magnus. And he smiled. " Now, if you will forgive me, my Lady, I need to go oversee the additional guards that will be needed. But I will have another guard take my place within minutes." And he turned and walked away down the petal strewn path.
"Well," said Lady Anne. "At least we can have a few minutes alone."
It was late evening and the stars were out. Lady Anne had her window open looking out over the rose garden, and the cool breeze carried the scent of the flowers into her chamber where she sat in her chemise, brushing out her blond hair.
"You are as lovely as I remember," said a deep, quiet voice behind her.
She gasped and spun around, hand pressed to her throat. At the window behind her, enveloped in shadow, was a man.
He stepped forward into the light of her candle, and Anne fell back against her chair. It was the Fox. She would have known him anywhere. He stood in his black cape and mask, the signature white rose in his gloved hand.
"Do not cry out. I mean you no harm," he said, his voice soft.
"What...what are you doing here. How dare you invade my chamber..." Anne's voice seemed weak. Her hand was tight on her brush.
"My most sincere apologies for the informality of this visit, but I could hardly knock on the castle door and ask for an audience."
"But what do you want?" she burst out.
"Want, my Lady? I wanted to see you once more. To see if the reality could possibly live up to my memories. I have dreamt of you..." The Fox stepped forward deeper into the room. Anne gasped and shrank back into her chair. He froze, then gently dropped to his knees. "But mostly, Lady, I want your permission."
"Permission? For what?"
"To pay court to you."
"What?!"
"Just as I said, fairest one. May I?"
The sudden banging on the door startled Anne. She jumped out of her chair, and and spun towards the door. Then she turned back towards the window. The Fox was gone! The banging on the door continued. "J...just a minute," said Anne. She took a deep breath to collect herself, pulled on her robe over her chemise, and opened the door, not without a final glance at the empty window. One of the newest of the palace guards stood in the hall, looking distressed.
"Lady, is everything all right? You took so long to answer, and I was concerned that, well...."
"Everything is fine. I was... improperly attired." The guard blushed crimson. "What is so urgent at this time of night?"
"My Lady, the Fox was seen near the castle walls, and Master Brave said I was to come check on you to be sure you were safe and, oh, your window is open, I'd better go close it, and Master Brave will be along as soon as he dispatches the search parties, so don't worry, everything is under control..." The young guard babbled as he headed for the open window. Lady Anne leaped to intercept him.
"Leave the window be!" The young man blinked at her, startled by her vehemence. "I mean... the window is fine as it is. I prefer fresh air." She began leading the guard to the door. "Now, I'm sure everything is fine, Magnus will handle everything and the Fox will not dare trespass within the castle."
"I hope that is so, my Lady," said Magnus from the still-open door to her chamber. "But if you wish the window open, we will leave it so. Please forgive our intrusion so late in the evening. We will let you rest, now." Magnus quietly closed the door behind the young guard and himself as they left. Anne remained where she was until she heard their footsteps recede down the hall. Then she collapsed onto the bed with a sigh. Then a yelp. She reached behind and removed the thorns of the white rose from her backside. There was a note attached to the stem of the rose.
It read: "May I?"
Lady Anne's Night Quest
Maybe she should have borrowed some of Miriel's more practical clothes instead of wearing this riding gown. Maybe she should have borrowed Miriel's sword -- not that she knew how to use it. Maybe she should have stayed at home!
The woods looked different at night. Lady Anne rode her bay palfrey along familiar forest paths, but nothing looked familiar under the shadows. It was probably just her nerves, Anne thought as she took the turning that would lead her deeper into the forest. Nerves, hell, she meant cold fear, she admitted to herself. How did they do it, she wondered. Sir Miriel, Sir Shane, Queen Meg, even young Gonvf, all seemed bold and even eager when they set out into the night wood to face goblins, trolls, and worse. Of course, they wouldn't ride out alone and weaponless, either, on a fool's errand to find a man who probably broke ladies' hearts for breakfast.
All this for the Fox! What had he done to her that she would willingly sneak out of her own castle, stealing her own horse, and avoiding the honest guards the Queen and Sir Pyr had kindly provided for her, to ride through a cold night alone on the chance that, if he was not on the far side of Folkestone's holdings or somewhere equally distant, she would be able to find him in this huge, dark, lonely wood before the sunrise. Anne had heard that Love makes fools of us all, but she was surely the greatest fool ever to fall in love with a man she had met but three times in her life, and who's face she had never seen. A thief and a brigand, and not even a respectable warrior. What would the noble late Queen of Blackavar think of her foster daughter, now!
Anne halted her horse. Enough of this foolishness! She should be home safe in bed. She laid the reins against the horse's neck and began to turn her on the long path home.
The rustle in the bushes by the path was the only warning she had. One minute, she was alone, and the next the misshapen forms of goblins were all around her. The horse tensed underneath her, and its head came up in fear. Her pulse pounded in her throat.
"Hello, pretty lady, have you come to play with goblins?" The voice was deep and scratchy and menacing. "Come to dinner, pretty lady. We eat good tonight!"
The evil things came closer, and the sound of metal against metal rang out through the night. The horse screamed, and reared as something touched its flank. And Anne fell. The world flashed white as her head hit the rock. Dazed, she lay among the dead leaves, listening to hoofbeats fade away, and to goblins shouting as they tried to catch the animal.
"Pretty lady out all alone in the dark, dark woods. Pretty lady pretty dumb, me think. Pretty lady not so pretty, soon."
A huge hulking form appeared in her blurry vision. She had just enough time to recognize it as a troll before its massive, horny hand closed on her upper arm in a bruising grip. She found herself tossed up and over a massive, bony shoulder before she could even begin to collect herself. The world came and went in dizzying waves, and her ears rang, and the troll's shoulder dug into her ribs with every step he took as he began to carry her back to his lair, calling together his goblin clan after him.
It was one of these little misshapen creatures that was the first to die. An arrow took him through the throat a mere five feet away from Anne where she struggled feebly on the troll's back. Anne flinched and cried out. She heard other arrows find their marks in the bodies of other monsters all around her, and she shrieked as the troll spun, fast for his size, searching for the source of the attack.
"Put the lady down," said a familiar voice. Anne froze. It couldn't be!
"Why?" said the troll. "If me put her down, her run away. Me keep."
"But if you don't put her down, you can't fight me," said the Fox.
"Oh," said the troll. "Right." And he dumped Anne on her head. Stars filled her vision again.
"Thank you," said the Fox. And his axe split the troll's head.
And the rest of the night is none of your affair. Suffice it to say that Lady Anne was found safely at the edge of the Castle gardens at dawn. Her horse had returned home of its own accord several hours earlier, and its arrival alone had caused quite a stir among the inhabitants of Castle Blackavar. The Lady's safe return, with nothing worse than a bump on her head that she attributed to the fall from the horse, was met with such complete relief by Sir Miriel and the other guards on duty that they completely neglected to mention in their reports to Magnus Brave that the lady was also found in a green jerkin and hose, wrapped in a black cloak emblazoned with a white fox, and was carrying a bouquet of white roses in her arms...
Michael's Tale
by Carmina Quill
Part One
He looked harmless enough, but the guards at the castle gate were too well trained to take chances. So while the Captain left the little porter's gate open, and stepped out casually to greet the old man dressed in gray and dirty rags, the rest of the guards casually checked their weapons and shifted their stance slightly, unobtrusively readying themselves for a surprise attack, just in case. If the old man noticed, he gave no sign, although he did glance up once to where two young archers appeared to be exchanging fletching techniques in a way that brought arrow to string, and string to partial draw.
The Captain stepped forward and gave a polite half-bow to the ragged man. "Welcome, sir, to Castle Chimeron. What brings you to Her Majesty's residence, and how can we aid you on this fine, brisk evening."
The old man blinked as if startled, and eyed the Captain suspiciously. "I'm just an old peasant on a long journey, and I'd hoped to rest in the stables for the night, and maybe beg a bite to eat. But I didn't know this was the Queen's castle, and I doubt you want my kind here, so I'll..." he started to turn away.
"You'll come inside and get warm, get some hot dinner, and have a good night's rest," said the Captain, placing a gentle hand on the old man's shoulder. "The Queen would have my stripes if I let one of her people go off on a cold night like tonight. Now come over here by my fire while I send someone to fetch a servant to take care of you."
"Good evening, good sir! I am Michael Tuppence, and I will be at your service this evening. Anything you need, just ask me, and if I'm not around, just call out and any one of the other servants will be happy to help. Now, if you'll follow me, I'll take you to the main hall for dinner."
The old man looked rather bemused as he followed the strong-looking young blond man in the elegant black doublet across the castle courtyard. He looked around at the courtyard, at the red and orange garlands of oak leaves, at the torches being lit by a cheerful-looking young woman against the winter twilight, at the heavy green and silver banners hung beneath the windows shuttered against the cold, at the clean gray flagstones beneath his feet.
"You've picked a great night to visit," said Michael, glancing back over his shoulder with a grin, "It's the Feast of the Purple Turtle tonight."
The old man blinked. "The Feast of what...?"
Michael laughed as he stopped to open the heavy oak door. "The Purple Turtle. Yeah, I know, it's pretty silly. But the Queen likes parties, and any excuse will do... even if she needs to invent one off the top of her head after a few beers... and I, for one, am not complaining. Smell that?" The door opened, releasing a wave of heat and the rich odor of warm honey, sweet fruit and cinnamon. "I've been helping Cassia in the kitchen all afternoon. Lucky me!"
The servant guided the old man down a well-lit hall and past the open door to the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of movement, a flash of fire as an oven door was opened , and the sound of laughter and rattling pots as they went past.
"Now the main hall is right down this way. I'll just get you settled by the fire, then I'll fetch you something to eat and drink. Hot cider? Or would you prefer mulled wine?"
"I think you must have the wrong idea," said the old man. "I'm just a peasant, nobody special. You shouldn't be paying so much attention to me."
Michael stopped, and turned to the old man. "Nonsense. Peasant or noble, it's a cold night, the cider is warm, and you're here for the party. Besides," he said as he continued down the hall, "the Queen's a peasant, so we have to treat you the same as her as long as you're here. That's her rule."
"The Queen's a WHAT!"
Michael grinned back at the old man, as he stepped into the Great Hall. "A peasant. A bar wench, to be exact. And a warrior. And a knight. And a Queen."
The old man stared. "Well, I never! How in the world..."
"Do you know the history of Chimeron? No? Then sit here by the fire, and have some hot cider, and I will tell you how it happened."
Part Two
A long time ago, no one knows how long, maybe a thousand years, the Kingdom of Chimeron was ruled by a bunch of snobby, self-centered yahoos with no nobility but the title. You know the kind - thinks their noble birth gives them the right to anything they want, no sense of responsibility, no care for the people they rule, or the damage they do. They abused their peasants, taxed them into poverty, threw grand feasts while the farmers who raised the food starved, all the usual kind of stuff. Well, anyway, one day a great wizard appeared in Chimeron... or maybe he was a god, the legends differ on that count... but he was dressed as a peasant. And, of course, the royals and the nobles all treated him the way they'd treat any peasant - like dirt. No one's really sure what they did to make him angry, but whatever it was, he cast a great spell on Chimeron. Some people say it was a curse, but I don't think it was such a bad thing. First the wizard kicked out all the royalty with nothing but the clothes on their backs, saying if royal blood was bad for Chimeron, then Chimeron should have no royal blood. And then he cast a spell on the whole land, making it disappear from the rest of the world. I mean that everyone outside Chimeron couldn't remember that it existed any more. They wouldn't see it on a map. They'd forget to walk down the roads that led to it. Oh, people would occasionally wander into it, or out of it, accidentally, but the spell would make sure they forgot about it once they were past the borders. According to legend, the wizard said that the spell of forgetfulness would never be broken until Chimeron acquired a new royal house. Everyone thought he meant never - at least those that remembered to think about it. And that's how things stood until about eight years ago.
Queen Meg, sorry, Queen Marguerite, was born just plain, ordinary Meg Quickfists, down south in Unistella, where she was trained as a bar wench and a warrior. She came up north seeking revenge against a tribe of goblins who had killed her best friend, only to find that someone else had beaten her to it - Prince Robert of Valehaven. Well, they fell in love and got married, and were all set to live happily ever after. Except he died, leaving her Princess of Valehaven, and rather at loose ends. She set out one day soon after his death, on a quest to find and kill her Prince's killers.
Lady Dee, I'm sure you've heard of her. She was barkeep at Prince Robert's favorite tavern, not to mention one of his oldest and dearest friends, and one of the finest bards in the land, and Robert granted her the title of Lady for all she had done for him. She was also one of the finest Master Wenches, and was often asked to travel to different towns to consult on the design of new taverns, or the improvements of the services of existing ones. About the time Meg left on her quest, Dee left for a consultation in Fenmere.
Lady Cassia was the foster daughter of a nobleman for about eight years of her childhood, which is where she was trained to chatelaine a noble household. But her first eight years were spent on the streets of Freeport. When her foster father died, she became a courtesan, and began to keep her own house. I'm not sure, but rumor says that she was avoiding a jealous wife with a really big sword, and that's why she left Valehaven at about the same time as Meg and Dee.
By some strange coincidence, or maybe by the work of the spell the wizard cast long ago, these three women got lost. And they all found their way, by different routes, here to Chimeron Castle. They were Royal, Noble and Servant, a warrior, a bard and a follower of the gentle arts, all the elements of a royal house... and not one of them had a single drop of royal blood. All the conditions of the wizard's spell were fulfilled, and the spell was broken.
So the peasant-turned-Princess of Valehaven turned in her coronet and took up a crown. Lady Dee opened the Bar and Wench just down the hill from Chimeron Castle. And Cassia keeps life in the castle running smoothly. And that is how a peasant became Queen.
"I still don't understand," said the old man. "She's Queen, now, whatever she was before. So why does she want everyone to treat peasants like equals? Does she think this wizard might come back in disguise again, and cast her out, too?"
"The wizard come back? After all this time? No, she just feels like she's one of the people, whatever she wears on her head. She got her position by chance, but she's got to work to deserve it - fighting off threats, supporting her people, making fair judgements. And the rule about treating peasants well is a way of reminding everyone that no one is better than others. Just luckier."
The old man looked around the castle hall. The Queen on her throne laughed uproariously at something said by the man dressed in mage's robes at her side. A man with a knight's white belt and a woodsman's rough wool tunic played chess and shared a cup with a woman in velvet. A pair of barbarian warriors stalked down the hall, clad in leather and beads. They stopped to speak to an elegant couple in blue who were sharing a table with a trio who appeared to be scruffy mercenaries. A horde of black-clad servants swept in with laden trays to the cheers of the assembled, and the Feast of the Purple Turtle began.
It was early yet. Nearly all the guests were sleeping late. The remains of the feast, including the crumbling remains of a huge purple turtle-shaped, marzipan- stuffed cake, were in the castle cold-room. Only a few servants were up so early, when the old man departed. Michael was one of the few awake - he'd taken it upon himself to make sure that the old man was well provisioned when he left. A sturdy knapsack was found, and filled with new bread and cold pies for that day's lunch, as well as sturdier travel rations for several days more. And one of the young guards threw his cloak about the old man as he passed through the gates, with a comment about a chill in the air that morning.
The old man stopped by the edge of the forest. He looked back at the Queen's castle behind him. "Well," he said, "I never would have expected that! Not in a thousand years." And as he turned and walked away down the road, the ancient wizard, or maybe he was a god, the legends differ on that count, faded away in the mist.
One That Got Away
"... and there she be still, luring honest men to their doom with her unearthly voice, and slaying them without remorse, drowning them deep in the waters of her lake." The storyteller drained his mug and slammed it down with a bang onto Lady Dee's counter to punctuate the end of his tale. There was a moment of respectful silence from his audience as Dee refilled his glass.
"Well, I, for one, do not believe a word of it!" Sir Daniel Roseblade stepped forward out of the shadows, and handed his mug to Wil to be refilled.
"Tis true, I assure you," said the storyteller. "I have seen the place myself, and heard the tales of the local peasants. They have petitioned their lord for a quest to slay the foul monster."
"Do you mean to tell me that some sweet, pretty, innocent girl falls into a lake accidentally on her first date, and suddenly becomes some man-hating water demon with a thing for murder? Sounds fishy to me. In fact, it sounds like the poor child needs to be rescued, not destroyed."
"Well, fine," said the storyteller, peeved to find his credibility undermined, " if you're such a hero, why don’t you go 'rescue the pretty girl'! See how long you last against her evil powers!"
"I think..." said Sir Daniel. " I think I shall do exactly that." He drained his mug once again, pulled his cloak over his shoulders, and swept out of the room.
It was a warm summer night, and the woods were full of the noises of living things. Sir Daniel rode his bay mare down the forest path, his way lit by moon and stars. His armor rang like chimes as he moved in rhythm with the horse, and he traveled in a pool of quiet as the small creatures of the night woods stilled their small motions to watch him ride by.
Ahead Sir Daniel could see the edge of the forest where it touched the shores of a lake -- the very place he had come to see. He rode to its very edge, then dismounted, but did not tether his horse. He lit a candle in a copper and glass lantern. No fire tonight. He would not leave open flames in the woods when he might be unable to insure that they went out. No more would he tether his horse, for fear he would not be back to free it. The mare was well trained to his hand and voice. She was well content with her kind and gentle master, and was not inclined to stray far from his side, not as long as there were apples in his saddlebags.
Sir Daniel removed the mare's saddle and bridle, and she moved to the grassy edge of the lake. Sir Daniel settled himself with his back to a tree, and began to empty his saddlebags. The bedroll went behind him to cushion his spine against the rough bark. A well worn diary was laid carefully next to him so as not to damage the ancient and well-used spine, and a pen and inkwell were placed within easy reach. And out of the depths of his bag, Sir Daniel pulled out his small horde of sweets. He did not often indulge his love of candy and comfits, but here on this warm summer evening, by the edge of this lovely lake, and with the potential for a bit of adventure later on, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to take pleasure in simple and childlike delights.
He looked at his little horde, considering jewel-like barley sugar shapes, and spicy bits of crystallized ginger, sweet paper-wrapped taffy, and even a small box of Lady Cassia's prized chocolates. But his hand finally fell on a small, wide-mouthed, wax-sealed jar. He carefully broke the seal, reached in, and pulled out a small square of dripping, fragrant honeycomb. He leaned back, diary propped on his knee, pen in his hand, chewing the soft wax with the taste of rich buckwheat honey filling his mouth. Gradually, the flavor weakened, and the wax began to harden, and, eventually, he spat the small blob of wax out into his hand, and moved as if he intended to throw it into the bushes behind him. Instead, he paused, the damp blob in the palm of his hand, and the edge of his mouth quirked, as if he almost smiled.
She rose from the water, green weed draped about her delicate frame like a gown, hair sleek and black against her pale skin. Her lips opened, and her voice filled the night, eerie and irresistable. And Daniel rose from his scribing at her gesture, and walked into the cold lake water without a flinch. To his knees it rose, then to his waist, and the maiden gazed at him with sorrow-filled eyes as the Thing reached out from its deep hiding place to capture its spell-bound prey. But the prey moved, dodging the Thing's grasping tentacle. And then it swept at the tentacle in return, and the Thing knew pain. Nothing like this had happened before in the Thing's long existence. Never had the prey fought back. The Thing's simple mind roiled in consternation as the point of Sir Daniel's sword penetrated its single huge eye.
The maiden's song cut off as if the sword had severed its melody instead of the life of the creature that forced it from her. The girl gasped, open-mouthed, stumbled, shivered, and then fainted, collapsing into the chill waters of the lake. Daniel caught her up out of the water, and carried her to land, where he wrapped her in a blanket and built a fire to warm her, before beginning the laborious process of getting all of the beeswax out of his ears.
It was early morning when Sir Daniel walked into the nearby village, the maiden clothed in Daniel's spare tunic and wrapped in his cloak, and riding on his mare. The few people who were awake that early turned to stare at the strange pair, and a hoarse male voice cried out from within the shadows of the smithy as one of the pair was recognized. The girl scrambled down off the mare and set off at a run, to be met halfway by a burly young man in fire-scorched leather. The smith wrapped her in a tight embrace, tears standing in his eyes as he held her.
Sir Daniel sighed. "Looks like it's me and you again, m'lady," he said to the mare. "What's the point of being a hero if all the pretty maidens you rescue are already in love with someone else. Doesn't seem fair somehow." He turned to mount, as the mare shook her mane in apparent agreement, and he rode out of the village without a single glance back.
"Hey, Danny-Boy, where've you been," Lady Dee called from across the bar as Sir Daniel backed through the door, dragging something behind him. Then she caught sight of what he was dragging. "Whoo-ee, but that is one HUGE fish! Where did you catch that monster? What a beauty!"
"Yeah," sighed Daniel, "It's ok... but you should have seen the one that got away!"
Transcribed by Carmina Quill
Valentine
The Point of Magic
The late afternoon sunlight poured through the trees like honey: rich, languid and sticky in the breezeless day. It lay in pools in the secret places that trees make with the pattern of their leaves, and on the path that led to the door of Folkestone Hall. It spilled through the windows of a building that was remarkably quiet, considering it was the headquarters for the finest, loudest, most aggressive, most accomplished fighting unit in the Realms. Well, thought Meg sleepily, as she lay in her husband's arms watching the sunlight move in syrupy trickles across their twined fingers, perhaps... perhaps the second most accomplished fighting group in the Realms. She grinned to herself but didn't share that thought with her husband. On reflection, it was probably only her pride in her own kingdom of Chimeron that made it seem so.
Meg was far from her own hall, castle more like, on one of her rare visits to her husband's home. Married for only 2 years, they still argued about where they would finally settle down. That's what happened when two incredibly stubborn and independent people married each other. It's what happened when one of them was the Queen of Chimeron and the other was the Champion of Folkestone, with commitments as strong in many ways as any monarch's. So they visited each other as often as they could, staying and then returning to their individual duties and their roles, arguing and bickering about whose house was going to be next.
Meg stretched in the sunlight. Beside her Callin yawned, dropped a kiss on the back of her neck and snuggled up next to her.
"It's quiet," she said.
Callin murmured sleepily, "Nobody home. Think they're all at the faire..." His voice trailed away and after a moment Meg heard him snoring softly again. She smiled contentedly. Meg was a practical woman, not given to flights of romantic fancy about anything pertaining to herself, especially love, but her heart felt full in this moment. Her life, with Callin in it, was perfect. She was happy, warm and comfortable. Abruptly she remembered whom she had met on her ride to Folkestone. She felt her smile crack and break.
Untangling herself gently from her husband, she sat up into shadow, feeling the sunlight fall away from her like a too warm blanket. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood up and struggled into a tunic. She reached for her belt, caressed the white leather for a moment, and then put it on. Looking very like a tousled barmaid and very unlike a queen, she picked up Callin's mug and padded out to the kitchen to look for a drink.
Marcus, Folkestone's brilliant but reclusive cook, was nowhere in sight. Meg descended the three steps into the dirt floor kitchen looking for the well, or a pitcher of water. Decion was kneeling in front of a high chair, spooning what looked like creamed carrots into the mouth of his daughter Skye. Skye's tunic had been blue. It was now blue and orange. Decion was patiently scraping the carrots off of her face and back into the bowl. Skye laughed at her father and clapped her hands.
"Afternoon, Dec," Meg crossed to the large rectangular table where Folkestone took their group meals. Most great halls had a dining room for more formal occasions, but Folkestone Hall did not. Folkestone didn't do formal. Ever. Meg uncovered one of the pitchers in the center of the table. It was filled to the brim with beer.
Dec looked up briefly from his task, and then back before his charge could smear the carrots even further into her skin, "Heya, Meg. I didn't know you were here."
Meg uncovered the other two pitchers: beer and beer. She shrugged philosophically and poured herself a beer. "I didn't get in 'til past dawn this morning. I was...ah... unexpectedly delayed."
"Nothing bad I hope?"
Meg took a long swallow of the cool, frothy liquid to delay answering that question as long as possible. "You would think," she temporized. "Dec, can I ask you something about how magic works?"
Decion stopped feeding his daughter. He turned to look at the young queen in frank astonishment, "You? Wanting to know about magic? I thought you hated magic."
Meg looked away from him, suddenly uncomfortable. She took another sip of the beer to mask it, eyes wandering over the kitchen, "Yeah. OK, well never mind."
Skye shrieked that she was no longer being fed. Decion began spooning her carrot mush again. "No. I'm sorry. Go ahead and ask your question."
She took a deep breath, "On the way up here I ran into the Eclipse. I hadn't seen them since the Black and White, so I stopped for a while to visit with them."
The Eclipse was a well known mercenary company who was often hired out to guard one flank or another during invasions, wars, or even feasts held too close to the border of an unfriendly nation. They were good at their jobs and Dec knew that Meg had often hired them in the past to the detriment of her coffers. The Eclipse did not come cheap. "How are they?" Dec inquired politely.
Meg dragged one hand through her hair and exhaled, "Well, not good. Tiana is traveling with them right now, instead of living up in Rhiassa. I saw Sir Alanom and Barrett, they're fine. But, uh, Valentine is very sick. There's something wrong with her. No one can really figure out what it is." Meg sounded like she was having trouble maintaining her composure. Dec raised an eyebrow but said nothing. " She hasn't been able to hold down any solid food for weeks. And she's so thin! She looks fragile, like the wind will just blow her away. Her husband, Franswaah, is absolutely frantic. He goes from strong, and being there for her, to just...falling apart. I don't know. I don't know what to do to help them. Other than just telling them how much it sucks. That doesn't seem like enough. Their friendship deserves more than that."
"Has she been to see a healer?"
The tone of Meg's voice turned savage. "Of course. There is nothing they can do. She is not bleeding on the outside. It's not a disease. They pray over her and mumble spells and she just gets thinner and thinner. So I guess my question to you, Dec, is this. Why won't magic work? What the hell is the point of practicing magic if you can't help your friends when they really need it?"
Skye, sensing Meg's rage, stopped eating. Her eyes welled up with tears. Dec wiped her mouth with a napkin, and then picked her up and cradled her to his chest. "I only let Skye come up to visit me at Folkestone when I know most everyone will be out. It's the only way to protect her virgin ears," he chided mildly.
Meg turned red to the tips of hers, "Oh...sorry Dec. I'm just... I get so... I guess I'm just really angry. I'm not angry at anybody, I'm just angry" She looked down, took another long swallow of beer. "I don't know what I would do if I was in Franswaah's place. Callin is so important to me. He's become...the joy in my life. I don't think I could watch him waste away like that and know that nothing I could do would help him."
Dec looked down into the eyes of his infant daughter. They were brown with flecks of green, and were so dark that he felt that he could drown in them. Her skin was velvet soft and smelled, like all babies, of fresh peaches and cream. And carrots. She blinked back her tears, comforted now that she was safe in her father's arms. She snuggled up to him. He cleared his throat roughly, "To get back to your question. The reason I practice magic is the same reason why you have turned to the blade: To truly live, while you can. To have a weapon to wield so you can take a stand when you can no longer sit. To help those worthy of help. To protect the innocent. To pursue our dreams and do everything in our power to make them come true."
"But that's not working for Valentine!"
"Not everything is in our power, Meg."
Meg slumped in her seat, "I don't know what the Realms will be like if we lose her. She's given us so much."
"We don't know that she's dying."
"You haven't seen her, Dec. She hasn't eaten in weeks." Meg scrubbed her face with her hands. "I wish I could help, I don't know what to do."
"Pray."
Meg gave the Druid a sour look, "Yeah right."
"Ah. Not a believer."
"Dec, I haven't met a god yet whose...uh, butt... I haven't been able to kick in combat. And I can usually outsmart or outtalk them. They don't seem so god-like from my perspective. How are they supposed to help when I can't do anything to help?"
Decion's lip quirked, "Hmmm. You remind me of your husband sometimes. If there is nothing else that can be done, if you and the finest healers in the land can do nothing, then what does it hurt to ask for divine help? You sound like you have given up hope already." Meg was silent, not wanting to admit that it was true. Dec shook his head. "How can she get better when other people have lost faith in that process? Prayer, even if it is prayer to yourself, even if it is asking for nothing more than your own strength is still an expression of hope."
Meg looked uneasy, "Hope is an illusion, Dec. What does it do? What practical use is it?"
Dec covered his daughter's ears, "Meg! That's the worst swear I've ever heard come out of your mouth! 'What good does it do?' It does everything! Look, rationally I know that Skye, you, me, everyone, started dying the minute they were born. If you want to look at it like that, you are right, there is no hope. It's how you live your life that matters, not how long it is." He pulled his hands away and spoke directly to Skye, "Hope is what makes your life taste sweet. It may not be life itself, but if you don't have hope then you are already dead." Dec fixed Meg with a stare. "Do you even know if she has lived her life the way she has wanted? Does she have any regrets?"
"I... I don't know. Dec, I don't know! Right now, I'm so filled with rage that every single thing you say to me sounds like some kind of.... stupid platitude! These words are just the brain's way of trying to understand this terrible anger. This grief. I can't... I can't understand it yet."
Dec nodded. "Does your anger help her at all?"
Meg looked defeated, "No."
"Then why do you hang onto it?"
"I don't know." Meg was silent for a long moment. The sun had shifted, starting its dance with the edge of the horizon, throwing long shadows across the table. "Because there is nothing else for me to do."
"There is something for you to do. You are just not seeing it as an action. You are so used to drawing your sword and charging into the battle that you don't see that just holding on to hope is the strongest thing you can do for her."
"It's the only thing I can do for her," Meg grumbled.
"That too."
Meg shot him a wry glare. He smiled at her, then cooed at his daughter. Skye put her hands on his nose and mashed it up against his face, laughing at her own cleverness. Meg regarded the two of them wistfully, then drained the rest of her beer in a long pull and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She stood up, "That girl is going to be the death of you."
Dec kept grinning, "I sincerely hope so."
Meg stumbled over the rug on the way to her husband's room and cracked the door open. The last of the sun still illuminated his chamber, but it was paler now, and the air was crisp and clean. The light no longer lay on the bed but was thrown up onto the wall above. She felt she could drink the air like water. Callin had cracked an eye when she had come in but had closed it again when he recognized his wife. Old campaigner habits died hard, even in his own room he had to verify that he was safe. Leaning against the door Meg watched him slowly breathing, aware of each inhalation, content to do nothing but watch him sleep.
"Where did you go?" He asked with his eyes still closed.
"I thought you were asleep."
"I am."
She smiled, "I went to talk to Dec."
He yawned, "Oh. Everything OK?"
Meg did not answer, there was no answer she could make. She took off her belt and slid back into bed beside him. His skin was warm and crisscrossed with wrinkles from the blanket. He flung his arm over her. Its solid weight was a comfort in the dying light.
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