Buddy/Ignore List
Ladies and Gentlemen, Alamaze rocks. In fact, it's fair to say
I've been captivated by this world since I was 17 and discovered
it in the pages of the RSI catalog. And sometimes, the urge to see
that world gets so great that I just have to make a visit happen.
Usually that involves threatening in-character messages to my
fellow players, but eventually I had to try for a step above.
In other words, I wrote a fanfic. It was immense fun to dream up
and put down on the page and I hope it gives you some Alamaze
joy as well.
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Secrets in the Sand 1: A Tale from the World of Alamaze
-------------------------------by Jumbie-------------------------------
In dusty Vanasheen, the walls criss-cross at harsh angles, their lines
designed to stifle the sand which constantly blows in from the
surrounding dunes.
The walls were just as unfriendly to strangers like captain Drake and
his squad. The men twisted through one anonymous alley after
another, seeming to get no closer to the artisans' district near the
eastern gate. Sergeant Jerrick tried asking for directions, but no locals
would admit to speaking Midvalian of any kind.
Continuing to burrow through the canvas canopies and market stalls,
Drake could not believe this was the same city that Princess Thalia
had convinced to join their cause just a month ago. Did Drake not
wear the dancing horse of the Rangers upon his armor? Why would
the Vanash not help him?
The glass-blower's shop, when they found it, had been wrecked.
Within the open, curtained entrance lay bent tongs and broken tubes.
Colorful shards of jars and lamps sprinkled the ground beneath
toppled shelves. A coiled serpent figurine lay on its side near the back
wall, its tail snapped off.
One of Drake's men cried out, doubling over to hold his crotch and a
small blurred shape shot toward the front door. The captain snagged
the running girl by the collar only to have the child whirl like a dog
and bite his hand.
"Gods above!" Drake yelled through gritted teeth, though he did not
let go. "Stop that. We're not here to hurt you."
The girl looked up at him doubtfully, bright teeth at the ready. It
seemed that this Vanash at least understood him.
Drake said, "I'm just here to talk to the glass blower, Ghalaz. You
work for him? Do you know where he is?"
The girl glanced at the door, where Jerrick stood guard. "Men take
him. Big men with black eyes." The girl seemed to be about eleven,
dark of face like most desert folk, with long, sleek hair combed
straight back in interlocking coils. Her light house robe had been
dirtied from wherever she was hiding.
"How many?" asked Drake.
The girl shrugged and said, "Ten."
"Dirty dragon," said Jerrick. "He came right into the city, even
knowing that we had taken over the place."
"How long ago was this?" Drake asked the girl, letting her go.
"Less than one hour. They make grandfather get into big basket and
they walk out. I stay here because I not know what to do."
"Ghalaz is your grandfather? What's your name?"
"I am Leenah. I live in back with grandfather."
"Anyone else?"
"No."
Jerrick said, "Captain, there's got to be more dragons hiding in the
desert. If we take the horses we can catch them before they meet up
and do their transformation ritual."
"I don't think they'll risk taking dragon form at all. Not with all the
troops moving down from Synisvania. Better for them to stay
inconspicuous. It's worked for them so far."
Drake signaled his men to leave. "Buryan, you question the south
gate guards and—"
"I know where they go," said the girl.
Drake turned to her. "Did they say something?"
"They ask about jewel. My grandfather know about it. They make
him take them."
Drake put his hand on Leenah's shoulder. "It's not just a jewel, is it?
It's a palantir–a seeing stone."
The girl nodded. "I know where my grandfather take them. I show
you if you save him."
"We Rangers came to the Sands to protect people from the dragons.
You tell us where they're going and we'll get him back."
"No." Leenah looked fiercely at Drake. "You take me with you."
Jerrick asked "You don't trust us or something?"
The girl looked at him contemptuously.
"Guess not." Jerrick leaned over. "Look, child, Rangers aren't the
ones who burn villages and crops. We're the ones trying to end—"
"We don't have time to negotiate this," said Drake. "Jerrick, take the
girl with you. Make sure she doesn't slow us down."
Jerrick was an old veteran, so even though his eyes told Drake that he
was crazy to agree to this, the sergeant simply said, "Yes, sir."
============================================
Horses did not do well in the desert, so the squad were taking dromos
with them. The animals had longer legs, sturdier backs and a more
relaxed gait that made them better for carrying the supplies while the
men rode the horses. They also stank more than a troll.
"You sure there's anything out there?" Drake asked the girl. They
were just outside the city gate, looking at the dirty yellow dunes that
filled their view all the way to the western horizon.
"Yes," said Leenah. "I go many times."
"Can you at least tell me how far we have to ride?"
"More than a week. We can catch them?"
"Yes," said Drake. "We should catch them before that."
"Why dragons not fly away with grandfather?"
"Dragons shift shape to walk among people. They're so big, though,
that they have to split themselves into about a dozen man-sized
avatars. You can always tell when you meet a dragon because all the
avatars look alike."
"They not change back?" Leenah asked.
"Not easily. It takes a special ritual, with special ingredients, and
sunlight, then starlight and then sunlight again."
"What if they change and we not see?"
"If they fly, the Rangers will get reports of them and track them back
to their lair. They're not ready to fight a war yet. They'll want to stay
on the ground to avoid attention." Then Drake told her, "Stay with the
horse. I'm going to double-check our provisions."
Buryan rode over to Drake as the captain and his sergeant counted
water bottles at the back of the line. Drake reckoned the young
soldier was the smartest man under his command, but more
importantly, Buryan was reliable.
"Sir, the north gate reports that a dozen men left for the mountains in
a dromo caravan right before we got here. They had a large basket of
salted meat in their cargo."
"That would have shielded the smell of the old man from the dogs,"
said Drake.
"I'll get everyone turned around to head north," said Jerrick.
It took Drake only a moment to decide. "No. We let the girl take us to
the palantir. The old man must be leading them on a false trail and
it's better to secure the artifact before we do anything else."
Buryan was silent. Jerrick looked at Leenah who was fidgeting on the
horse near the front of the line, then said, "Yes, sir."
============================================
That evening, as the cool settled on the sands, the men took dinner
atop a rocky outcropping, facing outward so that they could watch
over the animals at the same time they watched for enemies. They lit
no fire and ate bread and salted meat. As Drake tore at a strip of beef,
Leenah came to sit near him. The girl had dropped her head wrap
around her shoulders and it made her neck seem scrawny.
She asked, "We keep riding after dinner?"
"Yes, and sleep by day. It will be easier on the horses that way."
"And the men too."
"The men do as they must. Rangers care not how difficult the march
is."
From behind them, Jerrick's mocking voice floated up, "Speak for
yourself. I'd like it to be easier."
Drake returned the jest. "Sergeant, you're demoted to latrine duty for
lack of commitment."
"I suppose you'll be putting young Buryan in charge?" Jerrick asked.
"Really?" said Buryan with a hopeful voice.
"No," said Drake, "I'm putting my smartest soldier in charge: Strong
Heart."
All the men laughed softly at that.
"Which man is Strong Heart?" asked Leenah.
"None. Strong Heart is my horse."
"You name him yourself?"
"Yes." Drake looked out at the desert for a while. They could see
clear to the horizon as both moons were overhead near each other. In
the southern tongue the large, golden moon was known as Mohtar.
The smaller diamond-surfaced moon was Mirage.
"You like horses?" Drake asked. "You seemed nervous riding earlier."
Leenah had been seated on a horse by herself for the journey, tethered
to Jerrick.
The girl said, "Nervous, yes. I feel ashamed. My ancestors be great
horse riders. Cavalry protect sands."
"You're talking about the Nomads? I thought they were all gone."
"Yes. Gone. But not forgot. My grandfather know all the stories."
There was such wistfulness in Leenah's tone that Drake could not
help but feel a kinship to her, a bond in their desire to see the wheres
and whens beyond view.
"The trick to riding a horse," Drake said, "is in not expecting them to
obey you instantly. You have to accept that they are their own
animal—"
"I think being own animal I am very aware. Is why I am nervous."
"Yes, but you must use trust. When you want the horse to move a
certain way, you guide it, not command it. Be too gentle and there is
no guidance. Be too harsh and the horse refuses by instinct."
The girl sighed. "Seem very complicated. How to find balance?"
"Practice!" said Drake cheerfully. He got up and pulled Leenah to her
feet. "Come. I'll help you."
As the rest of the patrol finished their dinner and got packed away,
Drake and Leenah worked on horse handling. The girl's enthusiasm
soon overcame her fear and he could not stop smiling by the time
Drake roped her horse to Jerrick's for the evening's ride.
"Still to be tied?" asked Leenah.
"You learned a few things about staying on top of a calm horse
moving in one direction. You're hardly an expert."
The girl hesitated just a bit then said, "You teach me more?"
"I'll teach you more."
============================================
The skeletons attacked them at midnight.
Mohtar and Mirage were setting near the horizon, their crossed light
filling the land with long, ill-defined shadows. The traveling had
eased into a routine for them all, the caravan rising and falling in
time to the animals' steps. And not a few of the men were drowsy.
From the shadows at the horses' feet, the sand erupted into blasting
sprays and six skeletons leapt at the riders, their bleached bones
luminous under the doubled moonlight. Two of the skeletons held
knives. One was unarmed. The other three carried a scimitar, a pike
and a wooden club respectively.
It was the pike wielder who came at Drake first. The Ranger's first
concern after twisting to dodge the thrust was Leenah and the
knowledge the girl held. The captain pulled the reins left and saw that
Leenah had fallen off her startled horse. Near her, Jerrick was
grappling with a skeleton.
Just as Drake was about to spur his horse on, a bone arm stuck a knife
into his upper thigh. He yelled in frustration. The pike was coming at
his face again. Turning to avoid it, he strained his wounded flesh and
the pain unbalanced him. Falling into the sand saved his life, as a
second knife swipe hit his leather breastplate instead of something
more vital.
Drake struggled to his feet in the soft sand and drew his longsword.
Around him the men were responding, weapons drawn. Buryan and
two other Rangers crashed their weapons into the pike-wielding
skeleton, driving it back from Strong Heart. Drake left them to it so
that he could help Jerrick.
Except that Jerrick would have to find a way to win on his own. The
skeleton with the scimitar was running at Leenah. Drake struggled to
cover the ground to the girl, with the sand sucking at his boots. He
winced each time he pushed with his injured left leg. Jerrick swung
his foe as they wrestled, throwing it, into the running skeleton.
Tumbling ungracefully down, the falling skeleton splintered apart on
the ground, but drew itself back into human shape as if pulled
together by invisible cobwebs. The time needed for the skeleton to
rise, however, was enough for Drake to get between it and Leenah.
"Stay close," grunted Drake, parrying the first blow from the skeleton
and pushing the monster back. "There may be more out there."
Magical skeletons were animated by spells which bound the bones
together into a somewhat conscious being. Breaking those bones or
knocking them apart could not destroy the skeleton, but the binding
energy was finite and forcing the skeletons to retake their form again
and again would eventually drain its power.
Against his instincts, Captain Drake stood tall, knowing that the
skeleton's light weight made it vulnerable to attacks from above.
Each downward strike exposed Drake to getting his belly slashed by
the skeleton's scimitar, however, so he tried to hold a pattern of
deflecting a scimitar slash first and then hammering the edge of his
longsword onto the neck or shoulders of the skeleton.
A sword could not just cut through bone at will. Not even the aged
brittle bones of the long dead and previously buried. Luckily, the
consciousness of a skeleton was not enough to make it an expert
swordsman, so scoring hits was not difficult. The skeleton used
slashing strikes that took some time to wind up, but were delivered
with swift malice. It made knowing when to block easy, but actually
blocking demanded absolute focus. Damaging the bones took time
and effort. But, each successful strike drove the skeleton to its knees,
giving the captain time to recover as the wound in his leg burned.
The worst part about fighting skeletons was that they never tired.
Even as the energy holding them together waned, the skeleton itself
moved and struck just as ferociously as ever, while the human
struggling against it suffered fatigue. The clanging of longsword
against scimitar and the rattle of steel against bone melted into a
drone as Drake blocked and hacked at the skeleton, always keeping
himself near Leenah, each step sending a spike of pain from his thigh
to his brain.
Until one blow finally cut the skeleton in half for good.
After the legs and torso fell near each other, Drake made sure to keep
Leenah back. The skeleton's sword arm slashed out at them. Drake
brought his blade down through the wrist and the skeleton's hand
stayed separated, fingers angrily clenching and unclenching on its
sword hilt.
The dozen soldiers of his patrol were finishing off the remaining five
attackers when Drake looked up. Jerrick was stomping his into the
dirt, breaking its jaw off.
Once defeated, the many bones of the skeletons were thrown into one
pile and their weapons removed. Drake checked Leenah over for
injuries, but she had only a few scrapes. Her hair had not even been
shaken out of its neat braids.
"Hello?" called a man's voice from the dark. "Is it safe to come out
now?"
"Yes," Drake replied. "Come out and show yourself. The skeletons
are all gone."
From out of the shadows walked a tall, broad-shouldered man. He
wore loose desert clothes, but was clearly not a native, his strong face
pale and smooth, and made to look even paler by his long, black hair.
Something about him seemed familiar to Drake. Primal even.
"I am Suroc," said the stranger touching his chest and then flourishing
his upturned palm in the nobles' gesture of offering friendship. "You
have my immense gratitude."
Jerrick asked, "What are you doing out here by yourself, Suroc?"
"These things attacked my caravan. Wounded my horse. I was not
able to escape when the other travelers did and I've spent the last two
days hiding while the skeletons slept. I would have died here, had you
not come along."
"You stay here?" asked Leenah. "Next to skeletons?"
A look of guilt crossed Suroc's face. "Sadly, the carcass of my horse
was my only source of nourishment and I also used her as cover to
hide."
"Get him some water," said Drake to a nearby soldier. "Buryan, take
two men and find any of our horses that ran off." Buryan would
understand that his instructions included checking out the stranger's
story.
There were only two minor injuries from the attack besides Drake
and he decided to put some distance under hoof before breaking for
their meal.
Later, after they dismounted, Buryan approached Drake.
"Sir, there were no tracks in or out of that spot, but two days of desert
wind would have wiped them out anyway. I did find the horse,
though. It had been attacked and beat up like he said. But the neck
was cut clean, like an execution."
"And that part about eating the horse?" asked Drake.
"Hard to say of he'd been tearing bits of flesh off it, but there were
empty water skins on the horse, so he could really have survived out
here for two days."
Further down the line, Suroc was standing with the horse Drake had
loaned him, looking not a bit traumatized. The man seemed more
interested in the soldiers than the potential threats in the desert and he
had an air of contentment and ease about him.
The talk when they ate together was naturally about Suroc.
"I was on my way to Klandra," said the stranger. "It's a small village
past the mountains to the north-west."
"You're a trader?" Drake asked.
"Of sorts," said Suroc with a smile. "I'm mostly an errand boy.
Messages and deliveries. That sort of thing."
"You are spy," said Leenah.
"That's not what I said."
"Maybe he's an emissary for one of the northern kingdoms," said
Buryan to Leenah.
"And maybe I be turkey," said Leenah. She looked at Drake. "This
man is spy."
Drake looked at Suroc, amused. "Well?"
"I run errands," said the man, balancing politeness with finality.
"And your errand took you into a skeleton attack?" asked Drake.
"Well, now that you mention it, it seems that the skeletons might well
have been a deliberate attack on my person rather than some
wandering evil that happened upon us. I don't believe in
coincidences."
"I wouldn't rule out random wandering evil that easily," said Drake.
"There's a lot of history out here under the sand."
"Yes, I know," said Suroc. "Just a few miles south of here, there's an
old oasis where women who were desperate to become with child
would sacrifice animals to unspeakable evil."
"That not true," said Leenah. "Always is ordinary oasis. My
grandfather tell me. It get legend for evil because of bandits in cave
near it."
"Is that so now?" Suroc seemed amused that a child would challenge
his knowledge of the world.
"Is so."
"Was it the same six skeletons that attacked you?" asked Jerrick.
"They bore the same weapons at any rate."
As Suroc spoke, Drake sat back and observed. The man's voice was
smooth and easy to listen to, but still strong. He spoke with a precise
voice that revealed either great training or great determination to be
in control.
"It was soon after sunset," said Suroc. "We had ridden through the
day since mine was the only horse and the dromos can take the heat.
We were trying to decide just where to camp when the skeletons rose
up out of the sand in an instant. Three of them went after me. My
horse took many injuries, but I managed to stay on it." He shrugged.
"For a little while at any rate. By then, everyone else had been able to
ride off. They must have figured me for dead because they never
came back." Suroc smiled. "Not that I blame them."
"And then you escaped?" asked Drake. "How?"
Suroc's smile widened. He opened both palms and snapped his
fingers.
The pale man, and the large rock he was sitting on, disappeared.
"Like so," he spoke from behind them. Suroc was sitting on his rock
about thirty feet away.
"You're a wizard!" said Jerrick walking over to him.
Suroc laughed. "Nothing so dedicated. I dabble. I've picked up a few
useful skills, that's all."
Jerrick put his hand out to touch Suroc and it passed right through the
illusion.
"Not bad," said Drake, putting his hand where he had last seen
Suroc's shoulder and gripping solid flesh. The man reappeared where
he had been all the time.
"Just tricks," said Suroc. "Not potent magic."
"Well," said Drake, "sometimes appearances are the most potent tool
of all."
For a moment Suroc seemed surprised and then he smiled and said,
"It appears there is some depth to you, young master Drake."
"Captain Drake."
Leenah asked, "So what happen after you trick skeleton?"
"Nothing. I could not leave the horse and the water it carried. Poor
thing was injured beyond hope. I ended her life as a mercy." Suroc
slashed his forefinger quickly before his throat. "Then I just waited.
None of the tricks I knew were of use. The skeletons searched for me
all night. Then they just sank into the earth. Until you came along on
your way wherever you're going."
"We're going west for a little while," said Drake. "Then we go back to
Vanasheen. You're welcome to stay with us as until then."
============================================
The next seven nights were peaceful. Their meals in camp were full
of talk. Suroc seemed to have boundless knowledge of the land,
though he and Leenah still argued over what the history really was.
The girl was fanatical in her defense of whatever story her
grandfather had told her. Suroc, for his part never pressed his case,
but took the air of a man content to suffer naivete.
Leenah seemed to know without being told that she was not to
mention the palantir in these conversations. Instead, their camp talk
was about ancient towns and trade routes, like spook tale legends
about caravans of a hundred dromos that vanished without any trace
and discussions of the best ways to handle the last murderous ten days
of the route into Tarsus.
Leenah's command of the language improved rapidly as he threw
herself into the listening and telling. It was not just her grasp of
grammar and diction. Her accent seemed to shift with his time
amongst the Rangers too. The girl clearly had a gift for language.
And for stories.
"There are places in this desert where men walk like snakes," said
Leenah one night, with absolute conviction. "They protect ancient
treasures from the hands of greedy men and just one of them could
hold off an army of orcs and slay the mightiest heroes of any
kingdom."
"You've seen them, have you?" Drake teased.
"You do not have to see a thing to know it is true," said Leenah.
Suroc said, "That last bit at least I agree with."
Leenah ignored him and said to Drake solemnly, "You should not
doubt me."
When the girl had gone to bed, Suroc and Drake would continue their
talks, discussing politics and war.
Everywhere in Alamaze, the elder races were growing uneasy with
the rule of humans. Trolls had started an uprising in the west. The
Black Dragons were attacking settlements in the south. The Dark
Elves had sealed their borders to outsiders once again, amid
accusations that they were developing forbidden magic. And now
rumors were emerging of a shadowy race of immortal ancients who
had influenced empires across the ages.
"I don't think they exist," said Drake one night, speaking about the
Ancient Ones.
"Why not?" Suroc seemed offended. "They could hide quite easily in
plain sight."
"No one is immortal."
"The Witch Lord—"
'Was killed," Drake said. "Hence, not immortal,".
"We know demons are real."
"I've never had to fight a demon, so their immortality has yet to be
proven."
Looking at Drake like he was a child, Suroc said, "Pray you never
have to find out the truth of your jest."
============================================
Leenah's riding improved as quickly as her speech. The girl seemed
to take great pride in exercising control over the beast beneath her
and was soon patrolling the caravan with Drake, keeping her horse
away from the long gait of the dromos.
"Who taught you to ride?" Leenah asked once, while Drake was
showing her how to tie her reins together as a precaution against the
girl's small hands losing hold of one. "Was it your father?"
Suroc sat near them, drinking tea as usual, and listening.
"I never called him father," said Drake. "But he did many of the
things a father would. And he did teach me to ride."
"You are a good teacher, Captain Drake."
"Thank you." Then Drake felt that the girl's efforts deserved
acknowledgement too, so he added, "You are a good student. You pay
attention to your horse."
"You don't have a real father?" asked Leenah.
"Everyone has a real father."
"You know what I meant."
Drake did not answer.
Leenah said. "I don't have a father either. He died long ago."
Drake bit his lip, unsure what the girl wanted from this conversation.
After the silence had lasted a while, Leenah asked, "Does this horse
have a name?"
"No."
"Can I give him a name?"
"Yes."
With a smile of mischief, Leenah asked, "Can I call him 'Firehelm'?"
"No," said Drake, "That name is taken."
"But only—"
"How do you even know about that?" asked Drake.
The girl smiled. "Is the story true?"
Once again finding himself too close to the topic of fatherhood,
Drake simply said, "Find your horse another name," and walked away
while Suroc gave him a puzzled look.
============================================
It was the final morning of the ride. Leenah expected them to reach
the palantir the next night. She had reminded Drake that night, "You
promise to rescue my grandfather first, right? No fighting for the
palantir until he is safe?"
"He will be our first priority," Drake said, hoping he had kept the
guilt out of his voice.
When Suroc and Drake sat for their usual conversation after dinner,
the morning sun hinting at the scorching day to come, Suroc asked
him, "What is the Firehelm story?"
"An old story of no consequence."
"Even old stories have consequences if they are true." Suroc had not
lost a bit of his paleness in their travels. He sat now with his hair free,
halfway down his back, his eyebrow cocked in amusement and
curiosity as usual.
Drake had a quick glance at where Leenah was sleeping.
============================================
I grew up on the docks of Meridon, greatest city of the west and
gateway to the Sea of Mystery. As a child, I did odd jobs for money
on the ships in port, sometimes even signing on for short trips across
the bay where I wouldn't be gone more than a few days. My mother
was a washer woman. My father, I never knew.
When I was nine, a company of soldiers took a charter with a captain
who was a friend of mine, out to an island just off the coast, and I
joined in. I was told to stay far away from the soldiers and I did, for a
whole day.
But then their leader took an interest in the ship's catapult. He was
the reason I had been so willing to keep my distance. He was not
particularly tall or strong or ugly, but he stood still with hard eyes as
he watched his men clean their gear and when he did move, it was
with purpose in everything down to the tips of his fingers. It seemed
like he did not even blink unless it was deliberate.
He asked the captain for a demonstration of the catapult and he and
his men stood in two neat rows near the bow to observe. I had always
been fascinated by the power apparent in this machine, so I moved
closer too, setting down the half-eaten bowl of soup the cook had
gifted me so that I could climb the rigging for a view over their
shoulders.
I watched the captain explain the mechanisms and then they loaded
some of the kitchen garbage into the machine and fired it. The leader
of the soldiers asked a few questions, kneeling at the base of the
catapult. In my efforts to hear the answers, I fell with an almighty
clanging upon two soldiers. The look on the leaders face was of a
man who had been offended in some fundamental way by my
invasion of his space.
"Get out of here," he growled and with one action picked me up and
shoved me towards mid-ship. The captain, my friend, gave me a look
of reproach and I knew I should go peaceably.
I stepped to the rail to get my bowl and the leader grabbed me
shoulder. "I said to leave."
"But that's my soup. I just want—"
With a gauntleted hand he poured the soup over the side, then shoved
the bowl into my chest and looked down at me with those hard eyes.
"Leave," he said.
For the rest of the day I kept thinking of his hard eyes—the way they
seemed connected to a soul that was just as stone-hard. And I was
angry. This was hardly the first time I'd been picked on and I can't say
I'd never backed away from a bully, but something about him being
so powerful and callous made my blood run hot.
So I watched the soldiers. At some point, the leader gave his helmet
and armor to a private to clean and began consulting a map with his
lieutenants. I waited.
After the evening meal, when they were all relaxing on deck, I made
my move. I walked calmly to the bow with a kitchen basket and a
torch, no one taking note of me. Within minutes, I had the catapult
rigged to launch. I rested the basket on the end of the catapult arm
and picked up a rotten potato from it. And threw it at the hard-eyed
man. It hit him in the back of the head and he turned with that
measure of deliberation he always had, his eyes not just hard now, but
bright with anger.
"Listen, boy, if you—"
From the basket, I lifted his helmet high for him to see, then dropped
it back. I had doused the basket in tar and oil and it ignited when I set
the torch to it. The captain, the crew and the soldiers were all
screaming at me, but the leader, he just stared me down. And I stared
back, like I could communicate all my outrage down the channel of
our connected eyes.
Then I pulled the lever and launched his helmet into the night. It
blazed through the sky like some glorious firebird before tumbling
into the dark sea with a hiss of finality.
All the men charged at me then and I clambered into the rigging, the
tips of their fingers brushing my ankles, and was soon
looking down at them as they cursed at me.
"Stand down," said the leader and his men fell quiet. "Go back to
your duties." With no objections or second glances, they all
complied. "Child," The leader said to me, "we will not harm you.
Come down."
His tone was firm, carrying absolute conviction in his intent. This
man did not lie. When I stood there, barefoot, before him, I looked
him straight in the eye, defiant of his accusing expression. He said,
"Explain yourself."
"I put what was yours next to what was mine, at the bottom of the
sea. That is justice."
"Yes, the soup. I understand. That was indeed wrong of me. I often
prize control more than I should. But revenge is not justice."
It took me a moment to recover from the idea that this man would so
easily admit his error. Then I said, "It was the only justice I could
get."
"True justice," said the man, placing a surprisingly gentle hand on my
shoulder, "demands restraint at every step, from the finding of guilt to
the awarding of punishment and restitution. You, however, were
impetuous."
"There is no justice unless you take it, and if you wait too long, you
get nothing."
"Of what interest is justice to you?"
There are moment in life where you become aware of parts of
yourself that have always existed, but which grew into their function
unnoticed. Thinking on the man's question, I realized that I had
always seen the way the world around me bent towards the powerful
and the callous. And growing besides that awareness had been a need
to straighten out the ways of the world.
"Justice makes man different from beast," I said. "Makes him better."
"What do you know of us?" asked the man, pointing at his men.
"What do you know of the white horse on our armor?'
"That you're from the east?"
"It means that we are Rangers," said the man. "Generations ago, we
traveled to the east because from the time of the first men, we have
been bringers of justice. We go to the wilds, to the places of the world
where men are ruled by their animal instincts and where things
beyond mankind seek to impose their beastliness upon us, and we
take the light of justice to lift man up."
Then the man gave me one final measuring look and said, "If you
indeed care about justice, we can teach you its practice. The work is
neverending, in every wretched corner of the map, and there are
never enough of us who understand and care about the cause of
justice. Become a Ranger and you can fight for justice your whole
life."
"Do I get my own sword?"
"If you prove worthy of our oath."
"Then I will take your oath."
============================================
"So, that was how I met Trueblade and became a Ranger," said
Drake.
"Marshal Trueblade?" asked Suroc.
"He was just a captain then. But he still had such power to lead and
inspire. I disembarked with the men when we reached land. The
Rangers were already calling me 'Firehelm'. I told the ship's captain
to let my mother know what I'd done and I never went back to
Meridon again. I've been too busy." Drake watched Suroc, amazed
that he would reveal himself to a virtual stranger so, yet feeling safe
to continue. "I did not see combat for many years, but my training
began immediately. Swords, navigation, horses, siege tactics,
logistics...I learned it all. If you know who Trueblade is, then you
know his reputation. The man has no frivolous inclination
whatsoever. He wrung out all the childishness remaining in me.
Taught me purpose and focus."
"And now you are on a mission for him, I suppose?"
Drake smiled, but did not answer.
"An important one, no doubt, to which he assigned you personally."
"Every mission a Ranger undertakes is important."
Suroc said, "I've also heard that only men may become Rangers."
"Yes. So?"
"So, it seems that you have notions the girl may follow your path."
"That's not—"
A shadow fell over the sand, then fire blasted them from above.
Three dragons screamed down, belching flame. Around Drake, men
were tumbling out of sleep. Buryan was on fire at the center of the
camp, wailing and writhing. The horses scattered in fright. Just as the
Rangers got to their feet, spears in hand, the dragons landed around
the camp with thumps that knocked them to the ground again.
================ To be Continued ================
I've been captivated by this world since I was 17 and discovered
it in the pages of the RSI catalog. And sometimes, the urge to see
that world gets so great that I just have to make a visit happen.
Usually that involves threatening in-character messages to my
fellow players, but eventually I had to try for a step above.
In other words, I wrote a fanfic. It was immense fun to dream up
and put down on the page and I hope it gives you some Alamaze
joy as well.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Secrets in the Sand 1: A Tale from the World of Alamaze
-------------------------------by Jumbie-------------------------------
In dusty Vanasheen, the walls criss-cross at harsh angles, their lines
designed to stifle the sand which constantly blows in from the
surrounding dunes.
The walls were just as unfriendly to strangers like captain Drake and
his squad. The men twisted through one anonymous alley after
another, seeming to get no closer to the artisans' district near the
eastern gate. Sergeant Jerrick tried asking for directions, but no locals
would admit to speaking Midvalian of any kind.
Continuing to burrow through the canvas canopies and market stalls,
Drake could not believe this was the same city that Princess Thalia
had convinced to join their cause just a month ago. Did Drake not
wear the dancing horse of the Rangers upon his armor? Why would
the Vanash not help him?
The glass-blower's shop, when they found it, had been wrecked.
Within the open, curtained entrance lay bent tongs and broken tubes.
Colorful shards of jars and lamps sprinkled the ground beneath
toppled shelves. A coiled serpent figurine lay on its side near the back
wall, its tail snapped off.
One of Drake's men cried out, doubling over to hold his crotch and a
small blurred shape shot toward the front door. The captain snagged
the running girl by the collar only to have the child whirl like a dog
and bite his hand.
"Gods above!" Drake yelled through gritted teeth, though he did not
let go. "Stop that. We're not here to hurt you."
The girl looked up at him doubtfully, bright teeth at the ready. It
seemed that this Vanash at least understood him.
Drake said, "I'm just here to talk to the glass blower, Ghalaz. You
work for him? Do you know where he is?"
The girl glanced at the door, where Jerrick stood guard. "Men take
him. Big men with black eyes." The girl seemed to be about eleven,
dark of face like most desert folk, with long, sleek hair combed
straight back in interlocking coils. Her light house robe had been
dirtied from wherever she was hiding.
"How many?" asked Drake.
The girl shrugged and said, "Ten."
"Dirty dragon," said Jerrick. "He came right into the city, even
knowing that we had taken over the place."
"How long ago was this?" Drake asked the girl, letting her go.
"Less than one hour. They make grandfather get into big basket and
they walk out. I stay here because I not know what to do."
"Ghalaz is your grandfather? What's your name?"
"I am Leenah. I live in back with grandfather."
"Anyone else?"
"No."
Jerrick said, "Captain, there's got to be more dragons hiding in the
desert. If we take the horses we can catch them before they meet up
and do their transformation ritual."
"I don't think they'll risk taking dragon form at all. Not with all the
troops moving down from Synisvania. Better for them to stay
inconspicuous. It's worked for them so far."
Drake signaled his men to leave. "Buryan, you question the south
gate guards and—"
"I know where they go," said the girl.
Drake turned to her. "Did they say something?"
"They ask about jewel. My grandfather know about it. They make
him take them."
Drake put his hand on Leenah's shoulder. "It's not just a jewel, is it?
It's a palantir–a seeing stone."
The girl nodded. "I know where my grandfather take them. I show
you if you save him."
"We Rangers came to the Sands to protect people from the dragons.
You tell us where they're going and we'll get him back."
"No." Leenah looked fiercely at Drake. "You take me with you."
Jerrick asked "You don't trust us or something?"
The girl looked at him contemptuously.
"Guess not." Jerrick leaned over. "Look, child, Rangers aren't the
ones who burn villages and crops. We're the ones trying to end—"
"We don't have time to negotiate this," said Drake. "Jerrick, take the
girl with you. Make sure she doesn't slow us down."
Jerrick was an old veteran, so even though his eyes told Drake that he
was crazy to agree to this, the sergeant simply said, "Yes, sir."
============================================
Horses did not do well in the desert, so the squad were taking dromos
with them. The animals had longer legs, sturdier backs and a more
relaxed gait that made them better for carrying the supplies while the
men rode the horses. They also stank more than a troll.
"You sure there's anything out there?" Drake asked the girl. They
were just outside the city gate, looking at the dirty yellow dunes that
filled their view all the way to the western horizon.
"Yes," said Leenah. "I go many times."
"Can you at least tell me how far we have to ride?"
"More than a week. We can catch them?"
"Yes," said Drake. "We should catch them before that."
"Why dragons not fly away with grandfather?"
"Dragons shift shape to walk among people. They're so big, though,
that they have to split themselves into about a dozen man-sized
avatars. You can always tell when you meet a dragon because all the
avatars look alike."
"They not change back?" Leenah asked.
"Not easily. It takes a special ritual, with special ingredients, and
sunlight, then starlight and then sunlight again."
"What if they change and we not see?"
"If they fly, the Rangers will get reports of them and track them back
to their lair. They're not ready to fight a war yet. They'll want to stay
on the ground to avoid attention." Then Drake told her, "Stay with the
horse. I'm going to double-check our provisions."
Buryan rode over to Drake as the captain and his sergeant counted
water bottles at the back of the line. Drake reckoned the young
soldier was the smartest man under his command, but more
importantly, Buryan was reliable.
"Sir, the north gate reports that a dozen men left for the mountains in
a dromo caravan right before we got here. They had a large basket of
salted meat in their cargo."
"That would have shielded the smell of the old man from the dogs,"
said Drake.
"I'll get everyone turned around to head north," said Jerrick.
It took Drake only a moment to decide. "No. We let the girl take us to
the palantir. The old man must be leading them on a false trail and
it's better to secure the artifact before we do anything else."
Buryan was silent. Jerrick looked at Leenah who was fidgeting on the
horse near the front of the line, then said, "Yes, sir."
============================================
That evening, as the cool settled on the sands, the men took dinner
atop a rocky outcropping, facing outward so that they could watch
over the animals at the same time they watched for enemies. They lit
no fire and ate bread and salted meat. As Drake tore at a strip of beef,
Leenah came to sit near him. The girl had dropped her head wrap
around her shoulders and it made her neck seem scrawny.
She asked, "We keep riding after dinner?"
"Yes, and sleep by day. It will be easier on the horses that way."
"And the men too."
"The men do as they must. Rangers care not how difficult the march
is."
From behind them, Jerrick's mocking voice floated up, "Speak for
yourself. I'd like it to be easier."
Drake returned the jest. "Sergeant, you're demoted to latrine duty for
lack of commitment."
"I suppose you'll be putting young Buryan in charge?" Jerrick asked.
"Really?" said Buryan with a hopeful voice.
"No," said Drake, "I'm putting my smartest soldier in charge: Strong
Heart."
All the men laughed softly at that.
"Which man is Strong Heart?" asked Leenah.
"None. Strong Heart is my horse."
"You name him yourself?"
"Yes." Drake looked out at the desert for a while. They could see
clear to the horizon as both moons were overhead near each other. In
the southern tongue the large, golden moon was known as Mohtar.
The smaller diamond-surfaced moon was Mirage.
"You like horses?" Drake asked. "You seemed nervous riding earlier."
Leenah had been seated on a horse by herself for the journey, tethered
to Jerrick.
The girl said, "Nervous, yes. I feel ashamed. My ancestors be great
horse riders. Cavalry protect sands."
"You're talking about the Nomads? I thought they were all gone."
"Yes. Gone. But not forgot. My grandfather know all the stories."
There was such wistfulness in Leenah's tone that Drake could not
help but feel a kinship to her, a bond in their desire to see the wheres
and whens beyond view.
"The trick to riding a horse," Drake said, "is in not expecting them to
obey you instantly. You have to accept that they are their own
animal—"
"I think being own animal I am very aware. Is why I am nervous."
"Yes, but you must use trust. When you want the horse to move a
certain way, you guide it, not command it. Be too gentle and there is
no guidance. Be too harsh and the horse refuses by instinct."
The girl sighed. "Seem very complicated. How to find balance?"
"Practice!" said Drake cheerfully. He got up and pulled Leenah to her
feet. "Come. I'll help you."
As the rest of the patrol finished their dinner and got packed away,
Drake and Leenah worked on horse handling. The girl's enthusiasm
soon overcame her fear and he could not stop smiling by the time
Drake roped her horse to Jerrick's for the evening's ride.
"Still to be tied?" asked Leenah.
"You learned a few things about staying on top of a calm horse
moving in one direction. You're hardly an expert."
The girl hesitated just a bit then said, "You teach me more?"
"I'll teach you more."
============================================
The skeletons attacked them at midnight.
Mohtar and Mirage were setting near the horizon, their crossed light
filling the land with long, ill-defined shadows. The traveling had
eased into a routine for them all, the caravan rising and falling in
time to the animals' steps. And not a few of the men were drowsy.
From the shadows at the horses' feet, the sand erupted into blasting
sprays and six skeletons leapt at the riders, their bleached bones
luminous under the doubled moonlight. Two of the skeletons held
knives. One was unarmed. The other three carried a scimitar, a pike
and a wooden club respectively.
It was the pike wielder who came at Drake first. The Ranger's first
concern after twisting to dodge the thrust was Leenah and the
knowledge the girl held. The captain pulled the reins left and saw that
Leenah had fallen off her startled horse. Near her, Jerrick was
grappling with a skeleton.
Just as Drake was about to spur his horse on, a bone arm stuck a knife
into his upper thigh. He yelled in frustration. The pike was coming at
his face again. Turning to avoid it, he strained his wounded flesh and
the pain unbalanced him. Falling into the sand saved his life, as a
second knife swipe hit his leather breastplate instead of something
more vital.
Drake struggled to his feet in the soft sand and drew his longsword.
Around him the men were responding, weapons drawn. Buryan and
two other Rangers crashed their weapons into the pike-wielding
skeleton, driving it back from Strong Heart. Drake left them to it so
that he could help Jerrick.
Except that Jerrick would have to find a way to win on his own. The
skeleton with the scimitar was running at Leenah. Drake struggled to
cover the ground to the girl, with the sand sucking at his boots. He
winced each time he pushed with his injured left leg. Jerrick swung
his foe as they wrestled, throwing it, into the running skeleton.
Tumbling ungracefully down, the falling skeleton splintered apart on
the ground, but drew itself back into human shape as if pulled
together by invisible cobwebs. The time needed for the skeleton to
rise, however, was enough for Drake to get between it and Leenah.
"Stay close," grunted Drake, parrying the first blow from the skeleton
and pushing the monster back. "There may be more out there."
Magical skeletons were animated by spells which bound the bones
together into a somewhat conscious being. Breaking those bones or
knocking them apart could not destroy the skeleton, but the binding
energy was finite and forcing the skeletons to retake their form again
and again would eventually drain its power.
Against his instincts, Captain Drake stood tall, knowing that the
skeleton's light weight made it vulnerable to attacks from above.
Each downward strike exposed Drake to getting his belly slashed by
the skeleton's scimitar, however, so he tried to hold a pattern of
deflecting a scimitar slash first and then hammering the edge of his
longsword onto the neck or shoulders of the skeleton.
A sword could not just cut through bone at will. Not even the aged
brittle bones of the long dead and previously buried. Luckily, the
consciousness of a skeleton was not enough to make it an expert
swordsman, so scoring hits was not difficult. The skeleton used
slashing strikes that took some time to wind up, but were delivered
with swift malice. It made knowing when to block easy, but actually
blocking demanded absolute focus. Damaging the bones took time
and effort. But, each successful strike drove the skeleton to its knees,
giving the captain time to recover as the wound in his leg burned.
The worst part about fighting skeletons was that they never tired.
Even as the energy holding them together waned, the skeleton itself
moved and struck just as ferociously as ever, while the human
struggling against it suffered fatigue. The clanging of longsword
against scimitar and the rattle of steel against bone melted into a
drone as Drake blocked and hacked at the skeleton, always keeping
himself near Leenah, each step sending a spike of pain from his thigh
to his brain.
Until one blow finally cut the skeleton in half for good.
After the legs and torso fell near each other, Drake made sure to keep
Leenah back. The skeleton's sword arm slashed out at them. Drake
brought his blade down through the wrist and the skeleton's hand
stayed separated, fingers angrily clenching and unclenching on its
sword hilt.
The dozen soldiers of his patrol were finishing off the remaining five
attackers when Drake looked up. Jerrick was stomping his into the
dirt, breaking its jaw off.
Once defeated, the many bones of the skeletons were thrown into one
pile and their weapons removed. Drake checked Leenah over for
injuries, but she had only a few scrapes. Her hair had not even been
shaken out of its neat braids.
"Hello?" called a man's voice from the dark. "Is it safe to come out
now?"
"Yes," Drake replied. "Come out and show yourself. The skeletons
are all gone."
From out of the shadows walked a tall, broad-shouldered man. He
wore loose desert clothes, but was clearly not a native, his strong face
pale and smooth, and made to look even paler by his long, black hair.
Something about him seemed familiar to Drake. Primal even.
"I am Suroc," said the stranger touching his chest and then flourishing
his upturned palm in the nobles' gesture of offering friendship. "You
have my immense gratitude."
Jerrick asked, "What are you doing out here by yourself, Suroc?"
"These things attacked my caravan. Wounded my horse. I was not
able to escape when the other travelers did and I've spent the last two
days hiding while the skeletons slept. I would have died here, had you
not come along."
"You stay here?" asked Leenah. "Next to skeletons?"
A look of guilt crossed Suroc's face. "Sadly, the carcass of my horse
was my only source of nourishment and I also used her as cover to
hide."
"Get him some water," said Drake to a nearby soldier. "Buryan, take
two men and find any of our horses that ran off." Buryan would
understand that his instructions included checking out the stranger's
story.
There were only two minor injuries from the attack besides Drake
and he decided to put some distance under hoof before breaking for
their meal.
Later, after they dismounted, Buryan approached Drake.
"Sir, there were no tracks in or out of that spot, but two days of desert
wind would have wiped them out anyway. I did find the horse,
though. It had been attacked and beat up like he said. But the neck
was cut clean, like an execution."
"And that part about eating the horse?" asked Drake.
"Hard to say of he'd been tearing bits of flesh off it, but there were
empty water skins on the horse, so he could really have survived out
here for two days."
Further down the line, Suroc was standing with the horse Drake had
loaned him, looking not a bit traumatized. The man seemed more
interested in the soldiers than the potential threats in the desert and he
had an air of contentment and ease about him.
The talk when they ate together was naturally about Suroc.
"I was on my way to Klandra," said the stranger. "It's a small village
past the mountains to the north-west."
"You're a trader?" Drake asked.
"Of sorts," said Suroc with a smile. "I'm mostly an errand boy.
Messages and deliveries. That sort of thing."
"You are spy," said Leenah.
"That's not what I said."
"Maybe he's an emissary for one of the northern kingdoms," said
Buryan to Leenah.
"And maybe I be turkey," said Leenah. She looked at Drake. "This
man is spy."
Drake looked at Suroc, amused. "Well?"
"I run errands," said the man, balancing politeness with finality.
"And your errand took you into a skeleton attack?" asked Drake.
"Well, now that you mention it, it seems that the skeletons might well
have been a deliberate attack on my person rather than some
wandering evil that happened upon us. I don't believe in
coincidences."
"I wouldn't rule out random wandering evil that easily," said Drake.
"There's a lot of history out here under the sand."
"Yes, I know," said Suroc. "Just a few miles south of here, there's an
old oasis where women who were desperate to become with child
would sacrifice animals to unspeakable evil."
"That not true," said Leenah. "Always is ordinary oasis. My
grandfather tell me. It get legend for evil because of bandits in cave
near it."
"Is that so now?" Suroc seemed amused that a child would challenge
his knowledge of the world.
"Is so."
"Was it the same six skeletons that attacked you?" asked Jerrick.
"They bore the same weapons at any rate."
As Suroc spoke, Drake sat back and observed. The man's voice was
smooth and easy to listen to, but still strong. He spoke with a precise
voice that revealed either great training or great determination to be
in control.
"It was soon after sunset," said Suroc. "We had ridden through the
day since mine was the only horse and the dromos can take the heat.
We were trying to decide just where to camp when the skeletons rose
up out of the sand in an instant. Three of them went after me. My
horse took many injuries, but I managed to stay on it." He shrugged.
"For a little while at any rate. By then, everyone else had been able to
ride off. They must have figured me for dead because they never
came back." Suroc smiled. "Not that I blame them."
"And then you escaped?" asked Drake. "How?"
Suroc's smile widened. He opened both palms and snapped his
fingers.
The pale man, and the large rock he was sitting on, disappeared.
"Like so," he spoke from behind them. Suroc was sitting on his rock
about thirty feet away.
"You're a wizard!" said Jerrick walking over to him.
Suroc laughed. "Nothing so dedicated. I dabble. I've picked up a few
useful skills, that's all."
Jerrick put his hand out to touch Suroc and it passed right through the
illusion.
"Not bad," said Drake, putting his hand where he had last seen
Suroc's shoulder and gripping solid flesh. The man reappeared where
he had been all the time.
"Just tricks," said Suroc. "Not potent magic."
"Well," said Drake, "sometimes appearances are the most potent tool
of all."
For a moment Suroc seemed surprised and then he smiled and said,
"It appears there is some depth to you, young master Drake."
"Captain Drake."
Leenah asked, "So what happen after you trick skeleton?"
"Nothing. I could not leave the horse and the water it carried. Poor
thing was injured beyond hope. I ended her life as a mercy." Suroc
slashed his forefinger quickly before his throat. "Then I just waited.
None of the tricks I knew were of use. The skeletons searched for me
all night. Then they just sank into the earth. Until you came along on
your way wherever you're going."
"We're going west for a little while," said Drake. "Then we go back to
Vanasheen. You're welcome to stay with us as until then."
============================================
The next seven nights were peaceful. Their meals in camp were full
of talk. Suroc seemed to have boundless knowledge of the land,
though he and Leenah still argued over what the history really was.
The girl was fanatical in her defense of whatever story her
grandfather had told her. Suroc, for his part never pressed his case,
but took the air of a man content to suffer naivete.
Leenah seemed to know without being told that she was not to
mention the palantir in these conversations. Instead, their camp talk
was about ancient towns and trade routes, like spook tale legends
about caravans of a hundred dromos that vanished without any trace
and discussions of the best ways to handle the last murderous ten days
of the route into Tarsus.
Leenah's command of the language improved rapidly as he threw
herself into the listening and telling. It was not just her grasp of
grammar and diction. Her accent seemed to shift with his time
amongst the Rangers too. The girl clearly had a gift for language.
And for stories.
"There are places in this desert where men walk like snakes," said
Leenah one night, with absolute conviction. "They protect ancient
treasures from the hands of greedy men and just one of them could
hold off an army of orcs and slay the mightiest heroes of any
kingdom."
"You've seen them, have you?" Drake teased.
"You do not have to see a thing to know it is true," said Leenah.
Suroc said, "That last bit at least I agree with."
Leenah ignored him and said to Drake solemnly, "You should not
doubt me."
When the girl had gone to bed, Suroc and Drake would continue their
talks, discussing politics and war.
Everywhere in Alamaze, the elder races were growing uneasy with
the rule of humans. Trolls had started an uprising in the west. The
Black Dragons were attacking settlements in the south. The Dark
Elves had sealed their borders to outsiders once again, amid
accusations that they were developing forbidden magic. And now
rumors were emerging of a shadowy race of immortal ancients who
had influenced empires across the ages.
"I don't think they exist," said Drake one night, speaking about the
Ancient Ones.
"Why not?" Suroc seemed offended. "They could hide quite easily in
plain sight."
"No one is immortal."
"The Witch Lord—"
'Was killed," Drake said. "Hence, not immortal,".
"We know demons are real."
"I've never had to fight a demon, so their immortality has yet to be
proven."
Looking at Drake like he was a child, Suroc said, "Pray you never
have to find out the truth of your jest."
============================================
Leenah's riding improved as quickly as her speech. The girl seemed
to take great pride in exercising control over the beast beneath her
and was soon patrolling the caravan with Drake, keeping her horse
away from the long gait of the dromos.
"Who taught you to ride?" Leenah asked once, while Drake was
showing her how to tie her reins together as a precaution against the
girl's small hands losing hold of one. "Was it your father?"
Suroc sat near them, drinking tea as usual, and listening.
"I never called him father," said Drake. "But he did many of the
things a father would. And he did teach me to ride."
"You are a good teacher, Captain Drake."
"Thank you." Then Drake felt that the girl's efforts deserved
acknowledgement too, so he added, "You are a good student. You pay
attention to your horse."
"You don't have a real father?" asked Leenah.
"Everyone has a real father."
"You know what I meant."
Drake did not answer.
Leenah said. "I don't have a father either. He died long ago."
Drake bit his lip, unsure what the girl wanted from this conversation.
After the silence had lasted a while, Leenah asked, "Does this horse
have a name?"
"No."
"Can I give him a name?"
"Yes."
With a smile of mischief, Leenah asked, "Can I call him 'Firehelm'?"
"No," said Drake, "That name is taken."
"But only—"
"How do you even know about that?" asked Drake.
The girl smiled. "Is the story true?"
Once again finding himself too close to the topic of fatherhood,
Drake simply said, "Find your horse another name," and walked away
while Suroc gave him a puzzled look.
============================================
It was the final morning of the ride. Leenah expected them to reach
the palantir the next night. She had reminded Drake that night, "You
promise to rescue my grandfather first, right? No fighting for the
palantir until he is safe?"
"He will be our first priority," Drake said, hoping he had kept the
guilt out of his voice.
When Suroc and Drake sat for their usual conversation after dinner,
the morning sun hinting at the scorching day to come, Suroc asked
him, "What is the Firehelm story?"
"An old story of no consequence."
"Even old stories have consequences if they are true." Suroc had not
lost a bit of his paleness in their travels. He sat now with his hair free,
halfway down his back, his eyebrow cocked in amusement and
curiosity as usual.
Drake had a quick glance at where Leenah was sleeping.
============================================
I grew up on the docks of Meridon, greatest city of the west and
gateway to the Sea of Mystery. As a child, I did odd jobs for money
on the ships in port, sometimes even signing on for short trips across
the bay where I wouldn't be gone more than a few days. My mother
was a washer woman. My father, I never knew.
When I was nine, a company of soldiers took a charter with a captain
who was a friend of mine, out to an island just off the coast, and I
joined in. I was told to stay far away from the soldiers and I did, for a
whole day.
But then their leader took an interest in the ship's catapult. He was
the reason I had been so willing to keep my distance. He was not
particularly tall or strong or ugly, but he stood still with hard eyes as
he watched his men clean their gear and when he did move, it was
with purpose in everything down to the tips of his fingers. It seemed
like he did not even blink unless it was deliberate.
He asked the captain for a demonstration of the catapult and he and
his men stood in two neat rows near the bow to observe. I had always
been fascinated by the power apparent in this machine, so I moved
closer too, setting down the half-eaten bowl of soup the cook had
gifted me so that I could climb the rigging for a view over their
shoulders.
I watched the captain explain the mechanisms and then they loaded
some of the kitchen garbage into the machine and fired it. The leader
of the soldiers asked a few questions, kneeling at the base of the
catapult. In my efforts to hear the answers, I fell with an almighty
clanging upon two soldiers. The look on the leaders face was of a
man who had been offended in some fundamental way by my
invasion of his space.
"Get out of here," he growled and with one action picked me up and
shoved me towards mid-ship. The captain, my friend, gave me a look
of reproach and I knew I should go peaceably.
I stepped to the rail to get my bowl and the leader grabbed me
shoulder. "I said to leave."
"But that's my soup. I just want—"
With a gauntleted hand he poured the soup over the side, then shoved
the bowl into my chest and looked down at me with those hard eyes.
"Leave," he said.
For the rest of the day I kept thinking of his hard eyes—the way they
seemed connected to a soul that was just as stone-hard. And I was
angry. This was hardly the first time I'd been picked on and I can't say
I'd never backed away from a bully, but something about him being
so powerful and callous made my blood run hot.
So I watched the soldiers. At some point, the leader gave his helmet
and armor to a private to clean and began consulting a map with his
lieutenants. I waited.
After the evening meal, when they were all relaxing on deck, I made
my move. I walked calmly to the bow with a kitchen basket and a
torch, no one taking note of me. Within minutes, I had the catapult
rigged to launch. I rested the basket on the end of the catapult arm
and picked up a rotten potato from it. And threw it at the hard-eyed
man. It hit him in the back of the head and he turned with that
measure of deliberation he always had, his eyes not just hard now, but
bright with anger.
"Listen, boy, if you—"
From the basket, I lifted his helmet high for him to see, then dropped
it back. I had doused the basket in tar and oil and it ignited when I set
the torch to it. The captain, the crew and the soldiers were all
screaming at me, but the leader, he just stared me down. And I stared
back, like I could communicate all my outrage down the channel of
our connected eyes.
Then I pulled the lever and launched his helmet into the night. It
blazed through the sky like some glorious firebird before tumbling
into the dark sea with a hiss of finality.
All the men charged at me then and I clambered into the rigging, the
tips of their fingers brushing my ankles, and was soon
looking down at them as they cursed at me.
"Stand down," said the leader and his men fell quiet. "Go back to
your duties." With no objections or second glances, they all
complied. "Child," The leader said to me, "we will not harm you.
Come down."
His tone was firm, carrying absolute conviction in his intent. This
man did not lie. When I stood there, barefoot, before him, I looked
him straight in the eye, defiant of his accusing expression. He said,
"Explain yourself."
"I put what was yours next to what was mine, at the bottom of the
sea. That is justice."
"Yes, the soup. I understand. That was indeed wrong of me. I often
prize control more than I should. But revenge is not justice."
It took me a moment to recover from the idea that this man would so
easily admit his error. Then I said, "It was the only justice I could
get."
"True justice," said the man, placing a surprisingly gentle hand on my
shoulder, "demands restraint at every step, from the finding of guilt to
the awarding of punishment and restitution. You, however, were
impetuous."
"There is no justice unless you take it, and if you wait too long, you
get nothing."
"Of what interest is justice to you?"
There are moment in life where you become aware of parts of
yourself that have always existed, but which grew into their function
unnoticed. Thinking on the man's question, I realized that I had
always seen the way the world around me bent towards the powerful
and the callous. And growing besides that awareness had been a need
to straighten out the ways of the world.
"Justice makes man different from beast," I said. "Makes him better."
"What do you know of us?" asked the man, pointing at his men.
"What do you know of the white horse on our armor?'
"That you're from the east?"
"It means that we are Rangers," said the man. "Generations ago, we
traveled to the east because from the time of the first men, we have
been bringers of justice. We go to the wilds, to the places of the world
where men are ruled by their animal instincts and where things
beyond mankind seek to impose their beastliness upon us, and we
take the light of justice to lift man up."
Then the man gave me one final measuring look and said, "If you
indeed care about justice, we can teach you its practice. The work is
neverending, in every wretched corner of the map, and there are
never enough of us who understand and care about the cause of
justice. Become a Ranger and you can fight for justice your whole
life."
"Do I get my own sword?"
"If you prove worthy of our oath."
"Then I will take your oath."
============================================
"So, that was how I met Trueblade and became a Ranger," said
Drake.
"Marshal Trueblade?" asked Suroc.
"He was just a captain then. But he still had such power to lead and
inspire. I disembarked with the men when we reached land. The
Rangers were already calling me 'Firehelm'. I told the ship's captain
to let my mother know what I'd done and I never went back to
Meridon again. I've been too busy." Drake watched Suroc, amazed
that he would reveal himself to a virtual stranger so, yet feeling safe
to continue. "I did not see combat for many years, but my training
began immediately. Swords, navigation, horses, siege tactics,
logistics...I learned it all. If you know who Trueblade is, then you
know his reputation. The man has no frivolous inclination
whatsoever. He wrung out all the childishness remaining in me.
Taught me purpose and focus."
"And now you are on a mission for him, I suppose?"
Drake smiled, but did not answer.
"An important one, no doubt, to which he assigned you personally."
"Every mission a Ranger undertakes is important."
Suroc said, "I've also heard that only men may become Rangers."
"Yes. So?"
"So, it seems that you have notions the girl may follow your path."
"That's not—"
A shadow fell over the sand, then fire blasted them from above.
Three dragons screamed down, belching flame. Around Drake, men
were tumbling out of sleep. Buryan was on fire at the center of the
camp, wailing and writhing. The horses scattered in fright. Just as the
Rangers got to their feet, spears in hand, the dragons landed around
the camp with thumps that knocked them to the ground again.
================ To be Continued ================
