From: "Suzanne" Date: Mon, 21 Jan 2002 20:21:17 -0500 Subject: Submission Source: direct THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Rating: PG-13 Classification: Alternate Universe Distribution: Okay for Gossamer, Xemplary, The Annex. All others please ask, though permission will probably be granted. Summary: Life goes on in the Realm, even when Mulder and Scully aren't there to enjoy it. The Realm is rebuilding after the devastation wrought by the Dark Queen, but problems still beset the inhabitants. The beings look forward to a Royal Wedding, but first Shannon must pass the test of her life, while safeguarding her off-world origins. Meanwhile, brigandage is widespread, causing death and economic havoc, and the Noble Houses are up to their necks in conspiracy and treason. But from one House comes a leader who can alter the course of Realm history. Disclaimers: This is another story in the Magician series, and as such is about 99% "unborrowed". But since Mulder and Scully do make some appearances in this story, it is only fair to tell you that they belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. Acknowledgements (Suzanne): Many thanks to Jennifer Lyons, who had the original idea for the series; to a super team of beta readers, which included Ten, Elizabeth Medina, Marybeth Cieplinski, and Methos; to my co-author Matt, who suggested the basic concept for this story and did such a monumental job with his share of the creative process; and most especially to the long-suffering fans of the Realm, who have waited so long for this installment. The next one will follow much faster, I promise! Acknowledgements (Matt): My thanks go to Jennifer Lyons and Suzanne for creating this tremendous universe, and for allowing me to take part in its development. Suzanne's contribution to the creative process as well as her editorial efforts have been the core on which the growth of this story has spun, and it has been an honor and pleasure to come to know and work with her. The nearly 1,500 mails that we sent back and forth in creating this work are a testament to the patience, frustration, delay, creativity and inspired late-night writing that go into a work like this, and I can only reinforce Suzanne's thanks to the beta-readers for their support and thoughtfulness in helping to get this surprisingly long and complex story done and in your hands. Foreword: This addition to the Magician series is a little different, in that it takes place chronologically between two existing books. As such, it presented certain difficulties, since what came before and what comes after are "carved in stone" and could not be altered. One of those unalterable facts is that Mulder and Scully are in the "Real World" for the entire book. They do make appearances, however, courtesy of the Oracle Cloud. It is our fervent hope that the inhabitants of the Realm, both the familiar characters and the new ones we have created, will capture your interest and your hearts enough to offset Mulder and Scully's small but critical roles in this book. The Magician V, due out next autumn, will again feature Mulder, Scully and Skinner in the Realm, picking up where The Magician IV - The Warrior Priest left off. Enjoy! THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Chapter One CLANG! The clash of metal shook Ballorca from the unease of his thoughts. For nearly a moon-cycle now, the priests had been busy trying to find a day which augured best for the Royal Wedding. Although there was nearly a season-cycle to pass before the event took place, it was important to set the date. The most highly born of the Realm and beyond needed time - to order their finery to be made, to find a gift suitable for a king, to make myriad other preparations to attend. The Goddess only knew that the Realm's subjects had earned a respite from the horrors which had beset them for most of the young King's regency and reign. But now it seemed that the priests and priestesses were having trouble choosing an auspicious wedding day, just as they had in determining the day for Andalor's crowning. They had been correct enough then, choosing the best of a bad lot, a day which foretold trouble for the boy monarch. And now! First a broken betrothal, unheard of from time immemorial, then betrothal to Shannon. A winsome girl, certainly, courageous and a budding beauty - but not of noble blood, and most mysterious in background. Mage Mulder's halla and Mage Hannu's daughter she might be, but that was just another mark against her, as far as Ballorca was concerned. Her own nascent Mage ability was just another impediment to bonding with the people of the Realm. Why, oh why could Andalor not have wed Livirnea, he mused regretfully. A perfect lady, born and bred to be the consort of a King. The Minister of Protocol sighed. Now, at the sound of metal on metal, he glanced up at the practice fields in the near distance where Aldara was drilling her charges. No! It could not be...! Infuriated, Ballorca hustled over to Aldara. Diminutive though the half-elf was, she still stood a handspan taller than the pudgy official. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Good morning, Minister," Aldara replied pleasantly. The little man shook with anger. "Th-this is impossible! Surely, you see that!" Aldara sighed and, praying to the Goddess for patience, sheathed her sword. At best, she tolerated the fussy, officious little man. At worst, he had an unerring talent for sparking her legendary temper. "What seems to be the problem, Minister Ballorca?" "Great Sweet Goddess! Is everyone a complete fool but me? *That*! *That* is the problem!" He pointed a trembling finger in the direction of a group of students working with a tall, lithe and obviously skilled instructor. "Oh, that. Yes, Lady Shannon's been assisting me with training some of the beginners. Good, isn't she?" Aldara responded mildly. She and the horrified Minister of Protocol watched as Shannon whirled and spun, parrying the 'attacks' of three trolls and a young male human. The morning sun glanced off the hilts of their swords, the tips all shielded in leather. "This must stop! Immediately!" he babbled. "She is Andalor's bride- to-be. What if she were injured, or killed?" The music of Aldara's laugh did nothing to calm him. "Minister, she is a Warrior, and a talented one. She is in no danger." Ballorca's mouth hung open in fury, then snapped shut. "We'll just see about this," he spat out, "and if any harm comes to her, it will be on your head!" He wheeled around and made for the Castle as fast as his short, fat legs could carry him. Blind in his outrage, he automatically navigated the corridors and staircases, arriving breathless and panting at an iron-bound wooden door. Impatiently, he pounded at it until it opened to him. "Minister Ballorca! Is Mage Reinald expecting you?" Pitir swung back the door as Ballorca strode through to the chamber. "Probably not. But I am here nonetheless and must speak to Reinald on a matter of the gravest importance!" The stocky troll scratched his head. "I don't know, Minister. Royal Mage Reinald is working on a spell. He really can't be disturbed right n- " "He *will* see me, and he will see me *now*!" Ballorca roared. There was a loud bang from behind the closed door to Reinald's private study, and an anxious Pitir raced toward the sound. As he did so, the door swung open to reveal the Royal Mage, his figure clouded by smoke, his long white hair and beard singed, and his cheeks and nose colored an unnatural pink. "What in the name of the Goddess is going on out here?" he demanded irritably. "Oh, Mage Reinald, are you all right? I am sorry, Master, but Minister Ballorca...." The troll gestured helplessly towards the seething official. "Oh, all right. Yes, I am fine, Pitir - stop fussing. Prepare tea for the Minister and myself, and then see what you can do to clear away the mess in my study. Minister Ballorca, take a seat by the hearth." There was no warmth in the invitation. Clearly, Ballorca was bursting to give Reinald a piece of his mind, but as custom and protocol demanded, waited until the mugs of tea were passed. Then, "It must be stopped!" he demanded without preamble. "Stopped? What must be stopped?" The Mage sipped his tea calmly. He well knew that Ballorca lacked perspective, and was inclined to become easily horrified or enraged by the slightest breech of protocol. "Lady Shannon. Do you know where she is right now?" "No, I cannot say that I do." The Royal Mage's calm only intensified the little minister's outrage. "Swordfighting. She is swordfighting! Captain Aldara has her teaching a class of youngling warriors. Can you imagine anything more preposterous?" he demanded. Actually, Reinald could imagine many more preposterous things, but with effort, he held his tongue. "And?" "And nothing!" Ballorca spluttered. "She could be killed!" "Oh, I think there is very little chance of that happening, Minister. She is a fine, seasoned Warrior, and I understand that beginners always have their blades guarded in any case. Was that all that was bothering you?" "No, that was *not* all that was bothering me," he snapped in reply. "Instead of exposing herself to possible injury and death, she should be here, in the Castle, learning what she needs to know to become a suitable Queen." Reinald's brow furrowed. That was a different matter. Much as he might hate to admit it, the Minister of Protocol had a valid point. The Council had accepted Andalor's betrothal to Shannon, but only because it was still reeling from the traumatic events which had preceded it - the terrible interspecies bloodshed, the attack of the Dark Queen, the deaths of many of the Heads of Houses, the unprecedented overturning of the betrothal between Andalor and Livirnea. But Andalor was besotted with Shannon, and Livirnea had no wish to wed the king, as much as she valued his friendship. At length Lord Ranfaus had listened to the heartfelt pleadings of his daughter and had withdrawn his approval. Livirnea would have needed no such schooling. She had been strictly raised and educated in those things that a noble lady needed to know - protocol, custom, Realm languages and history, how to make polite conversation to those both above and below her station. But Shannon! She was wild, headstrong, undisciplined. She had virtually no tact or diplomacy, only the faintest acquaintance with Realm customs, and knew none of its history. How could she, since she had come from Mulder's world? The origins of Mulder, Scully, Professor Neumann and Shannon were a tightly guarded secret. If anyone even suspected the Queen-to-be's true origins, the Realm would rise up in revolution against the young King. Goddess knew there had been enough calamity visited upon the Realm.... Reinald sighed. Yes, Ballorca had a valid point. With less than a season-cycle until the Royal Wedding, Shannon would already have difficulty learning everything she would have to know in the time left to her. "Yes, I believe you are correct, Minister," the Royal Mage admitted. Mouth open to counter Reinald's expected reply, Ballorca was for a moment shocked into silence. However, it did not take him long to reassert his authority. "Excellent, Royal Mage," he said, smiling for the first time that day. "I'm glad you see it my way. Very well, I shall see to Lady Shannon's lessons myself. I-- " "I think that would not be wise," replied Reinald, smiling pleasantly. "By all means, you should draw up the curriculum, if you wish. But the King will decide who shall be the most effective teacher for the Lady Shannon." And Goddess help the poor being who would be chosen for that formidable job, he thought. "But... but the Minister of Protocol has historically taken the King's betrothed in hand," Ballorca protested. "I am aware of that," Reinald admitted. "And certainly your input will be invaluable. That is why you will be in charge of the curriculum. But the King will decide who is to teach her." I'm probably saving your life, you little fool, he mused. Shannon's temper was nearly a match for Aldara's, and her nascent Mage talent would soon become sufficient to make her a possible danger to others until she learned control of both. Haughtily, Ballorca stood. "Very well. But as you know, I will conduct the Ritual of Readiness. And unless Lady Shannon succeeds in fulfilling all the requirements during the Ritual, there will be no Royal Wedding. Protocol is my sacred responsibility, and I would be failing it if I allowed an unsuitable candidate to become Queen. I demand- " "Granted," said Reinald tiredly. "Now, if you will excuse me, Minister, I will meet with Andalor to apprise him of our discussion." With a curt nod, the Minister of Protocol left, feeling he had gained more than he had lost. The Royal Mage sat, watching Ballorca's exit. His examination of the Queen-to-be would be rigorous, and Shannon would need to be letter- perfect. Reinald knew what the Minister of Protocol did not - that Shannon would have far more to learn than merely what Ballorca's lessons held. The Minister, believing as others did that Shannon was from a distant part of the Realm, assumed she had at least a working knowledge of Realm history, perhaps a smattering of Realm languages, some familiarity with custom. That they had been able to hide the child's ignorance thus far was no small miracle. Sighing again, he rose from his chair to go to the King's quarters. Ah, Mage Mulder, Warrior Healer Scully, he thought with wry amusement. Where are you when I need you? * * * * "You haven't lost your edge, I see." Startled, Shannon wheeled around to find Andalor standing in the entrance to the weapons shed. Spying a few of her students looking on avidly, she dropped into a deep curtsey. "Thank you, Your Majesty." Andalor's expression was a mixture of amusement and impatience. "You're welcome, Lady Shannon," he said with mock gravity. A slight sideways flick of his head communicated much more - . "Flocko, Trell, Gampi - if you are so interested in staying, I have several dozen weapons here which need polishing and sharpening.... No? I thought not," Shannon laughed. "All right, go home then, and be prepared to work hard tomorrow." Giggling, the three trolls scurried off. "Well, Your Majesty," she said mischievously, emphasizing his title. "Your wish is my command. It would appear we are all alone." "You never know," he replied grimly, and drew her deeper into the shadows of the shed's interior. There, he cupped her face tenderly and brought his lips to hers, lightly at first, then deepening into a passionate kiss they broke reluctantly a few moments later. Frowning, Shannon looked beyond Andalor into the sunny stableyard. "Andy! What if someone saw?" "Oh, I'd have him beheaded at sunrise. Or have your father turn him into a fieldbeast or something." "Moron! You would not," she giggled. "No - but I'd want to. Goddess, Shannon, I wish we were in Mulder's world right now. There are dangers enough there, but at least we'd have time to ourselves, and no one would give a damn what we did." "I know," she sighed. "Besides, I miss them." Feeling they had probably spent too much time in the darkened shed - enough to incite rumors if they were being watched - Andalor took Shannon's hand and they walked out into the brilliant sunshine. "Do you miss your world very much?" he asked, his voice gentle. She shook her head. "No. Not really. Some things at times - Coke, fast food, movies. But for the most part, I don't miss it at all. It might be the world I was born into, but my memories of it aren't exactly all that... well, you know." He nodded sympathetically and clasped her hand a bit more tightly. "But I do miss Mulder and Scully." "Have you spoken to them since they returned to their world?" "No. I want to, of course. But I'd rather they contacted me first. I don't want them to think that I'm homesick, or having second thoughts." He stopped dead. "You aren't, are you?" he asked anxiously, his eyes seeking out hers. "Having second thoughts, I mean." "Moron!" she said affectionately. Here in public, Shannon had to let her eyes do most of her communication, while she checked the almost overwhelming urge to throw her arms around him and hold him tightly. Those odd tawny eyes, her face, softly shone with her love for him. "Not for a split second." Heart pounding, he squeezed her hand in response. Slowly they began walking once again toward the Castle. Jokingly, he said, "Oh, you just love me for my title." Shannon snorted. "Believe me, I love you *in spite* of your title. By the way, Ballorca was at the practice fields today. I saw him waving his stubby little arms and talking to Aldara. Well, more like yelling at her. He looked really pissed off, though that's nothing new for him." Andalor frowned. The eagle-eyed meddler couldn't have failed to notice Shannon. What was up Ballorca's sleeve? The young King knew all too well that before long, more demands would be made of them both. I'm at least used to it, he thought. All the interminable ceremonies, the rigid traditions, the stultified, polite, meaningless talk. But Shannon wasn't used to it. She- "Andy? Did you hear anything I said?" "Um.... Sorry, no. What did you say?" "I asked if we were going to meet tonight, up on the battlements as usual?" "Of course. In full view of the guards there - also as usual." Shannon chuckled. "Better that than that ogre poor Livirnea had as a chaperone." Andalor smiled weakly. Little did Shannon know, but they had come horribly close to having "that ogre" chaperone them. It was only by giving the most persuasive speech of his life, and having Aldara come to his aid in promising to keep Shannon active, occupied and out of trouble that they had avoided that fate. He also had to promise to keep their behavior completely proper. But Goddess! It was getting more and more difficult with every day that passed. Everything about her made his blood pound in his veins and his loins ache from longing. He was almost glad they didn't have more time to spend together. He was aware that nothing short of a miracle brought him to be engaged to this lovely, seductive woman, and that their conduct was being carefully watched. The slightest impropriety would be enough to convene a full session of the Council to overturn the betrothal. The Realm expected its Queen to be pure, unsullied, and virginal when she came to the marriage bed. But with Shannon, filling him with such urges.... Wryly, Andalor thought how easy enduring the long betrothal period would have been, had his intended bride been one of the horrible Dordinal girls. "Cold, Andy? You just shivered." "No," he chuckled. "Just something I was thinking about. Look, I'm sure Mulder wouldn't think any the less of you if you got in touch with him." She ruminated on this for a few moments, then said determinedly, "No. No, it's all right. He'll get in touch with me when he wants to. *If* he wants to, that is.... He probably doesn't even remember me," she ended gloomily. "Don't count on it. You tend to make a... umm... lasting impression... on people," teased Andalor. Her eyes lit with amusement as they slid towards him. "I'm sure you mean that in the nicest possible way, *Your Majesty*." He turned to her, grinning. "Of course, *Lady Shannon*. How else?" Surreptitiously, her elbow nudged him sharply in the ribs. "How else indeed?" she smiled. Hand in hand, they walked through a stone archway and into the Castle. * * * * Far from Fairwoods, a tall noble viewed his lands from the battlements of his manor. House Forst had suffered greatly as a result of the Dark Queen's wrath. Ian's death had begun yet another period of confusion and disorder, weakening the family even further. Some feared that the House would collapse altogether, its former vast strength finally sapped by centuries of infighting and poor political planning. But at least one young noble stood ready to rectify the situation, his focus and drive becoming a force with which the Realm would soon have to reckon. His name was Margul, and he intended to drive the rabble at Dordinal from their seat and into the sea. It was their rise to power that had shattered Forst's formerly invincible hold on the Realm and decimated its land holdings. Other houses had suffered even worse fates. These semi-mythical families, now forced to eek out a living in the far northwestern wastes, still hungered for revenge. Unfortunately, much as his anger at the Dordinal mobs burned, there still seemed to be little opportunity for the revenge that he had dreamed of since he was a very young child. Margul knew that he would have to bide his time until he could gather the pieces he needed to deal with his family's ancient enemy. Little could he know that events at Fairwoods and in other parts of the Realm would deliver him a great weapon. If used correctly, it could make possible the mighty blow that he had dreamed of, and simultaneously return the woman whose beauty and personality had haunted his dreams as often as his plans for vengeance against Dordinal. * * * * Many miles from Margul's position at his family's traditional seat, news of the resumption of the throne's long-standing purge against Black Mages came to an unusual Mage, whose allegiance was to the study of magic, whether good, bad or indifferent. Her name was Charla, a young woman with the bearing on an aristocrat whose aura -- when she let others see its true depth -- was nearly a match for that of the Royal Mage. She had refused a position as village Mage, claiming that the duties would be too trivial, and the magic routine and unchallenging. As a result, she was forced to perform menial tasks in order to support herself until such time as she chose to return to the full practice of her art. Therefore, the young man who was her local contact was not surprised to find her working the fields when he came to deliver news that was to change the fortunes of Houses great and small. She was deeply frightened by his report of the mission that King Andalor had set Mage Tarnor. Her spy's report was incomplete, but it was obvious to Charla that the King had ordered the gargoyle Mage to return to his work of ridding the Realm of those who, like her, were proficient in the so-called Black Arts. Although not a true Black Mage, she was certainly open to the things that blood, flesh and sex-based magics could teach her. Her choice to learn such arts went directly against the wishes of the Royal Mage. Many season-cycles earlier, when she had been sent to Fairwoods to seek apprenticeship with Reinald, he had been aghast at her desire to learn the forbidden spells. He given her an ultimatum: she was to choose between learning the white arts only, under his supervision, or give up her training. She had a burning desire for knowledge, but no interest in the power that Black Mages could wield. She had told Reinald this, but he had not believed her, and given her one final chance to decide her fate. In a fit of pique and youthful rebellion, she chose to continue her quest for the forbidden knowledge. As a result, she had been expelled from her apprenticeship. After leaving Fairwoods, she had wandered the Realm, intimidating Mages far less powerful than she was in order to learn what she hungered to know. The extra time that she had been forced to take learning in this way meant that it had taken nearly two extra season- cycles before she felt ready to assume her blue. Though she knew well that she was more than a match for Tarnor's magical ability, she doubted that she would be able to stand against Reinald. And if she could not defeat the Royal Mage, she would definitely lose to Hannu, whose training and experience far exceeded even that of her former teacher. She knew she would need to find a sponsor, someone strong enough to give her the protection she needed from the King and his blue- cloaked lackeys if she would remain safe and free. Charla could think of only one such person. Margul. End of Chapter One THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Two It was not until after the evening meal that Reinald was able to gather all the parties he wished to consult on the matter of Shannon's training. The Mage was too unsettled to eat much, earning anxious glances from Pitir. The young troll appeared to think that apprenticeship to the Royal Mage also involved being a nursemaid. It had taken a disturbingly long time for Reinald to return to his former self after creating the security shield over Fairwoods. But while Reinald appreciated Pitir's devotion, the constant fussing irritated him at times. After the troll had cleared away the remains of the meal and set a kettle of water for tea on the hob, the Royal Mage dismissed him for the evening with a sigh of relief. A knock at the door, and Andalor entered with Hannu. Aldara and Jourdain arrived only moments later. When they had settled before the fire with their tea, Reinald cleared his throat and began. "I had a visit from Ballorca this afternoon." At the mention of the protocol minister's name, both Aldara and Andalor shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They had an idea what was coming. "He was most... concerned... that Shannon was assisting the Swordmaster in the training of young warriors. He protested that she could be injured in the activity." Andalor laughed out loud and Aldara smiled knowingly at the young King. "Yes," continued Reinald, his blue eyes twinkling, "a ludicrous thought, and I told him so. However, he also stated that her time would be much better spent in beginning her preparation to be Queen. That, I am afraid, is a much more difficult statement to argue against. Much as I may hate to admit it, Ballorca is correct." "By the blood of the Dark Creatures!" cursed Andalor. "Why can't-" The Royal Mage held a hand up for silence. Andalor might be King, but he was young yet, and still needed the guidance of his former Regent. "I'm sorry, Andalor. But it must be," he declared firmly. A little more gently, he went on, "Those of us in this room are privy to knowledge that Ballorca, thank the Goddess, does not have. We, and very few others, know that Shannon is not born of the Realm. If that knowledge were to get out... well, I do not wish to consider the consequences. Even if by some miracle you were able to keep your throne, the betrothal would certainly be overturned by the Council and you would be forced to marry whomever they chose for you. And none of us wants that, least of all you, Andalor." "I know, and I agree with you, Reinald - about that anyway. But all that I went through, season-cycles of endless boring lessons, all the... the... the *crap*-!" The Royal Mage winced at the young man's use of the slang he had picked up in Mulder's world, and felt a flare of anger. "What did you expect? Yes, you went through a long preparation! And you are certainly neither stupid nor naive. You must have known that your betrothed, no matter who she might be, would have to undergo similar preparation to be a good Queen. You must have known about the Ritual of Readiness." "I know all that," the King flared back. "But Shannon - she's different, Reinald. She's so wild, so free!" Andalor rose and began to pace before the fire. His cheeks burned with the fever of emotions felt so strongly only in the adolescent - his rebellion against the rigid confines of his society and his duty, his love for Shannon, and his desire to protect her. "She has a wonderful, fiery spirit! To have that broken, to have her forced to sit for hours, learning useless, trivial *crap*-" The Royal Mage scowled, and with a bang slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair. Keeping his voice low only with effort, he leaned forward and spat out, "Shannon is different, I will grant you that. Those differences could well topple your rule! Now sit down, and start thinking like a king, instead of a lovesick whelpling!" No one had ever spoken to him like that before. Shocked, Andalor stopped pacing and locked eyes with his former Regent. Reinald might be his subject, but he was also the man who had brought him up, almost since he could remember. He sat down, his expression the closed, sullen look of the thwarted teenager he was, while the others sat, uncomfortable, nearby. "That's better," the Royal Mage said gravely. "Andalor, I know that Shannon is different. Do not misunderstand, I like the girl, and I admire her courage. I can never be grateful enough to her for saving your life. I also understand that her differences are a part of what attracts you to her. But think! Yes, she has adapted astonishingly well to the Realm. But Ballorca is assuming she knows what any young woman born in the Realm knows - our history, traditions. Yet she knows next to nothing!" The consequences of Reinald's line of thought finally began to dawn on the young King. "Goddess, Reinald! If he spends any time around her, Ballorca will figure out Shannon's an outworlder in a New York minute!" "Though I am unfamiliar with 'Noo Yoruk minnut'," the Mage said stiffly, "I assume that it means a very short time. Why do you think I am pressing the issue? You have other matters which you must apply yourself to. Much of your kingdom has sustained terrible damage and loss of life. Even now in outlying areas there is continued bloodshed, acts of revenge for atrocities committed under the influence of the Dark Queen. The deaths of the Heads of Households in the destruction of the Great Hall has further shaken the security of the Realm. At least we knew what we were dealing with before. Now, young nobles with half a brain and even less of a claim to their Householderships are fighting amongst themselves, leading to Goddess knows what. The situation between Dordinal and Forst in Cresscreek is becoming critical. The issue of Shannon's training must be decided immediately, so you can get on with doing your job for the Realm." Andalor sat frowning, lost in thought. "What are we going to do?" he muttered. "Oh, Goddess, what are we going to do? If she doesn't pass the Ritual, the betrothal will be broken!" Panic began to leech into his voice. "Obviously we have a tremendous task ahead of us," said Reinald wearily. "And I am open to suggestions." "Is it necessary that Ballorca be her instructor?" inquired Aldara hesitantly. Though still a terror on the battlefield, she tended to be intimidated in situations such as this one. "I don't see how we can keep the truth of Shannon's background from him if he is her teacher and has so much access to her. Unless you feel he might be persuaded to keep that information to himself?" "Not much chance of that, I'm afraid," Reinald sighed."Mark you, I have no doubt of Ballorca's loyalty, but that loyalty is to the Realm, not necessarily to whatever king is on the throne. To him, keeping the traditions of our land pure is all that matters. Discovering that Shannon is an outworlder, that we have all known about this and allowed the betrothal to take place -- no, he would take his chances with a more 'traditional' king. And I do not doubt that one or more of the Houses would be more than happy to supply him with a candidate. And that is why...," Reinald paused dramatically, "I have told Ballorca that he will *not* be Shannon's preceptor." "All *right*!" Andalor crowed. "I'll bet *that* went over like a fart in church." Fortunately, his analogy didn't translate. The Royal Mage again winced. "I do not think I wish to know what that means," he said with distaste. "But no, he did not take it well. I told him that he would develop the lesson plans. And of course as Minister of Protocol he would play a major role in the Ritual of Readiness to determine her fitness to be Queen." The King's grin abruptly disappeared. "Reinald, are you mad? No one would be able to meet Ballorca's standards, especially not Shannon!" Hannu, quiet up until now, waved dismissively and said, "That part was inevitable, Andalor. There was no way he could have persuaded Ballorca to surrender that point. It is his right and duty. In my opinion, Reinald has bargained extremely well. At least the Minister will be kept away from Shannon until her studies are finished." "But she'll have so much to learn!" "And she does not have the advantage of your - what does Mulder call your memory?" "Eidetic." "Yes, precisely. So Shannon is going to have to learn all of what Ballorca will insist that she knows to be Queen, not to mention all of the basic things he assumes she knows already. A formidable task is ahead of us," Reinald said, scanning the silent ring of faces around his hearth. "And that's not all," Hannu observed gravely, "I am most concerned about her emerging Mage powers, Reinald. I am just beginning to know my daughter, but that 'wonderful, fiery spirit' Andalor finds so attractive could present some real problems. I fear that Fairwoods will be in for Magestorms such as it has never before experienced if Shannon reacts to this plan as I suspect she will." "I share your concern," Reinald admitted. "Which is why, on top of everything else, Shannon must continue her lessons with us. So far she appears not to have enough Mage energy to cause a Magestorm, but it seems every day the blue in her aura grows brighter. Lita herself has remarked on it. So learning to control her increasing Mage power must be a priority. Otherwise she could unwittingly injure or even kill her preceptor." "Do you have any idea who that will be, Reinald?" Aldara said with some trepidation. "I know Shannon has bonded closely with me since Mulder and Scully left, but really, I do not-" "No, Warrior Aldara," Reinald said kindly. "You have an excellent relationship with the girl and certainly your assistance in reinforcing the basics of her Realm knowledge will be invaluable. But Shannon's preceptor must be someone of noble status, someone who can speak Old Realm and other languages, someone with flawless deportment, someone-- " "Someone like Livirnea!" exclaimed Andalor. "Lady Livirnea?" Reinald frowned. "I had in mind someone older, more experienced...." "No! This could work, Reinald. Listen! Shannon already knows and likes Livirnea, admires her in a lot of ways. Livirnea is intelligent, has a sweet, serene personality, and no one can say she isn't a perfect example of a Realm noblewoman." "All quite true. But she isn't in Fairwoods - she's still nursing Lord Mandor at their country estate. I doubt Lord Mandor could do without her right now." Jourdain, silent until now, interrupted. "I've heard that Lord Mandor grows stronger every day. I was speaking with Raviar the other day, and he gave a glowing report of his master. He is out of danger and now needs only time and the attention of his Healers to restore him to active health." "Thank the Goddess, I am delighted to hear that. Ranfaus House has been an excellent friend, it is true," Reinald mused aloud. "Lord Mandor may not offer an objection, then. But Lady Norilka will be less than pleased about Livirnea acting as teacher to her successor as Queen-to-be." He paused, then shook his head. "Even if Mandor agrees, Livirnea is too young, younger than Shannon, even." "Reinald, think about it," persisted Andalor. "We can name Livirnea Shannon's Lady in Waiting. One should be appointed soon and Livirnea would be a perfect choice. So they'll be spending lots of time together anyway. Why not make use of that time? And who is Shannon more likely to listen to -- some wizened up old crone who never did a useful thing in her life, or Livirnea? Besides, if you choose a noblewoman from one of the other Houses, how do you know you can trust her? She might teach Shannon everything wrong, just for the satisfaction of having her fail the Ritual." The King could see that he was winning over the Royal Mage, and pressed home his final point. "Say Shannon slips up, says or does something that would give away the fact that she's an outworlder. Who would you trust more with that information - Livirnea, or some noblewoman from Dordinal or Maalfees?" The Royal Mage stroked his luxurious white beard. "An excellent point. We will probably be forced to let Shannon's teacher in on our little secret. I feel we can trust Lady Livirnea with that knowledge. What say you all?" Hannu nodded. "A good choice. Excellent, Andalor - and most well- reasoned." He smiled at his future son-in-law. "I too agree," Aldara said. "Although I must say I do not envy Livirnea, given the task before her." Wryly, Andalor murmured, "I'm feeling a little guilty about that myself." The others laughed. "Very well. Jourdain, would your other duties permit a journey to Mandor's country estate? Someone will have to present our proposal to Lord Mandor and Livirnea, and provide protection for her on her way back to Fairwoods should they find the plan acceptable." The grizzled commander nodded. "In fact, I needed to follow up reports of brigandage on the highways in any case. This journey will give me the opportunity to do that." "Very well," Reinald said. "Meanwhile, Hannu and I will continue our lessons with Shannon to help her to control her use of magic. Andalor, you have a message of your own to deliver to Shannon, I believe." The young man's smile abruptly disappeared. He knew what was coming. "Oh, Goddess!" The group around the hearth chuckled. Mildly, the Royal Mage went on, "You have the betrothed you wished for, Andalor. Surely you knew there would be a price to pay?" The young King grinned nervously. "Yeah, you're right, Reinald. Well, I'm going up to the battlements to meet Shannon for our nightly walk. I suppose I should tell her now, huh?" The Mage shrugged. "Her lessons must begin tomorrow, whether you tell her tonight or not. Whatever you think best." The King sighed and stood up, stretching. "No time like the present, I guess." As he reached the door, he paused and said over his shoulder, "You might want to double the guards on the battlements, Aldara. I may need them!" "Probably so," Hannu called to the young man, just before he stepped through the door. "Would you like one of us to cast a protective spell for you?" "Goddess!" Andalor said with a laugh. "I hope it won't be necessary! But if you can cast some spells that might assist Shannon in her learning, I'm sure that Livirnea will be most appreciative." As the door closed behind the young King, Reinald and Hannu looked thoughtful. * * * * Clad in her warrior-green cloak, Shannon was already on the battlements when he arrived. Formally, he bent over her hand and kissed it as she curtseyed deeply. He took her hand in his and they strolled past the first guard post. "Show's over, boys," she murmured in her native tongue. Fervently hoping it was true, Andalor cleared his throat nervously. "Shannon, we have to talk." "Since you're speaking English, I presume it's serious and you don't want the guards to overhear," she said, quietly tense. "Bungo." "That's 'Bingo'," she corrected automatically. They walked in silence to the end of the wall, and half the length of the next. Shannon sighed impatiently. "Okay, since you're evidently having a problem telling me, I can assume I won't like it. Does this have anything to do with Ballorca?" Her eyes slid across to read his expression. He waggled his head noncommittally. "Indirectly, I suppose. But even if he hadn't pressed the issue, it would have come up soon anyway." "What issue? I know he was pissed off that I was helping Aldara train the young warriors. Is that it? I can't do that anymore?" Already her words were heated by anger. Oh Goddess, help me, the young King thought. "That's part of it. He was afraid you'd be hurt." Shannon laughed shortly and without humor. "How touching that he's so interested in my welfare. I trust you informed him that I was perfectly safe?" "Yes," he admitted slowly. "Everyone has reassured him on that count. But in fact, it really doesn't matter. You're going to be too busy to help Aldara." "Too busy? I have nothing *but* time on my hands! My lessons with Reinald and my father certainly don't take up my entire day." "I know." He stopped and faced her, folding both her hands into his own. "Shannon, you know I love you more than anything, right?" She searched his face, reading the earnestness, gravity and yes, guilt, etched on his features. "Oh, hell! The shit's really going to hit the fan, isn't it?" "I seriously hope not." Andalor took a deep breath and plunged on. "Shannon, I've been in training to be King my entire life. Granted my training may have been more intensive, because my father died when I was just a kid. There was no one on the throne, and naturally, the Council wanted a ruler as soon as possible. What past Kings may have had decades to learn, I had to know by the time I was fifteen." She nodded gravely. "I know. I can't imagine how awful your childhood must have been - all those lessons, no time to just be a kid...." Andalor winced. Still holding her hand, he began strolling once more. "At the time, of course, I resented it. But now that I'm on the throne, I realize how valuable those lessons were." He lapsed into silence for a dozen or more paces. "So what are you trying to tell me, Andy?" "Even though you won't rule - the laws of the Realm forbid it - as my Queen there's an awful lot you need to know, and the wedding only a season-cycle away." She smiled. "Oh, is that all? Well, of course I figured that there'd be a few things I'd have to pick up on. Don't worry about it." Although surprised and encouraged by her attitude, the young man doubted that she fully understood what was involved. Resolutely, he went on. "More than a few things, Shannon. You know what our ceremonies are like. You'll have to be familiar with all of them -- and know enough Old Realm so you can take part in them." She frowned. "I don't know. Languages were never my thing in school." "Shannon, there's no alternative here. This isn't a case where your aptitude or even your choice enters into it. These are things a Queen must know. You have to learn enough of the languages of all the other beings in the Realm to be able to communicate with them during formal functions. You have to know Realm history -- all of it. You have to know exactly what to say and do in every possible situation -- and what you must *not* do or say. You have to learn every custom and tradition of every sort of being in the Realm, as well as those which apply only to Royals and nobles. Shannon, you weren't born here, and no one must ever suspect that. As a result, you have even more work to do than someone who is a native." She stopped and faced him, her expression stony. "And just who is to teach me all this?" she inquired stiffly. "And so help me, if you say Ballorca, I'll --" "No! No, it won't be Ballorca. You will continue your lessons with Reinald and your father regarding your magic talents. At least for now, Aldara will help you with the basics." "I see you have all this planned out for me. Well, tell me, *Your Majesty* - who's going to teach me the Queen stuff?" He sighed. "Lita will teach you Elvish, and Pitir will teach you the troll tongue. Tarnor, when he is around, can handle the Gargoyle. Livirnea is being named your Lady in Waiting. She'll teach you Old Realm, the ceremonies, history, how to comport yourself like a Queen-" "Well, isn't that great? My whole life has been decided, and I have no say in it whatsoever. I'm shocked you even proposed to me, since evidently I'm so *flawed* I need to be drilled for an entire year just to make me suitable!" Anger and hurt glinted in her tawny eyes. "Shannon, please don't do this," Andalor begged. "Do you think *I* like it? I love you! I wish more than anything you didn't have to go through all this. But I'm the King. You *know* what I went through. Did you seriously think you wouldn't have some sort of training?" "No. I know there'd be something. I just didn't plan on it taking every waking minute from now until Hell freezes over to do it! Andy," she entreated, "you know most of this stuff is crap. I've caught on to things here pretty well so far, haven't I? I can fake it!" Andalor grabbed her arms, perhaps a bit more roughly than he intended. "No, you can't 'fake it'. All eyes will be on you as my Queen. First of all, this stuff can't be faked, and secondly, there's a test." She stopped dead. "A test? What kind of a test?" Shrugging out of his grasp, she backed away from her fiance. "Before the marriage can take place, there's an... examination of sorts. It's called the Ritual of Readiness. Every would-be Queen has had to pass it successfully...." Eyes narrowed, she asked suspiciously, "And just who will be testing me?" Andalor sighed again. "The Head Priestess will act as Witness. But the examiner will be Minister of Protocol Ballorca." "Ballorca! Oh, fine. Great! What genius thought that one up? Ballorca hates me! I could never pass any test he gave, he'd make sure I flunked." "We'll just have to see that you don't. If you work hard and learn everything Livirnea teaches you-" "Right! The perfect noblewoman, Lady Livirnea. You think I don't hear the gossip -- that you should have married Livirnea, that she'd be the perfect Queen?" Angrily, Shannon stalked back and forth. Above them, clouds appeared from nowhere to scud across the sky and blot out the light from the twin moons. "Well, maybe you *should* have married her, *Your Majesty* Obviously she's a paragon of virtue and nobility. I have no doubt *she* could pass Ballorca's test. Probably could have passed it when she was five," she muttered resentfully. She stood against the battlement wall seething, her arms crossed stiffly in front of her. Andalor approached the wall to stand near her, but neither touched nor looked at her. Instead, he gazed out over his domain - snug little cottages, the fields, some neatly plowed and others fallow, the dense woods. "I don't love Livirnea; I love *you*," he replied wistfully. They stood in silence for some time. Finally, Shannon dropped her arms and moved to Andalor's side, looking down on the scene with him. More quietly though no more happily, she said, "Okay. Say I study my ass off, but don't manage to come up to Ballorca's standards. Then what?" Andalor looked grim. He had been trying not to think about that possibility. "You won't fail." "But what if I do?" she persisted, staring at his profile. Andalor didn't meet her eyes, but continued to look out over the crenellated wall. He shrugged. "I don't know," he responded evasively. "Don't give me that," Shannon snapped. He could feel the tension take over her body, feel her tremble with it. "Give me credit for some intelligence! You know very well what will happen. If I fail Ballorca's test, they won't let me marry you. Because I won't be good enough. That's it, isn't it?" she exclaimed furiously. She resumed her pacing, her arms gesticulating wildly as she spoke. "And you won't do a damn thing about it. You won't do a damn thing to stop them." Clouds even blacker than the night rolled across the sky to obliterate the stars. Once distant, the thunder now rumbled overhead. The wind picked up, crazily swirling the cloaks of the two lovers. A flash of lightning illuminated two faces - one set in stony fury, the other hurt and anxious. "Shannon! Shield now! I know Reinald has taught you how, so do it! You're causing a Magestorm! Shield your powers!" Lightning again lit her face as the rain began to pour down. In an icily furious tone, she replied, "Screw my powers." Hands tightened into fists, her whole body shaking, she backed away from him. "Screw my powers. Screw my shield. And while we're on the subject - screw *you*!" Sobbing, she whirled around and ran to the staircase at the end of the battlement, leaving Andalor alone, drenched, and bleak. End of Chapter Two THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter One Chapter Three Lost in thought, Reinald put his tea mug down on the table beside his armchair and resumed stroking his beard. It was a chilly morning, and he was glad of the fire crackling merrily before him. Not unexpectedly, the young King had sought him out after his fight with Shannon on the battlements. The sudden Magestorm had sent servants more accustomed to strictly controlled magic running in all directions. Knowing Andalor's errand, Reinald didn't have to guess twice at the storm's source. It had taken the Mage some time to calm the Castle residents before he could give his full attention to Andalor. Then for candlemarks he had listened sympathetically to the young man, knowing he needed someone to unburden himself to, someone to offer warm comfort and wise advice. Finally, with Reinald's assurances that he would have a plan, the King had withdrawn to bed. While the Royal Mage was happy he had been able to reassure the young man, now he had to come up with the promised plan. The first order of business, completed only when the first pink-gold rays of sunlight announced the new day, was to cast two shielding spells -- one to prevent Shannon from creating any more Magestorms, and one for the protection of the King. The girl's unexpectedly growing and unmastered powers alarmed him; coupled with her temper, she might inadvertently do real harm to her fiance. He had told Andalor he would have a plan, and had been spending his energies on little else for several days. Somehow, by the end of this very day, he would have that plan. But the girl was so... impossible! Lovely and strong, she appeared as if she would be able to bear many sons, and would be a formidable Queen, like few before her. If true, it would pull the Realm back from the brink of disaster, where it had teetered ever since King Barnas and his Queen had been unable to produce more than Andalor to keep the dynasty alive. Life in the Realm was too uncertain to rest easily with but one male child standing between stability and anarchy. Against all odds at times, Andalor had survived, and looked to have all the markings of a truly great ruler. But sons would have to come from his union with Shannon to give his rule the security and permanence the Realm needed. So the young woman's strength was indeed promising. But stubborn! Reinald didn't know when he had come across someone so stubborn. Well... on second thought, he did.... Shannon was so like Mulder that at times even the Royal Mage forgot they weren't related by blood. Both tall, lithe, and dark-haired, both with such strong emotions they were all too often ruled by them. And both stubborn enough to eschew good advice and stride down their own path, no matter how fraught with disaster it might be. Suddenly Reinald's hand stilled. Mulder.... Mulder had always been close to the girl, and she to him. There was a special bond there. Perhaps Mulder could make her listen to reason as no one else had succeeded in doing. The Royal Mage was out of his chair and halfway to the Oracle Cloud before he was conscious of it. Whipping the blue velvet cover from the orb, he noted its depths began to glow and swirl immediately, as if his intentions were strong enough to set the device in motion even before his mouth uttered the spell. He closed his eyes and raised his arms. Soundlessly his lips moved to the Old Realm words his mind focused on, as the cloud in the crystal ball danced and swam. An indeterminate amount of time later, it was a muffled exclamation followed by peals of laughter that popped his eyes open. "What are you laughing about, Scully? It could have caught the whole damn bed on fire!" There was a low, throaty chuckle. "Don't sell yourself short, my love. You were doing a pretty good job of that yourself." There was a suspicious silence interrupted only by the rustle of what sounded like bedclothes which went on for some moments. "Mulder? Mage Mulder? Reinald called anxiously. Finally, the clouds coalesced into the image of the young man's face. "I'm here, Reinald." Mulder's cheeks were flushed and his hair tousled. From the little that Reinald could see of him, he appeared to be shirtless, wearing only the finely-wrought gold chain that held the oracle crystal pendant. Though not privy to such intimacy himself, the Mage had a pretty good idea of what he had interrupted. "I trust I'm not calling at an inconvenient time?" he asked with mock innocence. For some reason, his question seemed to amuse Scully; she was giggling again. The Royal Mage smiled, already feeling better, being with his friends again. "Er... well, no.... No, Reinald, of course not." His face turned to the left . "Scully!" he whispered urgently. There was some attempt to stifle the giggling. "Well, in a few moments I'll let you two get back to... whatever it was you were doing. It's just that I needed a few words with you, if it's not too much trouble." Mulder sat up and ran a hand through his hair, without noticeable effect on his coiffure. "No trouble at all. What's up, Reinald? No invading monsters or evil-doing Mages, I hope." "No, my boy, no. Nothing like that. We are having a bit of a problem, however." Mulder frowned. "Serious?" "Not at this point, but it could become so, I'm afraid. It's about Shannon." "Shannon! She's all right, isn't she?" he blurted, obviously alarmed. "She's not sick, or injured, or anything?" "No, Mulder, calm yourself. She's unharmed and healthy. It's nothing like that." He looked around, then pulled a chair closer to the table on which the Oracle Cloud sat. "Can you still see me, my boy? Ah, good! It's a long story and I'm rather tired today." "You don't look all that great, either, if you'll forgive my saying so. So what's she done now, Reinald? Because if there's nothing wrong with her physically, I can only assume she's gotten herself into some sort of trouble." Mulder held his breath, expecting the worst. "Well... why don't we start at the beginning?" The Royal Mage proceeded to fill his protege in on the week's events, starting with Ballorca's visit. The young man listened quietly and intently to Reinald's recitation, frowning at times -- especially when Reinald mentioned Shannon's Magestorm. "Damn it! What the hell is she thinking?" he exclaimed. In the background, Reinald heard Scully's soft, pragmatic tones. "What do you expect, Mulder? She's been a renegade her whole life. Yes, she adjusted to being in the Realm eventually.... But do you remember what happened when her aura was read? She went ballistic, feeling she was being pushed into something she wasn't sure she wanted. Even if it were something she wanted - and wanted badly, as much as she wants this marriage with Andalor - if she felt she were being forced into something, she'd rebel. That kind of strength has sustained her her whole life. Sometimes it saves her, sometimes it makes things more difficult. But remember - she eventually accepted training as a warrior, took pride in it and excelled." "Very wise, Warrior Healer Scully. I too feel that in time she will become more amenable to the idea. And I would personally be very pleased to wait for her to become fully enthusiastic about her training - if we had the luxury of time. But we do not. There is already so much she must learn in so short a time that I feel quite anxious about it." "And she has to learn to control her Mage powers as well. Hell, that in itself is a full time job," Mulder added, frowning. "You did it." It was Scully's disembodied voice. "Yeah - but only because of my eidetic memory. I never would have been able to remember all those spells - in Old Realm, a totally different language - if it hadn't been for that. Andalor also had that advantage, as well as a hell of a lot more time...." A thoughtful expression crossed the young Mage's face. "What is it, my boy?" "I was just thinking, Reinald. I don't know the spell books as well as you do. Is there anything in them that could, well... assist Shannon to learn what she has to?" "Great minds work similarly," he smiled. "I had a word with Hannu just last night about that very thing. There's nothing in current books, no, and I was asking him about any spells he might know of from the distant past. He is doing some research into the matter, but feels that most of those spells have been lost to us forever. We may never know if one even existed. And there are potential ethical issues involving any spell that we may have to deal with." "But it is not impossible that one could be devised." "Impossible, no. Extremely difficult and uncertain, yes. I would not wish Shannon's future to be completely dependent upon our success. But Hannu and I were planning to start work this very day." "So what would you like me to do?" "Contribute any ideas you might come up with, for one thing. I know you are at a disadvantage there as far as being able to experiment, but you might have a theory or two to pass on that could make all the difference. But the most valuable assistance you could provide right now is to talk to Shannon. Reason with her, try to make her understand exactly how important her training is. And her cooperation. We wish to give the Houses as small a target as possible. And of course, if our little secret were to get out...." Mulder grimaced. "You don't have to tell me what would happen if that little bombshell ever went off, Reinald. All right. I don't pretend to have the answers to this one. Let me have some time to talk this over with Scully. Right now, I'm torn between wanting to take Shannon over my knee and give her the spanking of her life, and wanting to protect her from the hell that this training period will be for her. Once Scully has talked some sense into me, I can do the same for Shannon. Fair enough?" "I could not ask for more, Mulder. I thank you." "And give Andalor my best. I'm sure he's going through hell, too." "I will, and he'll be most grateful." "Well, have Shannon standing by. I don't know how time is flowing these days. You might consult the Professor. Let's see, it's the middle of the night here... fortunately, tomorrow's Saturday..." he muttered. "Sorry, Mulder... didn't quite catch that." "No, it's all right, Reinald. Ask the Professor to give us about eight of our hours. Whatever works out for you there. Have Shannon contact me, either through the Oracle Cloud, or through one of the crystals." The Royal Mage sighed in relief. "I can't express to you how much better I feel, Mage Mulder, Warrior Healer Scully. At least now we have a fighting chance." "Don't expect too much, Reinald. Shannon might tell me to pound sand." "Pound... pound sand? Why would she- " "Sorry. There's no way to put that in New Realm. Andalor would know. Suffice to say, I may not be able to enlist her complete cooperation," he said dryly. "I have great faith in you and Scully, my dear boy. You have performed miracles in the past to save us." He chuckled wryly. "This may be the biggest one yet." * * * * Autumn's grip had descended fully on the land, and a thick sheen of ice was beginning to form on the lake surrounding Forst's traditional seat. However unpleasant though it was, the weather was not Margul's major concern. Rather, he was increasingly vexed by the damage being done on Forst lands by the warring bands of Dordinal lackeys who were occupied in the worsening struggle for leadership amongst several of Dordinal's clans. He sat atop the outer wall of Forst's fortress-like village, in a place that allowed him a tremendous view of the water surrounding his family's home. Water whose lapping waves and gentle breezes often calmed him. Today, however, there were simply too many things in his mind and as a result, he nearly missed the small boat that was struggling across the water toward the family's private key. When he at least saw the tall, blonde passenger sitting at the stern, her dark blue cloak marking her as one of the Realm's most powerful Mages, he immediately knew who it must be. His beloved 'cousin' Charla, who had been forced from the family by the former Householder many season-cycles previously, had finally returned. Ian -- Margul's uncle -- had banished her from Forst lands due to the embarrassment that she had caused the family by her dismissal from the Royal Mage's tutelage. But that had been just an excuse. More to the point, Ian's eldest brother-- her purported father -- had faced continuing mortification as a result of her growing magical talents. Those gifts could not have come from him, and her mother's side of the family was also devoid of Mages. Thus the talents that had marked her out as a Mage also proved beyond doubt that she was illegitimate. Margul alone had accepted her for who and what she was, treating her as a member of the family though in fact they were no more closely related than any two humans who lived in this part of the Realm. Had it not been for her obvious Mage talent, she would doubtless have been put up for fosterage, as was common with the bastard offspring of the noble class. Margul was saddened by the realization that it might well have been better for her if this had happened, as the life that she had been forced to lead had been far from easy. It had been nearly twenty-five season-cycles since Margul had last seen her. Her beauty had only grown in the intervening time. However, it was his memories of her as a wonderful companion and source of uncommon wisdom during their childhood that brought a broad smile to his usually closed features. A smile that grew as he saw the reaction that the presence of such a powerful Mage caused amongst the laborers who had gathered to offload boats on the great stone key. It was clear that she had not lost her ability to intimidate. But those laborers could not know the extent of the damage done to her gentle spirit when her own family shunned her. "Charla!" he called. His voice reverberated in the artificial canyon made by the walls that enclosed the family's private landing area. He smiled in response to the small wave that she gave him, then descended rapidly down the hundreds of protected stairs that ran from the top of the wall to the wide stone key. "It has been far too long since I last saw you," he said, on catching his breath. Her response to his greeting was subdued, her nerves at being back on ground that she had been banished from, evident despite the warm welcome. His smile broadened and found his eyes as she spoke in that deep and lilting voice that had captured his heart during adolescence. "I am glad to see you too," she said, touching him lightly, immediately returning to the habits that they had developed as they grew toward adulthood so many season-cycles earlier. The electric tingle of her touch reminded Margul of the powerful effect that her presence had on him, and his blood raced in remembrance. He was very glad that he had found her before one of the other, less open-minded, members of the family did. "Come," said Margul quietly, "your return makes it obvious that you have much to tell me. I too have news that you may find useful." As they walked up the broad staircase cut into the face of the manor's outer walls, Charla looked about at the place that she had left so long ago. Others had told her that the childhood home always seemed smaller when seen through the eyes of an adult, but the great gray walls and high towers of the manor still seemed the massively imposing structures that she remembered from her last sight of them when she had been sent away for training during her sixteenth summer. All had not remained the same, however. Most notably, Margul himself had grown into the tall and powerful man whose form could have only been guessed at when she last saw him so long ago. His jet hair was now flecked with silver at the temples but his eyes were the same clear gray that she remembered -- eyes that could turn steely with anger or determination, or soft with affection. His features were irregular enough to save him from being branded as handsome, instead communicating his intelligence and character. He had reached full maturity and if she judged things correctly, the beings who passed them on their trek from quay to village were showing him a very high level of deference. Much as she wanted to ask about this, she held to the Realm's customs concerning sitting and taking tea before business could be discussed. By the glances that her 'cousin' was giving her, it was clear that he was equally curious concerning the reasons for her return. She was glad to see that their minds were already functioning in lock-step, much as they had when they were younger. Some of her questions were answered when he led her into the manor house and up to the Householder's apartment. Clearly then at least part of his news concerned his rise to the leadership of the branch of the clan based here, far from Fairwoods. This change, more than anything that she had seen in him since her return, gave her hope that she would be able to protect herself from Andalor's lackeys. Margul's newly found fortunes would also meant that she would not be forced to do the worst work of the manor in recompense for its protection. When they had seated themselves before the roaring fire with mugs in hand, Margul turned to Charla, curious as to what might have driven her to return to the family home. However, before he could ask, she preempted him by beginning to tell her own story, just as she had always done when they were children. "Before you ask me why I am here, Margul, know that my presence may pose more trouble for you than it is worth," she said. "Charla," he said quietly, his usually hard gray eyes softening as they surveyed her face, "your presence in this house will never be an inconvenience to this family so long as I stand as Householder." In like tone, she replied, "Thank you. You can't know how difficult the last few season-cycles have been. Not to have family in a place where family means everything.... It was very hard to provide for my needs, not to mention keeping an eye on those here and at Fairwoods who would have seen me banished from the Realm." "I was told that you were forced to leave the Castle at the tip of the Guard Captain's sword," Margul said. "I nearly went to take my vengeance on the man myself, but unfortunately, a boy of only fifteen summers would have done you, and himself, little good by such an attempt." "Very true," responded Charla. "It would have done me no good, and unless you had managed to kill Reinald as well, I would have been even less safe than I have been." "So I thought at the time," he replied. "Tell me in your own words what the problem was that led to your banishment." She sighed. "As you know, I have always felt that my knowledge of the magical arts could and should be extended to its maximum reach so long as I posed no threat to those around me. Certainly I know how to bespell others, and how to bring disease and death by casting against them, but I have never desired to do so. The problem was, and is, I'm sure, my willingness to learn these magics in the first place. To say that Reinald was... uncomfortable... with my interest in the so-called Black Arts, would be more than fair. It finally became clear that I would never be able to learn what I desired to from him. So, only a season short of acquiring my blue, he forced me to leave the castle at Fairwoods. "Having no other choice, I completed my training with other Mages. But now King Andalor has renewed his decree that all Mages who practice the Black Arts must either be stripped of their powers or banished from the Realm. In light of the Dark Queen's acts, I suppose it is not surprising. But I am faced with losing my arts, my gifts. My only true alternatives were to leave the Realm, or return here in hopes that the new Householder would be more sympathetic to my situation than your uncle would have been." Margul sat back to think. The King's decree, which had been largely ignored at Forst as there were no Black Mages in residence in its lands, posed a serious threat to Charla and, if she stayed in the manor, to the family as well. No matter what his plans might be, he had to ensure that if they failed, there would still be a House from which others could, at some point in the future, take revenge against Dordinal. More importantly, however, Charla had fought at his side against the others when he was young, much as he had stood with her as they got older. He would not break any of the commitments that they had made to each other so long ago. "I must say that this news doesn't please me," he finally said quietly. "Obviously you must be protected by this house. If it weren't for the fact that you have already been seen here and your aura is so distinctive, we could probably have hidden you within the manor's walls for many season-cycles. Since you have been seen and it is certain that your presence will be reported to Fairwoods, I believe that it is best if we proceed as though you were any other member of the family. I also think that your capabilities may help me in my effort to take advantage of the confusion on Dordinal's lands, finally avenging our House on them for their insults both past and present." "How will you handle matters if the King or one of his Mages should demand that I be stripped of my powers?" "I shall simply tell them that you haven't used your powers in any untoward way. Although they may suspect that you are controlling me in some way, they won't be able to prove it. And with no proof, they won't dare move against us. It would be too costly. They need our political support against Dordinal and Maalfees too much to turn us against them. Further, the cost in lives that would result if they tried to break our walls should also make the King's lackeys think twice. The Royal Guard and the energies of the three Mages at Fairwoods are stretched thinly as it is, given the state of the Realm after the Dark Queen's wrath." Relieved, she smiled. "I see," she said. She was truly pleased by Margul's growth and maturity. He had become wise beyond his years, and had grown into a man who was both was attractive in form and politically skillful enough to ensure her protection. Unfortunately, she would not be able to stay there forever, as she knew well that sooner or later, King Andalor would demand that she submit herself to the mercies of her former mentor or Mage Hannu. She also knew that although Forst's walls were strong, they were not indestructible, and that the combined strength of the three Mages would, indeed, be enough to break them, given time. However, for the moment, she would be able to rest and recuperate, and for this she was grateful. "I truly do appreciate your willingness to help me in my time of need," she said solemnly, her hand moving to touch his wrist. Again, his heart raced at her touch, but his tone remained even. "Think nothing of it," Margul replied. "After all, it will be good to have you here. Later we will talk of family business, and the problems which beset us. I'm sure that there are solutions, and with both of us working to find them, it will be far easier to make them reality. But for now... rest, and make yourself at home." "I agree," she said, rising to her feet. "No matter what happens, it is good to be home, and it will be good to re-enter the games. It has been far too long." "That it has," Margul agreed. He ushered her across the hall to the quarters that she would occupy. As he turned to leave her to her unpacking, he smiled grimly. After all, forcing his rival at Fairwoods to find other accommodations on her occasional visits to the manor was the first of many political benefits that would come from having Charla back at his side. End of Chapter Three THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter One Chapter Four Jourdain walked at a relaxed pace through the hallways of the pleasant manor house. So far, he had little to complain about, other than the separation from his beloved wife and daughter. The roads had been quiet on the way south, the weather clement, the journey unmarred by the smallest delay. Since their arrival the night before, he and his men had been treated like royalty, with servants drawing their baths almost as soon as they had dismounted, and a delicious hot meal waiting when they had dried off and changed. But the hour had been late, too late for Lord Mandor to be able to see him. Though the noble was indeed making a nearly miraculous recovery from severe wounds he suffered in the destruction of the Great Hall, he did so only by obeying every instruction of his Healers. His early bedtime was not open to negotiation. In reality, Jourdain was just as glad to put off his errand. He was a soldier, and as such felt awkward when called upon to perform diplomatic duties. He was far better at them than he gave himself credit for, as Aldara and the King never failed to remind him. But he would have been far happier riding into battle than sitting down in a formal salon, having to mind his manners and keep his temper in check. Though he doubted that his temper would be tried on this errand. Rather, his reluctance stemmed from having to ask Lord Mandor, who had been such a friend to the Crown, for yet another favor. Jourdain was the sort of man who wanted to be beholden to no one, whether he be friend or foe. He looked around appreciatively as he strolled. The manor house was certainly different in design and function than the thick stone walls at Fairwoods Castle. The Ranfaus manor was built to be a country estate, a working farm that was a place of respite from the politics of the capital and the machinations of the other Noble Houses. Surrounding the house on its rise, manicured wooded hillsides looked down on orderly fields belonging to the manor, even now being harvested of their crops by sturdy peasants. The house itself was a large but charming half-timbered affair. Whitewashed plaster walls were criss-crossed with beams blackened with age, and leaded windows holding panes of bevelled glass threw rainbows of color everywhere as the sun poured in. Inside, the chambers were spacious and comfortable, with gleaming hardwood floors spotted with islands of soft carpet, and walls hung with rich tapestries. Everything spoke of quiet, downplayed luxury. Aldara would love it here, he thought. He arrived at the door of the salon and knocked. His interview with Lord Mandor's son Tallor had gone well that morning, though the young man was obviously curious regarding his errand. Jourdain had told the young man that his purpose must wait for Lord Mandor's ears, but he promised not to upset the recuperating noble. Tallor had to be content with that. He gave Jourdain directions to the salon, and a meeting time of just after the midday meal. An elf servant opened the door to admit him. The salon was the primary meeting chamber at the manor. Thickly cushioned armchairs ringed small, exquisitely carved tables scattered about the room, perfect for conversation. But Lord Mandor was by the hearth, reclining on a sofa which looked as if it had been placed there since his injuries. His legs were covered by a hand-loomed blanket of softest wool. Tallor and a stern-faced Healer stood in close attendance. Jourdain bowed low before the noble he both liked and respected. "Lord Mandor, I bring you greetings from His Majesty, King Andalor, and his best wishes for your continued recovery. And may I say, milord," he continued less formally, "I bring the good wishes and prayers of all of us at Fairwoods." "Captain Jourdain, please sit," the noble smiled. "This is a pleasure. Things have been far too quiet here of late." He shot a meaningful glance at the tall, brown-cloaked man, who rolled his eyes. Evidently now that Lord Mandor was on the road to recovery, he was beginning to try the patience of his Healers. While tea was distributed, Jourdain took the opportunity to study the Ranfaus Householder. His hair was grayer than it had been short moon-cycles before, and new lines of pain were etched into his face -- evidence that his recovery was not as easy as he would like everyone to believe. Still, his color was surprisingly good, and his pleasant baritone was both strong and tinged with his trademark dry humor. The noble took a deep swallow of restorative tea. "Your good wishes and prayers are gratefully received, Captain. But surely that is not the reason for so long a journey." Trust Mandor to want to get straight to the point, thought Jourdain. "No, milord, it is not. I am here with a request from King Andalor, meant for your ears only." Mandor nodded. "Anything you say may be said in front of my son and my Healer. Both are discreet and know full well that nothing said here may leave the room." He caught their eyes and they nodded gravely in response. "Tallor has temporarily taken on my duties, and I'm proud to say he's doing a fine job of it." The young man flushed in pleasure at his father's words of praise. It was clear they had a warm, close relationship. "Very well, milord. Please understand that King Andalor was hesitant to make this request. You have been a valued friend to the Crown, one to whom we already owe so much. It seems unappreciative to ask for more. But this is a matter of some urgency. Still, His Majesty wants you to understand that you may turn down his request without prejudice." "Understood, Captain Jourdain. I know it must be of great importance or he would not have sent you. How can I help?" Much as Mandor might trust his son and his Healer, the truth of Shannon's origins was simply too explosive to divulge in this setting. He was unsure of how even Lord Mandor would take the news. Livirnea had to know the whole truth, if she hadn't guessed it already. If he could get a few moments alone with the noble, he might tell him yet. But for now.... "The time has come to name a Lady in Waiting for Lady Shannon. It is well known that the King's betrothed was not born to the nobility. The woman named to the position of Lady in Waiting must be a paragon of feminine nobility, it goes without saying. But because Lady Shannon has so much preparation to do before she can take on her duties as Queen, it was hoped that her Lady in Waiting, both by example and by instruction, could teach her what she needs to know." "A sound plan," Mandor said cautiously. "However, I hope you are not here to ask Lady Norilka to serve in that capacity." Lady Norilka, Lord Mandor's wife, was a known bigot, scold and harridan who made the lives of everyone who lived around her miserable. "Lady Noril- ! Oh, Great Goddess, NO!" The words were out before he could stop them. Jourdain looked at Lord Mandor in horror. But Mandor was helpless with laughter, as were his son and even the grim Healer. "Oh, Captain, thank you!" he said, when he could finally speak. He wiped tears of mirth from his cheeks. "That was the first laugh I've had since I can remember. You should have seen your face!" That provoked a new wave of giggles. "I apologize, Lord Mandor," Jourdain said, flushing. "I should have known you would think that, as the Lady in Waiting is usually an older woman." Mandor waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "And I apologize for having a joke at your expense. The thought of my wife, trying to instruct Lady Shannon, after everything that has taken place...! Andalor would have to have taken leave of his senses!" he chortled. Once more he wiped his eyes, then he continued more seriously. "Then I take it you mean Livirnea." "Yes, milord. Lady Livirnea is young, but no one could think of a finer example for Lady Shannon to follow." Mandor smiled in genuine pleasure. "Well, that is a compliment indeed, Captain, and I thank you for it. In truth, Livirnea has been begging for the past week to be allowed to go back to her studies at Fairwoods. She wouldn't leave my side when I was first brought here, and did as much to speed my recovery as did my Healers. But she knows now that it is only time which will cure me, so she feels quite useless here, which she hates. And of course there is my Lady wife...." he concluded darkly. He looked meaningfully at Tallor. The young man blanched before his eyes. "Goddess! You mean *I'll* have to tell her?" Tallor choked. Jourdain was strongly reminded of Aldara's story about Andalor having to confront Shannon. "It will be a true test of your courage, son. But I'm afraid my Healer would have it no other way. Am I correct, Fedil?" "Entirely, milord. No excitement, no stress, and above all, no Lady Norilka." Though the Healer's voice and face gave nothing away, his eyes twinkled with humor. Mandor shrugged. "You see how it is, Tallor. When she starts screaming, just be sure to let her know that I said the option to be banished to our frontier outpost still stands. It should help." "Very well, Father." "You make me proud, Tallor. Well, why don't you send for your sister, and then inform your mother of my decision - subject to Livirnea's acceptance, of course." He looked over at Jourdain as his son left the room. "His Majesty would have it no other way, Lord Mandor. You know Lady Shannon. She has many wonderful qualities, but is a bit wild and headstrong. This will be no easy task for Lady Livirnea. If she wishes to decline, she will continue to have the King's close and most valued friendship. It is only that we could think of no one that would be more inclined to succeed in this mission than Lady Livirnea, with her impeccable upbringing, keen intelligence and sweet personality." A short time was spent in exchanging news of the Castle and the politics of the Realm. Jourdain kept the tone of the conversation light, and did not bring up any subject which could excite the noble. Soon, there was a tap at the door, followed by Livirnea's entry. Her color had improved as well, Jourdain noted. She had probably been spending as much time out of doors and away from her scourge of a mother as possible. The roses in her cheeks made her even more lovely, and the thick ashen braid down her back contrasted nicely with the simple dark blue gown she wore. "You sent for me, Father?" "Yes, child. Captain Jourdain has come all the way from Fairwoods with a request from the King." "Andalor? What would he want of us?" she asked with curiosity. "His Majesty is hoping you will do him and Lady Shannon the great honor of consenting to be her Lady in Waiting. But he also wants you to know that an even more important task is needed - to instruct Lady Shannon in the ways of the nobility, how to dress and act, perhaps teach her Old Realm and some of the ceremonies she will have to attend - in short, how to be a Queen." More gently, Jourdain went on. "Understand that His Majesty is not insensitive to your position, Lady Livirnea. He realizes that few young women would accept the role of having to teach their successor what you already know so well - not for all the gold in the Realm. And Fairwoods being Fairwoods, there will be talk, not all of it complimentary to you. You may turn down his request and it will not change his affection for you." Livirnea's light laughter rang out. "Let me guess - Shannon didn't take it very well that her days of freedom were coming to a close." Jourdain grinned back. "Not well at all." "I'll wager that was some Magestorm." "Yes, well... Reinald has since taken some steps to help ensure that won't happen again. And Lady Shannon's lessons to control her Mage powers will continue. That will give you time on your own to do what you wish. Perhaps, to rejoin the Professor in his laboratory. He has missed having your help." She looked uncertain. "I think I can do what you ask. And I would be most anxious to get back to Fairwoods and assist the Professor in his experiments. But if Father needs me- " "Go, child. It will be good for you, and you will bring honor to our House. I trust the roads are safe, Captain Jourdain?" "I won't lie to you, milord. There has been widespread trouble from brigands. But our journey here was peaceful. That is why we brought so many Guards, all well-armed and among the best the King has." "Lord Mandor, I am afraid- " began the deep-voiced Healer. The noble raised a placating hand. "All right, Fedil, all right. I am coming. Livirnea, my dear, I will leave you to entertain our guest, if neither of you has an objection. It appears my jailer is insisting on my having a treatment and then a nap, as scheduled." "But one cannot argue with the results, milord," Fedil rejoined good- humoredly. "And thanks be to the Goddess and your good efforts," declared Jourdain. He rose as the door opened and the elven servant entered, pushing in a strange-looking contraption. It was an ordinary straight- backed chair, but small wooden wheels had been attached to the bottoms of the legs, and an iron tray jutted out from the bottom front of the chair. "Ah, you see my very special wagon, Captain Jourdain! Designed by none other than my lovely daughter, in a moment of intellectual boredom," Mandor explained, looking on Livirnea with pride. She blushed prettily. "The Professor said such a thing might be possible. I merely drew up the plans, and then gave them to Derig, a master carpenter. He did the real work." Effortlessly, Fedil lifted the noble and set him in the chair. The servant covered his legs once more with the blanket and began pushing his master toward the door. "I hope you will join us for dinner," Mandor called back over his shoulder. "I'll send Rendi here to fetch you. A bit earlier than you are used to dining, because of my cursed schedule, but not an inconvenience, I hope." "I will be looking forward to it, Lord Mandor." He waved in reply and disappeared through the door. Jourdain and Livirnea settled themselves once more. "Actually, Lady Livirnea, I am glad to have this moment alone with you. There are certain conditions and... difficulties... that the King feels strongly you must know about before you make your decision." "Do you mean any resistance on the part of Lady Shannon?" "That is a big part of it, yes. I know the two of you have been friends, but that friendship will be sorely tried. She will not give up her present independence without a fight, and I fear that both you and the King are the ones most likely to feel her anger. I am sure that in time she will come to see the wisdom and necessity for her training, but right now...." he trailed off, shrugging. Livirnea nodded, her serenity unruffled. "Knowing Shannon as I do, I would expect that. I have envied her that freedom, as she well knows. But I have no doubt that she will come around eventually. She has no choice - she must." "Granted. But until that time she will take all the patience both you and the King can muster." "If Andalor is willing, then so am I." Satisfied on that score, Jourdain nodded. "I thank you, my Lady. But there is something else you must know. And once knowing it, you must promise to keep it a secret - from everyone," he said gravely. She frowned. "Including my father?" "For right now, that is the case, I am afraid. The King does not wish to create a problem between you and your father. He knows you are very close. Moreover, he trusts Lord Mandor implicitly. But with his healing treatments, there is the small chance that, if he knew, one of the Healers might discern the secret. Much as the King regrets the need for secrecy, let me assure you it is of the most critical importance. If it became known, it would surely mean his Crown, if not his head." Livirnea gasped. "I would never do anything to endanger either. If Andalor feels it is necessary, then I would never reveal what I know -- to anyone." "Thank you, Lady Livirnea. In that case -- this involves Shannon's origins-- " "Oh, that. I know about that already. Well, I have a pretty good idea anyway. I have theorized that Shannon comes from the same place that Mage Mulder, Warrior Healer Scully and the Professor are from. Wherever that might be." Jourdain's face must have shown his horrified surprise. If this mere girl had heard a rumor, or had been able to figure it out, how many others, he thought, his stomach churning. His nightmarish musings were interrupted by Livirnea's low chuckle. "Don't worry, Captain Jourdain. I feel the secret is safe. I have told no one. It is only that I spent so much time around the Professor and Shannon that I began to see a pattern emerging. The Professor's acquaintanceship with Shannon seems to go back much further than her relationship with anyone else. But nothing was said directly. And the Professor said I have great powers of... inductive and deductive, I think he said... reasoning. I daresay no one else would have even noticed." "Let us pray to the Goddess you are correct, Lady Livirnea. And you know what it also means - that you will have much more to teach Shannon, for she is ignorant of many of the things that anyone raised in the Realm would know." She nodded. "How much time do we have?" "The day has not yet been chosen. But we believe it will be late next harvest season." "So there is no time to lose." "Precisely. So, Lady Livirnea -- do I understand that you will accept the position of Lady in Waiting?" "It shall be my great honor to do so, Captain Jourdain," she replied formally, but her eyes were twinkling as he bent over her hand. "Very well then. We shall depart for Fairwoods in the morning." End of Chapter Four THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter- Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter One Chapter Five "Go. Away." Lita humphed, a sound only she could make convey scorn and annoyance so brilliantly. Her dark eyes narrowed. Oh no you don't, missy, she thought. She rapped on the oaken door once more. "I said, go away. And if that is His Majesty, King Andalor - go far, far away!" The little elf pushed open the door and stood glaring at Shannon, her hands on her hips. The teenager barely raised her head from where she was sprawled, face down, on the bed. "No, it's not His Majesty," Lita snapped. "He's busy trying to carry on the work of the Realm. Though with no food or sleep for the past week or more, it's a wonder he can do it." She stalked to the end of the bed. "And how long are you going to carry on like this?" The answer was muffled. "You don't understand. No one understands." "Aye, you'll get no argument from me on that," the servant replied sourly. "You've spent eight days moping about and acting like the child that you must still be. Meanwhile, the King and Mages Reinald and Hannu have been trying to hold both the Realm and your betrothal together. Well, get yourself out of bed. There's someone who wants to talk with you." Shannon pushed herself up and sat crosslegged on the bed. Her hair was mussed, her tawny eyes reddened in a tear-streaked face. "Reinald, I suppose. Wanting to read me the riot act." "No - though I'm surprised he hasn't. It's not like you don't deserve a good talking-to." She paused. "It's the Oracle Cloud. Mage Mulder wants to talk to you." "Mulder!" The girl's face lit up for a fleeting moment, quickly replaced by uncertainty. "It can't be a coincidence. Did Reinald squeal on me?" The idiom did not translate easily into New Realm. "Now why should the Royal Mage want to make a noise like a swinebeast, I'd like to know." Lita shook her head, her silver-frosted dark curls dancing. "What I mean is - did Reinald tell Mulder about... you know, me and Andy?" "I really have no idea. But in any case, I don't expect Mage Mulder will wait forever. The Royal Mage has vacated his quarters so you can have some privacy. Now, I strongly advise- " "I'm going." Shannon hopped down from the bed, straightened her simple pale green satin sheath, and pushed some stray locks of hair back into its long braid. Grabbing her warrior green cloak, she fastened it around her neck. She took a deep breath, then opened the door and ventured out into the hallway. All along the labyrinthine corridors to Reinald's quarters, Shannon's mind whirled. She was sure of one thing -- Mulder was going to give her a thorough reaming. She could only imagine what he had been told to inspire this little talk. As she strode along the drafty stone walkways, servants darted out of her way or gathered in knots of twos and threes to peer at her, whispering behind their hands. The girl did not fail to notice. Great, Shannon thought. In just a few days I've become the Wicked Witch of the West. Why can't anyone see *my* side? At last she came to Reinald's door. Pitir answered her knock, gestured to the Oracle Cloud on a table in the center of the disorderly room, and silently withdrew from the chamber. She approached the crystal orb, its center opaque and swirling in ever-changing patterns of blues, grays and white. Pulling a chair up to the table, she sat, her heart pounding as she waited for Mulder's face to appear in the depths of the sphere. He's gonna be so pissed, Shannon thought miserably. Finally, when she felt like she would jump out of her skin if something didn't happen soon, the swirling in the Oracle Cloud increased and with it, a soft blue glow began to emanate from the orb. In a few moments, she could see Mulder's face, and behind him an unfamiliar background. Here goes, she thought glumly. She had played out various scenarios in her head on the walk over from her quarters, trying to judge which one might be more palatable to her Taabsut - the Homesick Waif, the Misunderstood Outsider, the Wronged Young Maiden, the Misjudged Teen. She decided that none of them would fool Mulder for a heartbeat. In the end, she crossed her fingers and hoped the timing of his contact was indeed just a happy coincidence. "Hi, Mulder!" she said brightly. "Where are you? I don't recognize the background." He smiled. "I'm at work, in my office. How's it going?" She relaxed just a little. Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad after all. He didn't seem pissed off, so maybe no one had told him what had been going on for the past week. Maybe - just maybe - she was home free. "Well, you know," she giggled nervously, "same old, same old. How's Dana?" "Oh, Scully's fine," he said smoothly. "She'd be here, but she's out at Quantico doing an autopsy right now. She said to pass on her love." Tears stung the girl's eyes. Hoarsely, she replied, "And mine to her." She cleared her throat, and continued less emotionally, "Business must be pretty slow if you have time to call me from work. No interesting cases?" "Maybe. We'll know when Scully's finished slicing and dicing." He paused and looked at her... *really* looked at her. "So... you're sure there's nothing you want to tell me?" "Like - like what?" she stammered, her heart racing. He didn't say anything, just regarded her with those hazel eyes that were windows to his soul and showcased every emotion he was feeling. Eyes that could reflect the same in others. Yelling she could have taken, tuned it out as she had for most of her school days. Nagging, lectures - piece of cake, she could have dealt with them easily. But his silence, his gaze, showing so clearly his disappointment in her.... That she could not withstand. Her eyes filled and then spilled over. "Oh, Mulder! I've screwed things up royally!" she wailed. He chuckled, not unkindly. "No pun intended, I'm sure. Okay, baby, tell me what happened," he said. His hand went to his tie, loosening it, and he leaned back in his seat. Out of focus, the Oracle Cloud blurred then sharpened again as Mulder found a comfortable position and held it. She made several abortive attempts to speak, each one halted by several minutes of sobbing. Finally she managed to get the story out. "So-so I'm going to have to take Ballorca's test, and he hates my guts and he'll make sure I never pass it, no m-matter how h-hard I work. And then -- and then Andy will have to marry someone else and I'll just get tossed away like t-trash and Andy won't d-do a th-thing to s-stop it!" The sobs shook her tall, lithe frame. Mulder let her cry it out, using the time to think about what he was going to say to her. Scully had been planning on taking part in the conversation, but the sudden appearance of the body, laid out in ceremonial fashion with glyphs carefully carved into the extremities and torso, put an end to that. He felt her absence keenly, needing his partner's strong pragmatic streak to balance his own more emotional tendencies. He let himself seek her out through their unique bond. <> <<...Liver, some changes associated with alcohol abuse. Weight... one point six eight kilograms.... Yes, I did, Mulder. My advice is this - realize you're getting just her side of the story here. I love Shannon almost as much as you do, but I recognize that she could always wrap you around her finger. I know she's a stranger in a strange land, so to speak, but from what you said Reinald told you, she's been behaving badly. If she loves Andalor and she wants to be Queen, there are certain things expected of her, and she's just going to have to face up to it. And the sooner she does it the better.>> His head waggled. <> <> Affectionately, he smiled. Trust his bondmate to go straight to the heart of the matter, cutting away all the emotions that distorted the real issues and made giving practical advice so difficult. <> Scully sent a burst of love down their link. <> <> The wistfulness of his reply was more than apparent to his bondmate. Her spirits lifted, then, when seconds later he continued in a more upbeat tone, <> She felt his own psychic hug, then a light shield came down on their connection as she returned to work. Mulder turned his attention back to the girl in the crystal. "All right, Shannon. Wipe your eyes and let's talk about this." She composed herself and looked hopefully into the Oracle Cloud. "Do you think there's something you can do, Mulder?" He spread his arms out questioningly. "Like what?" She shrugged. "I don't know. Like maybe casting a spell on Ballorca? Or getting Andy and Reinald to see all this from my point of view? "I would be very surprised if both of them hadn't already seen things from your point of view. Reinald has chosen you friend Livirnea to teach you what you have to learn and he's keeping Ballorca away from you, at least for now. I would say they had both been extremely sensitive to what you'll have to go through." Shannon gaped at him. "Do you mean you're not on my side, either?" He sighed, trying to retain his patience. "It's not a matter of sides, Shannon. Do you remember, way back when we were looking for Hannu, and you knew you were in love with Andalor, but it didn't look like there was any way that you would be able to get together? I told you at the time that because of his position, some things just had to be the way they were. That's no less true now. And the same will be expected of his Queen - there's no escaping that." Long dark lashes drooped onto her cheeks. "I know, but- " Gently but insistently, Mulder said, "There are no 'buts', Shannon. Do you have any idea how far Andalor and Reinald have stuck their necks out for you? If it's discovered that you come from an entirely different world, it could well mean not only Andalor's throne, but his and Reinald's heads as well. Literally. And the lives of all of our friends there who have helped to perpetrate this myth. Do you understand that? It was because Andalor was in love with *you* that everyone went to these extraordinary lengths to make sure you two could be together." Shannon gulped back fresh tears and nodded. "I know, and I'm grateful, I really am. But Mulder, it's impossible! You have no idea how much there is to learn." "No one has a better idea of how much there is for you to learn than Andalor and Reinald. And they obviously feel you can do it, or the betrothal never would have taken place," he replied reasonably. Bitterly, she smiled. "Maybe they do think I can do it. But look at the people they know from our world. You. Dana. The Professor. Hell, they probably think that everyone from our world is a friggin' genius! Dana's super brilliant, and so are you, plus you have that photographic memory thing going on. And then there's Dr. 'Missed a Nobel Prize By the Skin of His Teeth' Neumann. That's not me! I'm not in that league, or anywhere close to it! When I was in school, I had to work my ass off just to pull a C average. And nothing short of a straight A performance is going to satisfy Ballorca." Mulder frowned. She had a point. It was true that the first three visitors to the Realm from their world were of higher than average intelligence. It had never crossed his mind that they had perhaps set a standard of expectation for their friends in the Realm. He also accepted that Ballorca's test was going to be rigorous. The Minister of Protocol took his responsibilities very seriously. No matter who the King's betrothed was, the test would be tough, designed as it was to separate those worthy of the position of Queen from the unworthy. And in truth, he knew little about Shannon's life before her mother's death had brought them together. He knew that she hadn't gotten along with Karen and had been somewhat of a discipline problem. He had assumed that, having a scientist for a mother, Shannon would have been at least above average in intelligence, and would have been brought up in an environment that fostered education. "You really had to work that hard for C's?" he asked with misgiving. "Well...." She hesitated and had the grace to blush. "Maybe I didn't exactly work my ass off, but for me, I worked hard. Mom always thought I could do better, based on my IQ test scores and stuff like that, but grades just never came as easily to me as she seemed to think they should." "I can't tell you why school was difficult for you, Shannon. Maybe it was distraction, maybe a lack of goals, some sort of borderline learning disability, who knows? None of that matters. All I can say is that now you have the best of all possible incentives. Work hard, and the whole enchilada is yours - the man you love, fame, position, power...." He stopped, hiding a smile as he regarded her, deep in thought. Time to play my ace, he decided. "Of course, you can just give up. You can decide that Andalor's not worth the effort. Then you can come back here, go to boarding school and college, and forget the Realm even exists. Or stay there, and be a warrior and maybe some day meet a nice guy and settle down. He won't be Andalor, but- " "No! No, Mulder, I love Andy, I do. I want more than anything else to be his wife." He nodded approvingly. "That's my girl! Shannon, you are an extraordinary young woman. You're courageous, lovable, funny, smart, strong and beautiful. You're going to make a wonderful Queen." "If Andy still wants me, and Reinald hasn't decided to call the Council of Representatives together to overturn the betrothal," she replied mournfully. "Mulder, I really have been a bitch on wheels for the past few days." He laughed out loud. "So I understand. But for a start, young lady, you are going to have to keep your magical abilities under control. When you don't, it reflects badly on Hannu and me. Got it?" "Yeah," she smiled. "Secondly, Andalor loves you so much he can't see straight, and Reinald has not given me any sign he wants the betrothal overturned, if that makes you feel any better." "That's a relief." She frowned. "Though I can't help but feel like I've flunked the first test in becoming Queen, reacting like I did." He shrugged. "You can't change the past. What's done is done. What you *can* do is go out there, show them all you've learned your lesson, and you're ready to get serious about your preparation." "Okay, Mulder. I just wish I felt like this is something that is actually in my power to succeed at. I'm scared to death that I'll do my best, but it won't be good enough." He nodded. "I know, baby. I'll have a talk with Hannu and Reinald." At her inadvertent squeal of joy, he held up an admonishing finger. "Don't get excited. First of all, we can't use magic to give you all the knowledge you need, nor bespell Ballorca so he gives you an easy test, nor bespell you so you can pass the test. That would be a betrayal of the ethics of magic, and none of us would be a party to that, understood? And don't get any ideas about using your magic to try it yourself. You'll end up killing yourself or somebody else. However... there should be something we can do. I don't know whether the spell even exists yet, but if we put our heads together we should be able to come up with something that will help. Remember, though... you're still going to have to do the lion's share of the work." She smiled, obviously relieved. "That's fine, Mulder, that's great. I'd just like to think I have a fighting chance of passing Ballorca's test, and if you and Dad and Reinald can come up with anything - and I know you will - it would help so much." Almost shyly, she continued, "Thank you, Mulder. I've really missed you, both you and Dana but especially you. I guess I've been feeling kind of alone since you left, and then when all this came up about the test, I just kind of lost it." He felt a flush of pleasure suffuse his features. "Well, I'll try to keep in better touch. It's hard, without the Professor around to calculate the time-flow difference between here and there. How long has it been since we left?" "Almost seven weeks." There was a hint of plaintiveness in her answer. "Hell, I'm sorry, Shannon. It's been less than two weeks on this side. No wonder you were feeling deserted." "Well, don't worry about it. Mulder, thanks so much. Look, is there any way you could talk to Andy and Reinald and maybe- " Not unkindly, he laughed. "Sorry, baby. You're going to have to make your own apologies. If it's any comfort, I think you'll find them very relieved and happy that you're going to cooperate, and willing to let bygones be bygones. But I'll call back soon to see how you're doing and to touch base with Hannu and Reinald on our little project. If you need to talk to me or to Dana before then, you call us, okay? We love you, baby." Eyes shimmering with tears once again, "I love you, Mulder. You and Dana stay safe, okay?" "Okay, Shannon. You work hard. We're all pulling for you." His features began to cloud and waver in the center of the orb. "Bye, Mulder," Shannon whispered, as the face of her Taabsut disappeared. She sat there a moment longer, gathering her thoughts. Then she stood, her back straight and head held high. "Time for me to start rebuilding some bridges," she murmured. With a last look back at the now-dimmed Oracle Cloud, she left the chamber. End of Chapter Five THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Matthew Weed (ecksphile@earthlink.net, matthew.weed@yale.edu) Winter - Spring 2001 Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Six Elbows on the age-polished surface of the old oak table, Aldara rubbed her temples wearily. Darliss of Forst and Hegan of Dordinal had been at it for candlemarks now, and had yet to get to the point of the Crown's concern. Had yet to accomplish anything, for that matter. Sometimes she wondered if the King had misplaced his faith in her. There must be someone he trusted that could better deal with the Noble Houses and their incessant squabbles. She was a warrior, not a diplomat. With an effort, she pulled her focus back on the two nobles with whom she shared the table. She groaned inwardly as Hegan droned on. Surely, it was a test - the Goddess was testing her patience. "Lord Hegan, while I sympathize with you over the injustices of two hundred season-cycles ago, that is not why we are here," Aldara said firmly. "I must insist that we address the subject at hand - Cresscreek." "I agree," declared Lady Darliss in her high-pitched voice. "What happened that long ago is hardly the point. What is happening now, in Cresscreek, is!" Aldara sat back to assess her companions at the table. Lord Hegan was one of the young bucks of Dordinal, no better and no worse than the rest. Dordinal in particular had suffered from the Dark Queen's attack on the Great Hall. All of their elders had perished, crushed beneath massive beams or swept into the great crevasses that appeared in the floor of the edifice, never to be seen again. What was left was a gang of young nobles, indoctrinated in the hatreds and prejudices of their House, and at each others' throats in a fight for supremacy. At the present time, it seemed that Hegan would emerge the victor. He was darkly handsome, with streaks of premature gray in his hair that gave him an air of distinction and sophistication that was wholly undeserved. Like most of those who had fought for the leadership of his House, he was clever but not particularly intelligent. Unlike most of his predecessors, however, he could be charming when the situation warranted. Personally, Aldara wouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him. Not even half that far. House Forst had lost only Lord Ian in the Dark Queen's attack. But Forst was still bearing the scars from reverses suffered season-cycles before. Once they had been a major House, pre-eminent among the others. But a combination of bad luck, bad leadership and an unfailing ability to support the eventual loser in any difference of opinion had rendered them impotent. Since then, the families of Forst had spent most of their time fighting amongst themselves and squandering any opportunity to better their House's position. Even with charitable consideration, they were a second-class House, and as such, easy prey for the others. Lady Darliss was indeed the personification of the Fairwoods contingent of House Forst. A homely woman, she had bulging, watery blue eyes, a jutting nose, and a chin that receded almost unnoted into her ropy neck. Completely ineffectual, she could not even tame her wispy mouse-brown hair, which escaped from its bun at every opportunity. Inbreeding amongst the families had assured that intelligence hadn't been among the most prominent features of the leaders of the House for generations, and she was no different in this regard. It was hardly a fair match, thought Aldara. Not that there was anyone in Forst's manor in Fairwoods who was any more formidable. "Very well," said Lord Hegan pleasantly, "let us speak of Cresscreek. I was unaware there was any problem there." "Un- ! Unaware!" Lady Darliss screeched. "I have sent message after message to your House, insisting that Dordinal cease and desist its encroachment on traditional Forst lands! How could you possibly have been unaware of the problem?" "I must apologize, gracious Lady," Hegan responded. "After all the tragedies we have lately suffered, things have been somewhat... muddled. Until quite recently, the... chain of command, shall we say?... has been uncertain. I give you my complete assurance that communication will improve, now that everyone is clear who should receive such messages." He was smooth, Aldara would grant him that. She was in a position to know, however, that the 'chain of command' had been established through a ruthless campaign of intimidation, blackmail and, when all else failed, assassination. Her Guard had discovered several up and coming Dordinal nobles, their throats slit ear-to-ear, their corpses stiffening on Fairwoods' midden-heap outside the Castle walls. "Very well," Darliss sniffed. "But what do you propose to do about it?" "My dear Lady, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Suppose you tell me all about what is happening, and we can discuss it." Yes, please, Aldara thought. Anything to move things along. "I have been receiving reports from Cresscreek. As you very well know, Lord Hegan, Cresscreek has always been considered a Forst village-- " "I think, dear Lady, it may be more accurate to say that Cresscreek is in a neutral area, though admittedly the village has looked to Forst for assistance more than to Dordinal. At least they have in the past...." Hegan's smile was oily. Aldara was new to diplomatic negotiations, but she sat up a bit straighter and paid closer attention to the conversation after Hegan's interjection. Surely, Lady Darliss couldn't be stupid enough to have missed the implication in the Dordinal noble's words. "I'm sure you think of it that way," the Forst noblewoman replied coolly. "In any event, there have been reports of trouble - barns burned, crops destroyed, villagers driven from their homes, fieldbeasts stolen or slaughtered. Then a small contingent of Cresscreek artisans, their wagons loaded with their summer's toil, was set upon by brigands. Three townsfolk were killed and the fruits of their labors stolen or destroyed!" Lord Hegan feigned his most heartfelt expression of sympathy. "My dear Lady, I had no idea! What terrible misfortune!" "Misfortune nothing!" she snapped. "Dordinal is behind this, I just know it. For generations you have had your greedy eyes on Forst lands. And now, when the Realm is trying to recover from the calamity that has befallen it, you think you can just walk in and take over. Well, I'll tell you something, Lord Hegan of Dordinal- " Hegan extended his palms outward in a gesture of innocence. "Lady Darliss, you misjudge us! Surely a Lady as fair as yourself will give me a chance to explain...." His hand chanced to come into contact with his adversary's, and he held it warmly for a moment before freeing it. Aldara had difficulty not rolling her eyes, as Darliss simpered under the attentions of the handsome Dordinal noble. "Well, of course I will listen, Lord Hegan. But I promise nothing," she concluded archly, toying with the jewels hung around her scrawny neck. He nodded. "First of all, I support you wholeheartedly in your pursuit of justice. Dordinal has long been associated with passion for justice in the Realm, where, sadly, there has been so little in recent times...." Goddess, I'm glad I wore my long boots, Aldara mused. The manure was getting deeper than in the Guards' horse stalls.... Hegan prattled on. "Forst is not the only House to suffer from brigandage, gracious Lady. Why, just the other day, several of our own Guard were set upon, for no other reason than to steal their weapons. Happily, they were able to beat off their attackers. Yes, the Crown has taken little effective action to stem the lawlessness outside Fairwoods' gates. Oh - no offense intended, Captain Aldara." "None taken," she ground out between clenched teeth. Hegan turned his attention again to his adversary. "So you see, Dordinal is quite innocent of such an outrage. We would hardly rob our own clan. We of Dordinal are victims like you of Forst." "Perhaps," Lady Darliss diffidently admitted. "Perhaps. But there are the other occurrences...." "For which I am sure there are many potential explanations. For instance," he went on slyly, "during the recent unpleasantness, there were several incidents which resulted in spilled blood in that area. Could it not be possible that some Fawnleaf elves are finally taking their revenge for acts committed when the Dark Queen- " Aldara felt her part-elven blood beginning to boil. "Such baseless accusations are getting us nowhere, Lord Hegan." He shrugged. "They are no more baseless than any other theory. Still, if it is a tender subject with you, Captain, we can move on," he replied with a smirk. "So you deny Dordinal's involvement. I suppose it could be elves," Lady Darliss said tentatively. "Or even bandits...." He patted her hand soothingly. "Well, of course it could. I tell you what, Lady Darliss. I could never resist a fair maiden in jeopardy. Why don't we form an alliance? Surely, our similarities far outweigh our differences, is that not so? We have neighboring estates to the north, similar histories, similar... philosophies.... Let us draw up a non-aggression pact between Forst and Dordinal. More than that, we can agree to assist each other. I know how stretched your resources are, after the damage caused by the Dark Queen. Dordinal would be more than happy to provide a Guard in Cresscreek to prevent such lawlessness in the future -- wherever its source," he concluded, looking smugly at Aldara. Forbidden by her role as facilitator to advance an opinion, she shifted restlessly in her chair. Come, Lady Darliss, you cannot be that witless, Aldara thought. You are inviting a soul-eater into the very midst of your flock! "I will put your idea before the elders of our House," the noblewoman said slowly. An idea had occurred to her. How better to cement this alliance than with a marriage? She had never completely resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood, no matter how likely it seemed. And now... marriage to a Dordinal noble to seal the deal - perhaps even the dashing Lord Hegan himself! Her heart thudded but she forced herself to remain calm. Better not to show her cards yet. But before the deal was final, there would be one or two things added to the formal agreement. More energetically, she went on, "But we both have enemies enough. I must admit to drawing some comfort from the idea of an alliance in this difficult time. I will inform our elders that as Head of House, I support your offer, Lord Hegan. I think there will be little trouble convincing them it is for everyone's good." "Excellent! And I can assure you that Dordinal, too, will be overjoyed with this plan." And why shouldn't Dordinal be overjoyed, Aldara groaned inwardly. Darliss just did everything but hand you the keys to her keep. "You are both sure this is the step you want to take?" she asked, looking Darliss straight in the eyes. "Quite," the noblewoman shot back icily. Her expression made it perfectly clear she wanted no mere low-born half-elf questioning her decisions. Aldara sighed. "Very well. I shall report your decision to His Majesty." "See that you do," Lady Darliss said grandly, rising from her chair. She giggled as Hegan bent deeply over her hand and kissed it. Then the two nobles swept out of the room, leaving Aldara once again rubbing her temples. The arrangement the brainless Lady Darliss had agreed to almost guaranteed further strife in the Cresscreek area. It would be a miracle if open warfare between the two Houses were not the eventual result -- now, when the cooperation of everyone was needed to rebuild the Realm. Andalor would not be pleased. * * * * Despite the growing impatience that he felt at being away from Aldara, Jourdain was pleased with how the trip had gone so far. Raviar had reported possible brigandage between the Ranfaus estate and the Castle, but their return to Fairwoods seemed to be as peaceful as the trip to Mandor's home had been. The delays brought about by the need for diplomacy had frustrated him greatly, and Livirnea's concern that time was growing short for training Shannon brought him much worry as well. For these and other reasons, Jourdain pushed his men and their horses hard. They responded to the pressure with the skill and endurance that marked the warriors who made up the Royal Guards regiment. Thanks to the Goddess, they were now only a candlemark's ride from the Castle. If all went well, they would reach it by nightfall. It was too bad, he thought, that they were not able to enjoy the comforts of the road as harvest season was, without doubt, the most beautiful time of year in this part of the Realm. The fields, golden with ripe grain and green with the leaves of other crops were a marvel to behold, and the diverse colors of the leaves in the forests were a wonder that could only have been wrought by the Goddess herself. A pleasure equalled only by the joy that his life with Aldara had become. He felt a warmth in his loins at the thought of spending the night with his wife in the new bedroom which had seen far too little use. He had no doubt that this above all others, was the best of reasons for the pleasant feelings with which he rode. Feelings that could not be damped by the worries that he knew awaited all of them on their return to Fairwoods. However, as the Goddess well knew, pleasant times were short-lived in the Realm lately, and so he was less than surprised by the slowly growing sense of disquiet that slowly overcame his thoughts. Later, he would be unable to say what it was that brought him to the realization that they were fated to fight for more than just life and limb in that place. Maybe it was the sudden lack of sound from the birds whose chatter had made their passage such a happy one. Maybe he had seen a glint of metal from an ill-concealed weapon or a lookout's spyglass. No matter the signs that had caught his warrior's subconscious, he was unsurprised when he found himself hunched low over his horse's back in a desperate attempt to avoid the arrow that passed dangerously close to his right ear. "To arms!" he cried. All too soon therafter, the quiet of the forest road was shattered by the shouts and clashing of metal that exploded around him like one of Reinald's spells gone awry. However, much as he might concern himself with his warriors' safety, he knew his primary responsibility lay with the Lady Livirnea. The frenzied activity of battle that now crashed down on his companions was a distraction but even so, it took him only moments to find the Lady and the horse on which she rode. Fortunately, her reflexes had served her well, and she had already turned her animal away from the brigands who were bursting out of the trees like a flock of startled vultures. Bashar, the lieutenant who had served him so well during the violence in Waterrush only a few moon-cycles earlier, was hastening to intercept two green-clad men who were trying to prevent her escape. Once he was satisfied that she would succeed, he turned his attention to the fools who would attack a troop of warriors traveling under His Majesty's colors. He bore down on his foe. The first to fall to his sword was a hardened- looking youth who was completely unprepared for the shock of having to defend against the mass of nearly a ton of horse and rider baring down upon him. Jourdain smiled with little satisfaction as the boy's sword rose to meet his and was flicked aside by his far more experienced blade. The motion continued, separating the boy's head from his body in a spray of gore that covered several of the near-by warriors. The youth's head flew past another of the brigands who was moving against Mythra, an elf who was the sole female warrior on the mission. Jourdain was able to take advantage of the older brigand's surprise and strike the ruffian on the arm with the flat of his blade. Trained by Aldara's predecessor, Mythra was probably the best of the female warriors serving in the Guards' regiment. She was quick to take advantage of the enemy's distraction at Jourdain's attack. Only moments later, her opponent lay bleeding from a fatal chest wound, his sword trampled into the ground under the hooves of the Guards Captain's horse. Before he could find a new enemy, yet another arrow from the archer hidden in the woods passed all too close to his lightly protected back. This situation was as intolerable as it was bizarre. There were far more attackers than in a normal band of thieves; the presence of the archer, a rare and well-paid trade in the Realm, made it all the more strange and dangerous. Although his Guards were an elite troop and far better trained than their attackers, it would take much time and too many losses to defeat those who clashed with them. Fully engaged in hand to hand combat as they were, they would be unable to stop the deadly rain of bolts from the archer hidden somewhere in the tree-tops. Jourdain screamed in sheer frustration, realizing the trap into which he had fallen. He could neither spare the force necessary to deal with the archer directly, nor do anything to prevent the rain of arrows that was, even then, killing and maiming some of his best warriors. He would simply have to do his best and try to assuage his guilt later. Unfortunately, before he could draw breath to call out orders, the combination of a woman's scream and Bashar's cry of dismay brought his head around, and sent horse and rider racing to the rear. He cursed violently as he discovered that Lady Livirnea had been one of the victims of the well-hidden sniper. "She is hurt badly, sir," Bashar cried. As they looked at the young girl in his arms, her blood was soaking through the tunic Bashar wore under his light armor. Much as he hated to leave his troops to handle the brigands, he knew that his first responsibility lay with the young woman whose presence was so desperately needed at Fairwoods Keep. And Lord Mandor! Livirnea was so precious to him. The personal and political ramifications to the Realm were so great that they threatened to shake the grizzled warrior right out of his saddle. Firmly, he put them from his mind. "I know," Jourdain yelled over the din of battle. "I must get her to Kyla immediately. Bashar, you're in charge here. Either drive them off or kill them, whichever makes it easier for you to withdraw to the Castle." "Yes, sir!" Bashar saluted crisply. "We'll defeat the pack of souleaters, don't worry about us." Scowling at the choice that fate had forced him to make, Jourdain reached over to lift Livirnea's body from Bashar. Panting from the effort, he then called out to his warriors, only one choice now possible in his mind. "Mythra, Tellok - with me. The rest of you are under Bashar," he cried, wheeling his horse around. Then, as horse and rider raced forward through the wild melee, he hunched over the girl, in a desperate attempt to protect himself and his precious burden from further harm. Another of the brigands fell under the churning hooves of their horses, then he and his chosen guards were at last clear of the battle site and racing at full speed for home. He dared not look back. The Goddess and their own skills would have to save his men. Right now his priority was the frail girl in his arms whose death could mean disaster for the Realm. End of Chapter Six THE MAGICIAN 3.5 - THE FIREBRAND by Matthew Weed and Suzanne Bickerstaffe (matthew.weed@yale.edu, ecksphile@earthlink.net) Winter-Spring 2001 Disclaimers and Acknowledgements in Chapter 00 Chapter Seven She had covered every part of the castle, looking for Andalor, even going up to the parapets where all the problems had started. Was that only eight days ago? Shannon asked herself. If she had been hanging by her thumbs, she couldn't have spent a more miserable week. Finally, she headed back to Reinald's quarters, thinking that if she couldn't find Andalor, then apologizing to the Royal Mage wouldn't be a bad start for the New, Improved Shannon. Hearing voices inside, she tapped at the stout, iron-bound door. Pitir swung it wide. On seeing who was requesting entry, he looked anxiously back over his shoulder to the two figures sitting by the hearth. "Who is it, Pitir?" Reinald called. "I-it's the Lady Shannon." There was a silence as deafening as any rock band Shannon had ever heard. "Please, Royal Mage, I must talk with you. And with His Majesty, too, if he is there with you." "Very well, Lady Shannon. Please join us. Pitir, you may have the rest of the afternoon for yourself." The little troll gave his master a long look. Though he would be glad of the free time, he was reluctant to leave the Royal Mage and His Majesty in the company of such a firebrand. Why, if just half the stories making their way around the castle were true, then the Lady Shannon was truly a force to be reckoned with. A possibly dangerous force. Reinald smiled wryly, knowing well what was in Pitir's mind. "Go on, Mage Apprentice. We shall see to tea ourselves. You have earned a rest." "Very well, Royal Mage." With a low bow to the King, he left, a very doubtful expression on his face. "Now, Lady Shannon, please have a seat here by the fire and speak your mind." His expression was neutral, and his blue eyes, which could mirror such fearsome anger, were benign. Taking a deep breath, Shannon sat on the edge of the straight-backed chair. Her eyes found a spot on the hearth rug, and stayed trained on it. "Royal Mage Reinald, I have come to apologize to you, and especially to Andalor." "Tea first, child," he corrected mildly. He poured her a cup and pressed it into her hand. Reinald busied himself at the hearth for a few more moments, then finally sat with his own steaming mug. "Now what is it you have to say?" "I've behaved badly, Royal Mage, and I want to apologize," Shannon said, her eyes still cast downwards. "It won't happen again.... Well, I'm going to try my hardest to see that it doesn't happen again, anyway. I wish I could promise, but...." "You got scared," Andalor said softly. "Didn't you?" Silently, she nodded. "Shannon, look at me." Her eyes lifted finally, filled with tears but her bearing still erect, queenly. Suddenly, Andalor smiled. "I should have figured it out myself. I've seen you, when you've been cornered. In your world, remember? You don't sit there and shiver and shake. You strike out at what's scaring you. I guess we should just thank the Goddess you didn't go after Ballorca. Though I think I would have given a lot to see it," he added wistfully, winking at Shannon. "Andalor!" Reinald said, but the disapproval in his voice was offset by the twinkle in his eyes. "Shannon, my dear, I am glad you have arrived at this point. I was extremely worried." "*You* were worried!" the young King exclaimed. "What about me?" "Well, Lady Shannon, I take it then that you are ready to commence work?" "I'll do everything I can, Reinald," she vowed. "I just wish I thought that that would be enough. I'm not smart, not like Mulder and Dana are, anyway. And I can't promise I won't panic again. But I'll work hard, I will promise you that." "Excellent!" he beamed. He darted up from his chair and went to a bookcase filled with beautifully bound volumes. After perusing the selections, he slid two thick books from the shelves. "Start with these, a brief history of the Realm. That will keep your mind occupied for a while. And Livirnea should be here within the next day or two. After she has had an opportunity to rest from her journey, she will begin your training in earnest." "Thanks, Reinald," she said shyly. "Thank you for giving me a second chance. I won't let you - or Andalor - down again. At least, I'll do everything I can not to." "I couldn't ask for more, my dear," he said kindly. "I daresay I would not manage as well in your world as you do in ours. Now, children, I am sure you have some things to say to each other, and I have some work to do. Why don't you go along to one of the salons - observe the proprieties, mind! - and become reacquainted." "Great idea," Andalor said, smiling broadly. He offered his arm to his betrothed. "My Lady...." She had just lain her arm on his when there was a pounding at the door. Before Andalor or Reinald could respond, it burst open. It was one of his Guard. "Your Majesty! I apologize for the intrusion, but it was necessary. You are needed down in the courtyard - immediately!" Andalor was about to protest, but the grim visage of the Guard cut short any reply. Instead, he turned to Shannon. "Go to the West Receiving Room. I'll go down to the courtyard and see what's going on. If I do not join you within a candlemark, I will catch up with you later, all right?" Normally, Shannon would have protested at being cut out of the action. But this was an opportunity, hers to either make the best of, or fail miserably. Even the Queen obeyed the King's direct orders. Any protestation on her part would just demonstrate her unreadiness to assume that position. "Yes, Your Majesty," she said simply, no hint of sting in her tone. He smiled gratefully, then nodded and headed out the door with the Guard. * * * * Livirnea's body rocked in Jourdain's arms, her limbs bouncing limply off both horse and rider as they charged over the road to the castle. Blood continued to flow from the wound which Jourdain had bound as best he could from pieces of his tunic and clothing from his saddlebags. They hadn't stopped to bind the wound properly; the Guards Captain felt that any delay in their desperate race for home might either allow the brigands to catch them from behind, or worse still, make the difference between life and death for the pretty young woman whom he had failed so miserably to protect. "Not long now," he panted to Tellok, riding next to him whenever the road was wide enough to permit him to do so. "Yes, Goddess willing," replied the Guard grimly. His concern for his Captain was nearly as great as that which he held for the Lady Livirnea. "I shall ride ahead and make sure that all is prepared," Mythra cried. She spurred her powerful steed forward the moment the heavy walls of the Castle came into view. When the tiny elven woman came racing toward them, the King's colors flying from the staff clutched spasmodically in her right hand, the startled sentries opened the gates. Moments later, they had all thundered through. Jourdain barely noticed the mad scramble of men and women fleeing from the path of his mount. His only thought was to get Livirnea as close to the Healer's cottage as he could. Fortunately, the castle sentries had done their duty well. They had already called for the Healer as soon as they saw the small party racing for the gates, one of its members obviously in need of immediate attention. He halted his mad rush at the inner wall of the courtyard. He turned his eyes from Livirnea to find the tall form of the Healer standing beside his horse, her face taut with concern at what she could already see. "Set her down gently," Kyla ordered. He turned and swung Livirnea down into the arms of Tellok and the Sergeant of the Guards, who had rushed from his post as soon as news of the Captain's arrival reached him. The soldiers set her down a safe distance from Jourdain's panting, jittery steed. The Guard Captain growled in a mixture of anger and fear when his eyes rested on the blood that covered Livirnea's dress and cloak. Kyla moved past Jourdain's men and took the injured young noblewoman in hand. He watched as she fell into her healing chant, her eyes closed in concentration. "What happened?" demanded a voice from behind him. Jourdain spun around, his heart dropping into his stomach at the sight of Andalor striding towards him. The King looked horrified - at the girl on the ground, then at his Guards' commander. The officer was also covered in blood and looked like a wild man, his hair windblown and his eyes haunted. "Jourdain, are you all right? Were you injured?" "Nay, the blood is Lady Livirnea's. Mostly, anyway. We were attacked on the road," Jourdain explained bitterly. "We were fully engaged in battle when an archer's bolt hit the lady. Having no Healer and since the castle was barely a candlemark distant, I brought her here. The wound seems grievous. I... I fear that she may not live," he added brokenly, not thinking fully what that report would do to the young man who stood before him. Andalor's face paled notably, while the sound of Kyla's healing chant went on behind him. "Flying the King's colors, and you were attacked?" Andalor demanded. His face was set in stony fury. "You did well to get her here without delay. Why don't you clean up? As soon as I know more of her condition, I shall call for a meeting in Reinald's chambers." "Thank you, Your Majesty," Jourdain said. Someone should say something to encourage the lad, but he had no words of his own. Rather than clean up, however, the exhausted commander swung once more onto his horse to ride from the gates. The rest of his troops had not yet reported in. If the battle still raged, his place was with them, and indeed, his sword thirsted for revenge. Even if the fighting were over, he wanted to check on his men and if lucky, get some insight as to who had dared strike against the King's own Guard. It would be many candlemarks before Jourdain would realize that in his determination to assist his warriors, he had left the castle without benefit of Aldara's company and counsel. As much as her presence might have buoyed him on the desperate ride to retake command of his troops, Jourdain knew well that any threat that the recent battle posed to the castle would be apparent to her. If worse came to worst, Aldara was the only being whom he trusted with Fairwoods' defense. Andalor's eyes followed the Guards Captain through the gates, then focused again on the two women at his feet - one terribly wounded, and one trying her best to save the other's life. After nearly half a candlemark, Kyla's chant wound to a close and shakily, she stood. Andalor clasped her arm to steady her. "Thank you, Your Majesty," Kyla said coolly. She did not quite manage to disguise the tremor in her voice, however. "Well, how is she? Will she live?" "She is out of immediate danger and in healing stasis. But I have much more healing to do for her before she will be well, and many things may still go wrong." Glancing at the soldiers standing nearby, she ordered, "Guards, take her up on the stretcher to my cottage. I will be right there." The Guards looked to the King for permission. He nodded, and they rushed to do Kyla's bidding. Andalor and Kyla followed more slowly behind them. "I am sure I do not need to tell you the seriousness of this, Healer Kyla," the King said grimly. "We depend on House Ranfaus for support. I trust Lord Mandor, but if the Lady Livirnea dies while under my protection, I do not know that we could count on that support any longer. Nor can I say that I would blame him. Not to mention that Livirnea is a close personal friend, and here on a mission vital to the Crown." "And I am sure I do not need to tell you I will do everything in my power to save her," Kyla replied. "The rest is up to the Goddess." She hurried to catch up with the slim body on the pallet. "In that case," Andalor said heavily to himself, "I hope She is paying attention." He motioned to one of the nearby Guards, and murmured an order. As the soldier raced off to do his bidding, he slowly traced the path to the Healer's cottage. That familiar path was all too easy to follow, stained as it was by Livirnea's blood in livid splashes on the dusty cobblestones. Moments later, Healer Sirisa flew past him, her new male troll apprentice in tow. Andalor felt a hint of relief. Livirnea must live - so much was resting on her frail shoulders. Besides her value to the Realm, his affection for her was deep and sincere. Adding Healer Sirisa to the cause might make Livirnea's recovery more of a reality. He knocked at the door of the cottage, taking in the distinctive scents of the surrounding herb garden with each breath. The troll apprentice opened the door cautiously. "Your... Your Majesty!" stammered the awed apprentice, bowing awkwardly. "May I see the Lady Livirnea?" "I-I.. I am not sure...." The troll looked nervously over his shoulder and Andalor heard a few muffled words. "The lady is being bathed and made more comfortable. If-if perhaps I could ask of you, Sire... I mean to say, would it be possible for you to wait a few moments...?" At an order from inside, he scurried off to do the bidding of one of the Healers. Andalor gently closed the door, and wandered along the neat rows of the garden, occasionally stopping to inspect a plant, or break off a leaf and sniff at it curiously. Soon the door reopened and the apprentice beckoned him inside. He ducked his head under the low lintel and stood for a moment while his eyes adjusted from the brightness of the setting sun to the dimness of the hearth-lit cottage. Livirnea lay on a low pallet by the fireside, her skin terrifyingly similar to the hue of the snowy sheets covering her. Alarmed, Andalor looked up at Kyla. "She has lost much blood," the Healer said, obviously fatigued. "We have stopped the flow, but...." "Is there any chance I could talk to her?" Andalor asked. "Not... not if it would harm her, of course. I just... I just want her to know we're all thinking about her." Kyla observed the King, who was at this moment was no more than any ordinary teenaged boy, desperately worried about a friend. Before she could respond, however, Livirnea stirred on her pallet. Andalor was kneeling at her side in an instant. Hesitantly, he took her hand. "Livirnea?" he whispered. "Livirnea?" The girl's head slowly turned toward the sound of his voice. Wanly, she smiled up at him. "Don't try to talk," he urged. "Liv - I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for all of this. If I had had any idea you would have been hurt, I never- " Weakly, she shook her head. "It is all right... not your fault." He allowed himself a small smile, more for the girl's sake than because it mirrored his emotions. "Kyla says you're going to be fine. We're all thinking about you, praying to the Goddess. She's with you, Livirnea." "I know," she whispered. "But... don't.. tell my father.... I don't want him... to worry." Andalor bit his lip. Much as he wanted to do his friend's bidding, he also feared that Lord Mandor would learn of his beloved daughter's injuries through the amazingly efficient Realm grapevine. That would be disastrous - a terrible breach of etiquette, of diplomacy... and worst of all, a breach of friendship and trust. "It's growing too late to send a runner tonight," he said softly. "Let's see how you're doing in the morning. All right?" Gratefully, the young noblewoman nodded, and her eyes drifted closed. On the other side of the pallet, Healer Kyla knelt down and, placing her hands on Livirnea's head and chest, again fell into a healing chant. Sirisa nudged the King. "Your Majesty, there's little you can do right now. We will perform healing treatments constantly for the next several candlemarks. It will take some time for Lady Livirnea to return to health, and there are yet some complications we must avoid. But we will do everything in our power to make her healthy and strong again." Andalor got to his feet, keeping his head bowed to avoid striking it on the cottage's low, smoke-stained beams. "Thank you, Healer Sirisa. I appreciate all you and Healer Kyla are doing. Jourdain's men should be arriving back soon. Please tend to them and send a runner when they arrive. I want to be on hand to thank them myself." "Very well, Sire. Ferdig, open the door for His Majesty. King Andalor, I am sure that Healer Kyla will want to update you herself when she is finished with this treatment." He paused by the door. "I would be grateful. I shall be in the Royal Mage's chambers." Solemnly, Sirisa nodded. When the door closed behind the King, she knelt by the pallet and joined her colleague in chanting over the pale, slim girl. End of Chapter Seven