Copyright © 1994-2001 Ian A. Ralph They were halfway across the river when the water began to stir and boil beneath the makeshift raft. The two men tried to keep their balance as the raft struggled to remain upright in the angry waters. Above them, a small bat-winged cat chittered in warning. "Dammit, Timor, Doesn't that flying feline of yours ever shut up?" complained Roark. Timor glanced over at his companion, trying to retain a grip on his pole and the bundle of supplies that were shifting to the edge of the raft in the rough waters, then up at the flikat, still circling and chittering away. Timor risked a look into the boiling waters. "Shit." After six weeks of depending on Timor as his guide through the wild darklands, Roark learned to recognize the particular tone that Timor used, reserved for situations that not even the resourceful guide knew how to cope with. As Roark turned to see what had caused Timor's exclamation, a huge blue-greenish reptilian head on a long, thick neck broke through the water and raised above them. The flikat let out a screech and fled for the far shore for the shelter of the thick trees that lined the wide, swirling river. The creature's blue eyes focused on the raft and its jaws opened, and Roark thought it wouldn't have any problem swallowing either of them whole. Instinctively Roark dropped the pole he had been trying to propel the raft with in favor of drawing his sword from the plain leather scabbard that hung off his belt. There wasn't much room to maneuver on the small raft. The creature's head darted down and Roark twisted to one side, thrusting at the creature with his sword. There was a loud howl of pain, then Roark was pushed off the raft as the creature butted him with it's head. He became disoriented as he went under water and struggled to reach the surface of the water. Timor had also released his pole for his sword. When the creature pushed Roark into the water, something hit the raft from underneath, and the raft twisted upward, and flipped upside down. Timor jumped as he felt the raft being pushed, and landed on the creature, straddling it's scaly and slimy neck between his legs. Timor got himself balanced well enough so that he could thrust his slim long blade deep into the back of the creature's head. The creature howled again, and shook its head. Timor barely held onto his precarious position only by his grip on the sword, still buried in the monstrous flesh. The creature's movements only caused it more pain, and it dove for back under the water. As Timor held his breath, he felt the sword come loose, and he kicked his way to the surface. All he saw as he broke the surface was the bottom of the overturned raft and his green hat floating away in the current of the river. A couple of seconds later Roark bobbed to the surface, and they swam for the raft. Timor reached it first, but before he could climb aboard, the water creature reappeared, looking angrier and meaner than before. There were orange trickles coming from its wounds, and Timor would later swear that he saw revenge in the creature's expression. Timor snatched a quick breath of air, and dove under the raft. He was battered by logs as pieces of the raft collided into him, their impact only slightly softened by the water's resistance to movement. The air was knocked out of him and his vision blurred as his head was struck. He tried to remain conscious and flounder his way to the surface. Roark watched in dismay as the creature struck the raft and saw it come apart. He grabbed a remaining log and kicked his way over to the creature, angered by the creature's destruction of the raft and supplies. He slashed at the neck of the creature, and was rewarded by the appearance of a thick orange line on the creature's blue-green hide. As the orange blood oozed out of the wound and mixed with the river's water, turning a light orange shade, the creature bellowed again and turned to strike at its attacker. Its jaws opened, and Roark saw fangs appear in its mouth as it reached down to snatch him up. He tried to maneuver the log between him and the descending jaws, but it was coming too fast. There was another shriek, higher pitched this time, and Roark saw the flikat battering at the river monster's eyes with its wings. The creature paused for only a brief moment to analyze and dismiss the tiny flyer as a threat, but it gave Roark the time needed to position the log. As the jaws came down, Roark pushed the log up and into the creature's mouth. He shouted for joy as the creature closed it's jaws around the log, and jammed it's fangs into the wood. There was space around the log that gave him space, and as the creature flailed around with the log, Roark poised himself, and when the head came down close enough, Roark stabbed his sword into the back of the mouth, and through its brain. The creature shuttered, then slid quietly beneath the surface of the water. The evening was suddenly quiet as Roark treaded water, trying to get his bearings. The flikat squeaked as it circled overhead, looking for its master. There was a sudden splashing, and Timor dragged himself out of the water on the far riverbank. Roark paddled over to him. Somehow, Timor had managed to hang onto his sword during his swim. The flikat perched on a nearby tree branch making encouraging chirps as Timor got out of the water and collapsed on the bank, catching his breath. He didn't even bother to raise his head as Roark splashed out of the water and fell to the ground next to him. They said nothing for a few minutes, just gasped and coughed as they tried to expel the river water from their lungs. The forest was quiet except for the chirps, clicks, and buzzing of insects, seeming louder as the day waned, and darkness crepted through the forest, the darkness intensified under the thick cover of the trees. Slowly, the brilliant stars in the sky began to show through the dimming light, and both of them realized that they needed cover from the night dangers in the Darklands. They sat up and looked at each other. Roark shook his head. "This is another fine mess you've gotten us in." Timor shrugged his shoulders. "Ah promised ya adventure, didn't ah?" Roark didn't reply. They slowly stood up and started looking for a place to bed down. They came across a hollow between a few trees, that was mostly surrounded by heavy brush. "Well, this looks good enough for me." Timor glanced up at his pet. The flikat seemed to agree with Roark. It found a comfortable branch above the hollow and stretched out. As Timor watched, it yawned once, and then appeared to fall asleep. Reassured by it's relaxed attitude, Timor crawled into the hollow, and with swords still in hand, they fell asleep. The smell of frying meat woke Roark. He groaned as his abused body informed him of all the places that hurt as he sat up. He braced himself against the tree that sheltered him from nightly rains, and watched as Timor finished preparing breakfast. "Here ya go, sir. Revenge on the critter that gave us such a hard time yesterday." Timor handed a skewer of meat to Roark. Roark's nose wrinkled at the acidic smell. "Is it safe to eat?" "It thought it could eat us, so we should be able to eat it. Besides, it caused us to lose all of our other provisions in the river. It's either eat that, or go hungry." Timor paused as he watched Roark trying to get a piece past his nose. "Besides, Fiji ate some, and he's happy." Timor pointed the flikat, stretched out on a small rock outcropping exposed to the morning sun. Roark grunted at this reassurance, obviously not happy about the source that recommended this meal. The flikat burped in his sleep. With a sigh of resignation, Roark ignored his nose and popped a piece in his mouth. It didn't taste as bad as it smelled. Actually, considering what the dried travelling provisions tasted like, this was pretty good. Timor watched Roark's struggle with the food with suppressed amusement. He had eaten some himself after Fiji approved of the beast. A flikat's instincts for edible food were reliable in strange areas. Roark licked the remains of the juice off his fingers. "Well, oh wise and experienced guide. What was that beast that almost did us in last night that in turn, provided us with a repast this morning?" Timor smiled. "Ya got me, boss. Ah never seen or heard of such a critter before, but ah found it washed up on the riverbank this mornin', along with ma hat. Howevea, thea was no signs of our supplies." He shrugged his shoulders. "Ya gotta expect to meet the unknown here in the darklands." Roark glared at Timor. "Well then, oh knowledgeable guide, where are we in the darklands?" "Ah dunno. Ah never been this far east before." Timor casually leaned back against the tree, carefully removing meat gristle from between his teeth with a sliver of wood. "You don't know what that creature was, and you don't know where we are. A fine guide you turned out to be." "Ah was cheap, weren't ah?" "You're fired." Timor casually pulled a water-stained parchment out from a pocket on the inside of his tunic. He carefully unfolded and examined it. "Ya got ma ten per cent or seventy yields, whichever is greater?" "You know we haven't found anything, other than breakfast, yet. Where would I get the seventy?" "It says here that ya gotta either give me two thousand or 10 per cent, whichever is bigger. Ya don't have it, so ya can't fire me. So thea. Yer stuck with me foa the duration." "Shit." The two sat quietly under the tree for a few minutes, allowing their meal to digest. The flikat moved slightly, adjusting to the moving sunbeam. The smoke from the smoldering fire thinned out, and parted quickly in the morning breeze. The sun moved slowly, casting pleasant combinations of light and shade over the two men. Roark was the longer of the two by about six inches. His broad-shouldered, athletic build was accented by a somber grey tunic the color of his eyes. His brown pants and boots matched his short hair. Timor wore a forest green tunic, dark green pants, and brown calf-length soft boots. A beaten brown hat covered his blond hair. His merry blue eyes peeked out from under the brim as he watched his animal friend. Fiji was slowly moving closer to the edge of the rock with each adjustment to stay in the sun. He wondered if the flikat would wake up before he hit the ground. Roark suddenly broke the peace with a loud groan. The flikat started, and flew into the tree. Roark groaned again as he levered himself up the tree into a standing position. He limped over to a small stream, and got himself prepared for the day. He limped back to the tree where Timor was waiting, and took up his sword. Fiji twittered angrily at him from Timor's shoulder. Roark ignored the flikat, used to the animal's complaints. "You know, Timor, I was just noticing what a nice day it was. I've never noticed it this pleasant in the darklands before. Even the water tasted good. Do you think that we might have gone too far?" "Ah noticed that too. But ah still think that we're still in the darklands. Ah haven't ever been this fa myself, but ah heard of other scouts that have travelled farther east. They've said that the other side of the darklands is blocked by mountains. What would cause this weather, ah couldn't say, but ah feel it can't bode well. Sort of the calm befoa the storm, ya might say." Roark frowned at Timor, disapproving of his light demeanor despite his ominous words. Timor had a slight carefree smile on his face, and was unconsciously scratching the flikat along it's wingbase. "Don't you have anything cheerful to say?" Timor's smile widened a bit. "Well, we don't have to worry about carrying all that extra weight. All we got left is our swords." Roark groaned again. "Well then, oh upbeat and optimistic guide, which way shall we and our swords go?" "How about as far away from that river as possible? There might be more of them." "Sounds good to me. Lead on." Roark waved his hand forward. Timor preceded him through the forest. Fiji flew from Timor's shoulders, and hopped or flew from tree to tree about twenty five to fifty feet ahead of them. They moved quietly, the sounds of the forest louder than any sound they made. The morning passed quietly, and the good weather held. One would almost think that he was back home in the Corellian Confederation, Roark thought to himself. It was very peaceful. The forest thinned out, and they entered a tall grass field. Suddenly, after about five minutes, Timor stopped dead. Fiji squeaked a protest. "What's wrong?" Timor didn't say anything. He just knelt down to examine the ground, and then looked at the grass. Roark started getting nervous, and fingered his swordhilt. He had learned over these past few weeks that when Timor didn't have something to say on the tip of his tongue, something serious was going on, and there wasn't much that Timor considered serious. "Do ya notice anythin' strange about this field?" Roark looked over the field, looking for movement, strange flowers or something. "No. It looks like a normal wheatfield to me." "Exactly." "Exactly what? Look Timor, I'm not in the mood for your guessing games. What about it?" Timor waved his arm around. "It is a wheatfield. Planted by someone. A farmer someone." "Oh." Light dawned for Roark. The darklands are considered too dangerous for hunters, much less farmers. Who would actually want to settle here? Timor scanned the horizon. He pointed in an easterly direction. "Ah see a little bit of haze, like smoke from a fire over there. Where there is a farmer, there is food, and perhaps a chance to acquire some new provisions. Ya do still have some gems, don't ya?" "Yeah. I didn't trust them to the packs. Let's go." As they crossed over a slight hill, they saw a small walled town below them. Fifteen foot high walls were shaped in a pentagon fashion with a tower at three of the points. There were gates at the other two points of the pentagon, facing north and southeast. A road that cut through the field near Roark and Timor lead to the southeast gate. Banners of all colors festooned the walls, and brightly waving banners snapped in the wind between the houses. The town was alive with people, apparently humans, and more were visible approaching on the road. The faint sounds of the sales hustle were audible from the market square already. They looked at each other somewhat astonished. Neither of them expected to find a human community in the darklands. "Talk about finding what you need when you need it. We should be able to restock completely. Look, the road is over there. Maybe some of the travellers can fill us in on where we are and what's going on." Timor started heading for the nearest part of the road. Fifteen minutes saw them to the road, where they joined other travellers to the town. "Well-met, good fellows," cried out a merchant, guiding his wagon of wares. He was a portly man, dressed in lively red finery. "Well-met, good merchant," replied Timor. He and Roark fell in along side the merchant. The bulges in the merchant's cart suggested pots and pans. "Looking forward to the wedding?" The merchant inquired. "Indeed we are, as well as the chance to do some shopping. My sour companion here is Roark, and I am Timor," Timor cast a quick glance at Roark, then smiled widely at the merchant. "I'm Morben. You should have plenty of luck today. Anyone with anything to sell always attends a wedding. The one here at Juniter should be no exception. I've heard that the bride is exceptionally beautiful. Our lord has always had good taste." "We couldn't agree with you more, good Morben. Perhaps our paths will cross again later. Fare-well for now." Timor and Roark walked ahead, placing a little distance between them and the merchant. When they were not in danger of being overheard, Timor started talking quietly. "Well, a wedding and a gather. It looks as if we'll even make it before lunch, then afterwards, we can find ourselves plenty to carry besides our swords." Roark grunted. None of this felt right to him. First fields and villages, now a Lord that rules over them. It was so out of place. The darklands are known to be lawless, with evil creatures dominating the food chain. And up until last night, the last six weeks were almost non-stop fights for survival. They hadn't even located one decent ruin from the old time to loot yet. As far as expeditions into the darklands went, it was about average. There had been no stories about any colonies or communities here. The few humans that existed here were just prey, mostly to the reptilian Silssasses. Then, little was actually known about the depths of the darklands. Perhaps an opportunity for outside trade could be established. With that thought, Roark cheered up, and tried to start enjoying the beautiful day. As they approached the town, they noticed that the guards had colored ribbons decorating their leather armor. However, the festivities did not prevent them from their duties. Timor and Roark noticed that the guards inspected all the merchant's loads, and collected a tax. Also, the guards were peace-binding all weapons as travellers entered. As the two approached, a guard gave them a quick once-over, and approached with a couple of ribbons. The two allowed their swords to be bound, and not being merchants, allowed to pass without paying a fee. Once inside, they noticed that the town was well-planned. They were on a radial main street that led to the center of town, and off to each side were cross streets that ran parallel with the walls. The main street met four others, opening up to form the market square in the center of the town. A low platform was under construction there, amid the gathering of merchants. They made their way to the center. They stopped at the edge of the square to look around and get their bearing. Fiji squawked at the loud racket, and cowered on Timor's shoulders. Timor scratched him along his neck, which calmed him down a bit. Roark watched several nearby vendors, and noticed that payment was tendered with small triangular shaped silver coins. Roark looked around the square, and spotted a jeweller. He nudged Timor, and they headed over. Roark removed a few of his gemstones from a hidden pocket in his tunic. The jeweller, a thin, weasely man dressed in greens and golds, was still in the process of setting up his stall. He was laying out the tools he would need to customize customer purchases. "Good morrow, fine sir." The jeweller's head snapped up at the sound of Roark's greeting, and a large smile appeared on his head. He quickly straightened up, his hands unconsciously smoothing out his finery. "Good morrow and happy wedding day to you, sirs. What may I help you with?" He said in a pleasant voice. "I would like you to appraise these stones for me, please." Roark placed the stones on the counter. The jeweler eyed them, then Roark. "Do you want an appraisal, or do you want to sell them?" Roark looked a little uncomfortable. "I'm looking to sell, actually, if I can get enough for them." "Ah." The jeweler looked over the stones, giving most just a glance, but paused to examine the firestone. He held it up to the sun, and carefully looked, checking it's clarity and color. Roark held his breath. The red firestone was one of his more valuable gems, and cost him a month's wages as a mercenary. The jeweler looked thoughtful as he set it back on the counter. "I'll give you 10 shields for the lot." He placed 10 silver hexagonal coins on the counter. He looked at the jeweler, and keeping a dead-pan face, took a stab. "20." The jeweler looked disappointed. "These are pretty common. I think 11 is a very good offer." "But look at the firestone. It's flawless, and the color is a rare red-orange shade. Surely, you know of some client that might be interested. 19 is more than fair." "13." "18." "15, and that's my final offer." "16." "Sold." The jeweler added six more shields to the pile, and scooped the stones into a soft leather pouch. "T'was a pleasure doing business. Good-day." Roark collected his cash. Timor joined him as he left the booth. Roark showed a coin to Timor. It was a silver hexagon about an inch and a half across. On one side showed a shield with a down-pointed sword in the center, crossed by a bar sinister. The lower left side showed a five pointed star in a pentagram, and a sheaf of wheat in the upper right. A small crescent filled a gap in the lower right side. The reverse was scored so the coin could be split into six equal pieces. A dragon, a wolf baying, three crescent moons, a phoenix, an archer, and the sun made the scenes on each tab. "Same shape as a Corellian yield, but with different designs. Are they worth the same?" asked Timor. "Got me. That firestone cost me twenty yields, and I bargained hard for it. If values are about the same, I got a reasonable price for it, but I won't know until I try to buy something." "Well, let's test it. That fellah over thea has just taken some hot meatrolls outa his oven, and it just happens to be lunchtime." They got six rolls and two ales at a cost of three pennies. Roark started to break up a shield. He placed one tab on the counter and was about to break off another one, when the baker took the tab, and gave him two round pennies in change. These had a five pointed star on one side, and a phoenix in a sun on the other, and scored so they could be broken into halves and quarters. This reassured Roark that the values of these coins were the same, probably more, as their Corellian counterparts. They found a quiet spot to sit and observed the goings-on while they ate their lunch. Timor fed a couple of meatrolls to Fiji, who, after taking a quick sniff, devoured them eagerly. Then the flikat washed himself, and curled up in Timor's lap. The crowds were in good humor. There was a lot of good-natured jostling and kidding, even with the town watch. Children were busy running errands and decorating what they could reach, and men on ladders put the final touches on the hanging banners. One group was putting up a large banner of a shield, like the one on the coin, over the northeast gate. Others went around policing the town, making sure that not one scrap or loose piece of trash would mar the proceedings. Having eaten, and having cash in hand, Roark felt more in control of the situation. "I'm going to look around, and find us some travelling supplies. What do you and your flying furball want to do?" "Ah think we'll just wander around an' see what all is goin' on. Right, Fiji?" The flikat slightly opened one eye to look at his friend, snorted, and settled deeper in Timor's lap. "Perhaps we just wait here and let our lunch digest awhile longer." Timor amended. "Suit yourself. Just don't say anything if you don't like the food I pack." Roark, mindful of his bruises, got up, and wandered out into the crowd. The market reminded Roark of back home. The deals and hustles were all the same. The consistency of human nature was comforting. Roark quickly located the items he needed, surprised by the ease he was able to drive the bargains. The most expensive items were two very sturdy packs. They were a shield each, but they were much better than the ones they had got back in the Confederation. Roark thought that since they were in town, why sleep outside? He had enough cash to arrange for a room with beds. He looked for an Inn that was out of the way which might have room left. He found one called "The Yellow Bat" by the sign out front near the northwest wall. He entered and looked around. It was a small place. A pot over the fire gave notice that a delicious stew was being served. A few people were already eating. He approached the bar, where an elderly lady was washing up. "Pardon, madam, who would I need to see about arranging a room for the night?" "You can see me, young fellah. Name's Hazel. But why a room for tonight? Ain't you plannin' to attend the wedding, now that you travelled all this way?" "Of course, but I would like a place to sack out afterwards, and beforewards I would like a place to store my equipment. Roark's the name." "Well, Roark, we got plenty of cots for the common room, an' you kin' leave your things there." "Actually, I was hoping that I might be able to get a private room, with two beds." "You're in luck, young fellah. Got one left. Top of the stairs, on the end. Gonna have to charge you a shield though, considering the crowd in town. But that includes supper and breakfast, though you might want to eat light, to save room for the feast after the wedding." "Of course. Here you go, Hazel. I got a friend, Timor by name, with a flikat. He'll be bunking with me." "Okay. Uh, the flikat's housebroken, ain't he." "Yup. Timor's got him well trained." "Shouldn't be a problem, then. Enjoy yourselves." "Thanks, Hazel. Oh, pardon me again. We haven't actually been to a wedding before. What time is it? Wouldn't want to miss it." "Never been to one? Well, I guess anythin's possible. Tisn't often that Lord Gregory travels so far out to find a bride. A great boon to the town, though. Lord Gregory is very generous to the family and town of his bride. He's suppling all the grub for the feast tonight. It'll be right after the wedding, at midnight." "I didn't see him arrive. Shouldn't he be here by now?" Hazel laughed. "Silly, you know that his lord never arrives until sunset." "Oh, of course." Roark shook his head. He found the room without difficultly, and stashed his stuff. He left in search of Timor. Meanwhile, Timor and Fiji were enjoying watching the activities from their vantage point. They saw a small caravan arrive, accompanied by men in plate armor, The device on their shields matching the coins and banner. Long trestle tables were being set up, as well as poles to hold torches and lanterns. A veritable army of cooks was preparing to start the wedding feast. Fiji yawned and stretched. He unfurled his wings, and looked askance to Timor. "Go right ahead, but stay in touch. Also, be polite. We're in a strange city, and it wouldn't do to offend anyone. If ya gotta go, go over the other side of the wall. Understand?" Timor advised. The flikat purred in response, hunched down, and sprang into the air. Timor yelped as he felt Fiji's claws through his pants. Fiji circled a couple of times to orient himself, and vanished over the rooftops. Timor got up, rubbing his legs. The sounds and excitement in the air was contagious, and he found himself getting caught up in the festivities. He felt the need to share his excitement, and wondered if there was anyone here he might be able to talk shop with. With a deep breath, he paused, and cautiously allowed himself to open his senses to forces of mana. Usually dangerous and unpredictable in the darklands, here the local mana was well domesticated, making the danger minimal. He began to adjust to the energy fields of the mana. He opened his eyes, and saw the ebb and flow of the mana field overlay the town. The excitement caused local turbulence, and it was greatest in the market square. The overall aspect of the mana was that of peace and calm. As he looked, he saw a small, dense field surrounding a pretty, dark-haired woman that was intense, but well ordered. This told him that she was a practitioner of magic, probably a sorceress by the intensity. His own skill was minor, and the effect he would have on the mana field would hardly be noticeable to someone actively looking. As he watched, the woman turned suddenly, and vanished down a side street. Acting more out of habit than active thought, he quickly walked over to the street, and turned to follow her. He caught just another brief glimpse of her before she vanished into a doorway. As he approached the doorway, he overheard part of a conversation coming through an open window of the building she entered. ". . . daughter, I order you to see that she dies before sunset. She must not be allowed to wed him. Do you understand?" A clear and firm female voice commanded. A deep, worn, man's voice answered her. "As you command, milady. She will die before sunset. We will relieve the guard at five o'clock, as scheduled. It will appear to that she will have taken her own life. The people here might believe that." "Good. Do not fail me." Timor heard the sounds of harsh heels leaving the room, and ducking back around the corner of the building, waited. The sound of a door shutting hard came to him, quickly followed by the dark-haired woman walking past, up the street. Timor refrained from whistling. She was very beautiful, just a few inches shorter than he was. She had long flowing black hair, a straight nose, high cheekbones, a firm chin, and walked with grace and authority. Timor glanced around, and not seeing anyone nearby, took a quick glimpse through the window into the room where he heard the voices. There he saw three men getting dressed in the ceremonial plate armor with the lord's device on the shields. "Shit." Timor thought to himself. He looked at the three men, attempting to memorize their faces. One looked like he would match the man's voice he heard. He looked old and tired. The grey in his hair bespoke of long experience, as the symbols on his armor spoke of his long service. The other two were young, and while silent, didn't appear to share the elder's unspoken misgivings. Timor silently departed, the festive mood broken for him. He glanced at the sun's position, and noted that the hour of five was just a short time away. While small town politics held no interest in him, the plotting of a cold-blooded murder angered him. He decided to seek Roark, and inform him of the plot. As a mercenary, he might know what they could do about it. Timor looked around the market, but Roark wasn't there. He summoned Fiji, and as Fiji landed on his shoulder, Timor asked him if he knew where Roark was. Fiji chirped, and looked over in the northwest direction. As they got to the edge of the market, they saw Roark emerging from a street. He saw them, and approached. "Hi, Timor. I got us a real room with real beds to sleep in tonight. I figured that this will be our last chance for a while, and prices here are more than reasonable. I was thinking that maybe I might come back here after we finish looking for those stupid ruins. What do you say?" "If ya want, ah suppose, but listen, something's come up. Ah overheard a plot ta kill the bride befoa sunset." "What?! Are you sure it's this wedding?" "Sure enough. The killers are guards in ceremonial plate armor, that will relieve the current guards at five. Thea plannin' it to make it look like suicide. Do ya think we should do something?" "What guards are they planning to relieve?" "Ah'm not to sure, but ah would guess that there are some with the bride." Roark glanced at the sun. "We don't have much time, and telling the town guards would be useless. The guys in plate are the Lord's men, and their word would be taken over that of a couple of strangers. Let's see if we can find the bride, and take a look." Timor looked around, and then approached a local woman. "Pardon me, dear. We would like to pay our respects to the bride, but we are strangers here, and do not know where she is. Could you tell us where she is residing?" "Certainly, sir. But I must tell you that she might not be willin' to see you, or anyone for that matter." "Why is that, good lady?" "Well, it happened all so suddenly, you know. The lord selected her just last week, and the poor dear has been in a state of shock ever since. Usually, his lordship takes his wives from families more local to his home. We never thought he would look so far away when his precious Lura passed away. But then his lordship has always been unpredictable. But this is quite the boon for us, you might say. Now that Vina is of royalty, we'll have more visitors and traders passing through town. And the lord will bless our crops, giving us healthier and larger produce. And the family. Treated like royalty, they will. And they just peasant farmers like us a week ago. Now they can tell the governor what to do. Probably he'll resign, and Vina's father will take his place. So many changes. . ." "Thank you." Timor interrupted. "Uh, well, we would feel better if a message was passed on from us. Where is their house?" The woman gave Timor directions, and hefted up her water jugs. She continued to the town well, chatting to herself, making sure she remembered all the details to exchange with her friends. "That's the last time ah ask a well-woman foa directions." commented Timor. "Ah believe she means we should go in that direction." He pointed east. They took the main spoke street east, and turned left at the third cross street. From there, it was easy to tell where the bride was. The townhouse had two ceremonial guards visible in front. "Are those the guards you overheard?" "No, but thea got the right armor. Look, we can watch the house from that place there." Timor pointed out a convenient tavern that was serving drinks outside at small tables. They placed themselves so they had a good view of the building. A serving girl appeared, and they ordered some ales and meatrolls. Between bites, Timor turned to Roark. "Now what?" "I don't know. I'm making this up as we go along." Fiji curled up in the middle of the small table, his tail draped over one side. Roark held on to his ale, not wanting it to get knocked off if the flikat stirred in his sleep. The wind brought delicious smells from the large cookfires the lord's chefs had started. The sun crept farther down, hasting the coming of five. They watched as various people coming to and fro. Visitors and deliverymen would approach the house. Guardsmen would confront them, and they would either be passed or turned away, depending on their business. Those that tried to sneak in around back had little luck as well, for they re-appeared very quickly. "The lord certainly is not taking any chances with his bride." "So would ya if people wanted to kill her." "Well, if one of the guards is going to kill her, he'll have to leave his post. There were three of them, you said?" "Yes, an old guy, and two younger ones." "Well, I guess then there will be two out front, and one guarding the rear. Let's wander around and see what's there." "Rather than do that, Ah'll send Fiji ta look. Ah would hate ta lose these seats." Shaking the flikat awake, he told him what they wanted him to do. Fiji got up, protesting the interruption of his nap. He took off, and headed out over the town. Following Timor's instructions, he glided over the backstreet behind the house. Sure enough, there was a single guard posted at the back. "Yup, they got one in back, like ya thought." Timor paused for a moment, his eyes unfocusing, as if looking at something far away. "No, ah don't recognize him either. "Timor, you mentioned to me when I hired you that you had some training as a mage. Remember any of it?" "Depends on what ya want. Ah was not a very good student, but ah know a little." "Do you think that you might be able to distract a guard or something?" "Ah might be able to cause him to blank out foa a while, like he might have gone to sleep." "That would be good. One of the guards will have to leave to kill the girl. We wait for him to go inside, then approach. While I distract him, you put him to sleep. We go in, and prevent the attack." "Will it work?" "Only one way to tell. Look, they should be coming soon. The assassin will probably be one of the guards in the front, so the house entrances remain guarded." "What if the back guard is the assassin? We won't see him enter the house." "Let the furball watch the back. You keep telling me how smart he is. He can come to get us if the back guard goes inside." "He can do that, and he's not a furball. He's a dependable and loyal friend." Timor told Fiji what the plan was. He chirped to himself, and took up a position on a nearby roof where he could watch the back guard's position. They didn't have to wait much longer for the guard to change. The three Timor had seen through the window came down the street. The elder and one other relieved the two guards at the front, and the third went around to the back. Timor told Roark that Fiji sees the two guards. The one that was there is leaving, and the new one is staying. In a minute the guard came around front, and all three relieved guards left. Timor glanced at the sun, and noted that they had about an hour and a half before sunset. As they waited for the guards to make their move, they noticed that the older guard was getting restless. After about 30 minutes, he finally said something to his fellow guard, and knocked on the door. He said something, and entered. Timor and Roark quickly moved up to the remaining guard. "Es'cues me, my good man. Could'ca tell the bride that her Uncle Sim'pon is here?" Roark slurred his voice, as if he had been imbibing a little too much. "Her royal highness, Vina, the princess bride, is not seeing anyone this close to the wedding. You may seek an audience with her after she is settled in with our Lord Gregory in Eastshire." "Oh, shto bad. I really hav' to tell her som'thin'." "I may relay a message for you, if it's not to long. What is it?" "Jus' dis. G'night." "Huh? What does that. . ." The guard failed to stifle a yawn. "mean?" The guard slumped forward, asleep. Roark caught him, and gently sat him down. Timor gave Roark a thumbs-up sign, and together, they rushed the door. It was unlocked, and slammed against the wall with a loud bang. Loud cries of exclamation erupted from the bride's family. "What is the meaning of this?" The bride's father demanded. "No time to explain, Pops." Timor glanced around. "Where did the guard go?" A high, piercing scream came from upstair. Timor and Roark drew their swords, snapping the peacebonding ribbons, and raced for the stairs. The father went to the door and yelled for the guards. Roark gained the lead over Timor as they ran up the stairs, and heard a second, briefer scream from behind one of the doors. Without slowing down, Roark ran into the door, smashing it open and half off it's hinges. There they found the guard struggling with a pretty blond girl. He was trying to hold her still while covering her mouth to keep her from screaming. A fancy dagger lay on the floor in front of them. "Let her go!" They commanded in unison. The guard released Vina, and lunged for the dagger. Timor placed his foot on the dagger, and the point of his sword at the guard's throat. The guard, realizing he lost, slumped to the floor, all resistance gone. Vina watched, wide-eyed, ready to scream again if needed. "It's okay, Darlin'. We won't let anyone hurt you." Roark sheathed his sword, and offered a hand to Vina to help her up. He helped her up into a chair. Timor kept his sword on the guard, but it was obvious that the fight had left him. They heard running steps on the stairs. He started to turn to the door and say something reassuring, when the two Lord's guards and three town guards burst in. "Those are the assassins!" cried the guard Timor had put to sleep, pointing at Roark and Timor. "Drop it." Commanded the town captain to Timor. Being obviously outnumbered, Timor released his sword, letting fall to the floor with a steely ring. Roark put his hands up, and felt his own sword being ripped from his scabbard. "Wait, you don't under. . . OOF." Roark groaned as a sword hilt hit him in the stomach. "Shut up. We'll show you how we treat your kind here." The town captain raised his sword to strike. "Stop!" cried Vina. "You don't understand. These two saved me from him." She pointed at the older guard, unmoved from his position on the floor. "He tried to kill me with that dagger." She indicated the one on the floor, now over to one side where it had been kicked in the fracas. The town captain looked confused. He lowered his sword. "She's confused." said the front guardsman. "Captain Engles came up here to protect her highness from these assassins." He went over to the elder guard still on the floor, and helped him up. "Isn't that right, sir?" He asked. Captain Engles didn't say anything. He was quietly sobbing. The town captain took control of the situation. "Okay, I don't know what went on here. His lordship will be here in a few minutes, and will be able to get to the truth of the matter. Roy and Taylor." He addressed the other two town guards that were keeping their swords on Roark and Timor. "You two stay here with Vina, uh, the Princess bride, and make sure nothing happens to her. Everyone else, down stairs. We'll wait for his lordship to figure this out." The town captain commandeered one of the rooms downstairs, and placed the three ceremonial guards, Timor, and Roark in the room. He placed two armed guards in the room as well, and gave orders that placed town guards around the outside of the house. The wait for the lord's arrival was quiet, the only sound coming from the sobbing Captain Engles. They heard the town captain explaining to the bride's family what had happened, and that he was waiting for his lordship to arrive. He told them that Vina was alright, and that the wedding should go as planned. As the shadows deepened, a servant went around the house lighting lamps and candles. Roark and Timor could see street lamps being lit, and that a sizable crowd had gathered outside. The town captain entered the room, and said it was time to meet his lordship. The five followed the captain out of the house, and escorted by a dozen town guards, proceeded to the market square. The square was devoid of the merchant stalls, and long tables were being set up by servants. The smells of cooking filled the town. Timor ordered Fiji to stay out of sight. The platform, now completed, dominated the square. Final decorations were in place, and torches, high in poles, provided illumination for the festivities to come. The crowd followed the precession to the square. The imminent arrival of the lord had quieted the crowd to an expectant hush. The five gathered at the base of the platform, still surrounded by the town guards. The town Captain looked west as the last of the sun vanished below the horizon, then looked expectantly at the platform. Timor felt the sudden tug of the mana field as it started swarming around the center of the platform. They all saw a slight mist appear over the platform, slowly thickening and coalescing into two forms. The crowd was absolutely quiet. The larger form was in the center, the second was to the left and behind the first form. The two forms solidified. The first was a large man, about 6'6", with the build of a strongman, and was wearing a black formal outfit and cape with red lining. The cape was pinned by a crest pin that matched the shield on the coins. He looked to be in his late forties, and his black hair had a touch of grey on the temples. He held himself with a royal bearing, and was most obviously the Lord Gregory. Timor thought there was something familiar in the way he looked. The other figure was a short man, dressed in fancy robes, and carried a book. "Oh mighty lord Gregory," intoned the Town captain, bowing low. "Welcome to our humble town. We are honored by your presence, and beg your pardon. An incident has happened, and we are in need of your divine guidance and wisdom. Please grant us your attentions." The captain waited, head down, for a reply. Lord Gregory raised an eyebrow, and spoke in a deep, powerful voice. "What is this matter that it demands my immediate attention, captain?" "Your lordship, these five men accuse each other of attempting to assassinate your bride. Your three guardsmen had apprehended these two," He pointed at Timor and Roark, "but the Princess bride Vina defends the two strangers. I beg your grace's pardon, and ask if you would clear up this mystery." The face on Lord Gregory became stern. "Those that wish my bride dead shall feel my wrath. Her saviours rewarded. Approach, and stand there." He pointed to a place on his left where the five should stand. A blue light stretched from the lord's hand, and enveloped the five accused. "Speak only the truth. A falsehood will result in your immediate doom. Captain Engles, my loyal and trusted friend. Speak first, and tell me what happened." Captain Engles collapsed to his knees. He broke out sobbing. "I'm sorry, my lord. I had no choice. I attempted to murder Princess Vina, but these two strangers prevented me from committing the foul deed. We couldn't help it, sir. She was too powerful for us to resist." Lord Gregory's face reflected shock and anger. "Who would force you to do such a thing against me? Explain." "Her ladyship Cilcia, your lordship." The lord became grim. The blue haze vanished, and in a loud, clear voice, Lord Gregory summoned Cilcia. Timor felt his lordship bend the mana to his will, and the beautiful woman Timor followed earlier suddenly appeared in front of lord Gregory. She stood, defiant in her posture. "Well, daughter. I see that you are still not happy. I will deal with you later." With that, she vanished. Timor thought he heard a distant scream echo through the mana field. The lord turned back to the now three cowering guardsmen. "You understand what I have to do, Captain?" "Yes, my lord." Captain Engles stood up, and saluted his lord. "It has been an honor to serve you, sir." "Goodbye, captain." Red lightning covered the three guardsmen. They screamed. Timor and Roark watched in horror as the three men started to age rapidly. Their bodies began to shrink, their skin wrinkling and turning yellow. Within minutes, all that remained were the suits of ceremonial armor, dust billowing out and carried aloft by the night breeze. In a softer voice, Timor and Roark heard the lord speak. "Fare thee well, where ever you go, loyal servant." Timor thought he caught a glimpse of moisture that might have been a tear emerge from his lordship's eye. His lordship turned to Roark and Timor. "I see that you two have done me a great service today. I would offer you a position as a honorary member of my ceremonial guard. It will afford a most excellent view of the wedding, and a position at the head table. Would you accept?" "Yes, lord." They said together. They bowed to his lordship. "Captain Fletcher." The town captain looked up. "See that these noble strangers are properly prepared and attired for the ceremony tonight." "Yes, oh Lord." Captain Fletcher motioned for Timor and Roark to follow him. The Lord spoke again, this time to the crowd. "I accept your welcome, people of Juniter. This incident will not reflect upon you or your fine town. Please, allow the festivities to continue." With that, the crowd applauded and cheered. Timor and Roark found themselves at the center of attention. Captain Fletcher apologized, and returned their weapons to them. The crowd began to disperse, the nervous tension beginning to dissipate in relieved celebration. Fletcher directed a couple of men to bring the armor on the platform to the barracks. Once out of the noise of the crowd, Roark and Timor finally started to relax. Timor went to a window, and Fiji rejoined his friend. Captain Fletcher offered them something to drink. "Thanks, captain." Roark accepted the drink. "Captain, would it be possible to get a snack or something? Midnight is still a ways away, and with all the excitement. . ." Timor added. Fletcher sent a man out to get food. Timor told the captain how they came across the plot to murder the bride, and what they did to prevent it. The food and armor arrived about the same time. While they ate, an armorer came in, and started to modify two of the suits to fit Timor and Roark. The time went quickly. As the armor was being fitted, Captain Fletcher instructed them in what they were supposed to do. Timor and Roark felt strange getting into armor that just a little while ago, men had died in by arcane means. Finally, the appointed hour arrived. Roark and Timor left the barracks, looking befitting as a royal escort. As they walked through the streets towards the house of the bride, the throngs of people grew silent, and parted along their path. They felt very conspicuous. "Ah hope we don't screw this up. Ah'd hate to end like the last guy who wore this armor." Timor whispered to Roark. Roark whispered back. "I know. I've never heard of a mage as powerful as him. Wow. I guess you need someone that powerful to maintain a country in the darklands." "Ya don't get that kind of control in one lifetime, that's for sure. This guy must be old. His control over the mana field is enormous. He must have found some way of extending his life." "Well, that would explain his several marriages. He outlives his wives all the time. I guess that's why he likes them young." "Ah guess. Well, here we are. Ready foa center stage?" Roark nodded. They approached the house. The crowd on each side was thick, and silent as they waited to hear the ceremonial words that would begin the wedding. Roark cleared his throat, and spoke in a clear, resonant voice. "By the power invested in me by the high lord Gregory, I command Vina, the princess bride, to come with us to the ceremonial alter, where she will become one with our lord." The door opened, and the crowd sighed as the white-gowned figure of Vina appeared. The dress was beautiful. It left her shoulders and neck bare, and set off her dainty figure well. She wore a white lace veil that dropped to her shoulders, leaving her completely covered. She slowly approached Roark and Timor. She gave them a slight smile, and mouthed a silent "Thank you" to them. The other three ceremonial guards fell in behind, and the six proceeded to the town center. The crowd followed along behind. As they walked, the silence of the crowds was unnerving. Roark felt like he was in a funeral procession more than a wedding march. He glanced at Vina, and even through the veil, she looked pale and nervous. `Only natural enough,' he thought. `Between his lordship asking her to marry him last week, and the assassination attempt this evening. It surprises me that she isn't having a hysterical breakdown right about now.' The sounds of a wedding march became audible as they approached the town center. The Lord Gregory was on the platform, off to one side. The little man that arrived with him was in the center, holding an open book. They escorted Vina up to the platform, bowed to Lord Gregory, and then to the priest. Roark and Timor climbed the steps, resisting the urge to cast a quick glance over to the spot where the assassins died. The guards spread out along the edges of the platform. Vina approached the center, and stopped in front of the priest. Lord Gregory stood to Vina's right, and nodded to the priest to begin the ceremony. It was fairly standard. Finally, it came to the end. The priest faced Lord Gregory. "Do you, Lord Gregory, take Vina for your wife, to love and cherish, to honor, and to seek for sustenance of your soul, for as long as she shall live?" "I do." The priest turned to face Vina. "Do you, Vina, take Lord Gregory, as your husband and master, to love and to cherish, and to provide sustenance for his soul, for as long as you shall live?" The silence of the crowd was intense, as if this was the time they were waiting for. In a very soft voice, Timor and Roark both heard her say "I do.", but it was doubtful that anyone else did. The priest heard, and continued with the ceremony. "I now pronounce you man and wife. Lord Gregory, you may kiss the bride." The crowd remained quite and expectant. Lord Gregory turned to face his bride, and carefully lifted her veil off, exposing her head and shoulders. Roark and Timor could see her eyes close, and she was pale and trembling slightly. Lord Gregory turned her to face him. He placed his hand on her chin, and tilted her head up and slightly to one side. He bent down to her, opened his mouth to reveal a pair of large fangs, and planted them deep into her pure, perfect neck. Vina gasped and her eyes opened as she felt the pain as his fangs entered her, but her expression quickly turned to ecstasy, and she held her lord tightly as he sucked and fed on her blood. The crowd cheered as they saw her accept her lord. Roark and Timor gasped in horror as they realized that they just sacrificed Vina to a vampire. They felt helpless, well aware of what would happen to them if they showed any sign of disgust. Lord Gregory fed for only a minute. He released her, and the priest applied a small white towel to Vina's wounds. He held it for a few seconds to allow the bleeding to stop. Then, arm in arm, Lord Gregory and Lady Vina stepped down from the platform to the head table. Timor and Roark numbly followed. The rest of the night pasted in a daze for them. They picked at their food, hunger gone with the realization that they were dining with the most foul of the undead. After a couple of hours, Lord Gregory and Lady Vina mounted the platform, and vanished into a mist. Roark and Timor made their way to the inn where their room was, and collapsed into bed. They woke late the next morning. They packed quickly, and left through the north gate. They heard there was a crossroads as one travelled north. One road lead to Lord Gregory's city, Eastshire, and the other road headed west, the way home for them. They said little until they were out of town a bit. They slowed down a bit, the fear of vampires breathing down their neck passing with the miles. Timor dug some jerky out, and passed some to Roark and Fiji. He noticed that Roark had a very grim expression. "Well, ah'm glad we're out of there. Ah'm looking forward to the savagery of the darklands after that. Imagine what a story that will make. Dining with a vampire. Ah'll never come this far east ever again. Come on, Roark, old buddy. Cheer up. It's all behind us now. Look, there's the crossroads just ahead." Roark looked, and saw the road heading west and east. He stopped, deep in thought. He turned to Timor. "It's all our fault, you know. Cilcia was trying to save Vina from her fate. It might have been better if we let her die. As it was, we handed poor Vina to that creature on a silver platter. I don't think I can ever forgive myself for what we did." "Look." Timor argued. "Clearly, they have been doing this for a long time. It would have happened with or without us. They are apparently happy with the arrangement. Who are we to judge?" "Unfortunately, it did happen with us. And it's not right that we should leave that lovely girl with that creature." "What can we do about it? Lord Gregory would turn us into liver pate' or worst if we got in his way." "I don't know, but I just can't leave her in his clutches. Coming?" "Hey, if you're heading east, Ah quit." Roark pulled out a stained parchment from his tunic, carefully unfolded it, and examined it. "It says that I gotta pay you ten percent or seventy yields before you can leave. I don't have it, so you can't quit. Come on." As the two started heading down the eastward road, Timor mumbled. "Who wrote that stupid contract, anyway?" "You did." "Shit."