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<blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 4701793" data-attributes="member: 61094"><p><strong>Marching East</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><strong>DARREN SPENDS MUCH</strong></span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> of his time in Cannedun’s traveling workshop, which is also on the outskirts of the main army. The young Senalline has always been an inventor, but his gadgets have been fairly simple – spring-driven noisemakers, for example, to entertain children or distract guards. During the long march east, he devises a more ambitious invention: a small but powerful spring-loaded needle shooter, which he can attach to his arm and hide under his sleeve. When he’s not repairing saddle or armor fastenings, he practices his aim with the concealed device, sometimes wearing his dwarrow medallion to sense the air currents and increase the distance at which he can hit a warm target with a needle.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">One evening, while Darren is laughing at Mullod’s banter with Cannedun, he suddenly hears a familiar tentative voice that sends his heart into his throat. “Shipboy?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Calla!” Darren jumps up, beaming, to see the blonde d’Aramant girl hovering at the edge of the firelight. “Welcome! Are you all right? It’s... I haven’t seen you since the Ball.” His own efforts to locate her have been fruitless; the young d’Aramants have been particularly nasty to outsiders since Avric’s death, and Nina has advised Darren to keep his distance from the whole clan.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“I’m fine,” Calla says, glancing around. “I don’t think my cousins will come down this way, and they’re used to me wandering off in Lynar. And my uncle... uncle Mercon... is with the outriders.” Her eyes search his face to see if there’s any fear or reluctance when she mentions her formidable guardian.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Darren’s grin never falters. “I’m so glad you found us. You haven’t met my friends. This is my teacher, Cannedun, and Mullod of the gray dwarrow.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Mullod chortles as he sweeps into a bow. “Honored to meet you, lass. I saw you down at the <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4422228-post31.html" target="_blank">docks</a> in Lynar. Looked like you were talking a lot about the ships, but our lad here seemed a bit distracted – I would wager he was looking more at you than at anything else.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Calla smiles but reddens, while a flustered Darren ushers them all into Cannedun’s workshop. Over the next few weeks, the diffident Calla visits them there as often as she can steal away from her family. She and Darren talk for hours about everything that excites and fascinates them in the world – while studiously avoiding any mention of her family, General Mercon, or any of the other reasons that they can only meet in the safety of the dwarrow workshop.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><strong>MEANWHILE IN THE</strong></span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> mercenary camp, an anonymous Atrix has restrained himself from too much sword practice, lest his reputation get up to the main camp. With his health fully returned, though, he is chafing at his inactivity. Then one day he spots a graceful young mercenary who wears not only a pair of sabers similar to Atrix’s, but a bandolier of thick steel rings – which Atrix realizes with a start are torcs exactly like the one worn by Shect.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The muscular, black-haired swordsman turns sharply when he senses Atrix’s eyes on him. “Yes?” His fluid accent places him as a Caragond, from the easternmost of the civilized nations. He can not be more than two or three years older than Atrix.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“I’ve never seen a man wear more than one of those,” says Atrix mildly, gesturing at the torcs. “Or wear it like a trophy rather than a collar.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The youth regards Atrix warily but with obvious pride. “Then you have never before encountered a di Ferrau.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Ferrau?” The name sounds extremely familiar, but Atrix can’t quite place it.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“I am Lucian di Tosca di Ferrau. Three of these were taken by my grandfather Ferrau, two by my father.” Lucian shrugs. “So far I only have the one. There are fewer Scarth-masters afoot than in my grandfather’s day. But then, I am still young.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Two things occur to Atrix at the same time. The first is that before Atrix’s birth, his d’Loriad grandfather was killed in a duel by a Caragond sellsword named Ferrau over some obscure point of honor. The second is that Atrix feels an instant liking to this Swordsmark-killing, arrogant young mercenary. It only takes a moment to shrug off the ancient family history that might have separated them. “I might have to start a collection of my own. I inconvenienced a Swordsmark some months ago, and I understand he’s still looking for me.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Really?” Lucian regards Atrix with a new interest. “If he’s looking for you, he’s likely to find you eventually. Are you ready?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Atrix shrugs. “Perhaps you can tell me, di Ferrau.” The two of them head to a sheltered depression outside the camp and spar – Lucian with twin sabers, Atrix with his saber and parrying dagger. Atrix realizes at once that his opponent is an extraordinary swordsman: quick, nearly as strong as Ontaya, and clearly benefiting from years of intensive practice with experts. Only Atrix’s exceptional dexterity and the tricks he learned from Kemeras allow him to hold his own. He also catches Lucian off guard with the hidden spring-loaded prongs of his parrying dagger, which flick out to trap one of Lucian’s blades.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“A clever little ploy,” Lucian laughs. “With a bit of luck and a lot more practice, you might come out alive when your Swordsmark finds you.” He and Atrix begin meeting regularly on the outskirts of the mercenary camp for sword exercises and sparring. Atrix doesn’t share his true identity with his new Caragond friend, but he does introduce Lucian to Darren, Carwyn, Jaron, and Kay on the rare occasions that his old friends sneak away to visit him.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><strong>NINA IN THE</strong></span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> guise of Anseron has become one of Agerain’s closest confidants. The two young men spend most of their time together – except when Agerain goes to confer with a family elder, such as one of the Generals, who might see through Nina’s cover identity. The other young d’Aramant cousins begin quietly approaching “Anseron” when they have a favor to ask of the increasingly snappish Agerain. Nina continues to ply Agerain with questions about his vision of a Senallin where the other families are subordinated to strong d’Aramant leadership. While Agerain’s comments and responses are often somewhat brutal, nothing he says indicates anything as grand as a plot to kill General Marcor d’Syrnon.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">As Nina spends his days sharing Agerain’s frustrations, jokes, and plans, he realizes that he has become the closest thing that the young lord has to a genuine friend. Their initial encounter, when Nina so spectacularly beat Alan and Atrix at the <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4438128-post32.html" target="_blank">fencing ground</a>, left Agerain with a respect for Nina which undercut his usual bullying arrogance and made a real friendship possible. Nina finds himself troubled by guilt over the scale of his betrayal, and uncertain about the rationale for remaining in his disguise<em>. If it isn’t the d’Aramants who were trying to kill Marcor, what’s the point of continuing to exploit Agerain’s trust – and how long can I keep it up before someone sees through me?</em></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="havenstone, post: 4701793, member: 61094"] [b]Marching East[/b] [FONT=Verdana][B]DARREN SPENDS MUCH[/B][/FONT][FONT=Verdana] of his time in Cannedun’s traveling workshop, which is also on the outskirts of the main army. The young Senalline has always been an inventor, but his gadgets have been fairly simple – spring-driven noisemakers, for example, to entertain children or distract guards. During the long march east, he devises a more ambitious invention: a small but powerful spring-loaded needle shooter, which he can attach to his arm and hide under his sleeve. When he’s not repairing saddle or armor fastenings, he practices his aim with the concealed device, sometimes wearing his dwarrow medallion to sense the air currents and increase the distance at which he can hit a warm target with a needle.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]One evening, while Darren is laughing at Mullod’s banter with Cannedun, he suddenly hears a familiar tentative voice that sends his heart into his throat. “Shipboy?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Calla!” Darren jumps up, beaming, to see the blonde d’Aramant girl hovering at the edge of the firelight. “Welcome! Are you all right? It’s... I haven’t seen you since the Ball.” His own efforts to locate her have been fruitless; the young d’Aramants have been particularly nasty to outsiders since Avric’s death, and Nina has advised Darren to keep his distance from the whole clan.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I’m fine,” Calla says, glancing around. “I don’t think my cousins will come down this way, and they’re used to me wandering off in Lynar. And my uncle... uncle Mercon... is with the outriders.” Her eyes search his face to see if there’s any fear or reluctance when she mentions her formidable guardian.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Darren’s grin never falters. “I’m so glad you found us. You haven’t met my friends. This is my teacher, Cannedun, and Mullod of the gray dwarrow.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Mullod chortles as he sweeps into a bow. “Honored to meet you, lass. I saw you down at the [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4422228-post31.html"]docks[/URL] in Lynar. Looked like you were talking a lot about the ships, but our lad here seemed a bit distracted – I would wager he was looking more at you than at anything else.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Calla smiles but reddens, while a flustered Darren ushers them all into Cannedun’s workshop. Over the next few weeks, the diffident Calla visits them there as often as she can steal away from her family. She and Darren talk for hours about everything that excites and fascinates them in the world – while studiously avoiding any mention of her family, General Mercon, or any of the other reasons that they can only meet in the safety of the dwarrow workshop.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][B]MEANWHILE IN THE[/B][/FONT][FONT=Verdana] mercenary camp, an anonymous Atrix has restrained himself from too much sword practice, lest his reputation get up to the main camp. With his health fully returned, though, he is chafing at his inactivity. Then one day he spots a graceful young mercenary who wears not only a pair of sabers similar to Atrix’s, but a bandolier of thick steel rings – which Atrix realizes with a start are torcs exactly like the one worn by Shect.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The muscular, black-haired swordsman turns sharply when he senses Atrix’s eyes on him. “Yes?” His fluid accent places him as a Caragond, from the easternmost of the civilized nations. He can not be more than two or three years older than Atrix.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I’ve never seen a man wear more than one of those,” says Atrix mildly, gesturing at the torcs. “Or wear it like a trophy rather than a collar.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The youth regards Atrix warily but with obvious pride. “Then you have never before encountered a di Ferrau.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Ferrau?” The name sounds extremely familiar, but Atrix can’t quite place it.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I am Lucian di Tosca di Ferrau. Three of these were taken by my grandfather Ferrau, two by my father.” Lucian shrugs. “So far I only have the one. There are fewer Scarth-masters afoot than in my grandfather’s day. But then, I am still young.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Two things occur to Atrix at the same time. The first is that before Atrix’s birth, his d’Loriad grandfather was killed in a duel by a Caragond sellsword named Ferrau over some obscure point of honor. The second is that Atrix feels an instant liking to this Swordsmark-killing, arrogant young mercenary. It only takes a moment to shrug off the ancient family history that might have separated them. “I might have to start a collection of my own. I inconvenienced a Swordsmark some months ago, and I understand he’s still looking for me.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Really?” Lucian regards Atrix with a new interest. “If he’s looking for you, he’s likely to find you eventually. Are you ready?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Atrix shrugs. “Perhaps you can tell me, di Ferrau.” The two of them head to a sheltered depression outside the camp and spar – Lucian with twin sabers, Atrix with his saber and parrying dagger. Atrix realizes at once that his opponent is an extraordinary swordsman: quick, nearly as strong as Ontaya, and clearly benefiting from years of intensive practice with experts. Only Atrix’s exceptional dexterity and the tricks he learned from Kemeras allow him to hold his own. He also catches Lucian off guard with the hidden spring-loaded prongs of his parrying dagger, which flick out to trap one of Lucian’s blades.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“A clever little ploy,” Lucian laughs. “With a bit of luck and a lot more practice, you might come out alive when your Swordsmark finds you.” He and Atrix begin meeting regularly on the outskirts of the mercenary camp for sword exercises and sparring. Atrix doesn’t share his true identity with his new Caragond friend, but he does introduce Lucian to Darren, Carwyn, Jaron, and Kay on the rare occasions that his old friends sneak away to visit him.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][B]NINA IN THE[/B][/FONT][FONT=Verdana] guise of Anseron has become one of Agerain’s closest confidants. The two young men spend most of their time together – except when Agerain goes to confer with a family elder, such as one of the Generals, who might see through Nina’s cover identity. The other young d’Aramant cousins begin quietly approaching “Anseron” when they have a favor to ask of the increasingly snappish Agerain. Nina continues to ply Agerain with questions about his vision of a Senallin where the other families are subordinated to strong d’Aramant leadership. While Agerain’s comments and responses are often somewhat brutal, nothing he says indicates anything as grand as a plot to kill General Marcor d’Syrnon.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]As Nina spends his days sharing Agerain’s frustrations, jokes, and plans, he realizes that he has become the closest thing that the young lord has to a genuine friend. Their initial encounter, when Nina so spectacularly beat Alan and Atrix at the [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4438128-post32.html"]fencing ground[/URL], left Agerain with a respect for Nina which undercut his usual bullying arrogance and made a real friendship possible. Nina finds himself troubled by guilt over the scale of his betrayal, and uncertain about the rationale for remaining in his disguise[I]. If it isn’t the d’Aramants who were trying to kill Marcor, what’s the point of continuing to exploit Agerain’s trust – and how long can I keep it up before someone sees through me?[/I][/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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