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From: stiltman@teleport.com (Stilt Man)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [Tor][AD] The Price of Relics
Date: 1 May 1995 22:47:39 -0700
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[ADMIN:  Well, now that we are getting down to actually having a plan for
where we're going with this towards the end of the thread, we can now post
this little piece.  Credits go to Corey Venour and Alex Young for critical
remarks, stroking my ego over that last Tor/AD post (which I sincerely hope
was as much fun for you guys to read as it was for me to write) and for
various other assorted moral supports.]

[ADMIN2:  To clarify, this piece does in fact take place after the piece
I posted yesterday for the Y't thread.  Kryalla does actually have some
priorities other than dealing with Arcania, as there actually are more
enemies she keeps track of than our favorite nymph-tyrant.  This post,
the Y't post from yesterday, the entirety of my writings for the BBD-DS-AD-
Tor storyline, as well as many others such as the Tolvaj thread, Cernborn
thread, and Faith thread, are all available either directly or indirectly
from my home page dealing with this newsgroup, known as the Unlight Zone.
It is to be found at http://www.teleport.com/~stiltman/stories.html.  It
is a sub-page of my main home page, so if you get confused about that, this
is why it acts like one.  :)  Roll tape . . . ]


The dwarven chieftain known as Gimgul allowed the distraction of the
ebon bird flying overhead to take his attention away from the ebon-armored
warrior that sat across the table from him.  He liked this not, this dark
armored knight who called himself Lord Kronos, coming to speak with him
without the knowledge of King Shorag.  It smacked of treachery.

"You understand the problem we face?" Kronos said, reminding him of his
presence.

"You bring disturbing news, mighty general," said Gimgul, nodding his
apology for his lapse.  He feared this man, for he seemed not wholly
natural in his ways.  The wheezing of the man's breathing, as though he
were but moments from death every instant, unnerved the dwarf.  His personal
guard that surrounded the table also shifted nervously at the presence of
this Lord Kronos.  "You speak of the betrayal of the dwarven people by its
own king.  To harbor such beliefs might be construed as treason by suspicious
minds."

The deep monotone of Kronos' voice responded, "Your fealty to the Empire
stands higher than that to your own king, as well you know."  Kronos hissed
a moment, then resumed speaking.  "This High Dragon Lord, we think, means
to subjugate your people in support of his planned rebellion.  Already he
has asked the Empress for autonomy over this region as its new Duke."

"Which means that, for him to fully claim the title, he must first break us
to heel," said Gimgul.  "You realize that our fealty to the Empress is not
as strong as you might like to believe.  We only have promised non-agression.
We have made no vows of subservience."

"Perhaps the Empress feels differently," said Kronos.  He allowed that to
sink in for a moment, then continued.  "You cannot afford to allow your people
to be divided betwixt your erstwhile king and the Empire.  The king means to
join Talan's rebellion after a false pretense of resistance, then join in
open revolt against the Empire."  The helm covering Kronos' head inclined a
slight amount, drawing Gimgul's attention closer.  "Any dwarves who seek to
maintain the sanctity of their own against this edict by your scheming ruler
may find it dangerous to remain in these hills."

Gimgul conjured the image of dwarves turned upon dwarves, with dragons
enforcing the will of their rulers, for his own mind's eye.  He did not
like the thought whatsoever.  "I will keep your offer in mind.  For now,
it is time to eat.  We will discuss this further at a later time."

"You may depend on it," responded Kronos, and with a final hiss of his
ghastly breath, rose to leave.

			=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Thrull sat upon a rock not far away from the location of the meeting.  He
had been brought along as per his obligation to Kronos, but he liked this
not.  The terms of his hiring had been to find Kryalla Simuel, to aid Kronos
in disposing of the Shrouded One's resistance to the Empress.  Since their
return from Tor'el, little such had been worked towards, and instead Kronos
acted as an envoy to these contemptible little creatures.

"Soralus," came the silken voice, almost as if it were whispered in his
very ear.  Thrull rose, the hilt of Aldorshennibon coming into his huge hands
reflexively, his head turning on its thick neck to see whence that hated voice
had uttered his original, forgotten name he had been given at birth.

"Show yourself, witch," snarled Thrull, looking about for the familiar woman
whose face he knew even better than his own.  "Your tricks shall not save you
from being held to account for what you have done to me."

Reality seemed to bend and warp around him, the world becoming a surreal
landscape before his very eyes.  "You are mistaken, Soralus Thrull," said
the voice of Kryalla Simuel.  "I come not to fight.  I come to treat with
you."

Thrull could feel the sword in his hands burrowing into his brain, trying to
keep his mind solely on the woman he meant to kill on its behalf.  Rage at
the intrusion burned within him, and he was permitted a moment of free thought.
"I refuse to treat with the witch who inflicted this weapon upon me!" he
shrieked at the twisted world.  "Have you no thought for the price that must
be paid to merely hold such sorcery in your hands?  Have you no care for the
penalty, the burden such an ensorceled item brings to its chosen slave?"  The
red flecks swarmed like angry hornets in his black eyes as he searched for his
enemy.

"I am aware of your pains," responded the voice, prompting him to swing blindly
at the air, hoping to strike her with its lethal edge.  "I know them myself."

"How can you know anything like what this demon-sorcery brings?!"

"I deal with its kin every moment, waking or sleeping, that I live," responded
Kryalla.  A slender, gloved hand seemed to appear briefly, touching him lightly
on the wrist.  The fire of Aldorshennibon drained away from him, drawn into
her like tainted blood from a festering wound.

The sword came up of its own accord, refusing to relinquish its hold upon
the man who held it.  Kryalla's eyes widened, and she hurled herself away
from him before the blade of Aldorshennibon came around.  The Shroud curled
up behind her, her hand throwing it between her and danger out of reflex, and
the weapon sliced through it much as a normal sword cuts through a normal
cloak.

Then something strange happened.  The Shroud seemed to burst into flames.

Kryalla seized the garment in her hands, panic rising in her eyes as she
faded from view.  The flames did not, however, and Thrull took a step forward
in the surreal world, seeking to run her down and destroy her, take his
vengeance upon her for inflicting the sword upon him.

Kryalla attempted to roll the burning part of the Shroud up, seeking to
smother the flames, but still the flames continued to consume the Shroud
slowly, scalding her hand for daring to interfere.  She could sense the
defensive magic of the Shroud battling furiously with the destructive
forces unleashed by the touch of Aldorshennibon.  Realizing from the eyes
of Thrull following her every movement despite her attempts to conceal
herself that this flame was like a beacon even to his untrained eyes, she
resorted to more desperate measures.  Drawing her crimson-hilted katana from 
its scabbard, she raised it high and sliced it through the fabric of her
own cloak.  For a moment the Shroud resisted the cut, then seemed to accept
the adamantine weapon's aid.  The burning portion of the Shroud was cut away,
and was reduced to parchment-fine ash in seconds.  The rest of the Shroud
began to reform itself as per its norm, the danger past.

A shrieking sound came to her ears, setting them ringing.  The protests of
the Shroud from its wound bombarded her thoughts, interfering with her
concentration.  The twisted reality that kept him from seeing clearly, that
aided her concealment, began to sort itself out into normalcy once more.
With a great effort of will, she shut the keening sound from her mind,
demanding its cooperation in this battle lest it be hurt again.  The Shroud
seemed to wimper for a while in her head, then conceded, closing its protective
coils about her thoughts once more.

Thrull saw the folds of reality begin to shape themselves into the world he
knew, then twist back into wierdness swiftly.  He felt the gentle hand
reaching into his mind, felt the fire of Aldorshennibon rise again to burn
it from him.  The hand ceased to be gentle and became a smashing fist,
stamping away the flames within his head in curt, hard motions.  Thrull
staggered with every pulse of pain in his skull, his eyes losing all sense
of what little reality was available to him.  At last, Aldorshennibon
released him to the Shrouded One, and the fires within his brain died down.
His thoughts cleared, and for now, his will was his own once more.  The sword
fell to the ground beside him.  Bereft of anything of either natural or
unnatural life to destroy, the green flames of the demonic blade died down.

"I know the agonies that you must face from this thing of magic," said Kryalla.
The familiar woman stepped from the void, it seemed, and pulled the hood of
the Shroud from her head, shaking her shoulder-length ebon hair free.  "I
must struggle with such forces as well, every living moment."

Soralus' eyes widened, the red flecks dancing in surprise as they met her
black eyes.  "I had not thought that the Shroud had such influence over you."

Kryalla Simuel shrugged.  "I am sorry for the pain I have brought you.  You
realize that I could not allow one who might be able to make the sword heel
to his will to have it."  She turned away, saddened by what she was about to
reveal.  "I gave it to you because you could only exert enough power over it,
could only wield its black forces strongly enough to keep it from more capable
hands."

Soralus thought of that, his inward resentment at having anything to do with
sorcery, the superstitions of his barbar-bred nature, somewhat tamed by his
longtime exposure to Aldorshennibon.  She had a rationale, though it was
coldly detached from consideration for what it might put him through.

"Can you not at least train me, to strengthen my power to resist this thing's
lure, if I am fated to be burdened with it forever?" Thrull demanded.

Kryalla turned back toward him, their twin pairs of black eyes meeting.  "To
do so risks that you might be able to use more of its power."

"I have no intent of doing so," said Soralus.  "The foul thing twists all I
do with it to its own purposes.  Even do I attempt good with it, evil comes of
it nonetheless."

Kryalla examined his face, water coming to her eyes.  He looked into those
obsidian orbs, surprised that she was showing feelings.  The glacial beauty
of her face twisted with remorse for a moment, then shaped itself back into
the icy visage he knew well.

"I can give you the training you need, to strengthen your will so that you
might resist its mesmerism more successfully," said Kryalla.  "However . . .
to do so without placing a geas upon you, to prevent you from using aught
of its power that you do not now know . . ."

"I could still bear the burden, could prevent it from doing greater harm either
by my own hand or another's," said Soralus thoughtfully.  He felt the mind fire
burning from the sword on the ground beside him, frantically trying to salvage
some portion of its control over him.

"Yet you would pose no greater threat with it than before, less even, since
its ability to influence you would be weak," observed Kryalla.  "I made a
mistake in giving you the blade without teaching you to bear it without
succumbing to its unholy will.  I apologize for my error."  She swallowed.
"I will do my best to rectify it . . . but I ask one thing in return."

"Name it," said Soralus.

"You will leave the service of Lord Kronos, and accompany me.  Methinks there
will be need for that blade, and an owner that can keep its madness in check,"
said Kryalla.

"I have already accepted his pay," said Soralus.

"It is your decision," said Kryalla.

Soralus clenched his fists.  The grief, the guilt of literally thousands of
souls wiped from existence by the insane hunger of the demon sword, would not
soon leave his brow.  All his years in which he had called himself Thrull,
he had hardened himself to grief, channeled it into rage for this woman who
could not feel his pain.  Now, with the sword no longer firing his brain,
he longed for a chance to somehow make amends for the evil the sword had done
with him.

He gave way to it for a moment.  The warped perceptions around him seemed to
turn to a river of blood, washing over him, drowning him in the shed carmine
of all those the blade had destroyed in his hands.  For a moment he thought
he would die under the torrent, and then he felt the gloved hand on his
forehead, and the river of blood's course changed, seemed to flow into that
hand instead.  One by one, the faces of those he had killed -- he allowed
himself to admit it, *he* had killed them -- vanished from his mind for a
time, allowing him to think clearly through the haze.

He opened his dark blue eyes, looking at Kryalla with them.  She threw the
hood of the Shroud over her head once more, and reached down with a velvet
gloved hand and took Aldorshennibon in it.  She staggered a moment, her
eyes going unfocused for a moment.  It seemed to Soralus as though she was
caught in the middle of a battle of the mind, as the mysterious Shroud
combatted this new force that called itself Aldorshennibon for control.
For a moment she reeled, and then she stood upright again, her eyes becoming
clear once more.  Soralus wondered who had won . . . the Shroud, or her?

			=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Lord Kronos' eyes narrowed as he looked about.  He could not find Thrull
anywhere.  It was time to return to Thyaris, and the infernal bodyguard
was nowhere to be found.  This was hardly a time to disappear, the Highlord
muttered.

Then he saw the handful of gems lying upon the ground, and understood.  The
memory of the ebon bird flying overhead came back to him, and abruptly he
realized that she had been here.  It was the only explanation for Thrull's
disappearance.  He reached out with his mind, attempting to locate either
the surpassing evil of Aldorshennibon or the confused, broken mind of Thrull
that accompanied it.  He found no trace of either.

Snarling audibly, he accepted the reality of it, and prepared for his return
to the Empress.


+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+
+	Kryalla Simuel the Shrouded One			  +
+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+
+       . . . scribed by the Stilt Man,			  +
+		stiltman@teleport.com			  +
+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+