Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison) Subject: [Party] [AU] Kadrys: Many Meetings Message-ID: References: <1993Mar30.001200.11940@atlantis.uucp> Date: Sun, 11 Apr 1993 03:26:22 GMT aaron@atlantis.uucp (Aaron Humphrey) writes: >ADMIN: Okay, after this the party is over, right? I'm just tying things up, >and I've been putting off writing this post because of Civilization, and my >feed died for a few days...okay, enough apologies. On with the prose. Oh, >and I really >do< need another character. I was running low... No, because there's still some of us at the ends of the earth who have EVEN SLOWER net access than others. So this is posted for Andrea Evans. === As the daylight strengthened, glinting in countless tiny sparks of colour in the carpet of dewdrops on Luthor and Serene's lawn, the last few party guests took their leave. Kadrys slipped away silently, having no desire to trouble his hosts further. Luthor was considerateness itself and Serene was unfailingly cheerful and open, but it had been a very long day and night for them both, and they deserved to be left in peace. He threaded his way on foot through the streets of the Elvish quarter, along elegantly meandering avenues whose curves were dictated by the lie of the land and the patterns of growth of the trees, rather than any preference for an imposed geometric street grid. Passing so many elves on his way, the local elvish language rippling in his ears at every turn, Kadrys could not prevent himself from wondering about the elf he had met at the party: such an odd name, just 'sage', and always with that pause in front of it, a pause that had the sound of words unsaid. And this '...sage' was evidently an archmage, no less a person than Mage Guild's chief Librarian. Kadrys had, in sheer self-defence, learned a surprising amount about magic down the ages (though he was no practitioner of the art). He knew very well that running a magical library offered rather more mental and physical hazards than would a stint in Trawm's fighting pit, capped with a game of chess with Finvarra, the lord of Faerie. But it was none of these attributes, remarkable as they were, that drew Kadrys' mind back again and again to their meeting. No, it was the terrible precision with which ...sage's face had revived, in the cruel mirror of youth, the visage of an elf dead countless years, the one true friend Kadrys had ever known as living man. ...sage's eerie resemblance to Elirivar, right down to those blank and blinded eyes, had shocked something deep within Kadrys: in itself no usual event. Again the image of the original rose to the vampire's mind: Elirivar, his foundling, his partner in crime, his tatane'ya (foster father). Kadrys shook his head in impatience. Useless to speculate, for now. Interestingly, ...sage had in turn seemed eager to speak privately with him, and had said that he would get in touch with Kadrys as soon as business permitted. Kadrys resolved with a mental shrug to let matters rest there. --- Absorbed in his own concerns, he had not paid much attention to the fading of the stately avenues of the elvish quarter into Generica's more commonplace streets, the thronging of the ways with ever more traffic, the littering of the cobbles with less picturesque things than dead leaves. But soon the odd restlessness that he had experienced upon rising from his recent "sleep" gradually made itself felt once more. His introspective mood faded, and he found himself taking a keen interest in the jostling activity, in the people that surrounded him on all sides. Yes, it was noisy, crowded and not all that clean. But, unlike the Elvish district, these were streets he understood in the marrow of his gutter-born bones. Human streets. Low streets. Though there was nothing remotely comforting in them to the eye, their familiarity, from the whores in the upper storey windows to the beggars underfoot, made them seem almost homely to Kadrys. A small knot of urchins spilled out of an alley, falling into a brawling knot at his feet. He stepped around the obstruction and moved on, not looking back. When the tiny grubby hand reached for his pocket he grabbed it without breaking stride, compelling the lad to scamper to stay afoot. If the boy had expected help, he was due for a disappointment. At the first sound of his howl of surprise and fear, the others vanished like water on red-hot iron. Though the boy had the wiry strength of hard living, though his body was covered with a thick layer of greasy dirt that had helped him wriggle out of a 'nab' in the past, his struggles were in vain. Beneath his first panic, his flood of venomous swearing, the worrying realisation struck him that the hand was not even gripping hard enough to hurt him. It was just not possible to loosen those fingers by a hair. It was like trying to break the hand of a statue. Kadrys dragged the boy into an empty side street before finally glancing down, studying the urchin's face with mild curiosity. "What is your name?" Kadrys murmured. Nothing in those quiet tones suggested irritation or even surprise at the attempted thievery. His immovable grip on the child's wrist did not tighten, but neither did it loosen. The boy continued his frantic wriggling and kicking and scratching, all of it entirely without effect. Only when he tried to bite the imprisoning hand did the man's other hand clamp itself to his head, push it away. "I said, what is your name?" No change at all in the even tones. The lad ceased his struggle, bracing his bare feet and standing as tall as he could. His pinched, grimy face was full of defiance. Only his rapid breathing, the sound of his pounding heart, the scent of adrenalin and sweat told Kadrys of the boy's terror. The boy drew a deep breath, summoning all his courage, then suddenly spat on the cobbles at Kadrys' feet, the old street gesture meaning 'You aren't even good enough to spit on!' Kadrys nodded as if the gesture confirmed something. "Good. You've learned at least that much. Names are power. Never give yours to strangers." After a pause while he studied the boy's face, he continued. "You've also learned not to make a show of your fear. So. At least you're not _totally_ incompetent." At the word, the hand on the boy's wrist tightened for a moment, just hard enough to make the joints grind without causing real pain. "That was the most sadly bungled attempt at a dip that I've seen in quite a while." Kadrys resumed, his tones oddly reminiscent of a schoolmaster, lecturing an errant pupil. The boy took in the words and the manner, and frowned in bewilderment. 'Th' mark ain't stropped 'bout gett'n dipped? He's frothin' cuz I crutched it up? Mus' be a pick short of a kit. Or else, ohshit he's a Guilder 'n' he's gunna cut me f'r freedippin'...' Kadrys' voice interrupted the boy's thoughts. "Because you've learned to hide your name, and more because you've learned to hide your fear, I'm going to give you a very precious prize. More precious than any purse, to you at least. Your life..." Hearing these words, the boy released his breath in inaudible relief. "_Don't_ relax! Not _ever_!" Kadrys snapped savagely, lunging low and thrusting his face toward the boy's. He watched in satisfaction as the wariness, the guarded terror rushed back. He hissed rapidly, viciously, sparing the boy nothing: "Frankly, I don't think you'll hang onto your useless life more than a year if you don't pick up a clue or ten. So listen, scum. Learn your craft, and you just might live. Fail, and die. Oh, not fast though, not pretty. Choking out your own black tongue on the end of a hangman's rope. Gutted on a guard's sword. Dissected slowly by a mage with an interest in anatomy, or in pain..." Hearing the words, somehow the boy knew, _knew_ in the depths of his being, they were the whole, brutal truth. Street truth. Watch, listen, learn, and live. Laze, skive, bignote, and die. Learn, live. Laze, die. Without warning, Kadrys opened his hands, spun the boy around and shoved him out of the alley into the street. The lad fled in a blur of skinny limbs, running without looking back. Kadrys leaned on the alley wall and watched the boy out of sight. The savagery had vanished from him without trace, and he nodded to himself in sombre satisfaction. 'He'll live now, and prosper, because of that lesson. Fear can be a gift of life, wherever carelessness means death...' He walked out of the alley, grinning whitely as a thought struck him: 'I wonder if he'll ever look back on that gift with the gratitude it deserves? Hah, perhaps I should've called out after him "You'll thank me for that someday..."' Shaking his head and chuckling acerbically, Kadrys walked on, until the streets of the Low City were left behind. --- Kadrys sauntered down the Arcade of Fountains, listening with a grin to the incongruous snatches of conversation that drifted past his ears. ... "So I said to him, 'If your fruit can't stand up to a little squeeze, then it's too ripe to buy anyway!' Made him go more purple than his grapes, _I_ can tell you!" ... "That's the third godsdamned arrow that's splintered on me this month. And it's always the same old excuse: 'You can't get the wood, you know'" ... "Well I up 'n' told 'im straight, 'If you cut that ale any more, Tomtom Thunderbuster, me 'n' my axe'll cut you!'" ... "My dear, you simply _must_ come to Lady Fen-Higshaw's At-home next Fiveday. Yes, I know about your camellias, and lovely they are I'm sure, but you'll just have to trust your gardener with them this once!" ... "Get that animal out of my fount-... oh, uhm... sorry..." That last one made Kadrys turn his head, look back down the street towards a garden behind a high stone wall. Suddenly, a white shape came vaulting effortlessly over the wall, to land with only a light click of hooves on the cobbles. Kadrys blinked in disbelief. A unicorn! Instantly he slipped aside into the shadow cast by a widely-spreading oak near one of the stately homes. Kadrys believed in discretion where unicorns were concerned. They had a distressing tendency to try to impale him on their horns: a danger perhaps even more, well, _grave_ than any wooden stake. Still, as he watched, the wariness ebbed away from his stance. _This_ unicorn was no more than a filly: barely half the size she would be when adult. She was evidently quite unaware of his presence: dancing round on tiny cloven hooves, leaping in and out of fountain after fountain for all the world like a carefree child skipping in rainfilled guttering. As he watched her leaping and prancing in yet another one of the arcade's fountains, the air around her filled with glittering droplets as pristine as diamonds, he found himself actually smiling with shared happiness. Watching her antics, basking in the sheer, simple pleasure in living that poured from her, his own spirits rose in response. Now he remained in hiding, not to protect himself, but to protect her, her joyousness, from the blight of his presence. He stood and watched her as she dwindled into the distance, before continuing on his own way.