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From: cgirard@metz.une.edu.au (The Blade of Malchrntyne)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [T&R] Genesis of Timelord: Part 7 (final)
Message-ID: <1851@grivel.une.edu.au>
Date: 31 Aug 93 07:46:44 GMT
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	The docks had been guarded, and now Timelord staggered through forest
again, the arrow in his thigh and sword cut across his ribs causing him to
nearly black out.  He knew he was leaving a trail anyone could follow but he
had no choice but to put as much space between him and his pursuers as possible.
	He fell heavily, then forced himself to get up and run again.  A
second time he found himself on the ground, but this time was forced to crawl,
having no strength left to get up.  He could hear his pursuers getting closer,
but everything seemed strangely abstract, as if it wasn't real.  He knew he
was fading quickly, but still he crawled onwards.
	His arms felt like lead.  It was a tremendous effort just to pick each
one up and crawl a few feet.  The sounds were getting closer.
	Then hands were upon him, and darkness descended.

	Timelord woke in a wood paneled room that was rocking slightly to and
fro.  He sat up carefully, wincing at the pain in his side and leg.  His 
wounds had been bandaged with white linen, and Timelord wondered who had
(apparently) rescued him.
	His unspoken question was answered a few moments later when the
door to the room opened and a figure stepped through.  The old man was dressed
in flowing light blue robes, and his white beard reached his chest.  He was
tall, having to duck to enter the room, but seemed unthreatening.
	"Well," he said eyeing Timelord, " I see that you have finally awoken.
Good.  It has been several days since I found you in the forests."  He moved
over to Timelord and began to examine his bandages.
	"I thank you," replied Timelord, somewhat confused, "I owe you my
life.  But where are we?"
	"The open sea," the man replied without looking up.  "I am taking you
home."
	"But, but how do you know where I lived?" stammered Timelord, "and
how..."
	"Calmly, calmly," he interrupted.  "You talked much in your delirium,
and made mention of many things.  Now, sleep.  You still have much strength
to regain."
	Timelord felt his eyes growing heavy.  Despite all the questions he
had, he fell quickly into a dreamless sleep.

	In a few days he was strong enough to leave his cabin.  He made his
way onto the deck still limping slightly and looked about.
	The boat was around forty feet in length, with a single mast bearing
full sail in the light breeze.  The cabin from which he emerged was part
of the only structure above the decks, which seemed large enough to hold
another cabin and the galley.  The rest of the deck was bare, with a single
hatch towards the prow leading presumably to the hold.
	The old man was standing near the prow, staring out to sea.  Timelord
made his way towards him, and he turned at the sound of his approach.
	He said something, but Timelord couldn't understand him.  The language
sounded vaguely familiar, and Timelord frowned as he tried to think where he
had heard it before.
	"You can't remember, can you?" said the old man, suddenly reverting
to the language of the island.  Timelord shook his head.
	"I just asked you how you were feeling this morning," the old man 
said, staring intently at him, "in Generican."
	Timelord looked at him in shock, unable to think.  The old man 
gripped him lightly by the shoulder and smiled sympathetically.
	"You time on that island and you indoctrination into the Grey 
Regiment has done much to erase from your mind your past life.  But they
could not completely bend you to their ways.  I will teach you again what
you used to know; you will find it easier as the barriers are removed."
	"Who are you?" Timelord asked confusedly.
	"You may call me Sage, " he responded.  "I will teach you many things,
including the ways of a true warrior, for I see in your future many trials
and battles, both of body and mind, once you regain the shores of your 
homeland."

	Timelord's rehabilitation began that day with the Sage teaching him
again the language of the Generican continent.  At first he found it difficult,
but slowly his proficiency returned.
	As the days turned to weeks and his physical strength returned,
Timelord started to retrain his body.  He began with the basic unarmed katas,
moving slowly as his wounds healed.  He meditated and stretched twice daily,
always under the watching eyes of the Sage.  He regained his balance and
centering by walking along the railings blindfolded or standing amongst the
rigging high above the deck.
	The Sage rigged a training mannequin in the center of the deck, and
Timelord practiced for long hours as he regained his stamina and timing.
	The sword katas were closely watched by the Sage who often interrupted
his student to point out defects in his style.  Sometimes he would play his
flute softly in the background as Timelord practiced, the melody floating
out to sea behind them.

	They met no other boats on the open sea, a fact that Timelord wondered
about.  He was also curious how the Sage handled the boat by himself, for he
never seemed to make any alterations to the rigging or handle the tiller.
	The Sage smiled when Timelord brought him his queries.
	"Timelord," he said, "we live in a world strong with magic.  It is
everywhere, my friend, and this ship is but a small part.  I merely command
her to take a certain course, and she takes care of the rest.  We have seen
many strange places, her and I, and she has never failed me." He laid an
affectionate hand on the railings.
	Timelord bowed to the Sage, his questions satisfied and his mind at
peace.

	A few months later seagulls were spotted in the skies ahead of the
ship.  Timelord, who had been fishing at the stern, turned at the sounds of 
their cries.
	The months at sea had changed him.  Well tanned and muscled again,
his skills had been honed until again he was as quick, if not quicker, than
when he was at peak condition on the island.  His skills had progressed even
further under the tutiallage of the Sage, who had taught him new techniques
and movements.
	The Sage moved towards Timelord, who stood and bowed.  The Sage moved
to him and placed his hands on his shoulders.
	"Timelord," he said, "we now approach the coastline of the Generican
continent.  In just over an hour you will be home once again.  But before I
go, I ask you this; is this hate you feel truly worthy of you?  Must you 
carry out the vengeance you feel you must?"
	Timelord bowed his head.  Not long after his training had begun again
he had told the Sage of the treachery of Skerg all those years ago, the 
betrayal that had lead to his families slaughter and Timelord's capture.
He had told the Sage of his desire for revenge, and now he looked up once
more to his friend and rescuer.
	"Sage, I must," he replied firmly.  "I must avenge my family's death,
even though it may seem totally pointless to you.  It is a bond, as tight a 
bond as that which seals this gauntlet to my hand."
	He raised his right hand to show the Sage.  It was still firmly 
encased in the gauntlet, for nothing they could devise would allow it to be
removed.
	The Sage nodded.
	"I can see your anger, and understand it," he said sympathetically.
"But time will tell how well it shall serve you.
	"Come," he said, drawing Timelord back towards the cabins, "it is time
for you to prepare to return home."
	An hour later saw Timelord standing at the prow of the ship.  He was
dressed in black, his leggings traced up the sides with silver embroidery.  His
upper body was protected by leather-wrapped chain mail that jingled only 
slightly and weighed no more than an ordinary leather vest.  Kurasha's swords
were strapped across his back, and a voluminous cloak covered his back.
	The boat sailed straight towards the coast, riding easily over the
breakers.  It road straight up to the beach, finally burying its prow in the
soft sand.
	A light step behind him made Timelord turn.  The Sage was walking 
towards him, holding a light pack in his hands.  He held it out to Timelord,
who took it.
	"That should see you through the next few weeks," said the Sage.  "It
is now a month before the Moonripening Festival in the Great Heath, so you
should make it in time for that.  Remember all that I have taught you; you were
always my best student."
	Timelord bowed deeply, then leapt over the side into the sand.  He
took a few steps up the beach, then turned in puzzlement - always his best
student?
	As he looked back, the boat was gliding backwards, seemingly against
the prevailing breeze.  As it moved away it seemed to grow misty and 
indistinct, as if it were just made of smoke.  Just before it disappeared, 
Timelord seemed to hear a voice from the ship cry,
	"In every desert, a flower grows to smile at the gods."

	Timelord smiled as tears of pain tinged with fell down his cheeks.  Had
the ghost of Kurasha granted him absolution at last?  
	He turned from the ocean, and moved towards an appointment with fate.

			******************************

	Kethnak thundered through the streets on his horse, the blue boxing
gloves behind him popping out of existence as he rode.  He passed a number
of revellers in the streets, some far gone in their celebratory drinks, but
never paused nor slowed.  His rescue of his brother Rollik from the hands of
those thugs had revealed the possibility of much more serious trouble, so
now he rose with all haste towards the main keep to raise the guards.
	He leapt from his steaming mount once he reached the guardhouse, and
called for the captain of the guard.  Before he arrived, a voice from the
darkness caused him to turn rapidly.
	"Excuse me sir," came the soft voice, "I seek directions to where I
may find a Captain Skerg."
	Kethnak uttered a quick light spell, and examined the stranger.  He
was dressed all in black, a large cloak obscuring details.  He seemed peaceful
though, so Kethnak replied.
	"He's at the guardhouse, with the commoner's ball," Kethnak replied
carefully.  "He should there for some time."
	"Many thanks," said the figure, who melted back into the shadows.
	"Wait," cried Kethnak, but there was no response.  He cast a perception
spell, designed to give the caster an idea of the subject's attitudes.  He
got a feeling of good, tinged with some other powerful emotions, but nothing
outright evil.  He shrugged, then turned back to the guardhouse as the
captain arrived.

			***************************

	The clear skies and full moon would have given plenty of light to the 
streets without the hundreds of colourful lights festooned everywhere, but
Timelord still passed undetected through the town.  He moved from shadow to
shadow, sometimes waiting in doorways, other times ducking down alleys.  He
had asked directions a few times on how to reach the guardhouse, though he
had made sure that those he questioned were drunk enough to not really register
his presence.
	He ducked out of the doorway in which he stood and made his way down
the street to the intersection.  Turning to his right he say his goal, the
walls of the guardhouse festooned with banners, streamers and lights.  The
doorway was unguarded so Timelord looked about, straightened, and strode in.
	The hallways were a riot of colours and costumes.  A corncob wished
him a merry Moonripening, while someone looking vaguely like a bunch of 
bananas tried to press a drink of some bright red substance into his hands.
Timelord politely shooed the person away, and made his way deeper into the
structure.
	There were more people here, though the costumes were of greater
quality.  Various outlandish creatures passed before his eyes, all singing
a variety of what Timelord supposed were local tunes, though he couldn't be
sure.
	He turned a corner and found himself in a deserted corridor.  Up ahead
were a pair of large double doors, and from inside he could hear sounds of
orchestrated music and much talking.  A pair of brightly dressed guards stood
at the doors, obviously enjoying the occasion, but just as obviously there to
deter any unwanted intruders.
	Timelord thought for a moment, then moved forward.

			*****************

	"Of course," said Skerg pompously, "I saw through their feeble ruse
immediately.  They couldn't fool me for a moment.  I was the only armed man
in the entire court, yet I attacked immediately.  Twas just I against fifty
of the toughest Ishandists you have ever seen, each one armed to the teeth
with the most hideous of weapons.  
	"Never had Generica seen a battle like it.  I waded through them like
a hot knife through butter.  I was a raging bull, indefatigable, undefeatable.
By the time the guards came in, and they were scant meters on the other side
of the doors, it was all over.  Not one of them was left standing, and there
was I, without a scratch.
	"Of course, I turned down the knighthood.  Very modest I am, as you
all know..."
	Those around Skerg were gradually tiring of his wild stories about
his exploits, although the vast quantities of Generican red they had been
consuming had serve to offset their boredom.  Skerg had changed little over
the years, growing a little fatter and a little more pompous.  The rout of
the caravan had set back his career somewhat, although the tales of how
valiantly he and his companions had fought had some people thinking he should
have been awarded for bravery.
	The peasant's ball was in full swing, with the band playing all the
favourite songs of the festival season and the guests well feed on the bounty
of the harvest.  Some of those a little less tipsy than their comrades were
wondering where Rollik and Kayem had disappeared to, though none seemed to
worried about the disappearance of Annak.
	The band finished their tune and the audience turned and applauded.
The Master of Ceremonies climbed upon the dais and motioned for silence.
	"My friends," he said when he had their attention, "another season 
had passed with a bountiful harvest.  We give thanks to the gods for so
blessing our land."
	Applause and cheering rose from the audience, and he again motioned
for silence.
	"Now my friends," he continued, "let up join hands an be silent for
a moment as we remember the past year, the joys and sorrows, and prepare for
another year, hoping for peace and tranquility."
	There was a rustling of brocade and silk as the guests moved to form
the traditional circle of peace.  The silence grew as they all took their
places.
	The quiet was suddenly broken by a commotion at the door.  A slither
of steel could be clearly heard, followed by a pair of heavy thuds.  Heads
turned as the doors opened.
	A figure all in black strode through.  Behind him lay the still forms
of the two guards, one with his sword laying nearby.  A number of the ladies
gasped in shock, and those nearby moved back as the stranger passed.
	He cast off his cloak, revealing an ornate pair of foreign swords
strapped to his back.  He strode ahead, moving towards the front of the 
hall.
	Someone lunged towards him.  With a move almost too quick to see the
would-be assailant found himself flying through the air to land with an
undignified thump on the other side of the room.  The stranger continued his
walk, straight for Skerg and his retinue.
	He stopped a few feet from Skerg.  The others melted out of the way,
feeling the power of the stare the stranger directed at the Captain.  Skerg
swallowed heavily, then spoke.
	"And what.." he cleared his throat and tried again.  "And what do
you want, miscreant?"  It came out better the second time.
	"You don't remember me, do you?" said the stranger softly.
	"I'm afraid you are mistaken," replied Skerg, his confidence slowly
returning.  "I am sure we have never met.  Now be off!"  The last was 
accompanied by a flit of Skerg's hand in the direction of the door.
	"It is you who are mistaken," the stranger said more loudly, ignoring
Skerg's direction.  "We have met.  About fifteen years ago, on a beach near
Generica was the last time I saw you.  The last time anyone from the caravan
ever saw you."
	He reached over his shoulder and drew his katana.  A few shrieks
came from the floor as those more timid left hurriedly.  He held the sword
loosely in his right, gauntletted hand.
	"The last time I saw you," the stranger continued, "you were running
like the craven beast you are.  You ran, leaving my family and the entire
caravan to be massacred, and us children sold into slavery.  Well, now I have
returned to seek vengeance and retribution for the dead."
	He swung the katana over his head, his muscles tensing to unleash the 
blow.
	"Before you die, Skerg," he grated through clenched teeth, "You will
know who killed you.  For my family, for all those children you doomed, I 
have returned.  Skerg, I am...."
	"Timelord!"
	The anguished shout from above made him turn.  Above, on the stairs,
was a young man, his face streaked with tears, the form of a young woman
slumped in his arms.  It had been fifteen years, but Timelord could never
forget that face, the face of a playmate he thought he would never see 
again.
	"Rollik?"  His arms fell to his sides as he looked up.  He took
a few steps towards his old friend then stopped.  "What, what are you..."
	Rollik's eyes suddenly widened as he saw something behind Timelord's
back.  He opened his mouth to shout, but Timelord was already moving.
	Despite his momentary distraction at seeing Rollik, he had felt the
slight movement behind him.  Despite not seeing what it was, he knew just
what was going on.
	He spun on his toes, his left hand simultaneously drawing his 
wakizashi.  As Skerg lunged at him with a dagger he brought the shortsword
around, the katana following in a vicious arc.
	Skerg didn't have time to scream as the wakizashi cut off his hand
holding the dagger before the razor sharp edge of the katana severed his
head and sent it bouncing across the floor.  Skerg's body remained upright
for a moment, then slumped to the ground.
	There was more noise at the door, the sound of armoured men
approaching.  Chaos reigned in the hall as guests tried firstly to run from
the grisly scene, then avoid the approaching soldiers.  Timelord turned to
the doors, his rage extinguished along with the life of Skerg, and waited.
	Gallan, the Duke of Valiast, was the first through the door, followed
by Kethnak and several guards.  Two centaurs towered behind them, and more
guards could be seen beyond.
	Timelord felt Rollik move next to him, but never took his eyes from
those assembled at the doors.  The Duke raised his hand, forestalling any action
by the guards, then motioned forward.
	He seemed to be about to say something, then stopped as he examined
Timelord more closely.  He opened his mouth, then closed it again when he
saw Rollik with Kayem in his arms.  He then rushed forwards to his son.
	Timelord took a step backwards, then laid his weapons on the ground.
Guards came forwards to seize him, and he went with them willingly, leaving
Rollik and his father to their grief.  There would be time enough for 
explanations later.  Now all of Valiast would grieve, as would one who came
as both stranger and friend.