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From: stiltman@teleport.com (Stilt Man)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [DS][Tor] Longings for the Old Haunts
Date: 28 Aug 1994 19:26:50 -0700
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[ADMIN:  Well, once again I actually have a need for a real credits
section.  The Tor'el thread is a result of the inhalations of Corey
Venour, while this story is mostly the result of my own.  He has
contributed a goodly portion of it, though, namely those parts about
Tor'el.  There's also a third brain in here somewhere, belonging to
a guy named Alex that Corey keeps telling me about, but seeing as I
have no clue who he is, how to contact him or anything like that, I've
since come to the conclusion that Alex is also a figment of Corey's
imagination.  Don't fret, Corey, help is out there to be found!  (Unlike
me, who replies to everyone in the various service industries who asks
me "May I help you?" with "No, I'm beyond help." :) ]

[ADMIN2:  Since property rights seem to be of rampant mention on this
group these days, I'll throw in the usual.  Emrikol and Tor'el and all
prominent characters on that world are the hallucinations of Corey Venour,
used with permission.  Arcania Dorval, Kryalla Simuel, Talan, and all
prominent characters on the world of Arghan are the hallucinations of
myself.  All rights WRT either set of characters are reserved to their
respective pipe dreamers.  Now, if this stoopid server will just successfully
post this article everywhere, I can go and have dinner happily . . . ]


Kryalla Simuel wearily opened the door to the small hut she kept in Generica.
She was surprised to find Emrikol awake and fully capable of making his way
to a meditative position on the floor.  Most of the runes on his flesh had
vanished.  She stepped in quietly, careful not to distract him, though she
doubted much could, and sat on a chair awaiting his attention.

He wore only a loincloth.  Something about him seemed different, though.
Kryalla suddenly realized that he appeared youthful again, as he had when
they had first encountered one another.  She mentally kicked herself for
not having noticed it the instant she first laid eyes upon him.  She
understood not how it could have happened, but suspected she would soon
find out.

At last, he opened his eyes, whatever ritual he had undergone having been
completed.  The first thing he looked at was her.

"I saw the fiery cloud.  I gather that Velric is so much dust and ash
scattering in the mountain breeze?" he said.

"If he was not sucked into the Portal when it collapsed," said Kryalla.
"If so, he probably made some demon a very fine meal."

Emrikol smiled in amusement.  "Why did you come after me at the temple?"
Kryalla's face fell.  "That was like a gnat braving the hornets' nest,"
he persisted nonetheless, "something that could have easily gotten you
killed, left the DarkSeed intact by your absence, and possibly had great
consequences for this whole world.  That's not a risk that I see you taking
too often."

"It is difficult to explain," she said, not looking at him.

"I'll bet," he replied, cruelly enjoying her discomfort.

She looked up at him, her eyes narrow in recognition of his tone.  "I do not
expect you to understand my position in all of this."

Emrikol sighed.  "I can understand much of it.  In the Labyrinth, you are not
permitted to care about those around you."  She gasped at his audacity in the
guesswork.  "That you care about is certain to die.  You avoid getting too
attached, not opening yourself to the hurt when it inevitably happens."  He
looked at her.  "When playing the role of defender against the wiles of one
Arcania Dorval, I suspect the hopeless denial is not greatly different."

Her ebon eyes narrowed to slits.  Emrikol realized with some amusement that
she was insulted at having her thoughts read by another.  "Your runes.
Your youth," she said curtly.

"Not mincing words, eh?" Emrikol chuckled.  Her humor did not improve.
Clearing his throat in resignation, he began, "The battle with Arcania,
the use of the Amethyst, proved to be a little more than what my personal
defences were capable of bearing.  Her violation of my runes," a gesture
to the back of his neck, now as bare as most of the rest of his body, "along
with the force of her attack and the burden of calling the full power of
the Amethyst . . ."  He trailed off, realizing that she cared little of
the technical detail.  "It was more than they could take, and most of them
shattered.  The healing sleep simply erased the damaged ones and repaired
the most important one," he gestured to the single remaining sigil on his
flesh, that one over the center of his chest.  "As you can see, the damage
was rather total."

Sighing as she did not lighten her expression, he continued, "However, I
have come to the conclusion that my aging and memory loss was caused 
subconsciously by my own rune magic.  When Arcania defeated me before, I felt 
useless.  I equate old age with uselessness, and as such I subtly altered my 
own appearance without my even realizing it to appear as I felt."  He 
shrugged. "I have heard of it happening to my people before, but never
considered that I might wind up doing it to myself some day.  When I defeated
Arcania at the temple, my sense of uselessness subsided.  The healing sleep
restored my youth and memories, having no obstacles to repairing my body to
its natural state, while you were off saving the world," he said drily.  He
sighed again, turning away.  This time, she smoothed her features and actually
pasted an expression of slight concern on her face.

"What is it?  You seem rather downcast about something," said Kryalla

"Homesickness," he answered.  "The first thing I remembered upon waking was 
my home."

"You don't mean the Labyrinth, do you?" she asked.

His head snapped up.  "How could you know?"

"I can read your mind, remember?" she said with a slight upward bending of 
one corner of her mouth. 

He smiled in return. 

"Do you never wish you had your old life back?" he asked honestly.  "Whatever
it was you had before you took up such a lonely existence?" 

Her eyes narrowed again, and he cursed his courage in expecting to understand
her too fully.  "My past is my own business . . . not yours," she said in
a stern, tight voice.

He placed a hand on her shoulder.  "Calm down.  I am trying to pierce that
veil you keep around yourself.  I am interested in seeing if there is a
woman underneath that Shroud."

She shook him off.  "Do not bother.  My life, my past, and my counsel are
mine to keep and that of none other."  Her expression softened suddenly.
"I am being too hard with you."

"No?  Really?  Gee, I'd figured this was rather easy, considering how you
deal with most of the rest of the world."

"Ouch," she said, wincing.  "I deserved that, did I not?"

"You deserve a little cheerfulness in your life for once," he said, allowing
a little too much feeling to creep into his voice not to betray his own
mind on the matter.  "We are both too lonely.  It helps us stay alive, I
realize," he added quickly, seeing her eyes widen in anger again, "but it
must be damn miserable for you sometimes."

"And misery loves company, is that it?" she asked.  Now it was his turn to
wince.  It was followed by her turn to sigh.  "I have let myself get too
close to you.  No one else would be able to rouse my emotions like this
by simply making observations of my habits.  From the rest of the world,
I simply accept it."

"Like you accept a great many other things in life that you dislike," he
observed.  She made no argument, verbally or otherwise, this time.

"Life is unfair.  It is up to us to make certain it is unfair in our
favor," she said, smiling at him as she repeated his words -- not daring
to add that it was also a favorite saying of Arcania as well.  He chuckled,
looking down at the ground.  A wicked thought entered her mind, and she
leapt at him, pinning him on the bed beneath her weight.  "It seems it
is unfair in mine now, no?" she said, smiling widely.

"I feel so taken advantage of," he responded, also smiling.

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

The three men entered the cavern nervously.  All three were Thurlans,
though they appeared human enough.  Not long ago, they had apprehended
a spy in the city of Dabar Roc.  The spy knew nothing of any fellows that
may have been in the Empire, but knew that this place was reserved for
meetings with his superior.  That such a master would choose a cavern in the
Dragon's Teeth mountains for a meeting was rather suspicious, and boded
ill.  If the dragons of the hills were growing rebellious in the absence
of the Empress . . .

One of the men being used as a Thurlan's identity was the spy himself.
The other two were contacts he had established in the city.  The spy had
been told to return here alone, but the Thurlan was willing to risk it.
If he were killed, it was likely that one or both of the others might
escape to return to Dabar Roc . . . and return with Balroqs to put down
this dragonish revolt.  It would not do well to have a full-scale dragon
uprising greeting the Empress upon her return, which few of them doubted
even now.

The three men could see quite well in the cavern, could see the gold and
jewels littering the floor.  That it was the lair of a dragon was obvious
enough.  However, that they could see no sign of the wyrm bothered them.
The dragons did not leave the mountains, and indeed were forbidden to.
This simply made the situation seem worse.

Talan saw them, however.  He watched from a corner of his lair, his spells
concealing his presence.  He took human shape, that being easier to conceal
from accidental discovery than his bulky true shape.  He sighed in seeing
that neither his agent nor his fellows were human, but were indeed Thurlans.
His method of knowing this was based largely upon his dragonish nature; the
means would not have worked for a human.  He kept his ability to do this a
careful secret, for if their mistress ever suspected, she would not rest
until he were killed and his method discovered, dealt with.

He raised his hand, his eyes focussing on one of them.  Where his vision fell,
five blue dots of light appeared on the chest of one of the Thurlans, and
not the one that had once been his own agent.  That established, the dots
formed into the vertices of an azure pentagram.  The Thurlan noticed it
too late.  A streak of white flame leapt from the outstretched finger of
Talan, hurtling unerringly into the pentagram with terrific force that
transfixed the guised daemon where it stood.  An inhuman scream echoed
throughout the cavern as the center-punched daemon collapsed to the ground,
its flesh already collapsing upon itself as it decomposed into a sickening
pool of yellow slime.

Their presence having been discovered, the other two Thurlans immediately
began the transformation into beast shape, ebon carapace sprouting from
their skin as their spines curved into a hunched posture, their legs
bending into a stoop, their arms stretching to potentially scrape the
ground if they willed.

"That is quite enough, my friends," said the voice of Talan, deceptively
calm and unthreatening.  "Tell me, what is it that has brought you here
to disturb me in my humble abode."  His smooth voice had an odd, serpentine
smoothness to it, and they felt themselves being assailed by some form
of enchantment.  "I have paid my homage to your absent Empress enough
times to warrant my privacy from the likes of you, and yet you appropriate
the shapes of friends of mine out in the world in order to attack me.  I
am not amused at this intrusion, and would have you explain your presence
here."

"The Empress will not be pleased when she learns that one of her dragons
has set spies to watch her capital!" one of them said; Talan believed it
to be the one that had been his spy.

"And who will tell her?" Talan asked in the sibilant, quiet voice.  "You
have, I trust, not been so indiscreet as to bother one of the nobility
with this fantasy?"

"Uh . . . a Lord Flabdu, if I recall," the Thurlan said, sounding guilty
to have done so.

"This Lord Flabdu is secretly seeking the throne if the Empress does not
return, correct?" said Talan, still concealed.  The two Thurlans concentrated
on locating the sound of the voice, not noticing the hazy mist that began
to rise in the cavern.

"W-we had not been aware of that, no," said the Thurlan.

"He might well conceal the information, just so she will not be aware of
one more threat until he thinks it too late," chided Talan.

"I had not considered that," said the Thurlan.  Its yellow eyes glanced
around, having lost its fellow, still trying to locate both its ally and
the speaker.  Its memory was as hazy as its surroundings, somehow . . .
what had happened to the other two?  Were they ever really there?

"You should return to Dabar Roc and rectify your error," said Talan.
"Of course, eliminating the threat might earn you some sort of reward
ere you go."

"Yes," said the Thurlan, seeking wildly through the gloom for the speaker.
Movement announced itself.  The creature leapt angrily upon the other,
sinking its mandibles deeply into the tough hide of the creature.  The
high-pitched shriek was not that of a dragon, it realized too late, the
carapace it had pierced the same glossy black of its own.  Or, at least,
it was for a short time, ere it began to lose its cohesion and fell in a
heap of yellow slime.

"Temper, temper," said Talan, a note of wicked enjoyment being allowed
into his voice now.  The Thurlan stood, stunned with horror at what it
had done, as the five azure dots appeared on its hunched frame, on the
forehead.  "You should really be more careful with these blind rages,
my friend."  The pentagram took full shape.  "They might get you into
trouble some day."

The Thurlan saw a brilliant flash of white, and nothing more.

Talan appeared in the gloom, his confounding gloom vanishing in time for
him to see the last solid hunk of the creature sink into the slimy pool
that now littered his cavern with the other two.  His green eyes were sad
as they took in the remains of the three foolish creatures.  The first
had simply been a warning to concentrate them on him, the other two were
kept talking while the confusion of the haze crept into their minds, until
finally one of them had done half his work for him.  He shook his head,
nape-length golden locks tossing on his scalp.

He almost preferred his human form much of the time.  The rest of his kind
was coldly contemptuous of mortal kind.  Talan had been more open-minded,
especially after going out to explore their realms in person.  The pride of
wyrmkind had long been its weakness, he had decided, not willing to admit
that they were nothing more than the slaves of Arcania, that knowledge of
her political situation might help them free themselves of her yoke.  All
they understood was that the Balroqs in their numbers could easily handle
a dragon, and their kind was ill-used to working in the numbers that would
be needed to properly resist.  Even when Arcania called them to war, they
flew not in true groups but simply happened to all fly as they pleased at
the same time to the attack.

It was saddening to Talan as he mused about what could be done about it.
Much would have to change.  He was not the High Dragon Lord, merely one
of the lesser lords.  As dragons admitted allegiance to none, the title
was more of a machismo bragging right, the privilege of domination over one's
peers, of having first choice of hunting territory and lair, first strike
at new treasures ere the other, weaker dragons got their chance.

A sound reached the ears of Talan, distracting him.  Sheep were braving
the plains below, his sharp senses told him.  The shepherds often concealed
their flocks in the abundant forests of the Heartland of Thyaris, but the
animals preferred the grass of the plains to the shrubbery of the woods for
food.  The shepherds grazed their animals on occasion for brief periods
ere returning to the woods, where a dragon could not fly nor hunt effectively.
Burning down an entire forest for a few sheep would not have been a simple
task to explain to the Empress.  More to the point, it also destroyed the
meal in the process.

Talan cast off his human form, and the great and sleek form of a huge
golden wyrm nearly filled the cavern.  His reasons for using human form
were most sound; the Thurlans would have been hard-pressed not to run
right into him had he assumed this form to deal with them in these tight
confines.  Venomous fangs glistened, smoke emanated from nostrils, emerald
eyes glittered in the darkness.

After all, Talan shrugged, even a dragon must eat some times.

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

Emrikol opened his eyes.  The room was lit by the light from the half moon
outside.  Kryalla lay in the curve of his arm, sleeping lightly.  She looked
younger while sleeping. 

Less to worry about, he mused. 

She was a beautiful woman, in the same way that a glacier was beautiful.  He
hoped she really couldn't read his mind - he would pay for that thought if
she could. 

His mind wandered through his reclaimed memories, touching on familiar 
faces, both friend and foe, and visiting the places of his youth.  He
remembered a time before the Labyrinth.  Before the never-ending pain.

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

Emrikol looked up at his father, watching the concentration etched in his 
aging features.  The rite was complicated, and required much concentration.
Emrikol was not normally allowed in the Font Chamber during rites.  He was 
not normally allowed in here at all.  But his father had decided that Emrikol
was old enough to be taught the rites that would open the power of the Font
to him.  This otherwise happy occasion was marred by the death of Uras,
Emrikol's uncle, and the rite currently underway would draw all of the power
from Uras back into the Font. 

Emrikol closed his eyes and concentrated on the power flows, and his mind
entered the other place.  The place where the flows were visible - where 
power could be directed.  His father was here, looking young and powerful. 
The chamber was also filled with many others - so many that Emrikol lost
count of them.  They were his ancestors, and all appeared as they had in their
youth.  As he watched, another face appeared - Uras.  He had come to join his
ancestors in guarding and directing the Font.   

Emrikol looked down at himself, and saw a man.  Not the youth he was in
reality, but the man he would become.  Emrikol's concentration evaporated, 
and he was back in the real chamber, staring at his father and the Power
Font.  He needed to learn control.  How would he be able to aid his family if
he could not maintain his concentration?

The rite finished, and Emrikol's father turned to face him.

"Well done lad.  Few can reach the other place so quickly, and your presence
there was strong indeed.  You show the makings of a great Manipulator!"

Emrikol beamed at the complement.  A Manipulator!  That was beyond his wildest
hope!  He had been expecting to become a Transmuter, or maybe a Diviner, but
this was incredible!

"Don't get too excited," his father said.  "You have a long way to go before
you can manipulate the flows.  Come, let us tell your mother."

He turned and walked from the room, Emrikol a step behind.

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

"No! I won't allow it!" Emrikol was red with anger.  "You can't do that to 
me again!" 

Duke Vurmail smiled and reached across the board to move his queen. 

"Check Mate, my young friend."

Emrikol scowled.  He never won against Vurmail.  He didn't know why he even
played with him.  Yes he did - he liked a challenge.  And he had improved.  He
could last over an hour and a half against Vurmail's onslaught.  His scowl
slowly became a sigh.

"Another game Vurmail? Or perhaps you could teach me that new manipulation?"

"All in good time my friend, all in good time.  You need to learn patience,
humility, and a little control.  Above all you need to learn to accept defeat.
You are, I have noted, a very bad loser!"

The scowl faded, and Emrikol slowly smiled.  "You are right - as usual.  You
played a good game, and you defeated me fairly.  I apologise for losing so
badly." 

Vurmail nodded.  "Good.  Very good.  Perhaps now we can begin the lesson."

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

Emrikol stared down into the valley, watching the smoke slowly rise from 
the township below.  This would be his to rule, someday.  Someday soon if his
father wasn't a little more careful.  He had been fighting K'al the Usurper 
in the northern wildlands, and he had taken fewer than five hundred men.

K'al had taken Duke Lutan's castle, killing all of the family, and feeding
their bodies into their own Power Font, and somehow in the process K'al
himself had gained the power of the font.  This was a problem within itself,
but K'al had also gained control over Lutan's army, and without a sword 
being drawn.

Emrikol heard footsteps behind him.  He turned to see a messenger running 
up the trail to the lookout.  Emrikol moved to meet him, offering him his
water flask.

"Drink first, then give me your message."

The messenger gratefully accepted the flask and drank deeply.  Passing it 
back to Emrikol he bowed.  "Thank you, my Lord.  I bring urgent news from the
castle.  Your father has been killed in the battle in the north, and all of
his men with him.  You are needed to lead the reclamation ceremony tonight."

Emrikol thanked the messenger and watched him walk back down the trail. 

I am duke now, Emrikol thought, and I cannot let K'al's deed go 
unpunished.

He jumped from the lookout, calling on the air to hold his weight.  He 
angled himself toward the castle and dove towards it.

Emrikol drummed one thing into his soul of molten rock:  You will pay,
K'al.  You will pay.

As Emrikol landed in the bailey, he could hear no sound.  The castle was
quiet, and as he entered the main hall, he noticed the reek of incense 
permeating the room.  He moved toward his mother's chamber, moving so as to
make no noise.  The door was closed, and he entered without knocking.

"I am sorry mother, but you know this is how he wished to depart."

His mother sat in front of the fireplace, staring into the dying embers. 
Her face was streaked with the paths of numerous tears, as her hands held 
her husband's favourite cloak.

"I know, my son.  But that does not make his passing any less painful."

"The reclamation ceremony will begin shortly.  Do you wish to be present?"

His mother smiled.  Although she could be no help during the ceremony itself,
as she was not a Manipulator, she could still see into the other place, and 
watch her husband arrive to take his place with his ancestors.

"Thank you, Emrikol," his mother whispered as she arose from the chair.  He
took her hand in his, and slowly walked to the Font Chamber.

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

It was Kryalla's turn to watch Emrikol as he slept.  That he was dreaming 
was clear.  That he was troubled was also clear.  He had mentioned that his 
memory had returned, and that he had been thinking of home.  She watched 
as a tear made its way down his again-youthful cheek.  She sighed as she 
turned to stare out of the small window.

Emrikol awoke to find Kryalla sitting up, the sheets clasped about her
shoulders as she contemplated.  The woman had taken small enough time
for pleasure, he thought with some amusement.  The moment she was awake
again, she was already back to her mission.

Seeing that he was awake, she rose, covering her ivory skin in the
leather jerkin and trousers, fastening the belt with the katana around
her waist, clasping the Shroud at her collar, pulling the cowl over
her sable hair.

"It takes you very little time to return to work, does it not?" said
Emrikol, smiling.

"There is much to do ere we leave for your world," said Kryalla.  The
actual agreement to go had been glossed over, he noted.  "There is an
ally I wish to have words with first, back on my world.  The true story
of the fate of Arcania will be something he needs to know.  I suspect
she might well be back, and he needs to have the information for what
he is about."

"She will be back?" Emrikol raised his eyebrows.  "From the Labyrinth?"

"I doubt she went to the Labyrinth," said Kryalla simply.  Emrikol
had wonderings over how much effort she had put into establishing the
basis behind this doubt.  "My acquaintance needs to know this, so that he
can deal with the situation with full knowledge."

"I also need to replace some of the runes for the trip, you know,"
said Emrikol.

Kryalla made a rushing gesture with her hands.  "Then get to it.  We
have not eternity."

Chuckling and shaking his head, he rose, and reached for his loincloth.

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

Talan was nearly finished with his roast mutton when he heard the
sounds from the entrance to his lair.  Immediately, he resumed his
smaller human form and took to the shadows ere they could come close
enough to notice the large creature within.  It seemed he was to have
no peace on this day.

They were two this time, one in a black cloak and the other with a
shirt, vest, and trousers.  

"Talan!" called the one in the cloak, and abruptly he knew who it
was.  His eyes still did not trust the other, though; that one's
magical defences were powerful, if hastily constructed.  It seemed
as though his magic had been disrupted, his spells of personal
defence quickly redrawn for some cause or other.

The five dots of blue appeared upon the vest of the man that
accompanied the Shrouded One.  A blue glint emanated from beneath
his shirt on the instant, as the pentagram took its shape upon
the cloth.  The man looked down, wondering why his runes were
warning him, and beheld the pentagram.  He called to her, and
her eyes widened in horror.

"Talan!  We come in peace!" she said, more urgently now.  "We
have news to discuss with you!"

"You will do us all a favor by remaining there for the time being,"
said a quiet voice.  The sound seemed to surround them, for they
could not know whence it had come within the caverns.  Emrikol
hoped that the pentagram was not too deadly.  His runes warned him,
but the mark by itself seemed to do no harm, and as such the runes
did not work too hard to repel it.  But then, his hastily-drawn
marks would not have been able to detect indirect assaults.  He had
not the time to draw the more subtle defences, only the basic ones.

"Do nothing threatening," Kryalla hissed to him.  "Your life depends
on it."

Emrikol's eyes widened.  He forced himself to appear more relaxed
than he felt.  Kryalla slowly drew her katana, not in a ready grip,
but in a loose one, and hurled it to the ground.

"You know I cannot loose the Shroud as I did the blade," she reminded
this Talan who watched them and drew marks on them from afar.

A man stepped out from the shadows.  Emrikol's runes darkened as
the pentagram vanished.  He squinted his eyes to see their host,
and made out a muscular and lithe figure, with what appeared to be
golden hair.  He could see the glint eyes glinting easily, now that
the other no longer wished to conceal himself.

Kryalla now noticed the three pools of slime on the ground, a soft
"Ahhh" escaping her lips.  "You have had visitors already this day."

Talan nodded.  "I was forced to extend my hospitality to them, as
you can plainly see."  He seemed a trustworthy sort to Emrikol.
That immediately made him suspicious.  Talan turned his green eyes
to him.  "Who is your acquaintance?"

This one knew Kryalla to some extent, Emrikol affirmed.  He limits
his regards of her companions to "acquaintances" rather than
"friends" or such. 

"His name is Emrikol," said Kryalla.  "We will be away for a while."

"How good of you to share this with us," Talan drawled, "Your visit
has been so enchanting all this time.  We really must do it again
some day.  I truly live for these frequent heart-to-heart outpourings
of our souls."

Emrikol concealed his laughter with a fit of coughing.

"The latest attempt of Arcania to be a nuisance was terminated with
her departure at the hands of my . . . acquaintance, here," said
Kryalla, as if she had not heard any of it.  "It is my belief she
has found herself on the world of Yathulas."

Emrikol and Talan both looked at her in surprise.  Talan found his
powers of speech first.  "How did this take place?"

"She attempted to resist the magic that sent her there, and wound
up getting sent elsewhere from her intended destination," said
Kryalla.  "A few communes to various extraplanar powers told me
the rest."

"Will she return soon?" Talan asked, more serious now.  "I would
not wish her to return before I can poison the wineries for her."

Kryalla allowed a slight smirk to mar her stone-faced features.
"She is making efforts to return, I am told, but is having some
difficulties.  However, it is not believed that it will take her
long to overcome these."

Talan raised his golden brows.  "Before my challenge to Kollain?"

"Not likely."

Emrikol had completely lost track of this conversation.

"Then I will simply have to try to be in as tenable a position as
possible for her return," said Talan.

Kryalla nodded, turning to leave.

Emrikol met eyes with Talan for a while longer, feeling like a shoe
with no match in his seeming uselessness.  Talan saw this, and smiled.

"She takes some getting used to," he said.

Emrikol chuckled.  "How long ago did you figure that one out?" he said
good-naturedly, before turning to follow her out.

Talan watched him go, then looked around his cave.  There was some
more mutton left, after all . . .

+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+
+	Kryalla Simuel the Shrouded One			  +
+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+
+       . . . scribed by the Stilt Man,			  +
+		foleye@viper.cs.orst.edu		  +
+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+

plus

       \\//    Emrikol of the (not so) Bandaged Hands     \\//
        XX                Back in the pink!                XX
       //\\             cvenour@cit.gu.edu.au             //\\