From alt.pub.dragons-inn Sat Sep 24 09:43:07 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7716 Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!decwrl!news.hal.COM!olivea!koriel!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!gatech!news-feed-1.peachnet.edu!news.duke.edu!solaris.cc.vt.edu!server.cs.vt.edu!reaux From: reaux@csgrad.cs.vt.edu (Ray A Reaux) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [A'arden] Modrake's Tale 4 Date: 22 Sep 1994 20:54:28 GMT Organization: Virginia Tech, Blacksburg, VA 24061 Lines: 101 Distribution: world Message-ID: <35squ4$hrv@server.cs.vt.edu> Reply-To: reaux@cs.vt.edu (Ray A Reaux) NNTP-Posting-Host: csgrad.cs.vt.edu X-Newsreader: dxrn 6.18-6 >>WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE: Modrake tells A'arden the story buyer his story, >>wanting in exchange some information. He tells A'arden that he was an >>apprentice Poet, equivalent to a bard and priest among his people. While >>looking for herbs in a forest in preparation for the Moonday feast, >>Modrake and his master Lynorgen stumbled upon murder and kidnapping >>of a family. Lynorgen was killed by the bandits and Modrake was taken >>captive and then sold into slavery by Sinfar of Gemmanuc. >> >>Modrake copyrighted by me. Modrake was silent for a moment, his gaze once again returning to the candle. His eyes lost its focus, and as he began to speak, A'arden's pen returned to his parchment. ****************************************************************************** For three years, I was a slave. My first two years, I labored in the Ninmedian coal mines. My owner, surprised I had lived that long, decided not to overlook the chance of reducing any loss from my death and sold me to his brother-in-law, a buyer for the Ninmedian navy. So for the final year of my servitude, I was a galley slave chained to the oars of a huge man-of-wars the Ninmedian used to dominate the Western seas. The coal mines were more brutal than the pits of hell, but the oar benches were by far the more terrifying. I had to endure three naval battles, and I have faced nothing that has threatened to unman me more than being chained to an oar bench when the drummer sounds out the measure of combat speed. But it was my third battle, and the sinking of the man-of-war I was chained to which set me free. The Ninmedians, a powerful sea power were at war with the Artennians over the use of certain shipping lanes off the coast of Ammdalen, a vast wilderness just north of the Haruchai empire, and the ship I was on was attached to a fleet on blockade duty. Five Artennian war ships decided to contest the blockade. In the ensuing battle, my ship was rammed, and chained as I was to the oar benches, I went down with the ship. I remember the agony of burning lungs and my frantic but futile efforts to wrest loose the chain that dragged me under the waves. But it was not my hands that freed me. I do not remember how or why I was saved from drowning, but I saw, before I lost consciousness, manshapes gliding like fish through the waters towards me. Perhaps it was the mad visions of a dying man, but I saw what I saw. How else could I explain waking up on a sleeping mat in the cave of Kikaben, a venerable Sword Monk. Kikaben told me that he had found me, draped on a broken chunk of ships's hull that had washed ashore. Somehow, despite his old frail looking body, he had managed to drag me all the way up the cliff face to his cave. When I was able to sit up, I looked at the broken chain link that Kibaben had carelessly tossed into a corner of his cave. While I was unconscious, Kikaben had cut through the rivet on my manacles, but the chain link had been pried open with strength far greater than Kikaben or I could muster. Kikaben never told me who might have broken the chains and rescued me from drowning, but often, during the time spent with Kikaben, when I would sometimes walk the beaches on foggy nights, I would hear singing, sometimes sweet and gentle as a calm sea but just as often surging with vitality and unbridled passion like a hurricane, coming from the sea. I lived with Kikaben for two years. At first, I was anxious to recover so that I could travel to Gemmanuc, as my duty demanded, to sing the conclusion of the Song of Justice, but recovery was slow. Three years of slavery and depravation had left me in poor physical condition. However, as I regained my strength, Kikaben began to teach me the Way, a unique blend of ancient martial skills and spirituality. As I later learned, he was a Sword Monk, one of a handful of men and women dedicated to the Way who were just as respected among his people as a Poet was among mine. Why he chose to teach me, I do not know, since he had retreated to this lonly cave in the fastness of the Amaduin wilderness, to get away from what he called "pesky students." Two years I lived with Kikaben, but in those two years, I learned less than a third of what he had to teach me. I come from a warrior people, but what Kikaben taught me transcended the warrior's skill. I had always been skilled with weapons. Kikaben taught me that my body was a weapon, and that a man without a weapon was the deadliest adversary of all. He taught me to tap inner strengths I had never known and develop mental skills that among my people only a few gifted people could perform. I have had two great teachers in my life. Lynorgen taught me duty and shaped my intellect. Kikaben trained my body and shaped my spirit. I was amazed by Kikaben's vitality, which he attributed to the Way and his own perverse desire to show the "old guard Sword Monks" that the Way is ever changing and not the static forms and katas that they taught but never questioned. His disdain for these other Sword Monks had brought him to this remote coastline to write "The Book of Water," the culmination of his experiences and wisdom. One day, almost two years to the day that I was fished out of the sea, he handed me his manuscript and said that his task was done. He bade me, in the morning to go to the fishing village an hour's walk away to purchase some supplies. Because I made an early start, the cold sea fog was still blanketing the shore when I returned to the cliff above the cave. From the cave, I saw the whispy outline of Kikaben walking along the shore. I called to him, and although I could not be sure, I thought I saw him wave to me before he turned and walked into the sea. And as I ran down the treacherous trail from the cliff to the beach, I heard again the sea sing. I never saw my mentor and friend again, but unlike the death of my first mentor, I did not mourn his passing. And sometimes, when I stroll the decks of ships, I heard his voice singing with others the song of the sea. Now with nothing to keep me in Kikaben's cave, I was driven by my need to accomplish my duty and singt the Song of Justice. I turned my steps toward Gemmanuc, and to Sinfar and booked passage on a fishing boat heading north. Two months later, I walked through the gates of Gemmanuc.