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From: bberver@nmsu.edu (Brendan K. Berver)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: "Death of a Dragon", Part 2
Date: 21 Mar 1995 07:28:55 GMT
Organization: New Mexico State University, Las Cruces, NM
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                        [My apologies for the delay.]

  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -
      Despite Brant's predictions of doom, the evening proved to be a
short one. By the time Seran thought to check on his companion, he found
him curled up in the corner, his travelling pack serving as a makeshift
pillow. 
     Seran would have been happy to join him, he was desperately tired. 
Moreover, Twen wanted answers to her questions, which was fair enough
considering the time he had been gone, but difficult to oblige all the
same. He distracted her with trivial stories and questions of his own for
as long as he could, but Twen was nothing if not persistent, and there
were things she wanted to know. As the candle between them grew lower and
dimmer, Seran felt his mood darkening in kind. Her questions were getting
the better of him. At last the well of jests ran dry. "Seran," she said,
her voice low and serious, "What are you doing here?" 
      "Talking with you." Seran answered, a ghost of a smile on his lips. 
      "Really, though." Twen said, ignoring the joke. "Last I heard, you
were doing very well at court. Hadn't you obtained some sort of royal
position?" 
     "Yes," Seran responded briefly, "I had." 
     "Seraann . . ." Twen whined, "don't be so difficult. I'm not
persecuting you, I'm just curious. You're my friend, after all. News is
hard to come by out here, but even I've heard about you occasionally. 
There was a peddler here a few months ago who said you were the most
talked about person in the court. He said you were a 'rising star,'
whatever that means, and that our lands have done very well to have their
lord gain such prestige." 
     "Yes," he answered slowly, "I suppose that's true." 
     Somewhere deep in his mind, a ringing began, a vibration that started
small, but grew and grew. It distracted him as he tried to listen to Twen
talk about rumors of his appointment to every other office in the royal
court, growing until it possessed the whole of his attention. Twen was
still speaking, but he could no longer hear her. To weary to resist, he
simply his mind wander, flitting through memories; the court, the hunt,
his men, and.... no, no, don't remember that. Light above, don't let me
remember that... 
      Too late. Images shot through his head, moonlight glinting off
blades in the dark, screams and chokes from blood-clogged throats. Hastily
he shook his head to clear it; he could not allow the visions to return. 
It worked; the noise subsided, the cabin returned. He breathed a sigh of
relief as he rubbed his eyes, giving a glance to the heavens before
drawing in his next breath. 
     I need to get more sleep, he thought. 
     "What?" asked a surprised sounding Twen. 
     He must have muttered that last thought aloud. He really did need
more sleep. 
     "Nothing." he replied quickly. Twen was looking concerned,and it
would be best to change the subject, fast. 
     "Yes, that's right, some of it at least. I don't know." His voice
trembled slightly as exhaustion came into his eyes. "I don't know anymore. 
I went to the court. I did my job. And now I'm running. And I have to keep
running. I have to stay ahead of them. I have to." His head swam, the
screaming returned. Thoughts pounded through his brain, unbidden,
unheeding. Boots scraping against the floor, shutters slamming, men dying,
and worst of all, the terrible silence left behind. The silence of death,
swallowing laughter, and joy, and everything except those final screams. 
     Why? 
     Twen's smile faded, replaced by a mixture of fear and surprise. Some
of the longest moments of Seran's life passed as she studied him, trying
to determine what had happened to her childhood friend. 
     "Seran", she said, her voice surprisingly calm, "who is chasing you?" 
     His eyes dropped to the floor. "Kelnor." he murmured. 
     She sat still beside him. Obviously she had not heard. 
     "Kelnor." he repeated, his eyes jerking up to meet hers. "Kelnor!" 
He stared at her, daring her to laugh, to cry, or grow angry. 
     She did none of these, the only effect of the statement being a
slight widening of the eyes. Even here, he thought, the name of the king's
champion was known. Twen backed off slightly, more puzzled than alarmed. 
Kelnor was a name to her, an important one perhaps, but still just a name.
She had never been to court, never seen the man himself. 

     Seran knew more. For as long as he could remember, Kelnor had reigned
as champion. At first he had battled every week to keep the title. Then,
slowly, the stream of challengers dried up, becoming a trickle, then a
drop from time to time, until it disappeared completely. None would
challenge him now, his reputation insured that. It was said that none
could touch him in combat, that no matter who went into a fight, Kelnor
would emerge the victor. Seran had seen him, both in practice and in
tournament, and he believed. He himself had never challenged; not even in
his vainest moments did he imagine he was half Kelnor's equal with the
blade. 
     But there were many at the court who could best Seran with a sword; 
there was more to Kelnor than his size or his skill. Rather, there was
nothing more. If he had ever laughed, ever fallen in love, ever done
_anything_ to show the slightest shred of humanity, then people could have
accepted him. Every man has a weakness, every man can be defeated. But
Kelnor seemed but barely a man; he had no faults, no virtues, no friends,
no family. He inspired fear, but not because he was cruel or vicious -- it
was because he was nothing at all. He showed no kindness, no pity, no
greed, no fear. There was nothing at all to make him human, nothing to
connect him with the men who surrounded him. He displayed only obedience,
and it that he was unfailing. The crown was more to him than his king; it
was his God, his life, his soul. If the king wished something done, he
would do it, as quickly as possible and to the best of his ability. It
made no difference if the task were picking flowers or beheading the
manservant in the hall. When he killed, he killed quickly, and showed no
remorse. He held no grudges, had no pride; one could insult him to his
face and he would not so much as twitch, but to fight with him was to
fight to the death. In the eyes of all around him, he had truly passed
beyond mortal. He was more a symbol than a man now, the crown's will made
flesh, fascinating and mysterious. 
     A man to fear. 

     Twen looked away from him, eyes tightening thoughtfully.  She knew,
now. She had known before he spoke the name, seen it in his eyes. She had
always been able to tell when he was in trouble. Something was terribly,
terribly wrong. 
     Long seconds passed before she spoke again, he voice beginning to
tremble as well. 
     "Kelnor?!"  she whispered. "Light's bane! I never dreamed.....I
thought..." Tears began to form in her eyes, whether from anger or fear he
could not tell and did not care to guess. "I thought you were dodging out
of the palace because of some nobleman's daughter ... Or just to get away
for a while. I never dreamed that ... that you ...  Kelnor! How did.. . 
What did you do??" 
     Seran stared at her with empty eyes, not noticing her confusion, her
fear, even her tears. He sat, unblinking, while the questions rolled round
in his head. 
     What did I do? My king? What did I do? 

     "Nothing at all, that's what!" 
     Seran scowled at the cheerfulness of the answer. Easy for her to say.
Twen was so lucky to be a girl, she wasn't going to have to go off to
court in a week because of a stupid family tradition. 
     "Be serious for a moment, little bird," he said, addressing her by
her pet name. "I have to go to court next week!  It's not fair! I don't
want to! But father says I have to, that it's time." 
     "Of course it is!" his young friend replied, showing no sympathy
whatsoever. "You are a Maxkin, after all. Sooner or later, you have to
start acting like one." 
     Seran scowled again, this time at the stones under his feet. He had
the sinking sensation that she was right, but he refused to give up
without a fight. 
     "Well it's still not fair! You don't have to go! You get to stay here
and do nothing while I have to go to some stupid castle with a name I
can't even remember, much less pronounce!" 
     Twen laughed. "I, my dear Seran, am _not_ a Maxkin, or of any other
noble family, for that matter. Which means that I, among other things,
donÕt have the option of going to court, meeting the royal family, eating
the finest meals in the kingdom, buying a new set of clothes every
week.....Ó
     Seran didn't bother responding to the sarcasm, he simply stalked off,
leaving a rather insulted Twen in his wake. She refused to take his
situation seriously. She seemed to think it was an honor to get to go to
court, a duty that should be cherished. 
     "Maybe it is." he mumbled aloud. Maybe it should be. But not to him. 
He had no interest in court, and less in politics. Fortunately for him,
his father was hardly important enough to warrant Seran's inclusion in
political circles, at least those of any magnitude. He was a creature of
the forest, he felt at home there. The forest was safe; while
unpredictable, it was understandable. Given his choice, Seran would have
made him home there, secure in the haven of the trees. 
     But his choices were limited, something even he understood. He could
not abandon the estates that would someday be his, he had a responsibility
to them and the people that lived on them, a duty that mattered more than
what he wanted. He understood this. And he felt he could content himself
in the Maxkin manor house, taking time off from the business of being lord
long enough for the occasional hunt. Not the perfect life, perhaps, but he
could deal with it. 
     Until now, at least. Expecting him to learn how to be the steward of
his future estates was one thing, shipping him off to the court of the
king was another. Seran didn't know quite what to expect, but he had a
fair enough idea. Politics. And with it, the dealing, the flattery, the
struggle for advantage. Concepts Seran found neither appealing nor
helpful. He was no diplomat, yet tradition demanded he spend three years
at the court. 
     He would miss his estates, he would miss his friends and family, most
of all he would miss Twen. She had been his companion for almost as long
as he could remember. She understood him better than most, she knew what
he felt and what he saw, she stayed by him and managed to pull him out of
most trouble he found his way into. And, he decided, it was because she
knew him so well that she could make him so angry. She knew exactly how to
annoy him, and she had done it deliberately. Still, he didnÕt want hard
feelings now, he might not see her again for a long time. It was time to
make amends. 
     He found her sitting near where he had left her, looking irritated. 
He didn't feel much like apologizing, but knew that he'd better if he
wanted her to speak to him again before he left. 
     "Look, I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run off like that, but ... I
don't want to go, and I don't feel like being laughed at." 
     Twen shifted her position slightly. "No, I guess you don't. But you
have to go, Seran. You're fourteen now, and it's time for you to stop
being a boy." 
     Fourteen. She was right, as usual. He had to go. He sighed and leaned
back against a tree. "I'll go." he conceded after a few seconds.  "I'll
go, spend my three years and try to like it, but I'll be back.  First
chance I get, I'll be back." 
     Twen smiled. "Of course you will be. You'll be back, and I'll be
waiting." Her smile widened. "And who knows? With a few years at court to
practice, you might finally be able to beat me at Flip-Stone!" 

     "I'll be back." Yes, he thought bitterly, I'm back. Not quite what I
expected, to come running back in the dead of the night. Twen had backed
off, and was giving him the same intent look she always gave when trying
to figure something out. But there was something new in it, something
deeper, a something only time can give. Twen has changed, he realized.
That makes two of us. 

     Upon reflection, Seran decided, court had not been as bad as he had
thought. The company was generally unsuited to him, but within a few
months he escaped by joining a party of the king's hunters, a position
that saved him from the world of politics. At home in the forests, he
quickly learned all the huntmaster Jeryll could teach him, and when the
elder leader stepped down two years later, it was Seran who was appointed
to succeed him. Had he ever bothered to check, he would have discovered
that he was the youngest person ever to hold that rank, but all that
mattered to him was the respect of those who followed him; what the record
book said was, to him, irrelevant. Eighteen men served under him, some
many years his senior, but he had never had any problems. 
     Not until the night they died. 
     He had always assumed his third year in the kings service would be
his last, for he had no reason to linger. He would be free, at last, to
return to his land, his forest, and his friends. He had always intended to
return as soon as possible, that had been his final promise to both Twen
and himself. 
     With only six months remaining before his term was complete, he
received an unusual summons. King Amon, ruler of Maradon, wished to see
him, alone, the following day. The courtier who brought the message
struggled to keep a straight face, and his curiosity at the event was
sorely masked. Indeed, Seran was as surprised as anyone. He had met the
king but once before, when he had first arrived at court. He and a party
of about ten others had been given a "royal welcome", which barely
involved seeing the king, much less talking with him. Outside of a few
glimpses caught at palace banquets and the like, he knew nothing at all of
the royal family. Why would the king want to see him now? 
     But however peculiar it may have seemed, it was a royal summons, and
Seran reported as was asked of him. For the forest-raised child of a minor
noble, the royal throne room was grandest thing he had ever imagined.  The
caved ceiling and the smell of various polishes made him feel awkward and
out of place, his boots moving over the smooth floor, his shoulders
wilting under the gaze of the king's companions. He walked slowly,
carefully, mustering his courage before kneeling at the base of the
throne. 
     He kept his back straight as he learned what this king wished of him,
and while he realized its importance, it did not strike him then what he
was getting into. Nor would it, till that night. And by then, it would be
too late. 

     Twen sat quietly in the darkness, too intent on listening to replace
the candle that had burned out some time before. Seran wished he could see
her, glean some clue as to what she was thinking, but the dark revealed
nothing and she made no sound. He was dreadfully tired, but something
drove him on, forced him to finish the tale he had begun. Perhaps he
merely recited the facts for Twen, or perhaps he was looking for answers
to his own questions, questions for which he knew he had none. 

     "Ok, let's try this again: You find a patch of mushrooms growing
beneath a tree, on the north side. They are small, pale, with bluish
markings on their tops. Can you eat them?" Seran finished with a note of
despair in his voice. 
     His young pupil concentrated, thinking hard before answering. "Yes." 
     Seran rolled his eyes back as a collective groan arose from his men. 
The lad would be dead within a few days if left on his own. Seran could
have done better at half the age of the prince, who already had twelve
summers under his belt. 
     "Light above, what do they teach the children at court these days?" 
came a remark from the hunters assembled. 
     Painfully little, Seran realized. Which was probably why the king had
sent the prince with his party, to learn something about the world outside
the palace. However good the intentions, it made life no easier for
Seran. "Not quite, Florin, not quite. At least, not assuming you don't
want to be cramped up worse than a overstrung crossbow." 
     The disappointment on the prince's face was heartbreaking. He tried,
Seran knew, he really did. Anxious to be accepted into this band of
hunters, he paid attention to the slightest details, and practiced his
woodland skills tirelessly. His dramatic failure in all of it was due not
to lack of effort, rather a fundamental block when it came to nature. The
child, Seran decided, was simply hopeless. One could only hope he had more
skill in running a country than he did in running down a deer. 
     "Ok, ok, so you missed that one. Let's move on to tracking. Colin,
move on ahead, move quickly but step as light as you can. The prince will
follow in ten minutes......" 

     But if Florin learned little in the way of the woods, he learned a
great deal about friendship. He particularly enjoyed SeranÕs company, and
would often seek him out even when he was not attending lessons. Seran
treated him as a younger brother, and though he never managed to actually
teach him much, he earned the trust and respect of the little boy. He
became someone Florin could talk to, someone safely removed from the
court, where his position made friendship difficult. Thus Seran did not
return when his three years expired, staying another year, then another
when Amon died, leaving Florin the throne. He was to young to actually
wear the crown, or course; the law required he have a regent until he came
of age at eighteen. But the young man proved more competent in diplomacy
than woodcraft, and began taking a heavy hand in matters despite his
tender age. Through it all, he kept up his relationship with Seran, taking
breaks from the courts to wander the countryside with him, and arranging
for Seran to visit often. He knew how Seran felt about politics and never
consulted him about it, confining their discussions to lighter matters. 
     And though Seran did his best to remain outside the world of the
court, he found that his close relationship with the soon-to-be king was
drawing him in even as he tried to resist. With the knowledge that he
commanded the respect of king came friends he never knew he had, along
with offers of land and gold and marriage. Seran ignored them all. He had
no use for gold, he already had the land he wanted most, and who he
married was his parent's concern, not his. And as time passed, so did
memories of home, and another year slipped by as he led his men on one
hunt after another. 

     Seran stared into the darkness of the cabin, listening to the night
that lay outside. Too cold even for crickets, only the wind dared intrude
on the silence. No movement from Twen, had she fallen asleep? No matter. 
He spoke now more to himself than anyone else, desperate to keep away the
silence, finding himself, for the first time since he was very young,
afraid of the night. 

     He had, to his knowledge, no warning beforehand. There had been no
signs, no omens of what was to come. It was a stop by the palace, like
hundreds before it. A late arrival and a decision to stay for the night. 
There, in the barracks, his men sleeping around him, his world had been
ripped apart, and he still had no idea why. 
     Seran never knew who was the first to die, but it had been Colin who
alerted him, his death cry giving warning to the rest. In the dead of the
night, his men had no chance, barely having time to leap from their beds
before the guards fell on them. Some scrambled for weapons, others held up
their hands in surrender, it made no difference. The soldiers hewed their
way through them, slashing and stabbing as the smell of blood filled the
air. And Seran, to shocked to do anything but sit and stare, had given no
thought to anything, watching his world crumble before him. It was Brant
who had saved him, coming to his rescue when his very mind had abandoned
him. It was Brant who found the window, who had thrown his stunned leader
out before scrambling after him. Brant that pulled him to feet and forced
him to run, away from the screams, from the smell, into the safety of the
night. Brant who stayed with him until the dawn, when Seran finally came
to his senses, finally drove the spectral images from his head. He owed
Brant his life, he knew that. He just didn't know if could thank him for
saving it. He had seen the insignia the killers wore, he had looked into
the faces of men he knew. 
     They had been the king's guards. 

     His narrative completed, Seran collapsed against the wall. Twen made
no sound, she must have fallen asleep. It didn't matter.  He still had no
answers, no reason. No reason . . . no reason . . . no reason . . . the
words flew back and forth in his mind as sleep overcame him. 

     Twen sat in the stillness and listened until Seran's breath became
even and regular. Seran, she knew, was a heavy sleeper, so she did not
bother to walk quietly as she paced over to the cabin's only window. 
Outside, the trees stood silent and indomitable -- just as they had the
day before, and just as they would tomorrow. Twen sighed in frustration as
she turned her back on the panorama. Why, Seran had asked. Well just maybe
he wasn't the only one asking that question, she thought angrily. Here
she was, in the prime of her life, all alone in this cabin. All alone. It
wasn't that she minded her surroundings, or that she had any particular
longing for adventure, but the lack of company weighed sorely on her. Her
mother had died when she was very young, giving birth to a sickly boy who
had died a few weeks afterward. She didnÕt blame them for dying, but she
did miss them. She also missed her older brother, Ingram. She had had
little enough to do with Ingram during her early childhood, preferring
SeranÕs company. But after Seran had left, she found that Ingram was
almost as good as a companion, if not quite as exciting. Then Ingram had
joined the kingÕs guards, and she had been left alone again. And most of
all, she had missed Seran, her friend, who didnÕt come back when he had
promised to. She had waited, because she had always known he would return,
but the years had passed slowly. Why did he wait so long? 
     It wasnÕt fair, she reflected, that everyone was always leaving her.
She hated being alone, hated it, yet everyone in her life seemed to use
her as a stepping stone, lingering for a while and then moving on. First
her mother, then Seran, then Ingram and her father. No matter, she
decided. That was over now. Seran, her Seran, had finally come back. He
would have to leave in the morning, but that was no problem, she had
already found the solution. 
     She would go with him.

      _________________________________________________________________
     |     * * * T H E    B E R V E R    C O N N E C T I O N * * *     |
     |_________________________________________________________________|
     | Brendan K. Berver | AKA The Little Raven | "Pink Elephants!     |
     | bberver@nmsu.edu  |     Agol the Pikeman |     Pink Elephants!" |
     |___________________|______________________|______________________|