- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Copyright (c) 1992, 1993 Charles Tryon / All Rights Reserved - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = T h e T o w e r s = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 2: Tales and Dreams GreyEagle hesitated for a moment at the door to Schimray's room before going in. It was much bigger and nicer than her own, with a sitting room separate from the bed chamber. Schimray motioned her towards a couch which occupied one wall of the room, and stepped to a small side-bar to pour two glasses of wine. She entered and sat carefully at one end of the couch. "I trust that this will be more to your liking," he said with a smile. GreyEagle accepted the glass and Schimray sat down next to her. After taking a long drink, Schimray leaned back with a sigh. "The elves fascinate you?" he asked, looking up at the ceiling. "Well, yes," GreyEagle replied, still somewhat uncomfortable with being alone with the strange man. "I have sometimes wondered what it would be like to be an elf." Schimray sniffed. "Not much different from being a human, only you must put up with a life stretched out over hundreds of years rather than the measly sixty or seventy of a human life-span. Ah yes, but you are young yet and still look forward to a long life." He looked into her eyes and smiled tenderly. "But I have not brought you here to listen to the grumbling of an old man." Schimray began to weave his tales, and it was evident that he had a great many to tell. Visions of great battles and the struggles of great powers spun through GreyEagle's imagination. He amused her with simple spells, but GreyEagle suspected that he was capable of much greater displays of power. Schimray's tales spoke of great missions with faithful friends, but as the night wore on, the tales took on a darker tone. There were dark creatures of great evil, fought alone. As he spoke, GreyEagle sensed an impenetrable wall which Schimray had built around himself to seal himself off from the rest of humanity. Finally, he fell silent, his eyes staring off into the darkness beyond the glow of the small lamp which flickered on the table before them. GreyEagle reached over and touched his arm. "Schimray, you have said nothing of your family. Pray, tell me of them." He sighed and looked deeply into his empty wine glass. "My grandfather was a high elf, and great were the tales of his honor and valor. He fell in love with a human girl though, and when he insisted on marring her, he was disgraced and driven from his home. When we were born, we were treated as neither elf nor human. Eventually, my family discovered a small isolated community of outcasts which accepted us. We did well enough there, and I remember being happy." "There were reports of raids in the outlying farms. A group of ogres and orcs was taking advantage of the relative isolation of our farms -- we were easy targets. There were humans leading them though, and they must have had spies in our village because one night when my father and a number of others tried to slip into town for supplies, they were ambushed and killed. The orcs returned and slaughtered most of the rest of the families, keeping only a few children to sell as slaves. My two brothers and I were the only ones to survive in our family. They brought us to their leader -- a huge man with an iron mask. When he got to me, I spat in his face. He must have hit me pretty hard because I remember nothing else from that night. It was the last time I saw either of my two brothers. I was sold into slavery, but it didn't take me long to escape from the old fool who took me. "I eventually found my way to Arabel and here took up the honorable profession of beggar and cutpurse. An old mage caught me one day as I was plying my trade. He could have had me strung up, but he had pity on me and took me in. He must have had some odd sense of what I could do because he began to teach me his arts." Schimray smiled. "I caught on quickly. I loved those books, and I loved the old man. Others would come to visit him too -- soldiers of fortune -- and they taught me to handle a sword. I would not let anyone leave that house until they had taught me something." "That only lasted for a few years though," he said bitterly, tossing the glass into the hearth where it shattered sharply. "One night the old man was killed, his throat slit for the few gold coins he carried in a pouch on his belt. They caught the cut-throat that did it, but he must have bought off some official because he was quietly let off after a couple of days in jail. It took me three months to catch up with him again, but I made sure he would never try that trick again." GreyEagle could feel the air thick around her as Schimray once again fell silent. She shifted nervously in her seat as she waited for him to speak. After what felt like an eternity, he looked up and smiled at her once again. "I am sorry my lovely one. Have I frightened you?" he asked as he clasped her hands in his. "I forget sometimes that there are others listening to me, and I become lost in my memories. I often walk through their dusty halls, but I find no comfort there." He smiled and touched GreyEagle's cheek. "Sometimes though, I find a small bright light, and it chaises away the shadows. Come," he said with a clap of his hands, "surely you too have stories to tell! Now you must tell me of your family." GreyEagle swallowed hard as she thought back. It felt like it had been such a long time since she had left home. "Yes," she began with some hesitation, "My father was a warrior, though not one of any great renown. One time, when there had been some troubles with bandits in the area, he was assigned to guard the flocks of a particular noble. There he meet and fell in love with one young and beautiful shepherdess, and decided to marry her. Things were not as simple as he expected though. She was of common status, and he of semi-noble blood, and he fell into disgrace and was forced to leave his position and rank. The herders welcomed him though, as the region was hostile, and he was a valuable asset to them. "Their first child was a girl, as beautiful as her mother, and the apple of my father's eye. Though she was considered a commoner, she soon grew to enjoy the favors of the nobles and princes in the area, and she began to develop a reputation, of which my father was not too pleased. She was however, always dressed in the finest of clothes." "The second child was a boy. He was strong and good looking, but he was not at all interested in heroics or fighting. His vision never extended beyond the fields of sheep which surrounded our village. My father tried long and hard to train him in the skills of fighting, but he would have none of it." GreyEagle paused and looked down. "I'm afraid that, when I came along, I was a disappointment to my father. I was not nearly as beautiful as my sister, and I always lived in her shadow. I worked hard to please my mother though." GreyEagle shook her head. "Still, I could never seem to measure up to my older brother or sister. My father would spend his time trying to train William or some of the other boys, but though I tried to express an interest, he never seemed to hear me. I would always hurry to finish up my chores for mother so that I could go and watch them train." "The youngest was Durran," GreyEagle said with a fond smile. "He was the fighter of his father's dreams -- skilled with the sword, fast, daring and self confident. He was soon recognized as the leader among the other boys in the village, though some of them were considerably older than he. They were quick to gain a reputation in the area. He never forgot about me though. It was he who finally convinced my father to let me join in on the training. Father was not thrilled with the idea of having a daughter involved in fighting, but he was willing to try. I learned quickly, but I never was quite as good as Durran." "A caravan was over-run by bandits on the highway which ran past the village, and Durran and his friends planned to go out to see if they could recover the lost goods. When father found out though, he quickly cut the plan short, saying that fighting real, grown bandits was a lot different than scaring off a few bullies. Durran was not to be stopped that easy, however. He climbed out of his window that night, thinking to sneak away on his own. He wasn't quite quiet enough though, and I awoke and followed him, keeping just far enough back that he didn't know that I was there." "He crept up to the highway, to a place that he and only a few of his friends knew about. There was a sharp ravine along the edge of the road, hidden to all but the most careful observer. It was at a bend in the road, and therefore would make a perfect place for an ambush. Judging from the accounts which he had heard from the members of the caravan, Durran had guessed that the highwaymen had found their spot, and were using it as a center of operations. What he was counting on was that they didn't know about the second entrance to the ravine at the opposite end, which he and his friends had made. They had hidden both ends of the passage, so as to have a safe exit in case they were ever caught in an unfriendly situation. Though I had learned of the entrance, I had no idea what my brother was planning as he crept towards it." "As Durran cut down into the narrow passageway, I decided to cut up along the side of the hill to the left, to a short cliff. Rather than following him into the passageway, where I would definitely be seen, or worse yet, fall into the same trouble that he was likely to fall into, my best bet would be to climb up and look in from above. I had seen the others climb here, but had never dared to follow them before. There was a small stream which came down into the ravine from above which I hoped I could climb down through. The darkness didn't help any, but the rock face was rough enough that even I had little trouble getting to the ledge which ran along the ravine. I edged along to where the small stream fell from above, down through a little split in the rock to the ravine below." "As I was climbing down, I suddenly heard a great deal of noise and shouting, and I guessed that the worst had happened and that I was too late. I reached the end of the end of the narrow crevice and poked my head through the opening where the stream tumbled into the ravine. As I had suspected, the highwaymen were there. There were only three of them, but they had found the other passage, and had set a trap for anyone attempting to enter that way. When Durran had crept in, he had sprung the trap, and while he had managed to dodge the direct blow, it had made plenty of noise, and had alerted his enemies to his presence. They had then caught and disarmed him before he'd had a chance to strike back. The thugs -- half-orcs -- were binding Durran. When they were done, they dumped him on the ground and went off to discuss what they should do." "The distance from the crack to the ground was about ten feet -- short enough to jump, but too far to do it quietly. I could see their weapons scattered on the ground between me and the small fire they had made. I racked my brain trying to come up with something to do. Finally, I backed up a little into the crack where I figured the sound would echo best, and let out a scream with all of my might. It echoed back and forth with surprising force in the small ravine, twisting and amplifying it to a hideous pitch. Then, I leapt from the fissure to the ground. I had neglected to grab a weapon on my way out, so I jumped on the first thing I could find -- a battle axe from one of the thugs. It was much heavier than I expected, but there was no time to be picky." "The half-orcs, not too bright to start out with, were completely taken off guard. They must have thought that it was some demon or fearsome monster rushing at them as I leapt over the fire. By the time I was on them, they were stumbling over each other trying to get out of my way. However, one of them was not completely overcome. He pulled out a long black dagger and held it high. I saw a cold green glow around it, but it was too late to turn back, and I swung with all my strength. I hit him, but not before he was able to bring that black blade down across my shoulder. I remember a searing pain burning in my shoulder, and then everything went dark." "I awoke to find my brother bending over me. He had managed to free himself after the other two half-orcs had fled shrieking from the ravine. He had already washed and bound my shoulder, but he looked worried about it. I told him of the green glow, but all he had seen was a flash then the dagger had struck, and then another flash as the half-orc's helmet had split and the dagger had dropped from his hand. It lay in the grass now, looking normal, but the grass around it was smoldering." GreyEagle paused, and her hand went to her shoulder. It had been many weeks recovering from the wound. Time and again she had awoken in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, with those cruel eyes staring at her out of her nightmares. "Durran was fascinated by the dagger," GreyEagle said finally. "I didn't want to go near it. He picked it up and looked it over carefully. There were no obvious markings on it, but it was cold to the touch, much colder it seemed, than normal steel should be, and blacker than night. The hilt and guard were crafted in the form of two snakes coiling around the handle and bottom of the blade. It felt light and comfortable in his hand. Durran pulled its leather scabbard off the dead half-orc and tucked it inside his cloak." "My only thought as I looked over at the body of the half-orc was that this was the first time I had killed someone." It was getting late, and GreyEagle had already drunk a number of glasses of wine. She was becoming dizzy. The world swirled around her and for a moment she forgot her fears of the towers and the dark forces which they held. Schimray kissed her, and she felt drawn into his embrace. He began to caress her gently as she responded to his advances and his arms around her seemed to protect her from the evils which surrounded them. All of the safeguards which she had so carefully constructed around herself began to slip away. Suddenly, she broke out of his hold and fell to the floor. "I have never slept with a man before," she whispered, backing off slightly and looking down. She struggled to regain control of herself, suddenly filled with a wild fear. The protecting walls around her inner self slammed back into place but her emotions continued to rage within. She kicked herself for loosing control and letting her emotions take over but it was too late. Part of herself had already slipped away and now belonged to Schimray, never to be controlled by her again. She knew that she had to leave, but a great weight had come crushing down on her heart. That part of her which now belonged to Schimray called to her to stay, to loose herself in his arms. She didn't want to hurt Schimray, or disappoint him, especially knowing now the pain he had lived through. She forced herself to look into his eyes as she spoke. "If you truly love me, Schimray, then you must wait for me. Please. I will remember you, and fight for you." Schimray was caught off balance by GreyEagle's sudden change of heart, but he caught himself and smiled. "Return to your own room now, for morning will come early and I can see you are not ready. I will see you in the morn, and perhaps a small present will keep me in your remembrance as you journey." GreyEagle's mind was racing and her head hurt. She would not give herself to Schimray now, but she could leave him something to hold on to, something which was a part of herself, just in case... She reached up to her hair, which was still tied up in a knot behind her head, and pulled down the long, black braid which fell to her waist. She pulled out the knife which she always kept hidden in her boot, and it felt suddenly cold in her fingers. It was the very dagger that she had just told Schimray about, which had struck her that night. Durran had given it to her, saying that it belonged to her and that she would need it. She had not understood at the time, but had kept it for his sake. She had not used it often, but she always carried it with her. She looked at it for an instant, fighting off the cold as it burned her fingers. Then, she quickly cut off a short length from the end of her braid and bound the lock into a loose knot. After a second's hesitation, she handed it to Schimray with a light kiss. "Keep this and remember me." As Schimray accepted the lock of hair from her, he took her hand. "I see that this talk of the dark creature has frightened you. You put on a brave face but I can see behind it. I can set your mind at rest on this one account, my beauty," he said gently. "The dark creature I spoke of is not at any of the first three towers you will encounter. We have over a year before the ritual slaying of the babe is to occur, and the maiden has enough power for now to keep the creature away from her. We have no need to rush things just yet." GreyEagle felt as if the world was spinning around her and she only partly heard what Schimray was saying. Between the wine, the late hour and her raging emotions, she had to fight to maintain her balance. Then, she could bear to see his face no longer. She nervously scooped up her things, and stumbled out the door, forgetting to close it behind her. She ran down the hall to her room and fumbled with the key, hardly able to see to unlock the door. She closed and latched the door, threw herself on the bed without bothering to get undressed and cried herself to sleep. -- Chuck Tryon work: bilbo@kodak.com Your Servant, home: bilbo@Bah.Rochester.NY.US B. Baggins ______________________________________________________________________ Experience is what you get when you were expecting something else.