| From: | "Bryan D. Jones" <bdj@****.UARK.EDU> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Short Stories Found |
| Date: | Sun, 23 Oct 1994 15:46:46 -0500 |
Enjoy!
BTW anyones got any insight on the second story?
--
Bryan D. Jones Internet:bdj@****.uark.edu
GAT d--(-) H-- s:- g- p? au- a- w+ v(?) C++(++++)(---) US++>+++ P--- L+ 3-
E--- N+ K W+(--)(---) M(-) V(--) po Y+ t+ 5-- j R>+++ G' tv+ b+++ D++
B--- e+ u--- h(+) f r>+ n+ y+
THE FOLLOWING ARE SHADOWRUN SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN
VARIOUS FLYERS SINCE 1991. THEY ARE ALL WRITTEN BY TOM DOWD
AND ARE THE COPYRIGHT OF FASA CORPORATION, COPYRIGHT 1991,
1992, 1993. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
THESE FILES MAY BE DUPLICATED FOR FREE PERSONAL USE AND MAY
BE DISTRIBUTED TO OTHER BULLETIN BOARD SYSTEMS AS LONG AS
THIS NOTICE REMAINS INTACT WITH THIS FILE. THIS FILE MAY NOT
BE BROKEN UP INTO INDIVIDUAL STORIES FOR DISTRIBUTION, NOT
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THAN SUCH COSTS INCURRED THROUGH NORMAL USE OF THE ONLINE OR
ELECTRONIC SERVICE.
WYRM TALK
"There's a dragon here to see you." I was proud of how
steady I kept my voice.
He glanced up from either the papers strewn across the
coffee table or the datascreen sitting on top of the pile; I
couldn't tell which he was working on. The slice of pizza in
his hand dripped grease onto the papers. "Oh. Which one?" he
asked.
"How the drek should I know?" I replied. He was being a
royal pain again. "You haven't started teaching me that yet."
He smiled and put the pizza slice down on the table. "Of
course, my dear," he said as he stood. "Soon, soon."
"So?" I asked, dropping my hands to my hips.
His left eyebrow lifted. "So?"
"There's a fraggin' dragon here to see you!"
He licked the grease from his hand. "Well, yes, you just
told me that."
He'd made me promise to try to stop hitting him, but one
of these days. . . "Do you want me to just leave him out
there?"
"No, of course not!" he replied. "That would be quite
rude. Ask him in."
"Um, don't you think he's a little big for the doorway?"
I figured that was probably a stupid question. In the short
time I'd been with him, I'd learned, if nothing else, that
the obvious was rarely that, and the impossible the norm.
He gave me his best "I know lots of things you don't
know" look. "Why don't we let him decide, eh?"
I shrugged. "Fine, why don't we. You're the one paying
the repair bills." As I turned to leave, something occurred
to me. I paused and looked back at him. He was reaching for
the pizza slice.
"Uh, I don't know what dragons are into," I said, "but I
figure you might want to put some clothes on before he comes
in."
He looked at me, then at himself. "Yes, I suppose you're
right," he said. "But how do you know it's a he?"
Someday I was going to hit him so hard he'd need a
closed casket.
At the back of the house I hesitated, straightened my
clothes, then walked briskly into the garden. It was still
sitting right where it had landed, curiously watching the poi
circling in a nearby shallow pool. Its sapphire and silver
scales reflected the late afternoon sun, changing the garden
into a Maxfield Parrish painting. The dragon seemed oblivious
to my presence, intent instead on the movements of the
goldfish. I didn't want to'actually, was afraid to'disturb
it. I didn't want it to move again.
"Is he home?" it asked. I should have been ready for the
voice. I knew how they spoke, but I still found it
unsettling. I heard the words clearly, but it hadn't moved.
No part of it had moved.
Startled in spite of myself, I took a step back up the
flagstone steps. "I. . .yes. Yes, he is."
"I did not mean to frighten you, you know." Its great
head swung slowly toward me. A glint of light shined from
somewhere deep behind its eyes. It could have swallowed me
whole, right then and there, and I'd never have noticed.
"No, I know you didn't. . ."
"May I go in? It is very tiring keeping my tail in the
air like this, and this is such a wonderful garden that I
would not like to spoil it."
I looked up at its tail suspended a number of stories
above me. Barbs stuck out all around the end. Giant hooks
like that could'wait a minute, it was gone.
"He is expecting me, then.' A strange voice spoke.
My head snapped back toward earth. The dragon was gone.
In its place stood a young man, about twenty years old,
dressed in a suit cut from the most beautiful blue silk I had
ever seen. He had pale skin, and his features were those of
Michelangelo's David. His eyes sparkled a sharp silver and
blue. I gave a stupid-sounding laugh.
He smiled. "Oh dear, I have startled you again. I am
sorry."
I managed a small smile myself. "I didn't know dragons
could do that," I said sheepishly. I'd taken a few more steps
backward without realizing it.
He walked toward me, and placed one finger on his lips
as he passed. "Please do not tell anyone. It is supposed to
be a secret."
More secrets for me to keep, I thought. No problem.
However you looked at it, this was sure as hell more
interesting than Missouri.
***
He seemed intrigued by the house's modern decor. He
questioned me about the creator of every piece of art we
passed, but only paused once to lean in for a better look.
That was at the Warhol, drek knows why. I led him upstairs
and, deciding to be grandiose, threw wide the study doors as
he entered.
He grinned, and strode past me. "May I present
Dunklezahn," I announced.
The man the dragon had come to see stood as we entered.
He hadn't cleaned up the room any; it still reeked of sausage
and pepperoni. He'd managed to get dressed, though, and was
wearing black boots, denim pants, and one of the white cotton
shirts he'd bought the other day. He'd kept his face
unpainted.
"It's been some time, hasn't it?" he said, touching his
chest with the fingers of his left hand, just below the
heart. I'd seen him do that a few times before, but he'd
never explained what it meant. I think it meant he was
viewing the new arrival as an equal, thank god.
"Yes, it has, Harlequin," replied the dragon, repeating
the gesture. "I was pleased to hear of the outcome of your
chal'han." Dunklezahn didn't turn, but I felt his attention
rest on me for just a moment. Obviously, there were no
secrets from him.
Harlequin grinned. "I'll bet you were." He gestured at
the overstuffed black leather couch across from him. "Won't
you sit down?"
The dragon nodded. "Thank you." He walked to the couch,
considered it for a moment, then carefully sat down. Only
when he was fully balanced on the seat did he lean back. He
smiled.
"So, what can I do for you?" inquired Harlequin.
"I take it you are aware of my status?"
Harlequin tilted his head. "You mean as host of 'Wyrm
Talk'?"
I laughed to myself. Dunklezahn had been interviewed by
an international media team shortly after reemerging. He'd
apparently enjoyed the experience, especially his spontaneous
cross-examination of the journalists, so much so that he
requested his own show from one of the networks. In the
intervening years, he'd only given the idea his attention
long enough to produce three shows. Harlequin and I had
watched the show the last time it had aired. The dragon,
obviously enthralled by modern culture, had spent the whole
program commenting on an amazing range of topics. In a couple
of segments, he'd taken the concept of confrontational
journalism to such an extreme that I suggested the show
should have been renamed "Wyrm Food."
Dunklezahn grinned. "Exactly so. I find the media
absolutely fascinating. Free, unrestricted information
exchange. Who would have imagined?"
"Well now, I wouldn't exactly call it unrestricted,"
said Harlequin.
"No," agreed the dragon. "nor would I. Which is
precisely why I am here."
"Oh?"
"I would like you to be the subject of my next program."
"What!" Harlequin exclaimed, leaping to his feet.
I laughed aloud, and then clamped my hand over my mouth.
Harlequin glared at me for a split second, so I knew I'd
regret my indiscretion later, but it was such a joy seeing
him surprised.
"Yes," continued the dragon. "I think you would make a
wonderful guest."
Harlequin ran his hand through his hair as he shook his
head. "Of all the things I was expecting to talk about. . ."
"But, Harlequin, you have always been the best
storyteller. Just think how amazed these humans would be by
the things you could tell them! There is so much they just
don't understand'"
"And I'm certainly not going to tell them!" interrupted
Harlequin.
The dragon moved his head oddly. "Is it not possible
that they have a right to know? It is their world, after
all."
Harlequin exhaled noisily, his brow furrowed. "You want
to just tell them everything? Reveal all the myriad secrets
of the universe? You want me to. . ." He turned toward me,
arm extended and fingers twitching madly. "You want me to. .
."
"Spill my guts on global television?" I suggested.
"Yes!" he said, snapping his fingers and turning back
toward the dragon, who blinked. "Do you want me to spill my
guts on television? Open dear Pandora's box once again?"
"Well, yes," said the dragon. "Do you realize how
confused they all must be? Look at how their world has
changed. Is it not their right to know what it all means?"
Harlequin nodded vigorously and moved toward the center
of the room, gesturing wildly. "Of course it is!" he said.
"But why tell them? Let them figure it out; that's the fun of
it all! The clues are there!"
"The clues?" The dragon and I were equally baffled.
"To the mystery of life, Dunklezahn! The world is like a
giant tapestry. You start out standing very close to the
picture. There's a lot to see, and you could spend your whole
life inspecting that one little section. Some find that
section isn't enough. They step back to see more of the
picture. Eventually, they may find themselves standing so far
back that they see the whole tapestry hanging before them.
But if you start them standing all the way back, they'll be
confused. They won't know where to look first. They'll miss
seeing the whole picture." He folded his arms across his
chest, a satisfied smirk on his face. I eyed the dragon, who
still looked perplexed.
"Are there not some things they should be warned'" he
began.
"You mean like the invae?" Harlequin broke in.
"As a beginning, yes," the dragon told him.
Harlequin dismissed the idea with a gesture. "They're of
no concern. In fact, they actually support my point! The
humans knew nothing of their coming, but have been dealing
with them quite nicely, nonetheless. Spilling our guts'" he
nodded to me, "'to the humans early on would have denied them
the discovery! The joy is in the unfolding. Let them marvel
at their world, horrific as it may sometimes be. Let's not
reveal the end of the tale before the final page is turned,
Dunklezahn. Allow the story to tell itself."
The dragon seemed to be staring at the now-cold pizza,
but I could tell he was lost in thought. Finally, with a
sigh, he stood and nodded. "I will take that as a no."
Harlequin laughed, looked down, and shook his head.
"Thank you for your hospitality," said Dunklezahn,
moving slowly toward the door.
Harlequin looked up. "I hope I haven't fouled up your
schedule of guests."
The dragon smiled innocently. "No, not at all. I may ask
Lady Brane Deigh of the Daoine Sidhe to speak in your place."
Harlequin's face stilled. "I wouldn't recommend that."
"Oh?"
"Dunklezahn, you and I have always at least been
cordial," Harlequin began.
"Very true."
"But I warn you, there are some of my kind, and your
kind, who think you have told too much already."
"Oh?"
"Your comments about great dragons and dracoforms, for
one thing."
The dragon nodded. "Yes, I received some. . .grief for
that."
"Should you start to speak of other things. . ."
Dunklezahn nodded again. "Thank you for your warning,
Harlequin." He added wistfully, "You are quite sure of your
decision? Such wonderful stories could be told."
Harlequin smiled. "And they will be, in time."
The dragon touched his fingers to his chest again, and
when Harlequin had repeated the gesture, began to walk out of
the room. He stopped as he passed me. "It has been a pleasure
meeting you, my lady," he said. "You do your heritage proud."
I smiled, and couldn't think of what to say, so I touched my
fingers to my chest. He smiled, and returned the gesture.
I closed the doors behind him, and turned back to
Harlequin. "It's too bad," I said sadly. "I kind of like
him."
"I do too," Harlequin replied, looking down at his
papers. "He's the most reasonable of them all. It'll be a
shame when we have to destroy him."
HUNTER AND PREY
by Tom Dowd
Despite the efforts of the room's tungsten lights,
darkness came. The corner of the room whispered a name.
'Knight. . .'
He looked up for a moment from the twin flatscreens
inlaid beneath the plexiglass surface of the desk, and
frowned slightly. Behind him, the sun cut through Detroit's
fog for the last time that day and the city slipped into
twilight. He sipped from a glass of pale gold liquid and
waited. Nothing.
He looked down and the numbers danced again. Profits,
losses, credits, debits, balances forward and in arrears
woven together in a four-dimensional matrix. Projections
birthed from the financial mandala as'
'Knight. . .'
He removed the thin, gold-framed glasses from his aged
face and placed them gingerly on the desktop. Unburdened, his
tired eyes scanned the room and settled on the shadowed
corner across from him. He waited. Nothing.
'Show yourself,' he said, finally.
'As you wish,' said nothing.
The corner's shadow became mist and flowed forward. It
shifted, and silently extended a long and articulate part of
itself into the room. Solid now, it clicked against the
marble floor and found purchase. Another slim extension, hard
against a nearby wall, dug in and pulled. Darkness entered
from the corner and skittered against the floor. Slick and
shapeless, it grinned.
'Damian Knight. . .
The man stood slowly as it came, the pale color of his
hair now matched by the skin of his palm pressed hard against
the desktop. He licked his lips and nodded. 'As good a name
as any, I suspect.'
'We all have many names, some truer than others. We all
bear many faces.'
'I doubt you came here to recite trite philosophies.
What do you want?' His eyes flicked to the room's other
corners and then back to the dark form stretched before him.
'You have spoken my question.'
'Then the answer should be obvious: I want you to
leave.'
The grin turned sly. 'But I shall not. Your tower is
crafty and well protected, and I have spent much time gaining
entrance. I demand my due time of you.'
'Speak your piece and get out. I have no time for such
as you.'
The darkness grew larger before him. 'But you have
devoted much time to me already. Everywhere my children are
hunted by your agents. My deepest nests burn in the night and
my young cry their last.'
A smile touched the man's lips. 'Good.'
Blacker eyes in the darkness narrowed and it moved
forward slightly, brushing aside furniture. The man stepped
back. 'Do not taunt me, for I have not the patience and may
slay you before I intend. Speak the ills I have done you,
Damian Knight, so that I may wonder at my own foolishness.'
The man looked down for a moment at the numbers that
continued to flash beneath the desktop. He touched the
surface, and the screens dimmed and faded away. A light came
on above him and cast his shadow on the desk. He looked up
and faced the darkness.
'You've done nothing to me, spirit.'
'Then I have harmed your precious corporation. Have I
weakened Ares Macrotechnology in some manner I have
forgotten?'
'No. My only losses connected to you have been
ammunition expenditures.'
A tendril of darkness lashed out over the man's head and
struck the light. The fixture shattered and sprayed metal and
glass across the room. Darkness swelled behind a flashing
rake of teeth. 'Then why do you burn my nests?'
'Because you are.'
'My spawn damned for simply being? Then likewise are
you. For their essence I take yours.'
The man's eyes widened slightly. 'My soul is mine to
give. You cannot take what is not yours.'
The darkness hissed. 'I am the form incarnate: all is
mine to take.' It lashed out and struck at him from every
corner of the room. Blinding silver blocked the darkness as
veins of white fire shot up through the marble floor and
created a circle around the man and the desk. The darkness
stepped back and black talons scratched brilliant sparks as
they probed the borders of the ward.
'Powerful,' came the voice from somewhere in the
darkness.
The man shrugged. 'It suffices against such as you.'
'Such as I will feast on your soul until the last cycle
falls.' The black eyes and grin reared over him and dark
limbs grew from the shadow to grasp the boundaries of the
ward. Everywhere they touched argent fire danced along their
length.
The man shook his head. 'I think not. If you were truly
as you would have me fear, this ward would not slow you. You
are no avatar.'
The eyes narrowed above him. 'You know nothing of the
names you wield.'
Now the man grinned. 'I know more than you think. While
you are less than you claim, I am more than I seem.' The
man's features turned liquid and ran from him, the carefully
styled silver hair growing long, black, and shiny. The
creased, aged face smoothed and sharpened and his dark brown
eyes shifted to piercing blue.
'Ah. I named you wrong. No matter, I will have your soul
and then that of the man you pretended to be.'
The man shrugged and let the now too-big suit jacket
fall from his shoulders. 'I say again, you are no avatar. You
are no incarnation, insect, merely another true form sent to
destruction at your master's bidding.'
The talons tightened, and the ward strained, white and
black energy arcing about it to form a geodesic dome of power
over the man. The spirit's grin grew. 'Then I will have your
heart, mortal, to give to the newborns so that they may know
the taste of human early.'
'I think not. You will, in fact, find the situation even
worse than you begin to suspect.'
'Defiant to the end! Sweet will be the taste of your
lifeblood. Banter on, mortal, this ward of yours is soon no
more.'
The man spread his arms wide and looked up at the
spirit. Black and silver lightning danced just beyond his
reach. 'The ward is not mine, and so protects you from me
more than I from you.'
The spirit laughed, and a high, sharp, cracking tone
began to grow. 'Who are you, child of the earth, to stand
against one such as I?'
The man brought his arms together, one held straight
out, the other touching the first at the elbow in a well-
practiced, fluid gesture. Power shifted and grew around him.
'I may be born of this earth, spirit, but that is not where I
have been of late.'
Part of the ward gave, and a black limb gouged into the
floor within the circle of light. The spirit's chitinous,
ebony body slammed against the circle as it began to buckle.
'Many of your kind wander the greater planes, I feast on them
often.'
'Wrong realm. Knight suspected something would try to
kill him, so the corporation brought me down to protect him.
Magic is so much easier here.'
The ward shattered, raining white sparks down around the
man. The spirit's legs caged him and its impossibly grinning
face came closer to the man. 'Magic is easy for me
everywhere. There is nowhere I am weak.'
'Nowhere on the Earth, perhaps, but what of above it?'
The man pulled his arms toward himself, and held his palms
parallel. Power flowed inward, cleanly, from everywhere
around him. A light grew between his hands.
'Your tricks will avail you not, human, I am power
incarnate.' The spirit reared again.
The man laughed. 'I've shaped power among the stars and
danced with hearts far darker than yours.' The spirit fell
upon him, a wave of darkness pierced by a shaft of light
brighter than a hundred suns. 'Taste what I have learned.'
VOICES FROM THE PAST
Harlequin sat alone in a quiet room lit only by the
sinking flames of a dying fire. His face was unpainted, and
he wore a plain long robe woven with golden and burgundy
threads. The firelight caught the metallic threads of his
robe and the intricate metal filigree on the walls behind him
and made them sparkle. Harlequin didn't even notice. He was
drunk and his drink was his only concern.
The liquid swirled in the glass, impelled by the gentle
motion of his wrist. He watched the magical blending and
bleeding of colors as the liquid hovered on the edge of
solidifying, maintaining its liquid state only by the energy
from his moving hand. The colors changed dramatically as he
changed the direction of its motion. Firelight danced along
the edges of the fine crystal goblet that held the drink.
Harlequin drank from the goblet, barely sipping, and let
the drink's deep fire run through him. He nearly laughed with
the pleasure, but, as always, the cold aftertaste caught him
by surprise.
'You have fallen far,' spoke a long-dead voice.
Harlequin turned slowly from the fire and looked across
the long expanse of the room. In the center of the room,
caught in the flickering firelight, stood a figure. Its robes
were black, torn, covered in the dirt of a thousand roads.
Dark, gnarled hands hung limply from the sleeves of the robe,
but no face appeared within the raised hood. In its place, he
could see only smoke churning slightly.
Harlequin raised an eyebrow, snorted once, and turned
back to his drink, raising it to his lips. 'Oh, please,' he
muttered.
'You cannot ignore me,' said the robed figure.
Harlequin snorted again, spraying a few drops of liquid
from his mouth. 'I can do as I please,' he said.
'You are drunk.'
Harlequin laughed. 'And you, sir, are a feeble attempt
to frighten me with an image so common that it would not
frighten a child.' He looked into the fire. 'Lewis Carroll
must be spinning in his grave.'
'Indeed he must,' agreed the figure. 'You are drunk and
confused. A Christmas Carol was written by Charles Dickens.
"You fog your mind so you cannot see the truth.'
Harlequin stood abruptly and hurled the glass toward the
robed figure. The missile fell just short, exploding into
fragments of brilliant, flashing crystal and a spray of
liquid color. The figure did not move.
'Begone, foul spirit,' Harlequin cried. 'I summoned you
not into my home and I banish you hence.' He flung his hand
out toward the robed figure, spreading his fingers as if
throwing dust. A hint of power danced there.
The figure did not move. 'You cannot,' it said.
Harlequin's face grew wild. 'I can and I do!' he cried
again, and thrust his arms out to his sides. 'M'aela j-taarm
querm talar!'
The room darkened suddenly, and pockets of moisture
sealed in the firewood burning at Harlequin's back burst,
throwing showers of sparks into the air. They rained down up
him, ignored, until a cool wind rushed back at him and damped
them into embers. He brushed the char from his shoulders.
The figure did not move. 'It has been a long time since
those words were last spoken, Har'lea'quinn. It is not the
first time you have used them against me.' The figure's robes
rustled slightly. 'And they did not aid you then.'
Harlequin paled. 'No. . .' he breathed, and stumbled
back to his chair. 'You are gone. . .forgotten. . .'
'Forgotten, perhaps, but never gone. How could we ever
be truly gone?'
Harlequin turned away, covering his eyes with his
forearm. 'You are the past. Your place is there only,' he
moaned. 'That world is gone.'
'Perhaps,' replied the figure, 'but as long as you
remember. . .'
'Yes. That is the key, isn't it?' Harlequin said,
standing and dropping his arm to his side. He faced the robed
figure again. 'My mind. You are right, whatever you are. I am
drunk, and that is a bad state for one such as me.'
'Then I am a figment of your imagination?'
Harlequin shrugged. 'Were you ever anything more?'
The robes moved as if the figure laughed, but Harlequin
heard no sound. 'That borders on blasphemy. You once were
more devout.'
'Never for you.'
'I understood you too well.'
Harlequin thrust his hands into the pockets of his robe.
'Or vice versa.'
The figure bowed slightly. 'Perhaps. Madness can bring
wisdom.'
Harlequin sneered. 'You are the Master of the Twisted
Path. The only wisdom you teach is avoidance.'
'And yet I am here.'
'Alamestra,' said Harlequin, pointing to the now-
motionless, solid globs of color around the figure's feet,
'is not an indulgence known for gifting wisdom.'
'Then what of me?'
'What of you?' replied Harlequin.
'If I exist only as a creature of your mind, why am I
here?'
Harlequin shrugged again. 'It matters not. Your words
are lies and your deeds treachery. Your inspiration is
betrayal. I care not why you are here and will not listen to
you.'
'And yet you say you summoned me.'
'I am, was, drunk.'
'If I am of no consequence or concern, then why did your
dispelling not work?'
Harlequin stared at him.
'You have cleared your mind. The fog is lifted, yet I
remain.'
'You are a hangover incarnate, nothing more.'
The figure's robes shifted again. 'You lie to yourself.'
'No,' said Harlequin, 'you lie to me.'
'As I said.'
Harlequin tensed. 'This is foolishness. You are a shadow
of the dead past conjured by my drunken mind to vex me.'
'Why me?'
'I do not care.' Harlequin told the figure, turning back
to the near-dead fire.
'You lie to yourself.'
'You repeat yourself, bland spirit.'
The figure slowly raised one arm and pointed at
Harlequin. 'I am Deceit. I am Deception. I am Treachery. I am
Betrayal. I am the passions that bring men to lie to others,
and themselves.'
Harlequin turned and stared, his eyes growing slightly
wider. 'As you say,' he said.
'As you do, now.'
'Your words can never be believed,' said Harlequin.
'I am not words, Har'lea'quinn. I am emotion, I am
passion, I am what you feel.'
Harlequin was silent.
'And you feel them, do you not?'
'I feel nothing.'
'You can taste them in the air.'
'I taste nothing.'
'Smell them on the wind.'
'The air is still.'
'Hear them laughing in the silence, calling for their
due.'
'I hear only your maddening voice.'
The figure lowered its arm. 'You lie to yourself.'
Harlequin rushed toward the figure. 'I do not!' he
howled, his hands clenched into sweaty fists. He shook them
at the robed figure. 'It is too soon!'
'They are coming.'
Harlequin spun away, then rounded back on his
antagonist. 'It is too soon! They cannot be coming!'
'You lie to yourself.'
'It is you who lies to me!'
'As I have said.'
Harlequin turned again and stumbled back toward the
fire. 'It is too soon. . .' he mumbled. 'Nothing is right. .
.I cannot understand. . .'
'You do not wish to understand. The humans play with
things they do not comprehend because no one teaches them.'
Harlequin whirled back to face the figure. 'And telling
them would stop them? I think not.'
The figure shifted. 'The humans have danced their little
dance, Har'lea'quinn. They shook this world, and the others.
Now they pay the price.'
Harlequin grasped his head and shook it. 'No. . .It is
too soon. . .'
'You will still be saying that when they tear the
fingers from your hands and blind you with them. Have you
fallen so far, Har'lea'quinn? Have you forgotten the horror?'
'I can't. . .'
'Nor can I.' The figure stared at Harlequin. 'I expected
more from the last Knight of the Crying Spire.'
Harlequin stared back at the figure. 'The Northern
Islands are gone. Forgotten dust of a forgotten world.'
'As all shall be, Har'lea'quinn, as all shall be.'
'What would you have me do?' Harlequin cried.
'Destroy the bridge.'
Harlequin blanched. 'That cannot be done. . .How. . .'
'Thayla's Voice.'
Harlequin sat abruptly. 'No. . .'
'You know where she roams. Her song will shatter the
bridge and cast them back from the chasm. It will take them
time to find it again.'
Harlequin stared off into the darkness and nodded. 'Yes.
. .'
'Travel lightly. Some already wander the netherworlds.
It will not be safe. They will smell you coming.'
Harlequin continued to nod. 'I understand. . .'
The figure moved forward, walking past Harlequin toward
the dying embers of the fire. 'Move quickly, Laughing One;
they have experience in building their bridge.'
Harlequin did not answer but stared off into the
darkness of the room, still nodding.
The figure shook its head and stepped into the fire. The
embers flared and kindled, but no heat warmed Harlequin. At
last he looked up and saw his growing shadow on the wall, and
turned. He saw only the last swirls of burning cloth as the
heat from the now-raging fire danced them higher and higher.
He stared at the fire. The large, ornate doors at the
far end of the room swung open and Harlequin stood quickly. A
young woman entered, her long, white hair falling in waves
over the black satin dressing gown she clutched to her body
with one hand. The other hand held a heavy-barreled chrome
pistol. 'Did you. . .' she stammered. 'I felt. . .'
Harlequin nodded and walked toward her. 'Indeed you did.
Prepare yourself; it is time to see how much you have
learned.'
She stared at him. As he moved past her he turned and
continued walking, backward.
'The netherworlds. . .' he paused, and smiled. 'Pardon
my anachronism. The metaplanes will ring with the sounds of
battle and songs long unsung.' He walked backward out of the
room and down the hall.
She followed quickly. 'I don't. . .What happened?'
'Call up your files, dear Jane, and find us some
heroes.'
She snorted. 'Yeah, right.'
Harlequin grinned broadly. 'Yes, times have changed.'
His path arced across the large hall they'd entered and he
began ascending the staircase.
She stopped at its foot and yelled up after him. 'Will
you tell me what the frag is going on?'
'Why, my dear,' he said, turning away from her,
'Harlequin's back. Can't you tell?'
