Back of the Envelope

The latest Storyblogging Carnival is up at Doc Rampage. Twelve entries this time. Go have a look, and be sure to link to it.

My only problem now is that I've run out of stuff to post. I really have no idea what I'll submit next time. Well, okay, maybe a small one, but I haven't typed a single word of it yet.

Sluggy Freelance — It turns out that Maks expressly left Teknokon One as a way for Kada to return home. Wow, it's kind of touching, considering that Maks betrayed her. But before she and the others can escape, along comes Lady Naga to steal Teknokon One. Calix drives her off with some fancy axe work (why he didn't just kill her is beyond me), buy she escapes with Teknokon One and Stu is killed in the process.

Day by Day — Damon and Jan are at the beach, discussing politics, air guitar, and tans. I don't know where they are that they can go to the beach at this time of year. It's unbelievably cold where I am! Then later in the week it's a long series on the ports whose management is being bought by an UAE company, an issue I still don't really understand.

Scary Go Round — Shelley develops a fast friendship with a mouse, who turns out to be an earwig who wants to take her over. It just goes to show you that you can't trust mice.

College Roomies from Hell!!! — The plane makes it to the ground, and a bunch of half-naked Roomies have to get off the plane without being arrested. Mike tricks Dave into a compromising argument, for the benefit of convincing his father that Dave is his boyfriend.

General Protection Fault — Trudy tries to apologize to Ki before their trip to another world, but her apology falls on deaf ears. It'll be hard to make amends. Meanwhile, alt-Trudy is making arrangements for them to travel to the alternate world, but I'm starting to get suspicious of her. Is she really sending them to the right place?

Schlock Mercenary — Elf goes wild on the Fashion Assault guys, which earns the company some attention from a feminist group which wants the program off the air. How can you do that short of destroying the whole network, though? Of course, Tagon's Toughs rarely stop short of anything.

Once again, the God or Not carnival is looking for more theist submissions on the topic of "Truth". The deadline ha been pushed back until 2:30 pm on Monday. Send your submissions to submit-at-godornot-dot-com with the following information:

• author’s name (or handle)
• position: GOD or NOT? (please select one)
• the title of the blog on which it appears
• the title of the post
• a short description of the post (one or two sentences)
• a link directly to the post (permalink)
• the trackback URL (if different)

Thanks for your participation!

The Rest of the Story: The whole of Fire can be found on my Writings page in PDF format, while the portion of the story that's been published on this blog so far is on this page.

This is it, the final part of Fire. The ironic thing is that it isn't really part of Fire at all. Fire isn't the name of a book, but rather of Part I of a book. This interlude forms the bridge between Part I and Part II, so it doesn't really belong in either part.

---

Interlude
"Kait hen!"

You have already damned them.

"You know what I mean."

Probably better than you do, but yes.

The copper-haired, stern-faced man sat on his shaped throne and stared into the crystal, watching the images, visible only to him, form inside the eight-foot cube. Cold gray light coming through windows high in the vaulted ceiling lit the crystal where it sat on its pedestal in the center of the room. A steady patter of rain fell against the windows, further annoying him. In the old days, it would only rain when he wanted it to rain. Now his people's reach no longer extended even that far. Once again, the voice was his only companion.

Why should the Kainar Wyren's actions concern you?

"The Kainar"--he refused to honor them with the second part of the name--"did not act at this moment by accident. They suspect something and are trying to intervene."

You are worried over nothing. No action of theirs can truly alter the political situation among the Ornar Kainar.

"They've started a civil war. I'd call that a change in the Or'Kainar political situation."

They prevented a civil war. The Ornar Kainar were on the verge of a tribal war for survival. The Kainar Wy... There was an amused paused, almost a mental er. The Kainar intervention prevented that. Let them war in the west and kill some Novari in the process. As long as it does not spread to their homeland, the situation there will be more favorable for our plans.

Sudden suspicion made the copper-haired man turn his head, although he had nothing at which to direct his gaze. His companion might have been anywhere or nowhere. "Did you have anything to do with this Elarun kainec war?"

Aside from the Orcs being too... wild for me to deal with effectively, you overestimate my influence. I am more limited than you beyond this prison.

"So you say."

I certainly cannot order someone killed, for instance. Perhaps you could tell me why you had your servant kill the Dominus.

"What makes you think I gave the order? The Kai'Daik acted on his own."

I know better than that. They cannot kill without your permission.

"He had gone over a year without a kill. This... took the edge off." He said this with a fond smile.

You do not let them kill for pleasure, yours or theirs.

"You are right, I did want that Shade dead."

Why?

"You already know the answer, don't you? Why should I have to say it? It's so our visitor can't go back. If he were to find what he's searching for here, his Order might have heard him out when he returned, might have relearned what they have forgotten. Now that they think him a murderer who practices ‘Death Magic,' he's harmless to us."

Did you really consider him such a threat before you framed him?

"No," the man said, watching a new image form in the crystal, an image of a black-robed man shivering in a dark library. His magic provided him with heat and light, but not enough of either. He sat on a hard, magically-preserved wooden chair, hunched over ancient books which he handled carefully to avoid damaging them. "A Kai'Daik is close enough to kill him at any moment. I don't want him dead, however. The Renegade might be a very useful tool, if not quite as useful as his nephew."



Gar had decided that the only difference between the night and the day in this blasted land was that you couldn't see the dirt at night. That did not prevent it from getting in his hair, his clothes, even his mouth. The last three days had been about as unpleasant as any since they began this journey. Mitveh had set the pace, allowing them to stop no more than a few hours each day to let the horses rest. They rode night and day, as if pursuit might be no more than moments behind. At first, they had traveled at a constant trot that ate up miles even as it wore the horses down. Now the horses simply plodded along through grass up to their chests, leaving troughs of trampled stalks in their wake. Neither Gar nor Mitveh were much good at hiding their passage, but Gar felt fairly certain that any pursuit must have given up by now. Bajnik's warlocks would know that Gar must have sent a message by now. Only a personal vendetta would keep them coming now... maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to maintain a fast pace.

Gar felt it approaching several minutes beforehand, but Mitveh saw it first. She just had time to point as the small flame feel from the night sky like a meteor. When it reached Gar where he rode on his plodding horse, it danced around his head like an overgrown firefly. He lifted his right hand, and the fire alighted there, where its orange glow illuminated only his hand and face.

Mitveh guided her horse closer for a better look. The bit of magic burning in Gar's hand did not look all that extraordinary. In a moment, however, a voice emerged from the flame, one Gar recognized immediately as belonging to Dert, a fellow an-sul warlock whose intelligence belied his ancestry. He spoke in the rapid-fire, monosyllabic dialect of the an-sul, which any sul would have difficulty deciphering. Peppered throughout the torrent were words and phrases which no normal an-sul would ever use, making the message confusing to them as well. Gar had sent his message the same way, in the hash of dialects shared among the few intelligent an-sul warlocks.

"I re-ceiv-ed message, go to Co'en. They wait for Mit-veh, no talk with East until then. Baj-nik send message, too. Say you kill Tal-nek and Na'lk. War'cks split, Co'n wait. Orm' and Sha'r leave, but north, not east. Look for fer-tile land. Witch-es say do Rite of Te-ne-var, done when you ar-rive."

"That was short," Mitveh said. She had listened carefully, but Gar didn't know how much she had followed.

"Short, but it contained a lot," Gar translated for her, "Bajnik sent word that I killed Talnek, which shouldn't surprise me. The warlocks are arguing over it, and the Coven's decided to wait for you before making a decision. They'll keep the news from home until then, and they agreed to perform the Rite of Tenevar. I have no idea what the tribes think, but the Ormin and Shatar have struck out on their own. Fortunately, they're looking for better loot rather than trying to go home."

"The tribes will follow the Coven. Mostly," Mitveh admitted. "A Wandering Coven doesn't have as much authority. As for the witches, I think I can convince them of what really happened. Did Dert say when the Rite would be complete?"

"By the time we arrive," he said. "What takes so long?"

"The Kawyr have to travel. The Rite is only complete when the Kawyr arrive."

"Oh."

"Do you think we'll convince them to seal the border?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if they had already done it. It'll take more than just the Kawyr to stop a whole tribe or two, though. We'll need troops, and probably some warlocks as well, to keep the passes closed. People we can trust."

"Are there any people we can trust?"

"That I don't know."



Gaius waited impatiently in the antechamber. The Emperor's personal secretary sat at a low table, scribbling on a wax tablet and occasionally reaching out to pat the cane which leaned against the desk. As the man remained hunched over his work, Gaius could see nothing aside from his bald pate. The young tribune vaguely recalled that Aulus thought that this wizened man was one of the most powerful people in Novaro. That just demonstrated the outrageousness of Aulus's ideas.

The antechamber was larger than most tenement apartments but still small by the standards of the palace. Plentiful windows, filled with actual glass, provided generous light this afternoon. A deep carpet of Kairnin design felt odd to feet that had become accustomed to a ship's deck, while the boring countryside scene painted on the plaster walls had not held Gaius's interest for half a minute. Since the secretary had the only seat in the room, Gaius wandered the room, sparing a few glances at the shelves stuffed with scrolls and wax tablets. He might have tried reading them, but aside from the fact that they looked like dreadfully boring records, the old man always seemed to watch him whenever he came close to the shelves. The secretary never said a thing. He hadn't said more than three words for the whole half-hour Gaius had been there. If the man was going to make him wait, he could have at least offered some conversation. The tribune had no one else with whom to talk at the moment.

Gaius had come to the palace the moment he got off the ship, having donned his toga before it had finished docking. Even a proconsul did not wear military garb before the Emperor. An escort had been waiting for him at the landing, but while they asked him as many questions as time allowed, they had not answered any of his, urging him to ask them of the Emperor. Paulus had accompanied him to the palace, dressed in a toga that looked the worse for the wear. It was he who had noticed the people watching them, whispering among themselves. Gaius would have dismissed his concerns as paranoia, except that he began to notice it himself. He couldn't place his finger on it, but he knew something about his arrival concerned them. They must know about the invasion, or even something more. Gaius hadn't heard any news while aboard the ship; half-a-dozen pigeons could have arrived in Novaro in that time. Whatever they knew, his hosts weren't talking. Paulus volunteered to ask around, and Gaius had let him. He himself had tried to draw some information out of the secretary--Tarquus or something, wasn't that his name?--without a whit of success.

With no discernible cue, Tarquus said, "You may go in now." He didn't even look up from his work.

Gaius opened the heavy oak door and went in. The Emperor's receiving room was smaller and darker than the antechamber. Slaves had shuttered the few small windows, leaving a single lamp stand for light. The empty hearth provided neither heat nor light on this summer day. A meaningless abstract pattern filled the tiled floors, although the painted walls held a much more interesting scene of battle. The sparse furniture, a few chairs and a writing desk, went unoccupied, as the two men and the woman inside all stood. The Emperor himself, for whom Gaius had been named, wore the purple toga signifying his rank. Gaius knew his uncle was in his sixties, but he had never looked it until now. The worn face and the stoop in his strong body marked a man who saw the end near. Gaius's father stood nearby, a broad purple stripe on the edge of his white toga. The elder Marcus Principius looked grim, but he stood as tall as ever.

"Gaius, I'm pleased you arrived safely," said the Emperor. "Vibia, we will continue this discussion later."

The Emperor's wife, dressed in gray silk, looked none too happy. Gaius had always admired her beauty, but her frosty gaze reminded him of her arrogance. Vibia's contempt for him detracted a great deal from her appeal. She swept from the room, leaving the three men alone. Tarquus closed the door from the outside.

"That was unpleasant," Marcus Principius said.

The Emperor shook his head, "You always did understate things. One would think she could let it go, given the situation, but she never was kind-hearted."

"I don't mean to interrupt, but there is news I came to share," Gaius said. He had never taken much interest in politics.

"Yes, I know, the Orcs. Have you heard what's happened since?" the Emperor said.

Gaius hadn't come just to repeat the pigeon's messages, but whatever news the Emperor had was more important than his dignity. "No, I haven't. What's happened?"

The Emperor looked to Gaius's father, who spoke up, "A pigeon arrived from New Jovium two days ago, telling us it was under siege. We've been waiting for more news, but it hasn't come. We fear the city has fallen."

"New Jovium? I didn't even know the Orcs had gotten through the pass. What happened to the legions there?"

The Emperor replied, "We don't know, but since New Jovium received no word of the Orcs' coming before they reached the city, the legions must have been unable to send word."

"So are they cut off, taken prisoner, what?"

"We haven't heard from them, so we don't know whether your brother and Publius are dead or alive, whether they're prisoner or free. All we know is that they could not stop the Orcs. The legions could have retreated and be preparing for a counterattack, or they could have been slaughtered to the last man."

Gaius felt sick. "Slaughtered. I never heard of such a thing."

Marcus Principius laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "It's not something Novari do. We rout the army, take prisoners when possible. The histories say Orcs don't take prisoners, though. They kill humans on sight."

"Do you believe the histories?" He remembered the Dominus's low view of Novar records, but he had also mentioned the Orc's unreasoning hatred of humans.

Gaius's father let his hand drop. "I don't know."

"Neither do I," said the Emperor. "A month ago I wasn't certain that the Orcs had ever existed. Now, the histories I only half-believed are the only things we have to go on."

"So you think Marcus is dead?"

"I don't know," said Gaius's father. "But we must admit the possibility."

"Maybe you do," Gaius said. "I don't intend to."
The Emperor gave a fierce smile that somehow made him look stronger. "Good for you." The smile faded as suddenly as it had appeared. "I'm afraid that isn't the worst news we have today, though."

Marcus Principius sighed. "He's right. Gaius, Lucia is dead."

This time Gaius felt dizzy as well as sick, and confused more than anything else. "What? How? How could she be dead?"

"There was a fire. It destroyed our townhouse. We found two bodies afterwards, one of them was Lucia's, the other one was a Dominus."

"A Dominus?" Gaius tried to think, to figure out what it meant that the same fire had killed both his sister and a Dominus. He wanted to blame the Dominus. Knowing what they really did had not made them any more noble in his mind. He couldn't think of any reason why they would want Lucia, however. They only trained boys. And he couldn't figure out how a Dominus could get himself killed in a fire, not after all the things he had seen one of them do. "What are you going to do?"

Marcus Principius clenched and unclenched his right fist, a stone-hard look on his face. "Wringing the truth out of the next Dominus I see sounds very appealing right now. One Dominus in particular needs a bit of wringing."

"While that might make you feel better, we have an Empire to defend right now," the Emperor said. "You, both of you, need to put thoughts of vengeance aside and start thinking about survival. This morning the Domini offered us their help against the Orcs."

"You intend to accept aid from those monsters?" Gaius snarled.

"You tell me. The letter I received from Publius credited two things for your escape from Kawyr lands: your own leadership and the Dominus. In your opinion, do we need help from the Domini?"

Although Gaius knew the answer, he wracked his brain for another one over several long moments. The Emperor waited, arms crossed. "Yes, we need their help. We can't beat the warlocks otherwise. But--"

"No buts. I understand your reluctance, and I have no illusions about who we're dealing with. They took my brother too, remember? If we need their help to survive, however, we'll take it. At their worst, they don't want us all dead, and that's better than the Orcs."

"Yes, sir," Gaius muttered. But if they're responsible for Lucia's death, I'll personally strangle every last one of them. He felt a tightness in his chest and had to cough to cover the rising emotion and give himself time to tamp it down.

"I know it's a bad sign when you call me ‘sir.'" The Emperor gave a small, comforting smile. "Just try not to start a war with the Domini. You know better than all of us that we need them." He paused a moment, looking hard at Gaius. The Emperor must have liked what he saw, for he said, "I'm sending you back to the front line. Will you be ready to leave in three days?"

"Of course." It didn't give him much time in the city, but he didn't have much to do here anyway. His home had been destroyed, most of his family lost or dead. He could visit a few friends, but he just didn't see what he had to say to them. None of them had seen what he'd seen, or lost what he'd lost. He quickly wiped his eyes.

"Gaius," Marcus Principius said. They both looked at him, but he was addressing his brother. "I should go as well."

"No, I need you here. The succession--"

"There hasn't been a struggle over the succession in two hundred years."

The Emperor sighed. "There might be now. Vibia wants to make that boy Emperor."

"That boy is your grandson."

"He's an Agnatii pawn, and I will not let them rule Novaro. To stop them, I need you here looking like my heir. Is that understood?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"And don't call me that. I'm not some Manuelite king," the Emperor growled.

Gaius didn't really understand their conversation. He thought they might be talking about his cousin Dominicus, the son of the Emperor's daughter from a previous marriage. That was the only grandson that Gaius knew about.

The Emperor turned to address Gaius again. "Now, as I was saying, you'll be leading both of Novitia's legions when you go."

"Leading? You're putting me in command of two legions?"

"Four, by the time you reach Ciskainia. Cisolympia and Anorum will each send one as well. I'm afraid that's the most I can give you on short notice. It'll be months before you have all ten."

"Sir, I'm hardly experienced enough to lead four legions, much less ten." Each of the ten provinces had two standing legions during peace times, one of which the Emperor could take command of at any time. During times of war, the provinces could raise at least two additional legions, one of which would be placed at the Emperor's disposal.

"You're calling me ‘sir' again. No, don't apologize, listen. You're the only tribune I have who's seen what we face, and the only one who's fought alongside a Dominus. You'll have other, experienced tribunes, and consuls as well, to guide you, but right now I need someone who knows what we face to direct the action. Do you have a staff?"

"A staff?"

"People to give you advice and run the administrative side of things. Who of the people who came with you were out there?"

"Just Paulus, a couple of other centurions, some veteran legionaries. No Patrician officers."

"Well, that'll have to do for now. This Paulus is a centurion? Make him First Centurion of your lead legion. Use those others as well as you can. I'll personally assign my most capable men to your staff."

In short time, Gaius found himself back in the antechamber, where the secretary--maybe his name was Tarinus--handed him several formal looking documents. By the time Paulus arrived, he was heading out to inspect the troops. He had lost both a brother and a sister in the same day, but he had too much to do to acknowledge the loss. He didn't stop to think about whether he could keep this up, since he instinctively knew that if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to get going again. While he possessed the rank of tribune in the Ciskainian legions, that title did not give him official standing in Novitia. Instead, the Emperor had given him the title of legate, an Imperial appointee who oversaw legions without being a member of them. The legions themselves had long derided legates, seeing that title as a political reward given out for loyalty rather than ability. Gaius feared that he would only reinforce that preconception.



Lucia held on to her seat as the two-wheeled wagon bounced on the uneven paving stones. The bright sunlight warmed her back, but the wind rippling through the green grass kept the heat down. Hills of it stretched in all directions, blocking out all sight of man-made structures. Only the Novar road gave any hint of human habitation, and even it passed beyond sight only a mile or so in either direction. Over the past few days, signs of civilization had become fewer and farther between as they approached the Olympian mountains. The lack of traffic fed into her sense of abandonment. They might have been the last two people in the world for all that she could see. Lucia had spent most of her life in a city where she was never more than fifty steps from a dozen other people. This isolation wore on her nerves, not to mention the sheer boredom of riding this wagon day after day with only Raxtus to talk to. As Raxtus only wanted to talk about how his shipping business was going and the women he had known, this conversation lost interest to Lucia right away. She suspected that Raxtus had more interesting stories to tell, but he would shut up the moment the conversation strayed to the less legal side of his business. When Lucia wanted to talk, he would at least grunt in the right places, but she found that she didn't trust herself enough to talk much to him. There was too much of a risk that she would say something she shouldn't and drop a clue to her true identity.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" she asked her driver.

Raxtus didn't look at her for a moment, instead muttering something under his breath. She couldn't overhear what he said, but she sensed annoyance. "This is what the folks in that town told us. If Aulus had given me better directions, we wouldn't have had to ask."

Raxtus had not liked going into the town at all. He had made her ask the questions while he sat in the wagon trying not to be seen, radiating a readiness to bolt. The man had to be as paranoid as Aulus. Still, though cautious, he had had enough courage to face down bandits twice on this journey.

"Does any of this look familiar, Marcia?" he asked.

"Not really," she admitted, unfazed by her alias. "It was a long time ago." Raxtus grunted and muttered something about "forgetful girl." She had heard him use worse names.

"Why does your grandfather live in the middle of nowhere, anyway? It's so out of the way, it doesn't even have a decent road. This one hasn't been maintained in years."

"He likes his privacy," she said, not really knowing the answer. Lucia had never understood why anyone would shun the city life.

With a suddenness that surprised them both, the manor house appeared like an island rising from the green sea. Nestled between two hills, the house had been hidden until now. It did not resemble the sprawling brick Novar villas, instead Lucia's grandfather had built his home of wood, tall rather than wide. It stood three stories high, with wide open windows to let in the breeze on this warm summer day. A colonnade fronted the long porch to uphold a balcony on the second story. Smaller buildings lay beside and behind the home. She recognized her grandfather's workshop, where he produced all sorts of wonderful wooden objects, a stable for his horses opening on a large fenced-in field, and small cottages where her grandfather's servants lived.

"This it?" Raxtus asked, pulling up his mules.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Well, grab your stuff and go."

"You're not staying?" she asked, suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of facing her grandfather alone. He would think she was Jaelin, and things would just get worse from there.

"I did my job, getting you here. From the way the townspeople spoke of this relative of yours, he's not someone I want to meet."

She had not thought Raxtus paid attention. The townspeople had been uncomfortable about her grandfather, even a little fearful. She remembered him as gruff with outsiders, but she had never thought of him as dangerous before. "But--"

He didn't let her finish. "You getting off here or not, girl?"

"Yeah. I guess so," she said, shouldering the bag with her few belongings and hopping off the wagon. She barely had time to wave good-bye before Raxtus got the mules moving again.

She gave a brief sigh, then turned toward the house and started down the gravel footpath which stretched from the road to the porch. She took them off and walked instead in the wild grass beside the path. The tall blades tickled her legs inside her dress, but she preferred that over the hot, sharp stones of the pathway. The small sack slung over her shoulder grew heavier as she approached the front door. So far, she had not seen anyone about the yard. Lucia tried not to think about what she would do if her grandfather had abandoned his manor. Her only transportation must be half a mile away by now. Not knowing what else to do, she pounded on the door. "Hello," she shouted. Sounds of movement emanated from inside, though she could not see anything, even through the wide open windows. Her grandfather himself opened the door a few moments later.

Though Gulwith had to be much older than Lucia's father, he looked younger. White strands peppered his full hair and beard, but his face evidenced no wrinkling. He stood almost as tall as Marcus Principius, and with a larger frame he looked huge even through Jaelin's eyes.

"Jaelin!" he said. "Avla sent a letter saying that you had disappeared when Lucia--" he cut off. Lucia suddenly felt anxious. Of course mother would have written, and however much her grandfather had loved Jaelin, he wouldn't deny his own daughter. Why couldn't she read him? He was as blank as the Dominus. "I should have known you'd find your way here," he said, his voice softening. "You always were a survivor." He wrapped his arms around her in a suffocating hug.

Lucia's alarm had barely begun to fade when Gulwith stiffened. "Lucia?" he said, pushing her out to arm's length. Lucia opened her mouth to explain, wondering how she could, wondering whether she should, when her grandfather began to hum. She remembered him always humming to himself, and the familiar sound soothed her immediately. She felt younger, not the little girl she had been when she last saw her grandfather, but her own age, not Jaelin's. Her grandfather looked even larger and older than a moment ago, a true adult who would know what to do. The uncomfortable body, still unfamiliar after two months, became familiar and comfortable.

Her clothes did not seem comfortable, however, but several sizes too large. She brushed a locke of her dark hair out of her eyes. Why did the color seem odd? She had always had black hair, except when she had been Jaelin. When had that been?

"Come inside, Lucia. I have a feeling you have a long story to tell while you still remember it. I want to know how Jaelin died," he said, a hand covering his face for a moment before it patted her hair.

"Yes, grandfather," she said, led along by his firm hand on her back and his humming in her ear.

"I think you'll be staying with me for a while," Gulwith said. Somehow, the humming seemed to continue even while he spoke. "Maybe I'll teach you something about music."�

---

This is the final 4,849 words of a 90,110 novel.

I hope you enjoyed Fire. As you can see from this "ending," the story is not complete. Rather, I've placed everybody in a position that I can leave them alone for a while and pick up after they've had some time to grow. Water, the next part of the book, starts two years after the events in the Interlude.

My small group didn't finish until 10 pm last night, which meant I didn't get home until 11 pm. As such, I didn't manage to get much blogging done. I've got to start planning for these late nights and prepare something in advance. We'll see if I manage something Friday.

It's come up as I was reviewing some material from Eyes in the Shadow and trying to decide whether Dominic's views on demons in Chapter 6 was un-Christian. Here's what I told a friend in an IM chat:

DonaldCrankshaw (11:05:16 PM): Anyway, the question Dominic is directly addressing is whether a demon can physically harm a believer. So far, Red-eyes hasn't, not really, but is he allowed? I think many Christians would say that a demon, or a demon-possessed human, couldn't physically harm or kill a believer, but I think there is little Biblical basis for this.

DonaldCrankshaw (11:06:01 PM): A madman with a gun can kill a Christian. When Judas betrayed Jesus, the Bible says the Devil entered him.

DonaldCrankshaw (11:07:01 PM): Why should we think our protection against demons is any different from our normal protection, the assurance that God is in control, and that we won't die except by his allowance?

DonaldCrankshaw (11:07:54 PM): If God allows Christians to be martyred by pagans, why should we think it won't be allowed if demons are involved?

DonaldCrankshaw (11:08:34 PM): Satan was involved with Jesus's death, even though God worked his own purposes through it.

Depressing thoughts, I suppose. These are the sort of things that keep me up at night. Of course, I know that many Christians feel very strongly about these things, and are eager to argue. If you do so, please provide Biblical references.

The Storyblogging Carnival is an opportunity for bloggers to share examples of storytelling in blog format, whether they are fiction posted online or something else. If you're curious about what this looks like, have a look at some examples of previous storyblogging carnivals. The next Storyblogging Carnival will be the thirty-ninhth, and it will be going up February 27th, at Doc Rampage.

These posts are getting kind of repetitive, aren't they? The general information is the same each time, so it's really easy just to cut and paste and just change the details, but I'll try to change them up some.

If you'd like to participate, please e-mail your story submissions to me at docrampage-at-gmail-dot-com, including the following information:

• Name of your blog
• URL of your blog
• Title of the story
• URL for the blog entry where the story is posted
• (OPTIONAL) Author's name
• (OPTIONAL) A suggested rating for adult content (G, PG, PG-13, R)
• A word count
• A short blurb describing the story

The post may be of any age, from a week old to years old. More information can be found at Doc's blog. The submission deadline is 11:59 PM Eastern time on Friday, February 25th.

This should have gone up earlier, but I had it scheduled wrong. My apologies, but for once I won't apologize for it being late, since it's just mischeduled.

Sluggy Freelance — And Sluggy's back, as Kada, Calix, BA, and Stu find Teknokon One. Unfortunately, it's tightly locked up with a password, and the only thing open to Kada's computer is a video game. Fortunately, she discovers that the high-scorer in the videogame is Maks, from way back at the beginning of this storyline, and uses his password to get in, to discover a message waiting for her. What is Maks's connection to Teknokon One? I'm sure we're about to find out.

Day by Day — Some Valentine's Day themed comics this week, including the Kofi's crush and Engineer Valentine cards. The Cartoon Wars also get a mention. It looks like Chris is trying to get himself a Fatwa.

Scary Go Round — A winner is chosen... but as it's by Shelley, it doesn't make much sense. Roxy's performance gets the attention of Hugo, who offers to be her agent.

College Roomies from Hell!!! — With the mice loose, all chaos follows, with lots of nudity, destroyed clothes, and mutations. I just hope the plane will arrive on the ground safely.

General Protection Fault — Having heard alt-Trudy's story about how alt-Nick took over the world, the GPF gang now has to travel to the alternate world to rescue their Nick. How come Nick is always in need of rescuing, anyway? Why can't he take care of himself?

Schlock Mercenary — Now that the officers and senior staff have accepted a missing paycheck, will someone inform Elf and the Doctor before they go on a spending spree? No? Then someone ought to stop the Fashion Assault folks before Elf hurts them. No? Well, okay, that's going to hurt.

All right, so this is hardly earth-shaking news, but I finally got myself an LCD monitor for my desktop computer at home. At 19", it feels huge, and it's very pretty. And now that I've got it, that's it. No more new hardware for a few months. I've got to stop spending money on computer stuff I don't need, and focus on buying something else I don't need, like a high-definition television.

Then again, maybe I should focus on getting published, and you know, save my money. I'll think about it.

My blogging is always light these days, but last night I had my service small group, and I didn't get home until after 10:30 pm, and after eating dinner and writing a lengthy e-mail to a friend, I just didn't have much time to prepare anything for today.

What's a "service small group", you ask? Well, it's a Bible study whose focus is outward rather than inward. In this case, it's focused on serving the homeless in Boston. We're just starting, but once things are rolling we'll meet for about an hour of prayer and Bible study, then spend another hour out on the street providing food and clothing to the homeless in Boston. Right now we're still doing training for going out, but I think it'll be a powerful experience.

The most recent Christian Carnival is online at Pursuing Holiness. This is the 109th carnival, making it the second anniversary, if I'm not mistaken. Huh, the Christian Carnival is the same age of my blog. Isn't that interesting?

Of course, there could have been a few skipped carnivals or something, so I think the Christian Carnival is a little bit older, but not by much.

I almost forgot, I started this blog two years ago yesterday. Yes, I started it on Valentine's Day, and no, I didn't have anything better to do. I did have something better to do this Valentine's Day, although I'm afraid it was a church thing rather than a date thing.

Anyway, it's been two years. I am blogging less these days, but I haven't stopped blogging. I've started a carnival which is still going strong, and I still manage to put up a long, involved post every once in a while, so I guess it's going as well as can be expected.

However, as I've already said, my focus this year is on getting published. This means polishing my existing writings, including significant new material for some of them, writing cover letters, and submitting them. So far, I've managed to keep a good pace with these things, but the blogging has already started to suffer. I expect it will continue to do so. I won't stop, and I'll probably manage at least one post every weekday, but I won't have as many long, involved posts. We'll just have to see how it works out.

I wasn't going to post any of the cartoons which are causing all the mess in the Middle East. As a Christian, I'm often on the receiving end of all sorts of mockery in "brave" artwork, so I'm rarely in the mood to mock anyone else's beliefs. I tend to think I'm usually pretty respectful of anyone who has strong convictions, although I occasionally get sharp tongued when I'm debating someone. But the fact that I do debate them is a sign of respect, and in many ways so is my sharp tongue--I assume they are adult enough to take it. All the chaos in the Middle East made me curious about the cartoons, so I looked them up, and found that Michelle Malkin had the complete set. Most of them aren't very good, so I wouldn't post them on my blog anyway. The best one is this one (I borrowed the image from Michelle Malkin):


I thought it was funny. None of the other ones are any more insulting than this one, although none of them are as good either. Are these mildly off-putting and even more mildly funny cartoons why the Islamic world is in flames? The simple answer is no. A lot of the protests are remarkably small affairs, only a few hundred people showing up in countries where the government handles spontaneous protest with machinegun fire, so you know that there's nothing spontaneous about the protests in Iran and Syria. In places where the protests are more spontaneous, many of them have never seen the cartoons, just heard their Imams' description of them, filled with the usual hate-mongering hyperbole, when there aren't any outright lies. But worst of all, when the Danish Islamic group took the comics on the road in the hopes of raising some outrage in the Middle East, they included some cartoons which had never appeared in the newspaper. Cartoons and photos showing Mohammed as a pig and a demonic pedophile. According to an article quoted at Captain's Quarters, the extra cartoons came from Weekendavisen and the photos came from anonymous hate mail sent to Muslims in Denmark. So it looks like the various sources are being conflated, and that the relatively mild cartoons published by the newspaper which is taking all the heat, Jyllands-Posten, really isn't the source of the illustrations which are causing the outrage.

Tales by Sheya has the thirty-eighth Storyblogging Carnival. There are seven stories this time, including the latest from the continuing tales by Sheya, Doc, Andrew, and myself, and the beginning of a novella by Ben. We have a thing for long fiction, don't we? Fortunately, Mark and Peace deliver some truly short pieces to balance things out.

It's been a while since I've linked to the Christian Carnival, so here's number one hundred and eight. This week's lacking a theme, but that's okay, as the themed versions always make me feel inadequate. If you'd like to participate in the next carnival, please send your recent post (something you've put on your blog since the last carnival's deadline) illustrating a Christian perspective to ChristianCarnival-at-gmail-dot-com with the following information:

• Blog name
• Blog URL
• Post name
• Post URL
• Brief description of post

The deadline is midnight on Tuesday.

Sluggy Freelance — Pete took a week off for his vacation, and Thyla provides tip and advice for World of Warcraft. It seems silly, but the last one is really funny.

Day by Day — The overly political Oscars, the way bloggers are filling in the slack left by the MSM, and the Democrats' manipulation of race are the main topics this week. Race, especially, gets a lot of discussion going between Jan and Damon in light of the funeral of Coretta King. And I must say that I like the larger Sunday comics, but the extra material seems to show up on the page even when you're looking at older comics in the archives. I'm not sure why that is.

Scary Go Round — It's probably a mistake to recruit Shelley to judge the Battle of the Bands, whose performances we see this week. Milford and The Boy do surprisingly well, but it's hypnotized Roxy who's getting all the attention.

College Roomies from Hell!!! — It looks like someone accidentally packed Chester, and he's now loose in the luggage compartment snacking on lab mice, the excess of which have gotten loose and are now interfering with the Roomies' abilities to communicate such important ideas as why it is that April's paying for sex.

General Protection Fault — We finally get a look at the flip side, where evil Nick and crew take advantage of poor, innocent Trudy. Nick, Fooker, Dwayne, and Ki have taken over the world. I'm not sure where this leaves alt-Trudy, but I'm sure we'll find out.

Schlock Mercenary — Elf finally gets a new body, but Kevyn isn't allowed to see until she gets properly dressed. Dr. Bunningus is stubborn that way. And Ennesby inserts a little honesty in the moral debate of how Tagon's Toughs should deal with their inability to sell the squid (the usual method of dumping it on the unwilling purchasers and taking the money at gunpoint has provoked an unusual attack of conscience).

The God or Not carnival is looking for more theist submissions. The deadline is tonight, around midnight, but I think the host will accept them a bit late. Send your submissions to submit-at-godornot-dot-com with the following information:

• author’s name (or handle)
• position: GOD or NOT? (please select one)
• the title of the blog on which it appears
• the title of the post
• a short description of the post (one or two sentences)
• a link directly to the post (permalink)
• the trackback URL (if different)

Cadmus has more information about the carnival at his blog, Cadmusings.

The Rest of the Story: The whole of Fire can be found on my Writings page in PDF format, while the portion of the story that's been published on this blog so far is on this page.

This is it, the final regular chapter of Fire. Now that we have chaos in Novaro and Ciskainia and among the Domini, it's time to spread it a little.

---

Chapter 17
The Coup
The pen, like every one he had ever used, felt awkward in Gar's hand. His half-sul master had taught him to write before even beginning his education in magic, but even after all this time, pens still felt wrong in his broad hand with its thick, short fingers, so unlike the long, graceful fingers of the sul. Writing made his hand ache, and his best scribing looked sloppy and malformed. He enjoyed writing anyway, even when he had to work at a small field desk with only a single lamp. Though the round tent was tall enough for him to stand upright and wide enough to comfortably hold the dozen bunks within, only Gar occupied it tonight. The noise of the night's celebration had finally died down, leaving him a chance to pen his thoughts in his journal:

11 Destris, Eighth year of King Talnek

It's been fourteen days since the Battle of the Pass. Talnek and I arrived at the Novar port city today with a small detachment of his Nasholk. Mitveh travelled with us. I had hoped The main army remains at the last village we razed. We left behind the ruins of that worthless village there to find the larger city here already in flames. Bajnik's vanguard had destroyed the city this morning. His hastiness infuriated our king, and for once I agreed with Talnek. He had wanted Bajnik to besiege the city, not destroy it, preferably forcing the humans to surrender. I also want prisoners. I need to know more about this land, and a single prisoner, especially a Dominus, would provide more information than a thousand close-mouthed Kawyr. Bajnik's warlocks levelled the Domini's tower first thing this morning, killing all within. They then systematically destroyed the humans' boats so the soldiers could slaughter the populace and pillage the town. They did not include any writings in their looting, preferring to use such materials as tinder. Those writings may not have done me much good, as I haven't managed to decipher the language, but I would give my right hand for a map!

The only source of information we have about this land is whatever bits and pieces Talnek passes on from what the Kawyr tell him. I'm not sure whether he tells us everything, but if he does, he follows the Kawyr much too blindly. Which means we follow him too blindly. Why do we, why do I, follow him? I don't much trust Talnek and I don't really like him, but I have to respect him. He's intelligent enough that even I respect his mind, and much more open-minded than the average sul. Too bad he's married to that self-serving, arrogant witch. I definitely prefer his leadership to the likes of Mular or Bajnik, and I shudder to imagine the state of the Orcs under the leadership of a coward like the late Deslar. For now, though, I'm willing to be led by Talnek, and he's willing to be led by the Kawyr. So far, this Empire where they've led us is nothing like the land of milk and honey they promised.

The grasslands we've seen are dry and empty, unfit for cultivation. That a few farm villages have grown up on it anyway makes me wonder about this Empire's supposed wealth. Nothing we've looted from them speaks of great resources. The burning city, more a town really, had little more to offer. The greatest find came in the form of several dozen jars of wine. It isn't even enough for the small force here, but Bajnik made sure that Talnek's guard received a lion's share of the wine, perhaps thinking that it will appease the king. That's unlikely, as our king doesn't bribe easily. He and Bajnik have been arguing long into the night. Deciding to do better things with my time, I drank with the an-sul among Bajnik's troops. Though they had been provided little in the way of alcohol, Bajnik's Toltem and Muirthin soldiers have been celebrating the sacking of the city with more vigor than Talnek's Nasholk sul. I retired to my tent before the carousing reached its highest levels. Even from here, I could hear them. It didn't quiet down sufficiently for me to write until just an hour ago. It must be almost midnight by now.

Gar put down his pen to stretch his hand, opening and closing it to work out the cramps in his fingers. Maybe the problem did not lie in his hand but in the pen. The wooden reed mounted with a metal tip was too thin for his an-sul hand to grip properly. A thicker rod would provide a better grip.

A loud ruckus outside interrupted his ruminations. He could hear the tramping of feet and the chink of mail armor. Shouted orders accompanied the noise, but Gar couldn't make out what the commander said. Rising, he picked up the wooden staff leaning against the field desk. He didn't need it, since his leg had fully healed days ago, but he had grown used to carrying it. Gar hesitated before pulling back the tent flap. Talnek knew he had appropriated this tent from some of Bajnik's scribes; let them come looking for him if they needed his help. What did he care what they did without him? Most likely it wouldn't affect him one way or another. Gar was halfway back to his desk when he discovered he wasn't alone.

"Wife." The word cracked like a whip. "You shouldn't be here."

Mitveh flinched at his tone. She stood by the rear flap of the tent, almost hidden in the darkness. Gar couldn't make out the expression on her shadow-obscured face, but she spoke coldly. "I am not your wife any longer."

"According to the Coven, you never were." He did not know which the Coven had found more repulsive, the union of sul and an-sul, or of witch and warlock. Either way, they had wasted no time nullifying the marriage as soon as his young wife's best friend had betrayed them.

"We don't have time for this," she said, an unfamiliar note in her voice. Was it fear?

"Of course not. You haven't spoken to me in seven years. You wouldn't break your silence just to tell me why you had kept it." Gar knew the answer to that question anyway. The Coven had cowed her, and none of his entreaties could convince her that love was worth more than her status among them.

"Gar, I need your help." Urgency laced her tone. "Talnek is dead, Bajnik killed him."

The warlock felt his stomach drop. "I don't suppose Bajnik challenged him to a legitimate duel."

"He stabbed the king in the back while his men assaulted Talnek's guards. He's now sending soldiers to slaughter the remaining Nasholk tribesmen."

What a horrid time for an assassination! Bajnik had twice the age yet half the wisdom of Talnek. "Does he really think he can unite the tribes behind him? Bajnik lacks the diplomatic genius of our poor, dead king. I suppose he means to make sure no one knows he committed regicide. How did you escape?"

"I have my ways. Why haven't they come after you?"

"They probably haven't figured out that I displaced Bajnik's entire administrative staff to take this tent. Talnek knew where I was, but how did you find me?"

"Talnek..." the lie died on her lips. "I... still have my half of our heartstone."

That surprised Gar. With their separate halves, they could find each other from opposite ends of the world if necessary. Why had she kept it, from sentiment or for an emergency such as this? Mitveh probably couldn't tell him any more than he could explain why he still wore his half around his neck. He put that thought away so he could deal with more pressing matters. "Bajnik's warlocks will discover where I am soon enough. We should go."

"His warlocks? Will they really fight you? No tribal chief can command the warlocks."

"We can't be commanded, no, but we can be bought. We have no loyalty to anyone, not even each other." Even as he spoke, he could sense three warlocks approaching. At least we can't sneak up on each other. "You had better hide. Use that shadow-charm you used to escape Bajnik." A brief look of surprise passed over Mitveh's face. Did she really think he had forgotten all of her tricks? She didn't ask any questions, though, and she didn't hesitate. Instead, she leaned back into the shadows and they grew deeper to hide her.

Gar turned to face the entrance, leaning on his staff as he waited. A tall sul warlock named Bultas entered, followed by two of his an-sul brethren. Gar didn't recognize either of them as anything other than Bultas's muscle. They looked the part. If not for the red robes, he would have taken them for soldiers. Gar held his magic at the ready, not daring to make the first move.

"Hello, Gar."

"What's going on?"

Bultas smiled to show his flat sul teeth. Both of his comrades had teeth sharpened like Gar's own. "I've come to make an offer. Bajnik is the new king of the Orcs, and he'd like you to join us."

"Bajnik isn't fit to lead the Toltem, and they'll accept anyone." Gar should know, as he had been born a Toltem. "What makes him think he can lead the entire Orcish nation?"

"He has the support of the Muirthin. He's marrying their chief's youngest daughter, which will make him the most powerful Orc on this side of the mountains." Bultas frowned at Gar's lack of enthusiasm. "Come on, Gar, why should this be a hard choice? It's no secret that you didn't like Talnek, and you and Bajnik both opposed this expedition in the first place. Do you have one good reason why you shouldn't join us?"

"I have several, but first and foremost is the fact that I like Bajnik even less than Talnek. So what's my alternative to joining the revolution?"

"Just this!" Bultas said as he leapt to his right. The Orc on his left already had his hand uplifted and the magic flowing. A small ball of flame flew from his hand. The magic flooded Gar, but not fast enough, and he knew he couldn't avoid his death. He was as surprised as anyone when the flaming sphere swerved away from him, grazing his arm as it flew into the shadows near the rear flap. Gar had no time to breathe in relief. His shield now in place, flames flew from his own hand, a stream of fire which stopped inches short of Bultas. The Orc on Bultas's right began to circle around the tent to get behind Gar.

The dull eyes of the an-sul on Bultas's left stared into the shadows where his fireball had disappeared. He never saw the small dart that struck him on the neck. As he reached up to slap the thing that had bit him, his hand spasmed while half raised. Tremors struck his other arm the next moment, then he fell to the ground as they seized his legs, where he lay convulsing and spitting garbled cries.

Bultas kept control of both his wits and his magic, but his henchman cried out in alarm at his companion's fall. Gripping his staff firmly with both hands, Gar swung it at the warlock's skull. The an-sul's shield against magic did nothing to stop simple wood, and the staff connected with a sickening crunch. The warlock fell, and a wave of flame washed over Gar, originating from Bultas. Several layers of his shield vanished, but Gar didn't try to wrap stronger protection around himself. Instead, a beam of pure flame shot from his hand, the narrow flow drilling through Bultas's shield and then his forehead. The sul warlock dropped to the ground.

Fires had broken out all over Gar's tent. The two dead an-sul blazed, while flames licked the wall, three of the cots, and the field desk. They had gutted his journal. Smoke smelling of wood, leather, and flesh filled the space and caused his eyes to water. Mitveh emerged from the shadows, thin tendrils of smoke rising from her hair.

"Are you all right?" Gar asked.

"A bit singed," she replied. "What was he trying to do, burn down the camp?"

"He put more power than focus into his attack. I did the opposite. Come on, let's go."

They left the tent by the back entrance, where the cool night air cleared the smoke from their lungs. Mitveh seized his hand in her left as her right hand fingered a small amulet around her neck, a five-pointed star of black metal. Gar recognized the shadow-charm just before darkness engulfed them both. Though the magic blinded the warlock completely, he knew that Mitveh could still see, so he had to trust her to get them to their destination while avoiding discovery. As long as she stayed out of well-lit areas, no one would notice a deeper darkness among the shadows. Thus, they moved through the darkest areas, within the narrow openings between the small tents. Both Gar and Mitveh stumbled often, since her immunity from the shadow-charm did not help her with the natural darkness. Unable to see anything at all, Gar moved cautiously yet still tripped over the uneven ground, tent ropes, and even Mitveh. He held tightly onto her slim hand, ignoring memories of the last time he had held it. He remembered it as warm and dry; now it felt cold and damp. Both of them sweated from the tension. An unnerving silence filled the camp, so that Gar felt certain that their enemies must hear every sound they made. Every once in a while another sound intruded on their own harsh breathing. They heard snoring an-sul as they passed between the tents of Toltem soldiers. Distant tramping signaled the movements of a small force of Bajnik's troops. Once, shouting started right in front of them. Gar might have panicked if Mitveh had not given his hand a reassuring squeeze. When he could hear the words above the drumming of his own heartbeat, he realized he was listening to an an-sul sergeant dressing down an underling. The two retreated further into the shadows and found another path. Their worst danger came from the nearly two dozen warlocks who had volunteered for Bajnik's vanguard. Gar wondered why the unusual display of eagerness had not struck him as odd at the time, since most warlocks had to be bullied or bribed into doing anything. He focused his attention on detecting the other warlocks before they sensed him. His only advantage was that they had no way of telling his alignment from their sense of him, whereas he knew that every warlock he could feel was an enemy.

They came to a stop somewhere in the northern part of the camp. He could feel many warlocks close by, two of them very near. "Why are we stopping?" he whispered in her ear, the first words he had dared to speak since they left his tent. He could smell her burnt hair.

"We've reached Talnek's troops," she whispered back.

"Let me see."

The darkness lifted. Gar found himself in the shadows between two small tents, each with enough room for four soldiers. Ten of these tents stood in a rough circle around an open area where several dying fires lay. Amidst the fires were nearly forty Orcs, the whole of Talnek's Nasholk. The dim light made it difficult to tell why they lay unmoving, but it did not take a leap of logic to reason that they were dead. The an-sul warlock couldn't see anyone else, not even the two warlocks whom he suspected waited for him. Mitveh started to move forward, but Gar tightened his hold on her hand.

"They're expecting us," he whispered. "Two warlocks."

She turned her head, just a shadowed suggestion of a face visible in this light. "Just two?"

"Stay here for now. I'll need your help in a moment, but try not to kill them."

With that, Gar strode into the clearing. They must have set up this ambush once they realized Bultas had failed, assuming that he would come here. Two warlocks hardly seemed enough where three had failed, but they must have thought he would simply steer clear of a larger gathering. They could feel him approaching, and they had to know he would sense them. Did they think he wouldn't recognize it as a trap? They would expect him to try to sneak around them, where he would trigger their trap. He intended to surprise them by coming straight on. Though he couldn't tell where they hid, he knew he was getting closer. With luck, they had no idea Mitveh was with him, since her unexpected presence would give him his only advantage.

The first dead Nasholk whom Gar passed had his throat cut, as did the second. The third had fought, his foot severed and a savage wound opening his chest. By and large, however, it looked as if most had died unresisting. Bajnik must have drugged the wine, or simply poisoned it. The surprisingly little blood suggested that most of their hearts had already stopped beating.

Gar approached the center of the camp, wondering when the attack would come. The warlocks had to be wondering why he marched directly towards them. When he came to the center of the circle of tents, his magic reached out to the smoldering fires. Dying embers came to life, spewing thick, black clouds of smoke. Gar took advantage of the cover, running to his right even as a storm of fireballs flew at him. He gagged from the smoke despite being the its source. Once he broke free of the cloud, Gar spun around, searching for the two warlocks through blurry eyes. One of them, a sul, came into sight, circling around the edge of the smoke to find him. Gar saw him first. The smoke cloud boiled as tendrils struck at the warlock. Smoke enveloped the sul before he realized what was happening, tentacles reaching for nostrils and throat. He tried to cough, but that simply allowed more smoke to pour in. Coughing became impossible as the warlock began choking, falling to his knees. Still the smoke continued to rush into him, draining the cloud to wispy mist. Then, as he fell face forward onto the ground, Gar reversed the magic, and the smoke left the warlock's body to dissipate into the night air.

He spied Mitveh on the other side of the cloud, the narrow tube of her blowgun in her hand. The other warlock, also a sul, lay before her as she checked to see whether he still lived. Looking satisfied, she left the Orc behind and came over to Gar, stepping through the vanishing cloud. "He's still alive, although I don't know why you wanted him that way."

"The other warlocks have already sensed the magic. If they had felt a fellow warlock die, they would have come running. Some of them are coming anyway. The rest probably think it's a false alarm"

"Then we should get to the horses quickly."

The Nasholk had picketed their horses close to their camp. Gar and Mitveh retrieved two apiece, and were underway before any more warlocks had appeared. Mitveh rode with an elegance which Gar had always envied. No matter how often he rode, he did not have the grace or instinct of a sul. Mitveh's shadow-charm could no longer provide cover, since the horses would not tolerate total darkness, but the Nasholk had pitched their tents near the edge of the camp, and they only had to disable three guards to clear Bajnik's army.

Mitveh set a hard pace heading north for the first few miles, until Gar could no longer sense the warlocks pursuing them. Speed rather than stealth had gotten them that far, but they could not rely on it forever. So they turned westward, clearly the wrong direction and hopefully throwing off pursuers. Still, Gar kept looking over his shoulder to see if they were being followed, since he knew it would not take a skilled tracker to follow them. Fortunately, they would not need to run for long.

As the night gave way to the gray pre-dawn, the witch allowed a brief rest. Gar slid from his horse, eager to put some distance between him and the animal. It had been Talnek's, and Gar had a feeling it did not like him. Mitveh dismounted and sat on the bedroll her horse had carried, staring into the dawn. She did not look like she intended to sleep, and neither did Gar. He knelt in front of her.

"I need to know what happened," he said.

"Why?" she replied. He just looked at her until she shook her head. "No, you're right, I should tell you, but not yet. I'm too tired, and..."

"I need to know now." A small flame flickered to life in his cupped hand. "So I can tell my friends what has happened."

"I had forgotten warlocks could send such messages." She looked tired. And dirty. Her pale green skin looked drawn and even paler than usual except for where the dust had darkened it. "Do you even have friends? Will they help?"

"Yes. My... allies, let's call them, don't like Bajnik either, and with this information they can help."

"And then what will happen?"

"Most likely civil war. The horde here will scatter, and the alliance at home will fracture. We'll fight one another on both sides of the mountains, fight the humans on this side, and maybe even fight the Kawyr on the other. In other words, we'll follow our nature, like we always do."

"Would it be better to just let him go through with it?" she spat. "Letting murder decide the succession, and letting Bajnik get away with killing Anyua's husband?"

"I'm the one offering to send the message, remember?"

"Why? You certainly didn't like Talnek, and you and Bajnik have practically spoken with one voice about this expedition. Why are you offering to help me now? Why did you help before?"

Because you asked. Because, for the first time in eight years, you actually spoke to me. "Because while Bajnik and I agreed about this ill-conceived invasion, we don't agree about much else. Because I will not follow a king who believes in taking what he wants no matter who he has to kill for it. Because civil war will come anyway, and I'd rather our people had a cause more noble to fight for."

Mitveh looked into his eyes, and he watched hers, as he used to enjoy watching them years ago. She had to know that he had not told her the whole truth, but he didn't know whether she could guess what he had left unsaid. When she spoke, she simply answered the question that Gar had forgotten asking, "Talnek and Bajnik were arguing about the Kawyr, as usual. Bajnik must have already planned his move, but he seemed sincere in trying to sway the king. Talnek had spoken to the Kawyr at length about the humans, and he seemed to think that not all of them had to be killed. He had already told Bajnik that he wanted prisoners here, but now he talked about conquering cities, ruling over humans rather than slaughtering them. Even I couldn't believe that. Why should we let any of those awful creatures live? He turned his back on Bajnik, to say something to me, I think. I saw the sword emerge from his chest even as he opened his mouth. Only blood came out... Bajnik then turned to me while his guards attacked Talnek's. I panicked, used my shadow-charm and ran. That caught Bajnik by surprise even though it could not have been too effective in that brightly-lit tent. The poor thing's almost dead now. I overused it tonight."

A sliver of the sun appeared over the mountains, and Gar could make out her face clearly. She looked lost, staring through him rather than meeting his eyes. "Gar, what will happen now?"

"Like I said, there will be war," he answered. "The Nasholk and their allies will fight against the Toltem and theirs, other tribes will go their own ways, renewing old feuds. Each warlock will join whichever side pays him the most, and the Coven will pretend to be above it all while making every side believe that they have its secret backing. Sul will fight for reasons they think they understand, and an-sul will fight because they're told to. It always returns to this sooner or later. I suppose that in another hundred years some tribe will start a stable dynasty, and we'll tell ourselves that we've changed, we'll have peace from now on, until it all falls apart again. The only difference is that the humans and the Kawyr have been thrown into the mix."

"That is a difference though, isn't it?" she said, looking at him this time. "Couldn't having a common enemy, and a common friend, unify us?"

Gar shook his head. "I doubt it. However much we hate the humans, tribes don't aid their enemies against the barbarian raids. It takes a king to pull us together. There is no king here now."

"There is one on the other side of the mountains. Masnek is Talnek's rightful heir."

"Do you really think that what's happened here can be kept from influencing the succession back home?"

"If they don't know, then maybe. Even warlocks can't send messages that distance. Only the Coven has the means to do that, and we have only one such charm with us. If the Coven keeps this news from reaching the kingdom, then perhaps we can contain the fighting and keep the succession secure."

Gar thought about it. Lying did not bother him when it served his purpose, and he did not want to see the an-sul back home suffer, even if he could not bring himself to care about Masnek's right to rule. "We'll need the Kawyr's help." The words tasted bitter to him, especially considering the reason he needed their help. "They need to prevent any Orc from returning to the east. Until we resolve the situation here, this army is in exile."

---

This chapter is 4,440 words long, excerpted from a novel of 90,110 words.

I knew I had to kill Talnek the moment I sent the Orcs west. I couldn't have them conquering the Novar Empire, and the Novari didn't have enough legions to meet them. The Orcish force contains about 300,000, and with only twenty-two standing legions of about 5,000 each, the humans are severely outnumbered. However, Orcs are highly fractious, and a power struggle at the top was enough to split them into warring factions. Unfortunately for the humans, there are still too many Orcs to dislodge those who have settled in Ciskainia, so they'll remain a problem in the east for some time to come.

I really liked the relationship between Mitveh and Gar in this chapter. I honestly had no idea what was going on with them when I introduced Mitveh back in chapter thirteen. I just knew I wanted to keep Gar out of the exchange between Mitveh and Talnek, and it was only later that I figured out why he was avoiding Mitveh. This twist worked surprisingly well, and led to some other ideas I'm still working out.

And, if I had any doubts about it back in Chapter 9 when I first wrote for Gar's point of view, this chapter made it clear that Gar rocks. I originally introduced him as a stereotypically evil warlock, but he's really grown on me.

The problem with putting so much effort into my writing at the moment is that my blogging suffers. There are so many things I ought to blog about, including a few things I promised, but I'm struggling to keep up with the writing too, and that's my top goal this year. I'm not going to stop blogging, but don't expect it to pick up steam any time soon.

Remember yesterday when I said that I had finished the second revision of part one of Eyes and it had only gained 150 words? Well, it looks like I spoke too soon. I've been going through my writing group's comments on the story, and working in those corrections and suggestions which I feel work well, and after going through just one person's suggestions, it's gotten a thousand words longer. That took an hour, and I have four more to go through. Now the one I just finished had some of the most extensive comment, so I don't expect the rest to have quite the same impact, but it's going to take longer to go through them than I expected. I think for part two I'll work in my writing group's suggestions before I do the second revision. Which is what I had hoped to accomplish this weekend, but it looks like I'll still be busy getting through the part one suggestions. I'm not sure when I'm going to find time to work on that revision for the story I'd like to submit to another publication by next week.

I haven't said much on the cartoons which are causing such an outcry in the Muslim world. I have some thoughts of my own, but I've been pretty busy writing, so instead I'll just borrow someone else's, namely John O'Sullivan:

As riots spread through the Islamic world, the British foreign secretary, the U.S. State Department, the U.N. secretary general, various responsible Muslim organizations and many commentators in Europe and America are calling for restraint on both sides.

What both sides would those be? Well, one side has published a handful of cartoons, arguably blasphemous and certainly insulting to the Prophet Mohammed, and the other side has burned embassies, taken hostages, murdered three people suspected of being Christians and/or Danes, shot at Danish soldiers helping children in Iraq, marched through London with banners threatening further bomb attacks on the city, and attacked and beaten people whom they suspected of some vague connection with, well, with Europe or Christianity.

Suppose both sides listen to these calls for restraint. What would happen? I suppose that one side would stop burning embassies and murdering people and the other side would no longer publish cartoons to which the murderers might object. That would mean the murderers had obtained their objective and the Danish newspaper that first published the cartoons had been defeated in its campaign against the unofficial Islamist censorship that in recent years has spread across Europe by murder and intimidation.

As uncomfortable as it is, he certainly has a point.

Update (2/10/2006): Link fixed.

I've finished the second revision of the first quarter of Eyes. (If you're wondering where I've been, that's where.) I expected, as I was working on it, that it would grow some, as I filled in gaps and made things clearer, maybe going from 14,000 words to 15,000 or more. Instead, it only gained about 150 words. On the one hand, that means I'm gettting better at telling stories without using a lot of words. The down side is that I need Eyes to get longer if I'm going to do what I want with it. A lot longer, at least 60%. I was hoping that the revision process itself would naturally add 10% or more, with the remaining 50% being things which I had previously just skimmed over being expanded into full-fledged scenes. It's beginnning to look like I'm not going to get that 10% from the revision. The thing is, I really want to be done with the revised Eyes by June so I can get Water done by the end of the year, and I'm beginning to doubt my ability to do that. I'll try, though, I really will.

The Storyblogging Carnival is an opportunity for bloggers to share examples of storytelling in blog format, whether they are fiction posted online or something else. If you're curious about what this looks like, have a look at some examples of previous storyblogging carnivals. The next Storyblogging Carnival will be the thirty-eighth, and it will be going up February 13th, at Tales by Sheya.

If you'd like to participate, please e-mail your story submissions to me at sheyajoie-at-yahoo-dot-com, including the following information:

• Name of your blog
• URL of your blog
• Title of the story
• URL for the blog entry where the story is posted
• (OPTIONAL) Author's name
• (OPTIONAL) A suggested rating for adult content (G, PG, PG-13, R)
• A word count
• A short blurb describing the story

The post may be of any age, from a week old to years old. More information can be found at Sheya's site. The submission deadline is 11:59 PM Eastern time on Friday, February 10th.

Sluggy Freelance — The big revelation this week is that Blacksoul is really... Bun-bun from the future. Only that Bun-bun is not really from the future, but the Bun-bun we've been following all along is Bun-bun from the past, before he joined the Sluggy cast. Uncle Time sends both Bun-buns home, past Bun-bun to be bought by Torg, future (current) Bun-bun to Gwynn's cereal bowl. It's a bit deus ex machina--okay, it's a lot deus ex machina--but I'm gettting tired of this storyline anyway. Of course, it's not really over--we have to find out what happens to Kada and Calix--but hopefully that won't take too much longer.

Day by Day — Chris has a lot to say about the Muslim outrage over the Danish cartoons, beginning with "Buy Danish." There's also Cindy Sheehan, Howard Dean, and the Democratic response to the State of the Union, and a bit on Michael Yon's trouble with the army.

Scary Go Round — There's some skullduggery going on among the school's administration, as the guy in charge is clearly evil. With the Battle of the Bands about to begin, Shelley is covering it for the newspaper.

College Roomies from Hell!!! — The plane takes off, and Dave's panicking. You'd think that he'd never been on a plane before, which he hasn't, except for the one time he was out-of-his-mind drunk and helped hijack one. In another row of seats, Dianna has just spilled the secret of April's frequent flyer program with Paul to Marsha and Margaret.


General Protection Fault — So Nick's brighter than people have given him credit, and he knows that the Ki he's dealing with isn't the real Ki. now we just have to wait for alt-Trudy to explain what's really going on.

Schlock Mercenary — Elf's not happy about her forced medical leave. She'd much rather be blowing stuff up, or barring that, getting some new legs grown. Kevyn's attempt to offer his advice isn't very well considered. Meanwhile, Tagon's run into a snag in his attempts to be paid twice for a giant squid, as it turns out that the creature he has doesn't quite fit in the giant squid family.

I went to two Superbowl parties and didn't get home until midnight, so I'm afraid I didn't have much of a chance to blog last night. And I was sick last week, so I never really got around to my argument on God's goodness, so I still need to get that done. I'll try to get my weekly webcomic update up later tonight, and get to that argument by later in the week. But I'm not going to be able to get much done right now.

Lileks has n post on a Christian organization that has run afoul of the intolerance of the tolerance dogma:

I read stories like this, and the very first paragraph makes me tired.

A UNIVERSITY Christian Union has been suspended and had its bank account frozen after refusing to open its membership to people of all religions.

I could understand a University turning a cold narrow eye to a group that declared, in its charter, that nonbelievers and sodomites alike would be cast into the lake of fire on Judgment day - and to prepare them for that event they would be set alight should they attempt to attend a meeting of the Christian Union. But:

Members claim the actions have been taken against them after they refused on religious grounds to make “politically correct” changes to their charitable constitution, including explicitly mentioning people who are lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgendered.

Personally, I suspect that the organization would welcome anyone who showed up for services, and not inquire too closely about what they wish to do with whom. But the Union isn’t in trouble for excluding people. They’re in trouble for not rewriting their constitution to “explicitly mention” some noisy people who, one suspects, are less interested in access to this particular group than enforcing the use of a wide bland smear of magic words that somehow insulates them from exclusion. It gets richer:

The Christian Union was advised that the use of the words “men” and “women” in the constitution were causing concern because they could be seen as excluding transsexual and transgendered people.

Something similar to this happened at Tufts University not so long ago, although there it was a little less absurd. The Tufts Christian Fellowship refused to let a practicing lesbian join its leadership team, apparently on the theory that the leadership of an organization should agree with its beliefs. They were suspended for a while, then eventually reinstated on a technicality, with the core issue--whether anyyone has a right to be a leader in an organization, even if they disagree with it--left unresolved.

MIT's Graduate Christian Fellowship, where I was an active member, did not hold elections for its leaders. Instead, the outgoing leadership team would ask people to take over positions for the next year. All in all it was very informal, as our problem was always finding enough people for the leadership team, not dealing with competition for positions. I doubt we would have run into the same problems as Tufts, as the passed over candidate would have no way of knowing why they were passed over. However, every once in a while, there would be problems with one of the current leaders. I remember a very difficult meeting I was involved in (actually I remember a lot of very difficult meetings--it wasn't always fun and games), where the organization's secretary had reached the point where he no longer agreed with the central tenets of the Christian faith. He asked us whether he should step down--he argued that he should remain since, even if he no longer believed in Christianity, he believed it was a good thing. We said he should. Being a leader in a Christian organization means more than just being an advocate for it. It means being a functioning member of the body of God. It means being a servant, first of God and then of the Fellowship. You don't have to be perfect--none of us were. But if you aren't trying to serve God, if you don't believe in Him or aren't willing to obey Him, then how are you going to help the Fellowship serve and obey God?

Jonah Goldberg has a great article on Groundhog Day, the movie, at National Review:

Here's a line you'll either recognize or you won't: "This is one time where television really fails to capture the true excitement of a large squirrel predicting the weather." If you don't recognize this little gem, you've either never seen Groundhog Day or you're not a fan of what is, in my opinion, one of the best films of the last 40 years. As the day of the groundhog again approaches, it seems only fitting to celebrate what will almost undoubtedly join It's a Wonderful Life in the pantheon of America's most uplifting, morally serious, enjoyable, and timeless movies.

When I set out to write this article, I thought it'd be fun to do a quirky homage to an offbeat flick, one I think is brilliant as both comedy and moral philosophy. But while doing what I intended to be cursory research — how much reporting do you need for a review of a twelve-year-old movie that plays constantly on cable? — I discovered that I wasn't alone in my interest. In the years since its release the film has been taken up by Jews, Catholics, Evangelicals, Hindus, Buddhists, Wiccans, and followers of the oppressed Chinese Falun Gong movement. Meanwhile, the Internet brims with weighty philosophical treatises on the deep Platonist, Aristotelian, and existentialist themes providing the skin and bones beneath the film's clown makeup. On National Review Online's group blog, The Corner, I asked readers to send in their views on the film. Over 200 e-mails later I had learned that countless professors use it to teach ethics and a host of philosophical approaches. Several pastors sent me excerpts from sermons in which Groundhog Day was the central metaphor. And dozens of committed Christians of all denominations related that it was one of their most cherished movies.

If you're not familiar with it, Groundhog Day is an American tradition based on an old wive's tale, that if the Groundhog comes out on February 2nd and sees his shadow, it'll frighten him and he'll go back into his hole and we'll get six more weeks of winter. If he doesn't, then we'll get an early spring. The town of Punxsutawney, in Pennsylvania, has a whole festival dedicated to this day, complete with the "official" Groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil, who predicts the weather. I'm not sure how they decided he was the official one, and by this point I'm sure they've gone through lots of Phils, but it's good publicity for a little town.

The movie, Groundhog Day, is about this festival as seen through the eyes of a jaded weatherman, again and again and again. It turns out that the weatherman, whose name is Phil Connors and who is played by Bill Murray, is stuck in a time loop. The reason for this is never made clear, but for some reason he's forced to live the day over and over again, while everyone else is experiencing it for the first time. The time loop is not an unfamiliar subject in science fiction--there was a Star Trek: The Next Generation episode about this, a Stargate: SG1 episode, and the sci-fi movie "12:01 am", and I won't even hazard a guess at who first put this idea into a story (although I'm pretty sure Groundhog Day beat the other three I could remember by name). However, Groundhog Day is particularly well done. The others focus on the pseudoscience of the occasion, and getting out, while Phil in Groundhog Day never discovers the reason for it. He eventually gets out, but not because he solves some great mystery, but because the mystery changes him. He becomes a better person, eventually living through the day perfectly. The spiritual symbolism that people see in the movie is not, I think, intentional, but there is something real there. Groundhog Day is more about redemption than anything else, and redemption is a very spiritual concept.

In any case, Groundhog Day is a great movie, and if you don't have it, you need to get it.

Doc Rampage has an interesting post where he criticizes a list of The 100 Best First Lines of Novels, pointing out that many of the selections are the first lines of great novels, but not really great first lines.

One of my favorite first lines is "The black-robed alien stalked through the Library, leaving the quiet chaos of frightened scholars in his wake." Okay, so it's the first line of a short story, not a novel, and I wrote it, so I'm a bit biased, but, in the narrow field of my favorite first lines of short stories which I've written, that's my favorite. But short stories, as a rule, make a point of grabbing the reader's attention quickly, so they try to pack a lot in the first sentence. Novels figure they have at least the entire first chapter to get the reader's attention, and novel readers much more likely to pick