In article <DvYh5.34$Zo5.21529@homer.alpha.net>,
codenkir@excel.net says...
> Jeff Huo wrote in message
> >Turnberry nods in recognition.  ["That will come in quite handy,"]
> >Turnberry notes, ["for everyone who isn't capable of flickering
> >themselves here _and_ who isn't interested in hacking their way
> >through the Dreaming itself..."] unconsciously fingering a scar
> >on his chin, as if his remembering his arduous journey here
> >caused him to remember the scar's existence...
>
>
> "That where you got that?" Mahri asks, nodding at his motion.
>
  Turnberry grins. ["Actually, I got that during -another- episode where I was hacking into the Dreaming after leaving the Silver Path...on the account of an oath to a Lady...-again-...."]

["Yes, yes, I know, I'm an idiot . This would seem to be the theme of my life...."]

Turnberry recalls, ["It was many years ago...I was traveling a Trod between Chicago and Ann Arbor, going home for the holidays a few years after I had joined the Order...I did not yet have the amulet that allows me now to Flicker-Flash to where I desire to go, and so Trods were the way I had to move. I was on the Silver Path when I heard screaming --high pitched, anguished screaming-- just from off of it. I couldn't see what it was, but the voice was desparate, and so I stepped off the Silver Path to render aid....one moment I was on a straight-foward road meandering along a meadow...and the next I found myself instantly in a massive, ancient forest. As I'm sure you know, the Trods are like that --when you're on the safe path, the dangers and enviroment just a hair's-breath off of the road are a complete mystery."]

["I heard more screaming. Raced through the woods, between mighty trees as thick around as a car. Turned around one stand of trees...and stood face to face with a Dragon."]

["Not one of these, 'oh, let's burn down the farm and eat all the cattle' dragons, I mean 'damn, it was a nice Kingdom while it lasted' Dragons. It stood a good hundred feet tall, yet managed to curl around the trees with the slow grace of a cat. And it had it's eyes fixed straight on me."]

["The only reason the first bolt didn't fry me to a crisp is that I threw on Quicksilver immediately like my life depended on it -- which it most certainly did! I ducked, I rolled, I ran my lungs out --the whole time this massive Dragon is ducking around trees and leveling blast after blast at me --moving fairly slowly, but how fast does one need to move when you're a hundred feet tall? The whole time, I'm listening, smelling, trying -anything- to figure out what happened to the woman's voice that I had heard, trying to figure out what had happened to the woman for whom I had strayed off the path to help..."]

["That's of course when I tripped. I was running too fast, rounding too many corners, and I slipped hard on a patch of pine needles and fell. The Dragon was on top of me in an instant...it drew it's head back to throw flame..."]

["...and suddenly out of nowhere comes a black shape jumping right in front of me --on top of me-- flame everywhere-- the smell of burning flesh-- a roar indescribable. The torrent of flame stopped, and I could barely register the fact I was still alive when the figure that had fallen on me staggered up and thrust two blistered and oozing, horribly burned hands out at a nearby tree."]

["There was a massive explosion at the base of that tree; a second later, the massive, hundreds-of-feet tall trunk toppled down...right on top of the Dragon's neck...the figure didn't even hesitate --it blasted another tree trunk, then another ...altogether, a half-dozen mightly trees fell down upon the Dragon, pinning it's neck under tons of Ancient wood."]

["I was already moving before the last tree had fallen --wonders what Quicksilver can do for initiative-- not knowing if the Dragon was dead, but intending to make damned sure it was. I whipped out my collapsing quarterstaff,"] indicating the short baton at his own waist now, ["snapped on a cold-iron blade, charged the Dragon perpendicular to it's horrible mouth and managed to drive the make-shift spear into it's eye, sinking the shaft four feet into the stunned Dragon's head, then wove Holly Strike again and again down the length of the spear until I ran out of Glamour, desparately hoping that the Dragon was a Chimerical, Dreaming-created creature, rather than a -real- dragon trapped in the Dreaming...and by whatever means, it all worked. Perhaps I managed to hit a cerebral artery, if such things apply to a Dragon; maybe I cooked it's brain. Who knows? But, God be praised, the Beast was dead."]

["I ran back to the mysterious stranger who had saved my life by shielding me from the worst of the blast; it indeed was a woman, and horribly burned. I tried to cast Heather Balm to help heal her, but my cantrips fizzled against her skin. She smiled sadly, and explained in a cracking, croaking voice, 'It will be of no use, friend --I have enchantments that make me invunerable to all Fae cantrips. But not, it would seem, to chimerical fire...' "]

["My next thought was to drag her back onto the Silver Path and to somewhere where we could get aid, but I immediately knew it was hopeless --I had no idea where the path was, and no means of finding it. I did, fortunately, have a ring that my parents had given me --a homing beacon, for circumstances just such as this. I quickly squeezed the ring three times, and it began to blink softly. I explained that I had signalled for help, and that in the meantime, I would go off to see if I could not find the Path sooner...but she bade me stay. 'Please don't leave me,' she begged, 'for I do not want to die alone...I have so much to atone for...and little time left for a confession...' "]

["I held her head in my lap, laid my coat over her shivering body --for the burnt lose heat quickly-- tried to comfort her as best as I could. She told me her story: she was a Mage, who once had two sisters, each of them separated by a year, and a mother, the father long ago dead. She was the youngest. One day, when the young lady was sixteen, a handsome gentleman had come to pay a call on her oldest sister. There was something irresistable about the man; he was like something out of a romance novel, and swept the oldest sister --nay, all of the family-- off of their feet. They went out...came home, much, much later...went up to the sister's bedroom --somehow the gentleman had convinced the mother to led him do this-- and early in the morning the house was awakened by screaming."]

["The Mage recounted the story with tears and hate;  all three of the other women of the house ran into the eldest sister's bedroom...all three saw the gentleman was not ordinary; he had pointed ears and wielded magic --a Fae-- and was raping her eldest sister.  Actually, her eldest sister was already dead, a decayed husk withering on the bed. It had been Rhapsody in it's most extreme, violent form -- the Glamour of the sexual act so pervasive that it instantly enchanted the three women and they were able to see him for what he really was. On his back was a cape, with an elaborate embroidered design --a great harp, with a black rose in center and thorns all around. On the Sidhe's face were scars on each side, instantly recognizeable if ever she saw him again."]

["The Gentleman was surprised, but acted quickly --he pulled out a gun from under his coat and shot the mother and middle sister in the head, meaning to leave no witnesses. He would have killed the youngest, too, except he missed--giving the youngest sister the fraction of a second she needed to duck and run. She ran, the gentleman chasing and shooting at her...she ran into the woods, the Gentleman pusuing her deeper and deeper in...for three days she ran, to the point of exhaustion...collapsing on a stream bed, the Gentleman cornered her, too tired to run. She waited for death...but an Archmage drove off the Fae killer, and saved her life."]

["I name not the Tradition from which that man was from, as I have no desire to blacken the name of that Tradition; but this Magus had found this young woman full of hate and knew he had something he could mold. This Magus explained to her about the Kithain...about Rhapsody...and promised the young woman vengence, if she would follow him. And so she did."]

["The next few years were hell for the woman...she was abused, in more ways than one...forced to do dangerous and demeaning work and cater to the Masters...desires...oh, the Master -did- teach her magic --after all, he had desired her for the latent talent he had seen in her, and desired an apprentice which he could control. She would have left him, if it was not for the promise that he could help her find this murdering Fae; after all, it wasn't like the Police or anyone else would even believe her story, let alone be able to help her.

And through him, she had her vengence upon the Fae, for together they fought, killed, and captured many a Fae. The Master was far beyond the age where he could do combat...but he could train this young woman, driven and feral with rage, to do his killing for him. And learn well she did. Theirs was a war against the Fae...and she was deadly indeed."]

["Indeed, she did grow powerful...powerful enough that she began, secretly, learning rotes on her own...rotes with which she could read minds and rip out secrets, to torture and interrogate, the better with which to extract information from the Fae they captured, information that might lead her to her family's killer. Always she asked, in addition to the questions her Master wanted, about a gentleman with twin scars on his face, of the crest of the harp and rose. None could answer her...most professing this with their last dying breaths, after hours of screaming agony. She had invented all sorts of new ways to cause pain...not completely because it was an effective means of interrogation, but as much for the pain as anything else. She killed at her Master's bidding, killed for her own pursuits of leads, killed also for the plesaure of killing...kidnapping some to interrogate, hunting others for practice...using a few, particularly unfortuate ones for their Fae blood and Fae Vitae for their rituals of power, she and her Dark Master...even the Order of Eilitheya's best could not stop her. She was Death Incarnate."]

Turnberry shrudders. ["She spilled her confession to me, of all the prominent Fae that she had slain --not all the Fae, just the ones she thought most important or most regrettable -- I shook with fear in that forest, for I had heard rumors of this woman, who surely must have been the malevolent dark force responsible for the destruction of many a Seelie noble and commoner in the Kingdom of Apples, and now knew that dark force was a flesh and blood woman whose cheek was resting against my heart. This being the Dreaming, the fact that she was from the East and I was from Chicago meant little to the plausibility --the Dreaming connects all places. But this same monsterous killer, who had slain Dukes and Barons, who had picked off grumps for practice and childlings for sacrifice, this tireless slayer of the Seelie, had just saved my life..."]

["Her strength ebbing rapidly, she spoke of the climax of her tale. One night she had come back to the Master's mansion early after another successful search-and-destroy mission, wiping out a Sidhe noble and her retinue, killing the Duke --one Duke Cambius, high in their Court, just a few steps below the Queen herself--  with cold iron at her Master's bidding. She was an angel of death, now, wielding magic and modern weapons with extreme skill, moving on utterly silent cat feet on her targets until it was too late. It was instinctual, now, she did it without even thinking, which is why she was able to walk into the Magus's study unnoticed...and stumble across her Master chatting aimiably with the very same Gentleman who had so long ago slain her family."]

["The Magus made the wrong move --he instantly attempted to kill his young apprentice. But years and age had made him slow, while nights of practice and training had made her strong. She slew her Dark Master instantly, then turned on the Gentleman...who was already halfway through a gateway in mid-air --an opening to a Trod-- and without hesitation, she dove in after him, managing to rip off his cloak, but not able to catch the rest of him. She fired magics at her opponent, but he was able to fend off or fire back...she pursued him deep into the Dreaming...into this forest...whereupon he had simply disappeared."]

["Not totally --he reappeared upon a tall tree-branch. She had fired magics at him, but before the fireballs could land, the Gentleman disappeared and reappeared elsewhere. Even as she tried and failed to hit him, he mocked her; mocked her for having been used by him for so many years to slay his enemies. For the Gentleman had been in league with the Magus...they had seen the potential in this young lady...had hatched a cruel plan where the Fae would give the young lady the motivation of vengence, and the Master would supply the training, and then she would be directed against the targets they chose. The fact that three innocent women --and hundreds of innocent Fae-- had to die...well, Honor is a Lie, and Change is Good."]

["Finally, he had taken his leave of her...that's when the Dragon found her...and it had been her scream, not of fear, but of frustrated rage, that I had heard."]

["Her life was ebbing swiftly, now, the breaths coming in gasps. My clothes were soaked with her ichor, as I could do nothing to step the massive loss of fluid from her great burns. Her eyes filled with tears...she begged forgiveness for her crimes against my people, for having been such a fool. She wept bitterly, and said to me,

'How pitiful is my life, that I have brought nothing but blood and death, and failed even in vengence? Not a single good deed will commend me to the beyond...'

'Nay, my lady,' I said, gently, 'nay to that, for you have saved my life when you could have left me to die.'

Her eyes seized me with desparation as I had said that. 'Can one good deed overcome a lifetime? Can a change so late bring forgiveness?'

She stared at me with a great hunger, like the answer would mean everything to her. I knew that she was dying, and knew I had time for but one last reply.

'Even the darkest night is broken by dawn,' I said, taking her hand gently, 'and you cannot be blamed for being misled in the name of love for those you held dear. Death itself cannot stop justice, for I swear to you before all I hold sacred, that I shall carry forth your quest, till justice is done or until I too fall...and I shall give you Justice, no matter how many lifetimes it should take.'

Her eyes...they seemed to soften, just a bit...had she heard me? Did she believe me? Did she, she who knew so much hate, know peace at the end? I know not, for the light went out behind those eyes just a moment later, and she was dead. I held her in my arms for a long time afterwards...long after the stars rose high in the night...long until the rescue team found me."]

["I had her story; I had the cloak she had torn off of the Gentleman. It was trivial then, to have Christina scrye it to find the identity of it's wearer...and armed with that knowledge, the two of us set out for the Kingdom of Apples...for Tara Nar, seat of the High King's throne itself."]

["It was the day of the opening of the Parliament of Dreams; High King David himself presided over the assembled representatives of every Freehold in great Concordia. In Tara-Nar's hallways, the high and mighty gathered and gossipped...including one Duke Lothario, newly installed Duke of the Dutchy of Winter Stars...a man who wore always a mask...to conceal the scars beneath...and the heart of evil within. And it was him that Christina and I cornered."]

["I don't, in retrospect, know what the hell I was thinking -- really, I probably wasn't. Perhaps there was some authority I could have approached, some trusted noble I could encounter --but then, Beltane and the Accordance War had taught me much about trusting Sidhe, Seelie or Unseelie. Driven too perhaps beyond reason with rage and hatred --for I knew what the Harp and Rose was --the sign of hated Leanhaun, the same House I had helped expose at loss to my voice, just a few short years before. But it was not under Leanhaun that Duke Lothario walked Tara-Nar now -- no, it was under the cover of another House that he posed as an upstanding Seelie Duke, a position to which he had risen over the dead bodies of the rivals he had had his Magus --and his young apprentice-- dispatch."]

["We saw him across a gallery, there because my position as a member of the Order gave me access to the proceedings. I rounded the corner on him. Christina used Mooch to steal his mask --he was slightly inebriated, and was thus vulnerable --and under the mask was the face, with exactly the scars the now dead Mage had described.

'Hold, foul murderer and Rhapsodizer!' I yelled with rage, 'In the name of King David and the Dreaming, I accuse you of the murder of Damia, Doria, and Saria Ruhampton; I accuse you of the Rhapsody of Damia; I accuse you of conspiring in league with the dark Sorcerer Thiendire to assasinate your predecessor, Duke Canbius; and I challenge you to deny even one of these charges upon the Dreaming!'

He didn't, of course --he couldn't. The Dreaming would slap him down on the spot. But there was another way. Among the nobles, matters of challenge and truth could be settled by a Fior --a challenge to first blood or death, the winner of which would be considered exonerated. And it was this he now chose --after all, he was a Duke; I was a commoner, and a Pooka one at that; a quick battle and my death would seal his innocence.

'I call upon the Dreaming and the right of Nobility to issue a formal Fior. Let all witness that I shall prove by the steel of my blade and spilt heart's-blood the lies of this Pooka wretch,' he said, haughtily. 'Do you accept?'

Christina might have tried to stop me, but I was already striding foward, my rapier in hand, saying in a voice colder than ice, 'I accept, foul traitor to the Dreaming --may Justice protect the Righteous.'"]

Turnberry pauses for a moment.

["There was no way in hell I should have been able to win that fight --I was good, but he was a Duke, raised from birth to know the sword. And even among the Sidhe he was renowned. But I had the Truth and the Dreaming on my side --and that -does- make a difference. That is why Fiors work --the Dreaming itself takes a hand. We traded blows, then he made a bad-footfall --he tripped-- I knocked his blade free-- and had my own at his throat in a second. The slightest twitch from him, and I would send him to Hell."]

Turnberry now rubs the scar on his chin thoughtfully.

["Everything in my spirit called on me to drive the blade home. It would have been trivial, and I was fully in my rights to do it, both by the Fior, and by Justice. And for the Sidhe, none know if they are reborn as we commoners are. Perhaps that death would be final, cold iron or not. But I held the blade....because he begged for his life. I demanded that he admit his crimes or be judged by the sword...and he did...in full sight of a dozen Gywdion knights who could confirm the truth of his words by the truth-sight that is their house's boon...and when the wretch had finished his confession, I withdrew the blade."]

Turnberry laughs bitterly.

["Should have known better than that --the instant my blade was free of his throat, his hand whipped down to his boot-- drew a cold iron blade-- and he threw it upward, right into the base of my chin. It would have killed me, skewered my brain from below, ended my Fae existence for all time, except for catching on my jawbone on the way through the bottom of my head and driving itself into the bone. For cold-iron may be deadly to us, but it also makes a poor blade; had it been steel, it would have sliced through the bone like nothing doing. As it was, I passed out with pain even as Christina threw a hail of fire at him and a dozen noble swords hacked the foul Duke to pieces --including at least one blade of cold iron."] Turnberry looks grimly satisfied. ["Whatever the truth of Sidhe rebirth, this Duke will never trouble Concordia again, not through the end of Time."]

["They say wounds of Cold Iron never heal properly, and mine certainly has not; the wound would have rendered me mute due to damage to my toungue, if the previous Leanhaun throat-crushing hadn't already done so. I carry that as a reminder of that story...and this,"] fingering the amulet of Flicker-flash around his neck. ["The very amulet that the foul Duke had worn around his neck...the amulet that he had used to leap from tree to tree in mockery; he had not used it to escape that night because he deliberately wanted to lead the young lady into the Dreaming, where she would be finished off. A fatal, ultimately, mistake, though not as he might have expected...Christina Mootched it off of the Duke's body, after I and he had been taken away. 'He won't be needing it anymore,' she pointed out, 'and by it being in your hands...wear it, every day, in memory of the lives destroyed by that foul Duke...and the lives you saved by ending his treachery...and as reminder that Justice does triumph.' "]

["And that's that story....think it's worth another drink?"] Turnberry asks, half-jokingly, half-seriously.