"Gandalf? That does sound a little familiar." The old shopkeeper scratched his beard and pondered. "Oh yeah, we had a guy by that name around here for awhile when I was a kid. Can't recall if he was a wizard or not, but I do remember those fireworks of his. Amazing things; you'd almost think they were alive."
That was him, all right! It was all I could do to contain my excitement. After months of tracing the wizard's footsteps one half-print at a time, I'd finally found an eyewitness. J.R.R. Tolkien really had lived as a dual in R2, just as I'd guessed--and this man had seen him! "Tell me everything you remember," I demanded.
The old man looked amused. "Well, he dressed all in gray, like you said he might. And I never saw him without a pipe. He had a whole set of 'em, different shapes and colors, some of 'em nearly as long as your arm. I never saw him do any magic, though, just smoke and tell stories." He shook his head and laughed. "He had some of the craziest tales, I tell you. All about this land that had no magic. The people had to do everything the hard way, and they never even knew it! Yeah, we kids used to love to hear him talk. I remember Gandalf, all right. Wonder whatever happened to the old guy."
"You don't know?" My grin faded a bit.
"Nah, like I told you, I only knew him when I was little. Last I remember, he was heading off into the Teeth to hunt orcs."
I perked up immediately. The Teeth were a curved range of razor-sharp peaks that formed a sort of jawline at the end of the valley I was now exploring. "Orcs, huh?" I mused. I hadn't seen any for myself yet, but from everything I'd learned, they were nasty little creatures, demi-demons whose only redeeming quality was that it didn't take magic to kill them. Traveling in orc territory, I could follow Gandalf and satisfy my Fury bloodlust on something that actually deserved death for a change. The Tongue Valley was short on real villains, so I'd been making do with the natural predators who threatened the homesteaders' flocks. It was enough to satisfy my physical cravings, but spiritually I was running dry. A Fury craved justice, something I just couldn't get from a mountain lion.
"Yeah, the Teeth are full of those little vermin." The shopkeeper grimaced, drawing me back to the present. "Thank God they don't get down this far into the Tongue. And there's a guy up at the Tip doing his best to drive 'em out of there, too. He's some kind of warrior, I think, but not the usual breed. He doesn't go around with fifteen swords and sleep in his chain mail." He cocked a sly eyebrow. "I hear he actually wears a mask, like he doesn't want anyone to know who he really is--if you can believe that!"
This was getting better all the time. First Gandalf, then orcs, then a mystery dual. "What do they call him?" I asked, as nonchalantly as I could.
"Now let me think." The old man scratched his beard again. "He's never been this far south, so all I know is what I've heard from my cousins at the Tip. What did they say he called himself? Aaah," he brushed his hand through the air as though swatting a fly. "I can't remember. But I'm pretty sure it started with a 'Z.'"
The Tip was a broad, flat plain at the end of the Tongue. Thanks to its excellent farmland, it was heavily populated despite the threat of orc raids. But the people who lived there tended to be pioneering types, tough-minded individualists who preferred the privacy of their homesteads to the safety of the Tongue. Not that that the Tip had no towns; it was just that they were more an outgrowth of its society than its center. Local philosophy had it that while villages were a source of merchandise and entertainment for the farmers, only the faintest of heart actually lived in them.
I arrived in the Tip the morning after my conversation with the shopkeeper, touching down in a tree brake just outside of the town of Serl. Behind me, the Teeth rose straight from the valley floor like icebergs from a placid sea. Before me, a ten-foot-high wall topped with spikes stood guard against intruders. I took my time on the way to the gate, enjoying the stark grandeur of the mountains. They'd hardly be visible once I was inside the city walls--one more reason to curse the orcs.
But evidently, I wasn't the only one who dared spend time outside the gates, for every square foot of wall was adorned with graffiti. Most of it was the usual collection of names and dates, declarations of love and claims of territory. But there was another sign, repeated every few yards in various hands, which was different enough to attract my attention. It was a simple design, two parallel lines joined diagonally by a third, but for a moment it seemed completely unfamiliar to me. Only when I'd seen five or six of them did realization set in, and I had to laugh. It hadn't taken long for the R2 alphabet to drive out my memories of an R1 "Z." But now that I had the meaning of the symbol, I had the name of my mystery dual, as well.
I'd spotted my first R1 visitor easily enough, as he was the only man in Dirss with Asian features. But in ethnically mixed Serl, the search would be more difficult. The Tip's inhabitants were a collage of races who would never have been able to communicate without the reverse-Babel effect of R2's magic. Talking to them was like visiting a sort of mini-United Nations. In my first few days of exploration I gained a wealth of information about R2 geography and customs, but I was no closer to finding my mystery man than I had been in the Tongue. Oh, everyone had heard of him, but few had actually seen him--and those who had could only give a vague description of a swordsman in black on a black horse. Not that they didn't admire him; if anything, his mystery made him even more of a hero to these privacy-loving people. I suspected that even if any of them had discovered the warrior's identity, they guarded it as jealously as they did their own homes.
Fortunately, the townsfolk weren't my only source of information. I had checked into an inn for the sake of convenience, but most of my nighttime hours were spent flying back and forth over the Tip, searching for any sign of the unknown dual. And in the end, that was exactly how I found him.
My eighth night in Serl was spent surveying a string of abandoned forts at the very foot of Teeth. I'd been told that they were over four hundred years old, built as the last line of defense against some enemy a thousand times more dangerous than today's orcs. When he was finally defeated (by a dual, most likely), the forts had fallen almost immediately into disuse. Too dank and dreary for human comfort but too dry and airy for orcs, they became a sort of informal boundary between territories. Of course, a determined intruder would have little trouble crossing them from either side, but the buildings weren't likely to harbor any long-term tenants -- which was why I was so surprised to see a light burning in one of the windows.
Curious, I drifted lower to the ground, wrapping myself in shadow until I was no more than a patch of deeper darkness against the sky. Then I peered inside. The room held a single occupant: a nervous-looking, pimply-faced young man with a lantern and a bag of coins, pacing like a caged cougar. He's waiting for somebody or something, I thought, and settled myself in to watch.
The incessant jingling of the money bag had long since set my teeth on edge when the scrabbling started. Gratefully, I turned my attention away from the young man to the cliff behind us, where something was picking its way down the rock. The creature was difficult to see, even with my night vision, because its flesh so closely matched the stone around it. It was dressed in dirty leather and chain mail but wore no shoes. Long, rubbery toes clung to the rock like fingers. Its legs were thick and stumpy, its arms much longer, and a ridge of bristly black hair ran down across its elbows to its wrists. The creature's face could have passed for that of a particularly ugly human, if not for the fangs and pointed ears. So that's an orc, I thought, and my dagger-hand tingled.
Hearing the orc's approach, the young man grabbing his lantern and ran outside, eyes gleaming in the darkness. "What took you so long?" he snapped as I floated higher to stay out of sight. "I've been waiting here for over an hour!" Despite his tone, I could tell he was more than a little afraid.
The orc laughed, a sound like rocks grinding together. "Not much fun, is it?" He hopped the last few feet down the cliff and stood eye-to-chest with the boy. "How much did you bring?"
"Fifty golders." The young man's voice quavered just a fraction.
"Phthakh!" The orc spat. "Hardly worth the trip." He drew a bag from his belt and tossed it carelessly at the boy's feet, then gestured with a long-nailed claw. "Hand it over."
Not daring to answer in kind, the buyer extended his own bag with nervous care, flinching as the orc's hand brushed his.
The creature sneered, more amused than angry. "Show a little more respect next time, or I'll charge you twice as much." A look of anguish passed across the boy's face as he bent to pick up his acquisition. Whatever it was he'd bought, it was worth any amount of humiliation.
He was still bent over when a voice spoke from the shadows behind the fort. "Poor Drume. What an embarrassing position to be caught in." The boy whirled and the orc's hand went instantly to its dagger.
A black-clad figure stepped into the light. "I wouldn't do that," the newcomer said dryly, his eyes on the demon. "You're only prolonging the inevitable." His own weapon, a gleaming, white-silver longsword, was already in his hand. The orc was unimpressed. Snarling, it leaped for his throat with dagger outstretched.
The stranger parried the thrust almost casually, then nicked the creature's chin and withdrew. "Nothing ruins your aim like anger," he laughed. "Try again, demon." The orc complied, and I couldn't help smiling as the fight began in earnest. It was a pleasure to finally watch my dual at work: he was quick as a cheetah, but he never sacrificed grace for utility. Soon the orc was oozing black from a dozen wounds.
But it wasn't just the man's physical abilities that fascinated me. The moment I saw him, I understood why I'd never been able to get a detailed description out of anyone in Serl. It wasn't that that people were unwilling to tell me what they'd seen; "unable" was more like it. The man was dressed in black; that much was clear--and the mask he wore covered the whole upper half of his face and head. But as for the rest of his appearance, my mind somehow refused to process what I saw. I could see his smile, but couldn't make out the shape of his lips; see his body, but not describe build. It had to be some kind of magic--and a particularly useful kind, at that. But was it one of his Gifts, or something in his costume? In either case, it explained why I hadn't noticed him sneaking up from behind the fort until he spoke. If the man was hard to see in the light, he'd be nearly invisible in the dark--much as I was, with my cloak of shadows. And did he also have some way of masking his scent? I'd heard that orcs' noses were keener than dogs', but this one hadn't noticed him any sooner than I had.
Fascinated, I watched the stranger finish his opponent with a flurry of slashes, the last three conveniently forming his signature "Z." The boy, meanwhile, had taken the opportunity to try an escape. Silently I trailed after him, ready to intervene if I had to, although it would be much more satisfying to let the stranger finish the job on his own. The young man ducked into a nearby building to hide or prepare an ambush -- I couldn't tell which. But following him inside would mean giving myself away, so I settled for hovering a little above roof level, far enough away from the building to see him crouch behind the door and draw his dagger. My dual had disappeared into the shadows again, so I was taken completely off guard when I heard the boy grunt and saw him pushed out the door -- from behind! The man in black shoved him to the ground and, as he rolled over, stuck the tip of his sword against his throat. "Oh God, please," the boy sobbed, more afraid now than he'd been with the orc.
"I'm not your God, Drume," the stranger said, and quirked a lip at the boy's gasp. "That's right; I know your name. And how much else do I know, eh? Do you think I could tell you the excuse you gave your wife before you came up here to buy that creature's drugs?"
"Don't kill me," the boy whimpered, tears squeezing out of closed eyes. "This was my first time, I swear. I won't ever do it again."
The stranger shook his head. "I know it's your first time up here, but you've been visiting the dealers in Serl for months now. You only came to the fort when you realized buying from the source would be cheaper. Isn't that right, Drume?"
"Don't kill me," the boy whispered again, too scared to think of anything else.
The masked man sighed. "Don't worry, boy; you're too pathetic to kill. But I am going to make sure that no dealer, orc or human, will have anything to do with you again." And with three flicks of his wrist, he gouged a "Z" deep in the young man's cheek. "You're mine now, Drume; they'll be afraid to come near you." Then his expression softened, and he tossed the bag of drug money on the boy's chest. "That's more than enough gold to buy a healing for your habit. Just don't ask them to fix your face. I'll let them know when it's time for that."
Drume crouched in the dirt, blood running between his fingers as he tried to hold his cheek together. "What'll I tell Evyn?" he gasped when he could speak again.
"She knows more than you think. Now go home; she's waiting for you." And with that, the man turned on his heel and strode away. This time I kept my eyes glued on his back, determined not to lose him in the darkness. I'd taken my night vision for granted so long that this sudden blindness was maddening. But with a little concentration I could just make out a man-shaped shadow, dashing toward an outcrop and a waiting horse.
Well now, I thought, this might be the best chance I'll have to introduce myself. I settled to the ground well behind him and called out, "Zorro!"
The man whirled in surprise, one foot already in the stirrup. "Who's there?" Away from the fortress and Drume's lantern, he wouldn't be able to see me any better than I could him, even though I'd dispelled my shadows when I landed.
"My name is Kyriel," I said, walking towards him. "I'm a dual, like you." I couldn't help smiling, even though I knew he wouldn't see it.
Zorro swung himself up into the saddle. "And?" he asked warily, gathering his reigns in gloved hands.
Whatever response I was expecting, this wasn't it. "I -- I saw how you handled the situation with Drume," I stammered, "and I just wanted to meet you. I thought maybe we could--"
"Thank you, Kyriel, but I work alone. Now, if you'll excuse me--" he spurred the horse and plunged off into the darkness.
I was so stunned that for a moment I could only stand and gape. Then a wave of determination drowned my shock and, gritting my teeth, I raced after him.
How could he do that? I raged as I tracked him across the plain. How could he be so rude to a fellow dual? Worse yet, how could he be so incurious? If someone had materialized from thin air after one of my battles and said he'd watched the whole thing without my knowledge, the last thing I'd do would be to turn my back on him! But this was the Tip, after all, and any dual who'd settle here probably had at least some traits in common with the natives.
If Zorro had been on foot, he might very well have lost me even on the empty plain. Fortunately, his cloaking magic didn't extend to his steed. I tracked the horse into a stand of trees and hovered just above, peering down through the branches as its rider reigned it in and dismounted. He paused a moment; then, almost carelessly, he tugged off his mask and wiped his brow. The magic came away with the cloth, and I found myself staring into the face of a Hispanic man of about thirty with short, straight hair; a strong nose; and fierce eyes. Oblivious to my presence, he pulled off his black shirt and changed into a white one he'd hidden in his saddlebag. Then he began working with something on the horse's reigns. I didn't know a thing about riding and assumed he was making a standard adjustment until a strap came away and his mount changed color from ebony to chestnut. I smiled approvingly. The man might call himself Zorro, but he could just as well have been James Bond.
A twist of the sword hilt changed his weapon into a battered relic. Then he stowed mask, shirt, and strap in his saddlebag and leapt back onto his changed steed.
I followed him all the way home to a modest ranch-style farmhouse and left him there, stabling his horse. Then I made my way back to the inn to decide what to do.
The morning sun was still glinting on the wheat fields when I made my second trip to Zorro's ranch. Its owner was already up and tending his crops.
"Good morning!" I called as I wove through the waist-high rows.
The young farmer looked up in surprise, then narrowed his eyes. "What did you do -- climb over the fence? This is private property, you know."
"I know, but since you left last night without even letting me finish my sentence, I assumed etiquette wasn't a high priority with you." I gave him a sunny smile. "My name's Kyriel; remember me?"
For a long moment he didn't speak. Then, balancing one elbow on the hoe, he ran his hand through his hair. "All right," he sighed, "what do you want?"
I was impressed that he didn't try to play dumb, but I only shrugged and answered, "Well, first of all, I'd just like to enjoy the company of another dual for awhile. I haven't been here very long, and you're the first one I've met who didn't die or try to kill me before we could sit down and talk. There's so much you could tell me. And then I was thinking, considering that I'm in a world where the primary form of transportation is horseback, I really ought to learn how to ride the darn things." I tucked in my chin to give him a playful upwards look. "I thought maybe you could teach me."
Zorro refused to be amused. "That's blackmail."
"No, just tenacity."
"Oh, and if I tell you I'm not interested, you'll just walk away and never tell anyone who I am?"
Now I was beginning to be exasperated. "Absolutely! Look, Lius, I'm not interested in spoiling your little game. I like what you're doing, and I just wanted to get to know you, that's all."
His lips tightened dangerously. "How do you know my name?"
"I asked about you this morning before I came up here. But don't worry--" I added quickly -- "The last thing on the innkeeper's mind is Zorro. I told him I saw you in the field yesterday and wanted to know if you were single." I paused, then couldn't resist adding, "He said you were." If Lius didn't exactly smile, at least he relaxed his frown.
I jumped on this tiny advantage with both feet. "Now, I've seen your little disappearing act, and although it really is pretty impressive, I've got something similar, myself. And I can also do another trick you don't seem to have mastered yet: I can fly."
The warrior's gaze sharpened instantly. "Can you carry a person?" he asked, not quite managing to hide his interest.
"Over a short distance." I didn't add that I had to be in Fury form to get more than a few yards. There was no need to complicate the matter just yet. Besides, I could see where he was going with this train of thought, and he didn't have to be carried to get there. "Of course, I can take smaller things, like a hook and rope, a lot farther. And then there's aerial reconnaissance. How would you like a map drawn from two thousand feet?"
Finally he began to smile.
As Lius led me to the house, the front door opened and out stepped an old man as tough and weathered as a strip of beef jerky. "Who's this?" he asked bluntly, but his black eyes were more curious than concerned.
"Her name's Kyriel, and she's a dual." Lius paused almost painfully. "She's convinced me that we ought to work together for awhile."
The old man could hardly have been more stunned if I'd slapped him. I was just starting to think I'd have to go through my whole spiel again when he broke into a grin and slapped the younger man on the back. "Ha ha, Lius!" he crowed. "How long have I been trying to get you to find a partner?" Eagerly he grasped my hands. "Kyriel--what a lovely name. You just come right on inside, Kyriel. Have you had breakfast yet? It's such a pleasure to have a visitor; you've seen what the boy is like when it comes to socializing."
Lius sighed as I was drawn towards the door, but he didn't look too put out. "Kyriel," he said, "meet my grandfather Geremos."
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