The Ambassador's Son RPG

[Amanaduial the archer]

Callath was overtaken by the battle, in a state where he saw, heard, felt everything so keenly, everything so bright and clear, like a drug, clarifying everything but allowing him to feel no pain. And such battle fury is indeed a dangerous drug.

Thrashing his whole left arm holding the blade out in a wide arc of steel, he sliced clean through a corsair's neck, but barely looked at the man as he fell to the ground. He saw every detail, but somehow it barely seemed to matter... he didn't register it, didn't properly look... Turning, he duelled sharply, agilely for a few seconds with another corsair, an older man of about forty. Such a duel was flashy, a mockey of real fighting, and Callath played up to it, grinning openly as he fought. But it didn't last - finding an opening point, Callath jabbed straight forward at the man's prone chest, darting in then pulling back in the blink of an eye, just as he would when fencing Devon. The man fell, a look of surprise on his face as he died at the boy's feet. Let your guard down, lost some points there... Callath thought giddly as he danced away, his eyes glittering brightly, predatorialy, leaping up to the top of a boulder like a fictional character, dashing. His thoughts were disjointed, barely matching up with what he was seeing and doing, as if a game and deadly real life had converged and he was having trouble working out which was which...but that was just another game...

They killed Luc, the fairground mantra went around and around, over and over, in Callath's head, driving him on, distracted and desperate. They killed Luc, they killed Luc, theykilledluc, theykilledluctheykilledluc...

"Calnan!"

A desperate cry brought Callath back to his senses properly although he did not instantly recognise the voice. A young boy...who was that...

"Calnan! Callath! Devon!" The voice cried again, a desperate cry, then a cry of pain followed. Callath's mind crashed back suddenly into stark reality, out of the strangeness of his mind, and he gasped, whirling around and squinting against the sun as he stomach plunged downwards suddenly and he saw Orda standing against another man, standing awkwardly over Sedal, whose disguise had been ripped away. The stable boy didn't waste a second - the sand was shelfed to the other side of the rock and the drop was about a metre, but the boy didn't even think about it: leaping down, he hit the ground running, darting fluidly around one of his victims, who he now could see in more detail. The sight nearly turned his stomach as he noted the man's head several feet from his body, but there was no time now to worry about what had happened when the fury was upon him. Sprinting towards Orda and Sedal, his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword, he gave a fieresome yell in the hopes of putting off their attacker, a burly, dark man who glistened with gold earrings, built like a brick wall and towering over the thirteen-year-old boy and the prone surgeon. But the man was not to be diverted, and, obviously enjoying himself immensely, he raised the axe - axe?! - he was holding above his head, his tattooed body tensed to bring it down crushingly upon little Orda.

The distance between them was less than three seconds run for Callath, but it might as well have been a million miles for all the difference it would make.

He wouldn't get there in time.

The clear, blunt truth hit Callath like a ton of bricks, but he battled through it, transfering his blade to his right hand, which had ever been the stronger for throwing. Although it was wounded, it wouldn't let him down now. He ran for a second, then, turning sidewards like a spear throwing, his sword lightly balanced in his palm with two fingers behind the cross-section, he did a step-together-step, and released the sword with all the power he possessed.

It spiralled through the air, too fast to be seen, all the power and desperation Callath possessed in it making it more deadly than any other weapon on the beach in that second. Well, almost any other.... As it struck the corsair, he was actually knocked backwards by about a foot by the sheer force, a startled, messy cry emerging from his lips as the sword hit him in the throat. But at the same second, another cry came from over the side of the beach and, recognising it for all the time at sea he had spent in it's company, Callath spun around the see the owner of the voice...on his knees in front of Doran...

[Durelin]

"They're here," Rakein muttered under his breath. He often spoke to himself, especially when distressed, and this was a very distressing moment. He gripped his knife tightly, knowing that this was his only protection. He did not let how scary that was affect him. All that would give him the chance for revenge was a dagger, a belt-knife for cutting lines, which he had thanks to a corsair. Dead though he was, he had been kind enough to wash up on the beach in a convenient place. Rakein smirked at the thought of a dead corsair being convenient, and it helped. A smile always helped. He could make them bleed a little with what he had.

Rakein cut quickly away from the makeshift Gondorian camp, taking cover in the darkness, so that any passing eye would not notice him. Waiting, perfectly still, he looked for a man that drew near enough for Rakein to strike out with greatest effect. But bad luck foiled Rakein's plan, and a man happened to look closely at all his surroundings, his eyes stopping on the figure in the dark. Cursing, Rakein wasted no time, but ran swiftly, dodging around a corsair charging at another Gondorian, and flung the knife as he went. The corsair was caught off-guard by this speed, and though the knife did not aim true, hitting the man in the shoulder, he stood frozen. His eyes were ever widening as Rakein came racing at him.

Finally the man found his ability to move, and he began to reach for the knife in his shoulder, but Rakein sped up in earnest need, and ran his shoulder into the one that contained the knife. The man screamed with pain and fell to the ground, Rakein's body falling on top of him. Again he wasted not a moment, and the Gondorian's hand reached for the knife and pulled it out, then brought it down to the nearest vital region: the head. Rakein could feel the man's body move slightly underneath him for a few moments longer, but it soon stopped. The screaming had been the first thing to stop.

Rakein pulled the knife out of the man's forehead with some difficulty, and found himself exposed to an enemy sword, as his movement had alerted the wielder that Rakein was not dead. Without a second to think, he threw up his knife in a clumsy block of the much larger and stronger sword. A loud crack rang in his ears, and the knife was on the ground. A fire shot up his arm, and his wrist burned cold. Looking down at it, he saw misshapen bone coming from out of his arm. The shock of this made him freeze just as his last enemy had, even though he knew it was a costly mistake. He had never believed that a wrist could brake in such an extreme way. Luckily, neither had his enemy, it seemed.

The two men both looked at each other, their eyes rising from Rakein's wrist. It was Rakein who moved first, once again, and with the pain in his wrist and his desire for revenge driving him, he tossed away all reason and ran his head into the man's stomach and lower chest. His aching head told him that he had hit rib cage. The loud groan escaped from the man's lips, and his mouth and lips were becoming a shining red, but he picked up the sword he had dropped from the blow. Rakein tried to quickly move in on the man again, hopefully dealing the man another hard blow whilst bring him closer to his own knife still on the ground. But the corsair had come to judge his opponent's speed, and though Rakein did his best to dodge the blade, it sliced down his arm, shaving skin off.

The pain caused Rakein to fall forward, but he had managed to get close enough that he knocked the man over in the process. In the few moments while the corsair was tumbling over and recovering from the fall, Rakein groped for his knife, but all he found was warm sand. Then he felt something heavy hit his back in a heavy blow, and the corsair was on top of him. Rakein struggled to roll over, but when he found that the man had him pinned, he positioned his leg so that when brought up it would hit a rather vital spot...

Rakein heard the man yell and felt the body removed from on top of him. He quickly jumped on the corsair, who had let his pain steal away his attention. Rakein found it incredibly easy to grab at the man's throat, but he was not very efficient with one hand, and the corsair gripped both Rakein's hands to bring them away from his throat. The man was very strong, and too strong for Rakein, so before the man could pry off his hand, Rakein jerked them away quickly, ignoring the pain that shot up again from his wrist. The corsair lost his grip in surprise, and the Gondorian's one useful fist was free to strike the man. He fired a blow at the man's face and another at his chest. When Rakein drew back his hands, he found his knuckles covered in blood from the man's nose, which he ignored. Another blow to the face, and another to the side of the corsair's head. The man had blood coming from his nose, mouth, and ears, and yet a roar rose from his mouth and his strong arms pushed Rakein off of him.

Sprawled on the ground, with a throbbing head from a hard blow that had been dealt while he was being thrown off the corsair, Rakein watched as the man rose, quickly for one so large and wounded. Only now did Rakein realize the man's size. He turned his head from side to side, but there was still no sign of his knife. Luckily, there was also no sign of the corsair's sword. The man came rushing at the Gondorian on the ground, obviously trying to use his much greater bulk to do damage to as much of Rakein's body as possible. But Rakein new that he still had an advantage over this man, and so he quickly picked his body up enough with his one hand and his legs to launch himself forward at the man's legs. He grabbed the corsair's ankle, attempting to use both hands, and pulled it up from underneath him. The man tumbled sideways, and a sickening crunch came from the crushing of his head on a large rock.

Rakein rose from the ground, staring at the sand turning red around the bottom of the boulder. Looking around him, he saw that the area was clear for a good distance, and so he took the time to search more for his knife, as well as the corsair's sword. The latter was easy enough to find. It lay a good ways behind the corsair's body. The two men must have landed on it countless times. But Rakein would not give up on his knife. He searched the area behind the man, but only when he drew near to the dead corsair did his eye catch a glint of steel. Looking more closely, he saw that the steel shown through the blood, blood from the dead man's leg, which it now stuck half way out of. Again, Rakein smiled.

Rising with the sword in his hand and the knife tucked away in his ragged pants, the smile helped him gather the strength to move quickly along the beach, to find a familiar face, he hoped. Soon he had his wish, as he stared into the dead eyes of a Gondorian. He did not know the man well, but he had known his name, and that was enough. Luc was his name. Something would not allow him to take his eyes away from the dead man's. They seemed to plead with him, beg him to take revenge. But Rakein had only ever thought of his own revenge. It had never came to his mind that the other prisoners would want the same revenge, would be fighting on the same side as he. Both the men he had killed he had bled for himself. He had felt alone every moment since he realized that it was time to take his revenge. It seemed that, in this case, he had realized that he was not alone much too late.

A sword came down and pierced him in the back of his neck. Rakein screamed in agony as he felt nothing but pain in his entire body. His head wished to burst, as he could not scream loud enough. The pain would not escape through his mouth, and would not cease. It persisted and grew worse, and then, all of a sudden, through the screams and the blood and the sweat, Rakein felt blissfully calm, frozen in an icy world of growing darkness. In that calm, he let the darkness consume him, to protect him from the pain.

~

Adeline let the screams continuously escape from her horrified soul as the man, the man who had just seen her kill his comrade, came nearer, holding up a knife blade. She was not sure whether or not she screamed at the thought of her own death, or the death of the man she had just killed. The man's eyes shined with tears of anger and the hatred in them made her look away. Her eyes came upon the knife point, and the fear choked her. Her scream was cut short. The moment stretched out as she watched the man's steps draw him nearer, and there was complete silence. Then she heard distance shouts. So did the corsair, and he stopped short.

"Avershire!" She discerned the cry as a name. It was not one she recognized, but the voice... All her fears of her own death and her dealing of death faded. Only the thought of Devon filled her mind with frantic fear. The franticness caused her to charge past the man with the knife, too fast for him to react, and up the stairs onto the deck. She ran to the side, and ignored the men on guard that shouted at her. Climbing up on the railing, she took one deep breath and jumped.

She splashed into the cold water, and soon found the bottom beneath her. It was too far down for her to keep her head above the water, but she was able to use it to bring herself up. Hearing the shouts grow louder as she bobbed to the surface once again, she decided to toss away all dignity. She struggled for a moment before she was able to find a seam in her dress, but Adeline was able to tear it off. Being only her underdress, though heavy this was, was considerably lighter, and she found herself swimming toward the shore. She heard a loud splash behind her just as she found that she could stand up, and she redoubled her efforts. Soon she was climbing onto dry land, thankful that it had taken the men on the ship time to decide on a plan of action.

As soon as her ankles were free, she felt a heavy weight lifted from her feet, and she was able to run quickly across the sand on her bare feet, as she had long since lost her shoes. Soon her feet slowed once again, though, as her eyes saw what was before her, a ways off, but clearly visible. Doran stood over someone - she would recognize that man's flaunting arrogance from a mile away. And the man that knelt before him she would never fail to know in a hundred years from a hundred miles away. "Devon!" she cried out in both desperation at seeing him in such a position, and in joy. It was a joy to see anyone she knew again, no matter where, in what position. But even as the cry escaped her mouth, she realized how big of a mistake she had made. But for now, Adeline did not care, as long as Devon was alive and she knew that she had escaped from that ship, her long time prison.

[Himaran]

Graring watched the battle from a distance. He felt strangely detached from it all, like he was on no one's side. He watched without feeling as Jurex was felled, and Avershire's throat was cut by Jythralo. What did he care? Let them all go to the Devil!

Then he saw it. Sails on the horizon. And not of Corsair make, either. In the darkness,Graring could not make out the flags - but he was fairly certain he knew. Gondorian reinforcements. The corsair cause was lost..

Forgetting about his leader, the corsair uprising, his ideals, what he had fought for his entire life, Graing made a quick decision. All that mattered was survival. And so he turned and dashed into the forest.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"You'll pay for that, boy..." the low, threatening mutter caused Callath to spin around, furiously, ready to run the corsair through...but his sword was still buried in the neck of Sedal's attacker. The corsair gave an ugly laugh and, with the strange, many-tailed whip he was holding, thrashed Callath across the side of the face.

With a shout of pain, the boy fell sidewards and backwards, his hand coming to his face as he felt the blood began to well from three gashes across his right cheek where the whip had lashed him. To his fury, he felt tears welling up in his eyes as he propped himself on his elbows, running his tongue around the gums on that side, tasting blood where the force of the lashes had caused the gums to bleed. But looking up, he saw the corsair standing over Sedal, the whip raised to strike the surgeon as another corsair held Sedal's arms. Not that they needed to really: Sedal's face was pale and sweating, his teeth gritted and eyes closed against the pain. In a second, Callath registered what was wrong: the wound had split again and the broken rib may even have splintered, either of which would be causing the surgeon excruciating pain. This man had treated illness and hurt all his life and was now suffering some of the worst....

"Get away from him!" Callath yelled, springing to his feet. As he did so, he felt a strange heaviness swing against his ribs. His hand seemed to guide itself to his jacket and, feeling into the insie pocket, his fingers closed on the heavy object. He took a precious second to recognise it: the brass knuckles. As the gashes on his face burned, his resolve strengthened – what choice did he have? – and he tore them from his jacket pocket. Jamming them on – and they fitted surprisingly well – he stood in a lithe motion and covered the small distance between himself and Sedal’s attacker, who had now grabbed Orda. The man turned towards him, his face ugly, cruel mouth twisting violently, and he held up Orda by his shirt front to Callath, daring him to attack whilst the corsair held the boy. He looked down at Callath’s hand and sneered as he realised the boy apparently held no weapon.

“What, we’ll play for fisticuffs –” he sneered, but was cut off sharply as Callath drew back his fist and with snake-like speed punched him across the face, the brass gleaming on his fist. The man yelled in pain and fell, blood flowing from his mouth and from the gashes which now scarred his cheek. Callath nearly savoured the irony of it: now he had paid him back for the lashes quite fittingly. Shaking his fist more from habit than from hurt (the metal protected his fingers, although he would have bruises tomorrow), he knelt beside Orda where the man had thrown him. The boy was grimacing in pain, but opened his eyes and looked up at Callath.

“I’m…I’m ok,” he murmured, but the way he shifted jerkily told Callath otherwise. It was possible his wrist had fractured from the looks of it, and what about the blood flowing all the way down one side of his face…Callath raised a hand quickly to Orda’s cheek to examine it, but the boy flinched from his touch. Or rather, from the touch of the cold metal against his skin. Realising, Callath drew back quickly, disgust at having used the weapon now catching up with him. But instead of pulling them off he stood quickly, hearing another shout, shielding his eyes against the sun to see…

Devon, stepping into Avershire’s place. About to fight Doran.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Doran jeered as he held up the sword stained with Avershire's blood.

"Your going to pay old man for everything you've done," Devon growled.

"Come boy. I've been waiting long enough,"Doran said.

Devon yelled and charged forward and struck. Doran blocked and was surprised at the strength at Devon's strike. But he recovered quickly and counter attacked. Devon easily blocked it, and Doran stepped back.

"Is that all you have, old man? That's all that the famous corsair Jythralo Doran has?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Hasn't anyone taught you to respect your elders, boy?" Doran replied. Then he struck and it was Devon's turn to be surprised at Doran's strenght. Devon stepped back and Doran took advantage of it and pushed harder and harder. Devon stepped back and fought harder.

As the battle raged on around them, all Doran could see was the boy in front of him that he wanted to kill.
__________________________________________________ ____

The sun was rising. The battle was almost over. Many men lay wounded on the floor. Some Gondorians had fallen back, but most of them had lain down their swords in surrender. Many of the corsairs lay dead or dying but Doran wasn't worried-he still had three ships full of men ready to fight.

Doran was a little winded and he could see that Devon was tired also. Devon struck at his head. Doran blocked but the power at which Devon struck knocked the flat part of Doran's sword into Doran's head, knocking Doran onto the ground.

Devon smiled. "Ha, got you old man."

Devon raised the sword to finish off Doran but at that moment, many cries rang out.

"Gondorians! The Gondorians are here!"

Devon looked behind him and saw dozens of Gondorian soldiers charging down the beach killing and capturing any corsair they came upon. They were saved. The battle was won. Devon smiled in relief.

Doran saw that this was his moment. Quickly, he stood up and plunged his sword into Devon's back. The smile faded from Devon's face along with his life. He uttered a cry and reached behind him, trying to touch the wound. Doran leaned over close to Devon's ear-
"It looks as if it is I who has you."

Devon fell to his knees and onto the ground.

Doran looked down at the boy. Finally. He finally had his revenge.

At that moment, three Gondorian soldiers appeared, swords raised. Doran raised his arms into the air. He had lost the war, but had won the battle. Devon was dead.

[Durelin]

Nuranar's Post

Even at a distance Calnan could tell that Avershire was dead. His heart swelled with rage as the corsair captain laughed -

"Calnan!" The high-pitched terror of Orda's young voice pierced the roaring in Calnan's ears. He found himself scrambling with desperate urgency over the rocks toward his cries. Off to his right Callath, too, was sprinting to the rescue.

A corsair arose directly in his path, but Calnan never hesitated. Driving straight into him, he hurled the corsair to the ground with tremendous force. The man's sword clattered among the rocks.

Wild at the delay, Calnan snatched up the cutlass he'd dropped, took two running steps - and a strong hand jerked his ankle. As he fell he had the sense to drop the cutlass and not to break his fall with his hands, but he heard a dull crack, and an agonizing pain shot up his left arm. The full weight of his body had snapped one forearm bone in two. Dizzy with pain, Calnan cradled his arm, oblivious to the world around him.

Without his instincts he'd been dead. Two sounds - a hoarse, ragged breath, the rasp of clothing scraped along rough stone - and he found himself standing, face to face with the corsair he'd tackled. The man was on hands and knees, still laboring for breath; but his sword was quivering in the ground where Calnan had been kneeling. There was no time to think. Calnan took one step and drove his knee up under the man's chin, snapping his head back.

The corsair collapsed, either unconscious or suffocating, but Calnan couldn't tell and didn't care. The fall had driven all emotion out of him, everything but this consuming pain that throbbed and pulsed through his entire body. He was aware, in a distant sort of way, that his legs were trembling and his face was hot despite the coolness of the air. The roaring in his ears had nothing to do with anger.

Almost dreamily he remembered Orda now. Callath was kneeling by him and Sedal, surrounded by corsair bodies. Almost in slow motion Calnan turned to the beach. In disbelief he saw Doran fall to his knees in front of Devon - Devon?! - then Devon turned and Doran struck, stabbing him in the back.

Blindly, furiously, Calnan staggered for him, and found himself on the ground. "Calnan!" he heard someone call. Telson loomed before him, dim and uncertain in the dark haze closing in. I thought the sun was rising? he thought, but didn't have the energy to ask. Telson pushed him gently to the ground and felt his arm carefully.

Dazedly, illogically, Calnan knew he had to do something. The bloodthirsty, murdering, accursed fiend . . . ! With a final rush of strength he jerked upright. But the wrench he gave his arm, held in Telson's hands, was so agonizing that the threatening darkness lowered for good and erased all knowledge.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Durelin's Post

Doran had spared her little more than a glance at her cry, his surity that the battle was over allowing him to forget Adeline's importance. The confusion of the battle could be deadly, but it also helped in keeping her safe, for now. But her thoughts did not dwell on her own safety, rather on the safety of Devon. All her fears were gone except for one, and that was her fear for Devon's life. She felt her knees give way as Doran held up his bloody sword, displaying it for all to see. Whom he had killed did not matter. Devon rose from on his knees as Adeline fell to hers.

He drew his sword, and Adeline felt a scream rise in her throat. She pushed it back down to her stomach, and she then felt as if she needed to empty her stomach. She shut her eyes for a moment, and then heard a shout that made her heart rise and her stomach forget its pangs of fear.

"Gondorians! The Gondorians are here!"

"It is over!" Adeline cried, once again unable to control herself. The battle seemed frozen in time, all stood still and looked as Gondorian ships landed and men started crossing the beach. Adeline turned away from this marvelous sight with a grin of delight and laughter in her soul. She turned to smile at Devon. He smiled back at her, but then a cry of pain tore her heart.

~

Adeline folded her hands to keep them from shaking as she sat in the hard chair, struggling to keep her eyes dry. Doran stood before the full court room, standing tall and proud even though his hands were chained tightly behind his back and armed guards stood on either side of him. The hands in Adeline's lap were squeezed into fists.

"This man, Jythralo Doran, Captain of known corsair ships that plagued the coastlines of Gondor, is now brought before you to be tried for his crimes, in accordance with the terms of justice of this land, the great city of Umbar, a colony of Gondor. Know that he will receive all rights that are given to those that are tried under the law of Gondor, which must be observed in this territory of Gondor. Remember that this man must be considered innocent, until he has been proven guilty through the presentation of evidence to the..."

Adeline could not stand to listen to the absurdity that was spilling out of the judge's mouth. He spoke with no emotion, his words held no ring of life or truth. He acknowledged Doran as a 'Captain of know corsair ships', yet he failed to bring to light how much more than a Captain Doran had become. And still the judge said, in the same drawling voice, that the man was innocent until.

Slowly she rose, her entire body shaking, with her eyes focused on Doran. Soon all eyes were on hers, including the Captain's. She stared into them, loosing her hatred upon them. She made her way out of the row of seats and then toward Doran. Twice she almost stumbled. At first all that were present were simply shocked, then a low murmur ran throughout the court room. The judge's voice rose above the rest, as he amplified his dull voice, almost yelling.

"My Lady, if you have something you wish to say you may say it from your seat. My Lady? I am asking you to sit down." The man sighed. "Miss, go back to your seat. Miss!"

Adeline stood inches from Doran's hideous face, and felt his warm breath upon her face. It waved the flames of her anger to knew heights, and her hand reached for the handle of a sword at one the guard's side. Before the guard knew what she was doing, she had unsheathed it, her anger and loathing giving her strength to pull out the heavy blade with speed. She raised it in front of Doran's unblinking eyes as the court room exploded. A few women even screamed, to Adeline's disgust.

"My Lady!" the judge gasped, his voice finally showing some sort of emotion. Adeline laughed at the thought that this was what it took, and this seemed to alarm the room even more. Even Doran blinked, and looked at her in a very different way than he had before. But then, the laugh through all the tears she now cried was obscurely out of place. A strong grip held her by each arm as the guards saw that Adeline was serious. Adeline felt herself go limp as they held her. She did not struggle, but her hand still gripped the sword till her knuckles were bone white. Her tear-filled eyes still stared into Doran's, and she did not withdraw them from his gaze as the soft touch of a kind hand on her shoulder.

"You cannot kill him, my Lady," Calnan said softly.

"I killed a man once before, I can do it again."

"You cannot kill him, Adeline," he repeated, and the sword fell from her hands.

[Nuranar]

Calnan was keeping a concerned eye on Adeline. The trial was barely underway, but already she looked like she was about to scream or throw things. When the judge finished she stood abruptly, her face dead white and drawn with misery and hatred. When she walked forward, the hush in the room was broken by startled whispers. "Isn't that the girl he kidnapped?" "I think so, but what is she doing?" "Is she all right? She looks like she's going to faint..."

Calnan shot an apprehensive glance at Callath, on the other side of Adeline's chair, but he was only frowning in a puzzled manner. By now Adeline was standing in front of Doran. Her whole form was rigid with intense emotion. Calnan rose, afraid.

Then she moved. Even as her hand reached for the guard's sword hilt, Calnan was in motion. Above the hubbub of a horrified court he heard her laugh - a strange, high laugh, mirthful and full of tears, the heart-wrung humor of one stricken. She did not struggle against the guards, but neither would she move, her eyes burning into Doran's. Unsure and dismayed they seemed. The corsair captain was more shaken than he would ever admit, even to himself.

With one last shove Calnan reached Adeline, laid his hand carefully on her shoulder. "You cannot kill him, my lady." She turned, tears running down her face.

"I killed a man once before. I can do it again," she whispered, eyes full of agony.

Calnan shook his head gently, firmly. "You cannot kill him, Adeline." He watched her set face relax as she dropped the sword. At a glance the guards let go of her. Carefully pulling her left arm through his right - his broken left was in a sling - he led her swiftly from the room.

Outside the building she started to speak, but he shushed her until they were relatively hidden in a landscaped corner of the square. There he sat her on a bench and knelt before her so she wouldn't have to look up. Adeline looked at him sadly, but now it seemed she had no words left. Calnan tried to think how to start.

"Adeline," he said haltingly, "I know you've killed a man before. I'm terribly sorry you've had to do that. I've killed, too. More than once. And I'm sorry to say it gets easier. I never want to forget how terrible it is to take away the life of another human being.

"But I don't want to forget about justice, either. Doran is a man who cares only for himself. To set himself in a place of power and wealth he has taken and wrecked the lives of more people than we'll ever know. Justice demands that he pay for this.

"But not at your hand, not at mine. Gondor, the King himself, is responsible for justice. You see, if I had killed Doran back there, I would be acting for myself, and my motive would be revenge. Not justice. Revenge is an ugly word, Adeline. Its results are ugly and terrible, and even worse is what it does to those who take it.

"Jstice must be the action of the authority, not of individuals. Doran's executioner will be acting for Gondor and for the King, not for himself."

Adeline looked up, startled. Calnan nodded, utterly certain.

"Oh, yes. Doran will die. In order to be just we have to assume he's innocent, but the evidence is overwhelming. At the very least, he committed murder in front of a hundred Gondorians when he killed Devon." Adeline's eyes were filling with tears again, but Calnan had to keep going. "And why did he kill Devon, when he knew he'd lost? It was the last thing he could do. It was because he lost. It was his revenge. Yes, it hurts us terribly. But it's sealed his fate like nothing else would have. Justice will be done.

"Think back to the beginning, Adeline. Why was Devon so determined? Why did we do all we could to help him stop Doran? It wasn't for petty personal reaentment, Adeline; it was for Gondor. We were loyal to Gondor. If you take loyalty - and justice - away from Gondor, there's nothing separating us from the corsairs themselves." He paused, smiled gently. "In the end, Adeline, we were fighting for justice."

She was openly weeping now but still trying to restrain herself.. Sitting beside her, Calnan put his arm around her shoulders and held her to him. Pressing her face into his shoulder, Adeline sobbed out her grief and anger. Calnan felt her sorrow, greater than his; her feelings for Devon hadn't been hard to guess. His eyes filled with tears then, too, as he remembered Devon, and Marx, Luc, Rakein, Avershire - all the faithful comrades who had fought and not returned.