Zachary Ricks's Blog, page 16

Latter-Day Geek

As my contribution to "Speak Out with your Geek Out", there are a lot of things I could talk about.

I could talk about books – e- and otherwise. I could talk about gaming (PC, Gamecube, Wii, DSi, 3DS… Pokemon…). Or movies. (Star Wars…) Or anime… (working my way through Xam'd now – thank goodness for Netflix). Or writing.

But the point of Speak Out with your Geek Out is to talk about that secret geekiness that you aren't comfortable sharing out in the wide world. Which for me, means talking about me being a geek about my church.

I know, I've talked about being LDS on the blog before, (see my post on Being Unpopular, for example), but I don't know that I've talked about my geeky love for my church. Every morning, I make it a point to get out my scriptures and spend some time reading and thinking. And most of the time, I'm reading and studying in the Book of Mormon. If I'm driving somewhere in the car, chances are 50/50 that I'm thinking about something related to my church. Why?

First, because I am a big fan of story, and the Book of Mormon has great stories. Like the Bible, the Book of Mormon is broken down into smaller "books". So in the Old Testament, you have Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and so on and so forth. In the Book of Mormon you have 1st and 2nd Nephi, Mosiah, Alma, and so on. One of the shorter books is the book of Ether, which is a broad-brush retelling of a particular culture. There are chapters in there that read like an adventure novel. When you have a king's son usurp his father's throne and imprison him, and then his brothers form an army to free their father and restore him to his rightful place? C'mon. That's classic story. At the end of the book of Ether, when this culture sort of self-destructs in civil war and they annihilate themselves, the battle goes on and on until there are only two men left – both completely exhausted by the exertions of battle. They're lying on the battlefield, both wounded. One manages to stagger to his feet, leaning on his sword, and stumbles over to the other – summoning just enough strength to swing the sword and kill the other. And then, the body sits up as though it was straining to get the other guy? C'mon. It's like something out of a Kurasawa film.

I've seen elements of the same kinds of stories in other authors' writings. In fact, I called one of them on it, pointing out how they'd essentially written a particular story into their book, just switching the good guys for the bad guys.

I grew up farming potatoes with my Dad in Idaho. Now, we didn't live on the farm. Dad had bought a farm a good 40-50 miles away from the house. So every day that we went out to the farm, we wound up talking, and most days we talked gospel topics. What's the right way to act? What does this particular passage of scripture mean? What's expected of us? Now, I was 15-16. It was not the coolest thing in the world to be talking church with your Dad. But I was also a captive audience. And I grew to really enjoy those talks, and I miss that sometimes. We still talk, my Dad and I, and we usually circle around to gospel topics (or politics), but it's not as often as I'd like. Those drives with my dad were some of the most important formative things I ever did, and they instilled in me my Dad's love of my church.

You may not share my beliefs. You may think that any organized religion is foolish, or dangerous. You may make fun of my church. People have always done that, and I imagine they will continue to do so in the future. But my church informs the way I treat my family and everyone around me. It gives me a sense of who I am and what my purpose is. The fact that some people make fun of me or my church is unfortunate, but is it all that different from people making fun of you for your RPG / Warhammer playing? Or LARPing? Or comics?

MPF 2.01 – The Cost of Duty

The Cost of Duty

A Fantasy Short Story

by Zach Ricks

#

Fabian woke in the cool of the evening, ready for the evening's activities. He lay silently on the bed, listening to the cool breeze blowing through his home. His home. He remembered the nights on the streets of Tharsis, catching a nap on a rooftop, never safe, never sheltered.

Even his days in the guild had been uncertain. There was always the fear. Fear of getting caught. Fear of not making enough. Fear of not being able to satisfy the guild-master. Fear of saying or doing something to offend someone bigger and stronger than you.

Alexander had given him something that he'd never thought he'd have – a sense of security. He breathed deeply. It had taken him some time. But he'd finally bought a little place for himself in the artisan's section of the city. He'd prevented a few thefts of the local merchant's shops because he was a very light sleeper, and he'd laid a few traps to discourage unwanted visitors. His own place was above a paper-merchant's shop. The smells of ink and paper and other supplies wafted up in the night, filling his nostrils with a pleasant odor.

He was able to read most anything he liked from the parchment seller – and he'd acquired a copy of Diogenes' poetry which he read from time to time.

He smiled to himself. Maybe after tonight's insanity, he would have a week or two to putter around the house and straighten up. And maybe soon he'd leave the soldiering life altogether and find himself a willing wife. The thought made him smile. Fabian the thief, become Janus Fabian Tacitus, family man. He sighed and rose to begin the night's work. Enough time for thoughts of family later. He would need all his wits around him tonight. After all, tonight, he and his companions would be breaking into the Imperial Treasury.

#

"I wish those healers would make up their minds as to what's ailing Marcus." Ragnar groused, scowling at his cup of nectar. The three of them normally would be drinking something darker, harder, and a good deal more alcoholic in nature, but it was early yet and those same healers had provided a table and some light refreshment in an open, airy gallery. The scent of flowers wafted in on the breeze.

Fabian nodded. "We know what's wrong with him, Ragnar. That spell… who knew it could have that kind of effect? It burned a part of him away."

Ragnar grunted.

"The barriers between his mind and the wild magic grew too thin."

Ragnar grunted again.

"Perhaps they can be repaired," Alexander suggested. "The temple of Athalia has the best healers in the world."

"It wouldn't be so bad if he'd stop randomly summoning that fireball and giggling. I can't stand to hear him tittering away at it."

Alexander nodded. "We'll stand by him. Ragnar. He'd do the same for us. And he's still there. Different, but still there. Mostly." They all drank at that.

One of the priests approached. "General Alexander, sir, the Emperor's cancellarius is here to see you. Shall I show him in?" The priest glanced back toward the cells. Alexander glanced at his companions, then nodded. "Please invite Chancellor Auron to join us."

The priest bowed and retreated. Ragnar's hand tightened around his oaken cup. "Auron here? Already? We've only been back two days and already he means to send us out again?"

"Perhaps he's here to offer his concern and assistance for Marcus." Alexander said with a shrug.

They all kept their own counsel as to how likely that was.

Auron was a slender man, his white robes offset with a purple sash, denoting his position as a member of the Imperial Household, and a necklace of ebony links indicating his devotion to Caprimulgi. He was nominally in charge of handling… independent operators in the service of the Emperor, and so all their assignments came from him. He smelled vaguely of olive oil and spices. Black curly hair and a short beard framed wide blue eyes and a clear brow. But despite his wholesome appearance, Fabian suspected the man's soul was as black as the chains around his neck.

He strode behind the empty chair, but had the good sense not to sit down. Instead, he rested his palms on the chair's back, and shook his head. "Poor Marcus. He had such potential. He was a great asset to the Empire. His service will be sorely missed." Auron sighed. "He had no next of kin, as I recall?"

"None." Alexander replied. "Your concern is touching, Chancellor, but perhaps premature. Marcus is not dead."

"No. But an insane magus is not someone I would trust with Imperial business." He gave Alexander a pointed look. "Nor is it someone I would want watching my back." No one responded.

"At any rate, I'm not merely here to offer condolences. As it happens, your timing in arriving back at Tharsis is impeccable." Auron paused and pursed his lips, gazing at Alexander. "Fortuitous, in fact."

Alexander shrugged. "We are not at full strength, and have only arrived a few days ago from months of harassing Dacian supply lines. Our companion lies ailing in the Temple of Athalia. How may we, fatigued and weakened as we are, be of service to the Empire?"

Auron's eyes narrowed. "Oh, you won't be going far, I assure you. The Imperial Treasury has just undergone a rather extensive renovation. Our security has been increased, and I would like you and your," he gestured at Fabian and Ragnar "companions, to offer your assessment of our methods."

Alexander and Fabian shared a glance. Fabian had grown up on the streets of Tharsis, a member of the Guild of Red Hands – the thieves of the Imperial City. He'd been fairly accomplished until he'd attempted to pick the pocket of one Maximus Alexander Aurelius and wound up first as a bound servant, then as a protege, then as a friend and companion. Fabian gave a small nod.

"We would be happy to review any security measures you have in place and offer suggestions for improving security."

Auron cleared his throat. "Ah. I had something more of a direct test in mind."

Fabian's eyebrow raised. "Oh?"

Auron considered the former thief. "Yes. I'd like you to make an attempt to enter the Imperial Treasury."

Alexander blinked. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm quite serious. I need an honest assessment of the security of the Imperial Treasury, and I need it from professionals. That means you. And that means an attempt."

"You will, of course, inform the Imperial Guard that we are coming? And to be extra watchful?" Fabian suggested.

"Of course not. No one warns their victim that they are about to be robbed. And as I said, I need an honest assessment."

Alexander glanced at his companions. "This is highly unorthodox, Chancellor Aur…" he stopped mid-syllable, and cocked his head, as if listening to something – a faint whisper. His eyes narrowed, and he nodded to himself. "As I was saying, highly unorthodox, Chancellor. But if this is the will of the Emperor, then we are his servants and we will of course obey."

Auron's eyes also narrowed. "Very well. I look forward to your attempt. And I hope you will not think it amiss if I hope that you do not succeed."

"We shall try our best give an… honest assessment… of the Treasury's defenses."

Fabian kept his face absolutely still. He was almost quivering. An attempt on the Royal Treasury? No thief would be that stupid. It would take a guild-trained master thief even to contemplate it. And he would have to have the god's own luck. Even if he did succeed, the repercussions on every other guild member in the city would be devastating. It would result in a purge of the City, a burning of any known or suspected hideout, a systematic cleansing that would cripple the Guild's ability to function, and more than likely cause a number of innocents to be caught in the sweeps and executed as well.

But the thought of all of that wealth was enough to make any thief shiver. Even a reformed one.

Auron glanced around the table, his eyes lingering on Fabian for a moment, then he smiled broadly, bowed, and retreated.

The curtain had no sooner stilled at the Chancellor's passing than Barak and Fabian said at the same time "This is a bad idea." They looked at each other, and then back at Alexander, who was staring at the juice in his cup.

"A bad idea. Yes, I suppose it is. Still, we've done crazier things than this."

"Not in our own backyard, Alexander." Fabian protested.

"Still, it'll make a hell of a story…" Ragnar stroked his thick, braided, blonde mustachios.

Alexander stood. "It's the will of the Emperor. And the will of the Gods. And it is our duty to obey." At that, any further protest was futile, Fabian knew. Once Alexander started in on the Gods and duty, they might as well be arguing with the tides for all the good it would do. "How much time do you need to prepare?"

Ragnar shrugged. "For something this stupid? How drunk can I get and still swing an axe? And how long will it take me to get there? Maybe an hour?"

Fabian smiled at the barbarian. "Well, I'll have to make sure that I have my tools, and perhaps a few other preparations… but I could be ready in perhaps as little as three hours?"

"Good. Tonight is too soon for me. We'll make the attempt tomorrow night."

Fabian and Ragnar shared a long look over the table. "Right." Fabian said. "Idiocy on this grand a scale shouldn't be delayed too long."

#

The thought of a family was still on Fabian's mind as they made their way through the sewers beneath the palace. They'd circumvented the guard at the sewer entrance using a blowdart and a sleeping potion Fabian had procured from a local apothecary. He was sleeping peacefully just inside the locked grate. Fabian had the key in a pouch at his belt.

They'd managed to avoid most of the traps – deadfalls and tripwires with spears, that kind of thing. At one point, Ragnar's mustachios had triggered a trap as he'd been maneuvering between tripwires. The trapdoor had been a good fifteen feet deep – but where there would normally have been spears, there were only the holes for installing them below.

Alexander considered the trap for a moment, then shook his head. "Auron hasn't completed the installation yet."

"He doesn't want to kill us? That's nice of him."

The Treasury itself was passable from above by passing six armed guards, three heavy locked and bolted doors, and a particular chamber that required one to follow a path exactly to avoid acid traps from activating.

It was passable from below in case of the need to evacuate the capital for whatever reason – invasion from without or rebellion from within. By using a particular key in the treasury, the traps leading out and down to the sewer and then to the river could be deactivated entirely, allowing the fleeing Emperor to preserve a war-chest with which to retake the city, and from there, the rest of the Empire, should the need arise.

They reached the door to the treasury largely intact. Fabian breathed a sigh as he scanned the door for a way in.

"Fabian, I don't want you to enter the treasury itself." Alexander's words came haltingly – muted.

Fabian didn't look up, he was probing a minuscule keyhole with his tools. "What? Are you joking?"

"I know you've changed since your days with the Red Hand, but… well… this IS the Imperial Treasury. I'd rather there was no possibility of misunderstanding. I hope you understand."

Fabian paused. The door was compromised – only a small turn of the tools and they'd be in. "Do we even need to get in at all?"

"Ragnar and I need to get in, yes. But I'd feel better if you held up here and guarded our retreat. It's the way a professional thief would do it, right? Cover the escape route? Make sure the door stays open and that everyone can get out with the loot?"

Fabian chuckled. "Glad to see I wasn't just learning from you. Yes, in this case, you'd want someone on the outside to cover the retreat. You ready?"

Alexander nodded. "Yes. Ragnar?"

Ragnar sniffed, and shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose on a real job you'd have brought me along to carry the loot out?"

"Well, that and trip wires with your ridiculous mustache." Fabian quipped. "You always want one person on the team who's less coordinated than everyone else."

"Who's to say this isn't a real job?" Alexander said, just as the door opened. "It's just not a theft."

Alexander strode to the center of the treasury, Ragnar behind him. The room was dark, except for a single torch carried by Ragnar. Fabian nocked an arrow to a short bow he'd kept tucked in his light pack, and waited for the "assessment" to be completed.

"HALT IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR!" The bellow was sudden. Lights flared up around a second story of the treasury. Fabian glanced in to see archers standing and drawing arrows aimed at Alexander and Ragnar.

Fabian shrugged, and made to enter the treasury, but he caught Alexander's eye and a small shake of the head warning him not to enter. A chill ran down Fabian's spine. Alexander had known this was going to happen? Wasn't this a simple probe of security?

Ragnar dropped his axe, and both of them raised their arms slowly. Alexander spoke. "We are performing a security assessment of the facility at the command of Chancellor Auron."

"Liar." The response was clear. The voice was Auron's. "My sources warned me that an attempt on the Imperial Treasury was coming. I never conceived that you would be the one who would try to rob your own Emperor. Maximus Alexander Aurelius, how could you have betrayed your Emperor so?"

Fabian saw Ragnar's eyes grow wide, and a snarling curse started across his lips, but at the sight of so many arrows, even the barbarian had to face the facts. They had been set up.

"Where is the thief, Fabian?"

Alexander's mouth became a straight line. Ragnar laughed. "He had more sense than us, I suppose." Fabian hesitated. What could he do? Enter the Treasury and begin a battle that would surely get them all killed? What could he do?

"I'm sure Fabian is either at home or enjoying a quiet drink somewhere. His loyalty to the Empire has been unflinching. It's unfortunate. This would have been much easier with his help." Alexander nodded once toward the door.

Fabian took the hint. Through the numb shock that was enveloping him, he replaced the bow and arrow and quickly retreated down the corridor. Auron would be checking on his location, and he'd better be where Alexander had said he would be.

Without having to consider the other two, his passage back down the corridor was swift and silent. As he ran, Fabian considered the look on Alexander's face. There was an utter lack of surprise. He'd known Auron had been setting them up. And he'd taken the job anyway. Why?

#

Fabian arrived at his home, having removed his hood and mask on the way down the street. His pack went under his work table, and he was stripping off his stinking boots when the knock at the door came.

"Who's there at this time of night?"

"Open in the name of the Emperor!" the voice came back.

"Hang on, I'm coming." The boots off, Fabian dusted his hands and glanced around. Nothing out that looked incriminating. The pack was under the table. He nodded.

He drew back the bolt and opened the door. Quickly he was swarmed by three guards. Once he was on the ground, a spear pointed at his throat and another at his belly, and had been checked for weapons – which he had none on his person – a fourth man entered the little home above the scroll-seller.

Auron strolled around the room, considering the simple furnishings, the scrolls carefully piled in the corner, the stinking boots.

He nodded at the guards. "Leave us." The leader opened his mouth to protest, but apparently the expression on the Chancellor's face left no room for argument. "Aye, sir."

The spears withdrew, and the guards stepped outside. Fabian saw them taking station around the door before it shut.

"Well, Janus Fabian Tacitus, it seems that your companions have been implicated in an attempt to rob the Imperial Treasury."

Fabian shook his head. "So, they were caught?"

"Indeed they were. But I can't help but wonder why on such a job as the one you were assigned that you did not accompany them. You're the one with the most experience in the -ah- acquisition of materials, aren't you?"

Fabian shrugged and didn't offer a response.

"Why didn't you accompany them tonight, Fabian?" Auron pressed.

"Honestly, it sounded like a setup. And I didn't feel like putting myself up as a candidate for the crucifiers. Also, if I was caught attempting to enter the Imperial Treasury, that might reflect badly on prior associates I've had. And they're not the kind I would willingly inconvenience."

"Ah. The Red Hands. It would be prudent to stay on their good side. That shows good sense on your part."

Fabian's mind flashed in a sudden prayer to Collocan, god of thieves, stealth, and speed. Give my thoughts and my tongue speed this night. A sense of warmth filled him, and he blinked in surprise at the sudden sense of calm.

"Indeed. Good sense is something that a man in my position can always use." Auron gave Fabian a calculating look. "Would you be interested in a proposition? Your companions are for the headsman, it's true. A necessary sacrifice. But you are a resourceful young man, with many talents, a good head that's still on your shoulders, and associates in the right places. I could use a man like you. Caprimulgi could use a man like you." Auron took an ebon ring from a hidden pocket and placed it on the table. "Caprimulgi's influence will be growing throughout the Empire. And someone who attached himself to the god's service now would be well-rewarded as that influence increased."

Fabian stared at the ring on the table. It didn't reflect the light at all – instead catching and swallowing it.

"Of course, someone who spurned that offer might well find themselves no longer in a good position. In fact, they would more than likely come to a bad end."

Fabian made no move toward the ring.

"What do you say, Fabian? Enter my service. Enter Caprimulgi's service. And the rewards will be great. Or refuse, and prepare to suffer the consequences."

Fabian looked into Auron's eyes – the bright blue eyes that seemed to inspire trust. He saw the wide smile, the white teeth, the thick mane of curly black hair. The smell of oil and spices seemed to fill the room. And Fabian for a moment had a vision of wealth, of splendor. Of status and respect the likes of which a poor boy from the streets could never know. It was an enticing thought. And the only price would be to abandon his friends and put on a ring.

"I will need to consider my options, Chancellor."

"Do not consider overlong, Fabian. This offer will not last long."

Without a further word, Auron left, leaving the ring on the table behind him. With the door shut behind him, Fabian had to resist the urge to cast the ring into the street. He reached to pick it up, but something about touching it with his bare skin suddenly repulsed him. He reached without looking for a glove, and only after his hand was safely protected behind the leather did he stretch out his hand to pick it up.

What would it cost him to take the Dark One's service? If he didn't he would probably be killed. After all, he'd been there when the assignment had been given. Even if he wasn't killed, he'd probably lose his home, be cast back out on the streets. The pressure the Chancellor and his people could bring on the merchant class was immeasurable.

But if he did, what would he lose? He thought for a moment of Alexander and Ragnar in the castle dungeons, waiting for the headsman's axe. Knowing Auron, this would not be a long wait.

He felt the sudden warmth again, and he placed the ring carefully on the table again, and reached for his boots. He had a lot to do this evening. Hooded, masked, cloaked and gloved, he reached for the ring and put it in a pouch at the wrist of one glove.

Fabian took one last item before he left. The collection of poetry found a place in his pack. He would not be back to collect it later. Auron would have his home watched, he was sure, so he doused the lights for the last time and reached for the trap door that led to the roof. No one knew the roofs of Tharsis like a thief, and Fabian had often found himself out for a bit of midnight exercise to keep his wits and senses sharp. He marked the places where people would be watching the home, and set off on a circuitous route for the temple district.

He didn't know if Collocan was guiding him or not. He didn't want to be touched by the gods. But he did know that his next move would require some help. And gods help them all, the only place to get it might be from a half-crazed mage.

#

It is much easier to enter a dungeon than it is to exit it. Of course, both are made simpler if one has a few things.

Uniforms of the guards. Written orders. And familiarity with the routines and personnel. If one is supposed to be there, or at least acts as though one is supposed to be there, entry can be fairly simple.

Unfortunately for Fabian and Marcus, they had none of those things.

"How do we get in?" Marcus asked. The mageflame ball he normally played with was smaller – no bigger than the iris of a man's eye, and it blazed its way through various colors – red, yellow, green, blue, purple, then back to red again.

"Let me talk to the guards."

Marcus shrugged, giggled, and extinguished the mageflame speck.

They strode to the door through the middle of the lane. A pair of guards stood at attention.

"State your name and purpose!"

"Janus Fabian Tacitus. I am here on Chancellor Auron's business." Which was true enough. If it hadn't been for Auron's scheming, Alexander and Ragnar wouldn't be in the dungeons now accused of attempted theft.

"We've had no word from the Chancellor that any of his agents are coming." The guard's eyes narrowed suspiciously the pair. "In fact, we were told to be on high alert for an attempted breakout."

Fabian nodded. "Of course. I am here to review your security and satisfy the Chancellor that his orders have been obeyed. He will be quite distraught if the prisoners were to escape before their… sentence… is carried out."

"Now see here," the guard began, but the words died on his lips when Fabian reached into the pouch at his glove and withdrew the ring Auron had left on the table.

"You know what this is?" Fabian whispered.

"Ah. Yes."

Fabian leaned in close. "Then you know that we are here on the Chancellor's command. And he is not the kind of man who brooks argument or delay."

"Ah. No. No, he is not."

"Open the gates and let me in, then." Fabian returned the ring to its pouch.

The guards shared a nervous glance, then one of them shrugged. "Yes, of course sir."

Fabian glanced at the one who had not spoken during their conversation. He was paler than the other, shaking, nervous. "We'll require an escort through the dungeon to see that we are not held up by other diligent inquiries as to our person and purpose. Come with us." His tone brooked no argument. The guard licked his lips and looked around as though seeking an escape from a horrible fate. Seeing none, he licked his lips again and stammered "Y-y-y-yes, sir."

Their trip through the dungeon to the cell was swift enough, but they encountered enough guards to make Fabian grateful for the escort. They had more than a few suspicious glances as they proceeded down, but no more than that. After all, they were headed in the right direction.

Fabian marked the number of doors and checkpoints as they descended. Three doors, each guarded by at least two guards, one guarded by four. The doors were iron-banded oak reinforced with heavy bars.

They were in the bottom of the dungeons now. The air was moist and you could taste the stench from the cells. Marcus coughed once, giggled, but did not bring back the mageflame. "Thank goodness for small favors." Fabian thought to himself.

The cell where Alexander and Ragnar were being held had a solid iron door. Two more guards stood outside the door, heavy polearms in their hands. Fabian glanced at his escort. They'd made their trip in mostly silence, with the occasional Two more guards stood outside the door, heavy polearms in their hands. They'd made the trip in silence, save for the occasional disapproving grunt from Fabian, and a titter from Marcus. Marcus giggled again, a high pitched sound that made their escort flinch, and the other guards shift in their footing.

Fabian shook his head. "Those polearms look impressive, but in the confines of this passage, they're absolutely ineffective." He strode up to the men and held out a hand to one. "Let me see your sword."

The guard opened his mouth as if to protest, but Fabian caught the shaking head of their escort that stopped his complaint. "Yes, sir." he muttered, drawing his sword and then extending the hilt to Fabian.

Fabian nodded to the other. "Come at me with that polearm."

"Sir?" The man questioned. Fabian waved impatiently at the guard as Marcus took a step behind the guards.

The man took a half-hearted thrust at Fabian who slapped it away with the flat of the borrowed short sword. It was a heavy, but serviceable weapon. "What are you? A gelding? Are they recruiting castrati into the castle guard to protect the prisoners from amorous advances? Or are you a woman in disguise?"

The guard gritted his teeth beneath his iron helmet, and thrust again, this time committing himself to the action. Fabian danced to the side, not even bothering to block with his sword. Instead, he came around with his sword at the back of the guard's neck. The chainmail coif around his head would perhaps have protected him from the edge of the blade, but Fabian brought the pommel into the guard's helmet with a resounding gong. The guard reeled and collapsed headlong, still traveling with the force of his thrust.

Fabian kept moving, bringing a dart from the earlier trip into the Treasury around from his belt and jamming it into the other polearm carrying guard's neck. The man blinked in surprise as the sleeping draught swept through his system, and he collapsed. The escort gulped and reached for his own sword, but Marcus' giggle and a glance at the head-sized mageflame ball the magus called up completely unmanned him.

He collapsed to his knees in the middle of the corridor sobbing and begging for his life. There was a sudden odor of urine. Fabian considered him for a moment. Dungeon guards in the Emperor's service did not act like scared children. Something was wrong. And then he remembered the ring he'd shown. This guard had reacted almost violently to its presence. Fabian shook his head. This guard had seen something associated with the rings that he did not want to see again.

"Well, I have to say that the security measures you've taken here have been completely inadequate. You've allowed two dangerous men to enter the dungeons almost unchallenged and the only armed response to them was at their invitation." He nodded at Marcus, and the mageflame condensed until it was no bigger than a child's plaything.

"Well, I could let the magus have you for… practice." The guard's eyes widened. And that's when Marcus moved forward and pressed the now-purple mageflame into the guard's weeping face. Purple flames engulfed the guard, and he screamed once – before collapsing. The instant he hit the ground, the flames extinguished.

Marcus' giggle became a cackle of glee. "Oh! Oh, Fabian, did you see the look on his face?! HA, ha ha haaaa…"

Fabian's borrowed short sword was up in a flash. Marcus glanced at it and brayed again. "Oh, Fabian. You… you think I killed him! HA ha haaaaa…" He kicked the guard over with a grunt. The guard's skin was unblemished, and Fabian could see his chest rise and fall.

"What? How? That was mageflame!"

"Oh, Fabian. All magic is flame. Everything is flame. Everyone is flame. It's all flame."

Fabian shook his head, and searched the guards for keys.

#

Alexander and Ragnar were manacled to opposite walls, hooded and gagged. Marcus and Fabian quickly had the hoods and gags off, but Fabian was not prepared for Alexander's glare.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"Saving your life, naturally."

"My life is not in danger. When the Emperor hears of this he'll-"

"He'll what?" Fabian shouted at him. "You think Auron told him that we would be attempting to enter the treasury? You think he'll take your word – the word of a soldier known for unconventional tactics, for harrying supply lines, for unorthodox thinking and approaches? Or the word of the Chancellor he's had at his side since he assumed the throne and has probably been whispering in his ear all along to be cautious of claims of treachery from within? What do you think you are doing?"

"The Emperor must know of Auron's activities. And it's my duty to make sure he does know."

Fabian paused, and the warmth he'd felt earlier crystallized a suspicion he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You're right, Alexander. The Emperor must know of Auron's activities. Who's to say that he didn't give the order to have you discredited and executed in the first place?"

Alexander froze, allowing Fabian a chance to release him. "What?"

"Think. We've been out of the capital for a while now, doing jobs that no one thought could be done. They sent us to cripple Dacia's supply lines, and we did it. Just the four of us. We stopped an invasion force at Feltria using an approach that had never been tried before – misting oil over the invaders then lighting it with mageflame. We did that. It was your planning, your ideas, your talents that have seen us through again and again. And now there is talk that you've been touched by the gods – by TK Alba herself. What could possibly stand in your way? What would prevent you from taking the throne itself if you wanted it? You're a threat. And threats to power are meant to be eliminated."

"I am no threat. I am loyal to the Empire, and I will do my duty."

"Who knows? That may be part of the problem. Your loyalty is to the Empire – not to the Emperor himself." Fabian replied.

Marcus tittered. "You are touched by the gods. We all are. Our flames are changing with their touch."

Alexander shook his head. "But…" He paused, then, listening to a whisper that only he could hear.

"We'll be wanted men. Hounded to the borders of the Empire."

Ragnar grunted at that. "We're already wanted men. Let's be wanted and unavailable." He rubbed his wrists where the manacles had rubbed the skin red. "Of course, we'll have to get out first."

Alexander nodded, and glanced at the unconscious guards. "I have a thought or two about that."

#

Within moments one of the guards had been relieved of his uniform. Alexander shrugged into it. "I'm going to rely on you to do a lot of the talking, Fabian. The instant I open my mouth they'll realize that I'm not the guard you came in with. I only hope enough of my face is covered to keep them from jumping us on the way out."

Fabian nodded, then reached into his wrist pouch and removed the black ring. Carefully, he set it in the center of the cell. "There's my reply to Auron. I think he'll get the message."

They moved back up the corridor, placing loose manacles around Ragnar's thick wrists, but not locking them. "Here's a prisoner being taken to Chancellor Auron, and his two faithful servants and a guard. What could be more natural?" Alexander asked.

Indeed, it was good enough to get them through the first door without so much as a raised eyebrow.

"That was easy." Ragnar whispered.

"Don't jinx us, Ragnar." Fabian whispered back.

Just then three guards and a man in a wide brimmed black hat and cloak came around the corner. The black hatted man glanced at them and drew his sword. "Escape! It's an escape! Take them all!" Then he charged, and his sword seemed somehow to dim as he did.

The four of them exploded into action. Ragnar cast his manacles in the face of the charging man. The man in the hat ducked while Fabian and Alexander moved to subdue the guards who were still trying to ascertain exactly what was occurring. Their hesitation was unfortunate, and within moments the three of them were unarmed and being held at bay by Fabian's short swords.

Ragnar was having more trouble with the man in black than he should have. He was holding the man's wrists in an effort to hold back the shadowy blade. Though the large barbarian's muscles were visibly straining against the efforts of the much smaller man, the sword was coming closer and closer to the barbarian's exposed neck.

Marcus summoned a ball of mageflame and thrust it at the man's head from behind – and Fabian saw the purple flame engulf both Ragnar and the hatted man. Ragnar collapsed, but the flame flowed over and around the man with the hat toward the shadowy sword until it had swallowed the flame. The man turned, a leer of glee on his face.

That's when Fabian threw a shortsword at the man in the hat. The pommel caught him in the face and he went down like a puppet with cut strings.

Alexander glanced over at Fabian. "You didn't kill him. Thank you."

Fabian shook his head. "I was trying to take his grinning head off. Lucky bastard."

He and Marcus grabbed Ragnar by the arms and Alexander led them back up the passage. They exited the dungeon without further incident, pausing only once for Marcus to reach out with a flaming hand and send the final guard to sleep.

"Where to now?" Marcus asked. "Turn and turn and turn again? To the palace?"

"I know a place." Fabian responded. Years of living on the streets were about to be very advantageous.

#

Chancellor Auron considered the ring laying on the table in the chambers he worked in. Marcellus had presented him with the ring, and the news of Alexander's escape. Marcellus lay twitching on the ground now, his wide-brimmed hat askew, face smashed by a sword pommel. The rings had their uses, both in amplifying the abilities of their holders, and in applying the appropriate motivation for better performance in the future.

He rubbed the temples of his head, affecting disappointment in Marcellus apparent failure. Things couldn't have worked out better. The whispers in the Emperor's name of a threat to his authority had been effective in making him suspicious of Alexander. Alexander! There was never a more faithful lapdog than that accursed godsworn.

Then the attempt to enter the Treasury, cementing the thought that Alexander was a threat. The word in the right place to Fabian. Of course they would escape. Auron hadn't dared lighten the guard or disable a single countermeasure lest they suspect, but they'd escaped regardless.

Auron now had a free hand to work in the Empire. Anything he did to undermine the authority of the Emperor could be explained as the work of Alexander and his cohorts. With the pressure of the Dacians from the East and the threat of insurrection within, the Emperor would grow increasingly paranoid and reactionary. It was only a matter of time before the Empire was ready for a change.

And when they were, Auron would be there.

 

And that's the first story. The photo is used under a creative commons license, and the original version is on flickr at this link.

Pass-Along Playlist

Hmmm… so Scott Roche just suggested that we build a co-operative playlist. He starts with a song, (In this case, White Wedding, by Billy Idol – Spotify Link), and tags a person (me) to pick the next song based on that previous song – either similar in style, through a word association, or whatever.

So… song 2 should be White Lines by Duran Duran and Grandmaster Flash (Spotify Link). Passing the dutchie to the left hand side… and choosing Wicked Good Steve Loopipe!

Stepping Out

It's a pretty nice desk.

Leaving my regular day job has been something I've been simultaneously looking forward to and dreading. Looking forward to, because the environment at the day job could be rather tense. Looking forward to because the kind of work that I was doing there, while challenging and rewarding, wasn't what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. And I'm not getting any younger.

Dreading because it meant giving up an illusion of security (not the reality of security, of course, but at least a semblance of security). Dreading it because the future is uncertain, always in motion, changing. I've described the feeling as being like you're about to step out of a boat, trusting that you'll be able to walk on water. (see Matt 14:28-31)

The whole month I've been alternating between states of calm acceptance and mind-blowing panic. But there have been signs along the way that everything is, indeed, going to be all right. Some interesting things are opening up. Also, in my last month at the day job, they started selling off old furniture, and I saw the desk pictured here, and thought to myself "Oh hey, it's my desk." "Wait, what?" It's in the garage now. I need to get some things rearranged before I can bring it into the house, which will take a few days.

So, here's the plan. More writing. Period. At least one short story a week. I'm going to be following the model Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Katherine Rusch use for their short stories. A short story will appear here within seven days (I'm working now on a follow up to my Mad Poet Files story – A Premonition / The Cost of Miracles). It will be free to read here on the site. It will appear in podcast form. And within a week after that, a new story will appear on the site. When that happens, the first story gets taken down, and made available to purchase on Kindle, B&N, iBook, and any place else I can throw it. This is a little scary for me. I have a history of announcing these kinds of things and totally flaking out. So, stay tuned for either what this was always meant to be – A One Man Short Story Fiction Fixation of Podcasting Practice and Questionable Quality, or a spectacular failure marked mostly by silence.

I need an accountability partner. Any volunteers?

Dice Rolling

Natural Crit

I did something fairly drastic today.

Since October of last year, I've been working on a contract basis for a company here in the Austin area. For various reasons, that contract has been extended a number of times, and here we are in August.

I gave notice today that I would not be seeking a further extension of the contract.

From the outside, this looks like a particularly stupid move.

There's some justification for that. It's not the best job market in the world out there. The legal job market in particular is tough, especially in Austin where we have a large number of attorneys for the available jobs, and more coming every year. I don't  have something else I'm jumping into. It's an absolute leap of faith.

I know. Crazy.

But necessary. For lots of reasons. Necessary.

Every now and then, it's necessary to roll the dice. To take a risk. Usually it's a calculated one, but sometimes it really is rolling because your gut says to roll. Or the Great DM in the sky suddenly says "Roll for initiative…" and then life drops in the pot.

So, what stat am I rolling against? INT? (Not very smart to leave when you don't have the next gig lined up.) CHR? (Who do I have to charm to get the next gig?) CON? (Because it's a gut check? And did I succeed or fail?)

WIS?

Trust30 – #30 – DeFault

This is it. The last one. Thank goodness. I think. Here's the quote.

I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you, or you. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

And here's the prompt.

Think of all the things that are not working in your life. That job you don't like, that relationship that's not working, those friends that annoy you. Now turn them all on you. Imagine that everything that's not working in your life, is your fault. How would you approach it? What would you work on to change your life to the state that you want it to be?

Oh, thank you, Carlos Miceli, author of the flavor text and writing prompt to finish up Trust30, for feeding the very thing that I was trying to kill off yesterday. Of course it's my fault. It's all my fault. But that's what's killing my ability to move forward right now. So maybe fault isn't the right word here. It's not my fault. It's my responsibility.

 Here's where I'm at right now. I am constantly convincing myself that it IS ALL MY FAULT. And that because I am a world-class screw-up, that I am therefore unworthy of and unable to achieve success in various areas. If you're doing this to yourself, let me tell you this is damaging, corrosive, and an absolute killer of motivation, drive, faith, hope, and optimism. At some point, you have to stop looking at everything that's wrong and wondering whose fault it all is. At some point, IT DOESN'T MATTER WHOSE FAULT IT IS. What matters is "what am I going to do about it?"

(This, incidentally, is one of the reasons politics is so cuckoo crazy right now. Everyone's so busy blaming everyone else that there's less and less room to actually talk about solutions. Which in my head is going to require massive spending cuts in all programs as well as the phasing out and elimination of some government programs and possibly governmental entities altogether and not just refusing to raise the debt ceiling but in fact taking steps to lower the national debt… which is crazy talk I know, marks me yet again as a conservative nutjob and probably belongs in another post more specifically about politics, and not one about letting go of blame and taking responsibility for moving things forward…)

I keep thinking about the movie "Gumball Rally". It's a crazy little movie about a cross-country race. Raul Julia is in it, playing an Italian driver hired by one of the racers to drive his car (and him) across the country and win the race. Raul gets in the car. He sits down. And he turns to his passenger and says "Let me tell you the first rule of Italian driving." At which point he reaches up and tears off the rear-view mirror from the dashboard and tosses it in the back seat. "That which is behind me is not important."

Focus on what's ahead. Pay attention to where you ARE, and what's COMING UP, but you (and I… mostly I) must let go of the past.

Maybe there are areas where I could have been more responsible, more appreciative, more diligent, more discerning… in the past. And that's all right. The important thing is to look forward and drive baby drive. Or in other words,

Press on, peeps. Press on.

And that's it. Frakkin Trust30. Holy moly. Maybe now I can get back to a little fiction writing. Whoof. What would THAT be like?

Trust30 – #29 – I'm Just a Soul whose Intentions are Good…

Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

The prompt for this talks about posting an embarrassing picture of yourself online. Like the one I just put up. Look at that hair. The baldness. The unsightly… is that a chin? Are you sure? It just sort of… gently wanders town into the neck, doesn't it? Egads.

I'm not going to compare myself to Copernicus, Galileo, Newton, or (heaven help us) Jesus. There's really only one person I can compare myself to… and that's my own vision of who I SHOULD be.

And you thought your potential audience was bad…

If it's perhaps escaped anyone paying attention, I am a rather harsh critic of myself. Everything and everyone else gets a pretty fair amount of leeway from me. The only one that doesn't… the one that's to blame for everything… is me. Who else is there? Within reason, taking responsibility, accountability and ownership of yourself and your life is absolutely the right thing to do. But blaming yourself for all that is wrong or troubling or disappointing in your life? If only I'd done this… or that… if only I'd studied harder, worked out more, etc… well, it's a fantastic method for completely discouraging any positive movement or action on your part.

So it's time to give the internal critic the boot. I am going to do my best. And if that doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out. C'est la vie. At some point you have to give yourself some leeway. You're only human. That means that you have unlimited potential, but it also means that you're imperfect, that you're going to screw up. And you need to be okay with that.

Going back to the analogy of the path, the rod, and the tree, if we're too scared of messing up, we never take a step forward to where we want to be. We never approach happiness. If we're so convinced of our own competence that we never move, then we might as well not be in the path. The path is meant to be walked. The rod is meant as a guide. The tree is meant to be reached, and the fruit thereof is meant to be enjoyed. It's time to let in some light, forgive yourself, and leave it be.

Press on, peeps. Press on.

Trust30 – #28 – Hard Words

Speak what you think now in hard words, and tomorrow speak what tomorrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said today. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Writing is one of the ways I figure out what I'm thinking, and while I haven't been doing a lot of it here (or in my fiction projects), I have been doing quite a bit of it in other, more private venues. And it's been fascinating, on one hand, to get to the bottom of some issues that go right to the core of who I am and what I think. It was this Trust30 challenge that I'm horribly late on that got me started down this road and I'm grateful for what I've learned through the process. And at the same time it's been hard and a part of me wishes that I'd never started.

I've got 5,000 words and growing sitting in a document that is just an attempt to get really crystal clear on who I am and what I think about some things. There are some things in there that are scary. There are things in there that have been painful and emotionally raw. There are some things in there that I recognize intellectually as being incorrect, but there's a part of me that thinks of them as being absolutely right.

Which is part of the point. Rhetoric, in its original form – before it became mere sophistry – was thought of as an exploration of and a quest for truth. As I write, I believe that I get closer to capital-T Truth. If I'm being honest, if I'm really listening to myself, and I'm really listening to that voice inside me that prompts me to do the good but hard things, then I'm moving closer to truth. Our understanding of truth is limited by our limited comprehension and our limited experience, but as we grow and develop and honestly seek for it, our understanding and appreciation of truth grows naturally. Just as if we refuse to look honestly at and seek for truth, our understanding and appreciation of it diminishes over time – growing dimmer and dimmer as time goes by. We recognize that truth with our physical bodies, and our intellectual and dare I say spiritual selves abide by the same principles.

So. I may say some things today that I would not have agreed with a week ago, a year ago, ten years ago, because I have changed. Not necessarily for better or worse, although that's unquestionably an axis I move along. And as I change, as my perspective shifts, my understanding of Truth changes also. Not to say that Truth changes – merely that our understanding of it and our ability to apply it shifts as our experience with it changes – as we become more or less able to "handle the truth".

As soon as I saw "Hard Words" in the quote above, it made an instant association in my mind. In the Book of Mormon, there's several references to hard words. I've talked briefly about the path and the rod and the tree. That same man who had that vision had multiple occasions to speak hard truths. Immediately after he explained the vision of the path and the rod and the tree to his brothers, we get this exchange in 1st Nephi 16 1-2.

And now it came to pass that after I, Nephi, had made an end of speaking to my brethren, behold they said unto me: Thou hast declared unto us hard things, more than we are able to bear.

And it came to pass that I said unto them that I knew that I had spoken hard things against the wicked, according to the truth; and the righteous have I justified, and testified that they should be lifted up at the last day; wherefore, the guilty taketh the truth to be hard, for it cutteth them to the very center.

It's one of the most apt descriptions of what I've been going through for the last few weeks. The words I'm writing to myself have been cutting. And hard. Hard as iron. But they've also been necessary. Some time in the future, I need to pull that apart and really dig into it. Suffice to say I've been thinking a lot about my favorite of the Chronicles of Narnia – Voyage of the Dawn Treader – and about my favorite character. Eustace Scrubb. I can suddenly empathize with that character in new and ever more interesting ways.

As I've said in the past, in order for us to chart a course forward to where we WANT to be, it's necessary at some point to come to an understanding of where we ARE. And once we know that, we can determine what we need to do, how we need to prepare, and the course we need to take. And that's true of any endeavor – be it business, family, personal, spiritual, intellectual, professional, etc. And as we learn the hard truths, as we speak and internalize the hard words, eventually, they become less hard – because we're living according to those principles I talked about last post. They become edifying.

And that's something to look forward to and work towards, no matter what the endeavor is.

Let me say something else. Mad Poet Files was always intended to be a place where I would post my own fiction. That eventually this would become the place where I started applying Tracy Hickman's Dickensian methods to serialized fiction. And I still want to drive that way. But one of the hard truths I have to accept is that I have gotten SO busy that I have not allowed myself time to write. And I don't believe that my writing is where it needs to be for me to really make a go of it.

Dagnabit.

Trust30 – #27 – The Triumph of Principles

Nothing can bring you peace but yourself. Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

The prompt for this day says to take a big hairy life goal that you haven't started yet, or that you have been having a hard time with, and write down three uncertainties – fears – that you have concerning it. Then break that down a little further and write three reasons for the fear. That's a good idea, and I may get to that in a future post, but first I have to address the quote. I have a fundamental problem with the first part of this little couplet, because I believe it may contradict the second part. Nothing can bring you peace but yourself? Yes – By submitting to and following correct principles. Because it's too easy to use that first part to say that "I am a law unto myself." Without the appropriate perception and attitude, you can spend a lot of time beating your head into walls and thinking that you're pursuing peace. You don't get to the moon and back without an understanding of life sciences, gravity, metallurgy, navigation, physics, etc. With the right understanding of the principles involved, even the sky isn't the limit.

So, what are the principles that we have to adhere to? What principles exist that we can cling to? Are there any?

Tracy Hickman uses a tagline on his Dragonhearth podcast that I have always appreciated – "May you always publish peace." It's a reference to the book of Isaiah.

How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!  - Isaiah 52:7 – KJV

I believe that peace doesn't come from me. It's something that happens naturally when I'm following correct principles. So, from a certain point of view (thank you, Obi-Wan Kenobi), it is up to me to get "peace". But that peace doesn't come from me – it's a natural result of me following the path that leads to it. And here we are talking paths again.

It's really very simple. How do you achieve financial peace? Have a budget. Spend less than you take in. Look for ways to increase your earning potential. Save, invest appropriately. Have a plan for when it all goes to pot.

How do you achieve familial peace? That takes work. It takes being willing to be forgiving and gentle. It also takes honesty. And being willing to stand up for yourself. There's a time to be gentle and loving, and there's a time to dig in the heels and say "we're not doing that." It takes working toward consensus as opposed to compromise. No one is happy with compromise. No one wants to defend a compromise. Consensus takes more work, but once you're there, everyone understands it and is willing to stand behind it. I may have more to say about consensus and compromise later (if I haven't already said it elsewhere).

How do you achieve peace with yourself? How do you forgive yourself for not living up to your own expectations, let alone anyone else's? Do your best. Accept that the results may be out of your hands. But take ownership of and put forth the effort. And if you don't get the right results – change your efforts. In fact, you may look a little deeper and consider what unspoken beliefs may be driving you to think that if you make action A that you will get result B.

Find correct principles. Apply them. Live them. And the peace will naturally follow.

Trust30 Not Quite Complete Review

I've taken some time over the last few days to start reading the actual Ralph Waldo Emerson essay, "Self-Reliance". While there's a lot in here that I agree with and find admirable, there are things in here that I find myself disagreeing with. That's going to happen, and it's nothing to worry about. It wasn't really the point of the #Trust30 exercise in the first place. The main value of Trust30 to me (which admittedly I came up a few posts short in) has been in discovering what I think, and what I believe, and what I hold to be bedrock foundational true. And disagreeing with Emerson is probably something Emerson would have been totally okay with, looking over what I've read of his essay so far.

In the last post, I wrote something that made me step back and take a hard look at myself and my life. When I asked the question about how in love you were with the illusion that you thought you were projecting to the world, that struck home. I wrote it, and I sat there staring at it and realized… Holy Cow, I am so guilty of doing that. It's caused me to take some steps over the last few days to reconcile the difference between what I want to be, and what I'd sort of allowed myself to become. These are steps that, while painful in the short term, will get me closer to where I want to be, and where my family wants to be. Which is what it's all about.

I'm grateful for the opportunity that I took to participate, and I'll possibly come back and finish up the last few prompts. And in the meantime, it feels like I'm clearing the cruft away from some channels that I'd allowed to become thick with overgrowth. It feels wonderful to have the occasional scary-yet-awesome idea again. The Oh Crap, I have to write THAT?!? feeling that I've been without for a while.

So it's back to the blank page. Back to the three words for this year. Reach. Practice. Play. Back to trusting that I can receive enough light and enough… inspiration, I suppose, though that's not really the word I want to use there… to move forward.