[D'neor's Office, or thereabouts]

	"Don't you even want to know what happened while you were gone?
Where were you, anyway?"  Arden trotted along behind D'neor, breaking into
a run at times to keep up with his long strides.
	"Does it matter?" D'neor replied smoothly, moving down the corridor
with a restless energy he hadn't felt in what seemed like years.  "Whatever
happened, I'm sure it wasn't that important.  I wasn't gone that long."
None of it is important, he thought to himself.  None of their trivial
concerns, worrying about little stupid things when there were bigger, more
urgent matters to attend to.
	Arden blinked in astonishment, then shook his head and chased after
the Warrenlord.  "You should have heard the things that people were saying
about you.  The things they're still saying-- that you don't care about the
Warren, that you're only good at making loud noises and getting drunk, and
hitting people when you don't get your way."
	"I was the local boxing champion, you know," the Warrenlord replied
off-handedly, unlocking the key to his office.  "Still am.  So what's the
big deal, anyway?"
	"Well, to start with, K'wen and Jono got in a fight in the Dining
Hall--"
	"Good for them.  Who won?"  Perhaps the sneaky bastard had finally
gotten his face rearranged for him.
	"I don't know-- Christalla broke it up.  And then--"
	"Take a message to the Guild of Swords, then.  Have them grab K'wen
and lock him in their little hole for a few days.  That should sweeten his
temper up, for a little while at least."  One could only hope.
	Arden nodded reflexively and turned to leave, then spun back
around.  "But what about Jono?  He--"
	"Send him my congratulations," D'neor interrupted.  "And a bottle
of my best wine.  No, better make that second best.  I don't want to
encourage fighting in the Dining Hall."  The purpose-- how best to explain
it?  With a map.  Did he have a map?
	Arden gaped at the big man as he rummaged through his desk drawers.
"Sir, I--"
	"Are you still here?" D'neor said, looking up abruptly from his
rummaging.  "Get going, boy!  Can't leave a dangerous criminal like K'wen
running loose, can we?"
	"No, sir!" Arden cried, saluting quickly before spinning on his
heel and dashing out of the office.   He hadn't got more than halfway down
the corridor when a strong bellow rang out behind him:  "ARDEN!"
	"Coming!" the boy called back, and wheeled back around towards the
Warrenlord's office.
	"I need maps!" D'neor cried as Arden dashed back into the room,
skidding to a stop on the paper-strewn floor.  "Take notes.  I want a map
of the Warren, one of Keldarra Domain, and one of the Dragonlands proper.
Make sure it includes the boundaries and limits of the Wastes, too.  And
none of that approximately-here stuff-- I want real maps, good maps, and if
you have to go all the way to Ralengarde for them then I want you to do it.
Tell 'em it's part of their tithe to the Warren."
	Arden nodded and ran out again.  D'neor stared at his desk for a
moment, then swept the entire mess onto the floor with one smooth pass of
his arm.  "ARDEN!" he roared again, gazing intently at the dark wood.
	"You bellowed?"
	"I need people.  Specific people.  Tell them."
	"Which ones?"
	D'neor thought for a moment, his eyes still fixed on the desk.
"K'drik," he said finally.  Darlea's mother-- what was her name?  "Sheltie.
And K'wen, bring him first.  No one else.  Someone from the kitchen to
bring food and drink for five for a long time, and then get out.  You come
back here when you're done."
	Arden nodded breathlessly, and peered oddly at the older man.
"That's an odd group for a dinner party, D'neor."
	"It isn't a party," D'neor replied softly.  "It's a council of war."

*****
NRPG: How about them apples?

-mia

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"Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love."
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Mia Karen Sherman <shatavari@flashcom.net>
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