From: Robert Haynie <rhaynie_at_jaguar.ac.edu>
Date: Tue, 9 Apr 1996 19:27:01 GMT

     Other Sonics #1-- The Barbarian : Part Two

     By Robert Haynie

     Obligatory stuff-- Sonic the Hedgehog, Bunnie Rabbot, etc. TM
and copyright 1995 by Sega of America and Archie Comics. They
probably reserve all rights. This story is copyright 1995 Robert
S. Haynie Jr. This is an exercise in fan fiction, and is not
meant to infringe on their rights, but is a purely recreational
exercise. It may be duplicated freely, with the restrictions that
A) no text is changed, and B) no money is charged.

     Part the Fourth

     In a Darker world, the ones called Magi suggest that there is
no such thing as coincidence, that the shattered fragments of the
beginning of all things strive to rejoin and thus pattern all
occurrences and happenings towards that end. Maybe. But whether
cosmic forces compel happenstance towards a great destiny, or
whether crap just happens, Milos was about to have his lifestyle
severely reorganized.
     One would think that the prospect of such a thing would have
appealed to the street-thief. But Tails knew his life, his
patterns of destiny, and was comfortable in them-- not from a
physical viewpoint, to be sure, but from an unstated spiritual one.
He knew his place in the world, as did his four charges, as did the
hedgehog and the princess and the swordbunny and the mage and the
spy, and especially the two thaumaturges. For those who follow the
paths arcane know better than any how fragile a place is, how
mutable it can be... and Antos of Mobius and Roboth-Amon of the
Eastrealm knew instinctively that changes in places were coming.
     Antos' hope was to keep such changes from over-running the
kingdom and the princess he was bound to protect. He hoped to
guide the princess, and through her the king (who was not fond of
magick) into paths that would allow the people to weather them with
the least amount of suffering and confusion.
     Roboth-amon, on the other hand, planned to ride the upcoming
changes, to mold them and all the world into a new reality-- one
where he would be like unto a god-- perhaps a god in fact,
immortal, invincible.
     And the two-tailed fox, knowing squat about these lofty,
eldritch, and arcane matters, hoped to con a kitchen-helper out of
some spare breadcrusts. Well, we can't all be beings of great
insight and occult knowledge.

     Antos crouched in his chambers, his robe tossed aside, now
clad in a simple white loincloth and a chain about his neck, with
a single, rather unimpressive blue stone in the setting. More than
one had wondered how one as young as he could perform the mage-
feats he had, and were they to see that, they would know. After
all, there was power in a Chaos Emerald, even those which were not
the true green. Add to that a naturally fastidious nature (which
helps in organizing the mind), native magickal talent (without
which no magery is possible), and a peculiar streak of sheer
bloody-mindedness (which is paramount in harnessing energies that
no-one in their right mind would even consider dealing with unless
they were magi), and you had one surprisingly capable sorcerer.
    Not an overconfident one, though. Antos knew full well that if
it came to a open battle arcane between himself and the Dark
wizard, the result would be Dark Wizard:1, Antos:Immolation. It
was only great distance and a natural talent for wards that had
kept the palace safe, and that could change any time. That, and
constant vigilance...
     So, as he did each evening, Antos meditated, allowing his
senses to range out, attuning himself again to wards and charms he
had placed to alert him to any eldritch threat. And, just as the
afternoon's audience had done, the gleam of power radiated from the
axe wielded by the barbarian, now ensconced in one of the guest-
     A soft foot-step from behind Antos intruded on his
meditations, and he turned his head. The guard-captain stood
behind him, frowning.
     "Few would entair un sorcerer's rooms without ze invitation,
Mon Capitaine."
     The frown was replaced by a smile, and Bunnie sat down next to
the fox. "Ah didn't think Ah needed an invite, Antos," she
murmured, allowing herself to slip back to the dialect of her
southlands childhood.
     A half-smile crossed Antos' muzzle as the rabbit drew him into
a quick, but fierce, embrace. "No, you are not needing one, mon
cher... but still, it hardly seems proper for ze Captain of ze
Princess' Guard to be entering ze apartments of ze Sorcerair of
said Princess, nest pas'? Zhere are always those whould suggest
plots et plans."
     "Let'em. Ah just wanna snuggle a bit." Bunnie sighed, and in
a wistful tone, added, "Ah just wish we could be open about us..."
     "Mais Non, Cher capitaine. There are far to many in ze courts
zat play the game of the politics, and any sign of weakness would
call ze hunt down upon us. And if either of us were to be
discredited, zen zat is but one more opening to ze Princess."
     Bunnie sighed. "Ah know. Speaking of threats, that
     "I am sensing no evil in him, Bunnie. He is-- how is it
said?-- too clued to be a threat."
     Bunnie blinked. "Too what?" she asked, drawing back in
     "Too clued. He is not subtle at all, he is not hiding
     "Oh, y'all mean too CRUDE. Honestly, Antos, I may love that
accent of yours, but sometimes..."
     Bunnie rose, and left, then, to leave the sorcerer to his
work. As she walked out, Antos mumbled, "I am having an accent?
Why is everyone telling me that I am having an accent?"

     Golden Fire. Speed, speed, and more speed, rippling though
his corpus until he thinks he will shred from the strain, and still
the fire rages. Seven stones, golden fire...
     As always, Son-Ak jerked awake just before the dream that had
haunted him since he was a child began to seem to make sense. His
father's brother, tChak, a shaman of considerable wisdom (or so
the elders held him to be) claimed that the dreams could not--
would not be explained in the safe lands of his herding tribe.
Most people outside the northlands assumed that all the barbarian
tribes were filled with berserk warriors. In actuality, the
berserkers were few and far between, but they did tend to be the
kind that the 'civilized' folk met.
     Son-Ak was no berserker, but he was a warrior of great skill
(As he would readily inform anyone who asked and most who did not)
and speed. He was braver than most, he knew, and feared no man,
beast, or even demon-spawned sorcery (Well, he would not admit to
fearing the latter, at any rate). Perhaps that is why the terror
that the recurring dream caused him upset him so. It seemed
childish for a warrior of his stature and skill to wake up
sweating, shaking, barely repressing a scream of panic at the
recurring visions of gold fire-- or perhaps of rage at being
awakened just before some half-sensed revelation was to come to
     Just as he was about to return to a fitful sleep, a scream
DID erupt-- but not from him. The barbarian snapped upright as a
howl of terror came forth from somewhere else in the palace. Even
as he grabbed his battleaxe, and stepped towards the door, a
guardsman slammed it open, crying "Hey, you--"
     "I heard," replied Son-Ak. "Lead me there."

Received on Tue Apr 09 1996 - 17:27:41 PDT

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