[December]

December was seated in one of his favorite chairs, which he had recently relocated from his residence to one of the back rooms of his store. Here he sat... thinking and waiting for things to unfold. The large white-haired crimelord knew that someone had entered the room even though he had his back to the open door.

"What did you find?" asked December.

"Uhhhh... well I'm no healer" said Lovvorn "but it looks to me like our homeless chap is suffering from foosh poisoning. That potion, whatever it was, was mostly made up of foosh. I think. I mean... maybe...."

"What else?"

"Traces of a few odd drugs here and there. Good stuff, too... Mushrooms. Hemp. Poppy."

"Mushrooms? Mushrooms made this man into a lethal killer? I do not think so."

"There was some other stuff I couldn't recognize. I'm not an alchemist..." Lovvorn let his words trail off into nothingness. He hated disappointing December. And he knew December hated to be disappointed.

"Draw some of his blood, and preserve it with a spell. I shall find someone to look at it, although I doubt even one skilled in the alchemical arts will be able to unlock its secrets."

"Why do you say that?"

December turned slightly, and locked his cold blue eyes with Lovvorn's bloodshot red ones.

"I have knowledge of this potion. Whispers. Rumors. It was believed to be a myth, but I see that someone has made it a reality."

"Sinterbourne?"

"I doubt that very seriously. Sinterbourne's possession of the formula is accidental at best. Its true owner, whoever that may be, will no doubt go to great lengths to regain it. This potion is worth much more than the foosh that it contains... it was created by a specific man, for a specific reason."

"What's that?"

"Protection. A counter-weapon."

"Uhhh... I still don't know what you're talking about."

December reached over and picked up a book that was lying face-down on the table next to him. One of the pages had been neatly folded down. December opened the book to this page and handed the tome to Lovvorn.

"From the library of Jerimiah Trisk." he said.

Lovvorn looked at the book. It was a catalogue of ancient magical items, listing hundreds of amulets, shields, enchanted armor and helmets, almost every type of druid-stone. Each description was accompanied by a detailed drawing. The drawing on the marked page was of a large, sinister-looking black sword. The description as very short and vague, mentioning only that the sword was a terrible weapon and an equally terrible curse.

"What's this have to do with Sinty-boy's potion?" asked the pudgy mage.

"To a man of power, all serious threats demand action. What cannot be controlled, must be negated or neutralized. An enemy who possesses a powerful weapon has an advantage. The wise man must find a weapon of equal power to match it, or risk losing all that one has. The potion is an attempt to do just that.

"Boss?"

"Yes?"

"What the Hell are you talking about?"

December sighed, releasing a small white cloud of frosty mist that settled to the floor around him.

"Leave me, Lovvorn. I have much to think about. If this mythical potion is now real, then perhaps the Sword of Siege has resurfaced once more. I know of some who would seek it... and the potion as well. I must take steps to ensure that this does not create an imbalance of power. Or that such an imbalance tips the scales in MY favor."

"What about Sinterbourne?"

"His fate is sealed. N'Doki has been summoned, and J'Hasp has returned to Sinterbourne's headquarters. He will retrieve something small. Something personal."

Chills shot down Lovvorn's back. N'Doki and small, personal items simply did not mix. The results were always unpleasant.

"Our guest?" asked December, "Does he still live?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"Return him to the place where J'Hasp found him. Then summon Rivus from the Night's Bloom... tell him I wish to know who supplies foosh to the denizens of Montfort. I think I will be making a purchase..."

---

[December]

Several hours later, December waited patiently in the alley, watching the sun as it ended it's trip across the sky. The city streets grew dark and foreboding, and even after the lamplighters came and did their duty, the area surrounding the Pan-Demonica was still bathed in blackness.

The alley was the club's rear entrance. Or one of them at least. Very few of the Pan-Demonica's patrons even knew of its existence. Management preferred that everyone to use the main entrance, but of course there would always be some men who
required secrecy.

December stood between two abandoned buildings; the walls on either side were thick and unbroken. The club opened at sunset, give or take a few minutes, and closed promptly at dawn. Outside of that span of time the place simply did not exist. December wondered what became of the drunken souls still inside when the morning rays warmed the street.

It was fifteen minutes after sunset. The main entrance was probably already open. A few of the other side entrances as well. December waited, making no effort to announce his presence or his desire to enter.

Suddenly, there was a loud gong, and a low, grinding noise. A huge iron door appeared in the wall right next to where December stood. The door opened of its own accord, and December entered.

"Well, now," said Leonardo. "It HAS been a long time!"

"Indeed it has," December answered as the Imp scanned him for weapons. There were none to be found. December did not need them. "And how is your employer?"

"The same. Always the same"

"Constance is a virtue."

"Well I guess I'd better tell him to stop it, then!" Leonardo laughed loudly, and December heard the Imp chittering beside him. "What brings you to the Pee-Dee?"

"I would speak with Aeragar. Is he here?"

"Yes he is. Popular man, lately. You know the way."

"I know the way is that there IS no way."

"Exactly." Leonardo stepped to the side and allowed December to pass. December wondered how Leonardo and his demonic Imp could be standing guard
at the main entrance, as well as all the OTHER entrances at the same time. No matter which entrance they used, not a single person ever entered the Pan-Demonica without being greeted by Leonardo and searched by the Imp. That was a feat of magic that even Lovvorn and N'Doki would be hard-pressed to duplicate.

December allowed himself to be guided by the club's magic to the lone wooden door that led to Aeragar. He knocked and waited for a response.

[Eva]
The door was opened promptly by Aeragar's guard. Today her dress was glossy emerald green silk, the skirts were long and slit on both sides to her waist while the top fastened over one shoulder only. The neckline slanted from her left shoulder to well beneath her right arm, leaving her firm right breast more than half exposed. She wore her charcoal hair up.

[Aeragar]

Aeragar regarded the man in the doorway, "Good evening, I don't believe we have met."

[December]

"No. We have not. My name is December. Perhaps you have heard of my store. Or perhaps you may know my name from... elsewhere."

December was testing the man in the room. Though he was new to Montfort, most major players in the underworld knew him by name, even if they had never seen him
in person before.

"Either way, I have it on good authority that you are the supplier-of-choice for certain rare pharmaceuticals."

[Aeragar]

"Indeed, I know you recently opened a jewelry store here in town. Perhaps prospects for Montfort's recovery are better than I expected, otherwise I would not expect to see a man of your reputation come to our little backwater city. In any case, it is true that, when the Republic pulled out of Montfort they left quite a vacuum in the substance market, one that my organization was only too happy to fill. I think you will find the nature and quality of our products even more compelling than were theirs. Aeragar smiled.

[December]

"I see. Well then perhaps we can do business."

December checked behind him to make sure that the door was closed, and then slowly sat down in the room's only vacant chair.

"I desire foosh. Not for myself, of course. I have certain... business needs. Will you be will to sell me... say... your entire current supply?"

[Aeragar]

"My entire stock without first knowing the amount of foosh that might be?" Aerager smiled and raised an eyebrow.

[December]

"Of course. After all, this is foosh we are talking about, is it not? When dealing with a product as compelling as that, you can never have too much on hand. No matter how much one buys, one will always need more sooner or later. And if it is my ability
to pay that you are questioning..."

December reached inside his coat and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in what appeared to be black silk. He unfolded the cloth to reveal a
diamond the size of his hand, and placed the large jewel on the table before Aeragar.

"One of my smaller specimens. Feel free to examine it if you wish; I assure you that it is quite genuine. Of course, I do not intend to pay you in diamonds unless you so desire. The currency of the transaction is of no consequence as long as I get the drug. And, as you can see, I am more than capable of generating the required funds."

[Aeragar]

Aerager examined the gem. "It appears we can do business," Aeragar smiled. "Given the amount, let us do this in three drops. My preferred mode of payment is in gold, preferably newly minted crown coins from the local mint. They attract less attention. The price would be 100 crowns per half pound or one thousand coins per five pound drop. I have 15 pounds presently on hand that I can sell you.

[December]

December did the math effortlessly in his head.

"Three thousand coins it is. I shall take your word that this is your entire supply. Now... how shall I arrange to take possession?"

[Aeragar]

Simple, I'll give you a time and location, your people will meet my people, we send one person forward from each group, your man inspects the merchandise, mine inspects the money, if both are satisfactory, an exchange is made. I'll leave a note with the
location and time of the next drop with the merchandise. We repeat the process two more times, everyone is happy. We can start with the first drop in as little as two hours.

[December]

"It appears that we have a deal. We shall make the first exchange in two hours. I shall send a man in shortly to arrange the time and place. I would like to have the other drops tonight as well, but not too close to midnight. I have it on good authority that there will be some... events... transpiring that may make the streets of Montfort somewhat
unsafe after the midnight hour. I am advising my men to stay indoors after that
time. You might do well to tell yours the same. If we cannot conclude our
business before midnight, then we shall take care of it tomorrow night."

Without giving Aeragar a chance to question him about his revelation, December stood and turned towards the door. The sudden motion caused a freezing cold breeze to wash
over the occupants of the room. December took two steps, stopped, and turned back
towards the foosh-dealer. He pointed at the large diamond that still sat on Aeragar's table...

"A gift. A symbol of my desire for a prosperous relationship between us. It has been a pleasure doing business with you."

December turned and walked towards the door.

[Eva]

Eva instantly opened the door for December

[Aeragar]

Before December left, Aerager added, "Given the value of this gem, I believe we can expedite your order, say all 15 pounds in one drop, if that would be more convenient. I'll have to check the gem, of course, but I have no doubt it is genuine. We can be ready to give your man the information on time and place in one hour if that would suit you."

[December]

"It does. I shall send someone in one hour." December walked out of the open door and made his way out of the club.

...

As he stepped out of the club and into the night, December sniffed the air around
him. He tapped his left foot lightly on the ground, and, almost instantly, J'Hasp appeared. The creature climbed down the sheer wall of the building next to the club.

"Massster?" hissed the strange creature.

"Summon Rivus and Hars. I have something for them to do. Tell them to hurry... it
is in their best interests not to be out long after midnight."

---

[Eric]

"I wonder what time it is," said Eric. The tall, thin rogue sat at a table in the Pan-Demonica, absently twirling his dagger between his fingers. Lovvorn was seated at the next table, surrounded by more than half a dozen empty beer mugs.

"You want to know what time it is?" said Lovvorn. His voice had taken on his usual slur.

"That's usually what people want when they wonder what time it is."

"Oh. Well in that case..." Lovvorn pushed up the left sleeve of his purple and pink robe, revealing a pale arm that was covered in runes. The mage glanced at a circular tattoo just above his wrist. The rune was composed of a small circle with two lines of differing lengths radiating its center. They were arranged with the shorter line completely vertical and the longer one at a ninety degree angle to the left. "It's a quarter till midnight." said Lovvorn.

"What?"

"One-forth of the time it takes for an hourglass to empty itself. We have that long until midnight."

"How can you tell that?"

"With my new rune. See..." Lovvorn extended his wrist so that Eric could examine it. "I call it a wristwatch."

"Like a pocketwatch?"

"Yes. Only on my wrist instead of in my pocket. You like? I like."

"Yes," said Eric sarcastically. "You must be very proud of yourself."

"Oh, come on... This thing is very useful. See... right now I can tell that I have exactly forty-five minutes until the burlesque show starts in the next room. And if the boss wants me to be somewhere at a specific time, I can be there without all that wandering around looking for a sundial or trying to tell time by the stars on a cloudy night. It's amazing that no one thought of it sooner. You want me to make one for you?"

"I don't want you touching my skin."

"But you'll never know what time it is."

"If I want to know I'll just ask you. Or I'll slit someone's throat and take their pocketwatch. Or maybe I'll slit YOUR throat and cut off your arm."

"You're very funny, did you know that? Really. You should be on stage."

Eric smiled, and Lovvorn grabbed a beer from a passing waitress and downed it in three gulps.

"You'd better make yourself scarce," said Eric. "If Damion's boy isn't here yet, he'll be here soon. Probably show up early."

"All right then." Lovvorn stood, and took a moment to steady himself.

"Wait. Give me the thing first."

"Oh." The mage fumbled around in the pockets of his robe and came out with a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to Eric.

"You sure this is the right one?"

"Bah..." Lovvorn started to walk away. Eric shouted after him...

"I don't want to end up in pieces, you know."

"It'll be an improvement. I'll be in the Velvet Palace, waiting on the show to start. If things go wrong... I've never seen you before in my life."

Lovvorn walked away, mingling in with a throng of drunken men who were gathering just outside of the iron door that led to the Velvet Palace. Soon he was lost among them... nothing more than a flash of purple in the crowd.

Eric sat alone at his table, eyeing the folded paper suspiciously.

[Fletcher]

"Good evening, Mr. Fletcher." Leonardo greeted the slight, well-dressed man with his usual poise. "Going down?"

"Yes." answered Damion's assistant as he smiled at some private joke. He stood motionless while the Imp scanned him for weapons. His rapier rang in it's scabbard, and his dagger vibrated fiercely on his sided. The spell ended, and Leonardo stepped aside and waved Fletcher toward the stairway that led to the main floor of the club.

Fletcher started to descend.

"By the way, Mr. Fletcher..."

"Yes, Leonardo? Given any more thought to my offer?" Fletcher smiled.

"Uhhh.... no. I just wanted to tell you that there's a man here expecting you. That chap at the table by himself..." Leonardo pointed to a blond man fumbling with a knife over in the corner. "Friend of yours?"

"No. This is business." Fletcher descended the steps and elbowed his way across the room. Soon he stood before the man Leonardo had pointed out.

"You must be Eric." said Fletcher.

"Have a seat."

"I'd rather stand. "

"Sit." Eric's voice had taken on a stern tone. Fletcher stood and stared at the man for a moment, and then sat down. Fletcher noticed the folded piece of paper on the table in front of him. Thinking it was a message for him, Fletcher reached out to take it, but Eric snatched it away. He carefully unfolded it and placed it back on the table. There was a large, intricate rune drawn upon it. Eric tapped his finger on the center of the drawing... and the entire club fell silent.

Fletcher jerked, and began looking around. Everyone seemed to still be engaged in the same conversations, fights and arguments that they were before, only now there was no sound to accompany them.

"They can't hear us," explained Eric. "And we can't hear them."

Fletcher hid his awe beneath a thick, stoic frown.

"Now we can talk."

"So you are Eric? Eric Hood?"

"Yes."

"You've been causing us quite a bit of trouble, Eric."

Eric looked confused.

"No need to deny it... The wine at the show. And then later that night. You may have even been at the Brewery when Zade was there. You're quite a busy man."

"I assure you, Mr. Fletcher, that I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't STARTED making trouble yet."

"I see. Sticking to your story, eh?"

"What story?"

"So what is it that you want from us, Mr. Hood? Money? Some of the drug, perhaps?" I'm afraid we can't spare any... unless you want to come and fight for us."

"I'm here to make you an offer. A very generous one."

"An offer for what?"

"Everything."

"And what 'everything' would that be?"

"Everything. The arena. The extortion. The potion. All of it."

"And who wants to buy 'everything'?"

"Me."

"Oh come now, Mr. Hood. You can tell me. Who do you work for?"

"I work for me."

"I doubt that very seriously."

"Doubt it if you want. I'm the one sitting here. I'm the one making the offer."

"You're lying."

"That's all part of the game, isn't it? You want to hear the offer or not?"

"Yes. Amuse me."

"Tell Sinterbourne that I want his whole operation. He leaves town... goes back to where he came from. Tonight."

Fletcher leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily, which caused quite a bit of confusion for the club patrons who could see him but could not hear him. Several men decided that they had had quite enough to drink and hurriedly left the club.

"And what are you offering in return, Mr. Hood? No, wait... let me guess... you'll let both of us live. Is that right?"

"That's right. I won't kill you. I leave you your lives... and a bit of gold to take back to the royal family."

"Ahhhh.... and how much does your employer think Damion's organization is worth?"

"Oh... I don't know. What's that thing that royalty does... ah yes...how about twice his weight in gold? Or three times his weight."

Fletcher frowned.

"So what do you say?"

"About your ridiculous offer? HA! I'll see you in Hell first."

"Somehow I knew you'd say that."

"And I think I've had enough amusement for one night."

Fletcher stood, but never took his eyes off of Eric.

"Are you sure? The offer expires as soon as you leave the room. After that, I can't be responsible for what happens."

"Don't threaten me, Mr. Hood. I've played this game before. If I were you, I would be very careful on my way home tonight."

"Same to you, Fletcher. You never know who... or what... is out there on those streets. Tell Sinterbourne to watch his back."

"I assure you that Damion Sinterbourne's back is being watched at all times."

"Take care of that personally, do you?"

Fletcher sniffed and walked away. As soon as he left the table, the noise of the club descended upon him, causing him to wince in sudden discomfort. As Fletcher exited the club, he looked back at Eric, and found the man had returned to playing with his dagger... moving it swiftly and deftly between his fingers, all the while keeping his eyes on Fletcher.

-------------------

[Fletcher]

It was going to be a long night. In fact, it had already BEEN a long night. Despite the humorous interlude at the Pan-Demonica, Fletcher was still in a foul mood and dreading the remainder of the night. He had left the club and returned to Damion's headquarters to give a brief report. Once there, he was informed that Zade and Terris had been missing all day, which was perhaps good news, and that Oger, their resident strongman, had taken a keen interest in the remainder of Sinterbourne's wine collection. The brute had knocked the door down to the wine cellar and attempted to drink himself to death. He was found before that could happen, but his saviors decided to take advantage of the free alcohol and soon the entire compound was drunk. Again. Fletcher collected the few remaining sober men, a group which amounted to exactly five, and headed out of town to meet his favorite person in the world, Simon Vendredi.

Earlier in the day, the 'great hunter' had proven himself to be skilled at bargaining as well. He had haggled with Fletcher for almost a solid hour, until they finally reached an agreement. Tonight, Fletcher would take possession of four of Vendredi's prime specimens. First would be the fire drake. Then the two chitracks. Finally there was the Ursinor. The last was thrown in almost as a bonus. A well deserved one, considering the extravagant sum that Simon wanted for the other animals. Fletcher had wanted the banshee as well, but Simon assured him that the beast was too dangerous, and would perform rather poorly in the ring. The Ursinor was by far the better choice. Despite his instincts, Fletcher chose to believe him.

Six men entered Simon's campground. Fletcher brought the small group to a halt just inside the main encampment. Something was wrong.

The entire place was silent. The fire, which Simon usually kept stoked to a roaring blaze, was instead a small flicker in the middle of the clearing. There was no movement save for the tiny shadows cast by the fire and by the torches of Fletcher's men.

At first, Fletcher thought that one of the animals had broken loose and slaughtered them all. His mind raced back to the horrifying razor-warg that he had seen sleeping in one of the covered cages. What if it had gotten away? Then Fletcher thought better of the idea... despite his shortcomings, Simon Vendredi knew his business. He would not allow one to escape. But what had happened?

"Take a look around," he commanded the men. "See if you can find Simon."

The group split up, heading in all directions. Fletcher walked toward the campfire. As he approached, he caught a whiff of something cooking. Meat. The smell grew stronger as he walked drew close to the center of the camp. And he saw that there were shapes lying along the ground near the fire.

thought Fletcher.

He was correct, but not in the way he intended. There were three men lying prone on the ground. Two were asleep and snoring lightly. The third was quite dead. In his sleep, the man had rolled over and threw his arm into the campfire. For some strange reason he did not awaken... the fire spread over him and the man was cooked alive as he slept. Even now, his charred corpse smoked and sizzled. Fletcher frowned and turned away.

He kicked one of the remaining men. The man stirred, but did not awaken. Fletcher kicked him again, harder this time, and got no response at all.

"Drugged." he said aloud. To test his theory, Fletcher drew his rapier and thrust it into the man's bulging biceps. The sleeping hunter never even flinched.

"Mr. Fletcher!" called one Damion's men, "They're all asleep!"

"Not asleep," answered Fletcher, "Drugged. Did you find Vendredi?"

"Not yet."

"HERE HE IS!" cried another man. Fletcher sheathed his rapier and headed in that direction.

Vendredi was just outside of his private tent, snoring loudly as he lay face-down on the ground. Fletcher had his men roll Simon over. The snoring grew louder.

"Wake him." said Fletcher.

"How?"

Fletcher smacked Simon in the face, and got no response at all. So he did it again. And again.

"I don't think it's working, sir." said one of the men.

"Well find something else to try!" Fletcher continued slapping Simon's sleeping face while his men searched about for a bucked and some water.

Without warning, Simon's hand shot up and clamped around Fletcher's small wrist, nearly snapping it in two.

"Hit me again and I swear I'll break you in HALF!!"

"You're AWAKE!" gasped Fletcher.

"Yah... no thanks to YOU! Back away from me!" Simon struggled to his feet, as did all the rest of his men. All around, men were awakened from their drugged sleep. Screams erupted from the center of the camp as the cooked man was discovered by his comrades.

"What happened here?" asked Fletcher.

"I don't know. One minute I was yelling at Throk about not feeding the drake, and the next minute you're slapping me on the face. By the way..." Simon drew back and punched Fletcher dead-center in the chest. Damion's assistant was knocked backwards several feet, and every ounce of air spewed forth from his lungs. "Now we're even."

"W-w-what w-was that f-for? I w-w...." Fletcher paused to catch his breath, "was ju-ust trying to w-wake you?"

"Yeah. Right. What's that commotion over there??" The last was aimed at the center of camp.

"Man In Fire! Man Dead!" replied Throk.

"Who is it?"

"Throk Not Tell. Man Cooked In Fire. Man Face Look Like Throk Dinner!"

Simon winced. Then his face took on a look that Fletcher never though he would see on Simon Vendredi... Panic.

"The Animals! Someone check on the ANIMALS!!" Simon took off at a sprint, running for the cages.

Fletcher held back for a moment. Something didn't seem right. Simon, and all of his other men in fact, seemed very lively for a group that had just been poisoned. There was none of the sluggishness and nausea usually associated with most poisons. Then there was the fact that the entire group had awakened at the exact same time. Almost as if on cue...

"BY THE GODS!!!" Simon's roar could be heard halfway to Montfort. "THEY'RE GONE!! MY ANIMALS ARE ALL GONE!!!!"

Fletcher's heart jumped into his throat. Wild animals. Running around loose. Fletcher drew his rapier, and several of his men followed his lead and did the same. The Ursinor. The Chitracks. The Razor-Warg. Fletcher gulped.

"S-Stay close." he told his men. Together, they walked back to the cages, where Simon was screaming orders to his own men.

"THROK!!! Take Blanchard and Franklin and hunt down that banshee... he's the only way we're going to catch some of these bastards. Don't forget to use the WAX this time! Waid and Gates! Start looking for tracks! I want to know a direction for every damned animal in this camp! The rest of you... break out the traps, nets, weapons, and armor! By the GODS, this is a DISASTER!!! Hurry! Hurry! Somebody get that damned BODY out of the FIRE! NO, WAIT! Leave it there... It might attract some of those animals! GET MOVING PEOPLE!!! THROK, WHY HAVEN'T YOU LEFT YET!!!"

Fletcher walked over to where Simon stood. As he passed the cages, he saw that each one stood open and empty. Row after row. Cage after cage. Hundreds of animals. Fletcher paused to examine one of the cage doors. There were tiny scratches on the lock, but it seemed to have been opened without any serious damage. Fletcher reached Simon and tapped the hunter on the back.

"WHAT IS IT MAN!!!" screamed Simon.

"The animals. Did they all get away?"

"Of course they got away!! You don't see any running around HERE, do you!! GODS, You're an idiot!"

"No," replied Fletcher. "Did they ALL get away?"

"What?" Simon thought for a moment. "GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!!!! DID ANYONE CHECK ON THAT DRAKE!!!!"

Simon was off again... this time running toward the hidden clearing that held the drake's solid metal cage. The clearing was much cooler than Fletcher remembered. Fearing the worst, Fletcher had his men gather closely around while Simon checked the cage.

"Still here!" Simon sighed as he peeked into one of the breathing holes. "Sleeping like a baby."

"Well, what happens now? Should we warn the town?"

"ARE you MAD?!? That'd start a PANIC!"

"I think we have reason to panic, don't you?"

"No... the beasts have probably all gone deeper into the woods. They'd stay away from the city. If we're lucky, the Razor-Warg has eaten them all and we've only got one animal left to hunt. If we're lucky."

"If we're not 'lucky'?"

"Then you'd better stay out of the forest for a month or two. Get back to wherever it is you go and tell Damion the deal will have to wait until later. If he's feeling generous he can donate a few of his men for the hunt, but otherwise there's nothing he can do but stay inside and lock the door."

"You've got this under control, then?"

"Fletcher, something put me and my men to sleep and released about over a hundred of my wild animals out into the woods. I've got to get them back before anyone important in Montfort finds out about it. Control isn't even in my vocabulary at the moment. Ask me about control tomorrow..." Simon stormed off, still shouting orders.

"THROK! THROK, I GAVE YOU AN ORDER! WHY ARE YOU STILL STANDING AROUND..."

Fletcher turned to his men.

"You heard the man. Back to headquarters... quickly and quietly."

"We aren't going to stay and help out with the hunt?" asked one of the men. Fletcher's mind once again returned to the Razor-Warg... and the Chitracks.

"Not a chance." he answered. "Let's go."

[N'Doki]

The sorcerer hid just west of the camp, sitting cross-legged in a clearing just large enough to accommodate him and his guest...

The Ursinor stood motionless, arms outstretched and claws extended. Its teeth were bared in a silent roar. The beast looked just the way it did when it first burst through the trees... just before the gaze of the necromancer froze it in it's tracks.

"Endalla Tof..." N'Doki chanted, as he had done so almost continuously for almost the past hour. The spells he had cast earlier had been so simple that even a neophyte could accomplish them. The 'mighty' hunters were brought low with a simple sleep spell, and the cages were unlocked with the aid of his spirit-servants. Now however...much care had to be taken. Now he had to reach into the minds of an animal, one which was very strong in the spirit of the wild. His chants had to be perfect. The pronunciation exact... the cadence, faultless. The slightest mishap could anger the gods, and N'Doki could fall from their graces and loose their respect forever. Such was the temperament of the gods.

His eyes locked with those of the beast as he continued. "Endalla Tof N'doki Yebil Lew... Yebil Lew Usil..." his eyes began to glow, and then pulse with flashes of sinister red light. Each pulse was reflected in the eyes of the bedazzled Ursinor.

"Lew Usil Tof En-Yawetag! Yawetag Tof Endalla!" without missing a beat of his rhythmic chanting, N'doki stood and approached the bear-creature. In his hand, N'Doki held the scrap of cloth J'Hasp had retrieved from Sinterbourne. He reached up and waved the cloth before the nose of the beast. His chanting grew more urgent...

"Yawetag Tof Endalla! Yawetag Tof Endalla! Yawetag Tof Endalla..."

N'Doki's chanting rose to a climatic crescendo...

"Endalla! Endalla! Endalla! ENDALLA!!!"

The necromancer fell silent. N'Doki walked in a circle around his beast, and then nodded slightly. The Ursinor moved. The beast dropped down on all fours and, ignoring N'Doki completely, plowed its way through the forest and vanished. Curiously, it left no tracks or any other signs of its passage. Such was power of N'Doki's magic... the beast would be unseen and untraceable until it reached it's target. The hunters would never find it in time.

Now, everything was complete. The other animals were already enchanted... N'Doki had worked his magic while the spirits unlocked the cages. Their enchantment was simpler... it was an illusion. Wood and mortar were made to resemble trees and grass. The houses of men became the homes of the beasts... and the scent of man became the spoor of prey. Confused and disoriented, every beast in Vendredi's menagerie now wandered unwaveringly into the heart of the urban jungle that was Montfort.


[To Be Continued]