[December]

When the steady and forceful knocking began, December drew his fur-lined robe around his muscular frame and started down the steps. The visit had not taken him totally by surprise; J'Hasp had warned him of their approach while the Montfort authorities were still blocks away. Still, he made no attempts to hurry the investigators into his abode. He walked at a leisurely pace down the stairs and paused at the door for almost a full minute before opening it.

There were four men outside, one of which he recognized as Author Hendragon from Bephal. The other men were uniformed, armed, and mostly indistinguishable from each other.

"Come in, Author. And bring your friends along." December stepped aside to let them enter. Only Author and one other stepped inside. The other two took up a position outside the door. December glanced out into the approaching darkness, but there was no one else there. At least, no one that he could see. J'Hasp had assured him that there were five men, but only four were present now. The other must be hiding, in case something unpleasant happened to his comrades. Cautious, but quite unnecessary. December closed the door and turned to his guests. They shivered slightly at the sudden drop in temperature.

"Gentlemen."

"I am Parode, of Montfort. I'm here to question you about your possible involvement in a murder."

Author nodded in agreement.

December's face maintained it's usual stoic frown. Inwardly, however, he was instantly both curious and angered. He had ordered no one killed, and no one had informed him of any murder. He made a mental note that the Night's Bloom would have to be disciplined most sternly for their inattention. Meanwhile, he had these gentlemen to deal with.

"And what murder would that be, Mr. Parode?"

"You know good and well--" injected Author.

"Hey!" blurted Parode. "I'm asking the questions here."

"You will have to forgive Mr. Hendragon," said December. "You see, he is under the impression that I am responsible for some wrongdoing in the town of Bephal, and has been most persistent in pursuing the issue. But, despite his efforts, he has been quite unable to prove any of his accusations. Most likely because I am innocent"

"Tell that to Julia Trisk."

"Hendragon!" spat Parode, "We're here to talk about Cerin, remember?"

"Yes, who is this Cerin?"

"Benjamin and Melanie Cerin were found murdered in their home this morning. "

"They were frozen." said Author. "Just like several murders that occurred in Bephal while you were there. Just like Julia Trisk."

"And you think I had something to do with this?"

"You were in both places. Same method of operation."

"Coincidence. Any druid or mage is capable killing someone in such a way. Do you know how many mages travel in and out of Montfort every night? Are you going to question every one of them?"

"No need!" said Author, "Why would we do that when we already know you're a murderer!"

December sighed. "Julia Trisk attacked me. In broad daylight. I merely used my abilities to defend myself; any number of witnesses can attest to that."

"What abilities are those?" asked Parode. "What type of magic do you practice? Where did you study?"

"That is irrelevant to this discussion." The fierce look in December's eyes clearly conveyed his unwillingness to say any more on the subject. "Now, honestly, what reason would I have to kill this man and his wife?"

"Competition." spouted Author.

"I have no competitors."

"Not any more, you don't."

"This Benjamin Cerin, he was a jeweler?"

"No," said Parode. "He was a Grocer."

"Yes. I can see how our occupations might put us at odds."

"Was that a joke? Two people are dead, and you make jokes?"

"I do not joke; I was merely pointing out the absurdity of this line of questioning. I have no reason to wish ill of this man or his wife, nor did I have any part in this unfortunate incident."

"Where were you last night?"

"Here. At home."

"In this house? Not out and about? Not at your shop?"

"My store is not yet open to the public. I assure you I was in this house last night."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"No."

"No servants? No women?"

"None."

"You said your store was closed," started Parode, "But I've heard that-"

"It is closed to the general public. I have had a few private shows... invitation only. Special customers get a first chance to view and purchase my more exclusive pieces at a substantial discount."

"Who gets invited to these events?"

"Certain...influential members of society."


"Benjamin and Melanie Cerin, maybe?"

"No. I doubt that any mere grocer can afford my merchandise, no matter how substantial the discount."

"And you know nothing of Mr. Cerin's illegal activities? Activities which might have interfered with your own?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Hendragon."

"Of course you don't." said Author.

"Wasn't a jewel shipment for one of your 'special shows' attacked on its way into Montfort? Word on the street is that Ben Cerin may have been involved. Reason enough for you to take matters into your own hands, don't you think?"

"Mr. Parode, I do think that you have allowed Author here to poison you against me. You came here with your mind already decided on the matter of my guilt. Your only goal here is to bait me into making statements to support your predisposition. Is that how the justice system in Montfort operates?"

"We know you're involved." said Author. Parode gave an exasperated groan.

"I think this interview has concluded. If you had had any evidence against me, you would have confronted me with it. But you do not seem to have any, do you? All you have, Mr. Parode, are the mad ramblings of a man who, despite his claims of knowing so much about me and my activities, has never even been in the same room with me before tonight. You have nothing to connect me with any crime in this city or in any other. I now suggest you gather your comrades outside and leave the premises. Immediately."

December stepped back into the hallway and opened the door. The two stonefaced guards were still outside. Author and Parode looked at each other, as if deciding whether to leave or not. December glared at them until they made up their minds and stepped outside.

"Good night, gentlemen." said December just before he slammed the door. "And do have a safe voyage home."

December delayed a few moments before checking the window. Four of the men were on their way down the street and into the night. The fifth was still unseen. December closed his eyes, and, upon opening them, looked out and saw the body heat of the fifth man. He was attempting to hide behind the corner of a neighboring house. December dismissed the spell and stepped away from the window.

"J'Hasp!"

J'Hasp appeared instantly from a dark corner near the rear of the house.

"Masster?"

"Follow them. Find out what they know, and who they talk to."

"Yessss." J'Hasp scurried up the stairs, and out of a hidden exit leading to the roof. December sat down in the nearest chair, closed his eyes, and waited.

[Author and Parode]

"That didn't go very well," said Parode as the men made their way down the darkening street. "A very poor show, on your part."

"How so?" said Author.

"What do you mean, 'how so?', you went after him like a rabid squirrel! We don't know anything more than we did this morning."

"We know December's got something to hide."

"Everyone in Montfort has something to hide. It's not a crime."

"Is lying to authorities during the course of an investigation a crime?"

"Yeah. So?"

"He said he wasn't married, which is true. His wife is dead. He also said he didn't have any servants. I'm inclined to believe he was lying about that."

"How do you figure that?"

"Think about it, man! Did you see that house? It was immaculate. Spotless to a fault. Did 'His Royal Pompous Arse' look like the type who does his own housekeeping?"

"You've got a point. That doesn't get us any closer to proving any involvement on his part."

"It says that there's someone else in that house. Probably right under our noses. Didn't you have the feeling you were being watched while we were in there?"

"Everyone in Montfort has that feeling. Half the people are watching the other half."

"He's hiding something. Someone. If he does have servants, then they could verify, or refute, his whereabouts last night."

"Well, we'll have him under constant watch for a while. He's still our only suspect, however tenuous the connection is."

"Tenuous? It's crystal clear to me. He's gonna take over the Montfort underworld, anyone who won't play along is gonna get iced. Literally. Benjamin Cerin was just the beginning."

"Cerin was small-time. Not a threat."

"He attacked that shipment. That got December's attention."

"Unproven. Just hearsay on the street. Besides, why would Cerin do that? Even WE didn't know about him. Why would he make waves."

"Maybe he wasn't behind the attack. But if enough people SAID he was, then--- hey, who are they."

Author pointed to a trio of large gentlemen emerging from an alley up ahead.

"Just some drunks, sir," said one of Parode's men.

"Drunks," repeated Parode.

"Don't look drunk. Something odd about them. Look at them..." Author and Parode watched as the men slowly made their way toward them. They walked in a slow, dragging motion. Not the unbalanced stagger of drunkenness, but the stiff determined gate of something more sinister. Parode brought his men to a stop and together they waited as them strangers approached.

"Hold, men!" Parode shouted at the figures, "Stand and identify yourself!"

The men kept coming. Parode frowned. He made a hand signal to his men, and they readied their weapons.

"Hold! Stand and be identified!" Parode repeated. The strangers gave no indication that they had even heard him. As they approached, Author could make out that one of them had a large dagger protruding from the center of his chest.

"Zombies!" shouted Parode. The men drew their weapons and charged.

"By the gods," Author unsheathed his sword and rushed into the fray. He passed the others, and was the first to engage one of the creatures. The thing loomed over him, standing at least seven feet tall. Author looked up into the thing's face, expecting to see the decayed visage of some undead giant. What he saw instead was the face of December, delicately carved into the impossibly animate ice.

"Gods! Ice Go-" His shout was cut short when the thing swept him aside. It's frozen hand connected with Author's head, and Author hit the ground. A hard kick doubled him over and sent him rolling into the gutter. He saw stars for a moment, and then darkness.

Parode saw Author go down, and rushed in to attack the zombie. He swung his sword, and it cut into the thing's arm with a solid *chunk*. It's body was hard. Not like flesh, undead or otherwise, but too soft to be armor. The thing didn't cry out, moan, or give any indication that it had been wounded.

"What are these things?" Parode shouted as he swung his sword again. It became lodged in the creature's shoulder, and despite his strength, Parode could not dislodge it. The creature swung its arm and shoved Parode back several feet. It then reached up, removed the sword from it's body, and neatly snapped the puny weapon in half with its bare hands.

A scream got Parode's attention, and he turned is head just in time to see one of his men being lifted off of the ground by his neck. Another man was busily chopping at the thing's arm, trying to get it to release his comrade. The third creature was walking up behind this man, arms outstretched as if to welcome him with a deadly embrace.

"Behind You!" shouted Parode, but his warning was too late. With one clean motion, the creature wrapped its frozen arms around the man, lifted him into the air and crushed the life out of him. The second creature dropped the man which it had been holding by the neck. He, too, was dead.

Parode ran over and snatched up a sword from where one of his men had dropped it. Bereft of any other prey, the things turned their attention to Parode. They closed in. For the first time, he caught a glimpse of one of the creature's faces.

"December! This is December's doing!" Parode swung his sword with all his strength at the nearest creature. It sliced into the nearest creature's arm, severing it completely. The thing stopped, bent down and took up its severed arm. Brandishing the arm like a club, it lurched toward Parode. December's face glared at him as the creature brought the arm down.

Author heard Parode's screams, at first thinking that they were his own. Pain blossomed inside Author's head, shining as bright as a hundred suns. Something was broken, maybe several things, but he couldn't concentrate enough to determine exactly what it was. The pain came from everywhere at once. He brought himself up onto his hands and knees and tried to force the dizziness out of his head. He opened his eyes and saw the three golems bashing and tearing at Parode's broken body. There was nothing he could do. He saw that the others were already dead.

"Ice golems," he whispered, "With December's face..." Author's head swam as realization washed over him. He had been a fool. They had gotten too close, and now the others had paid the price. How had he have been so arrogant to think that he could bring down a man as sinister and powerful as December?

Author crawled through the filthy street and into a dark alley. He was relieved to find that the alley was not a dead-end. He could crawl onto the other street and seek refuge somewhere. Hide until daylight. Then he'd find the authorities. Warn them about December. Maybe reach the Tower Guard. But first, he had to find safety. He emerged onto the adjoining street, and, finding it deserted, made his way toward an abandoned building that stood nearby.