[December]

The Town Guard, accompanied by the lumbering ice golem, lead December up the steps and into Jerimiah Trisk's private library. December did not resist or attempt to escape, even though he had had several chances to do so despite the golem's presence. No, they were taking him exactly where he had wanted to go all along.

He was shoved into a chair and bound with thick ropes. The men stood guard while December waited calmly. He looked at the books that lined the walls... there were so many of them. No doubt they held the secrets of Jerimiah Trisk's magic. What other wonders did they contain? What power...

Jerimiah hobbled into the room. He seemed weak, unusually so for a man of his abilities. Upon seeing December, his face contorted from it's usual sour frown and into a sinister smile.

"Leave us," he said to the men. They marched off down the steps and out of the house. The golem stayed behind.

"Jerimiah."

"Shut up, you murdering bastard!"

"Surely you did not construct your elaborate scheme to bring me here just so you could insult me."

"It's true, isn't it?"

"That I am a murderer?" December merely smiled at his old foe. "We've both spilled our share of blood."

Jerimiah advanced on the bound man, and pressed a small dagger against Decemer's cheek. December's smile faded away. The point of the dagger broke the flesh, releasing a small drop of a thick blue liquid that quickly darkened and turned red.

"Happy now?" asked December

"I always wondered if you bled like a real man. It seems that you do... after a fashion."

"Now that you have satisfied your curiosity, perhaps we can get to the point."

"Stop trying to address me as an equal! Can't you see that I've beaten you!"

"Hardly."

"Admit it!"

"I came here of my own accord. You know that."

"HA! Your men deserted you!"

"I sent them away so that they would not be harmed needlessly."

"My golem captured you! Carried you away like a helpless baby!"

"I could have escaped at any time. Despite your frozen creature"

"How! It's made of ice! What were you going to do, freeze it?"

"Perhaps."

"Admit it, December, I have won. I have beaten you!"

"I'll admit one thing, Trisk, and that is that your powers are formidable. After I've killed you, I'll have my men strip this library bare. Your secrets will not be lost when you are gone; they will live on...with me."

"Your impotent boasting will not change the certainty of your defeat."

"But you lack foresight, Jerimiah. Your plans are transparent. You lack a real understanding of what it takes to-"

"Silence!"

"-survive. You do not have a firm grasp of-

"Golem!"

The ice golem, which had been standing motionless in the corner, took a few steps forward and turned it's mighty head towards its master. It patiently awaited Jerimiah's command.

Jerimiah remained silent.

"See what I mean, Jerimiah? Transparent. You cannot kill me. For whatever reason, you need me alive. And I allowed myself to be brought here to find out why. Now, despite all of your power, we still remain equals. You want to kill me but your plans will not allow it. You are just as much a prisoner as I am. A prisoner of your own designs."

"You are wrong, December. I do not want you dead. I need you very much alive."

"Need. Want. There must be a clear line between the two, and you have blurred that line. Crossed it. And now you make mistakes that could prove fatal. Just like the mistake you made with Julia."

"Do not speak her name, you MONSTER!"

"It seems we have reached the heart of the matter..."

"You will pay!"

"As I was trying to say earlier, you lack the neccessary understanding of risk and sacrifice. What are you willing to lose to get what you want? Your daughter was an assassin, and not a very good one. When your power could not reach me, you sent her. You took that risk. You made the sacrifice. You killed her, Jerimiah, not I."

"No. It was YOU! And now I have you! I have beaten you!"

"You have not beaten me, Jerimiah."

"Even if you make good on your boast and slay me, I have still won."

"How so?"

"I have ruined you! I have halted your plans in Montfort! The authorities are already searching for you, you cannot return there! "

"Ahhh, yes. Your golems have implicated me quite well. And then you send Author to stir up trouble. Oh, and your little spies in the Night's Bloom. Minis. And who else? What other loyalties have you bought? Rivus? Hars? Someone had to inform you of my arrival... But, then, it doesn't matter. Your plans have failed, due to your lack of foresight"

"Failed? It does not appear that way to me. You're finished. Montfort is lost to you."

"So you say. But what if I never wanted Montfort? What if Bephal was my objective all along? What if my actions in Montfort were merely a calculated ruse to get me where I wanted to be? Right here. In your home. With you... Alone."

"You grasp at straws-"

"Or maybe I have already bought off the investigators in Montfort, and hid that fact from your traitors in the Night's Bloom."

"Doesn't matter. You'll never leave this house. Your blood will-"

A loud knock at the front door interrupted Trisk.

"Trisk!" Rade's voice carried clearly from outside. Jerimiah scowled.

"Not Now!" he shouted.

"Five men! I lost five men tonight on your account! You'd damn well better talk to me now!"

"Golem, take this freak to the basement." Jerimiah unlocked the front door with a wave of his hand. The ice golem leaned over and picked December up, chair and all, and started toward a particularly large bookcase. As he approached it, the bookcase slid to the side, revealing a staricase leading down into the bowels of Trisk's house.

Rade burst into the library just as the secret passage was sliding closed.

[Author]

After deftly picking the lock on the cell door, the blue-clad stranger led Author down the corridor towards the stone steps. Author flexed his muscles and stretched his joints, still amazed at how well the stranger's potion had worked. His smaller wounds were completely healed, and the few that remained no longer pained him. The stranger's healing magic was potent, and Author saw that his other abilities were equally so. The way the lock fell open at the stranger's hands... the way he had lain hidden in plain sight... the way he seemed to move without making a sound. These things told Author that his rescuer was either an accomplished thief, or an assassin.

"Who are you?" whispered Author as they reached the steps. The stranger paused.

"Blaymore," he replied.

"Assassin? Thief?"

"I have been both."

"What caste? Which clan?"

"What do you know of the assassin clans?"

"I know enough. I also know the ancient barbarian tounges."

Blaymore stared at Author, and Author stared back. Blaymore's face was still hidden behind the thick blue sash, his eyes and facial features shifted beneath the hood, defying Author's attempt to identify his rescuer.

"Your name, 'Blaymore,' is from one of the barbarian tounges. 'Blai' meaning 'Blue'. 'Mohr' for 'Death'. The name of a great plague, many years ago."

"Before your time."

"Yours too, I should think."

"You know nothing of me. Come, we must be on our way."

"'Our' way?"

"He goes to Bephal. We must follow."

"What's your interest in this? Are you after him, too?"

"As an assassin, I cannot answer your questions. If I did, I would have to kill you. You know that."

"But you're not here to kill him. If you were, you would have struck when you had the chance. He is not your target, so answer my question."

"He is in the possession of an item that is rightfully mine. I will have it returned to me."

"What is this 'item'?"

"It is none of your concern." Blaymore started up the steps.

"The catacombs are filled with men. We'll be seen. Can you hide us, like you hid yourself in the cell?"

"I can cloak myself, but I can't conceal us both. We cannot avoid being seen."

"I have no weapons."

"You won't need them." With that, Blaymore led Author up the steps and through the empty meeting hall. They entered the labyrinthine catacombs that led to the surface.

The first to spot them was a lone guard. The man turned the corner and looked straight at Author. This was quite a surprise, since, until that point, Blaymore had been in front of him. When the guard rounded the corner, the assassin vanished into thin air, leaving Author alone in the passageway. Weaponless, Author assumed a fighting stance. The guard opened his mouth to raise an alarm, and his head toppled from its place atop his neck. Blaymore faded into view as the body sank to the ground, in his hands he held a wide, curved sword. One side of the blade was like a polished mirror, the other was black as pitch.

"Come..." he whispered to Author. Author followed obediently, glancing down briefly at the dead guard.

"Someone will see-"

"We'll be discovered anyway. We have no time to dispose of him."

"You were invisible. But how could you move so fast?"

"You ask to many questions."

"The Prisoner is Escaping!" the shout came from behind them, the the sound carried throughout the catacombs. Three men appeared in the passageway ahead of Author and Blaymore. The pair stopped, and turned, but two more men were rapidly approaching from behind.

"Too many!" shouted Author.

"For you, maybe."

Author watched in astonishment as Blaymore went into action. The stranger's blue robe flared behind him as he rushed forward toward the group of three guards. One man made a clumsy slash with his sword. The attack seemed to connect, but the blade passed harmlessly through the false image even as the assassin impaled the man from behind. A swift kick and a shove sent the another man careening head-first into the stone wall, and Blaymore dispatched the third with a series of sword strokes that sectioned the guard neatly and efficiently. Author saw very little of this. The assassin was moving so fast that all he could discern was a blue blur, and an occasional flash as the mirrored side of the assassin's blade reflected the blue of his robe. It began to dawn on Author why the man had taken on a name that meant "The Blue Death."

The two remaining guards rushed in undaunted.

"Down, Author!" shouted Blaymore. Author hit the ground just as *something* passed over his head. One of the guards gasped and fell to his knees, blood spurting from his throat. His companion stooped to help him, but drew back in shock. There were no daggers protruding from his friend's neck. No discernable cause for the fatal wounds.

The lone guard turned to face Author, and Author watched as a blue haze began to materialize behind the guard. The haze solidified, and quickly took form. The guard spun and launched a solid punch at Blaymore. It never connected. The image blurred and vanished. There was a bright blue flash as the blade lashed out from nowhere, and the last guard fell dead.

"Hurry. We're almost free."

Author jumped. Blaymore had suddenly appeared beside him.

"How?" asked Author. "You took out five men on only a few seconds."

"It is what I do. What I am."

"That man-"

"Daggers."

"But-"

"Invisible."

The blue assassin turned and headed for the exit. Author followed.