...Montfort...

"Give up the goods, man!"

The poor drunk cowered in the corner of the dark alley. He looked up at his two assailants and quivered.

"I don't have nuthin'" he said. The drunk's voice was slurred, but his words still had the air of someone who had been educated. Indeed, if one looked past the stains and frayed edges, his clothes were obviously those of a moderately wealthy shopkeeper... which is exactly what attracted the attention of the two thieves. "But... but you can kill me if you want. I don't care. He... He's still out there... the man... the man in the bottle..."

"What's this guy talkin' about," said one of the men.

"Hell if I know. But look at 'im... he's GOT to have some money on him."

"Here-" The drunk a small pouch from his pocket, but it slipped from his fingers and hit the ground. Two dingy copper coins flew out of it.

"You got more than that. Hell, we can sell yer clothes for a silver or two. That'll put us pretty close to what we owe Hood."

"Shhhh!" said the other thief. "Yer not supposed ta say his name!"

"Well he ain't HERE is he!"

"No. But I am."

The voice came from behind the thieves, at the mouth of the alley. They both turned to look, but found nothing there save the distant moon glowing in the sky.

"Who said that?"

"Who's there!"

"Death."

Suddenly, an unnatural blue fog began to rise from the cobblestones. The fog thickened, hugging the ground for a moment before jetting up into the air.... forming a column that began to swirl like a whirlwind.

"Wizardry!" shouted a thief. "Run!"

"The HELL, you say!" The other thief drew his sword.

"NO! You can't fight it... It's HIM!!!!"

The column of blue fog drew itself inward and coalesced into the shape of a man. A man draped with a bright blue cloak that hid his features in its deep hood. The bottom half of the man's face was wrapped in a blue sash, and his eyes show out from the shadows like twinkling stars in the night sky.

He was holding the biggest, nastiest curved sword that either thief had ever seen. It was wide... polished to a mirror finish on one side and midnight black on the other.

The mysterious man stood at the mouth of the alley, preventing the their escape.

"IT'S HIM!" yelled the second thief. He took a few fearful steps back. "See... I KNEW this was a bad idea! Please don't kill us!"

"The innocent and helpless of this town are under MY protection," said the blue-clad wraith. "Attack them, and you attack me."

"Uhh....uhhh...uuhhhh..." the second thief backed away.

"ENOUGH of this!" The first thief charged, with his sword held high.

"NOOOO!!!"

Everything stopped. The man in blue made a slight motion... almost imperceptible.

zzzzZZP!

Then the first thief's right hand... still holding his sword... hit the ground.

CLANG!

... it was followed by his right arm... his left arm.... the upper half of his torso... both legs...and finally his head.

Thwap!thud!ka-thud!thud!

The stranger's sectioning of the first thief was so quick and perfect that it could not possibly have been done by normal hands. To all who watched, the stranger appeared never to have moved from his place at the mouth of the alley. The second thief tried to back away... but found that he couldn't.

That's when he realized that his friend hadn't been the ONLY victim of the stranger's impossibly fast assault. The look of surprise was still draped upon his face as his head tumbled from his shoulders...

thud!ka-thud!thud!

Blaymore entered the alley, his blue cloak billowing behind him.

"AAA!!" yelled the drunk

"I'm here to help you," said Blaymore. He was speaking at a speed that to normal minds would have been unbearably slow. However, the supernatural speed that was his birthright increased the speed of his every motion by at last a hundred fold. It took intense concentration to even make his voice heard. Without such effort, his words would be like the annoying high-pitched buzz of a small fly.

"Go away!" spat the drunk.

Blaymore studied the man. He recognized him. It was Herrik, a mage of some minor talent and the keeper of a local shop. At least he used to be. He had been the best friend of a local fisherman, but when the fisherman disappeared, Herrik abandoned his shop and began drinking heavily. Was it sorrow or guilt? The Tower Guard had questioned him about the disappearance, but it was still a mystery. Perhaps now would be a good time to put the mystery to rest...

"I am the protector of the innocent," said Blaymore. "Did I make a mistake here tonight?"

"Go away and leave me aloone!" the drunk began to cry.

"Tell me about the night Jern disappeared."

"JERN! It was the man! The man in the BOTTLE! HEEEEE did it! It was HORRIBLE!"

"Man in the bottle? Tell me ab-ARRRRRGGGGGGHHHH!!!!"

Suddenly, a searing pain raced through Blaymore's mind. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees.

"ARRRRRGHHH!" he cried. Images began flooding his mind. Flashes of things... horrible things. The assassin screamed as he tried in vain to fight back. His words became faster and faster as his concentration shifted to deal with the mental assault "The images! TheImagesMakeThemStopWhatIsHappeningWhoIeeEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZZZ- BZZT! BZZZZZT! EEZZZZT! EEEE! ZZZ! BZZT! EEEE! ZZZZ! EEEZZZ!"

Herrik stumbled to his feet and ran past the squeaking, buzzing assassin. He disappeared into the night without even bothering to offer help to the man who had rescued him.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the attack ended.

Blaymore gasped for air and managed to stand. His head hurt... but the pain was subsiding. The images were gone... but they were replaced with something else. Blaymore shivered deep into his soul as he realized what had just happened... and what it meant...

"Dear gods... he's free. Some fool has released him! Gods Help Us ALL!"

Blaymore grabbed his sword and vanished, running so fast that he was nothing more than a blue streak in the night.

---

...Vinceberg...

Henna grumbled under her breath as she scrubbed the dishes. The dishes were Ronce's job... but, as usual, her older brother had forsaken his chores for yet another night of merriment. That left HER to stay up to ungodly hours doing his work.

But at least he was having fun. Despite the extra work it caused her, Henna was happy for her brother. Ronce could always find fun, even in a tiny hamlet like Vinceberg. How he did it, she'll never know. Sometimes she thought that Hax and the Town Guard did TOO good a job of keeping the peace. Not that she wished anyone harm, but locking people up at the first SIGN of what COULD BE trouble wasn't a good way to promote visitors. And the gods knew, this town certainly needed visitors.

"The same faces every day," said Henna. "Day in, day out."

She looked down at her hands as they scrubbed the hefty stew pot. They still looked young, but she knew better. She'd be twenty-one years this year... almost past the prime marrying age. And here she was, still scrubbing pots for her older brother. Her insanely over-protective brother whose antics assured that every available male in the town viewed her as a nice, sisterly, UNAVAILABLE woman.

"Damn you, Ronce," she mumbled. She immediately felt guilty. "I didn't mean that."

Someone knocked at the farmhouse's front door. It was a firm, insistent pounding.

"Who could it be at THIS hour? Unless Ronce is too drunk to work the latch again..."

The knocking continued as Henna untied her apron. She dried her hands and ran them through her long light-brown hair.

"I'm COMING!" she shouted. She walked to the door and unlocked it... probably the ONLY locked door in Vinceberg, thanks to her brother.

Outside was Thomas, one of Ronce's friends. Though he was a few years older than her, Thomas usually had the deceptively innocent look of a young teenager... a look which had won the hearts of many young maidens... including Henna's at one time. Tonight, however, he looked his age and more. He had a sharp, haggard look about him. His hair, normally meticulously combed, was an unruly brown mop. He had a brown stain on his shirt. Henna couldn't tell what it was in the dim light, but it was certainly out of place on someone who spent as much time in front of the mirror as Thomas did.

"Henna," said Thomas.

She didn't like the way he said her name. Almost like he wasn't sure of it, and was just throwing the name out to see if it was the right one.

"Henna," he repeated. This time with more certainty.

"Thomas? What's happened. Is something wrong?"

"May I... come in?"

"I-I'm afraid Ronce isn't here," said Henna. She was reluctant to let anyone into the house at night... mostly due to the ruckus Ronce would raise if he found her alone with a man. "He's out drinking... you might find him at the pub."

"Ronce," said Thomas.

"Thomas? Is something wrong? Oh, GODS, something's happened to Ronce!"

"No. I just wanted to talk to you, that's all."

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

Thomas didn't look or smell drunk... but he was acting rather strange. Still, it was Ronce's best friend...

"All right..."

Henna stepped aside, and Thomas entered. He eyed the furniture, but didn't move to sit down. Instead, he stood near Henna as she shut the door.

"Now what is this abo-"

"Henna... I've done something horrible. I've made a terrible, TERRIBLE mistake."

"What?"

Henna got a good look at the stain on Thomas's shirt. It was reddish brown... blood? Had Thomas been slaughtering pigs at his parent's farm before he came here? Why wouldn't he wash up first?

"You. I made a mistake with you."

"I... I don't understand."

Thomas took a step towards her and brought his face close to hers.

"I love you, Henna."

"Thomas!" Henna backed away. "You're a MARRIED man, I'll remind you! A NEWLY and HAPPILY married one at that!"

"But Sellia was... she's.... she wasn't the one, Henna. She wasn't the one I loved. It was you. It was always you."

"Don't do this, Thomas. It was bad enough when you left me for her, but now you... you... I didn't know you were so CRUEL!"

"I was stricken with her, I'll admit. But I never loved her."

"That's not what SHE says."

"I know. But I swear by all that is holy, when I'm with her... when we're together as man and wife... I'm thinking about YOU!"

"THOMAS!" Henna didn't know what to say. Thomas was opening up an old wound, and yet part of her WANTED him to do it. She had loved him. She wanted him to love her back. But this wasn't right.

"It's true!" said Thomas.

"Thomas, I think... I think you should talk to Sellia. No, maybe you shouldn't... but you certainly shouldn't be here."

"Yes I should. I want to be with you. I love you, Henna. I want you."

"What... what do you mean?"

"Henna, I... you know what I mean. I dream about you every night. My heart aches for you..."

"Thomas, please leave!"

"No. Not until you kiss me." Thomas approached her once more. Henna didn't back away, even though she had plenty of room to do so. She just looked up at him.

"Please leave, Thomas," she said half-heartedly. "I can't do this... to Sellia."

"You were friends. Best friends. I'm sorry about what I did to that friendship."

"Then don't damage it any furth-"

Thomas's lips pressed against hers. Henna didn't resist. She didn't WANT to. She knew that she should... but gods... this is what she'd wanted for so long. For weeks after Thomas and Sellia were wed, she used to dream about this very thing... him coming to her... professing his true love...

Their lips parted, and the kissed deepened. It felt so right to Henna... so perfect. Her true love, at last...

His arms circled her and pulled her close. They squeezed her tight, and his hands explored her back. She felt her breasts pressing against his chest. His hand drifted lower on her back, and his not-so-gentle squeeze of her buttock brought Henna back to her senses.

She broke his grasp and stepped back. The realization of what she was doing flooded her mind... and with it came the questions. What was he doing here? Did he know Ronce was gone? Why did he look that way? If he felt this way about her, why did he marry Sellia? Was Thomas so cruel that he would do this to HER?

"I.... I can't." she said.

"Can't?" said Thomas. His voice had taken on a hard edge that Henna had never heard before. "Can't or WON'T?"

"Thomas, I... this isn't right. And even if it weren't for Sellia, we aren't.... we can't"

"It's always the same thing with you, isn't it." Thomas voice was becoming more and more like that of someone else. It continued to grow cold and sarcastic as he mocked her. "We can't! We can't! We can't! And you WONDER why I left you for Sellia! You wanna know why!?!"

"Thomas... please..."

"Because SHE wouldn't hold out on the GOODS, THAT'S why! You wonder why no man in this village will TALK to you? It ain't because of your BROTHER... it's because of that PADLOCK you keep on your womanhood!"

"Thomas, you're hurting me... please leave..."

"Ohhh, no. I came her for something, and I'm gonna do EVERY man in this village a favor by getting it! Maybe THEN you'll loosen up a bit!"

Thomas began undoing his belt.

Henna took a step back, but Thomas reached out and grabbed her arm. He pulled her violently towards him, then slung her to the floor.

Henna screamed.

Thomas reached down, grabbed the edge of her dress, and ripped it off of her body. He pulled his belt off and doubled it over...

"Maybe I should soften you UP a little bit first, eh?"

"HEEELLLLLPPP!"

Thomas raised the belt.

The front door burst open.

"WHAT THE BLOODY SEVEN HELLS IS GOING ON HERE!!" Shouted Ronce. Henna's brother was shorter but wider than Thomas. Plus he had the advantage of having his sword already drawn.

The two friends stared at each other. Thomas smiled. Ronce scowled.

"Hey, buddy." said Thomas. "I was just-"

Ronce charged. Thomas swung the belt

WHAP!!

It hit Ronce across the face making him wince. It was just enough for Thomas to bolt through the door.

"YOU COME BACK HERE YOU BASTARD!!!!!" Yelled Ronce. He started after him...

"Ronce!" yelled Henna.

"What? HENNA! Henna what happened!"

Henna burst into tears. She tried to explain what happened, but Thomas had toyed with her emotions so much that she had no idea if it was coming out right. Ronce comforted her as best he could considering his anger. He closed and locked the door, and placed Henna on the couch.

She tried again to explain. This time it must have made sense, because Ronce got more and more angry with each word she spoke.

"That BASTARD!" he hissed. "I TOLD him not to play his games with you, but THIS... THIS is beyond even HIM!"

He stood and straightened his clothes. He took his sword and started for the door.

"NOOO!" Henna screamed.

"What? He tried to-"

"No! NO! He..."

"You still love him, don't you? Did you... did you lead him on?"

"NO, RONCE! How could you THINK THAT! You KNOW I'd never do something like that."

"I'm sorry. You're right. It's all that bastard's fault. He's gonna pay-"

"RONCE! If you go out there and hurt him, the Town Guard will lock you up!"

"Well then, I'LL go to the Town Guard! I'll sic that freak HAX and his goons on the bastard!"

"Ronce, no. Just... just leave it alone. It's over now."

"The HELL IT IS! You know what... FORGET Hax! You're MY sister and I'll handle this MYSELF!"

Ronce stormed out of the house. Henna jumped up and gathered her dress. She put it over her and ran after him...

---

CRASH!

The door flew open as if struck by an angry orc.

"AAAA!"

Sellia screamed as Ronce stormed into the small one-bedroom house.

"WHERE IS HE!" Ronce yelled. Behind him, Henna slipped inside the house and looked around.

Sellia looked at them both with fear in her eyes.

"My gods," said Henna when she saw Sellia. Her torn clothes were barely covering her body. There were fresh bruises on her face and neck. It looked as if someone had beaten and tried to strangle her in the past few minutes. "Sellia, what happened?"

"It's not his fault..." she said. Her face took on a far-off look, as if she were barely aware of their presence. "Not his fault... not his fault...not his fault..."

"SELLIA!" yelled Ronce. His shout made both Henna and Sellia jump... but it did return Thomas's wife to the here and now.

"Please Help Him!" she cried.

"Yeah, I'm gonna HELP him all right!"

"No, Ronce," said Henna. "Something's wrong..."

"You got THAT right! WHERE IS THE BASTARD!"

Henna ran past Ronce and peered into the bedroom. She gasped.

"What?" said Ronce. He pushed her aside.

Thomas was laying on the bed. His face was stark white, and his hair was plastered to his scalp by sweat. The covers were all twisted and wet. Thomas's eyes were wide open, and every few seconds his body would shake with violent convulsions. His lips were moving constantly... mumbling something that neither Ronce nor Henna could understand.

Sellia squeezed past them and knelt by her husband. She swept the hair away from his face and looked up at Ronce and Henna.

"He... he came home and started...." she looked down at her dress. The entire front of it was ripped away, and her breasts were covered only by her lacy underclothing. "... then he just collapsed. He started shaking and saying things..."

"What?"

Henna walked over to the bed and listened to Thomas's feverish mumbling. Squeezed in between the steady stream of obscenities were descriptions of wars and violence and living shadows. None of it made any sense.

"What happened to him?"

"Bewitched," said Ronce. He drew his sword and looked around as if expecting to find a sorcerer hiding behind the door. "We should go get Sorins the mage."

"No," said Henna. "He needs a healer. And so does Sellia. I'll go get Berwick and bring him here."

"I'll stand guard," said Ronce.

"Ronce, you aren't going to do anything rash, are you?"

"It's obvious that Thomas wasn't himself when... earlier. But I swear I'll find whoever made him like this-"

"Just stay here with them, then." said Henna.

"Wait, perhaps I should... it could be dangerous out there."

Henna was already gone.

---

It was dark. Henna ran as fast as she dared without risking a sprained ankle. Vinceberg was an older city that lacked the oil-lights that illuminated the more modern places like Montfort. The night was DARK, and it was very easy to trip over something if one wasn't careful. She learned that from experience.

Berwick the healer lived on the other side of town. Hopefully he wouldn't be to drunk on his 'medicine' to be of any help. She hadn't gone far when she heard a strange sound nearby... like the buzzing of some insect. A LARGE insect... a large insect coming right towards her!

Suddenly a burst of blue smoke erupted from the dirt in front of her. Henna stopped running an backed away as the smoke, which gave off a malicious light of its own, rose into the air and took the shape of a man.

He wore a hooded, blue cloak that hid everything except his glowing eyes. Henna opened her mouth to scream, but the stranger reached out and grabbed her by the throat. He moved so FAST!

He lifted small body up so that only her toes touched the ground. He was just a twinge away from choking her. His eyes, which seemed to change color as she looked into them, glared out at her from the confines of the cloak.

"What is happening?" he said. His voice was stern... almost angry. "Tell me now. WHAT is happening here?"

"I...I...please..."

"Tell me what is transpiring in this village, or I will have no CHOICE but to kill everyone here."

---

"What is he SAYING?!" said Ronce.

"Listen..." Sellia stepped aside while Ronce leaned over his friend.

Ronce winced at the obscenities and vile things that Thomas was muttering.

"Bewitched for sure," he said. "Though... his shaking seems to have lessened. He doesn't look quite as pale as before. He may be coming out of it."

"Really?" said Sellia. She moved close to Ronce, as if to listen to her husband.

Ronce watched Thomas for a while, then he got an uncomfortable feeling... like he was being watched. He looked up at Sellia.

"Ummm.... Sellia?"

"Yes?"

"Why... why are you staring at me like that?"


[To Be Continued]