The two well-dressed gentlemen waited quietly at mansion's massive door. The taller of them had just knocked, and the echo of that intrusion on the evening's silence still pierced the serenity like a scream in the night. They took in all of the details around them. The ornate stone columns. The delicately carved designs in the arch above the door. The large onyx adornment on the door-knocker. Someone very rich lived here. Though it was relatively small compared to other Montfort mansions, this manor was a testament to skilled craftsmanship... the kind of craftsmanship that is neither common nor cheap. The entire place was a work of art. The multi-colored cobblestones on the walkway formed the image of a large, regal dragon, with wings that framed the courtyard, and a neck that formed the passage up to the front door. The lush greenery was expertly kept... not by gardeners, but by artists and sculptors who used the shrubs as their clay. Even at such a late hour, when only a fraction of the mansion's beauty could be seen, the opulence of the place seemed to reach out and embrace anyone who dared step onto the grounds.

Neither visitor seemed impressed, however. Both men waited motionless and silent, without so much as a grunt or a sigh between them. Several minutes passed, and the tall man was about to knock again when the door swung open.

They both studied the man that stood before them.

He was tall, but not overly so. His hair was a dignified mix of dark gray and white... it tapered down over his tanned cheeks and framed his face in a fastidiously trimmed mustache and beard. He looked to be in his early fifties, but the ravages of time were noticeable only by their absence. He stood tall and erect, with hardly a fraction of his weight supported by the silver-tipped cane at his side. His shoulders were thrown proudly back. His clothes... a burgundy and black smoking jacket with matching silk pants and shirt... were all tailored to fit his slim, athletic form perfectly. His intense, brown eyes studied his visitors quickly and expertly.

"Gentlemen," he said with a nod. His voice was rich and deep, and he spoke with an accent that told of years spent in faraway places. The accent fit him like a glove... unique and dignified.

"Mr. Maxwell," said the shorter of the visitors. He spoke the man's name not as a question, but a statement. "Mr. Dokan Maxwell."

"Yes?" the man replied. "How may I be of service to you gentlemen?"

"We're from Zoloman Brothers Auctioneers. You attended an auction of ours recently, and we'd like to ask you a few questions."

"What sort of questions?" said Dokan. The old man was neither nervous nor frightened... not that his visitors had expected him to be. But suspicion and annoyance were evident in his voice. Their information had been correct: Dokan Maxwell did not like strangers or visitors. And visiting strangers held no hope at all of getting on his good side... if there was one.

"About the theft." said the taller visitor with a sneer. He was trying to be intimidating, but Maxwell ignored his ridiculous efforts completely... as only a true gentleman would.

"Theft?" Dokan raised a gray eyebrow.

"May we come in?"

"Absolutely not," answered Dokan. "Business should be conducted in a proper place and time... not at a man's private residence in the dead of night."

"It's just after sunset, sir."

"To civilized people, that IS the dead of night. Nothing good happens after sunset, as confirmed by your presence here now."

"We apologize for the inconvenience, it's just that... the missing item is quite valuable and we were instructed to question everyone who attended the auction."

"And what IS this missing item?"

"The Silver Mask of Tytue."

A look of amused curiosity crept onto Maxwell's face.

"The Mask of Tytue was stolen?" he said. "I was under the impression that it was sold to the House VonBuren."

"What was sold was a fake. A forgery... and a poor one at that. The real mask was stolen sometime between its appraisal at the beginning of the auction, and its sale to the House VonBuren."

"And," added the second visitor, "We might add that the grounds were closed to any visitors during that time. Whoever took it must have been a guest at the auction."

"Or an exceptionally good thief," said Maxwell. "One highly skilled in the clandestine and surreptitious."

"Impossible," said the first man. "The security on the grounds is..."

"Total and Complete," finished the second.

"Nothing is totally and completely secure," said Maxwell. "You gentlemen... and your employers... should know that. If you didn't, you certainly know it now."

"Nevertheless, it is only routine that we speak with those in attendance. You may have seen or heard something-"

"I saw and heard many things, none of them related to the mask or its theft. It was an ugly mask, valuable only to historians."

"And to collectors. Like yourself."

"I don't collect trash. Perhaps you should start your investigation in the educational community instead of wasting your patron's time with unwanted intrusions and idiotic questions."

"Uhhh..." the visitors glanced at each other. "We'd still like to-"

At that moment there was a sound from inside the house. It wasn't particularly loud or threatening, but the suddenness of the hard "THUMP" caught the men by surprise. It was followed by a scratching sound, and then the creaking of wood.

Then everything was silent.

"Is everything okay, sir?" said the tall visitor. "That noise-"

"Is none of your concern."

Once again, the visitors glanced at each other as if having a mental conference. They knew that Maxwell lived alone, had no pets, and hated strangers. So what was that noise? Whatever it was didn't seem to bother the old man. He stood there as if he hadn't heard it at all.

"Perhaps we should come in and look ar-"

"Perhaps not. I've answered your questions, now leave me in peace."

"Actually we didn't ask-"

"Asked or not, they've been answered, haven't they?"

"Well... uhhh...

"Yes they have, which means we have no further business to discuss. And don't expect to see me at another of your auctions. Your merchandise was gaudy and your security was laughable."

"Sir, that's why we-"

"Good bye."

Maxwell stepped back from the door and swung it closed. The door was much to massive to slam, but it moved quickly enough so that the visitors got the point. They left without another word or attempt to gain entry to the mansion.

"What do you think?" said the short visitor as the walked toward the main gate.

"Suspicious. He's paranoid."

"That's normal for him. He's not acting any differently from his profile."

"I say we keep him on the list of suspects."

"That means we'll have to go and see him again. Eventually."

"Hopefully we'll have caught the thief before then. If not, then next time we'll have a warrant and he won't be able to shut us out."

"If he HAS the mask, it'll be long gone by then."

"I wonder what kind of security he's got. We could hire-"

The short visitor shook his head rapidly. "No, no, no. We can't do that. Too risky."

"Zoloman Brothers is paying us five percent of the mask's auction value upon its return. I think we can afford that risk."

The conversation continued as they left the grounds.

Meanwhile, Dokan Maxwell was standing in side with one ear turned to the door. He was listening to every word.

"Bounty hunters," he spat. "Common mercenaries. Bah."

He took the tiny sound-amplifying gemstone from his ear and placed it in a small box on a table by the door. Then he secured the door, engaging all three locks as well as the two trip-wires.

"Now lets see what all the fuss upstairs was about."

Dokan started up the huge staircase to the mansion's upper level. His padded slippers trod silently on the thick carpet. He approached his study noiselessly, like a wraith. His silence was not intentional... it was just how he normally moved. He paused outside the double doors and placed one hand on each knob. He turned them both and threw the doors open.

There were many houses in Montfort that did not approach the size of Dokan Maxwell's study. The entire 2000 square foot floor was covered in carpet so thick that it felt as if one were walking on clouds. Expensive paintings and tapestries adorned the walls. Most were worth more than many men would see in a lifetime, but none were gaudy or ostentatious. The many bookcases held literary treasures that would make most universities green with envy. Ancient and modern tomes of philosophy, history, and religion and science... biographies of kings, queens, wise men and fools... grand works of fiction and non-fiction... everything that a literate man could ever hope to read, all arranged by subject and author. Every stick of furniture in the room was an antique. There was a large desk and chair near the center of the room, and an even larger collection of padded chairs arranged around a coffee table.

Everything in the room was spotlessly clean and fastidiously organized. And nothing was out of place.

Nothing except for the small masked man hanging upside down from the ceiling in the center of the room.

He was dressed from head to toe in black clothing, and A complex net of wires wrapped around him, pinning his arms and legs in place. The hair-thin wires bit into his clothes, some drawing blood from the intruder's flesh. Just above his feet, the wires gathered together and formed a large cable, which connected to a contraption on the ceiling.

That the intruder was trapped there was no doubt. Though the wires that held him were hair-thin, they were incredibly strong. A man could break them easily... but in this configuration any struggle... any movement whatsoever would be painful at best, and could very easily prove fatal. A single sneeze would slice the poor thief to ribbons.

"Well now," said Dokan. "I seem to have caught myself a fish."

The black-clad intruder twisted and jerked in the net. He didn't do so for long, however. The pain of the wires digging into his flesh rendered him motionless again almost before he'd started.

"Careful," said Dokan. "That one almost cost you your jugular. Try it again and I'll have quite a mess to clean up. Blood doesn't come out of this carpet easily."

"So you don't intend to kill me," said the intruder. His voice was shallow and high. Dokan wondered if it was entirely due to the man's inability to take a deep breath. Or was it something else?

"I don't intend to kill you HERE," Dokan said as he studied the man. The intruder couldn't have been more than five feet tall. Dokan frowned.

The intruder grunted as he once again tried to free himself... this time with smaller, stealthy movements of his arms and shoulders. All that resulted were smaller, stealthier cuts from the razor sharp wire.

"Oh, you'll have to do better than that... boy."

"What? You-"

"Know you are a child, yes. But that won't prevent me killing you for your intrusion."

"You don't kill," said the boy.

"What was that?"

"I said you don't kill."

"Ah, but letting you hang there and slice yourself to ribbons isn't exactly killing, is it?"

"You don't want your carpet dirty," said the boy.

Dokan stepped closer to the hanging boy. The boy's face, covered in a black mask, hung at the same height as Dokan's. Dokan looked into the boy's brown eyes. Then he watched. And listened. And smelled.

"You're not afraid of me," said Dokan after a moment. "But you ARE nervous. Your heart's racing. Sweat soaking into your clothes. But you're not afraid."

The boy looked at him silently.

"You said that I don't kill. What did you mean by that?"

"I know who you are," said the boy.

"I am Dokan Maxwell. Everyone knows that."

"I know who you REALLY are."

"I am REALLY Dokan Maxwell."

"That is the name you call yourself now, but that is not who you are."

"So who am I?"

"You are the Phantom Wind. The Walking Ghost. Your name means nothing... you change it the way men change clothes. Maxim Drakaraphan. Maximillian Drake. Maxus Drem. Dreman Marcellus. The names change... but they are all the same man."

"How interesting," said Dokan. "You have a very good imagination... for a thief."

"Your exploits are spoken of in songs and legends. You have walked into places where armies could not go, and escaped unharmed from the jaws of death itself. They say you can move through walls, and turn invisible at will. They say you can move as light and silent as a breeze, even while carrying off a fortune in gold and treasure. You are the world's greatest thief.... And I have come to seek an audience with you."

"HAHAHA!" Dokan laughed heartily. "I should keep you around for the sheer entertainment! Walk through walls, you say! Turn myself invisible! HA!"

"Those are the legends. But you and I know the truth behind them."

"Perhaps you THINK you do... but you've picked the wrong man. I am a buyer and seller of distressed properties. Due to the recent unpleasantness in this town, there is no shortage of properties to buy. I renovate them and sell them at profit. Some call THAT thievery, and if so, then that is the closest I've ever come."

"A ruse," said the boy. "A cover story. You can't fool me, I've worked too hard to find you."

"Cover story? I assure you, my life is no cover story."

"I've studied your life... your REAL life... ever since I was old enough to understand the words. I've heard every tale. Read every account. Spoken with those who've seen your work. I know every detail of every caper you've ever done. Every crime... from the robbery of the Palace of Heroes to the escape from the Isle of Dread. I relive them all in my mind, both awake AND asleep. I see your every move... the planning, the study, the training and practice, the execution... everything. I know everything about you, Dokan. From the moment I first heard of you, my one goal in life was to meet you. To train under you. To BE you."

"You are a very misguided child," said Dokan. "You should be in someone's school... or learning a trade. Instead you're breaking into houses and setting yourself up for a quick death at the executioner's block."

"I have studied under the best master thieves... short of yourself, of course. My skills are on par with no one."

"Is that why you're hanging from a trap in my study right now?"

The boy's eyes twitched. He clearly had nothing to say on the matter.


"I'll give you this...," said Dokan. He looked around the room and saw the open window where the boy had entered. "You got farther than most thieves would. You bypassed the trip-wire on the window. You picked the expensive lock that secured it... though you probably BROKE the lock in the process."

"I did not."

"...you found and avoided two touch-plates under the carpet before you encountered the trip-wire that has you strung up like a freshly-slaughtered calf. But you see, boy... it's always that LAST trap that gets you."

"You admit that I have skill."

"I admit you are a foolish boy who is hanging from my ceiling and dripping blood onto my rug."

"What of the Zoloman Brothers?"

"What of it?"

"I stole the Mask of Tyute... in an exact re-enactment of your theft of the Beluvian Jewels at the Palace of Heroes."

"Did you, now?"

"I used a hot-air balloon and dropped right into their midst... just as you did. I distracted the guards with a mechanical bird based on the one you designed. Through my own trial and error, I discovered your formulas for the disintegrating wire and the-"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, boy. I TOLD you... I am not now, nor have I ever been this.... this fictional character that you claim I am."

"I even used a wing-suit and a descending gear mechanism EXACTLY like the ones you used... modified for my lesser weight, of course."

"Of course," said Dokan.

"You don't believe me."

"Why should I. Such a robbery would take skill and courage... but anyone can string words together and take credit for what another did. If you are indeed the one responsible for bringing those hired goons to my door... then what happened to the mask?"

"It's in the cabinet next to your desk," said the boy .
"Nonsense," said Dokan. "Look at where you are... you never even got CLOSE to the cabinet. And even if you did, you couldn't have opened it in the few minutes that I've been out of this room."

"See for yourself."

"All right. I'll humor you. And then I'll call the Tower Guard to come and collect you."

Dokan walked over to his desk and stood in front of the cabinet by the wall. Under normal circumstances, opening it would require a six-digit combination AND a key, which Dokan carried with him always. But to these locks, Dokan had added several complex trip wires and counterweights to the door and hinges. Even with the knowledge of their placement and operation, it took several minutes to open the safe.

Inside were several small pouches of gold. A private journal. A stack of valuable real-estate paperwork. Some signed contracts. And the Silver Mask of Tyute.

Dokan looked at the mask for a moment, nodded, then closed the safe without taking the mask out. He looked around the room, then at the boy still hanging from the ceiling.

"You tripped that trap on the way out," said Dokan.

"Yes," replied the boy.

"So... either you tripped it on purpose, which means you're a masochistic fool, or you were cocky and overconfident after having placed the mask in my safe."

"I was," said the boy. "I see that now."

"I'll bet you do. Hanging upside down from a trap with wire eating into your skin does wonders for one's hindsight."

Dokan kept talking as he approached the boy...

"Your problem, boy, was that you placed too much emphasis on the entry... and not enough on the exit. The exit is ten times as important as the entrance. If you don't have a good strategy for getting out, then you have no business even attempting to get in."

By the time Dokan finished talking, he was once again face-to-face with the boy. Of course he couldn't see the boy's face through the mask.

"I'll bet you didn't even have a back-up exit plan for the Zoloman Brothers."

"I... didn't need one."

"Just like you didn't need one here?"

The boy blinked and tried to look away.

"Assuming that I AM this person... this great thief. Why would you seek me out?"

"To learn from you."

"And why would I take you as an apprentice?"

"You've seen my-"

"Skill? Were you going to say 'skill'? A strange word for you to use... considering you're still hanging from the ceiling. So that leaves my question unanswered... why should anyone teach you anything?"

"Because... because you were the greatest. You ARE the greatest!"

"I am a developer of real estate. And despite my riches, I am NOT the greatest at it."

"You know what I'm talking about! All your secrets... all the things you've learned and done! You can't let all that just die with you!"

"Already planning my demise, are you?"

"NO! I would never!"

"Of course you would."

"No! You are a legend! I... just being here in the same room with you is... is like meeting a god face to face!"

"Only your face is upside down and covered by a mask. Let's have a look at you, shall we?"

Dokan produced a small knife from his pocket. He reached up and cut away the part of the mask that covered the boy's face. Dokan looked at the boy's young features. His face was plain and ordinary... no unusual characteristics save for a smoothness of skin that would probably vanish with age. A few tufts of plain-looking brown hair protruded from what was left of the mask. It was a face that anyone would forget as soon as it was out of sight... the perfect face for a thief.

"Exactly as described," said Dokan.

"huh?" the boy looked confused.

"You don't honestly think you could go around doing research on me... reproducing my crimes... asking the kind of questions about me that you were and not cause yourself to be noticed do you? I knew of you from the first time you uttered one of my names. At first I thought you were just some overly-curious child, but soon I came to realize that you were obsessed."

"Only with being the best. Only with studying under the world's greatest thief... the grand master who was so good at his craft that those who came after you had no choice but to claim that you weren't real.... or that you were some supernatural phantom. They say that no human can do the things you did. But I know better. I studied under every master thief from here to the Crystal Sea in an effort to become worthy of your tutelage."

"Then you've wasted a great deal of time and effort, boy. You'd have been better off learning a REAL trade. I hear blacksmiths are in great demand these days-"

"NO!" the boy shouted... with painful results from the constricting wires. "I want to be like you! I want YOU to teach me!"

"Ah, just as well... I doubt any decent blacksmith would tolerate an impetuous child. Especially one who lies."

"I have not-"

"Lied? Let's see now..."

Dokan ran a finger over the boy's face and came away with a drop of the thief's sweat. He tasted it, and nodded.

"Yes... a liar. Tell me, do you pretend to be a boy for professional reasons, or because you're one of those poor souls who is confused about who they are?"

"I never said I was male."

"You didn't correct me when I called you a boy... that's the same thing."

"A pretend so that I can be taken seriously by those I wish to learn from. They will not teach a girl."

"Well you won't be able to pretend for very long. There's only so much you can strap down and hide under a loose shirt."

"So you will teach me anyway?"

"Teach you what? How to walk through walls? How to turn invisible? How to move like the wind, even while carrying a hundred pounds of other people's gold in your pockets?"

"Yes!"

"Fah! You are a foolish child."

"You don't think I'm good enough? I can learn more! I can come back in a year's time with twice the skill that I have now!"

"But that's the damned problem. You know too much already. How can I or anyone else teach a student who already knows everything."

"I know nothing!" the thief said desperately.

"And you're too old. What are you... fourteen?"

"Thirteen."

"I could pick door-locks before I was even old enough to reach them without a stool. By the time I was thirteen I had already stolen and lost my first two fortunes."

"Master please! Teach me!"

"You want to learn something? Learn this: Be neither master nor servant to no man save yourself, for both are the just another form of slavery. You are your own teacher. You are your own student. Find your own path in life instead of following someone else's."

"But you need an apprentice to carry on your work!"

"Work? I'm retired... there IS no work. I stole my last gold piece years before you were even a gleam in your father's eye. Everything in this house and every scrap of property I own is bought and paid for by my own legitimate efforts. I have no desire for the belongings of other people."

"You never had," said the girl.

"You think you know me, then... is that it?"

"You didn't steal for the money. None of the great ones do. They do it for the challenge. Or the fame. Just as you did. Even now, men still speak of you and your deeds. I want to carry on... to continue your legend. But to do that I must be worthy. I must learn from you."

"No."

"But-"

"You think you are the first to approach me? That you are the first that I allowed to find me? I've HAD apprentices, child... and they all ended badly."

"I am better than them."

"You don't even KNOW them."

"I know that they cannot be as good as I am."

"Not NOW they can't. They're dead."

"But you cannot let your legacy end with you!"

"I can, and it will. I'm sorry that you've wasted your life trying to become me... but you're still young. There's plenty of time to recover from that mistake."

"But this is all I've ever wanted to be!"

"What? A thief?

"THE thief. The world's GREATEST thief."

"You are a very sick young lady."

No one spoke for a few moments. And then:

"I will do it without you," the girl said. "I'm good. How many thieves of ANY age can make it into your study?"

"But you didn't make it out," Dokan indicated the trap. "The only reason you're still alive is because I knew you were coming. I loosened the tension on that trap just after the auction. If I hadn't, those wires would have sliced you to pieces before you even knew you'd tripped the mechanism."

"So I have accomplished nothing. So I am not as skilled as I thought I was. That means that I still have much to learn... much that you can teach me."

"You won't give up, will you?"

"No."

"You try to become me and you'll be dead within a year... two at the most. Surely you must know this."

"But I will still try."

Dokan took another long look at the child. The young thief reminded him so much of himself. Even the conversation they'd just had... Dokan remembered having one very similar with his first teacher many decades ago. He had had the same dogged persistence, and the teacher had the same wary reluctance. So much had happened since then... The thrill of high adventure. The agony of the torture master's whip. The joy of the open air, and the dark filth of a cold, damp cell. Dokan was not foolish enough to think that he had seen and done it all... but there was so much. So much he had learned. So much he could share. A lifetime of choices, both wrong and right. A lifetime of stories, not of a legendary thief... but of an ordinary man who toiled and struggled to become what he most wanted to be. A man who would have rather died than become anything other than his dream...

Dokan's musings were interrupted by a loud, rapid pounding at the mansion's front door.

"Probably more thugs after the mask... " Dokan murmured. "What ever possessed you to steal THAT hideous artifact? Did you honestly think I'd like it?"

The pounding continued. Now it was accompanied by a man's voice.

"Mr. Maxwell! Mr. Maxwell, come quickly! There's been an emergency!"

"If there hasn't been, there will be when I get downstairs," Dokan said to himself as he turned to leave.

"What about me?" said the young intruder.

"What ABOUT you?"

"Will you teach me?"

Dokan looked the thief over carefully for a third time, ignoring the incessant knocking at the mansion door.

"And if you AREN'T going to teach me... are you just going to leave me hanging up here until I starve?"

"Most thieves are lucky to have such a merciful end. Besides, you will die of thirst long before you starve."

"Fine. You've proven that I'm not good enough-"

"I've proven that you're too good for your own welfare. You failed to plan for your escape from the room... so now I'm giving you another chance."

"What do you mean?"

"Given the placement of the wires on your body, I can see seven, no... nine different ways you can extricate yourself from that trap. All you have to do is find just one of them."

"If I do, will you teach me?"

"I may consider it."

Dokan turned and left the study, making sure to engage the locks on the double-doors before heading down to the first level.

The pounding continued until Dokan finally yanked the door open and glared out at the new visitor. It was a brown-haired man in his late twenties, wearing workman's clothes and boots. He was of average height and slim build, but with muscles hardened by work. Sweat, dirt and grime covered his clothes. His shoulders slumped in fatigue, but his eyes still held a gleam of vitality.

Or was it panic?

The man was clearly upset about something. Not afraid... but very concerned.

"Who are you?" said Dokan.

"Woodbridge. Sutton Woodbridge," the man replied. "Hildebrandt sent me... "

Dokan recognized Hildebrandt as the foreman for one of his renovation jobs. He'd recently purchased some burnt-out property, and Hildebrandt's crew was clearing away the land for new construction. That didn't explain this man's presence at his doorstep, however. Sutton cleared up that enigma with his next statement...

"There's been an accident," he said. "at the Sinterbourne job. Some men are hurt. Dead, I think. You have to come now."

"Accident? What sort of accident?"

"The men... we've... we've FOUND something..."
---

It took less than ten minutes for Dokan to change into his traveling clothes and don his walking boots. It was obvious that Sutton thought it was ten minutes too long. Still, the workman waited impatiently at the door while Dokan dressed, and then accompanied Dokan across town. Though Dokan was over twice Sutton's age, the old man had no problem keeping up with Sutton's hurried pace. In fact, Dokan soon found himself walking in front of Sutton.

"Come along," said Dokan. "No need to be slow on my account."

They continued at an accelerated pace for the rest of the way across town. Dokan drilled Sutton for information on what had happened, but clearly Sutton wasn't too clear on things himself. All he could say was that several hours ago, while most of the workers were still clearing away the last of the surface debris, a group of five men were sent down into what remained of the building's sub-basement. When that group failed to return, the foreman sent two more in to fetch them.

"That's when the screaming started," Sutton explained. "I don't know what they saw... but those screams will haunt me 'till the day I die."

Dokan took Sutton at his word, and Sutton did not look like the type of man that frightened easily.

"And then what happened?" Dokan asked.

"We stopped working and Hildebrandt sent me to fetch you. He doesn't know what to do, and since the property is yours-"

"Hold on just a moment... you stopped working just now? It's well after sunset, what were you doing working at night in the first place?"

"The shift isn't over for another seven hours."

"Seven Hours! That's well after midnight!"

"It's an eighteen hour shift. We work with torches and lamps until after midnight, then we rest."

"And you accept this!?"

"We do if we want to get paid."

"I'll have to have a word with Hildebrandt about this. After we discover what it is that you and your coworkers have stumbled upon."

The pair of men arrived at the work site a few minutes later.

The Sinterbourne building had begun its existence as a large inn, but after changing owners and functions almost yearly for decades, it had been impossible to tell exactly WHAT it was at any given time. It ended up as just another abandoned building, and remained that way for years until it was purchased by Damion VonSinterbourne, a small-time criminal and deposed noble from a nearby land. He used it as his own personal coliseum and gambling arena. Wealthy men from all over the city would come and wager on contests between drug-enhanced peasants and vicious wild animals. Dokan Maxwell had attended several of those hideous events... not for his own entertainment, but for the collection of 'sensitive information' concerning some of Montfort's elite. Fortunately Dokan hadn't been in attendance on that fateful night when, for reasons very few people lived to tell, a large fire-breathing drake broke free from its cage and burned the entire place to the ground. Dozens of people died, including Damion VonSinterbourne himself. For years the building's charred, crumbling remains were an eyesore to the city... a black reminder of the wickedness that it had allowed not only to exist, but to thrive within its borders. Dokan Maxwell graciously stepped in and purchased the ruins from the city. All it cost was a surprisingly small amount of money, and the promise to remove all traces of the building's existence. They didn't care WHAT he built in its place... and to tell the truth, neither did Dokan. He could sell the empty lot for a handsome profit.

Hildebrandt's crew of thirty men had begun work one week ago. Dokan had given them a generous deadline of one month to remove every singed brick and charred board from the area. There was a lot of debris, and the fact that the building had had not one, but TWO basements meant that there was even more rubble underground. Still, with thirty men, Hildebrandt should have been able to meet the deadline without working his men to death. Dokan wondered if the night's 'emergency' wasn't just a ploy to earn themselves an early night off. The missing men were probably relaxing in some small, cozy section of the ruins, occasionally sending up shouts and terrified screams to keep curious coworkers at bay.

The place where the building had stood was almost completely clear. Where there was once a large building, there was only low brick wall surrounding a gaping black hole in the ground. Torches mounted on poles surrounded the area, bathing the place in a steady orange light. Several wagons stood nearby, all loaded to overflowing with debris ready to be hauled off. The workmen had gathered at a respectable distance from this hole, and the concerned looks on their faces told Dokan that, if this affair was a ruse, it was a very effective one that the men on the surface knew nothing about. Looks of fear and nervousness were plentiful... so plentiful that Dokan knew immediately that there was more to the story than what Sutton had said.

"What's going on?" Sutton asked one of his co-workers as they approached.

"Hildebrandt sent some more people down while you were gone. They didn't come up."

"What?" said Sutton. "Who's down there?"

"Carter. Bishop. Lavin."

"No!" Sutton gasped. "Carter!" Sutton ran over to the ruins, but a group of burly men grabbed him and held him back from the edge "CARTERRR!"

"I take it you know this man Carter?" Dokan mused when he caught up with the men.

"It's only his brother," replied an anonymous voice from the crowd

"CARTER!"

"He ain't gonna hear ya," said another worker. "Just before you showed up there was a sound... a scream like nothing we ever heard. Whatever made it ain't gonna be makin' any more."

"That could have been anyone or anything," said Dokan. "There's probably nothing down there at all except a few workers having fun at our expense."

"Pardon me mister, but you wasn't here to hear it."

"CARTER!"

"Oh, THERE ya are!" came a gruff voice from behind the crowd. The men parted, allowing a short, ugly gnomish man into their midst. Harold Hildebrandt walked over to where Dokan stood and blew a few rings of smoke from his smelly cigar into Dokan's face. "Looks like we might have us a problem here, Mr. Maxwell."

"You bastard!" Sutton spat. "You sent MORE men down there?! Are you INSANE!"

"Hey, you watch your mouth!" Hildebrandt pointed a freckled finger at Sutton. It was obvious that only a supreme act of willpower kept Sutton from ripping that finger off and shoving it... somewhere unpleasant for Hildebrandt.

"Perhaps you should tell me what's going on?" said Dokan.

"That's what I'm tryin' to find out. YOU and YOU..." Hildebrandt pointed out two more workers. "Grab some torches and get down there-"

"WHAT!" Sutton screamed.

"Wait just a moment," said Dokan. "Every man you've sent down there so far has failed to return. Now, regardless of whether this is a game or not... continuing to send men down will only result in a continuation of that pattern."

"Huh?" Hildebrandt was obviously confused by the complex sentence. " So what're you sayin? You want ME ta go down there?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," said Sutton.

"That won't be necessary either," said Dokan. "If someone will be so kind as to fetch me a torch-"

"YOU can't go down there!" said Sutton.

"Why not? This is still my property, is it not?"

"But it could be dangerous!"

"Nonsense. All I am likely to encounter is a group of dozing workmen. If there is something truly dangerous down there, I assure you that I am quite capable of finding out what it is and returning to the surface unscathed."

"Uh-uh," Hildebrandt grunted. "You ain't gonna get yerself killed before you've paid me!"

"If the two of you are so concerned for my safety then you are welcome to come with me."

"That ain't happenin' either," Hildebrandt huffed.

"I'm with you," said Sutton. "My friend's down there. TWO TORCHES! And Somebody Get Us Some Weapons!"

"Weapons won't be necessary," said Dokan.

"Then I'll carry 'em both," Sutton said without a pause.

"HEY LOOK!" came a voice from the edge of the crowd. Everyone turned to see what was happening, and a shocked gasped rippled through the group.

There was a single man emerging from the dark pit, literally pulling himself up out of the darkness with one hand. It was a wonder that he was even alive. His left side had been ripped open just below the rib cage... four long, jagged gashes poured blood onto the ground. Whatever had done it had nearly taken his left arm in the process. The limb hung limp by his side, suspended by a thin strip of bloody tendon.

"Carter!" Sutton shouted.

Four men, Sutton and Dokan among them, grabbed Carter and dragged him away from the pit. They lay him down and began pulling off his clothes to get a better look at his wounds.

"Dear gods..." Sutton murmured. Carter's wounds were even more serious than they had first seemed. His stomach... clearly visibly through the wound... was ripped open. His left kidney had been shredded. It was in three pieces, one of which was oozing out through the wound. The major artery in what remained of his arm was spraying blood like a hose.

"Someone Get some Help!" Dokan ordered. He looked around for Hildebrandt, but the foreman had backed away as if Carter's wounds were somehow contagious.

"Carter, hang on!" Sutton grabbed his friend by the collar.

"This man isn't going to make it," said Dokan. He looked into Carter's rapidly dimming eyes. "Tell us what did this. Tell us what happened to the others."

Carter was too weak to speak. His lips quivered uselessly as a gurgling sound escaped his throat. It was doubtful that he even heard Dokan's questions.

"Carter! HELP! SOMEONE HELP US! WE NEED A HEALER!"

Dokan pointed to the wound.

"This is a claw mark. Some type of animal did this."

"NO SHIT!" Sutton shoved Dokan out of the way and tried to shake Carter back to consciousness. "Wake up, man! WAKE UP!"

"It's no use, Sutton. The man is-"

"Stand Aside."

The deep, rumbling voice rolled over them like a surging wave. The speaker stepped into the light surrounding the work site, and his appearance drew gasps and murmurs from what remained of the crowd. He was by far the largest man that most of them had ever seen. Ever. He stood at least seven feet tall, and every inch of him was packed with so much hard muscle that his simple burgundy robe seemed ready to rip down the seams at the slightest flex. His bald head was perfectly smooth, as if shaven daily. His left hand grasped a long, gnarled, staff-like weapon which had a sharp point on one end and a curved blade on the other. It appeared to be made of ivory, which contrasted with the stranger's dark-brown skin.

The stranger approached, and the workmen parted before him like water before the bow of a ship. He approached Dokan, Sutton, and the fatally-injured Carter.

"By my soul..." Dokan mused as the man drew near.

"Who are you?" said Sutton.

"A Missionary of the Rune," said the man. "I can heal this man." He pointed to Carter, who looked dead.

"Bah," Hildebrandt grunted from far away. "He's dead and gone. Ain't enough healing in all of Montfort to help him."

"I am not of Montfort," replied the Missionary.

"Can you help him?" Sutton asked. "Is it not too late?" Dokan's hand appeared on Sutton's shoulder and pulled the workman back.

"Give him room," said Dokan. "If he is what I think he is... just give him room..."

The men backed away, and the huge missionary knelt beside Carter. He placed one huge hand on Carter's chest. His soulful eyes closed, and the man began to speak.

"Go forth, brother, and travel far. By your word and your deed, leave no man to doubt the glory of the Lord of the Rune..."

A glowing symbol appeared on the back of the missionary's hand. It pulsed brighter as he continued...

"...for He is the way and the journey; the sky and the firmament, the beginning and the end..."

Carter twitched as power began to flow into him. The rune on the missionary's hand was glowing like a torch, illuminating everything around it with golden light.

"...and all that travel His Path shall taste of His power..."

The jagged edges of Carter's wounds began to glow and pulse in time with the healing rune. Flesh wiggled and began to move... the wounds began to close...

"...so that it may shine before them like a beacon to the helpless..."

Carter drew a gasping breath, and his eyes flew open. His muscles tensed. He tried to sit up, but the missionary pushed him back down with the barest shove of his mighty hand. The healing was not yet complete...

"...that they may be comforted and protected, and healed of their wounds..."

New flesh grew downward from the bloody stump of Carter's nearly-severed arm. Ligaments slithered over the bones and held them in place as new cartilage sprung up around the joints.

"...so go forth, brother..."

The nerves, muscles tendons and arteries regenerated... they sprouted from the bone like growing plants, only thousands of times faster. Carter opened his mouth, almost as if to scream... but no words came. Eyes wide with fear, he watched as new skin literally crept over the wounded area and settled into place. The new arteries pulsed for the first time as blood coursed through them.

"...and leave no man doubt the power of the Lord of the Rune... amen."

The healing was now complete. The missionary stood. Carter still looked like he wanted to scream, but he didn't.

"Rest," said the missionary. "Your injuries were great. Though you are now healed, you will need time for your vitality to restore itself."

"Carter!"

Sutton hugged his brother and helped him to his feet. Their joyful reunion was interrupted by the missionary's deep bass voice.

"Tell me of the evil that harmed you."

"There..." Carter pointed to the pit. "Down there. Big! HUGE! Bigger than YOU, even! It killed everyone... tore them apart like rag dolls. Then it came for me! Horrible... horrible..."

"Fear no more for your safety," said the missionary. "The evil is not long for this world."

"You can't go down there!" Carter shouted. "It'll KILL you!"

"After what you witnessed, you still doubt the Lord of the Rune?"

"Well... no..."

"I'll come with you." said Sutton. "This thing hurt my family; I wanna return the favor."

"Vengeance is a false strength," said the missionary. "True power lies in righteousness. You must remain here, where you shall be safe." He turned and walked to the edge of the pit. He gazed down into the darkness for a moment, then turned his stony gaze skyward.

"All praise to the Lord of the Rune!" he chanted. "Let His Wisdom shine forth into the darkness, so that the ignorant shall know of Him!"

A glowing aura appeared around the missionary's huge body. Its light was like a hundred torches radiating in every direction, but yet it did not hurt the eyes of those who saw it. In fact, it was quite pleasing and soothing to behold. Some of the workmen stared at it as if hypnotized... but it was not to remain visible for long.

Without another word, the missionary climbed down into the pit. His light beamed forth for a few moments after he was gone from sight... but then, as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone.

---


There was enough burnt, jagged stone left intact to form a crude, somewhat stable staircase to the bottom of the pit. The Rune Missionary navigated the rocks the speed and confidence that could only come from deep-seated faith. His huge weight unsettled a few stones, and even caused a miniature avalanche halfway down... but he continued undeterred all the way to the bottom.

There, he found blood. Lots of blood... more than could have come from one man. Carter hadn't been the only man to make it this far, but he was the only one to continue on to the surface.

But what happened to the others?

With the golden light from his aura, the missionary could see everything around him as clearly... but there were no bodies to be found. Only blood. Bloody markings on the ground indicated that someone had been dragged away... by what?

Without hesitation, the missionary followed the trail. It lead through the scorched remains of what was once a hallway. Intense heat and violence had reduced it to a tiny tunnel that reeked of dust and old smoke. The missionary was surprised that he didn't have to squeeze his massive frame through some of the smaller openings, but a closer inspection showed that someone or something had already enlarged the passage... digging through collapsed portions and shoving heavy piles of debris aside. Whatever it was had been large, for the missionary had no problem whatsoever navigating the hallway.

After a few moments, the smell of blood became so thick that it overpowered the smoky haze that hung in the air.

He was close.

The tunnel opened out into a roughly circular chamber just over ten feet in diameter. The walls had originally been made of soft dirt supported with wood, but with the wood burnt away, the walls has collapsed. Then something had dug them out again, and now the walls were coated with a strange substance... some kind of thick, dried mucous. The missionary chipped at it with the pointed end of his staff. Whatever it was, it was hard, but not overly brittle. The layer was about an inch thick. Perfect for holding up walls earthen walls.

"Hmmm..."

In the center of the chamber was yet another pit. It had once been a straight circular shaft, but one side had been dug away to create a steep incline. The pit reeked of death and blood, and as the missionary approached he heard noises from below.

Digging noises.

The missionary descended. His steadily glowing aura illuminated the pit as he made his way down the incline. The digging noises continued, even though whatever was making them had obviously seen the light by now.

He reached the bottom and paused at the scene that greeted him.

It was a feeding pit. Bones of hundreds of animals and men littered the dirt floor. There were piles of them everywhere. All of them were old, and completely stripped of meat. The larger bones were cracked... bitten open to expose the marrow inside.

This pit was larger than the one above it, perhaps twenty feet across. It had obviously been widened, and its walls bore more of the mucous substance that secured the walls above.

The missionary moved further into the pit, and he saw the creature. Carter had been right... it was huge. The thing was humanoid, but that was where the resemblance to man ended. Were the creature to stand erect it would be well over eight feet tall, far taller than any normal man. It had a wide, squat, muscular body with a large, grotesque head. The eyes were tiny... like those of an creature that spent most of its life in the dark. Large bat-like ears poked through the cords of long, matted hair on its head. The creature's powerful lower jaw hung open, revealing multiple rows of tiny, very sharp teeth. It had short, stubby legs and long ape-like arms that were far out of proportion to the rest of its body. Its black leathery skin glistened in the missionary's light.

The creature reeked of rotting meat.

Its hands ended in long thick claws, which it was using to dig a hole in the dirt. It kept digging even as the missionary got closer.

The missionary circled around, trying to get a better look at the thing.

That's when he saw the bodies.

There were four human bodies heaped in a pile just behind the creature. None of them was in one piece... they'd been ripped into smaller, more easily handled sections. Arms, legs and head removed... and the torso torn in half.

The stench of blood and raw flesh was overwhelming.

None of the bodies appeared to have been eaten, which lead the missionary to believe that the creature was a carrion-eater. It would kill its prey and bury it in the ground until the flesh reached a proper level of putrescence. Then the thing would dig the decomposing bodies up and consume them. There were a few freshly-dug places near where the creature was digging. The thing must have already buried the other workmen.

"This will not continue," the missionary said.

The creature kept digging for a few moments, then it paused. Its leathery head rotated... moving at an angle that was impossible for a human... and stopped with one bat-like ear pointed in the missionary's direction. The ear twitched. The creature sniffed.

And then it went back to digging.

It didn't seem to consider the missionary to be a threat, and with its pantry already full, it saw no reason to attack the intruder just yet. It had enough food for a while.

The missionary held his staff at ready and walked closer to the creature.

"And though evil may take on many forms to frighten and entice and prey upon the innocent, I must face them all without pause. For I am one with the Brotherhood, and the Brotherhood is one with the Lord of the Rune...."

The creature stopped digging again. It paused to see if the missionary would approach further.

He did.

"...Ours is the True Strength of Righteousness, and by that Strength shall evil perish from this world."

The creature growled.

The missionary took one step closer. He was six feet away

The creature turned and leapt at him with all the speed of a striking snake. Its short, stubby legs propelled it through the air, and its longs arms reached out for the missionary's throat.

Though the creature was fast, the missionary was ready. He dropped and swung the bladed end of his staff above him in a fierce slice. The blade raked across the thing's abdomen as it sailed past.

"REEEEEE!!!!" The creature screeched. It's leathery skin yielded to the blade. Black blood flowed, but the wound was only superficial. It hit the ground and attacked immediately... rushing toward the missionary like a charging bull.

And like a bullfighter, the missionary stepped to one side and used his staff to open up the thing's side. Or at least he tried.

The bladed staff cut through the skin easily, but just below the skin it met unexpected resistance. It was like trying to cut rock. Unfazed, the missionary spun, rotated his staff, and lunged forwarded with the pointed end.

"HA!" he grunted.

The point failed to penetrate the thing's chest, and the creature lashed out with its claws. The missionary spun out of the way just in time to avoid a nasty wound.

The beast leapt at him, but he fought it back with a series of powerful staff blows. He sliced at the thing's skin, but for all his strength he could not penetrate to the muscle and organs below it.

"So, this evil wears armor under its skin," The missionary remarked calmly. The creature slashed with one arm. The missionary blocked, rotated the staff, and struck again with the pointed end... this time driving it into the thing's throat. Again, he failed to penetrate.

But this time the creature's counter-attack was a bit faster than the missionary had planned. He was leaping back when one of the thing's claws raked across his chest, ripping his robe and slicing into the underlying flesh with ease.

"ARRRGH!"

The missionary moved back, and the beast pressed the attack. Perhaps it smelled the fresh blood... or perhaps it thought its prey was weakened by the lucky blow. It charged once more. The missionary thrust his staff at the thing's legs, tripping it up. It hit the ground, and the missionary tried to impale it from behind.

"UNGH!" he grunted as the creatures natural armor rebuffed him. The thing rolled over onto its back and slashed at him with one long arm. The missionary was away before the motion was half completed. The thing leapt to its feet and charged.

The missionary pointed his staff at the thing...

"Taste the Anger of Angels, foul creature!

A blast of blistering lightning leapt from the staff's tip and struck the creature square in the chest. So powerful was the bolt that it lifted the creature up and threw it backwards across the pit.

"REEEEEEEEEGH!" the thing screamed. It hit the far wall of the pit and then slid down... but it did not fall. Screaming with rage, the creature charged again...

The second blast of power struck it before it had taken two steps. This bolt knocked it INTO the wall, cracking the mucous and imbedding the creature into the soft dirt beyond. Lightning slithered across its body like snakes of acid, burning tracks into its skin.

When the second bold died, the creature convulsed... pulled free of the wall... and fell flat onto its face.

The missionary scowled. He was not happy, and the bleeding wound on his chest wasn't the cause. Two blasts from his staff should have reduced the creature to a pile of smoking ash and sizzling chunks of flesh... but that had not happened. What strange elements did this creature have within its body to resist such power?

But resistance was not immunity, and the creature was dead now. At least it appeared dead. The missionary approached it warily. It was not breathing, but it did not appear to be breathing before... perhaps the armor plating under its skin concealed the movement of its chest.

"What manner of creature is this?"

The missionary poked it with his staff.

The creature's arm shot out and grabbed bottom of the missionary's weapon. It tried to pull the staff free, but the missionary's grasp was too strong. Meanwhile, the creature's other hand made a successful slash at the missionary's leg.

"AARRRRGH!" The man howled as he felt the thing's claws tearing into his calf. Flesh and bone tore, and fresh blood splattered the ground. The missionary pulled free and hopped backwards. He needed a second to push the pain from his mind... but that was a second too long. The creature was upon him... its incredible weight landed on his already-wounded chest and bore him to the ground. He felt its claw ripping at his left shoulder. Instinctively he threw his right arm across the creature's throat as its jaws sought his face. He held the creature's head back even as its claws continued to dig into his flesh.

The creature's thin lips peeled away from its teeth. It hissed and snapped at him as it tried... and failed... to overcome the missionary's strength. For a moment, the creature's noises sounded like words...

"Wadsyny Tiwrycu Scrowasshet Quovu Exer!"

"The Evil Speaks!" the missionary grunted.

"Scrursox Moznewy Quyxxagy! FEED ME!"

Then the creature's jaws parted.

The missionary jerked his head to one side as a stream of liquid mucous shot out of the thing's mouth. It was the same tough mucous that coated the walls... it was trying to use it to trap him. The missionary gathered his strength and forced the huge creature back away from him. It fought and clawed at him, but one incredibly powerful thrust sent the creature tumbling away.

The missionary rolled to his feet and snatched up his weapon just in time. A set of claws was racing toward the side of his head. He blocked the slash with his staff, then counterattacked. The blade of the staff bounced harmlessly off of the creature's skull. The creature slashed again. The missionary ducked and backed away, preparing to blast the thing with more power from his staff.

Suddenly the creature's head turned...

"AAAAAAA-HA!"

Sutton Woodbridge landed on the thing's back. One hand went around the creature's throat while the other tried to thrust a dagger into the thing's chest. The tiny blade barely pierced the skin.

"I told you to stay above!" The missionary shouted.

"Hey! I'm saving your ass, here! And I told YOU that I owe this thing!!"


"Stand AWAY so that I can smite it!"

"WHOOOOOAAAA!"

The creature had managed to grab Sutton and yank him free. Before either of the men could do anything, the thing's jaws closed around Sutton's shoulder.

The sound of snapping bones filled the pit.

"AIEIIEEEIIIIGH!"

Blind with pain, Sutton struck with his dagger, hitting whatever he could reach.

"REEEEEEGH!" This new scream was not from Sutton... but from the beast! It flung Sutton away like an old bone, but Sutton's dagger remained imbedded hilt-deep in the thing's wrist. "RRAAAAGH! Cluscanth Ycublipi Kuoslynnnn!!!"

Sutton lay against the wall like a pile of old clothes. He was alive, but his shoulder had been nearly bitten off. He was in shock... too weak to move as the creature turned to him and came at him with teeth bared.

Suddenly the pit lit up as bright as daylight.... lightning flashed, striking the creature in the side and blasting it off of its feet. It hit the ground on the other side of the pit, but it didn't stay there for long. It was up and charging almost immediately.

The missionary stepped in front of Sutton and prepared another blast.

"Fear not, innocent," he said. "the Lord of the Rune shall triumph this day!"

Another blast threw the creature across the pit... but it did about as much real damage as the others: None.

Meanwhile, the missionary swooned as blood continued to pour from his leg, chest, and shoulder. He had barely regained his senses by the time the creature was upon him.

The huge thing hit the missionary at full running speed and propelled him into a mucous-hardened wall.

"UNGH!"

The missionary pushed the thing back, then ducked as its claws tore chunks out of the wall where his head once was. He twisted and backed away from the thing. It leapt after him. The missionary made what would have been a perfect dodge, but he came down on his injured leg and ended up stumbling out of the way. He steadied himself with his staff and turned... just in time to see the charging monster.

"Priest... look......" Sutton lifted one weak arm and pointed. He was pointing at the creature's arm, where his own dagger still protruded. "the blade... joints... weak... joints..."

The missionary's eyes flashed, and a smile crossed his lips. The staff left the ground, and he rotated it so that the sharp tip pointed at the creature. The thing's body was protected by some kind of natural armor... but like REAL armor, it had to have joints in order for the thing to move.

The missionary grasped his staff and charged, ignoring the pain from his own serious wounds.

The creature screamed in triumph.

So did the missionary.

The two behemoths collided, and the missionary's staff sank deep in to the joint at the bottom of the creatures internal chest plate, just above its waist. Black blood spurted out along the white staff, and the huge brown fists that held it.

"AARRRREEEEEEE!!!!"

The missionary shoved, and the staff sank in even further, piercing the thing's intestines...

"DIE FOUL CREATURE!"

"REEEEEE Drefi Zelsat ThieurtaaAARRRRRR!!!!

Whatever the creature was saying was lost in its own screams.

But the missionary wasn't finished.

"Protected from harm you may be, but no armor protects its wearer from the INSIDE!"

Then, with half the length of the staff buried in the creature's gut, the missionary let loose with one final lightning bolt.

fzzzZZZZZAAAM!

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!"

Arcs of light roared up and down the creature's body, burning and tearing its dense flesh. It's tiny eyes widened, and showers of sparks flew out of its mouth. Its powerful limbs clutched and convulsed uncontrollably. Its lungs seized up, cutting off its horrible scream as thick cords of electricity seared paths through its flesh. The creature looked as if it had swallowed a thunderstorm, and it was being cooked alive from the inside!

The thing went limp, and the missionary yanked his staff free. It came out of the thing's gut with a wet, slurping sound. The creature fell backward and hit the ground. It's clawed fingers twitched, and tiny residual sparks still played along its skin.

The missionary looked as if he were ready to collapse... but he didn't. He stood tall, and limped over to where Sutton lay. Without a word, he placed one hand on Sutton's shoulder.

The glowing rune appeared, and Sutton stiffened as if bitten. The flesh of his shoulder knitted itself together. The healing was painful, but mercifully quick. The missionary stood and stepped back.

"You are healed," he said.

"Thanks." Sutton got to his feet and inspected his shoulder. There was no wound or scar... as if the creature had never even bit him. The same could not be said for the missionary, however. His left shoulder and right calf were in bloody tatters, and there was set of inch-deep grooves along his muscular chest. "You'd better heal yourself," said Sutton. "I don't wanna have to carry you out of here."

"I shall live," said the missionary.

"I'm not so sure-"

"...rrrrrrrr...."

The noise was from the creature. It wasn't dead. The hideous carrion-creature lay still save for the uncontrollable twitching of its limbs, but it growled weakly.

"It isn't dead," said Sutton.

"Apparently not."

"What's that thing made of? And did you hear it talk?"

"I have never encountered a creature such as this in all my travels. Though its destruction would serve the cause of good, the cause may be better served by taking it to the surface so that wise men may study it."

"The surface? You mean.. carry it up there?"

"I believe it's injuries will prevent it from harming innocents."

"No... I say we kill it right here!"

Ignoring Sutton completely, the missionary leaned down and grabbed the creature by the hair. Then he started walking up the incline and out of the pit, dragging the incredibly heavy creature behind him

---


Dokan Maxwell was deep into berating Hildebrandt when the screaming and howling rose from the pit. All of the remaining workmen shook their heads, as if it were a foregone conclusion that the priest and Sutton Woodbridge were dead. There was also a small crowd of onlookers who had been attracted by word of strange goings-on at the VonSinterbourne ruins. None of them got very close, and when the roaring started, they backed even further away.

"See," said Hildebrandt. "I told 'em not to go down there. I told 'em BOTH. Now ain't YOU glad YOU didn't go?"

"You, sir, are a coward and a slave-driver," said Dokan.

"Yeah. So?"

"You work these men to death, and then you SEND them to their deaths while you remain safe on the surface. I shall make sure that the families of the deceased receive TWICE the wages owed... and that money shall come from YOUR pocket. Now summon the Tower Guard... we've had enough death for one night."

"Hey, do I havta get the guard involved? I know some guys that'll be glad to come down here and-"

"The. Tower. Guard. NOW!"

"Fine, have it your way. I'll send somebody-"

"HEY!"

A hushed murmur went through the crowd.

"What's going on now?"

Dokan pushed his way through and saw that Sutton Woodbridge was climbing out of the pit. His shirt was torn and bloodied, but he didn't appear to be injured. The other men helped pull him out, and then helped the Rune Missionary when he appeared.

But they were rather reluctant to touch the creature that the missionary was dragging behind him. Fortunately the missionary didn't need any help. Despite his injuries, he managed to yank the creature out of the pit and deposit it on the surface. The men crowded around it... but remained at a safe distance.

"It's still alive," said Sutton.

The men backed up even further.

"Alive, eh?" said one of the men. "Not fer long." The man grabbed a shovel and swung it at the creature's huge, ugly head. The Missionary reached out and snatched the shovel out of the man's hand.

"Evil though it is, it would serve us well to study it... alive."

"What the hell FOR!?"

"Have YOU ever seen anything like it," said Dokan.

"Uhh..."

"I didn't think so. If there are more of those things around, we'd be better off knowing all we can about them. Always know your enemy."

"We could just ASK it if there's any more around," said Sutton. "It talks."

"What?"

"Talks?"

"The thing talks?"

"I heard it myself. So did the priest."

"Indeed, the creature speaks an language unknown to me. It fights like an animal, yet speaks like a man."

"Maybe its intelligent," said Sutton.

"Possibly," said Dokan. "Or it could simply be parroting words that it has heard before. Speech does not automatically imply intelligence."

"But what are we going to DO with it?" Sutton asked.

"It is weak and inured," said the missionary. "It may not survive long."

"And if it does, the Tower Guard may have facilities to contain it." said Dokan. "At the very least we could borrow a cage of enchanted steel... Hildebrandt! Have you summoned the guard? Hildebrandt!"

Hildebrandt was speaking with one of the bystanders. Dokan couldn't see who it was from where he was standing, so he walked over to where they were.

"Have you sent a man to-"

"Ah, Mr. Maxwell. I was just trying to convince your niece that SHE should go and fetch the guard for me, but she's heard-headed like her uncle."

"Niece?"

"Hi," the child to which Hildebrandt had been speaking looked up at Dokan. It was the thief that Dokan had left hanging in his study. In all the excitement, Dokan had almost forgotten about her. Almost. She had changed her clothes, and her short brown hair hung down just over her ears. She wore a plain silk scarf around her neck to conceal the marks from the wires. She'd taken the silk scarf from Dokan's drawer in the locked bedroom. "I was waiting for you to return so I could continue my lessons," she said. "But you took so long that I decided to join you here. Did I miss anything?"

Dokan looked back at the crowd of people around the creature.

"No," he said. "I believe that the excitement is just getting started."


[To Be Continued]