Prologue 1: The Missionary

The two-horse carriage creaked noisily as it moved down the old trail, heading in the direction of the setting sun. The driver, a short old man with a scraggly beard and unkempt dirty gray hair, shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench on top of the wagon. Beside him, a lanky guard polished his dented sword and eyed surrounding trees with suspicion. Both men were weary, and it showed on their faces. Their skin and clothes held the dust of many long hours on the road. The horses were in only slightly better condition. The driver had to snap the reigns hard to keep them up to a satisfactory pace.

"Don't know why he wanted to take this road anyway," said the guard.

"Quiet," snapped the driver "He'll hear ya."

The guard looked back over the body of the wagon, as if he could see their passenger through the wooden top. He couldn't, of course.

"So?" he said.

"Impolite to carry on about paying passengers while they're still in the damned wagon. Don't you know nuthin?"

The guard shrugged

"He's probably in there talkin' to his little rocks," said the guard, as if the driver hadn't even spoken. "Damnedest thing I ever seen, that."

"You know what he told me? He said that them stones told him ta hire us and that we should take this old road to Montfort. Said we had to leave right away."

"Hell, he can't be in too big a hurry. This road is a half-day's travel out of our way. The main trade route is quicker... and ya don't have to worry about bandits as much."

"We go where the passengers say go... and we take whatever road they want. As long as they're payin'"


"You got the money in advance, right?"

"Hell... ya think I'm stupid. Of course I did."

"Hmph."

The two rode in silence for a minute.

"Think these horses'll make it?" the guard asked.

"I dunno," said the driver. It wasn't the answer the guard was looking for.

"I don't blame 'em for being tuckered out. Gods, that fella must weigh a ton."

"He don't have no baggage... it all evens ou-"

"Hey!"

The guard stood pointed to the trees just ahead of them, where several shapes were clustered near the top of a large pine. They clung to the branches like monkeys, their brown and gray hides blending in well with the bark. Had the guard not been looking for trouble, he'd never have seen them.

Not that it mattered.

As soon as the guard pointed, the shapes leapt from their perches. Large feathered wings spread wide, showering the tree with mud and filth as the dirty creatures took flight. They had the bodies of large hawks.. but their fore-parts were those of hideously ugly, yet very well-endowed women. Their feet ended in razor sharp talons that would put the claws of any normal eagle to shame, and instead of a feathered tail, the bird-women had a long whip-like appendage that ended in a sharp, pointed barb.

Though they had the heads and faces of women, their eyes gleamed with a inhuman hunger.

"HARPIES!" shouted the driver.

There were five of them. The grotesque things rose high into the air, circled their tree once, and then streaked downward towards the carriage. The horsed panicked and tried to run in two different directions... the end result was that the carriage rocked violently back and forth, nearly dislodging both driver and guard.

The guard lifted his sword and shouted:

"HARRRRRG! AWAY! AWAY!"

The driver struggled with the reigns, trying to get the horses under control.

"LOOK OUT!"

Both men ducked. The birds swooped over their heads. One harpy's claws dug long furrows along the wooden roof of the carriage. Three of them arced upwards into the air once more... gaining altitude for another swooping attack. The other two turned left and right, came around, and shot forward along the sides of the carriage.

They hit both horses at once.

One bird flayed the left horse's flank open with her claws and immediately stopped to feast. The other sank her talons into the remaining horse's neck.

"BLAST YE!" The driver dropped the reigns and reached for his already-loaded crossbow.

"THEY'RE COMIN BACK!"

The guard jumped up and, balanced on the driver's bench, tried to chop one of the three flying beasts out of the air as it came for him. He swung his blade. It made a valiant WOOSHING sound as it sliced the air... but the intended recipient of the blade deftly veered to one side while the other two plowed into the guard.

"OOOOOAAAAAA!"

THUD!!

The guard hit the ground. Fortunately, he'd managed to keep hold of his sword through the fall. He leapt to his feet and swung once more. This time, he nicked one harpy's wing.

"EEEEEEEEEEEE!!" The thing screeched. It took to the air while its two sisters closed in.

TWHOCK!

One harpy hit the ground. It screeched and plucked at the bolt that was now protruding from its flank.

"GOTCHA, ya BITCH!" Shouted the guard. He loaded another bolt and swung around towards the horses. He fired, and a bolt whizzed past one of the harpies that had been attacking the animals. That harpy leapt skyward... straight towards the driver.

"AAAAA!"

The driver threw the crossbow down and drew his hunting knife from his belt. He opened his mouth to either scream in fear or shout a challenge... all that came out was:

"OOF!"

As the harpy slammed into him. White-hot pain seared his thoughts as the creature's talons shredded his chest, shoulder, and upper arm.

"ARRRGH!!!"

He stabbed with his blade. It struck home, but the beast had tasted blood and would not relent.

"HELLLP!!"

The guard was not fairing any better, he had THREE harpies to contend with. Though one was sorely wounded by the driver's bolt, it still fought like the hideous wild animal that it was.

*riiiip!!!*

Bloody strips of skin and cloth fell away from the guard's arm. He spun and slashed. One harpy hit the ground... stunned and bleeding, but not dead. A second later it re-joined its two sisters as they tried to tear him apart. Try as he might, the guard could only keep one or two of them away with his wild sword-flailings. Which meant that there was always one beast tearing at him... at his chest... his limbs... his back... his face... his scalp. Within seconds he was a bloody mess.

He fought on... driven by his own pain and by the shouts of the driver above him. Those shouts were getting more and more desperate.

"Please... please help.." he whispered through shredded lips. "... please..."

Suddenly he carriage door burst open.

Sensing new and perhaps easier prey, one harpy ceased attacking the driver and shot towards the open carriage.

fffFFFFZZZAAPT- KRATHOOM!!!

The bolt of lightning leapt outward from the dark interior of the carriage and struck the attacking bird-thing square in the chest. The harpy had no time to even scream before it vanished in a thick spray of blood and singed feathers.

The other harpies... all of them... turned toward the carriage. One squawked nervously. The others prepared to attack. The carriage tilted violently to one side as the weight of its passenger shifted toward the door. An instant later, a staggeringly huge figure emerged. The brown-skinned human was over seven feet tall from the bottom of his sandals to the top of his bald head. His hard-packed muscles bulged beneath his simple burgundy robe. He looked like a god... like strength incarnate... a dark-skinned Adonis carved from stone by immortal hands, and brought to life by power unknown by man. His chest was like twin barrels of ale stood side by side. His limbs like the trunks of ancient, mighty oaks.

And in his hands he held a weapon.

The pole-arm was twisted and gnarled, contrasting sharply with the perfectly smooth hands that held it. It did not appear to be wood, or metal, or even bone... but rather a strange combination of all three. One end tapered into a long, wickedly sharp spike, while the other flattened and stretched into the shape of a curved two-sided blade. The outer surface of the blade was smooth for cutting, while the inner surface was jagged... for the ripping of flesh and bone. Both sides were razor sharp. The stranger held the weapon tight, and both ends of it crackled noisily as streams of bluish-white energy played along its surface.

The harpies attacked.

They abandoned the guard completely, and the poor man immediately collapsed. A third harpy sailed skyward from the top of the carriage, where the driver's bloody form still quivered. It circled and swooped downward toward the stranger.

The man swung his weapon, throwing a long arc of energy outward from its tip. One harpy flew directly into the arc-

ffZZAAAAPT!!

And was gone. The other narrowly the band of energy and kept coming. But the third harpy was already within striking distance. The stranger quickly rotated his weapon and lunged... thrusting the weapon skyward and impaling the filthy bird right between the breasts. The weapon's spike burst out of the thing's back, carrying much flesh and a portion of the harpy's spinal column with it. As the stranger was yanking his weapon free of the thing's corpse, the second harpy attacked.

The creature's talons sank into the stranger's shoulder. The stranger calmly reached up with one huge hand and grasped the attacking bird around the neck. He squeezed...


KRACK!

Jagged bones burst through the crushed flesh as the foul thing died.

"EEEEEAAA!" screeched the final harpy. This one had been feasting on a horse while its sisters met death. It saw the stranger, and the feathery bodies that littered the ground around him. The harpy shot into the air and flew towards the trees in an attempt to flee.

The stranger swung his weapon around, following the bird's path with the pointed tip. The staff hummed, and then throbbed in his hand. The weapon seemed to convulse, like a living thing of flesh and blood... and then a continuous spray of lightning spat forth from the tip. The sound was like the splitting of a mighty rock, only it did not rise and then fade away... it rose and kept rising as the stream of power streaked towards the fleeing creature. It hit the harpy and blasted it into a copse of trees. Fire and ash and bits of charred wood shot out in all directions as the bird and several trees in its vicinity ceased to exist.

The lightning bolt vanished, though it took several seconds for the sound of it to fade away. By that time, the stranger was kneeling beside the bloody guard. He opened what was left of the man's shirt. There wasn't very much skin left underneath. The guard coughed up a clot of blood and looked up into the stranger's eyes.

"You shall live," said the stranger. His voice was a deep as the ocean. He place one hand on the man. The stranger's enormous palm completely covered the guard's chest, where most of the wounds were located. The stranger closed his eyes and prayed.

A large black sigil... a complex and intricate shape... appeared on the back of the stranger's hand. It remained there for a moment, then it faded. The guard gasped. The stranger removed his hand from the shocked guard's chest... and nodded silently when he saw that all the man's serious wounds were healed.

"...ehhh... u-up here..." a timid voice called. The driver was still on top of the carriage. The stranger climbed up, nearly tipping the carriage over with his weight. He healed the driver just as he had done the guard, and then he climbed back down to see to the horses. One was dead. Half-eaten, in fact. The driver's careful shot with the crossbow had managed to save the second horse, who was bleeding severely but was still alive.

The stranger placed his hand on the horse's neck, where the harpy had ripped long gouges into its flesh. The black rune reappeared... then vanished once more. The horse was now healed.

"Who... what are you?" said the guard. He was inspecting his body, searching for wounds that he knew should be there... but weren't.

"Malyk Siunthox," said the stranger. "A missionary of the Brotherhood."

"B-brotherhood?" asked the driver.


"The Brotherhood of the Rune," said Malyk. "We shall travel now." He walked back toward the carriage's open door.


"But... but..." the driver sputtered. "We've only got one horse. And we're... uh.. we WERE injured..."

"One horse cannot pull this carriage?" said Malyk with more than a little suspicion in his voice.

"Well..."

"The beast is now in better condition than it was when we began our journey," Malyk continued.

"Well, yeah," replied the driver. "But it'll be awful slow."

"Yeah," added the guard. "You can't POSSIBLY want to keep going all the way to Montfort. It'll take us all night. We should stop at the nearest town."

"Hmm..." Malyk eyed the guard and driver, then he leaned his weapon against the carriage. He got down onto his knees and removed a leather pouch from his belt.

"Ohhh... here we go with this again," said the driver.

Malyk undid the drawstring and poured pouches contents into his hand. They were stones... twenty-six tiles of identical size and shape. Each one had a different design carved into its front and rear surfaces. Holding the
tiles, Malyk closed his hand into a fist. He prayed silently, and as he did, he moved his fist up and down slowly... as if drawing symbol in the air before his bowed head. Finally, he opened his fist, and the tiles spilled out onto the ground. Malyk gazed down at them. He studied their positions... their alignments with regard to each other and to himself. He continued studying them in silence for almost a minute, then he scooped them up and placed them back into their pouch.

"Well?" said the driver.

"The Runes say that we should continue to Montfort. There are weak and innocent there that require my protection."

Malyk Siunthox, missionary of the Runes, climbed back into the carriage, closed the door, and waited quietly for the voyage to resume.

---

Prologue 2: The Huntress

Thonia strolled boldly into the camp, her long, muscular legs carrying her into the midst of the men who'd taken such pains to hide themselves. They looked up at her in shock. Sleeping guards nudged their companions and pointed at her. Trackers eyed her warily, wondering if she could be the *one.* Cooks and pack-carriers simply stared at her as she strolled past, their lusty eyes devouring her powerful, yet strikingly feminine form. They yearned for her. A few even strained to smell her scent... but none dared approach. Even though she held no weapons, she still struck fear in their hearts. She could smell it all around her... fear and lust.

She had clothed herself in her traditional garb: a tight-fitting leather piece that covered the front and rear of her body from crotch to neck. It fit her curves perfectly, hugging her breasts and her buttocks so well that she may as well have been wearing nothing at all. Her sides were completely exposed save for the net-like webbing that connected the front and back pieces of her armor together. Her golden hair was in long braids that disappeared down into her armor. Small beads were woven into the thin strands at regular intervals. Her arms and legs hung completely free... uncovered and unencumbered. Her bare thighs drew the eyes steadily upward to where they vanished into the leather at the last possible inch. On another woman, such clothing would have been simply scandalous... on her is was even more so, yet it was also a warning. Every inch of her body, both covered and uncovered, was packed with muscle that would... and had... put many a man to shame. She stood over six and a half feet tall, and in recent times had utterly destroyed men on the hunting ground, the battle field, and in the bedroom. She had the scars to prove it, and she wore them with pride. She was one of the proud and the strong.

She was an Amazon.

A few guards followed her at a safe distance (so they thought). They mumbled to themselves. Wondering who she was and how she'd gotten past their pitiful perimeter traps. No one dared stop her. The cowardice that men like to rationalize as 'caution' kept them from getting anywhere near her. A few wielded crossbows... they were loaded, but kept pointed at the ground. More 'caution.' They were all content to watch her invade their camp and walk defiantly into its center.

All except for one. One man... the one creature in the camp that deserved a modicum of her respect. She could smell his scent among the others.

Soon he appeared, bursting out of the largest tent and coming towards her. She stopped walking. She would let him come to her... as it should be.

"Thonia," said the man. He spoke her name with reverence, but not fear.

"Simon," she replied.

"You look well," said Simon. He ran his eyes over her body. "No new scars. That I can see."

"You insult me," replied Thonia. For her kind, battle-scars were badges of honor.

"Just repaying the favor," said Simon. "For intruding on my hunt."

"YOUR hunt?"

"The townspeople called ME in," said Simon. "Not you. We were here first."

"The hunt goes to the swift and the strong... not the first. I will have faced and defeated this beast in combat before you leave your camp tonight."

"A contest then?"

"There IS no contest between us, Vendredi. I am the superior hunter."

"Oh, really now? And what brings you to that conclusion? The fact that you're a woman and I'm just a mere, pitiful man? BAH!"

"You were a great hunter once, Vendredi... but you have lost your taste for the kill." Thonia pointed to the large metal cage off to the side of the camp. It stood empty and open... waiting for an occupant.

"Taking it alive is more challenging. Surely you can appreciate that."

"Challenge? You hunt with crossbows and spears. Swords and magic. You bring a hundred men to track and kill one beast. There is no challenge in this." Thonia spat on the ground near Simon's boots. "No challenge. No honor."

"And I suppose your way is better?"

"I hunt like a true warrior. Strength against strength. Heart against heart. I live... the prey dies."

"Simple. Primal. And utterly ridiculous."

"You thought otherwise once."

"Ahh... but this isn't about me, you or the hunt. This animal is dangerous. It's tasted human flesh, and as long as it lives, it'll yearn for more. It has lost its fear of us, and all who live near here are in danger. I have to stop it. I'll use whatever means I need to ensure it doesn't threaten anyone again. You're here to hunt. I'm here to save lives."

"You have spent too much time among the city-sheep," said Thonia "Your skin reeks of them. They have diluted the strength of your heart. Poisoned you and your love of the hunt."

"Why are you here, Thonia," said Simon with a sigh. "Surely you didn't come here to exchange hunting philosophies."

Thonia stepped back and announced loudly, for all to hear:

"I claim this hunt as my own! The beast is mine... those who interfere will die."

She glared at Simon, waiting for a response.

"A threat and a loud voice won't scare me off," said Simon. "You know me better than that."

"For the sake of what once was... I give you fair warning. Now that debt is paid."

"We were good together, once. No debt was owed by you OR me."

Thonia spat onto the ground once more and walked out of the camp. She didn't bother cursing under her breath... Simon's insults and betrayal of the hunt had placed him far beneath such things. She merely strolled out of his presence as if he, and his entire camp, was no longer there.

"How'd THAT go?" said one of Simon's trackers, who'd been standing back and listening to the conversation. "I couldn't tell."

"About how I expected," replied Simon.

"Is that good or bad?"

"She's up to something," said Simon. "If she didn't have an ace up her sleeve she'd never have come here. She knows where this thing is. I'm sure of it."

"Impossible," said the tracker. "We've been tracking-"

"I've seen her pull off the impossible a half-dozen times before. She's got us beat... or at least she thinks she does. Gather my weapons and supplies."

"We going after her?"

"Not all of us... just five. Three of my best hunters, a tracker, and me. Bring weapons, poison, and material for traps."

"She's good. Can we even find her?"

"I've hunted with her before. I know her tricks. I'll find her... and then I'll find IT."

"Why track the animal when you can track the hunter, right?"

"Exactly."

"Then what? She's not gonna let you just take her kill."

"If we strike correctly, she won't have a chance to stop us. Make sure that cage is ready... it'll be loaded up soon enough."

---


The sharp blade slid smoothly across the skin of her forearm, severing the skin and the tiny veins that ran just underneath. Rich blood flowed down Thonia's arm. The Amazon huntress gathered some on her fingertips and smeared it on the leaves around her. She let more of it drip onto the ground, and then started making her way through the woods, circling the great beast's hunting ground. She stopped every few yards to smear more of her blood onto the foliage, then continued deeper into the woods.

Vendredi and his men were fools; they would never find the beast's lair. This was a wise one... as cunning as it was fierce. It had many places where it could go to rest and digest its prey. Never to hide... no, hiding was not in its nature. It knew it was being stalked, but was playing games with those who would be its predators. It lured them this way and that... waiting for one or two of them to separate from the others. Thonia had found the remains of those foolish enough to do so. The latest was a recent kill, no more than two days old. That meant that the beast would be hungry soon. It would come out to feed... perhaps in a few hours when the sun went down.

Good.

She would be ready.


---


"Hold-" Simon Vendredi held up his hand and the four other men stopped dead in their tracks. He pointed at something up ahead... something wrong. A tiny hint of color where there should have been nothing but green. The tracker went to investigate. He vanished into the bushes and came back a few minutes later with a large, bloody leaf. "Hmmm..." said Simon.

"Human," whispered the tracker, who was a full-blooded elf.

Simon touched his finger to the blood and tasted it.

"It's hers," he said.

"How can you-"

"I can tell. Clever girl... she's using her own blood to lay a trail. Lead the thing right to her."

"There's more blood that way." The tracker pointed east, through a thick copse of trees. Except for the blood, there was no sign of anyone having passed that direction.

"She's waiting somewhere at the end of that trail. A perfect set-up...
for us."

"eh?"

"We'll follow it a little while until we can find a good spot. We'll make a clearing. Set traps. And wait for it to come along. The beast will get to us before it gets to her. Perfect."

The tracker and the hunters nodded in agreement.


--


Thonia watched them from her perch high in an ancient tree. She sat perfectly motionless... completely invisible, made so not by magic, but by skill. She had coated her skin and armor with a mud and dung mixture that not only masked her scent, but it blended perfectly with the bark of the tree in which she sat. To this, she had added some fresh leaves, and even a few patches of bark. Her helmet... made from the bleached skull of a huge horned were-drake, was coated with camouflage as well. Her hair was tucked neatly under it. Not one inch of her natural skin color was visible. Not even the tracker, with his supposedly superior elven eyesight, could discern her presence above them. No one could.

She watched the men make their preparations. She studied them and their pitiful weapons. Spears and crossbows, all tipped with a non-lethal poison to weaken the beast for easier capture. A few carried swords. All had hunting knives of various types. All except for Vendredi wore some kind of leather armor.

The hunters set their traps all around the small clearing they had just cut. They were quick and worked with much skill. They hardly made a sound. It was obvious that they had done this before. They took great care not to disturb the blood-traces that Thonia had left, yet this is where most of the traps were concentrated. The cowards did not even want to face the beast... they wanted their tricks and contraptions to do the work for them.

Thonia scowled in sour displeasure.

Then, still unaware that they were being watched, the men settled down in their hiding places. They took positions well inside their perimeter of traps and hid among the bushes. They coated themselves with mud and leaves... a pitiful imitation of Thonia's work. They applied more poison to their spears and arrows, and then they waited.

The sun was perhaps two hours from the horizon, and nothing moved. Birds and small animals returned to the area, unaware of the hunters that crouched there. The traps had been set so as to let these smaller things pass unharmed. An hour went by. The sky's light began to fade.

It was almost time.

Shifting silently on her branch, the huntress checked her own weapons. She had what looked like an unusually thick spear strapped to her back, and a flat, curved stick jutted from her belt along with an assortment of knives and tools. None of these were for the hunt. These were weapons of the battlefield, and she would not dishonor the beast or herself by wielding them in the hunt. Not like Vendredi.

Thonia tightened the gauntlet-bracer contraptions around her forearms. They were assembled by her own hands from leather and steel, fur, animal tendons, and wire. They shielded her hands and her arms up to her elbows, yet they were of such exacting craftsmanship that they allowed ultimate freedom of motion. She checked and tightened her armor, and made sure her helmet was secured. She did likewise for her boots.

All this she did without making a sound.

The sky darkened further. One hour until sunset.

Thonia pulled the giant spear from its straps on her back. The wooden pole was thick... much thicker than was normal for such a weapon. It was far too heavy and unbalanced to throw, but it had its uses. Thonia set the thing down and secured it to the branch. Then she moved slowly to the far side of the tree and began to descend. The beast would come soon, and she must make sure that it arrived...


---


"Hmmm..." Vendredi eyed the clearing with suspicion. One of the hunters crouched next to him, and the others were spread out around the clearing. Simon couldn't see them, but he knew where they were.

He also knew that something was wrong. His nerves were on edge. His instincts were telling him that something was amiss. And his instincts were never wrong.

He turned to the hunter beside him.

"Go check the traps," he mouthed silently. The hunter backed away and was gone. Simon watched the trees. And the sky. And the ground. He saw nothing but birds, vermin and insects... but he knew that their quarry was close.

He lay perfectly still for five minutes. Then ten more. Then another five... finally the hunter returned.

"Disarmed," he whispered.

"What?"

"All of 'em on this side of clearing. Didn't check the other side. Somebody's been through here and undone all our work."

"Without making a sound. Without us seeing a thing. Damn her."

"The Amazon?" said the hunter. "But why?"

"Because," said Simon as the realization came to him. "The blood is just to lead the thing to where the trap is set. But once here, the bait becomes something with a bit more substance."

"What?"

"Us."


---


Thonia had just reclaimed her hiding place in the tree when she saw the movement in the woods. It was far away, but close enough for her to see from her vantage point. It approached slowly... cautiously. She knew the moment it locked onto the scent of Simon and his men. The movement paused, and Thonia caught a glimpse brown fur as it sniffed... and listened... and then continued toward the clearing at a slightly different angle.

Thonia smiled and watched it come.

It would not be long, now.

---


"What now?" said the hunter.

As if in answer to the question, an unusual bird-call pierced the silence. It was the elven tracker. His sensitive ears had picked up something.

"It's coming," said Simon. "We can't count on the traps... get ready to hit this thing, and hit it fast. Stay hidden until it shows itself."

"What about the Amazon?"

"Once we get a spear or an arrow in the beast, she'll no longer be a factor. She won't hunt a drugged animal; there's no sport in it."

Now, the sounds of the great beast's approach were clear to all. Bushes snapped and broke under its stride. All the birds in the clearing took flight, scattering suddenly like a fistful of seeds thrown to the wind. Simon heard a grunt, and a not-so-gentle hiss as it pushed through the grass into the clearing.

The ursag was one of the few living species of fiercely predatory bear left in the wild. A true hunter... more so than any lion or tiger. It was large... eight feet tall when standing upright, and still frighteningly large when on all fours. The thing was like a boulder covered with matted brown fur. Its skin and fur were like leather, and the underlying muscle even tougher. Two-inch long claws tipped each toe. Dagger-like fangs jutted from jaws that could shatter bone with just the merest hint of their strength.

The thing burst into the clearing and glared at the surrounding foliage... picking out the hunters in their hiding places.

"NOW!" Simon shouted.

Five men jumped up from the greenery. Even as they aimed their weapons, the ursag rose up on two legs and roared a challenge. It had tasted the flesh of man... and it did not fear these weak things that had come to hunt it.

Everything was exactly as Thonia had planned. As soon as the ursag had come into view, she snatched up her spear and, grasping it tightly with two powerful hands, pointed the wicked, barbed tip at the bushes. Simon gave his command, and the hunters popped up like curious gophers.

Thonia twisted her hands in opposite directions on the spear's shaft. There was an audible *click.*

Ka-CHINK! HISSSssss....

The spring-loaded harpoon rocketed from its housing and hissed through the air...

"URK!"

"ARRRK!"

It impaled two hunters before its point sank deep into a tree. The recoil from the weapon threw Thonia backwards... she let herself fall from her branch. She reached out and grabbed the hanging vine that she had positioned there hours before the hunters had arrived. Her momentum carried her back and around... twisting around the tree in a spiral. She held on with her left hand and leaned backwards, letting the vine hang between her legs. As she came around to the front of the tree, she grabbed the flat curved stick from her belt.

Oblivious to the fate of his comrades, one hunter raised his crossbow and fired a bolt at the charging ursag.

The instant before he fired, Thonia raised her weapon and threw it hard. The bladed boomerang twirled end over end...

BOK!

... and sliced the hunter's bolt cleanly out of the air. The man raised his spear, as did Simon Vendredi.

But the boomerang hadn't yet finished its course. It curved around and came back...

Simon drew back to throw his weapon...

CHUNK!

...the bladed boomerang sliced the tip from the shaft, leaving him with a blunt pole. The twirling missile continued onward...

SPLATCH!

"HRRRK!"

And imbedded itself in the chest of another hunter. He stumbled from the bushes... right into the loving grasp of the ursag, who proceeded to tear him apart.

"DAMN YOU, WOMAN!" Simon howled. He drew his sword and circled the ursag.

Meanwhile, Thonia circled the tree and swung around again, still spiraling toward the ground as the vine wrapped around the tree's trunk. The tracker was in front of her, facing the ursag with a spear in his hand. He lifted his weapon.

Thonia stretched her right arm out away from her body as she approached. She reached out and down, and made a made a twisting motion with her wrist.

SHLING!

Two inch-long steel claws sprang from the fingertips of her custom-made gauntlet and locked solidly into place. She drew back and slashed as she swung past the tracker.

The top, left side of the tracker's head disappeared, leaving a nothing but a gaping hole and a fountain of fresh blood. The tracker never knew what hit him. His body jerked forward and hit the ground... the only life left in it was the random spasms of his exposed, dying brain.

Thonia retracted her claws, then released the vine and tumbled through the air.

Simon charged the roaring ursag... he lifted his poison-coated sword.

THUD!

Thonia slammed into him feet-first.

"OOOF!"

Ribs shattered and lungs completely devoid of air, Simon flew back several feet... and landed in the bushes. His impact tripped the one trap that Thonia had left intact...

*snap!*
WHOOSH!

A metal-fiber net sprang from the ground around him and hoisted him up into the air. When the movement stopped, Vendredi was neatly wrapped and trapped, swinging from a tree-branch like a winter solstice decoration.

Thonia hit the ground and rolled to her feet. She snatched a small dagger from her belt and flung it at Vendredi... it struck him in the arm, and the poison rendered him unconscious before he could even cry out. Then, the huntress spun to face her TRUE quarry.

The ursag, confused by the sudden appearance and subsequent disappearance of the hunters, merely eyed her hungrily.

"Alone at last, great one," said Thonia. She looked into the ursag's eyes, meeting its gaze with her own.

It growled at her.

She growled back.

It bared its fangs, then opened its snout and roared.

"YARRRRRGH!" Thonia replied.

The two wild beasts charged each other at the same time.

The ursag swung at her with one giant, deadly paw. Thonia ducked and released the claws on both gauntlets. She slashed at the beast's hide as she dodged past it. Razor-sharp steel sliced cleanly through fur and skin. Had the claws been a few inches longer, the may have nicked a vital organ or blood vessel... but that was not their purpose.

Thonia spun around the beast's back and raked both sets of claws down its back, shredding flesh down each side of its spine. She intentionally steered clear of the spine itself... there was no sport in fighting a crippled opponent.

The ursag howled in pain. It spun and lashed out with its paw. The movement was fast... but not unexpected. Thonia ducked, but she did not see the second powerful arm coming towards her from behind. It hit her across the back, just below her neck. The beast's claws shredded her leather armor and carved furrows in the underlying skin.

"ARRRGH!" Thonia hissed. She lashed out, carving an nearly identical wound across the beast's stomach. Fur and muscle absorbed the painful, but non-fatal wound, just as Thonia intended.

"EEEERRRAAAAAAGGGHH!" The ursag backed away, but it's teeth were still bared. They looked like long, white pointed daggers. The snout dripped saliva as it sneered.

"COME, beast!" Thonia bellowed.

The beast came. Thonia crouched down and leapt up over its slashing, grasping arms. She sailed over the thing's shoulder, hit the ground behind it, and slashed with both claws.

"RRAAAAAAGHHH!"

She slashed again before the beast could turn. Blood sprayed from the ursag's side, where Thonia's claws had sliced away a chunk of flesh.

Screaming, the beast turned and attacked, but Thonia had backflipped out of its reach before it could even get near her.

The two beasts faced off once more. The ursag, now down on all fours, wept blood from a half-dozen injuries... each carefully placed to inflict great pain, but to do very little real damage. It worked. The beast howled and screamed its rage to the darkening sky.

It was angry.

"YAAAA!" Thonia yelled. She took a step forward, and the ursag rose up once more and lumbered towards her.

Again, she ducked under its arms. She kicked out at one of its knees, but the fur and hard muscle absorbed the blow. It did no damage to the underlying joint. The angry ursag reached for her. She slashed at its paw, opening another painful wound. She ducked under another slash, the jumped high into the air. Her powerful legs carried her up, and she struck out with her booted foot... snapping it across the beast's snout. It was more of an insult than an actual attack, but it drew the great beast even further into its own anger.

Thonia landed and went down into a crouching position. The ursag tried to leap on top of her. She rolled out of the way, slicing away more of its fur as she did. The beast's arm shot out unexpectedly and caught Thonia across her helmeted head. She felt the bone-helmet crack, and the impact dizzied her. She spun out of control and slammed into a tree.

"UNGh!"

She couldn't see!

She was not blind... the beast's blow had knocked the helmet loose and shifted it on her head so that her eyes were no longer aligned it the eye-holes.

She heard the ursag charge.

Thonia ripped the helmet from her head and threw it at the deadly beast. It bounced harmlessly off of its snout, angering the beast further. Thonia waited, then threw herself to one side at the last moment. The ursag's powerful arms demolished the three that she'd been leaning on. It quickly turned and leapt for her once more. Thonia slashed at the beast's chest. Her claws scraped across its ribs, and the ursag howled. Thonia spun out of its reach, and the beast followed her.

Now the beast was VERY angry!

With a flick of her wrists, Thonia retracted both sets of claws. She made a different motion...

Cha-CLACK!

...and three, four-inch spikes sprang from housings just above her knuckles on each gauntlet. Now, as they charged each other, Thonia did not dodge to one side as she had done earlier. She ran into its embrace and threw a single punch at its lower chest... driving the spikes into its chest cavity. She threw another punch at its side... the spikes nicked the beast's stomach, coming very close to puncturing it. The ursag howled in pain. Thonia jumped backward, and the beast's claws sliced the air less than an inch in front of her face. If she had been a hair slower... but she wasn't. She was always faster... always stronger...

Always the better predator.

The beast dropped onto all fours and backed away... it knew it was hurt now. It knew the woman could hurt it beyond mere scratches. But anger kept it from leaving, just as Thonia knew it would.

She circled the beast, and the beast kept its gaze locked onto her. It growled continuously as blood poured from its wounds. Without warning, it ran towards her, galloping like a rampaging elephant. Thonia leapt into the air, twirled in mid-air and landed on its back. Her spiked fist rose... and came down. The spikes punctured the beast's flesh, scraping briefly against its backbone before Thonia yanked them free. She stuck again... twice... a third time...

Mad with pain, the ursag rose up again, and Thonia jumped free before it could dump her onto the ground. She ducked as the beast turned and slashed, then, as she had done with the kick earlier, she jumped into the air and prepared to strike. The beast was quicker this time. One claw caught her across there lower leg, opening a deep, painful wound that went all the way to the bone. At the same instant, Thonia punched at the thing, using her spikes to gouge three furrows down the side of its face, narrowly missing one eye.

When she hit the ground, Thonia landed with her weight on her uninjured leg. She struck again... and then a second time, turning the beast's gut into a pincushion. As the thing dropped down on all fours, Thonia spun to one side and struck yet again, sending the spikes into the ursag's neck. She pulled free and backed away.

The ursag stared at her with wild eyes.

Thonia saw it now. The fear. It was injured badly now, organs had been nicked, bones scraped, blood vessels ruptured. It knew who the better predator was now. The beast that has lost its fear of man had now regained it.

Now was the time. THIS is what Thonia wanted.

At first, the great beast fought for hunger. Then it fought out of anger.

Now... now it would fight for its life.

THIS was the true meaning of the hunt.

This was the challenge.

Thonia stood tall, as if the pain in her leg did not exist. She retracted her spikes, and then loosened the fasteners on her gauntlets. She dropped one to the ground... and then dropped the other. She pulled her belt free and dropped it, along with all of the knives and weapons it held. One by one, she grabbed the release-straps for her leather armor and pulled them free. It too, hit the ground.

Then she stood naked before the beast. With no weapons. No armor. Nothing but the raw, naked spirit that boiled within her.

She looked into the ursag's eyes and, and they both roared at once. While the ursag's bellow had more volume, Thonia's war-cry held more malice and ferocity than the bear could ever hope to summon. She clenched every muscle of her body, making her powerful arms and legs tremble with power as she screamed into the beast's face.

The ursag and the woman threw themselves at each other. Naked flesh met bloodied fur. Thonia's arms moved like striking snakes, jabbing stiffened fingers into wounds, nerve-bundles, and pressure points with dizzying speed. The wave of pain washed through the bear's mind before it could even think of attacking. It tore itself away from the woman, then lashed out. Thonia avoided the strike and all of those that followed. She kept on, pressing the animal back with strikes to the wounds that she had made earlier. She jabbed her fingers into them and tore them open with expert precision. The pain kept rising within the beast, making it more and more desperate. It's strikes surged with the strength of that desperation. They grew faster... stronger... One slash grazed Thonia across the right shoulder... it nearly tore her arm out of its socket.

She screamed in joy! Knowing that, should she triumph, she would wear the scar as a trophy of her victory!

Thonia kicked out and demolished the bundle of nerves in the bear's crotch. The bear dropped to all fours yet again. Thonia spun and brought her hand down in a ridge-hand strike to its already-bleeding neck.

CRACK!

The blow could have shattered brick, and even through thick fur and hardened-muscle, the single strike cracked vertebrae and sent pain racing down every nerve in the bear's body. Thonia moved to repeated the strike, but the bear's right arm swung out and knocked her across the clearing. She landed in a forward roll that ended with her on her feet once more. She turned and ran for the beast. She jumped... flipped... and was on its back. She drew back and punched the thing in the spine, just below the neck.

CRACK!

The bear rose up suddenly, dumping Thonia onto the ground. She was still behind it, however. She threw another punch at the center of the thing's back.

CRACK!

The bear roared so loudly that it shook the trees, then it staggered drunkenly... no longer in control of its limbs.

She jumped up onto its back and grabbed it around its shaggy snout. She pulled back and twisted as in as hard and as sudden a move as her muscles could manage

The bear's neck broke easily in her iron grasp. It fell back, and Thonia hopped clear just before the bear's weight could pin her to the ground.

Everything was quiet.

Thonia stood over her opponent's corpse, silently replaying the combat in her mind. Analyzing her movements as well as the bear's.

It was not quite as challenging as she had hoped.


Still, it was a good hunt. A good fight against a powerful foe. She had triumphed once more.

Thonia gathered her armor and weapons. Once fully dressed, she strolled over to where Simon Vendredi hung from the tree. She reached through the net and removed one of Simon's hunting knives, which she used to cut away at the rope that held him suspended. His body fell to the ground with a thud, jarring him half-way back to consciousness. Thonia looked down at him.

"Mercy smiles upon you, Vendredi," she said. "Return to your city-sheep and your menagerie... interfere with my hunts again at your own peril."

"...uhhh... huh?"

Thonia left Vendredi on the ground. She used his knife to slice away some sturdy branches, and then combined them with some clothing from the hunters she'd slaughtered to create a large sling. She rolled the bear's corpse over onto it, lifted one end, and drug it behind her as she headed back to her camp.


---

"The mistress returns!" shouted Thonia's three men. Others would have called them slaves, but to Thonia and her people, the words 'man' and 'slave' were synonymous. There were no tents or horses at the campsite, just a few packs of supplies, a large crate of Thonia's hunting and fighting equipment, and a small fire. She deposited the bear's carcass at the edge of her tiny encampment.

"Prepare this meat," she said to her cook. "Save the skull and spine for my wall of trophies."

"Yes, mistress," the cook bowed deeply and immediatly set to work on the task, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night.

"How went the hunt, mistress?" another man asked.

"Bring the medicinal herbs," she said, ignoring his question completely. "I have wounds."

That man nodded and rummaged through a pack until he found the medical supplies. Meanwhile, Thonia sat down in front of the fire and stared off into the night sky. She removed her armor, exposing her naked body to her slaves without a thought. One of them began inspecting her wounds, which she had stopped to clean dress on the way back. He found her work perfect, as always, so he simply rubbed antiseptic salve onto them and replaced the dressings.

The third man stood nearby, waiting for whatever orders Thonia saw fit to give him.

"Prepare to leave this place," Thonia said to no one in particular.

"Where do we go now, mistress?" said the third man.

"We go south, to Montfort."

The slaves looked at each other nervously.

"To the city?" one of them said.

"There will be many tales of adventure told by many drunken men," said Thonia. "You will listen, and separate fact from fiction. You will find me a new challenge... a new adversary to hunt."

"Montfort," said another of the men. "It is a good place for that."

The cook grunted in agreement as he finished slicing the bear open.

Thonia ignored them all completely, and continued to stare at the sky.

---

Prologue 3: The Warrior


Dis vay," the guide whispered. The other three men followed him. Their torches illuminated a three-way intersection of ancient, dusty stone corridors of equal size -- all of them way too cramped. Engraved runes ran at mid-level all along the walls, right below a series of cryptic yet somehow foreboding hieroglyphs. One of the men, an archaeologist, stopped to examine them closely.

"Fascinating," he muttered as he slowly ran his fingers along the images, disturbing the centuries of thick dust. "According to this, when their slaves died they were taken to..."

"Lay-ter!" the guide scolded. "Ve ahr getting closer, must keep mo0-ving." Asmar's one eye was covered by an ornate gem-encrusted eyepiece. He was a weaselly little man with pale skin and dark hair, and a thick accent no one could seem to place.

Sheepishly the archaeologist obeyed and followed, not out of submission but simply because the guide was right. They were after something more important than mere knowledge of a long-dead culture. There'd be time for that later.

They continued their steady descent through the narrow corridor. A large, very solid man with a bald head, brown ponytail and close-trimmed goatee, wearing a dirty, dingy black leather trenchcoat, brought up the rear of the party. In spite of the subterranean passage being lit only by dim torchlight, the man wore small, round tinted spectacles that were dark enough to conceal his eyes. The frames had an odd mechanical look, like they were something more than simple darkened reading glasses, and the torchlight played ominously on the black lenses. The guide occasionally glanced nervously back at the man as they proceeded, failing miserably at his attempt to conceal those glances. The bald man missed nothing. And he was the only member of the party not carrying a torch.

"Vatch yoor step gen-tal-min," the guide cautioned. Just as he did, one of the men behind him stumbled slightly on a small stone protrusion on the floor – followed by a barely audible "click" – the man was yanked backward off his feet by the large bespectacled man's powerful grip just as a massive scythe erupted from the floor and sliced through the air where he had been standing. The huge blade disappeared in a hairline fissure in the ceiling – another series of clicks – the blade whooshed back down into the floor as the trap reset itself with a final "ka-thunk" deep within the floor. Grar "Rath" Raathruiné still held the quivering man in the air by the back of his shirt. Rath adjusted the dark glasses on his nose with his free hand.

"The man said Watch Your Step," he said in a calm yet authoritative voice. He seemed completely indifferent of the speed and ferocity of the trap which had just nearly sliced the other man in two, as if he were accustomed to that sort of thing.

Wredic nodded vehemantly, staring wide-eyed at the unassuming slit in the floor where the deadly scythe rested. Rath put him down unceremoniously, and they continued ever more cautiously through the corridors of the ancient, long-buried tomb.

They walked for several minutes in silence, carefully avoiding even the faintest telltale sign of a trap – many pointed out by Rath, which the others would surely've missed, and most likely ended up sliced, diced, crushed, skewered, or otherwise maimed.

Z'enn, the archaeologist, continued to study random samples of runes and hieroglyphs as they walked. Occasionally Rath would have to grab him by the collar to keep him from being left behind as he lost himself in the ancient history of the people who built the tomb.

A cold breeze wafted through the corridors, strengthening into a stiff wind that brought with it the stench of decay. The torches flickered in protest, but did not go out.

"Where's that coming from?" Wredic asked no one in particular, still shaken by his encounter with the scythe. The rest of the group ignored him as they proceeded.

The walls became more rough and uneven.

The corridor branched yet again.

Asmar studied the patterns that appeared in his eyepiece and compared them to his surroundings. "Dis vay," he rasped. They went left, and descended further still.

Skulls and various other rotted bones occasionally littered the traps which they very carefully sidestepped.

"Hey Z'enn," Wredic piped up. "Notice, no more runes or pictures?"

"Yeah…"

"What's it mean?"

"Not sure…"

Wredic just proceeded to look even more nervous. That wasn't the answer he wanted.

A few hundred feet went by, and the tunnel widened and became more rough and natural. Numerous side tunnels and fissures branched off from the main tunnel. There were apparently no traps in this area, at least none that Rath noticed, so they moved faster.

Z'enn found more runes on the walls, but not the steady, orderly line that was found in the higher corridors.

"Now that's odd…"

"Vat is dat?" Asmar whispered.

"These runes… completely different language than all the others. Most peculiar… unless…"

"Unless what?" Wredic asked.

"Of course! Well… apparently, this tomb has had multiple owners over the years. At least two distinct cultures. Fascinating…"

"Yeah. Fascinating. Whatever. Where's the statue?"

Z'enn studied the engraved symbols some more.

"Um… well, it's gone. It's no longer down here. It seems it was removed about 600 years ago by the descendants of the slaves that were abandoned to the…"


Z'enn's remark was interrupted by a distant, inhuman wail echoing from deeper underground – exactly which of the many natural tunnels or caverns it originated from, they had no clue.

"G-gone?" Wredic gulped visibly.

Asmar mimicked, and looked just as nervous.

Z'enn simply looked perplexed as he studied the runes.

"Yes, gone," Z'enn said, his voice trailing in concentration. His fingers caressed more runes as he read them, his lips moving silently as he concentrated.

"Oh," Z'enn mumbled. "Oh dear…"

Another inhuman wail from… somewhere. Somewhere mercifully distant.

"What? What?!" Wredic insisted.

"Yes, vat??"

"So that's what happened to the slaves… they weren't dead, they were being… oh gods. I completely misread the older runes…"

"W-wh-what…" Wredic cleared his throat. "What? W-what did they do to the s-slaves? Uh, ec-exactly?" Wredic just knew he didn't wanna hear the answer.

"We have to go," was Z'enn's only reply. His voice was adamant. "Now." Wredic and Z'enn looked expectantly at Asmar.

"Uh… I uh…" Asmar looked around frantically, as if expecting to see something – or not liking what he was seeing.

"I… eh, de eyepiece, it duz not show how to re-tern, only how to go even deeper into de tunnels uf de tomb… to de statue…"

"Nonononono…"

"Hey," Asmar interrupted. "Vere's Rath?"

Another inhuman wail from the depths of the tunnels sent a chill down their spines.

"Went looking for whatever's making that sound," Z'enn replied.

"Vis-out de eyepiece, how dus he know–"

"Instincts. Rath has good… instincts."

"… we are NOT going all the way! No Way Z'enn!!! Especially not without Rath, we don't stand a ch–"

"Wredic calm down…"

"YOU stay calm, I'm outa here!"

"Wredic stop!"

Z'enn grabbed Wredic's arm.

"Lemme go!"

"Listen to me! We have to get to the statue chamber, there's a way out…"

"How do you know?! It's so far down, how can there be a way ou–"

"The hieroglyphs, just trust me!"

Another inhuman wail…

"Oh gods we're gonna die… I don't wanna die… oh gods… idontwannadie…"

Z'enn slapped Wredic, hard. The babbling stopped. Z'enn looked at Asmar.

"Use the eyepiece, get us to the statue chamber. Now."

"Y-yes. Vight away."

After getting his bearings, Asmar continued to lead them onward… and downward.

"W-what about Rath?" Wredic muttered.

"He'll be fine. Trust me." Z'enn's smile seemed a bit too confident for Wredic, who felt anything but.

Wredic drew his sword and muttered an enchantment that caused a faintly glowing bluish-white rune to appear on the blade. It was a spell of accuracy – it didn't guarantee a hit every time, but it certainly improved the odds. It was one of the very few combat-oriented spells he knew. He was a scholar, not a warrior.

Z'enn kept mental note of the seemingly random runes and etchings on the walls as they followed Asmar.

The inhuman wails became louder… closer… as they descended.

Within a few minutes, another hundred yards was behind them.

"Soon…" Asmar muttered. "All-most der…"

"Oh gods… I just realized," Wredic ranted. "They got Rath! Z'enn, they're BEHIND us! They're following us!!!"

Z'enn had enough. He grabbed Wredic by the collar and wrenched him close to his face.

"Listen you sniveling bookworm," he spat through gritted teeth. "They did NOT get Rath. I've worked with him before, I know what he's capable of. Just SHUT UP and walk, and don't draw anymore attention to us or I'll kill you mySELF."

Wredic continued walking and remained absolutely silent.

The thick dust hanging in the air caught a faint red glow from something ahead of them. The temperature was noticeably higher than before. The men looked at each other but said nothing as they continued. Z'enn glared at Asmar as if questioning his sense of direction, but the guide nodded in affirmation of what he saw in the eyepiece: They were going the right way. A grisly, inhuman wail echoed in the distance – from behind them.

Wredic opened his mouth to say "I told you so," but a stern look and pointed finger from Z'enn promptly shut him up. They moved faster through the rough, twisting tunnel, toward whatever was causing the heat and light. Another wail, this time much closer. Their jog turned into a full-bore run… Z'enn was barely able to grab Asmar and keep him from plunging hundreds of feet into the river of boiling magma that defined the bottom of the huge chasm before them. They stood on a precipice just outside the exit of the tunnel. Searing heat made breathing difficult. The wails of the inhuman… things… behind them were getting very close very fast. There was nowhere to run.

"Oh… gods…" Asmar turned white as a ghost.

Z'enn pulled out his weapon, an odd pair of short wooden staves connected by a short chain. Each staff segment was about fifteen inches in length, and engraved with ornate markings.

"Dis is bad… dis is veh-ree bad…"

The wailing came closer…

"Z'enn," Wredic whined, "…we're gonna die…"

Z'enn ignored him, instead looking around frantically for an escape route, all the while spinning the free staff segment around in a wild circle. The spinning portion of the staff was glowing, sparks danced around it.

Asmar reached behind his back and pulled a small scimitar from the sheath hidden under his shirt.

Z'enn's mind raced… Across from them, on the other side of the chasm, was another precipice, and more tunnels. How to get there, though… the chasm was about a hundred feet across.

The wailing took on a gurgling tone as it got closer, more definable. In the tunnel from which they just came, the vaguely human shapes appeared in the dusty haze.

"Z'ennnnnnNNNN!!!" Wredic yelled.

Z'enn looked around once more.

Nothing.

"No choice. We fight!"

Asmar held his weapon ready. Wredic gulped hard, and did the same, uttering the enchantment again just for good measure.

Asmar looked atWredic, then at the glowing rune on Wredic's blade, then at Wredic. Wredic shook his head, grabbed the guide's weapon, hastily mumbled the enchantment again, and handed the glowing scimitar back to a smiling Asmar. For all the good it would do.

The misshapen figures in the tunnel lurched closer. Their arms were way too long, and they moved partially on all fours, more like an ape than a quadruped… but these were clearly not apes.

"Slaves," Z'enn whispered.

Wredic and Asmar looked over at him in shock, then back at the things loping toward them from the tunnel.

As the creatures cleared the thick haze of dust in the tunnel, the details of their monstrous visage became clear. Roughly manshaped, but with arms that were simply too *big*. The first thing Z'enn noticed was they had no skin, only muscle, tendon, blood vessels, and bone. Their foreheads were savagely sloped, but instead of eyes or a nose, what appeared to be exposed brain ran from just above the upper lip and made up the entire forehead and cranium. No ears, no eyes, just a grotesquely angry, gaping mouth with incisors and canines that were far too large, a mouth anchoring a long, thick, seemingly prehensile tongue that lapped the air as if tasting it for prey...

Asmar stumbled backward.

…long, jagged spikes of bone of various length protruded through exposed neck and shoulder muscles. A row of similar spikes flowed down the center of the creatures' backs. Stubby fingers and toes were capped with what appeared to be a single long, claw-like hoof on each digit. The feet were elongated like an animal's and the calves shortened, apparently facilitating their four-legged movement in spite of their otherwise humanlike build. The spine elongated past the tailbone to form a long, tapering, hideously muscled tail which apparently balanced the loping gate. The creatures' internal organs could be seen through gaps in the thick layer of muscle. A pulsating network of blood vessels bulged throughout the layers of dense muscle.

The men looked on in horror as the squirming, wailing, loping masses of malformed muscle and bone ran toward them at a suddenly terrifying speed. Wredic said quick prayers to four different gods as the creatures closed on him.

Z'enn cursed those same gods.

"DIS VAY!" Asmar yelled.

Z'enn turned to see their guide apparently floating in mid-air about ten feet from the edge of the precipice.

"What th–"

"Hur-ree!"

Through the enchanted eyepiece, Asmar could see the crude rope bridge that was otherwise invisible to the naked eye. It had a single row of planks running its length as the only floor.

Z'enn felt along the edge of the cliff until he grabbed the unseen rope siderails. He turned back to Wredic.

"Wredi… oh shit…"

The scolar-mage was already besieged by the creatures. He'd managed to take the arm from one with a "lucky" hit from his enchanted sword, but there were too many. Another jumped him from the side and clamped down on his shoulder with its impossibly big mouth, tearing out his shoulder in one bite. His dismembered arm almost fell to the ground, but another creature caught that in his mouth and started feasting. Wredic screamed in agony for all his lungs were worth… until one of the creatures relieved him of those as well. His chest was now a bloody hollow crater lined with rough, tooth-like grooves. One of the monsters was swallowing his lung in portions, like a snake swallowing prey too large for a single gulp. Another was systematically biting off huge segments of his leg and gulping them down.

The head was already gone.

Z'enn turned away in disgust, and started scrambling across the invisible bridge. The creatures didn't follow – they couldn't see the bridge, and they were far too dim to figure out that it was even there. Soon the things were completely ignoring them, and shuffled off back into the tunnels. There was nothing left of Wredic but a few fingers and bone fragments, his still-glowing sword, and a massive blood stain. One of the creatures stayed to lap up as much blood as it could with it's long tapering tongue before joining it's brothers in the tunnels.

As Z'enn and Asmar neared the other side, they could see that one of the tunnels there was not natural. It had a well-defined tiled stone frame, with runes and hieroglyphs carved into them of the same type as those in the higher tunnels.

"I'm sah'ee about yoor friend."

"Forget it. I'll buy new ones," Z'enn replied, though the saddened expression on his face betrayed him. He'd argued with Wredic more often than not, and the term 'friend' was a bit of an overstatement, but he'd never have wished a fate like *that* on the poor bastard. 'Sides, they were occasional drinking buddies – and that counted for *something*…

"I don mind teh-ling you dat I'm ehfraid of heights…"

"Then don't look down."

Z'enn seemed unfazed by the river of boiling rock churning far below them. It took a herculean effort for Asmar not to look down.

Asmar was shaky the whole way across, but he kept his cool surprisingly well, Z'enn thought.

"So – dose tings ver slaves??"

"Yeah. Once. Now they guard the tomb in their neverending service to King Istam."

Asmar cursed in the names of several different gods, some of whom Z'enn had never heard. That intrigued him – he'd have to question Asmar about the pantheon of his homeland when this was over.

As they stepped off the bridge they both breathed a sigh of relief to be standing on something they could see.

Z'enn immediately started examining the engraved runes and hieroglyphs along the archway to the tunnel. His brooding expression melted away, replaced by the familiar look of a man caught up in his work, driven by a craving for knowledge, utterly obsessed with learning.

He studied the hieroglyphs intently for a minute, then paused, smiling.

"Vat is it?"

"We're here. The Sanctuary of King Istam. Inside is his final resting place, as well as the solid gold statue that depicts him ascending to Zhelir, the Ultimate Kingdom… or at least, the statue *was* here until another culture arrived centuries ago and claimed it for themselves. The runes in the other tunnels never said where they took it, just that it was moved to 'a place eternally safe from robbers'."

Asmar peered at the hieroglyphs, enthralled, as if they would suddenly begin making their meaning known to him out of sheer awe.

"De same people dat carved de otter runes?"

"Yep."

Z'enn stood up.

"Let's go."

They headed into the ornately carved tunnel, into the Inner Tomb of King Istam.

Rotted skeletons littered the floor of the tunnel, though there seemed to be no traps sprung, and, as far as Z'enn could tell, no triggering devices. His brisk walk slowed steadily, until he almost seemed to be creeping. He looked unsure.

"Vat?"

Z'enn looked around warily.

"This… is not… good."

"Oh pleez don say dat…"

"Shhh…"

Around the corner behind them, they could hear a faint gurgling noise… The two men glared at each other in shock for the briefest of instants, then bolted headlong down the tunnel away from the noise, toward the chamber of King Istam's crypt.

Suddenly the tunnel opened up into a vast, intricately carved chamber. The men stopped dead in their tracks, forgetting ever so briefly that they were running for their lives, and instead gaped in awe at the sight before them. The chamber was well-lit by shafts of light pouring in from the top of the far wall, like angelic rays of sunlight. The air was thick with centuries of dust as always, but that only seemed to enhance the splendor of the scene as the rays of light poured through.

The Inner Tomb of King Istam was like a miniature city, with six majestic crypts of Istam's high priests surrounding the magnificent raised crypt of the King himself. The gems and metals used in the elaborate engravings were worth a king's ransom a thousand times over. Four massive pillars supported the carved ceiling high above, each pillar depicting a different scene of some a grand battle. Two smaller, less ornate curved pillars sat between the two in the front, forming the sides of an incomplete circle. The ceiling itself was barely visible through the haze. The entire chamber was overgrown by what could only be described as subterranean jungle – apparently a thriving underground ecology had laid claim to this massive room countless centuries ago.

But this far underground, exactly where the light came from was a mystery… A raspy gurgling wheeze snapped both men back to reality. They slowly turned at the sound, terrified of what they knew they would see. One of the skinless horrors stooped some eight feet behind them, blocking the only entrance. In the boiling jungle-like atmosphere, its hot breath steamed visibly through massive, viciously clenched teeth. Z'enn noticed small insectlike creatures wriggling through the folds in the creature's muscles. The thing ignored the tiny parasites. It's red, fleshless muscles were taught, glistening with some watery mucous that must've passed for sweat. It crouched completely motionless, save for an almost imperceptible crawling of its flesh, and the steady, deliberate hot breath that bathed the men with the stench of decay they had smelled earlier. More tiny insects squirmed in and out of the folds of its exposed brain.

Both men stood frozen, unable to move.

A second creature lumbered silently out of the tunnel behind the first, its long, thick tongue lapping the air from its gaping maw, tasting the presence of its prey.

Asmar remembered what had happened to Wredic, and wet himself as he started muttering prayers at random.

The first creature's tongue whipped out sideways to snag a tiny insect that lingered just a bit too long outside the safety of its muscle crevasses. It never took its eyeless 'gaze' off of the men.

Only the soft, gurgling wheeze of the creatures' steady breathing puncuated the agonizing silence.

The silence was shattered as the second creature let out an ear-shattering roar that ended in a baleful, almost-human wail.

The first creature opened it's grotesque mouth, hissed as it's tongue rolled out, and jumped at the men…

The creature exploded in mid-air – the flash of metal ever-so-briefly puncuated the red cloud.

As the bloody chunks fell to earth, Z'enn saw Rath's powerful form standing defiantly between the two explorers and the second creature, his trademark black trenchcoat shredded and bloodsoaked – he'd obviously been quite busy. He deftly spun a bloodied two-handed longsword in each hand as if they were mere shortswords. The blades rang musically through the thick, arboreal air.

Asmar was curled up on the ground face-down, shaking and whimpering, trying to shut out the world around him.

The second creature lunged at Rath, who deftly sidestepped while disemboweling the creature in a single, fluid motion.

The skinless horror bellowed a hideous cry of pain and fell to the ground next to its steaming intestines.

Rath stood ready, listening…
Silence.

He sheathed both swords behind his back underneath his trench and turned to Z'enn…

"Where the hell have you been?!" Z'enn scolded – then he noticed the bloodied clawmarks and holes in Rath's trenchcoat.

"Uh… oh. Nevermind."

"Busy," the large bald man said.

Z'enn was himself wasn't short, but he always looked up to Rath – literally and figuratively – even though he was the elder of the two by nearly a decade.

Rath was a huge ox of a man, easily professional gladiator material. The WGF had tried many times to recruit the warrior for their gaudy, pompious games that drew such spectacle in the larger cities. But he was a professional killer for real, not a showman. And he didn't like 'pulling punches'; he faught to win. His bald head, ponytail, and the menacing tatoo on the side of his head weren't for show, they were the mark of his old unit in the elite 'shadow army'. When questioned about it, his usual stoic reply of "I could tell ya, but then I'd hafta kill ya" drew loud laughs and another round of drinks wherever he went, even though he was always dead serious.

"I know where the statue is," Rath said calmly.

"Great! Where!"

"Not so fast… it stays. You're gonna have to trust me on this one." Z'enn sighed.

"Ah, forget it. That's not what I really came here for anyway…"

"The Sceptre."

"How'd you…"

Rath tapped his ear. Z'enn felt a bit dumb – he was always forgetting Rath's penchant for eavesdropping from a distance with his unnaturally sharp senses.

"Smartass," Z'enn muttered. He looked down at Asmar, and nudged him with his foot.

"Hey… it's safe, you can get up now."

Asmar looked up at the archaeologist sheepishly, then looked around at the grisly remains of the monsters, then at Rath.

"Oh tank de heavens…"

He got to his feet, and bowed toward Rath.

"T'ank you, t'ank you so much, t'ank you…"

Rath scowled at the obsequious little man and looked at him sideways.

Z'enn rolled his eyes, and grabbed Asmar by the collar.

"C'mon Asmar, we gotta find–"

Rath drew both longswords and whirled around to face the tunnel entrance in one blinding motion.

Z'enn froze.

"I hate when he does that."

"W-why is dat?" Asmar stammered.

"Cuz it generally means trouble…"

As if on que, three of the snarling, skinless horrors bounded through the entrance.

Rath went into action.

One creature sliced at his head with its claw-hooves. He ducked, impaled the thing with his left blade, decapitated another with his right, and crushed the brain of the third under the heel of his boot.

More of the things poured in through the tunnel entrance. As Rath was busy fighting four of them, the fifth loped toward the other men.

"Asmar, duck!" Z'enn yelled… but it was too late.

With one swipe of its gnarled hand, Asmar's head went flying. His body fell to its knees, then on its side.

Z'enn spun his odd chained staves around in wild arcs, leaving a fading trail of energy in the air behind it. The creature hissed at him just before it lost its own head in a spray of sparks from the impact of Z'enn's weapon.

Rath dispatched the last of the creatures he was fighting.

Four more entered from the tunnel. Still more were behind them.

"Z'enn, find that exit!" he bellowed as he fearlessly fought his way into the nightmarish horde.

"Uh… right!"

Z'enn played back the runes in his head, trying to remember… "That's IT!"

He picked up Asmar's head, grabbed the gem-encrusted eyepiece, and dropped the head. Then he looked down at Asmar's lifeless gaze.

"Uh, sorry."

He looked back at Rath…

…who was in the midst of a high flip over five of the creatures, his swords whirling in a blur around him as he soared in his arc. When his feet hit the ground, so did the creatures' heads.

Z'enn spat a curse and smiled.

A half-dozen more poured from the tunnel. Rath met them blade for claw. Bloody monster chunks flew.

"HURRY!!!" Rath ordered above the carnage.

"Uh, right!"

Z'enn found what he was looking for – the Sceptre of Istam, mounted high on the King's vine-encrusted sarcophagus. More valuable than even the statue itself.

The monsters continued to pour in by the dozen. One of them managed to rake Rath's chest with its claw-hooves…

Z'enn searched for the part of the Sceptre that seemed to be missing, or incomplete.

…Rath dispatched yet another of the skinless beasts, but his left sword was dislodged from his mighty grip as the creature fell away and he was tackled by two more…

Z'enn found the part, and placed the eyepiece – it fit perfectly… …more and more of the creatures' attacks were hitting home, and more of them rushed through the tunnel…

One of the shafts of light concentrated on the large gem in the center of the eyepiece, which was starting to hum…

…Rath was disappearing in an angry mountain of skinless nightmares… "Uh-oh," Z'enn mumbled as he watched the monsters overwhelm Rath. "That is gonna get ugly…"

…they shredded his skin, took bites of his flesh…

The center gem flared, spewing forth unnatural radiance. Z'enn covered his eyes…

…Rath grabbed one of the creatures as it tried to bite him, and instead bit the thing in the neck – he drank deep of the inhuman blood as it flowed. The creature screamed in agony, but could not free itself of Rath's iron grip. Still more of the monsters piled on, smothering the warrior… The light from the Sceptre flared even more, bathing the entire chamber in angelic light. Z'enn stepped down from the sarcophagus, unsure of exactly what would happen…

With a clap of thunder, a blue beam of light shot from the eyepiece on the Sceptre into the space between the two curved pillars, where the energy radiated out to fill the space in a broad, rippling elipse of liquid energy. The beam faded away, but one of the gems on the Sceptre itself continued to glow the same shade of blue. Z'enn peared into the shimmering, rippling oval before him and noticed that he could see the entrance on the surface. "I'll be damned," he whispered.

An earth-shattering roar grabbed Z'enn's attention away from the portal… and it wasn't from one of the skinless monsters.

A large group of the things seemed to be piled on top of some unfortunate prey…

One of the creatures howled in agony, accompanied by the crunch of bones audible even over the crackling energy of the portal. Another creature went flying about fifty feet through the air before crashing to the ground. Still another was torn in half as Z'enn watched, both bloody halves sent hurling in opposite directions. More bloody monster chunks flew out from the group of creatures, puncuated by inhuman wails of pain.

The last monster of the pile had its head ripped off… then an arm… then a leg… then simply in half.

The other skinless creatures backed away from the thing that was assaulting them – a massive werewolf of the most hideous variety – clearly not your 'average' werewolf.

Rath stood in his true form, a towering, savage, mountain of knotted muscle and gray fur, huge clawed hands aching to rend, slavering jaws and dark red eyes, ears pivoting at the top of his head at the various sounds around him, hyperactive senses soaking everything in at once in a surreal flood of situational awareness. An already massive werewolf mutated to freakish proportions with the unholy power of vampirism. An unstoppable killing machine.

The man-wolf bellowed another earth-shattering roar, then proceeded to assault the remaining skinless monsters, who were more than happy to oblige, as still more of their cousins came through the tunnel entrance. With a brutal savagery even the skinless things couldn't match, the undead werewolf tore through them like a chainsaw through so much raw meat, sending inhuman body parts and various unidentifiable bloody chunks flying in all directions. Monstrous wails of rage, then pain, filled the huge jungle-like burial chamber as the skinless monsters fell in waves, but Rath would not relent.

Z'enn watched on in fascination – he'd seen this before, but never against such a monstrous foe as these things.

One of the monsters hurled itself at Rath with a defiant roar. Rath plunged his huge clawed hand into the thing's gut, grabbed its spine, and ripped it out through the front, littering the ground with bloody entrails as the creature fell.

Z'enn cringed.

"Oh, that had ta hurt…"

Rath grabbed another by the brain with his huge leathery hand and shoved its head down into its body with a sickening 'krunch'.

"Now *that's* a new one…"

Z'enn glanced back at the shimmering portal. It remained open, but for how long?

Five of the monsters jumped on Rath at once, one on each limb and another on his back. They all tried gnawing on various parts. Rath returned the sentiment by biting the arm off of one at the elbow and spitting it at another. He then clamped his powerful jaws down on one creature's head, squishing it like rotted fruit. The rest he simply ripped limb from limb – literally.

Rath bit the head off of one of the creatures and ripped its body in half – down the middle. He chewed on the head before spitting it out of his gaping jaws, and roared another ear-splitting roar.

The remaining few creatures stopped their advance and 'stared' at him. Rath's red, monstrously lupine eyes glared back at them, a low guttural growl rumbled from deep within the werebeast.

The skinless horrors fled into the tunnel. Z'enn could hear their inhuman wails fading in the distance

Rath let out one more deafening roar of victory, then fell to his knees, exhausted.

"You look like shit," Z'enn said with a smile.

"Let's get outa here."

Far below King Istam's tomb…
The skinless horrors wandered, patrolled, hunted the endless tunnels and corridors of which the Tomb of King Istam was only a small fraction. But as they passed through one particular massive natural cavern in their daily routine of hunting, a cavern teeming with life, they all made a point – not knowing why – to stop and 'stare', however blankly and devoid of reasoning, at the majestic gold statue of Istam's ascent into mythical Zhelir as it sat amidst a pile of rocks and vines.

---

Prologue 4: The Thief


Clad totally in black, the thief peered down from his vantage point high above the fortress. It had been a military outpost at one time... a walled fort covering slightly more than one square mile. Searchlights beamed forth from the outer walls at regular intervals, and also glared forth from the top of each of the towers. At his current height it was little more than a small gray block far below him. Even through the special long-distance lens in his spy-glass, he could barely make out the guards in the five towers, or the passengers in the carriages that wound their way up the stone path and through the main gate. It was almost dark. The final guests were arriving, and the auction of some of the kingdom's greatest historical treasures was about to begin.

Time to go to work.

The thief tightened the heavy-duty fasteners on his combination jacket/harness, and then checked the complex arrangement of gears and pulleys that sat behind him in the basket. He turned a large knob-like gear, aligning the markings to represent his estimation of the distance. He'd already threaded the long, thick cord through the mechanism, and now he secured one end of it to the metal ring on the back of his jacket with a quick-release clamp.

He looked up. The huge black balloon, shaped like a giant inverted pear, stretched above him. Hot air and smoke from the meticulously-controlled bonfire rose up and into the balloon's open bottom... keeping it inflated and aloft. The basket... painted pitch black... hung beneath it by six ropes, and another pair of ropes rose up to the wing-like flaps on the balloon's side. The thief grabbed these two ropes and pulled them. The laps flattened and twisted, altering the balloon's path through the sky.

The wind was strong at this height, but it was constant... changing in neither intensity or direction. Perfect. The thief steered the strange craft, turning it so that it would take him exactly where he needed to go. He secured the steering ropes to the side of the basket, and took one last look through the spy-glass. He studied the long spire that tapered to a point at the top of the central tower.

Target Acquired, he thought.

He saw the guards lighting their lamps in the turret below. Four guards, each with spy-glasses a lot like his... an probably enchanted to see in the dark.

He swung the glass across the courtyard and saw that it was empty. Everyone was inside, preparing for the auction. He looked up at the other towers... two guards in each. Each man similarly equipped with a lamp, an alarm bell, and a spy-glass.

No one would see him. The guards in the four corner towers would be watching the surrounding land. Those in the main tower watched the courtyard, as well as kept their eyes on the other towers to make sure no one had fallen asleep. No one even bothered to watch the sky. An invisible bubble of magic enveloped the entire fort in a great dome that reached for a half-mile beyond the walls, and for a quarter-mile above the large central tower. Any unauthorized magic used within it would set off alarms all throughout the fort... and no one could infiltrate from the air without some kind of magic.

Unless they had a hot-air balloon.

The thief checked the pulleys and rope once more, then climbed up onto the edge of the basket. He estimated the balloon's speed as it approached the fort, and began counting the seconds...

...three...

The thief checked his climbing gloves. Each finger had a pointed metal tip for easier gripping in hard stone.

...two...


He pulled a pair of goggles down over his eyes. They completely covered the tiny eye-holes in his black cowl.

...one...

A quick nod. This was it.

NOW!

The thief stepped off from the basket's edge and let gravity snatch him. Air whistled past him as he hurtled toward the ground. At first he fell face-first, letting the impossible wind whip across his clothes as he accelerated. Faster and faster... and yet the scene below him never changed. He knew it was an illusion. The ground... the fort... was racing towards him at an ever-increasing speed.


The rope trailed behind him, leading all the way back up to the basket that was rapidly disappearing in the distance. Inside the basket, the pulleys let him have more and more slack, while the gears clicked and clattered as they measured the length.

The thief rotated in the air, turning head-down and slicing into the updraft like an arrow. He fell faster. The fort was slightly larger now. In another few seconds its hard, unyielding stone walls would be rushing up to meet him. One second, he would be yards away... and then next: impact.

The thief tightened his muscles in preparation.

The fortress was coming towards him now. Fast. FAST! He locked his eyes onto the spire. He was off target... way off. But that was to be expected.

Above him... too far for him to even see... the rapidly spinning gears on the rope-mechanism clicked off their last few feet.

*click!*
*CLUNK!*
*WHIIIIZZZzzzzzzzz-z-z-z-z-z-z-z!*


Gears spun away, and new ones swung into place. The rope suddenly went tight as the new gears slowed the rate at which more slack was added. The thief felt himself slowing... slowing... slowing... The fort still rushed up towards him, but now it came at an increasingly more manageable rate. His speed continued to drop even as the giant spire came into frighteningly-sharp focus. He concentrated on the spire, and on trying to judge his rate of descent.

slooowly... he thought. ten feet per second... eight feet per second... prepare second stage!

Still falling incredibly fast, the thief unfastened a strap on one side of his jacket and unfolded a long, wide strip of thick cloth that was ran down the length of the garment. He reached down and fastened the bottom edge to a large hook on the ankle of his boot, and fastened the top edge to a similar hook on the end of his coat sleeve. He went along the sleeves of both jacket and pants, fastening the cloth down at regular intervals. He quickly repeated the maneuver on the other side...

...four feet per second, he counted as he continued to descend. He straightened out his body once more and tried to use what little wind was left to angle himself closer to the tower.

...three feet per second.... two...

He reached back and put one hand on the clamp that was securing the rope to his back.

One foot per second... deploy second stage!

He hit the quick-release clamp and the rope fell away, sending him once again into a free fall. The thief spread his arms and legs, making a giant black "X" that was invisible against the night sky. The cloth wings caught the wind and snapped tight. For the briefest instant, he was motionless. Then gravity claimed him once more and he continued to descend. The thief tilted into the stream of up rushing air, catching it and using it to change direction. He glided in a tight arc over the central tower's spire... spiraling downward

He drifted past the spire's point and shot down along its length, toward the turret where the guards watched the night. All the while, he angled inward. Closer... closer...

The thief reached out and snagged the side of the stone spire with his climbing gloves. His grip held on the first try. He swung around, hit the stone with his body, and hugged it tightly.

Descent completed. Deploy camouflage.

Maintaining his grip with his left hand, the thief grabbed the outer surface of his jacket and pulled it away from his body. The thin black outer covering tore free in his hand, revealing not only the gray layer underneath, but the soft backpack that the thief had worn under the jacket. The thief then ripped away the outer layer of his pants, gloves, mask, and even the thin black film that covered his uppers of his boots.

The under-layer of every garment was the exact same shade of gray as the stone to which the thief clung. There were even regular strips of a lighter color to match the mortar between the stones. The thief hastily stuffed the strips of black cloth into his backpack, and then hugged the spire with both hands once more. The lines on his clothes matched up perfectly with the seams, blending him in so well that someone would have to be looking directly at him with a spy-glass to see him. And even then, detection was not certain... it all depended on how closely the watcher was paying attention. For all intents and purposes, the thief was invisible.

Not that anyone would be looking in his direction. The guards were all watching the landscape outside the walls, not the tower in the center of the fort.

Moving slowly and patiently, the thief started to descend. He knew the danger. One loose brick could send him plummeting to the ground. And if he didn't fall, the brick itself would alert the guards to his presence, ruining everything and dooming him to capture. Once the guards suspected an intruder, it was all over. There was no way back up to the balloon, and the thief's escape plan hinged on no one knowing that the fort had been infiltrated. Yet, here he was, out in the open air... completely exposed... with only darkness and camouflage to keep him hidden.

The thief moved slowly. Lowering himself one agonizing hand-hold at a time... moving perhaps one foot every five minutes. Even with the climbing-tips on the gloves, the work was torture on his fingertips. Untrained hands would have yielded to fatigue after the first few yards... but the thief had prepared. He had practiced. He had trained and developed the necessary stamina for months. His fingers were as strong and unyielding as steel spikes, yet still nimble and quick enough to pick the tightest pockets without a trace.

The thief didn't want to count the minutes, but he knew that he was on a schedule. He had to get to the artifact before it was auctioned... and the descent was taking a bit longer than he'd planned. He didn't dare increase his speed, however. That would lead to a deadly mistake. He'd make up the time once he was inside.

Untold minutes later, the thief approached the guard's turret. It was an open cylindrical area supported by a central column. There were four guards inside, armed with all manner of ranged weapons. One stood at each point of the compass, looking out over the dark courtyard with night-vision spyglasses. The thief was above them. The tower wall continued down for perhaps one more yard, then there was a five-foot gap where the guards could see out. After that, the wall continued on as before, unbroken by any further gaps or windows. He could hear the guards walking around, their metal boots ringing out against the stone.

He would have to get past them... but he would be spotted as soon as he lowered himself into their field of view.

The thief had come prepared.

While holding on to the wall with one hand he reached into his backpack and removed a small bottle. The bottle was glass on the inside, with a center coating of metal for strength and an outer layer of leather to cover the metal's glare. The leather covering had a loop on one side, through which the thief stuck his wrist... securing the bottle to his arm. The thief twisted the top off of the bottle, and it fell to one side... held fast by another tiny strip of leather. Then he used his fingers to remove a thin glass rod that had been stuffed down into the leather. placed one end of the rod into the bottle, then removed it... along with a single drop of the bottle's contents. He placed the drop onto the stone, which immediately began to sizzle. The concentrated acid etched a tiny pit into the brick. The thief applied more acid to the same spot, creating small hole, perhaps an inch deep. Then he put the acid back into his pack and produced a long screw with a wing-nut on its head. The threads of the screw were covered with a waxy substance. He stuck the screw into acid-hole and twisted it in until nothing but the head remained.

Then he began counting the seconds until the residual acid ate through the wax and destroyed the screw. He'd have about a minute, which was just a little bit longer than he needed.

The thief pulled a small spool of what looked like string from his pack. It was vanishing twine. Like the screw, the string was covered with a waxy coating. Once the coating was removed, a chemical on the twine would begin to eat away at it until it simply dissolved. He unrolled a short section and tied it to the screw's head.

He lowered himself another foot or two, unrolling more twine as he went. Then he raised the lower part of his mask up to expose his mouth. The next object out of the backpack was a child's toy... a small mechanical robin adorned with real robin feathers. There was a key sticking out of the bird's back. The thief held the bird's body in his mouth and used his free hand to wind the mechanism. The 'clicks' of the gears were muffled by the small wads of cotton he'd placed inside its chest. Six turns of the key... seven... eight... nine... he kept turning until the key would turn no further.

With his finger holding the key still, the thief took the bird in his hand, chose a direction, and tossed it out into the air.

The tiny wings flapped frantically as the bird sank... rose... sank again... and filtered about the turret like an angry mother protecting her eggs.

The thief heard the guards jump into attention.

"LOOK!"

The bird 'flew' around the far side of the turret... away from the thief, who was already capitalizing on the distraction. He pushed out from the wall and slid down the twine, letting his grip scrape away the wax as he went. He zoomed past the guard's turret, and not a single one of them saw him. All of the guards were watching the 'bird' as it fluttered randomly... slowly moving away from them.

The thief hit the wall below the guards and hugged it as he had done before. He saw the twine dissolving, leaving no trace that it was ever there. A few seconds, he saw the screw-head fall past him on its way to the ground.

"Calm down... it's just a bird," one of the guard's said.

"See. I TOLD you I heard something."

"Damn things build nests up here all the time."

"Shoot it?"

"Don't bother."

The bird flew further away... its motions slowing as it went. It would be beyond the walls before the mechanism wound completely down, and... in case it wasn't... the last turn of one of the internal gears would puncture a vial of acid, which would dissolve the bird into an unidentifiable lump of goo.

No evidence, thought the thief as he waited. He was past the guard's turret now, but he wasn't quite finished with them. He waited until the guards lost their fascination with his toy and returned to their posts. He looked up saw one of them peering out of the turret, scanning the land beyond the walls with his spyglass.

The thief climbed up towards him.

He reached the very lip of the turret. The guard was just above him.

The guards wore fancy plate armor over their upper bodies... shiny metal that was either silver and gold, or was polished to look that way. The thief didn't care which. What he wanted was the medallion that the guard wore on the lower portion of the chest-plate. It was a circular metal disk piece with a gem set in the center... and it allowed the guards to pass the fort's inner defenses unharmed... and without setting off any alarms. The thief's careful research had included a few chats with a recently-fired guard at a far-away pub. The ex-guard had described the disk in detail, allowing the thief to create the replica that he now carried his pack. The replica had none of the defense-bypassing enchantments, however. For that, he would need the real thing.

A simple matter, thought the thief. ...fingers light and steady...smooth and slow...

He reached up and... slowly... carefully... twisted the guard's medallion off of his chestplate. He placed the true medallion in his pack and took out the fake. He reached up... slowly... carefully... and replaced it. Thanks to the thief's nimble fingers and the heavy bulk of the guard's chestplate, the guard never felt a thing. He'd never know his medallion had been switched until he tried to go back inside. Then, when the fake disk wouldn't allow him past the magical barriers, he would know that something was wrong. Fortunately the guards were on twelve hour shifts. These men were just starting theirs when the last of the auction guests arrived. They'd still be here in the morning when everyone left... more than long enough for the thief to make his escape.

Now... to the inside...

The thief climbed down. More minutes creaked by. He lowered himself down the length of the tower until he was only about a third of the way up from the bottom. Once there, he stopped. Securing himself with one hand, he took out his bottle of acid with the other. He used the glass rod to drop acid all along the mortar of one of the large bricks. The old mortar sizzled and dissolved quickly, but the bricks were over a foot thick. It took several minutes to dissolve the mortar completely, and a few more minutes to fasten two hooks into the brick's surface, and two more into the surface of the brick two spaces above it. The thief strung twine from one set of hooks to the other, then pulled the bottom brick free.

It hung from the upper brick by the twine... steady and motionless.

The rectangular opening where the brick had been was only 18 inches long and 14 inches high. It was such a small space that no full-grown human could possibly fit through it...

... except perhaps an experienced and prepared thief.

The thief removed a bottle of oil from his pack and used it to grease his clothing... especially his hips and shoulders. He then shoved the pack through the hole. He climbed up and stuck his feet through, then proceeded to squeeze himself into the opening. His small, thin frame got hung-up in only a few places, but even these took no real effort to squeeze past. Still, the thief had to dislocate his shoulders... a practiced skill... on order to fit completely through.

He dropped down into a dimly-lit hallway and popped his shoulders back into place by slamming... quietly... them against the outer wall. It would take several minutes for the pain to subside, but the thief didn't have that long. He climbed back up and reached back out through the opening. He scraped the wax off of the twine and pulled the block back into place. In the thief's pack was a tube of a mortar-like substance, which he used to seal the block. A close inspection would reveal the tampering, but by then he'd be long gone.

The thief looked up and down the hallway. He wasn't really inside yet... this was just one of a network of secret passages that ran behind between the inner and outer walls. Its existence was known to the owners of the fort, but not to any of those who came to visit it. Except the thief. The great-great-grandson of one of the builders happened to have a severe gambling problem... and was happy to exchange a few family papers for some help with his gambling debts.

What a bargain, The thief thought as he smiled.

Unlike the main hallways, the secret passages were not patrolled by guards. There were guards stationed at ever entry and exit point from the passages, but none in the halls themselves. But, like the main hallways, thr secret passages had magical barriers to prevent intrusion. The guard's medallion would take care of that. It had to be worn at a certain height in order to work, so the thief fixed the medallion on his chest and walked quickly... but silently... down the hallway.

He passed through several barriers... and the only way he knew it was because the medallion hummed slightly when he did. No alarms rang. No one came running.

The thief navigated the passages, passing effortlessly through the barriers and avoiding the simplistic traps that had been set to snare unlikely intruders. Tripwires and touch-plates were so simple to spot that they weren't even worth disarming. He wound his way down to the bottom of the central tower and then out into the main building. He knew that the treasure chamber was protected by guards and magic beyond what most royal palaces had in place. He knew that he secret passages leading to it were all filled in with bricks, and the hallways laced with traps a lot more difficult than what he'd seen so far. He also knew that he wouldn't have to go there. His objective would be in a special holding room, along with the rest of the items begin auctioned today.

The passage didn't lead to the holding room, or to any of the rooms on either side of it. But it DID lead to a crawlspace that ran above it. Not twenty minutes after squeezing through the one-brick hole in the wall, the thief found himself squeezing through another hole and into that space.

Perhaps 'crawlspace' was a bit of a stretch. The space was made for ventilation of the inner rooms on the upper floor, and as such, was barely two feet high. Crawling was impossible. The thief had to drag himself along with his hands, counting the feet as he wiggled deeper into the dark cavity.

Halfway through, he stopped.

The rest of the theft was elementary.

It was pitch black all around him, but the thief had practiced his trade well. He recognized all of his equipment by touch, and could use it while blindfolded.... or in perfect darkness.

He secured hooks to one of the bricks above him, and stretched disappearing twine to another set of hooks he'd set into a block below him. Then he used acid to dissolve the mortar. When the last of the mortar dissolved, the block hung free in its space, suspended by the twine. Moving in absolute silence, the thief pulled the block up into the crawlspace and leaned forward to look down into the room.

Such an array of gaudy, ostentatious relics he had never seen.

There were antiques and curios, furniture and clothing, weapons and armor, jewels and... more jewels. The most modern item in the room had to be over 150 years old. Most of them had no value other than the historical. Others... like the longsword constructed completely out of various jewels... were worth more than a hundred times their weight in gold. And yet they were all nearly priceless because of when they were made, or who had owned them at one time.

And they were all being auctioned off to the highest bidder.

The auction was taking place on the other side of a thick burgundy curtain that separated the holding room from the auction hall. On the other side of the curtain, some of the kingdom's richest citizens sat and waited for an item that caught their eye. There was some royalty present. A few self-made millionaires. More than a few career criminals. The entire gamut of the rich and famous. (or infamous) The thief listened...

"Do I hear sixty? I have sixty here... do I hear seventy? Seventy there from young lady. What about eighty? Eighty here... and ninety from the gentleman in the back row. Ninety... do I hear one hundred? One hundred? Ninety going once... going twice... SOLD! The antique jeweled flute from Harazath kingdom, sold to the distinguished gentleman. And next we have a golden apple, former property of the late emperor-"

Good, I've still got time, the thief thought. According to the list of items he'd memorized, the item he'd come for wasn't going to be auctioned until after the golden apple. The apple's auction would take at least twenty minutes.

The thief removed a mirror from his pack and positioned it in the opened he'd made. He used it to see the rest of the holding chamber... and he found his target immediately.

Against the wall was an ornate wooden stand... probably an expensive antique. However, it was the item on the stand that was the true treasure. The Mask of Tyute. The metal was silver, with small diamonds set upon the cheeks, forehead, and chin. It was practically worthless compared to some of the other items in the room, yet it was the star attraction. It was worshipped as a god by the ancient Tyute civilization, which died out millennia ago. It is the only original artifact that remains of their culture... the very last trace of their existence. Silver and small diamonds... yet to historians and collectors it was beyond priceless.

And soon it would be his.

There were three guards in the room. Two were standing just behind the curtain, making sure that no one came through other than the official item-handlers. Their backs were to the mask. The third guard paced back and forth in front of the far wall... where most of the items were stored. The thief watched. The guard walked in front of the Silver Mask once fifty-four seconds.

He'd need to get directly above the mask in order to retrieve it. That wasn't a problem. The thief lowered the block and sealed it back into place. Then he crawled over to an identical brick six yards to his left. He removed and suspended it just as he had done the other. When he looked down, he saw the top of the mask. It was directly below him.

Perfect.

All he had to do was get it. A ring of telekinesis would have made the job trivial, but it would also set off every magic-sensing alarm in the building. No... this required a simple, but elegant alternative.

He pulled the last few items from his pack. The first was simple length of string with a weighted metal bob on the end. Next came a metal tin, tightly sealed against the air. Finally... an exact duplicate of the Silver Mask of Tyute.

Inside the tin was a grip-release glue... a rare compound that most thieves were too poor to even know of its existence. Upon contact with air, it would become incredibly sticky, and capable of supporting twenty pounds or more. But, after roughly fifteen seconds, the substance dissolved completely, leaving no trace that it ever existed.

He studied the scene below. The guard walked past, not bothering to look up. The thief would have less than thirty seconds before the guard reached the wall and turned around. The thief opened the tin and coated the metal weight with the slimy substance. Then he lowered the metal weight down through the hole. The string slid quickly through the thief's gloved fingertips and touched the edge of the mask with hardly a sound. The one gentle touch was enough. The thief hauled the metal weight... and the Silver Mask of Tyute which was stuck to it... back up through the hole. He ripped the mask off of the weight, stuck the fake mask to it, and lowered it again. He set the false mask down exactly where the real one had been. Then he waited.

...three...two... one...

He yanked the weight up through the hole. The mask stayed in place... almost in the exact same position as the original. The glue had dissolved, leaving no trace of itself on the mask or the weight.

The thief replaced the block, plunging him into darkness once more.

He wasted no time leaving the crawlspace and moving on to the next stage of the plan... the escape. It was even simpler than the retrieval of the mask. He returned to the secret passage and made his way to the indoor stables, where all of the nobles had their wagons and carriages waiting for their departure in the morning. It was poorly guarded, and those guards that were present were concentrated around the doors... not the rear wall where the thief removed a brick and slipped into the room. He crept to a large carriage that he'd spotted from the sky. He got down on the ground, crawled under it, and secured himself to the underside with hooks and straps. The wagons were always searched upon arrival... but not on departure. Why should they be... no one even knew anything had been stolen!

Now all he had to do was wait until morning and ride out with the guests... literally under their feet!

Then, by noon of the next day, he'd be in Montfort... ready to begin the last stage of the plan.

---

Prologue 5: The Scholar


"...and that is how the town of Montfort came to be free of the Church's influence."

Princeton Park couldn't help but smile. One corner of his thin mouth curled upward, and he ran his slender hand triumphantly through the mop of dark-brown hair that sat stylishly atop his head. Despite the fact that he was still standing at the front of the makeshift classroom looking out at a half-dozen bored young faces, he was still happy. This had been the last lesson, which meant his debt to the Billinghams had been paid. He'd educated their pretentious brats on all of modern history from the founding of the kingdom to the near-destruction of the town last year. No doubt the children hated it as much as he did. Two of them... a boy and a girl... were fast asleep with their heads resting heavily on the hard stone desks. Another lad seemed to have mastered that essential skill of sleeping with his eyes wide open. Out of the entire six weeks of daily lessons, Princeton doubted that a single fact would remain in their spoiled little heads. Not that he cared. He was in this to pay a debt, not out of concern for the children's education. They could rot in hell, for all he cared.

Now there was only one thing left.

Princeton Park sighed and continued in a reluctant, sarcastic voice:

"That's it," he said. "Are there any... questions?"

A single hand went up. William Billingham... age 14 with all the tact and civility of his boorish, ignorant father. Princeton winced.

"What is it, William?" he hissed.

"Tell us about the expedition," said the boy. At the sound of his voice, the three sleeping children woke up, much to Princeton's dismay. Now THEY would have questions, too.

"What expedition would that be?" said Princeton. He knew good and well which one the boy was talking about... the one responsible for his intolerable debt to the house Billingham, and quite a few others as well.

"You know... the Undercity."

"Well, that doesn't really fit in with the lesson."

"Sure it does. It happened in the past, right? It's history! Tell
us!"

"Yeah!" added William's younger and louder brother. "My daddy says you killed people!"

"He says you're a murderer, and the only reason you're free is because nobody can prove it."

"Your father is misinformed," snapped Princeton. "I'm a scholar, not a common thug. I killed no one."

"But that's not what-"

"There were some unfortunate accidents that caused a few deaths. I was NOT responsible-"

"Tell us! Tell us!"

All six children joined in the rowdy chorus, which grew steadily louder as Princeton packed up his bag and prepared to leave.

"Oh come ON, Mr. Park," said Julia Billingham... a seven-year old who was far too charming for her own good. "Pleeeeease?"

"Some other time, perhaps," Princeton lied. He had no intention of ever seeing these children again. If he did, he'd probably kick them across the street.

"Yer SCARED ta talk about it ain't cha?" said Forbin, the sixteen-year old oaf that was the oldest, largest, and dumbest of the lot. Forbin was the only one of the children that Princeton might miss... Princeton found the boy's stupidity very entertaining.

"Quite right," said Princeton. "There are still lawsuits pending, and anything I say to you... cherubs... could place me in an even worse situation than I'm in now. I could end up teaching someone ELSE'S brats for six weeks. Now if you have no questions relevant to the discussion-"

"Tell us! Tell us!" shouted the children.

"What's 'revelant' mean?" said Forbin.

"It means you 've got a large empty space in your head where your vocabulary should be. It probably atrophied and died from neglect. Take care that it doesn't spread to the rest of your brain."

"Huh?"

"I see my warning is too late. My work is done here, children. Farewell, and give your bloated, whore-mongering father my regards. And your mother as well, when she awakens from her drunken stupor."

Princeton Park grabbed his satchel and strolled quickly out of the small room. He knew his way to the mansion's exit without having to be escorted by the servants. This was good, since the servants would have nothing to do with him anyway. As if it were HIS fault that they were filthy, uneducated clods. Princeton's long, lanky legs carried his young, slim form out through the front door... which he knew would annoy Lady Billingham to no end, as she preferred him to take the side entrance. (while her other gentlemanly callers took the rear entrance.) He walked proudly through the well-kept gardens, completely ignoring the laborers that glared at him as he went. When he reached the edge of the property, the guards swung the metal gate open and allowed him to pass unmolested.

At least they didn't physically pick him up and throw him off of the property like they had promised to do on several occasions.

"Oh, the indignity," Princeton mumbled as he made his way across town. "A man of my stature... playing nanny to a bunch of inbred gnomes. But that debt is finally paid-"

"PRINCETON!"

Princeton spun around, ready to spray a few choice words onto whoever had yelled his name in the street like a common hoodlum. He saw who it was, and relaxed. It was only Kincade. Princeton waited while his friend and fellow scholar dodged across the street towards him.

"There you are! I'm glad I found you," said Kincade.

"Yes," Princeton replied in a sly tone. "Do try to shout louder next time... I don't believe they quite heard you in the next town."

"Have you given any thought to what I asked you last week?"

"Asked?"

"Ah, you forgot, didn't you."

"Nonsense, I remember perfectly. Some ridiculous idea about a school in Montfort."

"YES! So do you want to be a part of it?"

Princeton looked at his friend as if Kincade had just asked him to jump off of a thousand-foot cliff into a river full of hungry piranha.

"I take it that means no," said Kincade in a most disappointed tone.

"Montfort does not need a school. And if it DID, that school would most certainly not need me."

"Wrong on both counts, Princeton. Everyone I've spoken with so far has been thrilled at the idea. The Council. The Gray Mansion. Even the Tower Guard said that a more educated populace might cut down on crime in the city."

"Bah. All we'll get are educated thieves. We'll see how the Tower Guard feels when the criminals they're after become smarter than THEY are.... not that it would take very much for that to happen."

"Still as tactful and sensitive as always, I see," said Kincade with a smile.

"This is all well and good, Kincade, but what does that have to do with ME?"

"Princeton Park? THE Princeton Park? Three doctorates... in archaeology, history, AND geology! And all before age thirty-five! You are without a doubt one of the most educated men in the city."

"'One of'? You insult me, Kincade."

"You are practically a celebrity."

"Only to those who value education, which in this town is what... three people? Four?"

"People want the best for their children, and you are-

"Which brings up another point. I can't teach, Kincade... I despise children."

"We can work around that."

"Bah."

"Well, I hate to bring this last thing up but... there is the matter of your debts from the last expedition. Once we get this school going, you'll receive a healthy salary... and I'm sure I can arrange an advance."

"My debts are well in hand, Kincade."

"That's not what I hear."


"What you 'hear' is inaccurate speculation on the part of those would be better off minding their own business."

"So you don't owe-"

"Who I owe is none of your concern. I just spent the past six weeks lecturing to the Billingham's grotesquely ignorant brood... I don't think you'll be able to bribe me into making that a permanent position."

Kincade sighed.

"Was it worth it?" he said.

"What?"

"The expedition. Two expeditions to the Undercity, both failures... and the last one nearly ruined you. Not to mention the lives lost."

"The term 'failure' is subjective... I did obtain quite a bit of valuable information about the Undercity."

"But that isn't what you went down there for. What about the Cthrain? You never found any trace of them."

"That doesn't mean they don't exist."

"Princeton, surely you're not planning on going down there again."

"The Undercity? No. No, Montfort has been a curse on my existence since I arrived here. There are other places to search. Historical records show that-"

"Historical records? What historical records? The Cthrain have never been proven to exist. None of the ancient cultures had any direct knowledge of them."

"But they DID have knowledge of other, even older cultures that DID have dealings with the Cthrain. That knowledge is recorded in myths and legends."

"Fanciful stories."

"Fanciful stories that share a undeniable similarity across dozens of languages and cultures, and over many thousands of miles. Civilizations that never even HEARD of each other tell the same stories about the Cthrain."

"You're stretching the truth again, Princeton. Only a few of them even MENTION the Cthrain."

"Not by NAME... but the most ancient civilizations that we know of speak of kingdoms and nations that predated their own by millennia. These kingdoms were enslaved and eventually destroyed by an even older civilization... a vast nation that dominated the entire surface of the planet, and ruled it from their vast network of underground cities-"

"You're exaggerating again."

"Am I? The Scryrsyr and the Mafihe... two kingdoms on opposite ends of the planet were both-"

"Two MYTHOLOGICAL kingdoms. We have no proof that they even existed."

"They existed to the Dsibez, the Zhurraths and the Leji, who wrote about them in their legends. THEY say that these kingdoms-"

"I know what they say, Princeton. We've had this conversation before."

"And I prove my point every time."

"You prove that you believe the Cthrain existed, despite the fact that the archaeological community-"

"Is so busy 'discussing' the same old things that they've not discovered anything NEW in a century or more! They're a bunch of petrified old men who only care about protecting their dusty reputations. They've lost the taste for exploration, Kincade. The days of the great expeditionists are long gone. Only men like me... like Z'enn and Idri... WE'RE the only ones making any real progress in the field. And you will note that both Z'enn and Idri both AGREE with most of my conclusions about the Cthrain."

"Well, we seemed to have strayed off of our topic. About that school-"

"No time, Kincade. I have work to do. Books to read and people to pay." Princeton started walking away.

"We'll talk about his later, then?"

"If you can catch me!" Princeton made a mental note to avoid Kincade for
the next few weeks.

---


Princeton lived in a one-room apartment that he rented from and elderly couple who lived downstairs. The accommodations were hardly fitting for a man of his education and stature, but they were all he could afford. Kincade had been right, he still owed people from the last expedition. And that wasn't even considering the lawsuits that were pending against him. People died during his last foray... and the families were demanding recompense. Princeton had nothing to give them, and had no money to hire lawyers, so when he wasn't scrounging for funds to pay his debts, Princeton hid in his small, lonely apartment.

"Bah," mumbled Princeton as he closed and locked his door. "I never guaranteed anyone they'd make it back. This is archaeology, dammit... sometimes people get hurt..."

There was an envelope on the floor just inside the room. Someone had shoved it under the door while he was gone.

"What's this? Another court summons?"

Princeton picked it up and examined the handwriting. He recognized it
instantly.

"Z'enn!" He ripped the envelope open and removed the four sheets of paper it contained. It was a letter from his mentor, former teacher, and fellow archaeologist Z'enn Nywres. Princeton skipped the usual greeting and other nonsense, and got right to the heart of the letter:


"My expedition into the Tomb of Istam met with only limited success. We
failed to acquire, or even confirm the existence of the famed Golden Statue,
but I DID discover a wealth of new information. Unfortunately, this came
at the cost of two lives... a guide and an assistant who were both very dear
to me. Oh, how I wish that archaeology wasn't such a dangerous business.
I owe my own survival to the mercenary that I'd hired for the trip. I was
unsure of him at first, but he quickly proved his worth a hundred times
over... and that was before we even entered the tomb! (The xenophobic
locals did tend to get violent on occasion.) I would have preferred to
keep him around after the expedition, but, as a mercenary, Rath tends to go
where the money takes him. He may be in your neck of the woods, now; he
said he was heading in that direction. If you're ever in a position to
mount another expedition, I'd recommend looking him up. His name is Grar
Raathruiné. He's a life-saver, and a bargain no matter what the price
(which will probably be quite expensive).

Speaking of expeditions, I'm not quite sure what my next will be. I want
to return to the Tomb of Istam, but I don't think I have the stomach for it
at the moment. At least not without Rath. I must say, your many
letters about the Cthrain have restored my interest in that ancient tale.
After a few months of rest and study, I may launch another search for their
ancient city. I know you're convinced that the main passage to their
capital lies underneath Montfort, but I'm still quite sure that it rests some
600 miles to the east, near the city of Kedsworth. My contemporary, Idri,
is equally convinced that the city itself is far beneath the surface some
1000 miles WEST of Montfort. I am told that he is preparing an expedition
even now. Perhaps we shall see who is right?

Ah, but back to my adventure in the Tomb..."


Princeton skimmed the remained of the letter. It contained a lot of interesting details, but nothing as provocative as what Princeton had already read. Idri Vandenberg was searching for the Cthrain, and soon Z'enn would be too.

"DAMMIT!" Princeton hissed. "This is MY discovery! I discovered the Dsibezi texts, I translated the Zhurrath hieroglyphics... the Cthrain are MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! "

Princeton stormed across the room to his study... a curtained-off section containing a desk and more books than even a rock-giant could lift at one time. Maps and drawings covered every square inch of the walls, and loose papers jutted out from between the pages of the books that had been stacked over six-feet high on either side of the desk. Princeton placed Z'enn's letter in the desk drawer, along with dozens of other correspondences from his few friends and cohorts. Then, still standing, he glared at the wall above the desk.

There, in all its glory, was a cross-sectional map of Montfort. One of the most accurate... and therefor expensive ones in existence. It showed the city as it stood just before the recent fire. Beneath it was the complex network of sewers, and beneath the sewers was the Undercity... the remains of the great city that had existed on this land before Montfort was built. Beneath the Undercity was nothing... or so everyone thought. With his own steady hand, Princeton had drawn in several large caverns that lay beneath the Undercity. Some he had discovered himself during his two expeditions... others had been found accidentally over the years by those brave or foolish enough to go down there. So far, the caverns were just that... caverns. Empty spaces, most of which were home to some very nasty creatures. But somewhere down there... beneath the Undercity... was a passage. THE passage.

Princeton sat down opened a well-worn tome that occupied the center of his desk. It was perhaps four inches thick when closed, and it was filled from cover to cover with Princeton's own handwriting. It was his own notes... everything he'd managed to discover about the Cthrain. Most of it was rumor and conjecture. Some of it was self-contradictory. Some of it had already been proven false. But it was all valuable. To Princeton, this book was beyond worth... it was priceless. And only HE had it. Z'enn and Idris didn't know a FRACTION of what it contained about the Cthrain. The pre-ancient civilizations... kingdoms so old that their very existence could not be proved with any degree of certainty, had many dealings with the Cthrain. These dealings mostly ended in death and destruction on such a scale that, even today, it could not be comprehended by man. The civilizations that followed recorded those events as myths and legends... as the wrath of angry gods upon mostly undeserving innocents, and the eons since then have fragmented even those legends... creating a disjointed puzzle of confusing and conflicting accounts. Only Princeton had devoted the time and energy...not to mention blood and money... to piece those accounts together.

Princeton flipped through the tome. He was looking for something specific, but couldn't resist going over his handiwork as he searched.

"My, my, my..." he mused. "What a treasure I have collected here..."

Princeton had maps of pre-ancient cities, supposedly drawn before the Cthrain obliterated them. He had stories of the Cthrain's power... and the wondrous horrors they wrought upon those who dared stand up to them. He had drawings of the huge, gaping holes that remained after the Cthrain reached up from their subterranean home and snatched entire kingdoms down into the ground. He had sketches of the creatures that were supposed to dwell in and around the marvelous Cthrain cities. Princeton even had a portion of what he believed was original Cthrain hieroglyphics... the language of the gods. No... no, some cultures considered the Cthrain to be even more powerful than their gods.

Princeton examined each page, refreshing his memory and searching for some clue that he had missed the first few hundred times. The Cthrain capital was here, on this continent. Of that he was almost certain. But where? All accounts agreed that they were subterranean , and that they had huge cities beneath the surface. The exact depth is unclear... apparently they were so deep that the ancient civilizations had no units large enough to measure it. The also had a network of caves tunnels that connected the underground cities together like a network of roads. One of those tunnels... the MAIN tunnel leading to their capital city... was somewhere in this area. Of course, 'in this area' meant somewhere within 2000 miles of Montfort. Princeton was certain that whoever or whatever had built the Undercity of Montfort had come close to this main tunnel. The caverns underneath the Undercity could be within digging distance of that main passage. Perhaps.

Princeton continued to study, searching for clues among the obscure scraps of data. The more he looked, the more determined he became. The more convinced he was that he was close. He couldn't point to a single fact that convinced him... it was all of them as a whole. Ancient tales. Drawings. Sightings of strange creatures. Landmarks. Maps. Everything. It ALL pointed to an area very close to Montfort.

But then, 'close' could still mean a hundred miles away.

The afternoon wore on, and when it became too dark do see, Princeton lit a single oil lamp and kept studying. He pulled out a sheaf of papers... the beginnings of a second massive volume... and began making notes. Every once in a while he would get up and study one of the maps on the wall, or would open one of the books that surrounded him. He'd copy an incomplete section of one map, then finish it with a section from another map.... fitting the two together like puzzle-pieces. For ancient maps of mythological places, the lines fit together quite well. Even more uncanny was the fact that the different pieces came from civilizations separated by thousands of miles... civilizations that had never even heard of one another. Princeton did the same thing for several drawings of some rather grotesque creatures... piecing together some hideous images, which just happened to match descriptions of creatures seen on this continent by the barbarian settlers some thousands of years ago. Descendants of Cthrain soldiers and slaves? Perhaps.

Princeton kept working right into the night, paying no attention to his other appointments. He had important work to do now. It was a race. What if he was wrong about Montfort? What if Z'enn or Idris found the Cthrain city before he did? Then THEY would get all of the credit, and all he would get is a footnote for doing some of the 'background work'. Perhaps he wouldn't even get that. But no... Montfort was the place, he was sure of it.

But what if it wasn't?

He had to go back down again. He had to mount another expedition.

*thump.*

Princeton heard his apartment door close. Close? He distinctly remembered locking it. Was someone here?

Suddenly he remembered his evening appointment. His one IMPORTANT evening appointment.

Princeton's blood ran cold.

"Nice maps," said a voice from just behind Princeton. The voice... and its proximity... sent violent chills down Princeton's back. "You planning on taking a trip?"

"Uhhh... n-no. Sir."

"Good. I'd hate to think you were skipping out on our deal."

"W-why w-would y-you th-think that?"

"You're late."

Princeton gulped. He was about to explain and ask forgiveness when he felt a movement behind him. The urge for self-preservation awoke with a passion. Princeton leapt from his chair and spun away from the desk just as the large knife sank into the wood... impaling the notes that Princeton was writing. If he hadn't moved, it would have impaled his hand along with them.

The knife was being held by a dirty but slender hand... which was in turn attached to a thin, sinister rat of a man.

"I-I'm sorry Mr. Hood." Princeton stammered. "I just got carried a-away. With work."

"Yer still late with your payment," said Eric Hood. "I gave you money to pay your debts. You're supposed to pay me back. ON TIME. Now it's almost midnight and I haven't gotten my money yet."

"M-midnight?" Princeton had no idea what time it was. "I-I've got your money, right here! HONEST!"

"Well now there's a special fee involved..."

"Fee?"

"Since I had to come HERE to get it, instead of you bringing it to me like you're supposed to. Ten percent."

"T-t-t-t-en p-perecent!?!"

"You got that much, doc?"

Hood yanked his knife from the desk and took a step towards Princeton.

"Y-y-YES! Right over there in the safe!"

"Get it."

Princeton nearly tripped over himself three times as he walked to the wall safe. He opened it and had just reached in when-

"Hold it, doc." Eric Hood was right behind him. Princeton felt the point of Hood's dagger sticking him in the side... just enough to prick the skin. "All I want to see is money. You pull a weapon outta there and the Tower Guard'll be finding little tiny pieces of you all over town for the next two years."

"I-I w-wouldn't th-think of it, Mr. Hood." Princeton moved his hand away from the loaded crossbow and grasped the pouch of gold that sat beside it in the dark safe. He removed the gold and handed it to Hood.

Eric Hood waited until Princeton closed the safe, then he backed away and examined the pouch.

"It's all th-there. Plus t-ten percent. I w-was saving that extra gold for-"

"Doesn't matter, it's mine now. Get back over to the desk."

"Right." Princeton stepped away from the safe and walked slowly back to his desk. He never took his eyes off of Hood, which meant he tripped quite a few times on his way.

"I won't bother counting the gold," said Hood. "You know what'll happen if you're short."

"A-absolutely, Mr. Hood." Princeton stood in front of his desk like a frightened rabbit.

"Now. There's just one more thing."

"W-what?"


"In my line of work we call it G.P."

"G.P.?"

"General Principle. You see... you were late with a payment, which means that, as a matter of general principle, I gotta do something like... oh, I don't know... this-"

Suddenly, Eric Hood launched himself at Princeton. The doctor didn't have time to flinch, let alone move out of the way. Hood spun, and his dagger whizzed across Princeton's neck... the tip of it carving a tiny line across his throat... slicing the skin, but not the vital arteries underneath.

"EEEEEEEE!!" Princeton screamed. His screamed sounded not almost... not sort of... but EXACTLY like that of a six-year old girl.

Hood made a quick movement that Princeton couldn't follow, and then the dagger sank hilt-deep into the meat of Princeton's left shoulder. Hood yanked the blade free before Princeton even felt the pain.

"AAAAAAPLEASE!"

"Quiet."

Princeton's jaws clamped shut. He had his right hand over his bleeding shoulder wound, and his left hand grasped his throat.

"Flesh wounds," said Eric. "You'll live even without medical attention. Probably . But next time I won't be so gentle. Got it?"

Princeton nodded.

"Now sit down."

Princeton sat down at his desk and proceeded to drip blood all over his notes. He waited for his next instruction... and it was a full ten minutes before he realized that Eric Hood wasn't in the room any more.

"Gods, I hate this town," Princeton mumbled. "I really, really hate this town

[To Be Continued]