Captain Hieronymous Physt brought his horse to a stop just inside the clearing. He dismounted, abandoning the animal to its own wanderings... which he knew would not take it more than a few yards.

It was a pleasant morning. The sun had just come up, and the rays hadn't yet banished the mists from the forest. Everything seemed moist and clean and new. The scent of Montfort... some would call it a stench... didn't reach quite this far into the woods. And even if it did, it wouldn't be quite so strong at this time of morning.

But here, unfortunately for someone, there was ANOTHER stench to fill its place.

Death.

Not rot or decay... not yet... but the acrid scent of fresh blood and the thick musk of a brand new corpse.

"Ohhh, what a beautiful morning," Physt said as he approached the guards. He flashed his official identification... a formality that was unnecessary for him, but essential to the guards. Physt would have had them stripped of rank and disciplined on the spot if they had let him through without verifying his identity, even if they DID know him on sight. With all the magic running loose in Montfort, any fool could be made to look like any other fool... but official Tower Guard identification was still very hard to come by.

"Morning, sir!" one of the guards gave him a stiff salute. Physt returned the gesture, then glanced at the other guard.

He looked sick.

"Been inside, eh?" said Physt.

The guard nodded quickly.

Physt jerked his head toward the edge of the clearing... the officially designated location for throwing up.

"Have at it, then," said Physt.

Without so much as a 'thank you' the young guard ran for the indicated spot. Physt didn't bother to watch... no matter how humorous it would have been to do so. He had serious business to attend to.

The large, rectangular building in the center of the clearing could have been a hunter's cabin... an ownerless shack where hunters could take shelter during storms or catch a nap before they dragged their fresh kills back into town. It could have been... if it had been a little bit smaller. Hunters cabins were tiny, unambitious structures that had bare openings instead of windows and often less than the normal number of walls. This one was bigger. The windows not only had shutters, but actual glass as well. The door had a lock. The grass around it was tall... but not tall enough.

This place had an owner. Perhaps not a permanent tenant, but definitely someone who visited it often enough to care about its upkeep.

Physt's first guess was that it was a 'secret' hideout for bandits or highwaymen. If that was the case, then this piece of business was already concluded. Someone had either robbed or double crossed the wrong person... or they whispered the wrong secret a little to loudly. Mistakes like that tended to be fatal in Montfort, but that was the price to be paid living on the wrong side of the law. Physt had no sympathy... but he DID have other things he needed to do this morning, so the sooner he was done here, the better.

"Lieutenant!" Captain Physt called. It wasn't a shout, but it didn't need to be. His normal speaking voice was loud enough to reach just about anywhere it needed to go.

The cabin's only door opened, and a slim female stepped out. Monica Drew wore all black, as she always did. The only exception was the burgundy silk scarf tied around her neck. The woman's long, shapely legs marched across the clearing in a most unfeminine manner, her sword slapping noiselessly against her thigh with every step.

"Morning, sir," she said. Her voice was a near-breathless whisper. It would have almost been seductive if it weren't for the unnatural motion of... something... beneath the cover of her silk scarf. Monica Drew's voice rarely got above a whisper, but when it did it was anything but seductive.

"Morning Lieutenant," said Physt. Drew saluted. Physt saluted back. "What kind of mess did you dig up today, eh?"

"No digging this time," she whispered. "A hunter came across this place and was kind enough to report it... after he stopped for a few drinks."

"And what-" Physt began.

Lieutenant Drew stepped to one side and pointed to the ground beside the east wall of the cabin. There rested a man-shaped lump covered by a thick blanket.

"The blanket it ours," said the lieutenant. "Unfortunately we didn't bring enough for everybody."

"How many?"

"Guess."

"Too early for riddles, Lieutenant."

"Four outside. Six inside."

"Ten? Ten bodies!?"

Lieutenant Drew nodded.

Captain Physt shook his head and sighed deeply.

"Do I even want to know?" he said.

"Oh yes," said Monica. "This one, you definitely want to know."

"All right," said Physt. "Walk me through it."

---

"Four guards on the outside of the cabin," said the lieutenant. She paused at the front corner of the building and let her captain catch up to her. "Two on the inside in the main room. Each of the four men outside must have been assigned to one wall... they walk back and forth, watching the woods and making sure nobody snuck up on them."

"Not the best arrangement," said Physt. "But not entirely stupid either."

"It gets better. There are four windows... one in each wall. Inside, there was one guard sitting by the only door and one other who's job it was to walk around and look out each of those four windows... to make sure that the exterior guards were still alive and awake.

"Hmmm," said Physt. "Somebody was paranoid-"

"It didn't help 'em," said Drew. "The guy inside walked in a circle... checking one window, then moving to the next, then the next, and then back to the first... and so on."

"Right."

"As soon as he looked out here-" Drew pointed to the window ahead of them. "-and moved on, our guy came up behind the guard like this."

Drew started walking. Physt didn't need to be told to walk exactly in her footsteps... he was as good at this as she was.

"He was quick and quiet," said Drew. The blanket-covered body was ahead of them. She walked up to it and stopped. "...and this guy was looking the wrong direction. From behind..."

Lieutenant Drew pulled her dagger. Holding it in her right hand, she folded her left arm around the throat of an invisible victim. The right hand darted around-

"...throat... abdomen... " The dagger made two quick slashing motions, and then two deep jabs: "...kidney... crotch...."
And then another upward jerking motion, snatching the blade up from crotch to mid-abdomen: "Rip. And here we are-"

The lieutenant pulled the blanket back from the corpse, revealing a dead body bearing the exact same wounds that Drew had described... almost as if she had killed the man herself right then.

Captain Physt knelt down and studied the wounds, but didn't touch them or the body. The implement that made them was small... much smaller than Drew's combat knife. But that wasn't what drew the Captain's attention. The wounds were precise. Physt looked around at the blood splatters

"No struggle," said Lieutenant Drew. "It was fast. Five fatal wounds in less time than it takes a man to react to the first one. And notice where we are." Drew pointed to the window. "We haven't reached the window yet. The interior guard had just peeked out, saw this guard was in position, and moved on. But now he's got somebody following him."

Drew started walking again. Physt followed her around the corner to the body of the second guard. The corpse lay in a pool of its own blood. A loaded crossbow lay in the grass, just out of reach of the bloody, outstretched fingers.

"Same attack pattern," said Drew. She didn't bother acting it out. Instead, she drew back the blanket and let the captain have a look for himself. "Same method as before. Guard looks out... sees this guy still in place... moves on. Probably before he takes three steps, the guy he just looked at is dead."

"This guy was good."

"Good, hell..." said Drew. "...he was an artist. The other two exteriors are exactly the same."

"You mean to tell me this guy snuck up on four people, one at a time... people who's job it was to KEEP people from sneaking up on them?"

"Yes. And he did it natural. No magic. Azward just left here before you arrived... no traces of magic anywhere. This guy did it all on his own. Without leaving so much as a footprint."

Physt gave his lieutenant a worried look.

"But you haven't seen anything yet," said Drew. "Follow me..."

---

The lieutenant took Captain Physt past the two remaining corpses mainly as a formality. They had been killed in the exact same manner as the first two: a surprise attack from behind in which five fatal wounds... the same five wounds in each case... had been delivered in rapid succession with a small, sharp blade. The guards weapons were never drawn.

"Like clockwork," said Physt as they passed the fourth corpse. He didn't bother to stop and look at it; he could tell by the blood splatters that it was the same as the others. They walked past the cabin's front door and returned to the first window. The first guard's corpse still lay there, patiently waiting to be carried off and disposed of.

"Now that you've seen the others," said the lieutenant. "...what do you notice is different about this first guy?"

"The other three had crossbows," Physt replied.

"So did this guy... but our killer picked it up when he came back around. He ignored it the first time, but now he wanted it." Drew walked to the window. There was an unhealthy layer of blood on the exterior wall just below it. "He got in position just before the watcher inside walked past the window and noticed..." Drew paused expectantly.

"...noticed that the first guard wasn't in place."

"Exactly," said Drew. "You won't believe what happened next."

"Tell me anyway."

"Guard number five... the guard inside that was watching the windows... sees a big empty spot where guard number one should be standing. Instead of immediately raising the alarm, he opens the window and-"

"...no... no he didn't..."

"Yes he does. He sticks his head out and looks around."

"Brilliant," said Physt.

"He gets it like this...."

Lieutenant Drew stood with her back parallel to the wall, but not actually touching it. She looked at the window as if waiting for something, then slid suddenly toward it... turning and grabbing at an imaginary guard.

"Grab," she said. She slashed with her knife. "...throat..." on the backswing of the slash, she reversed the blade and drove it straight: "...eye..." Then yanked the weapon out of the imaginary skull.

Then she reached down and grabbed something invisible on the ground near her feet.

"He snatches up the crossbow and aims it through the window. There's a guard by the door."

Drew pulled the imaginary trigger, then turned to Physt and smiled.

"...not any more. Six men dead, and now our guy has full, unopposed access to the cabin. At least for a few seconds. He uses those seconds to climb in through the window."

The captain scrutinized the blood around the window opening.

"No hand prints in the blood. There are lots of ways a man can walk with no footprints... especially with this many guards providing safe places to put his feet. But there's no way he can climb through this mess and not leave a hand print."

"He didn't use THIS window," said Drew. "He used the next one."

"Oh."

"Now lets get to the good part. This way..."

---

"It's a safe house," said the lieutenant as they entered the cabin. Two rooms. The inner room is a walled-off area in the northeast corner. No windows, one door. Big enough for... whatever you'd want to keep safe."

"And in this case, that was...?"

"A meeting. Two men. One was a local named Milch."

"I know that name," said Physt. "We've questioned him a few times. He was a nobody...but he had the potential to be a player if he attached himself to the right people."

"Maybe that's what got him killed."

"Who was victim number ten?"

"No idea."

"Ever see him before?"

"No idea."

"Eh?"

"You'll see. Or rather... you won't see. But first, the guards. Milch and his mystery-guest had two guards in the room with 'em. The sound of two bodies hitting the floor in the outer room got their attention...just as it was supposed to do. But by the time they unlocked the door, our killer had already extinguished the lights. The lamps were full of oil when we got here, but they weren't burning..."

Lieutenant Drew stood before the closed door to the inner room. She walked past two bodies to get there, but Physt ignored them for now.

"...it was pitch black in this room when this door opened. Guard number seven steps out. He's carrying a sword in one hand, and a lamp in the other. Guard number eight stands in the doorway so nobody gets past him and into the room. Seven sees the corpse by the door. He takes two or three steps forward. Now there's space between him and his buddy at the door to the inner room. Okay... this part I'm not too sure about, but judging from the wounds and the blood splatter, I figure it went something like this..."

Lieutenant Drew positioned herself slightly in front of and to one side of the door to the inner chamber. She paused and raised her knife...

"I'm in the shadows now. Nobody sees me. Both guards are looking at the body by the door. There's an instant before they react to it. I take that instant as my opening-"

Drew stepped forward, then paused and glanced back at her captain.

"...remember, all of this is one motion. I think."

"Go on," said Physt.

"Guard eight sees me-"

Drew slashed horizontally at the imaginary guard in the doorway. Had there been an actual man standing there, the blade would have carved a wide red line across the center of his throat. Drew's blade continued around, crossing her body and slashing the other guard across the back of his neck. Depending on the size of the blade and the accuracy of its wielder, the sharp edge would have either glanced off of the guard's vertebrae...

...or slipped between them and sliced clean through his spinal cord. Drew's empty left hand followed her blade... only lower.

"He takes the hunting knife from the seventh guard's belt... reverses the grip..."

The lieutenant plunged the invisible knife into the eighth guard's lower chest.

"But THEN..." Drew continued. She grabbed the knife from the eighth guard's belt and, in a mirror image of the maneuver she'd just finished, sank the weapon into the seventh guard's kidney.

"Oh, that's nice," said Physt.

"Not finished," said Drew. The lieutenant yanked the (imaginary) blade out of the (imaginary) eighth guard's chest, pulling it out with an upward slashing motion that would have ripped the man's shirt... and his chest... wide open. "The seventh guard is twisting around as he falls-"

With a knife in both hands, the lieutenant delivered a double-slash to the second guard's neck and/or face then plunged both weapons BACK into the eighth guard's chest.

"Ouch." said Physt.

"It went on for a few more strikes after this. Needless to say..." Drew pointed to the corpses on the floor. "...they're dead. Our killer then takes all three knives, walks into the other room, and closes the door behind him."

"So what's in there?"

"You sure you're ready?"

Physt nodded.

---

"Oh..."

Captain Physt's undigested breakfast surged up to the top of his throat and hung there for several nauseous seconds before he managed to gulp it back down. He backed away from the doorway, shaking his head and clenching his fist over his mouth.

He closed his eyes, squinted, and then opened them again.

It was still there.

"We haven't let too many people look in here," said Drew. She was covering her mouth as well. "For obvious reasons. Come on..."

Drew waved the Captain back into the slaughterhouse, then closed the door behind him.

"Two men," said Drew. Her normal whisper was a little quieter now. "One we know. This is our mystery man right here."

Drew pointed to the mess on the floor.

"Where... where's his skin?"

"We haven't found it. The killer probably took it with him."

Physt winced.

"He was alive when it started," said the captain. "Look at the fingers..."

The skinless corpse's fingers were curled into claws. The entire body was contorted by pain.

"I saw that."

"He lived through maybe a third of it. Half if the guy doing the skinning was... experienced."

"Oh he was experienced all right."

"Behind you in the corner...that's Milch."

"His throat is slit. Looks like he had it easy."

"Ummm, not necessarily," said the lieutenant. "He was pinned to the floor... a knife through each hand. But look at where his body is. Look how much blood there is around the hands."

"He sat there bleeding for a while," said Physt. He looked from one corpse to the other. "...while..." He looked again. "...oh, gods..."

"The killer pinned Milch to the floor and made him watch while he did the stranger. The last thing Milch saw was his potential partner being skinned alive."

"So now its down to Why." said Physt.

"Sir?"

"I think we know who did this."

"It could have been-"

"It COULD have been anyone, but we know who it WAS," said Physt. "Lets not waste time on 'maybe' and 'could have been'... This mess has Eric Hood written all over it."

"I think you're right. Azward would disagree... he'd say to keep an open mind, but... this was Hood, no doubt."

"So the question isn't 'who' or 'how'. It's 'why'. Why do this? What was this meeting about? What was going on here that December wanted to put a end to?"

"December isn't in Montfort," said Drew. "He probably didn't even know-"

"December always knows," said Physt, frowning. "But what I want to know is what was happening in this room that he had to send his own personal monster out here to stop? I don't think footprints and blood-splatters are going to tell us those answers."

Physt paused, staring at the skinless man on the floor.

"We need to know who that man was."

"We don't even know what he looks like," said Lieutenant Drew. "We have his clothes, but the pockets were empty. If he had anything on him, Hood took it. Along with his skin."

"We'll have to use magic."

"That's inadmissible in court."

"I don't give a damn about court, I want to know what was going on out here! I want to know who that was! I want to know what he wanted with that man-"

Physt turned to the body of Edwin Milch... and stopped talking.

"Sir?" Monica Drew said cautiously

"I..." Physt's lips were suddenly dry. He licked them, but the dryness only spread down his throat. "...I think I just found a... clue."

"What? Milch?"

"Yeah," said Physt. "What would you say is worse than having to watch a man being skinned alive?"

"I don't follow you, sir." Lieutenant Drew shrugged.

"The last time I saw Edwin Milch was two weeks ago," said Physt.

"...and?"

"...and..." said Physt, pointing to the corpse's distended abdomen. "...he's gained a lot of weight since then."

Lieutenant Monica Drew made a sudden low, gulping noise. She repeated the sound several times.

"...I think I need to go outside, sir..." she moaned.

"Go," said the captain. "But when you come back... bring me a knife."

[End...or Beginning?]