The Assassin's Tale

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he rumours had started mid-morning and by late afternoon Harkold, Head of the City's guild of Thieves and Assassins, was almost ready to disappear.

He should have known that the job was too easy. He should have wondered why the client had asked for the best when the job was so simple. A delivery of grapes to the King's castle. The coating of the grapes with a colourless, odourless compound that would become poisonous when activated by the acid of the grapes themselves. Careless hygienne on the part of a servant and the grapes would slowly kill the person that ate them, depriving them of their life be making the air they breathed useless.

He cared not one jot that the Crown Bearer was dead but he did worry about retribution. Supporters of the ex-ruler of the world would no doubt be shortly seeking him, seeking revenge, seeking the means to prevent it ever happening again. It would definitely be a good idea to leave the City for a while, lay low at least until the hue and cry died down and a new ruler sat on the throne.

He went to the door and told his secretary, Simmons, that he was not to be disturbed for the rest of the day and then after checking that there was nothing incriminating left in his office he opened the secret trapdoor that was hidden underneath his desk. The stairs revealed led down to the 'thieve's run', that part of the City's sewers used by his light-fingered brethren to elude pursuit. The small hooded lantern he used gave off enough light for him to make his way without incident but he had committed this path to memory a long time ago and could have made the run in complete darkness if necessary.

Half-an-hour later he arrived at his destination, one of the farthest flung reaches of the sewer system, the air was thick with the smell of discarded tanning solution here and few came this way unless they had to. It was here he left the sewer system by means of a thin crack in the wall. Fortunately the crack widened shortly thereafter and led down into a series of natural caverns the extent of which spread far beyond the outlying reaches of the City. Here a series of tunnels — dry and ancient underground streambeds — led up into the hills.

Three hours after leaving his office Harkold finally reached daylight again. The last rays of the setting sun turning the cave entrance a dull orange. The climb had been harder than he remembered, or perhaps his life had become too sedentary of late. Oh well, he thought to himself slapping some of the dirt from his clothes, those days are over for a while.

Before the sound of his actions had finished echoing from the cavern walls it was answered by a resounding roar; Harkold stood stock still in fright. A vast bulk moved in the darkness and he saw a sudden flame kindled. Fire billowed in his direction and Harkold leapt for his life. His action saved him but he fell hard and tumbled back down the way he had come fetching up against a pillar of water-formed stone.

He did not move again for a long time.

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or a moment Harkold thought he was blind. Everything was black and there was very little difference between having his eyes open or closed. Then he perceived a faint light source above him and he remembered his plunge down the slope in the Cave he had laboured up. The thought of the Dragon made him try to sit up, which he regretted instantly, as a sharp jagged pain in his right side told him of his cracked ribs.

Panic started to set in, which only made the pain in his side worse due to the rapid breaths he had to take because of his weak lungs. It was desperate agony, feeling through his vest's pocket for one of his paper twists of medication, but the very act of snorting up the fine powder relaxed him with its familiarity and assurance that the drugs the powder contained, both medicinal and recreational, would soon have him feeling better.

He lay still trying to take shallow breaths and let the medication do its job. There were drugs fair and foul hidden all over his person in different-shaped containers robust enough to withstand the normal rigours of everyday activity, however that did not include rolling down a rocky slope or slamming into what felt like a pillar of stone. He would have to do a stocktake to see what had survived and what he would have to replace. But before that he had to survive himself.

It had been a Dragon that had spewed fire at him out of the dark and a big one at that. As he had not been eaten, the Dragon either could not reach him or thought he had gotten away. It was common knowledge that great beasts were partial to Human flesh.

So what was he to do now? Should he go back to the City and face the retribution that would surely come his way? Could he make it out of the Cave and away under the very nose of the Dragon? He certainly couldn't stay here much longer. He had not had the opportunity to provision himself and had planned to steal the food and drink he would need for his journey. Even now thirst was starting to let itself be known as a bodily complaint along with the pain from his chest.

The drugs in his body told him to go on, that things were not as bad as he thought, that the Dragon was just a big, dumb — fire-breathing admittedly — animal and he should be able to outwit it or sneak past it. He was after all a master assassin. With the light of a small candle stub, drawn from his emergency supplies, he carefully made the climb back up to the top of the slope. Daylight showed through the Cave mouth and the large mass that had been the unexpected Dragon was not evident so he took the opportunity and hurried out into the blessed light of mid-morning. He walked on as fast as he could, putting as much distance between himself and the Cave mouth as possible and only stopped when his failing lungs forced him to.

After a long rest and another nosefull of medication he walked on stopping only to quench his thirst at a small stream he found. His eventual destination was a Tavern he knew of where he hoped he would be unknown and safe but that was many days travel away. For now he would settle for a farm house and, whether he was welcome or not, that would be where he would spend the night. The sight of a large Wolf looking at him from atop one of the hills had made him determined not to sleep outside tonight. He needed rest and recuperation not the attention of a pack of mangy curs.

An hour later and he still had not found a place to spend the night. Worse still a Wolf was blatently following him as if he were some injured animal that it was hunting to ground. He took another dose of his medicine — more for the courage it brought him than to ease his breathing — and made a promise to himself that he would take no more today unless it were necessary. His hands had started to shake.

Mid-afternoon found him still lost in the Hills with the Wolf uncomfortably close behind him. Fortunately there was only one of the beasts but no amount of thrown stones or hurled imprecations would drive the thing away and it was getting bolder all the time. He came to a decision. He would make a stand against it now rather than later when there would be less light. He changed his path towards an sizeable outcrop of rocks that would at least give him the high ground.

The Wolf, driven by some unknown compulsion, charged at him as soon as he started to climb up onto the rocks. He heard the snap of its jaws at his heals and then the skitter of its claws as it slid back down the hard rock. The pain in his side from his exertions was almost crippling. If he was going to win this fight it would have to be quickly.

Luckily he had on his person a pepper bomb. Finely-ground pepper in a packet of thin paper designed to explode in a puff of powder when thrown on the ground — fortunately it had survived his fall in the Cave. He caught the Wolf full on the nose with the bomb as it made its next attempt to reach him. It fell back to earth and started rolling around rubbing its nose on the grass to get rid of the irritating powder.

An open target; this was the time to strike. Harkold considered using his one and only throwing knife but then another thought occurred to him. The Wolf was below him and there were several large pieces of rock balanced on top of his outcrop. Bracing himself against one of the larger pieces he pushed with all his might against an appropriately placed smaller piece. The pain in his ribs was terrible but the rock moved, began to slide and then went over the edge. There was a crash and Harkold looked down to see the Wolf laying dead, its side caved in by the large piece of stone that lay atop it.

Harkold breathed a tentative sigh of relief. Surely nothing else could go wrong today.

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ovely, simply lovely, a vision of young innocence. The young girl lay asleep on the grassy slope her golden hair strewn around her hair like a halo. Her dress, with its bright colours, frills and lace was obviously expensive — the best the City could produce. What on earth was such a delicate beauty doing out here in the wilderness?

He looked around and listened carefully to be sure that there was no one else nearby; they were indeed alone. Lust fought momentarily with avariceness in the mind of the Assassin but he was too old and experienced to let such a youthful vice stand in the way of potential profit. There was wealth and importance written all over the girl and that meant that at least for now he would act as the benevolent rescuer, if rescuing was indeed required.

Having decided the girl's fate he straightened his clothes to make himself look as presentable as his present situation allowed and then gently nudged the girl's elbow. "Hello little lady," he said as the girl stirred.

She yawned prettily and looked at him blearily. Her eyes then suddenly went wide and she looked around in terror. She pushed herself away from him with her hands, backing up the hill. No, not just him, the Assassin realised, she pushed herself away from everything she could see. This place was not where she had gone to sleep. Having taken this in the Assassin admired the fact that she had not resorted to screaming — he didn't like screamers — the noise detracted from his enjoyment of his profession. Then his admiration turned to astonishment as her movements revealed something that had obviously fallen from her hair when she had been placed on the ground. On the grass lay a simple golden tiara. The tiara of Princess Rosalind; princess of the realm of Talis.

"Your highness, forgive me! I did not mean to startle you," said Harkold as he sketched as good a bow as his injured side would allow him. Meanwhile, he desperately tried to remember the details of the identity he had used when he had last visited the royal castle. He had briefly met Rosalind then and she would perhaps remember him in that guise.

"May I present myself," he said bowing again upon seeing that this action had at least stopped her backwards retreat. "My name is Hakon. I am but a simple merchant, but if you are in need, I am at your service."

Visibly the Princess pulled herself together. The Assassin admired her courage and responsibility to her position. "Aaah ... Merchant Hakon," she said with a quaver in her voice. "Yes, I remember you. Didn't you come to the castle several weeks ago?

Harkold smiled supportively, inwardly pleased that both of them seemed to remember the same one of his many identities. Then he remembered the real reason he had been at the castle — delivering poisoned grapes — and a shiver ran up his spine.

"Well, Merchant Hakon," said the Princess. "It seems I am definitely in need of your services. I have no idea where I am and will need help getting home. I will make sure you are recompensed for any loss to your business."

Harkold waved away the last comment as if it were of no importance but he knew that the King would pay him handsomely if he were to bring back his pride and joy and even better, the Castle and being under the King's protection would be the perfect hiding place from his enemies.

"I would be honoured to be of assistance, your highness," said Harkold bowing again, "but might I ask a question?"

"Certainly, Merchant Hakon. As long as I can reserve the right to refuse to answer."

Harkold smiled at her attempt at sophistication, she was doing quite well for a fourteen year old. "What I want to know is how you got here?" he said gesturing around the secluded woodland clearing.

She looked around herself and the facade of her dignity slipped away revealing the little girl underneath. "I ... I, don't know. The last thing I remember was getting ready to go to my tutor." Tears welled in her eyes and she looked at the Assassin with desperation in her eyes. "Please take me home Merchant Hakon, I'm scared and worried for my family."

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murky darkness and pillar-like trees surrounded Harkold and Princess Rosalind and, despite his assurances to Princess to the contrary, Harkold was beginning to worry that they were indeed lost. The path he had been following had split manifold and unfortunately the one he had chosen had all but petered out.

"This is as good a place as any to spend the night, your highness," said Harkold. "Unfortunately the Woods are too large to traverse all in one day."

"This is a scary place. I am afraid there might be fierce animals or lurking assassins," replied the girl.

Harkold smiled at her choice of dangers. "There is no need to fear assassins, your highness. At least not while I am around. And you need not fear animals either — the monsters have eaten them all."

The Princess's look was priceless.

"Sorry, your highness, I make a joke at your expense. Please forgive me." Harkold bowed and tried to make himself look ashamed.

A nervous laugh answered his feigned look. "You are an old scoundrel Merchant Hakon. I presume you would have us spend the night under yonder rock ledge but where are we to get food and water. Do you think you will be able to snare another rabbit like last night?"

"Maybe not a rabbit, a little broiled monster, perhaps ..." She did not look like she appreciated his joke so he hurried on. "Seriously though, there is water close by, I can hear it, and there has been enough rustling in the underbrush that I am sure my snares should get us something to eat. How about you clear the cave of spiders and insects while I fill the waterskin and set my snares."

"Merchant Hakon," said Rosalind quickly, "I think I will come with you to get the water — just in case you need assistance."

Harkold shrugged feeling a little guilty about his ribbing and lead the way toward the sound of trickling water. A rock outcrop covered in creepers was the source of the sound. Harkold thought it strange that there was no stream leading away from the rock. Where was the water going? He pulled away some of the vegetation and was momentarily taken aback when a bestial face was revealed engraved on the stone underneath. From out of its mouth flowed a stream of water that fell into a bowl formed in the stone below. This was no spring — it was a fountain, an ancient fountain.

"Passing strange, Merchant Hakon," said the Princess peering over his shoulder. "Why would there be a fountain out here in the wilderness?"

"Why indeed," said Harkold sniffing at the column of falling water. "Still it looks clear enough and smells alright." He put his waterskin under the flow and filled it to the brim.

"Now let's see what I can catch for us to eat."

* * * *

Later that night after supping on cold water and a cooked something, that looked like a large rat but fortunately tasted like rabbit, the two mismatched travelling companions curled up and tried their best to sleep in the shelter provided by the rocky overhang. Ill-equipped for sleeping in the wild the two had restless nights and when sunlight finally began to filter down to the forest floor they both sat up and looked at each other over the remains of their nighttime fire.

Despite, or perhaps because of, his disturbed sleep the Assassin's mind was alive with new insights, his thoughts travelling along paths they had never travelled before. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the Princess speaking.

"Master Hakon ... You are not who you say you are. Do I need to be worried for my safety?"

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arkold studied the Princess across the remains of last night's fire. There was something different about her this morning. She had always displayed a plucky courage, more than he had expected from a child born in the lap of luxury, but this morning there was a knowing intelligence in those eyes. She was no longer the child he had made fun of yesterday.

"No, Princess," Harkold said. "You have nothing to fear from me — if, you do as your told."

"Out here," she said indicating the dim forest around them. "You obviously have the advantage, but you haven't taken that advantage, so I suspect you play a longer game. Is it my father's gratefulness you are after? If so, then I will support your subterfuge, for I wish to get home safe and sound and I am sure my father will pay you well if you assist me."

The Assassin smiled. There was a sharp brain behind those puppy dog eyes of her. He had wondered how long it would be before she started asking questions about his being a merchant out alone and ill-equipped in the wilderness, but she had gone the step beyond and explored his motives and their consequences and was trying to cut a deal with him.

"Princess, I can see that you have seen through my little charade. The humble Hakon is but a petty thief, and a thief that has come upon hard times as you have seen. Finding you is the opportunity of a criminal life time, but I am not a violent man, so I would be happy to take whatever reward your father would give me."

"There is nothing humble about you Hakon," she said with a sniff, "And I suspect that you are not telling me the complete truth, even now. However, if we can come to an agreement about my safe keeping? I will let you keep your secrets."

"Done and done, Princess," said Harkold and on the spur of the moment reached forward and thrust out his hand towards her.

Tentatively she reached forward presenting him with her own hand. It was as they clasped each other's hand that they heard the faint hail. There was no hiding the look of hope that sprung into her eyes. Acting instantly Harkold flung himself on her and clasped his hand over her mouth.

She struggled beneath his weight but quieted immediately he showed her his dagger.

"Don't take me for a fool, Princess," he hissed. "And, don't take me for a thief. I am an assassin and can kill you so quickly you won't see it happen."

He moved the dagger away from her face and ran its tip lightly down the front of her bodice and pressed it hard enough against the material under her left breast that she must surely feel the threat of its entry. The fear in her eyes should have been gratifying but strangely he felt dirty. However, he now had her full attention and she lay completely still, which had been his intent.

"Now listen to me and learn the new rules of this game." he said in a low whisper. "I fully intend to get you home, and in one piece, if you will let me. I will not however be robbed of my just reward, nor shall I put my own life or freedom at risk, and I will kill you to prevent that from happening. Do you understand me?"

He removed the pressure of his hand from her mouth and she nodded her head weakly.

"Good girl. Now we have to leave before whoever it is out there comes looking for us. I am not the only Evil person around and some of them are a lot less civil than I am. I am going to remove my hand now. Scream and you are dead. Try to run and you are dead. Do you understand me?"

She nodded once more and he eased himself off her and got to his feet. She stared up at him looking like a lost child again. He offered her his free hand to help her to her feet. She flinched away but climbed to her own feet when he indicated for her to do so with his dagger.

With one eye on her and his ear pricked for the sounds of approaching people he quickly gathered together his belongings and then indicating the way and for her to precede him they started walking in what he hoped was the right direction.

* * * *

Late afternoon they came across the Market. He knew that the Tavern he was heading for was not too far distant but the Princess looked all done in from her forced march through the Wood.

He knew they would have to spend the night here so he chose his victim carefully. A small tent, setup some distance from the rest, with but a single occupant was ideal. He told the Princess to be quiet and then shoved her into the tent first. He followed her quickly to find that the man inside had been literally caught with his trousers down. He was dead before he could pull them up.

The Princess looked upon the scene in horror and gave her a warning look to keep quiet, the corpse he rolled to the far end of the tent to be properly hidden come dark, then he started digging into the dead man's provisions. It had been a long time since he'd had proper food and the tent though small would at least protect them from the elements and prying eyes.

The Princess stared at the piece of bread he offered her as if it would attack her. He shrugged and bit into his own piece. It was good to be back in control.

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t was a damned shame that the Princess had worked out he wasn't telling her the full truth and an even greater one when he had been forced to reveal his true profession to avoid an unpleasantness in the forest. It had also been liberating for now he didn't have to keep up the pretense that he was a law abiding citizen though he did have to keep a much shorter leash on her in public in case she decided to do a runner.

That was why he'd put her to sleep with one of the last of his doses of sleeping powder. It had been much easier to get her into the safety of a room in the Tavern with the landlord's wife thinking he was the father of a sickly child without the Princess being able to make her think differently.

Now she was asleep upstairs, and would most likely stay that way for several more hours, and he was downstairs relaxing in the taproom after a good wholesome dinner washing the dust of many days travel from his throat with his second tankard of best bitter ale.

He hadn't been here for many years. It was a cheerful enough place for a countryside public house with its own sort of rustic charm in that everyone here was exactly what they appeared to be. Everyone, except the old fellow playing cards in the corner. What was a professional gambler doing in this remote outpost of the realm?

He was good at it too. At least he was better than Harkold's ability to spot a cheat. He wasn't being too obvious and making a killing — he was even letting a few of his opponents walk away with a return — but the pile in front of him was staying the same size despite the occasional gold coin he put away in his top pocket.

And it even looked as if his victims appeared to like playing against the old man, despite their losing. He was joking with them as if they were old friends while he slowly but inevitable took coin from the majority of them.

Well this was a piece of good fortune. The man would be a member of the guild. Most gamblers were paid up members seeing it as a form of insurance against off the table losses. He doubted that his quitting the guild would have made it this far yet, so perhaps he could collect the old man's dues for the guild and gain enough gold to be able to pay his way across the River.

Harkold got to his his feet and made his way across to the man's table the next time it became vacant. He made himself look drunker than he was and used the opportunity of sitting down precipitously on the seat in front of the Gambler to show him the guild hand signal. One of the old man's eyebrows went up questioningly, but he continued to shuffle his cards.

Harkold placed his purse on the table as a wager and quietly whispered, "I've come to collect what you owe us. I expect to win this hand."

The old man smiled and said, "Feeling lucky are we?" He dealt the cards expertly and once again Harkold could not see his technique.

Harkold's hand was flipped and it was quite strong. He had a queen of diamonds, a middling eight of hearts and a jack of clubs.

The old man spoke reading the cards in a friendly fashion, "The red queen is strong, my boy and the jack is also a strong card. Pity about the mediocre card in the middle."

He flipped his own cards revealing the queen of hearts, the ace of spades and the queen of clubs — a very strong winning hand and one with prophetic meaning.

"Looks like the ladies have it in for you in this game," he said and poured the contents of Harkold's purse onto his own pile of coins before passing it back across the table, empty.

"And if I were you I would be careful. The death card never bodes well," said the old timer as he started shuffling again.

Harkold was amazed at the man's temerity and the two of them stared at each other across the table top, basilisk gaze of the Assassin against the poker face of the Gambler.

"Excuse me, are you finished?" said a man from behind Harkold, breaking their eye contact.

Harkold came back to his senses. This was not the time or place for revenge. He got to his feet. "Things will be different next time we meet," he said to the Gambler and headed off towards his bed.

The Gambler shrugged and gestured for the next player to take a seat.

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t had been an interesting twenty-four hours during which his captive had become both his employer and bedfellow. The Princess slept, nestled up against his side and although the injury he had taken in his escape from the Dragon still hurt, he endured the pain, for he did not want to wake her.

It had all started the night before when he had been denied his guild protection payment and lost his purse to the Gambler in the taproom of the Tavern. He still harboured resentment against the stony-faced old man and revenge would be his, but circumstances had changed so much that this personal grudge would have to wait.

He had gone to his room feeling murderous and had felt the need to take out his rage on someone. The bound and gagged Princess had been the obvious target of his wrath and he'd planned to take her forcibly; now that she knew his true profession delivering her to her parents unsullied was no longer necessary.

Immediately he saw her waiting patiently in the bed, with her bonds untied and in full sight for him to see, he knew that he'd somehow read the situation between them wrong. Without any preamble she had told him that she wanted to hire him. He had listened aghast that such innocent beauty could hide such a lethal intent or such long-term cunning. She want him to kill her elder brother, the Prince. However he had to die in a way that would cast no hint of suspicion on her for she wanted no possible impediment to her succession to the throne.

And her offer of payment had been equally revealing in terms of her true nature and the strength of her commitment. She had not only promised him gold when the job was done but had offered herself to him as a sweetner and a sign of her own commitment to their deal. The sight of her young and willing flesh had been too much and they had consumated their agreement in a most agreeable fashion.

That had been last night and his change of fortune had continued with the arrival at the Tavern jetty of a vessel whose master he recognised. The Boatman was a smuggler and an old friend of Harkold's from his early days as a thief in the City. For old times sake, and the writing off of a long-standing debt to the guild, he'd agreed to take them across to the Temple in the morning.

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arkold stepped from the boat and onto the jetty and then looked up at the towering bulk of the Temple. To his mind it was a monument to greed and the need for power; and the source of much work for his profession. He knew from personal experience that the theology of this place was quite often backed up with a knife in the dark.

He turned and helped the Princess from the boat and then bid the Boatman farewell slipping him the paper packet that contained the last of his recreational drugs. The man gave him a gap-toothed grin and wished him well before polling his boat out into the current.

"I've never liked this place," said the Princess pulling the hood of her newly-acquired cloak over her head. Now that they were getting close to the Castle it was most important that she did not get recognised before the two schemers wanted her to be.

"Good instincts," said the Assassin approvingly. "Not everything is as it seems here. I could tell you stories that would give you nightmares."

"I'm sure you could. It's one of the things that I like about you," said the Princess and took hold of his hand.

Harkold looked at his little wolf in sheep's clothing and lead the way off the jetty. "We are going to need provisions," he said over his shoulder as they began the walk up the road to the Temple gates. "Fortunately, I have another debt I can collect on."

* * * *

Later that afternoon Harkold and Princess Rosalind found themselves in the company of a portly Priest by the name of Rubrik outside a small nondescript building within the walls of the Temple precinct.

"What's this all about Rubrik?" asked Harkold. "I've had just about as much mystery as I can stomach for one afternoon."

"Now, now, Mr. Baskon," said the Priest. "Your arrival at the Temple at this time after so long is very fortuitous. My associates and I may have another ... ahh ... opportunity for you."

"Not interested," said Harkold annoyed at having his time wasted. "I'm already under contract. Now are you going to give me my gold or do I have to go and see your superior and tell him of your extra-secular activities." Harkold's dagger was suddenly at the throat of the Priest, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. "And don't even think of trying anything clever or you will be dead before you finish the thought."

Rubrik's face went ghastly white as he tried to look down without lowering his head at the sharp steel aimed just below his many chins.

"In there," stuttered the Priest gesturing towards the nearest door.

"After you," said Harkold providing emphasis with the dagger.

The chamber behind the heavily locked door was a shrine, but not a shrine to Good. The symbol of Evil took pride of place on the altar and there were Evil slogans like, 'It takes being Evil to truly know Good', painted in red all over the walls. Standing at the altar were three men wearing devil masks and dressed in a parody of the clerical vestments of the church of Good.

"Welcome, honoured guest," said the foremost.

Harkold grabbed Rubrik and in a single well-practiced move had his dagger at the throat of his captive again. "Make a move or try to magic me and he will die," he hissed.

Rosalind whimpered somewhere behind him but Rubrik's reaction was the strangest. He seemed not to notice the dagger at his throat this time. "No! He can not possibly be the one."

"We checked. He is the one."

"What is going on here," said Harkold fiercely, trying to regain control of the situation.

"The life of the one you hold is irrelevant," said the foremost priest. "You may as well let him go."

Harkold did so — after slitting the man's throat. He wanted to let them know he was not to be trifled with. The Priest known as Rubrik collapsed to the floor, blood gushing from between his fingers. Gagging sounds came from both him and the Princess who had turned away to throw up in the corner.

The two hindmost priests looked at each other, the expressions on their faces hidden by their masks. Their leader raised his head in laughter.

"Did I not tell you that Rubrik was a fool? Well he has paid the price."

The priest turned back to the altar and picked up a silver goblet. He then approached Harkold respectfully and carefully reached down and let some of the dying Priest's blood spill into the goblet.

"And so have you, most honoured slayer," he said. "By killing in this place dedicated to Evil you have sacrified in its name. All that you need do to finish the ceremony and gain a boon is to make a libation of the sacrifice's blood over the holy symbol of Evil on the altar."

The Priest held out the goblet to Harkold and there was silence in the room apart from the retching sounds coming from the corner.

Harkold was not amused, he was not into religion of any form and sickened by the hypocrisy of these priests who hid their Evil passions under the guise of the greatest Good. He took the goblet to teach them a lesson and threw it and its contents at the altar as a demonstration of his disdain.

He was ready for just about anything in reaction to his defiance but not the voice that boomed in his head and the power that flooded into him.

ALL THIS AND MORE CAN BE YOURS
 

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ather Oswald's exuberance was starting to grate on Harkold. He couldn't stop harking on about how he, Harkold, would rule the realm in Evil's name. How Harkold was supposed to be favoured by the powers of Evil. True, Harkold had felt a tremendously powerful presence inside his head and somehow he knew that he had the power to destroy something if he thought about it hard enough, but rule the realm? Hah. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

The Magical Vortex whirled suddenly through the room sending Harkold and the three priests to the floor as their magic was stripped from them.

Rosalind, the errant Princess, rushed to Harkold's side and said, "Harkold? Can you hear me? I don't like all this magic. Can we get out of here, please?"

Brother Lee was stirring and to emphasize her point the Princess went over to the altar, picked up a small idol and smashed it across the back of his head. She did the same to Father Oswald while Harkold looked on and recovered his wits.

Brother Harvey came spluttering to his feet. "Why you little strumpet!" he cried. "How dare you lay hands on a Priest?"

He raised his hands and advanced towards her menacingly but Harkold's knife pierced his throat before he could touch her. He collapsed to the ground with a gurgle.

Rosalind walked over and kicked him in the stomach. "You may be a Priest," she sneered, "but I'm a $#*^%*$ Princess, you oaf." She then turned to Harkold who was smiling at her indulgently. "Can we get out of here, now?" she demanded.

"Why not," said Harkold getting to his feet. "The Powers that Be have stripped me of Evil's miracle and I think somehow that we have worn out our welcome here with Priests, don't you?" He walked over to the still convulsing body of Brother Harvey and flipped him onto his back so he could remove his blade. He wiped it clean on the Priest's robes and said, "You know sweetheart, even as young as you are you show more true promise than these," he said flicking a finger at the Priests. "Check the door while I finish the job. Hopefully we won't have to fight our way out of this Good-forsaken place."

* * * *

Several hours later Harkold's blade was bloody again. This time the blood was that of a merchant. A merchant they had waylaid for his food and money who had refused to give it up willingly. Harkold grinned at the two bags of gold the man had been carrying. Who needed the power of Evil to get on in the realm when there were always people stupid enough to be taken advantage of by someone who was willing to do anything to get what they wanted.

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he Runes have existed as long as the realm of Talis itself. Some wise men say that the standing stones are the last remnants of the civilisation of an ancient pre-human race and that the marks on the stones hold the answers to many mysteries. Such fools do not live very long if they dare try to decipher those glyphs for the Runes protect their secrets well.

* * * *

Harkold stared at the hill with its cluster of mysterious standing stones and wondered just what the strange inscriptions might mean. His recent encounters with both the forces of Evil and Good had made him see the realm in a different light.

"Rosalind? How about we climb the hill and do a little investigating?"

"No we should hurry on. This is a place of Evil," said the Princess, wide-eyed.

"So?" said the Assassin, shrugging. "The forces of Evil recently offered me great power. Perhaps they will do so again if I give them the opportunity."

The Princess looked doubtful and more than a little scared.

"C'mon, I dare you," said Harkold taking hold of her hand and leading her up the slope.

* * * *

At the Assassin's insistence the two made love beneath two lintel-capped standing stones on the very top of the ancient mound itself. He told her that it was a show of defiance against all the powers that be. His excitement at the thought had been infectious and the Princess had eventually submitted to his will.

Then in the very throes of passion she had began screaming for from the very top of the standing stones there had come something monstrous; an Evil Darkness, part cloud, part living creature. It thrust its way high up into the sky towering over everything and then its leading edges started to descend upon the realm, as if in search of prey.

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t felt good to finally be rid of his cracked ribs. The Royal Doctor had been one of the few people about when the two of them had arrived at the Castle in the dead of night and being a member of the Brotherhood he was only too happy to deal with Harkold's injuries. Funnily enough, news of of his resignation as head of the Guild had yet to reach him. Harkold wondered what on earth was happening back in the City.

He and Rosalind had perforce abandoned their love-making on the hill when the Evil Darkness had erupted from the top of the standing stones. They'd rushed away from the source of the strange magic and then decided to keep on marching to make the Castle before the break of day.

While they walked Rosalind had brought up the topic of their future. She still wanted her brother the Prince killed. He was an effeminate snob and would do the realm of Talis no good as a King. She was convinced that she would be a better ruler once her father had passed on. And no thank you very much she did not want Harkold to hasten that event.

She then admitted that she was not particularly keen with the idea of going back to being a simpering lady of the court. Despite their trials she had come to like the adventurous life and wondered if Harkold would teach her some of his skills. She would make sure he was set up well in the Castle and would even be able to bed him still, if they were careful.

Harkold had thought about this and then agreed. It was not a bad place to hide and he would be able to keep an eye on the comings and going of the Portal of Power. He would have to suborn away those members of the Brotherhood that lived in the Castle to his own following but he didn't think that would be too much of a problem. They had always been more of a form of insurance than a productive part of the Guild and so would probably relish the prospect of being more active.

He yawned mightily. The hospice bed was very comfortable after his long journey from the City and so Harkold lay back to sleep the few hours till dawn when news of their arrival would be common knowledge. No doubt tomorrow would be a busy day and he would need to have his wits about him.

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he Portal of Power. A place for ruler wannabes to test their mettle. If you were found lacking here it was best to go on about your business until you were better prepared to face the dangers within. The Assassin and the Princess were just passing through on their way to find Rosalind's errant brother. Still one could hardly not stop and wonder about what lay beyond that door.

"Do you think any Talis Man has gone through already?" said Rosalind.

"Doubt it," replied Harkold looking around. He was surprised that there wasn't a guard on the door. "I asked the Doctor in the Castle and he hadn't seen anyone. No doubt they're all still out there trying to find a Talisman."

Rosalind walked up to the Portal and reached out to touch its surface. Harkold looked on wondering if what she was doing was wise.

"Its cold," she said pulling her hand away. She then stepped back further as a pale cloud spewed from the place she had touched.

"I'm free! Free at last!" said a chillingly cold voice.

A ghostly humanoid shape hung momentarily in the air and then flew quickly past them both heading off along the narrow path they had traversed to reach the Portal.

Rosalind turned to her lover and teacher and with eyes wide with fear asked, "What was that?"

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rincess Rosalind was no shrinking violet. She'd taken to Harkold's training with a blood thirsty zeal that made him glad he'd agreed to teach her. That and the carnal delights she allowed him. He'd discovered there was nothing quite like the feel of a hot sweaty princess beneath one's body after an energetic training session on crippling blows and throws.

And she appear to be naturally adept at some of the other skills required by an Assassin. Already she had managed to sneak out of the Castle part of the guard uniform he wanted to use as a disguise. Harkold placed his hand on the guard helmet she had brought him this morning as he watched her do her stretching exercises.

"Lovely form, my dear," he said leering at her.

She stuck her tongue out at him and then began another series of slow dance-related stretching exercises that left very little for Harkold's imagination to invent about what lay under her skimpy costume.

Harkold grinned. He was one lucky old master Assassin.

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arkold sat honing his dagger against the spit-wet piece of stone he was using to sharpen its blade. It was hardly a proper whetstone but beggars can't be choosers and this was his only weapon. He must remind the Princess to bring him some more weapons. Even if it was just some of the everyday household things that he could turn into hidden weapons like pepper or wire.

Of course she was staying at the Castle now — it was her home and it would be suspicious if she did not. She had astounded everyone at court by suddenly turning up having made her own way home after her mysterious disappearance. She had mentioned Harkold as the travelling merchant who had helped her but he was not yet ready to announce himself to the King yet; that was to be a surprise for the future. Fortunately she was able to get away on a regular basis for training and other activities here at the Portal of Power.

Harkold continued drawing the blade of the dagger across the stone but he had suddenly lost interest in the task — someone else was here. Someone who was very good at being quiet but was being noisy enough now to be noticed by the wary. He lifted his blade from the stone to test its edge and made a guild hand sign with his other hand. This was just in case the lurker was one of his guild brother, the action had the added benefit that it made it easier for him to throw the blade if that was what was required.

"Well met, Guildmaster Harkold," said the bowman in lincoln green who stepped out of the shadows.

"No longer Guildmaster, Thadeus. I quit," replied Harkold smiling up at his old friend. He kept his knife ready just in case.

"News to me," said Thadeus as he moved up and squatted down to be at the same level as Harkold. "Still, I suppose that's not surprising considering where I find you."

Harkold smiled ruefully. It appeared everyone from gods to bandits thought he was interested in the Crown of Command. Perhaps he should make use of that assumption.

"Yes, I have to admit its tempting," he said rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "But I don't have a Talisman."

"Ahhh. And so your waiting for one to come along & mdash; clever," smirked Thadeus.

"I could do with a good set of eyes," said Harkold acknowledging the man's acumen. "Interested?"

"What's in it for me?"

"If I make it to the top job you could be the next Guildmaster. How does that sound?"

Thadeus smiled and offered his hand on the deal.

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hings were definitely looking up for Harkold. Princess Rosalind had even brought him some gold this morning as a gift and while he had told her that she needn't have bothered — that it was small beer in terms of their long term plans — it was always comforting to have some cash on hand, just in case things went wrong and he was forced to make a run for it.

Harkold suspected that Rosalind was feeling a little worried about his continued interest in her. With the arrival of guild member Thadeus, the Guide turned outlaw, she no longer had Harkold all to herself. Of course she had nothing to worry about. His interest in her was carnal mainly and in that area the burly woodsman was of no interest to him. Still if it meant she kept plying him with gifts ...

Thadeus was proving to be a valuable asset. Whereas the Princess was keeping him informed about the goings-on in the Castle, Thadeus was bringing him news from further afield. The latest of which was that another old associate of Harkold's had started waylaying people on the road between the Temple and the Castle.

The presence of the Bandit had both its good and bad points. If he could be contacted and brought into the little band Harkold was forming then his position would be greatly strengthened. On the other hand it was conceivable that the Bandit might stumble on the Prince and kidnap him for his own purposes meaning that Harkold might lose some of his leverage with the Princess. That she wanted her brother removed from the royal line of accession was one of the biggest holds he had over her. It wouldn't do to have some ham-fisted bandit do the young prince in by accident, not unless he could claim credit for it with the Princess.

Still all this intrigue and excitement made life interesting and reminded him of the feeling he used to get in the early days when he had been a master assassin and not Guild boss — he hadn't felt this interested in his work in a long time.

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hen Princess Rosalind reported that the famous Good priestess known as the Prophetess had arrived in the Castle in the company of several men-at-arms Harkold became concerned. Surely she must be a contender for the Throne of Power and therefore her next stop would be the Portal of Power. He didn't like his chances of staying hidden from such a one and if she had physical forces at her command as well as mystical ones ... then it would probably be for the best to make himself scarce.

And he knew just the place. His ally, Thadeus the Guide, had told him of a dark knight who lived not far from here who had started waylaying travellers, demanding of them a toll. A villain of notable fighting abilities from all account. Someone with whom he could hopefully make an arrangment to gain protection from the forces of Good that were coming his way. With this plan in mind Harkold set out early in the morning on a quest to find the Black Knight.

* * * *

"What do you mean, a bag of gold?" said Harkold. "Come on man ... we're on the same side."

"That's the deal," said the Black Knight. "Can't go soft on anyone, or I'll lose my reputation."

Harkold looked at the Black Knight — he was a giant. This fact and the severed heads that sat atop the poles arranged around his pavillion would surely prevent any loss of reputation from occurring until the man was actually killed in battle. However Harkold had to admit it was a damn good bargaining point.

"Fine! Here! Have your bloody money," said Harkold crossly handing over his only bag of gold. "I'll just go over there out of sight behind your pavillion and set up my camp. Is that okay with you?"

"That's fine. Just don't get underfoot, Thief," came the reply as the Knight pocketed the gold.

Secretly Harkold was pleased. Such a protector for only a bag of gold. He knew of Mercenaries who charged that much just as a retainer. And the poor buffoon didn't even realise who it was that he was protecting. The deal really couldn't have been much sweeter.

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ighway Robbery thought Harkold as he packed his belongings. The Black Knight had come to him this morning and told him that his protection fee was on a daily basis and that if another bag of gold wasn't forth coming then Harkold could work off the cost acting as a practice partner for the Black Knight's sword play. Not a pleasant thought. The man was a giant and Harkold's abilities with a larger blade were as good as he would have liked.

So he would go back to the ruins on the mountain and see if the party from the Good temple was still there. He hoped they were gone as the ruins were a perfect base of operations for him. And if they were still there? Well he would face that problem when he came to it. He had always prided himself on his ability to think on his feet.

* * * *

The ruins were indeed deserted apart from his man Thadeus who was waiting for him with another prospective member for his growing gang of villains. The more men the merrier as far as Harkold was concerned but in this case he wasn't so sure. The new man only stood six inches tall and the gossamer wings that sprouted from his back were unusual, to say the least.

"So — You're a fairy, are you?" said Harkold.

"I'm not a bloody fairy," came the shouted reply. "I'm a f$%#ing Pixie. There's a big difference."

As if to prove his point the winged man drew his small sword and took to the air. He flew at Harkold's head and when Harkold had brought up his hands in defence. He had to listen with covered eyes and in growing fear as his tiny attacker buzzed around him, talking.

"Fairies are all about magic and Good,
"And toadstool circles in the wood.
"Pin's my name. I'm a Pixie.
"I'm small and fast and very tricksy.
"I could put this sword in your ear,
"Or even up your big fat rear.
"For though I'm small, I'm —.

"Alright, alright," said Harkold breaking into the stream of doggerel while judiciously backing away so that the little swordsman was in front of him. "You've proved your point, but what is it with this rhyming?"

Pin grinned and in his tiny voice said, "Can't help it. It's a Pixie thing. It confuses our enemies and I can't sing."

How bizarre, thought Harkold. "And just what am I supposed to do with you?"

"Aerial reconnisance is my speciality," said Pin.

Harkold waited a little while and then said, "That didn't rhyme."

"Course not," snorted the little man. "Rhyming all the time would be a crime ... It would make you angry and I'm trying to join your group."

Harkold thought for a moment and then smiled at the little man. "Welcome aboard Pin. Can you cook?"

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s soon as the door closed Princess Rosalind turned on Harkold and on tip toes began covering his face with kisses. He stopped her and gently took her face in his hands and gave her a long passionate kiss on the mouth. Her hands fumbled at his belt and he took her in his arms and crushed her too him but as their passions mounted the Castle around them broke into an uproar.

"They have found the body," said Harkold, breaking from Rosalind's grasp.

"We must be quick then," said the Princess, her voice hoarse with passion.

"Sorry Princess," said Harkold stepping away. "It's time I made myself scarce. No doubt someone will be coming soon to tell you of your brother's unfortunate accident. Best they don't find you with a lover in your bed."

Rosalind pouted and pulled her clothing tight around her. "When I am Queen I will take whomever I like to bed."

Harkold smiled down at her. His little assassin-in-the-making continued to impress him. Though she had refused to do the deed herself. She had insisted that she be present when Harkold had tipped her inebriated brother out his window. She had even glanced over the edge herself at his broken body before they had hurried away.

"I'm sure you will Rosalind," said Harkold helping her to her feet. "Just don't forget your old friends."

"Never," said Rosalind putting her arms around him. "You have shown me that nothing is impossible as long as one is strong enough to do what needs be done. I will be a great Queen. My brother would have been a poor King. You have done the realm a great service."

Harkold smiled. "I doubt your parents would agree," he said.

"What do they know?" she said and then stiffened as the sound of running feet came to their ears.

"Here. Take these," she said pressing several bags of gold into his hands. "Lay low for a while and then you can come back to complete my training."

Harkold smiled at her but said nothing for there was a knock at the door. Rosalind went to answer the urgent message from her servants and when she turned back into the room it was to find it empty. Harkold, her teacher and first lover, had gone.

* * * *

Harkold moved through the Castle grounds like a shadow making the most of the darkness. The Prince's untimely accident had thrown all normal procedures out the window and so he found it easy to slip out unobserved. In fact the hardest part of leaving the Castle was leaving Rosalind. Had he fallen for her? Very unprofessional. He would have to give himself an official reprimand ... later.

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he walk up the mountain had been uneventful but it had made Harkold realise that he had built up quite a retinue. There was Abraham and Pin and then there was the Dwarf with his Unicorn — definitely weird that — and the hired Mercenary, Fitz. Quite a substantial force really. Maybe he had a half decent chance to claim the Throne of Power.

It had all come about when he had met the Dwarf in his makeshift camp after fleeing the Castle. Prince Henry was now deceased, which meant Princess Rosalind wouldn't be as accessible as she had been — her now being the heir to the throne and all. So he had been momentarily at a loose end. The sight of the Talisman around the little man's neck had been like a revelation.

He had originally fled his cushy job as guildmaster of the guild of Thieves and Assassins in the City because he feared repercussions for his involvement in the death of the Crown Bearer. Those repercussions had not been forthcoming but if the Prophetess reached the Throne of Power then there was nowhere that he would be able to hide from her reach. To be truly safe he would have to stop her and with his new army, the Dwarf and a Talisman he could do even more than that. He could take the Throne himself.

He had spun some bullshit story about opening a new mine in the inner region of Talis. Now the Dwarf either new much more or much less than Harkold did about those mines because he had jumped at the chance. What the Dwarf thought about the deal didn't worry Harkold because all he really needed him for was to get through the Portal of Power.

And that is just what the little man had done.

The assembled group of men stood in awe before the opened door on the other side of which was an impossible scene. Instead of the inside of the mountain they could see a harsh plain dotted with fumaroles and in the distance the glow from the Valley of Fire. Harkold shook himself. Now was the time to establish himself as the boss of this group.

He moved to the front of the group and with an all encompassing gesture said, "Come on men. Fortune awaits us." He then turned and resolutely stepped across the threshold.

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ither he's cleverer than he looks or incredibly naive, thought Harkold and snuck another peek at the Dwarf. The small man was back walking next to his tame Unicorn, whispering to it in the same way he talked to his Axe. Then again he could of course just be a nutter, said the cynical side of the Assassin's brain. Doesn't mean he can't be taken advantage of.

Harkold stopped walking and let the two of them catch up. They stopped when they reached him and the Dwarf looked at him expectantly.

"I'll take the Talisman," said Harkold. "Three bags of gold was it?"

"That be right," said the Dwarf and took the Talisman from around his neck.

Harkold fished out his money, but before handing it across asked, "And you'll find us safely through the Mines to the other side?"

The Dwarf looked at him while fingering the precious medallion. The Unicorn pawed at the ground and turned to look at him, its horn forcing the Assassin to step back hurriedly.

"Aye, I will," said the Dwarf. "But I won't be bothering to assay them. Not the right sort of country for Gold."

"Really," said the Assassin and passed across the bags he carried. "Well hopefully this will make you happy."

"Aye," said the Dwarf as he passed over the Talisman. He then opened one of the bags and took a big sniff of the contents; a dreamy smile creased his wrinkled features.

Of course he could always be incredibly clever and a nutter, thought Harkold to himself and turned away. The hill with its myriad mine entrances loomed close and Harkold hoped that the Dwarf really was clever and was not going to get them lost.

* * * *

Several hours later the party, dirty and exhausted, emerged from the Mines on the other side of the Hill. Before them stretched a plain dominated by a mountain on which could be seen a tower.

Harkold sat and rested like the rest of his men and looked out over the plain. The Dwarf had done it. Without the little man they would still be down there in the dark, stumbling around, getting lost and ending up who know where. Harkold decided that it had been a good idea to let the Dwarf have his way. It would have been so easy for him to lead them astray, deliberately.

He looked up, wondering what next lay in store for them. In the distance he could see the orange glow of the Valley of Fire, but he didn't want to think about that yet. Nearer he could see a meandering channel winding its way across the plain. Water, he thought, just what the doctor ordered. A camp next to some water would be good. He got to his feet.

"Okay men," he said trying to sound confident. "One last push to that stream down there and then we'll camp for the night. Wash some of this dust off, eh?"

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arkold woke from an uneasy sleep and wondered what was wrong. The campfire barely flickered but he had no trouble seeing because of the light from the Valley of Fire. He looked around trying to work out what it was that had awakened him. The Unicorn drowsed off to one side, its Dwarvish master slumbering by its side, flanked by the small tent of his Mercenary. No trouble from that corner, at least, which was something that he wouldn't have been surprised at.

Then he realised what it was. Where was his woodsman, Abraham? He had bid Abraham goodnight after the man had relieved him from his own turn on watch. Abraham was a good man. He had been seated just over there on that large boulder. Something was not right. Abraham should have kept the fire going.

Harkold got quietly to his feet and drew his dagger. Pin was around somewhere, no doubt up somewhere high, but probably not much use at the moment. Should he wake the Dwarf? No. It could just be his imagination.

He moved over to the boulder where Abraham's mug still rested. It was half full, but cold. Now Harkold was sure that something was wrong. His doubts were confirmed when he noticed Abraham's boot, tinged with the light of the distant fires, sticking out from behind the boulder.

He looked. He listened. He strained his senses for some sign of imminent danger. Nothing. He moved round the boulder still half expecting to see an attacker but knowing in his heart and mind that whatever had happened had happened hours ago and they had all been sleeping unprotected since then.

Abraham lay on the ground a half smile on his deathly white face. Harkold shuddered suddenly feeling very cold. The body showed no signs of damage apart from two small puncture wounds on its throat — the marks of a Vampire.

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"hat do you mean you're not coming?"

"I don't work for you," said Montague Fitz drawing himself up to his full height. "I work for whomever is willing to pay me and as you have said so yourself — you are currently out of funds."

"But the Dwarf," said Harkold looking over his shoulder at the cloud of dust in the distance and then down at the Talisman that hung from his neck. "The Dwarf ... has all my gold."

"That is not my concern," said the Mercenary. "I think my best plan is to wait right here until someone with money comes along who is interested in my services. Maybe Master Daffyd will come back. He is certainly rich enough."

Harkold scowled and turned away. That bloody Dwarf had shafted him. Shafted him good. Time for the little beggar to die. Harkold started walking determinedly towards the Mines in the distance.

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braham had been a good man. It was a shame that he had been the victim of the Vampire and not that damned Dwarf. Harkold was still fuming about the trick the Dwarf had played on him. Yes, he had gotten a Talisman out of the deal, but a Talisman was no use whatsoever if he never got to the Valley of Fire.

And with Abraham dead and the Dwarf and his Unicorn gone, he and Pin were not up to taking on the Good group that had preceded him through the Portal of Power.

Damned that Dwarf. He must be laughing in his beard right now about Montague Fitz. Sure, he had left the man with Harkold, but since Harkold had given the Dwarf all of his gold for the Talisman, the Mercenary wouldn't work for him.

Harkold and Pin made their way through the passages of the old Mines lighting the tunnels with an ancient lantern Harkold had found and some equally old oil he hoped would last the distance. The only good thing to happen in recent days was his decision to have Abraham blaze a trail when they had passed through the Mines the first time. But they had to hurry. The last thing he wanted was to be still inside the Mines when the oil ran out.

* * * *

Hours later, battered and bruised, Harkold and the now, blessedly quiet, Pin finally exited the Mines and found themselves once more on the Plain of Peril. The last hour of their journey underground — after the oil had run out — had had to be travelled by Pixie light.

Harkold was relieved to be outside once more for more reasons than the obvious ones. he had discovered much to his annoyance, that not only does Pixie magic require the continuous recitation of doggerel, but that Pin was not only a bad Pixie, but he was also a bad poet.

That Dwarf, whom they had seen no sign of in the Mines, had shafted him bad. Harkold vowed once more that if ever he saw the little runt again, that the Dwarf was going to die, painfully ... possibly by Pixie poetry.

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" hat's in it for me?" asked Harkold.

"Another chance," said the Wizard after looking at his female companion. "You've obviously tried and failed once already."

"Sounds to me like your just after some more soldiers for your little army," replied Harkold.

The Wizard simply shrugged and turned and looked at the Portal of Power. "Go through that door and you will lose any chance of having power in the Realm. Stay with us and I, for one, guarantee that you will have a position of importance in the new regime."

"And I, for one, will not take no for an answer," said the woman, a sneer on her face. "Do you think I don't know of your part in the death of the previous Crown bearer? Do you think that I would not want you where I could keep my eye on you? You are either with us or you are dead, your choice."

Harkold looked at the woman in surprise. He didn't know who she was but she certainly had a way with words. She had even taken the Wizard by surprise.

"Well," said Harkold intrigued. "If you put it that way. I'm your man."

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nce again Alfonzo's trail was used to traverse the deep darkness of the Mines, though not so dark this time as the Sorceress provided a magical light. Harkold's thoughts kept coming back to the Dwarf. The little bastard had deserted him and lost himself somewhere in these tunnels; he half expected to come across the little beggar and his stupid Unicorn at every turn.

Still the little beggar had defied Harkold and got away with it ... and that was something a lot of people had tried to do before, and failed. Should he do the same? The Wizard and the Sorceress were dangerous and they were drawing the attention of the Crown Bearer. Perhaps it would be best for him to head back to the City. Try to take over control of the guild again under a new identity. The Crown Bearer wasn't really omniscient after all — at least the last one hadn't been.

Harkold stood looking at the last of Alfonzo's marks. This was his last chance to escape the others.

"Is there something wrong?" asked the Wizard.

"No," said Harkold throwing in his lot on a whim. "We shall soon see the surface. Then. Then, things will start to get interesting."

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he decision not to camp at the site of the explosion was unanimous. Harkold had explained that this was where he had left Montague Fitz and the scorched earth and smell of burnt meat was enough to explain what had happened to him. Harkold led them out of the defile towards the distant Valley of Fire.

"And I believe the vampire lives up there," he said pointing with his good hand. The other had been twisted and deformed out of shape by the Crown Bearer earlier in the day when he had tried to force Harkold to submit to his will. "Alfonzo and I will find us another campsite and even stand watch. But its up to you two to keep us safe from the monster."

The dark Wizard approached. "I'm sorry I can't do anything about your hand, Assassin," he said.

Harkold grunted. He had replenished and augmented his supply of drug-based weapons in the Castle's infirmary and he was now using a diluted version of one of them to control the pain of his twisted arm. It made him a little groggy, but it at least gave him a chance a getting close enough to gain revenge on the Crown bearer.

"I'm sure you'll be able to heal me when we put you on the Throne of Power." Harkold noted the scowl that appeared on the face of the Sorceress but said nothing. He just turned and moved off. The further they got before the sun went down the more likely they were to survive the night, or so he hoped.

* * * *

Harkold woke suddenly feeling guilty that he had nodded off. He turned to look to see if Alfonzo had noticed. His watch companion was no longer on the rock where he should have been sitting.

With feelings of dejavu and growing unease, Harkold got quietly to his feet and keeping low padded over to the opposite side of the campsite. A faint movement off in the distance caught his eye and he saw Alfonzo disappearing round the corner of a large boulder a short distance away.

Damn, he thought, something's wrong, and delaying only long enough to kick the Wizard awake, he ran after the Guide. Whatever they did needed to be fast if they wanted to keep Alfonzo alive.

With only a whisper of sound to betray his passage Harkold slipped across the rocky ground to move around the boulder in the opposite direction to the Alfonzo. He wasn't sure what he had expected but the sight of Alfonzo bending his knee and baring his neck to a young girl in a party dress was not it.

Still, he of all people knew that Evil could take many forms, so he silently sprang forward and plunged his poisoned blade into the back of the small form while at the same time using his weight to bear her to the ground underneath him.

Unbelievably, she shrugged him off as if his weight were nothing. Then, faster than he himself could recover, she was on her feet and staring down at him. The blood that stained that child-like mouth and chin was the least sign of her true nature as Harkold was transfixed by the look of pure fury in her eyes. Here, was true Evil in one of its purest forms.

Alfonzo made a noise and the monster silenced him by turning and smashing the helpless man's head to a pulp against the side of the boulder. His body dropped lifeless to the ground and the vampire turned back to Harkold apparently unheeding of his blade which still protruded from her back.

She smiled and lunged at him. Harkold took the opportunity to try to hurl a pepper bomb from inside his coat pocket at her face, but the monster was so fast the soft packet burst bare inches from his hand covering both of them in the fine powder. Blinded, Harkold felt himself grabbed and flung against something hard, then everything went black.

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t had been a hard half day for Harkold. Things had started to go wrong when he woke during the night to find his fellow watchman in the clutches of a Vampire. Although the creature had looked like a young girl, it had survived his poisoned dagger and almost dashed his brains out against a boulder. If not for the magic of his travelling companions, which had driven the creature off, he would no doubt be dead.

And then the Crown Bearer had tried to make him submit again. Harkold looked at his twisted arm and shuddered at what might have been. Then he took heart. This time he had been stronger, more resolute, and apparently, too strong for the magic of the Crown. For nothing had happened to him when he dared defy the voice in his head.

That had been several hours ago and now the group wandered through a desolate landscape covered with pits that smelled of brimstone — a very unsavoury place — and ahead of them was the Valley of Fire. Harkold thought he could feel the heat of the flames already even this far away.

The Wizard said something to the Sorceress in a quiet tone and Harkold concentrated to hear what was being said. He suspected that a double cross was being planned, but against whom, he did not know yet. The one thing he did not suspect at this point was the ground under his feet and so he was taken by surprise when the ground fell away and he found himself falling.

Harkold found himself at the bottom of a deep pit. Fortunately his Helmet had protected his already damaged head. Dirt and stones rained down on and around him and dust filled the air. He was about to consider himself lucky when he noticed the figure in the opposite corner. Tall, green and armoured the Pit Fiend stalked forward swinging its viscious-looking Sword and licking its fangs in expectation of a quick kill.

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hile the Pit Fiend was distracted by the Sorceress's taunts from above Harkold slipped his dagger out of its hidden sheathe. There wouldn't be much poison left on its blade, but if he could slip it between the joins of the creature's plate armour into a vulnerable spot, its should do the job. He eased forward to within striking distance as the Fiend produced and threw its own hidden blade. Then he struck.

Due to a sudden movement on the part of this target his blade missed the gap between the plates and instead scraped across their surface. In reaction the Fiend brought it Sword arm round and fetched him a blow to the Helmet with its elbow. He sprang away, his already tender head ringing from the blow, but now at least he was on his feet.

He stared at the Fiend — dagger versus Sword — not good odds, but a common enough occurrence for an Assassin. This fight was not over yet.

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he collapsing side of the pit caught Harkold by surprise. It had been a stand-off between he and the Pit Fiend he faced. His foe's longer weapon was not the best weapon for the restricted area of the pit and the monster had obviously been aware of the possibility of another attack from above because it kept flicking its gaze upwards. This caution had no doubt saved the monster from being hit by the falling rock which had come down with the Sorceress and it had capitalised on this readiness by running the Sorceress through, despite her screams of protest.

Too late Harkold ran at the Fiend's back. It was turning already, its sword trailing blood in an arc as it swept round to meet his expected attack against its rear. Instinctively, Harkold threw himself to one side to avoid the jagged-edged blow but in so doing he crashed into the side of the pit and hit his head. Dust and stone fell all about him and his head spun, but a premonition made him move once more. He threw himself backwards and the blow that should have taken off his right arm scored across his upper thigh instead.

Sprawled flat on his back Harkold shook his head trying to clear it of the effects of his collision with the wall. The Pit Fiend stalked toward him preparing to finish the job.

Where's that damned Wizard? thought Harkold as he rolled onto his hands and knees and discovered that his wounded leg would not let him stand.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

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arkold had let himself fall onto his back when he'd realised he couldn't stand on his injured leg; it was better to face death than die on his knees. And it had indeed looked like his end was upon him as the creature raised its Sword above its head for a killing stroke. Then the Wizard had appeared and shouted down into the pit challenging the monster.

Now, while the creature was distracted, Harkold struck. He aimed his dagger at the creature's groin, below the plate armour it wore. His blade struck deeply and green ichor flooded down over Harkold's hand from a severed artery. Surely it had been a mortal blow, lack of blood to the brain should leave the creature helpless within seconds.

But no! The creature staggered back, clearly in pain and suffering greatly, but still resolutely on its feet.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

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e tore his eyes away from the dead eyes of the Wizard. This was no time for distractions. The Pit Fiend might be injured, but it was still on its feet and it was still capable of killing him. He watched warily as his foe staggered over to the body of the Wizard its Sword raised to deliver a killing blow as it had done with the Sorceress. Taking this opportunity of distraction Harkold moved as quietly and as quickly as he could with his injured leg and twisted arm Harkold around behind the beast.

The monster impaled the already dead Wizard on its Sword. At the same time Harkold struck; once, behind the Fiend's left leg to cripple it and bring it down; the second time he drove the point of his dagger up into its throat. Once more ichor spurted over his blade and hand. This time the monster stayed down. This time the monster died.

Harkold sagged back in relief. He had survived.

At least he would if he could do something about his wounds. Blood flowed thickly from the ragged gash in his leg. He needed to see to that in a hurry. He crawled across to the body of the Wizard. Hopefully the man had some sort of magic that would help Harkold.

The first thing that caught Harkold's eye was a container attached to the Wizard's belt, but alas it contained only water, he threw it aside after quenching his thirst. Then, of all things a Cross. This he also discarded. A Talisman? No he already had one of those. What this? he thought as he picked up the Wizard's Wand.

Knowledge of magic flooded into his brain. Hints of Strength and healing and other things he didn't immediately understand gave him hope and with hope came the chance to call upon the magic that had been given him. He did so and was immediately rewarded with a feeling of Strength flowing through his body.

This was more like it. Although still injured he now felt he had the Strength to walk and perhaps even climb. The rest of the Wizard's things he would investigate when he was on firmer ground and out of this damned pit.

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ventually, despite the sides continuing to give way, Harkold managed to climb out of the pit. Then after binding his wounds, with strips of cloth torn from the Wizard's belongings, he took out the Wizard's Wand again and began exploring the opportunities this access to the arcane world of magic gave him.

The Wand now held a spell that allowed him to curse an area. This was not immediately useful to him, but somehow he knew that if he cast this spell, the Wand would replace it with another. So he cast the spell picking the room on the outside of the Portal of Peril as his target. Any other contenders for the Throne must pass through there to gain access to the Inner Realm and the Hex should give them pause for thought.

The next spell filled the Wand with its destructive potential. Harkold was afraid that the Wand might destroy itself with the power of this spell so he loosed the magic choosing as his target the roof of the Cave in which he had almost been killed him so long ago. He smiled as, with the vision given him by the casting of the spell, he saw the Cave come down on top of the Dragon.

Although he could not be sure, the next spell seemed to be the same as the first one he'd used. Expecting to feel even more Strength coursing through his body, he cast the spell and was surprised when nothing appeared to happen. However, the spell was replaced in the Wand, so he thought perhaps that the spell had failed. Magic, apparently, wasn't a precise science.

He'd hoped for some sort of magical healing to prepare him for the coming fight. However, it seemed that the new spell in the Wand was some sort of defence against magical attacks. This would have to do for at the moment he had no way of expending the spell.

Realising that it was time to move on. Harkold gathered together the equipment he would need for his assault on the Crown of Command. He knew from previous research that the Crown Bearer sat upon the Throne of Power on top of a pinnacle in the middle of the Valley of Fire. In which case the Mule was not likely to be much use. He took the rest of the Wizard's gear off the animal and left it to try to find some sort of food in the forbidding landscape.

One way or the other he was not likely to have any further need for the animal. The rest of the Wizard's gear he left as well. He would need to be light on his feet so he decided to take the Sword, the Wand, his Helmet and his Talisman, of course.

He then turned and limped towards the entrance to the Valley of Fire. The Crown Bearer must know that he was coming, but there was nothing either of them could do about that. Let him be the one to beware for Harkold the Assassin was coming for him.

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