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[Scar]

---

Things were heading south quickly. He had tried, and failed, to rid himself of Poppy, feigning the righteous indignation he displayed toward her in front of Deminatza, and Darthos had certainly been no help in that, either. There was a vampiress on the loose in Papua which would surely, sooner or later, draw attention to the steamy, usually placid, backwater town from some sickeningly sweet, do-gooding Light-sworn fanatic. And to top it all off, some upstart, annoying, and aggravatingly right-on-the-mark seer or prophetess had emerged from some blistering light-shaft who had blabbed about that he was a poseur, not the real Scar, who could apparently still be alive but only possessed one hand.

For such reasons, the Elder (a.k.a. Scar) decided it was high time to regroup and call a conference with his brash, disrespecting, lieutenant to hash out a new strategy. Thus, he and Darthos were seated within the confines of a darkened, borrowed, temple staring at each other from across the room.

Scar leaned forward to speak. "You MUST find a way to silence that two-bit harlot Poppy! Poison her or something. She is talking too much and she knows too much. And make sure Connor keeps his yap shut too. Threaten him, bribe him, minionize him... do what you must," Scar barked the orders.

Darthos offered that excruciatingly annoying sneer. "She is good as gone. Went home the other day, fully healed from her wounds. Chasity is on it. Won't be long now."

"That's another thing. How many people has she killed in Papua already?"

"No more than three, all homeless vagabonds which nobody will miss. Most likely people will be thankful not to see them lolling around in their own filth anymore."

"Do not let her get out of hand."

"She has been warned."

Scar leaned back, tapping the arm of his chair. "Find out all you can about this Itannar, and that woman I spoke to. She will be testing me and I must have some information to give. This "memory loss" excuse is wearing thin."

"I have a dossier on him I will bring to you. As for her, I cannot say. I DO know that Itannar worships some benign but foreign nature deity called Quaestra Concordia, so it could be she is a priestess or something. Or she may just be a good guesser, my lord." Darthos smiled after the last statement.

"This is no time for humor. You DO wish to be rewarded for our efforts, don't you?"

Darthos nodded, fully prepared to patiently endure the chiding he knew was coming.

"Then please keep a sober mind about you." Scar turned his head. "By the way... I had a man among the assassins you sent to kill Scar. He did not return to report to me. I only have your word as to the disposition of the real Scar's body... and his hand... as proof that he is truly dead."

"We have discussed this already, my Master... though you did not tell me about the man you hired. One might think you do not trust me," he replied in a hurt tone.

Scar ignored his remark. "He was sent to ensure that my orders were carried out. Odd that of all the assassins, he alone, did not return. That has been troubling me. If Scar is still alive, he will pose a serious threat to our plans. You are certain he is dead?" He stared into the eyes of his henchman, waiting to see if there were any hint of deception.

Darthos met his gaze serenely, his red eyes showing a trustworthy confidence, or so it seemed. "I cut off his head and tossed head and body over a cliff into a small river. If he can survive that, then yes, he is still alive. As for your man, an Ophidian blade cut gutted him and they had to get rid of his body too. Shall I go and try to find it for you?"

Scar hesitated. "Go and search for the body of Scar. Find his head, or what is left of it, and bring it to me. I have ways of knowing if it is his or not."

"It is probably in the belly of some beast by now, or worse... a pile among the bushes. What you ask is impossible, and degrading. I DO have my dignity, my Master," Darthos retorted.

There was a long silence. "Darthos, do you remember how you came to be in my employ at this time?"

"You will not let me forget... so yes."

"Let me refresh your memory anyway. I enjoy the retelling. You came to me begging for help, a dying necromancer infected by a vampire. You did not wish to be its thrall, so I showed you how to slay it and stay alive. You gave me a blood oath to reciprocate some day, and I have waited lo these many years to call in my favor. I have asked you only to do a few simple things which will make both of us very powerful in this land. I have a weakness for this woman, Deminatza, perhaps even a love for her, and I need you to help me fulfill my purposes with her. When that is accomplished, I will convey many potent secrets to you which you doubtlessly crave. So why do I get the impression that you somehow mean to cross me up in this?"

"I became a vampire anyway."

"But at least a free one."

"True enough. But put your fears to rest my Master. I am yours to command in this except when I sense I am being made a fool of, or set upon some inconsequential mission that any knavish dolt could do for you instead. I DO have my pride, you know."

"I will remember it. But remember what you owe me and what I will need to make you what you wish to be."

Darthos nodded. He still hated the man, but he had a point. He must find out those secrets of his... and they would do him no good if he were dead prematurely. "I will go and make these arrangements... by thy leave, of course."

Scar nodded. "Of course. And Darthos..."

The necromancer turned back to face him.

"I would appreciate it if this is the last time we need have this conversation."

Darthos smiled. "It shall be. I swear it." And he meant it.

[Deminatza]

---

Deminatza dressed not in her usual garb, tied the black cloak and pulled its hood to mask her features. Jolicia and Judas did not want her to see Scar, but she longed for his company. She rummaged in her bag, opened her rune book, found her destination and spoke the words of recall. She reappeared near the entrance of the Papua inn. She pulled the cloak tighter so Oren or other of the workers would not recognize her, then walked into the building. Knocking on the door, Deminatza waited, holding her breath, for Scar to open the door. A minute later, she knocked again, then looked around to see if anyone was watching. When there still was no answer, she realized that he maybe at the healers where his son was being tended for his wounds.

Her feet carried her to the hut, and up its stairs, but voices stayed her hand. It was Scar and Poppy talking. She looked around, pressed her back against the wall and peeked through the window. Scar sat on his son’s right while Poppy sat on his left, holding his hand and stroking hair murmuring quietly to him. Poppy seemed to have healed from the wounds inflicted by Scar, but she still didn’t seem completely healthy.

Maybe now that her son is back, she will be able to focus on her health.

Her eyes travelled to Scar, his face had shown his love for the boy, and felt her chest tighten as a realization hit her. There, Scar, Poppy, and the boy, gathered together as a family. That is what is most important, the love of a family. A family needs to stay together. Her eyes drifted back to Scar, the warm smile on his face brightened the room. His eyes looked to Poppy as a soft sob fell from her lips. He spoke softly and gently to her, ensuring her everything would be ok.

Deminatza forced herself to pull her gaze away, and rested flatly against the wall. He lifted her eyes to the heavens and let out a defeated sigh. You win Poppy. You are right. You three are a family, and with his family, Scar should remain.

She peaked inside, looked at Scar’s features, as if to sear his image in her mind, since this would be the last time she would look at him. Oddly enough, with the decision she made, her heart felt content with it.

On quiet feet, she walked away from the healer building, from the man she loves, from Scaramandine. Eyes closed, she flipped through her rune book, her fingers stopping on a random location, and spoke the words of recall. No matter where she may appear, there she would begin a new life so Scar and his family may build on theirs.
_________________

[Scar]

---

The loose-fitting clothing helped ward off the heat a little, but nothing could completely offset the swelter from the skin paint. It was water-proof, so he knew it would not be seen to run like some kind of ink when sprinkled with water. It was all necessary, however. He had to visit Papua to learn what he might face if he returned as himself, Scar, he who had returned from the dead.

Things seemed business-as-usual. People went about their daily business like they always did. The streets were never full of people, but the docks area was lively as ships were being loaded and unloaded with native goods and those from afar. Faces which he recognized, he turned aside from, to avoid accidental discovery. Fearful that he would be identified at Pier 39, his former residence when he exercised the oversight of the town, he avoided entirely. As he passed by the healers' hut, he stopped and stood, his mouth agape. There at the foot of the steps stood---himself! He stopped, carefully surveying the scene. Poppy was standing beside the imposter but soon left. His eyes met those of his look alike only briefly, and he casually lowered his head and passed on by.

I have been replaced... but by whom, and for what reason? I need to find an ally, someone I can trust... but who? A name came to mind, and he hurried to find its owner.

[Deminatza]

---

It’s been few days since she arrived in town. Deminatza managed to get a job at the bakery, though not to bake bread, but to sell it. The baker, Reggie, agreed to take her on as an apprentice. Perhaps he felt obligated after tasting her loaf of bread, or maybe because he knew she was new in town and wanted to help her get on her feet. Reggie’s wife, Abigail pretty much ran the whole shop and his son Stephen baked the cakes, sweets really. They were a kind family, always laughing, ribbing one another. Deminatza noticed that even when they were aggravated with one another, it was not for long. One would find an opportunity to jest, they would laugh and all would be well again.

Maybe one day when I get married… she stopped that line of thought. She did have the opportunity to get married. Scar had proposed, but she never gave him an answer. A part of her still wonders why she couldn’t give him an answer

Stop it. He has his family and that is what his focus should be she chided herself.

That last customer has come and gone. Stephen was closing up shop, as Demi finished cleaning.

She gathered her bags and smiled, “Good night Stephen.”

“Oh, Rowena, ma wanted to know if ye would like to join us fer supper,” he said slightly hesitantly then rushed on, “Yer like family now miss. Ma is expectin’ ye.”

She was about to politely refuse, but her stomach spoke otherwise. Their eyes met and laughed.

“Well it seems I am outnumbered.”

“Then allow me tha honor o’ escorting ye,” he said bowing with a flourish offering his arm.

Arm and arm, they walked over a few bridges through town, stopping only to pick up a few bottles of wine at the inn along the way before arriving at the home he shared with his parents. There she sat, ate, and even though she missed Scar, she allowed herself a moment of respite.
_________________

[Scar]

---

"So, he is alive." It was a remark not a question. The Elder paced the floor of the darkened room, pondering this new information. Behind him, twenty feet away stood the bearer of the bad news.

"I am certain it is he. He wore a blue hooded robe that covered his face, but from the images and words my familiar conveyed to me, and the circumstances, there can be no doubt," Darthos affirmed.

The Elder turned slowly. "What circumstances are those?"

"When I met Deminatza at the inn in Papua, we were joined shortly after by a small band of her new-found friends. I believe their names are Judas and Jolicia. There was a drow with them also, whom I have not seen before. I spoke briefly and left, but sent my familiar, my bat, to observe them from afar and to follow them. They headed west and finally arrived at a cave. Inside they found him and talked a while. He answered to his name. My familiar could not follow them to wherever they went afterwards, or I would have that information for you too." He was a bit too obvious in promoting himself, but he had his reasons.

The Elder sighed. "Your assassins failed, Darthos. What's more they may have lied, or were bought off. What have you done about that my friend?"

"Their shades haunt pandemonium, master. I do not forgive failure of this sort."

"That's too bad. I would have loved to have questioned them... squeezed all I could from their worthless hides and then had them buried alive in mounds of maggots."

Darthos snorted. "I wish I had thought of that."

"It is now clear that I cannot return to Papua as Scar... at least for now. But what worked once, may work again, though I know he will be on his guard. He will be very wary, so if you do attempt to kill him again, you will have to be most clever about it. No... no... not just yet. I will give the order when and where. You are to leave him untouched. Can you do this for me?"

"I will not seek his harm, master."

Sitting down at last, the Elder poured himself a goblet of wine, and then one for his servant. "At least your identity remains intact." He offered it to him.

Darthos moved forward, took it, sniffed it cautiously, then drank. "You wouldn't be trying to poison me, would you, master?" he grinned.

His master ignored the tease. "You have failed me, but have redeemed yourself some small measure. I suppose if you were intent on betraying me, you would have kept word of this to yourself... though I would have found out sooner or later."

"So hiding it would have served no purpose."

"And a clever, plotting, man, would have figured that out and sought to cover himself by trying to redeem himself." The Elder drank his wine. "You are a very clever man, Darthos. A dangerous one. But be careful who you cross, my friend. There are things about some people that you cannot know until it is too late. I have set things in motion that involve not only Deminatza and me, but also you. If I fall, your fate will be even worse."

Darthos smiled. "Of that I am sure, master... but I am yours to command, as always."

"There is now no need to kill Poppy," the Elder said, changing the subject. "I know she still lives. To do so now would be pointless."

"She is taken care of."

"Find Deminatza and inform me of her whereabouts. Keep me posted. Spare no expense."

"Your will shall be done." Darthos set the cup down, bowed and departed.

The Elder breathed a sigh of relief. He had grown tired of portraying Scar. In a way he was glad the whole nauseatingly insipid act was over, at least for awhile. Darthos had betrayed him and he knew his story about the failed assassination attempt was pure fabrication... but his revenge would have to wait. Still, he held all the cards, and he knew just how to play them to win.

[Thraxas]

---

Darthos chafed at the summons from Thraxas, his Maritime Union employer. He was too busy to be called to run about Sosaria talking to various traders, guild leaders, heads of state, other ambassadors, pirates and what-not about things he could not care less for. His plans, so far, had gone like clockwork and he knew he was on the verge of discovering what great arcane secrets his master was hiding from him. Besides that, he had the real Scar's confidence---he had recently paid him for "finding" his son, Jace for him and it was a handsome sum.

So it was not without an incredible amount of shock to him when, as he entered Thraxas' office, he found himself surrounded immediately by his hired guards. Their brandished spears and hardened faces warned him that one false move and he would be instantly skewered. He fought to keep his composure, and decided to effect the "innocent" routine he had used so often before... though this time, it was much easier to do. "M'lord, what is going on? What's the meaning of this?"

Thraxas pointed an wand at him and its spell bracketed him. It was an ancient wand of paralyzation... handy because no words were needed to activate it. He was enveloped by a bluish aura and was unable to move. The guards, having already been given their orders before he arrived, searched him, removing his spellbooks and anything that remotely resembled weapons or magical apparatus. Presently, the aura faded and he was able to move again. He fought off his temper. "My lord?"

"Precautionary measures, my friend. Nothing more. It seems you have been a very bad boy of late, and I intend to discover just how bad it is."

"What can you possibly mean, sire? I have been..."

Thraxas cut him short. He glared at him from behind his desk. "You have been doing a lot of things in Papua of which you have been keeping me in the dark! Why did you poison that young boy?"

Darthos' heart began to pound. "Poison?! A boy? Who my lord?"

"His name is Jace. He is, in fact, going to die soon from it. You poisoned him with MY poison! Oh yes, don't look innocent. I found a vial of the Papuan poison in my cache which seemed a bit too full. On checking it, I found it was poison, but not of that sort. Someone stole the original poison and replaced it with another type hoping to fool me. You are the only one who knew where it was and could have gotten into it. Except for the extreme idiocy in thinking I may have been tricked by the ruse, I can only attribute the operation to you. Now, answer my question... why did you poison that boy?!"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, sire. I swear it! I found and saved the boy from a band of thugs in Delucia. They had kidnapped him and were keeping him doped up so he could be easily controlled. I killed them and took him back to his..."

"Enough of your lies! I will get to the bottom of this, but until I do, you will rot in a cell. And do not foolishly imagine that I will be either gentle or compassionate because of our past associations. There are limits to what sort of dastardly acts I will countenance, and murdering an innocent boy is NOT one of them!" He turned to the guards. "Get him out of here. Take him to the cell I prepared for him. I will be along to seal the wards."

Darthos was furious, and gritted his teeth. "You cannot do this! I am your servant! I have always been loyal to you. I KNOW things! You will pay for this, I swear it!!"

"I'm sure. Oh, one more thing..." he leaned over close to the necromancer's face as he was being bound securely by the guards. "You're fired!"

Screaming curses at him, the guards led him away.
_________________
"If a criminal has what you want, you do business with him."

[Thraxas]

---

He was young and had fought long and hard against the draining effects of the poison, but it would soon be over. The Healers of Papua had recognized it at last and realized they could do nothing. Even if Jace died, and was resurrected by their famous arts, the poison would have crystallized in the drying blood of his corpse, then liquified upon his return, thus poisoning him all over again. There was a cure, but its formula was unknown, except that it was painstakingly difficult to produce, had to be fresh and administered shortly after completion. They watched as his last few breaths grew labored. His mother, Poppy, herself haggard and emaciated, watched him with eyes full of tears, sink slowly away.

"Mother!" came his last gasp as he tried to sit up in bed, terrified.

There was a sound of a door being pushed open violently and a man dressed in black and red came rushing in. The Healers, stunned by the intrusion, moved to halt him, but he pushed them away effortlessly, nearly knocking one of them down. The man hurried to the boy's bedside and leaned over him.

"What are ya doin?" Poppy shouted.

The man ignored her. He removed a small vial of reddish liquid from a robe pocket, and with his free hand, held the boy's head up and tilted it back. Jace's mouth hung open, his eyes lolling upwards. Flicking a small stopper from the vial with the thumb of the hand holding the vial, he poured its contents into his mouth.

Poppy tried to grab his arm, but was repelled by a knee to the midsection. "Get back unless you want him to die!" the man warned.

They all watched, stupified, as color returned to the boy's face. He coughed once and opened his eyes. "Mother?" he spoke, this time in a voice that came from one who had awakened from a dream. Jace looked up into the eyes of his savior, who had now permitted himself a slight smile. "Welcome home, young man," he said softly. Jace smiled and lay back down.

"Who are you, sir?" asked Poppy. "He will live?"

The man nodded, stepping back. "Yes. Let him rest, then give him something to eat. He will be all right."

Poppy, grateful, moved to hug the man, and he allowed a brief one, but then gently pushed her away. "I have the man responsible for this in my jail. I will see that he is punished severely."

"Your face is familiar to me," claimed one of the healers. "You used to be Archon here. Thraxanduril, or Thrax, is your name." She said it with a hint of distaste.

The man shook his head. "No, I am not he. He is dead. He was my identical twin. I am Thraxas, Lord Regent and Viscount of Yew. Please do not confuse us. He came to destroy; I came to save," he said, then turned to view the boy who was now sleeping quietly. "And I am just in time."
_________________
"If a criminal has what you want, you do business with him."

[Deminatza]

---

She’d been watching Poppy and Jace for quite sometime now. Her initial orders were to kill Poppy, but that seems to have changed now. But where’s the fun in that? She examined her features in the mirror, then to the dead healer with a smirk. Even healers long for the warmth of a woman. She led him here to the temple, where he thought the two would be in the throes of passion, instead he found his demise. Convinced that she now resembled him, the killer put away the disguise kit, stripped the body and donned his clothing. With the help of the temple guard, they hung the body upside down, slit its throat, letting the blood drain into the bowl.

Her master would be pleased for the offering of fresh blood.

The “healer” arrived at the hut, where Marianne was about to administer the boy’s midday potion. Suddenly, the doors burst open, as a man, his stride not missing a beat, rushed to the boy’s bedside. The other healers moved to stop him, but instincts took over, so she melted into the shadows, head bowed, but still able to watch what would transpire next.

He poured some sort of liquid down the dying boy’s throat, as she studied him, his features, his body language and waited to see what he would do next. The idiot Poppy tried to grab his arm, and was rewarded with a nice solid kick to her abdomen.
Her mirth was short lived when she heard the boy cry out for his mother.

“Will he live,” the pathetic Poppy had asked.

The man nodded, stepping back. "Yes. Let him rest, then give him something to eat. He will be all right. I have the man responsible for this in my jail. I will see that he is punished severely."

She hissed at his words, understanding the full impact of them. He had Darthos, which meant she needed to find a way to free him.

“Your face is familiar to me," claimed one of the healers. "You used to be Archon here. Thraxanduril, or Thrax, is your name." She said it with a hint of distaste.

The man shook his head. "No, I am not he. He is dead. He was my identical twin. I am Thraxas, Lord Regent and Viscount of Yew. Please do not confuse us. He came to destroy; I came to save and I am just in time."

So his name is Thraxas. That was a start. She wasn’t sure if Darthos had mentioned him before, but she would need to do research on him so she could locate her master. The sound of his footsteps coming closer, pulled her thoughts to the matters at hand. She bowed deeply murmuring her deep gratitude for saving the boy as he exited the building. She waited a few heartbeats, before she too exited the hut. The fabric was too heavy and a bit noisy to hunt, so she discarded the robes and began her pursuit of the one named Thraxas.
_________________

[Deminatza]

---

The vassal lost Thraxas’ trail. Surely her master would be most upset with her, especially since she failed to locate his exact location. Instead, she maintained the routine at the temple they shared with others. Every day she maintained the same routine. She hunted, drank her fill, discarded the old blood from the ritual bowl, and replaced it with fresh blood. Her chores were just about finished, when there was a knock on the metal door.

She opened it and found a man with a scowl on his face, clearly indicating his displeasure. He shoved her aside stomping in not waiting for an invitation. A nearby guard was about to intervene, when she raised her hand to stop him.

“Where is he,” the man barked.

“Who are you looking for, lord,” her response subservient and meek.

“Darthos. I've been trying to find him. I even went back to that wretched place, Papua, but he’s no where to be found.”

“Forgive me, lord. I must ask for your name. I am only a woman, who serves my master faithfully. You come here, demanding to know where he is and I would gladly tell you, but I also don’t want to lead any enemies to him.”

His anger seemed to have dissipated some, as his eyes raked over her body, admiring her every curve

“Why yes, you are indeed a woman. I am Scaramandine, but you may refer to me as the Elder.”

She recognized the name from her conversations with Darthos. She couldn’t tell the Elder that Darthos had been captured. Who knows what this man would do if he thought Darthos would betray him.

She bowed, took his hand and kissed it, showing her loyalty to him.

“My lord, I've been given instructions by Darthos, that should you arrive here, to entertain you while he went in search for some information for you. He wanted me to inform you, his regret that he isn't able to send word to you. He didn't want to risk the letters being intercepted. He has in fact been gone for a few days now, but I'm sure he will return soon. In the meantime,” she straightened and gazed at him with a sultry expression. “I am yours to command.”
_________________

[Balzar]

---

The door to his office opened. Father Balzar looked up from his work to see Deminatza waiting at the threshold for permission to enter. He laid down his quill and motioned to an empty chair just on the other side of his desk for her to join him. Obediently, she entered, shut the door, and sat.

“How are you Deminatza? Your visage brings such joy and warmth to my heart,” his tone soft and gentle yet cool.
“I am well, Father. Please, forgive me, for not coming sooner.”
“You know we are responsible for your safety, child. Your father entrusted us to keep you safe while he is away," he chided. "If anything were to happen to you, imagine what he would do if he found out we were unable to keep you away from harm,”
“My father is dead. At least that is what I have been told.”
“What? When,” the monk asked sharply as he moved to kneel beside her, taking her hands into his.

Deminatza looked down at the monk, tears streaming down her face, as she relayed everything she had learned. He remained at her side, his hands clasped in hers as he listened patiently to her talk about the events that’s happened while she was away. The death of her father, how it was Thraxas who discovered the news from a man he had imprisoned named Darthos. Darthos being employed by a man known as the Elder. Scar and she believing the Elder has returned. Also, the strange dreams the two of them has had, still having. He stood, went to his desk, poured a glass of water and offered it to her. She accepted, pausing long enough to drink.

“You haven’t had your tonic in quite some time. How have you been sleeping, besides the odd dreams I mean?”
“In truth, I feel like I have not had a good night sleep. I do feel fatigued during the day, but I forget about how I feel when I am around my friends and my betrothed.”
“Ahh yes, you mentioned a betrothed earlier. Who is the lucky man?” he said jovially.
“Scaramandine,” she beamed.
“Then congratulations are in order.”

Father Balzar picked up a bell from his desk and rang it. When a monk entered, Father Balzar instructed him to set up a feast in Deminatza’s honor and not to spare any expense. She attempted to protest, but he cut her off.

“You’ve return home to us. We’re so please to know you’re safe and in good health. At the very least, that’s why we’d be celebrating.”
He opened one of his drawers and retrieved a bottle. “But first, you must take your tonic before we have a celebratory dinner.”
He removed the topper and poured the liquid into a second goblet then handed it to her.

Once again, she accepted it, and inspected it.
“I have forgotten how displeasing it smells and tastes,” she said wrinkling her nose.

He smiled, his voice teasing, “If tonic tasted good, then everyone would be sick just to have it.”

Demi smiled and drank all of it. Father Balzar offered her his arm, she took it, and they both made their way to the banquet hall where they dined and Deminatza further discussed events that happened while they’ve been apart.

[Scar]

---

It was time to do something drastic.

Deminatza now knew that she had a history, a life, in another place, in another time, and that it was not with him.

The Elder paced, brooding over current events which had ensnared his mind and disrupted his peace.

That accursed Malissin is back of this! Her and her "goddess" are becoming quite the annoyance! She will have to be eliminated, he fumed.

He took a glance at the crystalline ball which sat, inert and inactive, on a nearby stone table. In his mind, it took on all the qualities of a gigantic, malevolent, dragon which, after years of burning villages and slaughtering peasants, had retired to its den to sleep for a thousand years. Once, long ago, it had the power to draw the very souls, the life, out of his enemies, preserving their intellect intact, so that he might draw upon the accumulated knowledge of ages, at will. It had been shattered, but he had collected the pieces and, in some feeble way, rebuilt it. Yet it no longer had its former powers. Now it could only respond to his questions with answers drawn from a vast pool of knowledge. It was a harmless, though useful, artifact whose time had come and gone.

I must restore it! There must be a way! But what is missing?

He approached the device slowly and rolled his hand across its glassy surface. "Speak to me!" he commanded.

As with most others of its kind, his words and gesture activated it. A dark, iridescent, swirl of shimmering particles filled the globe. Ask, and know, came a deep voice from within it.

"You will advise me. I must know what can be done to restore your powers fully as they were," he demanded.

This have you asked of me many times, and each time my answer is the same... there is nothing you can do. I have only knowledge to offer you. Be satisfied with that.

"Then what knowledge is there that would permit you to draw one last soul into your depths? If you cannot become as you once were, at least you may perform as you did one last time."

I was created by a wizard of great power and knowledge for good. You perverted that purpose with your evil. I was never meant to act as you bade me. I cannot do as you wish, nor would I wish to if I could.

"You lie! All this time you have been deceiving me! You CAN do this, yet you refuse. Lo these many years you have had the power but have withheld it from me. Do you deny this?"

The intellect of the Orb had no emotions, no fear, so it would not need to lie. That is true. I will serve you with knowledge only, but I will never again disavow the purpose of my being.

The Elder, infuriated by the sudden understanding which had eluded him for decades, that the Orb could seek souls as it once had but refused to, picked it up to hurl it across the room. Calming himself, he lowered it gently back onto the base plate. "You will help me again! I remember what I did to obtain your obedience before. It takes time and much effort, but I will do it.

It will cost you dearly if you do, the Orb warned.

"Silence! I did not ask you for advice!"

The Orb went dark suddenly.

The Elder knew what he had done before... the rituals, the sacrifices, the blood. It had cost him his greatest possessions... the love of his life, his consort, and their second child. The Dark Ones who rendered such power would accept no less for such a vicious boon.

Perhaps they would again... one last time.

[Deminatza]

---

Deminatza bade her farewell to Jolicia and Judas without shedding a tear, for that she was grateful. She needed Scar now more than ever. Reaching into her pack, she recited the words of recall, and appeared at the front steps of the Academy. Uncaringly Demi cried out for Scar, making her way to their balcony; the place where they shared their private thoughts with one another. Noting his absence, she searched the kitchen and rooftop. Yet, Scar was no where to be found.

Where are you, I need you her silent plea to the sky praying he would hear and come running to her side. Minutes went by, her prayers remained unanswered, lonliness filled her being. The chime of the clock told her it was time for her tonic. Demi, refusing to succumb to the sensation, gathered herself, stiffened her resolve, before arriving inside the walls of the abbey. With a heavy heart, she made her way up the stairs to see Anna for her tonic when movement caught her attention.

Is that Loric? His name was on her lips when her own name filled the air. It was Father Balzar. She turned in the direction of his voice “One moment” but when she glanced back, Loric was gone.

I must have mistaken someone else for him. She went towards Father Balzar’s office, and found him there mixing her tonic.

“Just in time, I just finished mixing your -,” he turned to her, noting her expression. “What’s wrong my child?”

She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Deminatza summarized the row between Jolicia and Judas, the options they were pondering as Demi voiced her disagreement to Jolicia pointing out that the woman came to them.

“Did they ask for your opinion child?”

“We are friends. We have always spoken our minds.”

“Perhaps they didn’t want to hear your opinion. How did you become involved in assisting this woman?”

“I went to the Salty Dog, in Britian, where we always meet and gather. They described the situation and when the woman arrived, I offered to leave, but twas Judas who said I could stay.”

“Perhaps they only wanted you to observe. Did you ask what role they wanted you to partake?”

“No.”

“What does your beloved say about the matter?”

Demi looked away ashamed, “I could not find him to tell.”

The monk looked at her a moment then nodded. “I think you should keep your distance from them, at least for a couple of days. Let things settle. All will be well, you’ll see. In the meantime, I’m going to make your tonic stronger than usual so you can sleep and not be bothered with dreams.”

It took him only a couple of minutes to double the dosage, handed over the goblet, where she took and drank. As she lifted the cup from her lips, her eyelids immediately grew heavy. The grieving woman forgot about the evenings events. Nothing mattered, all was well as darkness overtook her.
_________________

[Deminatza]

---

Deminatza wiped the sweat from her brow. She looked around the encampment with a weary expression. So many people who need my aid, I cannot let them down.

Father Balzar had informed her that there were people in need of her healing skills. Without any hesitation, she accepted, but was told she needed to leave immediately. She had no time to let her friends or her beloved Scar know where her task led. She rose to her feet, stepped outside the tent to gaze at the stars above. It was a beautiful night. It would have been perfect to sit on the balcony with her betrothed.

Demi closed her eyes to see the faces of her loved ones, Jolicia, Judas, Tibs, Gaius, Alisiea, Aingeal and of course Scaramandine. I miss you.

"Mistress, we have more coming in, where do you want them?"

The healer opened her tired eyes and sighed. "Bring them inside here, I will gather more items from my tent and will be there shortly."

No time to think about them now, there are people who need her. With a sad heart, she gathered her things, and tended to the sick and injured.
_________________

[Scar]

---

Scar caught himself staring blankly into the bottom of the mug that lay empty on the table at which he sat. Unthinkingly, he reached to his right to take the half-filled ale bottle to replenish the mug. Instead he merely gulped down the bottle's remaining contents. Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

Although it was snowing outside and icicles hung from various portions of his small stone tower, it had little effect upon him. The lycanthropy, which he denied expression of, kept his body at an even, tolerable, temperature. Even nestled among the snowy mountains of Malas, within his isolated station, a last remnant of the once sprawling kingdom of Stonegate, nature's constant chill had little effect upon him. Even if it had, he would not care.

Deminatza had gone missing and had left no note.

He had questioned everyone he knew, even the hated Father Balzar, who seemed to utterly dismiss the none-too-subtle physical threats he made. He did note, however, that the good Father did not seem shocked by the revelation. It was not the first time he thought of driving his spear through the obnoxious man's gut, nor might it be the last, but Demi's misplaced love for the bald-headed knave prevented it every time. He would do nothing to harm her, emotionally, or otherwise.

He would spend this day searching again for her, and the next, and the next, no matter how long it took. And he would inform Thraxas, who had promised to hold Father Balzar's feet to the fire about him protecting Deminatza. Maybe the Regent would do what he could not---rid him of that nuisance once and for all.

His thoughts returned to his beloved... her smile... her eyes... and he lowered his head for a moment captivated by the images.

The he arose to prepare himself for another day.