Currently Death Magnetic By Metallica see related

Chapter Five: A Hunting Trip To Remember

Robert knocked on the bedroom door, opening it when Milenko's voice bade him enter.  Carrying the sheathed and belted longsword over to where his master knelt, setting it down on the floor beside him.  Milenko, for his part, smiled his thanks to his retainer, who bowed and then left the room silently.  After a few more moments of introspection, Milenko rose to his feet, taking the sword in hand as he did. 

Girding the weapon around his waist as he descended the stairs, he went out through the main foyer and through the front doors of his mansion, pausing to take in the sight, smells, and sounds of the city beyond the fencelike walls that surrounded his home.  He walked down the path that led to the gates, which were opened by two of the footmen that had broken their fast with him earlier in the morning. 

Tossing a jaunty little wave and a smile to the footmen as he passed, he headed out into the city proper.  Deciding to see what changes had been made to the town, he began to wander the streets almost aimlessly.  As he walked down through the market district, he passed many people that were busily making their way from shop to shop, few attracting any notice from him save for a priest, who was vigorously scratching at his balding pate as he walked, and a pair of excitedly chattering children in rags.

Disliking the fact that the two were so obviously impoverished, he removed the metal half-mask from his face and halted the children, speaking to them in their own tongue.  Despite the initial resistance that their distrust offered, he managed to convince them to tell him of their particular situation: the orphanage that had closed its doors to them, the struggle of daily life, the fear they felt as each night fell.  He even found out what it was that had had them so excited, a stranger that had helped them with a...'troublesome' encounter with another strange man.  Though the girl didn't go into detail as to what sort of trouble the man had caused, Milenko could guess well enough what had happened. 

Giving the children a few coins and instructions to bathe, eat, and rest at a nearby inn that he hoped would be sympathetic to them, as well as instructions to await his return, Milenko watched as they walked down the street, hand-in-hand, trying to sort out his emotions.  Something about the two tugged at his heart, played at his mind as though one of his memories was trying to break through the fog that obscured his past. 

With a sigh at the futility of trying to pierce that fog, he shook his head and continued his trek through the city, threading its streets to its gates, passing through them with a nod to the guards posted there.  Once outside the city, he put the mask back on and began the hike to the nearby forest.

Passing several stumps that spoke of the town's expansion at the cost of the natural resources the woods possessed, the mage shook his head once more, this time thinking of the consuming nature of mankind.  If it wasn't capable of showing itself to be equal to, or surpass, him, then man had the tendency to subjugate everything of the natural world that he laid eyes on.  Sometimes, when Milenko dwelt overlong on it, the ravages and cruelty man could unleash on Nature caused the mage to wax wrathful.  The thoughts that, one day, man would cause the utter ruination of everything natural often made Milenko so angry that he would strike out with his mystical powers, one time requiring the extensive (and expensive) refurbishing and repair of his mansion.  The apparent hypocrisy of his own tendency to use Nature to his own benefit was not lost on him.  He did, though, try to replace or regrow that which he used.  For each tree that had gone toward the building, or the furnishing, of his home, he had replanted and magically enhanced the growth of a new tree in its place, knowing that Nature, no matter how resilient, was not indefatigable. 

However, he tried not to think about all of that this time, preferring to instead focus his mind on the task that brought him out into the wilds...or, rather, as close to the wilds as he could get without leaving his home far behind him.

Slipping into the trees that formed the borders of the forest, he followed a footpath that was well overgrown with weeds and various other plant life, but he managed his trek easily, long experience and an intimate knowledge of every aspect of this forest allowing him to make his way to his destination despite the intervention of two and a half decades worth of plant growth.

Crossing into a clearing, he stopped and began to scrutinize the ground beneath his feet.  Taking utmost care and caution, he examined the runes that were inscribed not only in the rocks, but also carved into the trunks of several of the trees that surrounded the clearing.  Satisfied that all was still as it should have been, albeit the runes were somewhat higher from the ground than their original positioning on the growing trees.  He'd been careful not to carve too deeply into the trunks of the trees, utilizing his magic instead to ensure that the trees would not 'grow over' the runes without harming the trees' natural lifespans.

Unsheathing his sword, he began to draw fresh concentric rings into the earth that enclosed each of the runes, revealing that the entire network of runic carvings were an intricately laid out natural summoning circle.  In the precise center of the circles, the mage sheathed his sword and gave one of the rings on his left hand a twist, then began to mutter an incantation, each word flinging out pulses of power into the magical Weave.  When he sensed a return on one of the threads, he made a grasping motion with his left hand, the ring he had twisted glowing upon his finger.  Pulling on the invisible strand, he waited for a few moments, then glanced around the clearing.  Though he could see nothing, he knew that what he'd summoned had appeared somewhere in the forest.  He did not know what type of creature it was that he had summoned, but knew that the power of the runes would guarantee that it was an animal that made its home somewhere in the world in an environment not unlike that of the forest, giving the animal at least a fair chance of survival. 

Several years ago, at least to his mind, though in reality it was closer to three decades ago, when he had first began to build his mansion in the formerly small hamlet, he'd come to this forest and set up his own hunting area.  He would summon an animal to the forest and then proceed to hunt it down.  Depending on his mood, or that of any guests he (very rarely, admittedly) invited to accompany him, he would either kill or otherwise subdue the creature.  In the case of the former, he would first give threefold thanks: to Nature, to God, and to the spirit of the animal, all for the sustenance that the animal's flesh would provide for him, and for the distraction offered by the act of the hunt itself.  In the case of the latter, he would release the animal back to its home, sending it back by the same magic that allowed him to summon it in the first place.  He had gone on perhaps a hundred hunts since then, having only lost his quarry a handful of times, though the.......

Oh, blast, he thought to himself.  I had surrounded the forest with even more runes that would prevent any attempt to escape by summoned animals, but I forgot to check them.  I'll bet they were destroyed when they cut down the trees on the outskirts.  Damnation...Well, there's nothing for it but to hope that whatever animal came to my summoning isn't too particularly dangerous, or that they're smart enough to avoid the city, otherwise I might have some explaining to do.  The runes he was thinking of were designed to keep the summoned animals within the environs of the forest, but he never intentionally used them to his advantage during his hunts.  Any time he realized that the animal was ineffectually trying to escape, but was unable to due to the power of the runes, he would either wait for the animal to tire of the attempt and return to the deeper forest, or would simply send the animal back to wherever it'd originally come from, conceding victory.

Stepping out beyond the protective circle, he began to stalk through the trees, sharpening his senses to a knife's edge, on the watch for any sign of his prey.  Though he hoped that the summoned animal wasn't dangerous, he knew full well that there was a distinct possibility that whatever he'd conjured could just as easily hunt him in turn.  Close to an hour later, as he walked, he paused and knelt beside a tree, staring down at a spoor that looked very fresh.  He held his hand above it, feeling the warmth that rose into the air from the scat, determining that the animal that had left it had passed by here less than ten minutes ago.  Judging by the appearance and size of the spoor, it was a rather large animal; other than that, he did not recognize what animal it could have come from.  Looking up at his surroundings, he began to stalk once more, careful to not allow the sounds of his footsteps to carry, not desiring to spook his quarry.

Kneeling on the ground once more, he picked up a bloodied arrow, surprise causing his brow to lift above his eyes as he realized that the blood was very fresh.  A cursory glance around revealed that a rather primitive trap had been set off: a thin line was stretched between two trees, crossing back and forth, leading up to a concealed crossbow.  Tossing down the bolt, he set off once more, cursing softly behind his mask at the fact that now the animal was injured and was now likely to be twice as dangerous as before.  Wounded, the animal likely didn't get very far away, but could still prove problematical to finish off.  He had been considering a nonlethal end to the hunt, but now would likely have to change his mind and end his prey's suffering.  He also didn't like the implications the trap brought to mind.  Whoever had set it had neglected to ensure its lethality, a careless mistake for a hunter to make. 

Watchful now for traps, stepping around those he found, Milenko suddenly came upon a small makeshift campsite.  Kneeling beside the fire pit that had been surrounded by some sort of animal skins, he opened the flap on the side of the pyramid-like structure and felt the heat inside blast him in the face.  He raised a brow as he observed a deer hanging inside the rather crude smoker, then closed the flap again.  Apparently, whoever had set the traps also had set up the campsite, and also apparently would be returning sometime soon. 

A snapping twig behind him caused the mage to whirl around, sword whistling from its sheath and held at the ready.  His searching eyes roamed the trees, then, on impulse, he shouted, "Come on out of there!"  His eyes then focused on the human form that stepped out from the cover of the trees and approached him.  "Robert!" he said, lowering his sword as he recognized his retainer, outfitted for the hunt much as he, himself, was.  "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Robert, uncomfortable at being caught, scuffed the ground with his foot as he hemmed and hawed for a few moments, then said, "I, and the others at home, we worried about you, m'lord," he said.  "We just got you back yesterday, and today, now, here you are, traipsing about the countryside like nothing had happened.  We didn't wish to lose you again so very soon.  Forgive me, m'lord, but I could not bear the thought of having to follow through with your last orders without doing all I could to make sure you came home again."

Sheathing the sword again, Milenko went over to his servant and clapped him on the shoulder.  "My most trusted servitor...There is nothing to forgive.  I would have done the same in your place, and should have expected it.  Indeed, I praise you for your tracking skills.  As attentive as I am when on the hunt, even I wasn't able to discover your following of me until just now.  Perhaps on my next hunt, I'll have to take you with me.  You might have a trick or two that you could teach me.  But, for now, head back to the city.  Inform the guardsmen that there's some vagabond here in the forest and to keep a sharp eye on any strangers.  Whoever it is, they've not done anything wrong, not yet, but it never hurts to be ready just in case."

Nodding acquiescence to his master's instructions, and to the added admonishment to be watchful of traps, Robert left the small clearing and began to head back toward civilization.  Milenko, for his part, began to poke around at the campsite some more, trying to find some clue as to the one that had set it all up.  A few minutes later, however, a piercing scream shot through the woods, coming from the direction Robert had left in, cut off suddenly.  Shouting Robert's name all the while, the mage tore through the trees, setting off one trap that shot a crossbow bolt at his head, barely ducking in time to prevent it from killing him.  Fearful that his servant had set off a similar trap, Milenko followed the sounds of gurgling moans that led him to Robert's side.  His throat nearly completely torn out, great gashes torn down the front of his body, Robert looked up at his master with pleading eyes.

Tears flowed down Milenko's face openly as he knelt beside the servitor, cradling the man's head in his lap.  Unable to cast any healing spells for the moment, and the scrolls that held the necessary spells to stabilize his friend and servant beyond his reach at the mansion, all Milenko was able to do for Robert was to murmur words of appreciation for his service and friendship, an attempt to try and comfort him for the time being.  It was a brief time.

After Robert shuddered through his death-throes and exhaled his last breath through the ruin of his throat with a rattle, Milenko set the dead man's head on the forest floor, wiping at his eyes and then looking at his surroundings.  Whatever had killed Robert had likely been scared off by his approach, but would likely try and return for its kill.  And, whatever it was, if it was able to kill Robert so easily, it was likely that the animal would feel confident enough to try and kill him next.

There, up in one of the trees, Milenko was able to pick out the form of a large catlike creature.  Through the gathering gloom of the approaching dusk, he was able to make out the black stripes that covered the animal's tawny hide.  A tiger.  A tiger that was now stalking him along the thick branch of the tree.  This is bad, Milenko thought to himself as he pretended to not notice the animal.  He'd seen tigers before, though semi-tamed to a life spent with traveling circuses and gypsies.  Even though they were somewhat domesticated through their sedentary life, they were still treated with respect and not a small amount of fear for their reputations of turning on their keepers without warning.  This one, injured to an unknown degree, and now with the taste of human blood on its tongue, was absolutely wild and completely unpredictable.  No, scratch that, it was predictable, in that Milenko knew that he would be attacked soon.  He had no idea of how to fight the animal without resorting to spells, and any that he could utilize with a surety of killing the creature would likely also damage the surrounding forest.

Just as he resigned himself to having to resort to such a display of magic power, an indescribably weird sensation ran through him.  An ineffable aura of sheer terror caused not only the mage, but also the tiger, to halt in his tracks.  His eyes were drawn to the sound of a horse's snorting, the animal and its cloaked and hooded rider slowly walking into sight between the trees.  The tiger, its own slit-pupiled eyes focused on the rider, trembled on the branch in fear and indecision.  Then, the combination of the unfamiliar surroundings, the shock of suddenly being relocated through magical means, the pain of the injury to its back from the crossbow bolt cutting across its flesh, as well as the hunger in its belly, caused the animal to leap from the branch at the horse and rider.  A silver flash arced from behind the shadowy figure's shoulder and cleanly bisected the tiger down the middle, coming to rest at its side, the two halves of the animal flying past the rider on either side, dead long before it hit the ground. 

The sheer amount of shock at the display of swordplay the rider showed freed Milenko from the spell that the stranger's aura had put over him.  He'd barely managed to see even the flash as the sword cut down the tiger, not even recognizing it as an attack until it was over.  It wasn't until he focused his eyes on the sword and found that he recognized it that he was able to speak.  "Drokon?!" he exclaimed.  "What are you, of all people, doing here?!"

Flinging the tiger's blood from the blade with a single shake, the hooded figure returned the sword to its sheath over his shoulder before simply saying, "I am not Drokon.  Dukal is my name."

Resting his hand on his own sword, though without any hope to equal the other man's prowess with a blade, Milenko asked, "Then what are you doing with that sword?  That's Nalthese, and it belongs to Drokon, a vampire hunter friend of mine."

Allowing the horse to walk forward to within a few steps from the mage, then halting again, the hooded figure said, "I am his half-brother, Dukal.  Drokon died because of the machinations of his nemesis, Orcus, though Orcus died in the encounter himself.  Nalthese, as well as news of Drokon's fall, was delivered to me by some of his friends that had accompanied him on his quest."

Surprised at the news that Drokon had fallen, Milenko released his hold on his sword's hilt, understanding now not only the skill that Dukal had displayed, but also the strange aura that seemed to seep from the very core of the hooded man.  Like Drokon, Dukal had to be a dhampir, the blending of vampire and human bloodlines.  Likely as not, Dukal and Drokon probably shared the same vampiric father but had different human mothers.  He knew Drokon's parentage, a secret that he'd kept for some time now.  If it turned out that Dukal had the same father as Drokon had, then it would come as no surprise if the dhampir's profession was the same as his brother's.

"I came to see you, actually," said Dukal's emotionless voice.  "You probably don't remember me, from the information I have, but you and I have met several times before.  From what I understand, you've forgotten the last twenty-five years, correct?"  As Milenko's jaw dropped in shock behind the mask, Dukal nodded, reading what he needed to know of the mage's reaction in his eyes.  "I've come to see that you haven't reverted to form," he added mysteriously.  "Don't be surprised to find out that I'm around from time to time."  With that, he turned the horse around and lightly kicked his heels, signaling the horse to begin to walk back through the trees.

Closing his mouth with an audible snap, Milenko thought a moment about calling for Dukal to stop, but reconsidered as he realized that asking for more information would be futile if Dukal turned out to be as unsociable as Drokon had been.  Though Drokon had a reputation for not conversing more than absolutely necessary, as well as for doing all he could to discourage anyone from trying to befriend him, Milenko liked to think of him as a friend, and also liked to think that Drokon returned the sentiments. 

Turning around and going back to where Robert's body lay, he knelt down beside his friend's corpse and ran a hand over Robert's eyes, closing them gently, before picking up the cooling body in his strong arms and rising to his feet.  Carrying Robert's corpse, he began the trek back to the city, coming to the gates just as full night fell.  Turning over the body to the guards and explaining to them the terrible accident that had occurred, though this took several hours and retellings to higher and higher officials, until finally pulling rank as one of the founders of the city on the current city mayor (otherwise known as the maire¹), as well as telling them where the remains of the tiger could be found should his story need to be corroborated, he then finally took the straightest course back to his mansion as he could manage.

He would return to the city proper in the morning for the children.  The money he'd given them should allow them to sleep the night away at the inn until then, if they'd followed his directions instead of taking off with the coins.  He'd worry about that then.  For now, he had other business.

He had to inform the rest of the household that Robert was dead....

(Note ¹: "maire" is the French word for "mayor".  Included for realism as the governmental leader of a French commune...otherwise known as a city, or perhaps more correctly a county.  Wiki it for more info.)

(Author's personal note: For all the readers that aren't on My Myspace list...I had intended to write this chapter much sooner, but a bout with bronchitus and the stresses of the holiday season had prevented it from being done.  My deepest apologies for those that've been waiting.  Chapter Six as soon as is possible.)

Currently Star Wars Trilogy (Widescreen Edition with Bonus Disc) By Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher, Harrison Ford, James Earl Jones see related

Chapter Four: A New Day, And A Kindly Heart After All

As the sun peeked over the horizon, Milenko finally stirred from where he'd stood the remainder of the night, his dreams still haunting his thoughts.  Shrugging off the last clinging remnants of his fatigue, along with his robe, he strode to his wardrobe cabinet, selecting from inside of it a simple set of grey clothing: shirt and pants that were loose-fitting enough to be comfortable, yet tight enough that he didn't have to worry about anything getting snagged.  They would serve well enough for what he had planned for the day.

He dressed quickly, then headed down the stairs to the kitchen, surprising the cook, who was busily stoking the fire in order to prepare breakfast.

"M'lord," said the cook, "Whatever can I do for you?"

Ever since the cook's services were secured from the king's own kitchens, the chef had expressed his gratitude for the better pay and the less discriminating palates of the household's members by keeping the larders well-stocked with both fresh and preserved foods, ready to satisfy even the hungriest visitor. 

It was to those larders that Milenko strode, smiling at the man, stranger though he was.  Apparently, this new cook had been hired on while he was gone, the last having surely retired by now.  Determined to ignore this latest reminder of his missing time, he said, "Have you ever heard of something called "pancakes"?"  At the cook's blank expression, Milenko produced from one of the cabinets a small sack of flour and a basket of eggs.  Setting them down next to a pitcher of fresh milk, he said, "Get a mixing bowl, whisk, some cinnamon, butter, and some honey, and I'll show you how they're made.  It's a little something I picked up at the school I was teaching at, though I always manage to burn them."

Once the items he requested had been found, Milenko explained, "Now, you take a couple of handfuls of the flour, then you...."

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The rising sun awoke Talon from his own slumber.  Tossing a few sticks of wood into the dying fire, he relieved himself beside a nearby tree, then went to his saddlebags, retrieving a small cup and a pouch.  Dumping a few of the dried leaves into the cup, he placed the pouch back in the saddlebag, then picked up a half-empty skin of water, adding some of its contents to the cup, then set the cup on a rock just at the edge of the fire to heat. 

While his tea was brewing, Talon made the rounds of his traps, pleased to discover that three rabbits and a small deer...though the last required him to finish the animal personally...had fallen prey to the snares.  Returning to his campsite, he quickly skinned and gutted the animals and set the meat to roasting, determined to have a decent breakfast for once, and to save the uneaten portions for his lunch.  As the rabbits roasted, he set about making a sling of sorts to hang the deer's carcass over the fire.  He waited to set the hart in the sling, however, settling down to eat two of the coneys and drink the bitter tea first. 

Finishing the meal, he kicked the fire down to smoldering embers, then added small chunks of wood to it to ensure that it would be quite some time before it went out.  Then, setting the deer into the sling he'd fashioned, he covered the entire contraption, as well as a good portion of ground around the fire, with tough leather sheets that had proven to be exceptionally difficult to catch aflame. 

Putting the last roasted rabbit into a pouch along with the four animal skins, he slung the bag over his shoulder and began to hike back to the town, leaving behind the makeshift smoker and his saddlebags.  A couple of hours later, he crossed the gates, surprisingly unchallenged by the guards, as though the alert that he was about had not yet been issued, though it'd been some days since his failed attempt to rob the richest house in the entire city.  Deciding that it was best to leave well enough alone, he mixed himself into the press of people in the marketplace, heading toward the tannery. 

As he walked, he noticed a young girl, perhaps 10 or 11 years old, sitting against the wall of the tannery, a younger boy, maybe 6 or 7, leaning into her arms.  Both looked thin to the point of emaciation, grime covered their skin and the rags that served as clothing for them.  He paused next to an alleyway, melting into the shadows to look at the kids unobserved.  He recognized the two waifs for what they were: orphans, perhaps, or sent out by their parents to beg for whatever they could get.  Nearly everyone passed the pair up, however, only a priest stopping to murmur some benediction or other over them before hurrying away, even he not coming close to them for fear that his clothing would be smudged by the dirt on them.  Shaking his head, Talon watched their hungry eyes follow each person's movements, as though fearing a beating.  They likely were, as Talon had full reason to believe, having been one of those beggar-children himself, before he and his brother were taken in by a thieves' guild and taught to use their unique skills.  Though those lessons were useful in and of themselves, the beatings they'd received at the hands of their sadistic "benefactor" were far worse than what they'd received for simply begging in the wrong place at the wrong time.  There were other, far worse, memories of the time both before and during their "rescue" that Talon had, but he tried his best to not think about them, especially since these two children were likely to have suffered similar treatment from men with a far different sort of hunger than in their bellies...originating from slightly lower in their anatomies.  The girl, in particular, would likely have been rather pretty if the grime were washed from her body and clothing, the rags replaced with a dress.  Yes, the sorts of men that would be on the lookout for such as she would find her a very tempting target.

It turned out to be a good thing that Talon had made himself one with the shadows, as one of those sorts of men made his presence known by stepping out of the opposite alleyway, stopping beside the kids and openly leering down at them.  Talon fought down the bile rising in his throat as he heard, in the strange language used by the locals here, what had to be some sort of proposition, judging by the fear in the children's' eyes.  Yet, even fearing the man, the girl rose to her feet meekly, leaving her brother sitting on the street even as he cried and grasped her ankles, saying, "Non, non, ma soeur!  Ne pas aller!"  She shushed him, then bravely looked up into the man's scarred face and nodded.  The man's face twisted into a cruel smirk, then roughly grabbed the girl by the arm and started to move her toward the alley.

Little did the man and the children know that a shadowy figure had crossed the street, using the uncaring crowd as cover, and slipped into the alley ahead of them, behind the man's back.  Climbing up onto a wooden overhang that covered the tannery's side-exit, ostensibly for throwing out refuse to judge by the pile of carcasses across the alley from the door, Talon watched as the girl was practically dragged down into the shadows by the ugly man.  She wrenched her arm away and said something Talon couldn't make out, holding out her hand, apparently demanding whatever coin the man had promised her in return for her favors.  Talon had to admire the girl's boldness, as well as her savvy in demanding what she had coming to her before undertaking her distasteful task.  He winced, though, when the man, laughing, pretended to reach his hand for a pouch on his belt before striking her down into the refuse with the other hand.  The scarred one then undid his belt with the hand that still remained on it, dropping his trousers to the ground.  He pointed at his rampant manhood, snarling something at the girl, who meekly began to crawl toward him, mouth already open.

It was then that Talon's hands appeared on either side of the man's head, grasping it through the mat of greasy hair, and giving a sharp twist.  A wet snap seemed to echo up and down the alleyway as the man dropped to the ground, surprise mixed with pain and shock the last expression to ever cross that scarred countenance.  The girl, afraid of this new stranger, crawled back against the brick wall of the tannery, babbling in her native tongue, perhaps begging this killer for her life. 

Unable to speak her language anyways, Talon silently motioned for calm, then reached down and took the man's money pouch and dagger, tossing them both to the girl's feet.  He pointed to the pouch and then to her mouth, then to the exit of the alley, indicating that she should use the money to get herself and her brother, as it seemed he was, something to eat.  Orphaned beggar that she was, she was still quick-witted enough to understand the stranger's meaning, nodding and picking up the items at her feet, clutching them to her chest.  Holding up a finger, Talon then pointed to the dagger in her hand, then at the man on the ground, then at the other's manhood, miming a slicing motion.  The girl's eyes widened as she took in his meaning, then nodded again.  She understood that this stranger was telling her that the next man that chose to do as this scarred one had, she should make good use of the dagger to...discourage such liaisons.  It might eventually get her killed, but it at least gave her a fighting chance.  Talon then pointed to the dagger, then slapped his upper thigh, indicating where she should keep it.  Nodding, she placed the dagger inside of her rags, hiding it away for a surprise for the next man to try and take her.  Smiling in satisfaction, Talon started to head out of the alley, then paused, thinking.

The money might last the children for a few meals, but what next?  There surely wasn't enough coin in that pouch to pay for something to eat and clothing both.  Yet, there was a solution at hand, though Talon hesitated.  The solution was to go toward filling his own belly, and he didn't come here to give handouts to charity cases.  Sighing, he followed his conscience and turned to the girl, holding out the bag that held the animal skins and the roasted rabbit, going through a complicated set of motions that told her that she and her brother could eat the rabbit and then sell the skins at the tannery for even more coin.  Then, after handing over the bag, he pointed at the girl's new dagger, then at the empty coin pouch on his belt, indicating that she could use the dagger to also cut purses, a concept that she grasped quickly, having already made do with a bit of thievery of her own.  The dagger would only make it that much easier.

As Talon left the alley, he paused beside the boy to smile kindly down at him and ruffle his hair, uncaring for the dirt and bugs there.  Then, walking away, he smiled and patted the priest on the shoulder with the same hand as he passed the holy man coming out of a store a few buildings down the street.  The priest, not noticing the filth that had just been spread on the back of his shoulder, made the sign of the cross in Talon's direction, blessing him in return for the friendly greeting he'd given.  The smirk of self-satisfaction faded from Talon's face as he continued down the street, trying to figure out his next plan of how to quickly gain some liquid capital.  He sighed as he stopped and leaned against a building.  Looks like it'll be a bit of pickpocketing after all, he thought to himself.  Ah, well, at least he still had the deer that he was smoking back at the camp to fill his belly for a few days.  Sighing again, he looked up and ran a practiced eye over the people as they walked past him....

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The pancakes turned out to be a huge success among Milenko and his servitors, who he'd invited all of to sit and break their fast with him.  Such merriment had not occurred in the household in quite a number of years, even at Yule feasts.  He joked with them all, entertaining them with stories of the school's students and teachers, seemingly "one of the guys" with them.  Even the chef, once the duties of cooking the meal were completed, joined in.  Everyone, right down to the stable boys were encouraged to sit and eat their fill, Milenko himself handing them platers full of the fluffy pancakes, dripping with honey; something that caused many mouths to quirk in amusement as they observed the lord of the manor serving up breakfast to the boy that usually would be shoveling loads of horse dung out of the stables at that time of the morning. 

Once the dishes were cleared from the table, Milenko taking a hand in aiding the admittedly massive undertaking, smiling as he did so, forgetting for a time the troubles that plagued his mind, the same lord dismissed everyone with a hearty laugh and hand-wave, wishing them a good day as he heavily sat back down in his chair.  His fingers toyed with a butter knife that had been forgotten on the table as his thoughts inevitably turned back to what he'd been trying to forget.  With a huff, he stood up and headed into the kitchen, pausing to drop the knife into the washtub full of hot water and suds and dirty crockery, then passed through to the door and outside, putting his hands on his hips.  His loyal retainer, Robert, discretely joined Milenko and gently cleared his throat.

Turning to glance at Robert, Milenko said, "I intend to go into the forest today, Robert.  I feel the need to do a bit of hunting."

"I see, M'lord.  Shall I have M'lord's mount readied, then?" responded the retainer.

"No, Robert.  I think I'll walk there, it's a short enough hike.  I don't think I'll need any weapons, either, save my longsword," Milenko answered.  Then, as a thought occurred to him, he added, "You still have my longsword, don't you?"

Robert nodded and said, "Of course, M'lord.  As sharp and ready as it's ever been, Sir."  Then, after a pause, Robert uncomfortably added, "M'lord, are you certain that you should be leaving so soon after coming back after so long an absence?  Are you sure....?"

With a slight cutting motion with his hand, Milenko broke in with, "I understand your trepidation, Robert.  If who or whatever is behind my missing years wished to have me disappear again, they wouldn't have bothered going through the trouble of letting me come back in the first place.  Still, if I should disappear again, you are instructed to, after one year, sell the house and all within it, save the contents of my library.  The books and parchments, more specifically, the spells in them, are too dangerous to simply allow some random person to get hold of them.  I want you to personally burn them, instead."

Robert, paled by his lord's words, nodded in acquiescence.  "Thank you, Robert," said Milenko.  "Now, I'm going up to my room to finish preparing myself.  In the meantime, fetch my sword from the armory, or wherever you've stashed it, and make sure it's well-honed."  With a bow, Robert then sped off to do his master's bidding, while Milenko made his way back inside and up to his room, placing on his fingers the magical rings from which he gained the moniker "Ring Master" from the students at the school.  Then, he picked up the metal half-mask that covered the lower part of his features and placed it on his face.  Then, kneeling before the window, he closed his eyes and began to meditate, preparing himself mentally for the challenge he planned to set out before himself later that day.

Chapter Three: Goodnight, Sweet Pri-...

Silently, the thief was still cursing himself.  Ever since the other night, when he'd been caught at trying to infiltrate the mansion in the town outside of the forest he now took refuge in, he'd railed against his own stupidity.  How could things have gone so disastrously wrong?  Wasn't it bad enough that he'd been caught by that strange-looking guard, one that seemed so out-of-place for the town, but to have had that hallucination of his brother?  It seemed it was more of an illusion, however, since the guard reacted to the sight and voice of Talin just as Talon had.

With a snarl on his lips, Talon tossed into the campfire the stick he'd been using to stir the coals as he brooded.  Damnation, he thought.  If only Talin had been there, we could have beaten that guard to a pulp, then stripped the place of all of its valuables.  Now what am I going to do?  Not a copper left, otherwise I'd be sleeping in a nice warm bed rather than out in the cold like this.  Truth be told, he was more used to sleeping rough than in an inn.  But, at the moment, he was in such a state over his turn of bad luck that he simply felt like complaining about everything.  And this damned fire!  Too bright.  If anyone's looking for me, they'll spot me ten miles off!  And the smoke!  Enough to choke a damned worm in the ground, if you ask me.  Too taffing hot, also.  I oughta put it out.  Yet, if he were to put out the fire as he was mentally threatening to do, not only would he lose his only source of heat and light, but he'd also lose the only thing that was keeping the wild animals at bay...all information he already was well aware of. 

With a quiet sigh, Talon watched for a few minutes longer as the flames popped and crackled, slowly consuming the logs and the stick he'd thrown in.  Rising to his feet, he retrieved from a pile of wood a few more logs, laying them atop the burning coals so as to keep it going throughout the night, then lowered himself onto a pallet he'd made of his cloak and a few castoff blankets, wrapping himself in them, then closed his eyes to sleep.  Tomorrow, he'd find some way of earning...or stealing...enough coin to arrange for a new mount, at the least, his last having gone to fill his belly since his hunting had turned out to be fruitless.  Perhaps the snares he'd set would catch enough that he might be able to sell a few pelts in the town, provided he didn't run into any trouble.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was standing atop a rampart of a castle, overlooking a large river to the west.  He looked down at himself, seeing that he wore black clothing and a matching cloak.  Some part of his mind knew that, elsewhere, he was actually naked, but the small voice in his head that was trying to remind him of that fact was drowned out by the sound of the nearby river.  He placed his hands on top of one of the cool stones that formed the half-wall that surrounded the lookout point, not noticing that this meant he was much taller than his self in that 'other world', sighing and fidgeting a bit.  From below, his supernaturally enhanced hearing picked out the moans of agony coming from a woman in the throes of childbirth.  Her contractions were coming more and more frequently now, with greater intensity.  It would be soon.  Turning, he headed down the spiral staircase that led down to the main part of the castle, pushing through the door at the bottom...

...and stepping out into a devastated village, the buildings all burning, all manner of humanity screaming in searing agony.  A child, a half-elf, came running out of one of the buildings and began slamming his fists ineffectually against his body, screaming, "You killed my parents!" at him.  A smirk on his face, he flicked one of his black bat-like wings against the child, sending him hurtling through the air and against one of the trees that surrounded the village.  Then, turning away with a dark laugh, he headed into one of the buildings, which crumpled around him like paper with the merest exertion of energy.  His vision was blocked out for a few moments by sparks, flames, smoke, and debris, soon clearing however...

...allowing him to raise his head from his kneeling position to face a darkness deeper than the black spaces between the stars.  With a cruel smile, he muttered some benediction in a twisted tongue to the shadow that seemed even darker than the ebon surroundings, one that was even larger in frame and power than his own.  The darkness surrounding him and the Other was filled only with tormented screams and the sound of thousands of tortured souls.  He lowered his eyes and head once more....

...then raised them to stare across a field of battle, warriors striving against one another literally atop the bodies of their fallen comrades.  Beside him stood his brother-in-kind, surveying his own handiwork.  He and his brother had been involved with this particular conflict since the seed of war had been sown with the Saluthi.  This specific locale had been chosen because of his need to aid in the proper ending of the war.  He raised his right hand, focusing his energies into it, his eyes sliding closed...

...then opening them to look upon an unnaturally beautiful woman, blonde hair sweat-matted, as she bore down with her nether-muscles, straining through the process of birth.  The time passed as a blur, filled only with his encouraging words and her inarticulate moans and cries as she gave birth to first one, then another, babe.  A boy and a girl, twins.  He kissed the woman on the forehead, stroking her hair lightly as he whispered his love and pride in her for suffering through the difficult delivery.  He swaddled and picked up the twins, carrying them to their mother and laying them on her breast, smiling as he sat beside them, father and husband to his family.  Tears flowed unashamedly down his face, obscuring his vision for a brief moment.  He passed his hand over his eyes as joy suffused his heart and spirit, then lowered his hand to...

...stare at the prone body lying before him, the life having been torn from the boy...no, the young Nephilim, as a part of his mind reminded him.  First sorrow, then wrath, entered into his heart and mind as he looked down at the half-breed.  Looking up at the black speck that hovered in the sky, he shouted, "Mage, your unnaturally extended life is over!  From this day forth, count each hour as stolen, and keep watch over your shoulder!  Death shall indeed come for you!  You killed my...."

"...son!" shouted Milenko as he sat up from the drenched bedding, sweat-soaked chest heaving from the rampant emotions that filled him.  A dream, but one that made little sense to the mage.  The images had felt so familiar, yet so alien.  He felt that each of them should have been well-known to him, but he could attach no particular memory to them.  He reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a glass of water, drinking it in a single quaff.  His breathing and heart settled again, he rose from the bed and draped himself in a dressing robe, tying it at the waist and then walking over to the giant floor-to-ceiling window that faced the east, pulling open the curtain and staring out at the faint glimmer of light that signified the coming dawn.  He pounded his fist against the wooden frame hard enough to cause the glass to shudder audibly, then groaned from the torment his mind was going through.  Was he losing it?  Was it possible that the strain of the missing years from his life, coupled with this latest twist, the nightmares, was causing him to go mad?

Would he ever regain a point of stability in his life?

Chapter Two: Pensive Ponderings

A rosy hue from the setting sun filled the room as Milenko sat in an overstuffed chair, his bare feet up on a stool and pointing toward the fire snapping in the fireplace.  Elbow resting on the arm of the chair, he stroked the beard that followed the line of his lower jaw, a few elegant streaks rising from the beard up his cheeks, as he contemplated all of the information that had been imparted to him by his various servants.  All of whom, incidentally, were under the auspices of a lie-detecting spell to ease his suspicious mind that they all might be playing at some sort of elaborate prank or falsehood.  His eyes looked not to the fire, but out through the western window at the sun as it settled behind the houses.  While the city had indeed grown while he was away, his manor still commanded the best views of the surrounding countryside.  The room he was currently in, for instance, had windows that faced both the east and the west, to allow Milenko, or his guests, to both greet and bid farewell to the day.  However, it was not bidding the sun goodnight that was on the mage's mind.  No, all the setting sun did was remind him that, for all his power, time was something that was beyond him.

He let his eyes drift across the various parchments, scrolls, and some few books that he'd collected over the years before he'd last left the manor, noticing that much had been added to his collection by the mindful servitors in his employ.  A thoughtful gesture to a kind Master, they thought it.  Yet, what the sight did was only serve to deepen his melancholy.

Twenty-five years...How? he thought to himself.  How could I have lost a quarter-century of my life?  Who would have such power, save a god?  And, if it were a god, what reason would they have to strip me of those memories?  I can remember doing no wrong to them...but, what if the knowledge of that had been stripped as well?  Would I even realize if I were missing such a thing?  I didn't realize, after all, that twenty-five years of life vanished from my mind; something so trivial as an offense would surely be as child's play to who- or whatever altered my memories.  Still, even if it were true that I am an amnesiac, then why has my appearance not aged to match the years? 

His thoughts then drifted toward news of a more recent nature.  The hiring of that white man that claimed to be from Japan as a replacement for the retired guard that had secured the estate.  Oni, or something-or-other, seemed to be his name.  And that thief that was reported to have attempted to break in a few nights ago.  What was that about?  Coincidence?  Maybe, but unlikely given the circumstances.  Something just didn't add up, and it bothered him.  It bothered him even more that Robert had kept the Oriental around even though it was obvious that the man was less than competent, seeing as how the thief had gotten away, despite having the guard's sword at his throat.

There was only one mage of enough power and knowledge that could answer Milenko's questions for him, at least in terms of the missing time: Ashleigh Van Carter.  If the mage was still among the...well, "living" wouldn't be the appropriate choice of terms considering the man's state of being undead and all.  He considered sending a messenger to Ashleigh, but what little he could remember of the man, he couldn't recall ever hearing where his home was.  And, it was likely that, in the intervening years between meeting him in that tavern and now, he could have moved to a new location.  He supposed that he could get ahold of one of the Sunains, but the only one he knew of, Tracius, that was a mage, specialized in areas of magic other than what he needed information about.

Still, it was an option he'd keep open.  Maybe Tracius could come up with something should Ashleigh fail to assist him.  Now, the only problem was finding a way to contact the vampiric mage.

Focusing his eyes on the sight outside the window again, he discovered that the sun had gone down fully while he was distracted by his thoughts.  Picking up the goblet that sat on the table beside his chair, he drained the distilled wine within it, thankful that his servants had discovered this little refinement to his favorite beverage, then set it back down again, rising to his feet.  It had been a long day, time to retire for the evening.  One thing he missed, though, and felt rather keenly, was the presence of his slave, Satine.  Rather, she wasn't so much a slave as she was a friend, and that was what he needed the most.  She never had served him in a romantic fashion, however, contrary to conventional beliefs of a Master/slave relationship. 

He'd set her free not long before encountering the magic school he'd given a few lectures at, however, so having her to talk to was out of the question.  He'd heard from Robert that she'd even gotten married, and for that he was glad that his friend had found happiness without servitude.  Besides, by now, she would probably be a grandmother.  No, he wouldn't seek her out.  He'd be lucky if she even remembered him anyways. 

As he walked down the hallway to his bedroom, he passed Robert who bid him goodnight and bowed before slipping into the study to retrieve the goblet for his master.  Milenko, for his part, went into his room and closed the door behind him, stripping himself of the robes he was wearing, laying them over the back of a chair for Robert, or another servant, to collect for cleaning before morning.  He looked askance at the nightclothes that one of them had set out for him, then turned down the lamps and climbed nude into the bed, sinking into the cushioned mattress, comfortable for the first time in quite awhile...likely in twenty-five years, for all he knew...and fell asleep instantly, though his dreams were troubled by "what-ifs" concerning the passage of the missing time...