PART FIVE: PAYING THE PIPER

     Little-Mouse had no more tears to weep.
     For what seemed like an eternity, she dueled with the armored colossus. Her bow seemed to hardly dent the steel, and she could only get off four or five consecutive shots before she was forced to scramble for her life! As she ran, she grabbed fallen arrows, those not broken and useless, and returned them to her quiver.
     She repeated the process endlessly. Mindlessly. Until her fingers bled, and small stress fractures began appearing along the body of the bow. With her weapon becoming worn, she began to talk to her opponent.
     She pleaded with it. Begged it. Tried to bargain. Offered it gold, items, whatever it would require of her. She even said -- and she cursed herself for it -- that she would give it whatever it desired, if only it would let her free...
     But the creature only seemed to want her death. It spoke not in return; it made no deal, and paused not in its attack. She might as well have bargained with a falling oak, asking it not to topple upon her. Though she spoke until her voice was hoarse, she realized that her words were useless.
     It was only slightly unnerving to hear the melodic call of her other foe.
     “Well, well, still at it I hear. Enjoying the dangers of Hell? Feeling in much peril NOW, little one?” spoke the wizard.
     “Speak your bargain, cursed spellbreaker.” she raggedly replied.
     “Tsk, tsk! Such cheek! And from one in such desperate straits, too! You think that you’d be a bit more gracious to one who would be your saviour.”
     “Did you come to bargain, or just to chat? If the latter, be off with you, as you know I’m busy” she snapped.
     “Hmm, I supposed dire circumstances can lead to a lapse in good manners. Well, so be it. Let us start by saying that in payment for me rescuing you I will require you to be my personal servant --nay, slave -- for the period of one full year. My every wish, my every whim, will be your command. Did you hear that?”
     The rogue grunted her reply.
     “And again, I would have there be no illusions between us, no pretenses. When I say my EVERY wish, my EVERY whim, I mean even those of a personal nature. Shall we say, of a most INTIMATE kind? That whatever passion I wish to fulfill, you are not to deny it?”
     The rogue coughed, acknowledging that she had heard. She dodged, and then she spoke. “But at one time, you could have had all that without resorting to any of this! With your fine manners, your handsome features -- (appeal to his vanity, maybe he’ll relent!) -- you could have had this naive girl, or any other, as your bed-partner with only little effort!”
     “Yes, well, ahem,” and here the wizard cleared his throat. “I am afraid that my passions run somewhat beyond the accepted pale -- a partner would seldom accede to my demands -- and most certainly not more than once, willingly! Now don’t be alarmed, I assure you that any -- ah, shall we say -- after-effects of our liaison can be cured with healing salves and spells. And in your year’s servitude, as you become both more skilled and more ... inured to my specific needs, the difficulty you experience will grow less and less. I won’t deceive you, you may find it quite painful at times. But then again, one can only experience the greatest pleasure if one has also experienced great pain. And the two, juxtaposed! Ah, it can be heavenly!”
      Her eyes swollen, the rogue silently sobbed as she realized the choice awaiting her. Death, or a Fate worse than death. To die in this Hell-hole, or to lose her innocence and her soul to this despicable beast. With the bile rising in her throat, she choked, unable to answer.
     “Again, I would not have you act rashly or in haste. Please consider your answer carefully. Of course you may decline my offer. See if the Blood Knight makes you a better one. Do you think another two or three hours will be sufficient time? Adieu, little one.” The wizard’s presence departed.
     The rogue cursed, dodged, and ran again.

PART SIX: GRASPING AT STRAWS

     Little-Mouse would not give in to despair.
     The Sisters of the Sightless Eye had taken her in as a child, and taught her well and thoroughly. Add this formal training to her tough childhood on the streets, and mentally she was tremendously strong. She began to cast about, systematically searching the room. She visited each corner, every pile of rubbish, every suspicious shadow in her quest. The Knight made her efforts take longer, but she still had the energy to effectively dodge it. However, as Marasmus had predicted, she was beginning to feel fatigue.
     The first thing she found was the cursed Ring of Corruption given her that she had tossed away in her anger. Now she kept it; thinking of possibilities. Was the Knight energized by mana? If she could somehow slip the ring on its finger ... Looking at the hulking brute, sword clenched firmly in one hand and shield in the other, she dismissed the idea. Besides being outrageously dangerous and nearly impossible to accomplish, there was no guarantee it would work. It would be a last resort. She pocketed the ring and continued.
     The room was empty, as the wizard had predicted. Empty save for one corner, where a blasted frontispiece of breastplate had been wedged against a corner with tremendous energy. Try as she might, she did not have the strength to pull it free. The stalking Knight constantly interrupted her efforts, but it was her last hope, and she continued to lead the creature away and then rush back to the site. Laying on her belly she reached in ...
     Her fingers barely brushed something. Something papery, a thin shred of parchment, nothing more. Little-Mouse pulled out a badly scorched scroll.
     A scroll! One scroll! The whole room searched to closure, and this to show for her efforts. The futility of her efforts weighed upon her, and she felt final tears well up in her eyes. Blinking, sniffing, she tried to decipher the writing through blurred eyes.
     What’s this! She scrambled away from the Knight, holding the parchment before her. I can read it! Running to an opposite corner to gain time, she slowly translated the script before her. Dominus Patris, Signum Vitiosum Haec Esse ... Unfamiliar with the wording, she read and reread the scroll until she believed she had constructed the meaning.
     This scroll, for a limited time, would turn a foe to Stone!
     Little-Mouse began thinking furiously, planning future events. As she ran and dodged, so too she plotted. She had one small hope, one slim last chance. But she needed more time to bring it to fruition.
     For the first time in hours, a grim smile appeared on her lips.

PART SEVEN: I SWEAR UPON YOUR MOTHER’S GRAVE

     “Made up your mind, little one?”
     The foreign sound of another’s voice startled Little-Mouse, but she knew the owner.
     “I’m giving your offer ... due consideration” she answered.
     “Oh please, take your time” said the wizard, inspecting his fingernails. “Take all the time you feel you need.”
     The rogue ducked a sword stroke and ran. “Considerate of you. A few questions first. Like you said, best not to rush into these things. I’m curious, what’s to stop me from agreeing now, and slitting your throat the first night I get the chance?” she inquired.
     “Hmmm, well now, I’ll have you swear an oath. For one who was as poor as you, you must attach a great degree of significance to one’s word. After all, nothing separates one from lying, thieving, trash except one’s own personal honor. I chose you well, little one; if you swear to it, I know you will keep your word” was the reply.
     “I see. And the servitude will last only one year?”
     “As I’ve said before.”
     “Please, tell me again, and leave out no detail.” The rogue listened intently.
     The wizard sighed in exasperation. "You serve me as my personal slave for one year. You must accede to my every command. At the end of one year’s time, I will set you free.”
     “Ah, I needed to hear that last part. Thank you,” grimaced the rogue.
     “You are, of course, most welcome. Not to rush you but I don’t suppose you’ve come to a preliminary conclusion? I mean, YOU have all the time in the world, but I really need to be taking care of some other matters” spoke the mage airily.
     “Surprising that you should mention it, as a matter of fact I have,” returned the rogue.
     “And your tentative response might be. . . ?” prompted the wizard.
     “That I would sooner take the Demon Lord himself as my cohort before I would suffer the touch of your hands upon my body.”
     Silence. The wizard’s face contorted with rage, and he struggled to control himself.
     “Be careful what you wish for slut, for I think that it can be arranged.”
     “Go ahead. Use your Telekinetic powers, and release the Lord of Terror. I am, as you have pointed out, ‘safe’ in this room. It would be your worthless carcass at risk.”
     “Not if I throw the lever in the second room,” raged the mage, “and dispelled these wall that confine you. Then you’d get to meet your Demon Lover face-to-face, and ...” Marasmus stopped abruptly. He strove to regain his composure. “But that might be what you hoped for. You might be hoping for me to do just that. Well, it won’t work. I believe I hold all the cards here, whereas you can only bluff.”
     Silence.
     “Don’t think I won’t remember this little insolence of yours, young lady. It may weigh heavily against you on our first night together. You’d best be choosing your words more carefully, should you wish our initial dalliance not to leave a permanent reminder of our time spent together. Understand?”
     Little-Mouse sniffed.
     “I think you had better be thinking about your future, my dear, and answer with a bit less impertinence and a bit more deference. Think you can do that? Hmmmmm?”
     There was another sniff, and then a tiny voice answered, “As you wish, Lord Marasmus.”  
     “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” cooed the mage. “And it’s just for a short time, what is a year, after all? You’ll get used to it in no time.”
     “As you wish, Lord Marasmus.”
     “Nice, nice. I knew you’d come around eventually. You have such fire in you, such steel, but even steel needs to be beat- ... ah ... tempered. Otherwise, it shatters. And child, I will make you so strong! You won’t regret our time together.”
     “As you WISH, Lord Marasmus.” This time, the words were bitten out.
     “Eh? Care to repeat that again? And think carefully of the words you would choose,” warned the wizard.
     “As you wish, LORD Marasmus” came the sneer.
     “It seems a Lion hides within our Mouse. Well, I am just the man to tame that Lion. You can roar all you wish, but you’re still in a cage! Think about THAT, you impudent cub!”
     “As YOU WISH, Lord Marasmus” snickered the answer.
     The wizard’s face turned purple. “I’d damn you to Hell, but in case you haven’t noticed, YOU’RE ALREADY THERE, B!TCH!”
     “As you wish, LORD MARASMUS.”
     “YOU FILTHY GUTTERSNIPE! YOU USED-UP PIECE OF TRASH! You should be GRATEFUL that I am giving you the opportunity to ...“
     “As you WISH, Lord Mar-ASS-mus.”
     Through gritted teeth, the spellcaster spoke. “I leave. You have a day to think of your final answer. If the Knight kills you in that time, so be it.”
     Abruptly there was silence.
     “As I wished, Lord Marasmus” said the Rogue. Now she knew she had the time she needed.

PART EIGHT: FIRST THINGS FIRST

     Little-Mouse got out the bow, inspecting it for damage. Though worn, it was still workable. And it had only one, nah, two more jobs to do, if all went well. And if it broke, well, she had already made up her mind to throw the final two bone levers to release the Lord of Terror. Let Marasmus deal with THAT when he returned.
     She massaged her fingers, driving the blood back into them. She flexed her knees and stretched her shoulders, injury permitting. She began breathing drills, inhaling and exhaling, taking time with each. She wiped the sweat out of her eyes, and dried her hands.
     She got out the scroll of Stone Curse.
     The Blood Knight turned the corner.
     She cast, began firing, and began praying.
     "Hear my call, Kali, patroness of wanderers and fools, for I am both. Watch over this one who calls for your assistance. Guide her her heart, her footsteps, and her aim. Bless those to travel the Path of the Light, and spare not your wrath from those who obstruct and lead astray. Please grant me this one boon, that I might become your eternal follower. Help me, I beg of you. I beseech you. I pray of you. Please help me. Please. Please. Please.”
     With each mentally spoken ‘Please’ the bowstring sang, and an arrow flew true. The quiver’s occupants became two handfuls, then one; then she was down to her last two arrows.
     The tears had formed again.
     With the second-to-last shot, she cried aloud.
     “Please!”
     And the bow broke.

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