As soon as the rogue had left, Marasmus struggled with his bonds. With tremendous effort and no small amount of time, he managed to bring his bound hands from behind his body UNDER his body and then around to the front. This was no small feat, with the broken finger impeding progress every step of the way. He began chewing on the cords that bound him. He had few illusions as to what the rogue’s plans probably held for him.
     He was still gnawing at his bonds when he sensed/saw the walls of his confinement dissipate. His eyes widened. She can’t mean to let loose the Demon, he thought, we’ll BOTH be killed if she does! He bit with renewed energy, stopping only as he heard her footsteps approaching. Task unfinished, he dropped his hands to his lap, carefully obscuring his work.
     “Appears you’ve been busy,” said the rogue, noting his new posture.
     “You said not to go anywhere, not that I couldn’t move,” replied the wizard warily.
     “Ah, ever the expert in word games. Speaking of which, I loved the end of your bargain. ‘Set me free’ after one year’s servitude, I believe you said. I don’t suppose you were planning to use the point of a knife to accomplish that, now were you?” queried the archer.
     “We’ll never know, now will we?” smiled the mage. “By the way, I must admit I am mystified by your escape. Just how did you accomplish it?”
     “You left a Stone Curse scroll. I used it. The bow broke, but the second-to-last shot did the trick.”
     “Incredible!” ventured the mage.
     “No; miraculous” said Little-Mouse.
     “I don’t see the difference” snorted the spellcaster.
     “You wouldn’t” replied the rogue, gazing off into the distance.
     “And the Blood Knight I killed in the room. . .?” questioned Marasmus.
     The rogue shook herself from her reverie. “Was simply built of shattered pieces of destroyed foes, propped in the corner. I figured you’d take no chances, and simply destroy it rather than investigate more closely.”
     The wizard chuckled. “Such a wonderfully devious mind! We’d make such a team, you andI! I don’t suppose . . . ?”
     “Mmmmm, I’d sooner pair with a poisonous serpent” said the rogue, shaking her head.
     “I’ll take that as a ‘No’ then. So, what plans now?”
     The rogue leaned forward and drew her knife.
     Putting on a brave face, the wizard taunted. “Oh my! Slit my throat and return to town? How very brave, seeing as how I’m trussed like an animal and at your mercy.” He raised his bound hands, shielding his face.
     “Hold still and shut up,” she said, raising the knife. She slashed once, firmly.

PART FOURTEEN: BEGGING THE QUESTION

     The cords binding his hands fell to the ground. Marasmus looked up questioningly.
     “You know I cannot kill you. If I did, I’d be no better than you. Nay, I’d become just like you.” The rogue threw the knife into the shadows, to emphasize her point.
     Rubbing his wrists to restore circulation, the wizard nervously replied. “I thank you for my life.”
     “Hmph. Keep your thanks. One last question, spelltwister. I know you’ve never been at want, that you’ve never been a beggar. So I’d like to know this last thing . . . “
     Marasmus nursed his wrists and hands, gently twisting the ring on his
swollen finger. If I could just get it off, he thought, and wrestle a mana potion from her. . . he nodded assuringly as she continued.
     “Most people don’t realize it, but Begging is a profession and a craft. Each person must carefully choose his or her woe -- will it be a physical deformity? A mental handicap? How will it affect your appearance, your actions, your posture, your speech, your gait? It’s easy to deceive the eyes with a false hunched-back, fake withered limb, or buboes-pocked face. It’s even easier to deceive the nose, with odors made to simulate the disorder and keep the passerby at arm’s length and confused. But do you know what is most difficult? To deceive the ear! It is almost impossible to make those around you BELIEVE that indeed you are so crippled, and thus deserving of their charity. There was a time in my life when I and some friends had to beg, and in that group we would practice our laments, testing them on each other for the sound of verity, crying over and over until our words had the ring of truth about them. Only then did we actually practice our deception on the public.
     “Which leads me to my last question for you” the rogue intoned. She squatted, took the wizard’s chin in her hand, and looked directly into his good eye. He gazed back in puzzlement.
     “How many before me, Marasmus,” she asked. “Your delivery was perfect. Your gestures refined. Even the times you ‘lost your temper’, you had me believing you. How much did you practice, Marasmus? How many girls were there before me?”
     The mage remained mute, staring dully into the rogue’s eyes.
     The silence stretched.
     She took her hand from his chin, and slapped him once, very hard.
     “I’ll pray for your soul, Marasmus.”
     “What a comfort that is,” sneered the wizard.

PART FOURTEEN: ONE LAST RUN

     Little-Mouse rose, turned her back on the wizard, and walked toward the fourth room. In her search of the level she had used an infravision scroll, and had seen the occupants held within it. One last, very dangerous task remained to be done.
     “You do remember where I threw the knife, don’t you?” she called over her shoulder.
     “Yessss,” replied the mage, warily.
     “I’d look for it quickly then. You should be able to cut your feet free of their bonds in seconds. Cutting off your finger may take longer, depending upon your pain threshhold. But you’ll never pull that ring off, not in the time you have.”
     “What do you mean?” said the wizard, suspicion tinging his voice.
     In response, the rogue gestured. The first massive lever of the third room groaned, then moved.
     “No” the wizard whispered.
     She gestured again. The second lever creaked.
     “No!” shouted the wizard.
     Little-Mouse raised her arms. She made the incantations, and four quick casts of Charged Bolt flowed out from her.
     The crackling spiders of energy danced . . . toward the fourth room!
     “NO!” screamed the wizard.
     The rogue looked over her shoulder with a twisted grin. “I said I’d
pray for your soul. Didn’t say I’d pray for it to be SAVED.”
     For one last time that day, she ran!
     “NOOOOOOOO!” shrieked the wizard. As she fled, Little-Mouse caught a final glimpse of him, his bound legs dragging across the floor as he flopped like some obscene sea-creature thrown to land. He floundered in the direction where the knife had been cast, shrieking and cursing and disappearing into the shadows.
     Little-Mouse had concerns of her own. Not even halfway to the bone arch that led to the corridor holding the stairway up, she heard a crackling hiss and a throaty grunt. Then another. Another. And then several clustered so closely that she could not guess.
     Then she heard the leaden, armored footsteps begin again. Such sounds would haunt her
nightmares for years to come.
     She dashed for the staircase.
     Behind her, she thought she might have heard the wizard cry out. It was a cry of pain, or of terrifying fear, or of insane laughter.
     Or perhaps all three.

PART FIFTEEN: KEEPING THE FAITH, KEEPING WATCH, AND A FINAL MESSAGE

     As the rogue emerged from the portal, she immediately hurried to the witch’s hut for a transaction. Then back into the Church, where she quickly cast another Town Portal. Let anyone who saw it wonder: Why would anyone cast a Portal right next to the stairs up on the first level of the dungeon? She knew, and that was good enough.
     Approaching the town square, she realized that it was early morning. Her tribulations had taken a full day, perhaps two. As fatigued as she was, she couldn’t say. She just knew it felt good to be alive!
     While seeking Cain’s counsel our archer noticed a young rogue wearing scarlet, new to the town, stopping at the fountain. Mouse glanced sidelong as the youngster scanned about, making sure no one was watching, and then washed her face at the public waterwork and drank deeply. Mouse’s heart went out to her -- that was breakfast, most likely.
     After finishing her business with Cain, she carefully approached.
     “Pardon me, Sister, but perhaps you can help me?” she asked gently.
     The youth’s eyes narrowed, taking in this strange apparition. Then she saw the secret sign, as Mouse used first finger and thumb to scratch at a slight cut on her chin. The red-clad one nodded, and adjusted her belt, again ever so slightly plucking with thumb and first finger of one hand. The Secret Sign of the Sisterhood.
     “Milady, perhaps I can be of assistance. What is it you require of me?”
     Mouse inwardly chuckled at the youth’s caution, even though they had both identified themselves as followers of the Order of the Sightless Eye. Wariness is good. This one had potential; best to nurture it.
     “Here’s fifty gold pieces. I wish you to go to the tavern, and break your fast well. Then have the innkeeper wrap up both a mid-meal and eve-meal, and come back to this fount. Here I would have you keep watch for an acquaintaince of mine. He’s a wizard, wearing red and black robes. He has a scar above his right eye, and a fresh scar above his left eye. Blood will mat his face and his robes. He’ll be missing the ring finger of his left hand, and he may be traveling with nothing more than a knife. He may come from a portal, or from the Church entrance, or from the crack that leads to Hell itself. You must keep watch on all three places.”
     “I understand. How long am I to stand this vigil?” asked the red one.
     “Til dusk. If he comes not by then, he’s not coming at all” Mouse replied.
     “It seems a simple task for such an amount of gold. Should he come, what would you have me do?”
     Our rogue took a golden Hunter’s Bow from her backpack. She carefully handed it to the second.
     “Well, yes, there is more. For another five hundred gold I would have you put a flaming arrow through his black heart.”
     The youngster gaped.
     “It’s unlikely he’s returning. I just don’t want to take any chances, seeing as he’s already nearly killed me once. Can you perform this task for me, Sister, that I and others might sleep untroubled, not fearing for safety?”
     The youth swallowed. “Milady, I can. Rest easily.”
     The battle-worn rogue nodded and walked toward the inn, but after only a few steps turned and came back. “Oh, and one more thing. As the black bile that passes for his blood spills on the sands, whisper in his ear that Little- . . . nay, that ‘Lion-Mouse sends him her regards.’”
Then she turned and limped into the inn.

< Back to Part Three