One remembered the little things when death was approaching. Narria had nearly forgotten her noble title before she had been taken captive in Demon Night Castle. Now she recalled it and many other details of her life quite clearly. She often recited her long title to herself during the boring portions of the day. Well, what she assumed to be day. It was so dark in her prison cell that the cycle of the sun was unknown to her.

Narria had been a member of the Remaldi Clan in the Dark Elf kingdom of Thombaldia. Her official title was Glorious Blood Priestess of Yuvia’s Right Arm. She had abandoned that life very quickly and traveled across the sea to DuKaat. It was in DuKaat where Narria had found her true calling; she was a killer, through and through. Conducting that skill had led her to others proficient in the arts of administering death. Together the five of them had formed Castavel’s most feared group of mercenaries. They had called themselves the Cruel Entourage.

Kings, generals, warlords and wizards had solicited their services during the height of their popularity. They didn’t come cheap and Narria had quickly become a very wealthy woman. But riches didn’t matter to Narria. She had seen her fair share of such things while immersed in the nobility of Thombaldia. So it was that she donated most of her profits to an orphanage in the northern reaches of DuKaat that had touched her heart. The children adored Narria and it was one place where the Cruel Entourage wasn’t met with fear.

However, all this was long ago.

“Stop with the nostalgia. It won’t get you anywhere,” Narria told herself for the thousandth time. Thinking of the old days was simultaneously maddening and soothing. It provided her with some comfort from the physical torture, but only served to fuel the fire that was her mental torment.

It was then that she heard the knocking at her dungeon door. Only one of her four torturers took the time to actually knock, and he was by far the worst of them. If she wanted her pain to be less she had to respond, with a kind “Come in.”

The door, desperately needing to be oiled, creaked open to reveal a diminutive monster with a devilish grin full of jagged, yellow teeth. A dusty beige cloak covered the green-scaled creature, but his tail was still wagging underneath. Skipping playfully, the child-sized torturer stopped only inches from the heavily chained prisoner...

“Hello. You seem to be in a particularly good mood today, Skurry,” Narria said, as the door finally shut and blanketed the two in dungeon-induced night.

“Actually, I’m quite upset due to my violent beating by one of the Architects. My visage has been slightly scarred.”

“Why were you attacked?” Narria strategically asked. The longer she could keep Skurry talking, the longer her coming pain would be postponed. The little lizard was a chatty fellow and he loved to keep up a conversation. The fool could go on for hours. Narria wasn’t sure just how long she could keep the monster distracted. He was a fickle being who had even more fickle masters.

She knew she had Skurry hooked when his red eyes began to glint a little. That was always a good sign so Narria listened closely as he began to speak. “Well,” he declared, “I had just come from a victorious game of Ushmesh against Lawrence when I was passed by the Second Architect in the 34th hallway. I vividly made my greeting known to him and I was punished for my liveliness. I was accused of over excessive vanity of presence.”

Narria laughed. “Sounds like a foolish crime to accuse you of. I think the Architect simply doesn’t like you.”

Skurry nodded. “Yes, that Architect seems to have a great deal of venom in him towards me. Very much so. Victory always goes to the better man though.”

The dark elf spun a few insults in her head for her periodic torturer. She would never speak them, at least not until she had her freedom and was shoving a sword down his neck. That fantasy alone was enough to keep Narria going.

“So,” Skurry asked, as he rubbed his crusty hands together in anticipation. “Can I hear the story of the Demon Veil?”

Narria had nearly run through all of her adventures… twice. Skurry had an appetite for tales of great risk, and Narria had plenty to feed his hunger. She couldn’t understand why Skurry always wanted to hear about the Demon Veil.

The adventure was hardly one of the highest points in her career. Yet, Skurry devoured the tale with child-like curiosity, over and over again. Narria had found it best to satisfy the little runt rather than upset him with unnecessary questions. Just the fact that Skurry had been beaten today was enough to make the dark elf squirm internally.

“Sure. I’ll make sure to start from the beginning,” Narria said, as gentle as possible. Skurry had a tendency to want to initiate the story from various points. Just beginning the tale from the start was a serious offense. That was a lesson Narria had painstakingly learned. So she was always sure to clarify where she intended to begin the tale so Skurry could correct her if he wished.

“No, my beautiful vixen!” Skurry demanded, like a spoiled child in need of another new toy to break. “I want you to start from when the witch vanished into the fire.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you want Skurry. So you want me to start from when Sefton vanished?” Narria asked for confirmation. Skurry eagerly nodded his head…

“Are ya sure ya heard she rode to Demon Night Castle?” asked the dark-skinned man with the long, nappy dreadlocks.

The man was addressing a fat bartending woman who wore an eyepatch, and who nodded in response. “Yep. Last time I saw her in here, she said she was headin on up there.”

Jondai took a swig of his Green Thombaldian Wine and wiped the slight dribble from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He knew he could trust the bartender. She had never lied to him before, and if she said Narria went to Demon Night Castle then it was true. But how could she have been so stupid? Ever since that day in Matrick Forest she had let herself become more and more reckless. The Cruel Entourage might not be together anymore, but Jondai still kept track of his former friends. Narria had been taking the most dangerous missions and a trip to that feared place was as dangerous as they came.

“That woman is on some other shit. Never thought she’d take it that far,” Jondai said.

The haggard bartender wiped out a dingy brown glass and filled it up with some more green wine before passing it to Jondai, “Yur friend is a woman who be enjoyin the risks, Jon. You can’t keep a strong eye on her forever ya know?”

“I know, and I don’t know why I let her keep doing to this to me, but she’s my friend. I don’t want her to get herself into something she can’t handle and I think she might have finally done that,” Jondai explained. Just as he was about to ask for another drink he received a slight tap on his shoulder.

Turning around, Jondai stared at the tall, bearded man who looked like he could be wide as a castle wall and hard as one too. In comparison, Jondai was a short fellow, skinny but sinewy. So one might expect a reaction of awe from Jondai, but that was hardly the case. With a big smile he jumped up from his revolving wooden chair and hugged the big man as much as possible.

“Black Bear! Whad the hell decide to make you come round here?” Jondai asked as he let go of his old Cruel Entourage partner.

Everyone in the bar had been watching the two men, expecting there to be a brawl, but upon seeing the hug all the patrons returned back to their usual ongoings. Of course there were a few who kept glancing back and forth at the two men because they knew them for who they really were. Having two former Cruel Entouragers in the same place was not a comforting situation.

“I was actually looking for you, Jondai,” Black Bear said in that powerful, overwhelming tone. “We need to talk…”

Whenever there was an argument all Black Bear had to do was start talking and everyone would listen to him. The only exception to that rule was Narria, and being that exception had gotten her and The Cruel Entourage into far too much trouble.

“Bear, I’m all ears,” Jondai replied, as he sat back down.

Black Bear would have taken a seat as well if any of the seats were able to accommodate him. Unfortunately, none of them were quite up to par, so he remained standing. Jondai always had respect for Bear, but experienced something approaching reverence for him when he was simply standing. The proud bear tattoos that lined his arms and his chest made the barely clothed shaman look fearsome. If that wasn’t enough, the two shining axes he had strapped across his back were enough to give anyone a reason to pause.

“Narria has put herself in grave danger, I’m afraid,” Black Bear reported.

Jondai took a drink and nodded. His shaking dreadlocks blacked out his face for a moment, “Yep. I was jus telling old lady that she was on some other shit for going up there.”

“I’ve been doing spirit walks to try and see what condition she’s in,” said Black Bear. “All I know is that she’s in constant pain.”

Jumping up from his chair again Jondai slapped the large man on his right pec, “Bout damn time you learned how to do that spirit walk! When did ya get it down pat?”

Black Bear grinned from ear to ear, “Just a few months ago. I was nearly eaten by a demonic bear in the process, but I managed.”

“Ya always do,” Jondai said. “So, whad are we going to do about Narria?”

The shaman’s smile quickly faded and he leaned forward to whisper in Jondai’s ear, “The only thing we can do. Lucas and Damien are waiting for us three towns to the west.”

Jondai sighed. He had to fight back the anticipation that was on the cusp of his mind, “Okay. Do ya want to leave tonight?”

“No,” Black Bear replied. “We can’t afford to have people wondering why we’re sneaking about in the night. Leaving during the day would be best to our advantage.”

At that point Jondai suddenly felt like all eyes were on him. The Cruel Entourage were not loved by all and even the rumor of them getting back together could create ripples. During the height of their career The Entourage had a large assortment of enemies, and these adversaries were just starting to get comfortable with the fact that the mercenary group would not be resurrected.

“You’re right, Bear. No need for us to make any noise.”

“Precisely. It’s already a risk allowing people to see the two of us together. I suggest we retreat to my room,” Black Bear advised.

Jondai threw the remainder of the Green Thombaldian Wine down his neck and slammed the glass on the table. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and gave a sigh of satisfaction. Looking up to Black Bear he said, “Sounds like a plan to me. All I wanted to get was a bit tipsy anyway.”

Black Bear roared with laughter and caught the attention of everyone in the bar, “Only you would get tipsy after six glasses of green wine.”

“Been watching me that long, huh?”

The shaman shook his head, “No my friend. I just know what your usual is.”

Skurry sat down and crossed his legs in front of Narria as she wrapped up her tale of danger. When she reached the end, Skurry clapped his hands wildly and said, “Oh such a wonderful story. But you seemed to have some emotional vacancy as you told the tale. You seemed as stiff as a vegetable. None of your usual vigor.”

Narria laughed nervously, “Oh, I’m just a bit tired today. Believe me, I loved telling you the story.”

Skurry’s mouth twisted to the side. “Oh well, I can vindicate you from your tiredness. Yes, I have just the tools for a vapid little woman like yourself.”

It was then that Narria knew the shift had occurred. As ever, Skurry had transformed with little warning from being an almost loveable creature to a freakish monstrosity who delighted in dishing out suffering. The mercenary began to prepare herself mentally for what was about to come her way for well over the four hundredth time. No matter how many times she underwent the terrible treatment she still had to fight to control herself.

Being brave was easy when you had a blade to fight your opponents with. It was a far harder task when you were completely and totally at your enemy’s mercy.

I would hardly call it mercy, Narria remarked inwardly as she steadied her breathing and tried to remove her mind from her body. Being in a different place was often the only way she managed to make it through these painful experiences.

Skurry scrutinized his tools of pain like a woman in the market would look over food. One by one he surveyed his various options for torture. He grinned as he held up a rusty saw and Narria took a deep breath. The grin soon faded, and Skurry placed the item out of his sight and back on the shaky wooden table. Narria released her breath in overjoyed relief. That relief soon turned to anguish as Skurry spotted a hand-driven drill and cackled.

The reptilian fiend looked back at Narria with a stare bordering on insanity. “So,” he hissed, “Are you ready to begin this vicious little tale, my sweet?”

She began taking deep breaths as Skurry slowly approached. His laughter grew louder and wicked the closer he came to her, but Narria kept her concentration strong. She needed to be in another place. She had to be. Enduring this burden would be impossible otherwise. The laughter was torturous and threatened to garner a frustrated scream from its intended victim… but then the laughter stopped, and that was so much worse.

Narria fought back a pained whimper as Skurry dug the drill into her thigh and began to spin his hands at inhuman speed. Rich crimson blood and torn flesh flung itself into Skurry’s face. He licked away the blood and chewed whatever grayish blue skin he grabbed along the way. Tasting the agony in Narria’s flesh was his favorite meal of the day. He continued drilling until he reached bone and that was when Narria shrieked the loudest. Her body jerked upwards and began to twist wildly.

“I see we still have some vitality left. Oh you just make this such an exquisite affair,” Skurry complimented as he stopped drilling and backed away.

The beast dropped the tool where he stood and then scurried his way back to Narria. He quickly shoved his tongue into the wound he had inflicted, and indulged in the chaos he had created within. The blood was sweet and the flesh ripe. By that time Narria had finally managed to remove herself mentally from the situation so she hardly noticed when her abuser removed chunks of hanging meat from her.

Having enjoyed a full meal, Skurry rushed back to the table and immediately grabbed his next device of choice. In each of his hands he held two white spikes. The spikes were cool to the touch, but once they pierced flesh they became hot as a fiery star. They were weapons that were sure to make Narria express her pain in her own artistic manner. It was a performance that Skurry just couldn’t get enough of.

Her right shoulder was where the first spike made its mark and Narria’s body began to convulse violently, but her mind was dreaming of the summer dinners her grandmother use to make. The second spike found a home in her right ankle, but she was remembering the embrace of her father. Skurry planted the third spike in her left breast, but she was thinking of the day the Cruel Entourage made its fist commission. The last spike was planted in the drill created wound, but she was lusting after the only man she had ever loved.

Narria might have been chained, but she was fighting back the only way she knew how. She was using moments of bliss to counteract these moments of pain. It was all she could do to survive. Skurry sighed as he realized that Narria was in a far different place. “Enough for today, I venture. Verily, we can always pick this up another time.”

Narria didn’t respond to him and Skurry frowned at her lack of interaction. While he had had fun, he still didn’t work off the frustration he felt at the 2nd Architect. Now he would simply have to stew and let his anger slip away peacefully. Temptation pushed Skurry to leave the spikes in the dark elf overnight, to teach her a lesson in how a prisoner is supposed to act. That would ruffle far too many feathers though and it would be an unwise action of I there was ever to be any reconciliation with the 2nd Architect.

“Our next encounter shall be more violent, I assure you,” Skurry promised as he blew into the direction of Narria. The air his breath touched formed tiny blue crystals that floated gently onto Narria’s flesh. Her body began to glow and the spikes dropped to the floor still sizzling from their contact with the mercenary. The wounds that had been inflicted upon her literally stitched themselves together. Within seconds, Narria had been totally healed, and she had made it through another day of torture. Another day that she yearned for freedom… and revenge.

Before Skurry had a chance to vacate the premises the large dungeon door swung wide open to reveal one of the many Demon Night Castle sentries. Each sentry stood somewhere between eight and ten feet high. They were armored in clunky orange and red metal plates. At the knuckles of their metal gloves were serrated black spikes. The symbol of a burning tree was etched with white gold into their chest armor. All of their bodies had the frame of a square. Narria had no idea what lay beneath the helmet and she honestly didn’t have any burning desire to. She was sure it was something ugly and hideous like most things in this castle of boundless pain and fear.

Sitting atop the shoulders of the sentry were two people wrapped up in thick, black sheepskin. They weren’t struggling and that told Narria they were unconscious. No one would enter this place as a captive without kicking and screaming the whole way. Skurry looked up at the new prisoners and back to Narria. “I’m always so exhilarated when I get to be the first to view new prisoners. I shall bring down the Architects’ vengeance upon these cretins!”

The sentry gave Skurry a cold, icy stare and laid the two prisoners down on the ground. Their black coverings turned to ash and Narria was able to get a clear view of her new cellmates. One of them was a baby-faced, dusty blonde man with pale skin that took away from the beauty of his well-structured facial features. His clothing was of fine silk and the lion pendant around his neck let Narria know that he carried noble blood in his veins. The other prisoner was a thin woman with caramel skin and long raven hair that stretched down to her behind. Narria’s white hair only came to about the middle of her back, but she had always wanted hair that went that long. It wouldn’t exactly be combat friendly, but it would make her feel elegant as she cut people down. Jondai used to criticize her about her desire for long hair, but he had always known better than to say anything once he himself had started growing dreadlocks. And, just like that, Narria was reminiscing again.

The sentry had never seen anyone smile after a session with Skurry, but he did not question it as he chained up the two limp bodies. It simply assumed that the dark elf was finally beginning to slip into madness. Either that or Skurry had lost his touch for breaking the prisoners of the Architects.

“Come now, villainous sentry! I can’t hold open this door for whatever varied amount of time you desire,” Skurry slightly scolded, but his only response was another bone chilling stare. The look of distaste hardly bothered Skurry, who figured that was the only look sentries were capable of. So he waited with mild patience as the guard finished chaining up the prisoners. As the two of them left the dungeon, Narria could hear Skurry trying to strike up conversation about another of his stupid little games that he played when he wasn’t busy drinking someone’s blood. Just the thought of him tasting her skin and blood made Narria seethe with rage.

It took her nearly twenty minutes to soothe that rage, and it was then that her cellmates began to stir and fight against their unconscious states. The change was welcome for Narria who was dying to have even the slightest bit of conversation. Sure, she talked to those who constantly damaged her psychical being, but that was calculated conversation. Every sentence and every word spoken were planned out in Narria’s head. She was doing her best to avoid pain, and dialogue was her only weapon. In this situation she could actually speak freely.

Then, suddenly, a terrible – but entirely possible – thought hit her like a bag of rocks. What if these two were simply agents of her torturers? What if they simply wanted to know all the bad things Narria thought about them? That would make her already agonizing sessions unbearable. Could she trust these two? Then another thought rushed to her. What if they wanted to mistrust these two so that she would push herself into insanity?

“Perhaps being alone wasn’t such a bad thing,” Narria whispered.

“Eh, don’t worry. I won’t be too much of an ass,” the gangly man whispered in return.

Narria laughed. She hadn’t done that in a while. “Forgive me. It has been so long since I’ve had company that I’ve begun to let paranoia consume me.”

“In such a lovely place like this? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Narria laughed again. It felt like stepping outside on a hot day and feeling soft raindrops hit your face. “I might have to retract my statement about having company.”

The other new prisoner stirred and moaned, “What the hell is that smell?”

Taking a deep whiff the man replied, “I think it’s a bit of rotten flesh and burnt rat. Definitely a touch of dung.”

“Oh, you joke, but I think I’m about to puke! The walls of Holystar have never stunk so!”

That name caused Narria to perk up and take notice. Holystar was the city of the witches and it was because of that place that Narria was in her current predicament. The witches had asked Narria to retrieve one of their ancient texts from Demon Night Castle. Narria agreed without hesitation and despite her ultimate failure she was still glad she had taken the mission. It was here in these walls that Narria had found her greatest challenge in years.

“So why would the witches send one of their own to this wretched place?” Narria asked.

The woman sighed, “I came here of my own accord. Stupidly I suppose. I was sent to retrieve the Book of Tarshish since a mercenary had failed in the task. At least to our knowledge he or she did.”

If only she knew… I’m that failed mercenary, Narria thought. Were the witches that desperate to see this text returned to them? Just what knowledge did that book hold?

“Are you of rank in Holystar?” Narria asked.

“I am The First Priestess of the Moon Path,” the woman replied.

At that moment Narria knew just how anxious the witches were. There was a very structured hierarchy in the witch society of Holystar. There were five paths - Moon, Shadow, Truth, Nature, and Astral. Each path had a Countess at the top; beneath each Countess there were two Ladies, and beneath each Lady there were three Priestesses. Whoever this woman was she was of prestige in Holystar, and for them to send her here willingly meant that their desire for the Book of Tarshish was great.

“So, if you’re a witch, why don’t you just work some hocus pocus and get us out of this mess?” the man asked.

The beauty shook her head. “Something about this place prevents me from doing that. My magic feels like it’s off in the distance. Something I can see, but not really touch. At least, the more powerful of my magicks feels that way.”

Quickly changing the subject to prevent despair, Narria asked, “What are your names?”

The man was swift to answer Narria’s enquiry. “I am Prince Karimo of The Eastern Valleys. Though my friends just call me Kar.”

“And just how did a prince manage to waltz his way into this dark place?” the witch asked, full of disbelief.

“My kingdom is at war with a very nasty orc warlord,” the prince exclaimed. “This particular warlord is enamored with gambling and my father made him a wager. Give me any task that was humanly possible and if I completed it he would leave our lands. The task that befell me was to retrieve the head of one of the Four Architects.”

Narria gasped without even realizing that she had until she saw the awkward stares of her companions. Her gasp must have had fear in it, for while the stares were curious ones they were also wide with dread.

“Forgive me. It is just that such a task seems so unfeasible it was shocking to hear someone say it,” Narria explained.

“I take it you’ve seen one of these fiends before, Narria of Thombaldia?” the witch asked.

“Yes I have—wait a second! You said my name! How did you—?”

The First Priestess of the Moon Path laughed. “I said my magicks were faint. I did not say they were all gone. I ascertained who you were as soon as the Prince here told his tale of woe. It is because of you that I am here!”

Narria’s _expression darkened. “Do not blame me for your captivity! You came here of your own accord just as I did. All of us are fools for ever setting foot in this damned place! I have seen the Fourth Architect and she is terrible in image and power!”

“Ladies, do not be so quick to anger. We need to act as the best of friends if we have any intention of ever escaping this place!” Karimo exclaimed.

“The prince is right. I am sorry for my accusation of you, Narria.”

“You are forgiven, witch, and I am sorry that you have found yourself here in this unholy place.”

“Call me Celeste. You have a way of making witch sound so derogatory,” the priestess joked.

“Someone has to keep you haughty broads in your place,” Narria smiled.

Celeste laughed loudly then, “That is exactly what Countess Lenora told all her Priestesses just two days before I left. I think the two of you would get along just perfectly.”

“Witches and Blood Priestesses don’t have a great history of getting along.”

“You’re a Blood Priestess?” Karimo and Celeste asked, simultaneously.

“No, I never completed my training. But the makings of it are still there,” Narria answered with a smirk. She knew the reputation of Blood Priestesses were infamous, but to see a witch and a prince so worked up over it was a bit of a surprise.

“Then let us hope that those “makings” are enough to help get us out of here,” Prince Karimo said, as he began to search for any sign of weakness in the dungeon walls.

Jondai closed the hotel room door behind him. The door was made of a thick black wood from a special kind of tree found only in the Indall Forest, just outside of the Ishabale Mountains. The wood was as strong as steel, but quiet as a feather. Though the door was heavy it didn’t make a single sound as it closed. Most hotels and inns in DuKaat aspired to use the black wood for their doors so as to have more satisfied customers. Jondai was from a small village at the foot of the Ishabale Mountains and he had often played in the Blacksteel Trees as a child. When the children played hunting games those who were being hunted tried with all their might to find a Blacksteel Tree. You could move and wiggle all you wanted without a soul ever hearing you. Jondai had always been one of the faster children, so finding a tree to hide in had never been a problem. After a while the others became wise to his speed and made him a hunter in their games. It was something that would aid him in further endeavors down the road.

Black Bear was searching for a candle to illuminate the room when Jondai cautioned him to stop moving with a stiff palm as signal. Looking around the room, Jondai stared at the corner closest to the window and said, “Whoever ya are ya can make yourselves known. I promise not to whup that ass too hard.”

“Brother, the only ass that needs kicking around here is your own,” a young man said as Black Bear was finally able to light a candle. The young man had not come alone; his partner jumped off his shoulders and landed on the ground without a sound.

“Well if it ain’t my lil bruh. Or would ya rather me just call ya Locus Wolfsun. I know you get down with all that proper shit,” Jondai said as his brother stepped into the light.

“Now is not the time, brother. I would have preferred to meet you in public, but it would have been dangerous to do that,” Locus replied.

“Oh just admit it! It’s not that it’s dangerous. It’s just more fun. Bounties can’t ever do anything the simple way,” Jondai said as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door. Black Bear moved to block the window. Jondai didn’t even have to tell Bear to move and Bear didn’t need to ask why. The two worked as one even after all this time. Locus may have been of Jondai’s blood, but he was also a Bounty and Jondai knew the tricks they could pull.

Bounties were the paid-to-order mercenaries of Castavel. They were trained from adolescence to be some of the best warriors in the world. There were four schools in which they were trained. Upon entering, each trainee would take upon a new name signifying which school he or she were to be a part of. These schools were Tigersaw, Wolfsun, Blackdagger, and Lethalfire. To be a Bounty was to be grace and death in motion.

“We don’t have time for this, Locus!” the slightly shorter, but far mouthier companion exclaimed as he removed his black hood. “Coming to your brother was a stupid idea!” The usual Bounty wear for Wolfsun included light metal boots and gloves, magically enhanced chest plates, fire resistant black cloth, and a hood that blackened one’s identity. The hood also made it so that only other Bounties of Wolfsun could hear your voice. So it was obvious that Locus’ partner wanted his opinions to be known.

“Look, ya lil worm. Didn’t nobody ask ya sorry ass to come sneak around here anyway!”

“Jondai please! We need your help!” Locus implored.

Jondai smiled, “Forgive me for being smug, but the two of you can’t miss the irony in Wolfsun Bounties coming to ask for my help.”

Locus sighed, “Brother I know your banishment from the school still burns, but it is not just us who seeks your assistance. All the Bounties do. The four schools are under attack from a vampire named Lord Duran.”

Instantly Jondai stopped smiling and he looked to Black Bear to see if he had heard his brother right. The shaman had crossed his hands behind his back and Jondai knew then he had heard correct. Whenever Black Bear was disturbed he had a tendency to play with his hands and to keep people from noticing he would put them behind his back.

A sudden chill seemed to come over the room. A strong wind rattled the window that Black Bear was blocking, and the candle he had lighted appeared to dim. It was as if the mention of the vampire’s name had even shook the very room they were in. Jondai knew that it had to be serious if Bounties were coming to him of all people for help, but he had truly had no idea how serious.

“Does Duran not serve Duchess Xunalin?” Jondai asked Locus.

“He murdered the wench three years ago,” the other Bounty answered. Jondai had noticed the intensity with which the man had made that statement. Something personal existed between him and Duchess Xunalin. The mercenary’s first urge was to be an annoyance and pry into why the Bounty was so hateful towards the woman. Further inspection told him that the voice was too full of wrath and that the wound this Bounty suffered was probably a still bleeding one.

“Good. She was the cause of far too much trouble,” Black Bear commented with the same tone of voice as the Bounty had. Jondai knew good and well what Bear meant by trouble. It was because of Xunalin that Narria was cursed to love only one man and to have only one man love her in return. That curse was a very large part of the reason that the Cruel Entourage was no more.

Locus looked back towards Bear with a touch of disdain, “Xunalin only caused trouble when she was bothered. Duran is insane. He attacks us constantly with his army of Twists and Polluted. We thought we could withstand him at first—

“Wait a minute! Did ya say Twists, bruh?” Jondai asked his mind whirling. First he was told that Duran had taken Xunalin’s place in the last vampire line of DuKaat and now he was being told that the Twists had returned from their self-imposed mountain exile. They were a people that Jondai hoped none of DuKaat would ever see in a thousand years. The Twists were savage, ruthless barbarians hidden in the cloak of formality and prudence. Perhaps now they had finally decided to remove their garments.

“Yes, that is why we have come to you. We need Narria!”

“Then I suggest the two of you get ready for a long journey. For we ride to Demon Night Castle,” Black Bear said as he finally bought his hands back out for public view.

“Surely you jest!” came a cry of astonishment from the second Bounty. Bear saw a tinge of fear in the warrior’s baby face. There didn’t look to be a bit of hair anywhere on the young man’s face. He couldn’t be any older than twenty seasons.

“Would ya rather climb the walls of Shadelka?” Jondai asked.

“I thought Bounties feared nothing… what did you say your name was?” the shaman interrupted.

“I did not say my name! I had thought it wise not too, but since we ride on a fool’s quest I don’t see why not. Not like any of us will be alive the day after we enter that place anyway. You can call me Qite Wolfsun.”

Jondai looked around the room and then back to the Bounties, “Well, Qite, I suggest ya and my brother find somewhere to sleep tonight, because tomorrow we ride hard. Two old friends are waiting for us – and I’ve never been a man to disappoint...”

// disclaimer

The characters, concepts and ideas presented within Cruel Entourage are the intellectual property of Brent Lambert and are © 2006-2007. Grapefruit: Pulp with a Twist, Grapefruit logos, and site design are all ™ and © Mike Rasbury 2005-2008. Any reproduction or use is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

titles | anthology | staff | forum | main