Marik Observant: The Man in the Mage

by Erico

Marik Observant is a fledgling Sorceror in search of a life worth living. Desperate for funds, he and his imp familiar will join forces with a veteran swordsman and a young healer on a quest to hunt down and destroy the Grey Shadow. Through their adventures and trials, he will find more than the life worth living; he will find himself. A story written in an original setting.

11. Ten: Land of The Free

Chapter Ten: Land of the Free

Eastern Istus, Ashra

It had been a long time since he had examined his mother's medallion closely. A treasured keepsake ever since Headmaster Williamson had given it to him when he was still a boy, Marik still could not figure it out.

At its center embedded in a platinum setting was a perfectly cut emerald that sparkled and caught the light. The emerald sat on the medallion itself, half of it a crescent moon of obsidian on the lower half and curving nearly to the top, and the rest a brilliant and lustrous gold.

On the golden half of the medallion were four runes which Marik had never been able to translate. They curved down along the upper right edge, cold and silent.

He'd finished his morning's quiet meditations, re-attuning himself to the aether reservoir in his body. Now he sat alone at the foot of the tree he'd placed his tent beside the night before. Back under the cover of a magically cleaned shirt and trousers, as well as his mythril chainshirt and cloak, he gripped his mother's medallion in the palm of his near skeletal left hand and stared into the faceted emerald.

Who are you?

The question echoed through him, and Marik closed his eyes. Leaning up against the tree far from the highway, he could still recall in vivid detail when the Grey Shadow had asked him that.

No, not asked…Thought it to him. He'd been half-dead when it had happened, and the Shadow had caught sight of his hand. A lot of that incident was foggy, lost somewhere in the blur of adrenaline and panic, but he remembered that detail.

Who are you?

Marik closed his eyes and squeezed his hand about the medallion, feeling the rawhide string tied to it tangle in his fingers.

Every answer Marik thought of to that question fell short. Was he a Sorceror? Yes, but he was more than what he did. He was a traveler, but did that explain his desire to set things right? No. Was he someone the world trusted? No. Some dreams had yet to happen. Of all the possibilities, especially today, in the beginning of their journey into the heart of darkness, only one answer seemed fitting.

I'm just a monster. He thought to himself, and slipped the medallion back around his neck, being careful not to disturb his long hood. Tired of the question, he pushed the whisper aside and forced it into silence.

A while later, Ness Benson approached him, with Morris sitting on the swordsman's shoulder. The two had become close since Kalen. Something in their experience in Sarine's Woods had helped to strengthen the bond, even though it was Marik that the winged devil was tied to.

"Morris said I might find you up here." Ness announced casually. "Preparing for the journey?"

In no mood to talk, Marik sent Morris a short message, giving the imp leeway in passing it along.

"The boss has to meditate to get in touch with his magic." Morris announced, getting the drift of it. "How soon are we leaving?"

"Rachel is cleaning up breakfast." Ness replied. He rubbed at his stubbled chin for a moment, watching Marik. "You didn't eat anything this morning. Are you feeling all right?"

Marik slowly stood up, towering over the well-built swordsman easily. "I'm fine." Morris said, as Marik took a more direct role in their communication. "I just wasn't hungry."

"If you're feeling ill, you should have Rachel take a look at you. She can cure sicknesses, too." Ness suggested, trying to be helpful.

The ironic thing was, Marik was a little sick, but there was no spell that could alter that. It wasn't a malady or a disease that plagued him. Marik's spirit had taken a crushing blow when he saw Ness and Rachel kissing. He'd been confused for a while, then upset and irrational for a few hours afterwards.

Now, the morning after, he'd just accepted it, as hollow as it left him feeling. They were good together, Ness and Rachel. They were both perfectly normal in every regard. She was a powerful healer in touch with her deity, and he was a capable swordsman, pledged to put an end to the Grey Shadow. All the components were there; proximity, shared experience, and mutual physical attraction.

Compared to that, Morris' opinion of matters seemed to be the right one to follow. They were allies, nothing more. This was a job, not some grand quest, and they were to be paid at the end of it. After all, that was why they had taken it in the first place. A need for money had driven the deal. Rachel Ashbury, the priestess of Calyssa Rosequeen from the distant land of The Realm, was just a very naïve and open-minded medic, gentle and tender in her care. She loved Ness, or at the very least, was beginning to grow into that love.

Better to stay distant, right Morris? Came Marik's quiet mental quip. Morris blinked at it, but made no outward signs.

"Marik, do we need to have Rachel use one of her curative spells on you?" Ness prodded again. The hooded, faceless Sorceror in black turned the void that served for his face towards the Cursed Blade and slowly shook it back and forth.

"It will pass." Morris spoke for Marik. "I was just entertaining useless thoughts. Thoughts that the day will help to remove."

Marik Observant stepped around Ness, his haversack slung over his back and his outer belt holding the magical scroll keeper he'd obtained from Lightfell's Bluestaff Guild. In his haversack, he kept the protective magical bracer that he had won as spoils from Fenderson's Pass many long days before.

"The Grey Shadow is still ahead of us, waiting somewhere in Istus." Morris noted coolly on behalf of the Sorceror. "The sooner we get moving…the sooner we can be done with this whole mess." Unaware of the grim undertone to it, for Morris was never that good at expressing the emotions of Marik's speech, Ness gave an agreeable nod of his head and followed after the towering mage.

Rachel had finished covering the fire, and the shimmering blue cloak of resistance was flowing out behind her in a soft easterly breeze. She looked to her companions, smiling at Ness broadly. That smile weakened some when Marik walked past her, giving the girl nary a second thought.

"Beyond Istus, we have no idea where we might find the Grey Shadow." Ness noted as they took to the road. "We'll have to find a way to remedy that." As always, Morris took point, with Marik following the imp close enough that he didn't have to pay attention, or look at Rachel and Ness.

It was stupid of him, Marik knew. They were all adults, and he had no business being so bent out of shape over it all. Ness was Ness, and Rachel was Rachel. That was all, and that was good. Still, even though he knew it hurt her feelings to do it, the Sorceror could not look at her. He could not talk to her the night before…he had even refused tea. It was jealousy, and the sort of self-perpetuating sadness that could eat away at a person. Marik knew better, and in time, he would be completely detached from this all, as he should have been from the start.

Morris had been right all along. But the imp, in spite of that, kept silent…A fact Marik was eternally grateful for. He was Marik's one true friend. In time, Marik wouldn't be so dismal to be around, once he had found his center again and moved on. For the time being, though, avoidance was the best solution.

It hurt too much to look at her now.

---

The Roadside Temple and Inn

North Central Korleen

487 N.E.

There weren't many children at the Roadside Temple. In fact, at the moment there was but one child, and some of the Roadside Temple's inhabitants would not even qualify him as one.

"It's about that…That boy of Brother Rodian's." Father Fardhaval began.

Sitting behind the old oaken desk which had served generations of elders before him, Headmaster Williamson rubbed at his temple, feeling a headache fast approaching…and it was only eight-thirty in the morning. "What is it now, my friend?"

"He's a danger to everyone around him!" Fardhaval blustered angrily. "Surely you saw that after he kil…After the incident two months ago."

Williamson leveled his calm brown eyes at the priest and rapped his fingers on the desk. "That was two months ago, brother. And Brother Rodian dealt with it. Now is there something else you need to tell me, or are you done wasting my time?"

Fardhaval's face was red. "He did something today."

Williamson flinched. "He didn't…hurt anyone, did he?" His concern was merited; the last time that the orphaned boy had caused trouble, he had been a wreck for days, and one of the dogs roaming the temple grounds had been killed.

"In a way, he did!" Brother Fardhaval continued. "I was giving a lecture on foraging in the wild today, and Marik came in and disturbed the acolytes. The next thing I know, an explosion goes off in the room and one of my students is blinded!"

Headmaster Williamson blinked at that. "…An explosion? Blinded?" He considered it a bit further, then harrumphed. "But how?"

"It was a spell, Headmaster. Marik cast a spell."

"Curious." Williamson murmured, standing up from his desk and walking over to the window. It was going to be a beautiful day outside, for the sun was causing the blue skies to come alive. There were only a few clouds to mar it. It was a wonderful day to travel. The Headmaster looked wistfully beyond the courtyard and the walls of Weyveliste's sanctuary to the road beyond, wishing he could be there, traveling through the majesty of Ashra instead of stuck behind this desk. Wanderlust came often and hard to the patrons of the Traveler.

Marik. The youth had been trouble ever since he had been brought to their doorstep by his dying mother. Rodian had proved to be a caring, slightly inept father to the strangest boy they'd ever harbored, but there had always been a potential in the inhuman child for something dark and malevolent.

"There is still much we do not know about Marik." Headmaster Williamson admitted, tucking his hands behind his back and turning away from his offices' window. "But I do not see how he could cast a spell. No, he is too young to derive strength from the Traveler's will, and wizards only manage such after years of intensive study."

"I know what I saw." Brother Fardhaval said stubbornly. "If you doubt me, then I will bring in my class. They can act as witnesses."

Williamson shook his head. "That will not be necessary, I believe. This can be settled quietly. I have no desire to alienate the boy further."

"He is a monster, Headmaster, and…"

"And he stays here under the protection of this Temple, Brother Fardhaval." Williamson warned the hotheaded cleric, his brown eyes flaring briefly. "No harm will come to him, and he will not be cast aside. I told his mother when she was dying he would be safe here, that he would be given the 'life worth living' she was so obsessed with. He has a hard enough time, dealing with what he is."

"Nobody of Marik's ilk ever made Terrus a better place." Fardhaval warned the Headmaster, pointing a finger at him. "Every day he stays here, he grows stronger. The last time he struck, he killed a pet. What happens when he goes after larger prey, hmm? What will you do when he 'accidentally' kills one of the acolytes, or one of the priests?"

"Marik's kind is largely a mystery." Williamson reminded the man. "But I believe that he is more than his heritage, Fardhaval. He has been raised for four years under Desmond's care, and there is not a more good-natured spirit at this Temple than that man. For all that he is on the outside, a fledgling person grows inside of him, encouraged every day. I do not wish this argument, but I will tell you plainly. Marik will not kill another. He will not kill again. Rodian promised me that."

"He would have promised you anything, to save that orphan." Fardhaval snorted. "Brother Rodian always obsessed too much over his attachments."

Headmaster Williamson resisted the urge to strike the precocious cleric of Weyveliste. Even afterwards, he still clenched his hands into fists. "I have other things to do today, Brother Fardhaval. Now either lodge a formal complaint or leave; in either case, stop talking about Rodian and Marik in such dire terms."

Fardhaval chewed on his lip. "If Marik is capable of blinding my students, he can do other things. More dangerous things. Please. Call him here, to your office. Observe Marik yourself. See what he can do. And then, I hope you will make the right decision, and revoke the protective pledge you made four years before."

Headmaster Williamson did not want that pledge to fail. A man lived by his word, and Williamson's was ironclad. "I will call him to my office later today. Will that be amenable?" Fardhaval nodded, having won a minor victory. "Then leave. There is paperwork yet to complete."

Brother Fardhaval bowed respectfully and left the office quickly. Williamson sighed and slipped back into his desk chair, shaking his head. "Marik casting magic? Preposterous." Still, he reminded himself, impossibilities were often shattered. Perhaps it would be so with Marik as well. Williamson opened his desk drawer, pushing back the false drawer to reveal a secret compartment within. There, hidden from open view was the medallion that Marik's mother had left in his care.

When he is old enough, give him this…And tell him his mother died…to give him a life worth living.

The medallion was magical…highly so. Beyond that, no amount of augury or research had revealed a thing in four years' time. It was as if the medallion simply did not exist. Marik was a curiosity, as much as his mother's last gift. The aging cleric pushed a fingertip across its surface, ignorant to its power. Perhaps the boy who was not truly human really could use magic, as ridiculous as it seemed.

"So much of his kind remains a mystery." Headmaster Williamson mumbled again, looking out towards his window.

The beckoning road called to him, but gave no answers. That was the thing with the roads. They kept their own secrets.

---

The Free Nation of Istus, Town of Road's End

503 N.E.

On the surface, the first town in Istus they happened across seemed a normal enough place.

"Istus." Ness Benson said darkly, carefully glancing about as they passed by an assembly of carts and vendors on the outskirts of the simple-looking town. "We're here at last."

"Is Istus truly dangerous?" Rachel inquired, finding the bustle of the small burg not much different from Westshire, where she had been stationed with her Calyssan missionary group before. "This place seems harmless enough."

"Appearances can be misleading." Ness replied calmly, his sharp eyes still scanning the environs. "Istus is different from all the other countries in Ashra; You can do or be whatever you like here, have anything you wish as long as you have the money."

"That sounds wonderful." Rachel said, not quite grasping why he would be so afraid of it.

"Only until you upset the wrong person, step into the wrong alley, or get captured by the slavers." Ness told her grimly, and Rachel shuddered at the last thing. "Money can buy anything here, including the silence of their watchmen."

"So in other words, be careful is what you're saying." Morris concluded, safely tucked away inside of Marik's hood.

"Essentially." Ness agreed. "We do not know where the Grey Shadow is in Istus. It will take some investigating." He threw a glance back to Marik and the hidden Imp with him. "I don't suppose you two could turn up anything here?"

The Sorceror shrugged as Morris spoke. "We could see if anyone in the local taverns knows anything."

"What is it with you and taverns, anyhow?" Rachel said to Marik, smiling. "Every time I turn around, it seems like you're taking us to another pub."

"You grew up above one, didn't you?" Morris asked, the flat tone indicating Marik's grim intervention. "You should know better than anyone that people with tales to share flock to them."

The comment came off harsh, and Marik chastised himself as soon as he'd said it. Rachel pulled away from him a bit, blinking with hurt eyes. "Well…of course I do. I was just…" She tried to defend herself, but let the answer fade away, averting her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

What Marik wanted to say to her, as they all stood there on the edge of the town called Road's End, surrounded by merchants calling out advertisements for their wares, was that nothing Rachel did could offend him, and that he was sorry for saying that, if not for being a great fool as well. But he didn't say that. After several false starts which Morris did not relay, the Sorceror shook his head and came up with a feeble answer. "I'll see what I can turn up with Morris."

Not saying anything further, Marik pushed through the bustle of the town's crowds, leaving Ness and a hurt Rachel behind him.

You know, I think that could have gone better, boss.

Thank you for reminding me of the obvious.

Aah, you're welcome. You know that's why I'm here, after all. Morris snipped, slapping the side of his tail against Marik's head. That and the company.

I shouldn't have said that to her.

So why did you, exactly?

The townsfolk gave the towering figure in black robes and cloak a wide berth, a little surprised and very intimidated by him. Marik paid them little attention, used to the odd glances. It was better that they looked at him in suspicion and wonder rather than horror.

…I don't know. Marik admitted, not feeling at all like himself since yesterday.

Morris, of course, could read him like a book. So she chose Ness. It's not the end of the world, Marik. There are…

Others? Marik interrupted bitterly. Morris, there IS nobody else like her.

Even arguing with Morris, Marik was still paying attention to his surroundings. He could see a young boy in slightly tattered clothes approach him, ordinary in the crowd. Ordinary, save for the set of picks strapped to his belt.

In the middle of the bustling market, he stumbled as if jarred from behind, bumping into Marik. He muttered a brief apology and took off running.

The Sorceror smiled to himself, turning his left sleeve about and almost casually firing a blue ray through the crowded street. With the benefit of Morris' invisible eyesight guiding the shot, he landed the stream of icy particles on the ground right where the boy set his foot down. It exploded into ice, not causing the youth any harm but tripping him up and sending him sprawling on his face.

He struggled to pick himself up, staring in surprise and astonishment at the ice encasing half of his worn shoe and sticking him to the ground.

That gave Marik the time required to calmly turn about and tower over the youth who gripped Marik's moneypurse tightly in his stubby fingers.

"Now boy, you have two options." Morris Redtail announced, safely tucked back inside of Marik's hood. "You can either hand my money back over and walk away unharmed, or you can attempt to flee. I assure you, the first option means you get to go home tonight." It was mostly an empty threat, because Marik didn't really intend to harm the boy in any regard. He had considered Marik an easy tag, and had learned the foolishness of that. Given his dress, he could have used a little extra money.

The youth gulped, his hazel eyes wide. "H…Here." He said, pushing the moneypurse towards Marik.

The Sorceror manifested his green Sorceror's hand and took his purse back, being careful to tie it more securely around his waist. "Good lad." Morris said coldly. "Now then, how would you like to earn an honest day's wages for a change?"

The scruffy thief considered that for a moment, taken aback. It wasn't every day a failed robbery resulted in him being better off than he started. "It depends, I suppose. What's honest?" He retorted, trying to act brave.

Marik considered that for a moment, then focused his will on the small patch of ice holding the scraggly youth down. It dissipated, released back into the aether that had created it. He scrambled up to his feet, preparing to bolt if anything looked wrong. That never came, of course.

"I'm new to Road's End." Morris announced, opting for the truth. "I could use a guide…specifically, somebody to show me where I can find the taverns in this place, and someone who knows how to get information."

The boy considered that for a moment, staring up at him. "It'll cost you. Four gold dragons."

"Four?" Morris retorted. "Highway robbery."

The boy shrugged noncommittally, growing brave. "Take it or leave it."

Marik loomed over him, doing his best to look menacing. The intimidation worked, and soon the boy was pale. "Or I suppose I could lower it."

"That's what I thought you said." Morris harrumphed. "Two gold pieces. That's my offer. Half now, and half when we're done."

The boy considered his options for a moment, and realized that there wasn't going to be any escaping this insightful mage. With a sigh, he nodded his head. "All right. Two gold." He wasn't all that disappointed, really. While he could have made far more by robbing the mage in black, that token sum would suffice for a while. The floating green hand pulled out a gold coin from Marik's moneypurse and dropped it in the boy's hand.

"I like to know who I'm dealing with, of course." Morris continued, speaking for Marik. "What name do you go by?"

"…Trevor." Came the muted reply. Marik sized the youth up, nodding his head. He was nine or ten years old, and wiry from exercise. It seemed he wasn't a novice to pilfering moneypurses in the crowded streets of the town. Dull hazel eyes, quieted by several hard years of life, looked out from underneath a ragged mop of messy red hair.

"Well, Trevor." Morris announced, as Marik stood upright and glanced about. "Let's get started."

"Sure. Where do you want to go?" The boy asked, wondering briefly what sort of a tour guide he would be.

"Like I said, I'm looking for information. Are there any pubs that are frequented by storytelling travelers?"

"Two or three." Trevor said, walking beside Marik as he pointed out a new direction. They began their trek, one determined to find information about the Grey Shadow, and the other determined to survive this day.

Trevor had never thought he'd be doing this when he got up today.

Well, I'll say this, Marik. For whatever problems you have up in that head of yours, you don't let it interfere with your mission.

We're here to do a job. Marik reminded the imp in his hood gently, feeling a brief pang of remorse from the hurt expression on Rachel's face after his outburst. As long as I can focus on that, I'll be fine.

But you can't ignore her forever, boss. Morris pointed out. Eventually, you'll have to just accept the decision she's made and move on. We can't exactly work with them if you won't talk to her.

Of course I can. Marik retorted, no spirit in his voice. After all, that's why I have you, isn't it?

Morris sighed at that, and didn't say anything else.

Marik was still fielding excuses.

---

The young girl selling flowers beamed as she tucked away the silver piece and handed Rachel the lilac. "Here." She said simply, running off afterwards.

Rachel gently broke off the majority of the stem and pinned it to her blue shawl, smiling gently. "There." She said, pleased with the result. She twirled about for Ness to see. "How do I look?"

"As beautiful as ever." Ness Benson smiled, folding his broad arms over his chest. "But why did you buy that flower? You're beautiful enough without it."

Tracing a gloved finger over the fragile blossom, Rachel remembered the bouquet that Marik had thrown on the ground back in Samael's Lands. "To remember." She said quietly, her smile fading as she thought of how dismal Marik had begun to become. "I hope Marik's doing all right."

"Oh, he'll be fine." Ness reassured her. "After all, he's got Morris with him. What sort of trouble could he get himself into?" Rachel gave him a pointed glance, and the swordsman scratched at his hair. "Well…I guess I see your point."

"We should buy some more ingredients as long as we're here."

"Ingredients? For what, more potions?" Ness asked, surprised. "But you just made some back in Lightfell…"

"True, and we've used a few since then." Rachel pointed out. "I have a feeling we'll need more before we're done."

Ness sighed and trailed after the girl as they continued through the florist's carts. "We'll be needing some more vials and bottles then. If it wasn't for your ability to make these on your own, we'd be spending a fortune stocking up."

"Vials are easy enough to get. We just need to find an alchemist's shop or an herbalist." Rachel added. "They should have what I'm after."

Recalling the last foul-smelling batch of ingredients he had been forced to obtain for her, Ness paled a bit. "This isn't going to stink up my clothes again, is it?"

She threw him a glance, then shook her head. "We'll need some more mint, of course…"

"Of course." Ness sighed.

"But I'm going to need some ginger root, almond extract, and citrus for what I have planned."

Ness gave her a curious look. "Citrus?"

"Lemons, Ness."

"Aah. Why? That's not the ingredient for your blue potions."

"I'm not making blue today." She inferred calmly, stopping in front of a cart full of glass bottles of all shapes and sizes. "I've got something stronger in mind."

The middle-aged man behind the stand, his face leathery with age, rubbed his hands together. "Aaah, welcome my friends! Perhaps you have come in need of a vase? Something to put that flower of yours in, eh?"

Rachel shook her head, ending his pitch. "We just need some small bottles." She shuffled around in her side satchel for a moment, then produced a vial of her green curative potion. "Like this."

The vendor blinked at it for a moment. "That looks like a vial for a potion."

"It is."

"Hm." The man said thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin. "Well, I'd have to check, but I'm thinking I might have what you're after."

He ducked down behind the cart full of large and ornate bottles, then came up with a small box of square bottles, corks stuffed tightly in their openings. "You're in luck! I have a full set of twenty here."

Rachel nodded appraisingly. "How much?" She asked.

"Forty gold pieces."

Ness snorted. "Forty?! What are you, a merchant or a thief?"

The man shrugged, but Rachel seemed unfazed. Perhaps Ness' presence emboldened her. "I'll give you ten."

"Thirty." The bottle seller countered.

"Twelve."

"Twenty-five?"

"Fifteen."

"I could not go lower than twenty pieces for such a set." He argued.

Rachel feigned a yawn and shook her head. "I imagine the town's alchemist labs will be more understanding. Good day, then."

"Seventeen gold pieces!" The merchant exclaimed, feeling the sale slip from him. "That is my final offer!"

Keeping her smug expression to herself, Rachel nodded. Before she could untie her moneypurse, however, Ness had set down the amount exactly on one of the few open spots on the cart.

"It's on me." Ness reassured her, winking.

The healer frowned at him for a bit, then gave an exasperated sigh. "Ness, you're doing it again."

"I'm doing what?" Ness said as they walked away with the new vials in tow.

"You're fawning over me." She insisted, a little upset. "I have money from our travels as well. I don't need you to pay for me every time."

"Aah, but I don't give ten percent of everything I earn back to a church." Ness reminded her. "You routed a very sizable donation back to your missionary group in Westshire when we were in Lightfell, remember?"

She shook her head. "That doesn't make me poor, you know."

"You do have less to spend, though." He continued. "I'll make you a deal, Rachel. I bought the vials, so you can buy the ingredients this time around."

"Let me buy us lunch and you've won your way back into my good graces." She smiled.

The swordsman stroked at his chin for a moment, smiling at the thought. "I can live with that."

"And the next time I want to buy something, you'll…"

"Try not to make a habit of being overbearing." He finished with a smile, and his hand found its way into hers.

She squeezed it gently and looked up at him. "You're something else, Ness."

"I'm only what your faith has made me." He retorted, wishing that they were somewhere private in that moment.

The comment caught her interest, and she considered it for a few moments as they continued to look about for the other ingredients she needed. "Ness, I've noticed something about you."

"My charmingly rugged good looks?"

"No, something in your mannerisms." She told him. "I've heard you say half a dozen or more oaths since we've met, every one referencing to a different deity."

"Aah." Ness remembered, still holding her hand. "Yes, I do make a habit of that, don't I?"

"But why?" Rachel asked him. "Don't you worship one more than the others?"

"Not really, no." Ness said, unfazed by the question. "But that doesn't mean I'm not a spiritual fellow."

"How?" The Calyssan asked, confused.

"Oh, that's simple enough." He said, and spun her about into his arms. She let out a soft cry of surprise, but stopped when their blue eyes met. He gave her a soft and reassuring smile. "How could I not have faith when an angel is walking beside me?"

Rachel giggled, then bit her lip nervously. "Are all your compliments so bold?"

"I've made a habit of being so." Ness told her, and she tilted her head up towards him to meet his kiss. Ness Benson was indeed bold, Rachel thought as her head swam.

She wondered how bold he would be tonight.

---

Drughvairn's Nook

Central Road's End

They sat in a back corner of the tavern, calmly sipping away at their drinks. Marik had picked out an elvish draught for himself, and ordered some unfermented grape syrup in bubbled water for his ten-year old accomplice, Trevor. The presence of the boy had worked a small miracle for Marik and Morris, making people's glances towards the faceless figure in black linger less than they would have were he alone.

"So how do you know who to look for?" Trevor asked, feeling more comfortable around the imposing mage. He took a sip of the drink, marveling at the taste. It was more than what he was used to.

The mage, who had begrudgingly introduced himself as Marik after a few minutes of their meeting, leaned back against the wall and looked about, using his magical hand to lift up the chalice of elven wine to his hidden mouth. He took a slurping drink, then set it back down and exhaled. "The best source for obscure or unordinary information are traveling minstrels, also called bards."

Trevor set his glass aside and frowned, looking around. "How do you know when you're staring at a bard, then?"

The Sorceror considered that for a moment. "There's a few obvious signs." Morris inferred, the one who had partaken of the drink safely tucked inside Marik's drooping hood. "They tend to dress in light armor, if any. They usually carry an instrument. A lute, or a mandolin, most times. Otherwise, it's all up to how they hold themselves."

"Eh?" Trevor said, looking back to Marik. "What do you mean?"

Marik considered that for a moment as Morris chuckled.

Boss, he's only ten years old. You're going to have to explain it in simpler terms.

When I was his age, I already knew how to read and speak elven.

Don't let it go to your head.

"Let me try that again." Morris said with a cough. "Bards aren't like other people. They look happy. Spirited."

"Huh." Trevor muttered, taking another sip of his drink and staring around. "We get people in Road's End like that every so often. Most don't stay for long."

"Well, they are notorious for being vagabonds." Morris replied. The imp and Sorceror gave a quick scan about the tavern, finding a mark quickly enough. "Now, then. I have a little test for you."

"What's the catch?" Trevor demanded, still on edge.

"There's a bard in this tavern right now. And he may know a thing or two that would help me. If you can find him and bring him here, I'll buy you a second glass of that syrup you're enjoying." Trevor sat up a little straighter at that, looking at him.

"Are you pulling my leg?" He demanded. "I tried to rob you. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"To be honest, you don't." Morris said. "But at some point, you're going to have to learn who you can trust and who you can't. So you might as well start now." Marik waved a sleeve around the tavern. "Well, I gave you a few clues. Go ahead and try, Trevor."

Despite the incentive, the boy wavered. It was still a tavern, and there were plenty of rough-looking fellows about enjoying their drinks. "I just hope you're not going to get me killed."

"If anyone tries to roughhouse you, then they'll have to answer to me." Morris said firmly. "You're working for me, after all, Trevor. I can't have you being assaulted in my presence."

"Huh." The boy muttered, shaking his head in wonder at the faceless mage. "You're different, you know that?"

Every day of my life. Marik thought, and Morris chuckled aloud. "Go on. Take a look around."

The boy leaned on an elbow, staring about with a squinting determination.

It was about a minute later when he looked back to Marik. "Is he the one in the studded leather vest and the funny ears?"

Marik nodded his head, pleased at the boy's attempt. The man carried a longsword at his hip, and beyond the leather vest in question, dressed in fine linens and weathered boots. There was something else, as well. Underneath his neatly trimmed brown hair, he had slightly elongated, pointed ears; No elf would mistake him for one of theirs, and no human would think of him as a true kinsman. He was trapped in a world between.

"You were paying attention." Morris said, pleased. Underneath the table, the Sorceror pulled out another gold coin, then flipped it up on the table. "Go and buy yourself another syrup, then bring that bard over here to us."

The boy snatched up the coin eagerly, pausing just as he was beginning to stand up. He affixed a curious glance towards the hooded mage. "Us?" He said, confused.

"I…Well, I was including you when I said that." Morris hastily corrected himself. The boy looked skeptical, but turned about and headed up to the bar.

Marik leaned back in his seat. He's sharp for his age.

We nearly blew our cover. We'll have to be more careful, boss. Something tells me that Trevor wouldn't exactly understand about us.

As long as you keep doing all the talking, I doubt he's going to run off screaming.

You know boss, I've got a question.

What would that be, Morris?

You're kind of sweet on Trevor. Any reason why?

Marik considered that for a moment. I really don't know. Just a feeling, I guess.

Trevor came back to the table, dragging the half-elven troubadour behind him. "I brought him for ya."

Marik sized the youth up for a moment. "You don't have another syrup."

The scruffy-haired boy smirked a bit, one hand in his trouser pocket. "I thought I'd save ahead for a rainy day."

Morris let out a little mirthful laugh. "I suppose there's no shame in that." Came the reply, along with a casual wave of Marik's right sleeve. The mage turned his faceless black hood up to the retrieved contact.

The bard sized up the towering figure who seemed an incarnation of the reaper. "Your boy said you wanted to speak to me, but I don't normally associate with men who hide behind shadows."

Marik nearly cackled at that, but restrained himself and sent his thoughts to Morris. This he did not in the human tongue, but in the language of the elves. Because of that, when Morris spoke, it was in the same dialect.

"Not everyone who hides behind shadows is uncultured, friend."

The minstrel's eyes widened at that. "Well, now." Came his reply, in the same language, "You know of my other heritage?"

"You are versed in tales and rumor. It is the rumor I require, if you would be willing to aid in my search."

"Do you seek something?"

"Someone." Morris said softly, the graceful, almost lyrical syllables gliding off of his devilish tongue with a strange and unnatural, yet pleasant feeling. "An assassin who works alone. The Grey Shadow."

The bard's face darkened, but he kept his voice level. "Nobody has ever lived a long life who went after him. Are you trying to bring about your death?"

"So you do know of him." Morris inferred, pleased. "His trail ends in Istus. Beyond this point, I do not know where he has gone. If you know something, anything, tell me."

The leather-vested minstrel shook his head, reverting to the basic terran language. "I cannot. He has enemies in Istus, to be sure, but all who have ever become involved in his business died. I apologize, friend of my ancestors, but I cannot assist you."

The faceless mage considered that for several moments, then shook his head. "My thanks for your time then, minstrel. May the Traveler keep watch over you."

"And may he walk with you as well." The still pale-faced half-elf said, then he turned about and strolled stiffly out of the tavern.

Marik leaned back in his chair, and Morris let out a long sigh. The sharp-eyed Trevor considered things for a moment, then clicked his tongue. "You didn't get what you needed, huh?"

"Oh, I got something out of that." The talkative imp said, still acting as Marik's voice, cramped within his hood. "He told me that there are others in this country who hate the Shadow as much as I do. Just because he proved to be a dead end does not mean others will not have the answers I need."

Trevor considered it for a moment, finally sighing. "It's too confusing for me."

Marik angled his hood towards the boy. "Trevor, I apologize for the inconvenience I've been to you. I don't think there's any more you can do to help me; I still remember all the taverns you told me to visit."

The scruffy red-haired boy tilted his head. "Wh…what are you saying?"

"I don't need your assistance any longer." Marik explained to the boy, flipping up another few gold coins onto the table. "You are free to return to your usual tasks. Just don't make the mistake of trying to pick my pocket again, the next time we meet."

Trevor hurriedly tucked the valuable coins away into his pants pocket, then turned his glittering eyes to glower at Marik. "I have always been free."

Excited with the prospect of the rest of his day, the boy shot out of the tavern like a streak of lightning. Marik sat there, looking down at his drink for a few more moments before standing up.

You're not going to finish that?

As I recall, Morris, you were the one drinking that.

I know! You're not going to let me finish that?

I still have need of your keen senses. Marik retorted, moving them out of the tavern and into the open streets. Come, Morris. We've other places to visit in search of what we want to know.

And what about Trevor? Morris queried, a little surprised. Marik glanced about the street as they emerged, but saw the boy nowhere in sight.

The grim Sorceror shrugged his shoulders. He is free to do whatever he wishes.

Then I guess what they say about Istus is true. You really are free to do whatever you want.

Until somebody else steps in. Marik corrected him, and took off walking.

---

"Well, let's see. A gross of crossbow quarrels, then. Is there anything else you'll be needing, miss?" The merchant asked. Rachel thought about it for a few moments, then shook her head.

"That should do for now." She answered, sliding across the agreed amount. He set the thick box of crossbow ammunition up on the counter and gave a nod of his head.

"A pleasure doing business with you. Come back anytime."

Rachel walked back towards Ness, who stood in the middle of the street with that quaint little smile of his. "And what's so funny, Ness?"

"Oh, nothing." He said casually. "Is there anything else we need to pick up before we'll go looking for Marik and Morris?"

Rachel ran over the list in her head; they'd eaten, gotten another batch of supplies for her potionsmaking, and resupplied her empty crossbow quiver, which hung at her right hip along with the light weapon Ness had bought her back in Crannogh Heights. Two nations later, it had proven itself to be very effective in giving her much needed stopping power. She shook her head. "No, I think that will do for now."

"Small miracles do happen." Ness chortled, walking back for the center of Road's End. "I didn't think you'd ever run out of things to shop for."

"Ness!" She chastised him with a light slap on the arm. He laughed, knowing she meant it in just as much jest as he did. They turned away from the arms bazaar and continued on.

Ness exhaled. "You know, I'm surprised. Nobody's harassed us so far."

"Why would they?" Rachel asked, turning to him. "This place is just one giant market, isn't it?"

"Oh, it is." Ness murmured, wanting to say something else but thinking better of it. He shook his head. "We should try to find Marik, and then arrange for some lodgings for tonight." The swordsman rubbed at his chin. "Someplace more upscale, I'm thinking. Somewhere that I can wash my hair out."

Rachel's eyes glittered at the promise. "Oh, that would be wonderful. With a full bath?"

"Of course." Ness reassured her, tracing a curve along her arm. "I'd give you a palace, if I could."

"Flatterer." Rachel smirked. She looked up ahead of them and blinked, seeing a large throng of people congregating around a raised stage. "Ness, what's this?"

Ness examined the scene for a moment, his face darkening. "Nothing you need to see." Came his terse reply. "Come on. We should hurry along and…"

"Now hold on a moment." Rachel stopped him. "What is this?" She asked again, more insistently. Ness bit his lip as he looked to her, then closed his eyes in resignation.

"Look on, then." The swordsman answered. "But you will not like what you see."

The Calyssan stared at the stage fully after that, giving it her total attention. A man in linen and leather stood up in the center, waving his arms to silence the crowds.

"All right then, here's today's catch!" Came his powerful voice. A line of people, their eyes dull and their spirits defeated were paraded onto the stage, dressed in simple and mostly dirty rags. Their hands and feet were bound in iron chains that barely allowed them enough space to walk. "Bid high and you just might be able to take one of these little darlings back home with you!"

Wide-eyed, Rachel tried to piece it together. "Ness…what…"

The swordsman said nothing, and Rachel whirled on him. "He's selling those people! As…"

"Slaves." Ness finished grimly, shaking his head. "I know."

Rachel looked back to the line of people. A man in his forties. Three women, one in her middle ages, another in her early thirties, and the last one looking Rachel's age. A young boy, barely eight years old, and already with the spark of life lost from him. They were bidding on the old man, and the wagers, along with the humiliation, grew fast.

Trembling slightly, Rachel tore her eyes from the scene and looked to Ness. "Why are they doing this?"

Their mirth destroyed, the Cursed Blade tightened his free hand into a fist. "Istus is a free country, the only one of its kind in Ashra. You can buy anything, as long as you have the money. Even people."

He could see the anger begin to rise up in her face, and knew even before she could voice another comment that she meant to put a stop to it.

"You can't." Ness said softly. Rachel turned to look at him in surprise. "You can't stop this, Rachel. I can't stop it, either."

"But it's not right!" She whispered fiercely. "Surely, you can see that!"

"I know it's not right." Ness said back to her, keeping his voice level and not making eye contact with the few buyers at the back of the crowd who glanced towards them. "But to stop this, you would have to eliminate an entire piece of Istus, and it goes a lot higher than most people care to find out." Their blue eyes met and the swordsman shook his head again. "We have our own monster to fight, Rachel. That's all we can do."

"But those people…" She whispered, feeling her rage drain out of her for sadness, "Nobody cares what happens to them? Nobody ever stops it?"

"Not in Istus." Ness concluded somberly, leading her away.

Rachel closed her eyes against a fresh set of tears. "It seems there are some places in this world that Calyssa wouldn't love, after all."

Ness exhaled and led her away from the slave auction, not sure who he was more upset at; The slavers, for building a business that thrived on suffering and injustice, or himself, for being too weak to do anything about it.

---

Sadly, all of Trevor's suggestions had produced nothing useful about the Grey Shadow. Every tavern, inn, and pub that Marik went in turned up confusion, or guarded responses about not wishing to become involved.

It's hardly the end of the world, boss. I didn't really expect this to be an easy nut to crack. Stories are one thing, but it looks like we might have to enlist some higher help to find him.

Scrying, you mean. Marik inferred. The idea didn't exactly please him, as that meant finding a powerful cleric in the region, or a mage of some strength. In either case, it would require a substantial sum of money, and more attention than Marik really wished to have.

They continued through the bustle of Road's End, watching as the traffic dwindled to the mid-afternoon rush. In the middle of it all, Morris' sharp beady eyes picked out something the more casually glancing Marik didn't. The small figure of a boy ducked and weaved through the crowd, throwing furtive glances behind him before bolting on ahead.

Say, boss…I think I just saw that Trevor kid.

You did? Marik replied, stirring to a more alert stance. With Morris guiding him, he quickly spotted the boy, running through the crowds and ducking into an alley.

Both the Sorceror and the imp saw what he was running from a moment later. Three men were going after him, dressed in unassuming leather coats, but looking none too casual with the swords hanging off of their hips. People got out of their way, not saying anything and doing their best to not look at them either. To Marik, the visual cues all added up to one thing; those men meant trouble, and the townsfolk of Road's End knew it.

They're after Trevor.

Marik was already moving when the imp let out a slow chuckle. You know, boss, for someone who doesn't want much attention, you have a habit of playing the hero a lot.

Heroes don't associate with imps, came the Sorceror's quick, but forceless reply.

Trevor was running on panic and fear, and those had kept him going on his dash for nearly five minutes. Running was the only option when it came to slavers, but they kept coming, and he was running out of breath. They could manage longer strides, and every feint he'd tried had failed to leave them behind. He thought at the last, he could duck into the alley, scamper over the wooden fence that was in so many other alleys around the town and leave them in the dust just long enough to get some real distance.

When he made it through the crowds and into the alley, he found to his total dismay and grief that the alley he'd picked didn't have a wooden fence, only a dead end.

"End of the line, kid." One of his pursuers growled. Trevor turned about, his lower lip quivering. The three of them had moved into the alley and blocked off any chance of escape. "Get him, Tomas!" He barked to one of his men.

Trevor shrank against the wall, unable to do anything to stop the man from coming closer. It was just a matter of time, and then he would no longer be free.

The slaver's greasy hand never came to land on his shoulder, though. There was only the surprised grunt from the man, the slap of a hand against his neck, and a familiar voice that made Trevor open his eyes in hopeful wonder.

"Nobody is taking this boy anywhere!"

"What the devil is that thing?!" The man closest to Trevor exclaimed, just before he gurgled and slumped to the ground, staring through unblinking eyes. The boy looked up and gasped. Hovering in midair, beating red leathery wings and dressed in specially tailored clothes was a foot-high creature with small horns and comically large ears rising up out of its toothy skull. The little thing threw Trevor a wink.

"What kind of devil would be a more accurate question. Trevor, looks like you got yourself in some trouble."

The boy looked like a fish out of water, then pointed to the man lying on the ground. "What did you do to him?!"

"I stung him." The flying creature shrugged, lashing his barbed tail out behind him. "What else would I do?"

"Blast it, that thing did something to Tomas!" One of the others shouted, drawing his dagger out.

"He won't be doing it to us, that's for sure." The other snarled, bringing out his sword.

Trevor looked up to the winged devil hovering above him. "Marik, you can't stop them!" The boy shouted.

"Two things, kid." The toothy imp said back to him, calmly ignoring the approaching men. "One, I'm not Marik…he is." He pointed a claw towards the entrance to the alley, and the men stopped, looking behind them.

The towering black hooded robes and cloak of Marik Observant stood watching them all, glowing eldritch light simmering about his sleeves. "Second thing." The imp concluded smugly, "I don't have to stop them. He will."

"It's a mage!" One of the bandits cried.

"Take him down!" The other yelled, and charged on. It was all he could do before three bolts of green force slammed into him and knocked him backwards. He gnashed his teeth against the storm and tried to get up, but a green hand punched him across the face, then turned about and slammed him in the back of the head. That proved to be more pain than the man could take, and he finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

His partner stumbled backwards in fear as the faceless Sorceror walked into the alley, charging up another salvo of magical bolts in his left sleeve. A moment later, the minor weight of the winged beast crashed onto his shoulder, and the man squeaked in fear.

"Now, perhaps you'd care to tell me why you're chasing after this kid." Morris said to the thug. He wrapped his tail about the fellow's neck, scraping his eager stinger just underneath the slaver's throat to emphasize his situation.

The man swallowed loudly. "We were going to bring him in…sell him on the market. But he got away from us."

As Trevor picked himself up and ran over to hide behind the black cloaked mage, Morris threw Marik a careful glance. Looks like we saved him, all right.

The slave market. I'd heard stories, but I didn't think we'd run across it.

Well, seems like we have.

"The boy's got no such future ahead of him." Morris replied coldly, jamming his tail into the man's neck and pumping a heavy dose of his paralyzing venom into him. There was only a few seconds of feeble resistance before he froze up and collapsed to the ground.

Trevor's lip was still quivering as Morris flew up to Marik's shoulder, exhaling. "Relax, kid. I don't bite. Well, much." He qualified, after a moment's thought. "I'm not that scary."

"It's not you." Trevor hiccupped, affected by something other than the revelation that the voice of the man he'd thought of as Marik was really a winged devil. "Those…Those men…"

"They're not going to hurt you any longer." Morris reassured the boy. "Trust me, they won't be moving for a while yet, long enough for us to get out of here."

"No!" Trevor exclaimed, his panic finally giving in to the other emotion that flooded his young heart. "They took my sister!"

Morris's beady eyes blinked once. Aw, geez…

Slavers. Marik thought back, nearly spitting the transmission. I despise them.

"I have to go." Trevor said resolutely, preparing to bolt away.

"Go where?" Morris demanded sharply. The boy looked at the winged creature as if he was stupid.

"You may have saved me, but my sister is still in danger! They're going to take her and…"

"Take her where?" Morris interrupted, beginning to understand why Marik was glad he didn't have to talk to people often. Trying to get the boy to make sense was frustrating.

Trevor sniffled. "I don't know. Once they take someone and sell them off, that's it."

"But if it's hopeless, then what were you trying to do?"

"If I can get to their headquarters before they send her off…"

Morris silenced the boy with a blast of air from his wings. "There." He muttered with a sigh. "Was that so hard?"

Trevor blinked. "What?"

"You had me thinking that you wouldn't be able to even get to her." Morris explained, and Marik shook his head. "But where is their stronghold? How many people do they have in there?"

"…They're on the west end of town. It's the old warehouse. The Watch stays away from them. Everyone does."

"And how many people do they have working for them?"

"I don't know." Trevor admitted quietly.

Marik Observant looked around, rubbing his teeth together. We don't have time for this. The Grey Shadow is going to get away from us at this rate.

Perhaps you'd explain to me why you decided to get involved then. Morris countered. Aren't I the one who's always telling you it's not your fight?

Trevor shook his head. "Let me go." He whispered. "I have to save her."

"And just what makes you think you can save her?" A new and slightly terrifying voice rasped. Trevor jumped and stared up to the hood, and the empty hood stared back at him. When the boy didn't answer, an impatient Marik spoke again. "You're ten years old. Just what do you think you can do to save your sister? How can you help anyone?"

Trevor bit his lip. "I have to try. I've lived here all my life, and the one thing that I never doubted was that I was free. So maybe I can't save her, but I've got the freedom to choose to try."

He tried to walk out of the alley, but Marik calmly stepped in front of him and blocked off his route. When Trevor tried to step around him, Marik moved again. The boy got indignant and hit the Sorceror's leg. "Let me go!"

Morris looked down at the boy in surprise. Boss, what are you doing?

Marik ignored the imp's question and shook his hooded head. "You're not going after her, boy…"

"She's my sister!" Trevor exclaimed, verging on panic again. Marik let out a watery sigh.

"…Like I was saying…you're not going after her. Not alone."

Both the boy and the imp did a double take as Marik said that. "Boss, are you thinking what I hear you thinking?"

"You mean, you'll help me?" Trevor asked, his voice wavering.

"You won't get far without it." Marik answered him. "And I'd prefer you walk out of this with your life."

"Why?" Trevor countered, suspicious. "You let me go. I'm not working for you anymore."

"And maybe I'm doing this for another reason, did you ever think of that?" Marik asked. "Morris. Go find Ness and Rachel."

The imp snorted. "Right, go find them. In this mess?"

You're faster than I am.

What am I supposed to tell them?

The truth, I'd imagine.

That you weren't able to find out anything about the Grey Shadow, and you've gone off to strike a blow against slavery?

Something like that.

Their interchange took all of perhaps five seconds, half what it would have been if they had spoken. It left Trevor staring blankly at the two before Morris finally snorted and lifted himself off of Marik's shoulder. "Fine, do whatever you want. Just don't die on me until I can get back to you."

"Perish the thought." Marik answered. Morris looked to Trevor and harrumphed.

"He may sound funny, kid, but you can trust him. Just stick close and don't do anything stupid."

Trevor nodded, but said nothing. Morris took off into the air, disappearing soon after as he wrapped himself in invisibility.

Marik turned away from the paralyzed and unconscious slavers lying in the alley with solemn precision. "We should get going."

"Why are you doing this?" Trevor asked the Sorceror. The hood didn't move to look towards him. "This isn't your fight, it's mine. I tried to steal from you. Why are you doing this?"

"Maybe I'm feeling generous, hmm?" Marik answered, tiring of the questions.

"I don't think so." Trevor shot back. "Do you feel like you need to do this?"

As they walked out of the alley, Marik closed his eyes to fight off the wince. Even now, Rachel's voice still inflamed him.

We have to…because it's the right thing to do!

It was funny; he'd been raised to believe in the same thing. But those words, so simple and shallow whenever he tried to express them, never rang truer than when Rachel Ashbury said them. It stung him all the more when he thought of the foolish daydreams he'd let foster in his heart. He said nothing to Trevor's question, letting the embers smoulder inside of him and continue to eat away at him.

As they joined the crowd, a wary Trevor threw up one last question, a furtive jab at communication. "Just…Who are you? Really?"

Two for two today. Somehow, Trevor knew exactly what burning issues Marik hid behind his ensorcelled hood of darkness. The Shadow's question rang unbidden in his mind, an echo that pulsed from the past.

Who are you?

Marik walked a little closer to the boy and shook his head. "I still don't know."

---

Marik and Trevor had maneuvered quickly through the narrow passages and alleys of Road's End, but it still took them a good half an hour, moving at a pace which would not attract undue attention, to reach their destination.

Hiding in the shadows, Marik was all but invisible in his black clothes. Trevor, ducked behind the towering mage. "That's it." The boy spoke, his earlier resolve now shaky. "That's the slaver's warehouse."

Calmly, the Sorceror sized it up. It was about four stories tall with only a few windows, most of them broken. It had a dilapidated look to it, save for the doors; thick iron, with chains hanging from one handle.

"It's not much to look at." The Sorceror rasped, glancing his darkened hood towards the boy. He didn't know what surprised him more, the boy's indifference to Morris or his acceptance of Marik's voice.

"Can we take it?" Trevor asked hopefully. Marik withheld the derisive snort and thought over his options. Without Morris about, that list was incredibly short. His friend was more than just a sarcastic wit on wings; the imp had become an extension of Marik, in combat and in life.

Morris Redtail was not here, so that meant Marik could not send in his eyes and ears to patrol the scene under cover of disappearance. About the only thing Marik could do was rely on his spells and his silence. It would have to do, for the moment.

"Stay back." Marik ordered the boy, just before he began to growl, casting a spell. As Trevor retreated farther back into the alley, Marik vanished from sight. Safe within the confines of his spell of invisibility, the Sorceror moved out and crossed the street.

Opening the door would have been tantamount to suicide, and Marik had more sense in his head than to do something that idiotic. Instead, he maneuvered around the side of the building, and found a broken window one flight up. As near as he could tell, there were no jagged shards of glass left in the frame to stab at his hand. The trick would be making his way to the window at all.

His failed duel against the Grey Shadow rang out in his mind when he crouched down and braced himself.

He jumped higher than I ever did back at the Roadside Temple.

Marik's leap took him clear up to the lip of the ten foot high window. Holding his grunt to himself, Marik strained his slender limbs and dragged himself up the rest of the way. Much to his relief, he'd been right about the glass, and nothing jammed into his palms. Coming to rest in the window, Marik finally got his first good look at the interior of the warehouse which nobody dared to enter. It was dusty around the edges, and there were a few chairs, and tables with maps and money. There was a row of barred cells at the far end of the warehouse, filled full of people in all manner of dress, whose only crime had been that they were unfortunate enough to be captured by the slavers.

Marik could feel his blood boiling, and he had no doubts that Rodian, so far away from him, wouldn't have stood for it either. The only thing that stayed his hand from throwing down wave after wave of magical blasts was common sense. It would be suicide to rush in blindly. Rodian had taught him better than that.

Morris, there are days I realize how much I rely on you. Marik transmitted, and over the distance of Road's End, he felt his friend's chuckle.

From the size of it, Marik could make out a contingent of guards armed with light blades and daggers. They were all strong men, reliant on strength rather than any sense of agility. Four…no, five of them. And that didn't include the two men inside a partitioned off room as well.

Marik thought it over. He didn't think he could take seven by himself. If he had Morris with him, maybe. Success always came back to his winged friend.

Some of the men inside suddenly reacted, moving towards the door below. A muffled noise from outside made Marik freeze and realize why. One of the slavers was dragging a struggling and kicking Trevor inside the building.

Oh no. Marik felt his blood run cold. Somehow, they had found Trevor. The door to the partitioned room within the warehouse opened, and a sharp-eyed older gentleman in flowing robes stepped out with a bemused expression on his face. By now, Marik had seen enough people of similar dress to know him for what he was; a wizard.

Trevor was brought before the magician, surrounded by the slavers. The slaver mage pulled on his thinning black goatee for a moment, looking at the boy. "Well, well. Where did you find this chap?"

"He was outside, hiding in an alley." The man who had captured him commented gruffly. "I figured he'd bring in a bag of gold."

"Maybe two." The wizard announced appraisingly. He knelt down a bit and cupped Trevor's chin in his hand, tilting the boy's angry, defiant face up to him. "He's got spirit. That and his age will both pay well." He stood back up and chuckled. "He'll live longer than most slaves, after all."

"So do we add him to the lot?" One of the men asked.

"Go right ahead."

His blood boiling, Marik realized he could wait no longer. The mage in their ranks would be troublesome, and he hoped that he would be able to muster enough of a defense to shut down his spellcasting. Barring that, there was also that lingering hope that he would be as resilient to the man's spells as he hoped he would be. He pushed himself through the window and sprang to the warehouse floor below, extending his longsword out to the side as he did.

The action broke his spell of invisibility, and the slavers and their mage commander turned in surprise. Trevor's panicking eyes went wide. "Marik! Help me!"

I'm working on it, if you would shut up for a minute. Marik braced himself, then leapt into the fray, catching the first man completely off his guard with a few slashes that finished him off.

The wizard's eyes darkened as he pulled back away from Marik, dragging Trevor with him. "Kill him!" Came the sharp order. The rest of the slavers had already begun to draw their weapons, and they circled about Marik. The Sorceror crouched low, ready to spring in any direction. With his left hand, he began to muster a cloud of green energy about his hand; the signal for a salvo of magical bolts.

Morris should have been there. The imp's style of sting, vanish, and sting again had always been calculated in Marik's mind as something he could rely on, and unconsciously, he had altered his own style of fighting, as average as he was in comparison to true swordsmen, to keep track of that distinction. Without Morris, blows that would have never fallen began to land, and nicks and cuts began to litter his dark black robes and cloak. His spells, while effective in causing a few of his attackers to retreat to lick their wounds, could not act fast enough to stop them all.

Eventually, he realized that he'd sealed his own doom this time around, right around the third blow from a heavy club to the back of his head. The voices of his attackers became muddled, and he slumped to his knees.

The mage said something in a sharp tone, and the slavers retreated away from him. Dully, Marik turned his hooded face up to stare towards the man.

Trevor lay beside him, subdued with manacles of ice about his wrists. The wizard stroked on his black goatee a few more times, sizing him up. "I don't know who you are, and I don't particularly care. I don't have the time to deal with you." He waved his hands about each other, then shoved them forth as fists. A wave of blue energy, not unlike the force spheres that the dark wizard had employed against Marik back in Samael's Lands launched out and struck him full in the chest.

The attack hurled Marik backwards into a jail cell that had been left open. Before the Sorceror could do anything to resist, the slaver mage followed it up with another incantation. The manacles on the walls sprung to life, glowing briefly with purple energy as they snaked around him and snapped on his wrists, pinning him through the fabric of his cloak. In the pained haze he was in, Marik managed a feeble struggle against his prison, then fell silent.

"Come on. We'd best clear out of here." The wizard commanded, and the slavers began to pull out, leaving Marik alone in his cell. "We have to get this batch on the road heading west. Cerzya will be impatient if he doesn't receive his shipment." Trevor's screams were the last thing Marik heard before darkness swallowed him.

---

"There are days I wish Marik wasn't so damn stubborn." Morris growled, flying lazy circles above Rachel's head as the girl knelt down nervously over his slumped body, using a spell to determine how bad off he was. "Running off and getting himself locked up in a damned cage? This is a new low."

"Rachel pulled her hand back from the edge of his cloak, relieved. "He's beaten, but not bleeding. Hold on, I'll wake him up." She looked back at Ness, who was glancing about the interior of the warehouse. "Is it safe?"

"Whoever was in here's long since cleared out." The Cursed Blade answered. "I just hope Marik can tell us what he found here." His comment carried over Rachel's spell, and the Sorceror began to stir as the healing energies brought him back from the brink.

Rachel's worried blue eyes tried to peer into the empty depths of his hood. "Are you all right, Marik?"

"Trevor!" Marik suddenly exploded, trying to leap from where he lay. The manacles stayed firmly locked about his sleeved wrists, and he drew the chains taut.

"Hold still, Marik! Calm down!" Rachel ordered nervously. "Fighting isn't going to get those off of you!"

After a few moments, Marik leaned back against the wall and gave his hood a slow nod. "Better." Rachel said, glancing to their other companion. "Ness, could you come and get these chains off of Marik?"

The imp fluttered down beside her. "Ehhh…I don't think he needs to." He motioned to Marik, just as the Sorceror concluded a low set of growls. The invisible arcane energies he summoned snapped the manacles off of him in moments, and he rose to his feet. "He's pretty good at getting himself out of most locks."

"So why couldn't you get yourself out of there in the first place then?" Ness asked, arching an eyebrow. Morris perched himself on the Sorceror's shoulder when he cleared the cage, and resumed the glazed expression he had when Marik spoke through him.

"It's not easy to cast a spell, even a cantrip, when you're knocked unconscious from a brutal assault. But we've got bigger problems right now. They took Trevor."

The imp blinked as he finished relaying the message, turning on Marik. "Say what? What do you mean they got Trevor?! I thought you had his back!"

Already in a dour mood, Marik had no patience. What do you want me to say, Morris? That I got in over my head? I've no time to be apologizing.

"Who is Trevor?" Ness asked, walking closer to his comrade.

"A kid that Marik picked up trying to pickpocket back in the streets. He's been going with us all day." The imp gave a toothy stare. "Marik thought that he might be able to help us track down some leads on the Shadow, but we turned up nil. People either don't know about him, or don't want to."

"So who 'got' Trevor, then?" Rachel asked, puzzled.

The Sorceror couldn't help but grip his hands at his sides. "Slavers." He spoke. The word darkened Ness' face, and made the Calyssan gasp.

"No..." Rachel whispered.

Marik walked over, tilting his hooded head down towards Ness. The Cursed Blade looked up into the absolute darkness within the hood, waiting.

"They said they were going west." Morris explained. "If we hurry, we might be able to catch up to them and…"

"Hold on just one damn moment." Ness interrupted grimly. "And do what?"

"Stop them!" Rachel insisted, for the idea had grown on her quickly. "Ness, we can't let them get away with this!"

The Cursed Blade still hesitated, and Morris spoke up again. "You know, chief, I thought you'd be used to this by now."

"Right." Ness exhaled, tangling a hand in his curly hair. "Somebody needs help, and even though it will take us miles out of our way, we go and do it. And why? 'Because it's the right thing to do', as the two of you always tell me." He closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. "I have greater misgivings about this time, though. This isn't just stopping a band of roadside bandits, and it's even worse than when we stopped that villainous band from marching on Denvale." He made sure that both of them saw the serious look on his face. "Slavery has existed in Istus for hundreds of years. What you are suggesting that we do broaches on illegality, in their eyes. And if Marik's failed rescue was any indicator, they will not fall easily. Knowing all that, do you still want to do this?"

If there was one thing that the swordsman could rely on, it was the steadfast determination of the young girl, who had slowly been forged through their trials into a promising adventurer. Her steady blue eyes held the same fire as ever, moreso, after what she had seen earlier in the day. Marik simply nodded, more restrained in his faceless expressions.

Chewing on his lower lip, Ness turned back to Marik and Morris. "All right." He said, finally accepting the situation. "So how far out do you think they've gotten by now?"

---

The Roadside Inn

487 N.E.

Headmaster Williamson was waiting in his office, sitting at his desk and going over more of the paperwork which kept the church of the Traveler alive and running when the knock came.

He pushed the papers aside and looked up with heavy eyes. This was the meeting that he had been dreading all day. "Enter." He commanded, and the door swung open.

In marched Desmond Rodian, and clinging to his leg, the young, four year old Marik Observant. "You asked to see us, Headmaster?" The young, red-haired priest asked warily.

"Well, I asked to see Marik specifically, but you are welcome to stay." Williamson explained. He stood up and walked about his desk, his arms held behind him. "How are you doing today, Marik?"

The young boy, who dressed in a drab acolyte's smock with a long hood and sleeves too big for him, slowly nodded his head up and down, holding tighter to Father Rodian.

"I apologize, Headmaster." The younger servant of the Traveler explained. "Marik's a little frightened."

"He shouldn't be." The old cleric reassured them both. He bent down to one knee, smiling at Marik. "It's all right; you can take off the hood, Marik."

"But I'm a monster."

The old man flinched at that. "Who says you are?"

"Everyone." The young boy mumbled, giving his head a shake.

"By the Traveler." Williamson exhaled softly. "Marik, it doesn't matter what everyone else says. Do you believe you're a monster?"

"I…I don't want to."

"Then don't." Rodian said to him, repeating what had become a mantra to try and keep the boy's self-esteem from plummeting. "It's all right; The Headmaster doesn't think you're a monster, do you Headmaster?"

The old man slowly nodded in assent. "He's right, Marik. I've known you since you were very little. I worry about you. But you're not a monster, not in the Traveler's eyes, and not in mine." He waved his hand. "So go ahead. Nobody will hurt you here."

Slowly, Marik raised his deformed hands out of his sleeves and pushed the hood off of his head. Blinking his strange eyes, he looked up with what served as a fearful expression to the Headmaster.

Doing his best to remain expressionless, the leader of the temple nodded slowly. "I heard that you caused an incident today in Father Fardhaval's class. Is that true?"

Mutely, the child nodded.

"I see." The wizened old priest mused, standing up. "What happened, exactly?"

"Marik told me that they…" Marik's adopted father began.

"I want to hear it from the boy, Rodian." The Headmaster said warningly, cutting him off. "What happened, Marik?"

The young child threw a searching glance to Rodian, and the older man eventually nodded. "Go ahead, Marik."

"…They scared me." Marik said slowly. "They started calling me names, and I…I just…" His voice faltered, and he closed his eyes. "I just wanted them all to stop looking at me. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

Williamson threw a glance at Rodian, and a thought crossed their lines of sight.

"Now listen to me very carefully, Marik." The Headmaster said quietly. "What were you thinking when it happened? What were you thinking when the room exploded in sparks?"

"Afraid." The boy whispered, in his own rasping fashion. "I was afraid, and I wanted to scream. And I felt like I had…" He finally brought it to an end and gave his head a shake. "I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry, I don't want to be in trouble like last time…"

The Headmaster silenced him by placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're not in trouble. I just wanted you to tell me about what happened. That was all."

Marik looked up, hopeful. The Headmaster smiled at him and motioned to his desk. "Why don't you take my ball and go play in my study for a while? I need to talk to Father Rodian for a while, all right?"

Marik nodded, relieved. "I promise I won't break anything." He said as brightly as his voice could muster. The Headmaster leveled a finger at him, still smiling.

"I'm counting on you." Marik trotted over to the old cleric's desk and found a small hard rubber ball, then ran off into the next room to play.

When he was out of earshot, and the sound of the ball bouncing off of the wall was audible enough, Desmond Rodian looked to his superior. "All right, then." He said quietly. "What was all that about?"

The old man stood there, clucking his tongue for a few moments before he spoke. "Tell me, Desmond. Does anything in what Marik told us seem odd to you?"

"Well, I can't rightly understand how exactly anyone thinks Marik is to blame for that minor explosion in Fardhaval's foraging class. Even he's not entirely sure what happened…"

"The boy is four, my son." Headmaster Williamson reminded him quietly. "No mind that young is ever too sure of what really happens for very long. But if we are to assume that Marik was the source of the incident, then we find ourselves with one realization."

"Wait. Are you…he could not have cast a spell." Rodian uttered, not giving the theory credence. "He is too young. He does not feel the Traveler's will, or glow with his divine favor. And even the wizards of elsewhere have to study and train for years to summon the most basic forces."

"And here is where you have not considered all the possibilities." Williamson interjected. "There is something else that Marik might just be, which would give him the ability to manifest such magical force. Only they're far rarer, and few ever survive for very long."

Rodian sifted through all the stories, myths, and rumors he'd ever heard on his journeys. The idea that came to mind out of all of that was sobering. "You don't mean…you don't honestly think that Marik might be…"

"A Sorceror." The old cleric finished. "That's just what I think he is."

Suddenly, Father Rodian felt like sitting down.

"But he's only four!"

"Sorcerors manifest their powers at a young age, as the stories tell us. Usually it's a small sign; their room gets cold, objects start to dance around in their room, or they begin to see magical auras. Marik's case just seems to be a bit more violent; likely due to his situation."

Rodian eventually began to see the logic of it. "His situation is probably never going to get any better, you know. Here he has sanctuary, for as long as he wishes it. But that doesn't help protect him from the hateful eyes of the others here."

"No." Williamson murmured. "No, it doesn't. It is all the more important, then, that he knows that some do care for him, and always will." The Headmaster went back to his desk and sat down, folding his hands together. "I don't know how his kind rears children. Certainly, they do not use the methods we are now. I hope he will be the better for it." He glanced over his thumbs. "And after that incident two months ago…"

"There won't be a repeat of it." Rodian said firmly. "It made Marik sick to death; he was barely aware of anything. He's told me he never wants to have that happen again."

"Good." Williamson sighed. "Some of our newest additions are still on edge about that. Not everyone is as forgiving of his presence here as you or I. They still fear he will grow to be as monstrous as every other of his kind. It is good to hear that he is defying their predictions."

"And what about yours?" The younger priest asked pointedly. "What prediction do you have for Marik?"

Williamson looked the younger cleric of Weyveliste in the eye and blinked once. "I believe that Marik's future is dependent upon two things; your continued support, as his surrogate father, and giving him something beyond the legacy his appearance grants him." He tapped his fingers together a few more times, then cleared his throat. "If we're to do that, it seems that the Traveler has given us a way to reach out to him."

Rodian's ears perked up. "How so, Headmaster?"

"If he truly is a Sorceror, as I suspect him to be, then we can help him come to terms with it." Rodian leaned back in his chair, pondering the idea. "Here in the temple, we have a plethora of traveling minstrels who dabble in the arcane arts. We even have a mage or two who are favorable to the guardians of the road which could be sworn to the same secrecy as all of those who work within the walls of this place." Williamson nodded again at the idea. "No, we will not let Marik stumble blindly with his newfound strength. We will help him to harness it, so that the next time something like this happens, the others of the temple don't find themselves blinded by that cantrip."

Rodian knew it was the best choice, given their options. Still, he turned sadly towards the sound of the rubber ball bouncing against the wall, where Marik was playing.

"I'm afraid for him."

"You should be." Williamson folded his hands. "You are the closest thing to a father he has here."

"But what if it's too much?" Rodian asked, concerned. "He's only four years old. What you're talking about, even if it will do him some good…"

"I know how old he is, Desmond." The old priest cracked his knuckles, then flattened his fists against the desk. "But I think that Marik might surprise you. He may surprise us all with what he is truly able to handle."

Rodian, now and forevermore the worried parent, gripped the armrests of his chair a little tighter. "How can you be so sure?" He asked in a whisper.

The rubber ball bounced again, and the Headmaster resisted the urge to open his desk and take out the medallion that Marik's mother had left him.

"I get feelings on occasion." The old man finally said.

The ball's muffled thuds filled the silence.

---

Eastern Istus

503 N.E.

After their run-in with Marik, the slavers were more cautious than usual. Their caravan, a set of barred wagons that ensured their human cargo could not escape during transport, was protected by a moderate force of the mercenaries on the payroll. Leading the caravan, of course, was the wizard in charge of the delivery. Sitting in the lead wagon, he would occasionally stroke his fingers across the surface of his spellbook, to reassure himself that nothing could go wrong. It was an irrational fear, perhaps, but after he and his men had subdued and jailed that foolish boy scout of a mage, he'd gone back and memorized a few more offensive spells. He hoped he would not have to use them.

The caravan moved quickly, kicking up dust along the well-worn highway that led west. Even pushing the horses to their limits, the trip would take them about four days, and the wizard wanted to be well out of Road's End before nightfall. After all, there was no telling if the mage they'd subdued might wake up, despite his injuries. He might even come after them, as he seemed to have a certain bond with the youth who they'd taken in just before leaving.

"I still say you should have killed 'im." One of his subordinates voiced, shaking the wizard from his musings long enough to glare at the scruffy looking slaver.

"Did it occur to you at the time that a death might be harder to explain?" The spellwielding slaver retorted. "Corruption may be the order of the day in Road's End, but killing off the wrong person can bring down the whole stack of cards. After all, there's no telling these days who is whose cousin, and gods know what else."

The slaver blinked a few more times before snapping the reins, speeding up the carriage. "Still shoulda killed 'im."

Sighing, the wizard recalled why he always got so bored in this line of work. There was nobody worth talking to.

Hundreds of feet away, Ness Benson led his three comrades after the caravan, riding on horses that snorted at full gallop. There was an element of excitement in their ride that couldn't be dispelled, and Morris continued to weave in circles above their heads. "I can see 'em!" He called down encouragingly, after another loop high up into the air. "They're not much farther on ahead; Looks like they're moving pretty fast."

"You must have worried them a bit, I think." Ness observed, glancing to their faceless, brooding Sorceror. "It won't be easy to take them by surprise."

Morris came down and landed on Marik's shoulder, becoming interpreter once again. "It could be easier than you think, in the right circumstances. We just have to stop their caravan."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Ness asked. "We'll never catch up with them, and even if we do, they'll be on us in moments."

Marik's hood bobbed slowly, and his green Sorceror's hand manifested beside the scroll keeper tied about his waist. The imp just waggled an eyebrow, smiling at a joke only he knew. "Do you ever get tired of being the voice of reason, Ness?" The question was emphasized when the disembodied hand of magical energy tapped the side of Marik's curious device. Shhhhoomping with the same comical sound as ever, it fired off another small scroll that the hand caught quickly, and unrolled in one smooth motion.

"Just stay back for now, and come riding in hard when you hear the signal!" Morris barked, overpowering the low growl Marik let loose as he unleashed the energies within the scroll.

Rachel, both hands held tightly about the reins of her own horse, worried. "And just what is the signal, exactly?"

As the scroll's writing vanished, and Marik directed the floating hand to roll up and deposit the empty parchment back in the magical container, the imp chuckled and gave the healer and swordsman a mischevious wink. "Just listen for the explosions."

Growling as he summoned one last spell, Marik dismounted from his horse with a superhuman leap, landing in a dead run that took him off into the distance in moments. About sixty feet from them, he vanished into thin air, as did Morris. The Cursed Blade pursed his lips for a moment, then gave his head a shake.

"He still finds ways to surprise me. I just hope he knows what he's doing."

"Don't worry, Ness." The young healer beside him commented, concentrating briefly in prayer as she cast a spell. The swordsman felt an invisible touch on his shoulder, warm and soothing, and Rachel smiled. "I'll be keeping track of all of you."

Chuckling at her, Ness slacked off on the reins, letting his horse move into a trot. "Why do I always feel so much safer when you say that?"

Far ahead, in the middle of the caravan, some of the guards could have sworn that they heard swift footsteps approaching, and they turned to the noise with a curious look. However, a rush of air blew past them, and not knowing any better, they dismissed it as the wind playing tricks on their mind. After all, the slavers thought, everybody was on edge; it wasn't all that out of the question that they would hear things.

Already far ahead of them as the two guards resumed their original posts, the imp stifled his cackle, but couldn't stop the smug grin. Those idiots didn't even give us a second look.

I would hope not. Marik answered sternly, making swift strides from the magical scroll he had discharged. Moving at an enhanced speed, he was making short work of running through the caravan, and more importantly, he wasn't getting any more winded than was feasible. It's their wizard I'm worried about.

You think he'll see you coming?

That dark mage we crossed paths with south of Denvale certainly did. I'm not taking any chances here.

Eventually, they made it to the front of the caravan running at Marik's breakneck pace. The Sorceror breathed a sigh of relief; the mage who had overpowered him back in Road's End was staring off blankly to the road ahead, a pensive look on his face.

Not for much longer. Stay on your toes, Morris, it's going to get interesting.

It always is when you're around, boss. I've got your back.

Growling, Marik began to create an orb of flames in front of him, then launched it at the lead wagon. He snapped back into plain sight as soon as the ball was launched, and the wizard and his counterpart had a look of shock before they leapt out of the wagon, mere moments before the spell hit and the wooden transport began to burn uncontrollably.

The wizard was seething when he rose to his feet. "You." He spat out. "Damn you, how did you escape so quickly?!"

The slaver beside the wizard pulled off the shield hanging from his back and brandished a shortspear. "I don't rightly care." The man growled. "He's dead now."

Marik examined them both; the slaver wizard that was beginning to prepare a spell, and the man advancing on him with a sizable threat. He didn't think long before glancing back to the rest of the caravan, pleased to see that it had halted its forward movement as the guards at the rear began to have the news of their sudden stop filtered towards them.

Growling as he did, he jerked a sleeve up into the air and loose one of his minor dweomers; The shining point of light flowed up into the air and exploded into a shower of blinding sparks. The concussive noise of it echoed about as well, and that was the effect Marik had been hoping for.

Morris, go find Trevor.

Invisible, but close by, the imp let out a mental grunt of surprise. Are you crazy? They're nearly on top of you!

Summoning a welcome and familiar green field of light about his body, Marik braced himself for the impact of the spear-wielding soldier. I can deal with them. Just trust me, and save the boy; get to Ness and Rachel if you can.

Morris was silent for a bit before his invisible wings began to flap off. You'd better be damn sure about this, boss. I just got you back.

Marik waited until the lead soldier was in close, then summoned out his Sorceror's hand and turned the end of the spear away from him with a quick grab and twist. While the man was trying to regain his balance, Marik swept the shield in the same direction with a sleeved backhand, and then snapped out his springloaded longsword.

The man barely had time to utter a scream before Marik had left a wicked gash across his forearm. The badly wounded slaver stumbled away, and Marik turned to the wizard.

A salvo of four orange-tinted magic bolts slammed into his chest, then fizzled as Marik tightened his focus to the surprise and let nature take over. There'd been a moment of minor pain, but nothing nearly as damaging as the slaver mage had hoped.

The man's face twitched for a moment, noticing how poorly the tried and true spell had worked. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" The wizard growled.

Marik fell into a defensive stance, and let the man continue on with his next spell.

Time to see if Milon's gift can truly work.

At the rear of the caravan, only the closest guards were aware enough to notice the two horses barreling down on them. "We're being am…" One of the men began, just before an arrow from Rachel's crossbow took him in the chest. He collapsed to the ground, rasping for air that didn't come. The second guard fumbled for his shortsword and shield, but Ness was already riding down on top of him.

"Brightflame!" The Cursed Blade screamed, and the broadsword held in his right arm became engulfed in fire. Ness rolled from his horse and kept running towards the man, gripping his fiery sword in both hands. A mighty slash tore through the shield of the man and sent him stumbling backwards. The wild-eyed slaver whipped his blade about, and Ness took a few steps back, not wanting a quick end at the point of it.

Thankfully, the problem was solved when a tail, and the imp attached to it, appeared out of thin air at the man's neck and stabbed him full of paralyzing venom. In a few seconds, the man's body froze up and he collapsed, his eyes dancing wildly in his head.

Morris gave Ness a casual glance. "Geez, you're starting to lose your touch, chief." The Cursed Blade gave the imp a dry expression, keeping his sword aflame.

"I would have thought that you would be at Marik's side. Why are you here?"

Rachel dismounted from her horse and came up beside them, a worried expression on her face. "I can feel him. Marik's in a duel up at the front; He's not hurt bad yet, but…"

"Trust me, he's worried." Morris finished for her, using his keener empathic connection with the brooding Sorceror. "He has a job for us, though. We have to get these people out of here, and we have to find Trevor!"

A few more of the guards finally noticed them and came charging, swords and spears at the ready. Ness sized them all up and tsked for a moment before readying his sword. "One of these days, I've got to learn how to use this thing with only one hand. All right, fine. Marik seems to have chosen his own role in this mess. Rachel, go with Morris; start freeing these people. I'll handle the rabble."

"That plan only works as long as you can keep them all away from us." Morris interjected tersely.

Ness whipped his fiery sword about a few times, wishing for all the world that it was the Grey Shadow he was using it against. "That's why she has you then, isn't it Morris? I'll keep them at bay; Now go already!"

"One last thing, Ness." Rachel uttered shyly, stepping to his side and pulling his face down towards hers. Arching up on her toes, she caught him in a deep kiss that left him breathless, and a familiar, reassuring glow of divine magic fell about him.

Blushing as she stepped back from the kiss and the blessing, Rachel gave him a keen smile. "Fight well."

"For your honor, milady." Ness answered, unable to keep from grinning. The imp and the Calyssan turned away and ran to the other side of the caravan. As she ran, Rachel uttered another soft prayer, and she glowed for a moment with an awe-inspiring light. Seeing her disappear beyond his sight, Ness gave her one last encouraging smile. "That's my girl. Don't ever let them hurt you."

A roar from the closest soldier, a spear carrying slaver, drew his attention back in a moment. Pulsing with Rachel's blessing, Ness sidestepped the stab and cleaved off the head of the man's weapon.

Another slash incapacitated the man, and then he turned to the others that kept running at him. "Plenty more where that came from, you monsters!" The Cursed Blade roared, feeling more alive every moment.

It was a divergence from their pursuit of the Grey Shadow, but Ness had to admit it left him feeling more alive, more true to himself than he had been in a very long time. It had always been said that in Istus, a land where the only law was based on brute force and only money and power kept a citizen safe for any length of time, slavery could not be stopped. Now alongside the three most curious individuals he had ever known in his near thirty years of life, the jaded warrior began to realize that just might not be true. It only took hearts willing to face any odds, go any distance, to accomplish small miracles.

With Rachel's love filling his tired heart, Ness believed in miracles again.

---

A lightning bolt lanced out from the slaver wizard's right hand, arcing towards Marik. While the Sorceror knew that he'd built a certain resistance towards offensive magic, he was in no mood to try his luck against a spell that powerful. His left sleeve and the hand within maneuvered with quick and forceful intent. He slashed out in front of him and hurled forth an invisible mist of dismissive might.

The lightning crashed against Marik's dispersive field and struggled against it before dissipating and falling silent. Silently, Marik allowed himself a sigh of relief.

Milon, you obscure little wizard. It really did work.

His foe was visibly irritated at Marik's defense, and he began to chant another spell. This one, Marik recognized by the motions alone; the man was trying to summon up a sphere of blue light, symbolizing the aspect of force in the dweomer. That one, he knew by experience, would hit him and work. Of course, he had no intention of being tossed about like a rag doll a third time, and he took off in a dash about the wizard, circling him and waiting for the shot to come. Marik began to growl, summoning the power for another dispelling

The blue sphere of light came to light in the slaver's hands, and he bored his eyes on Marik. "Try neutralizing this one, you stubborn fool!" He held it carefully, and both mages watched each other, one trying to place the shot and the other doing his best to not create too clear of a target. The slaver's eyes narrowed, and he fired off the sphere of pure force, guiding it by the subtle movement of his hands. Marik slashed his left sleeve out in front of him again, but when the blue ball connected with the dispelling wave, it emerged on the other side only partially disrupted.

Blast it to all the…Marik cursed to himself, darting in a series of quick jumps about to avoid the stroke. The sphere continued to track him, and Marik pushed off of the ground with his powerful legs to avoid it.

The edge clipped the side of his boot and sent him into a spin he couldn't control. He landed hard on his stomach, and his hooded head bounced off of the ground with a jarring, painful impact. The stinging sensation left his senses reeling.

He could hear, through the buzzing of pain in his ears, that the wizard was drawing close to him. There was the scent of ozone in the air, and a crackling sound Marik's muddled thoughts couldn't immediately place. A sudden flaring pain made it clear. Marik let out an inhuman screech of pain as the electricity flared up his right arm, conducted from the longsword extended out of his sleeve.

The wizard stepped back as Marik spasmed on the ground, smug and sure of himself. "You know, it was very considerate of you to give me a lightning rod for that spell." He pulled his hand, which finished crackling as the last sparks of electricity wore themselves out, back to his side. "Foolish of you to come here, though. Utterly foolish."

Hurt, but far from out, Marik sluggishly tried to pull himself back to his feet. He growled on the way up, and a faint glow of green surrounded his left sleeve. The wizard didn't move, just watching Marik stand up. Perhaps he hadn't noticed the spell Marik was preparing; just as well. It would be nice if fortune smiled on him for a change.

As Marik swung up, his arm whipped about in a throwing motion, and three spheres of green light shot towards the enemy mage. To Marik's surprise, the man just stood there and smiled, knowing some secret he did not.

The bolts curled in towards his chest, then jumped at the last moment and shrank as they aimed to his throat. In a blink, they disappeared, and a dull glow beneath the mages' collar made Marik cringe in frustration.

To make the point clear, the slaver held up a pendant Marik was familiar with; a defensive charm against the most basic magical attack. "Come on now. Did you really think I wouldn't be prepared for your simple little tricks?" The wizard drew out a shortsword which crackled with electricity when it loosed from the scabbard. "Any last words before I kill you, then?"

Still weak from the shock, Marik couldn't help but sway back and forth as he sized up his opponent. It was then that a cry carried from farther back in the slave caravan.

"We're under attack!" Shouted one of the mages' subordinates.

Smiling in the confines of his hood as shock and disbelief filled his enemy's eyes, Marik shook off his fatigue and fell into a defensive stance. "Just a few." He rasped in his own way, answering the wizard's question. "I didn't come alone."

---

Ness was almost laughing as they kept coming at him. Running on adrenaline and the divine courage Rachel had instilled in him, the Cursed Blade found that Brightflame nearly sang as he swung it. Weakened shields were sundered under the weight of the enchanted sword, spears were cut and directed away, and swords and daggers proved no match for their better. "Oh, come on now!" Ness chastised them. "You run a slave caravan and you don't even have the sense to come prepared for an ambush or two?!" He whirled on a spear whose edge grated against his chainmail, spinning it away from him before Brightflame severed it in half. The man tried to pull back, but Ness swung a fist about and caught him full in the chin. The punch felled the man quickly, and Ness looked for the others. There were none left to fight, though. Rachel's courage and his own might had managed to work a small miracle. Ness couldn't recall the last time he'd faced such odds and emerged relatively unscathed; he only carried a gash along his forearm and leg for his troubles, nothing that slowed him down too much. Brightflame flickered in his hands, waiting.

Just as Ness thought he'd eliminated the last of those who were going to bear down on him, a guard better prepared than the others rushed him from the front of the caravan. He carried a long axe with a spear at the other end of the iron hilt, and wore a suit of chain which covered most of his body. Glowering at the foolhardy swordsman in the green cloak, he whipped the large battleaxe over his head once and readied himself.

Ness turned towards him and gripped Brightflame tighter. "What, no statement of pride or outrage?"

The man charged at him, swinging his weapon in a wicked arc. Ness jumped backwards, but the man kept charging, letting the axe curve around until the spear at its end was turned towards Ness. Narrowly, Ness avoided being skewered from the barrage, though his cloak held a few holes in it at the end. "Damn, you're not much for talk, are you?" Ness murmured, his grin vanishing in an instant. Rachel would have a devil of a time weaving his cloak back together when this was all over with, provided he could keep his head long enough. The slaver charged on, and the axe cleaved down, forcing Ness to throw himself to the side to avoid losing a shoulder. Brightflame pulsed in his hands, and Ness slipped back into the pattern of it. "Guide my hands, friend." He whispered to the weapon, and Brightflame glowed all the more.

Distant from Ness' struggle, Rachel couldn't help but bite her lip as she and Morris tried to undo the locks on the carriages. From the spell she had cast prior, she could sense their health and vitality, and both were starting to show signs of strain. "They're in trouble."

"Marik's always in trouble." Morris countered, perching on her shoulder as she fumbled with the lock, using a scrap of metal to pick it. "Why should today be any different?"

"Oh, blast it all!" The girl snapped, slamming her palm against the door to the first carriage. "I can't unlock it!"

Morris contemplated it for a moment, his tail swishing back and forth behind him. "Well, it would make sense that there's some kind of a key, right?" Rachel glanced about, making sure that nobody was noticing them.

"I'd assume so, but we haven't exactly had the time to ask. If Marik were here, he could open this in an instant, couldn't he?"

"Well, yeah." The imp chuffed, jumping down and using the claws on his hands and feet to stick to the wooden door of the barred carriage. "He's got his own brand of surprises, but so do I." He whirled his tail about a few more times, then jammed the barbed end of his stinger deep into the door's lock.

"What are you…"

"If you'd be quiet, I could get this open." Morris chastised her. A few moments of silence from the girl, and Morris gritting his teeth in concentration won results. The door let out an audible click as the tumblers within undid themselves, and the imp smiled. "Gotcha. Like I was saying, I've got a few tricks of my own."

"I didn't know you could pick locks!" Rachel exclaimed.

"Well, it's not like you often find much reason to, but yeah. It's a little something I picked up while Marik was busy honing his spells. I figured if my tail was hard and sharp enough to pierce the skin of most critters, it could be used as a lockpick in a pinch." He flung himself from the door and hovered in midair. "Took me two years to get it right, though."

Rachel flung the door open and peered inside. "Trevor! Are you in here?"

Slowly, terrified people began to emerge from the cage, and Rachel helped them out. "You're not one of the slavers." One of the women inside said, a little surprised.

Rachel gave her a soft smile. "No. We came here to stop this from happening. Tell me, is there a boy named Trevor in there?"

As more people began to pile out, the woman shook her head. "No, we didn't have any boys in here with us. It's just women, and…"

"Wait!" One of the girls, about Rachel's age blurted out as she emerged. "Did you say Trevor?!"

Rachel nodded sharply. "He's about ten years old; a scrapper, I've been told. A friend of mine is trying to rescue him."

"I hope he can, then." The girl said worriedly. "I'm Lisa Geldis. Trevor is my brother." The Calyssan glanced over to Morris, and the imp mirrored her shock.

Rachel turned back to Lisa and gripped her hands tightly. "We'll find him. In the meantime, can you get these people to safety?"

"I can try." Lisa responded, summoning up some courage. Rachel handed over her crossbow and a few extra darts.

"Take my crossbow for now. I don't expect to see much resistance, but I've been wrong before."

The two girls gave each other one last look before Lisa turned to the still emerging captives. "Come on! We've got to get away from here! Everybody, follow me!" Brandishing Rachel's one-handed crossbow, she transformed into a different woman than the slave who had been shaking moments before. Mutely, and wishing for their freedom like any person would, the rest of the people that Rachel and Morris had freed from the caravan charged off away from the road and the slavers.

Morris rolled over on his back as he flew beside Rachel towards the next barred carriage. "Was that really a smart idea, leaving yourself weaponless?"

The Calyssan smiled and motioned to the whip hanging from the other side of her hip. "I've still got this, Morris."

"Right. You'll leave some welts. That's helpful." The imp snorted, but flew on ahead and latched on to the next lock.

---

In a contest of shortsword against longsword, Marik may have had an advantage in dexterity and the length of his blade, but the electrifying current enchanted into the wizard's sword more than made up for it. Any contact, even brushing, sent a jolt through Marik that inflamed his nerves with pain. One glancing blow after another was making him sluggish.

"You're a resilient one, I'll grant you that." The slaver growled, lashing out again. Marik jumped backwards, avoiding any contact at all, and the man pressed his advantage. "I don't often fight mages, but those foolish enough to get into a fight with me usually die quicker than this."

The sword slashed in again, and this time Marik had a response outside of dodging. Tapping back into the power of the rabbit's foot hanging off his waist inside of his robes, he manifested a green hand in front of the man's face and punched him. The weak blow stopped the swing long enough for Marik to dash off into the distance and begin growling another spell. Frustrated, the wizard came after him, slashing wildly. As the distance between them closed, Marik swiveled about, placing all his hopes on a wild gamble. With only three armlengths separating them, Marik slashed his hand out in front of him, concentrating his dispel tighter than ever before.

The slaver mage brought his sword down, and Marik lifted his springloaded longsword to block it. Iron met steel, and they clashed to a halt. But no shock came, to the mages' surprise. Marik's dispel had clouded around it, and the electricity had been suppressed.

"Maybe they die quickly because you cheat." Marik suggested, growling with his second wind. He pushed up and flung the man backwards, and the mage gained a look of fear in his eyes. "Let's see how well you fight when that shock of yours is nullified, hm?"

Marik stood up to his full height and pointed with the length of his blade. He was certainly not as skilled a fighter as Ness, but he had determination, and the will to prove that Desmond Rodian's hard work…the work of all those in the Roadside Inn who had raised him…had not been in vain. "I won't lose to a monster like you."

"You'd dare call me a monster?!" The slaver mage retorted, his face turning red as he summoned up a crackling locus of electrical energy in his free hand. "Hypocrisy. You dress the part, after all!"

The question rang in Marik's mind again, insistent. Who are you?

Not giving the mage the satisfaction of a response, Marik turned his thoughts inwards. I may be a monster, but I won't stand back and let you get away with destroying FREEDOM!

Summoning up his Sorceror's hand once again, Marik charged towards his foe. One way or another, it came to an end now.

Trevor was counting on him.

---

The second and third carriages, after some cursing and grumbling from Morris as his tail began to grow sore from the work, revealed more people who had been taken by the slavers, but still there was no sign of Trevor. It was only in the fourth and last carriage that a boy's voice responded to the call.

"I'm in here!" He cried out. Rachel let out a sigh of relief before responding.

"Hold on Trevor, we're getting all of you out of there!"

"You mean I am." Morris grumbled, twisting his tail inside of the lock. Contorting his mouth about his tiny fangs, the floppy-eared devil finally grinned as the lock clicked. "Got it." He pulled himself free, and Rachel swung the door open.

Out poured another handful of terrified people, and in the midst of them was a wide-eyed, scruffy haired boy that Morris recognized immediately. "Damnation, Trevor."

The boy's face brightened when he saw the imp, then turned to Rachel. "Are you a friend of Marik's?"

The Calyssan was a little surprised that he would make the connection so fast, but nodded. "We are."

"And where's Marik?"

"He's up at the front of the caravan. He's confronting the mage in charge of this all."

The boy winced, as they turned after the rest of the people who had been freed. "I hope he'll be okay."

"So do I." Rachel echoed his sentiments in a soft voice. The imp just snorted, floating beside the boy's shoulder.

"The both of you worry too much. Trust me, he'll be fine."

"But none of you are." Came a sudden sharp voice. The three froze as one of the slavers stepped out from behind one of the prior carriages, holding one of the captured people at knifepoint. Ordinarily, that would be dangerous enough, but his hostage was someone that made Rachel, and more importantly, Trevor, freeze in panic.

It was Trevor's sister, the fair-haired Lisa that the slaver was threatening to kill.

"End of the line, runt." The brigand snarled, face contorted in rage. "You and your friends have ruined your last shipment."

"Trevor!" Lisa screamed, before the knife dug in harder underneath her chin. The boy tried to step forward, but a jerk of the man's arm, and a small line of blood stopped him again.

"One more step, and the girl dies, kid." The slaver barked. His eyes flickered to the imp and Rachel. "Same goes for you; you're going to stay right where you are."

Tail lashing out behind him in frustration, Morris hissed a question to Rachel. "Just what are we supposed to do now?"

Rachel had never before faced a situation like this. Feebly, she gave the only answer she could. "I don't know."

---

It was Ness' luck that the greataxe his opponent was spinning against him was composed entirely of metal, which prevented him from snapping the shaft in two. Between the spear on the hilt and the axehead itself, both ends of the weapon posed a problem. He wasn't exactly an acrobat, either, which made avoiding the attacks a difficult proposition. There'd been a few close calls on both sides, revealed in wounds by a deeper cut on Ness' left arm from a lucky stab that made his swings more sluggish, and a burnished appearance and warping of the links in the slavers' chain mail from some glancing fiery blows by Brightflame.

Still, the greataxe had the upper hand in their duel, providing both reach and flexibility. At points, Ness thought through grit teeth, it was probably only Rachel's blessing which allowed him to fight as evenly as he was. Whatever he was going to do, it would have to be soon. He was running low on endurance, and his left arm was beginning to weaken. He still didn't feel so confident as to wield Brightflame in one hand alone, not against odds like this.

The axe swung in again, and Ness deflected most of the force by holding up Brightflame to counter. The impact jarred him backwards and spun him around. That was all the time that his foe needed to take advantage of the whirling green cloak.

Hiltfirst, the slaver jammed his axe through the thick green cloth, pinning Ness to the ground. Pushing his sudden advantage, he swept in on Ness and administered a punch that sent stars spinning in the Cursed Blades' eyes. It didn't take much after that to disarm Ness, and the trapped swordsman was slammed into the ground, choked by the slavers' thick hands.

Ness resisted, of course, with his neck muscles bulging out to try and preserve his windpipe while his hands tried to feebly pry the grapple away.

At last, the slaver cackled with a wild look in his eyes, squeezing all the harder as Ness' resistance began to give out. "End of the line, hero." He jeered, and Ness could feel his throat closing off.

Tears in his eyes, Ness' weakened left hand fell away from his foe, slumping against his waist. Though it didn't show in his eyes, his hand jumped with hope. He gripped the hilt of the silvered dirk off of his belt, and adrenaline forced him to grasp it and pull it free. While the slaver gloated, Ness slammed the point of the dirk up through the man's stomach. The thin point of the blade punctured through the chain easily, and in a moment, the man's hands fell away from his neck.

The slaver's eyes were wide as he gasped in pain, trying to pull back from Ness and the sharp pain that was gutting him. Taking a rasping breath, Ness mustered his shaky voice. "Heroes don't die to slime like you."

He twisted the knife in the slaver's belly and ripped it free, kicking him away. The man collapsed onto the ground, shaking a few more times before exhaling his final breath.

Ness let his lungs fill up with much needed oxygen for a few moments before pulling the greataxe free of his cloak. Taking one last thankful look at his silvered dagger, Ness put it away and went to retrieve Brightflame. "Sometimes, even the smallest blade can cut the best."

---

Slowly, the slaver holding a knife against Lisa's throat began to step backwards with his hostage. Rachel and Morris did nothing, frozen with the threat of harm to the girl. Trevor's arms quivered at his sides, and he glared at the man. "Let my sister go!"

The slaver snorted. "Boy, that might be the silliest thing anybody's ever said to me. Let her go? How stupid do you think I am?"

"Just go, Trevor!" Lisa insisted, tears in her eyes. "Save yourself, get out of here!"

"NO!" The boy screamed, his hands clenching into tight fists. "I'm not losing you! Not like we lost our mother!"

The slaver cackled at that, pulling back a few feet more. "Oh, that's rich. Your mother got sold too? I guess it runs in the family, because your sister here's got places to be."

"Damnitall, we have to do something!" Morris snarled, his tail lashing out behind him. The slaver gave him a withering glare, and the imp fell silent.

"Leave her alone." Trevor stammered out, so softly that even Rachel and Morris strained to make it out.

The slaver paused in midstep, still dragging Lisa with him. "Eh?"

"I said leave her alone." Trevor said again, looking up to the man with burning eyes. "Leave her alone!"

The slaver just laughed, and something seemed to finally snap in the boy. His arm jerked up, and he pointed to the man's face, screaming it again. "Leave her alone!"

That was the end of what made sense. After that, a glowing cloud of red light clustered about Trevor's extended hand, as bright as his hair and far more dangerous.

Rachel gasped. Morris squawked. The slaver went pale. "By the gods, what is…"

Trevor let out a bloodcurdling scream, and the red light about his hand shot off as a burning jet of flame that caught the slaver full on in the face. It hit perfectly, and the slaver stumbled back from Lisa, screaming in pain and clawing at his badly burned face. Trevor's sister ran quickly to join him, and Morris leapt into action, flying to the man and paralyzing him with a quick dose of his tail's venom.

When it was all over, Lisa was hugging Trevor tight and crying, and Rachel and Morris stepped about them protectively. The boy just stared down with his hazel eyes to his hand, as if he expected it to come alight again. "What did I do?" He whispered, afraid.

Afraid of himself, Morris realized…And for good reason. What was it Marik said? He 'had a feeling' about Trevor?

The imp cleared his throat as he landed on Trevor's arm, folding his wings like a cloak around himself. "Trevor, I think you and Marik need to have a talk."

"Why?" The boy asked, still in a state of shock. The imp glanced up at Rachel for a moment before matching gazes with the ten year old child they'd finally saved from the slave caravan.

"I think he might be able to give you a few pointers, kid." Morris Redtail explained, blinking once. "Because it seems you're a Sorceror."

---

The wizard in charge of the caravan fought bravely, given the loss of his weapon's potent electrical charge. Soon after their first exchange of blows, he'd brought up his own green aura, giving him the same protection that Marik relied on time and time again. Their swords clashed off of each other, then slipped by and landed glancing blows off of the magical enchantments that protected them. The electrically charged hand of the slaver posed a difficult problem, but Marik's magical hand, unable to wrestle the grip entirely away, managed well enough throughout to blunt aside that desperate attack.

One thing was becoming clear to both, though. The slaver mage was not used to fighting for such extended periods, and Marik was winning.

Sweat beaded along his brow, he stepped a fair distance away from Marik to catch his breath. "Lands above, you're good." He growled, staring daggers to the floating green hand which had prevented him from landing his electrical grasp onto Marik. He let the sparks of electricity vanish from his fingertips, seeing that they were useless. "Even if you do cheat."

"All I've been trying to do is level the playing field." Marik growled, and his green hand dissipated. He kept his guard up, but made no direct movements towards the man. "You've been the one cheating."

"Me? Cheating?" The wizard snorted, setting his free hand to his waist. He waited a few moments before slowly moving his hand behind his back, keeping the conversation going. "What makes you think that?"

"You ganged up on me in the warehouse…"

"Hmm, I'm still trying to figure out how exactly you got out of there so quickly, even with help."

"…You come at me hurling every spell you can think of, electrocute me, and then use a sword which gives you an unfair advantage. I'd consider that foul play." Marik finished, his voice gaining a watery rasp to it. The wizard lifted an eyebrow, finally having the time to consider the eccentricities surrounding Marik.

"You know, that voice of yours, it's very peculiar, you know that?" The wizard remarked, and finally set the hand behind his back moving in an intricate pattern. The next spell he would use he knew well enough to cast without having to reach for his components pouch. More importantly, with a little modification, he could cast it without having to utter the incantation which would give it away.

"Yes, peculiar. It's not any accent I'm familiar with." He said while thinking through the possibilities. All the while, he kept his concentration running on the spell in his hand. Marik said nothing, frozen somewhere between fright that his identity would be discovered, and the casual nature at which the man approached it. "Tell me, just where does such a mage like yourself hail from?"

Marik slowly rotated his head back and forth, and bent down for one last lunge.

The wizard sighed and gave his head a shake. "Not only are you aggravating, but you have no courtesy either. Oh well." He moved to shrug, and only at the last moment did Marik notice the red bead of light at his fingertip. "Die, then." The wizard snarled, all humor vanishing in an instant from his face.

Underneath the darkness of his hood, Marik's deep eyes went wide in horror. A fireblast spell. There was no time to get out of the way, no time to move. Even as he began to run over the short list of options, the wizard slammed his arm down and flung the bead of condensed magical fire towards him. Aimed precisely, the fireblast bead soared towards Marik and exploded, capturing him in the blast radius which extended to a few feet short of the wizard himself. The slaver mage covered his eyes from the heat for a moment, then waited for the smoke and fire to die down. He couldn't stop from smiling in triumph, as that would be enough to bring down any fool.

Yet when the smoke cleared, it was shock that the wizard wore. Slowly, Marik emerged from the fires, his black cloak singed and a wavy field of shimmering force glistening about him, repelling the fires. "You…You couldn't have survived that!" The slaver wizard stammered, aghast.

Marik hadn't had the time to muster a full dispel, as Milon Friss had taught him. The best he could manage under the circumstances was a cloud of raw power, which blunted the force of the fireblast enough to help him survive it. Smoke watering up his eyes and causing him to cough, the Sorceror forced tired and burned muscles to walk him out of the remains of the blaze towards the man.

Terrified, the mage stumbled backwards, waving a hand towards Marik. "Stay back!" He shouted. Three rays of fire gushed out of his fingertips, trying to claim Marik's life, but they reached the edge of his robes and snuffed out, extinguished by Marik's resistances. "Damn you, die already!"

Marik growled as he continued to walk towards the man, and then vanished completely. It was an invisibility spell, the wizard noted as he whirled wildly about, trying to place Marik by the sound of his footsteps.

Long seconds passed, with him whipping his shortsword about in all directions. "Blast it, you coward!"

It was the last boast he made before Marik's longsword pierced cleanly through his torso, and out of his front. Coughing up blood, the wizard realized too late that he'd been overcome, perhaps even overwhelmed, from the beginning.

"I won't die today, and not by you." Marik growled, his hood leaning over and covering the man's head as he spoke. "But you've ruined your last life. This slave trade is finished."

The man trembled, his clothes turning dark red from the blood. "Who are you?"

Again, that damnable question. Again, it echoed in Marik's mind. Who are you?

Knowing the man's time was at an end, Marik extended his left hand out over the man's shoulder and gripped it, providing support for the moment when he'd need to retract his blade. "What do you think, coward?"

The wizard's breathing fell into gasps, for at last he pieced the watery warble of Marik's tone together with his six-fingered hand. "You're…a monster…" He wheezed, breathing his last.

Marik ripped his blade free from the man's torso and let the body collapse to the ground. Once again, he hid his hand into the long confines of his sleeve, and twisted his right wrist to retract the longsword.

Then I'm a monster. Marik thought dully, becoming accustomed to the idea more and more. It had been true so many times before in his life, and it was true now. He paused and took one last look at the slaver's corpse, and a moment of doubt lingered in his mind.

But who is more of a monster, then? I, for what I am? Or you, for all that you have done?

The medallion that rested against his chest pulsed again, incapable of doing anything else. Marik gave his head a shake and turned for the rear of the caravan, following his emphatic link to Morris, and towards Rachel, whose healing touch his ravaged body so desperately needed. The caravan was quiet, and how successful the others had been was yet to be seen. But at least worrying about that was preferable.

It was better than beating his head against that damnable question of identity.

---

The few slavers who had survived the assault were rounded up and caged in one of their own slave carriages; As for those who Ness and his allies had freed, they passed along their thanks and headed east, either back to the life they knew, or to the border, where they would be safe upon entering into Samael's Lands.

Trevor Geldis and his sister Lisa, after sharing their last name to their heroes again, lingered on afterwards. With Morris perched on his shoulder, Marik took the boy aside to sit out on the open highway for their discussion. Ness was off rounding up the horses and pilfering what was of value from their defeated foes, which left Lisa to stare towards her younger brother, with Rachel somewhere nearby.

Lisa Geldis fretted, absentmindedly stroking at her elbow. "Would you care for some tea?" The question made her startle, and she looked back to Rachel, who smiled and offered her a warm cup of sweet-smelling liquid. "It's fresh."

"I…Thank you." Lisa said gratefully, accepting it. The gesture was a welcome one after her experience, and made the eldest Geldis feel almost human after nearly losing all hope. Sipping it once with a nod, she glanced back to her brother, the imp, and the Sorceror some fifty feet distant from the now defeated caravan. "Just what do you suppose they're talking about?"

Rachel walked up beside Lisa, resting her own teacup against the crook of her arm. Her long brown hair trailed out behind her in the breeze, and quiet blue eyes sought out the solution to that same question herself. "To be honest, I have no idea."

---

The boy sat cross-legged, nearly mirroring Marik's mannerisms as he sat there contemplating things. "I don't understand." He protested feebly, glancing up to the faceless black void within Marik's draped hood. "Just what am I?"

"You're a Sorceror."

"But that's impossible! I don't practice magic, I…"

"Wizards practice magic." Marik corrected him, cool and collected. "Sorcerors are magic. Morris told me what you did to save your sister; Every Sorceror ever written about went through something just like that.."

"They did?"

"Read enough history, and you'll come across that." Slowly, Marik unfolded his sleeved arms, letting them fall to his sides. "You're afraid?"

"Shouldn't I be?" Trevor whispered, tears in his hazel eyes. "Sorcerors are evil!"

Marik winced at the connotation. "Not every Sorceror is evil."

"Really?" Trevor prodded, panicking. "Give me one example of a Sorceror that wasn't!"

"Me." Marik rasped. The silence hung between for a few moments, as the boy's mind ran the truth of that.

"You're a Sorceror?" Trevor whispered. Marik's hood bobbed up and down, and Morris chuckled, walking across the ground to Trevor's leg.

"Come on, kid. Isn't it obvious? Wizards might have pets, but only Sorcerors keep friends like me around."

Trevor glanced up again, slowly nodding. "I guess you're right then. But what about me? I don't know what I'm doing. It all just happened so fast. What do I do now?"

"It's up to you, really." Marik commented. "Your choice. After all, didn't you tell me you've always been free?"

Trevor smiled at that. "Yes. I did."

"Then it applies here. You could go on living your life; let whatever power you hold just remain untested and untried. Or you could try to harness the gift you've been given; It doesn't matter, as long as you're always going towards a life worth living."

Trevor slowly nodded his head at that, and looked down to Morris. "So what would you suggest?"

The imp thought it over for a moment, pleased that the red-haired boy was seeking his opinion. "Well, I've always believed that you have to follow your heart. But that said, it would be a damn shame to give up on something that most people never have a dream of receiving."

Trevor bit his lip. "Will it change me?"

"Seems to me you're already changed, kid." Morris snorted, scratching at one of his large ears. "The Trevor we met earlier today couldn't have saved his sister like that. The Trevor we knew earlier today would have just given in."

Trevor nodded his head. "My sister's the most important person in my life. After mom…" His voice trailed off, and he grew sad.

"She died, didn't she?"

"No." Trevor answered. "She was taken and sold by those slavers. Lisa and I have been trying to avoid them ever since." Trevor looked up to Marik, his eyes shining. "I didn't think anybody could stand up against them. And then you came along, Marik. How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You got beaten up by them. You risked everything for me. Why?"

"Do I need a reason?" Marik asked, after a pause. The boy nodded, and the Sorceror sighed. "I suppose I just had a feeling about you. Given what's happened, it must have been justified." Marik summoned up his Sorceror's hand, wiggling the index finger back and forth. "And besides, Mr. Geldis, I was raised to always try to do the right thing."

"And that includes helping out strangers you meet out on the street?"

"Always." Marik finished firmly. "Trevor, it won't be an easy road that's been set in front of you. Sorcerors are a misunderstood lot, to be sure. But if you keep at it, the rewards are worth it." The green hand disappeared, and Marik nodded. "If there's one trick to magic I can pass on, it's this; You are only limited by the depth of your own imagination."

Trevor stood up, with Marik doing the same soon after as Morris flew back into the air. "Just who are you, Marik? Really?"

Who are you? Again the question came, and sobered the moment. "I'm a monster trying to prove he isn't one."

Trevor frowned at the notion. "Whatever would give you the idea that you were a monster?" Marik said nothing, shocked at the force of the rebuttal, so Trevor pressed on, pointing his index finger at the man. "You're no monster, Marik. So don't you ever talk like that again."

Stupefied, Marik fell silent. Morris guffawed, pleased at the result. "Well, boss, you can't argue with that logic. I'm liking this kid more and more."

Marik just sighed and motioned with a sleeve. "Come on. Let's get you back to your sister, before she worries too much."

---

His work finished, Ness brushed some dust off of his hands and approached the two young women. "Those slavers were carrying some decent material." He commented. "I've stacked their foodstores with the horses. As for the money?" He grinned and held up a jingling satchel of coins. "As they say, it's only thievery if it's taken from honest folk."

Rachel smiled at the notion as she put away the teacups she and Lisa had been using. "Ness, really. You're incorrigible some days."

"Funny, I thought I was incorrigible most days." The swordsman mused, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marik, Morris, and Trevor approaching them. "So, what did you three talk about?"

Trevor went up beside his sister, beaming. "Guess what, sis? Turns out I'm a Sorceror."

The girl gasped. "You can't be serious!"

"He's being perfectly serious." Morris interjected, crossing his short arms. "Marik confirmed it."

Trevor gained a nervous look, digging his toe into the dirt. "That's…that's okay though, right sis?" She'd recovered from her shock, and the girl smiled and pulled him into a hug.

"You're still my little brother."

"So what will you two do now?" Rachel asked, curious. "Will you go back to Road's End, or…"

"No, no." Lisa said, shaking her head. "I think we've had our fill of life in Istus. We'll head east; maybe we can make a life for ourselves in Samael's Lands, where nobody will enslave us."

Marik stirred for a moment, then sent a thought Morris' way. The imp's ears twitched for a moment before he smiled at the notion, chuckling. "Say, I've got a better idea, if it's all the same to you."

All eyes turned to them, and Trevor spoke. "Oh? What's that, Morris?"

"Well, it seems to me that you're a Sorceror who doesn't know how to be one." Morris began casually. "And that's just unacceptable. If you're feeling up to a walk, I'd suggest traveling to Korleen."

Lisa Geldis paled. "Korleen? But that's nearly on the other side of Ashra! Why would we go there?"

"Because there's a place that I know of where you two will be safe, and well taken care of." Morris continued. "That's because that's where Marik was raised. The Roadside Temple, in the central province. Marik learned how to be a Sorceror there, and they'd be willing to do the same for Trevor. Just tell 'em that Marik and Morris sent you, and ask for Headmaster Rodian."

"Headmaster Rodian. Right." Trevor said, ingraining the name into his mind. "But what about my sister?"

"Seems to me she'd go with you." Morris chuffed. "And besides, I imagine that all the priests in that dilapidated place would be grateful for a woman's touch, and a few hot meals." The imp grinned at them. "So what do you say? Is the idea appealing?"

Trevor looked to his sister, almost begging. The girl sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind going to a place that would welcome us, after all we've been through, but how are we supposed to get there? We don't have any money, or protection."

Ness mulled the idea over in his mind, admitting defeat with a shrug of his shoulders before he tossed over the heavy purse of coins. Lisa caught it with a squeak, and the Cursed Blade managed a halfhearted smile. "That should cover your journey, if you're frugal. Courtesy of your former captors."

"And one other thing." Morris interrupted, as Marik's magical hand dug about in his enchanted haversack. Out of the curious storage space, the Sorceror pulled the electrically imbued shortsword that the slaver wizard had dueled him with. Sheathed in its scabbard, the crackling energies were restrained, and the blade was safe to handle. The hand carried it over to Trevor, who accepted it with a fair amount of surprise. "You'll need some protection out there. Put it to better use than the coward who owned it before, promise me?"

"I promise!" Trevor chirped, and for the first time all day, the boy seemed truly alive. It made Marik smile an invisible smile, warming his heart. The boy was at the beginning of a new journey, and hope was the order of the day.

His sister Lisa seemed even more thankful. "You've done so much for us. How can we ever thank you?"

"Just try not to be caught by slaver cabals again." Ness winked. "That's all the thanks we need."

"We'll be in Istus a while longer, too." Rachel added, looking to Lisa. "If we hear about your mother, we'll be sure to try and let you know."

To this, the girl seemed properly interested. "What would keep such noble people as yourselves here in Istus? What are you all up to?"

The Cursed Blade swept back his newly restored green cloak with a stern nod. "We're after an assassin known as the Grey Shadow."

Lisa lifted an eyebrow. "The…Grey Shadow?"

"Yeah, you've probably heard some of the rumors, being from around here." Morris began casually.

"No, no, that's not it at all." Lisa interrupted excitably. "I just remembered! Earlier today, when I was being held at the warehouse in Road's End, the mage in charge of them all was talking loudly. He mentioned that the women were going to be processed at Cerzya's Den, before being taken to the home of the Grey Shadow."

Stunned, Ness and his comrades exchanged searching looks. Rachel turned the fastest. "Are you sure about that? That's what he said?"

"As certainly as anything else." Lisa assured them. "I apologize, it's not much, but I hope it helps you."

Ness exhaled. "Oh, it's a good lead, all right. A dangerous lead, to be sure, but a lead nonetheless." He looked to Marik, rubbing at his chin. "It's funny. I'd almost grown accustomed to the thought that diverting ourselves from the search for the Shadow was a waste of time." He harrumphed with a weak smile. "I guess even old sellswords like myself can be wrong."

Ness and his comrades parted ways from Lisa and Trevor Geldis soon afterwards, with the young Sorceror and his sister going east, and the party of three and their imp going steadfastly west. It had been a long day, to be sure, but a profitable one. With a new lead, they were now hot on the Shadow's trail again. Ness considered it astounding fortune. Marik thought it a convergence of roads. Only Rachel thought their chance meeting had been the work of some divine influence, but that was her job.

"You know, Marik, that's a side of you I've never seen before." Ness observed, as they rode alongside each other on the western highway. The Sorceror stirred from his thoughts and turned his hood towards their leader, letting Morris do the talking.

"What do you mean by that?" The imp prodded, flopping off of Marik's shoulder into a low hover with his wings beating against the wind.

"Well, it's just that you've always tried to keep a distant air around yourself. But you genuinely liked that boy, cared for him, really."

Marik could feel Rachel's searching blue eyes wandering over him, evaluating him again. He offered a mild shrug for his comrades.

"Trevor turned out to be a Sorceror. I found myself remembering what it was like for me, growing up with my magic. Maybe I just took pity on him, hmm?"

"No, I don't think so." Rachel murmured, a fondness and respect in her voice that hurt him more than any wayward glance in Ness' direction could have. "You try to keep it hidden, but I can see it as clear as day. You care about people."

Silently, Marik nodded, and Morris spoke on for him. "Nobody…nobody should be a slave. I value freedom more than anything else."

"And you wanted to rescue Trevor because of that?"

"No, not just that." Morris continued, and Marik's translation grew soft. "It was the right thing to do."

The implication of that wasn't lost on Rachel, who smiled to the point of blushing and turned away. Marik and Morris fell silent, perhaps feeling that at last, they'd said enough. Ness just hummed an old warsong to himself, content that they were all alive and they'd done a good deed. Tomorrow could bring what it would, and he'd worry about it then. For the time being, he could revel in a little triumph and goodwill.

The Shadow beckoned, and they pressed on.

---

The Lair of the Grey Shadow

Nightfall Valley, Southwestern Istus

Beyond the skies which seemed endlessly gray and dreary, the Grey Shadow finished his trek up the stairless incline halfway into the hills he kept his home in. Moving through the open maw of his home, he gave a brief nod of approval to the two monstrous statues resting on the pedestals in the first room. They stirred from stone sleep and shifted their heads toward him, not in the least bit worried.

Their master had come home.

Minutes later, he entered a room with unmatched elegance, compared to the roughly hewn walls and tunnels he'd gone through before. The room was lit by braziers about the perimeter. It glimmered with icons forged of precious metals and housed a large carpet of royal violet beneath his feet.

Two maidservants, still young and beautiful in their own right, stepped about to meet him as he walked to the middle of his audience room. The first, a girl with long black hair and a blank expression, blinked once in a dreamy haze of happiness.

"Welcome home, master." She said, the timbre of her voice unnatural and forced. "Did you have a good trip?"

The Grey Shadow felt a rumble of satisfaction roll through his body, and he walked up the raised steps to his large chair, nearly a throne. "Oh, it was interesting." He commented. He pulled off his swords and the two life-stealing daggers he had taken from the Mist Riders in Baraden. Once relaxed in his seat, he took another glance down to his two servants. "Did anyone visit while I was away?"

"Just a few envoys from the underdwellers, milord. We told them to call again when you were present."

The second one with trimmed blond hair approached him and held out her hands expectantly. Behind his metallic faceplate, shaped to resemble the facsimile of a skull, the Shadow smiled, and reached his hands up to the sides of his face. Pushing back the veiled shroud that covered where ears should have been, his inhuman fingers flipped the hidden latches that kept his faceplate locked against his face. With the sound of a click, he smoothly pulled off his mask and the cloth attached to it, and dropped it in his second servant's hands. She accepted it reverently and stepped away from him.

Still wearing his enchanted and tightly woven body armor, the Grey Shadow relaxed in his audience hall, resting hands bred for killing on the armrests of his throne. Again, one of his maids approached him.

"Master, what can I get for you? What would please you?"

A face that was the farthest thing from human curled into a smile that would have made stout hearts shudder. "For the moment, nothing. I simply wish to sit and enjoy my home." He thought it over, and nodded. "But you may bring me my scrying glass in an hour's time. There is still business to be done."

"My only desire is to serve you, lord." The woman bowed, her voice as empty as ever. She and her counterpart retreated, leaving his faceplate and cloth mask resting on a stand beside his pavilion. The Shadow allowed himself a bit of a chuckle, curling a clawlike finger against the wood of his throne.

I know it is, slave. After all, it is the only desire I allowed you to keep.

His maidservants left by the northern door, and the Shadow relaxed, glancing about. The walls of his audience hall were covered with grisly plaques, mantles that held the heads of creatures of all sorts. There was the head of the troll, severed and burned at the stump, forever snarling in death. A bit farther down the line, a shapechanger, a doppelganger as the featureless creatures were sometimes called, looked out blankly. An entire wall of his room was dedicated to those who had been foolish enough to take him on; A crusty, blond-bearded dwarf, a few elven heads, some underdwellers, and nearly every other sort you could imagine.

While examining the minotaur's cranium on his western wall, the Shadow felt his thoughts slipping back to the Cursed Blade and his team. That swordsman and his companions, the girl and Marik and the imp.

What did I say before? He mused, stroking at his chin. Oh yes. Ness' head will join my collection. The imp, I'll split asunder and send back to the Depths. And Marik?

He let that aspect trail off when he heard the dull footsteps of his enslaved and mindless women servants beyond his hall.

As for that brown-haired girl…

What served as his mouth curled into a smile as his alien sense of satisfaction and pleasure took hold.

This lair could use a new maidservant.

---

Author's Note

One of my reviewers pointed out that since this falls under the purview of an original work of fantasy, it rightly deserves to have a home at Fictionpress, the sister website to Fanfiction. If you wish to continue following the adventures of Marik and company, please look for the rest of the story there. I will be publishing this under the name "Ericobard". Because, apparently, I can't use Erico for both websites.