Scene 2

To Each's Own

"Blood is thine soul, death is thine heart...Be strong against thy wind, let no darkness part...Like a virgin defiled, night steals my breath...Why thy cherish life when there is death?"

These lyrics echoed again and again–lyrics from a long-forgotten song about the descent into evil. And who better to sing it than the Magus?

To that, Magus sneered. But the sneer had a bitter edge in it–one directed at himself. Yes, those words rang more true in his heart than anything the sorcerer had ever spoken in his contaminated life. He was the prince of darkness...an evil more vile than the night itself.

But, then, what was evil? This did Magus wonder on his trek through the woods. A few days ago he'd been overseeing a battle with one of the maimed villages. He despised the forced watchdog duty. The Magus was above such things or so he verbally claimed. Truthfully, the massacre made him ill and grieved and he desired no more participation in the slaughter he had orchestrated. But Ozzie was right–the mystics were losing faith in his ability to lead. Lately the prince of darkness had become more distant, fading from this reality. His concentration kept returning to the great project: Operation Extermination.

Even as his gloved fingers caressed a feathered arrow, the one that had dared mar his medallion, Magus smiled. It had all the malicious humor and none of the warmth. Lavos, a beast that had ripped him from one person in his contemptible existence that had ever loved him, was about to get his. Magus would not be denied. His goal was within his grasp–the winds foretold it!

That wind knifed his form like mocking laughter. For years the black winds had tormented him with prophecies that screamed disaster. Even now, in his thirties and a near-god, that malevolence breeze taunted him. But that would not stop him...nothing could stop him.

Again the winds ridiculed him. Its embrace was the embrace of an ex-lover. Chill filled his form and Magus cursed himself for not having brought his favorite cloak. That violet cloak, a valuable artifact he'd discovered in the underwater Kingdom of Zeal, had the ability of almost complete concealment. And it was considerably more warmer than the crimson cape he'd donned.

His thoughts drifted back to the battle...what a farce that was! "You didn't stand a chance, did you, humans?" Magus mumbled softly, part bitter scorn, part bitter regret. At times, he forgot to include himself in the ranks of humanity. He thought, breathed, killed, like a mystic. Yes, that battle was easily won at the cost of his soul.

But who was that woman?

His life-candle had nearly been extinguished at the flight of this bolt. His fingers found the curves of feathers, aspen, and hair. She'd almost killed him. He shuddered at the thought...that, and his apathy at death.

Twin blood-lavender eyes trailed from arrow to pendant. As he'd noted before, they'd made a connection; albeit a violent one. Aye, and a connection between assailant and victim as well. In vision that was only in his mind, Magus still saw her. Crimson hair like a sunset, eyes that were the green of these hunting grounds, she poured in him like a wine in a glass.

Were he to meet her again would he murder or make love to her?

Cool laughter, Magus', made the birds take flight. "Murdering's more fun..." he whispered, pleased at his own bizarre humor. "Now if only I could find my 'killer'..."

Swish.

Magus' head snapped up, his fingers concealed the arrow, and he drew his scythe all in immaculate, practiced sequence. Something moved in the shrubbery to his left and the shadow sorcerer strode to investigate. One hand gripping the deadly weapon his other parted the vegetation. That's when he saw her.

And the prince of darkness found her alright. But it wasn't what he'd envisioned.

She lay on the ground, pooled by blood...her own. Those lovely flame locks merged with the life as if they were one. Four thugs surrounded her inert body. One was of a shaved head and hunting leathers, a deep scar marring his right eye. The three others seemed to be under his command. They wore fabric of slightly less quality, each with a beard, and listened to the first's every order. At this moment the lesser scoundrels clutched the unconscious form and prepared to drag her. With a glance at their gleaming eyes, Magus had no doubt as to their intentions.

"Shit," he snapped in near-inaudible tones. What was he to do? At first, the darker side of his humanity cried that he joined the outlaws in the malicious work. Immediately, he dismissed that thought. He was no rapist–never was, never would be. He only killed those that opposed him (assassination, for one...) and such maiming as defiling the young woman served no purpose.

His next option was to blast the entire mass with his magic. That, too, he banished from his mind. Magus wanted to question his assassin as to her motives. Did Ozzie send her? It would not be unlike the green lard. He still suspected his general's foul play. Did the knights orchestrate her moves? They, too, would commit such a dirty, cowardly deed.

Yet in this indecisive state of mind, the sorcerer watched as the woman awoke. Her emerald eyes dilated in absolute horror. "And now she realizes her predicament," Magus muttered. Color drained from her features. Any fine-bred noble woman would have fainted away by now but she did not. Weaponless, ally-reft, still she struggled, if but in vain as they knocked her senseless again. The sorcerer had to give her credit for that.

Something inane snapped inside Magus. On the fringes of his memories, he relieved the moment a bratty, frightened Janus was surrounded by Ozzie and his minions. In his mouth was still the horror of being kidnaped. The sight of this poor woman's dilemma only furthered his own.

"Trapped, tortured, dying from terror...and no place to turn..." he whispered, unbidden. With that rare line of sentiment he attacked.

Rationality was never the prince of darkness' strong point. Blinded by rage and pain, he cast the most powerful spell that came to mind. And a powerful spell it was, there could be no more omnipotent: Dark Matter.

A shadow suddenly ripped from non-existing night. It produced more shadows as if it were immense light. Threads of midnight wrapped around the woman's attackers. Magus insured that it did not touch his would-be killer. Melting into the ruffians' bodies, tearing screams from their throats, it digested their living organs. Finally, they

disintegrated into nothing. Silence could be heard.

Quick was Magus as he dodged the knife that threatened to slay him. Bless the reaper, everyone thinks to kill with a throw! Cowards! That said without a word, he promptly seized the dagger and hurled it back the direction from whence it came. No effect; the action was expected and ducked.

Because of his rash action, the prince of darkness had missed the leader in his magical assault. He remained near the woman, seeming to threaten her life. A spear menaced her throat. "She mean something to ya laddie? Aye, then come out from your bush and lay down your weapons–or your missus be getting her throat slit."

Magus snorted angrily, but obeyed. Of course he had no attachment to the woman. After all, his plan was to kill her once he'd secured her purpose. But dead women give no sources of information, so the sorcerer abandoned his perch and lowered his scythe. He was hardly afraid. Rather, he was waiting for the right moment...

Entering the glade, Magus came within sight of the outlaw. His parched, scarred face squinted in an attempt to place Magus' face. A smile came to the prince of darkness lips. If only he knew who he held captive...The sorcerer bided his time. Light streamed from the trees in angles to shadow and lighten his face. Finally, recognition.

"You be that Magus fellow!" he cried. "You be a valuable prisoner."

Now Magus laughed openly. "You'll get no ransom for me. The mystic's care not for their kin, even their master."

The leader's chuckle iced Magus' heart. "Maybe not. But I'm sure the King of Guardia would love to get his hands on the Magus. I wonder what he'd do with you..." His voice trailed off in deliberate mystery.

Magus could only guess–but, then, he decided he didn't really want to know.

Swish. One fire-and-lilac eye observed the stirring woman. The leader was starting to turn around to gauge what was amiss. Instantly, an idea sparked in Magus. If he could distract the outlaw maybe the woman would disable him. Not what Magus had originally in mind but improvising was good right about now.

Coloring his tone with the blue of indifference, the sorcerer remarked, "Did you really think to take the all-powerful Magus so easily? Ha! At this very instant I could kill you where you stand." Untrue, Magus knew, because he'd used the last of his magic reserves with Dark Matter, but he fancied the imagined danger would occupy his foe.

And it worked. The leader's attention no longer riveted on the rising woman. It focused on him. "What! Yeah, right. Don't be giving me any lip, dark boy." He jabbed his spear into Magus' side, slightly wounding him. "If you can why haven't you, already?"

Magus calculated his 'killer's' movement. His own eyes absorbed hers. Closer. Closer. Closer. "Because I would much rather do it–NOW!"

Both woman and prince acted. Magus parried the spear with his scythe that reappeared in his arms. The woman battered her attacker with a sizable rock. He staggered.

But the leader was not done in. Poking his fingers into Magus' delicate eyes, blinding him, the outlaw turned his javelin on his victim. She sidestepped but not soon enough. It struck her cheek and sent her into a tree. She did not move.

Now Magus, three-quarters sightless, was alone against the man. Nor did the criminal offer a chance for retribution. Pelting the prince of darkness with his halberd, he proceeded to bash Magus' head in. Though Magus could not see his blood he felt it rushing from a wound at the base of his skull. This was no longer a battle to procure information–it was a basic struggle for survival.

Whereas Magus was starting to panic, his inner fortitude forced his mind in sequenced defense. Dart this way. Parry. Dodge. Again, move. Only by listening to the man's rapid breathing did Magus note his location. His black vision did not dissipate but the sorcerer had more pressing matters to attend to.

He sought to inflict the same visionlessness onto his adversary, seeing how he only needed to slash the left eye. But his attack came up empty. The leader was not where Magus supposed him to be. Instead, a pain as sharp as a thousand arrows cleft him. He's run me through with his spear, Magus noted in horror.

Magus was wrong. The attack did penetrate flesh and muscle but the attacker's thrust was clumsy with fear and only marred his shoulder. Nevertheless, Magus reacted as a cornered wolverine does–with savagery. He clawed into his aggressor, leaving several more scars to augment the leader's many, and fired him with a feeble flame sphere. It repelled the man. In fact, the leader decided to run for dear life. Magus heard and knew this because of the grass rustled as the man disappeared.

That was a wise decision...Magus would fight to the death and not his own. The attacker was not prepared for that.

Exhausted, wounded, and yet blind, Magus stumbled to the bloody grass. Pain racked his shoulder and eyes. A string of obscenities came from his lips at his stupidity. Indeed, the woman's information was not worth his injuries. If he should return to Ozzie now he would be torn to shreds like a wounded wolf. Despair blanketed his heart.

The prince of darkness didn't know why but he proceeded to search the dead for the woman. Maybe he was hoping to slay her for his misfortune. Maybe he was hoping she'd kill him for hers. Finally, a hand gripped his.

"Stop..." a voice rasped. Magus halted.

"Who are you?" asked the wizard softly. He guessed it was the woman. Who could have survived his Dark Matter, since the leader had fled?

No response. Magus then whispered, "Help me, woman. I...I can't see." Very stupid, Magus, he snarled to himself. His 'assassin' was unlikely to care about his welfare. In fact, the body of the hand he gripped brought a dagger to his throat.

"Do...n't...m...ove or I'll...kill ya."

He recognized the voice. It was one of thugs! He had survived! Magus did as he was bid. Again, his concern for his sight became secondary. The thug lifted off the ground, dragging Magus with him, twice a hostage in one day. The prince of darkness had no idea what his captor had in mind but the possibilities were endless–and frightening.

A shriek, a struggle, and everything went silent.

Suddenly the knife disappeared and two arms lowered him to the ground. He could smell the scent of his killer-turned-savior. She murmured, "Hold still, you're just encouraging the blood to run. Let me heal your wound."

Blind, agonized, and drained, Magus could offer no resistance. Like a touch of a mother–no, sister–healing sensations poured through him. Her voice, as soft as a dove, filled him with rare serenity. Her arms enveloped him.

He gasped a thanks. But for some reason she stiffened. "Do I know you, sir?" she questioned, anxious.

She's beginning to recognize me! I must flee! And that Magus did. Erupting from her grasp, the unseeing sorcerer spun on a heel and raced into the vegetation. Leaves and other plant life brushed his form but he thought of that one thing: escape.

"Sir, sir! Come back here! I can help you! COME BACK!"

He would not. If Magus returned she would grasp his identity and kill him. Now only his wit and keen sense would aid him. Running through the forest, blind now as if in true darkness, Magus' instinctive skills told him of the location of his castle. The sorcerer made his way in that direction.

But the prince of darkness would get no farther than a hundred paces. He struck steel, dead on his forehead, and collapsed. Breathing came to his ringing ears, that of which he pinpointed–the leader! And from the sound of it he had recruited several reinforcements.

As Magus sunk into another darkness, that of unconsciousness, he knew with a gut-wrenching sensation that he was going to die.

"I said COME BACK HERE!" Aurora yelled at the top of her lungs.

But he did not answer. Nor did her enigmatic deliverer return. Ranger-healer sighed, exasperated. Every girl with even the least romantic imagination always dreamed of being saved by a handsome knight in shining armor. He would save the girl from a fictional dragon and ride off with her on a white steed into the sunset.

Hence, this was hardly the rescue she'd pictured.

One green-gloved hand on the hilt of a short sword and the other parting the foliage that hindered her march, Aurora searched for her 'knight in shining armor'. The forest was yet too quiet. She bit her lip. A sure indication of danger, she knew, and very near.

Light waterfalled from the scantily-veiled sky. Her feet easily found the grassy carpet, its rubble, plant life, and whatnot. Dare she cry out to him again? What if the thugs that had ambushed her were still about? No, but should she continue? Was it really worth it?

Yes, she answered to herself, because he saved my life. I owe him safe passage through woods that I lay claim as mine. Besides, the poor man can't even see!

All of these were ample enough reasons to continue her trek. However, none of them were the true logic behind her combing the forest. It lay in her heart.

Then, Aurora stopped as if she'd collided with a wall.

Blood.

Her gasp ran thin from her lips. A not-so-straight line extended to the length of a number of paces to her right and beyond. It was a crimson string, flashing against the sunlight like a flame. The coppery tang flittered up her nostrils and related that the blood was fresh. That meant her savior probably yet lived...Yet.

She quickened her pace. Abandoning stealth, but not silence, Aurora followed the line like one might an insistent dog. All the way her heart hammered in her ears. What was being done to him? Now the ranger-healer's face contorted with fury and determination–it was time the knight got rescued.

Finally, the line ended...and the brutality began.

As Aurora approached, bow aimed at no noise and every noise, her vision revealed a wounded man on the grassy canopy. Like wine the color of blood, his life liquid spilled from a number of deep gashes and laced into his chilling crimson cape. It was he, the one that had saved her life. And now she had to save his.

The superior among the bandits had enlisted allies. Four men in black cloaks that listened to nothing but they're own perverse souls. They danced around her savior in malicious glee as they tore him limb from limb. Bones snapped in horrific fashion. Hot blood splattered all around. It made Aurora want to be violently ill.

However, she contained her retches. That man needed the ranger-healer's courage now. He apparently could not defend himself; his assailants had knocked him comatose. Her heart still thundered, so loud she feared it might betray her presence. What to do? What to do?

Breathing slowly, Aurora realized a solution. Sheathing her blade, the ranger-healer quietly hauled out her crossbow. Fingers trembled as she nocked three arrows. She could not possibly hope to nail them all before her adversaries overwhelmed her. But, Aurora did have the element of surprise.

Praying that she would not be too late, Aurora let loose the bolts. A trio of bolts rained into the ranks, striking two and killing one almost instantly. The feathered shaft extended from his neck and severed his jugular vein. Infuriated, the leader screamed for his men to uncover their attacker. They complied.

Moving swiftly, time being of the essence, Aurora let another cluster rip. More cries of hatred and rage. Still, she didn't wait for them to grab her. The ranger-healer raced to another boulder and released yet another number. This she kept up until her enemies were thoroughly baffled.

"Find that bitch!" screamed the leader.

Aurora had no wizardry to rely on. But the animals of this forest did occasionally listen to her command. She prayed they would humor her this day. Sticking index and middle fingers into her mouth, the ranger-healer whistled twice. Like good little pets should, two birds flew into her midst. Her opponents still searched angrily.

Whispering in thanks, Aurora immediately set to her plan. Timing was crucial. Placing a bolt into both of her feathered friend's beaks she bid them fly. And they did. Now Aurora divided more shrubbery to detect the presence of her opponents. Like shadows from a person's darker side, they investigated every bush, rock, plant, to find her. If they discovered her, the ranger-healer would be as good as dead.

Waiting until the birds flew just above two of their heads, Aurora whistled, again. Obedient, they dropped the arrows. Neither actually hit their targets. But it confused the men just as she hoped. They split into groups and tore through the forests. Now, to save her savior.

Once Aurora arrived, she beheld the leader siting on a boulder, cleaning blood off his javelin. He seemed utterly uninterested in the huddled form of the man he'd blinded. Her emerald eyes set hard. Did he? Was he? Dear god, was she too late? Was he...?

A soft groan of agony restored her breath. It had come from her champion as he stirred. Hair as blue as a lake when sun hits it merged with rusty life fluid. He was conscious; if just enough to realize his plight and the torture that had been inflicted. His eyes squinted in pain...but they did not open. There was something undeniably familiar about him; as if she met him not in the waking world but a dream.

"Aye, now where's your black magic, mage? Yes, sir, the king will be wanting to meet yer acquittance. Beg mercy?"

His prisoner muttered something. Something that didn't sound decent.

Such impertinence warranted discipline, or at least the leader thought so. He struck the man's back with the flat of his spear, effectively silencing him. Aurora supposed she should have ended the brutality right then and there. But something stole her breath away. Black magic? Mage? Who exactly did the attacker think he had?

Slamming the lid on such thoughts, she could pursue them later, the ranger-healer nocked three arrows into her crossbow. Narrowing her eyes, she sighted her prey. At least one was bound to hit home–in fact, all three should.

And one did. It twanged and landed at his hip. A yelp of rage came from his lips. The other two went wide. Rare it was that Aurora should miss a single shot, let alone two, the ranger-healer just shoved her fingers into her quiver.

But she came up empty. Horror lightninged down her spine. Hastily, Aurora drew her short sword. Meanwhile, the leader charged. She braced for impact.

Spear met sword in a violent exchange. Metal sparks flew. The interlocked weapons engaged, each of their owners attempting to force the other to fall. Unfortunately for Aurora, that meant her.

Before the situation got that dire, the ranger-healer withdrew and swung in a fierce arc. Again, blades clashed. Exerting pressure at his wrist, the bald-headed bandit forced her to lower to her knees. The pain was unbelievable. Still, she fought back, more for that nameless man's sake than her own.

Must...hurry...others...will...be...back...

That would spell disaster.

Again, she broke the hold. But the only means of doing that, without his javelin coming down on her elbow, was to release her sword. Aurora dodged the consecutive thrusts of the leader. His downward cut sliced through air. Like the wind she darted this way and that and had about as much affect.

And like the wind, she must stop. Exhausted from ducking innumerable blows, Aurora halted to catch her breath. It was costly mistake, even as it was a necessary one. Seizing the opportunity as he seized her, the one-eyed thug dragged her near.

"Well, now lass, maybe we will be having you after all..."

His arms drooped. His eyes bulged. His scream was hideous.

Before Aurora could comprehend what that all meant, the bandit had abandoned her and was fleeing, again, through the forest. My, but he was a cowardly thug. Blood trailed his left heel. From the looks of it, it had been cut to the bone. Aurora shuddered.

"I bit him."

Aurora spun to the voice. His! Immediately, the ranger-healer dropped to her savior's side, gripping the man in her firm arms. Blood continued its descent from numerous wounds. Bruises constituted the least of his worries. He'd have scars for life.

"You have sharp teeth," she commented.

He smiled and she realized with pity that he could not yet see. Would he ever again? Dismissing that, Aurora whispered, "They're still around here. We must flee...can you walk?"

The moment she'd spoke, the ranger-healer knew the idiocy behind the words. Of course, he couldn't walk! It was a miracle he stilled lived! Even though Aurora knew that to be true, her savior valiantly struggled to stand. Pain skittered across his exotic features. For as odd and familiar as he appeared, he was a strikingly handsome man.

Her hands shoved him back down. "No, you can't. We'll find another way."

Those pain-filled features twisted into another smile. "Take me into your arms." Startled was not the word. Aurora felt as if she were falling down a massive canyon at his demand. But the ranger-healer obeyed.

Once she held her yet-nameless-hero, he commenced an incantation. It was brief. Two spidery words crawled up Aurora body. Suddenly, the ranger-healer was afloat. She gasped. Stranger still, her savior felt as light as...well, light!

"...Carry me...away..." he breathed, on the fringes of unconsciousness.

Again, Aurora did as she was commanded. With him clasped in an embrace, ranger-healer glided over the ground, not even touching it. They made excellent speed. As far as she could tell, there was no pursuit. Smooth sailing...sort of.

Except this wasn't the 'riding off into the sunset' that she'd imagined.