19 – A Perfect Paradigm

Morning and the house-staff went about their duties as normal in the grounds of the Crimson Blade albeit the week's end. It was never quite as busy a day as others, for many of the students spent it with their families, or if they were too far away, the youngsters milled around the grounds or even the city. It was a day for relaxation, perhaps some study in the extensive library, or even worship at the Cathedral for those so inclined.

Nevertheless, for those still in the grounds meals were prepared and cleared away accordingly, fresh linens and bedding were provided in the dorms and the general housekeeping continued.

This particular day of rest, however, was also infused with excitement for the forthcoming frivolity – the Midsummer Festival was upon them once more. It was, as its name suggested, a celebration of the hottest part of the year. A time when people enjoyed the baking hot days and muggy evenings engaging in outdoor events such as picnics, swimming in the lake, organised competitions in archery, wrestling, sprinting, and tests of strength. The morning air on the start of this year's celebrations, however, was a little cooler than anticipated.

It was a welcome celebration which lasted for nigh on two weeks ending with truly spectacular pyrotechnics. Granted, there were some culprits who set off the odd unplanned firework during the fortnight's merriment, but if no harm resulted from such foolery it was overlooked in the spirit of the festival.

Don and Reed were looking forward to exploring the city and all the various little shows on offer, it would, after all, be a good relaxant before they saw to their plans for the evening. Both eager for the off they nonetheless waited in the courtyard for Sauren and whiled away the time with some friendly competition. Both adequately skilled in blade-throwing, they thought to challenge each other by practising in the "advanced" pen.

State-of-the-art targets required good hand-to-eye co-ordination and expert balance. These mechanically controlled marks, therefore, were a true test of skill. Twelve objectives on two overhead pulleys were suspended at different levels and distances apart. The winding mechanism turned to its maximum potential was then released, making the targets flit left to right or spin around. Backed by wooden boarding designed to catch any misses, the marks were positioned in a wide semi-circle and the object of the trial was to hit all twelve consecutively while turning on the ball of one's foot.

A few profanities escaped the boys' mouths as they missed some of the targets and had to start from scratch.

"Damn! Almost!" Reed stamped his foot in frustration.

Don laughed and started winding the pulleys again. "What do you mean 'almost'? You missed three!"

Reed having retrieved his throwing knives scuffed the dirt under his boot. "Two better than last time and also two better than you."

"Luck! Pure luck," Don teased. He looked over at Reed who was scowling and pretending to target him. Don's laughter was infectious and soon Reed joined in the mirth as the two friends exchanged places.

The pulleys screeched and scraped as they turned the marks. Don aimed and launched his first blade. Success, then another, another and... a miss. The fifth blade landed perfectly, as did the following three. He wobbled a little, lining up once more. He pulled back his blade and...

"You're thinking about it too much," Sauren's voice said from behind him. The blade went flying into the backboard.

Don groaned, his momentum scuppered by the interruption. "Fuck!" he muttered.

Sauren grinned and offered a look of apology as his friend turned to glare at him. The mahogany eyes then looked past his shoulder. "Hurry," he encouraged. "You are running out of time." The targets' motion was starting to slow down.

Don shrugged and looked back at the marks. "No point, can't hit them now anyw..."

Without warning, three blades shot past his head and embedded on the remaining marks before the pulleys stopped moving. Don and Reed just stared. "How the f..."

"Luck," Sauren smiled at Don's exasperated face and moved past him as Reed came towards them. With a shake of his head, Don joined his friends.

Sauren, as always was impeccably dressed even in casual attire; a plain white shirt tied loosely at the neck, tan-coloured trousers and brown shoes. A mid-length cape was flipped back over his right shoulder and fastened with a decorative yet simple silver clasp. "Well then, gentlemen," he began ensuring he had their undivided attention. "Firstly, I want to say I know tonight is a personal crusade, one which in all honesty should not involve you. Nevertheless, I will be leader of this guild one day and I need to know those at my side will be loyal, trustworthy and carry out orders." He looked at each, in turn, studying their faces to see the slightest trace of hesitancy or doubt. They stared back, unflinching, steadfast. Sauren took a deep breath. Remnants of last night's dream still haunted him; he had to try and push it to the back of his mind again. What happened then had never been revealed to anyone, not even Don and that was how it would remain.

"These individuals are vile beyond words," he went on, his voice a little gravelly. "They repeatedly defiled my family name, my heritage; they beat me and terrorised me with threats. Simply speaking, they petrified me when I was younger. They have also berated others from the elven community here and beyond. But, tonight - tonight it is going to stop."

Reed shifted lightly from one foot to the other. "Forgive me for asking..." His eyes held a little uncertainty.

"Ask," Sauren said, controlled.

"What exactly has all this fanaticism grown from? And how come other elves have not seen fit to teach them a lesson when they have continually been derogatory to their race?"

Sauren's eyes scanned the courtyard as he carefully constructed his answer.

"The city was and is primarily the humans' domain and there are, albeit a relatively small number, those who still despise the elves for past grievances. When first the two races met it was not with pleasantries. Battles between the two ensued and they were savage. The elves had powerful magic at their disposal and they demonstrated a particular ruthlessness towards any humans who were captured. That spell of history has not been laid to rest by the likes of the Langdons. The elves, however, although many still remain suspicious of the humans, choose to uphold a questionable clemency, especially now as the current war requires the races to unite and defend the lands against the invading orcs."

"And trolls," Don injected.

Sauren nodded agreement. "However," he said, forcing himself to sound and look brighter than he felt. "Let us have some breakfast, discuss how we will proceed this evening and then..." he smiled, his perfect teeth on clear display. "I suggest we embrace the Midsummer celebrations which will be starting shortly."

As the day continued to warm, so the masses descended and enjoyed the first day of the festival. The parks were colourful and fragrant with summer blossom, jasmine and roses. Butterflies and bees busied themselves flitting from flower to flower, industrious in their pollen and nectar gathering and oblivious to the extremely vocal tradespeople calling out for townsfolk to come and buy their wares. People duly weaved their way in an out from the myriad of stalls and entered into the spirit of summer celebrations.

From a huge variety of vendors providing ample summer fare, the people could enjoy spit-roasted meats served in toasted buns, a large selection of pies made with succulent meats and vegetables, an assortment of cheeses from all over the land, fresh, juicy fruit tarts and a variety of other sweet treats and beverages.

Novelty goods in abundance ranged from dried scented petals bound in delicate little sachets, knotted with silk ribbon; colourful baubles such as necklaces, torcs, bracelets and earrings; some very outrageous garments (which would never be seen in any of the city's outfitters' windows) tunics, capes, hats all adorned in fabric flowers and flowing ribbons were surprisingly popular.

Stands with craft items, cards, scrolls, crayons, quills, inks, beads, feathers were aplenty along with others specialising in unique fabrics and ready-made items from cushion covers, bedding and curtains to unique items of clothing. Containers, flasks, vases, perfumes and scented oils - the selection was endless.

For children there were toy torches, made from conical shapes covered in fabric stuffed with red and yellow ribbons representing flames; foam swords; kites; dolls; wood-carved and soft toys; rolling hoops and batons which had groups of children racing each other along the paths - much to the irritation of some adults who were simply trying to enjoy a summer stroll through the park.

Many travelling minstrels also descended upon the region. There was music to be found along the streets as some entertained passers-by with sweet sounding ballads and lively folk tunes. Others were found in the parks on bandstands where the audience could choose to simply listen or dance to the melodies they played.

Areas cordoned off for safety permitted flame-throwers to thrill onlookers with their manipulation of fire by juggling flaming torches, jumping and somersaulting through blazing hoops or swallowing fire and emitting almost dragon-like fiery jets in the air.

Bonfires would be lit in the evening encouraging the city and country-folk to come celebrate more of summer's gifts. And if one scoured the horizon as darkness fell, the red and orange glow of bonfires throughout the land could be seen for many leagues.

Browsing a stall where trinkets and pocket-watches were displayed Reed nudged Sauren. The half-elf looked at him questioningly.

"You are being admired," Reed whispered.

Sauren's mouth curved. "Admired or targeted?"

His friend laughed lightly. "Possibly both." He nodded in the direction of the stall across from them.

Sauren lifted his head and looked across to where Reed indicated. A young girl, possibly around his own age quickly glanced away as his eyes met hers. She huddled a little closer to a woman who stood beside her. Sauren assumed it was the girl's mother. He waited a moment then resumed his study of the trinkets.

"What do you think?" Reed enquired.

The half-elf was paying particular interest to a silver pocket-watch. "Very intricate indeed," he replied, knowing full well it was not the watch Reed was referring to.

Reed rolled his eyes. "Not the watch! The girl!"

Sauren could not suppress a giggle. "What am I supposed to think? She looked away."

"Well, she's looking over again now," Don joined in the conversation as he handed over some silver to the stall-holder for a decorative cravat pin and thanked the stall-keeper.

Once more Sauren's eyes drifted over to the girl. This time she held his gaze a little longer, offering a coy smile. He smiled back, his youthful charisma seeming to overwhelm her as she snapped open a fan and rather fervently cooled herself.

Sauren grunted and stepped round to the edge of the stall he was perusing, moving nearer to the girl. He shot a look at his two friends who were observing, encouraging him. He scowled at them but the hint of a smile played on his lips.

He casually looked back at the stall where the girl and her mother stood. It sold bolts of fabric, lace, gossamer, ribbons and coloured threads. The girl's mother was trying to negotiate an acceptable price for a fuchsia-coloured bolt of satin.

Sauren moved over, close to the girl. Her fan flapped a little more furiously. He noted her chestnut hair neatly rolled into a snood, some small tresses framing her face. Pale-skinned, she wore a little rouge, nothing harsh just a subtle shade to enhance her cheeks, although, at that precise moment, it was an unnecessary addition to her toilette; colour seemed to be rising steadily as he inched a little closer. Blue eyes sparkled from behind her fan, the irises dilating rapidly in keeping with the obvious attraction she felt towards the tall, smartly-dressed young man nearing her.

Her mother suddenly shot an acerbic look in his direction. Remaining composed, Sauren inclined his head in polite greeting and looked pointedly at the fabric she was trying to haggle for. "Forgive me, Ma'am," he said. "I just so happened to notice the colour of the material you are purchasing and thought perhaps it was for a gown for this young lady?" He gestured to the blushing girl who concealed the lower part of her face with her fan.

The woman's eyes softened slightly. "It is indeed," she replied, the dialect informing Sauren they were not from his neck of the woods.

"Then I hope you do not object to me saying it is a perfect choice." His eyes drifted back to the girl. "She would look..." The girl lowered the fan slightly, her smile sweet, tempting. In the time it took to blink he realised she was very pretty, quite becoming, in fact. His lips curled in a smile. "Exquisite," he finished.

The mother was, at first, speechless by his boldness, but then drew herself up, indignant, ready to answer with a haughty response.

"There you are!" An unexpected voice sounded from behind the woman. She turned, her skirts rustling as her attention was drawn from the half-elf.

"Duncan!" she replied, her demeanour suddenly brightening.

Sauren was most surprised to see the gentleman's tailor, Mr Atherton, appear beside the woman. Slightly stooped, he was dressed in his finery, top hat included and an ebony cane in his right hand. In all the years as a customer, Sauren had never once seen Mr Atherton outside of his shop. He kept his amused expression controlled.

"Catherine," the old tailor beamed as he kissed the back of her hand. He smiled fondly at her daughter and then he noticed Sauren. "Oh, you have met one of my favourite customers, I see."

The woman seemed taken aback and looked again at Sauren. "Well, we only just this minute..." she started.

"Ah, well let me introduce you all. By the way, where is Oscar?"

Sauren stood, hands clasped behind his back, looking on. He was aware that his two friends were watching with interest, their occasional sniggers and comments drifting over. He pretended not to hear. He also noted the stall holder was becoming exasperated waiting to close the sale of the fabric, but the woman and her daughter were distracted now by Mr Atherton.

The woman was quite articulate when answering the tailor. "He is just looking at some tinkering stand. You know Oscar, he is a hoarder."

"And an accomplished engineer, my dear. He hoards with good reason." Mr Atherton intoned.

Catherine scoffed. "Oh, really, Duncan. It is a wonder we can move in our home at all with the amounts of ludicrous things he buys, most of which, he forgets is even there for all he trips over them on a regular basis. I simply cannot keep such clutter in the house any longer, and his workshop is almost full to brimming as well..."

The expression on Mr Atherton's face was one of regret. Regret at having asked after the woman's husband. She continued gabbing on about Oscar's crusade for engineering parts when finally he decided enough was enough. "Ah, Master Sauren," he injected. "I see you are impatient to rejoin your friends." Don and Reed instantly quietened as Mr Atherton awarded them a quick wave.

"Not at all," Sauren replied, politely. "We are merely browsing and passing time."

Mr Atherton nodded then proceeded with introductions. "Well, I would like you meet some very fine friends of mine from Duskwood. They are considering moving to the city..." He quickly checked with the woman to see if that was still the plan. She nodded. He then carried on quickly. "This is Madam Catherine Alston and her charming daughter, Piper. Ladies, this is Sauren Nightflame, a very pleasant young gentleman whose father is the honourable Sa'themar Nightflame, Guild Master of the Crimson Blades."

Sauren bowed respectfully to the woman, voicing he was most happy to make her acquaintance before turning to Piper. He held her eyes for a few moments, and smiling one of his brightest smiles, he bowed to her too.

"Crimson Blades?" The woman enquired, oblivious of the guild or the name Nightflame.

"Yes, Madam Alston," Sauren replied. "Nobleman's Mercenaries, as some refer to us. My father recently inaugurated the guild on the north side of the city. You may if you wish, visit the complex, it is still open to visitors by appointment." He was positive the woman inwardly cringed. "The Crimson Blade is destined to be the most reputable and successful guild of its kind in these lands."

Madam Alston seemed uncertain whether to be impressed or aghast at such a revelation and toyed with the peridot jewel which hung around her neck. "Well then," she ventured. "I dare say we have kept you long enough, Sauren. We too have things to be seeing to, so I am sure you will..."

Sauren was aware of the woman's discomfort, although it did not seem to be from his slight elven appearance, more from his association with rogues. "But of course, please forgive me for detaining you."

Mr Atherton cleared his throat. "Such a charming young man as always, Master Sauren. A pleasure, as always, to see you."

"And you, Mr Atherton. I hope you all have a most enjoyable Midsummer Festival."

Madam Alston gave a brief nod in response.

"It was nice to meet you, Sauren," Piper volunteered, lowering her fan.

"And you, Miss Alston."

"Please, call me Piper."

The half-elf caught the look of disapproval on Madam Alston's face, but paid no heed and smiled warmly at the young girl. "I am honoured, Piper. Perhaps we will meet another time."

"I hope so," the girl breathed, not intending it to be heard, but Sauren's elven senses picked it up. His subtle acknowledgement of her sentiment had her raise the fan again in an attempt to conceal her blushes.

Rejoining his friends, the half-elf endured a couple of nudges and arm punches as they moved on into the milling crowd to enjoy the rest of the day's celebrations.

Their plan of action had been discussed over a light dinner in Capital City Inn. On the first of the nine bells, Reed made his way to the Langdon's premises, closely pursued by Sauren and Don who remained concealed in the shadows.

Joe Langdon was waiting for the young rogue and stood next to an anvil where he slowly, almost lovingly polished the sword he had been commissioned to make. The balding 'smith looked up as Reed's footsteps sounded on the stone floor. "You're on time lad. I like that," he said, chewing on some tobacco.

Reed halted halfway under the canopy. His eyes nipped from the workshop's odour which hung thick in the air – the stench of coal dust and molten iron mixed with quenching oils and wax. Blinking, he quickly glanced around the premises. Implements and tools placed in regimental groups and clusters were dotted throughout the workshop in buckets, racks and stands. Above him, he saw chains from which thick deadly hooks swung, the clink of the metal resulting from a combination of the rising heat in the foundry and the evening breeze circling in under the canopy. He had seen it all before, but tonight it all seemed more menacing.

"Yes, I do not take kindly to tardiness myself," Reed replied, trying to sound confident.

The 'smith grunted at the response and tucked the rag he was using to polish the sword into his belt. He lumbered over, his large midriff making his movements slow. He may not have been the fastest creature on the planet but he was certainly strong. His hands, the size of shovels, were large and calloused from his trade, the fingernails chipped, ingrained with charcoal and oil. His arms were powerful, developed from years of angling, drawing, hammering and hardening copper, iron and steel.

Reed swallowed, trying hard to maintain a cool and collected facade. For all his friends were close by, knowing what was about to happen was a little unnerving, to say the least. He just hoped Sauren's plan would work. Standing in front of this beast of a blacksmith, he had misgivings about the half-elf surviving a beating from him.

Langdon thrust the sword in front of Reed for him to inspect. "I think you will find the craftsmanship second-to-none," he boasted.

Testing the weight first, Reed accepted the weapon and cast his eyes over it. Langdon was right to be proud of his work, it was indeed a fine sword and one which he reckoned his uncle would be most happy to receive.

"Well? Are you satisfied?" Langdon asked, wiping his hands on his apron.

"It will do nicely, yes. By the way, I have a friend who is also looking for some weaponry. His preference, however, is daggers."

"Oh, aye? Well, tell him to come and see me," the blacksmith said. "Now, there's a matter of..."

"Actually, he came along with me." Reed interrupted.

The blacksmith's eyes looked beyond Reed's shoulder at a tall figure standing just under the canopy. Platinum hair was rippling on the breeze, and the half-elf features were unmistakable. His eyes narrowed. "What's the meaning of this?" he growled.

Reed had started to back away, clutching the sword.

"Don't you bloody think about leaving without paying for that, boy!"

Sauren took two steps under the canopy. Without looking at Reed he said, "Go now." Reed turned and ran from the workshop.

The blacksmith hollered after him but the boy was gone. Langdon turned back to Sauren, his eyes black with hate. "You've got nerve coming here."

"Yes," Sauren said, tight. He had prepared himself for this day, yet, as he stood before one of the bigots who had made his younger life a misery, there was just a tiny bit of apprehension. Whether it was because this time he was deliberately walking into the den of hate, or due to the fact that he was going to take a life – his first life, he knew not. But, he was going to see it through.

"Yes? " Langdon said, heatedly.

The half-elf moved further into the premises, his eyes darting around taking in the layout, the tools, the weapons, the flames. "I am merely agreeing with you," he said.

Langdon moved towards Sauren, his eyes never leaving him. "I heard you were still around," he said.

"Hmm," Sauren continued to casually look around but not without the occasional glance at the blacksmith, gauging his intentions. None of which would be good. "I gather you have also heard my father is now a guild master and head of the Crimson Blades."

"I heard," the 'smith spat on the floor. "Your kind are spreading everywhere these days." He was within arm's reach now.

Sauren grinned. "I believe it is called - survival of the fittest."

A long pause followed before Joe Landon uttered his threat. "See if you survive this then, half-breed!" Joe Langdon swung his enormous fist into Sauren's side and it impacted on the wound he'd suffered from the troll attack. Although the gash itself had knitted together the area was still tender but he was determined to disguise the fact it was a weak spot.

Sauren was pushed back into a shelf covered in boxes of different sized nails. Some were knocked down, the nails hitting the stone floor sounding like a small timpani. He turned and the next punch caught his kidneys. It hurt, but not as badly as it had when he was younger.

So as not to make it seem too easy, he did manage to dodge a few swipes and even land one or two punches himself. The squabble, however, created a lot of noise, not only the grunting and crying out of the opponents but also from metal rods and spars dislodged from their stands, swords, scythes and axes falling from their racks; keys, bolts, hinges and spikes - all crashing to the floor in the wake of the fight. The clanking and tinging of their collisions around the workshop drew none other than Langdon junior. Sauren caught sight of him just before Joe landed another punch to his stomach.

Adam staggered out the door that opened from their house into the workshop, his 'smithing apron twisted on his hips. He was worse for wear having sunk a few ales in the afternoon. It took a while for him to register what was happening but by the time he did, his father had knocked the platinum-haired youth to the floor.

"You were born a freak and you will remain a freak," the blacksmith said as he sneered at the crumpled form by his feet. "Half-breed!" He completed his insult with a mouthful of tobacco-stained spit excreted from his thick, slavering lips. The gelatinous globule dangled for a moment, elongating slowly before it dropped onto Sauren's platinum hair and slid down over his cheek.

Joe Langdon drew his forearm over his brow wiping away beads of perspiration which oozed continuously. With a satisfied grin, he returned to his anvil at the other side of the workshop. There, he started to methodically oil the sides of the iron.

The scuffing of a boot and throaty laughter made him glance over his shoulder. Adam, his son, having crossed over to the defeated half-elf, was grinning maniacally, taunting him with his boot.

"Throw it out with the rest of the trash," Joe ordered his son. "With luck, no-one will notice him amongst the rest of the shit out there."

"With pleasure," Adam said, smug.

His father grumbled to himself then turned his attention back to the tools of his trade. "We'll get the other thieving bastard another day. No-one steals from me!" The heat soared as the bellows were compressed several times breathing new life into the forge before he continued with the loving care of his anvil. The steady roar of flames drew him in like a siren's song, and suddenly he was lost to all other sounds in the workshop.

Adam bent over the folded half-elf. His charcoal blackened hands reached out to grab the front of Sauren's jacket. "Just couldn't stay away, eh, half-breed?"

Mahogany eyes looked out through the strands of platinum hair which now served as a curtain over Sauren's bloodied face. He smirked, knowingly. The arrogance of the 'smith's son was always going to be his downfall but as luck would have it, he was also drunk.

Shifting himself with the fluidity of a cat, Sauren melded with the shadows. Adam's eyes widened in disbelief. He snatched desperately at the thin air where the half-breed had been a mere second before.

With lightning speed, Sauren grabbed a rasp from the young 'smith's apron and the filthy rag which hung from his waistband. Adam barely had time to realise what happened before the pointed end of the rasp was rammed through his left eye while the rag was simultaneously forced deep into his mouth. Sauren's lips hovered close to the 'smith's ear. "Payback, you sick bastard."

Adam struggled against his attacker, his muffled roar of pain lost to the rag but Sauren was unbelievably strong for one who had just taken a beaten from a heavy-set blacksmith. Rising to his full height with little to no effort, Sauren twisted Adam round and pinned him tight against his chest.

The 'smith flailed against the night air as Sauren cupped his slender fingers over the gag to ensure no sound distracted Joe from his work.

Shock was setting in and Adam's limbs started to grow limp. His right eye then suffered the same fate as his left. Sauren's mouth twitched a little as he heard the squelch and small pop from the punctured orb. He pushed the tool deeper, grinding it against the eye-socket, the required force causing his hand to tremble.

Once the body stopped moving, he slowly extracted the rasp and let Adam's body slide; a bloodied heap on the straw-covered cobbles.

It had been easier than the half-elf thought it would be. Brett had told him his first kill may prove to be somewhat difficult to come to terms with, perhaps leaving him emotionally scarred. On the contrary, this had left him feeling exhilarated. The added satisfaction was in the knowledge justice had just been served on this individual for the horror he had forced upon a seven-year-old boy.

He looked over at the anvil and roaring forge. Joe had not lifted his head once.

Sauren studied the two ruined eyes on the end of the rasp. One slid from the tool and splatted on the ground. Still embracing the cloak of shadows, he slowly strode towards the sweating bulk of a man who had never kept his dislike for anyone of elven extraction secret. The beast had brawn but Sauren was lithe, agile and brilliantly clandestine.

The constant squabbling between father and son would make the 'smiths' "accident" believable enough. The only time they had actually seemed civil to one another was when they shared their hatred of elven-kind and anything associated with them. Sauren smiled. How ironic the subject of their hate would be the very thing to defeat them.

He scanned the various items that hung overhead. All manner of implements were suspended. He had to admit, the 'smith's work was extensive and of good quality. But, all he needed was something basic, brutal and he found it easily enough.

Movement to his far left told him Don was in place. His right-hand man picked up the limp body of the 'smith's son and approached the forge slowly, quietly.

Once he was level with Sauren, the half-elf whispered his instructions. Don grinned. The dispatching of these two would not only sate Sauren's need for revenge but also it would open up more business for Don's father at the Guild. He waited for the signal.

Sauren effortlessly leapt onto the shelving close to the fiery grate and inspected the chains above. The heat from below was rising in waves, he knew he could not bask in the simplicity of his plan - he had to act quickly and precisely.

He made his move unhitching the heavy chain above him then leapt over the stooped figure of Joe Langdon and repeated the same act on the opposite side of the grate. As the burly 'smith's attention was drawn by the clanking of chains above, Don threw Adam onto the red-hot grate. The body landed with a dull thud, causing the grating to shift and screech against its fittings.

The 'smith twisted to see what caused the disturbance. Shock flooded his face as his eyeless son lay limp on the grate. He leaned over just as the heavy chain fell and pinned him to Adam's still body. Sauren dropped silently to the ground and secured the links around the anvil before he materialised at Joe's side.

"Bas-tard half-breed! You lousy piece of filth," Joe hissed.

"I have bested you and your monster of a son though, and I have enjoyed doing it!" Sauren grinned. He looked almost demonic, evil, as the fiery glow from the forge reflected in his eyes. Snatching a blade from the array of customised weapons to the side of the iron, he then jumped onto the brawny 'smith's back and knelt; his bended knee digging into the cleft between Joe's shoulder blades.

Adam's hair had crisped and curled rapidly, eaten by the flames. His neck and face then started to sizzle and pop in a macabre dance of swelling blisters which rippled and blackened. All the master 'smith could manage was some breathless loud grunts, the chains having knocked the air from his lungs.

"Your relationship with your son needs some work, I believe," Sauren said. The 'smith flinched, trying to shake free, but the weighted chains and that of a young man on his back kept him pinned in place. He grunted loudly again as his hands were seared when he tried to find leverage on the edge of the grating.

Sauren nodded to his friend. Don set the scene so it appeared the chains had collapsed from wear and tear of the fixtures; an unacceptable state of affairs in the arrogant Blacksmith's premises. As a result, the consistent bad blood between father and son would be staged convincingly enough.

The heat was becoming fiercer the longer the bodies were on the grating. Sauren had to act fast now. Adam's shirt took hold and the flames started to lick around his torso.

Sauren grabbed Adam's right hand, placing the newly acquired blade in the palm then with all his strength he pulled up, forcing the keen edge into Joe's throat. The large 'smith bucked but to no avail. The blade was well placed for its purpose and the insistent hiss of fresh blood hitting the flames filled the air with its thick coppery scent before being swallowed by the stench building from the burning bodies.

Next, the rasp was placed in Joe's blistered right hand and plunged back into the empty left socket of his errant son.

Sauren jumped down just as the fire started to feed on the apron and shirt of Joe Langdon. The final grunts and groans of the bigoted blacksmith were devoured by the fire.

The young rogue watched for a moment or two as the flames curled and licked their way around the two 'smith's bodies; their flesh gradually being fused together from the heat.

His nostrils flared as the smell of their smouldering flesh filled the open workshop. Straightening the cuffs of his jacket and pulling the lapels straight he turned to his friend. "Family feuds can be so tragic at times, don't you agree, Don?"

His friend grinned. "Indeed Sauren, they can so easily get out of hand." They laughed.

Sauren's perfect teeth flashed. "Good job. I will meet you back at headquarters. Make sure you are not seen." With a nod, his friend disappeared into the night.

Sauren loosened the links from around the anvil and threw them carelessly to the edge of the grate.

With one last look, he mentally scored the name Langdon from his list of vengeance. Three more names remained. He had no doubt their demise would be equally enjoyable. Tonight had proved a perfect paradigm of his capabilities.

Melting into the shadows once more, Sauren Nightflame made his way back to The Crimson Blade headquarters.