AN: While for simplicity's sake I refer to the weapon that Tobias uses as a short sword, it is in fact more like a Chinese jian than a stereotypical medieval arming sword.

Chapter Three: Nightmares

"And the sea shall grant each man new hope, as sleep brings dreams of home." – Christopher Columbus

Carlos took a step forward and was about to take a second when Tobias' free hand swung to point toward him. The black flames that writhed in his grasp leapt out from the palm and struck the ground mere inches in front of Carlos' feet. The warrior froze, every muscle in his body stiffening as primal terror swept through his body. Memories of the horrific burn that the bolt of darkness had given Sarah rushed to the forefront of his mind and images of himself sharing a similar fate flickered before him. He quickly quashed his fear, replacing it instead with the cold determination he knew he would need to walk out of the alley with his life.

He placed one of his hands on the handle of the sword he wore in a scabbard on his belt. "Tobias," he said in the most menacing voice he could muster, "Let him go."

The murderer's head lazily turned until his eyes gazed into Carlos'. "Why?" He tilted his head, a quizzical expression worn on his face.

The warrior's fingers tightened around the handle and began inching the blade out of its sheath. "He hasn't done anything."

The Mist Hunter chuckled. "Has not done anything?" He turned back toward the man he held by the collar and gave his bloodied victim a slight shake. "In the bar he called me a liar and a coward, then accepted my offer to take the dispute outside." His eyes narrowed and his tone dropped to a low, mocking one. "He willingly walked into this and now he must pay the price."

"Don't." Carlos silently cursed himself for leaving his shield and breastplate back in their room at the inn, though he honestly doubted they would have helped overmuch against one such as Ladimor. Back on the road, the murderer had been able to vanish from sight with a mere word and, though Sarah had been able to counter that, the warrior was not sure how he would.

A smile that reeked of insanity slowly spread across Tobias' face. It was the kind of grin normally reserved for those who killed and ate small children for kicks, though Carlos honestly wouldn't put it past the psychopath. "Tell you what, since you are so concerned for the wellbeing of this whelp, I will give him a chance." The grin vanished, leaving behind a look of solemnity. "If you can defeat me, on my honor, I will let him walk free." He slowly bowed his head, as if he were trying to create an appearance of sincerity.

Carlos had to summon a sizable amount of willpower to resist the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the offer. Instead, he merely let out a short scoff. "Fight you? When you could just shoot me or turn invisible like you did against Sarah?" His eyes narrowed angrily, convinced that the older man was pulling his leg. "Do you take me for a fool?"

Tobias stroked the prickly black beard that had grown on his wrinkled chin during his imprisonment and the journey to Warren's Fall. He eventually nodded in agreement. "No, you are right. The fight would hardly be even." He leisurely tossed the terrified man he held aside and drew the short sword that hung from his belt. "How about this, we will duel blade to blade. No magic tricks." He flashed his 'I eat babies' grin again and held up the short sword, point toward Carlos. "A fair fight."

The long sword that had been slowly crawling from its sheath left that home behind and its wielder leveled it at the grinning lunatic. Carlos' eyes narrowed further. "And what guarantee do I have that you won't use magic?"

The murderer looked taken aback, as if surprised that someone would question his sincerity, and placed his free hand on his chest. "You have the word of the Mist Hunter." He shrugged slightly. "Though you may not believe that to be worth much, it is the best guarantee you will be able to find in any of the Nine Hells." His startled expression faded and one of glee took its place. "Now, fight me."

Tobias surged forward, his aging frame summoning far more power than Carlos thought possible. The glint of steel in the moonlight caught the warrior's eye as the older man's short sword sliced through the night air, its tip skimming just above the dirt in a low arc toward his legs. He met the blade with his own and brought the sword to an abrupt stop. Seizing the offensive, and Tobias' collar with his left hand, Carlos flung the smaller man to the side. A normal opponent would have sprawled out across the ground. Tobias, however, landed on one foot and bounded to the side, as if the fight were merely an intricate dance in which he never missed a beat.

Carlos marveled a how quick the older man's movements were, until his common sense reminded him of exactly what he was up against. He's a murderer, someone in his profession doesn't get that old unless they are very good at what they do. Tobias lunged again, this time swinging in from the side at neck level. The warrior's eyes, however, saw it for what it truly was: A feint.

Since the day he had first picked up a blade more than a decade ago he could read his enemies like a book. A vicious, sword-wielding book that was trying its best to part his head from his shoulders, but a book none the less. Before the stroke fell, Tobias flicked the sword around and whipped it in an arc up and around Carlos' defenses, or rather where they would have been if he had moved his sword to block the opening part of the strike. The clang of steel on steel rang through the alleyway as the two blades met head on.

Carlos pushed back on the sword, forcing Tobias back a few steps and almost causing him to trip over the object of their duel, who was trying to crawl past the two combatants. The murderer's eyes swung to glare at him. He gave the man a smile, a shake of the head, and a kick to the chin before diving headlong back into the fight.

Where most would panic, Carlos was paragon of calm. To him fighting was not a terrifying ordeal, or even particularly interesting. Once he found his way past the tension and anxiety that preceded any battle, it became almost a chore. As he deflected another of Tobias' strikes his mind watched with an attitude that most would associate with a tired sigh and an exasperated 'Work, work.' To him it was more like simply going through the motions, playing out a scene even though he already knew how it would end. He knew that Tobias would dart back and avoid the swing at his waist before the blade even began its to trace the arc. A particularly bored corner of the warrior's mind made a note of the move.

Mate in three.

Recognition flickered across the Mist Hunter's face. As he sidestepped another stroke of the long sword, this time directed at his shoulder, Tobias realized what was happening. He was being boxed in. Every dodge was bringing closer and closer to the wall of the alley. He tried to duck past Carlos, but the warrior's blade was waiting for him. His short sword shot up and blocked the swing head on. The sheer force of the strike, however, sent the murderer stumbling back even further toward the alley wall. Not pausing for an instant after regaining his footing, Tobias lunged again, this time lashing out with a downward stroke of his short sword.

Two.

Holding his long sword in one hand, Carlos blocked the strike high in the air above his head. The blades slammed into each other with jarring force and their hilts locked together. With his free hand, the warrior grabbed the murder's right wrist and wrenched it down, dragging it and both swords down to knee level. The two convicts stood shoulder to shoulder, their swords crossed and held in place by the hands of the determined mercenary. The older man may have been nimble, but in a contest of raw strength Carlos was the clear winner.

One.

The warrior's elbow shot up and rammed into Tobias' sternum, knocking the wind out of his lungs and sending him staggering back. His short sword, however, did not go with him, as Carlos' long sword still held it down. Without a hand to hold it, the smaller blade clattered to the ground. Carlos stood, kicked the short sword even further away from Ladimor, and calmly raised his sword point to the Mist Hunter's neck.

Checkmate.

Tobias' eyes darted from the blade in front of his throat, to his own short sword which lay well out of reach, then to Carlos' stony face. "Impressive." He spoke without a hint of fear, and instead seemed bizarrely pleased by the turn of events. He nodded as much as he could without slicing his own neck open. "Very well, I yield."

Carlos continued to glare at his defeated adversary and the sword remained at his throat. "Tell me Tobias, why shouldn't I just kill you here and now?" His voice was cold and his face impassive, though his mind was in chaos. The curtain had fallen and the play was finished. The rhythm that had swept him through every one of his many battles had faded, leaving him with only one thought: Now what?

While his conscience screamed that killing the murderer before he could harm anyone else would be the right thing to do, the more logical part of his brain reminded him that the act would also condemn him to die slowly and painfully at the hands of The Major. As his mind attempted to sort out the dilemma, his mouth continued along its current course. "The world would be a better place without you. I could slit your throat and save everyone a whole lot of suffering."

A small, confident smile tugged at the corners of Tobias' mouth. When he spoke it was with surprising poise for a man with a sword less than an inch from his jugular that was held by someone who had just threatened to kill him.

"I believe you will find that exceedingly difficult without a sword."

Before Carlos could process the absurdity of the statement, the older man spoke a single word in a strange, otherworldly tongue. As the bizarre syllables hissed forth from Ladimor's mouth, a spider web of cracks suddenly shot through the long sword. The blade promptly snapped off at the hilt and clattered to the ground, shattering into a dozen pieces on impact.

The debate in his mind ground to a halt as Carlos stared at his broken sword. Terror gripped him as he gapped at the now useless hilt. "How?"

Tobias dusted himself off. "Our little duel ended, so I used my powers to destroy your sword." He walked over to where his short sword lay, stooped down, and picked it up. He turned toward Carlos and grinned menacingly. "Now, if I were as vile as you seem to think me, I would kill you and then that wretched creature." His grin gradually faded into a calmer, almost warm, smile. "But I am a man of my word."

He walked over to the beaten and bloodied man who lay cowering in the alleyway and gave him a sharp kick to the ribs. "Run along, and thank the good man for convincing me to spare you." The terrified man, needing no further urging, scrambled out of the alley past Carlos, never looking back.

The panic the warrior had felt gave way to more mundane confusion. He picked up and eyed one of the shattered pieces of his sword. "If you could have done that all this time, why didn't you during our fight?"

Again, Tobias looked slightly startled by the question. "I gave you my word that I would refrain from using magic, did I not?" Not waiting for a response, he sheathed his short sword, unhooked the scabbard from his belt, and tossed it to Carlos. "Use mine for now, you rely on weapons far more than I."

The warrior opened his mouth to thank him, but was cut off by an irate voice coming from up the street. "What in the Nine Hells is going on here?" Carlos turned to see The Major striding toward them.

His mouth opened slightly, then stopped. A part of his mind searched for the words to say, though most of it was still mulling over Tobias' actions. The man was a murderer and had nearly killed an, for all intents and purposes, innocent man. He had, however, also kept his word when, at any time, he could have turned the fight in his favor. In the end, Carlos' mouth decided on "Nothing, Tobias was just getting some fresh air."

The words had barely left his mouth when The Major snapped at him, cutting him off. "You're lying."

"What?" The warrior was more than a little surprised at being called out so quickly. "How–"

"Have you forgotten what I am? I can smell a lie from a mile away, and you reek of one."

Carlos quickly realized his mistake. Though The Major, like any Royal Vandian Crusader, was a far cry from the valiant and noble paladin of storybooks, he was still a paladin.

The Major's gaze flitted from one convict to the other, his building frustration clearly visible on his face. "Now what happened here?"

Tobias stepped forward and met his jailor's eyes with his own. "I got into a fight with a local ruffian," he gestured to Carlos, " but the good 'knight in shining armor' here convinced me to spare him."

For a brief moment a look of anger flickered across The Major's face before it was quickly replaced by a stern, though otherwise unreadable, expression. "Get back to the inn and get some sleep. We move out at dawn."

Carlos and Tobias both nodded and moved to head to the inn, but a mailed hand clamped down on the latter's shoulder. The paladin and the murderer glared at each other for a few, silent seconds. The tension in the air was palpable and Carlos was sure for a brief moment that violence would ensue.

However, The Major merely continued in a low, threatening voice. "And Ladimor, if you even think of pulling a stunt like that again, I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand."

The older man calmly bowed his head. "I understand."

The Major's armored hand dropped to his side, though neither his gaze nor his austere tone relented. "Now get out of my sight."

With a curt nod the two did so, leaving their jailor behind with all due haste. The murderer and the mercenary walked in silence until they were well out of earshot of The Major. Tobias, without even turning to face his fellow convict, said in a matter of fact tone, "You should not have lied to him."

Carlos looked over at him, an eyebrow raised and a bemused expression on his face. "Why? Because he can discern lies?"

The murderer shook his head, though his gaze remained locked straight ahead. "No, it is a simple spell and I could have fooled it. You just should not have lied."

"You could have?" Carlos' confusion was steadily growing. Just an hour ago the younger man thought he had the serial killer all figured out, but now he wasn't so sure.

"Yes." He spoke with an indifferent inflection that suggested he did not believe the fact was particularly important. "Those with sufficient strength of will can deceive it."

"Then why confess? Why not tell another, different lie? The Major might have punished you severely for fighting that man."

At long last Tobias turned his head to face Carlos, and the warrior saw that he wore on his face a strangely comforting smile. "Child," he said in his calm drawl, "one does not gain a reputation for trustworthiness that spans the Nine Hells by lying under such petty circumstances."

"Wait, you actually have that good a reputation?"

He nodded and, seeing the doubt on Carlos' face, chuckled. "I am no spring chicken, child. I am probably old enough to be your father or perhaps even your grandfather." His laughter faded and he sank into a more solemn tone. "I have traversed the planes, both high and low, since before you were born and, in all likelihood, I will continue to do so long after you are dead and gone."

Carlos frowned. "Good Gods. Why did I try to lie for the likes of you?" He let his head lean back and again spoke to no one but the cold night air. "Am I going insane?"

It was not, however, the cold night air that responded. "I have long since learned to recognize my own kind and trust me, child, you are not one of us." A chill ran down the warrior's spine as a slight chuckle drifted past his ears. He slowly turned and saw the gleam of a maniacal grin in the darkness. "Yet."

By the time the two of them reached the inn, the fighting had died down. Only a few drunkards in various states of consciousness remained in the otherwise empty bar. Carlos trudged up the rickety stairs to their room and flopped down on one of the two beds in the room. It was about as soft as a stone wall, but after more than a week of bivouacking in open fields in between long marches, he honestly didn't care. It was a bed, and that was good enough for him.

Drowsiness descended on his mind like a massive blanket, smothering his thoughts. One worry, however, refused to be silenced and managed to escape his mouth. "So Tobias, do I have your guarantee that you won't try to slit my throat in my sleep?"

The Mist Hunter smiled and waved a hand dismissively at the inquiring warrior as he began snuffing out the candles that lit the room. "You need not worry about that." He sat down on the second bed on the far side of the room. "When I kill you it will be in open, honorable combat."

Carlos' mind was about to slide into a blissful sleep when suddenly it snapped to attention. There was just something about the comment that didn't sit well with him. He rolled the words over in his head, then sat up and turned to face Tobias. "When? You mean if."

The older man smiled back at him and, in the most reassuring way possible, said, "No, I mean when."

"That..." Carlos managed to stutter out, "that's not exactly comforting."

"The truth rarely is." He snuffed out the last candle, plunging the room into darkness. "Goodnight Carlos."

Soon afterward, the warrior could hear Tobias' breathing settle into the telltale raspy rhythm of sleep. Carlos however, did not find sleep easily. The drowsiness that had weighed down on him only moments before had fled, leaving in its place a haunting suspicion that the murderer had every intention of keeping his word.

Elsewhere in the inn, sleep, and the horrors it carried with it, had seized a far less willing victim.

She looked down at her hands, tiny, slender things, then out into the darkness that veiled the world around her. Even the ground she stood on seemed to be nothing more than an extension of the void. The girl, had she been human, could not have been more than three years of age. Her sky blue eyes shimmered and tears threatened to roll down her cheeks as she stumbled trembling through the darkness.

The child suddenly came to a stop as a steel gray shape emerged from the night that shrouded all else. It plodded along on four heavy paws, bearing it forward at a slow, gentle gait.

Instead of fleeing from it, the girl dashed toward it with a desperation only an abandoned child could muster. She slammed into the side of the wolf with a muffled thud, clutching desperately at the thick gray coat. "Please, don't go." She buried her face in the warm fur. "I'm scared."

The edges of the wolf's mouth tugged back slowly and it gave the frightened girl a warm, comforting smile. After a moment it spoke and its soft voice seemed to radiate through the void, banishing all traces of doubt and fear just as a flame would beat back the shadows. "Fear not little one, I'm not going to leave you alone."

"Thank you." Steadying slightly, the girl smiled weakly and tried to hug the wolf, though her slender arms didn't even make it halfway around the massive beast.

"And the sad little whelp says 'thank you' like a proper dog."

The girl winced when she heard the grating voice from above and the wolf's head snapped around to face its source. An eagle with tarnished gold feathers glided silently out of the darkness and landed next to the terrified child. It leaned in close and glared daggers at her with chilling blue eyes. If it had lips they would have no doubt been frozen in a perpetual frown.

Instead, it settled for words of scorn. "Pitiful creature, you are a disgrace."

A low snarl issuing from its throat, the wolf maneuvered in between the eagle and the girl, meeting the massive raptor's cold gaze with its own. The bird hopped back and came to rest a few feet further away from the cowering child.

"Be silent." The wolf moved to shield her from the eagle's eyes. "Torment her no more."

The great golden bird let out a short squawk and gave its wings a light flutter. "Torment her no more? We won't get anywhere if you're always there to hold her hand." It shifted impatiently back and forth from one glistening talon to the other. "At this rate we'll be stuck like this till we die." Its voice was harsh and unyielding, like a hammer striking an anvil.

"And what would you have me do? Leave her to suffer?"

The wolf glanced back at the child that clung to its fur. Feeling its warm gaze upon her, the child looked up into the wolf's eyes. She quickly and desperately shook her head before burying her face in the fur once more.

"No. I cannot. I will not."

The eagle darted closer, bringing its sleek head alongside the wolf's and hissing its words into the large gray ears. "You are merely prolonging her suffering. A coward dies a thousand deaths." It scampered forward and turned sharply on one of its talons, training its icy gaze upon the girl. "Leave her. Let her face it herself. Only then can we be whole."

For a brief moment the wolf faltered, as if unsure of how to respond. "She's not ready. We should–"

An aggravated squawk cut the wolf off. The eagle ruffled its wings again and shook its head. "It's been over a hundred years! A century of this cursed existence, torn every which way like the last scrap of meat at a feast of vultures!" It hopped closer to the wolf and glared straight into its eyes, its tone dropping into inhumanly cold territory. "She will never be ready unless we force her to be." It tilted its head to the side. "How do you teach a hatchling to fly? You throw it from the nest and say fly."

With those words the massive raptor lunged forward. The wolf moved to block it, but the bird nimbly threaded its way past fang and fur and leapt at the girl, grasping her shoulders in its outstretched talons. The terrified child cried out, but her voice was lost on the wind as the eagle beat its enormous wings, leaving the ground and the wolf far behind. The bird craned its neck to look at the girl, who sobbed as it lifted her higher and higher into the void. The eagle's eyes were devoid of anything resembling regret or mercy, and a casual onlooker would only have seen the ice that seemed to radiate from the cold blue irises. But buried beneath the frost that clung to its gaze was something far more dangerous: Love.

"Fly, little bird. Fly."

The talons that dug into her shoulders suddenly released the child, sending her plummeting screaming into the abyss. As she fell a massive hand, darker than even the inky world through which she tumbled, reached up to meet her. The black hand's long, viciously hooked claws closed around the girl, veiling the void in a curtain of even deeper darkness and snuffing out the last, fleeting embers of sanity. A chill that sank into her very bones welled up in its place, suffocating her mind with grief and fear.

The raw, primal terror that the chill carried with it was too much for the child. She clenched her eyes shut, hoping, begging for the torment to end.

When, at long last, she opened them she was awake in her bed, the first rays of dawn slowly creeping up from below the horizon, painting the gray peaks of the Duskfang Mountains a deep orange.

She sat up slowly. The dream, the same one that had plagued her for a century, was too common an occurrence for her to wake up with a start. She looked down at her slender, almost spindly, hands, which still clutched at the rough sheets as if her life depended on it. Summoning all of her willpower, she gradually forced her trembling fingers to relax their death grip.

She could still hear them. Their voices echoed back and forth in her ears, though they were subdued now, like listening to a conversation in another room. One soft and calm, like a fine fur rug stretched out before a crackling fireplace, the other firm and sharp, like the snapping of a pincer or a beak. But beneath the bickering, the third still gnawed at the back of her mind, its claws dragging long gashes down her spine. She shivered, resisting the decades old temptation to glance back over her shoulder.

"There's nothing there." Her voice wavered as she tried desperately tried to soothe herself. She smiled weakly and ran her fingers through her hair, clutching at the sides of her skull. "There's never anything there." The smile warped into a grimace and her nails dug into her temples hard enough to draw blood. "It's all up here. It's always up here."