The Necromancer's Daggers

© 1997 Brenton Miller
All rights reserved.

Tomas sat in his smithy, affectionately stoking the fires of his forge. Made of layered stones set in a circle pattern about three feet high, the forge was a rather simple construct, much like the man himself, with a bowl carved in the center where hot coals were beginning to redden from the increasing heat. Tomas enjoyed the feeling as the heat increased to a level which anyone who was not a blacksmith would probably find uncomfortable.

Tomas didn't mind the heat. It seemed to match the fiery passion in his soul as he began the work which his hands and body were made to perform. A blacksmith by trade, and a renowned one besides, Tomas had not always been so. In his youth, he had dreamed of becoming a great warrior like his father before him. He had thought to follow in his father's footsteps and join the ranks of the royal militia, perhaps become a captain like his father. But an unfortunate accident crippled him before he even completed the rigorous, twelve-week training regimen all footmen must finish before they can become royal soldiers.

Tomas was devastated when he discovered he would be lame for the rest of his life and could not be a soldier like his father. Then one day, at a local crafts fair held in the town where he had lived, Tomas was amazed by the displays presented by blacksmiths visiting from all parts of the country. Their creations had ranged from stylish lantern holders to elaborately designed swords and halberds. Possessing a great passion for the weapons of war, yet unable to wield them for his king and country, Tomas decided upon the next best choice. Encouraged by his father who was thrilled his son had found a craft that suited him, Tomas set his mark on becoming the best blacksmith he could be.

Tomas released a weary sigh which signaled the end of his reminiscence. He harbored no regrets, he decided; he had had a happy life, though it had been long and he now felt he was getting on in years. Even so, he was proud of his accomplishments in life, though none so much as his daughter Maya, who made Tomas feel alive as much as did the sensation of heat rising from his forge and the feel of pliable metal which he shaped into images to match the visions in his mind.

Following that line of thought, Tomas turned his attention back to the work in hand. Under his stoking, the coals in the forge were now bright red, and a blue glow danced across them. He decided the coals were hot enough to begin his task, and his gaze fell across two pieces of brandite laying on the workbench to his right.

He frowned.

Brandite was a very difficult metal to come by. In fact, its scarcity combined with the fact that it was the strongest metal known to exist, made it the most precious metal on the continent. Also adding to its value was the belief that the metal possessed magical properties.

Despite this scarcity, Tomas had worked with the metal many times in the past. Being one of the most highly regarded blacksmiths in the province, perhaps even throughout the continent, granted Tomas a certain amount of popularity. People traveled hundreds of miles seeking his services, and the blacksmith's talents were in high demand. It was not surprising that anyone wanting weapons forged from such a difficult to come by metal would seek him out.

That's not at all what concerned Tomas.

No. What concerned him had nothing to do with the two pieces of precious metal or the fact that he had been requested to forge two, admittedly unique daggers from them.

What did concern Tomas was the man who had made this particular request. Once again, Tomas replayed in his mind his mysterious meeting with the stranger...

"You are the blacksmith called Tomas."

Tomas jumped, startled, looking up from his work to see a stranger standing above him. He had neither seen nor heard the man enter his shop. Dressed in a black cloak which concealed his entire body from the shoulders down to the tops of his boots, the stranger stood before Tomas, regarding the blacksmith coolly through coal black eyes. He had long, black hair which contrasted vividly against pale, white skin, and when Tomas gazed into the man's eyes—eyes so dark they clearly reflected the blacksmith's image—he felt a chill run down his spine. He had the impression this stranger was accustomed to that reaction and even seemed to delight in it.

"I am Tomas," he answered finally, though there had been no tone of question in the stranger's words, only a statement of fact. Thrusting a hand from beneath the folds of his cloak, the stranger presented two slats of a golden-hued metal.

Tomas's eyes widened in recognition of the metal and he reached out to take the proffered slats. "Brandite," he stated matter-of-factly, hoping to impress the stranger with his knowledge. If the man was surprised at all, his features did not show it, much to Tomas's disappointment.

"I need you to forge two daggers, both identical." The stranger handed Tomas a piece of parchment.

The blacksmith regarded the sketch quietly for a moment.

"I'm sure I can satisfy your design," Tomas assured. "Return in one week and I-!"

"I will return in three days time at exactly two hours before midnight to collect them."

"Three days!" Tomas was stunned. "I can't finish in that time. I have other—."

Tomas did not finish his objection. A tightening of the strangers eyes and a sudden rigidity in his facial features warned the blacksmith there would be no bargaining with this man. Tomas couldn't explain his reaction, but he felt it wise to avoid provoking this man. In his long years as a blacksmith, Tomas had many times had men argue with him and threaten him with acts of violence, but he had considered none before a serious threat. Now this man, though he evinced no outward signs of hostility save for a barely discernible glowering, frightened Tomas greatly. There was a danger about the man Tomas could sense, a barely disguised malevolence that could be invoked over the slightest perceived offense. It wouldn't do to displease this man, Tomas knew. Best to conclude business with him as quickly as possible.

"I will have them ready for you in three days' time." Tomas paused. "But I will have to request eight-thousand crowns, half in advance."

The stranger produced a black pouch from the nebulous depths of his cloak and set it on the table before Tomas. "There are two thousand crowns in that bag. If I am completely satisfied with your work, you will be paid eight more."

Surprised by the generous offer, Tomas nodded in agreement. Then, feeling satisfied with the deal, though apprehensive about doing business with the man, he stood up and offered his hand to the stranger, a motion Tomas always used to conclude a contract with his customers.

The stranger shot a quick glance to the proffered hand but made no response of his own.

Tomas uncomfortably lowered his hand after a moment.

"There is one more thing." The man pulled a small pouch from the folds of his cloak. "At precisely the moment you complete the forging of each dagger, you will sprinkle exactly half the contents of this pouch on each blade while the metal is still hot. Then set them aside and do not touch them again." His black eyes bore even deeper into the blacksmith's. Tomas was frozen in place by the icy stare. "I will know if you do not follow these instructions accurately."

Tomas stared back against the stranger's steely, cold gaze while he considered the pouch in his hand. He had crafted items for others, including wizards, in the past who had magical potions meant to increase the potency of an item or weapon. In fact, he had created many unique items for a certain wizard friend of his named Harvo who lived in this very town. Harvo on occasion enchanted weapons for customers of his own, and he always enlisted Tomas to create each item.

So this man's particular request didn't surprise the blacksmith, though it did heighten his feeling of apprehension.

"Don't worry, I'll do exactly what you requested," Tomas assured.

"Then our business is concluded for now. I will return three days hence."

With that, the stranger turned and abruptly exited the blacksmith's shop.

Tomas shook his head to clear away the memory, shivering despite the sweltering temperature of the forge. He lifted one of the brandite pieces in a pair of iron tongs and held it over the hot coals until it glowed red, deciding to let his work take his mind away from his heavy thoughts. Placing the heated brandite on the anvil to his left, Tomas began hammering away at it, beginning the process which would shape the metal into the image the man had given him. There was no doubt in Tomas's mind that he would produce exactly what the stranger wanted. He had never before failed to satisfy a customer. Still, he wanted to be especially careful on this assignment. He wanted to do nothing to cross the stranger and he wanted this business completed as soon as possible, which was why he was working into the night, something he seldom did, normally reserving his evenings to spend with his ten-year old daughter, Maya. This night he had told his daughter he would not be keeping her company.

Shaking his head to clear his dark thoughts, Tomas set his mind to work. He concentrated on the sound of his hammer clanging loudly against the hot, malleable brandite and became totally immersed in his labors. Again and again he brought the hammer down, forcing the metal to slowly take the shape he held in his mind. To Tomas, the sound had an almost musical quality to it. He felt like a troubadour, crafting a new tune on his lyre.

Lost completely in his work, hearing only the tune being generated as he performed his craft, Tomas didn't notice a small figure approach and place a tentative hand on his arm. Startled by the unexpected touch, Tomas was only barely surprised to see his little girl smiling sweetly at him, her bright eyes wide with childish innocence and love. Though he slaved over a hot furnace for hours each day and barely broke a sweat, Tomas's heart always seemed to melt when he looked into those beautiful, azure eyes that reminded him very much of his late wife, Clara, who had passed away prematurely, the victim of a debilitating disease that had ravaged the town several seasons ago.

Even before Clara died, Tomas had been proud of his daughter and had loved her—and her mother—fiercely, but his passion for blacksmithing had taken up nearly all of his time and he had rarely taken time out for his family. Too late he realized he would never regain those lost moments with his wife.

After Clara died, Tomas vowed to spend with his daughter every possible moment he could. So he promised himself he would work only during the hours of the day and never in the evenings or on weekends, reserving these times for his daughter.

Smiling, Tomas set down his tools, lifted his daughter up with hands that were callused and dark from soot, yet gentle and loving, and placed Maya on his lap. She felt small and delicate in his hands. An uneasiness swept through Tomas just then and he glanced nervously around the room. He suddenly felt naked and vulnerable, like something evil was hiding in the shadows.

Watching.

Waiting.

Shaking his head, Tomas shrugged off his own foolishness. There was nothing in the shop except for the various tools of his trade, his daughter, and himself.

I'm becoming superstitious in my old age, he decided. When he looked at his daughter again, she was staring at him with some concern reflected in her soft eyes. For a child only ten summers old, she was remarkably perceptive—yet another quality Tomas adored about her.

He gave her a warm smile, silently telling her everything was okay.

"Why have you disturbed your father's work, little moffet," he asked, but his voice indicated no disapproval.

"I miss you papa." Maya slid her arms around her father's torso and laid her head against his muscular, pepper-haired chest. Tomas smiled and began to absently tousle the soft, brown curls of her shoulder length hair. "You're working awfully late tonight."

Tomas glanced out a window in his small shop. The sky was dark and full of stars and the moon was high. He had worked late.

"I'm sorry, darling." He brushed her soft brown hair back with his hand and kissed her on the forehead. "I promise I'll make it up to you. In fact, this weekend I'll take you to the fruit festival."

Maya smiled excitedly. "Will they have Loufa jugglers?" Loufa jugglers were a group of performers who happened to be members of the local entertainer's guild. Often in the middle of their juggling act, they would degenerate into bouts of name calling and would proceed to throw various objects at each other, including things like fruit and even daggers. Occasionally, they would splatter each other with a tomato in the face, much to the delight of the spectators, but most of the time, especially when tossing knives, one would catch the item and include it with the assortment of items he was already juggling.

"I'm sure they will." Tomas chuckled. Curling Maya into his arms, Tomas stood up. "Now my little moffet, it's bedtime for the both of us."

Maya wrapped her arms around her father's neck. "Tell me a story first."

"Okay, but a very short one."

"How about the one about the magic cat that saves the girl from the monster."

"I suppose that one's short enough."

With daughter in arms, Tomas exited his shop through the oak door that separated his workshop from his living quarters.

He bolted and shut the door and never noticed a dark figure, hovering like a shadow outside the shop window, watch him carry his daughter off to bed.

Tomas returned to his labors bright and early the next morning.

He had awakened after a long night of fitful sleep and dark dreams to discover Maya already awake and playing quietly in the front room. Being a talented blacksmith whose services were in high demand provided a certain amount of prosperity and Tomas was known as one of the wealthier men in his town. His home, comfortable by most men's standards, afforded Maya a lot of room to play. Tomas was a simple man and as such preferred more simple accommodations but he wanted his daughter to have a comfortable life-style so he suffered the "plush" dwellings for her sake, spending most of his time in his shop. When he wasn't with Maya, of course.

Sight of his daughter brought a smile to Tomas's lips but his dark mood did not lift. His spirit felt heavy and burdened. Oblivious, Maya smiled cheerfully when she noticed her father had entered the room.

"Good morning, papa."

"Good morning, my little rose."

Tomas lifted Maya into his arms. He glanced at the floor to see what she had been so intently absorbed with. Apparently, she had been playing a game consisting of wood pieces of various shapes with varying designs on each. The game was designed to promote one's imagination by allowing the player to create numerous designs with the varied shapes and patterns. Supposedly the number of different pictures one could create was limited only to the size of one's imagination. Tomas had never been too creative in that respect and thus never developed a knack for the game. Maya, on the other hand, seemed to excel at it. Again, as he was many times throughout the child's ten years, Tomas was amazed by his daughters sharp intellect.

"Today is the day Freyer's coach is coming to pick you up for school."

Maya frowned. She set her head against her father's chest.

"Can I stay home with you today, papa?" Maya pleaded. She wrapped her arms around Tomas and stared up at him with bright, soft, brown eyes, her bottom lip slightly protruding in an adorable pout.

Tomas grinned. Already his daughter was quite a charmer. He had no doubt she would be a heartbreaker once she was old enough. Then again, he thought, all fathers must think the same thing of their own daughters.

Tomas would have liked nothing better than to forget his work and spend the day with his daughter. But he had enrolled Maya in the local tutorial academy because he wanted his daughter to be able to make her own choices in her life and he believed education to be vital in that endeavor. Besides, he needed to complete his work on the stranger's daggers. He wanted to be absolutely certain they would be ready by midnight two days hence.

So, after ushering his daughter off to class, Tomas immediately set to his task.

Once again his forge was smoldering, the ring of his hammer echoing loudly as the brandite inexorably began to match the shape vivid in his mind. And once again he felt doubt gnawing at the base of his neck. His unease regarding the stranger had not diminished overnight, in fact had intensified, but now Tomas realized something more than that was troubling him. There was something not right about this stranger but whatever it was eluded Tomas. With doubt nagging at his subconscious, he worked well into the night again, well after his daughter had returned from school. He stopped once, only long enough to tuck his daughter into bed and wish her a hasty good night.

By midnight of that day, one day early, Tomas had completed his work.

He paused to survey his creations, studying them with an acute eye, determining, as he usually did, that his work was flawless.

The stranger should be pleased.

Tomas was about to retire for the night when he remembered the grey pouch the stranger had given him and the instructions along with it.

"Sprinkle exactly half the contents of the pouch on each blade while they are still hot," the man had said. Tomas opened the bag and poured half its contents into his palm then sprinkled the powder on one of the blades. The powder was very course and chilled his hand considerably. When the grains touched the hot metal, they began to sparkle and fizzle. Tomas quickly dumped the remainder of the powder on the other dagger and stepped back to watch the powder's strange reaction.

The powder flickered and sizzled for several moments and finally seemed to melt into the metal. Then the daggers appeared to heat up, each turning bright red as if Tomas had thrown them onto the open flame of his forge. Slowly, the red glow faded and dulled until the blades turned completely black.

Tomas's eyes went wide in fear. He hastily backed away from the dark blades and retreated into the sanctity of his living quarters. He rushed off to bed and drew the blankets tight around him. For several hours he lay staring at the ceiling, praying for sleep to come upon him and draw him into dark oblivion where he could escape the horror of what he had just experienced.

Again, Tomas suffered bad dreams and awoke in a cold sweat. Visions of blood and the daggers he created, obsidian blades dripping crimson, plagued him throughout the night until he could no longer bear the visions and his eyes popped open.

When he looked around the room, he saw Maya staring wide-eyed at him. He saw her and a faint smile cracked his dry lips. She stepped forward and put her arms around him.

"I was scared papa. I called you but you wouldn't wake up." Her eyes appeared moist. "I thought you were sick."

Tomas hugged his daughter tight against him.

What have I done, he thought.

"I'm okay moffet. Just bad dreams," he lied.

Glancing out the window, Tomas noticed the sun was already high in the sky, in fact, appeared to be past the noon mark. Immediately, his thoughts returned to the obsidian daggers he had constructed and he practically jumped out of his bed and ran to his shop.

He flung the door to his shop open and peered inside at his workbench.

The daggers he created still lay where he left them, their metal surfaces gleaming with a glossy, black sheen.

Tentatively, Tomas approached his workbench. He reached out a tremulous hand to touch the surface of one of the blades. He jerked his hand back immediately and grabbed his wrist, his face grimaced in pain. A slight gasp escaped his lips.

The metal burned.

But it was not the burn of hot metal.

No. This was the burn of cold. And not just any cold, Tomas knew.

The cold of death.

Tomas dropped to his knees, still clutching his aching hand, but his mind was elsewhere, plunged deep into the horrifying realization of what he had created.

What have I done, was the thought that echoed through the blacksmith's mind. I have unwittingly created items of terrible evil. How could I have been so ignorant?

Just then, Tomas heard the door of his shop open and he spun around, reflexively grabbing his forging hammer which was just within reach. He was prepared to face the dark stranger, coming early to collect his prizes, somehow knowing Tomas had reasoned what the man was.

He was surprised to see Maya, her eyes wide and full of concern for her father, startled by his unusual reaction.

Tomas sighed and let his hammer fall from a suddenly weak hand.

"Maya," he whispered and his voice trembled. He reached out his hands and took his daughter in his arms, hugging her tight against him.

"I'm scared, papa. What's wrong?"

Tomas remained silent for a moment, not yet trusting his voice to speak.

"Papa, you're shaking." Maya's tiny voice held a slight quaver. "I'm frightened." She gripped her father tight around the neck with her small arms.

"Everything's okay, darling," Tomas lied. He held his daughter a little tighter. "Your father has done something he should not have done, but everything is going to be fine. I'll make sure of it. Somehow." This last word he spoke under his breath so Maya did not hear.

"He's a necromancer, Harvo."

Wide-eyed, the wizard leaned forward in his chair and glared at Tomas in disbelief. "Are you certain?"

"I've listened to your philosophies on magic and heard too many rumors about the effects the anti-magic has on living flesh to not be." Tomas's look became more urgent.

"He's a necromancer," Tomas stated more firmly.

Harvo sat back in his chair, hand cupping his chin, forefinger covering his lips while he considered the information Tomas had given him. After a moment's silent scrutiny of the blacksmith, Harvo nodded once and glanced sideways through a door leading to an adjoining room where Maya was playing with Harvo's cat, Fek. The girl appeared oblivious to the two men's conversation.

"How much is she aware of?" Harvo asked.

"Nothing. She's scared because she knows I'm scared but I haven't told her anything." Watching Maya giggle as the cat chased its tail, seemingly for the sole purpose of the child's delight, brought a smile to Tomas's lips in spite of himself. Just as quickly, the smile disappeared to be replaced by a frown.

"She is quite a strong girl," Harvo commented. He eyed his friend with some concern.

"She has much of her mother in her." Tomas sighed. He seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then his expression became serious and he focused on the wizard again. "Can you help us, Harvo?"

The wizard considered for a moment. At the same time, he filled and lit a pipe of hague, a pungent-smelling weed that was cultivated and smoked in this part of the country, and brought it to his lips. "Well, let's examine the situation and the facts before us for a moment, shall we?" He clenched the pipe between his teeth as he spoke and assumed the most serious detective posture he could muster. Only a few years older than Tomas, Harvo appeared older than his forty-five years with his bald pate and salt and pepper colored swatches of hair above each ear. However, there was a youthful playfulness around the eyes that balanced out the aged look of his thin form. He eyed Tomas speculatively and continued.

"Now, you say this man is a necromancer—and I believe you," Harvo quickly added, so Tomas wouldn't misunderstand his tone. "However, he is also some sort of a rogue judging by the way you describe him. He hired you to create two daggers of his own design and bid you sprinkle some sort of magical powder on the blades." Tomas nodded. Harvo took another drag on his pipe and exhaled slowly.

"I doubt this rogue is any sort of a real necromancer," the wizard stated after a moment's deliberation. "Most likely he is a simple vagabond who raided the treasuries of a mage of Dissonance."

"But he seemed very confident in his actions," Tomas protested.

"It is quite possible he dabbles in minor magics, parlor tricks to most experienced mages."

"I doubt these are a parlor trick." Tomas produced a wrapped bundle of cloth from a leather satchel he had brought with him and revealed the contents to Harvo. The black surfaces of the daggers he created gleamed with a dark brilliance.

Harvo gasped. He scrutinized the weapons intently for several moments.

"Remarkable," the wizard finally concluded.

"Can you destroy them?"

Harvo shook his head to the negative. "I cannot. But you can."

Tomas looked skeptical. "How?"

"The metal was forged by your blood and sweat, the magic by another's," Harvo answered. "Thus, you must recombine those ingredients in order to unravel that which you both have mutually forged."

Tomas looked perplexed.

Harvo elaborated. "That means I will need to combine a few drops of blood from each of you."

Tomas's eyes widened in momentary horror and he leaned back in his chair. His gaze sought his daughter. She was still playing contentedly with the cat Fek. Finally, Tomas's eyes sought out his creations. After a long, silent contemplation, he appeared to reach a decision.

"They have to be destroyed," he said gravely. " I don't want to be responsible for the evil these blades will surely do in that man's hands." Tomas's head hung low. "Will you help me, Harvo?" Hearing no immediate answer, Tomas lifted his head and regarded Harvo questioningly. The wizard puffed calmly on his pipe while his gaze gently scrutinized Tomas. Finally, he nodded. Removing the pipe from his mouth, he gently tapped the bowl over an ash bin to empty the spent contents.

"Of course I will help you my friend," he stated, then he chuckled softly. "The gods know how many times you've pulled a certain, crazy old wizard out of the fire after an experiment of his met with somewhat less success than he'd hoped." Tomas attempted a smile, but the action was brief. Sighing, Harvo regarded his friend seriously. There was an odd glint in the wizard's eyes. "I think I have a plan to trap this rogue necromancer of yours." This time Tomas managed a faint smile and his look was filled with gratitude and a little relief. In Tomas's opinion, Harvo was a competent sorcerer and the blacksmith had relied on the man's skills many times in the past.

"We will have to move quickly," Tomas said. "He is due to return to my shop at midnight." Both men glanced out the window. The sun was on a quick descent toward the horizon and would be gone soon. Midnight was only a handful of hours away and the blacksmith's shop was located on the opposite side of town.

"I only need to gather a few things and we'll be on our way," Harvo assured. "Tell Maya we are leaving. I shall return shortly." After that, the wizard disappeared up the spiral staircase in the corner of the room.

Tomas stood quietly over his forge. The coals were dark and cold, having been left untended since the evening prior. He set down a wrapped bundle and slowly unfolded the cloth to expose two obsidian daggers. Tomas scrutinized them for a moment.

He was impressed. Harvo's magic must be powerful to conjure up two identical replicas of the obsidian blades. Tomas could find no faults in either. They were perfect, except that they lacked the evil power the real blades possessed. And these blades were little more than illusions by Harvo's explanation. They would feel real enough and could even be dangerous weapons, but the enchantment was limited and the conjured blades would disintegrate after a while. Although, in the duration, this entire matter would be settled one way or another.

Turning away from his forge and the obsidian blade replicas, Tomas took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Despite his confidence in Harvo's magic, the blacksmith could not stave off the swelling anxiety that twisted his stomach. He once again thought through the plan Harvo had devised, hoping the logic and simplicity of the plan would calm his nerves. And by the wizard's account, the plan was a simple one. The rogue, who would be arriving in mere moments, would come for his daggers. Tomas would show him Harvo's replicas and when the stranger went for them, Harvo would launch his magical trap. Then, the wizard would administer to the gory details of drawing a few drops of blood from each the rogue and the blacksmith, and cast his spell. After that, Tomas would only need to heat the blades over his forge to weaken them enough to shatter them with a few hammer blows.

The plan was simple, but there was one thing about it that worried the blacksmith: the plan involved having the real blades here at the shop. Both men had considered this, but since the spell had to be invoked immediately and the daggers destroyed in this very forge, there was no other alternative.

Tomas silently chided himself for worrying. The weapons were secure with Harvo, who would remain hidden until it was time to spring his trap. And even if events didn't proceed as planned, Harvo was a powerful wizard, by Tomas's estimation, and would be able to deal with any situation that arose. Still, Tomas was thankful that his daughter, Maya, was locked safely away in the cellar of their house. There was only one way into the cellar and Tomas had instructed Maya to bolt the door from within and not to open it for anyone except him or Harvo. Tomas hated having to frighten her like that, making her hide in a dark, damp cellar, telling her only that daddy had to meet with a very bad man who might try to hurt them. As soon as he sent the bad man away, he would come get her. At least she wasn't alone, Tomas smiled grimly. Harvo had insisted she bring Fek, the wizard's cat, along for company.

"I've come for my blades, blacksmith."

Tomas nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the statement, spoken in a quiet whisper that sliced through the air like a cold dagger to pierce the blacksmith's spine. The darkly clad stranger, with his long, concealing cape, long, black hair, and pale, white skin stood barely three steps away, his black eyes, hiding in deep shadow, boring into the blacksmith. Tomas, just like in his first encounter with the man, could read no expression on the stranger's face, but the blacksmith felt like his very soul would be sucked into those pools of blackness that functioned as the man's eyes.

Tomas was unable to speak for a moment while he stood frozen in place by the rogue's penetrating gaze. The edges of the stranger's thin lips almost seemed to curl upward as if in amusement of the effect his presence was having on the blacksmith. Finally, it was the stranger who broke the silence.

"You have something for me." There was no question in his voice, just a statement of fact.

"I...," Tomas stammered. Shaken, he wrenched his gaze from the stranger's hypnotic hold and concentrated on Harvo's replicas of the obsidian daggers. The plan he and the wizard had discussed came to the forefront of his mind. He swallowed hard and breathed deeply to steel his nerves. This was the moment he was waiting for. The whole situation would be resolved in a matter of moments. He had only to play his small part of the plan and Harvo would do the rest.

When Tomas spoke again, his voice was more solid, though it still quavered slightly. "Here are the blades you instructed me to forge. I believe you will be greatly satisfied with the construction." With barely a glance at the illusory weapons, the stranger continued his scrutiny of the blacksmith in silence. After a moment, he stepped up to the forge and reached for one of the blades.

Tomas's heartbeat rang loudly in his ears. He could feel beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. The stranger's movements were slow and deliberate. His hand inched forward like an extension of shadow toward Harvo's magically formed daggers and the minutes seemed almost like hours. The moment the rogue touched one of the blades, Harvo would act and then it would be over.

The stranger's slender fingers delicately wrapped around the hilt of one of the daggers. Tomas, wide-eyed, stood frozen. The stranger's attention was focused wholly on the blade while he lifted it up to his face.

Now, Harvo, now! Tomas screamed inside his head. He felt a drop of sweat slide down his left temple. He watched the stranger study the blade and turn it slowly until the glossy, black surface of the blade reflected the blacksmith's terrified visage. Suddenly the rogue's eyes snapped up, nearly startling Tomas. The man regarded Tomas silently for an instant over the tip of the dagger's blade. Then he lowered the blade and his tight, thin lips twisted in a malevolent grin. There was a malicious gleam in his eyes.

"Did you think these fakes would fool me?"

Tomas's eyes widened. Where is Harvo! his mind screamed. His hands began to tremble.

The stranger nonchalantly dropped the fake dagger and cupped his chin between thumb and forefinger, appearing contemplative. He was no longer looking at Tomas.

"Perhaps," he said after a brief silence and lifted his eyes to the blacksmith again, "you never intended for me to reach the blades." Tomas, throat tight, offered no response.

"Perhaps you and your friend, whom I found skulking in the shadows, were setting a trap for me."

Tomas's mouth gaped open. His lips closed and parted several times. While he fought for anything to say that might yet salvage the situation, a thought suddenly struck him and his mouth snapped shut. He lifted his gaze to face the stranger.

"What happened to Harvo," he asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

Vince gave a wry smirk. "The same thing that happens to anyone who crosses me."

Tomas stared, petrified, into those coal black eyes. No emotion reflected in the man's eyes, only a soulless void of cold darkness.

"Papa?"

Tomas's heart lurched to a halt when he heard the soft voice of his daughter. His eyes darted across the room where Maya had just entered, holding Fek the cat in her delicate arms.

The stranger turned enough to view the child without straining his neck. Maya regarded him with a dark look that seemed to say, "You don't belong here."

"Maya, honey," Tomas tried to sound calm, "go on to the neighbor's down the road. I'll come and get you when I've completed my business with this, uh, gentleman. Go on," he demanded more firmly when Maya didn't respond. Slowly, she started toward the door, holding Fek tight against her.

"A lovely child you have blacksmith." The stranger continued to stare at Maya, who returned his gaze defiantly. "Perhaps I won't force you to watch her die." His eyes still on Maya, the stranger said this last just loud enough that the child could hear. Though her eyes widened in fear, the full effect of the threat was had, as the stranger intended, on Tomas.

"You'll not touch my daughter!" Tomas screamed and lunged at the man. With lightning speed, a hand snapped out from under the stranger's cloak. Tomas felt a sharp pain underneath his ribcage and felt his body go weak. He looked down to see one of the obsidian daggers he had created protruding from his side, the stranger still grasping the hilt.

Maya screamed.

"Run, Maya. Run," Tomas tried to scream but his voice came out in a barely audible rasp. He clutched futilely at the stranger who had just impaled him. Already he could feel his life ebbing, draining away with the blood leaking from his wound. Delirious, he gazed down at his wound, realizing with some surprise that there was no blood dripping from the wound. Barely finding the strength to raise his head, Tomas glanced into the stranger's eyes. There was now a faint, red glow in them. The man was using the foul blade to drain his life!

"Demon," Tomas managed to whisper. As if that effort had used up the last of his strength, Tomas's head dropped.

The stranger smirked, staring gleefully like a man drunk on wine.

"No, not a demon," the stranger corrected. "Vince. Vince Rathbow. Know that name, the name of the one who took your life and your daughter's, for you will know it again one day when I come to command your corpse and even your soul."

Vince savored the last drops of Tomas's life-force like a well-aged mead, then, with a strength that belied his slender frame, he tossed the blacksmith's limp body away. The obsidian dagger released the corpse with a 'schuck' sound. The blade was black and shiny. Not a drop of blood colored its surface.

"Daddy!" Maya screamed. Vince turned his attention on the girl. "You killed him!" She glared back hatefully through wet eyes.

Vince advanced on Maya, walking with casual, unconcerned steps. He drew out the second dagger from beneath his cloak and displayed both weapons before him. Maya's stare did not waver. Her eyes lanced into the necromancer like arrows of hatred.

"I'll kill you" she whispered. As if offering up a threat of its own, Fek hissed at the rogue as he approached.

Vince appeared mildly amused at the display.

Suddenly, the cat's eyes began to glow and sparkle like crystal orbs. Then the glow spread outward until it encompassed both cat and girl. The glow increased until the light became blinding and forced Vince to avert his gaze. The light became so intense Vince was forced to shield his eyes beneath his cape. When he was finally able to look again, the girl and the cat were gone.

Vince was disappointed.

The girl had escaped him.

Damn that pitiful wizard hiding in the shadows. Even though he died before he had had a chance to glimpse the rogue, the wizard managed to cause trouble for Vince. But wizards always had a way of disrupting other men's plans.

Vince smiled in spite of himself.

"Not if I beat you to it, girl," he answered Maya's exiting threat. He studied his new weapons and reveled in the power he felt vibrating through them, power which was meant only for him.

"These will do nicely," he decided. A dark malevolence gleamed in his eyes while a multitude of sinister possibilities swirled in his mind. Gripping the daggers tightly in his hands, Vince tilted his head back and laughed quietly, menacingly, a rare display of emotion.

Then he faced the shop's exit and took the first step on the path toward his destiny.

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