There is a garden that looked over the city. In the steady haze of rain trees, bushes and flowers began to regain their splendor after the dry, heavy days of median. Vines crept like serpents down the bleak stone walls, carefully clipped and tied away before they reached the small, barred windows that stared like the eyes of a skull out into the rain.

A coach rolled into the courtyard, its walls and driver cloaked in glistening black. Slowly the heavy steel doors to the building opened silently, morbid designs of tortured and trapped spirits engraved along the rims A gray cloaked figure shuffled into the rain and took the greymanes by their reins.

The driver shook the rain from his cloak. "Its a miserable day for Laeolis let me tell you, I'm soaked to the core. You still keep that pot o'mochan by the fire? Lets get this over with so's I can get my hands around some of that thick brew eh?"

The gray cloaked figure only unfastened the greymanes and lead them away to the nearby stable. The driver jumped from the wagon and pulled a halberd from a rack behind the seat. He tapped the tip of the thin blade on the door of the coach . "Rides over Mallen. Welcome the rest of your life."

He unlocked the door and peered into the shadowed cabin. Out stepped a lean, well muscled man dressed in simple white, his arms and feet shackled by black chain. His eyes, a hard and brittle blue blinked in the meager sunlight. He looked passed the wearied guard, to the heavy steel doors that lay open like a hungry maw.

The heavy chain hit the halberd with a metallic slam, knocking the unready guard to his knees. Mallen swung again, this time punching a dent into the guard's chest-plate, leaving him wheezing on the slick stones. The prisoner smiled once as he lifted the chain for a killing blow, he never saw the thick fist slam into the side of his skull, sending him skidding senseless across the cobblestones. The gray cloaked figure walked towards the dazed prisoner and, without passion or malice, kicked him into bloody unconsciousness.

Slowly the guard stood, his breath coming in a ragged tear. "Thank you Argot ... My own fault that ... getting complacent in my old age." The hunched gray figure only nodded and picked up the prisoner with one hand, carrying him inside the gray prison walls.

"Stupid bloody stupid! Rookie mistake and I go and make it. Me! Ruddle Startopper with fifteen years on the force."

They were huddled by a small fire, large steaming mugs in their hands. The unconscious prisoner bleeding on the floor by the door. Ruddle sat nursing his ribs, his black cloak draped over the halberd to dry by the fire. Across from him sat a short and heavy figure, his skin a splotchy molt of red and purple, short horn breaking from his left temple.

"I owe you on Argot, if it wasn't for you my carelessness would have cost my kids...the ones I know about anyway, a father. Bloody, bloody stupid."

The scrunched patchwork face almost smiled. He nodded towards the prostrate prisoner. "What did he do?"

"Huh? Oh him. Merry piece of work this one. Highwayman known as Mallen the Malavrax. Ran through an Aristocrat's daughter just cause she put up a fight. Right in front of her father too." He shook his head and took a long pause. "Argot, they want you to loose him. He's the son of Causidian, high placed one too if I understand it. They don't want the embarrassment of a public execution. "

The hunched, disfigured man nodded slowly.

"Good lad. Sorry about the trouble I've caused. Thanks for the mochan." Ruddle stood and collected his cloak. A small pouch hit the table with the jingle of coins. "Don't worry about the 'manes, I'll hook them up myself. Be seeing you and again.... my dearest thanks lad." He took the halberd and walked from the warmth of the fire.

Argot finished the last of his mochan and picked up Ruddle's cup. Walking to a basin by the hearth he began to wash the mugs, talking quietly to himself as Mallen lay bleeding on the floor.

Argot sat in the rain, watching as the shadow lay sleeping under the bushes. This is how he had found her, wounded and hissing like a panicked catdrac in the small grove of spice trees that grew near the chimney. He had fed her some drugged meat and bandaged her arm as best he could. She would wake soon and go back into the city where they waited with their nets and crossbows.

One blood red eye opened to stare at him from below the bushes. Argot sat perfectly still and began to speak in gentle, rhythmic tones. He spoke in a language wrapped in magic, an ancient language that preceded man's first steps on this world by millions of years. He talked of the city, the dangers that lay beyond the garden. Those that that sought to hurt and those that sought to kill. The red eye never blinked.

Mallen lifted his head, the blood from his nose mixing in the rain. "Where in Drax name am I?" Argot didn't turn instead he continued to speak in the low murmured tones.

"Hey ugly. I'm talking to you! Answer me damn it." Mallen tried to sit, but found himself chained tightly to four nearby trees. "What kind of sick game is this? I demand to know what's going on!"

Argot sat in silence until the red eyes slowly blinked. He stood and walked away.

"Where do you think you're going? Hey... Hey!" Mallen yelled at the guard. He swung his head around to try and get a better look at the retreating gaoler , freezing as his eyes fell on the two cold points of red fire burning out from below the bushes.

Argot closed the door to the roof, cutting off the terrified screams of pain that tore across the garden. For tonight at least she would stay and be safe. He walked back into the small kitchen and poured another cup of mochan, slipping the small purse from the table into his pocket.

Matthew R. Webber

--NPC's--
Argot - is from the Worldbook. I made up his disfigurements using the tables in CYC III
Ruddle Startopper - a guardsman
Mallen the Malavrax - what's left of him anyway.

Part IHalf a Life
Part II A Long, Strange Day
Part III Let Sleeping Sindra Lie
Part V Memories and Fireworks

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