Prologue     
     The sorcerer shrank back against the farthest wall of the room he called 
his gallery.  The room held fifty pedestals, a few bare but most supporting
a white crystal statue.  Besides the material all the statues had several     
other things in common.  All were female nudes, all were beautiful and all
looked terrified.  The swordsman's eyes hardened.  The sorcerer might call
this a gallery but he thought of it by its true name.
     An abattoir.
     His gaze fixed on the black sword the sorcerer tried to bargain.  
     "Wait!  I can give you what I gave them!  Eternal youth and beauty.  No
fears about time weakening you, making you old and ugly!"
     Blood still dripped from the sword's tip as droplets slid down the 
sword's runecarved length from the engravings where they had pooled.  To the 
sorcerer every drop struck the floor like a thunderclap.  The blood of 
sorcerers just like him!  His late friends!  Okay, his late acquaintances, 
fellow sorcerers who had accepted the invitation to view his collection.    
It had been an excellent evening.  Until this madman had broken into his
home (for who but a madman would challenge a quartet of sorcerers?), runesword
shielding him from death spells as it delivered a more mundane but far more 
effective song of mortality.  Lord Medasa had seen his guests slain and tried to 
flee but the madman had followed, pursuing him to his trophy room.  Now the 
madman was advancing towards him.  Leaving a trail of sorcerer's blood in his 
wake.
     The warrior smiled faintly at his offer but there was no humour in it.  
     "I'll take my chances."  The smile vanished.  "Even now you have no 
concept of what you have done.  Not to them alone, to everyone who loved 
them.  Parents, siblings, lovers, children ... so much misery.  But the 
feelings of commoners never mattered to you and your kind."  He shook his 
head slightly.  "If it were in my power to make you feel their sorrow ... 
but it is not.  I could never hope to make you understand what you have done, 
all I can do is end it."  He suddenly realised the sorcerer's hands weren't 
scrabbling over the wall he was backed against in pure panic.  He was casting
a spell!  Swinging his sword back for the death stroke he moved forward.
      From behind him there came a howl as a gargoyle carved above the 
arching doorway opened both its wooden jaws and glowing red eyes.  Twin beams 
of ruby light burned through space to strike the swordsman in the back.  The
sorcerer began a laugh which choked off as the swordsman continued advancing
without slowing.  Impossible!  The sword deflected magics but he held it 
before him!  Why wasn't he dying?
     The warrior loomed before him, unstoppable and implacable.  In the 
last seconds of his life the sorcerer saw his answer in the merciless face
before him.
     "IT CAN'T BE!  YOU'RE ...!"     
     Blood sprayed over the walls and the sorcerer's head and body struck the 
marble floor an instant apart.  The red beams vanished and the light faded 
from the gargoyle's eyes leaving only dull glass.  Unconcerned the warrior 
knelt down and cleaned the worst of the blood off his sword with the 
sorcerer's cape.  Scrubbing the film of dried blood from the runes would take 
time and care but that could wait for now.  After searching the sorcerer's
body he straightened up and watched the statues surrounding him. 
     It was sound rather than sight that told the story.  The house should
have been still but there was a faint hiss like a breeze across a sand dune.  
He studied the nearest statue closely and saw thin streams of powdered crystal
falling from outstretched fingertips.  He wasn't really surprised, it had only
been a faint hope that the sorcerer's death would restore them.  But these
were really just preserved corpses with the souls of the dead bound to them.
At least they were freed from bondage and their bodies from being exhibits in
the sorcerer's macabre art display.  In a few hours nothing would remain but
piles of crystal dust.  So much for eternity, like all his ilk with their 
vile collections the spells didn't survive the death of their caster.  A
fact none of these scum would acknowledge.
     He tuned out the hiss and listened for the telltale crack of beams giving
way or walls crumbling into loose stone.  He heard nothing but the normal  
creaks and groans of a large manor house.  Good, as he had hoped this building
had been built with mundane labour unlike those architectural nightmares 
erected and maintained by magic.  There had been occasions when a rapid exit 
was required after killing a palace's builder.  Here there was no need to 
hurry.  
     He stood there awhile longer then shook himself and left the gallery.
Nothing remained that anyone could do for them and he had other concerns.  He 
strode back to the dining room listening for the sounds of anyone else.  
Nothing, the servants had wisely fled.  He was alone in the house. 
     Except for the dead.
     Three bodies were sprawled in the room.  An old man slumped over his
bouillabaisse, the wound in his back mirroring the slice through his chair's
back.  A woman who had looked in her late twenties but now appeared to be on 
the wrong side of middle aged slumped against a wall, sitting in a pool of 
blood.  Lastly a young man, not long out of his teens, lay in a doorway.   
At least most of him did, the forearm he had instinctively raised to try and
block the sword's downstroke had rolled under the table.  
     Two similarities linked the trio of corpses, the first and least 
important was all three wore once splendid attire now ruined by blood and 
sword thrusts.  That hadn't been a consideration, the other connection that
linked all four of his victims this night was the reason they had died.  On  
the faces of three fallen the same symbol appeared, the black oval on their
foreheads that marked them as sorcerers.  The sign the sorcerers called "The  
Mark of Power" known more frequently to commoners as "The Eye of Darkness" or
simply "The Evil Eye."  Surveying the dead the warrior nodded to himself, as 
always it had been worth reconnoitring before striking.  Learning the sorcerer 
would be entertaining guests two days after his own arrival in the fearful 
town he had waited until tonight.  Four kills in a single night was so much 
more satisfying.  A good night's work indeed. 
     The warrior began methodically and without a qualm to search the bodies 
for valuables.  When he had begun his quest this had been harder but he had      
learned to be practical.  You can't live on good intentions and killing a 
sorcerer would only get you a free meal in the town they had oppressed.
Anywhere else they wanted cash.
     Besides he would hardly be alone in this.  Before too long the servants 
would creep back hoping their master was dead but ready to beg forgiveness
if he lived.  For which you couldn't blame them, what choice did commoners 
have but to serve the sorcerers?  Except die.
     So the servants would return.  When they were sure their master was 
dead there would be cheers, celebrations and this place would be looted until
only the bare walls remained.  And even those would probably be torn down for
building material later on.  So since everything would be taken anyway and
he was the one who had killed Lord Medasa why not take his share?
     After finishing with the dead he arose intending to check the sorcerer's
quarters.  The paintings lining the walls were worth a small fortune but he
ignored them.  He wasn't greedy, what he sought were things like coins, 
jewellery and gems.  Small but valuable and easy to transport.  He covered a 
lot of ground and couldn't afford dead weight.  As he started towards the
sorcerer's bedroom he caught his reflection in an ornate mirror.  He stared
at his image in the gilt frame and saw it grimace.  That explained Lord
Medasa's last words.  He winced a little then sighed.  This was going to 
hurt.
     He extended the first two fingers on his left hand and looked at them.
They ignited and he grit his teeth.  Flame flickering around his fingers 
yet didn't burn them.  He stared a moment longer then raised the hand to his 
brow.  Though he tried to hold it back a muffled cry of agony echoed through 
the manor growing louder then abruptly fading into a moan of pain.  Biting 
back a sob the warrior got to his feet glad there was no one present to hear 
that.  It would have given his stoic image a definite battering.  His chore 
done the warrior got back to work.  

end of prologue

The Mark of Kain
a fantasy story by Mark Latus

     Now that the breakfast rush was over Selia finally had to talk to the 
customer she had found so intriguing.  He made a welcome change from the
merchants and drovers who made up most of the inn's guests.  The former cheap
and the latter grabby.  This man was different, you could tell just by looking
at him.
     It wasn't just his clothes though those were also different.  Dark brown 
well worn walking buskins and trousers, a leather jerkin of a lighter brown 
sewn with interwoven metal rings (not as good as chainmail but lighter) open 
to reveal a faded gray shirt over the muscular torso.  Not as well built as 
the village blacksmith but his body looked more proportional
     He wasn't the only one wearing a sword.  That self important courier
who was trying to impress her sister with his supposed rank also wore one.  
Except it was a lot harder to imagine him using it, at least with any degree 
of success.  He depended on the King's Peace to protect him and keep the 
bandits down.  If it came to the crunch he would run instead of stand and
fight.  Like all the other blowhards who stayed at the inn and boasted of 
their supposed prowess in bed and battle.  Not this man, he didn't brag and 
looked as she imagined a warrior should.
     He hadn't said much to her beyond asking the morning's menu but that had
been enough to fascinate her.  There was an intensity about him that drew her.    
Quiet but there was the sense of something lurking behind the calm exterior.
Didn't they say still waters ran deep?  She though she could see hidden   
depths in those piercing blue eyes.  His face was more striking than handsome
though she would have called him very good looking if not for the twisted scar 
tissue on his brow. If he only wore his thick auburn hair longer in front he 
could hide the gnarled skin of his forehead.
     "It does sort of draw the eye, doesn't it?"  
     Selia flushed as she realized both that he was talking to her and that
she was staring at his least attractive feature.  He sounded friendly enough
but all she could manage was an embarrassed nod.  He looked amused and brushed
his part forward to cover most of the signs of injury.
     "Usually I like to keep hair from my eyes.  Blinking at the wrong time
can be fatal.  Anyway is that any better?"
     "Uhm ... (what was she supposed to say?) ... yes."
     He nodded.  "Not the nicest sight I know.  But in my business scars are 
signs of experience and sometimes badges of honour.  If nothing else they
show you knew enough to avoid something that could have killed you."  He
shrugged, "I used to wear a bandanna over it but I decided why should I care 
if anyone else doesn't like it?"
     Perplexed she gestured at his hair and asked, "Then why did you just do 
that?"
     "Well you're much cuter than most girls who stare."  She also did a cute
blush.  At a nearby table the courier who had given up hope on bedding the
stubborn bitch who served him muttered at the unfairness of life and the 
idiocy of girls who could be impressed by old wounds which proved nothing but
carelessness.
     Meanwhile Selia was hesitantly asking, "How did you ..." 
     He shrugged.  "If anyone ever tells you it's a bad idea to fight in a 
burning building and to get out before the roof caves in I'd advise you to 
listen.  But I don't want to bore you with exaggerated tales of my exploits." 
     "Oh that's all right."  Selia was already imagining a somewhat 
romanticised scene based on several novels she had read about dashing warriors
with a knack for rescuing damsels in distress in the nick of time.
     He shook his head, gesturing at the open window.  "Far too nice a day 
for dwelling on blood and battles.  Best to keep stories like that for long
dark nights."  He hid his amusement at her flush, after all it was a good 
sign.  Definitely a peaceful village, where sorcerers ruled you would find  
far less innocence among the young.  "Perhaps you could answer a question?  
Something I noticed on my way through town last night has been puzzling me."
     Selia nodded, "I know everything and everyone in town.  Ask me 
anything."  She was a bit surprised he had taken time to notice anything last 
night.  Her father had told her this morning about the warrior who had 
arrived late last night after she had gone to bed.  He had hired the watchman
to lead him to the inn by torchlight rather than blunder through the 
unfamiliar pitch black streets.  Even so there would have been little enough 
he could see in the darkened village beyond the torch's glow.  It had been
late even by the inn's long hours and Father had already turned in himself 
after closing the doors.  Still being a light sleeper the light clanking of 
the door knocker had roused him before it could turn loud enough to wake the 
whole inn.  The warrior had taken a room without bargaining the price down and 
paid extra to have a bath drawn so late at night with nary a quibble.  Selia 
had slept through all this and not glimpsed the stranger until this morning.  
From that first glimpse he had captured her imagination and fascinated her.
     Putting the memory aside Selia waited for the question.
     "I passed through the village square on my way through and there's a 
big stone pillar set in the center.  I just caught a glimpse as we passed
but it looked like there was writing on it.  I should have asked my guide but
it was getting late and all I wanted was to get to an inn and rest.  So what
is it?  A local icon or shrine of some sort?  More importantly are visitors
supposed to make offerings of any sort?"
     Selia giggled.  "It's nothing like that, just a memorial to the Great
Tempest."
     "The what?"  For a moment Selia couldn't understand the question as she
wondered how anyone couldn't know the story.  Then realized that while she had
grown up hearing the story again and again there was no reason outsiders 
should have heard the tale."
     "It's there to commemorate the victims of the greatest disaster in Corum 
Village's history.  Eighteen years ago a tornado struck the village and 
killed almost half the people.  Their names are recorded on the obelisk so
that must be the writing you noticed."  Selia recalled a few more details,
"The stone was put there a few years after it happened after they finished
rebuilding.  It's supposed to represent the tornado's funnel, story was it 
was going to be sculpted into a cone shape but the council got scared it might 
snap off at the base or overbalance and crush someone so they left it as a
pillar and carved the names in."  She shrugged, "The only ceremony there is 
the day of remembrance and that's not for another two months." 
     "I see."  He seemed to brood for a moment then asked, "It doesn't seem 
to mean much to you."
     Selia shrugged again.  "It's a day off work.  I mean it was a tragedy 
and I'd have more aunts, uncles and cousins if it hadn't happened but it's 
hard to get really worked up about people I never met and something that 
happened before I was even born."  Selia suddenly regretted saying that last 
part, she had wanted him to think her older and more sophisticated.  Quickly 
she blurted, "I'm seventeen!"
     The warrior raised an eyebrow having pegged her at not quite sixteen.
Still he found the flirting entertaining so he didn't challenge her and just 
nodded.  "I'm twenty-six myself."  She looked visibly surprised having thought
him younger but rallied, not an insurmountable gulf by any means.  
     "You don't look it ... I mean you look more like twenty-one, twenty-two!
I don't mean you look older!"
     "Thank you, unless you're implying I look immature."  She began a frantic
denial and he raised a hand.  "Forgive me, a small jest on my part.  Might I
ask your name?"
     "Selia, Selia Savore.  This is my father's inn."  She felt a little
silly saying that remembering the large, "Savore's Inn" sign over the porch.
But he just nodded.
     "Well met Selia, my name is Kain."  She waited a moment but he gave no
other name.  How mysterious!  It made him even more fascinating and the next
thing he did say seemed appropriately enigmatic.
     "You seem to have a peaceful and prosperous village here.  There's rather
surprising."
     Selia blinked at the question.  "Why?"
     "I had heard there was a sorcerer in the vicinity."
     "Madame Fleura?  Yes, she lives about three miles outside town ... is 
something wrong?"  He looked thunderstruck for a few moments then his calm 
exterior returned and all signs of distress were gone.
     "Sorry, haven't heard than name for a long time.  Took me by surprise."
     "You know her?"  Even more mysterious, the only people who knew the
Sorceress were the old folks who had been servants in the manor before she
discharged them.
     "I knew a girl by that name ..." Selia felt a pang of worry.  "Childhood
friend.  Haven't seen her in years.  But she wasn't a sorceress."  Selia
breathed a sign of relief.  Just nostalgia, not competition.  "Old business,
doesn't matter.  What does matter is you've got a local sorcerer and you
don't seem concerned."
     "Why should I be?"
     Kain paused to choose his words carefully.  "Usually it's bad luck to
have a sorcerer in the vicinity.  It doesn't look like she rules your village  
but does she tax it?"
     "No and she's never shown any interest in taking over the village."
     "Abduct or enslave people?"
     "No."
     "Have any villagers gone missing without a trace?"
     "None."
     "Any word on travellers vanishing?"
     "No."
     "Signs of demons or monsters roaming the countryside?"
     "Nary a one."
     "Has anyone had blackouts and not known where they were or what they were
doing during the lost time?"
     "Not unless they drink too much."
     "Anyone aged faster or slower than they should?"
     "Only in their own minds."
     Kain looked a little nonplussed.  "You're sure this Fleura is really a
sorceress?"
     Selia nodded.  "Absolutely.  She comes into the village occasionally 
and trades for things like books, silk, meat and other stuff she can't grow."
     "Grow?"
     "She's got these beautiful gardens and huge greenhouses filled with 
beautiful flowers and fruit, some common stuff but mostly it's all these
exotic ones only she can grow."
     Kain looked thoughtful.  "Any side-effects to eating fruits grown by a
sorcereress?"
     "None I've heard of and she's been trading with storekeepers since I was
a little girl."
     "And she actually trades?  She doesn't just take what she wants and give 
them spoiled plants in exchange."
     "No.  I've heard old Michael say he could pay twice as much as he does 
for her orchids and still make a tidy profit reselling them in the capital."
     Kain seemed puzzled.  "So you've seen her in the village and she's got
the sorcerer's mark."
     "Yes but she never lingers.  She doesn't like crowds so she slips in and 
out of town when it's quiet.  I think she arranges her visits with the 
storekeepers beforehand."  Looking conspiratorial she lowered her voice and told 
him, "But I know she's got the third eye, I've seen her up close." 
     "Really?"
     Was there a hint of skepticism there?  Selia kept going, "I snuck into her
garden once."
     "Interesting.  Please proceed."  Happy to have intrigued him Selia did
her best to comply.
     "It was quite a while back, I was about eight years old at the time.  Me   
and some other kids had sort of told each other that we weren't scared of the
sorceress ..."  Kain interrupted.
     "People are scared of her?"
     "Not really, it was more like our parents told us not to bother her.  
They weren't and aren't scared of her but everyone figures that if she likes 
being alone then it's best not to bother her.  Just to be on the safe side.  
But to kids that meant they were scared of her.  So we got to talking about 
how we weren't scared of her and everyone tried to sound braver than everyone 
else so that before we knew what were doing we had all vowed to sneak into 
Madame Fleura's garden and steal a flower.  So five of us wound up lurking 
in the woods that surrounded her manor, all of us terrified and praying 
someone else would back out first so the rest of us could call them a coward 
and head home.  But because we all waited for one of the others to crack
nobody dared budge so all of us wound up sneaking together from the trees 
into her garden."
     "It's a beautiful place, even the grass is thick and lush.  Beds of 
flowers everywhere, so many blooms.  Trees of all sorts, some with fruit, 
some with pretty blossom set around the house.  I was trying to seem in 
control so I said, 'Guess she hasn't seen us so let's grab one each and go
quick!'  Then this voice behind me said, 'Just what are you planning to grab?'
We turn around and sure enough Madame Fleura's looking at us.'"
     Selia recalled the race in more detail.  "I thought she was old at the
time but looking back I don't think she was even twenty.  She looked a bit 
stern but not really menacing.  Actually I think she was mainly curious why
we were there.  Of course at the time we all screamed and tried to run away.
I fell over and skinned my knee and panicked.  I guess I carried on like I'd
just broken it.  Not that any of my friends stuck around to try and carry me 
off.  So I was howling like my leg was falling off and sure she was about to 
do something terrible to me.  Then I realised my knee had stopped hurting and
I actually looked at what she was doing.  She had plucked a leaf off a plant
with blue flowers and was holding it against my knee.  She said it would act
as an analgesic (I found out what that meant afterwards) temporarily but we 
needed to take care of it properly.  So she told me to wait there and went 
back in the house.  Of course I didn't dare move.  Anyway she was back a few
minutes later just as the pain was coming back carrying a basket of supplies.  
She cleaned off my knee, smeared this poultice on it and bandaged over it
and said it would be stiff for a while but it wouldn't hurt and would heal
without a sign by tomorrow.  Then she wiped off my face, I'd been crying quite
a bit, and asked me why I was there.  I told her about wanting to steal a 
flower and how I was very sorry and the others made me do it and promised 
never to bother her again.  She just shook her head and asked if I liked 
roses.  I didn't know what to say but I told her yes.  So she got up and 
snapped a white rose off this bush.  I think she did some magic then because 
I saw a couple of thorns fall off the stem.  Then she tucked it in my hair and 
said it suited me.  I thanked her and she told me I'd better hobble home and 
tell everyone I was okay.  So I limped off, I guess I was overacting, as I 
was walking normally once I was out of sight."
     "I imagine your parents were relieved to see you."
     "I'll say.  My friends had been telling everyone lurid stories about 
monsters grabbing me.  I was kind of annoyed about them abandoning me so I
kicked a few shins and gave Fatty Cobbler a black eye.  So the crisis was 
over and things went back to normal ... oh yes, one more thing.  When my 
parents heard the flower was one of Madame Fleura's they got nervous.  They'd 
have liked to throw it out but it's not a good idea to ill-treat sorcerer's 
gifts so they let me wear it."
     "Did it do anything?"
     "It stayed fresh for a week which was good for a cut flower without water
but then it began to shrivel so I pressed it and put it away.  I suppose I've
still got it, or whatever's left of it somewhere."
     Kain shook his head.  "You're a lot more fortunate than many who trespass
on sorcerers."
     "I guess so from the stories I've heard of other sorcerers.  But I 
sometimes wonder if there's anything to those.  I mean Madame Fleura's a
sorceress and she never causes any harm.  I think she's a bit lonely maybe
because she's the only one of her kind around here."
     "Be thankful one sorcerer is all you've got."  Kain seemed to be mulling
something over.  "While she's harmless now that could change if she gets in 
a really bad mood.  In my experience there's only one kind of good sorcerer."
Selia waited but he didn't explain.  
     A thought occurred to her, probably fueled by too many bard's tales.
"Are you here seeking some great evil to challenge.  If so I'm afraid you've  
wasted your time."
     He laughed.  "Nothing so fancy.  I'm no hero, just a wandering mercenary 
looking for work.  Seems I picked the wrong village."
     "What's wrong with it?"
     "Nothing, that's the problem.  Corum village is peaceful and prosperous.
Good for you but bad for me as no one's looking to hire bodyguards or 
soldiers so I'll have to move on."
     "Already!"  She sounded dismayed.
     "Not for a few days yet, I could use a bit of peace and quiet."  He 
glanced out the window estimating the time of day.  Time marched on and he 
had things to do.  "Much as I've enjoyed talking to you I do have a few things
to get done, could I have my bill please."
     Selia blinked then realised she was clutching the slate to her.  "Oh,
of course!"  He barely glanced at the chalk written figures.
     "That seems fair."  He handed her a silver and Selia thanked him.
     "It will take a moment to get your change."  True as she guessed her
father would have to open the strongbox.  He shook his head.
     "Don't bother, just buy yourself something nice with whatever's left."
     Her jaw dropped and she managed to, "Thank you, sir." 
     "Kain."
     "Thank you, Kain."
     "Enjoy it."  He rose and started towards the door then paused and asked, 
"Do you work during the evenings as well."
     "Yes."
     "Well, perhaps I will see you tonight.  Good day."  With that he departed
leaving Selia waving at his retreating back.  You could practically see the
little hearts in her eyes.
     They disappeared as she heard the courier shouting to attract her
attention.  Sighing she turned and saw he had finished and was looking for
his bill so he could get underway, having no reason to dally.  As her sister
had made herself scarce it looked like she was stuck with the job.  She asked 
him to please wait a minute and went to erase the slate, duck into the  
kitchen to ask her sister what he had eaten and work out their bill with the 
abacus so she would get it right.
     Selia wasn't surprised that the courier gave no gratuity, in fact he 
tried to claim he owed less than she said so she had to bring over the abacus
and add it up again before him.   After he had grudgingly paid his bill and
departed she gathered up the empty dishes for washing and tried to concentrate 
on her chores.  She didn't need her mother slapping her for slovenliness and    
failing to maintain the rigorous standards she insisted upon. But her mind 
kept wandering back to the stranger.  She wondered if she would see Kain 
tonight.  She hoped she would.  He must have a lot of stories to tell and she 
wanted to hear them.  Then perhaps ... giggling to herself and flushing she 
carried on with her chores.  Looking out from the kitchen her sister sighed 
and shook her head.  This could mean trouble.  Hopefully that mercenary would 
move on soon, having no reason to stay in the village too long.
     Kain wasn't too far away.  He had returned to the square to find it 
full of market stalls.  He had stopped at one and was studying the displayed
produce with some bewilderment.  
    "Fresh pineapple so far north?"
    The chubby faced man behind the counter nodded happily, "Straight from the
renowned hot houses of Madame Fleura."  He named a somewhat usurious price
Kain was sure he would never ask of a local.  Kain studied the fruit but 
couldn't detect any sign of magical taint.  It appeared to be exactly as 
advertised.  He put it down with seeming regret.
    "Too much for one man to eat and it would spoil before I got to eat more
than half.  I'll just take a couple of apples."  The stall keeper was 
disappointed and overcharged as best he could on the apples.  Kain paid 
without haggling.  Why not?  It wasn't as though it was his money or he ever 
had any shortage of funds.  Not yet, not with the pickings so thick. 
     Kain stopped at another stall to buy a loaf of bread and a wedge of 
cheese.  He already had a full waterskin so that took care of lunch.  
From a pouch on his belt he unfolded a thin sack and dumped his purchases
inside.  Slinging it over his back he set off to the west where the forest 
rose to follow the curve of a hill.  He had a lot of walking to do today and 
wanted to cover all the ground well before dark.
     It took Kain two hours to reach the hilltop and some searching to find
what he sought.  It was so overgrown he thought perhaps he was in the wrong
place.  But a few minutes searching revealed the ivy covered remains of a
wall.  He followed the line of the wall and found blocks of stone covered by
undergrowth but nowhere as much as there should be if it had crumbled under 
the elements.  Stripped of everything useable once word filtered back to the
village that the master and mistress would not be returning from the war.
How long had that taken?  The war had concluded thirteen years ago, how long
had it taken to learn the tyrants wouldn't be returning?  Judging by the young 
trees that grew where carefully maintained lawn had been perhaps ten years 
ago.  A decade after they had departed to join the war.  Twenty years ... 
time enough for a new generation to grow up who didn't know what it meant to
be under a sorcerer's thumb.  Except there still seemed to be a sorcerer near
Corum village and both the name and dwelling place troubled him.  Old ghosts
were rising to complicate matters.  It had seemed so simple, as he was near
return and deal with the sorcerer.  Except it couldn't be who he thought.  It
made no sense!
     At length he got to his feet and began the trek to the alleged sorcerer's
manor.  Time to find some answers.  He just hoped he could live with them.  
     Later as he neared the manor he could glimpse through the trees he was 
still mulling things over.  He had been recalling both Selia's story and 
some old memories and been unable to reconcile the two.  But something had  
occurred to him.  The fruit in the market bore no trace of magic, Selia
never actually witnessed the alleged sorceress casting a spell.  He had no
idea how long a cut rose could last but were there chemicals that could 
extent their bloom?  So this "Madame Fleura" knew herbal lore and chose to 
live apart from others.  That made her a scholar, eccentric but hardly a 
sorceress.  Surely that was the answer.  
     Surely.  Yet Selia said her forehead bore the sorcerer mark.  How to
explain that?  A tattoo perhaps to make others believe her a sorceress so they
would respect her privacy?  Possible yet if felt very unlikely.  He was aware 
just how much he was reaching but ...   Kain slowed his pace then halted.   
After a few moments he cautiously advanced to stop just short of threads of 
energy that would be invisible to most people.  Ward spells encircled the
grounds and whoever had set them was no amateur.  Still why place them here?
Most sorcerers were too arrogant to set alarms but those who did put them
farther from their dwellings to give them time to prepare a defence.  These
would serve little purpose other that noticing if children or other minor
intruders had entered the gardens.
     He studied the manor and the grounds surrounding them.  The manor looked
well maintained if not ornate.  Joining to it were a series of interconnected
greenhouses, humidity fogging the glass but leaving silhouettes of tropical
palms and other hot climate trees easily identifiable.  As Selia had said
the grounds were beautiful.  Lush grass broken by flowerbeds and trees 
arranged in eye pleasing patterns ... He suddenly realized he had somehow
overlooked the woman working at one of the flowerbeds.  Her back to him she 
hadn't noticed him and kept searching for weeds.  Strong, capable fingers 
delicately moving fragile stems out of the her way without damage as she 
worked.  Her clothes were plain and utilitarian, sandals, faded blue blouse 
and dungarees.  Long blonde hair tied back out of the way with a red ribbon 
she worked away humming an old tune under her breath.  Kain strained to hear, 
it sounded familiar.  He took an involuntary step forward, forgetting years
of training as he stepped into the wardlines.  He was cursing himself as a
fool as she stopped humming and stood up, her movements showing curiosity  
rather than hostility.  She turned to face him showing green eyes in a heart
shaped face.  Eyes that met his and widened in shock.  Above them the sign
that marked her as a sorceress seemed to glow as it caught the sunlight.
     It was as though the distance that divided had melted away and each could
see every detail of the other's face.  For a timeless moment they stood there
transfixed.  But all moments pass and Kain turned and fled, shifting from the 
path he had followed to the manor.  He drew his sword partially from the 
scabbard and fixed it in place.  An old trick, it would disrupt any attempt
to locate him magically while not hampering his flight by having to carry a
drawn sword.  His woodcraft would let him evade more mundane pursuit and he
turned all his attention to moving with the sounds of the forest.  He spared 
none for why he was fleeing and had he been asked would not have been able to
answer.
     At Fleura's manor the sorceress shook off her paralysis and walked 
hesitantly to wear the warrior had stood.  She stood on the edge of the 
grounds and peered into the shadow of the forest.  She didn't see anything nor
did she really expect to but even so she could not resist softly calling out
a name she had not spoken aloud in over ten years.
     "Koram?"
     Only the whisper of the breeze answered her.  She stood there for a time
then abruptly turned and marched back into her home.  Time to pay a visit to
the village and make a few inquiries which meant a change of clothes was in
order.  After all she did have an image to maintain.

End of Part 1