Shayla

By R. Alexander Young

Inside his enchanted armor, Pacelac could not feel the weather. It might have been a balmy spring day, the stiff wind no more than a light breeze. The armor and axe were covered with an intricate pattern of interlocking swirls of red and white, the colors of the dwarf's deity, who had forged them. Above keeping the weather out, the magic enabled Pacelac to move freely in any environment and also protected him from almost anything that might cause earthly harm. Inside his metal shell, he let his mind wander, trusting his instinct to keep him on the right path and to alert him of any nearby dangers.

His reverie was snapped by a distant shout carried to him on the wind. Stopping, he perked up his head. It was an enraged scream, filled with terror and anguish. Pacelac sighed as he shrugged his large leather backpack more firmly on his shoulders and doubled his pace down the trail.

Within minutes shapes began to distinguish themselves from the white background. A large structure, a house, was the first thing he could discern. Soon movement at the front of the house revealed itself to be three large humanoids, working in concert against a fourth and smaller blur. Pacelac rushed closer. Now he could see the larger shapes clearly; they stood over eight feet tall with flabby gray skin that was loosely covered with animal hides. Ogre, he thought disgustedly. Above their tusked faces were topknots of greasy black hair which fell behind them to their knees. Two wielded large tree limbs, the third possessed a battered sword which looked like a toy in his giant hand. They had surrounded a small woman, who stood not much over Pacelac's five feet. She screamed and cursed, flailing ineffectually at them with an iron-shod walking staff. Now that he was closer the dwarf could make out another figure slumped in the snow. Spreading from the far end was a pool of red, standing out starkly against the pure white of the ground.

Pacelac drew his axe from its belt loop and gave it a mighty heave towards the closest ogre. It spun silently through the air, sunlight whirling off of the twin blades. As it approached the monster the axe slid to its side and cleaved clean through the neck of the giant. Blood trailed behind the glittering axe as it curled around to return to its master. The ogre had not had time to make a sound. Its body sagged forward, the ruby liquid of its life coating the wall of the house like demonic paint. The head fell straight down, landing at the upturned heels of its former body.

The other two ogres stood in shock, staring at the body of their comrade while the axe returned to the dwarf's hand. Then with a wail of outrage they rushed their smaller opponent. The ogre with the sword took time to stop and hack down the amazed housewife, whom they had only been playing with before. Pacelac saw the blunt blade rise and his world slowed. He opened his mouth to scream as the sword crashed home with lethal force upon the unwitting woman, releasing a fountain of blood. That blood settled in front of Pacelac's eyes as the scream died in his throat. He felt rage boil up from his belly, suffusing his body with warmth. The red and white swirls of the armor and axe responded to his anger. At first they quivered, writhing like snakes in a den, then slowly they flowed together into a deep, brilliant rose-pink. The dwarf raised his arms and screamed a war cry as the ogres broke over him like a wave.

Now time seemed to speed up. The first ogre reached him and made a clumsy blow with his club, trying to marshal the momentum of his charge into one fatal blow. Still screaming, Pacelac sidestepped easily and brought the axe up from his hip with both hands. It caught the monster solidly across the thigh, biting to the bone of the beast. With and anguished cry it toppled forward, loosing its club to catch itself on its hands. Quickly Pacelac spun and brought the axe to bear with an overhand chop. The ogre's body collapsed as another head decorated the snow red. The second ogre came up warily, brandishing its sword, its look uncertain. The dwarf stared, blood running down the blades of his axe and over his gauntleted hands.

Pacelac's voice emerged in a strained whisper as he struggled for control of his emotions. "It won't do ye much good ta run, lad, for I'll hunt ye down like the dog ya are." His soft brogue lent menace to the words, but not as much as his flashing eyes. In those eyes the ogre saw the certainty of his own death. The beast leaped forward, swinging his sword. The dwarf stepped into the attack and brought his axe up to meet the sword blade to blade. With a ringing crack the sword snapped near the hilt, the blade flying crazily into the snow. Reversing his stroke Pacelac cut for the stooped ogre's neck, but the monster leaped back just in time. Only the very tips of the blades had grazed the throat of the ogre, who flopped onto his back. Terrified, he attempted to roll over and rise, intending to flee. But Pacelac was already moving. As the monster tried desperately to gain his feet the axe crashed down squarely on the thing's back, severing its spine.

The dwarf stood over the last body for several seconds, letting the haze pass from his vision. Placing his left foot upon the corpse he wedged the pink battle axe from the body. He took deep breaths to calm himself and watched as the axe slowly returned to its normal state of decoration. Using snow to clean off the blade, he slipped it through the loop on his belt and headed for the house.

Before the door of the domicile lay the bodies of its keepers. The man lay as Pacelac had seen him earlier, face down in the snow, blood pooling by his shattered skull. The woman was curled around him, one shoulder nearly severed, her good hand clutching her husband's soaked shirt. As Pacelac watched, the last light of life drained from her eyes. Reaching down gently he closed her lids, breathing a soft prayer to Valorian, the God of Justice and his own chosen deity.

As he stood wondering where to bury the couple he heard a soft noise from inside the house. Instantly the axe was in his hands and his eyes searched the doorway warily for signs of attack. Swiftly he crept to the entrance and gave it a gentle push. It was locked. Squaring himself to the door he reared back and bashed his mailed shoulder against the wooden obstacle. It shivered with the impact before flying open. Using his momentum the dwarf rolled into the room and stood up quickly, axe at the ready. Staring at him in wide-eyed awe was a little girl, hugging a small stuffed bear made out of rabbit fur. Pacelac pulled back and lowered his axe, a smile coming to features hidden by the visor of his helmet. The little girl screamed and dropped her toy, running for the back of the house. She disappeared into the kitchen and the screaming stopped.

Fumbling with the fastenings, Pacelac quickly pulled off the helmet and his gauntlets, taking the chance to shake the ice out of his beard. He reached down and gathered up the soft stuffed bear and cautiously made his way to the kitchen.

"Come here, lass, I'm here ta help ye." He made his voice as soft as possible. Pausing at the door, he scanned the kitchen. Nothing. "Come now, lass, I'm not going ta hurt ye, I promise ye that." His battle trained ears caught a soft scrape from the far corner of the room, wood sliding on wood. Pacelac entered the room slowly, his mailed feet thumping on the hardwood floor. Stopping in the middle of the room he crouched and peered under the table. The girl was there, huddled in a corner, twined around the legs of one of the homemade chairs. She was about nine, with dirty blond hair that framed a pretty face highlighted by vibrant blue eyes. He smiled as broadly as he could and offered her the bear. "Here, lass. Ye're little friend tells me that he's scared and wants for ye ta comfort him." The dwarf slowly slid to the edge of the table and placed one knee on the floor to steady himself. He held the bear upright, a hand under each arm, and extended it to the girl. Again he tried his best smile. "I promise that nothing will happen ta ye, lass, nor ta ye're little friend here. I'll protect ye. I'm here ta help, I swear by Valorian."

The girl's look of suspicion lessened, and her eyes lingered longingly on the outstretched toy, but she made no move to reclaim it. "My brother said that too, and now he's gone. And where are mama and papa?" Her eyes focused on Pacelac's face, pleading for happy news.

"Ye're parents are gone, lass. They've begun a long journey, and a happy one, I'm sure. But they can't be here ta protect ye anymore, so they asked me ta do it." Pacelac cringed at this lie, but he saw it as his duty to see the girl safely to her nearest kin. He saw the tears well in her eyes as her lower lip started to tremble. "They didna want to go, lass. They didna want ta leave ye alone, but they had no choice in the matter." She hung her head, but steadfastly refused to cry. "Ye mentioned a brother, lass. Where is he?" Hope sprung up in Pacelac's heart that maybe she had not been left alone in the world.

"He went hunting in the woods to the north." The dwarf inhaled sharply. North. Into the Griffonheights Mountains. That was ogre territory, as well as being the home of the pseudoclan and the monstrous flying beasts for which the range was named. "But he's been gone for three days! He's never gone this long!" She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "He said he'd protect me too. But he didn't."

"He would have had he been here, lass, ye can be sure of it. Now please, come out from there. Ye're friend here still needs ye." He softly shook the bear and again held it out to the girl. She looked at his face, the face of a seasoned warrior who had seen death in almost all of its forms, a warrior who had killed more foes than he could remember. But she saw kindness there, and pity. She uncurled herself from the chair and emerged from under the table. She reached out to retrieve her favorite toy and looked up at Pacelac, her face beaming in brief happiness to have her companion back. But quickly her gaze went past the dwarf, and horror entered her visage. Pacelac turned, falling onto his hip, to look behind him.

A small ogre stood, rage burning in his features, the club in his hand poised for a fatal blow. As the club descended the dwarf flinched instinctively, and the weapon glanced off the side of his skull instead of directly on top of it. Pain and light exploded through Pacelac's mind, shattering his thoughts and bringing tears to his eyes. Desperately he flung himself backward, away from his attacker. As his vision cleared, he saw a menacing shape advancing towards him through the bright dots of color that floated across his eyes. The club came up and descended again. The dwarf raised his mailed arms, blocking the blow with the magical armor. Although Pacelac knew that the god-forged armor would stop the blow and prevent any serious injury, it did nothing to soften the impact or to stop the pain that flared along his forearm, which was shivered into numbness by the force behind the weapon. He blocked a second and third blow, knowing that only one had to get through to end this fight.

Suddenly the ogre lifted its head and bayed in pain. The dwarf's vision finally cleared and he could see the Ogre clutching at its thigh, blood welling from between its fingers. The little girl stood next to the beast, her precious toy in one hand and a long kitchen knife in the other. Enraged, the monster reached down to snatch the knife away, but the girl fell back and the ogre caught the stuffed bear instead. The girl clung tenaciously to the toy, her teeth bared as she refused to give it up to the monster who towered over her. The ogre raised his club, this time aimed at the child.

Pacelac lunged for the beast, teeth bared in a snarl, his armor pink before he had lifted himself into the air. His armored form struck the ogre in the midsection as the club reached the apex of its stroke, and both were born to the ground by the weight of the stocky dwarf. The monster clung to the bear, which ripped as he fell. The girl fell backward, the arm of the bear clutched in her hand. Having lost its grip on its weapon the ogre clawed at his attacker, nails sliding ineffectually across the enchanted plates. The two forms writhed on the floor of the kitchen. Steel flashed in the sunlight streaming through the lone window and a gasp came from the pile. Abruptly all was silent. Pacelac groaned and raised himself off the corpse, a bloody dagger in his hand.

Breathing heavily, the dwarf looked around for his little companion and found her lying where she fell, the knife beside her, clutching the arm of the bear to her chest. She sobbed, her tears running down to wet the wisps of wool stuffing hanging from the torn toy. Looking down at his latest victim, Pacelac saw that this ogre was younger and smaller than the others. Probably his first raid, he thought with a touch of regret. The beast was dressed as the others had been; animal hides loosely covering the mottled gray skin, belted at the waist. He noticed a large sack tied to the belt. It was holding something large and round. Swiftly bending over Pacelac took up the bag. Making sure that the girl hadn't noticed his interest yet he opened the sack and quickly examined its contents. It held the head of a young human male, late teens, the face forever frozen in shock and pain. The family resemblance was uncanny and could not be missed. They take trophies of their first kills, he remembered sadly. He pulled the drawstring of the sack and placed it on the floor, then turned to the little girl, now alone in this world.

He approached her cautiously. Not knowing what to say, he sat next to her and gathered her into his arms. At first she resisted, the feel of his plate armor seeming cold and impersonal. But he whispered encouraging words, soothing her fear and loneliness. His callused hands stroked her hair as he rocked her back and forth. Soon she relented and embraced him. She never noticed the silent tears he shed for her lost innocence.

*****

A week passed. The dead had been laid to rest, their bodies entering the final embrace of the earth. Pacelac had taken a cart and horse from the farm, as well as some supplies. There was no one to object; the girl, Shayla, had no other living relatives, no one to claim her. She still traveled with the dwarf, who had turned north. He knew of a home that would probably take her in and provide her with everything she could want. But his night the cart stopped in front of an inn, the last before the dwarf and his child companion entered the more dangerous ground of the Griffonheights Mountains.

After handing the reins to the stableman with strict instructions to have the beast and cart ready by dawn, Pacelac helped Shayla down and entered the inn holding her hand. The strange sight drew the stares of most of the patrons, but the dwarf ignored them as he made his way to the bar and boosted Shayla onto one of the stools before sitting down next to her. With a weary sigh he tapped a golden crown on the polished bar. "Barkeep, bring us some dinner and me a porter." He turned to Shayla. "What would ye like ta drink, lass?"

"I want what you're having."

The bartender looked at the dwarf, whose face was etched with surprise. "But. . . But ye canna have what I'm having, it's not a drink for little girls."

Shayla's bottom lip plopped out and she crossed her arms. "I am not a little girl!! You said so yourself."

Pacelac grunted in exasperation. He had told her that she had acted like a grown woman, and that he was proud of how courageous she had been in the house. To take that praise away seemed cruel. "So I did, so I did. And porter does taste. . . " his face screwed up as if the word he was about to say pained him, "bad, anyway. No, no, I think I need something healthier." Sighing, he hung his head and turned back to the bartender. "Do ye have any milk, lad?" Shayla smiled up at him. The patron to Pacelac's right spurted his beer onto the bar and laughed until he found the cold eyes of the dwarf piercing him. The scrape of steel on steel sounded as Pacelac ran his gauntleted hand up and down the blade of his axe. Ever so slowly the red and white of the dwarf's strange armor ran together to form a brilliant pink. The man quickly turned away and continued drinking his ale. The bartender nodded quickly and turned away, managing to hide his smile until the strange dwarf couldn't see him. He had children of his own, and understood.

Shayla grabbed Pacelac's arm and yanked on it until she had his attention. "Unca Pace, will you fix Growly tonight?" She offered up the toy bear's arm, stuffing still hanging out of the torn limb. The rest of the bear had fallen in the ogre's blood, and Shayla had elected to leave it there. But she refused to part with the limb she still possessed.

The dwarf nodded and motioned for one of the barmaids to come over. He took the arm and showed it to the waitress. "Lass, how much would it take ta get a pretty girl like ye ta sew up the end o' this. Me niece here wants ta keep it."

Before the barmaid could answer Pacelac felt a familiar tug on his arm. Shayla looked up at him in consternation. "You said you would fix him, Unca Pace."

He stared down at her. "Ye're not serious, are ye, lass?" Her eyes remained fixed on him, a pained expression in their depths. He sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Turning back to the waitress, he noticed an understanding smirk on her face. "Ahem. I mean, do ye have a needle and some thread that I might borrow from ye?" The barmaid nodded, a tight lipped grin on her face, trying not to laugh, and left to retrieve the requested items. The patron on Pacelac's right studiously ignored the dwarf. They ate their meals and paid for their room, then retired for the night, Pacelac sullenly clutching a needle and thread in the same hand that held the bear's arm.

"Valorian's blood!!! Remind me ta wear me gauntlets the next time I try ta sew!!" Dots of blood flecked Pacelac's callused fingers from where he had driven the needle into them. The arm was half closed with a loose, uneven stiching, barely enough to keep the remaining stuffing in place. Shayla stared up at the dwarf with undisguised affection. Looking at her, he set back to work with a harrumph. "There won't be a next time, I can guarantee that!" he whispered vehemently under his breath. Shayla's tinkling laughter echoed through the room. Squinting his eyes to get a better look at the minute work, Pacelac began to work the needle (which had had to be threaded by Shayla) through the tough rabbit skin that the arm was made of.

Soon he was deep in concentration, his tongue sticking unconsciously out the side of his mouth. Then the needle slid into his finger again. "Son of a. . ." He choked off the rest as he caught sight of Shayla. She lay on the bed on her stomach, chin cupped in her hands, and calmly watched as Pacelac sputtered the beginnings of every curse he knew, only to stop when he remembered that she was there. Eventually he finished, forgetting about his pricked fingers when he gave the arm to Shayla and saw her face light, the tears of joy welling in her eyes. She curled up next to him that night, as she had every night, the newly repaired limb clutched to her chest, needing the dwarf to chase away the monsters that invaded her dreams.

*****

Pacelac continued north, Shayla in tow. He knew now where he had to take her; to the only people he was fairly sure would take her in and that he knew would give her a proper home and upbringing. Every step that the horse took along the mountainous trails put more lead into his heart, for he had come to look upon her as his own. But she could not stay with him. There were no signs of ogres or other monsters, and he kept them far away from the aeries of the griffons who nested higher up on the peaks of the range. They were also several days travel from their destination: the homelands of the pseudoclan.

The pseudoclan were a race of beings magically created rather recently by a group of the most powerful mages on the planet. As a result of the mages' experiments to combine humans and elves into a superior being two subspecies were created. The dhewleria were tall, most standing near seven feet, and had a bluish cast to their skin. Known as powerful mages in their own right, they led the revolution to overthrow and destroy their creators and masters. They also possessed thin, gauzy wings, like those of faeries. While not strong enough to lift themselves into the air, the wings did allow the dhewleria to glide from one elevation to a lower one, and folded neatly against the creatures' backs when not in use. Generally considered to be one of the smartest races, the dhewleria ruled the pseudoclan with wisdom and justice.

The camarians were the warriors of pseudoclan society. In their natural form they appeared rather short but stocky, standing around five and a half feet tall and well muscled. Their skin had a pale, almost cadaverous look, and they were known to be completely hairless. Unlike their cousins, the camarians seemed to be allergic to magic; they could not even handle enchanted weapons without becoming violently ill. However, they possessed the ability to change their shapes into that of whatever form they wished, and as such made excellent guards and assassins. Pacelac continuously scanned every rock and tree for signs of them, not wishing to be caught off guard and risk injury to his charge.

They were still two days travel away from the border of pseudoclan territory, a sheltered mountain valley, when a shape appeared before them as they turned a corner of the trail. Pacelac pulled on the reins, stopping the horse in order to study the obstruction thoroughly. It was a minotaur. He stepped forward and gestured to the dwarf, inviting him to parley.

The beast stood well over eight feet tall, his skin a dark gray in color. Patches of mahogany hair, carefully groomed, hung from his body and jet horns came out of his head, curling down before turning up at the ends. Covered in only a leather loincloth the minotaur stood with his arms crossed, apparently unaffected by the weather that turned his breath to frost as it passed through jagged teeth. An enormous axe hung from his belt, the obsidian head almost as large as the dwarf. A thick ironwood handle was tied to the head, its end worn smooth by the hands of its user. As Pacelac climbed down from the wagon the minotaur's eyes found Shayla, regarding her with a cold intensity. He smiled, his pointed teeth showing though cold-chapped lips.

The minotaur waited for Pacelac to maneuver in front of the horse before addressing him. Just as he opened his mouth the impudent dwarf began speaking. "Would ye mind terribly getting' out o' the way, lad? We've got a good clip yet ta make before dark."

The minotaur glowered down at the dwarf, to no effect. "I'm afraid I can't do that." His voice rumbled across the trail, its deep bass rolling over Shayla, who shivered with fear. "May I know whom I am addressing?"

Pacelac's chest puffed out as he drew himself up to his full height and mimicked the minotaur's crossed-arm stance. "I, lad, am Pacelac Scourge, First son of the Fifth House of Tydall of Monolar Dwarves. And I have someplace I need ta be."

The beast waved his hand peremptorily and stared at the dwarf. "You will travel no further. I am Karstathian Minosis. I am a Death Dealer for Bladek, the God of Death." His hand stabbed out at Shayla, his finger pointing accusingly. "She has outlived her time. Her soul leaves here with me." The minotaur re-crossed his arms and gave the dwarf a smug look.

Surprise was etched on Pacelac's face, and he turned quickly to look at Shayla, who was on the edge of tears. He turned back to Karstathian and squared his shoulders, his face now mottled by rage, his armor rapidly blending to pink. "Rather she has lived long enough or no, the girl stays with me. Her soul stays in her body, where it belongs. And any ideas ye have ta the contrary had better leave yer mind in a hurry, or I'll cut them out with Decapitator." His hand reached down and caressed the edge of his axe, giving meaning to the threat.

"You named your axe, how cute. You are no match for me, runt. I am one of Bladek's chosen. He himself has given me this mission. She should have died weeks ago, when the ogres attacked her home. Your interference was unwitting, thus you have leave to go, and save your own wretched hide until the Lord of Death sends for it. But if you persist in this course of action, I will be forced to add your soul to hers, and take them both back with me to Azmoth for Bladek's edification. You have been warned."

"Listen, boy. Ye are not taking anyone's soul anywhere. How about I make a bet with ye?" Minotaurs were notorious gamblers, and Karstathian found himself interested despite his better judgement. "A fight. Ta the death. Winner take all. No quarter asked, none given. And ye will not harm the wee child until our business is settled."

Karstathian snorted. "That's not a bet, it's a cakewalk." He bowed in perfect courtly fashion to Pacelac. "Offer accepted, dwarf. I even give you five minutes to prepare yourself and the whelp for Bladek's embrace." The minotaur turned and walked away several steps, then stopped and began stretching and practicing maneuvers with his enormous weapon.

Pacelac walked slowly to the cart, where he lifted down Shayla. Tracks of tears, frozen by the winter wind, trailed down her cheeks. "Come now, lass. I can beat him. I promise I'll protect ye, or die trying."

She hugged him fiercely, her tears flowing freely now. "I'm scared, Unca Pace. He's real big."

He held her at arms length and wiped the tears from her eyes with a gentle caress of his armored hand. "So were the ogres, remember?" Reluctantly she nodded. "Now listen. If things do go badly. . ." This brought another bout of tears from Shayla. "Shhhh. . . Shhhhhh. . . If things don't go well, ye run. Ye run as far as ye can. It's not that far back ta the village. Go there and tell the innkeeper what happened, lass. He'll do what he can ta protect ye. But don't ye worry, I'll be right back." He gave her a wink and turned to face the minotaur. "Are ye ready, ugly?"

Karstathian's eyes narrowed. "To take your soul, yes. This won't take long." He took a few steps forward and swung his axe.

The dwarf resumed his stance across from his larger opponent. "Then come on, ye bull-headed arse!" He glanced over his shoulder at Shayla. "Don't worry, lass. We'll be having beef tonight!!"

Enraged, the minotaur charged, his axe descending in a vicious arc intended to end the fight immediately. Pacelac dodged the wild blow, sidestepping to his left, and the axe flew past him and into the neck of the horse. The dwarf slipped deftly behind the off-balance minotaur and whacked him on the butt with the flat of his blade, then danced backwards with a smile on his face. "Do ye want ta concede now, or should I kill ye next time?"

Karstathian turned around as the horse's corpse slid of the side of the trail, dragging the cart it was hitched to into the mountainous ravine. The minotaur clenched his axe in a white-knuckle grip, saliva escaping through his teeth to fall into the snow at his feet. Silently he charged again. Pacelac laughed and started into the same defense when Karstathian changed his attack and brought the weapon at the dwarf from the side, catching him full in the chest. With a ringing sound the dwarf was hurled into the side of the mountain, one hand gripping his axe while the other explored the large dent in his breastplate. That had never happened before! Suddenly he realized that the minotaur's weapon must be enchanted, like his own. The armor was repairing itself even as he explored the damage, but the fight took on a new seriousness for the dwarf.

Lost in his shock, Pacelac barely noticed the shadow hovering above him in time. Karstathian was there, his huge weapon poised to split the dwarf in two. Desperately Pacelac raised his own axe to block Karstathian's. The two blades met with a blinding white flash of light. Pacelac was pressed against the mountainside, and he heard a thump before Karstathian groaned. He blinked his eyes open, looking for his large opponent through the afterimage the covered his vision.

The opponents rose slowly, each giving their weapon a cursory examination. Where the two had met each now sported a small nick in the blade. Cautiously now they circled each other, their feet tramping down the snow of the trail. This time Pacelac initiated the engagement. They traded several blows with each other, none to any effect. They backed off and began circling again. Karstathian stepped forward and swung his obsidian axe in a wide, sideways arc. Pacelac blocked with his own weapon, bringing it across his body as Karstathian had done and catching his opponent's axe on the handle below the blade, rebounding it away from the two of them. Quickly the dwarf reversed his stroke, cutting the minotaur across the upper chest. Karstathian cried out in pain and surprise, trying to bring his weapon in as a blocking agent. But Pacelac was too close now, and again he reversed his stroke. This time Decapitator caught the other axe on the head where it was attached to the haft and sparks flew. The dwarf planted his feet and heaved, levering with his axe.

Karstathian had neither balance nor leverage, and his weapon was ripped from his hand and thrown several paces away. Instinctively he dove after it, but Pacelac turned and brought his own weapon to bear once again. It caught the large minotaur in the side, opening up a gash that felled the beast and turned the snow a ruby red. Quickly Pacelac stepped forward and kicked his opponent in the ribs with his mailed foot. Karstathian grunted as the air left his body and rolled with the force of the blow. He came to his hands and feet, struggling to rise. Pacelac followed, Decapitator raised high, ready for the killing stroke to the back of the beast's neck. As the pink axe fell it was snatched away by an unseen force, and Pacelac struggled to maintain his balance.

A voice exploded in the dwarf's head with an almost painful intensity. No. He is mine now. He has failed me. Pacelac looked up and cringed back in fear while Karstathian fell to the ground, lifeless. Standing before was a robed figure, twelve feet tall and swathed in black. Though the wind whistled through the mountain pass it did not touch the figure, whose clothes remained undisturbed by its passing. In one hand it held a scythe, firmly planted in the frozen ground. In the other it held Decapitator. The hands were skeletal, small wisps of material hanging from the bone as if they were not quite done decomposing. The hood of the robe was drawn up, but it could not hide the furnaces that burned where the eyes should have been, their angry light showing the cheekbones of the skull that made up the being's face. That face stared at Pacelac, the eyes burning as surely as if he stood within their depths. Shayla ran to his side and clutched his leg, trembling in fear.

The being raised Decapitator up to its skeletal face, the light from its sockets reflecting eerily off of the lacquered surface of the weapon. Slowly the being turned its eyes back to the dwarf. Who are you?

The question jolted Pacelac from his reverie. Once again he drew himself up and puffed out his chest. "I am Pacelac Scourge, First Son. . ."

The being waved its hand, the giant scythe silencing Pacelac. I know that. But whom do you serve? Where did you receive these articles?

"I. . . I completed me Lifequest for Valorian, God o' Justice. I guess I serve him."

The being tossed its head in a way that indicated annoyance and raised its eyeless gaze to the sky. With a flash of light and the boom of thunder echoing through the valley a second being appeared. This one was a giant, standing at least twenty feet tall, with a long mane and beard of flaming red. He carried a giant hammer of some green metal in his right fist and looked derisively down at the figure in black. His voice echoed among the mountain peaks, and griffons took to the air, looking to protect their young from whatever threat had awakened them during the daylight hours. "What is it you want, Bladek."

Although not directed at him, Pacelac could hear the God of Death's reply. Please come down where I can see you, Young One. Your airs will not impress me, as you well know. Valorian suddenly shrank until he was the same size as the skeleton in the black robes. The Lord of Death extended a bony hand to indicate Pacelac. Your minion has interfered with mine. We must address this situation.

"Interfered? How?"

My Death Dealer was here to take the soul of the girl. His hand shifted its target to Shayla, who trembled at the attention. Your servant prevented him from doing so.

Valorian turned his green eyed gaze on the dwarf and his charge. "Why did you interfere?"

"Well, I. . . " Pacelac shrugged. "I saved the wee lass from some ogres, and I was takin' her ta someone I know who would take care o' her when this bull-headed goose showed up and said she had ta die. We been together for awhile now and she's a good lass, she don't deserve ta be taken away. She's young, she's got her whole life ahead o' her. I couldna let her die."

Valorian regarded the dwarf, his hand scratching his beard in contemplation. Finally he shrugged. "Release the girl. She is Bladek's now."

"NO!!" Shayla clutched him tighter, and Pacelac put an arm around her as if to shield her from the Gods that surrounded them. "I willna do it. Ye can take the armor, and the axe. Ye can even take me instead, but I willna give up the lass!!"

Valorian's eyebrows rose in annoyance. "You defy me?"

"Aye, that's right, lad. Ye're the God of Justice. What is just in the senseless death of a little girl? She's done nothing ta warrant such a penalty. That makes it murder!! Ye're supposed ta bring murderers ta bay, ta give them their due, and yet ye would stand by and watch one happen? What's wrong with ye?"

The god stared at the dwarf, then shook his head and turned to his counterpart. "Perhaps my minion is correct. This would be an unjust death, especially now after this. . . wager was made. I have an alternative."

The skull cocked sideways. What do you propose?

"I have a follower in the city-state of Flotscathe who has betrayed me and fallen off the path I have set. However, she is still my follower. You may have her. Her most recent crimes deserve death anyway."

Interesting. The hood nodded, obscuring the flame in the sockets momentarily. It is highly unusual, but I accept.

The God of Justice indicated the minotaur. "And what of him?"

He has failed me because he was stopped by your henchman. He may retain his life for now, but he will have to work hard indeed to regain my good faith. I will bear him with me to one of my temples nearby. Join me and we will discuss this follower of yours in Flotscathe. Bladek gestured with his scythe, and he and Karstathian disappeared. Decapitator fell into the snow. After giving Pacelac a penetrating glance, Valorian too disappeared.

Pacelac picked up Decapitator and slid it into place at his side. Then he collected the sobbing Shayla in his arms and started trudging down the path. Dark was quickly approaching, and neither had a mind to make camp in that particular spot. Soon he found a sheltered niche out of the wind and built a merry little fire. It was enough to keep Shayla warm and safe.

The morning dawning bright and clear, small wisps of clouds drifting lazily across the azure sky. Shayla was up early, and with the resiliency of youth she had already forgotten the events of the day before. She ran along Pacelac's side as he walked the path, sometimes scampering ahead, sometimes lingering behind. She never let him out of her sight. Any strange noise that she heard would send her scurrying to the dwarf, claiming she was tired and asking to be carried for awhile. He obliged fondly, her weight nothing to his battle-hardened muscles.

Several times Pacelac called for her to be still and silent as he listened for something. Occasionally he believed he could make out horse hoofs pounding on rock, but it was an echo of an echo, if it existed at all. He mused with a smile that it would take a very large horse to make noise enough to be heard, even with the echoes of the mountains. Just after midday the path crowned and began descending. He explained to Shayla that soon they would visit friends of his and be able to relax in a real house for a time. She smiled up at him and held his hand.

That night Pacelac found another place that the wind rarely reached and set up camp. Soon he and Shayla were sound asleep in front of large campfire. But something awakened him. It was a rumbling, one he could feel as well as hear. The mountain began to tremble and the rumble became a roar. The dwarf scrambled for Shayla, covering her with his armor clad body just as tons of snow and ice tumbled past them. Shayla screamed, the sound of her terror engulfed in the overwhelming cacophony of the avalanche. As the snow started to hit his back, Pacelac planted his knees and hands on the ground, creating a small space beneath him in which to secure Shayla from the ravages of nature.

Soon the snow stopped falling and a serene, if tense, peace settled across the mountains once again. Unseen, a gray skinned minotaur mounted his huge steed and headed back the way he had come, a triumphant smile showing his ragged teeth. He had to get to Flotscathe. He had a mission there.

The minotaur was not there to see the first mounds of snow appear as Pacelac dug his way out of the drift he had been buried under. His arms were flaccid, the muscles burning in protestation of further movement. But he hauled himself on top of the snow, a small form trailing behind him, clutching his belt. He turned and helped Shayla the rest of the way out of the drift. Fortunately, due mainly to their position in the lee of the mountain, they had been only lightly buried. The dwarf had only had to dig through some seven feet of snow and ice, and due to his enchanted armor he was still quite warm and dry. The same could not be said of Shayla. She was soaked to the bone, her skin pale and her lips blue as she weakly moved her arms to generate friction.

Pacelac clutched her to him, knowing that she could not survive the night in her present state. Nevertheless, he rocked her and whispered soothing words. "Un. . . Unca. . . Unca Pace, I'm . . .c-c-c-cold." Her chattering teeth made her nearly incomprehensible.

"I know lass, but there is no wood ta build a fire from."

"I'm. . . I'm s-s-s-so. . . . t-t-t-t-t-tired." She weakly closed her eyes.

"No, lass, no. Ye canna sleep. Ye canna sleep." He shook her, receiving only a weak moan. "No, lass, no." Tears burned his eyes as he laid her on the ground. "Why!" He whispered vehemently. "Why does she freeze when I sit here safe in me armor. . . Me armor!!" It had been built for a large human male when he had found it, but it had molded itself to his body. Quickly, tired arms struggling, he tore at the clasps that held his armor on. He stopped now and then to shake Shayla, who kept slipping further away. Finally he had the armor off, and he began removing the sodden clothes from Shayla's now still form. He buckled on the breastplate and waited, the chill air bringing his hair to stand up along with the bumps on his arms. Nothing happened. "Change, dammit!!" he screamed at the armor. "Shape to her!" It acquiesced. Slowly the armor molded itself around the girl. Crying, the dwarf buckled on the rest of the armor. It all followed suit, and soon a small warrior lay on the snow. The color returned to her face and lips, her breathing became more regular. When he was sure that Shayla was going to make it through the night, he stood. His clothes were now sodden, especially around the knees. He rummaged through his backpack for new clothes and his boots, then began to pace in circles to keep himself warm throughout the night. Monolar dwarves were known for their hardiness. This would be a walk in the park.

Shayla awoke covered in the strange armor, the sun overhead. She looked around and saw Pacelac stumbling around in a small circle, his eyes closed, muttering incoherently beneath his breath. She moved, and found that the armor was remarkably light. She stretched her arms and legs, watching as the articulated plates of metal slid soundlessly over each other, not hindering her movements in the slightest. She stood up and lifted the visor of the helmet, then walked over to the dwarf, who was practically asleep on his feet. Tugging on his hand, she called softly to him. "Unca Pace?"

"Huh? Wha. . .What?" He raised his head and stared down at the girl, his features lighting with a smile. "Well there ye are, lass. Look at ye, the little warrior." His eyes shined as he scanned her up and down. She spread her arms and pirouetted, then fell against him, giggling.

"Unca Pace, this is fun!" She danced about on the snow, trying to imitate some of the moves that she had seen him make.

He retrieved his belt, Decapitator still hanging on it, and buckled it on. "Well, come on, lass, we've not far ta go now." He began stumbling down the remains of the trail, Shayla trotting at his side.

Soon she gave a slight tug on his hand to get his attention. "Unca Pace, where are my clothes?"

"Well, lass, they were wet and frozen, so we left them back there." He threw his head over his shoulder indicating the clearing they had left behind.

"But what am I supposed to wear now?"

"Ye'll have ta wear the armor till we find me friends, lass. They'll have something they can fit for ye. I'm sorry."

"You mean that I have to wear this all day?"

"I'm sorry lass, but that's the case."

"Yea!!" She ran ahead, dancing against invisible opponents again.

They traveled the rest of the day before stopping to rest. They were up soon after dawn to begin again. Pacelac stopped them at the entrance to a lush valley, sheltered from the harshness of the winter by the surrounding peaks. He stared around at the collection of trees and rocks and motioned for Shayla to stay close to him. He cleared his throat. "Ahem! Lads, I am here upon important business ta see yer leader, Glatinor. I come in peace, mean no one no harm at all, and we'll be leaving again soon. So just show yerselves and let's talk."

The armor clad little girl stared around in wonder. "Unca Pace, who're you talking to?" Two trees and a boulder began to stretch and change, soon assuming the shape of camarian warriors. "Oh." Shayla tightened her grip on Pacelac's hand.

The leader of the guards stepped forward after picking up his spear, which had been hidden under the rock shape that he had assumed. His eyes focused on the dwarf with cold menace. "We have orders from Glatinor that no one is to be admitted. Thus you will turn around and return to the lands from whence you came."

"Lad, I'm sure that he didna mean ta keep me out. Ye see, I'm Pacelac Scourge, and Glatinor and I go way back together."

"The dwarf that fought in the Homeland wars?" Pacelac nodded. "Then you will come with us."

The captain turned on his heel and headed deeper into the valley. Pacelac, Shayla in tow, followed after him. The other two guards took up flanking positions, slightly behind the strange duo, thus placing them in the middle of a steel triangle. They walked in silence for more than an hour before entering into a small town built into the base of the valley. The dwarf and his child companion drew the stares of all who saw them, and a soft wave of whispered speculation rippled in their wake. A few of the older pseudoclan recognized Pacelac and bowed respectfully. The dwarf answered with smiles and nods, even the occasional wave.

Soon the party had traversed the small town and the land began to rise again as they ascended the other side of the valley. A small but well-used footpath guided them through the thick coniferous forest. As they walked the path became more level, and widened out into a clearing which surrounded a small well. Here the captain stopped the group and turned to face the dwarf, attempting to loom over him menacingly.

"If you are lying and I disturb Glatinor for no reason, I will take great pleasure, and a prodigious amount of time, in separating your bearded head from your shoulders." He moved closer still, placing his hands on hips and glowering in an intimidating manner.

Pacelac smiled up benignly. "And if I'm tellin' the truth, and ye have just threatened a personal friend of the Head of State. . . " The dwarf reached up with his free hand and scratched his chin. "Well, I'm not one ta keep a grudge." He winked up at the captain, who seemed somewhat taken aback. "I promise that I'll decapitate ye quick and clean, lad. Ye won't suffer at all." His grin widened as the guard turned on his heel and continued down the path.

"Keep them here, and guard them well." The steps of the captain were soon covered by the afternoon sounds of the forest.

Pacelac led Shayla to the well, where they sat in the meager shade offered by the structure. The two remaining guards kept to the edge of the clearing, their eyes never leaving their charges. Shayla huddled close to the dwarf, her eyes wide as she stared at the camarians. Soon the sound of footsteps returned to the pathway, but this time there were two sets. The guard captain rounded the corner and pointed at the two by the well, conversing briefly with a new arrival.

Glatinor entered the clearing and stopped in surprise. "Sweet Kerpei, it is you!" He stood near to seven feet with a lithe, sinewy build. The sun glinted off his white hair, making it seem nearer to silver. A prismatic spray of colors danced along the gossamer faery wings which had extended in shock. Pacelac rose, drawing Shayla with him. Quickly he gathered himself and proceeded across the intervening space, hand extended. They greeted each other as equals while the captain scowled.

"Swearing by the Goddess of Nature, lad? That's not like ye."

"A new fad among my people, to worship the Goddess. Looking for redemption in Nature, I guess, seeing as how we aren't natural." Glatinor grimaced and changed the subject. "To tell the truth, friend, I had not expected to ever see you again."

"Well, I was in the neighborhood. And I thought I might claim that favor that ye owe me."

Glatinor's eyes narrowed. "I repaid that favor."

"Ach, lad, I saved yer whole people! Can't I get another one?" Pacelac raised his right hand, showing a tiny space between his thumb and forefinger. "And a wee one at that."

The dhewlerian chuckled and clapped the dwarf lightly on the back. "I'll see what I can do. Come up to the house, Elan will be glad to see you." He indicated the child clinging to the warrior's left hand. "And your companion, too."

Pacelac picked up Shayla and turned her towards his friend. "This is me friend, Glatinor. Ye can trust him as ye would me." He stared into her eyes until she nodded, then looked to the pseudoclan. "Glatinor, this is Shayla."

The tall dhewleria reached out a hand tentatively. "Hello, Shayla, it's very nice to meet you."

Quietly the girl took his hand, and he smiled. Her gaze was locked on his wings. "Can you fly?" she asked with a breathy whisper.

Glatinor winked at her. "Almost." Releasing her hand, he half-turned down the path. "Come, let's go to the house. Captain, thank you, you are dismissed. Please return to your post." As soon as the guards had gotten out of earshot Glatinor glanced at his guests. "Pacelac, why is she wearing the armor?"

The dwarf sighed as Shayla flexed and giggled, watching the metal move around her. "Well, lad, it's a long story. Suffice it ta say that it was necessary and that she had nothin' else ta wear. Speakin' o' which, do ye think ye could find somethin' for her? I would like ta have me metal shell back sometime or other."

"We'll find something."

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Eventually they reached the house. Set in a large clearing, it was treble the size of any building in the village below. Made mostly from wood, it was a simple dwelling of an austere design that nevertheless showed the beauty of the material from which it was made. Care had been taken to match the grains of the planks, giving the effect that the structure has been hollowed out from the log of some huge tree. A warm glow emanated from the windows, inviting the travelers inside.

They were met at the door by a camarian maid who was ordered to take Shayla back to see if Elan could find her something to wear while the men retired to the comfortably appointed study. As soon as they were alone Glatinor rounded on his shorter companion, but it was Pacelac who spoke first. "So how is Elan doing, Glatinor?"

The question left the host stunned, his mouth hanging open. He recovered with a long sigh and went to the only closed cabinet in the room. Opening the door, he took out a decanter of red wine and a pair of crystal goblets. "As well as can be expected." He poured two glasses and offered one to the dwarf, who accepted. "She still isn't fully accepted or trusted here, even though she is my wife. The people still distrust elves." He took a gulp of wine to hide the fact that he had omitted something.

It didn't work. Pacelac sipped politely at the beverage; he'd much rather have beer. "And?" he prompted when Glatinor didn't continue.

"And we just received word that her youngest sister is with child." He carefully set the goblet down with trembling hands.

"It's not yer fault that the mages who made ye didn't make ye fertile, lad. And she knew what she was gettin' inta when she agreed ta marry ye."

"Yes, but it doesn't make her silent tears any easier to bear." He closed his eyes and turned from the dwarf.

"I may be able ta help ye there, lad."

Glatinor spun, furious at being toyed with. "What do you mean?" Menace rolled off his tongue and magic practically crackled around him. He stared at the dwarf intently, wondering if he could possibly be so crass.

"Easy, lad, easy. I mean Shayla." Quickly he related to the mage the girl's story. "She has no one, lad. And I can't raise her. There are things that I have ta do yet. Besides, I'm a wanderer. If she stays with me all she'll learn is swords and armor, axes and enemies. It's no way for a wee child ta live. I canna think o' better parents for her than ye and Elan."

"And. . . And this is the favor you want?" Glatinor licked his lips and swallowed, the moisture having left his mouth. Pacelac nodded. "I. . . I. . . I don't know. I would have to ask Elan. . . "

"Ask me what, my heart?" The Lady of the house entered the room, resplendent in a white silk gown the hung to her ankles, showing generous curves along the way. The elven woman had jet black hair that hung behind her in long tresses, framing a face of classic beauty. Delicate black eyebrows hung above almond-shaped eyes of piercing green, which in turn poised above high, sharp cheekbones. Her face came to a soft point at the chin. Aside from her features, there was nothing soft about Elan. Her voice had a commanding tone to it, and her manner suggested that that tone had rarely been disputed. She led Shayla by the hand, the girl dressed in a gown which was a near copy of her hostess'. Pacelac almost didn't recognize his companion; her face and hands had been washed clean of their grime, her hair combed and styled. But in her free hand she clung tenaciously to Growly the bear, the arm battered and still dusty from the road. Elan noticed her husband's discomfiture at her question and turned to the dwarf. "You will be happy to know that your armor has been taken to the guest chamber we have prepared for you. You do plan to stay a short while, I hope?"

"Of course, lass, of course." Pacelac bent down and touched the end of the girl's nose. "Now where did ye get such a pretty dress?" Shayla looked shyly up at the woman holding her hand. The dwarf's eyes followed the child's up to Elan's face.

"I gave it to her. It is part of my wardrobe, given to me by my parents when I was married. It was meant for. . . " She looked quickly to Glatinor, locking eyes with him only for a moment before finishing. ". . .for my daughter, should I have a family." Her head dropped slightly, but it was raised almost immediately to a haughty height. "Since I have no use for it, I have given it so that this adorable child might look the part."

An uncomfortable silence followed, during which Shayla yawned. Glatinor smiled down at her. "Perhaps our youngest guest wishes to retire early?"

Shayla closed her mouth with a click. "No, I want to stay up."

Pacelac stood and looked down at her. "Nonsense, lass. Ye're tired, and ye've a right ta be. Besides, ye're safe here, and ye'll get ta sleep on a real bed, and be warm for a change. Now off ta bed with ye."

Elan called for a servant as the dwarf overrode the last of Shayla's objections, and soon she was spirited off to her own guestroom. The remaining adults indulged in another glass of wine in silence. Finally Elan had had enough. She waited until her husband and Pacelac were seated opposite each other before rising and walking between them with a slow, moderated pace meant to draw their attention. As she approached the roaring fire she spoke, just loudly enough to be heard over the crackle of the flames. "What do you need to ask me, my husband?" The tone of command was strong in her voice.

Glatinor gulped down a mouthful of wine before answering. By the time he looked up at his wife her gaze had already skewered him. He sighed. "Pacelac has asked that we raise Shayla as our daughter."

The color drained from Elan's face and the wine sloshed as she tightened her grip on the shaking goblet. She swallowed, and when she spoke none of the turmoil was present in her voice. "Surely she is someone else's child." She turned to Pacelac, her gaze almost pleading. "I have meant to ask you how she came into your care." Once again Pacelac briefly explained the girl's history. By the end Elan had sat down in the nearest chair, her hand still maintaining its deathgrip on the goblet, the wine forgotten. "So she is alone?"

"Aye, lass, she has no one but me." The dwarf's gaze swept the room to include Glatinor in his next statement. "And you." He drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I cannot raise her." Elan nodded her head. Pacelac looked at her and smiled. "Ye know me well enough ta agree, I see."

"No, that's not what I meant. However, I do see that it could be difficult for you." The elf woman lowered her head. "Could she really be ours?"

Her husband stood and moved next to her. "There are things that need to be discussed. For instance, wouldn't she be better off with human parents, in a human village?"

Elan looked up in consternation, but Pacelac answered the question. "Ach, lad, every woman in the village will claim her as their daughter, or at least treat her as such. I have no doubt that she'll be thoroughly spoiled." He smiled to drive home the joke, then continued on. "And as ta having human parents, what of it? Ye can give her the love and discipline she'll need, and I for one can think of no better situation for the girl. She'll grow up without prejudice, able ta see clearly in a world divided by race and culture."

Glatinor looked down at his wife, and both nodded. His gaze returned to the dwarf. "There is only one thing more. She will grow old and die in a matter of years, perhaps sixty at the most. We will outlive her by centuries. Is it right to still be there, looking much as we do today, when she must deal with the effects of her aging every time she looks in a mirror?" He looked back down at his wife. "Would she not resent us for our longevity?"

The elf's face hardened and her eyes looked through her husband, into his very soul. "Are you speaking of her resentment, dearest, or your own? Are you afraid to pain her in the twilight of her life, or are you afraid of the void that will be left in yours when she dies?" They stared at each other, both trying to force the other to see their point.

The sound of a throat clearing interrupted them, and they turned their attention to their dwarven guest. "What matters is that in all likelihood she'll have her parents there for her whole life. I canna think that she could resent that. It's something we all want, eventually. And as for the other point, isn't sixty years of good memories better than an entire lifetime of bitterness and emptiness where those memories should be?"

Glatinor took his wife's hand and stared into her eyes. She nodded and he turned to Pacelac. "We accept your offer. We will raise Shayla as our own."

*****

Pacelac stayed a week with Glatinor and Elan. Shayla soon became accustomed to their presence, and they looked on her with joy in their eyes. On the sixth day the adults sat her down in the study and explained that she would be staying. They explained about Glatinor and Elan being her new parents, that they would take care of her and protect her from then on. She nodded her head, said she understood, but she didn't really believe them.

The next day Pacelac made ready to go. He filled his backpack and put on his armor, Decapitator swinging silently at his side. Shayla watched him with tear filled eyes. The tears didn't fall until the dwarf was outside the door and she stood between Glatinor and Elan as they said their last goodbyes. Pacelac waved to her and started to turn. With a cry she broke free of Glatinor's restraining grasp and flung herself around the dwarf.

Crying miserably, she looked up at the dwarf. "Unca Pace, why do you have to go?"

He reached down and stroked her hair, which gleamed in the morning light. "Because there are other lads and lasses out their that I need ta protect. They need me, like ye did. And I canna let them down."

She lowered her head. "Can't I go with you?"

"No lass, ye can't. I can only protect ye or them. If ye were there, I'd have ta protect ye. Then I couldn't protect them. Besides, ye have Glatinor and Elan ta protect ye now. Ye're safe with them, lass."

"But who'll protect you?"

Pacelac smiled fondly. "I'll have ta do that all by meself, lass. But don't ye worry, I'll do fine."

She looked up and stood, grabbing the dwarf's hand as she did. "You won't be alone, Unca Pace." She pressed something small and furry into his hand, then looked up at him again. "Take Growly. He protected me. And Elan says I can have all the toys I want, now." He looked at his hand in wonder, then back at the child. He stroked her hair again and tried to speak, but words wouldn't come. Smiling, she ran back to stand between her new parents and waved.

As Pacelac slowly turned to go his hand closed tightly over an old, torn, ill-mended limb of a child's toy. The sun glinted off of the one lone clear liquid drop that issued from the warrior's eye. Quickly he made his way to the other side of the valley, to his destiny.

*****

Pacelac sat in his tavern and reflected over four centuries of adventure. It was a tavern he had built, one frequented by his peers. Saints, demons, gods and goddesses used it as a neutral place to air out their differences, or just to get a mug of his famous home-brew. Tonight the place was quiet, its patrons having concerns elsewhere.

The dwarf lifted a mug of his finest and relished the taste as the stoudt beer slid down his throat. He hated it when no one was there. He sighed and then spoke to himself, a habit he had recently developed. "Immortality can be so boring." His mind added and lonely, but he refused to speak the thought aloud. Still, it was the way he felt. Slowly his hand crept inside the clean white tunic he wore until it rested on top of a special pocket he had sewn there himself. It pulled out a misshapen mass of soft leather. The rabbit's fur coat had worn off centuries earlier, and the wool stuffing was now compacted past the point of saving. As his thumb caressed the soft rabbit's skin he thought of blond hair and laughing blue eyes, and he smiled.

THE END

R. Alex Young graduated with honors from the University of Toledo in 1996 with a B.A. in English, concentration in Writing. Although an avid reader from the age of 6, when he discovered Mark Twain, he never seriously considered writing as a career until his sophomore year in college. He now lives in Eastlake, Ohio, just to the east of Cleveland, where he works to pay the rent and writes to please his soul.

Alex welcomes comments and criticism and can be reached at bigal@rmrc.net