Don't Be Surprised!

he pain flowed directly into his brain, every nerve screaming as his tendons were severed by the rusty scalpel drawn slowly across the back of his knee by a sweating, leering slave of the temple.

'Why did it always have to be him?' he thought to himself as he stared down at the scarred, shaven head of the slave through tear filled eyes.

First the trial by fire in Zinard, and now this in Marandor, but this time it was likely to be permanent. Not many people survived being dropped into a volcano.

Then, of course, a man of his, well, talents would run into some sticky situations, it's just that getting out of them wasn't his forte so much as getting into them.

The last time, a young girl had rescued him. The town militia had captured him off guard, with his trousers down so to speak. Actually, he'd got as far as dragging his tatty left boot on over his hastily donned breeches as the soldiers burst in on him. The girl had uttered a piercing scream as he'd been dragged away, fat lot of good she was.

Fortunately the young girl had been distinctly impressed with his, what he described as, sideshow, and had arrived shortly after him to see him being hoisted above the roasting pit for 'trial'. Two hours into the trial she still hadn't done anything and he was feeling mildly roasted as had his captors because they lowered him with cries of 'court adjourned until tomorrow' and he was dragged off again, this time to a cosy, damp cell with a skeleton for company.

He had a few hours to think through what he'd done, it wasn't what might be described as obvious, just a minor display of his power a few villages back but nothing here. Nothing that counted anyway, the barman didn't count, did he? After all he'd been protesting, something about 'not my daughter please not her, you've had my wife and mother already!'

Before he had time to consider the situation in greater detail his cell door sprung open to show the beaming face of the girl, not that he interested in her face, not bad but the body was of more interest. She beckoned to him and he left the cell, together making a quick run for it. Needless to say the girl got captured because she couldn't fit in his hiding place. As he stretched his cramped body during the hours following her capture he listened idly to her screams echoing continuously.

When the heat died down he'd just strolled out and on his way as if nothing had happened, as was his wont.

Well that was all in the past, this was the present and as things stood they looked considerably worse than ever before. The locals just weren't impressed by persons of his persuasion.

The pain screamed into his mind once more as his little finger was smashed by a large hammer wielded by another anonymous, sweating slave. The audience were grinning openly now that his screams were echoing around the walls, a bad sign.

He thought rapidly and acted like lightning. He managed to catch the hammer in his shattered hand as it fell for another blow, wrenching it from the startled slave's hands.

The slave tried to scream, failing only due to a missing tongue, as the hammer fell onto the other slave hovering near his good knee, smashing his skull as if it were merely egg shell.

The only things between himself and freedom of action being a narrow chord holding him up and the slave above him. No bindings could ever maintain a grasp on his physical being, shown clearly as they flowed through his body as if by magic as he surged up and over the slave who was now desperately grasping at him.

With rapid strides he moved gracelessly but silently towards the lord presiding over the sacrifice. The crowd sat stunned into silence as the lord's eyes widened in amazement as realisation came to him that he could never escape his fate, no man, big or small, young or old could turn and flee from this.

Then the lord knew it was all over, as with speed no ordinary mortal could possess, the Vatman was upon him.