When Roubris Chor picked up the corroded battleaxe, it didn't tell him its name. Even when he asked. In fact, it didn't speak at all. So he dropped it carelessly to the ground and walked on, his eyes resuming their scan of the field. He saw broken bits of armor and bones picked clean amid the tall grass, but he ignored them. He needed weapons. Specifically, a weapon that had taken a life or two.

The open field of green grass and wildflowers hid the fact that he stood upon the site of a furious battle from just a year earlier. Such battlefields covered the land of Lastwall like a pox, but it was a pox of which Roubris could make very good use with his unique talent.

A glint of metal caught the man's eye and he stooped low to get a better look. A short sword lay amid weeds and grass. Its blade bore a significant notch. If it were to ever be used in combat again, it would certainly snap in two. The hilt was simple, and the leather strips bound around it were frayed and rotten after likely spending a winter there on the ground. A semiprecious stone sat loosely within a rusted setting in the pommel. He though it likely jasper, but Roubris didn't care about much about it, for the weapon might hold a far greater value. The crossguard bore an inscription: "Never again."

Smiths were always putting meaningless nonsense on weapons. Roubris ignored the inscription and the pommel stone and instead whispered, "Hello?"

"Who? Who is there?" The voice was only in Roubris's mind, but it was clearly not his own. Though a profound baritone, the voice's female characteristics were unmistakable. As usual, it seemed far away at first, and confused, as though the speaker had awakened from a long and deep slumber.

"My name is Roubris Chor," Roubris said aloud. He didn't need to speak aloud for the spirit inhabiting the blade to hear him, but it was easier for him to manage the conversation if at least one of them was truly audible. An entire conversation in one's own head could quickly become confusing, he had found. This was certainly not his first time doing this. "I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" The voice seemed closer now. Clearly coming from the sword. The weapon, in fact, almost thrummed with its words. As always.

"Yes. I can help put you to rest."

A pause in the conversation suggested that the voice from the blade spent some time considering.

"You may not realize your situation," Roubris said. "Many of you don't. You're confused. It's understandable. You're the spirit of someone who died in battle. Do you remember your name?"

Again a pause. Then, "Nivua. Nivua Aranash." She said it as though Roubris should have heard of her. He hadn't. He never did.

"All right, Nivua. Pleasure to meet you. Here's the short version of the story, just so you know what's going on. You need to know that you died here wielding this sword. Probably about a year ago. I know, that's not easy to hear. It may not even make a lot of sense to you. You see, your weapon was primed to store a part of your soul because you used it to kill one or more of your foes before you yourself fell in battle. Now you're trapped in the sword. It doesn't happen a lot, of course, but maybe more often than you'd think.

"Don't worry," he added quickly. "I can get you out of there."

"I remember the battle," the voice said, tentatively. "I felled several of the savage orcs. They were monstrous and many, but unskilled. I remember."

"I'm sure you do," Roubris soothed. "It's the last thing that happened to you."

"Is my... is my body around here somewhere?"

Roubris looked around. "Doubtful. Sorry. The battle was a year ago. A lot can happen to a body in a year." Eaten by bugs and worms, devoured by wild dogs... "It's likely that you were pulled from the field after it was all over by your comrades or loved ones or something. They probably had a funeral for you. I'm... sure it was very nice. I'm sure you were well honored."

The voice sighed in Roubris's head. He wasn't sure if it was wistful, sad, or just trying to take it all in. Then she began muttering to herself, for lack of a better term, although it was all in Roubris's mind. He ran a hand through his curly brown hair and then across his unshaven jaw. It didn't pay to spend too much time consoling the dead spirit at this point. He needed to get to business.

Besides, the muttering was damned irritating.

"Nivua, if I'm going to help you, I need something."

Her voice sharpened. "What?"

"I need funds. Restoring you is a costly process."

"How can I... I can't pay you. How can I provide you with money at a time like this? Shouldn't a priest such as yourself help a... lost soul... simply to serve the will of the gods? How can you ask me for payment?"

"I'm not a cleric. But I know one. My talent is that I can talk to you, Nivua. No one else can."

"But I have no money. Not like this. I have nothing."

Roubris spoke in a full, forceful voice. He was alone on the field. There was no one else to hear. "You must remember something of value, Nivua. Some spoils of war secreted away for a rainy day."

Again she sighed, then remained silent for a time. Roubris waited. Finally she said, "No. No, nothing."

Now Roubris sighed. He looked into the late afternoon sky, at the billowing clouds overhead, and then at the mountains in the distance. "Well," he said, again in a whisper, "then we're going to have to do this another way."

"What does that mean?"

"Nivua, you probably took some kind of secrets with you to the grave. Everyone does."

She didn't reply.

"You probably know something about someone that he or she wouldn't want anyone to know. Some dark little secret. Everyone's got them. Trust me. Everyone. Tell me something like that, and how to find the person in question. I'll take care of the rest."

"What?" Nivua's voice shouted in Roubris's head. The small sword nearly shook out of his hand. "You want me to betray someone so that you can extort them for money?"

"They won't know it was you. They'd never suspect you. Obviously."

"I can't do that."

"I know it's hard, but you have to understand. The process for restoring you to your proper afterlife is costly, Nivua. I don't like this any more than you do, but don't you want your just reward? Don't you want to see your loved ones again in eternity? I can't help you if you don't do this. To me, getting you to the paradise you deserve is more important than squeezing a few coins out of someone who's likely not as deserving as you."

"Perhaps you could just go to my family. Ask them for money."

That never worked. "They wouldn't believe me. They'd think I was a con artist. They can't hear you, Nivua. Only I can. It's my gift. You have to trust me. I'm the only one that can save you. And you have to do it my way. I've helped people like you before. I know what I'm doing."

Roubris was patient through the next long silence. Eventually, he felt the sword throb. "All right," Nivua's voice said quietly. "I can tell you something. Give you something you can use. It's not someone's secret. I won't do that. It's a hidden cache of gold my family keeps for emergencies."

"Good, good," Roubris said aloud. "That will work fine. This is an emergency, after all. They'd be happy to know how it was spent if they truly understood."

"I still think that if you just went to them and explained—"

"No, Nivua. They wouldn't believe me, and they'd take the sword as a keepsake. You'd be trapped on the family mantle for who knows how long. You might spend eternity as a knick-knack. A keepsake they'd eventually forget to even dust. Worse, after a generation or so, you could be sold to a junk dealer by some great nephew who didn't remember who you were. You'd be melted down as scrap. At that point, I don't even know what becomes of you. Maybe you fade into nothingness with no weapon to hold your soul."

He poured it on thick, but Roubris knew that this kind of treatment usually worked.

And it did. "All right," Nivua said. "It's hidden in a box behind a loose stone in the well behind my old house. I'll tell you how to get there."

"Excellent."

Roubris pushed open the massive oak doors and walked into the temple of Iomedae, goddess of valor and justice. "I've got another one for you, Karatha."

The young priestess looked up from where she knelt in prayer. "Hello, Roubris," she said in a gentle voice. She wore the traditional white robes of her order, which did nothing to conceal her broad shoulders and muscular frame. Her long brown hair was straight and pulled back behind her head. She had an angular face. Her eyes were a soft but piercing blue. Karatha Obbaros stood and approached him.

Roubris held the notched short sword in both hands. His pants were still muddy from where he'd knelt to get at the box of gold coins hidden in the well. His jerkin was likewise filthy. He probably should have cleaned up. Probably should have entered the temple more humbly and quietly. Probably should have shown a little more reverence. He had been here so many times before that he didn't think of it. In truth, he hardly thought of the place as a temple. It was just a resource for his "business." Roubris wasn't a religious man, but Karatha was a friend and he respected her devotion. Besides, there were never worshipers or other clerics here at this time of day. He knew Karatha would be here alone.

His behavior didn't seem to put off Karatha. But then, it never did. He knew that she was aware of his activities—although perhaps not the full extent of them. She knew that he got payment from the spirits trapped in old weapons, but she probably didn't know that he sometimes extorted money from people based on the secrets he learned. At least, he hoped she didn't. And after all, he donated some of that money to the temple so that she could perform the needed rites to see the captive souls put to rest. Not all that he earned, of course, but didn't he deserve payment for his trouble? He had to eat like anyone else.

Karatha smiled and said, "A truly honorable thing. You do these lost, imprisoned souls a great service, Roubris."

Roubris felt the familiar twinge of guilt when she said that. He'd become quite adept at ignoring such twinges. He wondered for a moment if Karatha said that in order to make him feel guilty, or if she really meant it.

Probably both.

Roubris took advantage of the clear skies and warm temperatures to return to the battlefield he had explored earlier. As the site of a struggle between the orcs of Belkzen and the human Lastwall defenders, it offered plenty of potential opportunities to use his talents.

He spent the better part of the afternoon without success. The broken and discarded weapons left behind by previous scroungers offered not so much as a whisper when he tried to speak to them. None contained a spirit.

He sat down on the grass amid a thick patch of wildflowers to eat the lunch he had brought. From his leather satchel he took out the end of a loaf of honey-baked bread, some blue cheese, and a few slices of dried venison. He ate them slowly, enjoying the flavors, and considered where to search next. Roubris washed down the meal with cold water and felt quite content. He stood, wiped his hands on his cloth trousers—and glimpsed something metallic not far away in the grass, framed by golden blooming flowers.

He stepped forward and saw that it was a longsword, designed to be wielded by a warrior of great size. The portion of the blade remaining was tarnished. Most had been broken off. He grasped it by the large hilt and lifted it to eye level to examine it more closely.

The sword spoke immediately. "I've been waiting for you."

Coming Next Week: Business takes a turn for the weird in Chapter Two of Monte Cook's "The Ghosts of Broken Blades."

As one of the primary architects of the third edition of Dungeons & Dragons, Dark Matter, the d20 Call of Cthulhu system, and Monte Cook's World of Darkness, as well as the author of such notable supplements as Arcana Unearthed, The Book of Eldritch Might, Dead Gods, and more, Monte Cook has left an indelible mark on the history of fantasy gaming. In addition, he has published two novels, Of Aged Angels and The Glass Prison, and his short fiction has been featured in such venues as Amazing Stories and Game Trade Magazine. For more information, visit montecook.com.

Art by Carlos Villa.

Roubris held the broken longsword in both hands, his mouth agape as it spoke to him.

"It took you long enough, Roubris."

Roubris heard the sword's voice in his head, like how the moon at midnight would sound if it could speak.

"How do you know my name?" Roubris was no stranger to talking weapons, but this was the first time one seemed to know more about what was going on than he did.

"I've been watching you. You've been traipsing all over this battlefield rescuing the dead souls of those trapped in the weapons they wielded. Well, I'm just such a soul."

The tarnished sword had been designed for a warrior with large hands. If it were whole, Roubris would likely have had difficulty lifting it, but most of the blade was missing. Even though the sword's voice was only in his head, Roubris spoke aloud. "What's your name?"

"Serth."

"And you know your situation? You remember the battle?"

"Of course."

This was all very odd. For the first time, Roubris's prepared speech about how the spirit of one that falls in battle is sometimes trapped in a weapon that has slain a foe held no importance. Serth already knew all about that. He knew he was trapped in the sword, and that Roubris's special talents could help him.

"Well, I can arrange to have you sent to your proper afterlife, Serth. I can assure that you get your just reward."

"And what do you need in return, young Roubris?"

Serth's tone suggested to Roubris that he knew very well what was needed. "Serth, how do you know so much? Trapped spirits so rarely do." In fact, they never did.

"Is that really important? You're here to get me to tell you some secret that will earn you a handful of gold coins. Payment for services rendered, correct? Isn't that really the issue here?"

In fact, it was. Roubris was unnerved, but ultimately he was not a particularly curious man. Despite the fact that he dealt with the supernatural on a routine basis, he really didn't care about the nature of spirits or the afterlife beyond what he needed to ply his trade. He had never even questioned the source of his special ability. Was it necromantic magic? Some psychic gift passed down from a distant ancestor? A blessing from the gods? A curse? Were the spirits even there at all until he came along, or did his ability somehow summon them back? It didn't matter. All that concerned him was that it worked and that he got paid for using it. "All right, Serth. You know the routine. Do you have something for me that will cover my expenses? Restoring a trapped soul isn't an easy business. It doesn't come cheaply."

"Ah, there's the Roubris Chor I was expecting. Excellent."

Roubris winced.

Serth's slick, dark voice continued on in Roubris's mind. "My friend, I value my destiny very highly. I am eager to escape my unfortunate imprisonment here. So much so that I am willing to tell you about a treasure hoard well beyond the half-full coin pouches you used to get. What value to me are such things now?"

"A hoard?"

"A temple treasury, my friend. I don't know the exact value, but it is surely the equivalent of tens of thousands of gold coins, as sure as I'm talking to you now. It's some distance away, but I'll guide you."

"Were you a priest when you were alive, Serth?"

"Something like that. Rest assured that the temple with this treasure has been sitting empty for quite some time. No one there will prevent your entry."

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Serth?" Spirits trapped in the weapons he found rarely tried to deceive him. Too much lay at stake to risk it. But there was something about Serth's voice, his all-too-ready and all-too-knowledgeable demeanor. Every warning bell in Roubris's head was ringing with a loud peal.

"What value would there be in lying to you? If you get no payment, I am denied my freedom, right? I value that liberty more than you can know, Roubris. I am willing to pay highly for it. Besides, the temple treasury is what I have to offer. Even if I wanted to offer you something less, I could not. Either way, it hardly matters to me in this form. My concerns are now far less terrestrial."

True, thought Roubris. Serth's grasp of the situation certainly seemed logical and straightforward. He likely had a great deal of time to dwell on it. In the end, this was all quite refreshing compared to the coercion and convincing Roubris typically had to do when speaking with a spirit in a discarded weapon. And if the treasure hoard was even half what Serth claimed... If it was even a quarter or a tenth, it was still the greatest payment he had gained for the rescue of a single soul.

"Well, Serth, why don't you tell me where we need to go?"

Roubris carried Serth through the busy city streets wrapped in burlap. People passed by him carrying baskets of fresh bread loaves, sacks of flour, or other items purchased in the nearby market. No one paid him any attention, which was just fine by him. Even the lovelier ladies that he saw did not prompt him to stop and chat, as would normally be his way.

Well, the sight of one young woman with sparkling green eyes did encourage him to stop, bow, and smile, but when she ignored him he did not pursue the matter.

When Roubris reached the steps of the temple of Iomedae, he straightened his tunic and brushed the dust from his pants and boots. When he opened the door he paused, reverently, and then walked silently inside. The weapon throbbed in his hands, but he heard nothing.

Karatha walked up to him, wiping her hands on a rag. She wore an atypical smock covered in brightly colored stains. She'd clearly been painting something. "Roubris, how good to see you. Another weapon already?"

Roubris spoke quietly. "Yes. Can we put it in the sacred storage area, like we normally do?"

Karatha furrowed her brow. There was no such area, and it was nothing they normally did. Roubris raised his eyebrows and motioned his head slightly to the right. Karatha, wise as ever, caught at least a portion of his meaning. "Yes, of course."

The two of them walked to a small vestibule where Roubris placed the wrapped sword on a bench. Then the two of them left that area and went back into the main chapel, Roubris closing the door behind them.

"What's going on?" Karatha asked.

"I wanted to talk to you, and I didn't want the sword to overhear."

"Coming from anyone else, those would sound like the words of a madman," Karatha said with a smirk.

Roubris rolled his eyes and gave a wry smile. "Seriously," he told her, "this weapon is different. It's smart. It knows things."

"You mean the spirit trapped inside is smart and knows things."

"Yes, yes. Whatever. You know what I mean."

"What kinds of things does it know?"

"When I found it, it knew its situation, which is usually not the case. Plus, it knew that I'd be looking for it, and what you and I could offer it."

"Fascinating."

Roubris rubbed his chin. "Yes, I suppose so. But it's also a bit unnerving. I don't like it when things are out of the ordinary."

Karatha nodded. "I understand. Well, let's see about sending the soul to its proper afterlife, and then it won't matter anymore."

"Well, we can't. Not yet."

"No?"

"He hasn't led me to my... reward yet. It's a long journey, apparently, and he has to guide me."

Karatha just nodded and stared, not asking the obvious question: then why was he here?

"The treasure is apparently in an old abandoned temple. I don't know much about such things, Karatha. I was wondering if you would accompany me. Or rather, us. I'd feel safer. I could make a special donation to your church on your behalf once we find the gold to compensate you for your time and trouble."

Karatha smiled warmly. "Very generous of you, Roubris. But what temple is this? How far away is it?"

Roubris realized then that it never occurred to him to even ask what god or gods the temple represented. "I'm not exactly sure. I'll try to get the details."

"Well, obviously, I cannot consider defiling the temple of any of the gods of light or justice in any way, nor could I in good conscience allow you to do so either. And I couldn't be gone from my duties here for more than, say, two weeks."

Roubris nodded. He hoped that Serth wasn't going to lead him to such a temple, either. That would be awkward. "I'm led to understand that the temple is abandoned."

"Nevertheless."

"All right. I understand. I'll find out."

"Please do. Once we know, I'll accompany you if I can. Some time on the road could offer us a good opportunity to talk in depth."

Karatha would want to work on him, attempting to get him to see the ways of Iomedae. She was always encouraging him to think about concepts like justice and honor. It's not that he could see no value in such things, just that rigid definitions of either or both sometimes became... inconvenient. Still, talking with her about such things wasn't really all that arduous. She wasn't overbearing about it. And even if she was, it would be a small price to pay for her aid. Roubris was worried—those warning bells were still tolling in his head.

So, however, was the sound of tens of thousands of gold pieces jangling as they cascaded all around him like some beautiful rain shower.

Roubris thanked his friend and fetched Serth. He removed the burlap wrap and held the sword by the pommel. He didn't speak aloud, but kept the conversation entirely in his mind. "Serth?"

"What?" The oily voice sounded annoyed.

"The temple where the treasure is—whose temple is it?"

"Why?"

"It's important. I can't steal from the temple of a benevolent deity."

"You won't be stealing from anyone. The temple is long abandoned."

Roubris sighed. "I know. But before that, what god was the temple's patron?"

"No 'benevolent deity' to be sure. That should be enough for you."

It was. "And how far away is it? We have only a couple of weeks or so."

"That should be fine if you procure some decent horses."

Roubris nodded. Serth was in a foul mood. He found the voice in his head unpleasant. "Thanks, my friend. We'll hopefully make it quick and get you to where you're going."

Serth didn't reply.

The first day's travel north took them into a land of rolling hills and isolated copses as they headed toward towering, snow-capped peaks. The horses Karatha procured had been expensive, but even Roubris's untrained eye could see that they were of quality. The day's ride was quiet and the roads lonely, which they agreed was for the best. Neither Roubris nor Karatha was thrilled to ride into the unruly land of Ustalav with its feuding nobles and the dangers of the Hungry Mountains looming above and ahead of them.

After a brief stay in a public house found at a crossroads, they continued on. They proceeded through narrow mountain passes and rocky ravines, over majestic hilltops and down deep gullies, always keeping to the road. The days grew dark. On the third day a storm steeped on the horizon. By that evening, it plagued them with wind and rain. Even after they coped with its torments and it passed them by, the sky remained overcast and grim, as if scarred by the storm. Serth remained tucked into Roubris's saddle, silent. Karatha asked Roubris a few questions now and again about how he felt when he helped the trapped spirits. He told her he didn't do it for the feeling, he did it for the payment.

"People who do good deeds because it makes them feel better about themselves just display a different kind of selfishness," he told her on the fifth day of their journey. "Even if they're not doing it for money, they're doing it to get something they want."

She nodded, then countered. "That might be a consequence, but it's not always the motivation. Some do good and spread justice for its own sake."

Roubris chuckled. "That might be what they say, but people can't truly be selfless. There's no such thing as selflessness. It's right there in the word. If you're a 'self' you can't be selfless. It doesn't even make sense. No one does anything that doesn't benefit them in some way. It just doesn't make sense."

Before she could respond, the dark morning sky filled with angry shrieking and the dull fluttering of large wings. Roubris looked up to see a horrific creature looming above them on batlike wings of flesh. It was like a worm, and like a slug, and yet like neither. Multiple mouths screamed promises of destruction. Multiple eyes glared with malevolent intent.

There was nowhere to run. No time to escape.

Coming Next Week: Monstrous battles and philosophical quandaries in Chapter Three of Monte Cook's "The Ghosts of Broken Blades."

As one of the primary architects of the third edition of Dungeons & Dragons, Dark Matter, the d20 Call of Cthulhu system, and Monte Cook's World of Darkness, as well as the author of such notable supplements as Arcana Unearthed, The Book of Eldritch Might, Dead Gods, and more, Monte Cook has left an indelible mark on the history of fantasy gaming. In addition, he has published two novels, Of Aged Angels and The Glass Prison, and his short fiction has been featured in such venues as Amazing Stories and Game Trade Magazine. For more information, visit montecook.com. .

Art by Carlos Villa.

The beast fluttered the ramshackle wings on its back, far too small to support its weight. Many toothy sphincter-maws along its wormlike form screamed shrilly. Just as many eyes peered from wrinkled folds of its flesh, seemingly randomly scattered across its body.

"Lady of Valor!" Karatha shouted, drawing her silver-bladed longsword, Severance. Roubris struggled to keep his horse from throwing him onto the ground.

The creature descended toward them, obscene mouths opening to bite. Chew. Devour.

"Run!" Karatha yelled.

Roubris couldn't get control of his horse. It veered back and forth, as if it were caught in a bathing tub with the plug pulled from the drain. The thing loomed closer and closer. It stank of oily leather and burnt coffee.

Karatha slashed in the air above her, but the beast was not yet close enough to strike. "Roubris, run!"

"I know that creature," a voice said in Roubris's head. It was Serth, the spirit within the broken sword.

"What?" Roubris shouted out loud.

"Run!" Karatha screamed.

"I know that creature," Serth repeated. "You must find its one red eye. All of its eyes are green but one. The red eye is its weakness. That is where its dark soul resides. Strike it there."

This sudden information confused Roubris. He hadn't heard from Serth in some time, and he was unaccustomed to getting advice from the spirits that he spoke to. His panic, however, wouldn't allow him too much time to process it all. Instead, he yelled to Karatha, "Strike it in its red eye! Find the red eye!"

Karatha glanced his way. She heard him, although clearly was just as confused at this sudden revelation. Still, she didn't take the time to question him. Instead, she began looking around at the creature's bulbous, pulsating form and all its multitudinous eyes.

Roubris, meanwhile, still moved randomly in circles, carried by his panicked mount. Rather than focus on that issue—which had accomplished little anyway—he also began looking at the monstrosity and its eyes.

The thing was closer than ever, screaming mouths snapping hideous jaws at both of them. Roubris ducked and moved, while Karatha used her blade to defend herself. The stench was almost unbearable.

A mouth slashed Roubris's shoulder like a mass of razors. His leather jerkin tore open as if it were paper—as did his flesh. He cried out. The horse bolted. He lost his grip and crashed to the ground.

Karatha's sword bit into the creature's flesh again and again, but drew no blood. It was as if she slashed at empty burlap sacks.

Roubris looked up, certain of his own demise. Prone on the ground, his leg twisted beneath him, his shoulder bleeding profusely, he had little hope.

"The red eye," Serth whispered in his mind.

Roubris looked up and saw it, gleaming like a ruby among the black and gray flesh of the thing.

He pointed. "There!"

Karatha gave him an urgent look. He saw that now she, too, bore wounds from the thing's mouths. Barely keeping to her saddle, hugging her horse's neck to keep low, she rode toward where Roubris lay.

"There!" He shouted again. The monster's screams made him unsure if she heard him.

She must have, however, for she struck upward with her blade at the glaring red eye. She stabbed again and again. No blood. No effect at all.

Another of the beast's mouths bit her arm in a flash of red. With a scream of pain, she dropped her sword.

"Don't panic," Serth told Roubris, the sword throbbing at his side. "Get that sword. The eyes are difficult to hurt. A lot of flesh surrounds them. She needs to keep trying."

At some point—Roubris wasn't sure when—Karatha had managed to get her shield strapped to her left arm. She used it to batter away the beast's many maws attempting to bite her. She could no longer afford to pay Roubris any attention.

He started to pull the weapon Serth inhabited from where he had tucked it. "No," the spirit in the sword told him. "This sword is old. Broken and unwieldy. She needs to use her blade. It's sturdy. Get it!"

On the ground, Roubris swallowed and exhaled the breath from his lungs. He rolled toward where the sword lay. He grasped it and called to Karatha. "Keep trying!" Roubris struggled to his feet, but only managed his knees. So he knelt. Roubris held the weapon as high as he could reach.

Karatha heard his shout. Her arm soaked in blood, she stretched down and grasped her sword once again. She cried out incoherently, her pain and exhaustion clear. Using the shield to protect herself, she straightened in the saddle and lunged at the glaring red eye.

A burst of red light and black ichor exploded from the creature. The mouths of the hideous thing all screamed in a cacophonous unison. It rose fifty feet or more above them, shuddering. Wings twisting, it wormed its way through the air, as if to escape. The wound, however, was too grievous. The beast collapsed in upon itself and crashed to the ground well into the distance.

Karatha and Roubris watched in silence.

"Excellent," Serth whispered in Roubris's mind.

Karatha's spells repaired most of the wounds the two of them suffered. A hot meal of quail eggs, cured ham, and fried bread cooked over a pleasant fire helped too.

"How did you know about the eye?" Karatha asked Roubris while they ate. "How did you know that attacking the red eye would slay it? I didn't even know what that thing was."

"Neither did I," Roubris replied. "The spirit in the sword told me."

"How did you know about that?" Roubris asked aloud, looking at the sword, which lay next to him near the fire.

He heard Serth's voice in his mind. "I'd encountered a creature like that before."

Roubris relayed that to Karatha and then asked, "What was it?"

"I don't know, exactly. I am not an expert on such things."

"You seem like one to me."

"Well, regardless. It's dead now, and you're safe."

"It was demonic in nature," Karatha said knowledgably. "A thing of fiendish blood. Such horrors dwell to the north, in the Worldwound."

Roubris nodded and munched on another piece of bread. He stared at the sword, but said nothing further.

The road offered little for two more days. Serth's directions were not difficult to follow. The occasional traveler passed them by, but the folk of northern Ustalav were unfriendly and wary. Roubris could hardly blame them. The landscape turned decidedly darker and more lifeless as they proceeded.

"We near the Worldwound," Karatha said in hushed tones.

Roubris didn't know much about the place. Only what he'd heard when he was young—a terrible place where the mortal realm intersected an otherworldly realm of demonkind.

"This is where the temple lies?" Roubris asked Serth.

"Yes. It is still a day's travel north."

"That's going to take us close, I think. Close to the Worldwound."

Roubris's half of the conversation attracted Karatha's attention. It was the only half she could hear, but it was enough.

"Yes," Serth said.

"Who builds a temple there?"

"Worshipers of Deskari," the spirit replied.

"Who or what is Deskari?"

"What?" Karatha said. "Deskari the demon lord?"

This gave Roubris a start. Demon lord? He had forgotten he was speaking to the sword out loud.

"Roubris, where is the sword leading us?" Karatha seemed equal parts angry and terrified.

"All he told me originally was that he would lead me to an old, abandoned temple. And that it wasn't dedicated to a good god."

"And you never asked which temple? Or where it lay, exactly? Or which cult built it to which god? I asked you to get that information before we left. I don't know if I would have come had I known we were going to such a place."

"It never occurred to me. I thought..." His voice trailed off.

"You thought what?"

"I thought all temples were the same."

Karatha scowled. Then her expression changed to one of disappointment. Roubris disliked the latter even more than the former. She looked away.

Serth spoke again. "Don't worry about whose temple it is. It doesn't matter. The place should be deserted. You're very close now, Roubris. Just convince her to keep going. Or better yet, send her back home."

The spirit's words made Roubris more uncomfortable than ever. Karatha's friendship was important to him, and he wasn't going to let her go home without him. Besides, he was afraid, and Karatha's skill with her sword as well as her Iomedae-granted magic made her very useful. She was also quite wise. Serth worried him. What if the spirit was leading him into a trap? Not only could she help him in such a situation, but she might see it coming.

"Karatha, I'm sorry," Roubris said. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm an idiot. Please forgive me."

Karatha spun. "We should go back to Vigil. This land is dangerous, and we've no business in a temple to Deskari."

"But the spirit assures me that the temple is abandoned. There's just a treasure hoard left behind there."

Karatha scowled again. At least it was better than the look of quiet disappointment.

"We could destroy it," Roubris said suddenly. "We could destroy this evil temple after we've looted it. Wouldn't that be the will of Iomedae? Wouldn't that be justice? Wouldn't that bring honor to those wronged by the cult's evil?"

Karatha stared. Finally, she gave a soft smile. "You've been listening," she said.

Roubris returned her smile with the most charming one in his arsenal. "Of course."

She kept smiling, so he asked her, "Does that mean you'll go with me?"

"Treasure hoard, eh?"

He nodded.

"My church could use a hefty donation."

He smiled and nodded again.

Serth led the pair up a rocky slope. A cold wind blew steadily through the region of bare gray stone. The landscape was twisted into odd spires and irregular gullies. A few plants struggled to live, but appeared the worse for their efforts.

When the slope became particularly steep, Roubris saw that crude stone steps had been carved into the rock, slick with moisture from a chilling rain that had fallen within the last hour. Although the sky remained dark, it would get much darker in an hour or so when twilight came. Roubris didn't relish the idea of spending a night here. He urged them forward. The two of them dismounted and left their horses at the base of the staircase. Serth assured him that the temple lay very close, despite the fact that it was still out of sight.

Roubris was cautious. But why would the spirit lead them into a trap? What could Serth have to gain? Only by helping them would he achieve his eternal rest. They were his only hope of being freed from his imprisonment within the sword.

Roubris knew that while Serth knew more than he did about what lay ahead, Roubris had leverage. He wouldn't be undertaking this if he didn't. That leverage was what had made his "business" so successful for so long.

The staircase was surprisingly long and steep, winding around ancient boulders of great size and the occasional withered tree with black, drooping branches.

"There it is," Serth said.

At the top of the stairs, rising out of the misty gloom, was the temple. A small ziggurat of large obsidian blocks, the temple perched atop a narrow pinnacle. Roubris had no idea how someone would go about building such a structure in such a precarious place. The entrance appeared to be an uninviting stone door surrounded by serpentine runes.

"I don't like the look of this," Karatha said quietly.

Roubris pulled the broken sword and held it in both hands. He whispered, "If this is a trap, Serth, you'll never get out of that sword. You know that, right?"

"Yes," Serth hissed. Roubris thought the spirit sounded indignant.

Roubris remained unsatisfied. He thought back to the demonic creature they fought a few days earlier. The one Serth knew so much about. He considered how Serth knew unusual amounts about Roubris himself, how much more aware of his situation Serth was than any other trapped spirit Roubris had encountered. Roubris looked up at the malevolent temple that lay ahead of him, and then back at the broken sword that held Serth within it. He chewed his lip.

"Serth," he said only in his mind, "you knew a lot about that creature earlier."

"Yes?"

"And now you've led me here, to the edge of the Worldwound itself."

"Yes?"

"You're not the spirit of a man, are you?"

"No."

"You're the spirit of a slain demon."

"Yes."

Roubris cursed.

Coming Next Week: Difficult choices in the final chapter of Monte Cook's "The Ghosts of Broken Blades."

As one of the primary architects of the third edition of Dungeons & Dragons, Dark Matter, the d20 Call of Cthulhu system, and Monte Cook's World of Darkness, as well as the author of such notable supplements as Arcana Unearthed, The Book of Eldritch Might, Dead Gods, and more, Monte Cook has left an indelible mark on the history of fantasy gaming. In addition, he has published two novels, Of Aged Angels and The Glass Prison, and his short fiction has been featured in such venues as Amazing Stories and Game Trade Magazine. For more information, visit montecook.com.

Art by Carlos Villa.

Roubris had no idea what to do with the information he'd just gained. The spirit trapped in the sword leading them to the temple in the Worldwound was not that of a slain warrior, but instead a demon. Can you trust a demon? Ever? It seemed like a bad idea.

Of course, Karatha might know. But at this point, telling her that Serth was a demon also seemed like a bad idea. She would, as likely as not, demand that they turn around and go home immediately. And maybe that would be the wise thing to do, but maybe it wouldn't. Maybe the treasure Serth promised him truly lay within the black ziggurat temple at the top of the rocky spire they climbed.

"I know what you're thinking," Serth's voice said in Roubris's mind. "Well, not literally of course. I can't tell what you're thinking unless you try to speak to me with your thoughts. But nevertheless, I'm certain you're worried that the fact that I wasn't once a mortal soul means I must be lying to you. That this is a trap. I can assure you that it is not. I may not have been what you assumed me to be, but I am still in the dire situation you perceive. I am still a slain spirit trapped against my will in the weapon I once wielded in battle. And only you can communicate with me. Only you can help me. So the treasure vault hidden in the temple ahead is most assuredly real. You get paid and I get freed. That's your standard mode of operation, is it not? This is no different."

Damn it all if that didn't make sense to Roubris. Demon or man, Serth wanted to be freed. Roubris had never thought about it before, but demons must have souls like mortals, right?

He had encountered the spirits of nonhumans trapped in weapons before. Orcs from Belkzen, mostly. Helping them had practically no potential for profit, so he never actually tried. But helping Serth had the potential for the greatest profit he'd ever earned. Or so Serth said.

Serth the demon.

He didn't like the sound of that.

"Your wellbeing is of utmost import to me, Roubris," Serth said mentally. "Without you, I never get out of this. I assure you, the path ahead of us is safe."

Roubris grinned. He still had the power in this situation. He still had leverage.

"All right," Roubris said aloud. "Let's go in." Still holding Serth in his hand, he took a few tentative steps toward the rune-girded doorway that led into the temple. Karatha followed. She drew her own sword, Severance.

To Roubris's surprise, the door bore a conventional lock. He smiled sheepishly at Karatha. "I can take care of that." He put the broken sword away and pulled his set of lock picks from his pack.

"It's a temple of Deskari. We should expect a trap. Or even a curse. Wait." With a brief wave of her hand and an invocation to Iomedae, she cast a very quick spell. She nodded and folded her arms. "There is indeed a ward or something more sinister on the door. Let me take care of it."

Roubris shrugged and backed away. "Be my guest."

Karatha cast another spell. This time, the gestures and prayers were far more involved. Beads of perspiration formed on her forehead. A golden glow limned the door. It brightened, faded, and then brightened again before disappearing. Karatha sighed.

"It was difficult, but whatever nastiness the clerics of Deskari had in mind is now dispelled."

"And the lock?"

"You'll still need to take care of that in the conventional manner." Karatha stumbled a bit over the word "conventional." Perhaps it was the irony.

Roubris nodded and got to work. He had been picking locks most of his life. His mother had him picking simple door locks since he was tall enough to reach them. Although the lock was difficult, his success was never in question. It took time, but as far as he knew, they were in no rush.

Once he finished with the lock, the door swung open, silently.

Roubris rolled backward. His hand went for his dagger. He looked for whoever had opened the door, but no one was there.

"It was probably just designed that way," Karatha said.

He pulled out Serth again. The weapon remained silent, and Roubris decided that he was fine with that. Karatha produced a small, smooth stone attached to a tiny hook and affixed it to her belt. Within seconds, the stone shone with a light as bright as sunshine coming in through a small window. This illumination extended into the dark recesses of the windowless temple. Roubris would have sworn that within that place, the light dimmed, as if intimidated.

As plain as the outside of the ziggurat was, the interior was elaborate. A black iron grillwork covered every surface, with leering metallic faces, claws, and twisted thorns jutting out all over it at unpredictable angles. Dust and cobwebs then covered this baroque, rusting skin.

Within this dangerous-looking environment lay a single altar fashioned entirely from black iron. Unlit candelabras seemed positioned randomly about the walls, and rusting chains ending in cruel hooks hung from the ceiling in similarly haphazard positions. A wall appeared to divide the interior of the small temple into halves, with a wide iron door fashioned to slide from side to side.

Finally Serth spoke up. "Beyond that door lies the treasure I've promised you, Roubris. There's likely more in there than you and your friend can carry, I'm afraid, but nevertheless you'll find yourself an extraordinarily wealthy man once you open that door."

Roubris's mouth watered. He stepped toward the door and heard Karatha hiss through her teeth. He looked back at her. "What is it?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm just worried."

"I'll be careful."

Roubris stepped gingerly, easily avoiding the sharp protuberances here and there on the floor and giving the hanging chains a wide berth. He got to the door. Nothing happened.

"I told you," Serth's voice said in his head. "It's safe. I want you to get to that treasure as much as you do, my friend."

Still, Roubris's instincts forced him to search the sliding door for possible traps. He envisioned something that would make the metal spikes or other adornments into deadly projectiles. But he found nothing of the sort. Not even a lock. Instead, he just had a vague notion that opening the door would also do something else in the temple. An alarm, maybe? He couldn't tell. It was just a hunch, without evidence.

He considered telling Karatha, but he was afraid that here, so close to the treasure, she would try to get him to leave without opening the door. He couldn't let that happen. Not now.

"Everything all right?" Karatha said, her voice hushed and tense.

"Yes," Roubris said with all the confidence he could muster.

"Right, Serth?" He asked in his mind.

"Correct," the spirit replied. "I assure you that it is safe to open that door and take the treasure within. It is my payment to you for freeing my spirit from this sword." His voice seemed impatient, but perhaps that was understandable considering the situation.

Roubris slid open the door.

Karatha's magical stone sent a shaft of light into the room. Amid shelves of books, idols, and odd religious paraphernalia Roubris couldn't recognize lay a lidless trunk. Gold and silver coins, jewels of all varieties, and solid bars of precious metals filled the box to overflowing. Roubris gasped with the fulfillment of his highest expectations.

Behind him, however, Karatha exclaimed in tones other than delight. Over his shoulder he saw something had appeared in front of the iron altar. A doorway of red and gold flickering light. Screams of terror and pain issued from it like a wave. Almost immediately, something began to push its way through the doorway. It seemed vaguely humanoid in that it had two arms and two legs, and was girded in blackened armor. Beyond that, it resembled a fish or a toad more than a man. This creature moved slowly, as though pushing against some unseen membrane blocking the doorway.

Once over the initial shock, Roubris said aloud, "Serth? What is that?"

No reply came.

"Serth? You promised me no traps. No danger."

"And I shall keep that promise," the creature passing through the doorway of light hissed with Serth's voice. "I will cause you no harm, Roubris."

Roubris's eyes widened. That was Serth? Suddenly, a memory came to mind. Somewhere, someone had told him that when a powerful demon is slain in the material world, it's not really dead. It's just sent back to its home plane.

Serth didn't want to be freed to go on to some afterlife. He wanted to be free to roam the mortal world again. His spirit had been trapped in the sword like so many others Roubris had encountered, but opening the gate restored him to his physical form. And now Serth was entering the material world again. Opening the door to get at the treasure also opened the gate to whatever abysmal realm had spawned the demon.

Even as Roubris stood motionless, mouth agape, Karatha sprang into action. Armed with Severance and the shield emblazoned with the symbol of Iomedae, she attacked Serth while the demon was still midway through the portal. Her blade pierced his scaly flesh, but a single swipe of one of his claws sent her staggering backward, a bloody gash marring her face.

Roubris didn't know what to do. Serth had promised him the treasure, and seemed to be willing to let him take it without issue. But that would loose him upon the mortal world to wreak unimaginable evils. Even if he could live with that, Karatha never would. She'd die before she allowed that to happen, and as he watched the mismatched battle, it seemed as though that was precisely what was about to happen.

Or, he could close the door to the room before him. It seemed keyed to the gateway. Opening the mundane door activated the otherworldly one. Closing it might deactivate it. Serth wasn't yet through the portal, but in mere moments he would be. And then all choice would be taken from him. Karatha would certainly die.

Damn it.

The farther Serth progressed through the doorway, the more his odor violated the air in the temple. Karatha staggered backward, coughing. Roubris's eyes watered. The demon's progress through the gate was slow, but that didn't stop him from lashing out at Karatha with terrible effectiveness. Already her chain shirt hung in bloody tatters and her shield was bent and broken. Still, Karatha's sword sliced across Serth's flesh again and again. Black bile issued forth from the wounds she inflicted. It seemed to only make the stench worse.

Still Roubris hesitated. So much wealth. Enough to keep Roubris in extravagant style for the rest of his life.

More thunderous blows pummeled at Karatha. Serth possessed an unearthly strength as well as razor-sharp claws. Once through the gate, he would likely be able to bite with his wide, toadlike mouth filled with teeth like iron spikes. With that hideous thing, he could bite a foe in half. Which would matter only if Karatha was even still alive at that point. Under the weight of Serth's blows, she fell to her knees, using Severance to protect herself as best she could.

"Roubris, help me." Her whisper was almost inaudible. She coughed blood.

Roubris made up his mind. His face painted with pain, he shut his eyes and slid the door closed.

But it slid only partway. He opened his eyes to see the ruddy light flickering. Nothing more. It caught Serth's attention, however. "Roubris! Don't be a fool. Take your payment and go!" The demon thrust himself against the portal with greater force. Roubris was grateful that the process of transition through this doorway took so long.

Karatha managed to get to her feet, both hands on the hilt of her sword. With all her remaining strength, she plunged it into Serth's slimy, scaly flesh.

The demon howled.

Roubris glanced once more at the glittering treasure in the room and forced the door. It still didn't close all the way, but the fiery glow faltered again.

"No!" The demon shouted. He slashed at Karatha, who toppled backward onto the floor. She landed on one of the many dangerous adornments on the metal grid.

Roubris cried out. Serth turned all his attention on him.

To his surprise, Roubris found himself calling upon Iomedae for strength. Closing his eyes again, he put all his weight into closing the sliding vault door.

At last, it gave way. The red and gold fire disappeared, and Serth's angry roar faded away as if he were falling from a fantastic height. Then it ceased entirely.

The iron door was closed. Behind it lay a hoard large enough to purchase a small town.

Roubris went to Karatha's side. He was both surprised and relieved to find her still breathing. Carefully, he brought her out of the dark temple. With only a modicum of skill, he tended to the most severe of her wounds. Eventually, he hoped, she would return to consciousness and use Iomedae's power to heal herself.

Roubris retrieved his friend's sword and broken shield. Then he went to the broken blade that had held Serth's spirit. Gingerly he touched it with a single finger and then pulled it away. Nothing happened, He lightly touched the hilt. "Serth?"

No reply. The spirit was no longer in the weapon.

After a fashion, he had kept his end of the bargain.

With the broken end of the blade, he scratched words upon the door: "Do not open." Then he tossed the sword to the floor and left, with no intention of ever returning.

The road back home was long. Some of Karatha's wounds were beyond her ability to heal with magic, but she seemed confident that time would set her aright.

"I'm proud of you," Karatha said. "And grateful. You saved my life, and I know what you had to give up to do it. It must have been a difficult choice."

Roubris wasn't ready to tell her that he had prayed to Iomedae there, at the end. He would have to deal with that surprising act on his own, at least for now. Instead, he just gave his most charming smile and said, "Not so difficult, my friend."

When Karatha turned back to the road, Roubris's hand went to the leather pouch on his belt. The one that contained a handful of newly acquired, glistening jewels. He smiled even more broadly at the feel of them. A man in Roubris's line of work needed to be fast on his feet as well as quick-witted. Fast enough to duck into a room and grab a handful of choice loot before closing a door.

"Not so difficult," he repeated.

Coming Next Week: The first installment of a rollicking, all-new prequel story to the new Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows by Howard Andrew Jones—now shipping from our warehouse!

As one of the primary architects of the third edition of Dungeons & Dragons, Dark Matter, the d20 Call of Cthulhu system, and Monte Cook's World of Darkness, as well as the author of such notable supplements as Arcana Unearthed, The Book of Eldritch Might, Dead Gods, and more, Monte Cook has left an indelible mark on the history of fantasy gaming. In addition, he has published two novels, Of Aged Angels and The Glass Prison, and his short fiction has been featured in such venues as Amazing Stories and Game Trade Magazine. For more information, visit montecook.com.

Art by Carlos Villa.