The Torturer grinned, his thick lips spreading like a craggy fissure below his leather cowl as he wiped his sweaty palm across his stained apron. With a low chuckle he twisted the poker amid the red hot coals, then drew it forth. The tip smouldered bloodily.

The woman manacled to the wall of the dark room glared at him, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of seeing in her eyes the fear that raced through her supple body. She had a mane of red hair and was dressed solely in a filmy bra and a silk underskirt that hung just below her knees; the same clothes she had been wearing when stolen from her boudoir in her father's castle the day before.

"You won't be so pretty," rasped the hoarse-voiced sadist as he lumbered forward, "when I am through with you."

Bile backed up into her mouth as she smelled the stench of burning metal. She flinched as the unbearable heat drew closer.

Then a shriek shattered the room; but she had not opened her mouth. Besides, it was no human voice that let loose such a soul-ravaging cry. She looked beyond the hairy shoulder of the Torturer as the big man turned.

Something formed in the very air in the shadows at the far end of the chamber, indistinct, as a shape viewed through a heavy fog. And suddenly it was indistinct no longer.

A huge winged beast crouched against the wall, black leathery skin and coarse hair sprouting at random from various joints. Its eyes were a phosphorescent emerald, its black beak fanged. The sight of it made her feel faint in a way even the hot iron had not, her knees weakening beneath her. Dimly she perceived that the creature jerked and writhed, as if held against its will, and she recognized a tether leading to the gloved hand of a man at the creature's side. He was tall and dressed in a black cloak, beneath which he wore studded black leather. His shock of blonde hair was almost white.

Keeping firm hold of the tether with his gloved right hand, he drew a sword with his left.

The momentary shock slid from the brain of the Torturer, the brute unable to maintain more than one thought at a time. Now he perceived a tangible threat, a man who could be cut. The weird beast, and the man's inexplicable intrusion, were already fading from his thoughts. Half-chuckling, the torturer lumbered toward the stranger, brandishing his glowing iron.

The stranger swung at him, but the Torturer side-stepped with a nimbleness that belied his bulk. The Torturer darted in, then hopped back, and the air was suddenly thick with the smell of burnt flesh. The stranger winced, a thin line of smoke rising from his midriff.

It was obvious to the woman that the stranger, whoever he might be, whatever his ultimate purpose, was at a disadvantage since he seemed to feel it necessary to keep a steady grip on his monster. He fought one-armed, and with little room for evasive movements.

The Torturer came in again, but too slow. The stranger struck him across the side of his head--a glancing blow, but one that sent blood coursing from a gash in his cowl. The Torturer howled and launched himself blindly forward, startling the leaner stranger and taking him in a bear hug. The stranger was hoisted from his feet and slammed against the hard stones of the wall. His teeth gritted as again he was dashed against the stone and his sword clattered to the floor. She saw him look to his beast, his face wracked with pain and indecision; much more of this punishment and he would be dead. Clearly coming to a decision, he released the tether. The beast threw back its head and shrieked its hellish scream, making her cringe.

The air seemed to ripple around the thing--and then it was gone.

The stranger brought his gloved hand down upon the Torturer's shoulder, once, twice. The bulky man grunted and fell back, but not before snatching the stranger's fallen sword in one of his big hands. Clutching his shoulder with his free hand, the Torturer hefted the blade and faced the stranger, chuckling evilly.

The stranger stared at him coldly, then slowly peeled the glove from his right hand.

The woman gasped.

The taloned hand, thick with coarse brown fur, was no human limb. Even the dimwitted Torturer started at the sight of the incongruous appendage. The stranger leapt forward, using his left arm to block the Torturer's sword arm at the wrist; his demonic right hand closed about his assailant's bull neck. The Torturer gurgled, clutching at the stranger's right arm, wildly swinging his sword until the stranger caught his wrist.

For a moment, the two stood, almost immobile. Then, slowly, the Torturer was forced to his knees, his eyes bulging. He managed to kick out, catching the stranger in the ankle and breaking the death grip. The stranger fell, and the Torturer threw himself at him, sword raised for the killing blow. The stranger's right hand shot up like a tongue of lightning, catching his opponent in the chest. The Torturer screamed, there was a crunch of bone, and the hand vanished into his thick chest.

The woman flinched.

With a spasm, the Torturer keeled over to sprawl upon the floor of his own torture chamber, dead. The stranger withdrew his inhuman hand, drenched in crimson blood.

Even as she watched, the blood seemed to vanish, as if absorbed by that evil hand. Slowly rising to his feet, the stranger drew his glove back over his hand, then retrieved his sword and advanced toward her.

The terror she had refused to show the Torturer was now obvious in her glimmering eyes. "Please..." she started to say, then ducked as he swung his sword at her. The ropes confining her fell away. She stared at him, wide-eyed and bewildered.

"The keys for the manacles must be around here somewhere," he said matter-of-factly. "You're more likely to know where than I."

She hesitated, then stepped around the Torturer's corpse and went to a ring of keys hooked on the far wall. As she undid her bands, she looked at him. "Who-?"

"Your father employed me to retrieve you -- assuming you are Lady Vyanna. My name is Zargatha."

"Yu-your hand?"

He looked at it. "Is my own concern," he said with an edge of bitterness. "Now, I must contemplate an escape from this tower."

"How did you-?" She shook herself, her red mane rippling. "What was that thing?"

"A Minnarafeh. Perhaps you've heard of them--at least in legend? Its scream rends the very fabric of reality, allowing the beast to travel from here to there via other dimensions. Fortress walls are no impediment to them." An ironic smile touched his lips. "However, they are not domesticated beasts. I did not anticipate finding you with company--I assumed Lord Carga, your kidnapper, would want you unharmed as a bargaining chip when dealing with your father. I was wrong, and now the Minnarafeh has fled...and we are both trapped high in Carga's fortress tower."

The dark tower rose fully half-a-mile into the glowering sky, climaxing in a bell house that loomed like an enormous boil over the craggy lands surrounding it. The chamber in which Vyanna had been held was almost half way up the tower, with the floors below peopled by a small army of brutal mercenaries. Zargatha slipped stealthily out the chamber door and crossed to the balcony encircling the hollow core of the ancient tower. Below level after level dwindled into the dark shadows at the tower's base. The ancient bell cord emerged from the darkness above them and vanished into the distance below. The sounds of murmuring voices and stamping feet wafted up through the well: soldiers stirred to action by the Minnarafeh's scream, though not yet realizing from whence it had come.

Vyanna slipped up beside him. "The stairs?" she asked, nodding at the steps that began the long, winding descent.

He frowned. "And fight our way past an army?" He shook his head, then slowly looked up.

Seeing his gaze, Vyanna started. "What good will going farther do?"

"At least it will be unexpected, and might buy us some time. Come, before the search reaches this level." He raced up the steps leading to the lofty heights of the dark tower, his black cloak flaring wide momentarily, then swirling about him like a living thing as he stopped and looked back at her. "Coming?"

She glanced around momentarily, then started after him, her bare feet soundless on the old stone.

They reached the floor above and instantly four men bounded from the shadows, swords glinting in the torchlight.

"Intru-!" roared one, hoping to attract their comrades below. He fell, clutching at a crimson fountain cascading from his throat as Zargatha's sword blurred to life like a darting silver snake. Vyanna screamed as one of the men grabbed her from behind. Zargatha whirled, two remaining men bearding him with bared blades while the third struggled to drag Vyanna down the stairs. He could not go to her without opening himself up. Instantly, he made his decision. "Catch," he called, tossing his sword to the struggling woman. Startled, she almost missed it--but did not. She swung back, smiting her assailant on the head with the flat of the blade. He stumbled back, cursing, and she turned to face him.

Zargatha stepped leisurely back from his two opponents who circled him warily, although at heart they were surely confident. After all, he was unarmed. One darted forward, and Zargatha flicked out the end of his heavy cloak like a whip, catching the man in the face. He fell back, more stunned than hurt, but startled enough to make him more cautious.

"Leave us be," said Zargatha levelly, "for only death awaits you here."

The other man grinned, then thrust. Zargatha twisted, the sword becoming ensnared in his cloak, and he brought both fists down upon the man's back. The man collapsed to his knees with an "oomph," but the second man was at him instantly and Zargatha cried out as a blade left an ugly red streak across one shoulder. He ducked, punched, and managed to leap from the close conflict, but as he whirled, both men had regained their feet. Their grins were even more confident, now. He spared a glance at Vyanna, who was only just holding her own against her foe. He was painfully aware that the longer they delayed, the greater the likelihood others would come.

He glared at his foes darkly. "You were warned." He yanked off his glove and the faces of the two men grew pale. The taloned fingers flexed and a humourless grin turned Zargatha's lips. "En garde," he said ironically.

Vyanna twisted left and her opponent's sword sparked against the stone where her back had been pressed but moment's before, then she jerked right as he stabbed again. He grinned, then thrust again; this time, she deflected it with her own blade -- clumsily, the blade heavier by far than the swords she had fenced with for exercise in her father's castle. Taking advantage of the momentary opening, she leapt at him, knowing in close quarters even he would find his weapon clumsy. He grunted, confused, as her soft body collided against his hard muscles, then he screamed as she raked her nails across his chest. It was a minor wound, but a distraction--a small one, but enough. She rammed her sword through his belly and sent his corpse tumbling down the stairs. She turned toward Zargatha.

One man sprawled on the stairs, his throat torn out as though by a wild beast. The final soldier backed toward the railing, swinging his sword wildly without grace or skill, fear draining the colour from his features. Zargatha ducked and side-stepped, then sprang forward, his demonic hand closing about the man's face. The man screamed. Repulsed, Vyanna turned away, then glanced back in time to see Zargatha shove the lifeless corpse over the railing.

"No!" she cried.

Zargatha looked at her, surprised.

"By throwing him over the railing, you've alerted those below to where we are."

He glanced over the railing, but said nothing. Self-recriminations would help them little.

They raced up the next few flights of stairs, but encountered no more opposition. In fact, the floors appeared utterly deserted and unused, the ground thick with dust while brown and moldering cobwebs dangled like rotted sheets in the corners, their sticky tendrils even reaching to the central railing.

"Why do they not use these upper floors?" she whispered, feeling an unease creep into her bones.

"It's a big tower, perhaps too big for the number of men employed here." Even as he said it, he knew in truth that he felt what she did: a sense of evil. The old servant he had bribed with a gourd of wine had told him where the prisoner's chamber was located, but the old man had also rambled on, as the drunk and friendless are wont to do. He had told of how the castle had been the home of a dark sorcerer long before Lord Carga and his army had occupied it, and that there were places in the tower where no one went, not even Lord Carga, because the stench of vile things still thrived.

He shook himself, then turned back to ascend the stairs. He stopped and a curse slipped from between his lips.

The tower rose higher still, but there were no more steps.

"We're trapped," Vyanna said quietly.

He looked around wildly, for a moment fearing she was correct. Then his gaze grew hard, the set of his jaw grim. "Perhaps not," he said. He strode quickly to the railing, the sound of footsteps swelling louder beneath them. He looked up, distinguishing a circle of wane light at the top of the dark funnel. He pounced nimbly up onto the railing and, as Vyanna watched, dumbfounded, he leapt out into mid-air.

She jerked forward instinctively as if in a futile effort to catch him, then halted as she saw him grab the bell cord and swing out, then back, his boot heels snagging on the railing. From a great distance, echoing like the rumble of thunder, came the tolling of the bells. The sound was answered by half-heard shrieks, as though of angry bats roused from slumber.

"Hurry! On to my back."

She stared, mouth agape. She was about to make some comment on his sanity, or rather the lack of it, then thought of this strange man who had tamed, however tenuously, the wild Minnarafeh to effect her rescue, who had brought her this far; this strange man with the stranger hand. Nervously, she climbed up onto the railing, then dragged herself onto his back, arms around his shoulders, legs curled around his waist.

"Ready?"

"No," she breathed.

"Good." He kicked off from the railing just as shouts told them the soldiers had reached their floor. Muscles rippling beneath his cloak, he began hauling them, hand over hand, up the old, thick cord. Vyanna felt a breeze at her feet, and spared a glance back. The soldiers, cursing wildly, were swiping at them with their swords, but they were just barely beyond reach.

"Now," Zargatha grunted, "if we can reach the top before they reach the bottom and start swinging on the cord, shaking us off..."

And, she thought grimly as she pressed her face into his shoulders, if your strength does not give out...

Time had little meaning for Vyanna as she clung to Zargatha. His breathing came in curt gasps as he sucked the air through clenched teeth, his ash blonde hair plastered to his brow by sweat. Her arms and legs ached from simply holding on, locked in a rigid position.

What must his ordeal be like? She wondered.

It was unnervingly dark and there was a weird, unnatural chill to the air as they climbed ever higher. Occasionally she would glance at the yawning pit beneath them, then immediately averted her eyes.

"I'm scared," she whispered at last.

"Small wonder," he grunted.

"Not of falling...something else." She hesitated. "Those floors below weren't simply empty, they were deserted."

He grunted noncommittally.

"This tower was the home of a dark sorcerer, once, long ago."

"I know," he said grudgingly. "Best not to think about it."

Try as she might, she could not adhere to his advice. She peered up, but could distinguish little. The heavy bells were silent now, so long as their weight remained constant. "When the bells tolled," she muttered, "I thought I heard screeching."

"Aye."

She held to him tighter, trying not to think of the climb ahead, the fall below, or anything that might be in between. She shuddered.

Something brushed the soft skin of her bare thigh.

She started, and looked down, but there was nothing there. "Zargatha?" she whispered, her eyes darting around, trying to pry apart the thick shadows surrounding them. She flinched as something caressed the small of her back, like the touch of a feather, then was gone. "Zargatha!"

"What?" he gasped impatiently.

"I...don't think we're alone." Suddenly she screamed as something cold and oily coiled about her midriff, tightened, then yanked. She was torn from Zargatha's back and swallowed by the shadows.

The act of Vyanna being ripped from his back so savagely and unexpectedly wrenched Zargatha from the bell cord. He fell, his descent heralded by the thundering of the bells, now almost deafening this far up the dark chute. Instantly the booming was echoed by a higher, nerve-lacerating shriek that no longer fooled anyone into imagining it had been the voicings of bats. Zargatha tumbled end over end, then his gloved right hand lashed out, catching the cord. He jerked to a halt, the stop almost wrenching his already exhausted muscles. He dangled there for a moment, both hands knotted about the old bell cord, swinging back and forth limply as the bells roared overhead and the unearthly shrieking formed an eerie accompaniment. He gasped in lungfuls of air, his muscles aching rivers of fire. Then, grunting, teeth gritted, he hauled himself up the rope.

"Vyanna!" he called, and his voice came back at him, now that the bells and the screaming had died down.

The echoes rained back from the tower stones in mockery: Vyanna! Vyanna! Vyanna...

He gasped and cursed as he dragged himself further and further up, unable to be sure precisely where it was that she had been stolen from him.

"Vyanna!!!"

Vyanna! Vyanna!

"Here! Hurry, please hurry."

Her voice was just a little above him. He increased his speed as best he could, still able to make out little in the dimness. Suddenly he saw a flash of pale flesh in the shadows. "Vyanna?"

"Zargatha, it's horrible. There're creatures, tentacled--I don't know how many. The area's honeycombed with their tunnels. I-" She screamed again and he saw a flurry of movement. "Zargatha, it's got me again!"

He stretched out his left hand, clawing vainly at the darkness. "Take my hand! Take-!" Her hand launched out of the shadows and grabbed his wrist and his fingers clamped about hers. He swung toward her and his feet struck stone, no doubt just a hand's width from the tunnel into which she was being drawn. Braced against the wall, he pulled. She emerged into the light, her red hair flying about her like living flame, her eyes wide. About her waist was a purple tentacle that glistened wetly and sought to drag her back into its domain. Her face was wracked with agony as she was literally being torn between her protector and her abductor.

"The buh-bell," she gasped. "Ruh-ring th-the bell!"

Bewildered, but having no alternative plan, he allowed her, and the creature dragging on her, to pull him toward the tunnel, then--though he loathed to do so--he let go. He swung back and the bells thundered yet again. He grimaced, his teeth rattling in his head, his ears aching. Instantly, though, there was wild screaming from all around him, not just in the direction that Vyanna had been dragged, but behind him and above him.

He was surrounded by the creatures.

But they were all screaming...in pain.

Suddenly Vyanna came flying out of the darkness to grab onto him. He grunted, almost losing his grip at the sudden added weight.

"It let me go, like before," she gasped. "The sound of the bells must be painful to them...whatever they are. Climb! By the gods, climb while the bells still toll!"

Swinging her around onto his shoulders, Zargatha hauled them up with a reckless speed, dragging them ever closer to the grey light ahead.

At last they emerged into the pale, overcast light of the open bell-house and he swung them onto the encircling ledge. Instantly, Zargatha collapsed, trembling with exhaustion. Vyanna started to comfort him, but he shook her off, stubbornly. "Puh-pull up the cord," he said.

Without question, she did as he bid, heaving up the massive length of heavy rope bit by bit and curling it at her feet. "Would the soldiers be fool enough to follow us?" Her ribs and belly glimmered with sweat as she continued to haul on the seemingly endless length of rope.

"With luck," he gasped, "Carga'll think those creatures finished us." Slowly, he staggered to his feet. "No, once I've rested a moment, the rope is to climb down again...on the outside of the tower. I've horses tethered in yonder arroyo."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, then peered at the tremendous drop awaiting them over the lip of the bell-house. "Well," she said quietly, "it's got to be better than the climb up, I suppose."

Zargatha laughed. "Anything has got to be better than that."

And Vyanna smiled too.