He stood alone on the bow of the ship. The only movement at all caused by the swaying of the ship on the rough sea. A fresh sea breeze was blowing from the west. West, in that direction lay only a vast and empty sea. East, in that direction was Theah, and more specifically was the coast of Montaigne. Montaigne, the very thought of that country turned Enrique’s blood cold. With a slight shiver, he turned his gaze away from the coastline and shouted, "away the longboat."

As the crew began preparations for his departure, Enrique headed aft to gather the last of his things. They weren’t much to speak of, some traveling clothes, a few suits of Cathay silk and some guilders. Most important of all was his grandfather’s sword. A rapier, the finest in all of Castille, given to him a year earlier by his grandmother, just prior to his "departure."

As he headed towards the longboat, someone called his name. Turning back, he saw Allende, the captain of the Hanged Man motioning for him to come up to the stern castle. Handing his gear off, he headed back to join his former captain.

"So, it is time," said Allende.

"It is time," repeated Enrique.

"I do not agree with your decision, but who am I to argue with destiny. If the fate witch says your destiny lies in Montaigne, then I suppose to Montaigne you must go. You will be sorely missed by the crew," said Allende.

"And I will miss the crew. It has been a long year, but it was never dull," replied Enrique. "So long my captain. May the fates watch over you."

"Enrique."

"Yes, Allende."

"Be careful amigo. You are in a land of enemies now. The land of the people you hate most in the world. Hold you tongue, and you may live long enough to see your destiny fulfilled. Speak out of turn, or show your hatred, however, and they will strike you down. You will spend all of eternity serving Legion and paying for your sins. The montaigne are people Enrique. Treat them as such. View every man for what he his, and evaluate him for his actions. Don’t judge him for his nationality, or you will never overcome your hatred."

"I will try Allende," answered Enrique.

With that, Enrique boarded the longboat and started for shore. As the it drew closer to the coast his blood started to boil and his hatred to surface. The corners of his mouth turning into a sneer. Enrique hated Montaigne. He hated the people, the country, and their Le Empereur. He hated everything about them. Yet here he was, walking into the proverbial lion’s den. The Montaigne had killed both his grandfather and his brother and enslaved a third of his beloved Castille. Yet here he was, in the country of everything in the world that his hated, and this hatred of his consumed him.

He moved through the crowd with the grace and presence of a panther stalking his prey. Only this panther was a man, and his prey were the lovely senoritas of the court of Good King Sandoval. Enrique Montoya, youngest son of Don Bernardo Montoya, had only been at court for a few weeks, but he had taken to life there quickly. The politics and intrigues of court fascinated him, and he seemed to be a natural at them. Tonight, like any other night in, would for Enrique, be a hunt. Dressed in the finest silks and brandishing his rapier, any swordsman would be naked without one, Enrique moved about through the crowd looking for his next conquest.

As always, the ballroom was filled with anyone and everyone who was important in Castille. Over there is Admiral Orduno and his first-mate wife Margarita. Orduno, the senior ranking member of the navy, would probably have been hung long ago had it not been for recent successes against the Montaigne or more importantly, his marriage to Margarita, a distant cousin of King Sandoval. No one knows yet why she married below her station. In that corner Bishop Hector Martinez, in his black robes, he is the local head of the Inquisition, after the Cardinal of course. A permanent sneer seems plastered on his face. No one below the rank of Don gets past his guards. Black robed and hooded; his bodyguards are fearsome swordsmen, morons, but skilled fighters none the less.

Enrique moved through the crowd still searching for his "lucky" conquest. In his short time at court, he had met many women, and made many enemies in the process. He did not care though. In fact, in the mere two weeks that he’d been here, he had already fought one duel. Two nights ago, Enrique attracted the attention of one Catalina Ovalle, who unbeknownst to him, had earlier that evening become engaged to Fernando Garza, son of Don Diego Garza. Fernando was skilled, but a little slow to react. Enrique had won and since then has been dodging Fernando’s friends, intent upon teaching the "upstart" a few lessons.

Searching, stalking, tonight, he would accept nothing less than the best. Tonight’s ball would be the last of the autumn season, and any visible liaisons would be talked about all winter long. Hmm, thought Enrique. Claudia, no too skinny. Martha, no too old. Isabel, no too naive, and protected. Surrounded by a half dozen guards, no man would get to her tonight. Don Gomez protected his daughter as if she were made of gold. Maria, no, Rita, no, Monica, no, Blanca, not hardly. Ah, but of course, thought Enrique, Violante. Violante Botello. It was widely held that Violante Botello was the most beautiful woman in all of Vaticine City. Her hair was a dark brown, not quite black. Her eyes were a deep, emerald green. Her skin, fair and smooth. She was the vision of perfection. Alas, she was also married. Married, however to one Alejandro Guanero. Eldest son of Don Hector Guanero. Alejandro was no man. He carried no sword, put rouge on his cheeks, and smelled of perfume. He was more Montaigne than Castillian. In fact, it was rumored that he did not prefer women at all and that he and Violante had yet to consummate their marriage after three months. If he could pull this off, Enrique would be a legend.

Throughout the night, Enrique noticed that men shied away from her. Most would not even meet her gaze. There seemed to be an aura fear surrounding her. At first Enrique was confused, surely no one could be afraid of her husband, the fat bastard was not even present. Then he noticed the presence of Don Guanero. The Don was a weasel of a man. Small, weak, with beady little black eyes. Ultimately unimposing, but mean tempered, and his champion, Arturo Hernandez was one of the best swordsmen in all of Castille. In fact, Arturo had been the best pupil of Enrique’s grandfather. To make matters worse, Don Guanero was a close friend and strong supporter of Bishop Martinez.

After what seemed and eternity the don and bishop both left, presumably to conduct whatever elicit business they do. Enrique descended swiftly, before any other courtier realized the Violante was without her watchdogs. It started off innocently enough. Enrique used the same approach he always did, producing a white rose, seemingly out of nowhere for her. Violante had expected some little trick but a white rose was new to her. White, the color of innocence. There was, however, no innocence revealed in Enrique’s eyes.

They danced and talked the rest of the night. Even if it ended here, he scored a partial victory. It did not end there. Violante agreed to meet him later at her father’s city villa. Don Botello, a longtime friend of the Montoya family, was out of the city on business. His ranchero was near occupied Castille, and Montaigne soldiers had been seen scouting his lands. With the rendezvous set, Enrique’s life was about to be forever changed.

Don Montoya paced angrily back and forth across his great room. Everything was quiet except for the swishing sound of his pacing and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Angelica Montoya sat silently in the corner, waiting for the inevitable explosion from her husband.

"Has the boy no shame," shouted the aging Don. "Prancing around with Violante like she was his own wife. And two nights ago it was Catalina. Does the boy intend to duel every married man in Vaticine?"

"Now Bernardo, do not judge him so harshly. All he did was dance and talk. There is no harm in that," answered Angelica.

"Oh no, no harm, except that she is married to the son of Don Guanero. Only Bishop Martinez’ leading supporters. The boy’s actions tonight shame my house and me. Just when I thought he could do no more harm and had learned his lesson in the duel with Fernando, he does this. I lost potential allies tonight. Dons who were willing to support me against the Bishop now cater to his whims. And to make matters worse, when Botello returns and hears of this, he will be furious, blaming me for Enrique’s and Violante’s shameful behavior," retorted Bernardo.

"If I remember, Antonio was the same way, and you never chastised him," replied a calm Angelica.

"Yes, Antonio was promiscuous, and quick to duel, but he never seduced married or betrothed women. And he certainly never seduced the women of my enemies," shouted the increasingly angry Don. "When will the boy learn? This is your fault woman."

"My fault? How is this my fault," asked an astonished Angelica.

"Against my wishes, you allowed the boy to study acting. How, as an actor, was he ever to learn duty and responsibility," answered Don Montoya.

"I thought, that he would learn the meaning of ‘duty and responsibility’ from his grandfather, at the fencing academy," replied Angelica. "Maybe, I was mistaken."

A muffled hrrmph was all the reply she received.

"You know he missed Antonio very much. He adored and imitated him in every way, to include enrolling in your father’s academy. Stories about Antonio’s many ‘adventures’ and liaisons abound at court, and Enrique is only trying to follow in his brother’s footsteps. I’m sure, that once he comes to accept Antonio’s death, that his behavior will tone down," lectured Angelica. "Let us not fight about this anymore. Enrique will be home soon and you will see that he did what was right. Now, I am tired and bed is calling."

Later that night, Enrique moved through the city’s shadows, making his way to Don Botello’s city chateaux. Avoiding the city watch and inquisition goons was easy, for tonight was a moonless night. The shadows seemed darker than normal, almost alive, if that was possible. It didn’t take long before he reached her home. Approaching the door, he felt a slight chill, causing him to pause. At that moment the hair on the nape of his neck seemed to stand on end, and he felt impending doom. It passed quickly though, and with a shake of his head, dismissing it, Enrique unlocked the door, using a key Violante had slipped him earlier in the evening while dancing.

Entering the chateaux, the foyer seemed too quiet, very eerie. Not wanting to delay, Enrique rushed upstairs, where he found Violante waiting. "Madre de Dios," he whispered, "she is an angel." They embraced quickly for their first blissful kiss.

With a crash, the door to Violante’s room burst open and in rushed four guards, all armed and wearing the colors of Don Guanero. Enrique thrust Violante onto the bed and jumped back drawing his sword. Four to one. Not bad odds, but not good either. At least he wasn’t facing Arturo. Before the combat could commence, someone from the hallway shouted "hold!" A shiver went down Enrique’s spine as he expected to see Don Guanero and his lap dog Arturo. Instead, to his surprise, in walked Alejandro. Alejandro looked from Enrique to Violante and back again. At that point he became livid, shouting curses and waving his hands about in the air. Enrique found it so comical that he burst into laughter, which only infuriated Alejandro more.

"Sword," shouted Alejandro, as one of his goons handed his rapier to the fat noble.

At this, Enrique started laughing harder. "Surely, you do not mean to duel me senor."

"En garde," was Alejandro’s only reply as he attempted a thrust which was easily parried by Enrique.

"Please, senor, let’s be reasonable here. I can not fight you. You are no swordsman and the guild would never allow it," pleaded Enrique as he continued to parry Alejandro’s laughable attacks with ease.

"Jose," was Alejandro’s gruff reply.

In response, one of the guards stepped forward. "I Jose Dias, do challenge you Enrique Montoya to a duel to the death. My witness and second, Alejandro Guanero. Your witness shall be Violante. You will need no second senor Montoya."

This is lunacy thought Enrique as he replied, "So be it. Now, let the real swordsmen fight." Shaken, Enrique turned to meet his new opponent. A duel to the death was not something to take lightly. Enrique was now getting a little worried. How did Alejandro know he was here. The two had never met and he’d only seen him in public once since arriving at court.

As Enrique turned to face Jose, Alejandro leapt forward sword out and shouted a war cry, if the sound of a bloated frog can be described as such. Alejandro then cried ,"I reserve the right to fight in my champions place!"

"Senor, you are making a big mistake," cried Enrique. "I am finding it increasingly difficult not to make you look incompetent in front of your lovely wife. Besides which, I’d rather not make her a widow so soon."

Shouting more obscenities, the fat noble continued his inept attacks.

"Enrique," shouted Violante as she attempted to warn him of treachery just a little too late.

"Arrgh," screamed Enrique as he looked down at his waist to find a torn shirt and blood. Looking up at Alejandro, confusion in his eyes and then back at Violante. It was then that he noticed the remaining three of Alejandro’s goons had drawn their own blades and one had slashed him. With anger beginning to build, Enrique leapt into the three guards, intending to dispatch them before Alejandro could stab him in the back. Parrying a quick thrust from the second guard, he quickly counter attacked, stabbing the first, killing him outright. Spinning around, he parried another thrust from the third. Ducking another attack from the second, he swept his leg around and caught the second guard in the back of the knee, knocking him to the floor. He then leapt back to meet a renewed assault from the third guard. Parrying a sloppy attack, Enrique countered by striking the guard in the face with his rapier’s hilt. He then spun the stunned man around and shoved him into the second guard, who was attempting to stand. Both men became a tangle of arms and legs.

"Alex, no," screamed Violante. Enrique looked up just at Alejandro was leaping, or rather waddling forward for a new assault. He tried to spin and parry the thrust, but realized that he would be too late. That was when he noticed a shadow swinging at Alejandro’s head. Enrique heard a loud crack and grunt, Alejandro dropped his sword and came slamming into him.

Alejandro’s weight barreled the two of them over, and when Enrique was finally able to roll away and get to his feet, he was unarmed. Frantically looking about, he saw his sword sticking out of Alejandro’s bloated, lifeless form. He heard sobbing and a thud as Violante dropped whatever it was that she’d hit her husband with.

"Murder. Murder," cried Jose.

Enrique was about to protest when he saw the other two guards regaining their feet and heard shouts and pounding from below as more were rushing up the stairs. Not wasting any time, Enrique pulled Violante in for one final kiss before running towards the open window. Diving out, he grabbed one of the heavy curtains as he flew out the window, the curtain stretched taut and carried his momentum around in an arc, allowing him to drop onto a balcony below. From there, Enrique leapt onto the back of a guardsman’s horse waiting below.

As Enrique rode off into the night, a crone looked up from her ball and mumbled, "all is as foreseen," to two shadowy figures. Her cackling laughter then shattered the silence.

It didn’t take long to lose his pursuers, but knowing that they would search his home, Enrique headed in the opposite direction. Where could he go? If he went to any of his family or friends, he would surely be caught. An hour later, it came to him, or rather he came to it. Enrique didn’t remember turning on this street, but as he looked up, he saw it. His grandfather’s fencing academy. It had been closed for months. Since his commission in the Castillian army was reactivated and he went off to war, taking Enrique’s brother, Antonio with him. No one would look for him here.

Entering the academy brought back a flood of memories for Enrique. Sitting on the mats, he would watch Antonio duel opponent after opponent all day long and never lose. Of all Ricardo Montoya’s students, only Arturo Hernandez was better. Arturo and Antonio seemed joined at the hip. Where you found one, you surely found the other. Rivals, as much as friends, they competed for everything. They never fought amongst themselves. Never sided against each other. When war came, they even enlisted together and followed Ricardo, Enrique’s grandfather, off to war. Together they went, but together they did not come back.

"What happened Arturo," mumbled Enrique, speaking to himself and to an empty hall. "What happened to my brother?"

"He died valiantly, defending the weak," came an unexpected answer.

Startled, Enrique spun around, sword quickly in hand, only to come face to face with Arturo. He was immediately struck with fear. He was caught and knew he couldn’t defeat Arturo if it came to a fight.

"I thought that I’d find you here," announced Arturo. "Now, unless you plan to use that sword, I suggest you put it away boy."

"Are you here to kill me," asked Enrique.

"Not if you put away that sword. I have orders to kill you if I find you. It is a pity that when I searched the academy, however, that I had missed you. Leave boy! Leave now and never come back. If I find you again, loyalty to Antonio won’t save you a second time."

Enrique did not need to be told twice. He ran without looking back.

Don Montoya awoke with a start. It took a moment, but when his head cleared, he heard sounds of men shouting. Quickly dressing, he went into the grand hall to see who dared invade his home so late at night. Rounding the corner, the Don prepared to rip his "guests" limb from limb when he suddenly froze. Standing in the middle of the foyer, was non other than Bishop Martinez, and a full troop of his Inquisitors. Montoya was speechless.

"Don Montoya," stated one of the inquisitors. "We have come for your son Enrique. He has committed murder and has been found guilty of practicing witchcraft and consorting with Legion."

"W-w-what," was all the stunned reply Montoya could make. Old already, Bernardo now felt a hundred years older, as his knees felt weak.

"Earlier this evening," this time it was the Bishop speaking, "your son, using unknown and heretical magic, entered the home of Don Botello and murdered his son-in-law in his sleep. He also killed several of Don Guanero’s guardsmen, before again using magic to facilitate his escape and disappear from the city. I will only ask you this once. Where is he?"

"I don’t know," came the meek answer, "I haven’t seen him since earlier this evening."

"Well then, if he is truly not here, then you won’t mind us searching your estate, as you obviously have nothing to hide, and we both know you would not lie to me," was the Bishop’s icy reply.

Don Montoya, finally regaining his composure was starting to become enraged. How dare they come into his house and question his word. He was about to tell the Bishop to go to Legion when he remembered exactly to whom he was speaking, and what punishment his outburst could bring. Slumping his shoulders in defeat, Bernardo simply nodded.

After an hour of destructive searching, all of the inquisitors reported back to the Bishop that the heretic was not to be found.

"So be it," announced Bishop Martinez. "Don Bernardo Montoya, your so...."

"I have no son!"

"...has been accused and found guilty of murder and heresy. It is therefore my judgement that he be excommunicated from the most Holy Vaticine Church. Also let it be known, that if he should ever be found, he shall be put to the torch, and burned, as are all heretics. So it is said, so it shall be." Upon finishing his judgement, the Bishop began his maniacal laughter.

In the shadows, Angelica Montoya sat crying. In less than a year, she had lost two of her sons.

Just before dawn, Enrique finally reached his destination. The home of Isabella Montoya, he beloved abuelita, or grandmother.

Entering the house as quietly as he could, Enrique was startled to see her sitting before the fire, as if she knew he was coming. Thinking back, he realized he shouldn’t have been surprised. She always seemed to know when he was coming.

"Mi hijo," spoke Isabella. "Come sit and warm yourself. Eat something. Juan has not yet finished packing your horse."

"My horse, juelita," questioned Enrique.

"Yes mi hijo. Your mother sent word about what happened. The Bishop has declared you a heretic and excommunicated you from the church. You can not stay here, but then again, I can’t just turn you away."

"A heretic," replied a confused Enrique. "Abuelita, I am no heretic."

"Nonetheless mi hijo, you have been tried and convicted of heresy, and sentenced to death," responded the old woman.

Enrique was stunned. What could he have done to deserve this? Replaying all of his actions for the past two weeks in his mind, he searched for the incident that could have sparked this fire. He tried in vain to find something, anything other than the obvious. In the end he had no choice but to accept it.

"I killed Alejandro Guanero," announced Enrique. "Is this why I have been falsely accused and convicted?"

"Yes mi hijo. They say that you used magic and murdered him in his sleep."

"Magic! I used no magic and it was definitely not murder! Abuelita, it was a fair duel," shouted a now annoyed Enrique. "His champion Jose challenged me, I accepted and Alejandro, fool that he was chose to fight me himself. In fact, I tried to talk him out of it. In the end we had to fight. Violante intervened and caused his death."

"Violante," answered the shocked matriarch! "Violante? This is unexpected news." Whirling about, the old woman quickly left the room. "Eat," was all she said.

Some short time later, Juan entered the kitchen and announced, "your horse is ready senor Enrique. I have packed provisions and clothes for you. Also, before you leave, Lady Montoya wishes to see you in the cellar."

In the cellar? What could the old bat be doing in the cellar, was all Enrique could think about as he descended the dark and musty stairwell. She’d been acting strangely all evening. The cellar had not been used in years. Not since his grandfather had given up wine and brandy. A difficult task for the old geezer. Enrique sometimes thought that he kept hidden stashes, but could never prove it.

As Enrique rounded the corner into what used to be the wine storage, he was astonished to find his grandmother standing there with a rapier. And not just any rapier, but that of his grandfather, Ricardo Montoya. The family had thought the sword lost when Arturo returned from battle to report that Ricardo and Antonio were dead.

Before he could ask the obvious, Isabella Montoya answered, "Arturo brought the sword, along with a message from your grandfather, written before the battle in which he died."

"Arturo," hissed Enrique. "That snake is..."

"That snake, as you call him," interrupted the old woman "was a very loyal friend and companion of this family. A week before his death, your grandfather sent Arturo to me with his sword and the letter."

Taking the letter, Enrique moved over to a lantern and unfolded it.

My beloved wife,

"But how could he trust Arturo, and if he was so loyal, why does he now serve Don Guanero," asked a totally confused Enrique. His mind and heart were racing. Things were happening just too quickly.

"Did you never pay attention to anything your grandfather taught you," responded Isabella. "Keep your enemies close. Did your grandfather never teach you that? Surely he did. Arturo loved your grandfather and Antonio like they were his own family. He brought back that letter, your grandfather’s last, and the sword, at Ricardo’s request. He then rushed back, but was too late. By the time he arrived that battle was over. From a hill he could see Antonio make a final stand. Ricardo was nowhere to be seen. It is presumed that he died as only Arturo’s little band escaped and the Montaigne General du Toille took no prisoners," lectured the now teary eyed matriarch.

"Abuelita...."

"Hush mi hijo. Take this sword, and the horse Juan prepared for you. Ride south to the port town of San Isabel. There, find the blacksmith, and show him the hilt of your sword. See the symbol there, of a rose and a cross. Your grandfather, and myself, were once members of that order. A powerful ally, the blacksmith will recognize the sword and arrange for a ship to take you out of Castille. In the saddlebags, you will find 500 guilders. That is all I could arrange on short notice. Take it and leave. Never come back," whispered Isabella, as tears rolled from her eyes.

Speechless, Enrique simply embraced his grandmother one last time. He turned and started up the stairs, wondering if the would ever see his family again.

"Enrique," called a weak voice. "Honor your grandfather and brother. Remember their deeds. Do not let their sacrifice be in vain. If you should ever face what you know is your death, or what you think will be your death, I pray that you will make arrangements to notify me and return the sword. May the prophets be with you mi hijo."

Enrique did not answer, or even stop to look back. He continued up the stairs and out of the house. He mounted his horse and started off for San Isabel. Frustrated and angry, all he did was ride. That frustration became a seed of hate.

Sometime after Enrique’s departure, Isabella Montoya finally left the cellar, having regained her composure.

"Juan," she called.

"Yes milady," he answered.

"Take this message to Arturo. Ensure that he gets to San Isabel just after Enrique boards the Hanged Man. We don’t want the Bishop or Don Guanero suspecting Arturo is not loyal or efficient. Too many lives have been sacrificed already."

"As you wish milady."

"And Juan."

"Yes milady?"

"I want you to get to know Violante Guanero’s handmaidens. She is an unexpected wildcard in this plot, and I want to know whose side she is on. Ours, or the Bishop’s."

"Maybe, milady, she is on neither side," mumble Juan under his breath. "Maybe, she is on Enrique’s." With that, he saddled his own horse and rode off on his Lady’s business.

It took Enrique four days to reach San Isabel. In order to avoid contact with patrols he hid during the day and rode at night, when the chill would keep his countrymen indoors. He did everything he could to keep his mind off the past few days events. It was mostly successful. Mostly. During his sleep, his brain would conjure up images of Violante. Every day, during his sleep, and sometimes at night on the long ride, he would see her over and over. His dreams never brought any meaning, just her image.

When not riding, Enrique would practice shadow dueling with his grandfather’s rapier. In addition to being a great swordsman, Ricardo Montoya was also a legendary weaponsmith. Forging only rapiers, you had to be one of the finest swordsmen in Castille to earn a Montoya blade. Such an odd way of gaining a blade. His grandfather never sold one. He only ever gave them out as gifts. Friends, allies and sometimes even enemies might be given a sword. They were not bribes or political gifts, but gifts of respect. If Ricardo Montoya respected your skill as a swordsman, he would forge you a sword. Each blade unique, and each a masterpiece. Enrique only knew of eleven total blades. The one he now possessed being the greatest of them all.

Holding the sword before him, Enrique was amazed at its beauty. The hilt was made of gilded gold, with a few gemstones embedded here and there. The blade, long and slender, it never tarnished, rusted or dulled. Staring at it, Enrique remembered his grandfather talk about it one day. Castillian steel was considered to be some of the finest in all of Theah, in fact, only one metal was ever known to be stronger, and that was Eisen steel, dracheneisen, or "dragon iron" as it is often referred to. Dragon iron could even stop a musket shot. While Castillian steel is occasionally exported, dragon iron never is. In fact, it is rare and in short supply even in Eisen.

"Dracheneisen boy," Enrique remembered his grandfather saying. "The strongest metal in all of Theah. Thirty years ago, I fought a duel against an Eisen lord who insulted my beautiful Isabella. It was a long and hard fought duel. In fact, I was lucky to win. The Eisen, a huge man, even for one of his ilk, stood at 7 feet. To make matters worse, he fought with a broadsword and a panzerhand. His reach was incredible, and a rapier can not parry a heavy sword effectively. I had to weave in and out, dodging his attacks and hoping one did not connect. After nearly ten minutes, and almost to the point of exhaustion, I finally thought I saw an opening. I leapt straight in for one last all or nothing assault, only to have the beast catch my sword with his panzer hand and snap it. I was so shocked boy that all I could do was stand there and stare at my broken blade while waiting for death. However, the prophets had other plans. The big Eisen found the situation and my expression so comical the he broke into a fit of laughter. Coming out of my shock and seeing another chance, I slammed into the beast, knocking him back. During the contact, I managed to draw a dagger from his own belt which I used to cut his throat before he could react."

Enrique had been surprised to hear that story. How could his grandfather, man of honor and nobility that he was, stoop to such treacherous actions. His grandfather’s response, "a Vodacce taught me that all is fair in love and war. Of course that was the last thing the Vodacce taught me. I killed him in a duel a few days later. Anyways boy, I drift, back to the point. What was my point? Oh, yes, after killing the Eisen, in defense of your abuelita’s honor, I might add, I procured his panzerhand, having recognized it for it’s true worth. It helped that there were no other Eisen around to object of course. It took me five years boy to figure out the secrets of the metal and another five after that to successfully reforge it into this blade you see before you now. Pay close attention boy because, in addition to the metal, there are other aspects of this blade that make it unique."

His grandfather then went on to describe the blade itself. "If you compare it to a normal rapier, you will see that it is slightly wider and thicker. The dracheneisen, however, means that it does not weigh more than other blades. In actuality it is lighter and much more balanced than typical Castillian blades of normal size. This extra width and thickness make it stronger, so it would be very difficult to snap. It may also give you an added benefit of deception. In a duel with a master swordsman, it could very well save your life, as it once did mine. An expert, one who has given his life to the sword will immediately recognize the difference in blade size. If he is arrogant, he will believe that it will make you slower. That arrogance, will give you once chance to surprise him. So it happened for me against Don Alonso Ferdinand. His overconfidence allowed me to strike first, and last," lectured Enrique’s grandfather.

Snapping back to reality, Enrique realized it was getting dark, and continued on his journey. At the end of the fourth day, he reached San Isabel. As it was still dark, Enrique stopped for the night at an inn on the outskirts of town. A dreary, dirty place. It would do however until morning.

When dawn came, Enrique sought out the blacksmith. After an hour of searching, San Isabel was bigger than it looked, he found the blacksmith’s shop. Entering the storefront, he called out for the smith and was surprised to see what looked like a Vendel come from the back.

"What," was the gruff reply in clipped Castillian.

"I came to show you this," answered Enrique, holding out his sword, pommel first.

The Vendel’s eyes widened a bit when he recognized the sword. "Come back at midnight." He then returned to the back of his shop.

It took a few minutes for it to sink in and Enrique left rather angrily when he realized he’d been dismissed.

Shortly after Enrique left the blacksmith shop, a swordsman stepped out of the alley and ran two blocks over to a tavern, El Tiburon Azul, the blue shark. He stopped just inside the door, looked around and then headed over to a table in the corner. Sitting around the table were four rough looking Castillians.

"It happened as you said it would captain," stated the spy. "He went into the blacksmith’s and spoke for only a few minutes, then headed back off in the direction of his inn."

"We should take him now," demanded one of the men at the table.

"No Jose," replied the one addressed as captain. "We wait until we can get them all. Finish your report Jesse."

"After he left, the Vendel handed a note to a boy in the alley," said Jesse. "I sent Carlos to follow him. He will report back here."

"We wait then," ordered the captain.

Hours after sundown, moving through the shadows and alleys, armed men in groups of twos and threes converged on an abandoned warehouse on the wharf. Sometime before midnight they had all arrived. Twenty-five they numbered, all Castillian. Gathering in a circle, they began replacing black cloaks with a Don’s house colors, while they awaited further instructions.

"It is time," commanded the captain. "Carlos’ report said the heretic was to meet a longboat on the west dock. Unfortunately for us, he did not find out which of the four west docks Enrique is supposed to be on," continued the captain as he glared over at Carlos. "We will break up into five squads. One for each of the docks, and the fifth will remain in reserve here at the warehouse."

Jose stepped forward and asked, "who will lead the attack," while trying to hide contempt in his voice.

"I will," replied the captain. "I do not want you to screw it up again."

Muffled snickering could be heard amongst the assembled guards as Jose stepped back. He managed to remain calm, but his eyes made it clear the hatred he felt for the captain. The next few minutes consisted of assignments and additional instructions from the captain. When he finished, all the groups dispersed to their respective areas to await Enrique Montoya’s arrival.

Enrique arrived at the blacksmith’s shop just before midnight to find the huge Vendel waiting for him outside. Strapped to his back was an enormous battle axe. The monstrosity probably weighed more than Enrique did.

Upon seeing Enrique, the Vendel simply said, "follow." He then turned and headed towards the docks.

Enrique followed behind the vendel, wondering where they were headed. He knew they were to meet a ship, but that was about it. All his attempts at conversation ended the same, with silence.

After what seemed an eternity, they turned down a pier on the west side of the harbor. The night was quiet and very dark. The moon, full as it just so happened, was partially hidden behind grey clouds. The only sound, a slight splashing of oars from a longboat that Enrique was only just beginning to make out. It still had about 30 feet to the dock when all hell broke loose.

With loud cries, five armed men, all wearing the colors of Don Guanero began jumping from various fishing boats tied to the dock. Enrique also noticed another five appear from a warehouse at the end of the wharf and heard shouting to indicate even more coming from different locations.

"Fight," shouted the Vendel as he ripped the battle axe from it’s harness and rushed into the first three assailants.

Enrique quickly drew his sword and turned to meet the next two. The first guard came in with a high thrust, which Enrique easily sidestepped. That maneuver though almost turned out to be a fatal error as the second guard followed with a slashing attack the he barely had time to parry. Spinning off his parry, Enrique managed to shove one of his attackers away to give himself some fighting room and get into a defensive stance.

As the first guard began his next attack, Enrique noticed they were attempting the same tactic. This time, instead of sidestepping, he ducked below the first assailant and then came up to meet the second. His adrenaline pumping, Enrique moved with increased speed, catching his opponent with a surprise thrust at his head. As the body slid from his rapier, he took a moment to assess the battle’s progress. The Vendel had already dispatched two of is own.....KRAK....okay, make that three thought Enrique as he saw the head of the Vendel’s third kill split like a melon. The reinforcements however were coming up fast.

The situation was starting to look grim. Enraged at his companion's death the first guard turned is full fury on Enrique. In so doing he left himself open and within mere seconds lay dead at Enrique’s feet. Turning to meet the second wave, he heard a shout from the vendel.

"Run, I will hold them off!"

As Enrique started to turn away, he heard an all too familiar and chilling voice shouting orders.

"Jose, you and Carlos take the heretic, while the rest of us finish off the Vendel. Do not fail me again Jose," screamed the apparent captain, Arturo Hernandez.

Jose, thought Enrique, could it be....yes, Jose Diaz. With rage beginning to build, Enrique ran towards his oncoming attackers, rather than fleeing as ordered. Poor Carlos reached Enrique first. A parry, two quick thrusts, and Enrique was leaping over the falling body of Carlos. A feral smile was just beginning to play itself over Enrique’s lips as he knew he was going to slay Alejandro’s former champion.

Jose took the initiative, or so he thought. In his arrogance, he failed to realize that Enrique was toying with him. Enrique parried all of Jose’s attacks with ease. After each failed attack, frustration on Jose’s part was becoming more and more evident, while Enrique was becoming more confident and excited. Finally, one last parry and a thrust. Jose’s expression changed from anger and contempt to one of shock and confusion. He looked down to see Enrique’s rapier embedded in his chest. Looking back up, Jose attempted to say something but his mouth was rapidly filling with blood and Enrique couldn’t make it out, not that he cared anyway.

"A duel to the death, huh Jose," muttered a now satisfied Enrique.

His satisfaction was cut short by a loud splash. Looking up, Enrique saw only a pile of bodies and Arturo staring over the edge of the dock. In the moonlight, he could see blood glistening on his blade. Fear taking over, Enrique turned and ran towards the end of the pier, hoping that the longboat was close, but not stopping to look as he leapt into the air.

A crash, followed by curses in every known language. Enrique hit the boat hard, causing it to rock. Stunned from the landing and before he could regain his senses, musket fire started up all around him. Screams and splashes followed the deadly volley as all along the edge of the dock, Don Guanero’s goons were ripped apart.

When the smoke cleared and screams of dying ceased, Enrique looked up to see Arturo and one other figure cloaked in shadow standing together, as the longboat carried him away to freedom.

"Well, I guess you can report back that he escaped, unharmed I think," said Arturo to the cloaked individual.

"Yes, it would appear that way. Lady Montoya should be pleased," replied Juan.

"I hope it was all worth it. Sven is dead. Enrique exiled. And now the Bishop has no open opposition and more supporters than ever."

Enrique served aboard the Hanged Man, perhaps the most infamous ship in Castillian and Montaigne waters. Starting as a lowly deck swabber, he quickly rose through the ranks to become a mate to the ships Master-at-Arms. After a year, he went from contempt to a well fighter. He led every boarding action against Montaigne vessels and earned a reputation amongst the crew as being fierce and quick tempered.