The moon was bright and full, a pale disc in a pitch-black sky twinkling with stars, shining down over the snow-covered chaos of meager, crooked shacks that made up The Middens, gleaming off the ice-encrusted snow that covered their roofs.

Its light crept past the shacks, down into the trash-strewn canal that ran beside The Middens, casting odd and looming shadows from the animal bones and broken pieces of wood and other debris that piled up along the canal's sides, glittering on the dirty ice that encrusted the garbage, and casting long shadows of the three figures that stood within the canal - Martimeos, Elyse, and Kells.

The three stood in front of the tunnel that led out of the canal, carving through the town walls out into the countryside. And into that tunnel, the light did not reach. It stood, a looming portal of utter darkness in the night, yawning high above them.

"Hope this works," muttered Kells, his face hidden mostly in shadow, only the twinkle of his eyes visible. He looked almost like a guard, again. He wore a shining steel breastplate, though unadorned with a tabard, over his jacket, and wore a short sword by his belt, with a small round targe strapped to his back, iron-reinforced wood. He leaned on a shortspear just a hand taller than he was. He kicked at the ice-encrusted trash surrounding them with a knee-high boot.

Martimeos, black furred cloak worn over a dark leather tunic fluttering in the gentle wind, and red scarf drawn tight against his face, kept his hand on the hilt of his longsword. He held a torch in one hand, the glowing orange flame illuminating his face. He seemed strangely excited, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips, his dark green eyes burning with mischief. He glanced behind him.

There, on the ice, bound and gagged and tied together, sat Maddie, the Crosscraw witch, and her two young companions, unmoving, their heads lowered as if unconscious, wild red hair falling long about their faces, catching the moonlight. He nodded in satisfaction, looking at this. "It will, I can feel it," he said, running a gloved hand through his shaggy mane in excitement.

"He feels it, he says," Elyse muttered, leaning against a wall of the canal. In her hands she held Martim's crossbow, already wound and loaded with a bolt, shifting it uncomfortably against her chest. She really ought to get one of her own, she thought; Martim's was a bit too big for her. She seemed almost a shadow in the darkness, her tattered robes and long pointed hat catching no light, and her face hidden almost entirely in the shadow cast by the brim. "I still think we might have thought of something better than this. Will he even come?"

"I didn't hear you coming up with anything better yesterday," Martimeos muttered. "And they said he would." He nodded to the three unconscious Crosscraw women. "Some place dark and lonesome, they said. If he can sense us, he knows we're here."

They fell silent, waiting before the looming darkness tunnel. The wind blew, a gentle murmur in the cold, dark night, as they waited.

They did not have to wait long before two burning yellow lights appeared in the tunnel.

With the slow, echoing clop of horse's hooves, the lights drew closer, and closer. Icy terror gripped them even before the Bogge-man rode out of the shadows and into the moonlight, riding upon his monstrous steed, the burning yellow eyes in his cattle-skull helm piercing them as he approached, stabbing through them.

The Bogge-man stopped his steed as he exited the tunnel, pausing. The moonlight glowed gently against his bone helm, the black ribbons tied to its horns streaming in the breeze. His dark, heavy cloak draped over his shoulders like a shadow, down the sides of his black steed. They stood, silent and waiting, like shadows darker than the night itself, burning hell-lights of the Bogge-man's eyes slowly drinking them in, and then looking past them, to take in the three unconscious Crosscraw women sitting on the ice.

Martimeos lifted his torch to cast its flickering light upon the Bogge-rider. This close, he could see the snarling fangs of the Bogge-horse, see that its black hide was slick with perpetually dripping blood. He struggled to find the strength to speak, past the dread and terror he felt that threatened to buckle his legs beneath him. "We have brought you what you asked for," he whispered.

The Bogge-man turned its head slowly to regard the wizard for a long, terrible moment. Martimeos felt his blood run cold as those burning yellow eyes seemed to sink into his very bones.

Then the Bogge-man flung open his cloak, and from his belt he took a head. Kells shook, white-knuckled, as he gripped his spear tightly. It was Roark's head; the captain's silver hair too short to grip, so the Bogge-man had it hang in a small rope net that he grasped in one massive fist.

The Bogge-man held out Roark's head, letting it dangle in the air, swinging. "You...have done...well," the head groaned, in a voice like stone scraping against stone. "You...have won...my mercy. I...will take...their heads...and you....will not...see me...again."

The Bogge-man looped the head around his belt once more, vanishing it beneath his cloak. The three stood aside for him to pass. He rode his massive steed a few steps more into the canal, past them, and then reigned it in. Martimeos, Elyse and Kells watched as the Bogge-man dismounted, leaping down from his horse, his boots making a dull crunch against the dirty ice accumulated at the bottom of the canal.

He swept forth like a shadow drifting in the moonlight, cloak fluttering behind him, until he stood over the three Crosscraw women. With a long, deadly hiss, the Bogge-man drew his cruel, hooked blade, glinting in the moonlight. It seemed to drift through the air, for a moment, until he placed it directly on the back of Maddie's neck. He held his heavy blade there, for a long, quiet moment. Then, swift and silent as shadow itself, he struck, and Maddie's head toppled forward from her shoulders to the ground.

But the Bogge-man paused. He bent, and picked up the head, holding it by the hair in one giant hand. Except it was not a head at all. It was a dried gourd that had a mess of red yarn messily glued to it.

Elyse let her glamour drop, revealing that the Crosscraw women were not women at all - but rather sacks of straw, dried gourd, yarn and rope. And she could not help but laugh a little, as the Bogge-man turned to face them, false head still gripped in his hand, yellow eyes blazing with rage. And as she laighed, she felt a little bit of the fear draining out of her. As terrible as he was, it was hard to be completely terrified of someone you had just made a fool of.

"Now," Martimeos said, pushing past the fog of terror in his head to find his courage.

With a shout, Kells raised his spear, and drove it deep into the gut of the Bogge-horse, quickly yanking it out and jabbing again, and once more. Though not as deep as might have been expected. For it was no normal spear-tip, but rather the beak of the Mirrit that Martim and Elyse had slain in Silverfish, and its deadly poison, bound to the shaft with carefully knotted rope. The beast reared, and split the silent night with a scream like metal being torn apart, nearly catching Kells with a massive hoof as it crashed back down, shattering the ice on the ground. It ran from the pain as Kells continued to jab at it, his face a grim snarl, slamming into the sides of the canal as the poison began to course through its veins.

At the same time, Elyse reached out behind her, and muttering, cast another glamour - this one of flames, ringing the tunnel that the Bogge-rider had come from. And Martimeos raised his free hand not carrying the torch, and snapped three times, feeding the glamour with the Art, creating a false flame. With each snap, the flames leapt higher, and higher, and the heat poured from them in waves - until the tunnel was entirely blocked with a sheet of roaring, roiling blaze.

The Bogge-man stepped to the side as his mount stampeded past him, bellowing in pain, its hooves trampling over the fake dolls of the Crosscraw women by his feet. He watched, deadly still, as it careened further down the canal, until it crashed into a pile of debris, collapsing as it thrashed among the broken wood, filth and discarded bones, screeching all the while.

Martimeos, Kells and Elyse stood defiantly as the Bogge-man turned to them, raising its sword, cattle-skull teeth clattering and chattering furiously, yellow eyes blazing. It took a step towards them.

And then, somewhere, a bell began to toll.

The Bogge-man's head whipped towards the night sky, looking for the source of the sound, as long, mournful peals rang throughout the night, even over the sounds of the screaming, dying Bogge-horse. And then - voices. The distant sound of many voices, shouting and crying out. Many, many voices.

"That's right, you miserable bastard," Kells muttered, gripping the Mirrit-beak spear tight, its tip still dripping blood, as the Bogge-man turned towards them once more, with its nearest exit blocked by flame and the sounds of a quickly approaching crowd behind it. "You're in for it now."

And then the Bogge-man stepped towards them, and roared.

Its cloak fluttered out behind it, like a pair of wretched wings; the sound of its roar, in a language made for dark curses, drowned out everything - the sound of the bell, the screams of the Bogge-horse, the sounds of voices approaching, muffling the world in a deadly, still silence after its roar had faded away. The shadows, too, deepened, and spread, the world growing foggy and dim, even the moon seeming to fade away into the sky, until it seemed that all the world was, was them and the Bogge-man, in an endless, silent dark.

And as the world faded away, terror rose in them like they had never known; something clawed, vicious and vile, at the back of their minds, whispering, roaring, chattering, muttering, many voices at once.

Kells' mind was drawn back to the day his father died, the memories rushing up to overwhelm him, all the horror and fear he had felt. Only now, it was not Martim's brother who had killed his father. It was the Bogge-man, his eyes ablaze, who had murdered him, and then pursued Kells down the mountain.

And Martimeos found his mind going back to the day of the burning of Pike's Green - except now it was not red-haired Crosscraw men and the Queen's knights who had done it, but rather a band of Bogge-men, riding through his village on their dark steeds, and his village had not been saved - in his memory, they butchered everyone, had gone into the woods and dragged Vivian, his childhood love, out by the hair, and beheaded her in front of him, along with his parents, his brother, everybody, as the flames roared and their teeth chattered.

And in Elyse's memory, it was her own mother who wore the Bogge-man's helm, long black ribbons streaming through the air, and her mother had forced the sword into Elyse's hands, forced her to kill the men at the logging camp that she had loved to watch, forced her to behead kindly, smiling Bertrand, her favorite among the loggers, even as he looked up at her with sorrow in his eyes and asked her why, why did he have to die, why was she taking him away from his daughter.

The memories came on so vivid, so strong, so overwhelming, that it threatened to tear reality out from underneath them; to seize them with thick, black horror choking their hearts at this creature that had tormented them.

But it was their rage, their fury, that saved them, as the Bogge-man bore down upon them like terror itself.

Kells could not tell which of his memories may be false or true. But he knew one thing for certain; this creature had murdered Roark - he could see his captain's head swinging at its belt even now. Roark, who had been so kindly, in his own gruff way, when Kells had just been a scared, orphaned noble in a strange land, with no one else. Roark, who had saved him in more ways than he could count. With a shout of fury, Kells stepped forward with the Mirrit-beak spear, thrusting it towards the Bogge-man's neck. That was where its skin was softest, Maddie had said; that was where they stood the greatest chance of piercing it.

But the Bogge-man caught his thrust contemptuosly; with one hand it seized the Mirrit-beak at the end of the spear, and squeezed, crushing and breaking it. Kells dropped the shaft of the spear as the Bogge-man advanced, drawing his short sword and his shield, but one humming, crushing blow from the Bogge-man's hooked sword and his shield was shattered, splintered wood and bent metal frame.

Kells stumbled backward, his shield-arm numb and bleeding, as the Bogge-man raised its hooked sword high above its head, yellow eyes blazing like malevolent stars as it prepared to behead him.

Martim had been trying to sort the truth from falsehood in his own mind, frozen in dread at what he saw in his mind - his family, his entire village slain before him. But now seeing this, he seized onto what he knew as truth. It was because of this creature that the farmfolk of Twin Lamps suffered so, because of him that they slept destitute and starving on the frozen ground, their lives broken, while the wealthy laughed at their misery and likely plotted to buy their farms from beneath them from inside their empty mansions. He pushed the images of horror to the back of his mind; he felt a strange music run through his soul as he stepped forth with his torch held high, a music that made him think of autumn forests and comforting shadows who sang a soothing song beneath the trees. He concentrated on the flames burning on his torch, feeding them with the Art, stoking their hunger as never before. He snapped, and a great gout of flame roared from his torch, engulfing the Bogge-man's head.

The Bogge-man screamed, a strange, grinding shriek, reeling backwards from the flames, the black ribbons streaming from its horns burning away to ash from the heat, the bone of its cattle-skull helm scorched. It raised one hand to its head, to beat away the flames that still lingered there, lashing out blindly with its sword, cloak swirling around it. Martimeos danced back out of its reach, green eyes flashing, as he helped Kells to his feet.

And Elyse - Elyse truly did not know what was real memory or not. Certainly her mother had been wicked enough, cruel enough, that she might have forced her to do those things. But she did have within her a dark flame that burned with outrage at this thing, uninvited in her own skull, that might make her doubt her own mind, a dark flame that roared with strange, discordant music as it grew to an inferno within her, burning away her fear. This thing, she decided, ought to suffer. She raised Martim's crossbow, and took careful aim at the Bogge-man, as it stalked after Martimeos and Kells.

And with a twang, her bolt flew true, taking the Bogge-man right in one of its burning, hellish eyes. Its head whipped to the side under the impact; there was a burst of light as that eye went dead forever.

The three of them stood before the Bogge-man as it stopped its advance. Its dark cloak bled into the darkness surrounding it as it slowly brought its head around to stare at them with its one remaining eye still gleaming in the shadow, its teeth chattering in rage, its shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths, sword held low by its side. Everything seemed to hang on an edge as it stood there, looming over them in the endless dark.

Martimeos took a step forward, snapping once more so that flames leapt from his torch again.

And the Bogge-man stepped back.

The moment it did, the darkness fell away, the silence fell away, the false memories fell away - even the terror the Bogge-man normally inspired fell away. They were in the canal in the Middens once more, the Bogge-horse screeching and screaming as it thrashed among the debris and the filth, the bell ringing-ever louder in the clear night air. And now, the sound of voices was louder, much louder - and there was an orange glow dancing at the top of the canal, as if from the fires of many torches.

The Bogge-man snapped its teeth and drew its cloak up before it to protect itself, retreating a few more steps as Martimeos snapped once more, sending flames chasing after it.

"Hah!" Kells snorted, shaking his shield arm - bruised, and bleeding, but thankfully not broken, and still serviceable. He looked at Martimeos and Elyse, and even managed a grin - and the witch and wizard grinned back. The Bogge-man might still be before them, but the sheer relief from its pall of terror dropping suddenly from them made their hearts feel free and light. "I cried less as a child from a little heat." He bent, and plucked a stone from the ground, and whipped it as hard as he could at the Bogge-man; it clacked and chattered its teeth as the rock struck it in the head, waving its hooked sword through the air.

Elyse said nothing; she merely gave a wicked smile, narrowing her eyes at the Bogge-man, as that dark fire within her burned with glee. She raised her hands, and beneath her glamour, the shadows on the walls of the canal danced and darkened, becoming threatening, sinister shapes, sharp and hooked and monstrous, looming and flickering and reaching out towards the Bogge-man, clawing their way towards him.

The Bogge-man stepped back nervously from these shadows, head swinging from side to side, teeth clattering as it looked back and forth between all the dark shapes reach for him. He glanced backwards, to where his mount lay thrashing and dying in the debris. It looked up towards the top of the canal, where the twinkling of torchlights and a few shadowy figures could now be seen. And then it turned, looking again at Martimeos, Elyse and Kells. It stared at them for one long moment, its one remaining eye still burning brightly, its teeth clacking and chattering, its dark cloak fluttering about it, as they stared back with vicious grins.

And then it fled.

It bounded up the icy stairs of the canal like flowing shadow, swinging its sword at the few torch-bearing figures there, bowling through them, looking for an escape. But the stairs of the canal led it straight to the central plaza of The Middens, such as it was, the great patch of packed dirt stirred into mud by snow-water. And there it found waiting for it a great mob of soldiers and farmers, many holding torches, others holding weapons, and others still ropes and chains, all packed shoulder to shoulder, all looking at the Bogge-man with hunger for revenge written on their faces.

It swung its sword, chittering, as it looked around for a door through which it could make its escape. But all the doors to the shacks had been blocked off, some by merchant's carts, their owners perched atop of them, watching with gleeful, curious eyes, and others simply by having piles of heavy stone stacked before them.

The crowd surged around the Bogge-man, surrounding it, excited and hungry. It swung its sword in a wide arc, but always the crowd danced back just out of reach. Stones and garbage rained down upon it as the mob pelted it with whatever they could find, and those closest to it poked and prodded at it with spears and pitchforks. Finally, one time, as the Bogge-man swung its sword, its cloak swirling around it, two brave guards stepped forward behind it to stick their spears through its cloak, pinning it into the mud. The Bogge-man spun, snarling, to swing at them.

And then Vincent danced forth from the crowd, golden hair gleaming in the torchlight, blue eyes laughing, a quarterstaff a spinning blur in his hands, and as the Bogge-man swung he lashed out, delivering a sharp, cracking strike to its sword hand. With a clatter, the Bogge-man dropped its sword.

And that was it. All fear fleeing them, the mob surged forward with a howl, hundreds of grasping hands reaching for the Bogge-man. It tried to lash out, but folk dove for its arms and legs, weighing them down, until with a shriek it collapsed beneath their weight, disappearing beneath dozens of bodies and flashing blades trying to find purchase, howling vengeful laughter as they tore at him.

As Martimeos, Elyse and Kells ascended the steps of the canal to see this scene, they could hear some of the folk crying beneath the heap of people pushed on top of the Bogge-man:

"The ropes! Bind him!"

"Chains! Collar him, as many as you can!"

"To the stake!"

The crowd cleared, pulling back, revealing the Bogge-man once more. He still wore his helm - none had been able to tear it from his head - but the other eye had been put out by a lucky dagger, and his long night-black cloak was in ragged tatters. Black blood poured from his neck, where it was not wound about by a thick layer of ropes and chains. His hands were similarly bound together. By his feet lay one guard with what looked to be a broken neck, the last man he had managed to kill. The Bogge-man's head swung back and forth blindly, teeth clacking furiously as dozens of men pulled at the leads around his neck, dragging him forcefully to the center of The Middens circle.

There, among among the ramshackle and destitute shacks, beneath the pale light of the moon, a stake had been erected, a tall and sturdy post piled around with firewood drenched in lamp oil. The folk dragged the Bogge-man to this as it roared and snarled, pinning him against it by dragging him with their ropes and chains, while yet others ran circles around him with more rope, laughing as they bound him to the stake.

Finally, Maddie and her two Crosscraw companions stepped forth from the crowd, their wild red hair no longer hidden. Martimeos had told them to stay nearby, tonight, to fool whatever 'sense' it was the Bogge-man had for them while Elyse worked her glamour. None of these folk in the mob knew, still, that these Crosscraw were the whole reason why the Bogge-man had come to Twin Lamps in the first place. It might not have been safe for them if they did; all they knew was that these women had told the wizard and the witch how to fight the thing.

The three Crosscraw looked up with wide, wondering eyes at the staked Bogge-man, as it roared and strained at its chains, at this thing that had hunted and tormented them, this thing that had killed so many of their people. They each held a torch, and they threw these to the wood, starting the blaze. Then they stapped back, glancing at each other, beginning to smile as the flame spread.

Martimeos stepped out to the front of the crowd now, Kells and Elyse at his side, his dark green eyes twinkling in the moonlight and a broad grin on his face as he looked up at the Bogge-man, screeching and roaring in its strange tongue at them all as it struggled against its restraints. The mob roared and howled with approval as he brought his hands up and clapped, causing the flames on the stake to roar with life.

With each clap, the flames leapt higher; with each clap, the crowd screamed its approval, chanting "DEATH TO THE BLACK RIDER!" A strange rhythm seized them all, Martimeos tapping his boot along with the beat, a spirit of giddy, vengeful triumph sweeping through the crowd, as the stake became a pyre, the blaze glowing brighter and hotter, the Bogge-man giving a long, enraged howl, lifting his head to the heavens as the flames began to consume him. Kells looked on with grim satisfaction; Elyse raised spread her hands and laughed, basking in the sight, her dark eyes flashing and long hair billowing out behind her from the heat. And Maddie and the Crosscraw women danced and hugged each other, tears of joy streaming down their faces, as the flames reached the Bogge-man's chest.

As they watched, the Bogge-man's cattle-skull helm, blind and chattering, shivered and shook. And then it detached itself, flying high into the air, taking its long, tattered, and singed black cloak with it.

Martimeos got a brief look at the man beneath the helm, as it rose into the air. He had stringy red hair, and a red-tinged beard, but his skin was a sickly grey, like that of a corpse, and his face seemed malformed - like the skin had been stretched too thin over the skull beneath. His nose was broad and crushed, crooked, his lips pulled taut in a jagged, tilted line, like a scar carved in his face; the teeth in his mouth had too much space between them. But his eyes - his eyes were full of immense relief. Tears began to stream down his face, and Martim thought he could see the Bogge-man's mouth form the words thank ye before the flames rose to consume him entirely.

Kells though, looked to the sky, where the Bogge-helm had leapt. It hung there, a dark shadow against the pale moon, cloak outstretched behind it like tattered and wicked wings, hundreds of orange sparks from the blaze swimming through the air behind it, winding through the night sky to join the stars. And then with a scream that seemed to shake the night itself, it fell, coursing through the air, headed straight for him.

The Bogge-helm slammed into Kells, its cloak wrapping tightly around him, and his world was swallowed in darkness. Though the cloak was just thin, torn and tattered cloth, it squeezed as though it had the strength of three men, binding his arms to his sides. He could hear the shouts of the crowd as he fell to the ground, struggling and thrashing, but all noise drained away as he could feel the Bogge-helm trying to force itself onto his head.

As it did, something immense and wicked forced its way into his mind - like a pair of clawed black hands, ripping through his thoughts - something so dark, something that burned with hate and yes, fear, fear of its own - whatever this thing was, it did not merely hate the Crosscraw, it feared them as well. Kells screamed into the silence as these hands forced their way deep into his mind, and he could feel himself slipping already, feeling those claws grasping for something deep within his mind -

And then the cloak was being pulled from him by dozens of hands, tugging and tearing; the claws in his mind retreated as the the helm was torn from his head. Kells stumbled back, gasping, his mind reeling, as the mob tore the Bogge-helm from him, dozens wrestling with it.

He rose on shaky legs, nearly stumbling into the pyre, on which the Bogge-man was now little more than a slumping black shadow wreathed by snapping, crackling flame. He watched as the crowd pinned the Bogge-helm to the ground, hands spreading its cloak wide, spears driven through it pinning it to the mud. The cattle-skull strained and and screamed, teeth clatter as it pulled against them, trying to free itself.

Kells felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned around, only to see Vincent. With a knowing smile and mysterious blue eyes, the young farmer handed him a heavy iron maul.

Kells slapped the shaft against his hand, feeling the tremendous weight of the weapon. He spun to face the Bogge-helm again, staring down at it with grey eyes burning as he looked down at the thing, snapping and snarling on the ground, blind and screaming.

With a mad laugh, he brought the maul down upon the Bogge-helm, putting his entire body behind the blow. The crowd roared triumph as he did so, but it was like striking stone. The cattle-skull was driven into the mud, but it grew silent as it hummed and twitched.

Another blow, and now a long crack appeared down the center of the skull. Kells laughed again as he brought up the maul once more, his heart happy and light. He looked around, to see the farmfolk and guard of Twin Lamps cheering all about him, some shouting in triumph, others already weeping tears of joy. He saw Martimeos, the wizard, with a mischievous grin on his face and eyes like the mysterious shadows of a forest. And Elyse, the witch like shadow itself, her smile wicked and bloodthirsty, leaning forward with eyes intent on savoring her revenge.

Beneath him, the Bogge-helm gave one last desperate, shrill cry.

With a mighty shout, Kells brought down the maul once more, and the helm shattered.

Black flame gouted from its now-empty eye sockets; the cloak curled in on itself, snatched out of people's hands, snapping spears from the ground. As if from a great distance, they heard a great howling roar, some massive beast's dying cry. The black flame raced along bone and cloak both, consuming them quickly, as the Bogge-helm gave a few last feeble thrashes even as it burned.

And a few moments later, it was over. The crowd pressed in, looking at what they had done.

All that remained of the Bogge-man was a small pile of white ash. Dust that even now blew away in the cold breeze of the winter's night, scattering into the darkness untouched by the light of the pale moon.