The body fell from the battlements like a lump of manure freshly cast from an ox, thudding to the cobblestones with a muffled metallic clang. The clamor went unnoticed; the street along the rear of Earl Cadfael’s Keep was deserted, the only sounds distant and faint. The corpse waited a moment longer, just to be certain, then hauled itself to its feet with a grunt.

A slightly rumpled Chaos Lord of Slaanesh viewed his surroundings from a forty-five degree tilt to the right. Seth realized with a sardonic snort the problem was not his eyes, but his neck, cocking his head to the right as if listening intently. This mission of mercy was becoming more tiresome by the moment. Irritated and impatient, Seth seized his jaw and roughly twisted his listing skull back to its proper position with a crackle of fractured vertebrae.

"There have been far more dignified exits." he chided himself, adjusting the robes covering his armor. "And better disguises." The largest and baggiest of his wardrobe, it had still required Madelynne’s quick stitching before it had proven of use. Still, with any luck at all it would suffice to see him outside the city while its guardians were otherwise occupied.

Seth moved quickly to a nearby alley, pausing long enough to ensure his shield was still in place across his back, his sword bonded beneath along his spine, and his helm on its belt strap before pulling the deep hood back over his head and stealthily toward the city gate closest the path to the mission.

The way was far from clear. Twice he needed to detour around detachments of men-at-arms, and twice more around minor skirmishes. And once he’d diverted his path wide around a small square containing three lynched women. All three had been hung from the upper stories of a recently looted inn and now dangled motionlessly against the facade. The warrior was slightly surprised; he’d seen no bodies and little real bloodshed before this. Cadfael and his men were taking pains to quell the disturbances with a minimum of real violence, rather than simply spiking the rioters at lance-point. But the lynchings seemed deliberate acts of malice, not justice. Even mob justice. The broken, bloody feet of the women, the arcing splatters of blood on the wall behind them spoke of the time the women had had to struggle once the nooses had pulled tight. Unexpected ferocity from a people Seth had believed amusingly placid.

Finally arriving within sight of the gates, Seth stopped to assess the situation, and was pleased with what he found. Only half a dozen guards in place watching the exit. Six men, whose unfortunate demises could easily be blamed on the rioters. The portcullis beyond would take only a moment to raise, then he’d be gone. The warrior reached for the hilt of his sword, preparing to move in a lethal rush.

Seth was suddenly aware of the sounds of approaching footsteps. Dozens of footsteps, running wildly. Then a press of men came blundering down the alley, more pushing them from behind. Seth was nearly trampled, managing to stay upright only by fleeing with the stampeding commoners out into the square before the gate. Rough, unwashed peasant men seemed to be arriving from every direction, rapidly filling the small open space, and more shoving in from side streets.

The Chaos Lord cursed under his breath, unable to even reach for his sword in the press. Caught like this, in some moronic round-up like a bawling steer. The Pleasure God must be laughing now. That’ll teach me to play hero. Off to the gaol, sort us out later, and that’ll be that. He slumped, disgusted, but was held upright by his neighbors who were too terrified to notice.

"Men of Brionne!" a loud voice thundered, silencing the panicked jabbering. Seth recognized the voice, and squirmed even lower. "Men of Brionne, hear my words." called Jean Le Bois, Battle Standard Bearer of the army of Brionne. "For your crimes: rioting, looting, arson, murder, and rebellion, you all deserve to hang. However, General Cadfael is nothing if not merciful. You men, you criminals, have one chance to save your worthless necks." Le Brun made a quick hand gesture, and with a series of loud clangs the portcullis at the gate was quickly lifted.

"If you disperse now, leave the city, return to your homes, you will be spared." The nobleman continued coldly. "The Lady will judge you in her time, do not doubt. But the law of man will not hound you. Go home, pray, and await the restoration of order."

The knight’s face became even harder. "If you attempt to stay, loyal men-at-arms will take you into custody using all necessary force. You will be taken to the gaol, to await the severest possible punishments for your offences. If you congregate outside the walls you will be regarded as any other enemy army attempting siege and killed on sight."

As one the men-at-arms drew their swords and set shields, ready to follow whatever orders might come.

"Make your decisions now."

Most of the men clogging the square had made their decision some time ago; the pell-mell rush to get outside the city walls and away from its sentinels carried Seth along like a leaf on a rushing stream. Moments later, staring up at the battlements from the path outside the city’s entrance, the Chaos warrior wondered darkly if Slaanesh actually had plans for his minions, or simply a perverse sense of humor. Deciding not to dwell on his conclusion (should the Pleasure God be listening), he moved off toward the path to the mission, accepting as stoically as possible the divine pranks to come.

Seth trotted easily over the replacement bridge, boots thumping across planks so raw he could smell the sap. He walked by himself now; the clot of frightened and shame-faced men he’d left the city with had quickly broken apart, each farmer worriedly considering on the Knight’s dire warning about gatherings outside the city. Ahead a handful of women standing and sitting at the front of the Mission noted his lone approach. They quickly darted inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

Hmmm, thought Seth. This could require a little sweet-talk. He threw back the hood of his robe, blinking in the late afternoon sun. He tapped on the door and spoke politely as he knew how. "Good even, ladies. I urgently need to speak with..."

The peephole creaked open, and a shrill and profane answer to his half-request would have made a high elf faint. In essence, however, the answer was ‘No, please go away immediately.’

The Chaos Lord sighed. Isn’t that how it always is? Seth laughed and spoke aloud to the door. "The one time I’m knocking on the door of a houseful of women without mischief in mind is the time they tell me to sit on a spike. Ma’am, bad people intent on doing bad things are on their way here even as we exchange pleasantries. I need to speak with the Lady Simone. Nowish."

The peep swung shut, and shortly the noblewoman appeared, opening the door cautiously. "Seth? What are you doing here? The Earl will..."

Seth shouldered his way inside. The interior was dim without any windows, but illuminated by a few lamps and torches. He eyed the nervous women gathered in the open central chamber of the simple structure. Too many elderly. Too many children. Some could flee, but the rest simply would not be able to keep ahead of pursuit. "It can safely be assumed that whatever the Earl’s response to my delinquency, it will involve some unpleasantness. However, as the Grasshopper so aptly said, that’s a worry for another day. Right now, listen. Marc and Lise both came to me with the same story from two different sources: A band of cutthroats is coming here to end your life, Simone. Along with anyone else they find conveniently present. They could have left at any time and could arrive at any moment. You must flee." The warrior braced for an imminent uproar.

The noblewoman’s scepticism began to fade. “Marc and Lise… Seth, are you absolutely sure about this?”

“’Sure’?” The warrior’s eyes rolled heavenward. “You think I’d be here if I wasn’t?

Simone weighed the news a moment longer. "Ladies, get everyone downstairs. We’ll send the fastest runners to the city for help."

Seth shook his head. "You send anyone down that road and they’re liable to get lynched."

The noblewoman continued herding her flock toward a heavy trapdoor set in the floor of a nave just of the central chamber. "We’re not completely helpless, Seth. Or stupid. The cellar connects to a set of tunnels. Most have been sealed off, but a few have been carefully maintained for emergencies like this. They surface within a few miles of the city walls."

A few of the more matronly ladies helped those needing assistance down the iron ladder to the cellar, giving Simone a chance to speak privately to Seth. "You’ll be hanged for this, you know. For a handful of mostly harmless louts who probably lost interest ten minutes after they left the city. Stupid fool."

"Simone, things have gotten rough in the city. The guard is taking things in hand, but..."

She sniffed. "You’re beginning to sound a great deal like a certain Earl."

Seth gritted his teeth. "Simone, those ‘louts’ are hanging women from windows in the city." he retorted. "And that’s where they might get caught. Out here, out of sight from any knights, Gods know what they might do."

"You’re exaggerating..."

The Chaos Lord’s temper began to fray. He grabbed Simone by the arm and spun her to face him. "Three women, Simone. Stone dead when I happened across them, but hung while alive enough to kick. Hard men are about, not just malcontent husbands or irate drunkards. Very bad things are happening inside the walls. Even now, as the guards are driving the rioters and looters out beyond the city walls."

A thin, dark haired woman called from the doorway. "Men coming down the path. Lots of them."

Simone glanced toward the entry. "We can close the trap, but the lock on the bottom hasn’t worked in years...". Her hand moved toward her sleeve.

Seth never hesitated. He slipped off his gauntlet, stepped forward and lightly tapped the side of Simone’s neck through the veil. The noblewoman crumpled limply into Seth’s arms. "I know you can hear me." he whispered. "Dark elf assassins have to take an entire course on incapacitation without injury. Very tricky unless you can get up close. But a great deal less tricky than convincing you to leave with the others rather than doing something noble and foolish like staying here and driving those brigands off." He called to the woman by the door. "Help me, please. Lady Simone seems to have fainted. Please, get her below."

The remaining women, having noticed nothing untoward, hurried to get the noblewoman safely down the ladder, until only one young maiden, the one from the door, remained. "What will you do?"

Seth scanned his surroundings, finding what he wanted. Seizing a barrel of lamp oil, Seth swung the cask heavily over his head, then smashed it against the interior wall. Shortly two more barrels had been shattered, filling the building with fumes. Then he smiled at the woman staring at him. "I intend to avoid martyrdom, thank you very much. Meet them on the road, fall back to here, slip down the trapdoor, and leave the surface engulfed in flames to dissuade further pursuit. If things go badly, I’ll still fire the Mission anyway to keep them from climbing down after you. Sound all right to you? Now get yourself into the cellar. Tell Simone about the oil, and not to come up or she’ll be standing in the middle of an inferno. Tell her to go for help in the city; they’ll listen to her long before any of you ladies. You have all that?"

The woman hesitated. "You’re very brave, Lord Garrick. Lady Simone has spoken of you. She says you’re a wily and sly rogue and of lisstenshus nature. But... what you’re doing... its very brave. Heroic. Like in the stories. I think she’s misjudged you."

(Thenoblewomancarriesyourchildyourchildsheknowssheknowsyouhavegivenherachildyourson)

Seth closed his eyes and ground his jaw until his teeth creaked. "That’s ‘licentious’, miss. And there’s no greater rogue ever been born than my own self. Tell Simone that she was right. Absolutely right about me. But that I’ll talk to her later. About… things.” Seth looked away, out the bright rectangle of the doorway. “Now get gone." The woman swung down the ladder and disappeared. The warrior pushed the heavy trap into place, grunting as he did.

Now to the next order of business, thought Seth, moving outside.

Seth met them at the bridge. They approached as a solid mass; fifty, maybe more. Tough and hard-looking, some with simple farm tools, but a surprising number with swords and other weapons. They did not seem at all like the dazed and skittish men he’d been sent out of the city with. This mob was focused, steady, and apparently not ready to end the day peaceably.

"Gentlemen." Seth began pleasantly as they closed in. "I don’t suppose there’s anything I might be able to say or do to convince you to just leave quietly and without a fuss, is there?"

A big burly man up front shook the two axes he was carrying in the warrior’s face. "You can just..."

Seth crushed the man’s larynx with a left hand snap-punch to the throat. In a blink he had his shortsword out in a high arc, taking a second man across the eyes. The sword spun in his hand, and the cloak the Chaos Lord had worn to disguise himself fell away neatly in two pieces. Seth found a comfortable stance, left foot forward, right hand back and up.

"You probably didn’t recognize that last move." Seth commented. "I invented it myself. ‘Slipping Between The Sheets’, and its a very stylish and snappy way to rid oneself of unwanted clothing."

The mob flinched at the sudden death of two of their number, but the stern set of their faces told Seth they wouldn’t break. Drat.

The warrior shifted, bringing the sword forward and point-down. "This next maneuver I call it ‘Pfffffsssshhhht’, because that’s the sound of a big ol’ keg o’ whuppass being opened up. So who gets tapped first?"

The men came crushing in, nearly trampling each other to reach the lone fighter first. Seth dropped and pivoted, slashing across the knees of the front line, then springing back, allowing those behind to stumble over their fallen comrades. He slid back in punching the sword forward like a piston, three through the chest, then back onto the bridge itself.

Still the mob came on, its blood up now. An axe chopped at Seth’s side, but the warrior slipped sideways to the planks’ edge, then launched a side kick which stove in the hatchetman’s sternum. Seth retreated further, avoiding being taken off the side bridge by the press of men, leaving two more foes to bleed to death as he moved. A looter moved in quickly, striking with a longsword. Seth parried twice, then swept the man’s feet out from beneath him, driving the shortsword into the man’s chest even has he fell. Two more lashed out, one with an axe, the other a huge cudgel, Seth spun away, looking for room to maneuver, but found a third man, quick with two swords, cutting him off.

Following his momentum away from the duo, Seth threw himself at the swordsman, taking a slice across the thigh for his troubles. The Chaos Lord laughed, and seized the swordsman’s wrist, snapping the arm straight, then hyperextending the elbow with a gruesome pop. Seth spun the screaming man, dragging him back toward the mission by the neck, a temporary shield to buy time and get his bearings. As the swordsman began to struggle in earnest Seth quickly slashed across his throat, and kicked the toppling body onto the arms of the onrushing mob. A quick step forward while they tried to toss the body aside, and shortsword-driven carnage claimed three more; eye, throat, and groin. Then the warrior retreated again, to the Mission side of the bridge.

Death made them cautious. The men moved to the side, trying to cut him off. Seth lept right and left, slicing men from his flanks, moving back toward the door, staying just ahead of the blades. A lucky swing from a mace clipped Seth over his left eye. Three men pressed in, and Seth could only parry until his vision cleared. Cuts opened over his left arm and leg, hampering his movement.

The Chaos Lord snarled, driving the pommel of his sword into a man’s temple, then thrusting back the other way, its point bursting out another’s back. Seth’s blade whispered back to the right, and a head rolled wetly in the dust. A second later, two men clamped hands over shortsword-sized punctures in their necks. But the mob would not break.

Seth chopped a hand from its wrist as the club it held whistled past his head, then drove his knee into the chin of the disarmed man, breaking his jaw and sending teeth flying. A spin kick, dangerous in such close quarters, snapped a spine in two.

A flail caught Seth on the right shoulder, deadening the arm. The shortsword thudded to the dirt path. The mob closed in, sensing victory.

Seth heard a sound, quiet yet rising over the din of the battle, the raging snarls of his foes. It sounded like a woman, wailing. Maybe laughing, maybe crying. A strange rising moan. He’d heard it before, at moments like this; the line buckling, foes howling in imminent victory. The moment when the fighting ends and the slaughter begins.

He spun, fingers of his left hand seeking eyes, leaving gory ruin in its wake. His left foot crashed down on an instep, then a knee, then rising to strike a man across the face. Seth rolled across the ground, snagging his sword in his left hand, rising with three more gouges across his back. A vicious slash arcing right put paid to the man who had marked the chaos warrior, and an axeman beside him as well.

An enormous man with arms like tree trunks took hold of Seth from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. The mob struck his captor as often as Seth, but the warrior took ferocious wounds to the head and chest before breaking free. The warrior’s lip curled like a dog, rational thought eliminated by the feral.

Seth spun forward into the center of the mob. Men seemed to burst apart and shatter before the warrior, carved by blows they could barely see let alone parry. Blood sprayed twenty feet into the air for perhaps a full minute as the crush broke and annihilated itself on Seth’s steel.

The warrior froze in his original stance; left foot forward, right arm back and high, surveying the scene around him. Dead men formed a pile to his knees. Further off a handful of wounded still groaned, but would hardly be pursuing further. Only then did Seth release his rigid posture.

"Idiots." he sneered at the dead men. "I’m a Chaos Lord. What did you think was going to happen? Fools." He mused. "Crazy-brave, running into a horror-show meat grinder like that, but fools." His chest still hurt, but he could feel the wounds closing. Enough killing for today.

The stink of oil was still heavy in the close air of the mission. Seth trod wearily to the trap door, sheathing his sword so that he could use two hands to pry it up, but no sooner had he set his hands on the ring than he heard a muffled sound from behind him.

Not moving his hands, the Chaos Lord lashed out backward with vicious kick into the stomach of the poor clod that’d tried to sneak up on him.

The poor clod caught Seth’s foot.

Seth looked back but only managed a glimpse of a figure in armor before being swung like a club by his ankle to smash into the far wall, nearly slamming into a torch in its sconce. He fell to the floor with heavy thud, but snapped to his feet in a blink, already in his stance, hand on sword hilt. Then he froze.

The battle dress his assailant wore was strange, ornate beyond imagining. It appeared to be made of black wicker and metal strips, with oversize spiked shoulder and hip plates. Red runes chased themselves over its edges and folds. Metal plates hung from the back of the helmet to protect the neck of its wearer, and a crescent laid across the forehead formed two huge horns. But it was the Oni-Daemon mask covering the face that had taken Seth’s breath. The grotesque snarling face and fangs meant to frighten opponents... were familiar.

Seth had once known a man who bore the o-yori of the Nipponese, a Shikami mask where his face had once been. That man had been the leader of ten thousand Hung warriors, the most feared man in Cathay. A samurai fallen to disgrace, but redeemed through blood and chaos. A man Seth had partnered, befriended, and eventually betrayed.

Bahdi Koda, Chaos Lord of Khorne.

Simone sped down the path toward the city gate. Truth be told, she’d much rather be flaying Seth alive at the moment, but that was hardly relevant. He was right, damn him. With the city in chaos, only she had any chance to get her brother-in-law to send help.

Unwilling to risk accidentally running into a similar band of brigands, Simone had left the terrified women and children in the safety of the tunnel to await her return. The noblewoman saw nothing when she slipped from the tunnel exit, save for a heavy column of smoke from the direction of the Mission. She’s forced herself to turn away, moving quickly through the heavy undergrowth. The path would be more open but she’d never get to Brionne in time if she tried to push her way through the concealing brush the entire way.

The trip was uneventful, passing a handful of embarrassed-looking farmers and shepherds, obviously recently ejected from the streets of the city; one had a minor head wound he pressed a rag to. Another had an arm in a sling. None were armed, and none made any move to bar her way.

The guards on the walls were not so accommodating. First they warned her away, going so far as to nock arrows to intimidate her. When they had finally realized who she was, they wasted nearly as much time apologizing and attempting to lead her to the Keep and fortified safety. Seconds ticked away as it became clear she would not be dissuaded.

"Take me to the Earl. Immediately."

An argument began as to who would escort her, and where they’d get a proper horse and saddle for her to use. Simone wanted to scream. Finally she turned and left the guard post, swung herself up onto the nearest charger and galloped off into the city.

This time luck was with her. A formation of guards gave her directions to Earl Cadfael’s command post after only a few minutes of searching; a nearby burned-out inn. Simone spurred the horse right through the gaping front door, vaulting from the animal’s back practically at the General’s feet into the middle of a strategy session with his officers.

"Simone!" The Earl was caught completely off guard. "What are you doing here? The streets are dangerous, you should be at the Keep." He motioned for one of his men to remove the horse. Jean Le Brun looked scandalized. Francois looked grim, but his eyes sparkled with concealed humor. "I’ll have someone escort..."

Simone strode forward and tapped him on the breastplate hard enough to make him step back a pace. "The next person who tries to escort, take, order, or send me anywhere will get far more than they bargain for. I come from the Mission. It’s under attack. You must send men to its defence."

The men in the room froze. Francois spoke first, his merriment gone. "Who would attack a holy shrine of The Lady?"

Simone shrugged. "A band of brigands. From the city, apparently. We moved into the tunnels, and sealed the trapdoor. Seth said he would hold them off for as long as he could..."

"Seth?" Cadfael broke in. "What was he doing there? He was at the Keep when I left this morning, after you’d already gone. Did Roland bring him?"

Simone regretted her slip. No other way to continue now. "He came to save us. He found out about the men and came for us. You were busy, and wouldn’t have believed him anyway."

Cadfael’s face hardened to stone. "He left the Keep. Without escort."

The noblewoman gritted her teeth. Always the trees and never the forest. "He’s dying out there, right now. He planned to fire the Mission if he had to. To stop them from pouring in and finding us. Its burning even now. You can see the smoke from the city wall, if you’d look."

The knights looked at each other. Jean spoke. "Lady, the man is a vile criminal. Whatever he told you, he broke the law, and has now destroyed a holy shrine. If he’s dying out there, it’s no more than he deserves."

The whistling crack of the slap seemed loud in the crowded room. A red palm-print branded itself across Le Brun’s face. "That ‘vile criminal’," seethed Simone, "risked his own life to save women and children. Knowing that even if he survived, his life was forfeit because of the law he would break in doing so. And you knights," The word was an accusation. "stand around muttering about a Mission being burned?" She bent down and picked up a charred timber. "You stand in a burned inn. A man’s business, ruined. You can see a dozen razed homes from the front door. More tragedy. Endless tragedy." Without warning she threw the board at Cadfael, who casually deflected it with a gauntlet. "Its wood. Brick. Glass. And whatever it once was, it can be rebuilt. The Lady cares less for dead wood and stone than the lives and honor of her people. Or would you cast those into the flames as well?"

"Milady." Francois had not raised his voice, but the gravity carried in his words stopped the noblewoman in mid-rant. "You wrong us. Rioting took off like oil tossed onto smouldering embers. All at once, everywhere. The Earl mobilized the men shortly after the first of the fighting. Far worse violence was averted by his initiative. We could not be everywhere, and could not stop everything. We have fought kith and kin since this morning, sapping their killing rage, and giving a few bumped heads in exchange. A handful of hardened elements remain, and must be purged, lest it flare up yet again. The men are weary, hungry, and unfortunately, still needed here. You say the women at the mission safely made their way into the tunnels, and that the main entrance at the Mission has been sealed by fire. Then the only person at risk is one who, by your own words, has accepted the possibility of his own death before he left the Keep’s walls."

Simone could see her pleas would not avail her, or Seth. "He’s..."

Francois stepped forward, gently taking her hand in his calloused palm. "Milady, Lord Garrick is an exceptional man. I’d wager everything I own he’s sitting comfortably somewhere, a glass of wine in one hand, and a plump farmer’s daughter in the other, telling the tale of how he rescued a houseful of tearful women from a band of raiders larger than Brionne herself."

"But if he’s hurt..."

Francois shook his head. "Then he’ll heal. And if he’s dead, he’s dead, and there’s no cure for that." He shook his head, calmly warding off her protests. "Milady, we don’t have the men to spare. He’ll have to manage on his own."

Simone broke away from the elderly knight. "Then I’ll go myself. I’m tired and hungry too, but that doesn’t mean..."

"Simone." Cadfael’s voice stopped the noblewoman in her tracks. "You’re going to the Keep."

"Luc, I warned you about..."

Cadfael ignored her. "Louis, Jacques. Please escort Lady Simone back to the Keep. If she resists in any way, you are to remain there and stand watch over her until I return."

Simone’s response was ice. "You can’t treat me like a little girl, Luc."

The Earl’s gaze pinned her like a knife. "On the contrary. As long as you behave like a child, I will most certainly treat you as one. It is my duty to protect you from yourself."

The two officers stepped up and flanked the noblewoman. It seemed for a moment Simone might actually make a break for it, damn the consequences. Then she pressed her hands to her still-flat stomach, and with a shudder left with the two knights without another word.

Cadfael turned to his map of the city, breathing deeply, calming himself. The assembled men fell silent, averting their eyes, awaiting orders.

Francois simply regarded his Commander, his eyes carefully blank.

The General came to a conclusion. "I should go myself. Only a few men. A mage if one can be spared."

"What?" Le Brun sputtered, barely able to speak. "Milord? We have more important things... You just said...”

The Earl considered a long minute before answering.

"My father told me something once. Long, long ago, but I have never forgotten. He said, ‘Children may owe anything, but a man pays his debts’. Seth Garrick is a living insult to law and honor, I know. But debts we incur must be repaid, Jean, whomever is owed. For if we do not, what is our honor worth?" Cadfael spoke like a man mounting a gallows. I swore to guard and protect his life. What is that worth? He defends women and children. Our women and children, Jean." Cadfael stepped up to his Standard Bearer, taking him by the shoulders. "I will not cast our honor on the fire today. Lord Garrick will be paid what he’s owed. Every penny."

Francois’ slight nod was the only sign of his approval. Even Le Brun conceded the point.

The Earl looked to his eldest retainer, then out the door after Simone, now long gone. My thanks in dealing so tactfully with my sister-in-law. I doubt I could’ve done near so well."

" Every once in a while you could try talking with her, rather than at her." The aged officer remarked.

Cadfael’s tense breath gusted out, and a small smile crept across his face. "I am lucky to have your gentle wit to protect and chastise me, old man."

Francois’ lips quirked. "I have my own debts to pay, young Earl."

Cadfael nodded his own approval. "Jean, I’ll need a half dozen men and fresh horses. The rest are yours. Send a runner to Lady Elyse. Tell her to bring any healing potions she may have." Earl Cadfael looked directly at Francois. "We’ll probably find nothing more than a burned out building, but debts must be paid."

Le Brun was ready to yank out his hair. "And if he’s fled? He’s not likely to sit and wait for us to arrive, is he?"

Cadfael shrugged. "With Lord Garrick... Who knows what goes through that man’s mind? But a quick look is all we have time for. Tomorrow we’ll search, after settling the city, and a little rest. One way or the other, Lord Garrick will be dealt with, and very soon."

The Slaaneshi Chaos Lord was rarely taken by genuine surprise or thrown of his stride by anything. But this... This was something.

The feral, animal part of Seth’s brain continued to function normally through the five seconds of shock that occupied his higher brain functions. But what that animal had to say took only two seconds to compute.

‘I’m dead’ is what it came up with.

It was a question of differing styles and capabilities. Bahdi Koda had learned lethal modes of combat by the time he’d first fallen out of his crib. In his youth Koda had been taught by the most renowned and capable warmasters of the East. Blades, sharp sticks, hands and feet, or just his teeth, the young samurai could destroy ten times his body weight in men by his twelfth birthday. Becoming an initiate in the Cult of The Blood God just made the lessons more vicious and notably shorter. Koda’s samurai training made a perfect complement to the enhanced strength and unbelievable pain tolerance of a Chaos Lord; he could smash through a brick wall with his face while composing a haiku poem, and then proceed to eviscerate everyone in sight without pausing for breath.

Seth, on the other hand, could only consciously remember a little more than the last decade. And while the training he’d received at the hands of the elite training cadre of dark elf assassins in their Temple of Khaine in Ghrond was nothing to scoff at, it was meant to be practiced by elves; quick movements, feints, countermaneuvers, and disabling nerve strikes.

All useless on a man who was faster, stronger, and didn’t feel pain.

Seth’s first conscious thought was to get to his sword. He flinched toward the scabbard, but halted his darting hand before it had moved more than an inch.

Koda had seen the movement. His eyes glittered like coins behind the mask. The first small victory to the Khorne Lord.

He’s waiting, thought Seth. Toying with me. Once I go for my sword, he’ll have his out in that eyeblink-draw he used to like showing me, close the distance on the way, and chop me in two before I can get into a stance. Have to get him off balance, distract him until I can get something rolling. He’ll expect me to stall, try and talk my way out of this. Seth grinned. "Hey Koda-chan. Long time no see."

The armored figure did not move, did not speak, did not seem even to breathe.

"Funny thing, seeing you. I thought you were dead."

Seth could see the eyes narrow, feel the menace radiating out.

"Fine. You want to be angry at me, okay. But so it’s clear, it wasn’t my idea to betray you. I didn’t want to kill you. But the orders came down, and you know where the orders come from... I couldn’t just say, ‘No’ could I?”

Koda let out a low hiss, a steam boiler creaking toward overload. His feet moved to a stance, front and back, but the hands stayed by their sides, ignoring the sword hilt. Apparently he felt quite strongly that the Slaaneshi Lord could have and should have just said ‘no’.

Seth bit his lip. He was running out of time. He fumbled for something to say, anything to delay the impending bloodbath. "That your old sword?” he managed. “That tree-chopper you used to have?"

The blade seemed to spring out of its sheath, sprouting from the Khorne-Lord’s fist. The mask smiled, seeming pleased. "Tetsu-ko." The voice was low, yet it resonated powerfully through the room.

A plan began to form in Seth’s mind. "I remember you bragging, telling that story about a thousand times."

Bahdi seemed to relax slightly. He regarded the sword, a magnificent weapon made for use with either one or two hands, the blade a frozen arc of steel. A dai-katana, it was a thing of pride and beauty. His wife had insisted on having it made for him. The Khorne Lord had told Seth proudly of her request for suicide when he had fallen to disgrace. She was truly samurai.

Koda’s eyes slitted, the memory of his wife bringing him back to the present. With a snap, the katana was again resting comfortably in its sheath. Slowly he bent his knees, lowering to a squat. Eyes still on Seth, one hand reached out, tapping the ring set into the top of the trap door.

Surprise, surprise. He knows about Simone. Almost there.

"She is samurai as well, Bahdi-sama."

Koda snorted, mildly offended by the idea of a gai-jin samurai, and a woman at that. Seth knew Bahdi felt all non-Nipponese were barely better than the beasts they tilled soil with. But the comment would tell the samurai of Seth’s feelings for the woman, which was what mattered. Koda’s palm tapped the ring three more times, teasingly. Then he shifted his weight and clamped his gauntlet tight around the metal loop to give it a tug.

The bone and muscle of Seth’s right arm seemed to move independently of the rest of his body, snaking his shortsword free and swinging it in a tight upward arc, left to right. The blade made an ugly thwack as it gouged into the wall, then scraped free as the warrior sprang wide to the left.

The Khorne Lord needed only a moment to correct his balance, uncoiling like a spring as he launched himself like a missile, sword-point first, toward his prey. Only a catlike twist in mid-air stopped him from bursting face first through the fiery wall that erupted like magic in the middle of the room. Koda pivoted, noticing only then the severed torch stub in its sconce just below the notch Seth had chopped into the wall. Spilled pools of lamp oil had turned the Mission into an inferno, with Bahdi closest to the entrance, but Seth nearer the trapdoor after the samurai’s leap.

Koda tensed to strike and destroy his prey, heedless of the flames.

Seth had only moments. "Koda!" he shouted over the roar of the fire. "Your honor will be stained for eternity if you do not listen!"

The Khornate Samurai hesitated.

Only seconds... Hit him where he bleeds. “You’re here for my head, for your honor’s sake. I’ll fight you if you want..."

Bahdi made a sound that was half laugh, half snarl.

Seth shrugged. "I know, straight fight, it’d be over in no time. But right now," he motioned to the flames racing to engulf them. "How much time do you think we have? How long do I have to stall before this whole place crashes down, or we’re both cooked to cinders?"

The katana tip went up, two hand grip, hilt by right shoulder.

Seth’s armor was beginning to scorch the flesh that held it. "I know you don’t give a snotling’s buttock about your own life. But think for a second. If I’m still alive when the flames or the roof get us, you’ll have avenged nothing. And if the flames, my flames kill you... what will you tell your precious Blood God then?" Seth’s voice had risen to a bellow. "You will have failed, Samurai-sama. What rewards do you think will await you?"

Long seconds passed into the crackling, roaring flames. Seth could hear the creak of Koda’s knuckles on the hilt of his weapon. He knew then his plan had failed; so close to his goal Koda would not be dissuaded. A bead of sweat slipped into Seth’s left eye, blurring it. Quickly the warrior blinked it away. When his vision had cleared, Bahdi was gone, lost in the crackle of flames.

A wave of relief swept through Seth’s body, so tangible the warrior felt his knees unhinge slightly. He hadn’t been scared of Koda. Merely concerned. Just concerned.

Seth scanned the flames and realized the time to depart had most definitely arrived. Sheathing his sword, the Chaos Lord turned, bent down, and grasped the metal ring of the trapdoor. It was only then Seth realized that he could still hear the sound over the flames, so loud he could barely hear it. The wailing woman…

A sharp sting shot through the Chaos Lord’s chest. Seth looked down. Ah. A sword point. The pain in my torso is almost certainly due to the sword point jutting wetly from the front of my pectoral armor.

"You will not escape me!" Bahdi Koda hissed into Seth’s ear. "Vengeance is mine, betrayer! Your head is mine!"

"The trees are too far off, Milord", apologized Lady Elyse. "And the brook has little to say."

Earl Cadfael surveyed the smouldering ruins of the Mission. "I thank you for your help with the fire." The Life Mage’s rain spell had extinguished the few remaining flames drizzling through the collapsed hole in the roof. The Earl’s knights had then entered to take a look while the Earl and the Sorceress had sought answers elsewhere.

"One man crossed the bridge." Elyse continued. "Then he returned, and more men came. From toward the city. The one man fought, killing many. Then he crossed back toward the mission, slaying as he went."

The Earl nodded. "The trail of bodies ends at the door." His brow furrowed. "Were there enough men to force the fight inside? Is that why he fired the shrine?"

The mage shook her head. "I’m not sure. Its only a small brook, and can barely see the shrine. But I don’ t think so."

"Anything else?" the Earl prodded gently. He needed to know exactly what had transpired. The magistrate would certainly want to know... as would Simone.

The mage turned back to the stream, speaking easily in a gurgling tongue. The water gurgled back. "It says only one more man crossed the bridge." She appeared puzzled. "It says the man was like... it’s hard to translate. Like a river of oil. Like old water used to temper blades at a smithy, all full of metal. Water pounding through rapids, grinding stones to dust, sweeping across fields in a flood, scraping away everything in its path." She gulped, and looked at the nobleman. "Its bad. Really bad."

Cadfael gave a shrill whistle to alert his men. "Garrick may have allies about. We’re heading back to town!"

The Mission remained silent.

"Pierre! Jacques! We’re back to the city."

The Earl drew his sword, motioning the mage to stay back and provide what aid she could. Cautiously, the nobleman moved into the blackened structure.

Cadfael found his men gathered quietly near the rear of the structure, near a pile of support beams and rubble. "What’s wro..."

A sword hilt jutted from the center of the pile.

"Looks like his shield arm’s gone from about the elbow." one knight murmured quietly.

Another nodded. "That blade... through the chest probably took him before the fire did."

The Earl’s eyes finally made sense of the chaos before him. "Signs of who... who he fought?"

"Only this, Milord." The knight held up a small, jagged item. "The corner of a snarling, fanged mouth. Metal. Broken or torn from a faceplate, most likely. Or some magical item. Perhaps the Lady Elyse could tell us."

A long silent moment spun out as Cadfael’s thoughts churned within him.

"Move the beams. We’ll not leave him for scavengers. You men will lead a larger party to the tunnel exit nearest the city to escort the women and children to the safety of the walls when we return."

The knight, Pierre, was hesitant. "And the body, Milord? Where shall we take it? The cemetery near the North Wall? Or perhaps..."

"The Keep’s Chapel."

"Yes Milord." He fidgeted. "You’re certain, Milord?"

Cadfael’s heavy gaze swung to the knight, to the gutted interior of the building, then back to the body of the man he’d sworn to defend. "He has earned his place. The Lady watches over him this day. Now move, and let’s be gone."