Night was falling as Cadfael knelt before the altar in the chapel, drifting somewhere between prayer and empty numbness. Try as he might, the words simply would not form in his mind. Yet he could not bring himself to move. His eyes flicked occasionally to the flag-covered bier in front of him. Every time they did so, the flow his thoughts had developed dried up and he was again left silently blinking, vainly attempting to assimilate the events of the day. The candles in the chapel seemed strangely, painfully bright, and the more he kept his eyes open the better it seemed to leave them closed.

His men waited for him, he knew. Even the Keep's own small garrison awaited him in the courtyard. He knew he should go. Work remained to be done. Looters and rioters to be rounded up. He had to leave, because he knew they'd never come for him, never disturb him here. His duty called. He glanced down at his helmet, lying askew on the floor not far from his knees. He must go. Pick up the helmet and go.

But he could not.

Luc Cadfael, Earl of Parravon, the Boar of Brionne, could not do his duty. He could feel the eyes of his Goddess on him, observing his failure.

His eyes moved to the bier. This man, strangely, had not failed.

"Milady." Cadfael spoke humbly, imploring. "Look not upon the disappointment which I, as your servant, have become. Lord Garrick was no proper knight. But he acquitted himself well today, and perhaps, somehow, has earned your favor. I am no minstrel, but if it please you, I would speak the Chanson of Lord Garrick of the Wastes."

Cadfael cleared his throat. Rhymes were as foreign to him as Seth Garrick himself, but he would try.

Cadfael stopped a moment, to gather his thoughts.

Cadfael opened his eyes. If the Lady disapproved, she gave no sign.

"I am here at your request." The voice from behind Cadfael dripped sarcasm and condescension. "I was busy trying to save your little city from brigands and lawlessness." continued Roland. "Then your infantry officer informed me I was to report to you immediately."

How long had he been praying? Only a few minutes, thought the Earl. Had he sent for Roland? Of course he had. Cadfael drew in a breath, hardening the armor around his mind. Bourdon was a cretin, but would sense weakness if there was any. "I ordered you here, Commandant. If that displeases you, I suggest you find another army to fight for."

Cadfael hadn't turned around, hadn't even opened his eyes to deliver his rebuke, but the hiss of breath from Bourdon told the Earl his words had struck. Roland spoke through clenched teeth. "My apologies, General Cadfael. I am at your disposal."

"Indeed you are." confirmed Cadfael. " I summoned you here because of an incident this afternoon. A band of brigands attacked the mission my sister-in-law was visiting, a short distance outside the city."

Cadfael heard his subordinate approach the bier. The Commandant tried, but could not keep a small sneer from his voice. "Milord Earl, what a tragedy. It's so sad you are so frequently aggrieved by the women you treasure. I'm certain she fought well against her assailants."

The Earl's eyes opened, then narrowed. Then with a small smile of his own, his eyes closed again. "That is in part why I ordered you here, Commandant. You are here to receive new orders. You are to leave this city at once, with only two of your personal guard to escort you back to Porte D'Ouest. The remainder will stay here, and be dismissed to your service after this current crisis is past."

Roland burst out laughing. "Really? You think so? Well, I'll take that under advisement, Milord Earl. But somehow I think not. I'll need my men to claim Garrick's ransom. Or perhaps you think to somehow usurp it for yourself?" Bourdon stepped close to his still-kneeling General. "Such poor manners, Milord Earl. Perhaps my friend the Duke should know of this feeble attempt…"

"It's your attempts which are feeble, Commandant." interrupted Cadfael. "There will be no ransom. And since there will be no ransom, there is no reason for you to stay one more moment in Brionne."

Roland lowered his face to within inches of the Earl. "You will beg to remain a knight when I'm through with you."

"Seth is dead." Cadfael sounded resigned, nearly bored with this pronouncement.

Roland snapped upright. "What?"

"He died this afternoon. Saving my sist… saving Simone. Simone, and a number of other ladies and children who had taken shelter at the Mission. He fought the brigands, but was trapped inside when the structure collapsed. He fired it to ensure none of the villains could find a way down to the tunnels beneath it, where our people were hid. We did not get there in time, too much to deal with here in the city. Seth Garrick died today. Hence, your plan is at it's end. Unless you feel you could ransom his corpse? In which case he's on the bier behind you."

Cadfael could not suppress a small, wry smile as he listened to Bourdon step slowly to the altar and throw the flag aside to reveal Seth's remains.

Roland stared blankly down at the charred body, outwardly calm, but inwardly raving. The money, Roland gibbered inside his head. I need the money. Without the ransom, there is no money, I'll have to pay it back, the loan, but there is no money. I can't. I'm ruined. The ransom. He's dead, and I have no idea where… He never told me. A million in gold somewhere, but useless. I'll have to repay… Oh Goddess! Ruined! 'Not there in time'? What? Cadfael, he did this! He let that chaos-maggot die, to ruin me! Ruined! RUINED!

Roland could hear an audible snap as he contemplated his future. A spatter of saliva fell from his contorted face. He spun, seeing his enemy kneeling helpless before him, and sprang. Cadfael sensed his leap, but from his awkward position could only partially dodge the blow. Bourdon's heavy gauntlet clipped the Earl above the ear, sending the Knight sprawling.

"Bastard!" screamed Roland. "You do everything to keep us down." Bourdon swung again, connecting heavily with the back of Cadfael's head, knocking him prone. "But now I have you! You will not stop me!" The Commandant jumped on his foe's back, wrapping steel-encased fingers around the Earl's throat.

"You die now, weakling! I'll kill you myself!" screamed Roland, crushing down with all his strength.

The boy slowly opened his eyes.

He lay still, curled in a fetal ball in the corner of the hut. Nearby he could sense his Ma, for a wonder finally fallen silent; her constant keening wail when the Old Man went about his business was enough to drive a man crazy. Or a boy. The boy took stock of himself. Even without looking he knew it'd been a bad one. His arm wouldn't move properly; probably broken, he knew. His breathing was thick, painful; broken ribs too. A red haze filled his vision; blood dried in his eyes, he hoped. And his skin… scraped raw somehow. Something new to add to his list of experiences at the hands of the Old Man.

He swung his head, retching with vertigo.

His mother. Wrapped in the rags her drunken husband provided her. Lines cut deep into a long, thin face, framed by hair run to gray a decade earlier than her age alone should have made it. Her eyes, though… Something odd. Ma's eyes were usually as bloodshot and rheumy as her husband's. But now they were brilliantly clear. So full of regret and grief and sorrow just the look of them brought the sting of long-held tears to the boy's eyes.

She's not even talking, he thought to himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Ma just standing silent, not talking or yelling or just breathing loudly. Secretly he doubted there ever had been a last time. It was amazing… Her gaze moved to the center of the room behind the boy, a heavy weight shifted by her gaze. Hypnotized, his head turned to follow it.

The Old Man.

He had someone pinned to the floor, throttling them with his big, scarred hands.

Rosheen. The boy thought. My wee sister. Has to be. Nobody would bother to visit this pesthole.

He swung dizzily back to his mother. Her eyes seized his, pinning him. Grief and sorrow were fled. And where there should normally be apathy, drunken indifference, or more rarely, simple shame, there was now implacable resolve, commanding him to act.

The haze seemed heavier as the boy moved to his feet. Scabbed over wounds broke open; he could feel blood trickling down his back and legs. He was unsteady, and his arm… he didn't look. He didn't want to know. He didn't care.

He had found his feet.

This time he would not fail.

Three long steps brought him to the Old Man. Not a boy now. A man. A soldier.

A warrior.

Left arm no good, he thought, reaching out with his right. Have to make this short then. The Old Man spun, propelled by the warrior's rough grasp. Furious brown eyes squinted in confusion, then widened in shock as they met the crystal blue orbs of the warrior.

"Mornin', Da'." He said, seizing the front of the Old Man's ratty coat, and smashing his forehead down onto the smaller man's nose.

The Old Man would have sprawled except for the Warrior's iron grip. The soldier's voice stayed calm and level. "I told you Da'.

The forehead drove down again.

"You'd best."

Again.

"Leave baby Rosheen."

Again.

"Alone."

Again.

The Old Man now hung limply in the Warrior's fist, face covered in a mat of hair and blood.

"Seth."

The warrior looked to his sister. "Don't you worry, Ro. No one's going to hurt you no more."

"Seth."

"Don' you recognize me, girl?" He squatted down by her side. "It's me Ro, your brother."

"Seth."

The warrior was suddenly afraid. "Why do you keep calling me that? That's not my name. I'm your brother. Don't you know who I am?"

"Seth."

Fear quicksilvered to anger. "Don't call me that! That's not my name. My name is…"

The warrior was filled with mute horror. He glanced to his mother, pleading for her aid, but in her place he found only a statue. It's white marble form regal and queenly, nothing like… someone.

A dream… Another goddamn dream!

Seth pressed his eyes shut. I must hold on this time. This is important. Significant. I must remember something. A deep breath.

I was talking to…

There was someone else there…

I…

They were…

I did… something. Something I wanted to do…

My name. His mind clamped down on this one detail. I know my name.

He gritted his teeth. Say it. Say your name. Just… say it. It was…

Seth crouched over himself, his entire body shaking with effort. The words dragging themselves like fishhooks out of his throat.

"My. Name. Is…"

Nothing.

It was gone.

In a paroxysm of rage and frustration Seth brought up his fists to strike at his own treacherous head, as if to drive the answers free with brute force. But the left arm severed at it's mid-point deflected the force of the blow and threw the Chaos Lord off balance. He fell heavily across a pew in a bone-jarring sprawl. He lay there unmoving, panting like he'd just run a mile in full armor, fighting a pitched assault the whole way.

A few feet away a still somewhat dazed Earl Cadfael slowly rose to his feet, rubbing his bruised throat. Lord Garrick seemed more lucid now, but given what had happened while he had not been… better to be cautious, he reasoned. "Seth, are you all right?" The question was ludicrous, yet nothing else seemed appropriate.

The Chaos Lord did not look around. "Fine."

The Earl glanced over at the body of Commandant Bourdon. The front of his skull had been smashed in as if with a smith's hammer. "Seth." He began again. "You're alive. We thought… you were dead."

The warrior shrugged, completely nonplussed with news of his resurrection.

Cadfael took a step forward. "You killed Bourdon, Seth."

"Good. Add it to my list of crimes."

The knight blinked. "What?"

Seth did turn to look at the Bretonnian noble then. "So when they read my list of crimes to the mob assembled to witness my execution I'll be remembered as a knight-killer, not just some punk parole-breaker."

"Seth…"

He turned away. "Spare me, tin-man. I presume I saved your life again, else you wouldn't be stammering so badly. More fool, I, then. But we both know whatever gratitude you might feel for what I can only explain as the quintessential definition of the phrase 'seemed like a good idea at the time', the facts remain that I left the castle without proper escort, and managed to kill a Bretonnian Knight with my bare hands… well, hand, while doing so, a Bretonnian nobleman in the bargain. Both of which happen to rate a death sentence in this moronic sinkhole of a country. So please let me be perfectly frank. I am tired, m'Lord Earl. Very, very, unbelievably tired. So much so that I'd really like nothing more than the quiet solitude and serenity of the deepest, darkest dungeons you have to offer. And since I currently lack the strength to stand, I'll just have to rely on your assistance in this matter. So call your guards, clap me in irons, and have me dragged off therein. Because in addition to all of the other, numerous slings and arrows I have endured on this truly and absolutely hellish day, I'm currently developing a pounding headache, and an unfortunate lack of interest in the further burbling and/or disparaging platitudes you seek to visit upon me."

The earl stood mute for some time, but when he spoke his words seemed unusually sharp to Seth. "I spoke to your servants." His head snapped around. "Eh? So?"

"All three say they blackmailed you into going to the mission. To save Simone, they said. That you didn't have a choice but to go."

The warrior didn't blink. "Lies. I told them they would all die horribly if they betrayed my absence. They are merely fearful of my wrath."

Cadfael nodded. "The women from the mission said you comported yourself very well, staying behind to make sure the slowest and sickest of them had time to flee."

Seth's lip curled. "A ruse. I needed them gone. Having them about when my allies arrived to take me to safety could have caused needless complications. Rapine and plunder do take time, you know. Time we could ill afford."

"Ah yes. Your allies. I suppose things didn't go so well when they arrived after all?"

"Betrayed. No idea why. Such is life amongst the peoples of Chaos."

The knight's eyes narrowed, but he nodded slightly. "Simone spoke passionately on your behalf in order to get a detachment of men to ride out and investigate your movements. More passionately than I might have believed."

Simone's pregnancy lept to the tip of Seth's tongue, hung there, poised.

He swallowed. "More fool her, then. Is she here? I would speak with her, if I might. To offer my condolences."

Cadfael's jaw clenched. "Simone is gone, fled. We parted badly when she returned…" The Earl recovered his composure. "She gathered a few things from her rooms and slipped away. She will be found soon."

The corners of Seth's mouth quirked slightly. For the best, then. "Are we done then, m'Lord Earl?"

Cadfael thought long about that. His city still burned, he could not continue to ignore that. What to do. He'd drawn his conclusions, but what to do? He mumbled something quietly into his mustaches.

Not quietly enough. Seth's keen ears caught the words, and furrowed his brow in puzzlement. "'What's a man's honor worth?'

I think you're asking the wrong man that, m'Lord." Cadfael grunted as if punched. Indeed. A sign, perhaps? In any case, his path was clear. "Indeed, Lord Garrick, you have willingly broken our laws and will pay in full for it."

"I'm sure the magistrate will be happy to see me again." sneered Seth.

The Earl shook his head. "The law is clear, Lord Garrick. There is no need to consult the magistrate. He has already ruled in this matter. Other duties press, but I will deal with it personally upon my return."

"What…"

The Earl seemed to consider. "We wouldn't want you expiring before you can be officially executed. I'll send someone to bring you some clothing and see to your wounds. Do you think Lise and Madelynne might be able to overcome their deathly terror and assist you in this matter?"

The Chaos Lord said nothing.

"Brionne must have order restored." Continued the knight. "To do so expeditiously, I will take all of my remaining armsmen, even the Keep's garrison, and leave the main gate under the control of the male servants. They only need keep it barred, and then open it to let us return, do they not? I will dispatch Marc to remove Bourdon. Terrible thing, don't you think? For the Commandant to have fallen in the fighting today? And Marc can carry you, if need be, but he must do his part in the defense as well. The small man-gate along the west wall. It's heavily fortified and well-hidden from the outside and should only need a single man to watch it, don't you think?"

Seth simply stared. "Perhaps."

"Good." agreed Cadfael. The knight walked over to Seth, then crouched down beside him. "You have a nasty head wound, Lord Garrick. Take care to cover it well, won't you?"

He nodded. "I will, m'Lord."

The Earl's face suddenly switched from almost genial to grimness so foreboding Seth thought the nobleman might have changed his mind in a lethal fashion. "Very well then, Lord Garrick. I leave you. Just keep in mind that the very next time I set eyes on you, I fully intend to kill you. Do I make myself clear?

The astonishment at his reprieve did not diminish Seth's understanding of the warning. "Crystal, m'Lord Earl."

Earl Cadfael rose and walked to the chapel entrance. "One last thing, Lord Garrick."

"Yes?"

He turned. "What is 'Rosheen'?"

Seth's brow furrowed. "Pardon?"

"Earlier, just after you'd… awakened. You were talking right to me, but the only word I could pick out was 'Rosheen'." Seth thought hard, then shrugged. "Doesn't mean anything to me." He smiled genially. "Maybe someone I knew in a past life."

Cadfael grunted again, then departed.

The warrior's smile crumpled and breath whistled past his lips. Just when you least expect it, he thought, some of these Bretonnians prove themselves far less contemptible than he'd believed. Too bad they'd proved themselves to be completely crazy and disturbingly dangerous at the same time.

"Lord Garrick?" came a female voice.

"Over here, on the floor." he called back. 'Rosheen', he thought. What sort of dim-witted twaddle was that? Then he dismissed the thought entirely and waved the slowly healing stump of his left arm to attract the attention of his rescuers. Time to get back where things make sense, he thought, smiling.

In the days before with no servants at all, she'd cooked her own provender and had to kill it beforehand more often than not. She stared at the silk sash of rope, her anger building. Now simply waiting for lazy servants to deliver her meal was enough to raise her ire.

Of course, she thought idly, these days, when she could easily transform the offending slave into a slobbering Horror of Tzeentch, she felt she had earned better service than in the old days.

For a moment the smile beneath the helmet twisted to a grimace. 'The old days.' That sounded so much like Seth for a moment. Thought or mention of her old partner never failed to sour her mood. One willingly pays the price for greatness, she knew, but in some ways, that last job…

The servant's entry swung open near-silently, and a hunched figure carrying a gilded tray glided into the room behind her. She had no wish to see or speak to anyone at the moment, but she would not show her discomfort. "It's about time, groveling ape! Place it on the table and be gone."

She heard a soft clang as the metal tray met the table, then faint footsteps back toward the entrance. The door closing. She turned and nearly slammed full-on into the servant, standing silently behind her. "What are you doing, maggot?" she screamed. "I'll…"

A long, curved sword sprang from nowhere, slashing in two tight arcs up toward her face. Caela felt the impacts, fell backwards and away from her assailant, but his foot crooked behind her ankle sending her crashing supine to the floor. In a flash he ran up her length and stood easily upon her breastplate, pinning her down.

A smile flashed from beneath the servant's ragged clothing and matted hair. "I gave you two so you'd know the first wasn't just an accident. Check for yourself, if you like."

Gingerly Tek slid her hand toward her neck and over her gorget. The cuts formed an 'X' centered over her throat. As she touched the ensorcelled metal, a large plate fell away and she could feel a light breeze from the window playing over the exposed skin.

"Recognize the blade don't you?" He waved the katana in a slow circle before returning it to her neck. "Belonged to a certain former partner of yours and mine? I found it on my way out of the bog you and your friends dropped me into. Got a new name to go with it's new owner, one I think particularly appropriate at this point in time." He spoke to the sword.

"Ain't that right, Pig-Poker?"

"You fool." She began, still not recognizing her assailant. "You think you can simply invade this castle, assault me and escape? The Tzeentchian mages will never allow…"

The man interrupted her with a sharp prod of the sword into the gap in her armor. "You just let me worry about them, won't you? Were I in your shoes, I'd be more concerned with prolonging my life than hastening my death, if you understand my meaning."

"What do you want?" She would make this fool pay, but not yet.

He swept the remains of his disguise aside, revealing a bald head, ice-blue eyes, and deep whirling scars across his left cheek. "Well since it's a little late for a bit of slap and tickle, I was hoping there might be an explanation of some sort forthcoming."

Tek's eyes widened in shock. "Seth? Seth Garrick? But you're dead! All our spies told us you'd…"

"Died. Yes, I know. And don't blame those little eyes and ears you have in Brionne. I did. But somehow I got better. Luck of the devil and all that. None of which explains anything." The grin disappeared. "The money was supposed to be in place before I left, Tek. But it wasn't. I know, I checked. Then when I get back to the shack, it looks like there'd been a battle a while back. Like just after I left."

Caela Tek remained silent.

He snarled. "The deal was blown, I know. Bourdon was dead and that's just tough all around. But the money wasn't there.

If I'd have taken him to where it was supposed to be, he'd have slaughtered me like a hog. Not that a monkey like that could actually have handled the million-dollar enrichment anyway. The man was an explosive charge just waiting to detonate, too volatile to be of any real use. So just what was the point? Except to drop me in neck deep and see how long I might keep my head up?"

The Tzeentchian mage laughed. Long, high peals of laughter. "Oh Seth, my poor, sad puppet. You've been wondering about this for two years now, haven't you?"

The Chaos Lord said nothing, only leaned a little more heavily on the strategically placed sword-point.

But even this could not restrain Tek's mirth. "You think this was about Roland Bourdon?" She cackled. "Roland was a vengeful child who could be counted on only to get himself killed in some spectacularly stupid fashion. The most surprising thing from the entire operation was that he fell fighting Koda's marauders and not you or your blessed Earl Cadfael." Seth grunted, but waited for more.

"The Tzeentchians came to me. They needed someone for an operation. Something crucial, yet delicate. They said they'd had visions. Ripples in time. They spoke of an honorable man stricken with grief and a crippled woman caged by her own self-hatred. These two would soon find each other, and together would overcome their bindings and afflictions, enough so that the man would become a great and benevolent power in his own land, enough to curtail or end completely the inroads the Tzeentchians were busy making in that theater of operations. This had to be stopped. But they also saw that simply assassinating one or both would result in holy martyrdom, and an even worse scenario for their interests."

"Cadfael and Simone."

"Of course." agreed Tek. "And I knew you'd be perfect for the job."

Seth's lip curled. "Then why all the nonsense about Bourdon then?"

Caela's reply was derisive. "Oh Seth. Your predictability really is your most charming trait, you know? I knew if we told you the real target it would completely change how you handled yourself. You would've tried out-and-out recruiting her, or something equally stupid. I knew all we had to do was get you near her. It had to be innocuous, or she'd know, she's no fool. But once you'd met her, you'd be drawn to her. And that would eventually be enough."

'Your confidence is flattering."

"I know you, Seth." said the mage. "She's strong, intelligent, yet vulnerable and alone. She shrugged. "Exactly your style, exactly your type. You think I'm wrong?"

"Were you a close friend of Simone's as well? Seems to me the plan would have ended rather differently if she'd…

"Seth," Tek interrupted gently. "It's your nature to be what you need to be. And in this case, you didn't even need to act; crude, crass, yet erudite and honest. Something she'd always imagined but never seen. I don't know Simone d'Heroux from a whole in the ground. But as I said, I did know you." She shrugged, as if at something so manifestly obvious it need not be stated.

"Why send assassins, then?" asked Seth. "I assume they were your doing." She nodded, and he continued. "Why? If they'd have killed me…"

"There were only three, Seth. I didn't think it would be a problem for you." She smiled beneath her helmet. "You told me the story of how to hire them a thousand times in our travels together. And danger is such an aphrodisiac…"

"And Bahdi Koda?" he hissed. "That was very sexy."

"You'd already taken her by then." answered Tek. "Cadfael would never make her his wife after that. Nor did I think she would truly wish to be. In any case your presence became redundant. And a possible complication. There was no gold, as you saw, and your life surely forfeit no matter what the outcome. We decided you would certainly attempt a rescue if you knew she was in danger, and that dying on her behalf in such a heroic fashion would serve as a final nail in the coffin to the threat she once represented. Koda was a means to an end. A very willing means."

Seth simply stared at the mage. "I trusted you."

Tek's breath caught a moment. Then she recovered. "You were a tool, Garrick. The perfect tool for the job. And you succeeded brilliantly."

"No thanks to you." His response was flat, dangerous.

The mage took a deep breath. "You cannot escape this time, Seth. The mages will know, and they'll hunt you down." A glimmer of the old smile. "Tek, were I simply to kill you and leave them in peace, I doubt the mages would care what I did." He shook his head. "But that's not the plan either."

The main door to the chamber swung open silently, and a slight figure entered the room. Cloak and cowl covered him from head to toe, save for the eyes which gleamed hungrily. His hand rose in a short, odd wave of greeting. Seth waved back, and the man ghosted wordlessly from the room.

The Chaos Lord looked happily down at his hostage. "Funny thing about druchi assassins. It costs the earth to hire three, as you well know. It costs considerably more to retain the services of an entire cadre. Unless, that is, the people you're hiring them to kill happen to have wronged said cadre in the past. Wronged, for example, by telling them their target is a chained human prisoner, when he's actually a chained human chaos lord who's spent time training in their temple."

He leaned in close. "It's the sort of thing assassin types take seriously. It really blows their hourly billing rates… You can't imagine the fuss. So when someone arrives with the names and locations of the thoughtless devils who would perpetrate such an evil scheme on hard-working killers-for-hire, I tell you they just jump at the chance for the contract."

Without warning he stood, casually spinning his weapon so the hilt stuck up through the top of his fist and the point rested on the floor. "Drask Shehshebon just told me you're the only living original occupant in the entire castle. So I'm not too worried about any of your nasty old friends tracking me down."

The mage sat up and slowly began to take her feet. "Listen, Seth. I've never really felt right about…"

Seth's reversed sword swung in a low, forehand slash, samurai-style, in a poetic curve. Tek abruptly sat back down, her helmeted head clattering to the carpeted flagstones next to her, then spinning off under a nearby table.

The warrior spent the next minutes debating his exact motives for the killing. Payment for betrayal? Vengeance for those slain in this debacle? Pure viciousness? Boredom?

In the end, he decided, it didn't really matter. He was a Chaos Lord, and it was the type of unpleasantness that came so frequently and unfortunately with the job. Though this time it was unpleasantness that seemed to trouble him less than it usually did. Tools to be used, lessons learned and all that.

His mood buoyed by that thought, he turned to leave the room. Casually he wondered if 'Shebon had brought any of the witch-elf sisterhood along with his blades. By the time Seth reached the corridor, he was whistling a jaunty tune at the prospect.

Deepest thanks to Christine Katona (or Teahan, depending on whether or not the Provisionals are after her), my first editor and first non-gamer ever to express interest my cute little romance/adventure. Also to my wife, Darcy, who knows Seth is just a cool biblical name that rolls off the tongue. To Amanda Rutter, my wonderfully patient and woefully tardy second editor (:-P), and to creative consultants Sir Robert, The Coarse Heir, Modern Day Moriarty, Renufus, Bronislav the Damned (who's website, The Tower of Malkorax, is the on-line home to Seth and all his exploits). Also to Mike Marshall and the colorful, supportive folks at the WPS forums. To all the poor, unnamed bastards who have helped, contributed, suggested, argued, or responded to the occasional 'I've painted myself into a corner/desperately need a word for this' sort of e-mail, without you I would be far more wandering and far less scribe and minstrel. My deepest thanks for all of your patient indulgences. We'll have to do it again some time.