The knights carried the injured chaos warrior to the bottom of the stairs. Pressed close, their noses wrinkled at the strong and unpleasant stench wafting from beneath the rags.

Upon reaching the bottom, Jean le Brun was sent to procure a wagon, to move the man with greater ease. Earl Cadfael paused before remounting, appraising the injured man, who sat on the steps.

"You claim to be one of Slaanesh's pets," he pondered aloud. "Yet you most certainly smell of Nurgle."

The man forced a strained smile. "Indeed, milord. But should you ever have the opportunity to stand in a stocks for ten days, I should think you might smell of the rot as well."

"Ten days?" echoed the Earl. "You were held here for ten days?"

"Well, milord, it was three days being dragged back here." answered the chaos warrior. "And in truth, only seven days in the stocks." He stretched and twisted his neck to relieve kinks in it.

"You've been in the stocks for the last seven days?" Questioned the lord. "You mean from sunrise to sunset, do you not?"

"Milord, I should be more precise. I have spent the last seven days and nights held on that platform in the stocks located there." He considered. "After three days of forced marching. In chains." He paused slightly. "But those nights we rested."

"Commandant!" shouted the Earl. "To me!"

Sir Bourdon emerged from his group of men to stand at attention in front of the Earl. "Sir."

"This man claims to have been locked on that platform for a week. Is this true?"

"Yes, Sir." responded the knight, speaking in clipped tones to avoid giving rise to his true feelings.

"When was he last fed, or given water, or allowed to sleep, or bathe?"

"Fed, sir? Bathed?" Roland did not understand the nature of the question. "The man is a creature of chaos, and my prisoner. As such, I did not, and do not, feel he warrants such... coddling. Milord."

"Coddling, you say?" said the General, archly. And I suppose food and water are merely luxuries, not to be wasted on such a one."

"My thinking exactly, milord."

"In Milord Bourdon's defense," the Chaos warrior piped up, "it did rain a bit the second night I was up there. I managed to slurp a little from my helmet."

The Commandant stared poison into the prisoner's crystal blue eyes.

The General shook his head. "Well then, Commandant, why don't we dispense a few luxuries? He's going to the Magistrate, and it wouldn't do to have him smelling like a snotling which had been run over by a diarrhetic troll and left to die in a bog."

"Many thanks, Milord." said the chaos warrior, his face strained with the effort not to laugh.

Roland's lips tightened, but he nodded. "Very well, my lord. There is a public well not far from the keep. We can take him there."

"Your keep has it's own well, does it not, Commandant?" answered the Earl. "And perhaps a large enough basin to bathe in? And perhaps we might get his injuries checked as well? I assume you have someone on your staff who can mix a poultice for this knee, and his bruises?" Since you seem responsible for most of them, he added silently.

Bourdon appeared to have swallowed his own tongue. "Of course, my lord. We can bathe him here. Grant me leave to see to it myself."

Cadfael waved in dismissal, and Roland darted away. The General's eyes fell to the injured man. "If your mission was to sow discord between us knights, Chaos Warrior, I must inform you of your failure. Bourdon and I have despised one another for some time now. Your presence here has changed nothing, caused nothing."

"My name, milord, is Lord Seth Garrick, not 'Chaos Warrior' or 'Chaos Dog', or 'Chaos Scum'. Lord Seth, Lord Garrick, Lord Dog in a Bog, whatever you prefer, but I insist you use the title."

Seth stretched again, and then focused on Earl Cadfael. "I apologize for my condition, milord, but as you saw, the scaffold is sadly lacking in modern amenities."

The General said nothing.

"However, milord, about the bath, I hope you do not take amiss my objection to being dunked in a large pot of hot water."

The knight smiled. "What, Lord Garrick, do you think we would cook you, serve you as a stew with dumplings?"

"I think that given Commandant Bourdon's current mood, being boiled alive is one of many possibilities." he confessed.

"Hardly." Cadfael remarked. "You have nothing to fear, provided you do nothing to endanger yourself."

"I think a bath might definitely be considered endangering."

Earl Cadfael looked on appraisingly. "Why? Short of you melting like a witch in a fairy story, I cannot see why you would refuse a bath." He hesitated to sample the fetid air surrounding them. "The Lady knows you could use one."

"Have you ever just plopped yourself into a tub in full armor after a hard day's ride?" asked the Chaos Lord.

"Of course not", chided the knight. "But you have already demonstrated that your armor might be removed, as you will do so for your bath."

"Ah, milord." Seth sighed. "You've struck to the heart of the matter. My armor might be removed as you say, but where I hail from, this is done only in the most secure of places, surrounded by those who can be trusted." He looked over toward the ranked armsmen. "I fear this is no place of security, and there is no one I can trust."

"You will have a bath, Lord Garrick." promised the Bretonnian. "I will vouchsafe your safety here. I doubt any protection should be required, but I vow you shall not be harmed. So swears Lord Luc Cadfael of Parravon, the Boar of Brionne."

"You, protect me?" asked Seth. The Chaos Lord shook his head as if perplexed. "You recall me telling you I took advantage of your better nature?" The Earl nodded. "Well, there's a difference between that, and having someone's better nature shoved down your throat. How long will your protection last, tin man? Think it over."

Cadfael answered simply and without hesitation. "For as long as need be."

Seth snickered. "Well, your worshipfulness, my life has been in jeopardy pretty much ever since the raid on my camp. It will remain in danger for as I stay in your country. And you're signing up for that?"

"A man of honor can do no less than to see justice properly done."

Seth's eyes rolled. "Yeah, sure, fancy-pants. Keep telling yourself that."

"Lord Garrick, I tolerate your uncouth words and rough manners because in doing so I demonstrate a philosophy that has given my life meaning."

"Lord Cadfael, I tolerate your fancy words and prissy manners because doing so extends my life." Seth considered. "But that does not mean I like them."

"My thoughts exactly, Lord Garrick." The Earl smiled cheerfully. "So why don't we take that armor off? You'll be far easier to transport then."

"Your word then. You'll protect me? I'm soft and squishy underneath, just like you."

"You have the word of a Bretonnian Field General, and a fellow noble."

Garrick looked toward the door Bourdon had used to enter the keep and smiled at the General.

"A Bretonnian noble." smirked the Chaos Lord. "How reassuring."

Cadfael reached over to the rags covering Garrick's body. "And what is this all about?"

"Ah," replied Seth. "That has to do with my armor. You still have my helmet, don't you?"

Earl Cadfael held forth the headgear, but to his surprise, it had turned dead black.

"Don't worry, it does that." reassured the Chaos Lord. "As a matter of fact, so does my armor."

Seth reached for the material around his neck, and roughly tore the garment free. Electric blue runes flashed in the sunlight, flickering as if freed from captivity. Cadfael looked closer, despite the strong smell. The runes covered every piece of armor. Looking closer still, he could see the runes were in fact composed of tiny, intricate figures of men, women, demons, animals... writhing... "Hence the rather travel-worn covering." said Seth, mock-apologetically.

The General averted his eyes in embarrassment and reproach. "Lord Garrick!"

Lord Garrick merely shrugged. "It's my armor. It does that. I didn't design it. Though I can't say I'm not a little pleased with it..."

"It is an abomination, Lord Garrick."

"Yes," he conceded. "But luckily for you, my puritanical protector, it all goes black when removed, just like the helmet. Somehow, I seem to power it."

Cadfael's gaze flicked back to the sitting warrior, shifting to the armor, and then away again. "Very well. Let's get that armor off."

Seth smirked. "Oh if only I had a gold piece for every time I heard that."

Cadfael actually colored. "Lord Garrick. Your armor. Please."

A series of loud clangs answered the Bretonnian Field General. Relieved, he looked back at the Chaos Lord...

And swiftly turned away. "By the Lady! Lord Garrick, you will put some clothes on NOW!" commanded the Earl.

"What, the smelly rags?"

"I care not at all what you wear, but you will cover yourself!"

"Fine." A moment of scuffling, and the Chaos Lord said, "Okay, I'm covered."

The General turned back to his charge, and found Seth had indeed covered himself. The hood which had covered his head was now in place... below his waist. Exactly covering his...

"LORD GARRICK!"

The Commandant of Porte d'Ouest seethed with blinding rage. He paced back and forth across the stone floor of his inner sanctum, the war room of the outpost. Trophy's taken in battle decorated the otherwise spartan room. Enemy standards, a barbed and serrated battle axe, an iron helmet three times too large for a man to wear, all these had their places. And in the center, upon a white pedestal, an ornate, bloodied gauntlet, apparently torn from a Bretonnian suit of armor. It was to this relic that Roland was directing his tirade.

"That bastard! Can you believe the gall of the man! Prancing into my outpost like an uninvited debutante at a cotillion. Countermanding me! Damn him!"

He stopped, strode to the pillar, and placed his hands on either side of the glove. His voice dropped conspiratorially. "He's jealous, you know? Cadfael. He simply cannot tolerate anyone threatening his 'greatness'. Bastard. Useless bastard. Weak. I showed them before what a warrior can accomplish, right under his upturned nose. I'll do it again. They cannot keep men of will and ambition down, Father. You taught me that. I swear, Father. I'll show them all, and the House of Bourdon will gain its rightful place. We will not be denied. And if the sainted Earl and his ilk cannot be made to understand that..."

A sound came from the door of the war room.

Roland flew to the door, tore it open and leapt out, ready for anything. Had someone been eavesdropping? A ripple of fear threaded through the Commandant's rage. If he'd been overheard...

He moved down the hall, seeking any sign of the potential spy.

Nothing.

He stomped through the kitchen, seizing a nearby scullion by the neck and pulling him to his face.

"You did not feel like saluting your lord today, boy?" he seethed. The knight lashed out, his metal gauntlet smashing the young man across the mouth. Blood and broken teeth flew in a spray. But Bourdon did not release him.

"You must learn to pay respect. To. Your. Betters. Each word was punctuated with an additional blow.

The boy, who could have been no more than fifteen years old, crumpled under the onslaught. Roland dropped him to the flagstones, stepped over the whimpering lump, and continued deeper into the keep.

The Commandant clenched his fists as he moved, seeking additional targets.

"My husband is never wrong about these things." announced a nearby woman's voice. Without breaking stride, Roland moved toward the sound, preparing to vent further ire on the lazy, stupid, gossipy woman.

"No crops at all this year?" asked a second woman.

Bourdon's thoughts were suddenly diverted from his rage. No crops? What was this?

"My husband says there wasn't enough snow last winter, and not near enough rain this spring." continued the first woman. "With not enough water, the crops will be thin, an' that means less fodder for the animals, which means less animals, which means less for us."

Roland stopped around a corner from the conversation. Poor crops? Surely that must be a mistake. Everything looks so green...

"Nossir." The lecture continued. Not near enough rain. We had a capful, what, four days ago? And how long before that? Not a drop since the seeds went in, I reckon."

"Oh goodness!"

"What will we do, with no food?"

"We'll do all right." soothed the first woman. "The Commandant always eats well, feast or famine. We take enough for us, and ours, as we always do."

Thieves, Roland snarled to himself, and prepared to step into the group.

"But what about everyone else?" cried a young voice. "They'll be starving!"

"All the Lords are having difficulties." sighed the leader.

Roland stopped to listen.

"My husband's brother's family lives near Bordeleaux. It's been dry there for the last five years, so much so, they've had to devise a way to put river water straight into to vineyards and onto the vines, just to have grapes to press. Well, that's what my brother-in-law says." she continued. "And apparently the wines aren't selling like they used to."

"The whole world is drying up." whined the young voice. "Everything costs so much as it is, how can the Commandant afford it all?"

A rueful silence, and then the leader spoke. "Taxes, my fine girl. Always taxes. We'll all be feeling the pinch soon enough."

The young woman was not subdued by her companion's pessimism. "Oh, I wish the Commandant would find a big barrel of gold. Like he found those evil men. A big barrel of gold, so he wouldn't have to raise taxes."

The women all tittered. "Better to wish for gold for yourself, missy," one offered, "than wish it for a noble."

You could hear the young one's blush. But she continued, undaunted. "Well, maybe he'll sell the chaos man to the circus, like my ma used to threaten to do to me. He'd be worth a penny to go and see, wouldn't he?"

A flare went off in Roland's mind, as the women laughed about selling their friend as a dancing bear. A poor harvest across Bretonnia, no money to be had, higher taxes expected... and his prisoner.

The flare was followed by a detonation like a battalion of Dwarven Thunderers. Roland staggered, stunned by his idea.

The Commandant managed to right himself, but not before he had lurched around the corner, and nearly collided with the women. Four maids, who could not have been more surprised had he conjured himself out of thin air.

All four ladies immediately dropped to curtsies. "Milord." the heavyset one offered. The leader.

"I beg your pardon ladies." offered Roland. Recovering, he bade them stand. "Please inform the chief maid that a large washtub, the largest we have, is to be brought to the holding cell of the stockade. As well, soap, brushes, and a suitable measure of hot water will be delivered there as well."

They curtsied again. "Immediately, Milord." they chorused.

The knight smiled. The youngest maid nearly broke into tears from shock; the domestic staff of the keep knew well the habits and moods of their lord.

"And please inform the captain of the guard to have Pierre report t o me immediately. I have a job that requires his special talents. Go."

The women scattered in all directions. Bourdon watched them go, and then proceeded smiling toward the armory. He had preparations of his own to make.

Seth Garrick crouched unsteadily on one leg beside the bathtub, slapping water on himself, soaping up, and, scrubbing away with brushes.

"What are you doing, Lord Garrick?" asked Earl Cadfael, facing placidly but fixedly through the locked cell door.

"Perhaps you call sitting in a fetid, smelly, dirt-filled bog, 'a bath'". chided Seth. "I myself prefer to soak in clean water." He scrubbed some more. "Once the worst of the stink and grime are off, I'll get in."

"As you like, Lord Garrick."

Presently, the Earl heard a splash, followed by a surge of water over the hay-strewn cell floor. He turned to find Garrick immersed to the neck in soapy water. Relaxing slightly, the knight sat on a small three-legged stool that was the cell's only other furniture.

"My Lord General," teased the Chaos Lord. "You've been riding hard for three days, in your armor, surrounded by other big, burly, smelly, metal-wearing men. And there is room in here for two."

The Earl's eyes narrowed. "My people are suspicious of anyone who would speak to a Chaos Warrior longer than necessary to demand either his surrender, or challenge him to a duel,"

"Good thing I've already surrendered then." interrupted Seth.

"Yes." the knight finished. "But all the same I think that sharing the same bath with you might be considered somewhat over-familiar."

A look of glee lit Seth's face. "A joke, Milord? Well I'll be dipped in... Not a great joke by any means, but still! You know, Tin-pants, you just might have a sense of humor lurking somewhere beneath all that iron."

Earl Cadfael arched an eyebrow. "Indeed."

Seth looked disgusted, and sank back into the water. "And we're back to single word conversations. You Brets must be a real hoot to feast with."

The General's eyebrow rose even further at the slur, but he remained silent.

"And now nothing at all." pouted Seth. "Well fine. You don't have to talk to do your good deed for the day, do you?"

Garrick lay back and lifted his left leg, bent sharply inward at the knee out of the water. The Earl rose to ask the guard that a healer be sent, but Seth simply motioned him to the side of the tub.

"It's just dislocated, not broken." he winced. "Most of us Slaanesh types can pop most of our joints out of their sockets. It's a real hit at parties."

The Earl stared in alarm.

"Hey, broken bones are a tedious thing. This," He pointed to his leg. "This I can forget about in a couple of hours. Grab the foot, and hold it still."

The Earl did as he was asked. "Okay," said Seth. "This is going to look and sound awful, but it's not so bad, really. Just don't let go. Ready?"

Cadfael grimaced, and nodded.

Suddenly Seth twisted in the water, forcing the knee back over the ankle. It moved with a grotesque popping noise, but the leg was straightened.

Seth resurfaced. "Now that wasn't so bad was it?"

The Earl shook his head, visibly paler. "I knew a knight who suffered an injury like that, his leg twisted. He spent six weeks in bed after it was set, and never rode again." He swallowed. "He couldn't grip with his knees properly afterward."

Seth leaned back and flexed the leg slowly. "She's a little stiff, but I've been hurt worse rolling out of bed in the morning."

"Really." said the skeptical knight, sitting back on the stool.

"Well," the Chaos Lord grinned. "You have to remember that in the Chaos Wastes bed-partners tend to be somewhat more lively and substantially more dangerous than in countries like yours when you try to slip out without saying goodbye." He considered. "Though I maybe mistaken. What's your wife's opinion..."

The Earl had not seemed to move, yet now he towered over the bathing man, his sword pressed firmly to Seth's jaw, holding it closed. Through tightly clenched teeth, the livid man spoke. "You seem to enjoy making sport of me, Lord Garrick, and in this I indulge you because I know no matter how distasteful I find you, this behavior is typical of the court in which you normally move. I tolerate your jests about my country and it's people because I realize that we, despite our prudishness and naiveté, have stood proudly and victoriously as a bulwark against you and your kind for fifteen hundred years. Having explained my apparent passivity in these matters, I now feel obliged to warn you," The sword jabbed forward, raising a dot of blood at the top of Seth's throat, and the Earl's voice became even more strained. "The next time your lips touch upon the words 'your wife' while conversing with me, I shall take it as a deep and unpardonable insult, and shall immediately move to avenge the stain to my honor, consequences be damned, and cut your head from your body. Is that understood, Lord Garrick?"

Seth stared in unaccustomed shock, nodded his head as best he was able with the sword still pressing to his jaw, and slowly eased back into the water. His eyes finally noted the black scarf tied over the older man's arm, hollowness in the face, and the pain that mixed with the anger in his gaze.

"Fine, fine." Seth whispered, massaging the small neck wound. "No talking about yo..." The sword flicked back. "Whatever! No talking about whatever." he finished in a rush.

Seth lay back in the water, sulking as the Earl remained standing, obviously anticipating, perhaps hoping for, another jibe.

"What about Commandant Roland then?" offered a tentative Seth. "Surely your honor won't prohibit you from talking about him?"

Earl Cadfael merely grunted, his violent energy apparently depleted, and stomped back to the stool.

Seth pressed on. "What's between the two of you anyway? I mean, I was sure if I hadn't spoken up when I did, the two of you would've hacked each other to pieces."

Cadfael rolled his eyes. "You exaggerate, Lord Garrick. And why do you ask? Perhaps you seek to exploit some imagined schism between knights to your advantage?"

Seth looked innocent, almost. "Hey, I wasn't the one who said you 'despised one another', and that nothing I said would make any difference."

The knight shrugged, remembering his own words. "I suppose." he admitted, and began telling the tale.

"Six months ago, in the heart of winter, an orc Warboss named 'Edbreaka brought his host to the southeastern corner of Brionne. An army was assembled under my command to persuade him to depart.

Seth snickered at the euphemism.

"We carried the day," continued the Earl, omitting the details of the battle to prevent possible disclosure of information of tactical value. "Standing orders to all commanders were to allow any broken and fleeing regiments to depart without challenge."

Seth's look of derision prompted further explanation.

"Showing compassion to defeated foes is one of the tenets of our knighthood. True, it is a rather minor rule, and infrequently upheld," he admitted. "But it not only sows future seeds of goodwill and mercy, it keeps our troops focused on enemies still willing to fight, and spares the lives of knights and squires who might otherwise have been slain, had the battle been to total extermination."

He paused, and then added solemnly, "We have too few good fighting men to cast them aside when the day is already ours."

Cadfael broke from his reverie. "Roland held the east flank, which happened to be quite close to the path the fleeing orcs and goblins were using to escape. Ignoring orders to simply insure the broken orcs did not return to the melee, he charged in with his knights, leaving his foot troops momentarily behind."

Seth said nothing, but motioned for the story to continue.

"The orcs, seeing their escape route cut off, reformed ranks and counterattacked like cornered rats. The foot troops arrived minutes later, but by then most of the knights had been unhorsed, slain, or were fighting for their lives."

The General shook his head, remembering the icy day. "When the fighting had finished, over two dozen knights, twenty squires, and fifty armsmen all lay still on the frozen earth. Roland was the only knight to survive, though he had taken a slight wound. A good friend of mine, and cousin to my own standard bearer perished in the needless engagement." He shrugged stoically.

"Then the big news." said the Earl softly. "Roland claimed he had found, challenged, and single-handedly slain the Warboss of the Orc forces.

"And you believed that?" Seth's skepticism hung in the air.

"The word of a Knight is not questioned." the Earl said darkly. And shrugged again. "He carried with him, as trophy and proof of the deed, the severed head of the orc leader."

"Orcs look a lot alike." warned Seth.

"The skull of Dognose 'Edbreaka?" asked the knight. "Most orcs have no noses at all, only vertical nostrils between eyes and mouth. Dognose had a snout nearly a foot long. Rumor was he claimed it made him invincible. In any case, it was unmistakable."

"And you think he challenged and fought this warboss alone, killing and then decapitating him, amid a fierce and savage melee?" asked the Chaos Lord.

"None of the surviving footmen contested his claim." answered the knight.

Seth sighed, exasperated. "If all the nobles were dead, and 'no one questions the word of a knight', who's supposed to speak up then?"

The Earl remained silent, but his eyes flickered. Seth Garrick pounced. “Wait. Someone did speak up didn’t they? To you, correct? Because they felt they could speak to you, when talking to anyone else would be, what, treason?”

“No one contested the Commandant’s claim.” repeated the Earl.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Seth. “You think you’re cleverly hiding something here?” A snort. “The people I work with can sniff out evasions like fresh troll ka-ka. So no one ‘contested’ him. All that means is that no one stood up and told the truth when it mattered. Instead, they told you, and I guess there wasn’t much you could do either, huh?”

The Earl’s eyes flattened. “I never said anyone told me any such thing, Lord Garrick. You simply surmised on your part. Nor do I think that any such conversation, words spoken in confidence, one man to another, should be a matter of public record.”

“Oh, of course Milord.” returned Seth. “So ‘hypothetically’ then, and a subordinate who would disobey orders, and possibly lie to glorify himself, would that a public or private matter?”

The Bretonnian’s jaw muscles clenched. “Maybe it’s not quite so simple as you say, Lord Garrick.”

Seth feigned shock. “Say it isn’t so Milord! Tell me the noble Bretonnian ideas of truth, honor, and valor are not subject to political pressure? It can’t be.”

“And I suppose in the Chaos Wastes,” the knight fired back, “You’ll tell me the way to deal with such a man is to simply take him aside, kill him and be done with it then?”

“Just ‘kill him’, my noble lord?” Seth said, slowly shaking his head. “No. An insubordinate Chaos Lieutenant would die for a thousand miles, covering the distance an inch at a time. His demise becomes a thing of legend, a horror story amongst the most jaded and hardened men and women in the world. And all only for one reason; as a warning to others.”

“And has this tactic been effective in preventing insubordination, mutiny, and violent overthrow?” countered the Earl.

Seth blinked. “Hmmm. Good point. I suppose not.” He laughed and shrugged. “But it makes the plotters much more obedient until just prior to the violent overthrow. Which is really the best you can hope for.”

“And so your methods seem to make for better plotters, not fewer. Doesn’t that seem to run rather counter to what you intend?”

Seth shook his head again. “Actually, it seems rather fair to me.”

“‘Fair’?” the knight echoed cynically.

“If I’m smart enough, strong enough, or lucky enough, I’ll catch the plotters, and make a mucky end of them.” He splashed contentedly. “And if they’re smarter, or stronger, or luckier than I am, I guess they deserve to lead more than I do. Not that I like the idea of someone better able than I, but it is fair.”

“Even if it means your death, and constant turmoil in your command structure?” pressed Cadfael.

“As opposed to being left alive to witness constant turmoil in my command structure, masked by a thin veneer of civility?” riposted Seth.

Earl Cadfael grunted, and began to wonder just why he was talking to the chaos warrior so much.

Seth relaxed in the water. “You know, some food and drink might not go amiss right now.”

The Earl blanched, and called for a guard. The man arrived momentarily, his sword drawn. “My apologies for not making the offer sooner.” said the knight. Then to the guard, “Send to the kitchen for bread, water, and some broth.”

“Ew.” remarked Seth. “And for myself, garcon, how about a nice wine, something not to pretentious, with plenty of nose? A nice haunch of barely cooked cow, maybe a little more wine, and say a saucy tart or two for dessert?” He winked at the guard. “You do have a few saucy tarts tucked away around here somewhere, don’t you?”

The man jerked nervously from the man in the tub to the knight on the stool. “Water, bread, and broth.” Cadfael reassured him. The guard darted away.

The General turned to the Chaos Lord. “A man who hasn’t eaten in ten days who swallows what you asked for, would soon see his meal again.”

“If I eat bread and broth, I’ll throw up anyway.” sulked Seth.

He splashed more water, and then spoke to his guardian. “You find the idea of fairness in the Chaos wastes hard to accept?”

“Your idea of fairness?” asked the Earl. “No, not at all. Your fairness is the fairness of a dogpack, where the largest and fiercest dog takes the largest share of every kill, and leaves the scraps to be fought over by the rest. That is, until the pack turns on the leader and makes a meal of him.”

Seth nodded. “A not entirely inapt comparison. I’ll make a debater of you yet, Milord.” He became serious. “But you forget, gentle knight, that without a strong leader to run the pack, all the dogs squabble amongst themselves, and no one eats at all.”

Earl Cadfael was not sure if this was an oblique reference to his own country or not.

“Ah, it appears they found a saucy tart for me after all.”

The Earl swung to the cell door, where a young and pretty girl of about sixteen stood with a covered tray. He stood, and took the food through the opening in the door. The Earl could not help but notice the faint blush on the girl’s face when she glanced at the bathing man.

“That will be all, thank you.” he prompted.

The girl’s head came up and briefly met the general’s eyes. “Oh, My Lord. There was a message for you from the main gate of the keep. A delegation of your men had arrived from your encampment, and they were demanding to see you.” She blushed. “They seemed to fear for your safety.”

The Earl chided himself for losing track of time. He then thanked and dismissed the girl again, though she obviously seemed to linger before departing.

He turned to Seth, carefully handing him the tray. “Lord Garrick, I must go and see to my men. You are quite safe here, and I shall only be gone long enough to send them back to camp.”

Seth looked concerned for a moment, but then relaxed, and began to pout. “Fine. Go ahead. Leave me. First time your men ask for you, you go running. I’ll be fine. All by myself. Alone.”

The Earl had already called to the guard for release. The door clanked open, and with one final cautionary stare at Seth, Cadfael departed.

“Guard!” Seth called, swiftly dumping his tray on the floor. “I need more bread and broth! Send that girl down here with some more!”

Seth dunked his head under the water, thinking a shiny, wet look might be best for the girl bringing more food. Just convince her I can’t get out of the tub for reasons of modesty, get her to get the guard to open the door, and then...

Hands pressed down on both of the Chaos Lord’s shoulders, holding him beneath the water. Taken by surprise, Seth swallowed more than a mouthful of water even before he could start to struggle. He coughed uncontrollably, gulping more water, but could not force his head above the water to air. Then he was yanked back to his sitting position.

Seth coughed once, expelling the water in his lungs that was continuing to drown him, then swiped his eyes clear.

Commandant Roland Bourdon sat on the stool recently occupied by Earl Cadfael. He smiled wickedly.

“You’ve had a busy morning mingling with nobility, Chaos Lord, so I won’t be too badly hurt if you don’t recall who I am.”

Seth regrouped, and grabbed at the hands that still held his shoulders. Looking up, Seth saw a huge, broad-shouldered man, with a nose badly bent from repeated breakings and many missing teeth. A scar ran down the face, from the left nostril to the corner of the mouth, forming a permanent sneer. It was a face to scare young children to bed with.

“Yeah, sure,” confessed Seth, “I know who you are. You’re bachelor number one, the Commandant of this outpost. You like moonlit walks on the beach, Italian food, and improvised public oratory mixed with a little S&M, right?”

Roland nodded, and Seth was again held under the water, until his thrashings became frantic enough to warrant being returned to air.

Seth gasped for breath as the Commandant spoke. “Enjoying your bath, Chaos Lord?” He stressed the last word. “I certainly hope so. It may well be your last. The man holding you is Pierre. He is a simple man, with only two conspicuous assets. One, he is unbelievably strong. And two, he is completely loyal to me. At my bidding he will drown you like a kitten, so adopting such an insulting tone is... ill advised.”

“Cadfael swore to protect me.” Seth protested.

Roland laughed. “That will not save your life, should I choose to take it at this moment. Nor, in truth, should you think his word of honor is a particularly effective restraint against my wrath in the future, should your behavior warrant it.”

The Commandant was going to keep him alive. How interesting, thought Seth. “What is this about, then, if not murder?”

The knight smiled victoriously and explained. “An opportunity has presented itself. One that offers momentous gains for those bold and capable enough to exploit it.”

Seth’s eyes narrowed. “Really?” he said. “Some people once told me something just like that.”

“Really?” asked Roland, feigning interest. “And how did things turn out?”

Seth grimaced. “I wound up taking a bath in a stockade, talking to a prissy Bret knigget, and his hench-troll, Lumpy.”

The hands pressed down, but as Seth slid under the water he was already in motion. He slid straight down into the tub, until his shoulders touched the slats of the bottom. The motion tilted his lower body up over his torso. Seth quickly pistoned his legs straight up out of the water, catching Louis hard in the throat with the balls of his feet as the man bent over the tub in his effort to hold him under.

Seth erupted to the surface, sending water flying everywhere. What he saw then stopped him in his tracks.

Roland still sat on the stool, but in his hands he held something rather odd. A loaded crossbow.

Seth nodded slowly at the weapon. “I thought you knights weren’t allowed to use those.”

Roland smiled his chilling smile. “And I haven’t. Yet. So please, do not force me to dishonor myself by driving this quarrel into your chest.”

Seth sat back in the water, looking over at Louis, laying motionless on the floor. “Your boy seems to be in some distress.”

“Forget him.” dismissed the Commandant, more interested in something else. “You seem to own an abundance of jewelry.” He motioned to silver chains about Seth’s neck, and a heavy bracelet set with a dark stone on his right wrist. He then pointed into the water. “That piece on your ankle, that seemed rather nice. Mind if I take a look?”

Seth cursed under his breath. “The anklet? Sorry, no. It’s just a trinket really.” he said.

Roland motioned with the crossbow, his tone brooking no dissent. “Lift your right leg from the water.”

Reluctantly, Seth did as he was told. The anklet, actually a necklace, was wrapped around the ankle. It sparkled in the dim light. Avarice bloomed in the Commandant’s eyes.

“It would be so unfortunate if you lost them in the bath. Why don’t you let me hold onto them for you while you soak?” asked Roland, motioning for Seth to hand the pieces to him.

“That’s all right. I’m sure I can keep track of them.” Seth relied brightly. “ I just feel so naked without them...”

“Oh!” said Roland, appearing shocked. “You thought I... Please excuse my lack of candor. I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.” His eyes hardened. “Give me the jewelry, or I’ll drive this crossbow bolt through your eye, and take it from your dead body.”

“Well, since you put it that way...” Seth slowly undid the clasps, and gave the pieces to the knight. Roland held the crossbow one handed, as he appraised his findings. Examining the anklet, Roland found a sapphire the size of a baby’s fist glimmered in a block of solid metal.

“Very nice. Very nice indeed.” Roland held them in his leather gauntlet, peering at them in the dim light of the cell. “Looted off a dead lord and his lady somewhere, I should imagine.”

Seth bridled. “They were gifts. From satisfied ladyfriends. Very satisfied. The anklet was from a mage companion of mine.” Seth explained.

The commandant put the jewelry into his lap, and bit off his glove to handle the delicate pieces better. Picking them up again he nearly dropped them and ended Seth’s life at the point of the quarrel. “The stone is icy cold!” He exclaimed.

The Chaos Lord shrugged. “The ladymage wanted it to be a remembrance of her.”

Bourdon looked puzzled, not understanding.

“Cold as ice, hard as steel.” explained Seth. “The metal of that necklace is all steel that never rusts or corrodes. Quite the thing, in a place like the Chaos Wastes.”

Roland marveled at the gem. “And why do you wear it on your ankle?”

Seth looked embarrassed. “ The rest are fairly flat, but that one didn’t fit well under my armor. But my boot was easily adjusted to fit wearing it on the ankle. The mage thought is was cute, like a manacle for me.”

The knight slipped the jewelry into a pouch on his belt, evoking a cry of outrage from the Chaos Lord. Seth flicked a small brass ring, which pierced his left nipple. “You want this too? Or the fillings out of my teeth maybe?”

Roland coldly appraised the potential value of both before shaking his head. He waved the jewelry in his hand. “We’ll just call these a down payment on your continued safety, and you can keep the rest. Now do you want to be set free or not?”

The Commandant now had Seth’s undivided attention.

“The ransoming of noble hostages is an ancient custom here in Bretonnia.” he explained. “This prevents the avoidable slaughter of those able to pay their way free. As of now, you are my noble hostage, and it is my intent to sell you back to whoever will pay for you.”

Seth smiled. “Always nice to know your working with people who respect ancient customs.”

“First, I am assuming you know someone who might be willing to pay a great deal to set you free.” warned the knight.

“Oh yes, of course.” Seth grinned. “I’m a very popular and influential guy in my neck of the Wastes.”

The Commandant nodded gratefully. “Splendid. That will save a great deal of time. Because if your own kind would not pay your ransom, I’m sure I could find someone else who would be willing to do so. A pasha from Araby might be interested in such an unusual servant. Or perhaps some other person. I hear the Dark Elves often raid villages for slaves. Or a Necromancer in some tomb deep in the zombie swamp. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter to such a one if you were executed before the ransom was paid, provided all the important body parts were still available...”

Seth’s smile faded. “Apparently you’re not as stupid as I’d hoped.”

“Indeed.” agreed Roland. “Oh, it might also interest you to know that if, prior to your being ransomed, I die for any reason, accidental, natural, or otherwise, my men have orders to immediately and expeditiously cut you to pieces.”

The smile faded completely. “And cautious too. Wonderful.”

“So, we are partners then?” asked the knight, turning the crossbow away and safeing the trigger. Smiling sardonically, he stepped forward to the tub and extended his hand to seal the bargain. “I’m glad I didn’t just drive that quarrel into your chest.”

“Indeed.” agreed Seth, and held up the heavy dagger he had slipped from Louis’ sleeve during their struggle. He tossed it lightly to the floor in front of the Commandant’s feet, where it dripped water on the flagstones.

“And I bet you’re glad I didn’t just drive that pig-poker into yours.” He smiled and shook the still-outstretched but rapidly wilting hand. “Partner.”