Seth sat quietly at the table he had been shown to. The salon was busy, but hardly crowded. Something seemed off though... He refocused himself with a shake of his head. Pay attention to business. Another quick glance at the menu confirmed the message hidden in the words there.

The proprietor has a task for you. Do not fail.

“Mr. Kincaid.” The friendly voice interrupted his musings. “It has been too long since you have visited us.”

Seth turned. He’d never seen the man smiling graciously at him, nor sat in this room before in his life. The warrior grinned shamefacedly. “Yes, I know. Donkey’s years. So much to do, so little time for chatting with... old friends.” He stopped to consider the man now cold-faced and obviously appraising him. “You’ve put on weight, old man.”

The man’s smile remained a rictus. “And you’re so pale. Overwork will kill you young if you’re not careful.”

Touché, thought Seth. He looked at himself in the large mirror reflecting from the back wall of the room. He ran a hand over his smooth cheek, and the short dark hair covering his head. Just then the scars under his left arm seemed to twitch, as if to remind Seth that out of sight certainly should not mean out of mind. “Yes, I hardly seem myself anymore. But worries are for another day. I have come to dine.”

“You’ve had a chance to see your menu?”

The chaos lord motioned to the table. “You can read it as well as I. Why don’t you suggest something?”

The corners of the proprietor’s mouth quirked up. “An excellent choice, Mr. Kincaid.” The man turned to a lesser servant nearby. “Have Estelle prepared.” The vassal darted off.

The smile once again seemed almost genuine. “You would prefer to view your selection before being served?”

“Of course.”

The servant returned with a woman literally in tow; a short leash ran from his fist to the neck of the dumpy woman he had brought. Estelle was easily forty if not fifty, and carried every minute like a weight across her shoulders.. Poor skin, bad teeth, bent nose, and poorly healed scarring over her horribly overexposed body completed the shabby picture.

Seth wasn’t sure where this was going, but decided not to waste any further time simply reacting. He sprang from his chair, causing the woman to flinch backward. More gently then he approached her, took her hand, and gazed intently into her murky eyes. “Finally, I have found you.” he murmured. Then he looked to the procurer. “Yes, this is her. Your best room for the evening. Spare no expense.”

The smile began to appear a wince. “Mr. Kincaid, Estelle’s services are quite expensive, perhaps something more modest...”

The warrior turned without dropping the woman’s hand. “Nonsense, old man! My credit’s still good here, isn’t it? Only the best. Now.” he prompted.

The grin became a skull. “As you wish, Mr. Kincaid. The top floor then.” He motioned Estelle’s handler to have her taken away. Seth reluctantly dropped her hand, but watched her adoringly until she was out of sight.

“Mr. Kincaid...” the procurer began angrily.

The Chaos Lord’s cold stare cut the man off. “Have I been sent here to haggle over a bill?”

“Ah, no...”

“Then spare me your protests.” finished Seth. “Now, you can’t mean to say that my purpose here is simply to fornicate with... that.” He waved toward the departed prostitute.

All at once the grin was back. Forcefully. “Oh my no. Men pay to have Estelle all the time. Your task is much more intimate.” The man motioned to a large mantelpiece chronometer, a huge thing with tiny prancing figures, chimes, and bells to mark the hours. The hands currently indicated the time to be just after ten in the evening.

“You have until morning to have Estelle kill herself out of grief over the loss of the one true love of her life.”

Seth sighed. “Me?”

“Of course, Mr. Kincaid.” continued the proprietor. “And may I also tell you Estelle has been in service here since she was sold here by her parents at the age of thirteen? And that for the last ten years she has been the most popular woman in this establishment, on account that most of the normal rules of treatment for the girls are held creatively in abeyance.”

“That would explain the scars.” shrugged Seth.

The man became almost genial. “Some of our older patrons need it to get their blood up. Others simply enjoy it for it’s own sake. In any case, you’ve got to have at least one for that sort of thing or it starts showing up in dribs and drabs on all the other girls, and they complain...”

“Does commiserating with you have anything to with my task?” interrupted the Chaos warrior.

“Ah, no.”

Seth stood. “Then I have work to do.” He turned to move upstairs, but found his arm grabbed by the man he had just dismissed.

“You have until morning.” The voice had turned harsh and savage. “If you fail...”

Seth gently tugged his arm away. “If I fail, it won’t be you who deals with me. On the other hand, the next time you lay hands on me, pimp, I will most certainly deal with you. Is that clear? Old man?”

The man shrank back, still grinning. “In the morning, then.”

Seth made his way to his rented room, finding Estelle standing unattended and slumped in a corner of the opulent suite.

Time blurred suddenly, and the room with its cushions and manacles, feathers and willow switches faded.

Seth found himself downstairs, blinking into the bright sunlight streaming into the room from the large front windows, sipping a cup of tea at his original table. So odd, women, he thought. They respond so easily to simple things; comfort, safety, humor, a little self-depreciation. What had he told her? Some fairytale about being a nobleman’s son, a pending arranged marriage, but having seen her, Estelle, by chance on day and fallen in love. The stuff of bad comedy, save the times when they truly chose to believe. Or needed to believe. Then it has a power rivaling the arcane. He sipped again, still in thought.

“Mr. Kincaid.”

The warrior didn’t need to look back to see the procurer. “Morning.”

“Indeed it is, Mr. Kincaid. But perhaps not a good one. My maids tell me Estelle is enjoying a late breakfast in your room on the top floor.”

A shrug. “Possibly.”

“Then I’m sorry, but I must press upon you the matter of the bill, Mr. Kincaid. The one you have left... unpaid.” The man’s smirk made it clear just how sorry he truly felt.

Seth reached into his waistcoat pocket and removed a flattened metal disk. Pressing a button on the top, a metal facing popped open along a lower hinge, showing two tiny slivers of metal nearly superimposed. He smiled at the procurer. “Dwarven timepiece. Fabulous work for something so small. But it always wants for winding.” The Chaos Lord held it to his ear a moment. “I think it’s stopped. What time do you have?”

The proprietor turned, confused, to the mantel timepiece, missing the dark flicker rapidly flashing past the front window of his establishment. He did not, however, miss the meaty WHAP! sound, nor the immediate screams of frightened nearby horses and passerby.

Seth took a final sip of his tea. “Looks like a shade before noon to me.” As he stood the clock on the mantel began its hourly spectacle. The warrior hesitated, trying to follow all the figures through their clockwork merriment. It was as he did so that he realized that he couldn’t hear the commotion outside anymore, or smell the powdery perfume of the proprietor. He knew he would be handed a parchment, and on the parchment would be the location of his next task, and the lessons to be drawn from the last. The words of the lesson still burned in his soul, spelled out like a mathematical proof:

Given: The Harlot, despite a life of hardship, abuse, debauchery, and privation, was made to love so fiercely she could not survive it’s lack, providing the solution to your task.

Conclusion 1: Strength is an illusion, achieved only through compensation and weakness elsewhere, in other areas.

Conclusion 2: All sentient beings may, via weakness, be tempted and made to serve our cause.

Corollary to Conclusion 2: All sentient beings are thus considered assets awaiting recruitment, or tools to be readied for future use. Assets are not to be squandered lightly, or for frivolous reasons.

The Harlot died to in order to train you and hone your skills. That is worth her death. Killing the Procurer because he has given offense to you is not. He who would break his own tools for his own amusement or pride not only denies them to himself, but any who might built great things with them. Such a man will find himself similarly broken soon enough.

There were other lessons after this, many others. Yet none so fundamental to whom he would become. Seth strode out the front door, stepping over the trickle of blood making it’s way down the street.

All was silent.

Ah, he finally realized. Now I understand. It’s a-

“Dream.” Seth’s eyes snapped open. A dream. Breath gusted out of him. Just a dream. That hardly ever happened. Strange. The chaos warrior shook his head to clear the last wake-up cobwebs from it, ran a hand over his smooth pate and horns, and into the deep lines cut into his cheek. Removing the Mark was impossible, he thought absently, but they could be moved, and the more obvious stigma hidden with spells.

He squinted toward the window, and gauged it to be mid-morning. Roland would be expecting him soon. The ransom offers the Commandant had become so frantic about. A deep breath. Best get to it then.

By the time Seth swung his feet out and onto the floor, the dream was already half forgotten. The rest had vanished by the time he slipped into the scalding water of the bath prepared for him.

As the Chaos Lord splashed away, Lise soundlessly opened the bedroom door with a knowing smile and quickly scanned the room. Empty. That was odd, she thought. From the moaning she’d heard, she’d assumed Marc or Madelynne... but no. Apparently not. Well, perhaps even Lord Garrick could have an uneasy sleep or nightmare. Then she quickly she stripped the bed of linen, anxious to have the chore done and breakfast ready by the time Seth emerged from his bath.

“Commandant Bourdon will see you now.” called the attendant.

Seth continued drumming his fingers on the richly upholstered arm of the chair he had occupied. “Indeed. I mean, I understand this is a waiting room, and hence well named since I have been waiting here for over two hours to bask in his holiness’s presence...”

“Seth.” called a voice from the other room. “Are we going to behave the pouty the child today, or conduct business as adults?”

The warrior’s eyebrows rose. It certainly sounded like Roland. Slowly he rose and walked into the parlour. Roland Bourdon sat comfortably in another overstuffed chair, and gazed levelly at Seth. “Well, I’m glad you decided to join us.”

“I’ve been waiting quasi-patiently for the last...”

“I’ve asked you here several times in recent days.” Roland broke in neatly. “Your rejection of my invitations hurt me terribly. I’ve managed as well as I could on my own. But if you’re too overwrought and would like to come back another day to discuss your exchange and release, perhaps sometime next week would suit you better? I’m afraid I’ll be quite busy until then.”

Seth had expected a childish outburst over his continued absence. But this... this was quite different. “My apologies, Commandant. Clearly I have missed a great deal. I shall try to be more attentive in the future.”

“We shall be the judge of that.” Roland picked up a small bell from a nearby end table and rang it lightly. A moment later a servant arrived carrying a tray of pastries and fruit, depositing it on a larger table in front of the Lord of the Manor. Bourdon selected a grape, and chewed it slowly, still watching Seth. “Would you like anything from the kitchen, Lord Garrick? The chef is quite good.”

Seth shook his head slowly. “Thank you, no. Milord Commandant, would you like to discuss the offers of ransom now, or shall we wait until after your repast?”

Roland finished off a date before replying. “Much better, Lord Garrick. It is good to see that you know when to cease behaving boorishly without needing to be told, or made to cease.” The small bell was again rung, this time bringing a different servant with a covered tray, left in front of the Chaos Lord. Several small and one large lump were clearly discernable beneath the cloth.

“These have all arrived within the last few days.” Roland began. “They have defied my own decipherment, but I assume you may be able to provide some clues.”

Seth cautiously slid the cloth away. Two scrolls lay on one side of the tray. On the other. On the right side... “Oh my, you don’t see one of those every day.” whispered the chaos warrior.

The features of the face were clearly elven. But from the size, about that of a fist, the original owner had been an infant. The severed head sat upright on the tray, eyes closed. Scarred into the forehead were elvish runes forming the words: Say his name.

“Halanalain.” said Seth.

Abruptly the baby’s eyes popped open, and the head began to speak in a high clear voice. The musical syllables of Asuryae, the ancient language of the elves, echoed from the walls of the small room. Then the flow of words ended and the eyes closed.

Roland hid his surprise well. “And?”

Seth looked at the Knight. “You don’t speak or read any elf dialects?”

Impatience was beginning to show on the Bretonnians face.. “No.”

“It’s from a dark elf nobleman. He wishes to purchase me and present me as a gift to Malekith, his king. He’s offering three hundred thousand in gold coin.”

“Hmmm.” offered Roland, stifling his avarice. “And the others?”

Seth unrolled the first scroll. The blocky script of the chaos dwarves was easy to read. “The Bull-Centaur Abdollah Bahrgazi offers one hundred thousand in gold, and an equivalent in slaves.” The Chaos Lord sniffed the leather the message was written on, then licked a corner. Yep, genuine human.

The Commandant’s face formed a scowl. “Slaves? He wishes to trade for slaves?”

Seth shrugged. “Bartering for slaves is common amongst them. They’re worth more than gold, depending on their race and condition.”

Roland crossed his arms. “I hardly care.” He took an apple from the serving tray before him, and cut away a slice of apple. “What’s the last have to say?”

The warrior opened the last parchment and was relieved to see a familiar chaos cipher. “I think this is the one you want.” he stated.

“Oh? I haven’t even heard their offer yet.”

Seth finished reading the coded message. “This is from friends of mine. They’re offering the full million, payable in about three weeks, no haggling.”

Roland didn’t move, though his hands twitched. “The whole million? In gold?”

The Chaos Lord held up the scroll. “There’s a location here, North, along the ocean’s coast. In just under a month, the money will be there to be picked up. I take you to it, you let me go, a ship awaits not far away, and I am gone..”

The Commandant’s lips formed a cold smile. “That sounds perfect.”

Seth shook his head, having considered this moment well in advance. “Not so fast, Your Grace. “I think it best that Earl Cadfael and his men accompany us when we go.”

Bourdon actually had the gall to look hurt. “Oh, is that really necessary? No need to involve the Sainted Earl, is there?”

“Yes there is, Milord.” answered Seth. “First to make sure there’s no last minute problems, like say me on the verge of being released deciding to make a ‘suicidal lunge’ for you and winding up hacked to pieces. Or me locked in a box five minutes after you get the money and on my way to visit your necromancer friend to the south. Second, it’s imminently practical for you.”

“For me?”

“Cadfael and his men are nothing of not loyal. They may covet your wealth every step of the way, but they’d certainly never steal it. You head out into the wilderness to bring back a million in gold with the band of mercenaries you’ve cobbled together since you’ve arrived, you’ll be locked in the box right next to me before you can say ‘Quintuple your wages.’”

Roland continued to stare flatly at the chaos warrior for some time. “Very well.”

“I’m glad that’s settled.” congratulated Seth. “Now about...”

The ringing bell cut off the Chaos Lord.

Roland Spoke tersely to the servant. “Lord Garrick is done for the day. Send a runner to the keep for someone to take him away. He’ll be in the antechamber until they arrive. I’ll be seeing him again in about three weeks time, but not before then.” Then to the warrior himself. “So lovely to have spoken with you this afternoon, but appointments are pressing. If you don’t mind?” The Commandant motioned Seth out of the room.

Seth slowly rose. “My goodness, we have come up in the world, haven’t we?”

Roland smiled a bitter smile. “My Lord Garrick, as long as we’ve known each other I’ve always been a Lord, and you’ve been a prisoner. What do you expect? Deference? My use for you has about expired, and I see no need for me to see you again before I take you wherever it is we’re going. Then you’ll return to the hellish wasteland so neatly appropriate to your demeanor, and I will return to a life of luxury and respect among my peers. Is there more we need discuss? I think not. Good day, Lord Garrick.” Roland finished the last slice of his apple, and then drew a pear from the tray.

“Good day, indeed.” muttered Seth, and departed for the waiting room.

The chaos lord trudged down the lane toward the keep, a ring of guards pressing him close to Lady Simone. Several blocks passed before Seth realized the noblewoman had not yet said a single word to him. Stranger still, the warrior could not detect the usual air of indignant dismay at being made to escort him about, at Commandant Bourdon’s request, no less. Rising from the funk of his dismissal at the Bretonnian noble’s hands, he rescanned his surroundings carefully, detecting only then that two less guards accompanied his return to the keep than had taken him to Bourdon that morning.

“Is everything all right, Milady?” Seth’s voice drifted out of the hood of his robe. “Nothing amiss?”

Simone actually seemed to flinch slightly. “Just fine Lord Garrick.”

No retort or demeaning comment. Something was definitely troubling milady.

They continued on, but took an unexpected turn at the next intersection.

“Milady,” Seth called lightly. “We go straight through here.”

Finally she bristled. “We’re detouring around, Lord Garrick, and time is short, if you please...”

“Detouring around what?”

Here was the frustration he knew so well. “Lord Garrick, don’t make me...”

“You there!” Seth called to a nearby youth working in a small jewelry stall. “Tell me my good man, what’s the commotion up ahead!” Seth pointed a loose sleeve down the forbidden street.

“Pull your hood back and take a look!” laughed the merchant. “Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“My apologies, youngster,” Seth laughed back. “But I’m an old man, and my eyes not so good as they once were. What is it that amuses you so?”

“A shrine full of women holding a crowd of men at bay, that’s what.” crowed the man.

“What?”

“A big crowd of ‘em arrived just before noon.” confided the man. “T’wasn’t long before their husbands arrived to take ‘em home. Then they start screeching for guards to protect them. From their husbands, can you believe it? Then a bunch more guards arrive, and then some more, then a nobleman on a horse. All of them telling the same story; men go home, your wives will be along shortly.”

“Really?” Seth stretched out the word, glancing back at Simone, who was busy looking elsewhere. “How unusual. You’d think they’d just run them out of there with horsewhips if they needed to.”

The man nodded so hard the warrior thought he might break his own neck. “Back home in Parravon, we cherish our women, yes we do. But if they were to take on like this... a snap of leather’d bring them to their senses.”

Seth nodded back, more gently through his hood. “Sometimes a snap is just what they need to get moving.” He stepped back toward Simone, the lady now nearly quaking with rage. “I suppose we’ll have to detour around, won’t we?”

Seth heard a sound that might have been grinding teeth before the noblewoman darted off down the sidestreet. He moved smoothly afterward, laughing quietly as the guards, enjoying their short break doubletimed after them to catch up.

Simone never broke stride, and the group found themselves behind the walls of the keep in only a few minutes. The men-at-arms swayed noticeably in the midafternoon heat as the Lady dismissed them to gather their spent wind.

Seth departed as well, pulling back his close hood, moving easily back to his rooms. Yet the noblewoman moved even more swiftly, catching up to him after only a few strides.

“Yes Milady?”

“You think those women are funny? That they ought to be whipped?”

Seth stopped a moment, considered his interrogator, and then moved on. “I think it strange.”

“What?”

“That you care what I think.”

They arrived at Seth’s apartments, both passing by Marc without acknowledging his presence. Seth proceeded immediately to the sideboard, and poured a full glass.

Simone stood, tapping her foot. “So.”

A large gulp. “So.”

“You will be leaving us in a week, if gossip is correct.”

“Your gossip is incorrect.” Another gulp. “It’ll be just over three weeks.”

“Three weeks?”

Seth lifted his glass in salute. “Three weeks. Those two extra weeks shouldn’t be too taxing for you.”

“Why’s that?”

The chaos lord took a deep breath, then finished his glass and poured a fresh one. “What do you care?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” she retorted. “Luc and Bourdon have me dragging you all over the city at a moment’s notice. I’d like to be able to plan a day for myself when I’m not nursemaiding you.”

Seth sprawled onto a chair, staring out into the hall.

“What are you planning Seth?” Simone demanded.

Then suddenly Seth’s eye’s snapped back to the noblewoman, suddenly very attentive. “We’re exchanging confidences today? Is that it?”

Simone suddenly felt uneasy, but was unwilling to relent. “Possibly...”

Seth sprang from his chair and leapt to the door to his room, speaking loudly in a command voice to Marc. “This door will remain closed until either I or Lady Simone open it. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” squeaked the round servant.

“If someone gets close enough to this door to knock on it, I expect them to be standing on your dead corpse while doing so. Is that also clear?” continued the chaos lord.

“Yes, Milord.”

“Then get a stool to sit on, Marc. You’re not going anyplace anytime soon.” And with that he swung the heavy door shut and dropped the bar into place.

“Seth...” began Simone.

Seth stalked back to his chair, and spoke with a deadly earnestness. “It begins now. It ends when one of us opens that door. Three rules: No holds barred. Always tell the truth.” A sip of wine. “And never, ever tell another living soul. Are you ready for this?”

The Lady took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“No.” warned Seth. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Seth smiled, suddenly jovial. “Okay then. You go first.”

Simone blinked, stumbled. “Ah.” Something simple, something basic. “Why are you here?”

“Rhetoric.” snarled Seth. “Why are any of us here? That’s not what you want to know. Not yet at least. Try again, be specific, and make it count.”

Lady Simone focused, tried something different. “You’re planning something...”

Seth stood, and walked to the door, placing his hand on the bar. “That’s not a question. Last chance...”

Focus. Focus. Find something... “Did...”

“Yes?” crooned Seth.

Simone tore a thought from the far corners of her mind “Did you grieve when Isabelle died?”

It was Seth’s turn to blink. He stepped away from the door, sat down. “Yes... I think I did.”

“You think you did?”

A ghost of a smile. “I felt something. It wasn’t pleasant. That in itself is unusual. I can’t remember grieving from before, and certainly never did since, but when I knew Isabelle was to hang, there was something.”

The smile bloomed in afterthought. “Good one, Princess. Caught me between the eyes with that one.”

Simone nodded shyly in acceptance of the compliment. “What about...”

“Ah-ah-ah.” chided Seth. “My turn. Who’d you tell about praying at the shrines? Somehow I don’t think the Lady of the Lake decided just to suddenly start giving free legal counsel.”

The noblewoman twisted slightly, but spoke. “The herbalist, Marie. She was easy to find, and anxious to act. The knowledge of the shrines was like manna from heaven.”

Seth nodded back, then motioned for Simone to continue.

“Ah, how long have you known Bourdon?”

Seth laughed deeply, and drained his cup. “Very good, Princess. You’re on a roll now. I only met the esteemed Commandant a short time ago when I was taken prisoner by him and his men.”

“Not before?”

“No, definitely not before.”

She waited, but Seth motioned for her to continue. “I’ll catch up.” he promised.

She considered a moment. “Your capture, was that genuine or faked?”

Seth’s head bobbed approvingly. “It was planned, yes, but the fighting was real.”

“Roland was meant to capture you then?”

“Yes.”

“But without knowing it was so?”

“Yes.”

Simone was unsure if her next question was appropriate “Why?”

“Ha!” Seth laughed. “I was wondering if you ever going to get back around to it. Well done. I was captured by Roland in order to effect a political destabilization and reorganization in this province of Bretonnia. This would be through an influx of needed currency in the hands of, well, a man we chaos-types considered ‘morally impressionable’.”

“Bourdon getting the ransom.”

“Exactly. We needed to get the money into his hands in a way that would boost his status amongst the nobles. The veritas was something one of the mages masterminding this whole plan knew about. A convenient means of both ‘proving’ my legitimacy and ripping afresh an old scar on the Bretonnian legal system. So I’m delivered into Bourdon’s hands, I mention a possible ransom, and the Commandant rides the glory and riches to the top of the Brionne political scale. Or so the plan went.”

“What happened?”

“We underestimated Roland’s viciousness.” admitted the warrior. “ He was about to kill me when your brother-in-law intervened.”

“And in three weeks?”

Seth finished the flagon of wine, and opened another. “In three weeks the money will be hidden along the coast. Roland, your brother-in-law, his men and myself ride out. I take them to it, and with the Earl to make sure Roland pulls no tricks, I am released.” Half the liquid in the glass disappeared.

Simone shook her head in disbelief. “Are you aware how much you drink?” she asked absently.

Seth snorted. “I never drink. Bad habit. Dulls the wits, and you can’t afford dull anything in the North.”

The noblewoman could not believe her ears. “Seth?”

“Yes?”

“I think that’s a forfeit.”

The warrior choked on his wine. “What?”

Simone spoke as calmly as she could. “Seth, you drink all the time.”

He stood. “What?”

“Seth, you’ve drank a flagon and a half since we arrived ten minutes ago. You’re constantly drinking.”

Seth looked down at his nearly empty glass. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration...”

“Seth, I’d wager the longest you’ve been without alcohol since you’ve got here is when you dueled the Duke’s champion, and it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if you held a cup while doing that. By the way, your loss that night, fair or deliberate?”

“Deliberate.” confessed Seth. “But only just. The man was very quick.” He set down his glass on the sideboard and stepped away gingerly. He turned to the noblewoman. “I don’t care for the question.”

“‘No holds barred’? ‘Always tell the truth’?”

Seth’s lip curled. “You have your ‘truth’. That is no, I am apparently not aware of how much I have been drinking, thank you. Now. Are you ready?”

Simone braced herself, nodded.

“Have you ever taken a lover?”

The Lady hissed like a cat. “What sort of question...”

“A confidence, Princess, which I am asking you to share.” Seth swayed closer, menacing.

Simone moved toward the door. “I don’t have to...”

Seth’s fist cracked into the stone wall directly in front of her face. “Princess.” he hissed. “You wound up a fair bit ahead in our exchange. Would be bad form for you to up and leave just now. Particularly after a question, the answer to which caused me no little embarrassment, a weakness you obviously enjoyed a great deal.”

His fist dropped to his side. “Now you can go if you’d like, with my apologies for losing my temper. Or you can stay, and play this out.” He stepped back.

“Why would you ask me that?” demanded Simone.

Seth dropped back into his chair. “You can ask me that as your next question. By my count you’re down about eight or so, plus one inferred question confirming Bourdon as the moral-ragdoll ransom recipient.”

Simone wavered, but finally sat down in her chair. “No.”

“No?”

“Here’s your ‘inferred confirmation’: No.”

“Why not?”

Simone’s breath nearly turned to frost her voice was so cold. “I’ve never found a man who was my equal.”

“Never?”

“We are counting these, I assure you, Seth. No, never.”

A long silence. “Take off your veil.”

The Lady’s breath stopped. “That’s hardly a confidence, Lord Garrick.”

He shrugged. “I’d be astonished if half a dozen people outside your most immediate family have ever seen you without it. That makes it a confidence, of sorts. One that would easily put me back into your ‘debt’, if you like.”

Simone considered, and upped the ante as far as she dared. “Any questions I want, whenever I like.”

Another shrug, this one in absent agreement. Seth’s eyes never moved from her, but his gaze was no longer hard or cold.

Simone’s heart was pounding madly in her chest. Slowly her hands lifted, found the veil’s edge, and pulled it away.

The burns, long healed into hardened scars, covered her cheeks and back of her head, yet left strangely untouched rings around her eyes and over her nose.

“It was yuletide at my family’s holdings.” she said softly, her voice quavering. “I was seven. My sister and I were playing a child’s game with the sons and daughters of the household servants and field workers out in the main courtyard. One child was blindfolded and had to find the rest of us by the sounds of our taunts and teasings. When we were caught, we were ‘out’ and had to wait until all the rest had been caught as well. A silly game...”

She drifted off, then looked to Seth for the sarcastic smirk she knew he would be wearing. But he was merely watching her, his eyes... strangely sad.

She continued. “I was ‘it’, and wandered too close to one of the bonfires lit to keep the cold at bay. I tripped, and the next thing I know my whole head is on fire. Mother had put something in my hair to hold an elven style... Seth?”

Seth heard a rushing, roaring sound, drowning out everything else.

HERSISTERHERSISTERHERSISTERPUSHEDHERJEALOUSJEALOUSTHEBOYSLOVESIMONELOVE SIMONEPUSHEDHERINTOTHEFIREBURNHERBURNHERBURNBURNBURNBURNBURN!!!!!

Seth found himself laying on his back on the floor of his audience room, the heavy taste of copper in his mouth. And he was soaking wet.

“What the hell was that?” he muttered. He then noticed Simone, her veil replaced, standing over him with an empty but still dripping bucket.

“That will be my next question, Lord Garrick.” said Simone. “One minute you’re sitting calmly, the next you have some sort of fit, screaming ‘burn, burn, burn!’ while thrashing on the floor!”

Seth slowly sat up. “My apologies lady, it’s nothing. A momentary spell...”

Simone placed a hand on her hip and began tapping her foot. “Lord Garrick, I feel I must remind you the bargain you only moments ago freely struck. Now either you’ll answer my question, or I’ll open that door, and have Marc find a physician attend to pry whatever confidences you’re withholding by means of bleedings and emetic draughts.” Her foot continued to tap.

He climbed back into his chair, for the moment ignoring his wet robes. Turning to her, he motioned for her to remove her veil. Reluctantly she did so, and sat back down.

“I have a gift.” he began. “I have no idea what it truly is. But on occasion I hear a voice in my head, speaking to me.”

He paused, seeing no disbelief as yet. “The voice speaks to me, telling me things related to conversations I have, or am listening to, or things I see. It tells of hidden, secret things. It is not madness, I assure you. The things the voice reveals have all invariably been true. The voice is cogent, and normally speaks only in whispers.”

The noblewoman broke in. “And was it whispering to you now?”

Seth barked a laugh. “It was screaming. Since I came here, to Bretonnia it’s been getting louder, but never like this.”

Simone considered further. “What did it say?”

The chaos lord pressed his lips together. “This will cost you. More than you know.”

“I thought my credit was unlimited.”

He shook his head. “It’s not me you’ll owe. The things I hear, they’re never good things. It’s always nasty, creepy, dirty bits, like a vicious gossip who’s never wrong.”

Simone’s voice grew hard. “Tell me.”

Seth sighed. “You were talking about what happened. Yuletide. The bonfire. The voice said... it said your sister pushed you into the fire. She was jealous because the boys were all fussing over you, and she...”

Simone smashed into Seth hard enough to tip the heavy char he sat upon onto it’s back. Her knife, point down in her fist, pressed against the warrior’s throat as she lay atop him. “Don’t you ever say that! Don’t you ever say that! You don’t know. You don’t know anything! My sister would never...”

Seth spoke calmly, ignoring the blade. “Your sister was seven, and jealous of her beautiful twin. She had one bad moment, and undoubtedly regretted it for the rest of her life. I’m as sorry as she was. But you asked, and I told you what I had heard, and your sister pushed you. It happened, Simone.”

With a cry Simone raised the knife and punched it down with horrendous force into Seth’s chest. “Liar! Liar!” Then she collapsed, weeping. A childhood and adolescence filled with repressed rage, bitter blame, frustration, and self-loathing poured forth from the depths of Simone’s mind, finding a much-belated focus, tearing itself free of the noblewoman in a minutes-long incoherent howling over Seth’s still body.

Then, as her sobs began to ease, slowly and gently Seth’s arms closed around her. “You knew, didn’t you?” he asked. “Or perhaps suspected? She said something, or maybe just how she treated you afterwards?”

How could she do this to me?” she gasped, tears restarting. “Why, why did she leave me like this?”

“Simone, your sister loved you. I’ve heard you speak of her. She was the only person in this whole stupid country who seemed to be comfortable and happy with the woman you’ve made of yourself.”

Simone shifted so that her face was inches from Seth’s. “Look at me!” she screamed. “I am deformed! A freak! And you tell me she made me into this! Should I just forget that?”

The warriors hands moved to hold the noblewoman’s head. She tried to flinch away, but Seth’s grip would not break. “You have wonderful eyes, Simone. I could stare into them for hours. A deep brown, like mahogany. You have high cheekbones, and full lips that will never need paint to make them more beautiful.”

“However lovely, though, none of these things have anything to do with who you are, Simone. Though you may at the moment despise them, it’s the scars which have made you. They forced you to become strong, intelligent, and independent. They’ve given you a sense of who you are, apart from any man or connection to your family. And they’ve given you a sense of compassion for the less fortunate bordering on maternal. Perhaps you would have led a happier life without them. Beautiful, courted, and before long married off by your parents to a ‘suitable’ young man. But judging from the examples of Bretonnian nobility I’ve seen, that’s an entirely debatable point. But more importantly, you would have forfeited everything you have become, paid for in full with pain, and isolation, and alienation. My life, Simone, is hardly an uninterrupted story of delight and happiness. But I can honestly say I like what I have become. The sacrifices I have made have been worth what I am. I would never exchange that for a ‘happy, simple life’. Is that not also the way of it for you?”

The silence spun out, ended finally by Simone. “Why did you ask me to take off my veil? Did you have to see?”

Seth shifted, using a free hand to pull the knife from the healing wound in his chest, tossing it aside. Still he held her close. “No, Simone. I was just tired of having you hide from me behind it. You are a desirable woman, Simone. The most desirable I’ve ever met. I knew this from the moment I met you. I also knew you’d take a great deal of convincing.” His white teeth flashed. “Convincing about your desirability, that is.”

She gave a short chuckle as she considered this, carefully weighing her options. “And I suppose there are additional confidences you’d like to share along this line?”

The chaos lord wagged his head and smiled a sliver of his customary smirk. “There are many other confidences to be shared, should you be willing.”

Simone snorted. “Indeed?”

“Oh yes, indeed.” Seth whispered back, pulling her mouth down to his.

Much later, the chaos warrior slipped quietly out from beneath the covers. “So, what’s it like?”

Seth froze in the act of washing his face in the nearby basin, and turned back toward the bed. “What’s what like?”

“Being what you are.” asked a seemingly wide awake and still inquisitive Simone. “A Chaos Lord.”

The Chaos Lord in question offered a wan smile. “As far as occupations go, it’s all right. Some of the perks are entertaining.” He leered comically. “But it’s still really only a job.”

“That’s hard to imagine.” obseved Simone. “Just a Chaos Lord. Only a job. Sounds like a little job dissatisfaction to me.”

Seth snorted. “I enjoy my work, darlin’. Don’t think I don’t. I just like some parts better than others. Leading men in battle is a fine calling for some; the looting afterward helps pay the men and keep them fed. But using them up in the process is ultimately self-defeating. And it only takes one bad rout to permanently end a Generalship.”

“Then why do it?”

Seth shrugged and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “Because I believe.”

“In chaos? That’s hardly a constructive ethos.”

“No,” answered Seth. “I believe in change and empowerment for those who have the juice to take it. We live in the Old World, Princess, and it’s showing it’s age. All of it slowly stagnating, every government clinging desperately to it’s outdated system of laws and traditions, quelling every new thought or idea. Outlawing them. Elves and dwarves first, slowly dying away, even the Kingdoms of Man: Bretonnia, with it’s ancient feudal system, nobles on top, peasants on the bottom, and the women even further down. And the Empire is no better; a pack of religious fanatics equating anything they don’t control as utterly diabolic. Lunacy, all of it.”

“You think anarchy might be better then?” Simone asked. “No rule, no laws at all?”

The warrior shook his head. “Don’t be silly. A country completely lacking in structure is no country at all, merely a large, potentially violent mob who’s constituents happen to live conveniently close to each other. The question is one of growth. Of moving away from customs when they grow too restricting and creating new, better suited ones. Not clinging stubbornly and stupidly to the old in the name of ‘tradition’ or ‘principle’.”

“And you believe countries conquered by you, or Chaos Lords like yourself would be so much more enlightened?”

“Well, my personal convictions fly in the face of the near-unanimous consensus of my chaos brethren, of course. But if you really want to know my opinion, good lord, no!” laughed Seth. “We’re not enlightened. We’re despotic monsters!” He shuddered. “Killers. Schemers. Plotters. Not statesmen.”

“Then why…”

Seth hushed the noblewoman. “All part of the big plan. To borrow a phrase, the ineffable plan. Right now, no matter how repressive, no matter how stultifying, the established government’s of the Old World’s ‘good’ races tend to avoid directly harming their general populace. They ostracize, even dehumanize the outsider, but otherwise, they’re relatively benign. The common people are willing to sweat, serve, build, fight, and occasionally die for their respective masters, mostly due to a well-spread but largely unfounded rumor that the powers-that-be actually notice and appreciate all the toil going on at their behest. So existing power structures continue to grind slowly on. Under Chaotic rule, that’ll hardly be the case. As befits our nature, we’ll work the common folk into early graves. Enslave them all, really. Pound them into the rubble, abuse and mistreat them at every turn. We’ll drive them to complete violent rebellion, and our eventual overthrow. It’s all a matter of numbers, and they’ll have them. I’d give us no more than a decade of ‘enlightened’ rule.”

Shocked silence. “But that’s idiotic! What’s the point then, if you believe your rule will last less than ten years! Think of all you’ll have destroyed, and for nothing!”

Seth’s usual smile spread across his face. “Indeed. All we’ve destroyed. Every dusty custom, every stuffy principle. Every noble line, every outdated system of law. And in the end, all that will remain will be a handful of ignorant, war-weary peasants, who must then devise new means, new laws, and new ways to peacefully govern. Perhaps even ways that do not suppress, or exclude, or vilify. I have considered this often, and while perhaps a tad over-romantic, I find it very much to my liking.”

Lady Simone was quiet for some time. “If things happen the way you think, those peasants will be putting your head on a spike someday. That doesn’t bother you?”

Seth shrugged, and crawled back under the covers, coming face to face with the woman sharing his bed. He bumped his nose against hers, a gentle nuzzle. “I’ve had worse than peasants come for my head. For as far back as I can recall, it’s the one real constant in a chaotic life. Knowing that one day, one of them will succeed is no surprise.” The warrior snuggled closer, closing his eyes. “If it does happen to be the rebelling peasants, my death puts them one step further toward their destiny; true empowerment. There are worse ways to go, and worse reasons.”

The room was quiet.

“Seth?”

“Hmmm?”

"You really believe that?”

“You really believe your goddess lives at the bottom of a lake?”

“Well… yes. Spiritually speaking.”

“You think that might seem a little odd to someone new to your religion?”

“Ah. Perhaps, yes. But the idea you’d be content sacrificing yourself to advance the cause of peasants…”

Seth snorted again, and chuckled quietly for several minutes before responding. “'Content' my rosy red buttocks. Princess, I intend to hack a great huge mob of stick-waving peasants into slabs of quivering meat. I mean, I recognize the inherent statistical futility here. I’m not stupid; I’m going down. But that doesn’t mean I plan on going down easy. Those ignorant apes are going to earn empowerment.”

Simone laughed at her own naiveté, and curled deeply into the blankets. “Of course, Seth. What was I thinking?”

“Great.” agreed Seth. “Now I’d like to get some sleep here. Is this possible, or do you have another, similar, weighty moral ponderation you’d like to get off your chest?”

“Good night, Seth.”

The Chaos Lord grumbled a moment before laying back down and vainly attempting to steal back a few covers for himself.