In the distance the city of Quitonne appeared as if its walls had been erased from the horizon, only the highest of its towers able to pierce the thick grey smudge of mist shrouding it.

Because Terjal's group was now nearer the sea, the snow began to disappear gradually, leaving behind a hard and shiny patina of frost upon everything laying in their path. Even without the snow, the air still seemed colder, but with the added sting of salt to scratch against the chilled skin of their faces.

"Close ranks!" Terjal called out through chapped lips. "The heat from the animals should give us some barrier against the cold."

Wordlessly, the others drew their beasts into a tight, moving circle. The gaunt flanks of the horses and mules bumped clumsily against the others' exposed curve of ribs, their legs tangling intermittently and causing brief halts in the march.

Frustrated after gaining barely a half mile, Terjal ordered the procession to a full stop.

"I think," the conjurer said tiredly, "that at this point we might actually gain more ground by walking to Quitonne; we'll let the beasts surround us for warmth--as will the walking itself."

Darman nodded his head, tiny fragments of frost clinging to his limp black hair. "Aye. At the rate we're going now, we'll end up leaving the animals behind to die--then we'll die before we're even halfway to the city's gates."

Terjal was worried. The spell he'd cast upon them to increase stamina was steadily wearing off; one more spray of the powder might have the opposite results. Somehow they had to press on by virtue of their own waning vigor. With the seaport city now within sight, Terjal felt a tiny sprig of hope bloom in his chest that they would make it to the gates after all.

###

It had taken nearly two full hours of steady walking to reach the main gate of Quitonne. In the last mile, Terjal had watched as his three Blades marched doggedly onward, their faces set with grim determination. There's much to be said, Terjal thought to himself, of the benefits imposed on warriors by the rigors of the campaign trail. But then, I never thought it would be me, the Headmaster of Cloudreach, who'd eventually be slogging through slush on a dangerous and uncertain quest.

Aiya had fared no better than he, for as the stamina-spell started to wear off, she began to lean toward the swaying flank of the mule staggering beside her. When she caught him looking at her with open concern, Aiya quickly straightened her back and attempted to affect a smoother pace. But Terjal saw the strain stiffening her spine and the color quickly draining from her cheeks. She walked onward with the careful gait of one who is ready to collapse at any moment, her face set in grave resoluteness and with her gaze intent only on her destination.

Terjal was certain that Aiya had also noticed his own lurching stride, and so he made no effort to conceal his fatigue--hoping the gesture would allow her to relax a little. But it made no difference, for when he risked a darting sidelong glance, he saw with dismay that Aiya hadn't slackened her pace one bit.

Terjal sighed, spent and trai--worn; this time he cared not whether Aiya had heard him.

###

No sooner had the exhausted party reached the massive, fortified main gate of Quitonne, when a guard shouted down at them from a parapet, ordering them to a halt.

Aiya, ignoring the order, advanced ahead of Terjal and the others and stood a short distance from the gate, waiting patiently for the tall doors to be opened. Terjal, watching Aiya's confident stride, hurried to catch up with her. He turned only once to bade the Blades to stay behind with the animals.

Three armored guards, thin sunlight bouncing off their polished helms and cuirasses, marched through the parting gates toward the two conjurers. As they moved closer, Terjal saw that they were shielding someone.

When the guards were a yard away, they parted and allowed a tall, angularly thin young man to step mincingly away from their aegis. His black hair crested upward from his narrow forehead like the shiny, puffed breast of a crow, as long curved sideburns arrowed his cheekbones. Round, deep-lidded eyes peered furtively over the conjurers' shoulders at the waiting Blades.

Terjal took an instant dislike to the fashionably anxious youth. The nervous mannerisms made the young man appear to be someone who'd think nothing of covering his own failings at the dire expense of others. When Terjal glanced at Aiya, he saw that she wore her standard smile of cordial diplomacy and that it seemed to have a calming effect upon the young man.

A high, chirping cough squeezed through the man's lips as he cleared his throat. "What is your business in Quitonne?" he blurted, his tone harshly abrupt. For the first time, the man's darting gaze touched upon Aiya's belt buckle with its carved daggers. The discovery made his eyes widen briefly before he returned them to Aiya's still-smiling face. "You...are with the Duke of Windemere I see." Eyes narrowing with quick suspicion. "If you've come to inquire about the late brass shipments from Pherles Province, you may inform the Duke that we--"

Aiya cut off the man's piqued tirade with a slash of her hand. "There are others in the court whose business it is to discuss such matters of commerce. Ours," she looked sidelong at Terjal, "is a mission of security which I would prefer to discuss with your Mayor Luranj D'Orrn once we have sufficiently rested. As you can see, we did not have a pleasant journey; we lost two of our mounts along the way here."

Terjal watched with some amusement as the young man's wary mien softened into a semblance of official sincerity. "I am Berran Tworn, the mayor's highest ranking aide and advisor. Anything you wish to discuss with him, must be heard by myself first. I am sure, as an adjutant of Lord Vaukmond, that you are aware of Quitonne protocol, Miss...?"

"Aiya Lindsmund," she finished. "And this is Terjal Rakmir--"

"Ah, the teacher of sorcery," Tworn snorted. "We have no use for conjuring in Quitonne--except, perhaps, as entertainment." His shuddering chuckle ended in a loud hiccup.

Aiya's mouth pursed sternly at Berran Tworn, causing the young man's smile to melt into a thin line. "Terjal Rakmir is not here to proffer sorcery; he is here as a special...envoy at the behest of Lord Vaukmond himself. As for protocol: in matters of dire emergency, it can be suspended. Now," her voice becoming slightly frayed from fatigue, "I would appreciate your help in arranging lodging for our party. While you are seeing to this request, I shall be happy to share with you what I know."

Berran Tworn's narrow mouth curved upward, the nub of his receding chin quivering. "Of course I shall comply with your request for lodging." Then, hesitating as if struggling with some inner decision, he added quickly, "Vice-Mayor Turste would not wish to displease the Duke by slighting you."

Aiya's eyes narrowed. "I thought you were going to arrange a meeting with the mayor himself. This certainly sounds like a 'slight' to me. I hope that Mayor D'Orrn hasn't become so confident in his station that he can choose to ignore an envoy of the Duke of Windemere." Her tone was mockingly ingratiating.

Berran Tworn swallowed. Hard. "Actually, Mayor D'Orrn isn't...here at Quitonne. He simply...disappeared." The look on his face told them that he really didn't relish supplying what little details he apparently knew.

Terjal stepped forward a pace, the crease on his forehead pushing his eyebrows into a frown. "You say that the mayor just disappeared? Did anyone witness his abduction?"

"No," Berran Tworn answered, his thin lips crushed together anxiously. "Mayor D'Orrn was adjourning council one moment, then gone the next--that is, he never physically left the holding. We searched it thoroughly." His tone was genuinely earnest.

"Of course," Terjal said, "I would like the opportunity to do a search of my own."

"I suppose you think that some manner of sorcery is responsible?"

"Unless," Terjal grunted softly, "your mayor has a secret talent for disappearing into thin air." Terjal took inordinate pleasure in Tworn's fussily indignant expression.

"Well," Berran Tworn replied, tapping a forefinger nervously on a pointed elbow, "I suppose I could authorize you to examine the council chamber...however," his nervous gaze glancing over Terjal's shoulder, "your men must keep their weapons sheathed at all times or they will be...removed from their person."

"They," Terjal said, inclining his head at the Blades, "will keep their weapons sheathed out of courtesy--but do not think they can be so easily removed. My Blades are sworn to protect me at all costs; but be assured that they know well how to discern a genuine attack."

Berran Tworn's flippant tone barely disguised his qualm. "And I must assure you that your warriors will be watched. Closely."

"As you wish," Terjal replied, his own voice steady and neutral.

###

As they entered the main square of Quitonne through its elaborate, columnar portico, Terjal saw no evidence of a city under siege.

The great open market lining their passage seemed busy enough with merchants barking at passersby to purchase their wares. But Terjal noted that the merchants' goods seemed sparse in selection for a town renowned for rich commerce. Hmm, only sea borne goods seem in abundance, Terjal noted to himself as he glanced at the few more heavily laden tables--tables containing no domestic goods, only metals, exotic fabrics and fruits.

Though no physical harm had been visited upon the city, the people of Quitonne themselves had obviously been affected by the creature's rampage. Terjal watched as the nervous eyes of some vendors flitted from passersby to passersby, as if a monster might lay carefully hidden beneath a tunic or robe. Nor was there much chattering between the hawkers as they attended their stalls. It seemed clear to Terjal that the direspawn's creators hadn't intended to physically harm Quitonne, but the news of the attacks might stir a useful uneasiness amongst the populace. Perhaps the beast's controller hoped to keep the city intact for later plundering.

Now the sight of the meager array of foods dashed away the remainder of Terjal's ruminations, making his stomach sting with pangs of hunger. He reluctantly resisted the urge to spell-grab one of the luscious crimson and gold pears balanced upon a wooden tray in a nearby stall. Once the hawker looks away I can... He shook his head. He wouldn't let hunger turn him into a thief. But it was a tempting idea indeed.

###

Terjal stretched his legs and rotated his feet as he lay upon a divan fashioned of an elaborate brocade. With his hand he clawed absently at a bowl of mixed fruits on an end table beside him, then popped a palmful of grapes into his mouth.

He watched as Aiya lay sleeping upon a divan on the other side of the room, her hands clasped together beneath her cheek as if she were praying. Terjal studied the bow of her natural, rose-tinted lips as they were pursed in slumber, and the crescent of black hair as it lay curved upon her cheek. He'd never yet seen Aiya in such languid repose.

Even as they had made camp along the trails, the night's darkness rendered Aiya nearly invisible to him as she slept, and he could only guess at how beautiful she looked in slumber. The harshness of their recent journey, however, hadn't inspired him to wonder at such things. But now, surrounded by luxury, if only he could...

Suddenly self-conscious, Terjal let the thought pass.

He turned his mind instead to their eventual meeting with Vice-Mayor Turste. Or rather, their near eventual meeting with the acting mayor of Quitonne. Berran Tworn apparently hadn't yet scheduled an audience with the vice-mayor, choosing instead to divert them with detailed arrangements for their lodgings. And as the young aide fluttered about ordering servants to bring the weary guests supper, Tworn surreptitiously tried to plumb them for information. For someone so young, Terjal thought wryly, he certainly has learned well the art of politics.

But Aiya had offered only vague tidbits which left Berran Tworn frustrated--and which succeeded in prompting the aide to promise an audience with the vice-mayor--soon. This quick change of heart delighted Arjas immensely and he made little effort to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Berran Tworn had favored the Blade with a withering glare. Disappointment made the aide's teeth grind perceptively as Arjas loosed a hearty, unconcerned laugh.

Afterward, over a light supper of fruits, cheeses, bread and roasted fowl Terjal and the others recounted their separate adventures with Berran Tworn.

"Do you know," Arjas said as he tore a piece of bread apart, "that 'High Aide' Tworn followed Darman, Strandholt and I to the stables as we secured the animals and tried to squeeze information from us?"

Terjal shook his head slowly, an amused smile on his face. "I take it he got no more information than he managed to gain from Aiya and I?" Still smiling, he added, "Which wasn't much, we made certain. We made it clear that if Mr. Tworn himself wishes to hear what we have to discuss with the vice-mayor, then he'd best schedule a meeting with Turste."

Darman snorted. "He got even less of a report from us. We told him he'd just received more of a briefing than we had."

"Besides," Strandholt added, "Tworn started to get a little edgy when the three of us began to surround him at once. He gibbered something about keeping our swords in our scabbards--"

"And then," Arjas interrupted, "Darman whips out his crossbow and jokingly asks if the rule applies to archery. I swear, the man must have lost every drop of blood in his thin face; too bad we couldn't have checked to see if his blood had settled to his feet."

"Or turned yellow and soggy!" Strandholt added, laughing.

Terjal had felt relieved to hear Aiya's laughter mingling so easily with that of the Blades, as if she were content among their ranks. The benefit, Terjal surmised, of serving a warrior-duke is that she has become used to the company of soldiers. Terjal had guessed that Aiya was now truly in her element, functioning as an adjutant skilled in diplomacy. And a conjurer well skilled in the ways of sorcery, he reminded himself. Along this trek, those skills made their appearances as well.

###

As he swallowed the last of the grapes, Terjal smiled once more at Aiya's sleeping form. Then he turned on his side and sank his head wearily into a soft pillow and willed his eyelids to close. He would need to store up all the energy possible within him in order to meet with Graznod the Redeemer in the morning.

###

The moist, cold air of pre-dawn shifted around Terjal in rippling sighs as it changed directions from east to west, then back again.

He had risen before the others because he did not want Aiya to join him when he contacted Graznod the Redeemer. Terjal especially did not want the Redeemer to know of Aiya's presence. After all, he thought to himself, it's wiser to have an ace up your sleeve and a dagger in your boot as Arjas would say. And Aiya could prove to be the dagger I might need in a pinch if Graznod becomes...uncooperative. Besides, Graznod might not even want to meet me at all if he knew that he would have two conjurers ranked before him. The Redeemer didn't like to be crowded--especially by those who might be able to usurp his power.

Terjal moved swiftly and quietly through the empty thoroughfare toward a deserted, vine-choked structure he'd noted upon their arrival. He drew his cloak tightly about his shoulders against the oily chill as it sought to penetrate the cloth. He heard the abrupt shriek of a rooster split the air, but it did not startle him.

Entering the dark inner chamber of the structure, Terjal breathed reluctantly the musty air, thick with dust and neglect.

Suddenly footsteps echoed his own.

He turned to find Darman and Strandholt standing in the crumbling doorway, blinking blearily at him. "Aiya was not awake when you left?" Terjal asked.

Darman shook his head. "Even Arjas was still asleep--or maybe, pretended to be asleep. He knew he wasn't to join us anyway, but to escort Aiya throughout Quitonne."

"I just hope," Strandholt added, "that she doesn't feel slighted when she finds us gone."

Terjal smiled tightly. "Arjas has developed a good rapport with Aiya. He knows what to tell her."

Darman glanced outside at the swirling morning mist framing the doorway. "Do you want us guarding the entrance?"

"No," Terjal shook his head. "I want both of you to stand with me. Graznod knows that I would never meet with him without Blades at my side. This meeting will be no different from the last."

Terjal strode toward the center of the chamber, carefully stepping over the thick, corded vines covering the floor like mottled arteries. When he reached the darkest part of the chamber, he stopped.

From a pouch he withdrew a handful of the white powder he had sprinkled upon the farmer/bandit he'd sent to Lord Vaukmond. In one swift movement, he flung the powder into the still, stale air. Before it fell, Terjal arced both arms once in the motion of a windmill. The powder turned into a sheet of square translucence that sprayed shimmering light upon Terjal and the Blades.

Slowly a rectangular form began to coalesce into a face, its pattern wavering unevenly in the lurid glow of the portal. Soon two deep, wide-lidded eyes appeared above a long, narrow nose, and further below it a wide slash of mouth, turned down at the corners. The face had deep creases running along the grey cheeks as if fingers had raked through a rise of soft dough. Dark hair, thin and dull, hung limply down to wide, sloped shoulders.

Graznod the Redeemer glowered for a moment--until his dark gaze settled upon Terjal. The Redeemer managed a forced semblance of a smile: the smile of one whose work has been interrupted, but is too polite to protest. "Terjal Rakmir," the voice sounded untuned and unused. "What mission could drag you away from your students at Cloudreach?"

Terjal watched Graznod warily. The errant necromancer always presented a deceptively courteous manner to any who sought his services or advice. Terjal knew that the false civility would easily turn into a subtle rage before one could recognize it. "I would request a meeting with you to discuss certain events that have occurred of late."

"Oh?" Graznod lifted a single wing of eyebrow, his voice wryly languid. "You wish to discuss events...for a moment I thought to myself, 'Strange, but this conjurer looks healthy enough'." A low hum of muffled laughter shook his shoulders.

Terjal ignored the dark humor. "Perhaps you could spell travel to this location?"

"If you don't mind," Graznod said, a tight smile pressing his lips down, "I'd prefer that you spell travel to a location of my choosing."

Terjal watched as the background behind Graznod's head began to shift and rearrange. "I hope you don't mind if I bring along two of my Blades."

"I would have thought it strange if you didn't." Again, the strained smile. "Step through the portal at your convenience."

Terjal watched as Graznod's face receded from the portal. With a single wave of his hand, Terjal motioned Darman and Strandholt to follow him through the shimmering gateway.

As he stepped through the gleaming square of light, Terjal felt the unpleasantly familiar sensation of liquid covering his body for a brief moment. He always disliked this form of spell travel: the necromancer's way of filters, liquids and powders. It almost made him wish that Graznod were a conjurer, and would use pure, clear spell energy instead. Terjal also knew that it might be dangerous to spell travel to the Redeemer's abode unannounced--and so Terjal was resigned to visit Graznod via the method the Redeemer preferred.

Once crossed over to this new destination, Terjal glanced about this more ominous environment. He smelled the sickly sweet scent of rotting vegetation draping the cracked walls. The grey remnants of broken stone shelves lay scattered upon the earthen floor like old bones. Dirt-rimmed statues with missing limbs looked down at him from their chipped pedestals, stone faces frozen in grimaces of agony.

The Redeemer had brought Terjal and his Blades to an abandoned crypt.

No doubt, Terjal thought to himself, Graznod absorbs his power from the feeling of death pervading the room. Through death can he more effectively control the living.

Graznod emerged from the liquid darkness, followed by three of his Redeemed. Terjal studied the impassive faces: the blankness of everlasting zombies. He tried not to stare at the brass plug imbedded in the right eye socket of each Redeemed. He'd seen the zombies before, yet the idea of their existence still fascinated him, and so he felt compelled by prurient interest to study them. Their skin somehow, through Graznod's ministrations, resisted the decomposition and rot that eventually corrupted most undead--although the mottled flesh still looked frayed. Terjal always felt a confused mixture of revulsion and amazement whenever he chanced to encounter a Redeemed. Fortunately, those encounters were rare.

Graznod's thin, pale lips parted in a grin of false cordiality, revealing yellowed and crooked teeth. "I would ask if this meeting place of mine is to your satisfaction, but I can sense that it is not. But then, as you are no doubt aware, I never adapt my own comforts to accommodate others. A flaw in my character, I suppose."

Terjal felt Darman and Strandholt moving closer to him. He knew their hands hovered near their weapons in obvious warning. He watched as Graznod's gaze tracked the Blades' movements casually, as if the Redeemer had expected no less. "You might say that my particular flaw," Terjal said, grimly, "is that I'm continually forced to associate with those I'd rather avoid."

Graznod loosed a wheezing snort of a laugh. "And I prefer to be avoided, but the nature of my business thwarts my true wishes at every turn. Now," his long, grooved face becoming dour, "I would ask what it is you wish to discuss with me."

"I was almost hoping," Terjal said, "that you might already have an idea." When Graznod's expression did not alter, Terjal began, "An apparently relentless fire-breathing creature--a direspawn--has been ravaging farmlands surrounding Windemere and beyond. I thought that it might have reached Quitonne, but it appears the city has not been directly affected."

"Is it that you think I am responsible for the doings of this creature?"

"No," Terjal replied carefully. "I thought that you might have some information to share, first or secondhand."

Graznod remained silent for a moment, his lantern jaw rippling slightly as he considered Terjal's request. "Against my better judgment, which is in peril these days, I will show you something," he eyed the Blades warily, "that I would prefer to show no one at all. Follow me."

The Redeemer led Terjal, Darman and Strandholt to a cracked marble slab. Terjal saw that a body lay stretched beneath a square of bloody linen.

"Perhaps," Graznod said as he reached to grab at a corner of the linen, "this may be the handiwork of the creature you seek."

###

Aiya followed Berran Tworn through Quitonne's main thoroughfare with Arjas walking beside her. She watched as Tworn's heavy velvet cloak, with its gold shoulder epaulets, billow behind him as he walked. He certainly is brimming with self-importance, she thought to herself, amused. If he recites one more rule...

"Of course," Berran Tworn tossed over his shoulder, "there is the slight possibility that Vice-Mayor Turste may be occupied with other matters and so--"

Aiya caught the thin aide by the elbow, taking care to be gentle yet firm. Facing him directly, she said, "Oh, I think there's an excellent chance that the Vice-Mayor will see me today. I am to prepare a full report for Lord Vaukmond on the status of Quitonne's...situation. I'd have to also include that Vice-Mayor Turste was too busy dealing with the minor, everyday business of commerce to meet with one of His Grace's top aides. Besides, if he wants to maintain the title of 'Vice-Mayor,' he would do well to meet with me." Then, drawing her face within inches of Tworn's, for she was nearly as tall as he, "I don't think I have to remind you that His Grace also has the ear of the Empress Perseldeth; she trusts implicitly Lord Vaukmond's recommendations in matters of high office."

Berran Tworn swallowed with some difficulty. "Ummm...well, then--I shall make every effort to stress the importance of your--"

"I will tell him myself," Aiya said firmly, her tone offering no quarter. "Remember: I am Lord Vaukmond's emissary and I stand in proxy of his authority. Whatever matters Vice-Mayor Turste is presiding over at the moment will be superseded by my own. Is this clearly understood?"

The aide took a quick, tiny step backward, a trace of bitter embarrassment passing over his narrow face. "Yes, distinctly so."

Aiya smiled with cautious warmth at the man and patted his shoulder as if he were a small child who'd performed an exceptionally difficult task. She glanced quickly at Arjas, who had a wide grin carved upon his tanned face, and gave him a swift, conspiratorial wink. "Good. I hope that I find Vice-Mayor Turste also as cooperative."

Berran Tworn answered only with a loud, indignant sniff of disdain.

How easy it is sometimes, Aiya thought with savored satisfaction, to prod these contemptuous Quitonne wealth-masters into obedience by merely uttering Lord Vaukmond's name from time to time. This Berran Tworn is no different from the court-toadies loitering at Honor's Start and who seek even the tiniest morsel of information to use against each other. But a small part of her knew it was her own expertise in tact that opened the appropriate doors. She only hoped her former teacher noticed--and appreciated--this particular talent.

###

"I am sorry," Vice-Mayor Turste said with mock disappointment, "that I am unable to provide you with more detailed information regarding this...creature...you speak of. But," brightening slightly, "the beast's ravaging behavior may offer some explanation for the dismal assortment of goods coming from the outer provinces."

"You mean," Aiya said, her voice touched with wary incredulity, "that you have absolutely no knowledge at all of a fire-breathing creature terrorizing the farmlands? I find it difficult to believe that you would be so uninformed."

"Well," the Vice-Mayor sniffed, "we depend on such news from His Grace, for it is not our chore to scour the lands for any tidings. We must, after all, concern ourselves with matters of commerce only." A smile spread upon his face like slow syrup as he added sarcastically, "Perhaps this beast fell upon the farmlands so recently that you could not give us the proper warnings?"

Aiya carefully regarded the unctuous Vice-Mayor Turste; she couldn't let him see the slightest trace of bewilderment upon her face. Such would only give the imperious Vice-Mayor, who fairly glowed with his new-found station, a tiny wedge of an opening into which he might slide a verbal dagger. She wasn't about to give him such a convenient advantage.

"Perhaps," Aiya answered as she eased more comfortably into her chair, arms crossed loosely upon her chest, "Lord Vaukmond was so preoccupied with defending his holdings, that he failed to dispatch a messenger to Quitonne. However," smiling, "I had been informed by the captain of a scouting party that a messenger had been dispatched to Quitonne. It would seem, then, that he never made it here."

Vice-Mayor Turste's face began to drain of color; the effect was slow, but unmistakable, as his mind appeared to remember some nearly forgotten event. Then he gulped visibly and his brow furrowed as his frantic eyes searched for his High Aide.

"Berran Tworn!" Turste called out, irritated. Tworn, who'd been seated just behind the Vice-Mayor, stood shakily and stepped gingerly before Turste. From the look on his face, Berran Tworn had been remembering as well. "Your duty is to receive and process any visitors arriving at the main gate, is it not?"

"Y--yes, Sir," the man stammered, sliding a quick and bitter glance at Aiya.

"Didn't you inform me, a week or two ago, of some 'filthy madman' wearing a shredded soldier's uniform appearing at our main gate?" A snarl wrapped round the mayor's words.

"I turned him away because I thought him a deserter of the Duke's militia." Berran Tworn seemed to be desperately trying to salvage his credibility by infusing his voice with improvised confidence. "He appeared to be requesting sanctuary, which I informed him would be impossible and so I sent him on his way."

Aiya smiled with the pleasure of a cat who has cornered its prey. "You are lying to cover up your laziness or incompetence." Strong words; but she was certain Berran Tworn was indeed speaking falsely. He must have absolute confidence in his standing with the Vice-Mayor to perjure himself so blatantly. A mistake I would never presume to commit before Lord Vaukmond. Or anyone of authority. "Did you ever give the visitor a chance to speak? Or did you conveniently put words in his mouth? There have been no reports of desertions within the Duke's forces."

Berran Tworn turned to face Aiya, the expression on his damp face both frightened and angry. "And who is to say that you are not lying?"

"If I am lying," Aiya answered nonchalantly, "then Lord Vaukmond is lying as well, for he always trusts the word of his soldiers. His Grace has often told me that warriors must trust other warriors--being still a warrior himself." Pausing, she added with mock innocence, "I could bring this message to him directly for you; but I am afraid that he might later request that you make your statement to him in his presence. And I must warn you: His Grace does not bear...criticism...well."

Sweat was beginning to dribble down the aide's neck and he absently swatted at it. "But I did not mean to slight the Duke of Windemere himself. It is possible that I...misinterpreted...the visitor's request--he was barely coherent and babbling."

"A warning," Aiya said, shaking her head slightly in mock amazement, "can be as simple as saying, 'A creature is destroying the countryside. Take precautions.' How could such a message be 'misinterpreted'?"

"Well," Tworn's voice was now indignant, "and what of it? Has Quitonne been attacked? Nay, we've not suffered--"

"Which I find rather interesting," Aiya interrupted, looking beyond the quaking aide and at Vice-Mayor Turste's reddening face. "How could it be that you are scant miles away from the carnage the beast has wrought, yet have not fallen siege to the creature's wrath?"

It was the Vice-Mayor's turn to wax indignant. Spearing his aide with a withering glance of reproach, Turste spoke, "I don't appreciate what you are inferring. The only thing we may be guilty of at this point is not giving assistance to this soldier/messenger of yours. But we are certainly not guilty of any collaboration with this creature of whom you mention."

Aiya continued to smile calmly. "I am sorry if I insinuated a connection; but you must appreciate that I am bound, by dire circumstances, to proffer such blunt questions. I only wish that you had had more information to offer me." Aiya paused for a moment and leveled her gaze at the Vice-Mayor, "Then there is the matter of Mayor D'Orrn's disappearance to look into."

Vice-Mayor Turste's face had just begun to return to its normal pallor, Aiya noted with satisfaction, but a few blossoms of crimson remained as a result of her last comment. Jab them with the dagger, slice them open and see what falls out; then quickly sew them back together and send them on their way, Lord Vaukmond had told her when she'd first entered her service with him. And sometimes, he'd added, you must give the dagger an even stronger twist if you have to come back for more. But she doubted that she would have to come back for more this time.

But there would be one other in Quitonne who might be able to provide the information she sought.

Assuming he was still alive after all these years.

"Tell me this, then," Aiya said as she leaned forward slightly, "can you tell me if Sandor Centlanth lives in Quitonne still?"

The looks of ill-concealed alarm exchanged hesitantly by the two men told Aiya that Sandor was indeed still among the living. Their expressions also told her that the old politician wasn't fond of visitors. But that would change once he learned that it was Aiya Lindsmund who requested an audience with him.

Aiya's smile widened.

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