The Bastard

Book 1

Jack Porter

Copyright © 2019 by Jack Porter

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Also by Jack Porter

1

Just because I was in the central market to kidnap the daughter of a wealthy merchant didn’t mean I couldn’t indulge in a bit of petty thievery first.

It was mid-afternoon, and while the clouds hadn’t parted, the rain had stopped and there was a feeling of lightness in the air. The change of seasons had finally arrived, dragging the town away from the gloom of winter to the slightly lesser gloom of spring.

Consequently, people were out and about, smiling, talking, and even laughing as they strolled between stalls, ignoring the mud on their boots and enjoying the afternoon.

To most of them, I would have been nothing more than another stranger, enjoying the sights and smells of the market just like anyone else. Of medium height and build with dark hair, I wore a large leather pouch over my tunic and coat, the type of thing the King’s messengers might wear, although that was something I wasn’t. No, I was a thief—ahem—opportunist.

So yeah, just another stranger.

Except…

I was noticeably more handsome than other people, with an open expression, easy smile, bright green eyes, and innocent features.

It wasn’t vanity, just a simple reflection of the truth. More than enough women had confirmed it, and more than once my charms had helped me out of a jam.

And my natural charms weren’t my only good quality. I was stronger and quicker than I looked and could generally hold my own in a fight. And with that quickness came a lightness of touch that really helped in my chosen profession of opportunism.

I couldn’t help but catch the mood of the crowd as I made my way through. Smiling, I nudged a middle-aged man making a deal with a much younger prostitute, and he didn’t notice my fingers lighten his coin pouch by the weight of his silver. I passed a fruit vendor serving a pair of plain-looking women, and he never saw that his barrel of apples and pears became a little less full. I danced around a vendor with a cart selling dried meat on a stick, but left him alone because I knew he was desperate, and also because he dried his wares out in the sun where all the flies could taste them.

Along with the myriad of vendors, the market boasted a number of entertainment options. A juggler on stilts threw glittering knives through the air, and I remembered a time not too long ago when I had made my coin the same way.

But these days, I found it much easier to pick the pockets of those who watched, all while feigning clumsiness.

“Excuse me,” I said with a smile as I dipped into another man’s coin pouch.

“Forgive me,” I said as I nudged a fat woman, distracting her and the merchant she was talking to so I could filch a small round of brie.

“Sorry,” I said to a beggar as I tripped over him, spilling the coins from his cup into the mud and returning only a small portion of them.

And I wasn’t the only one in the market plying my trade. I saw others, men and women both, doing as I did, and street urchins as well, kids dressed in rags and using speed more than skill.

By mutual unspoken consent, we stayed out of each other’s way, but I had to smile at the sheer number of people who would find themselves leaving the market with less than they realized.

It was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, and within a surprisingly short time, my satchel was bulging with ill-gotten gains. I had walked the entire length and breadth of the market, and was beginning to wonder if my target had failed to show despite what Rolf had said, when finally, I spied her at a fabric merchant’s stall, admiring the different fabrics.

I paused for a moment, not even bothering to hide my interest, and admired her from afar. Rolf’s description had been more than enough. This was definitely my target.

“A redheaded beauty,” the Blackcoat had said. “As tall as you, and with curves in all the right places. She will likely be wearing a green dress, and its quality will be clear, but it’ll be cut for more practical wear than other high-ranking ladies would choose.”

Rolf had offered one of his lecherous grins at that point. “She’ll stand out in a crowd, mark my words. You won’t miss her.”

If anything, the Blackcoat had undersold the woman’s beauty. To my eyes, she was special, and I almost reconsidered going through with the plan.

But I’d made a deal with Rolf, and he wasn’t the sort of man to take kindly to me backing out. Especially when he and a couple of his men were already waiting in a nearby alley.

I smiled. Rolf and his regular cronies couldn’t do what I could do. Sure, they could resort to brute force and violence to get the job done, but to lure a woman like this out of the market? To make her leave willingly, without suspicion?

That’s why Rolf had approached me for the job.

And, anyway, it wasn’t like we were going to hurt her. She was a wealthy merchant’s daughter, and while I could get by easily enough by picking pockets, Rolf had promised that the merchant would pay gold to have his daughter returned unharmed.

For a quick afternoon’s work that might even be fun, I had figured why not, and gone along with the plan.

All I needed now was an excuse to talk to her.

In an unconscious gesture, my right hand went to the medallion at my neck. At first glance, the piece was next to worthless and looked like a large coin made of wood. But it had long since been worn smooth, and the patterns were gone. Whenever I felt the need, I would rub it for luck, and so far, it hadn’t let me down.

And yet, it was more than a simple good luck charm.

I had been no more than a boy, maybe six or seven years old, when a beautiful woman with dark hair and pale skin had hung it around my neck. I still remember her sad smile and the words that she spoke.

“I made this for you, Mordie. It may not look like much, but there’s power within it. In a moment of need, all you need to do is break it into two, and everything will turn out all right.”

I remember gripping the medallion in my pudgy, boyish fingers, and feeling a slight tingle on my skin. “It’s magic?” I asked, and the beautiful woman nodded.

So far, I’d never been in a position to test if the woman’s words had been true. Sure, I’d grown up on the streets–that was the last time I’d set eyes on the woman–and had found my fair share of trouble there. But since I’d always been able to talk my way out of it, it hadn’t seemed quite right to test out the magic.

It had been a long time since my fingers had tingled at the medallion’s touch. Whether the magic remained in it or had faded, I didn’t know. But I still rubbed it for luck, remembering the beautiful woman even as I wondered who she was, and why she had given me such a gift.

Of course, I also wondered who I was. I had no parents, and not even a last name to call my own.

Which is why I was in the marketplace, making a living from kidnapping a merchant’s daughter. That’s how things were in this impoverished and crime-ridden city.

Although considering what I was about to do, it wouldn’t be a stretch to suggest that I was part of the crime problem.

2

I thought about just wandering up to the redheaded woman and introducing myself, but figured she might be the type to get annoyed by that approach.

With someone like her, I would need a more valid reason.

Fortunately for me, one presented itself within moments of me letting go of my medallion.

It came in the form of one of the street urchins. He was hurrying along the aisle between stalls as if he was up to no good, but not as if he was being actively chased.

I turned as he moved past me and snagged him by the back of his dirty tunic, halting him in his tracks.

He struggled. “Hey! I ain’t done nothing!” he shouted, and I dragged him down a side aisle, out of the woman’s view. I didn’t want her to see me, not just yet, and especially not in the company of this kid.

“I know you haven’t,” I said. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Then fuck the hell off and leave me alone!” the boy shouted. Then he conjured a knife from somewhere and tried to reach around to stab me. So I grabbed his wrist and held it firm.

“Quit it. Or do you not want a chance to make some easy coin?” I asked him.

That got his attention. He tried to look around at me, but I was still behind him. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice full of suspicion. “Are you one of them Nancy types looking for a bum boy or something? Because I’m telling you, I ain’t into that type of thing–”

I laughed. “Nothing like that, I promise.”

“Then let me go!”

“I will. And if you listen to what I have to say, I’ll give you a couple of coppers. How does that sound?”

“A couple of coppers just for listening?” he asked.

“That’s what I said.”

He stopped struggling. “Make it three.”

I laughed again and let him go. As quick as a blink, he turned around, his knife still at the ready and a frown on his twelve-year-old face. “I’m listening,” he said. “But you make one funny move, and I’ll cut you where you stand.”

I had to admit, I liked the boy already. He reminded me of myself at that age. “I won’t,” I said, holding my hands out in surrender. “Promise.”

He seemed to relax a little, the hand holding the knife lowering slightly. “What do you want?” he repeated.

“First, what’s your name?”

“You can call me Samuel, if you like.”

“Samuel,” I repeated, not knowing or caring if it was his real name. “I want you to steal someone’s coin pouch for me.”

He looked at me with deep suspicion. “You what?”

“You heard me,” I said.

“You want me to steal a coin pouch?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “What the fuck for? Why don’t you steal one yourself?”

“What for is my business. And it isn’t a coin pouch, but a particular one.” I grinned at him. “And it would defeat the purpose if I was to take it myself.”

He was still staring at me in confusion. “And if I’m going to take the risk and all, why should I give the coin pouch to you? What’s in it for me?”

“How much do you usually get when you steal a coin pouch?” I asked him.

“Who said I did? Thieves lose their hands around these parts, don’t you know?”

I really did know. I’d come close to losing a hand or two myself. But as I’d grown older, I’d become better at picking my targets.

“Maybe you’re not the street urchin I’m looking for,” I said, pitching my words so he would take it as a challenge. “I was looking for someone willing to make some easy coin. Someone with skills I can use.”

It was a dismissal, but I didn’t turn away. Instead, I simply waited for Samuel’s response.

I could see his mind ticking. Despite himself, he was curious. After all, it wasn’t every day a stranger approached with such an unusual offer.

“Hypothetically,” he allowed. “If I was such a thieving knave as you seem to think, I reckon I’d make a small handful of coppers, and maybe a silver or two from each pouch.”

Given how young he was–and how unlikely it was that he would be as choosy about his targets as I was with mine–I doubted he made as much as he claimed. But I didn’t hesitate.

“I’ll give you twice that if you do the job,” I said.

“Twice–” Samuel began, but cut himself off. His eyes were almost bulging at the thought. And I knew what he was thinking. Such a score as the one I was talking about would keep him fed for a fortnight. More if he was careful.

It might even help him buy a new tunic and shoes for his bare feet.

I didn’t say anything else, just waited for the cogs in his head to continue to spin. Finally, he offered a small nod. “Who do you want me to rob?” he asked.

My smile grew broader. “Put down that knife, and I’ll tell you.”

3

“The redhead wearing the green dress. She’s beautiful. You can’t miss her. Have a look, but don’t do anything yet. Okay?”

There were people everywhere, strolling past us without a care in the world, ignoring me and the boy. I ignored them too, as well as the stallholders, but kept half an eye out for any Blackcoats who happened to be wandering by. Not all of them were like Rolf, and I didn’t want to get arrested before the job was done.

Samuel couldn’t see through the crowd, so he had to make his way closer to my target. I loitered where I was, and he quickly returned.

“Got her. At the fabric merchant.”

“Good,” I said. “Now, here’s the thing. You have to make sure she sees you.”

The kid shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “She ain’t gonna see me. They never do. I’m too good for that. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

He said it with more than a little pride, and I believed him. After all, he was still in possession of both of his hands.

But that wasn’t the point. “No, the thing is, I want her to see you. I want her to know what you’ve done. Got it?”

“You’re fucking daft,” he said.

“I have my reasons. Do you understand?”

He deflated a little. “Whatever. It’s your coin,” he said.

“Good. There’s one more thing. When she sees you, take off at a run, but head towards me. I’ll be following close by.”

Samuel didn’t ask any more questions. He just nodded.

“Good. Are you ready?”

The boy looked quickly around as if to make sure there were no Blackcoats about. Then he nodded once more.

“Off you go, then,” I said.

Samuel didn’t waste time. Once more, he darted through the crowd, and I did my best to follow at what seemed to be a casual stroll. I positioned myself so I could see the redheaded woman in the green dress without random marketgoers getting in my way.

Samuel moved with confidence. Within just a few seconds he reached the woman, and his knife flicked out low and quick. It was a move I knew well, having used it myself more times than I could remember. A swift cut through the straps and the coin pouch would drop neatly into his hand.

Nineteen times out of twenty, and the mark would never know it had happened. But the twentieth…

The woman was quicker than I expected. She turned swiftly, a look of steel-eyed determination on her face as she reached out and caught the boy by the arm.

He was as shocked as I was, having never expected the woman to act with such speed. I thought my simple plan might be over and done right then, and that I would have to think of another excuse to meet her.

But Samuel twisted and pushed, sending the woman against the fabric merchant’s shelves as he launched himself away. The woman cried out as the boy caught sight of me and grinned his triumph, holding the woman’s coin pouch out in front.

I smiled in return, but this wasn’t supposed to look like a meeting between conspirators. So, as he got close, I stepped to one side, grabbed his arm and stuck my foot in front of his, using his momentum against him.

He landed face-first in the mud. “Hoi! What do you think you’re playing at?”

As casually as you please, I stuck a knee in the middle of his back and plucked the woman’s coin pouch from his grip. “Quiet,” I hissed. “Here’s your money. Now struggle, and I’ll let you go.”

I dropped a different coin pouch next to Samuel’s face. He grabbed it, continued to curse, and put on a show good enough that I could feign being unbalanced. I let him go, and he took off before anyone else could try to help me.

I ended up with one knee and one hand in the mud, but it was a small price to pay. Plastering a look of bemusement on my face, I hauled myself back to my feet and found myself looking straight at the woman in green.

She didn’t look pleased. Her eyebrows were still furrowed in anger, and I realized she wasn’t quite sure what had happened.

So I grinned very broadly. “The kid got away,” I said. “But I believe this is yours?”

With that, I presented the woman with her own pouch, completely unmuddied.

Suddenly, her anger evaporated, and she favored me with a smile so brilliant it chased all my thoughts away.

It was like looking at a sunrise after a stormy night. Like standing in a field of wildflowers just to enjoy their beauty.

Rolf’s description hadn’t done this woman justice. She wasn’t just beautiful. She was spectacular, from her brilliant, clear blue eyes to her perfect teeth.

For the first time in my life, I found myself as clumsy and tongue-tied around a woman as I’d seen Rolf become.

The Blackcoat was brutal, effective, and cunning to boot, but he had the tongue and soul of a cabbage when it came to women. Just as I did, right at that moment.

Fortunately, it was her turn to speak.

“Thank you,” she said, and held out her hand.

Automatically, I handed over the coin pouch. Then I simply stared, enraptured by the exquisite woman before me. But I wasn’t the only one. She seemed as interested in me as I was in her.

At the same time, it wasn’t exactly the height of decorum for two strangers to stare at each other in the middle of the market, and the woman was the first of us to reach that conclusion. Her smile faded just a little, and I sensed she was about to turn away from the mute standing before her.

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” I said, breaking free from the spell of her beauty, and that was enough to prevent her from leaving right away.

She blushed instead. “Thank you. You are very kind,” she said.

Then I frowned in feigned puzzlement. “But surely, a lady such as yourself would never be unaccompanied on a trip to the market. Where are your guards?” I asked her.

Her smile returned, and this time there was a hint of mischievousness within it. “They’re around, somewhere. I fear I may have given them the slip. It’s something my father has warned me about, but I can’t help it. I don’t like that they follow me all the time.”

The way she said it gave me hope. Aside from her beauty, I’d picked her as the rich, spoiled daughter of a wealthy merchant that Rolf had described, closeted and aloof. But if she liked to give her guards the slip, then maybe there was more to her than that.

I offered a laugh, and just like that, I became a co-conspirator. “And yet, that freedom comes at a cost. Would the boy have picked you to steal from if your guards were nearby?”

“A small price to pay,” she replied. “And besides, it turned out well enough in the end, thanks to you.”

“My pleasure,” I said.

I knew that even without Rolf’s promptings, I would have wanted to get to know this woman better. I studied her for a moment more, letting my smile broaden, knowing that the time had come to push things a little. “Although,” I continued, allowing a hint of mischievousness into my voice, “when a man comes to the rescue of a beautiful woman, she usually offers some sort of reward?”

The woman laughed. “Rescue?”

I offered a shrug but kept my grin firmly in place. “What else would you call it?”

The woman looked at me sideways, as if sizing me up. Apparently, she liked what she saw, because she nodded to herself.

“And what boon would that be?” she asked.

I gave her my best grin. “Two things, actually,” I said. “First, would you tell me your name?”

It wasn’t funny in the least, yet the woman laughed as if it was, an open, innocent sound that sounded like music. “My name is Anwen,” she said, and that matched the name Rolf had given me. “And you are?”

“Mordie,” I supplied.

“Mordie,” she repeated, as if it was important for her to remember. “And what was the second part of this boon you ask for?”

The way she spoke suggested she was worried I might ask too much. As indeed I may have done on another occasion. But with thoughts of Rolf and his men a million miles from my mind, I gave her a different answer.

“There’s a tavern nearby that serves an unusual drink. It’s a taste imported, they say, from a distant land. They call it cocoa, and they serve it hot with marshmallows. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. Accompany me there for a taste.”

There really was a tavern that served such a drink. I’d discovered it only a few weeks before, yet had been back several times since, and not just because the tavern girls were buxom and willing. The drink was as I described, warm and sweet and delicious, and I didn’t know why the whole of the city hadn’t latched onto it.

A part of me hoped that Anwen would turn me down. That she would walk away, and I would ever see her again. Because this was still part of Rolf’s plan, to get Anwen away from the markets and into a place where Rolf and his henchmen could take her from me.

Even thinking about Rolf and his men felt like a betrayal. Yet I kept my smile on my lips and awaited Anwen’s reply.

“I shouldn’t…” she began.

“You shouldn’t have left your guards behind, either,” I replied, teasing her gently.

Anwen raised an eyebrow. It had been the right approach. I’d always been good at that sort of thing. Knowing when to press and when to back off, and knowing just what to say to get the result I was after.

She laughed once again, the sound of small bells. “My father will be wondering where I am–” she started, but it wasn’t really a refusal. She was asking me to come up with a reason to take the risk.

And it didn’t need to be a very good one.

“It’s not far from here. How long were you planning to spend in the market? We can be back as soon as you like.”

Still, she seemed hesitant, so I used the best, most compelling argument I had.

“You’re right,” I said, grinning broadly. It was a good grin. I knew it was, having practiced it on numerous other women. It gave me a roguish look that they found hard to deny. “You should be a dutiful daughter and return to your father with all possible haste. After all, it’s not like I just saved you from a thief or anything, is it?”

As I spoke, I held her eye, and she had the decency to look scandalized. Yet she never lost her smile either, even when she swung her purse at me in mock outrage.

“Oh! You are a beast!” she said, and once again I could tell I had pitched it just right. She knew I was teasing but also that I was correct. I’d done her a favor, and so far had gotten nothing more than her name in return.

I decided to lay it on even thicker. “It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m sure that anyone else who’d seen that street urchin take your coin purse would have acted as I did. Of course, nobody actually did, but I’m sure it was just a matter of time.”

Anwen couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing.

I had won.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try this drink you like so much. At great risk to myself, no less. But if I am late returning to my father, then beware. I cannot save you from his wrath.”

She said it lightly, but I detected a note of truth beneath her words and wondered which merchant family she belonged to. Even so, I grinned once again and offered Anwen my elbow, which she happily accepted.

Then the two of us strolled through the market, with me feeling more than a twinge of guilt that the tavern in question was the other way entirely.

4

I did my best to stay relaxed as I led Anwen into an alley that was far more grimy and unclean than anything she was used to. Her smile began to fade as she picked her way through the mire, and her uncertainty increased at the sound of something small scrabbling about up ahead. Probably a rat, or maybe a rat dragon, one of those flying, scaled beasts that preyed on the vermin and which most people put in the same category.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” she asked, and I felt another pang of guilt.

“Oh, sorry!” I said, doing my best to sound cheerful. “I shouldn’t have taken you this way. It’s just the quickest route between the market and the tavern. If you like, we can backtrack and find a more civilized way.”

It seemed to reassure her because her smile returned. “No, this will be fine. Although you lose a few points for taking me this way.”

I managed another smile and wondered if it wasn’t too late to turn around. But by now, Rolf would already know we were there. He–or one of his men–would have kept Anwen in sight from the moment I first spotted her in the market. He would know I’d done my job, would know that Anwen and I were already in the maze of alleys where he and his cronies hid.

If I was to turn around now, he would know I’d done it on purpose, and while I counted Rolf as a friend, he was a dangerous bastard with his sword and his fists. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that more than one corpse pulled from the docks had been put there by him.

And, really, it wasn’t like we planned to hurt Anwen. Just an afternoon of impromptu captivity, for a significant price.

If the woman had been less beautiful, and had failed to turn my head as she had, would I even have hesitated?

The answer was no. I would have gone through with the plan without batting an eye. Because, while I wasn’t part of Rolf’s regular crew, in all the jobs I’d done with him before, he’d paid up as promised, and the money was good.

So what was the difference?

I didn’t owe Anwen a thing. She was just another target. And I was an opportunist.

With that thought in mind, I continued to lead the way, trying not to pay attention to how heavy my feet became, or how gloomy and miserable the day had become.

Anwen seemed to catch some of my mood. She half-turned toward me as we walked and stared at my face with uncertainty. I tried to pretend I hadn’t seen her, hadn’t noticed, but couldn’t keep up the act. Before long, I sensed the space growing between us, both physical and not. Then, without warning, she stood in place, keeping her hand hooked around my elbow so I would stop as well.

“I’m starting to think,” she began. “That I shouldn’t have accepted your invitation.”

I did my best to grin, but it felt sick on my face. In the end, it was all I could do to shrug in its place.

“You might be right,” I admitted.

But it was too late. Rolf and his cronies emerged from the shadows—three large, dangerous men wearing the black coats of the city guard and evil expressions. They used their size and unexpected presence to their advantage, blocking Anwen in from each side as they approached.

The beautiful redheaded woman looked at them with an expression of hope, seeing first the black coats they wore. Then that expression faded as she understood how much trouble she was in.

She cast one look of betrayal mixed with disappointment my way, and I felt a cold knife of shame rip through my heart as her expression became one of infinite loathing.

Durstan, the biggest of the three men, a brutal looking one, reached for Anwen.

And she began to scream and fight, lashing out with a small dagger she had conjured from somewhere, catching him across the bridge of his nose and darting quickly away from his grasp, looking for an escape. But she was boxed in.

Rolf had hung back a little and laughed at his henchman’s close call. Durstan, however, let out a roar of pain and indignation, and lunged at Anwen.

I wanted to intervene. Everything in me said that I should. But that would be an unforgivable mistake, and I wasn’t prepared to have Rolf as my foe.

And besides, while I could look after myself, Rolf’s men were battle-hardened bruisers, more than capable of shunting me to one side if they wanted to. No, the time for me to change my mind had passed.

As Durstan caught Anwen’s hands in his fists, the beautiful woman began screeching like a fish wife. She hurled all sorts of colorful abuse at the men, calling them every name under the sun. She lashed out with her feet, and even tried to use her teeth.

In different circumstances, I would have applauded.

Even though he had blood running down his nose and over his lips, Durstan was doing most of the work, with Rolf and the other man hanging back. And the big, brutal-looking man was angry. I feared for Anwen’s safety.

“Don’t hurt her,” I ventured, and Durstan shot a look my way.

“Or what?” he demanded.

But to my relief, Rolf took it as a signal. He reached forward and clamped his hand over Anwen’s mouth from behind.

“That’s enough of that,” he snarled into her ear.

But Anwen simply redoubled her efforts.

“I said enough!” Rolf said, and gave her a shake. “We don’t want to hurt you, but we will if you make us. Now, stop your struggling. It won’t do you any good. You’re coming with us, and if all goes according to plan, you’ll be back with your father by the end of the day.”

Anwen didn’t seem to care for Rolf’s words one way or the other. With Durstan still gripping her hands, she tried to stomp on Rolf’s feet.

Rolf jumped out of the way. Yet he seemed to appreciate Anwen’s fire, but not in the same way I did. He was grinning, yes, but it had a malicious feel to it.

“I said stop it! If you don’t–ah!” he yelled, the last as Anwen’s most recent stomp caught him a good one. “Bitch!” Rolf said. He shot a glance at the third man. “Bryce! I’m done with this trollop! You brought the rope? Tie her up! We’ll carry her.”

With that, Rolf withdrew his hand, and Durstan unceremoniously dumped Anwen onto the ground. I winced as she fell. She seemed slightly stunned by the impact, and it took her a moment to regather her breath. When she had, she began screeching and cursing once more.

Neither Rolf nor his men seemed the least bothered by the ruckus. As quickly and efficiently as he could, the wiry, tough-looking Bryce did as Rolf asked, swiftly binding Anwen’s ankles and wrists. Then he took a length of rag from the pouch he wore at his side, balled it up, and stuffed it into Anwen’s mouth. That done, he used another piece of rope to keep it in place, tying it tight around the back of her head.

Then the three men stepped back to admire his handiwork. To her credit, Anwen still struggled, but there was little she could do, and her curses came out as muffled grunts.

I looked at her with regret and couldn’t help but notice the lingering stares from Rolf and his crew.

I had no claim on Anwen, and from the last look she’d thrown my way, any initial attraction she might have felt for me was long buried beneath a layer of hate. But I still didn’t want to see her come to any harm.

“So, am I done?” I asked, more to draw Rolf’s attention to me than anything else.

“Huh?” Rolf said, turning my way. “Yeah, sure. You did your job well. You’ll get your cut, as we agreed.” As he spoke, he waved me away, and I knew he meant to dismiss me.

I could have walked away. And perhaps it would have been better if I’d done just that.

But I’d seen how Rolf and his men had looked at Anwen and knew what they were thinking.

While I was a long way from being innocent myself, there were lines I’d never crossed. As far as criminals went, I was fairly harmless. Happy to go along with most things. I would fight when I had to, run if need be, but I’d never killed anyone in my life, as far as I knew.

And the idea of rape?

I found it abhorrent. Women were to be seduced and cherished. I could see few reasons to hurt one.

Especially one as special as Anwen.

So, instead of walking away, I ignored Rolf’s dismissal. “You said you wouldn’t hurt her,” I said.

Rolf’s ugly, square face broke into a grin. Some time in his youth, he’d ended up with a ragged scar on his cheek, beneath his left eye. Time had faded the scar, but it was still visible, especially when he tried to hide his emotions. It was like a signal of danger, and pulsed red when he didn’t like what he heard.

As it was doing then.

“So I did,” he said. “And?”

The way he said it sounded like a threat. But I didn’t back down. “And I’m hoping you still intend to honor your word.”

Rolf barked a laugh. “Ha!” he said. “Look at that! The pup has some teeth after all! And here was me, thinking you were nothing but a pretty boy with a talent for taking your dick into places it doesn’t belong!”

It was, I admitted, the first time I’d stood up to him. I was much more prone to simply going with the flow and accepting whatever opportunity came my way. But Rolf was my friend, and Anwen… I didn’t want to see him hurt her.

So I stood my ground. Rolf cast a glance at Bryce and Durstan. Then he looked back at me and gave another grin. But I didn’t feel any warmth from it.

“So be it,” he declared. “We’ll take her to a quiet spot and send her father a message, just like we planned. She’ll be fine.” He kept grinning, and I kept not trusting his grin. “That make you happy?” he asked.

Still feeling a chill from his grin, I slowly nodded and said, “I’d like to go with you.”

Rolf’s grin faded a little. “And why is that?”

I shrugged. “If you don’t plan to hurt her, why does it matter?”

Rolf cast another glance at his men, both of whom were glaring at me. But they weren’t my concern. They would do as Rolf told them. His position with the Blackcoats was surprisingly senior. Behind the brutish exterior was a cunning mind that the King himself seemed to find useful.

Rolf thought about it for a handful of heartbeats.

“Okay,” he said finally. “You can come along.” Then he turned back to his men one more time and interrupted their curses and grumbling. “Pick her up,” he said. “And be gentle about it. Or our friend Mordie here might object.”

I knew he was mocking me, but at that point, I didn’t much care. All that mattered was that Rolf was going to keep his promise, and that Anwen would be okay.

5

Rolf and his men were Blackcoats. The King’s guard. Responsible for the safety of the Crown and the city of Camelot as a whole. Still, they were known to be corrupt, and it wasn’t uncommon to see them carrying squirming women about. None of the passersby saw fit to comment, with most averting their eyes and scurrying away, desperate not to be involved.

I followed along, wondering what I was doing. I kept telling myself that Rolf was my friend, that he wouldn’t lie to me. After all, Rolf had been good to me so far. I’d completed many jobs for him. At the same time, I didn’t trust Bryce or Durstan at all. Never had.

That said, what was I going to do if my instincts proved correct?

It was a good question, one to which I had no answer. So I followed along as they headed toward the docks by the river, and tried not to think too much about it.

Finally, we reached Rolf’s destination—a door no different from others we’d passed, set in a stone wall. When opened, it revealed a dimly lit room filled with ropes hanging from the rafters, barrels, a couple of chairs, a pile of sacking that looked like it could be someone’s bed, bargepoles, and more.

It was a storage room. It looked like the type of place a dock worker might use, and it came complete with a wooden plate of moldering food, flies, and rats scampering into the dark corners.

Rolf’s men unceremoniously wandered in and dropped Anwen onto the pile of sacks, and Durstan grinned as she sat up and glared around. The other man, Bryce, closed the door behind me, cutting out much of the light. Yet neither the door nor the shuttered window were perfectly made. There was still enough light to see by, especially when Bryce also cracked the shutters open a little.

Then, he turned to Rolf. “Now what?”

“Now we get a message to our guest’s old man, asking for ransom,” Rolf said.

Durstan hadn’t stopped leering at Anwen since he put her down. But at Rolf’s words, he turned his lumbering bulk about.

“And while we are waiting?” he asked, his intent clear. “It’s been a while since I tasted flesh as fine as hers.”

I wanted Rolf to shake his head, to deny the man absolutely. After all, hadn’t he said more than once that Anwen wasn’t to be hurt? But instead, Rolf cast a glance at Bryce.

“What about you, Bryce? What do you think we should do while we wait?” Rolf said it as if he didn’t have a preference either way, and was merely taking a poll.

I stood there, wanting to say something. But Rolf hadn’t asked me. I glanced at Anwen and saw her expression of horror.

She wasn’t naïve. She knew what was being discussed.

“I think Durstan is lying,” Bryce said finally. “He ain’t never touched a woman like her in his life! Goats, that I’d believed. Pigs, horses, probably them all. And I’d be a bit worried to let him in the same room with a chicken. But a woman like that? He’s dreaming!”

Rolf seemed to see the humor in Bryce’s comment. Nevertheless, he turned away from Bryce and let his gaze settle on me.

“The thing is, it makes sense to keep her in one piece,” he said. “After all, there isn’t a merchant alive that would pay for damaged goods. However, I’m not entirely sure that what Durstan has in mind would be considered damage at all.”

As he spoke, his eyes bored into mine, and I felt he was testing me. Yet that was secondary to me. What mattered most was Anwen’s safety.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt her,” I repeated.

He nodded blithely. “And I’m a man of me word. But as I say, it’s the definition of ‘hurt’ that’s in dispute. What do you reckon, Durstan? Could you have your way with her and not hurt her at all?”

The big brute of a man grinned nastily. “I could give it a go,” he said.

Rolf turned his attention to me, and there was something mocking and disdainful in his expression. “Here’s how I see it,” he drawled. “You’ve proven your usefulness more than once. You have a way about you that allows you to do things others can’t. But the thing is, that isn’t enough. If you’re going to be part of my crew on a regular basis, I need to know I can rely on you. And that you’re willing to do whatever it takes.”

I didn’t like where this was heading one bit. I glared at Rolf, aware that Durstan was looking at me like I was some sort of snack. In times past, I would probably have given him a smile and offered some sort of reassurance. “Anything you say, Rolf. No problem.” Something like that. Because I’d been happy to go with the flow.

But he’d never really pushed me before. Never brought me close to any line in the sand. And this wasn’t what I’d signed up for.

“Speak plainly,” I demanded.

Rolf actually laughed. He did that too much, whether angry or happy, and I was beginning to hate that grin on his face.

“The rabbit bares its fangs,” Rolf said dangerously. He cast a glance at his men, who were both grinning at the joke. But I wasn’t. I was still glaring at him.

“It’s like this, Mordie,” Rolf said. “We’ve reached a crossroads, you and I. From here, it can go one of several ways. Either you can show me your worth, and we will keep working together. Or you are done.” He paused, allowing a sneer to twist his top lip. “So, which will it be?”

I looked about, assessing Rolf’s men. Durstan was the biggest, most obvious threat, but Bryce was more wiry and quick. And he wasn’t exactly small, either. As for Rolf, he hadn’t made a move, hadn’t shifted at all. Yet somehow, he still remained the biggest threat in the room.

“Speak clearly,” I repeated, knowing I was treading on dangerous ground. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Mordie, it’s like this. Either you show me that you are loyal to me above all else, or you show me enough that I can forgive the odd lapse in the loyalty department. Either you sit back and watch as we all take our turns at your girlfriend here, or you stand and fight for her honor and show me what you’ve got.”

It was like he’d punched me in the gut. I felt winded and started to become dizzy. I’d heard in the past that Rolf was a bit of a prick, but he’d always been friendly to me.

“Well, Bastard? Which is it?”

It was a question without any real answer, and Rolf knew it. I’d never wanted to see Anwen hurt and still didn’t. But to fight Durstan and Bryce both at the same time?

I wasn’t bad in a fight, but these two were dangerous.

What did that leave? Could I make it past them to the door and simply run away? The cowardly thought made me sick.

Even if I could run, it wouldn’t help Anwen.

Then again, maybe nothing could. Maybe I should have just cut my losses...

No, I thought, hating myself for even considering the option.

It might have been stupid. Foolish, in fact, to risk it all for a woman I had only just met. But she wouldn’t have been in this mess if it weren’t for me. And I was tired of being an opportunist.

It was time to make a stand.

As fast as thought, I drew my knife and crouched low.

6

Durstan didn’t wait for Rolf to signal, or anything. He just let out a roar and hurled himself at me, swatting my knife aside with a contemptuous slap of his hand. I managed to hold onto it, but the blow had unbalanced me, and it was all I could do to lurch backwards out of the way.

I stumbled and crashed into the floor, sending bargepoles toppling over and letting go of my knife to avoid braining myself against the wall. All three Blackcoats laughed at my clumsiness, and I distinctly heard Rolf mutter the word, “Pathetic,” as he watched.

But I didn’t have time to worry about that. I scrabbled away from Durstan and Bryce, both of whom were approaching, Durstan with his hands outstretched and Bryce gripping a piece of wood he’d grabbed from somewhere.

While neither man had drawn their swords, that didn’t mean I was safe. It just meant they didn’t think of me as much of a threat.

I scrambled to my knees, couldn’t immediately find my knife, and so reached for one of the bargepoles.

The pole had a hard, metal hook on one end for fishing ropes from the water. I swung it as hard as I could, whacking it against Durstan’s arm. He let out a roar of anger mixed with pain.

I used the moment to regather my feet and did my best to keep the Blackcoats at bay. And, much to my own surprise, I found myself grinning broadly. Quite by chance, I’d found a weapon that tipped the balance in my favor. All I needed to do was keep the pole aimed at Durstan and Bryce, and they wouldn’t be able to hurt me.

Even Rolf seemed impressed, but Bryce and Durstan’s expressions were a matched set of fury and hate. I jabbed at them, one at a time, moving quickly enough so they couldn’t grab my pole and tear it out of my grip.

“Are we done?” I yelled at them. I shot a glance at Rolf. “Have I shown my value yet? Or do you want to see more?”

“Foolish boy,” Bryce said in reply. “We have only just begun.”

With that, Bryce stepped to the side, opening a space between him and Durstan. It quickly became difficult to guard them both with my pole, and they knew it. Each of them took turns to feint toward me, pretending to lunge when I was covering the other.

I began sweating with the effort and wondered what I had to do to end this.

Bryce lunged again, and I jerked the tip of the poll toward him, then Durstan got in on the act. This time, I swept low, hooking the man’s ankle with my pole, and using all my strength to upset his balance. He hopped and turned half around, so I charged at him and knocked him flat on his ass.

For good measure, I gave him a solid kick in the guts, then spun to face my remaining opponent.

Only too late did I see that Bryce had used the time to pick up a heavy piece of tackle, a wooden piece of equipment that I vaguely thought might have something to do with ropes and the unloading of cargo. It was as big as my head. And Bryce was swinging it like he meant to fling it right at my face.

At the last moment, I tried to duck beneath it and out of the way. But the heavy piece of wood caught me a solid hit on my shoulder, and I dropped the pole and fell onto the floor next to Durstan, who was already back up to his knees.

The huge man looked at me with a grin, and that mixed with the blood on his face only added to his menacing demeanor. “You ain’t even a warm-up,” he said. “Your girlfriend had more fight in her than you do.”

I clutched at the pole again, but Bryce stomped on my hand. I howled as Durstan grabbed the pole and wrenched it away from me. He used it as a support to help him back to his feet and then loomed over me like a giant.

This time, I couldn’t scramble away. There was nowhere to go. And there wasn’t anything handy to fling at him.

The fight was over.

“You think you can kick me and get away with it?” Durstan growled. “Well, two can play at that game!”

With that, he began kicking me with his heavy, booted feet, lashing out again and again. All I could do was curl into a ball and bring my arms up to protect my face. It wasn’t the first beating I’d ever suffered, and I figured I could take it. At some point, however, I realized Durstan wasn’t alone, and that Bryce had joined in. Beyond them, I could sense Rolf and wondered why he didn’t put a stop to the beating.

As each solid blow landed, I started to think that maybe they weren’t going to stop.

What would happen to Anwen? From my spot on the floor, I could see her trying to get free from her ropes. But even if she managed that, she would have to fight her way past Rolf and his men if she had any hope of escaping.

In any event, I was done. I couldn’t save her. All that was left to do now was wait until Durstan or Bryce’s boot caught me in the head hard enough to turn out my lights, and whether I would wake up again or not was up to the fates.

I prepared myself for oblivion, expecting nothing more, and was as surprised as anyone else when the door burst open and a monstrous, shaggy beast of a dog bounded in.

The dog was quickly followed by two men wielding knob-ended clubs, and they didn’t hold back.

By then, I had caught enough blows to my head that I could barely see straight, and the world had started to darken. But I still understood that these men wore the gray coats of protectors rather than the black of the Blackcoats, and they didn’t hesitate for a moment.

They were Hellfire and fury, and laid about the kidnappers with gusto.

Rolf, Durstan, and Bryce were taken by surprise. Bryce aimed one more kick at my head, then started to yell as the dog launched itself at him.

The world faded out for a moment.

When next I could see, the Blackcoats were all gone, and Anwen was sitting up on her pile of sacks, rubbing the circulation back into her wrists. One of the Graycoat guards stood above me, a knob-ended club raised in his hand.

“What about this one?” he asked.

Anwen gave me a look of disgust. “He worked for them, too,” was all she said, and the knob-ended club descended.

The beating I’d gained from the boots of Bryce and Durstan had already set up an ache that reverberated through my bones. But the knob-ended club was like a cannonball in comparison.

It hit me flush on the back of the skull. I saw stars, then blackness.

Strangely, my ears kept on working for a few seconds more. I heard the huge dog whine for attention, and Anwen say, “Good boy. You found me.”

Then, as I listened to Anwen and her rescuers leave, my hearing faded as well.

7

I dreamed of beautiful women. Not of Anwen, but the one from years earlier, the woman who’d given me my wooden amulet.

Yet it wasn’t that scene which played out in my mind, but another, from earlier still.

It was an image of frantic activity and fear.

The woman I’d seen before held me tight as she hurried through wide halls of polished stone, past columns of gold and magnificent works of art on the wall. It was a place of luxury like no other, and even my poor, rattled brains understood that such majesty was to be revered.

Yet the woman hurried along, paying no mind to anything save for the need to move.

“But why must you take him?” said someone, another woman of extraordinary beauty, yet pale and wan, as if she had been recently ill. She struggled to keep up with the woman who’d given me my amulet.

“Because of the prophecy. The King will try to kill him. If you wish to see your son live, this is the only option.”

At this, the beautiful, sickly woman seemed to crumple. She stopped hurrying, and instead stayed in place, her face becoming an image of anguish and pain.

“But I won’t survive outside the castle,” she whispered.

This brought the first woman, the one who was holding me tight, to a halt. She gave the sickly woman a look of empathy.

“I know,” she said. “Yet even if you stay within it, your years will be few.” She reached out a hand to touch the sickly woman’s face. “I wish it were otherwise, but there is nothing I can do. But as you die, know that your son will continue to live. I will see to it.”

The beautiful, broken woman would not be consoled, and her tears flowed in rivers. She seemed on the verge of collapsing onto the polished stone floors but held her place. In fact, after another moment, she drew herself up as tall as she could, gathering her dignity.

“I wish your words weren’t true,” she said. “But I know they are. So take him, and with all haste, leave this place behind you. Keep him safe. And when the time comes, tell him who he is.”

At this, both women caught the sound of footsteps behind them, and the beautiful, sickly woman’s expression became one of anxiety.

“Go now. I will delay them as best as I can. Hurry! And by all the fates, please keep him safe.”

The dream faded with an image of the woman who’d given me my amulet hurrying further down the extravagant corridor, with me in her arms.

For an unknowable length of time, the dream was all I knew. My sleeping self was oblivious to everything else. Not even the pain of my bruises got through.

Then, I could feel rough hands upon me, pawing at my tunic and breaches until they found the wooden amulet at my chest.

Suddenly, I was awake. I scrambled up into a sitting position and battered the groping hands to the side.

“What the hell are you doing?” I barked, and that was enough. The questing hands were already gone, and their owner shuffled away.

Only then did I get my first glimpse of where I was. And even then, it was far from clear. One of my eyes was swollen shut, and the other wasn’t far behind. In addition, my head was pounding, and I could feel the results of every kick that had landed.

But it didn’t take a lot to figure things out.

The stench of vomit, shit, and piss. A press of dirty men wearing rags and exuding despair. Rough stone at my back, and a hint of iron bars beyond the men around me.

And rat dragons feeding on a naked corpse lying on the floor.

I was in jail.

It took a few minutes to clear the fog from my brain. Fortunately, it seemed that the beating I’d taken had left me bruised but unbroken. While my head ached, and two of my teeth felt loose, I still had all my fingers and toes, and most of my skin remained intact.

I’d lost my satchel and my coin pouch. And, while I’d been sleeping, somebody had stolen the boots from my feet.

It wasn’t the first time I had seen the inside of this jail, and if I’d had to bet, I would have put money on having once been held in this very cell. It was more of a cave, really, with bars at the entrance. The city jail was built into the caverns below the castle.

At least when I’d been here before, I’d known how I’d got here.

This time, my mind drew a blank.

I remembered the kidnapping attempt well enough, and knew what the outcome of that had been. But what had happened between then and now? How had I gone from getting knocked unconscious in the storage room to waking up here?

I had no idea, and as I glanced around, I saw no one to ask. These men in the cell with me seemed a surly lot. Shifty and suspicious, as if each of them feared the others would take the tunic from their backs.

As it appeared they would.

With my head still throbbing, I decided not to start any conversations. Instead, I rested my aching head against the wall and contemplated the fading images of my dream. I’d never had that one before. It was as if the beating had dislodged it from some long-forgotten memory.

At some point, there was a commotion up front as one of the guards tossed a few stale ends of bread through the bars, and the prisoners did their best to kill each other and take what they could. I watched from my place against the wall but didn’t join in. I’d already suffered one beating and didn’t care to experience another.

Not long after that, one of the rat dragons feasting on the corpse took note of me. Most people didn’t like the diminutive monsters, treating them as the vermin they hunted—shooing them out of the way or kicking them aside.

But I’d always found the rat dragons fascinating.

This one seemed curious. A mix of vibrant gold and green scales, it looked me up and down while standing on its hind legs. No bigger than my two clenched fists joined together, it resembled the dragons of old, complete with horns, wings, and a sinuous tail.

Out of instinct, I held out a hand in a gesture of friendship.

“Come on,” I said to the creature. “I won’t hurt you.”

The rat dragon puffed a small cloud of smoke in defense and leapt backwards. I laughed quietly, acknowledging that in a place like this one, the creature was probably right to react suspiciously. If the inmates could catch it, they might be tempted to eat it, and probably wouldn’t even bother to try to cook it first.

I kept my hand out and repeated my greeting. “Come on,” I said again.

This time, the rat dragon approached with more courage, coming right up to me and sniffing my fingers. I waited for some seconds, gaining its trust, then slowly moved my hand until I could scratch its head.

To my infinite surprise, the rat dragon stayed where it was, although at first it seemed to do so out of shock. Then it relaxed, and even nuzzled against my fingers.

I smiled. “There’s a good boy,” I said. “Or are you a girl? Either way, see? I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The rat dragon seemed happy to accept my scratches. In fact, it came closer, making a noise deep in its throat that wasn’t like anything I’d heard from a rat dragon before. It was a low drumming sound that seemed to indicate pleasure.

“You’ve got a friend for life, there,” said someone. I glanced over and saw that a wiry old guy who looked to be made of grime and rags had come up next to me.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

The old man chuckled. “I knew a youngster who had a way with the rat dragons, much like you seem to do. It was fun to begin with, having them follow him around, but he soon learned they wouldn’t stop. Few people seem to have the knack of it, but if you tame one, he’s yours for life. But then, I guess that ain’t very long for either of us anymore.”

I frowned, not completely sure what the old man had meant, but the rat dragon chose that moment to butt my hand with his head, a gesture I took to mean that he wanted me to keep scratching.

I felt a sense of kinship with the creature that surprised me, and immediately forgot about the old man.

“You like that?” I asked. I reached out with my other hand as well, and after a moment of uncertainty, the green and gold creature accepted double scratches at once, enjoying both the eye ridge rubs and under his jaw.

“Watch out for his teeth, though, mind,” said the old man. “They have quite a nasty bite, and the wounds can get infected.”

For some reason, I didn’t think my new friend would bite me. It seemed that in this foul, stinking place, I’d found a friend.

I didn’t know how long I sat there playing with my new friend before there was another disturbance. This time, it wasn’t a guard with a few ends of stale bread.

Someone was running a club back and forth along the bars, making an awful racket. The effect on the prisoners was dramatic. To a one, they cowered away from the front of the cell, giving me a clear view of who was there.

Rolf.

He was looking over the prisoners with a sneer on his face, and I knew he was looking for me.

I surged to my feet, spilling the rat dragon from where he had nestled himself in my lap. He made a grumpy trilling sound and turned away in a huff.

But my focus was on Rolf at the bars.

He saw me then, and his face split wide in a shit-eating grin.

“Mordie!” he said. “There you are, you bastard!”

8

I was caught midway between suspicion and relief. My first thought was that Rolf was here to get me out, as he’d done a time or two before. In fact, that’s how I’d met him. I’d been caught running a scam a few years ago, a betting thing with a simple wooden ball and three cups, where the marks had to bet on where the ball ended up. The way I worked it, I played it fair for the first go, but upped the bet on the second, and palmed the ball so the mark couldn’t get it right.

I’d made the mistake of targeting a young man with a heavy coin pouch and not much going on behind his eyes. But he turned out to be the kind to rat to his father, who just happened to be a noble in the King’s Court.

End result, I ended up in jail, with the prospect of losing a hand in my future.

Except Rolf had whispered a few words in the guard’s ears, slipped a coin into the right palm here and there, and I was back out on the street, bemused at my luck, but more than happy to accept the strange twist of fate.

It wasn’t until a few weeks after when Rolf had approached me to take part in a job.

However, I wasn’t entirely sure where I stood with him now. Or where he stood with me.

I picked my way across the cell, doing my best to avoid all the unpleasant things on the floor, and approached the bars simultaneously wanting to throttle him and hoping for freedom.

“Mordie, Mordie, Mordie,” he said. “You’re not half so pretty as usual, you know that? You really should learn how to protect that face of yours in a fight. It is by far your most valuable asset, and you’ve gone and made it look a right mess.”

He said it without the slightest shred of sympathy. In fact, unless I missed my guess, he was almost gloating. I felt a hard knot of anger form in the pit of my stomach and wanted to wipe the smirk from his face. But Rolf had always been a bastard, and just because he was sneering at me didn’t mean he wasn’t there to let me out.

So as much as I felt like reaching through the bars, gripping his balls, and giving them a hard twist, I gritted my teeth and kept my tongue civil.

“Yeah,” I said. “Next time, maybe tell your thugs to aim their kicks away from my head.”

At this, Rolf barked a laugh that I would have sworn was genuine, and for just a moment, I allowed myself to hope.

When he calmed down, I ventured a broken smile.

“So, you going to get me out of here?”

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he stepped back from the bars as if to give himself room to look me over.

“You know,” he said finally, “in this world we live in, there’s two types of people. Those who have what it takes to get by, and those who do not. Winners and losers. Leaders, and the rest.”

He paused then as if chewing things over, and I felt a buildup of dread in the pit of my stomach, next to the hard knot of anger. Yet I didn’t say anything in return. Instead, I just waited, and eventually, he continued.

“Look at you, all beaten up, your boots missing, standing there in just your tunic and breaches. You’ve got nothing, don’t you? Nothing at all. And the funny thing is, when I first saw you, I figured you for someone who could have had it all.”

I didn’t know where he was going, and despite everything, my confusion must have shown most of all, because he laughed again.

But this time, his laughter was malignant. Aimed at me. And there was little in the way of humor in it.

“You’ve got the looks, that easy charm of yours. People are drawn to you, like flies are drawn to a pile of shit. Men, women, it’s like you lead a charmed life, and I once thought you were destined for so much more.”

And then he paused, as if waiting for me to confirm or deny the truth of his words.

Again, I said nothing, even though his words rang partly true. But it wasn’t by chance. I’d learned early on that some people were drawn to me, and that they would often give me things as a result. Just offered to me, out of the blue.

I liked it. It seemed an easy way to live. Not only did it lead to all sorts of fun times, especially where the women were concerned, but it also helped me out of the old tight spot as well.

What Rolf didn’t know was that I’d worked hard to broaden my appeal as much as I could. Because I liked being that guy, the one everyone wanted to know.

So I learned how to say the right thing at the right time, how to give a gentle nudge just when I needed, to get the outcome I wanted.

Rolf hadn’t finished, though, and when I didn’t respond, he continued. “But that’s just the half of it. You’ve got skills as well. As a thief, there aren’t many better than you, and as a con artist–well, you had our friend Anwen wrapped around your pinky within seconds, didn’t you?” he barked another laugh. “Why, I bet she would have got down in the mud and polished your knob with her tongue right there in public if you’d asked her to. Am I right?”

I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer to that, so I said, “Do you have a point?”

His grin returned, but there was nothing friendly about it. Instead, it was wolfish. Predatory. And I was his prey. That hard knot in my stomach grew.

“Of course I have a point!” he said. “My point is that you could have had it all! Skills like yours, you’re not even that bad when it comes to a fight. But you have no ambition! No drive for success! Here’s you, five years after I pulled you out of this place and where are you? You’re right back in here!”

“And whose fault is that, exactly?” I asked him, trying my best to keep the anger out of my voice, but I was fighting a losing battle.

He ignored my question. “In five years, you’ve done nothing! If I had your gifts, I’d be fucking the King’s consort herself, and ruling this godforsaken place! But you! You are still the same petty thief and wannabe crook you’ve always been.”

I was starting to wonder if Rolf had come here just to gloat. But I was largely content with what I had, and had never really asked for more. I had friends all over the city, mostly women who were happy to put me up for a night, and I never went hungry. Beyond that–what else could I possibly want?

“So, you think I’m the loser,” I said finally. “The follower to your leader. So what if I am? What’s wrong with that?”

His wolfish grin remained firmly in place. But again, he didn’t answer my question directly. “You know, that woman, the merchant’s daughter. Anwen. Turns out, she was more than just a pretty face. She had been marked, you see, by the King’s seneschal as a future consort of the King himself. She was set to be part of his harem. And you know what that means?” he asked.

I had no clue what he was talking about, so I shook my head.

“It means kidnapping her was a much more serious crime than any of us knew.”

At Rolf’s words, a number of pieces fell into place. I began sweating with anxiety, and I stared at my one-time friend with increasing concern.

“Are you going to get me out of here?” I repeated, and this time, I could hear the way my voice broke at the end.

Rolf heard it too, and he once more laughed in my face. “Funny thing about the King’s consorts,” he said. “He thinks of them as his property. And you know how he responds to threats to his property? When news broke that Anwen had been kidnapped, he went into a fury. He sent precious Lancelot and the full squad of his personal guard to the dockside, to the storage room where Anwen had been kept. And you know what they found there?”

Me, I thought, but I didn’t want to say it.

“You!” Rolf said, sounding more than pleased with himself. “Just you, unconscious on the floor, with a number of fresh bruises on your face.”

Rolf licked his lips. “Of course, they brought you back in a cage, and asked Anwen if you had anything to do with her kidnapping. She fingered you right away. Said you were the one who led her into the ambush.” Then he shrugged. “So much for your charm. She made it clear that she blamed you most of all.”

My heart dropped at the news. But I couldn’t blame her. Anwen had only told the truth.

My only regret was that I had betrayed her at all.

“Are you going to get me out of here?” I asked for the third time, even though I already knew the answer. “Or what?”

Rolf stood there, just out of reach on the other side of the bars, and grinned his shit-eating grin. “The King takes any threat to his property very seriously, and he knows that your precious Anwen was kidnapped. He also knows that the main perpetrator has been captured. There won’t be a trial. Your guilt is already established. You are set to be hung from the neck, until you are dead, at noon tomorrow.”

“What?” I blurted. Even though everything Rolf had said rang true, I couldn’t believe it. I was to be hanged? I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Rolf, get me out of here. You can do it. I know you can.”

Rolf’s expression didn’t change. He kept watching me, kept smiling, kept gloating.

“Rolf? What are you waiting for? Get me out of here!”

“Mordie, Mordie, Mordie,” Rolf repeated. “Weren’t you listening when I started my tale? I told you. In this world, there are winners and losers. I am a winner, and you are a loser.”

“Rolf! Come on, you’ve had your fun, now let’s get this over with. Let me out of here!” I knew pleading was worthless, but I couldn’t help myself at this point.

“Sorry, but it can’t be done. The King demands blood, and someone needs to hang. And it isn’t going to be me.”

I grabbed hold of the bars and began to shake them. “Rolf! This isn’t funny anymore!”

“I find it as funny as hell! But if it makes you feel any better, then know I was going to have to kill you at some point anyway. You’re just not cut out for this type of thing.” His expression became even more of a sneer. “And, really, it’s your own fault that you’re here. I’ve seen you move. I know how quick you are, and how strong. You could have gutted Durstan before he could move, and maybe even Bryce, and we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation. But you didn’t. You don’t fight to win.”

Again, everything Rolf said rang true, and his words stung. I had held myself back. Always did.

Durstan was much slower than me, and I knew it.

Even when I picked up the pole, instead of using it just to keep the two Blackcoats back, I could have jammed the end of it against either of their throats or swung it hard at their heads.

But for some reason, I hadn’t done that. I’d fought as if it was a competition, as if I was practicing. And this was the result.

I shook the bars harder. Suddenly, that knot of anger I kept deep inside erupted. I was furious, both at myself and at Rolf. Because as sure as it was my fault that I was behind bars, it was his as well.

“You son of a fuck!” I shouted at him. “You let me out of here, or so help me, I’m gonna–”

Deliberately, the arrogant bastard took a step forward, close enough that I could reach him if I wanted to.

“You’re going to what?” he demanded, and I could sense the power coming off him in waves. Rolf wasn’t the biggest of the Blackcoats, or even the strongest. But he’d never lost in a fight. Not against anyone. No matter the skill with a blade or his fists, no opponent could match Rolf for sheer ferocity or willingness to win.

I could have reached through the bars and grabbed him by the throat, but he would likely break my arms. Instead, I grated at him.

“I’ll tell them that you were there, too! You, Bryce, and Durstan! If I am to be hanged for this, then I am taking you down with me!”

At this, Rolf laughed long and hard. Never once did he step back out of my reach.

“You can try,” he said. “Shout it as loud as you like. Keep shouting my name as you swing from the gallows. No one will believe you. And even if they do, they won’t give a shit.”

With that, Rolf did take a step back, but not to get out of my reach. He was just admiring the view one more time, maybe taking a mental picture that he could look at again and again in the future, and gloat in private triumph once more.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said, and with that, he turned and sauntered away.

I watched him go, feeling a mix of emotions. I was distraught. Betrayed. Angry. At the same time, the horror of my imminent demise loomed large in my mind.

I howled for Rolf to return and began shaking the bars with all my strength. In moments, I’d worked myself into a frenzy, screaming Rolf’s name and hurling the vilest curses I knew at his retreating back. The guards listened to my fury for no more than a minute before taking Rolf’s place before me. I ignored them and kept shaking the bars, only stopping when the guards started beating my hands with their clubs.

Not even the fury of madness could stand up to that sort of treatment. I flinched my bruised and bloodied fingers back through the bars. I wanted to shout at Rolf some more, but the moment had passed, and my throbbing hands wouldn’t let me.

Instead, with my fury and hatred turning into emptiness and despair, I made my way to the back of the cell and reclaimed my spot next to the corpse that the rat dragons were eating.

9

I’d never been one to sob out loud in public. Never had any reason to. But I was so full of rage, frustration, and hate for Rolf, fear and grief for myself, and sorrow at the complete waste my life seemed to have become that I had no other outlet.

And my anger remained with me, even though I had stopped raving. I wanted to beat Rolf to a pulp. Wanted to scream at him, the King, and everyone else I felt was to blame for my position.

At the same time, I truly understood the truth in Rolf’s words.

I was a follower. A vain nothing in the scheme of things. Just a two-copper loser who’d never really taken responsibility for his own life.

And now, it looked as if that life was over.

I howled curses at Rolf, the world, and even myself, clutching my bruised and bloodied hands to my chest as I rocked back and forth. Yes, I was a complete and utter idiot.

For the most part, the other prisoners ignored me—not that I cared what they thought—with one exception. The old man didn’t say much, but he stayed nearby, and when anyone grew tired of my ravings and said something, he threw a torrent of curses their way until they left me alone.

I didn’t know why the old man bothered. Didn’t think to ask him, but even in the depths of my despair, a small part of me was grateful.

Yet even anguish doesn’t last forever. With my throat ragged from shouting and the muscles in my face starting to ache from the workout I’d given them, I found my friend the rat dragon had climbed up on my lap and was nuzzling me under my chin as if trying to comfort me.

It was such an incongruous, unusual sight that I had no option. Instead of hurling abuse at Rolf and his cronies, I laughed at the miniature dragon’s antics.

Suddenly, the world didn’t quite seem so gloomy. I scratched my scaly friend under the chin.

“Thanks for that, little one,” I said. “Sorry about the noise. I’ll be quiet from now on. Promise.”

The old man grunted.

“The guards fed us again while you were indulging your grief,” he said. “More hard ends, like before. But this time, they handed out bowls of gruel through the bars. I saved you some, if you want. Can’t say there’s much point in keeping your strength up, but figure there’s less in dying hungry. Am I right?”

I managed to muster a smile for the small act of kindness and accepted the bowl of gruel and knob of stale bread. In my life as a street urchin, I’d survived on far worse than that, but I couldn’t help think of the fat, juicy pear I had stolen before my life had turned to hell.

I wondered if I would get the chance to taste anything so sweet again and had to admit that I probably wouldn’t.

The old man seemed to be in a mood for talking. “So, tomorrow is the day we die,” he said as I offered a piece of stale bread to my rat dragon. He sniffed at it but declined to partake.

“So it would seem,” I agreed.

“Got any regrets?” he asked.

I thought about it and gave him a nod. “One or two,” I said.

The old man looked at me with surprising compassion. “Figured as much. Me, I’ve lived my life. Sure, given the chance, might make different choices. Try to get laid a bit more. And maybe I’d think twice before crossing his Lordship what put me in this place. But mostly, I’ve had a pretty good run.”

I looked at the old man and decided that he was simply telling the truth as he saw it. He seemed surprisingly relaxed, as if he’d accepted his fate. And I figured that was probably a good place to be.

I sighed. “I wouldn’t mind putting some of what that bastard Rolf said into practice. Wouldn’t mind living a bit longer, if I could do it under my own terms, rather than just following along.”

The old man laughed quietly. “Well, don’t say it means a great deal, considering what’s waiting for us on the morrow. But I hope you get the chance to.”

I made a dismissive noise and gestured at the stone walls and the bars. “It would take some kind of miracle,” I said.

The old man agreed and once more dropped into companionable silence. But I was left thinking. Maybe it didn’t take a miracle. Maybe just a small piece of magic.

The type of magic contained within the amulet that hung around my neck.

Despite everything, I felt buoyed at the thought. The amulet had been part of me for so long that I’d mostly forgotten its original purpose. Mostly, I just rubbed it for luck at the start of a job.

I snorted out loud. It hadn’t done me any good this time. I must have used all that luck up, if it had ever done anything at all. Because this last job, this kidnapping gig–the only luck that had come my way was bad.

But that’s not what the amulet was for. What had the woman who had given it to me said? Snap it in two and hope for the best?

Why not? I wondered. Probably more bullshit, a story to entertain a young boy and no more. But what could it hurt to give it a try?

I waited until the other prisoners had settled down for the night. Men found whatever space they could to lie down and filled the air with their snores, farts, and belches as one by one they dropped off to sleep.

There were those who stayed sitting, watchful, either fearful that someone might hurt them or looking for victims even in their last hours.

And me. Waiting for the chance to be unobserved.

Finally, with the old man resting against the back wall, smacking his gums in his sleep and fidgeting, I figured it was time.

I took my amulet out from where it rested against my chest and untied the strip of leather that held it in place. The cell was lit only by the torches outside, where Rolf had stood taunting me, but it was still bright enough to see.

In the dim light of the cell, it looked like little more than a smooth disc of wood, and I couldn’t even make out the faint pattern that had almost worn off. I took a deep breath and breathed quietly.

“If there is any magic in you at all,” I said to the disc, “then I need it now. Get me out of this mess, if you can. Save my life. I don’t want to die.”

With that, I bent the disc in half, ignoring the pain in my fingers. It proved to be surprisingly flexible, and for a moment, I feared it would I wouldn’t be able to break it. Then, it snapped in two, the noise of it echoing throughout the entire cell, sounding surprisingly loud.

I imagined that a small puff of green magic curled up from the broken amulet, like a puff of smoke from my pet rat dragon. And then it was gone, leaving me feeling empty, more alone, and more defeated than before. The two pieces of the amulet crumbled in my fingers, becoming nothing but dust.

I wasn’t magically whisked out of the cell. A King’s guard failed to appear with a pardon. I didn’t fall backwards through a wall that was suddenly not solid.

Of all the countless myriad ways the amulet could have magicked me free, it did precisely none of them at all.

I uttered a heartfelt sigh and cursed my too trusting nature. So much for the word of a beautiful woman I could barely remember.

So thinking, I muttered one more curse at the world in general and settled myself down to sleep, with the rat dragon curled up in my lap.

10

It wasn’t a pleasant night. I was pretty good at sleeping in unfamiliar places, but this was different. The cold, filthy floor of the cell and the hard, lumpy stone wall were a far cry from the soft beds and willing company of my regular sleeping habits. And a lifetime of sleeping with one ear open in case a jealous boyfriend or husband should happen along meant that I flinched awake at every unconscious snort or half-asleep grunt uttered by the other prisoners.

On top of that, every so often, one of the guards would stand up and move around, perhaps just to keep themselves awake. There was the sound of water dripping from somewhere, a steady, rhythmic sound that most seemed able to ignore, but which drove me to distraction.

And then there was the occasional cry of whatever monster the King kept in the palace dungeons. A metal-rending shriek filled with anger and pain.

It wasn’t a regular sound. Maybe once, twice an hour or so. And it was distant, not loud enough to be heard over the bustle of daylight. But at night, everyone in the city could hear it, and it was louder the closer you were to the castle.

Nobody knew for sure what made the sounds, but everyone had a theory.

The most common one was that the King kept a live, full-grown dragon somewhere deep underground.

As theories went, it wasn’t a bad one. The sheer volume of the cries suggested a creature of power. And what other great beast would a King seek to keep?

Especially a King like this one, with a family history full of stories of such magnificent beasts. The word dragon even formed part of the King’s surname.

The naysayers, those who discounted the theory, would point out that no true dragon had been sighted in the area for decades. Wyverns, sure. And rat dragons, of course. There were even smallish sea serpents in the slow-moving currents of the river. But a real, live dragon?

The last time anyone had caught a glimpse of one was when the King’s grandfather still lived. Back then, the Pendragon line could transform into dragons at will.

That talent had faded as the bloodline grew older, until now, when all that remained was the King’s last name.

Pendragon.

I shifted against the stone wall, once again trying to find some sort of comfort in the miserable place. But the hard, unyielding walls combined with the sounds–and the stench!–made sleep all but impossible.

For me, at least. My rat dragon had no trouble. He was producing small snores in time with his breathing.

That he’d accepted me as a friend was almost enough to bring a smile to my face even in this godawful place. I didn’t even care if the rat dragon’s true motivation was no more than to seek warmth. It was enough to simply have him nuzzle against me.

I started to wonder if my last night alive would be an ongoing torture, an endless sequence of hours where I stayed awake. But finally, long after the night bellringer had announced two o’clock in the morning, I finally drifted off.

When I dreamed, I dreamt of dragons—massive, powerful, beautiful creatures flying effortlessly above the city, with a gaggle of rat dragons doing their best to keep up.

11

The day of my hanging, and it was raining. My last day on this earth, and I had to stand with all the others who were to be hanged in a steady, persistent drizzle that had already soaked through my tunic and breeches, leaving me miserable and shivering. Even worse, the earth beneath my feet was nothing but mud, which wedged between my bare toes in a very unpleasant manner.

It was almost enough to make me want to get it over with. To stand on the gallows, if only for a moment, and then say goodbye to it all.

It was the sort of miserable, soul-sucking day that ought to have kept the townsfolk inside. Including me.

But this was the day for hangings. A day when all the convicted murderers, kidnappers, and unrepentant career criminals who had been gathered over the past several weeks would meet their fate.

And that meant it was a day of celebration.

Despite the weather, there was a sense of excitement that spread over the crowd. More than a thousand people had gathered in the square outside the castle to watch the proceedings. Men, women, and children all braved the rain with smiles on their faces, and more turned up with each passing minute.

As well as the watchers, there were street vendors selling sweetmeats, candied apples, cinnamon buns and the like, as well as half rotten fruit and vegetables for people to throw.

Keeping an eye on it all was a virtual army of Blackcoats, an intimidating presence designed to discourage any last-minute dash for freedom.

Despite the horrible weather, it seemed that everyone there was enjoying themselves.

Everyone except for the line of prisoners to be hanged.

There were maybe twenty of us standing with our hands bound and a rope tethering us all together. For the most part, we were men, but there was a woman or two for good measure.

Most of us were silent, either accepting our fate or simply acknowledging that there was nothing more we could do. But some muttered curses or prayed or whimpered out loud.

I followed the old man who had showed me kindness in my moment of need, and while he’d seemed willing to accept his fate then, now he seemed quieter, more contemplative as we stood in the wet.

I was feeling a little maudlin myself. But at least I had company. My rat dragon had chosen to accompany me out into the rain and was even now curled up on my shoulder.

On a whim, I dubbed him Sir George and promised myself that if by some miracle I lived out the day, I would keep him as a real pet.

That promise, however, looked increasingly empty. One by one, the men and woman to be hanged climbed the stairs to the gallows. The King’s Justice, a small round man with a sonorous voice and rich clothing, would announce the prisoners’ specific crimes, while doing everything he could to make a spectacle, to build the audience’s enthusiasm.

If the crimes noted were particularly heinous, the prisoner would be pelted with rotten fruit, or even just handfuls of mud taken from the wet, sodden ground.

“Errol Hatcher!” the King’s Justice announced. “Found guilty of murder most foul! Mr. Hatcher stabbed his wife’s lover more than thirty times until death, as well as slicing off the man’s cock and balls! He then fed those same organs to his unfaithful wife before stabbing her in the heart and cutting her throat. For this crime, Errol Hatcher has been sentenced to death by hanging! What say you, good townsfolk? Is the sentence just? Or should Errol’s punishment include a little humiliation as well?”

The audience responded with a smattering of laughter, and a few handfuls of mud and rotten vegetables sailed toward Errol Hatcher.

A thin, sad-looking man with water dripping off his hooked nose, Errol didn’t try to duck or dodge. He seemed to have lost the spark of life already, probably taken from him when he had walked in on his wife.

The aim of the crowd was comparatively poor. Sad Errol ended up with a trace of mud on his shoulder and part of a tomato glancing from his hip. But that was all, and the crowd seemed to be waiting for a more fitting target.

“Errol Hatcher, your fate is sealed. Step back over the trapdoor, if you would be so kind.”

As if on automatic, poor Errol did as he was asked, and the hangman, a large, brutish man with his head hidden beneath a black hood, placed the noose over his head and tightened it so the knot lined up against his left ear.

Like a conductor at a circus, the King’s Justice addressed the crowd once again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, these are Errol Hatcher’s final moments. Are you ready to witness his death by hanging?”

As one, the audience roared their approval.

The King’s Justice didn’t need to say anything more. The audience reaction was plenty. The hangman stepped to the release lever, and without further ado, let poor Errol fall.

The whole crowd heard the singular snap as Errol’s body jerked to a halt at the end of the rope. It was a sickening sound, that of a neck breaking, but the audience approved. As one, they burst into applause, whooping and yelling as Errol’s body twitched at the end of the rope.

It kept going for more than a minute before fading, at which time, the men down below got to work.

They were quick and efficient, removing the noose and adding Errol’s body to a growing pile on a cart.

And then it was the turn of the next man in line.

12

One by one, the line of those waiting to be hanged grew shorter. William Dafanay followed Errol Hatcher, who was in turn followed by Oliver Butters, Seth Wind Gibbins, Eric Jacobsen, and more.

Sometimes the process changed just a little. Sometimes the King’s Justice gave the condemned the option of addressing the crowd, and they would beg, or whimper, or stand resolute. And once, a short, fat man the King’s Justice addressed as Sully Turnbull tried to make a dash for it from the top of the gallows.

The man had seemed calm when the executioner approached with the rope, but at the last minute, he struck out with his elbow, catching the executioner square in the throat. Somehow, Sully had slipped his hands from his bindings, and he tried to charge down the steps, only to find his way blocked by two Blackcoats bearing knob-ended clubs.

Sully cursed out loud, and to the crowd’s roar of approval, hurled himself from the platform down to the mud.

He landed badly and didn’t get up. Instead, he howled in pain from where he lay, and the crowd laughed at his discomfort.

As the Blackcoats helped him back up the stairs, it became clear that he’d broken at least one of his legs in the fall. Yet the hanging continued, with a Blackcoat propping him up on each side until the trapdoor opened beneath his feet.

And so despite his efforts, Sully’s corpse joined the others on the back of the wagon.

At some point during the show, I found myself looking into the crowd, for no reason other than simple curiosity.

They were just people. Bakers, merchants, wagon drivers, tavern keepers, and more. There were even a few of the King’s messengers, boys and girls in their early teens, wearing the King’s gold and satchels on their hips. And street urchins, of course, homeless children working the crowd, maybe picking pockets or just enjoying the show.

For all I knew, the boy I’d asked to steal Anwen’s coin pouch, Samuel, might be among them.

And maybe Rolf was there, too. Durstan and Bryce, performing their duties as Blackcoats or just watching the show, eager to see me fall through the trap with a rope around my neck.

If they were, I didn’t see them. They could have been watching from the castle if they wanted–and not just them either. The gallows had been positioned so that the King himself could watch if he chose, and even now, he might have been in his staterooms doing exactly that.

But all I could see of the castle were a few flags flapping in the gentle breeze, and a handful of wyverns, some of them sitting like gargoyles on the castle parapets, with others circling high above.

I wondered idly if Anwen was among the watchers. Would she be of a mind to watch one of her kidnappers stretch? Or would she be hidden away somewhere, under added protection until she could become one of the King’s chosen women?

I didn’t know, nor did I want to. I didn’t blame Anwen for what had happened, but didn’t think I could handle the thought of her watching my death.

Resolutely, I looked away from the crowd for fear of spotting her within it. I had every intention of just staring out into space as I waited my turn.

But someone caught my eye.

A woman, standing in the front row.

She was old, bent almost double, and supported herself with a staff.

On another day, I would have overlooked her completely. There was little about her to suggest a heavy coin pouch, and if she had possessed any beauty in her youth, it had long since faded. Yet as Terence Dowling fell to his death to a round of rapturous glee, I found myself returning the old woman’s stare.

Of all those in the crowd, only she seemed immune to the hangings. Where the rest of them voiced their approval with applause and hoorays, the old woman seemed completely unmoved.

She wasn’t even looking in the direction of the gallows. Instead, she was staring right at me.

For some reason that I couldn’t quite name, she seemed familiar. As if I’d known her a long time ago. But I was pretty good with faces and couldn’t place hers at all.

Unbidden, my dream came back to me. Not the one filled with dragons, but the other one, shaken loose when a knob-ended club had crashed into my skull. Something about the old woman reminded me of the beautiful lady who’d given me my amulet. Almost as if the old woman could have been her grandmother.

For long moments, I was lost in the remnants of the dream and the old woman’s gaze. Then I shook myself and shuffled forward.

It was nearly my turn. Only the old man stood between me and the gallows.

One of the Blackcoats standing guard sneered at the old-timer. “You’re next,” he said. “Time to go, old man.”

The old man turned toward me before mounting the stairs. “It’s strange,” he said to me with a lopsided grin. “It seems I have more regrets than I thought. Oh well. Too late now, I suppose. Might as well get on with it and see what the afterlife has to offer.”

Before I could think of something reassuring to say, he turned and mounted the stairs with all the dignity he could muster. When he reached the top, he stood and surveyed the crowd, offering them a grin.

The King’s Justice began his spiel, but I wasn’t listening. All I could think of was that this old-timer had been kind to me.

Apparently, his crimes were serious enough to warrant further insults, for the old man became a solid target for thrown vegetables and mud. Yet this didn’t faze him. Instead, he danced a happy jig on the stage, successfully dodging all efforts until a large clot of mud caught him right in the eye.

At this, the crowd devolved into laughter, and even the old man seemed to see the funny side of it. He wiped his face as best as he could, and then it was time. The King’s Justice asked him to step back, and the executioner placed the rope about his neck.

I closed my eyes and turned away, not wanting to watch. If I’d been able, I would have stuffed wads of cotton into my ears to keep from hearing as well. As it was, nothing could block out the sound of the old man falling to his death, and the crowd once more roaring their approval.

I didn’t want to see my last real friend swinging at the end of the rope, so I kept my eyes tightly shut while the workers below did their grisly work and added his corpse to the pile.

Even then, I kept my eyes shut and tried not to feel the pain in my heart, or the tear forcing itself out from under my eyelid.

“Shutting your eyes ain’t going to save you,” came the voice of the guard. “It’s your turn. Make your way up the stairs to your death. I don’t want to have to drag you up there, but I will if need be.”

This was it. My turn. I opened my eyes and considered making a dash for it. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. And far too many Blackcoats to make the attempt worthwhile.

And anyway, I was far from my physical best. I’d managed to sleep for only a few hours and was feeling as seedy as if I’d spent the night in my cups. On top of that, the beating I’d gained from Durstan and Bryce had turned many of my muscles to mush.

I doubted I would make it more than three paces before one guard or another took me down and pressed my face into the mud.

It wasn’t much, but if I was going to die, then I strongly preferred to breathe fresh air when I did. And to face my death with courage.

As I made my way up the stairs, I tried to shake Sir George from my shoulder.

“Time for you to go,” I told him. “Things are about to get a little uncomfortable, and I’d prefer it if you were well away when they do.”

But the rat dragon stubbornly stayed where he was.

“Move it,” said the guard from below, and then I was standing on the top of the platform where the old man had stood just a couple of minutes before.

I realized then that in blocking out the proceedings, I’d failed to learn the old man’s name. Knowing it was a mistake I could never fix, I sighed out loud and looked out over the crowd as the King’s Justice began to talk.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he bellowed. “What we have here is the worst sort of criminal you can imagine. Going by Mordie, I am reliably informed that his real name is Mordred, a bastard who has earned himself no last name. Found guilty by royal decree, the man before you kidnapped the daughter of a prominent merchant, with intentions to rape and defile her innocence.”

Even before the man finished speaking, the crowd had already set to booing, and the first globs of mud were coming my way. But the King’s Justice hadn’t finished.

“On further investigation, it was found that the kidnapping was not his only offence, and that his criminal nature extends back many years. A professional thief, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he has picked some of your very pockets in the crowd. Beyond that, he is responsible for numerous scams and cons, and it is only by chance that he remains in possession of both of his hands.”

More boos and roars of disapproval, and the mudslinging began in earnest. I tried to dodge, to move my hands up to protect myself, but some of them got through. Lots of mad splattered against my forearms, my face, and all over my front.

And still the King’s Justice hadn’t finished. It seemed he was enjoying himself, and that of everyone to be hanged on this day, I was the one he wanted to turn the crowd against the most.

“This nameless bastard has been active for years, a one-man crime wave, a human disease spreading throughout our fair city!” The King’s Justice said the last with a tone of pure venom, and somehow managed to wind it up one more notch. “What do you say, fair citizens? Is a simple hanging enough? Or would you prefer to show this man, this bastard, what you think of him and his ilk?”

If my appearance and crimes weren’t enough to inspire the good townsfolk to unleash everything they had in my direction, the King’s Justice’s words did the trick. All at once, the sky darkened as a veritable avalanche of mud and rotten fruit came my way.

I couldn’t dodge, couldn’t defend, and if I had tried to dance my way out of it as the old man had done, I would have ended up buried.

So I turned around and let the worst of it hit my back, adding the stink of mud and rotten fruit to the rest of my day.

Partway through the barrage, Sir George took flight and disappeared into the sky. And while I felt some relief that he would be safe, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment.

So much for wanting to breathe clean air at my last, I thought. Nor could I hope for the drizzle to wash me clean, for in the past few minutes, even that had faded away.

I waited, listening to the roar of the crowd and trying not to flinch under the barrage of hate.

Finally, the bombardment was over. I did what I could to stand tall and turned around again to face them.

The King’s Justice was grinning from ear to ear, and I wished with everything I had that I could change positions with him. Or at the very least, smack him a few times round the face. This was, after all, my very worst day. I didn’t need him to add to it.

But he still wasn’t done with his torment.

“Mordie, you unscrupulous cur. Is there anything you would like to say to the crowd?”

13

I considered my options and thought about shouting from the top of the gallows that it had been Rolf’s fucking plan from the start. That Bryce and Durstan had attempted to rape, not me, and my biggest mistake had been trying to stop them.

Maybe I could ask forgiveness for my crimes, in the hope that whatever waited for me on the other end of the rope would be merciful. Or—and this was the most appealing—maybe I should let loose with a string of vile curses aimed at every single person in the audience, as well as the King if he happened to be watching.

I mean, it wasn’t like they could punish me further.

But for some reason, I caught the old woman’s eye once again. She was still in the front row, still watching me closely. And any motivation to get even, with Rolf or anyone else, fled before me.

Instead, I started to speak.

“What you have heard about me is largely true, and exaggerated somewhat,” I began. At my words, some in the audience started to laugh, and I knew they understood. The King’s Justice’s words added to the entertainment. If he stretched the truth, nobody really cared.

“I’m not going to ask for forgiveness. I’m not sure it would matter much at this point. But there’s more to my story than what you have heard. I’d like you to know that I tried not to steal when I could easily pay. That I never went out of my way to hurt anyone. And at the last, I stood up against those who would do harm to another.”

The crowd grew quiet for a moment, as if they were actually listening, but then someone in the crowd decided they didn’t like what I was saying, that perhaps it wasn’t entertaining enough. They started to boo, and the sentiment caught on.

I smiled. “I only wish I’d thought to stand up against them a bit sooner,” I finished, although by then, it was doubtful that anyone heard me at all.

The King’s Justice gave the audience their voice and waited until the booing had faded.

“Step back onto the trap,” he commanded, and I did as he said.

As he’d done with so many others before, the executioner placed the rope around my neck. It felt slick and slimy against my skin, and I couldn’t help but think of the many necks it had snapped, and the blood and other fluids that had soaked into its length.

But I didn’t have long to think about that.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the King’s Justice bellowed. “Would you like to witness a hanging? Would you like to watch Mordie swing?”

Once more, the crowd voiced their approval, and the hangman did the rest.

The door opened beneath my feet.

As I fell through the hole in the platform, the last thing I saw was the old woman, who was still staring at me. Except, just before I reached the end of my rope, she wasn’t the old woman at all.

Instead, she was much younger. My own age, maybe. And beautiful.

Somehow, she had become the woman who had given me that amulet so many years ago.

I was astonished. Stunned. If I hadn’t been a merest fraction of a moment from having my neck snapped, I would have stared.

Through the fading drizzle, the beautiful woman smiled, and I couldn’t help it. I was hardwired to respond in kind, grinning like a boy who had stolen his first kiss, even as the rope reached its limit.

Then I felt the most extraordinary pain in my neck. Sharp and immediate, and hot as a burning ember. I would have screamed at the agony if all my air hadn’t been cut off with it. I felt my eyes bulging, I couldn’t breathe, and everything hurt.

This is it, I thought. It’s over.

Even as the thought came and went, I felt a surge of heat in my blood, a surge of power that I hadn’t ever felt before. It felt strong, undeniable, and I wondered if by some mad chance, I would actually survive being hanged. As if that surge of power would keep me alive.

Then my world faded into darkness, with my last conscious sight being that of the woman in her younger guise. She was still smiling, still looking right at me.

I regretted that I would never get a chance to find out who she was, and that was all I knew.

14

I never expected to wake up again. I mean, who did? A hanging was generally pretty final. I mean, sure, sometimes the knot will slip, and very occasionally, the rope might even break. But the chances of that happening were one in a thousand, or even more.

To expect the lady of luck to shine so brightly in my direction was no more than wishful thinking.

And anyway, I was pretty sure the knot hadn’t slipped, and the rope hadn’t broken. If they had, then the King’s Justice would have ordered his men to string me up again, and that would have been it.

So imagine my surprise when I found myself waking up after all.

It was dark, but not too dark to see. I knew that without even opening my eyes. The rain had settled in once again, soaking me to the core. Everything hurt, from my neck all the way down to my toes, and my fingers were tingling as if the circulation had been cut off for some time.

All this, I understood even before I opened my eyes. But what I didn’t understand is how I happened to be alive at all. How I happened to be feeling the pain in my body. The cold wetness of the rain as that same body was dragged across the mud. Or even that I was able to think and recognize those sensations.

And then it truly sunk in that I wasn’t alone. There was someone else nearby, grunting and cursing as they tried to drag me from where I lay.

“Come on, you’ve got to help me,” she said. It was an old woman’s voice, and part of me already knew who it was. “We’ve got to get you out of here. You’re not all that dead anymore, so help me!”

The words made sense. I knew that they did. Yet for some reason, I couldn’t seem to make myself understand them.

It was like with my eyes and the rest of my body. I could sense things, I knew things, but I didn’t seem to be able to find the will to move.

Not even to open my eyes.

The old woman cursed yet again, and then slapped me a good one across my cheek.

It stung, seeming to add to the bruising left by Durstan and Bryce’s booted feet, and it was enough to jolt me back to myself.

I opened my eyes and blinked in the rain, and saw that I was lying amid a pile of corpses. Yet perhaps I hadn’t responded enough because the old woman was winding up to slap me again. With a curse, she let rip, and with a monumental effort, I reached out my hand to catch her wrist before she hit.

Somehow, the movement felt slow and sluggish, as if I was caught in a dream. But it worked, and it seemed to please the old woman.

“I’m awake,” I managed, and once again, it took real effort to make my mouth move. It was like I was speaking through treacle, and the words came out mumbled.

Even so, I tried again. “What happened? Where am I?”

“There will be time for questions later. For now, it’s enough that you live. But you won’t for long, not if we don’t get back to my place pretty damned soon. Your body has been partly dead for much of the day, kept alive through no more than an enchantment. But as with all magic, there’s a limit to how long that enchantment will last. I have to bind you with others, and I have to do so quickly. Otherwise, you will no longer be partially dead, but dead all the way, and there won’t be a thing I can do at that point. So, help me out. You’re much too heavy for me to lift by myself. Get on your feet and into that cart.”

It was like I was listening with my head underwater. Like my brain was no longer working as it should. Yet enough of the old woman’s words seemed to get through that I understood her intent.

But before I tried to move, however, there was one thing I had to know.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Does that really matter?” she returned, still trying to move me. Then she gave up and uttered a sigh. “All right, then. My name is Morga–Meghan La Fey,” she said, and something about the way she had spoken suggested she might have been going to say something else.

“Now will you do yourself a favor and help me out here?” she asked.

I tried to nod but was pretty sure all I managed was a faint bob of my head. I gathered my strength to try to roll to my side, but the old woman–Meghan–stopped me with her next words.

“What’s this? A rat dragon! Shoo, vermin!”

I found myself smiling. Without knowing how I knew, I realized that the dragon Meghan was shooing away was none other than my friend Sir George.

He’d found me after my hanging.

“Leave him alone,” I managed, sounding as if my tongue was three feet thick. “He’s my friend.”

“Your what?” Meghan asked. “You’re friends with a rat dragon? Horrible things.”

I thought I was going to have to argue some more. Rat dragons were almost universally despised. But Meghan spared me from it.

“So be it,” she said. “What do I care, anyway? Now are you going to help me out, or what?”

It took an enormous amount of effort. My body felt as if it weighed as much as the north castle wall, and I had never been weaker. I felt like an old man at the end of his strength, and to make matters worse, my limbs didn’t seem to want to follow my orders.

“What the hell?” I managed as I laboriously got to my knees. I’d used all the strength that I had, but even then, I still had to rest my palms on the ground for support.

Except that it wasn’t the ground at all. It was a pile of corpses, and I was kneeling on the face of one of my fellow condemned prisoners.

“I told you already. You have been partially dead. Although I didn’t expect it to damage your brain quite so much.”

The old woman–Meghan, I reminded myself–reached out a hand to help support me. And then she muttered, “Should have known there would be a risk of that. Maybe I should just let him die for real and move on.”

At this, I shook my head, and then immediately regretted it. “No,” I said. “I’m good. Just… give me a moment.”

“Fine. But keep your rat dragon under control. Damn thing tried to snap at me a moment ago.”

For some reason, I found the thought of Sir George protecting me against this old woman hilarious. Lacking the strength to give it full voice, though, my laugh came out as a weak giggle.

There I was, kneeling on a pile of corpses in the rain. I’d been partially dead, whatever that meant, and this old woman was trying to help me. And there was Sir George doing his best guard dog impression, trying to keep her away.

“It’s okay, Sir George,” I managed. “She’s trying to help. I trust her.”

And, surprising as it may seem, I actually did trust her. If she was who I thought she could be, I owed her everything. I wouldn’t have had even the slightest chance of surviving the hanging if it weren’t for her and the medallion.

Eventually, with the old woman’s unsteady support, I made it to the cart. At the end of my strength, I collapsed onto it as if it were a copper bathtub, with my feet dangling over the end. “Now what?” I asked.

“Now, you go back to sleep, and I’ll get us to where we need to go.”

I lacked the strength to argue even if I’d wanted to. I’d reached the end of my endurance, and my consciousness soon faded again.

I woke inside a candlelit cottage. There was a fire burning in the hearth and a delicious smell of warm stew in the air.

I stretched painfully, recognizing that I lay on a proper bed, complete with fresh sheets.

“You’re awake then, are you?” the old woman said. “Try to sit up, if you can. The enchantments are doing their job. If we can keep them going long enough to convince your body that it is indeed still alive, then we have half a chance. To do that, we have to get it back to normal working order. Which means you have to eat.”

With a gargantuan effort, I did as she asked, sitting up and leaning against the dull, cottage wall. But my arms were too weak to even reach for the bowl she offered.

“Hmph,” she said. “Should have expected as much. Here, I’ll feed you.”

It had been a long, long time since anyone had fed me by hand. It was a slow, awkward process, made even worse because I seemed to have forgotten how to chew. But I managed a few mouthfuls, enjoyed the flavor, and started to feel a little better by the end.

Meghan seemed disappointed at my lack of appetite. “Maybe we’ll try some more later,” she said.

I nodded weakly, and for the first time, had a proper look around.

It wasn’t a large cottage. Just a couple of rooms by the look of it. With herbs drying in the rafters and walls of wattle and daub, the place had the feel of an underground cave. But it was warm and cozy, and there was only thing missing.

“Sir George?” I asked.

The old woman grunted. “Your pet rat dragon? You named him?”

I nodded again.

“He’s around here somewhere, don’t fret. I might even allow that he’s already dealt with a bit of a rat problem I might have had, despite the various enchantments I tried.”

It wasn’t the first time she had mentioned enchantments. I knew from experience that some in the city claimed such powers, and I had seen proof of it many times in the past. I studied Meghan as closely as I could in my weakened state, trying to look past the old woman visage to whomever it was beneath.

She certainly looked the part. Dressed in layers, her walking staff resting against the wall, and shelves half-filled with potions and powders, parchments and candles.

I looked at her closely. “Who are you,” I asked her again. “Really?”

15

“I’ve already told you my name,” the old woman said. “But that’s not what you’re asking, is it?”

I shook my head but didn’t elaborate, leaving it to her to decide how to answer.

The old woman took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Some call me a witch,” she said. “Others, an enchantress. It matters little what name they give me, if the result is the same. There’s a power within me and a few others like me, that I do my best to control. With it, I am able to work some small magics in contrary to the natural order of things.”

“Small magics?” I asked. “You think bringing me back to life is small magic?”

The old woman snorted. “I told you. You were only partly dead. Bringing you back to life for real would have been impossible. But when you broke your amulet, it enclosed you in a bubble of magic designed to hold reality at bay, if only for a short time. You were in stasis, held just outside the realms of normality. So, when you were hanged, you were dead, but also still alive.”

She shrugged. “My efforts since then have been about drawing you back into this world more fully, but without having to deal with all that death nonsense.”

Much of what Meghan le Fay said was meaningless to me. But I thought I understood the gist.

“Even that doesn’t sound like a small magic to me,” I insisted, trying to smile.

“But it is. The magic is small. But that isn’t to say that the effect isn’t much grander. And I’ll admit, it’s a fiendishly difficult enchantment to enact.”

“Either way, thank you. I didn’t really want to die today.”

The old woman gave a surprisingly broad smile. “You are welcome,” she said.

“But that isn’t really what I meant,” I said. She looked at me again, and I drew a deep breath, trying not to think about how much effort it took to do so. “I meant, is this who you are?” I asked, feebly gesturing toward her. “Or are you the other woman I saw in your face. The younger one?”

The witch, enchantress, whatever she was, saw through me with ease. Her smile became knowing. “You want to know if I am a young, beautiful woman who pretends to be old, or an old woman who can become beautiful at will?”

I couldn’t help but grin in response. I’d been sprung. “Something like that. But also–are you the one who gave me my amulet?”

Meghan lowered her dark eyes away from mine. “As to the last, yes. That was me. I hoped it would protect you when I no longer could. Although, given how long it has been since I gave it to you, I was starting to wonder if you hadn’t lost it, or even if you’d been killed before managing to use it. And as for the first part of your question, don’t you know how rude it is to inquire as to the age of a lady?”

I knew she was teasing, but still wanted to know. “It was rude of me to ask, and I apologize. That said, which is it?”

I’d always had a way with the ladies. I knew just how to pitch things so they would laugh rather than take offence. And my instinct didn’t fail me now, either, as bruised and bloodied as I was.

Meghan le Fay did laugh, but she didn’t give in, either. “That’s my secret,” she said. “Maybe one day, I’ll let you find out. But until then, you’ll just have to guess.”

I accepted my failure with good grace.

“For now, it’s time for you to sleep,” she said. “Your body will take time to recover its full strength. You’ll have to learn how to use it again. After all, you’ve been partially dead for much of the day.”

16

Over the next several weeks, I did as Meghan le Fay suggested. I ate when she cooked, slept many more hours than normal, and gradually recovered my strength. During this time, I spoke to the enchantress often. At first, our conversations were largely practical.

“How are you feeling today?” she asked.

“A little stronger,” I replied.

“Hold your hands out straight, and keep them there as long as you can,” she said.

I did so, and despite the apparent simplicity of the task, I couldn’t do it for long without my entire arm beginning to shake. Yet it seemed I was making good progress. Each day, I could hold my hands out a bit longer than the day before.

“Good. You are improving,” she said. “Now, eat and rest.”

That seemed to be Meghan’s answer to everything. The first time I tried to stand up, I clung to the bed for all I was worth so I wouldn’t collapse onto the floor.

“Good,” the enchantress said. “Here, eat this. Then rest.”

Crossing the floor of the cottage was my next trick. But I had to rely on Meghan’s support to stumble back to the bed because I lacked the strength to get there under my own steam.

“Good,” she said. “It’s a start. Eat and get some rest.”

After nearly a fortnight, I could sit, stand, and go for short walks around the inside of the cottage without fear of falling. I could even dress myself after a fashion, although I lacked the fine motor skills necessary to run a comb through my hair.

“Good. We’re getting there. Now, eat this and get some rest.”

Finally, by midway through the third week, I felt strong enough to walk all the way to the outhouse and back. Up until then, I’d had to use the chamber pot, which, to my abject humiliation, Meghan then emptied for me. Upon my return from my first successful trip, Meghan had given a sharp nod of approval.

“Well done,” she said. “Now, there’s bread, cheese, and a cut of dried meat. Chew slowly, and when you are done, try to get some sleep.”

Only slightly less humiliating than the chamber pot was our sleeping arrangement. Meghan le Fay, enchantress or witch, depending on who you asked, had only the one bed. She could have asked me to sleep on the floor, or on the low couch she used when relaxing or mixing different tinctures and powders. Instead, she let me sleep in her bed and simply climbed in next to me each night when she slept.

It was far from the first time I’d shared a bed, but Meghan le Fay must have been more than eighty years old. It felt awkward at first, and I wondered again if this was her true form, or if that was the younger, more beautiful version of her. Or even if both were an illusion or enchantment of some kind, and her true form was something different altogether.

The first night I’d been conscious of her climbing in beside me, she’d sensed my uncertainty.

“I’m not going to eat you,” she said, offering me an old woman’s grin. “Although I might try a taste, when you’re up to it. You’re not a bad looking fellow, if you look past the bruises and such on your face.” Then she sighed. “But for now, I am tired. You’ve eaten. Try to get some rest.”

The awkwardness grew worse.

The enchantress wore nothing more than a simple shift to bed, and even though I tried not to look–really tried not to look–I couldn’t help but catch a glimpse or two of the forbidden flesh underneath.

By the end of the fourth week, I was starting to feel much like my former self, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Meghan le Fay awoke next to me in the morning and looked me up and down with a speculative gaze. Her lined face crinkled even more as she scrutinized me. Then, she touched the central bead on the ornate, dark necklace she never seemed to take off.

Suddenly, instead of lying next to an eighty-year-old woman, I was lying next to the beautiful young lady of my half-remembered dreams.

My heart skipped a beat. In my mind’s eye, she had always been gorgeous. But in the flesh, she was spectacular. Seen in the morning light that filtered through the shutters, Meghan’s hair was a curious mix of nearly black, with hints of deepest red as well. Her skin was as pale as milk, and her eyes, surrounded as they were by dark designs, seemed almost to glitter with power.

I had known plenty of women in my short life, and some of them had been truly stunning. But that morning, none of them could compare to Meghan le Fay. Not even Anwen, who for some reason still held a special place in my heart even though she had very nearly been the cause of my death.

But Meghan’s face wasn’t the only thing that had changed. I could sense her body through the thin fabric of her night shift. Gone were the wrinkles and the aging, gray flesh. In its place were soft curves, sweet mountains and valleys, firm and tight and tantalizing in every possible way.

Taken by surprise at young Meghan’s sudden appearance, my breath caught in my throat. At the same time, I was confused. Was this real? Or not?

And did it matter?

Even though her face had grown younger by perhaps sixty years, some things about Meghan le Fay remained the same, she still gave me the same wise, knowing smile.

She looked me up and down once again, her eyes lingering here and there, pausing for the longest near my waist.

I realized that my body had betrayed me, and I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or proud.

“I see you have regained much of your vigor,” Meghan said with a throaty little laugh.

I wondered if she intended to make use of that vigor and couldn’t have said one way or the other how I felt about it. Then she touched the beads at her neck once again, and I was looking once more at old Meghan.

My vigor quickly faded, and the enchantress breathed a disappointed sigh.

“It may still be a little early for that,” she said. “But you’re doing very well. You can help me make breakfast before you get some more rest.”

As I grew stronger and spent more time with the witch, our topics of conversation broadened. I learned that she earned her coin as a healer, mixing potions to remedy all sorts of ills, from arthritis and asthma to indigestion, consumption, gout, toothache, and hives.

As often as not, she did this without any magical enhancements, relying on an extensive knowledge of herbs and natural remedies.

But when it came to the memories I had of her and the questions about my own past, she grew more cautious with her answers.

“Ahh, yes. You remember it correctly,” she said sadly as she sat on her low couch mixing powders. “I took you from your mother, who was dying. There was nothing I could do for her at the time. She had a wasting illness that was beyond all my skills. I looked after you for as long as I could and gave you that medallion when I couldn’t.”

From this, I learned that even in her younger form, Meghan must have been older than she looked. Whether that meant she was actually in her eighties, I couldn’t know, but she had to have been at least in her late thirties, if I’d done my math right.

I followed up with questions about why I remembered a castle, and what happened that meant Meghan could no longer look after me. And, most important of all:

“Why did you give me the amulet? What was so special about me? Who am I to you?”

But these were the very questions Meghan le Fay chose not to answer.

“All in good time,” she would say. “For now, eat up and get some rest. You still have a way to go to recover your best strength.”

It was beyond frustrating. I felt like there were things she knew about me, where I came from, important things I needed to know, and she was keeping them just out of reach. It began to burn in me, to make me feel slightly restless whenever there was a lapse in conversation.

But I couldn’t feel ungrateful. The enchantress had literally saved my life.

As I regained my strength, though, I thought less of what Meghan knew of me and more of what I would do after I was fully recovered. Because another side of me began to burn with anger at Rolf’s betrayal, and shame that I was in this position at all. For a while, though, I didn’t mention this to Meghan, keeping the angry thoughts tucked away and letting them simmer.

Throughout my days and weeks of recovery, Sir George stuck firmly by my side. At first, Meghan thought of him as no more than a scaled, winged pest, and showed her frustration whenever he got under her feet.

But as the days passed, she grew to accept him, and even started to laugh at some of his antics.

At one point, a large moth made its way into the cottage. Sir George launched himself into the air and proceeded to fly in tight circles around the poor moth, spitting small puffs of smoke at the insect before catching it and tearing it to pieces.

Another time, I caught Meghan watching Sir George as he slept, curled up around a single copper coin on the floor, a real miniature dragon, right down to the wisps of smoke coming from his nostrils as he protected his hoard.

The old man in jail had known what he was talking about. Sir George proved his loyalty again and again. I never tried to stop him doing whatever he wanted, and for hours on end, he would disappear through the cottage door or make his way between the shutters.

The first time he did this, I wondered if I would ever see my green and gold miniature dragon again. But then, hours later, sometimes with his snout flecked with blood, he would return, sated and happy, and curl up again on my lap.

At times like that, I imagined that I could sense what he was feeling. Contentment. Joy. But it was more than likely my own imagination.

I was just happy he returned.

17

One unusually sunny day while I was sitting outside, Meghan came out of the cottage and put her hand on my face. I turned to look up into her dark eyes with the dark paint around them, and she studied me.

“It’s seems that your body has indeed been tricked into living, Mordie,” she said softly.

I snorted. “No thanks to Rolf, the executioner, and the King’s Justice.”

Meghan motioned for me to scoot over, and I did, allowing her to sit beside me on the small bench. “What are you planning to do when you have regained your strength?” she asked.

My mood darkened. From the moment I found myself still breathing, I’d thought long and hard about that very idea. At first, I’d had no true answer for her. Just a nebulous sense of anger and rage, and a desire to set things right.

But she continued staring at me, waiting for a response. The witch wasn’t going to be put off.

“Revenge,” I said finally.

It was my first instinct, but there was more to it than finding some sort of justice. I had changed. The happy, opportunistic Mordie of old was gone, replaced by a man who had suffered a betrayal not easily forgotten. Meghan still waited, however, as if she expected me to elaborate. And so I did, telling her my whole story. How I’d lived my life, just doing what I needed to do to get by, following along whichever pathway seemed easiest. I spoke about meeting Rolf, the easy coin he seemed to offer, and how, because of that, because of the choices I’d made, I’d ended up dangling on the end of a rope.

“Rolf was supposed to be my friend. But he wasn’t,” I said.

“He was using you.”

I nodded in agreement. “Yes, and I should have seen it but didn’t. I was foolish, like a boy instead of a man.”

Meghan hadn’t said anything further, and after a while, I realized I was tensing my shoulders and tried to consciously relax.

“He wasn’t wrong, though,” I said finally, ready to admit a core truth. “It was my fault.”

“In what way?” Meghan asked.

“I let him use me,” I said. “Deep down, I knew what Rolf was, and I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be taken in.”

Meghan studied me closely, as she had developed a habit of doing. “And what is different now?” she asked. “If you were to meet another Rolf tomorrow, what would stop him from using you just as the original Rolf did?”

It was an important question. I’d been burned by Rolf and had barely survived. I liked to think it would be enough to avoid the same in the future. But really, it all came down to why he’d been able to deceive me at all. And I had been thinking about this, as well.

“I lacked my own purpose,” I said finally. “I let his purpose guide me and didn’t even blink twice.”

It was a relief to tell her finally, as if speaking it aloud was exactly what I needed to cement the idea of revenge. True, I could have been smarter, but Rolf deserved to be drawn and quartered, and not just for his betrayal of me, but because of what he’d tried to do to Anwen.

Meghan simply nodded, told me to come inside for my dinner and then try to get some rest.

But the conversation continued over the next couple of days. It became clear that she had been thinking things through.

“Rolf used you not because he had a purpose,” she said. “But because he set the rules, and you accepted them and played within them. I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think he would ever have been able to do so if you had your own rules to live by.”

It was a simple thought, but it was like an explosion of clarity in my mind. In one instant, the witch had redefined my whole problem. And she was absolutely right.

I’d never lived by my own rules. Not once. I’d just drifted along, accepting the rules of others as I went.

And in that moment, I knew that had to change.

As I regathered my strength, I thought about everything that had happened. Thought about the questions Meghan had asked, and the answers she had given. I thought also about Rolf, what he had done, and his shit-eating grin as he had left me to my fate.

Meghan asked me many times after what I planned to do. And during that time, I developed an answer.

I was going to live by my own rules. Which meant I had to define what those rules were.

The first one was obvious, but needed to be remembered. The second followed closely on the first.

Make your own damn rules.

Know what you want.

And I knew what I wanted now, beyond a shadow of a doubt. I had needed a purpose. After recovering from a close shave with death, I wasn’t thinking about the purpose of my whole life. Nothing so grand as that.

My focus instead was on my immediate future. And what I wanted was simple.

I was going to make Rolf and his pals pay for the torment they had put me through. And to do that, I needed a plan. Hence, rule number three:

Make a fucking plan.

18

Rolf could have saved me. Instead, he’d left me to my fate, had left me to die. In effect, he might as well have walked me to the gallows himself, placed the noose around my neck, and pulled the hangman’s lever.

But he wasn’t the only one who had earned my ongoing hatred. Bryce and Durstan had played their part as well. If they hadn’t taken it in turns to beat me into a pulp, then I might have been miles away from the storage room when the other Blackcoats had arrived.

I would had been in the wind and would have never been taken to jail at all.

So his cronies would taste my wrath as well, in whatever shape it eventually took.

When I told Meghan, however, she shook her head. “These men, they are Blackcoats, are they not?” she asked. I nodded. “Then they have the King’s backing for all that they do. Right or wrong. Going after them is dangerous. Did I bring you back from the brink of the abyss just so you could fling yourself over the edge once again?”

The more I thought about revenge, the more it consumed me. But I owed Meghan everything, and it seemed important that she give me her blessing. “Do you think I should let them get away with what they did?” I asked, feeling slightly resentful.

The enchantress frowned. “Of course not. But they are Blackcoats. They are the people you’re supposed to go to when seeking justice. Even Lancelot is rumored to be as corrupt as Rolf, even though they hate each other. If they are the cause of the injustice themselves, what are you going to do? Fight all of them?”

“Only if I have to,” I said.

Meghan looked aghast.

Then I shook my head. “For the moment, my focus is on just Rolf and his men. They are the ones who have earned my enmity.” Then I tried a small grin. “Of course, if others happen to cross me in the future, then maybe I’ll add them to the list.”

Later, after Meghan had settled in for the night, she asked, “Are you sure revenge is the way you want to go?”

I could sense her next to me but couldn’t tell if she was wearing the flesh of an old woman or a younger one.

“All my life, I’ve been nothing,” I said. “Just a twig floating along in the river, content to go wherever it took me. I did no real harm, not really. Even the jobs I did for Rolf–he could have got someone else easily enough.” I sighed. “But that life is over. It ended with a rope around my neck and hundreds of strangers applauding their approval.”

Even though it was dark and there was no immediate threat, I balled my hands into fists. “I was inconsequential. I didn’t matter. But now, thanks to you, I live again.” I turned toward her in the dark. “This time, it’s going to mean something.”

Meghan was silent a moment, as if considering my words. Then she said, “And that’s the meaning you wish to attach to your life? Revenge?”

The way she said it, it did sound a little hollow. “Do you have a better idea?” I asked.

I expected that to be the end of the conversation, but to my surprise, Meghan gave me an answer. “Not specifically,” she said. “But revenge–it seems such a small thing. And I can’t help but feel you could do so much more.”

There were echoes of the last conversation I’d had with Rolf in her words, and I wondered what she meant.

On a whim, I asked, “Why did you take me through that marble hallway? Why did you give up part of your life to look after me? And why didn’t you stay?”

She grunted and turned over. “I have my reasons,” she said. But just like before, she didn’t elaborate.

“Revenge is all I have at the moment,” I said to her back. “And until someone offers me a different reason, well…” I trailed off, letting my words hang in the air.

And still Meghan remained silent.

“Otherwise,” I finished, “I am simply a bastard, with no purpose except the one I make.”

19

Shortly after that conversation, I felt healthy enough to resume my life. All I had in the world was my tunic and breeches. I had no coin, nothing to sell. I didn’t even have a pair of boots.

Still, I was ready.

I felt healthy. Almost strong. My injuries had healed, my bruises and contusions fading into nothing more than an unpleasant memory. Even the rope burn around my neck had healed, and if I was a few pounds lighter than I had been before, I was confident that time would take care of that.

My hair had grown long during my convalescence, and I’d let my beard grow out, too. The new look would be good for avoiding being recognized, until at least I could assess the situation in Camelot.

It was time, I decided. When Meghan was off looking after a patient, I spent a few minutes tidying her bed and putting all those things Sir George had bumped out of place to rights.

I could have simply vanished. I’d done it before, mostly to avoid the awkwardness of saying goodbye to various women I perhaps shouldn’t have been with. But Meghan had literally saved my life, and even though she seemed to want to keep some of it secret, we shared a history.

I owed her everything.

So I waited on her couch with Sir George curled up beside me, his wings fluttering every so often as he dreamed his small, dragon-ish dreams.

It wasn’t long before Meghan returned, and one look at me was enough for her to understand.

“You’re leaving,” she stated.

I nodded. “It’s time. Thank you for everything. If it weren’t for you… Well,” I said, but didn’t finish the sentence. We both knew what she’d done for me.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She seemed sad, as if she had grown used to me being there, but she didn’t try to dissuade me.

“Where will you go?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a big city. But I’ll find somewhere, don’t worry. I always do.”

She smiled at this as if she knew what I meant. And she probably did.

“And your quest for revenge? There’s no way I can convince you to give it up?”

I shook my head.

She paused, as if debating whether she should continue or not. “How will you go about it?” she asked finally. “As you said, it’s a big city. How will you even find Rolf and the others?”

It was a question I’d asked myself many times in the last few days. And I had my answer. It took the form of another of those rules I was planning to live by.

Use what you’ve got.

I grinned at the old woman. “By using everything I have,” I said.

Whether she fully understood what I meant, I couldn’t tell. But Meghan le Fay at least caught some of my good humor. Indeed, I was in good spirits despite the anger that had settled over me. Finally, I would be able to set some plans in motion.

Meghan returned my smile. “Well, I have enjoyed your company. You are welcome to return whenever you choose, and if there is any aid you might need from an old enchantress, all you have to do is let me know.” She hesitated once more and glanced at Sir George. “Unbelievable. I think I’m even going to miss your pet rat dragon.”

I smiled at this and stood to leave. But Meghan looked me up and down once again and seemed to come to a decision.

“You are a handsome one,” she said. With that, she touched the jewel on her necklace once more, and just like that, instead of a bent, wizened old lady, I was looking at the young, beautiful version of Meghan again.

She continued to smile, and my heart started to pound in my chest. “You asked me once which of the forms I take is my true one,” she said, removing the shawl from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. “You wanted to know if I am really am an old woman, or if I’m still young.”

Then, she began to remove her other layers of clothing. Moving swiftly and surely, she stepped out of her dress, and then climbed out of more than one layer of undergarment.

In a surprisingly short time, she stood before me in her full, naked glory, wearing nothing but her necklace, her smile, and the dark powder around her eyes.

“Now, I have a question for you,” she said, looking me up and down. “Does it really matter?”

I gazed at her milky white perfection, my eyes feasting on her feminine flesh, pausing at her perfect, well-rounded breasts before sweeping downward, taking in the breadth of her hips, and the tight, dark curls at the cleft between her legs.

It wasn’t the first time a naked woman had stood in front of me, but along every measure I could imagine, none of them compared to Meghan le Fay’s astonishing beauty. I wondered briefly if it was real or if it was the product of her witchery ways, and knew that it was just a reframing of the same question.

My breathing had quickened, and I had to swallow before I could speak. When I did, I heard the rustiness in my voice.

“No,” I managed. “I don’t think it matters at all.”

Meghan’s smile grew even broader, and she held out a hand. “In that case, then perhaps you can postpone your leaving for a little while longer.”

With that, she drew me back to the bed I’d shared with her for so many weeks. Except this time, her intentions and mine were a long way from sleeping.

20

I pushed the beautiful woman onto the bed and climbed on top of her, kissing her lips gently before moving to nibble her earlobe, then working my way down her neck. I had no intention of touching her necklace. As far as I was concerned, it was an item of magic and power. I doubted that anything I could do would activate its enchantment if Meghan didn’t want me to, but it wasn’t worth the risk.

So instead of kissing the slight hollow at the base of her throat, I moved instead to her collarbone, then lower still, until I was teasing her nipples with the tip of my tongue, circling each areola before taking them, one after the other, into my mouth, flicking the tips of each with my tongue.

Despite the perpetual coolness of Meghan’s cottage, I felt my cheeks and forehead flush with unexpected warmth and broke away for a moment, leaning back to admire the view.

Meghan le Fay smiled up at me from the bed. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” she asked, her tone slightly teasing.

I grinned in return. “It’s been a while,” I replied, and it was true. I hadn’t been with a woman since the day before meeting Anwen at the market. Sure, I had been convalescing since then, but it still felt like a long time ago. “But I think I can manage,” I added with a grin.

Still smiling, Meghan plucked at the fabric of my tunic. “You might find it easier if you climbed out of your clothes. Or have you forgotten how it all works?”

I had to laugh. With my thoughts having been largely concerned with hate and revenge, it felt good to share a moment of joy with Meghan, even if she was in truth an ancient crone who kept her youth through magic.

She didn’t look like she was, though. She looked young and tender, a small, slim woman enjoying the first flush of womanhood, a maiden of no more than twenty or so.

And, really, that’s all that mattered. I just didn’t want her to change back halfway through.

With another laugh, I stood and quickly did as Meghan said, leaving my clothes in an untidy pile on the floor next to hers. And then I was back, exploring her smooth perfection with fingers and lips, tasting, kissing, and enjoying every last inch of her.

At first, the enchantress accepted my attentions as if they were due, closing her eyes and simply luxuriating in it all. I could tell my ministrations were having an impact by the sound of her breathing, by the way her cheeks became flushed, and the way she started to writhe on the bed.

It was as if she wanted to do even more but was afraid she might interrupt what I was doing. I noticed, and changed from a methodical exploration to a more teasing approach, using my fingers to caress the skin on each side of her at the same time as I kissed her hips, working my way toward the dark, damp patch of hair… but not quite taking that final step.

For long minutes, I continued in the same vein, enjoying Meghan’s frustration, which was becoming increasingly apparent in the way that she moved.

Finally, she reached the point where she could take it no more. She opened her eyes and looked at me with a mix of irritation and humor, and, showing surprising strength for a small woman like her, tipping me off her and onto my back.

She climbed on top of me, straddling my hips, giving me a taste of her damp womanhood pressed against my length.

I reached for her, intending to lift her hips just high enough for me to enter, but she pushed me back against the sheets with a smile.

“Two can play at that game,” she said, her eyes flashing. “Have you not heard of the dangers of laying with a witch?”

For the briefest of moments, I stared at her. I had indeed heard of the dangers. That laying with a witch could be fatal, that she could drain a man’s strength in one go, and leave him a withered husk with no hope of survival.

I admit, Meghan’s words took some of the wood from my tree. “What do you mean?”

My obvious concern made her laugh even more, but she made no move to hurt me. Instead, she moved herself against me in a practiced manner, which quickly returned me to full strength.

Then, with a smile of satisfaction, she leaned down and kissed me on the lips.

At the same time, she slipped me easily inside her, and, still kissing me, moved her hips in an almost circular motion.

I lay there, enjoying her dampness and warmth, relaxed and excited all at once, and placed my hands on her hips, not to guide her, but just to add another dimension to the sensuality to the moment.

In a surprisingly short time, Meghan’s movements gained an edge of determination, and she leaned back just a little as she concentrated hard. With her breathing becoming ragged and her eyes tightly clenched, she ground herself against me with all her strength, then uttered a stifled, high-pitched moan as she shuddered.

I realized at the same time that she was digging her fingernails into my shoulders. By conscious effort, she relaxed and smiled at me.

“I can’t fault you for stamina,” she said, and started grinding against me again.

I laughed, but at the same time, I didn’t want her to have all the control. So I pushed against one of her legs with my hand until it was straight, and before Meghan could figure out what I was up to, rolled her over without disengaging.

She laughed at the move and nodded her approval as I set my own rhythm.

I paid close attention to the enchantress’ response, adjusting my tempo to what she seemed to like, and in a very short time, she closed her eyes once again, her hands wrapped around behind my shoulders.

Twice more, she shuddered against me, and then it was my turn. After so many weeks without enjoying the touch of a woman’s flesh, I was pleased to have lasted as long as I did. And as I collapsed on the bed beside her, I couldn’t help but grin.

As well as being pleased with my own stamina, I was very happy to note that Meghan had resisted all temptation to transform into her elderly self. What’s more, she hadn’t drained me of vitality, as the stories warned against. Nor had she made the bed come to life and sprout thick tendrils, holding me in place as she transformed into a demon on top of me.

She hadn’t done any of the foul things witches were supposed to enjoy.

When all was said and done, Meghan had acted as a normal woman, a fact for which I was eternally grateful.

Although, at the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if she did try a few not-so-normal things…

It was later than I’d planned when I finally left Meghan’s cottage. Along with the memories and the sure knowledge that I had a friend living at the edge of the city, the enchantress gave me another token to hold onto as well.

It was wooden amulet much like the first, although this one hadn’t been worn down from years of use. It depicted a finely wrought image of the King’s Castle on one side, and on the other, the detail of a dragon in flight. It was beautiful work, and at first, I had tried to refuse it, but she reminded me I’d had to snap my old one in two.

“Is this enchanted, then?” I asked, studying the amulet more closely. “Like the last one?”

But the enchantress, dressed in nothing more than a sheet wrapped about her body, shook her head.

“Not like that, no. This one is a little more general.” She smiled once again, and I knew without any doubt that I would be dreaming of her for the rest of my life. Not just the dreams I already had, of her running through a polished hallway, and of presenting my last amulet. But a new one. One that encompassed all that she had done for me over the past few weeks.

“Think of this one as a lucky charm,” she continued. “Rub it for good luck, whenever you think you might need it, and it will help to ensure that events turn out as they should.”

I looked at her and could barely contain my gratitude. I’d told her of my habit of doing just that with the previous amulet, the one that had saved my life.

I didn’t know if that was why she was giving me this one, nor did it matter. It was an exceptional gesture, and I swore I would value this new amulet beyond all else, until I’d worn it all the way through.

There was only one more thing to say as I placed the leather cord around my neck.

“Thank you,” I said.

21

Camelot was known for its perpetually dreary weather, especially during the winter, but even now, halfway through spring, it seldom let up. Only in the height of summer did the clouds part for any real length of time, and then there was always a chance of drizzle, if not heavier rain.

The townsfolk had become used to it, accepting the mud and damp as a matter of course, wearing heavy coats in the winter, and lighter ones at all other times.

I’d lost my coat at about the same time I’d lost my boots and gained my miniature dragon. So I trudged through the mud with bare feet, trying not to think about the sticky, wet substance leaching between my toes. Sir George rode on my shoulder, sometimes curled into a ball and sometimes standing proud and watching all around.

If he drew the occasional glance or look of disapproval, I didn’t care.

Fortunately, the day wasn’t as bad as it might have been. The clouds above were as thick as usual but seemed content to keep their moisture to themselves.

It was cool in just my old tunic and breaches, but not so much that I struggled to keep warm.

Anyway, my main profession, if I had one, was that of a thief. And there were plenty of opportunities even in the outer part of the city. A careless afternoon drunk sprawled in the mud provided a replacement pair of boots and a mostly empty coin pouch as well. He was smaller than me, so he got to keep his coat, but another man about my size was careless with his, leaving it draped over a window ledge at a tavern.

Replacing my satchel wasn’t as simple. The leather-worked items, while fairly common, were treated with considerable respect. They were valuable, both for themselves and for whatever they carried. So I took some time plucking coins from poorly guarded pouches as I wandered, and by the time I reached the inner wall that separated the newer part of the city from the older section, I’d gathered enough coin to buy one.

So I did, at the first leather worker’s store I found, and even bartered well enough to come out with a decent amount of change.

In this, I think Sir George might have even helped. The leather worker couldn’t stop looking at my scaled friend. And for his part, Sir George seemed to take a dislike to the man, standing tall on my shoulder, his wings unfurled in a threat display as he hissed his disapproval.

Rat dragons weren’t dangerous to a full-grown man, but having a dragon in miniature glare at him like that seemed to at least distract the leather worker from the task at hand.

In the same way as I’d gathered my coin, I also collected a small number of daggers and various other blades that I hid about myself, as well as one of those long, knob-ended clubs that had become popular with Blackcoats and normal townsfolk alike.

There was just one thing missing. In my previous life, I had shied away from wearing a sword. I’d never really needed one in the past, but that was when I’d lived my life according to the plans of others. If I was to follow through as I intended, there was a good chance I would find myself at odds with someone.

And if that someone possessed a sword, as Rolf and his men did, then I would be a fool to go up against them with only a knife.

But acquiring a sword was a problem for later. As of right then, I had been walking for some considerable time and wanted a break. I found myself smiling at the last words Meghan had said to me.

“Don’t forget to look after yourself,” she’d said, as if she was my mother instead of an exotic witch. “Make sure you get enough food in you, and get plenty of rest.”

Despite my expectation, it turned out I wasn’t as strong as I thought. My legs were starting to wobble already.

So I found a tavern and ordered a hot meal before turning in for the night.

Over the next several days, I followed Meghan’s advice, making sure I ate well and got plenty of rest. At the same time, I quietly made contact with many of those I’d known from my previous life, while keeping my head down and away from the notice of the Blackcoats. For the most part, I visited different taverns, renewing my friendships with the keepers and the serving girls who worked there.

The first place I tried was the Twin Barrels alehouse. I knew the owner, a surly man who spoke in nothing but grunts and had grown deaf over the years. More importantly, I knew the serving girls, too.

I wandered in just before noon, looking for a buxom, curly haired woman named Rosylin. Spotting her, I approached her from behind and said lightly, “What’s a man got to do to get an ale around here?”

She spun around, looking put out, but then her eyes landed on my face, taking in my beard and then long hair. Then, she looked into my eyes, and in a moment, her irritation turned into delight. She greeted me with a broad and slightly saucy grin.

“Mordie!” she cried. “We thought you were dead!”

I’d known Rosylin almost as long as I’d known the Twin Barrels’ owner. She was always up for a tumble, and from my point of view, that came with free lodging—and she was more than willing to invite a friend along for the ride. In this way, I had gotten to know Maisie and Florence as well, the other two servers at the alehouse.

I grinned at her. “Not yet,” I said. “Although I wouldn’t mind if you kept that fact to yourself. Or I might be at risk of it coming true.”

Always one for gossip, Rosylin raised an eyebrow and sidled close, sensing a juicy story. But I shrugged it away.

“Just a misunderstanding with one of the Blackcoats,” I said. Then I patted her bottom in a proprietary way and said, “Speaking of which, you wouldn’t happen to know what that bastard Rolf is up to these days, would you? Him and his thugs, Bryce and Durstan?”

At the names of the three Blackcoats, Rosylin’s smile faded. “If it’s them three you’ve had your misunderstanding with, I’d do what I can to sort it out pretty quick. Either that or lie low until it’s forgotten about. Those are among the worst of the lot.”

“I know it,” I said to her. “Which is why I’m looking to find out what they’re up to.”

Rosylin’s smile returned, and she pinched my cheek with just as much ownership as when I’d patted her behind. “I’ll keep an eye and ear open for you,” she said. Then her smile grew broader. “Now, you’re going to sit yourself down and have an ale or two, and when things quiet themselves down, how about you and me pop upstairs for a bit?”

So I sat in the tavern, watching the ebb and flow of customers and enjoying my ale. Everything felt more vibrant than it had before my death, and I took notice of things in a different way.

For instance, the creak of the dusty floorboards in front of the bar, the thin man who looked like a scribe sitting alone in his own corner, watching the customers with a keen eye, much like I was doing. The snippets of conversation that you heard when no one thought you were listening. I didn’t hear anything too important just then, but I’d never been much of an eavesdropper. Perhaps I should have been. Rosylin seemed to have summed up Rolf’s character in a short sentence, and she’d probably learned it from listening to gossipers all day long. In addition to soliciting her help, I realized I had been missing an opportunity in this area and vowed to do better. To keep my ear to the ground, so to speak.

I also noticed the way Rosylin, Maise, and Florence interacted with other customers. I wasn’t a jealous guy, never had been, but it made me a little bit happy to see that Rosylin didn’t allow other men to pat her bottom or flirt with her too long before shutting them down. She’d never been standoffish like that with me. It could have been because I was there watching now and waiting for her to find a few moments, but maybe not. If other customers were used to such liberties, it would have pissed them off to be swatted away today.

In any case, I wasn’t going to ask about other men in Rosylin’s life because I didn’t want to know the answer. Again, never been a jealous man, but I didn’t go looking for opportunities to be, either.

At some point, Sir George disappeared from his perch on my shoulder, and I assumed he was going hunting.

After about an hour, when only a handful of customers sat chatting together at a far table, she walked over to my table and smiled affectionately. “This is about as empty as it’s going to get. I’m ready to do something other than pour ale… perhaps I can serve you in another way, Mordie?”

She placed her hands on the table and leaned over me, giving me a full view of her breasts nearly spilling out of her dress. I smiled, nodded, and abandoned the rest of my ale to walk toward the stairway.

Maise and Florence both followed us with their eyes, and I as put my hand on the doorway and gestured for Rosylin to ascend first, Maise caught my eye and winked. I winked back and then followed Rosylin upstairs.

The serving wench had always been eager, but as soon as we made our way to the third floor of the inn portion of the building, she grabbed my hand and pulled me against a closed door.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” she said with a wicked smile. “I was afraid I’d never get to do this again.”

And then she stood on her tiptoes and crushed her mouth to mine. I grabbed her bottom and pulled her into me, returning the kiss.

I pulled back and grinned. “Me too, Rosylin. Me too.”

Just then, the door behind us opened, and we hurried to step out of the way. A grizzly looking man dressed only in his tunic stumbled out of the room beyond. He blinked a few times, saw us gripped in each other’s embrace, and then turned around, grumbling something about ‘peace’ and ‘youngsters.’

His door slammed shut, rattling the walls.

Rosylin and I laughed quietly.

“Never you mind old Wallace,” Rosylin said. “He’s as cranky as a blacksmith forced to take a bath on Sunday. Speaking of which, I better tell Maise to bring him some fresh water. He works evenings and sleeps late in the day.”

She pulled me toward another room and opened the door. Leaving me there, she said, “Be back in a wink,” and left.

I closed the door behind her and shed my clothing, pleased that my body was no longer riddled with the bruises of my beating and attempted hanging.

The room held a large enough bed, with a wash basin and a place to hang a coat. I didn’t bother. Instead, I dropped my clothes to the floor and tossed myself on the mattress. I’d used this room before, and it was my favorite in the inn because of the bed, which felt softer than the others.

Before I’d got settled, Rosylin returned, and she wasn’t alone. Maise stood behind her, grinning.

I grinned back. The afternoon was shaping up to be more fun than I’d expected.

22

The girls quickly came in and closed the door.

“You look different, Mordie,” Maise said. “You’re thinner. And a beard! What happened to you?”

I grabbed her hand and pulled her close. “Nothing a little bit of Maise can’t fix. Will you still kiss me with a beard?”

She grinned wickedly. “I like it.” Then she leaned down over me, falling onto the bed, dress and all, and planted a deep, sensuous kiss on my lips.

Behind her, Rosylin laughed, and when I looked at her, saw that she’d shed her clothing already. Her body was a tad softer than Meghan’s, a bit curvier, but the curves were still in all the right places. Her long brown hair tumbled down over her shoulders like silk, and I took a good look at her as Maise began to nuzzle my neck.

Still laughing, Rosylin pushed Maise aside and straddled my hips, pushing me back onto the pillow and rubbing herself against me. “What do you want, Mordie?” she asked, trailing her finger down my chest. I watched as her finger went lower, and lower, and finally stopped between where our bodies met.

I glanced at Maise, who had rolled to the side and was slowly pulling her dress off her shoulders. I nodded to her. “Help her out of her clothes.”

Rosylin smiled again and reached over to tug Maise’s dress down over her breasts. Maise’s were smaller than Rosylin’s, but no less enticing because they were perfectly formed and perky. I moved Maise’s dark blond hair out of the way and leaned over to take one of those in my mouth. Her hand went to my hair, and she signed contentedly as I teased her nipple with my tongue.

Rosylin continued helping Maise out of her clothing, with me impeding somewhat by trying to touch as much of both women as I could.

When they were both naked, Maise got closer and stood on her knees so that both her breasts were in my face. I kissed in between them and then moved on to her right breast, which I hadn’t yet been able to reach with my tongue.

But Rosylin grabbed my hair and pulled me toward her for a deep kiss instead. When she pulled away, her eyelids were hooded with desire. “What else do you want?” she asked huskily.

I ran my hand up and down her smooth thigh, all the way to the sparse curls at her apex. Then I put my other arm around Maise’s waist and pulled her in close. “Surprise me,” I whispered.

Rosylin grinned and tilted her head to the side. “Hm…” she bit her lip and glanced at Maise. “Well, I’ve never done this before…” she leaned over and kissed Maise on the mouth.

Maise looked a bit surprised at first, and then she kissed Rosylin back, putting her hand on her face. It was a surprise for me, too. As they deepened the kiss and began tonguing each other, I continued to touch them, running my hands down their waists, into their hair. And my cock became even harder, if that was possible. Rosylin, who was still straddling me, must have noticed because she smiled and began touching Maise’s breasts.

I watched until I couldn’t stand just being an observer. Lifting Rosylin’s leg, I slid down on my back until she was now sitting over my face.

And I tasted her, running my tongue over her swollen lips while I kept my eyes open, watching the girls kiss and their breasts occasionally brushing against each other. Rosylin rolled her hips over my face, and I turned my attention to her. She was already wet, and my ministrations only added to her arousal.

Diving my tongue inside her, I rolled it around as she moaned, and then I drew it out to kiss all the way up to her most sensitive spot. One of her hands came down to wrap itself in my hair and hold me there. That’s what she wanted, and so I obliged, teasing the sensitive bud there much like I had teased Maise’s nipples.

After a few moments, I felt the girls moving more vigorously above me, and I glanced up to see that Rosylin had her fingers between Maise’s legs and was pleasuring her there.

I’d had two women before, but mostly they had paid more attention to me than to each other. This was new, but I loved it and wanted to experiment more. It was slightly scandalous, which only made it more fun, and it went along with Rule Number One—make your own damn rules.

As I pleasured Rosylin with my tongue, she moaned more frequently, her thighs shaking slightly with her impending climax.

But I wanted more (Rule Number Two) and stopped just before she came. Rosylin burst away from kissing Maise to glare at me.

But I smiled. “Let’s try something different?”

Both girls had swollen lips from all their kissing, and their hair had become tousled. Gently, I moved Rosylin off me. “Lay down, both of you.”

Then, I showed them what I wanted, positioning them—with peals of sensuous laughter—until both girls were on their sides facing the middle of the bed, with Rosylin’s head between Maise’s legs. When I laid down to put my face back between Rosylin’s legs, I placed my hips in front of Maise so we formed a sort of circle.

Both girls seemed to understand what I was after, and soon, we all had our mouths full of someone else. I picked up where I left off with Rosylin, she pleasured Maise, and Maise took my cock in her warm, wet mouth.

In a few moments, all of us were squirming and moaning.

Surprisingly, Maise came first, taking her mouth off my cock and gasping as Rosylin brought her to completion. I knew well what Rosylin’s mouth could do, and it made me even harder to think of her doing that to Maise.

Then it was Rosylin’s turn. She shuddered, her legs clamping around my head as she came. I continued to lick and suck until she squirmed away from me, too sensitive to take anymore.

Maise had resumed working on me, and while concentrating on Rosylin had helped take my mind off what was happening down there, when Rosylin sprawled out beside me, I had to move away from Maise. It wasn’t quite time yet.

Rosylin had a lazy grin on her face, but when she caught my eye, her look was sultry. By now, I didn’t know which way on the bed was up, but both girls laughed and hovered over me. Rosylin kissed me, and I tasted Maise on her lips. It was sweet and sensuous, and I liked it. It seemed they’d already worked out who would get me first, because while I was kissing Rosylin, Maise lowered herself onto me.

She set a slow pace at first, riding me quietly and in a circular fashion. When she increased her pace, I put a hand on her hip, just to feel more of her. The girl was beginning to sweat, and when I looked at her, her eyes were closed in concentration.

Rosylin sat up then and moved to straddle my legs, behind Maise. Then she reached around and cupped the smaller girl’s breasts, pinching her nipples as she rode me. I put both hands on her hips, then, and had to resort to counting so that I wouldn’t come too early.

Maise came with a sharp gasp, sitting down on me hard and bucking while she rode out the wave. Her climax lasted several seconds, her entire body shuddering while Rosylin seemed to support her.

When Maise finished, she collapsed onto my chest. Then, smiling, she rolled off me and put her hand on my chest.

Then, I sat up and pulled Rosylin toward me. Although I had stamina, this session was pushing it to my limit. Rosylin sat down on my cock, sliding in slowly as if every bit of me was exactly what she wanted, her mouth open and her eyes closed. I put my arms around her waist, and she began to bounce up and down, grinding herself into my hips, her breasts bouncing in front of my face.

I held onto her, pulling her down on top of me vigorously, gritting my teeth as I tried to wait for her.

She began to make noises that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but pleasure, small, harsh, wordless cries that drove me mad. I growled loudly as she came, holding the shuddering woman in my arms. And then with two more thrusts into her, I came with a harsh yell of my own.

When we were done, the three of us lay tangled up together, panting and sweaty.

Maise kissed my cheek and laughed. “I like this, can we do it more often?”

I laughed. “Anytime,” I said huskily.

Rosylin sat up halfway and looked into my eyes. “You know you have friends here, right?”

I raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. Our relationship had always been more of the fun romp sort, and we rarely talked about anything too deep after lovemaking. But I didn’t mind. In fact, her words were nice to hear, and I said so. “What made you say that?”

She reached up and ran her fingers through my short beard. “I thought we’d lost you, you know. And it’s good to see that we haven’t. But you look a bit haunted, Mordie.”

“I’m okay,” I said, and I meant it. “I almost died, if you want to know the truth, but I’ve never felt better.”

That was a tiny lie. I was a bit tired after the day, and after my time with the girls, but it was all worth it.

I kissed Rosylin and then settled back down on the bed. “You’ll keep an ear open about what we talked about earlier?” I asked her.

Rosylin smiled. “About Rolf and his gang? Of course, love, if that’s what you want. But don’t go getting yourself killed. I don’t want to get that news again.”

I laughed. “Trust me, it’s not what I want, either.”

Maise wanted to know what we were talking about, so Rosylin filled her in on what she knew, which wasn’t much. But I wanted to keep it that way for now. Meghan knew everything, and I felt it only right that she did, but I didn’t need all the women in my life worrying about every step I took. As the girls stood to get dressed, I watched them lazily, feeling drowsy and content. They both kissed me, and I was asleep before they’d left.

I slept soundly, and at some point in the night, Rosylin came in and settled beside me. I smiled and pulled her into my arms, then drifted back off to sleep, hoping that we could have some more fun in the morning.

23

Other tavern girls responded in much the same way Rosylin did, although Cassandra from the Wooden Bucket turned white and might have collapsed to the floor if I hadn’t caught her.

“You’re dead,” she said. She literally thought she was seeing a ghost.

“Not by a long way,” I said. And from there, once she recovered, I elicited her help in my quest to dig up information on Rolf and his boys.

It turned out that news of my death had spread quickly, and I was surprised to find out how many people had grieved at my passing. Perhaps it was that, or maybe the pleasant surprise at seeing me walk in the door that made them so willing to listen for the information I sought.

Or perhaps they had always been willing, and I’d simply never put it to the test. Either way, by the end of the first week, I had enlisted the aid of the women from six different taverns. As an added bonus, more than just Rosylin wanted to reassure herself I was real. I’d never lacked for female company before, but now it seemed I wasn’t allowed to sleep by myself.

Not that I was complaining. In fact, quite the opposite.

It felt good to be alive.

There was just one thing that put a slight dampener on my bedroom activities. Sir George.

Turned out, he liked to watch.

He hadn’t been there that afternoon with Rosylin and Maise, but when Cassandra had invited me to share her bed, he planted himself on the windowsill and watched our fun with interest. He even screeched a couple of times when we began to make noise. Cassandra didn’t quite know what to think, so I tried to take her mind off the rat dragon by making her the center of attention for a while, and she soon forgot the tiny scaled creature.

Anyway, it wasn’t just the tavern staff I spoke with. I made a point of reconnecting with everyone I knew, from cobblers to bread sellers, beggars to clothiers.

I also reached out to the street urchins, the kids who lived on the streets eking out whatever existence they could. I even found my old friend Samuel again.

Nor was I averse to striking up friendships with some new people. My network was growing, and I again wondered why I’d never thought to do make it happen before my death.

By the end of that first week, I had lifted enough coin from various victims to approach a blacksmith who specialized in blades. A portly man with burn scars covering his thick fingers and a permanently ruddy complexion from years at the forge, he promised to deliver just the flexible, slim yet strong, useful sword that I wanted.

I didn’t ask him if he knew anything about Rolf and his cronies, not right away, but instead spent time chatting, just getting to know him. His name was Garath, and he’d learned his trade at his father’s knee, but times had grown tough recently when the King’s personal guard started to get their main weapons made by a competitor.

“Not a smart move, if you ask me,” Garath said. He worked as we spoke, pounding hot metal into the shape of a blade without conscious thought, his fingers and hands knowing their work through long practice.

“And why is that?” I asked, even though I was sweating standing in the heat of his forge.

“They’ve gone for that fool Barry Vell’s swords. Damned fool doesn’t temper his steel properly, not by a long way. You can’t tell just by looking, but a sword made that way is going to be brittle. You see, steel like what you need for a sword, it has to have a certain amount of give. It has to flex, not a lot, but enough so that if it struck a hard blow, it won’t shatter into pieces.”

It was interesting to hear, and not just because it showed that I’d made the right choice. Garath was an expert at his forge. He knew his stuff, and I was more than happy to pay him my hard-earned coin to get the best weapon I could.

“So why did the King’s guard start going to him?” I asked.

“Damned if I know,” Garath said, shrugging his huge shoulders. Using a pair of tongs, he raised the piece he was working on and peered at it with a practiced eye. It was a curved blade, and even I could tell that it was going to be beautiful. A work of art, almost. He had folded the steel back on itself many times, and I could see the results of that layering in the blade.

Apparently satisfied with his work, he dipped the blade in a bucket of oil and held it there for some seconds.

“Damned if I know,” he repeated. “Thing is, it isn’t about cost, because that fool charges more than I do. Although he is a bit quicker,” Garath admitted grudgingly. “But that’s because of the shortcuts he takes.”

We talked a bit more, eventually working our way back to the sword he was going to make for me. I asked for one of the curved blades he was making as well, for no other reason than I liked the look of it. We agreed on a price, and Garath put down his work for long enough to shake my hand.

“It’ll be done a week from tomorrow. Come back then and you can pick it up.”

When I returned to pick up my sword and my curved blade, I saw that Garath had taken the time to craft a scabbard for each, or at least had contracted that part of the work out.

I paid over my coin and drew the sword. I had to admire the man’s workmanship. It was a beautiful weapon, straight and deadly, with a keen edge and a point to be taken seriously. Yet even though I was a novice, even I could tell this was a practical weapon, made to kill. Despite its beauty, it was not a decorative piece.

“Beautiful,” I murmured. “Now, I guess I’d better learn how to use it.”

At this, Garath laughed, a big, belly laugh that seemed to come out of nowhere. “Or you could go the way our good King did and get the thing enchanted.”

He said it flippantly, not really meaning his words, but it got me thinking.

Perhaps he had a point. Perhaps Meghan could work her magic on the metal, enough to give me an advantage if and when I might need it.

At the same time, it probably still made sense to learn how to use it normally. So, as well as picking pockets, talking to townsfolk, and generally setting my plans into motion, I spent a good chunk of each day thereafter practicing with my new weapon.

24

Information began heading my way. The news collected by my various contacts proved both comprehensive and full of unexpected detail. Before I’d been back in the city for a full fortnight, I learned that Rolf and his followers had been very busy indeed.

I’d had very little insight into their activities before my fateful meeting with the King’s Justice and his executioner. I only knew about those jobs Rolf had offered me. For all I knew, he could have been just as busy then as he was now, and I simply hadn’t known of it.

Rosylin, Cassandra, Samuel, and many others were more than happy to fill me in.

Rolf and his boys were leaning heavily on the owners of a new brothel in town, demanding a share of the revenue as the price of doing business. He was also providing Blackcoats as guards to a gambler who’d lost far more than he could afford, charging that gambler’s wealthy merchant father a fortune to protect the son, even though the bookie involved could more easily have been warned off.

Interestingly, it seemed that Rolf–or at least Durstan at Rolf’s behest–was responsible for Garath losing his contract. Durstan had accepted an almighty bribe from Garath’s competitor and had put the word out that Garath was the one using substandard techniques.

And this was just the tip of the iceberg. There were smuggling scams, extortion rackets, and all sorts of dubious activities, all of which I’d been aware of for most of my life, but only indirectly.

Never had I known how far they all went, or how organized it all was.

It seemed that Rolf was at the heart of most of the crime in the city, not the petty thieves like me. Even the street urchins indirectly reported to him, their thefts collected by a shadowy figure in the sewers and effectively taxed by Rolf and his men.

Nor did it end there. From what the girls said, it seemed that nearly a third of all the Blackcoats were in on the game. It was like there were two distinct groups of them in operation, with one answerable to Sir Lancelot, the official Captain of the Blackcoats, and the other answerable to Rolf.

And then I went to see Ember.

Ember was a willowy, shy woman who worked at the Goose and Quill. It was this tavern that served the hot cocoa drink I’d told Anwen about so many weeks before. At first glance, Ember was quieter in comparison to some of the others, but she had quick eyes and a laugh that was like music in a harsh, difficult world. Her husband, a friendly giant named Big Jacob, owned the tavern, but although I hadn’t known her long, I thought that it was Ember’s brain that kept them in business.

“It’s always been like this,” she told me one evening when I stopped in for some cocoa and a chat. “It’s almost as if he’s the King on both levels. Like he has done it on purpose, set Rolf up to be in charge of the crime. You know, to make sure all of the coin goes to his coffers, and nobody else’s.”

“So,” I said thoughtfully, “either way, the King benefits. He taxes everyone through legal means, and then he gets a cut from the jobs that Rolf and his boys get up to.”

“That’s about the way of it,” Ember said, leaning on the bar for a moment and smiling, and then she lowered her voice. “Everyone knows the King has been hiding a secret evil for years, but no one knows what it is. Maybe it has something to do with those cries that come from the caverns below the castle. Mordie, the King is just as dangerous as his Blackcoats, don’t forget that. But although he’s the King and no one could do anything about it, he still doesn’t advertise what’s happening, and neither does Rolf. I only know because I hear things, you know.”

I stared at her, the cooling hot cocoa drink in my hands all but forgotten.

Of course! It all made so much sense. I was surprised nobody had made the connection before.

At the same time, I wasn’t surprised. I mean, it wasn’t the type of thing most people considered. That your King, the ruler of all the lands as far as the eye could see, the man responsible for protecting his people against invading armies, wyrms, and other pestilences, could also be the man at the root of all the misery as well.

“Does that change things?” Ember asked, watching me closely. Of everyone I’d spoken to, only she seemed to understand that my questions had a purpose. That I was looking to settle some score between myself and Rolf. Yet that hadn’t stopped her from doing all she could to help me.

I thought at first that it did make a difference. How could I get my revenge against Rolf if he was under direct orders from the King? Then I shook my head.

“No,” I decided. “It doesn’t matter. Rolf is a Blackcoat. He works for the King either way.” Then I thought some more. “And besides, I get the feeling that even if it’s true, even if Rolf’s schemes work to benefit the King, not all of them do. He had me join him in a job, a simple kidnapping for ransom. But it turned out that the target, a woman named Anwen, had caught the King’s eye.”

Even after so many weeks, I could picture Anwen’s beautiful face very clearly. The strength of character, the willingness to fight. I had my heart set on revenge against Rolf and the others, but not against her. For Anwen, I wished only for a chance to apologize.

“Given that, the King would never have approved of her kidnapping. At least in that instance, Rolf was acting alone.”

Ember looked at me thoughtfully. “It makes sense, because I think Rolf has some sort of network that he uses to find out information, but I’m not sure who. Could be anybody. But he uses them to find out where he can make a profit.”

Again, I was slightly stunned. Of course he did. Rolf couldn’t keep up with a whole city. He needed help. And he likely got his information much like I was doing, only on a larger scale.

Ember put her hand on mine. “Can you use some of this to your advantage, then?” she asked wisely.

“I absolutely can.” I glanced at Big Jacob, hoping he didn’t mind that his wife was practically holding my hand. Although that hadn’t stopped me before, and in that sense I’d always made my own damn rules, but I didn’t want to be too obvious about it. No point in starting a fight. Ember followed my gaze. She laughed then, and it was a musical sound.

“Mordie,” she said, still smiling. “Did you think Big Jacob was my husband?”

I nodded. “He isn’t?”

She shook her head, and a lock of her blond hair fell out of place. “No,” she smiled. “He isn’t. Jacob is my brother.”

I grinned. Well, that was a nice turn of events.

25

It turned out that Ember wasn’t shy where it counted, and before I left, she pulled me into a back storeroom, behind a curtain. I leaned against her, pushing her onto a table crowded with bowls, cups, and various other utensils.

“You’re different than the other guys, Mordie,” she said, her mouth close to mine.

I smiled and touched that lock of hair that had fallen out of place. “How so?”

“I can sense things about people. You… listen better than most. And there’s intelligence behind your eyes.”

I laughed inwardly. It wasn’t exactly how I thought of myself. If I had been more intelligent to begin with, Rolf would have never bested me as he had. But I didn’t say that to Ember. She was in my arms, and I was pressed up against her willowy body. No way was I going to jeopardize anything with her in this moment. So I said, “I’m just a simple man. I don’t even have a last name.”

She laughed. “Normally, I would think that was a comment designed to get me to pity you, to get me into bed, but I think I believe you, Mordie. But what I said still stands. You are more than you seem. And it doesn’t matter to me that you don’t have a last name.” She leaned in and kissed me then, and her lips were soft and inviting.

I kissed her back, eagerly, thinking that she was a good surprise, as well. When we pulled away for air, Ember smiled and pushed her hips into mine. “I only have a moment…” She trailed off, leaving no doubt though about what she wanted. Her heart was beating so quickly I could feel it in my body. She shifted again and her hands went to my breeches, which she began loosening and pulling down.

Breathing heavily, with my own heart pounding away, I raised her skirts up to her hips, letting my fingers brush against the skin of her thighs. Then, I lifted her and sat her on the edge of the table, pushing the other items out of the way. A bowl fell off the other end and clattered to the floor, but neither one of us cared in that moment.

Stepping between her spread legs, I lifted her skirts all the way to her hips and pushed a thin undergarment aside. At the same time, she wrapped her hand around my shaft. She rubbed me against her entrance for a moment and then nodded. I slid into her carefully, not wanting to hurt her. But while Ember closed her eyes and seemed to be concentrating, when I was fully inside her, she smiled and looked at me.

“Only have a moment,” she said, urging me onward. “Jacob could come in at any time.

I didn’t need to be told again. I began moving inside her, thrusting against her while she wrapped her legs around my waist. The table was at a perfect height, and I leaned over her, bracing myself with my legs while increasing the pace.

And Ember seemed to be able to keep up with me, for very soon she was panting and moaning in a little breathy voice. I grinned as she gripped my arms in her strong hands and then leaned back to brace herself against the table.

“Harder, Mordie!” she said.

And I obliged. The table began to creak with the movement, but it held as she climaxed with a soundless cry. I watched her face tighten and her eyes close while I pounded harder into her for my own release.

It was exquisite and felt like an explosion. Maybe it was the location or the imminent danger of being caught, but I came with a wild, harsh grunt, holding onto her to steady my suddenly weak knees.

We took a moment to revel in our pleasure, and then, sadly, I had to let her go. After rearranging our clothing, Ember waited for me to exit, and then followed a minute later. Before leaving, I turned back to look at her. The woman was beautiful with her cheeks flushed and her hair messed up. She caught me looking and smiled before returning to her work. I left the tavern with a smile of my own, thinking that I really did like hot cocoa, but that it held nothing to the charms of its inventor.

26

Despite the flow of information from the various tavern girls, it was Samuel, the street urchin, who gave me the first piece of information I could really use.

I’d arranged to meet him at the edge of the market, behind the last row of tents before the more permanent stalls began. I waited for nearly an hour in a light drizzle, the hood of my coat over my head, and had just about decided he was not going to show when the furtive figure of the boy emerged from the shadows.

He sidled over, stood next to me, and began talking as if to someone else, never looking at me directly.

“Got something you might like to hear,” he said.

“Let’s have it,” I replied.

“Coin first,” he said, and held out his hand.

Without a word, I deposited a single silver piece in his hand, expecting him to make it disappear in the blink of an eye.

Instead, he simply kept his hand where it was. “It’s worth more than that,” he said.

I thought Samuel was either just trying his luck, or he really did have something good. Either way, he wouldn’t say another word unless I paid him his fee.

In the end, I had to laugh. I figured the boy to be no more than twelve. Even so, I couldn’t help but admire him. He was a born survivor and reminded me of myself at his age.

He even had a cheeky grin as I handed over another silver, which he clutched and snaked his hand away.

“If it’s something I already know, then you owe me,” I said.

“It ain’t,” he said, full of confidence.

“Well? What is it?”

But before he told me what he had learned, he first said something else.

“I was there, you know,” he said.

“What? Where?”

“At the gallows. On hanging day. That time when they strung you up.”

There was a peculiar tone in his voice that I couldn’t quite make out. At the same time, it seemed a surreal thing for Samuel to say. That day had, in a very real sense, marked the end of the life I’d led. The memories of it were clear my head, and decidedly unpleasant.

Yet, it hadn’t been the end after all, but rather the beginning of something different.

“Oh?” I said.

“Yeah,” he replied. He was silent for a time, as if chewing things over. “Did you do it?” he asked finally.

I knew what he was asking and felt the anger burning inside me. Of all the things that had happened that day, Rolf’s betrayal, the hanging itself, it was the King’s Justice’s words that stung the most.

The expectation that those words reflected what happened stung worse than the rope burn around my neck.

“What if I did?” I asked.

To my surprise, Samuel’s expression hardened. “Then I ain’t sure I want to tell you anything,” he said. “The way I figure it, most of us have it hard enough already, with people doing bad stuff to one another. Thieving is one thing. But I ain’t got no truck with those who hurt women. Raping and what not.”

I was liking the boy more with each passing moment. Even though he still wasn’t looking my way, I gave him a smile.

“Good for you,” I said. “And no, it wasn’t true. The reason I got caught at all was that I was trying to save her–a woman named Anwen–from others who would have hurt her.”

Then I grew serious. “That said, I was in part to blame. It was the woman you stole the coin pouch from, if you remember. I used it to start a conversation and led her into an ambush. The plan was to hold her just a short time and return her unharmed the moment we had our ransom.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If even that crosses your line, then I understand. Keep your silver and be gone with you. But consider that if I hadn’t gone along with it, Rolf would have found someone else, and they might not have tried to act as I did.” I shrugged and spoke a disappointing truth. “They might even have chosen to join in.”

I lapsed into silence and waited for Samuel to respond. I knew I could have argued that his actions had also been part of the set up. And that if he was to hold me accountable for putting a woman in danger, then he should hold himself accountable also.

But I didn’t. Samuel was just a boy. And he wouldn’t have been involved at all if it weren’t for me.

After a moment, Samuel nodded. “I guess, if you’re telling me the truth, I can live with that.”

I wanted to tell him that he was doing it right, that it was good that he was already trying to define the type of life he would live. I knew that if I’d done the same at his age, then Rolf would never have been able to use me as he had.

In the end, I figured it was too complex a thought to convey and settled for something simpler, but one in which I hoped he would find meaning.

“You’re a good kid, Samuel. And you’re doing it right. Now, tell me. What have you found out?”

This time, the boy did turn toward me. He seemed almost excited to share what he’d learnt.

“I can’t say about Rolf or your friend Durstan. But your man Bryce? He has a pattern. Every Tuesday, maybe an hour from noon, he visits the dock master’s office. He’s got some sort of scam going where some of the smugglers don’t pay their docking fee. It keeps their names off the books or something, at the cost of a bribe. Bryce–he goes to collect it.”

It was just the type of information I needed.

“Every Tuesday?” I asked.

“An hour before noon. Like clockwork.”

Perfect, I thought.

I dipped into my coin pouch and handed over an extra silver. Samuel looked at me with surprise but took the unexpected offering without a word. I figured he would slink off back into the shadows, to continue his life as before, but it seemed he had something else he wanted to say.

I didn’t ask. Just painted a look of expectation on my face and waited.

Finally, it came out. “You ain’t the first person I know that got himself hanged,” he said. He seemed vaguely troubled as he spoke, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to think. “And part of me thought you deserved it. Because of you tripping me up in the mud. But I couldn’t watch as you bounced and jerked at the end of your rope. Couldn’t help but think it could as easily have been me there as you.”

He lapsed into silence. “And?” I asked.

“There’s been two hanging days since, and I ain’t been to either of them. Nor am I going to go again. They’re good pickings for a thief, as I figure you know. But I couldn’t bring myself to go to either one.”

There wasn’t much I could say to that, except to repeat what I’d already said.

“You’re a good kid, Samuel.”

27

The docks were full of people. Workers unloading cargo from the sailing ships that had made their way up the river. Passengers and sailors tasting dry land, perhaps for the first time in days, the latter as often as not heading swiftly away to enjoy whatever shore leave they had. Random townsfolk who had come down to the docks to view the large wooden boats in all their glory, and just to be part of the activity for a while.

And me.

I was loitering, doing my best to be part of the crowd, ostensibly watching the boats as they were unloaded. It was a typically drizzly morning, which meant I could hide my face beneath the hood of my coat, and for this I was grateful. I didn’t want anyone recognizing me before I was ready, and that included the man I was there to see. Rolf’s sidekick, and the man who had stomped on my face more than once.

Bryce.

Samuel had said he would be there at the docks to collect the dock master’s bribes, and that was good enough for me.

It went back to Rule Number Two—Know what you want.

I wanted Bryce dead.

Which led back to Rule Three—Make a fucking plan.

And so I had.

I was going to kill him. I had it all planned out in my head, and even now, I was running my thumb over the curved blade of the new, folded steel knife in my pocket, determined that it would be blooded long before this day was done.

I had played out the scene in my mind. Along with the dockworkers, sailors and the rest, there were too many random Blackcoats wandering about for me to attempt a public execution. This was just the first step in my quest for revenge, and that meant I had to get clean away.

My plan was simple. I would wait until Bryce had collected his coin, then follow him until we reached a likely spot. Only then would I reveal myself to him and let my blade go to work.

I was early. I knew it. And, despite everything, I was nervous. Of the three men who’d earned my ire, Bryce was the easiest target. Rolf carried an aura of power around with him the like of which few people possessed. Only Sir Lancelot, the King’s Blackcoat Captain, came close to Rolf’s physical presence, but even he might struggle against the younger man.

Rolf could be vicious, and he was stronger and quicker than he had any right to be. I knew I would be hard pressed to survive going one on one against him. Anyway, I didn’t have any information yet that I could use against him.

I didn’t have anything on Durstan, either, who was a different type completely. The biggest of the three by some measure, he was a brute, a monster. He looked powerful enough to break rocks with his bare hands and chew them into dust with his teeth.

In comparison, Bryce was more my own size, but wiry and mean. Judging by what I’d seen as he and Durstan worked to beat me half to death in the storage room, he could be nasty as well. All in all, he was dangerous in his own way.

Even so, I found myself almost grinning in anticipation as I kept an eye on the dock master’s office. I wouldn’t want to take Bryce on in a fair fight. But that was another lesson I had learned, courtesy of Rolf.

I had no intention of letting it be a fair fight. This wasn’t going to be some genteel competition with a referee judging the rules. Because now I made the rules. This was about me, getting revenge. And that was it.

Of course, I wanted to make sure Bryce knew it was me, and I wanted to rip his throat out.

That was it. Nothing fancy. Just get it done.

The fact that this would be the first time in my life I killed a man made no difference. This was the path I had chosen.

I was determined to see it through.

So I waited, watching the activity with Sir George perched on my shoulder, ignoring the drizzle and occasionally chirping his contentment at just being with me.

He wasn’t the only rat dragon in the area. The boat coming in seemed to be crawling with them, as did the docks. For some reason, most of the rat dragons seemed content to hop about as they scavenged for whatever tasty morsel they could find. They only flew for short distances, when a dockworker aimed a casual kick, or when fluttering across from the bow of a ship to land on the roof of one of the buildings.

Yet that didn’t mean they didn’t use their wings. They were flighty creatures, and seemed to be a heartbeat from being startled at all times. And when one or other found a prize that another valued, then there would be displays and hisses, little puffs of smoke, and even fights.

For the most part, the people on the docks ignored their antics, merely shooing the creatures away when they came too close. But for me, they helped in my waiting. Instead of losing myself completely to my seething anger at Bryce, I found myself enjoying the colorful antics.

And the rat dragons weren’t the only beasts of the dragon family about. A time or two, I saw a wyvern flying by overhead, and once I even caught the sinuous shape of a river serpent as it broke the surface of the water near the stern of a boat.

It was bluish green in color, and its girth was as thick as that of a horse. Likely, it would be three, four times my height in length. Hardly the biggest river serpent on record, but interesting enough to me.

I’d always felt a sort of affinity toward the wyverns and even the river serpents. A nameless feeling I couldn’t explain, but that felt comforting nonetheless.

I stepped toward the edge of the dock to see if I could get a better look. But that’s when I caught a first glimpse of my quarry.

It was Bryce. The wiry, hard-looking Blackcoat bore a satchel like mine. He was all by himself, just as Samuel had said, and as I watched, the river serpent forgotten, he entered the dock master’s office.

This was it.

“Are you ready for this?” I asked Sir George, but he just raised his head and looked me in the eye around the edge of my hood.

My free hand, the one that had been playing with the edge of my blade in my pocket, went to the amulet Meghan had given me, and I rubbed it for luck. Then, as nonchalantly as I could, I wandered over to the dock master’s office and waited, out of sight from the door, for the Bryce to re-emerge.

28

The first part of my plan worked perfectly. I fell into step behind Bryce as he left the dock master’s office and followed him casually as he strolled away.

Rolf’s henchman walked with a casual swagger and hummed tunelessly to himself as if he didn’t have a care in the world. I noted that since the last time we’d met, he had acquired one of the knob-ended clubs that so many of the Blackcoats and Graycoats seemed to favor.

And I could understand the appeal. I had one myself, although I hadn’t brought it along for this job. The dark, heavy wood had certainly made an impact when the Graycoat had smashed it into the back of my skull. I had no doubt that a man wielding such a weapon could do significant damage even against a man with a sword.

The clubs were just over half the height of a man and as thick as a wrist, and the knob on the end gave them heft. A single good swing would leave bruises at least, and broken bones weren’t out of the question.

And the club wasn’t Bryce’s only weapon. Like me, he also wore a sword at his waist, and he would likely have a collection of daggers as well.

All of which didn’t dissuade me in the least. It just meant I would have to use the element of surprise to negate all his weapons.

With my eyes boring a hole in the back of the Blackcoat’s head, and my teeth gritted in determination, I followed my target along the same network of alleys through which we had taken Anwen so many weeks earlier.

In the back of my mind, I thought it poetic that my first taste of revenge would be so close to the storage room where things had gone so badly. I could already taste my victory, and my heart beat quickly in anticipation.

Perhaps I wasn’t paying quite as much attention to Bryce as I should have been.

Perhaps I was overconfident in my actions.

However, I had left considerable space between us. I wasn’t breathing down his neck. And there was nothing about Bryce’s stride to suggest he’d figured out I was on his tail. Overall, I was feeling good about my plan. When he turned a corner, I decided it was time to act.

There were few people in this area to act as witnesses. No random Blackcoats. If I was to do this, the time was now.

So I increased my pace, reaching the corner in just a few strides, and stepped around it, expecting to see Bryce’s back still some distance ahead.

Instead, he was right there in front of me, swinging his knob-ended club with both hands, aiming to take my head off with one blow.

It was all I could do to hurl myself back out of the way, doing my best to duck under the swing. At the same time, I raised my hands in protection, and was rewarded by a glancing blow that sent a shiver up my right arm.

“Fuck!” I swore as I hit the ground, my hindquarters landing in the mud with a sticky splat. Sir George, unsettled by my unexpected movement and the club missing him only because my arm got in the way, launched himself off my shoulder with a chittering sound and headed for the nearest roof.

Sir George’s unexpected splash of color distracted Bryce for a moment.

“What the hell?” he said, and I used the time to skip backwards, one hand in the mud, the other still raised before me even though it had gone partially numb.

So much for my plan. It was going to have to be a fight after all.

Bryce stalked toward me, hefting his club. But he wasn’t yet winding up for another blow.

“I don’t take kindly to being followed,” he grated at me. “I don’t like it one bit. Makes me think you’ve got some sort of malign motivation for doing so.”

He might have said more, might have been planning to deliver a sequence of threats, or demand to know what I was planning. But all of a sudden, between the end of one thought and the start of the next, Bryce’s eyes grew wide in shock, and he paused where he stood.

“You!” he said. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

I decided I didn’t like being stuck on the ground against a man with a club. So I surged to my feet with my back against the wall and glared at him with all the hate I felt in my bones.

“Yes,” I said, throwing off my hood just to make sure he knew it was me. “Me. Back from the dead, and I have a message for you.”

As I spoke, I realized my hands were both empty. I’d left my knife in my pocket when Bryce swung his club. Quickly, I drew it out and held it between us.

It didn’t take long for Bryce to get over the shock of seeing me alive. He looked at the knife, and his expression turned into a nasty grin. He set himself more solidly, ready to fight. But he spoke first.

“Okay, Mordie, I don’t know how you’re still alive, but I’ll bite. What message do you have?”

“This!” I said, and lunged as quickly as I could, doing my best to grab his club in one hand and slice him across the face with my blade.

It almost worked. I was nearly quick enough. But Bryce proved tougher than he looked, and quicker as well. As if he anticipated my strike, he held onto his club with both hands and jerked backward. My knife passed harmlessly in front of his face.

Then he twisted his club out of my grip, and before I could recover, used it to smash my forearm again, adding to the pain that was already there.

Not content with what he had done, he stepped closer, his grin becoming more feral. Still with his two-handed grip, he smashed his club at me from both sides, like a boxer using both ends of the club as his fists.

It was all I could do to try to block him and absorb the blows. Somehow, I’d lost my grip on my blade. It was gone, my hand too numb to grip it, lost somewhere in the mud at our feet.

Then I was back against the wall with nowhere to go, and I realized I’d made a huge mistake. Bryce may have lacked Durstan’s brute size and strength and much of Rolf’s power and skill, but he made up for it with viciousness.

Again and again, the Blackcoat pummeled my sides with the ends of his club. Each blow was short, sharp, and powerful, but nowhere near as bad as if he had chosen to step back and give it a full swing. Yet that seemed intentional on his part. As if he wanted to cause as much pain as he could.

All I could do was keep my head down and weather the storm, and finally, Rolf’s minion stepped back.

He wasn’t done, not by a long way. I could see it in his eyes. He just wanted to change his grip on his club and gloat at me for a moment.

“I don’t know how you survived being hanged,” he said, echoing his earlier words. “And I don’t care. I always thought you were too soft for this game, and you proved it with that woman. If it weren’t for her guards turning up when they did, me and Durstan would have killed you then and there. That you survived your own hanging just means I get a second chance to finish the job.”

As he spoke, I tried to catch my breath and fumbled at the hilt of my sword. Even as I realized how badly this was all going, I couldn’t help but think of my rules.

I should fight to win, no matter the cost.

But now, I understood that even that wasn’t enough. I’d been a fool not to be better prepared. As Bryce’s expression turned nasty again, and he started to shift his stance for the finale, I thought that maybe that fourth rule needed a little modification.

As far as finding things out went, use what you’ve got made sense. But for fighting?

It had to be more. Like, use everything you’ve got.

Because for me to go up against someone like Bryce all by myself was madness. Especially when I could have enlisted the aid of some of the people I knew, those who might benefit directly with Bryce out of the way. And even that failed to make use of perhaps my greatest advantage.

Meghan.

She’d given me an amulet. But what other small magics could she have provided?

When would I ever learn?

With my hand still partially numb and new bruises on my shoulders and sides, I struggled to get a proper grip on the hilt of my sword. If I had just a few more seconds, perhaps I could do it. But Bryce showed no sign of granting me that much time.

“I’m gonna enjoy this!” he said, and stepped forward, his intention plain.

I thought I was done for. Without some miracle of intervention, Bryce’s next strike would smash into my face, into my head, and that would be the start of the end. I could see the strike coming in the way he wound up, and there was little I could do to defend myself.

And then, out of nowhere, Sir George was there, screeching and flapping about in Bryce’s face. My little rat dragon was puffing billows of smoke and attacking Bryce for all he was worth.

It was enough to cause the Blackcoat to flinch backward. To abort his swing midway through and try to fend off my scaled friend with his hand.

At the same time, Bryce let fly a stream of curses, and I finally managed to draw my sword.

I didn’t hesitate. With Sir George distracting my foe, I did all I could, launching myself in a clumsy attack that nevertheless got the job done. I managed to aim my sword at Bryce’s chest, and there was nothing he could do to prevent the blade from entering his heart.

I drove my sword into him with all my strength. Bryce stopped his cursing and uttered a grunt of pain and surprise. But he was able to manage one more swipe at Sir George.

He caught my rat dragon a glancing blow with the back of his hand that was strong enough to send my friend fluttering to the ground.

“You bastard!” I said to him. “You’ll pay for that!

With one swift movement, I withdrew my sword and plunged it into his chest once again.

Bryce looked at me with an expression of hatred and rage mixed with horror. But there was nothing more he could do. The club fell out of his grip, and he tried to speak, but all that he managed was to spit up some blood.

“You… You…” he said, then he sank to his knees.

I watched the light fade from his eyes, and he toppled sideways, nearly bringing me down with him, as I was still holding onto the hilt of my sword.

I was puffing and panting and seething in rage that he had taken a swipe at my scaled friend. When I knew for sure he was dead, I jerked the sword out of his corpse.

I cleaned my weapon on Bryce’s black coat before putting it away, then kicked him in the face for good measure.

Only then did I make my way over to where Sir George had landed.

“Are you okay, little buddy?” I asked.

Sir George puffed an indignant belch of smoke and gave a chirp. He seemed to be favoring his right hind leg, and I hoped it wasn’t too badly damaged. But he didn’t complain when I reached down to pick him up and settled him in place on my shoulder once again.

That done, I gingerly returned to Bryce’s corpse and spat on his face. Then I relieved him of his knob-ended club, testing its weight and thinking that it was a better make than the one I already owned. And that satchel he had would be full of the bribe money he took from the dock master. I figured Rolf owed me at least what was in there, and kept that as well.

29

I made my way directly to Meghan’s cottage at the edge of the city. I didn’t even think about heading anywhere else. While the Twin Barrels alehouse, the Goose and Quill, and the Wooden Bucket all had their charms, it was Meghan I wanted to see most of all.

By the time I arrived, my arms were aching and felt as heavy as if they were made of lead. On top of that, my sides ached to the point where it hurt to draw breath, and I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.

Nor was I the only one. Sir George didn’t seem to be able to get comfortable. He grumbled and shifted his weight around my shoulder without end, occasionally puffing out small plumes of smoke.

I decided that being beaten up was exhausting and didn’t want to do it anymore. At the same time, I still wanted my revenge. I just needed to figure out how to get it without getting so battered.

Because killing Bryce had made me feel victorious for a moment, but there were still two more men who had earned my wrath, and until they were dead, I wouldn’t be able to rest.

With a huge sense of relief, I finally stood in front of Meghan’s door and rapped upon it with the knob end of my club.

I heard movement from within.

“Who is it?” Meghan called.

“Me,” I said. “Mordie.”

For some reason, I expected Meghan to open the door in the guise of her elderly self. In my mind, it was that version of the enchantress who acted as a healer, and that was, in part, why I had made the journey all that way.

And that was the guise I was most familiar with, not counting the moment or two she had appeared mostly in my memories–or the very memorable last day I’d spent in her company.

So I was somewhat surprised to see her in her full splendor instead.

Her beautiful smile was firmly in place as she swung the door wide, but it faded as she took note of the state I was in. Then her expression became that of a worried mother whose favorite son had turned up all bloodied and broken.

“What have you done?” she asked, shaking her head as if she didn’t really want to know. Before I could answer, she was already stepping aside. “Come on in,” she said. “Let’s have a look at you.”

It had only been a few weeks since I last seen the inside of Meghan’s cottage, and while it was the same as ever, it seemed strange being there again. I couldn’t help but wonder if there were any other men she had invited in.

Even though I had been with a good handful of others since I’d left, the thought of her with someone else wasn’t pleasant.

I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. I had no call on her in the least, and she wasn’t beholden to me. Instead, I took a seat on the edge of her bed as if no time at all had passed, and she fussed at me to take off my coat and tunic.

Sir George, dislodged by my movements, found his usual spot on the floor and curled up, but left his damaged leg sticking out at an unusual angle.

Meghan prodded me in the ribs, examined my arms, and turned my head this way and that as she peered into my eyes and examined me for additional wounds.

“You were lucky,” she said, and I couldn’t help but think of the new amulet she had given me.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything broken, although you’re going to have some nasty bruises begin to show in the next few days. I shouldn’t wonder if your whole right arm turns purple, as well as each side of your ribs. What did you do? Did you get jammed in a tight spot, crushing you from both sides?”

I had to laugh at the image, then winced at the pain in my ribs. “Something like that,” I said. Then I relented. “I tracked down one of Rolf’s men. I thought I could take him by surprise, but I was wrong.”

It was Meghan’s turn to smile, although hers seemed to be tinged with sadness.

“So, you’re going through with it then?” she asked.

I nodded. “I am. It seems that Rolf’s activities are more extensive than I thought. Turns out, he might be working for the King himself.”

At this, Meghan’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked at me with interest. So I told her all the things I had learned about what Rolf and his men had been doing, and how it all seemed to be under the auspices of the King.

As I spoke, her expression became grim.

“I always suspected,” she began. Then she shook her head. “Not that it matters, now. The best I could do was keep you alive. And even that…” she trailed off again.

She seemed to be talking about something entirely different. Something related to whatever big secret she was keeping.

Something related to my earliest years.

“What do you mean?” I prompted.

“Never you mind. It’s all in the past now. Although, can you not see that it makes your current quest for vengeance even more dangerous? That you are effectively pitting yourself against the King’s men?”

“I was doing that before. There is no difference. Not really.”

The enchantress looked at me for long moments. It seemed she wanted to say something, maybe even to spill that secret. Instead, she clamped her jaw shut and touched me gently on the shoulder.

“Stay here a moment. I have a something that will take the sting of your bruises away. It might even help you breathe a bit easier.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And when you’re done with me, can you have a look at Sir George as well? He saved my life. If he hadn’t distracted Bryce at just the right time, I might not have been able to beat him.”

The enchantress nodded before disappearing into the other room of her cottage, where she kept the bulk of her medicines. When she returned, she smeared a pungent, sweet smelling paste on the worst of my bruises before wrapping my arms and chest with bandages made of linen. That done, she examined Sir George, who bore the attention with a grumpy expression.

“He’ll be fine,” she proclaimed after a moment. “He’s barely hurt at all. Just lost a few scales. I think he’s playing it up for the sake of attention.”

I had to admit, I was relieved. I had become attached to the flying lizard and didn’t want to see him hurt. Especially not because of me.

With both patients seen to and fixed up as best as could be, Meghan sat beside me on the bed and raised a coy eyebrow.

“So,” she said. “Was that the only reason you came back? To have me tend to your wounds? Or was there another reason for making the journey?”

I thought I knew where she was heading and offered a grin. “I’m not sure you could say I had another reason, exactly,” I said, “but I might have been hoping for something more, it is true.”

Meghan’s smile grew broader, and she nodded. “Do you think you’re up to it?”

I laughed carefully, on account of my ribs. “Sure,” I said. “But I wouldn’t expect me to take the lead. Not if I were you. However, I’m more than happy to lie here and let you do as you will.”

At this, the enchantress burst out laughing. She grabbed hold of one of the feather pillows, and I thought she would have swung it at me if I wasn’t so covered in bruises.

Instead, she leaned forward and kissed me, and all other thoughts disappeared at the touch of her soft lips. She sat back, eyed me with professional interest, picked a spot in the middle of my chest that seemed free of bruises, and pushed me over so I lay flat on my back.

Then she got to work, removing my boots and my breeches as well.

In moments, I was naked as the day I was born. Then Meghan le Fay gathered her shift and took it off over her head before joining me on the bed.

It was a slow, sensuous lovemaking session, completely at odds with our last efforts, but no less fulfilling. Only once did she forget about my injuries, unconsciously gripping me by the shoulders as she climaxed. I gritted my teeth against the pain and said nothing, and when she was again in control of herself, she apologized profusely.

“It’s okay,” I murmured. “I know a good healer.”

Meghan laughed, and that was enough to convince her everything was fine, and in moments she was grinding against me again.

Twice more, the enchantress climaxed, and then, just like last time, it was my turn. After, Meghan lay comfortably against me with my arm draped around her, the bruises still fresh but somehow less important than before.

Eventually, Meghan broke the comfortable silence. “You’re sure there’s no way I can talk you out of your plans?”

“I told you,” I said. “I’m tired of playing by the rules of others.”

For a moment, she said nothing more. Then, “You killed a man.” It was a statement of fact. I hadn’t told her this, not outright, but it wasn’t hard to work out from what I’d said.

I nodded but didn’t say anything.

“But it was a closer thing than you thought it would be.”

“Yes,” I said. “It was.”

“And there’s still Rolf. And the other one, what was his name?”

“Durstan.”

“There’s still Rolf and Durstan to go.”

“That’s right.”

“So, what are you going to do to make it easier with them? To make it more of a sure thing?”

It was a good question. I smiled. “Funny you should ask,” I said.

She caught the humor in my voice and realized I’d already followed this line of thought and reached its logical end.

Her expression wavered between disbelief and mock horror, and for the second time, it looked like she wanted to hit me with one of her pillows.

“You want me to help you,” she murmured. Then she did it. She grabbed a pillow and hit me with it, albeit gently on account of my injuries. “You absolute monster! You had this in mind all along!”

I laughed out loud even though it hurt my ribs. I was caught, and both of us knew it. I did my best to fend off her pillow, laughing all the while, as her attacks kept coming.

30

It turned out that enchanting my sword to make me the greatest swordsman alive wasn’t an option. Meghan had heard of spells that could do such work, but from her understanding, the only living enchanter who could work such a spell had been closeted away by the King for decades.

It was disappointing to hear, but Meghan had other ideas.

We had climbed back into our clothes, and Meghan was showing me the part of her cottage where she stored her potions and powders and such. I’d seen it before, but this was the first time she’d taken me through it.

“This powder,” she said, “makes a person immune to pain, and I use it sometimes when I have to operate. But it also disorients a person and makes them nauseous. So I normally use it with other powders and potion to take that nausea away.”

She smiled at me. “It works almost instantly.”

I understood. Bryce had been focused and determined in his attack. But if he had been nauseous and disoriented, I likely could have ended the fight much more swiftly.

She handed me a few small, delicate packages out of her collection.

“Normally, I would open a package under the patient’s nose. You might have to get more creative. But I warn you, you don’t want to inhale it yourself, because it’ll work on you just as quickly as it would work on your opponent.”

It was an astonishing gift, an advantage in any fight. But Meghan acted as if it was nothing and moved on to a small glass of dark liquid.

“This one is the essence of bee venom. The slightest amount, when introduced to the bloodstream, will cause tremendous pain. It is viscous, and sticks to pretty much anything. I would advise coating the edge of your blades with it, to make even the slightest wound count.”

She expertly poured a small amount from the bottle into an empty vial and handed it to me. “Curiously, if someone is suffering from gout or arthritis, it can have the opposite effect, soothing the inflammation at the joints,” she added.

Another princely gift, and I gave her my genuine thanks. But she wasn’t finished. There was one more thing she wanted to show me.

On her shelves, in between bottles and powders, was a woven basket containing a few dozen wooden discs much like the two former amulets she had gifted to me. But these were far less ornate. If she had made them herself, then it was clear that she had put less effort into their production.

She handed one of them to me. “This is one that I use for my own protection. It contains an enchantment that can give you an advantage in any situation. Want to see how it works?”

But she didn’t give me time to respond. Instead, she snapped the wooden disk in two, and I once again saw a wisp of green magic emerge like a puff of Sir George’s smoke.

Then I saw nothing.

Nothing at all. The world had gone blank.

“I’ve gone blind,” I said, and couldn’t quite keep the anxiety out of my voice.

I heard Meghan laugh from right in front of me, then, seconds later, felt her pinch my behind. I spun about in the dark but didn’t know where she was, and she took me completely by surprise when she kissed me on the lips.

She pulled away before I could respond.

“What have you done?” I asked.

“Relax,” she said, sounding calm. “It only lasts for a short while.”

And she was right. Even as she spoke, the light was coming back to my eyes. I blinked, at first making out no more than shadows, and then, I could see normally once again.

Meghan was looking at me with a broad smile. “The range is limited. But the effects are absolute. Anyone within three or four paces of you when you activate the enchantment will be blind for a handful of seconds.” Her smile faded, and she studied me closely. “Do you think that might be of use?”

I did indeed. I nodded, and she asked how many I wanted.

“As many as you would care to give me,” I answered.

As she handed them over, I wondered what I could give her in return. I knew she had given me more than I could ever repay. Not just in terms of the powder, the bee poison, and the enchanted tokens, but in saving my life from the executioner, and more besides.

I could never hope to repay my debt to her but thought I might have something that would be a good start. I’d left the satchel I’d taken from Bryce next to the door when I’d come in. Coming to a quick decision, I returned to it, and for the first time since I’d taken it, and I opened it up.

It was filled to more than a third with coins. And in a city where coppers were the norm, silvers were rare, and gold but a dream for most, the satchel’s contents represented a fortune.

In the satchel, coppers were a rarity. Most was silver, with some gold thrown in for good measure. As much as I could hold in two hands without risk of a spill.

It was the single biggest score in my life, and I wondered just how much coin Rolf and his crew had been taking, and how much they were able to keep. Had this coin been destined for the King’s coffers or Rolf’s?

Either way, I had no doubt Rolf would have found plenty of ways to skim from the top. The Blackcoat was not only a powerful man in a position of authority, but he was wealthy as well.

For long moments, I stared at the glittering wealth. Then I moved to Meghan’s small table and emptied the contents onto it.

The enchantress had followed me out from her storage area. She stared at the pile of coin on her table for some moments, then turned back to me.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A gift. A thank you, if you like. For everything.”

She shook her head. “I can’t take this.”

“Yes, you can.”

But she still seemed uncertain. “What will I do with it?”

It was a good question. And I wasn’t exactly the right one to ask. For me, money was transient in nature. I either had it or not, and if I did, it would quickly be gone, spent on clothing, drink, the night in a more upmarket tavern than usual, or just given to others if they happened to need it.

I knew that if I kept the coin, I would simply fritter it away, and in a month it would be gone. It would be a fun month, but in the end, I would have little to show for it.

“Whatever you want,” I said.

She was still staring at the glittering pile. “There are some rare herbs I have been meaning to get. Medicines from a long way from here. Maybe I could do that,” she said.

I smiled at her, then decided that wasn’t enough. I reached for her and drew her close in an embrace.

“You could buy a silk dress,” I said. “Set up a shop in the city, if you desire. Or you could give it away. The choice is all yours.”

Even as I held her, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the table. But finally, she did. She looked at me, gave me a kiss, then leaned back and smiled.

“Maybe I will do some of that. Or maybe I’ll just put some of it aside. I have a feeling there will be some time when it is needed.”

It sounded as if she meant I might need it, rather than herself. As if she knew something of my future that I didn’t.

I frowned in puzzlement, and might have asked what she meant, but her secretive smile had returned.

“Thank you, Mordie,” she said. “It is a wonderful gift.”

31

While recovering, I spent several days with Meghan, and the enchantress proved correct about my bruises. They were a sight to behold, turning a deep shade of purple and spreading over my left and right side as well as up and down both arms.

Yet the enchantress’ healing balm proved effective, taking away much of the pain and bringing me through the worst of it swiftly. By the fourth day after my fight with Bryce, I was starting to feel good once again.

Nor was I the only one. Sir George forgot about his injured leg more quickly than I did, and was back to his usual self very quickly.

During the entire time I was with her, Meghan stayed in her younger form, and I couldn’t have said if it was her medical expertise or simply her company that healed me the most.

I had known many women during my short life. I had loved tavern girls, chambermaids, bakers, seamstresses, and even a handful of noblewomen. They came and went much like the coins in my pouch, but by and large didn’t have much impact on my life.

Meghan was different. The thought of spending my life with any one of the others never crossed my mind, but with the enchantress… maybe I would be happy to do so.

Yet that sort of decision was a long way in my future. For now, and for the first time in my life, I had goals, and none of them could be accomplished by staying in the cottage. So when the fifth day dawned and my bruises were largely faded, I climbed into my clothes and got ready to leave.

Meghan watched me with an understanding expression.

“Shouldn’t have let you heal quite so fast,” she muttered, even though she was smiling.

It took real effort not to head straight back to bed, and in a very short time, the enchantress was seeing me off at the door.

She held me close for a moment before kissing me again on the lips. “Next time, come visit me when you don’t need my aid. Show this old lady that you want nothing more than to spend time with me.”

I promised I would, and once more made my way back into the town.

32

I made my rounds as I had done the last time, smiling and nodding to Rosylin, Cassandra, Ember, and the rest, but this time it took a little more effort than usual. Even as I chatted and bantered with a bevy of buxom barmaids, I knew I had left part of my heart in Meghan’s cozy little cottage.

A few of them noticed and asked me why the long face, at which point I smiled and said something innocuous and largely untrue.

“I was just thinking how long it’s been since you and I were together,” I said, grinning, and that was typically enough to earn me not only a laugh, but more often than not, a bed for the night.

And the information continued to flow. I learned both Durstan and Rolf’s habits without ever having to risk coming face to face with either of them. And with that information, I slowly put together a plan of how to take on Rolf’s big, prodigiously strong number one thug.

This time, it had to go more smoothly.

This time, I couldn’t risk taking on the huge man one-on-one. I kept practicing with my sword every single day and was becoming more familiar with the blade. And then, quite by chance, I learned of an old master who might be interested in taking on a student, and went to seek him out–only to learn it wasn’t a him, but a her.

The Lady Emmeline Hemonnet was a tall woman who stood straight and firm even though she was well into her seventh decade. She was stern of expression and elegantly dressed, and I met her in her own home, which was spacious and richly appointed.

Yet instead of a servant opening the door to let me in, it was the Lady herself, and I could tell at a glance that she no longer possessed the wealth she might once have had.

Yet that didn’t mean she was desperate. Lady Emmeline had once been the sword mistress for the King himself, and saw no reason to accept anyone who didn’t at least have the chance to be great with a blade.

Because of this, I was as nervous as a virgin boy before becoming a man when she invited me to stand in her parlor.

“Good posture,” she said as she looked me up and down. “Not too tall, or too short, but good proportions. Are you strong, what was your name, Mordie? Can you hold a sword fully extended in front of you for an entire day?”

It was an unexpected question. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

She accepted my answer without comment and continued her inspection. “You’re very handsome,” she said, but before I could thank her for the compliment, I learned that she hadn’t meant it that way. “Pretty boys tend not to be inclined to work very hard. Is that what you’re like, Mordie? Because I’ll not take on a student who isn’t prepared–”

I was already shaking my head. “I’m here to learn,” I said, putting just enough edge in my voice that she knew I was serious.

“Please, do not interrupt when I’m speaking.”

“My apologies, Lady Emmeline,” I said.

She accepted my words with good grace. “I see you have brought your own weapon. May I see it?” she asked, holding out her hands. I drew the weapon in question and presented it to her hilt first. Yet when she took it, she was still looking at me.

“A little clumsy,” she said. “How long have you owned it? This weapon?”

“Um, just a couple of weeks?” I said.

“A couple of weeks? Then I guess that isn’t too bad. The rest of your movements seem well-knitted together. How coordinated are you, in general?”

There, I had to smile. “I used to make my living as a juggler,” I said. I didn’t feel it was right to add that I still made my coin through my dexterity and touch, lifting coins from unsuspecting strangers I bumped into on the street. It had been a long time since I’d needed to resort to cutting cords and absconding with the entire coin pouch. It had taken years to perfect the movements, but I could squeeze my fingers into a stranger’s coin pouch and empty it of half their coin and be gone without them ever being the wiser.

I’d learned it was better that way, for the simple fact that too many blatant thefts caused a panic and could bring the Blackcoats swarming into whichever area I was working. This way, most folk never even realized they had been robbed.

“Did you now?” the swords mistress said, her eyebrows raised in genuine interest. She nodded in approval. “And are you ready to work?”

“I am,” I replied.

“You know I do not come cheap?”

I gave her a grin. “As long as you’re worth the coin,” I replied.

Emmeline Hemonnet pursed her lips at the perceived slight. But she didn’t pursue it, didn’t even try to defend her expertise. Instead, for the first time, she focused on my sword.

“Good length,” she said. “Well-wrought grip. Excellent ratio of width to length, a keen edge and a sharp point.” She said it all with a hint of approval, which suggested she had higher hopes for the sword than she did for me. She gripped the blade with a gloved hand and gave the weapon a flex. “Good,” she said. “This is Garath’s work, is it not?”

I had to admit, I was surprised. “Yes, it is. You can tell?”

“Garath is the best man behind the forge in the city. Even better than his father was. I don’t know why the King’s elite guardsmen have switched to that Barry Vell.”

I gave a quiet smile. I knew why the switch had been made but didn’t think it was right to say.

She handed my sword back, hilt first, and watched the way I moved to accept it.

I don’t know what I did, but apparently my movements were fluid enough to earn another quick nod.

“Good. Right. Let’s see what you have got.” With that, she turned and picked up a decorative letter opener from the tray sitting on the table next to the wall. Then she stepped into the center of the drawing room with all the grace of a dancer.

“Attack me,” she said, holding the letter opener before her in a relaxed fencer’s stance.

I hesitated.

“Attack me,” she repeated. “Not only will it tell me if you are worth my time, but it will also tell you if I am worth my price.”

I had to admit I found myself admiring Lady Emmeline immensely. I nodded to her, brought my sword up, and did as she asked, promising myself to hold back to avoid hurting her.

I needn’t have bothered. The lady countered my every attack with consummate ease, stepping away from my inexpert lunges, parrying each unstable slash with the edge of her letter opener, and basically making me look like a complete amateur without even trying.

I could have grown angry and tried to fuel my attack with frustration. Instead, I enjoyed every moment. Lady Emmeline, despite her age, showed no sign of infirmity. She moved with the speed and grace of a wild creature, seemingly barely paying attention to the blade in my hand, focusing more on my feet and shoulders, completely at ease with the flashing steel blade cutting the air around her.

She said not a word throughout my attempts, and it was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud. Not at her, but at the absurdity of the spectacle, a man with a sword unable to get close to an old woman with a letter opener.

It was like trying to fight a ghost. An apparition who could move like the wind, a teasing sprite with no physical substance. I could have sworn more than once that she’d left her riposte, dodge, or parry too late, only to find that she was no longer where I’d thought her to be.

Finally, as I was beginning to sweat, and the sword mistress still looked as fresh and unbothered as she had at the start, she stepped in, caught the edge of my blade on her letter opener, then moved at an impossible angle and speed. Somehow, she ended up with my sword hand caught in an unexpectedly steel-like grip, and her letter opener at my throat.

I stayed where I was, barely daring to breathe lest she decide on a whim to open a vein. If she chose to, I knew I couldn’t do anything to stop her.

Instead, in a move just as fluid as all the rest, she disengaged and stood facing me from the other side of the drawing room, the letter opener nowhere in sight.

“Good,” she said. “Not the best I’ve ever seen, but you are at least coordinated, and there is nothing wrong with your speed. If you really are willing, I ought to be able to make a half decent swordsman of you.”

Still puffing and sweating, I sheathed my sword.

“I am willing,” I said.

“In that case, do I assume that you now understand my value?”

“I do,” I said.

“Then consider this your first lesson. Payment is due now, and I expect you back on my doorstep every day except Sundays. How does that sound?”

Then she tilted her head to one side and looked at me thoughtfully. “You are a very attractive man,” she said. “Perhaps there are other options for payment you might be interested in? One that doesn’t involve coin?”

What? Surprised, I hesitated, thinking about her offer, making sure I understood her correctly. Then, I smiled. “Lady Emmeline, are you speaking of other… physical… payment?”

She nodded decidedly. “You are the nicest looking man who has entered my home in a long time. And I admit that you intrigue me.”

“And you intrigue me, Lady,” I said truthfully. After her display with the sword, I didn’t doubt her physical capabilities. But I had never been with a woman her age before, unless you counted Meghan, and she looked younger, and I really didn’t know her age.

And yet, while Meghan had cloaked herself in the visage of an old crone, Lady Emmeline stood tall and straight, and she had obviously been a great beauty in her younger years. She still was.

“Well?” Lady Emmeline said, and it was obvious she wasn’t going to wait all day for my answer. “Do you find me ugly?”

“Quite the contrary,” I said, smiling again. “You are beautiful and elegant.” I took a hesitant step toward her, feeling slightly aroused at the prospect of sex with a teacher. It felt a bit forbidden, more so than the younger women I usually sought out, whether they were married or not. And I liked it.

Make your own damn rules.

What did I care what anyone thought? It wouldn’t be bad, would it? And I’d get free lessons in return. I reached out to take her gloved hand and nodded.

And just like that, Lady Emmeline grabbed my hand in her firm grip and led me upstairs to her bed chamber.

33

I had never been so surprised in my life when she ordered me to strip. I had fully intended on taking the lead, as I often did, but it seemed Lady Emmeline had other plans. I removed my clothing while she lit a candle in the corner of the room.

Then, I watched, fascinated, as she reached up to pull the comb out of her hair, letting her long silver locks fall down her back. When she turned around, the glow from the candle made her look more elegant than ever. She looked me up and down, and I stood in front of her unashamedly. This was one department where I was not lacking, and my prowess in the bedroom far outshone my limited skill with the sword.

She seemed satisfied with me because a ghost of a smile crossed her lips.

“Go sit on the bed,” she said, gesturing to a comfortable looking large bed on one wall.

Having her order me around was more enticing than I would have thought, so I did as she said, sitting down on the edge with my feet on the floor.

Lady Emmeline took a cushion from a chair next to the candle and then came to stand before me. She ran a skilled finger down my face, tracing my jawline. Then, she dropped the cushion at my feet and knelt on it.

I raised an eyebrow, and the mischievous older woman smirked. Then, she looked at my body again, her gaze traveling down to my groin.

“I see you do find me somewhat attractive,” she said.

Removing her gloves, she took my length in her hand, stroking me, applying just enough pressure that I closed my eyes to enjoy it.

“Mmm…” she said as if to herself. “He likes that. I wonder what else he likes.”

Then I felt her lips on me, and my breath hitched in my throat. With a swirl of her tongue, Lady Emmeline proved that she was more than just a master of the sword. As she slid up and down on me, she grabbed my balls as well, and I jerked involuntarily.

With a wet sound, she pulled back and said, “You are moving around too much.”

“Sorry,” I said, panting. Then I opened my eyes to look at her. The lady had stood and went to root around in a drawer. “Everything okay?” I asked breathlessly.

She turned, holding several long pieces of cloth in her hand. They caught the candlelight as she walked back to the bed.

“Everything is marvelous,” she said, smiling. “Have you ever felt silk before?”

I shook my head. “No, Lady Emmeline, I haven’t.” Silk came from the Far East, and I’d only ever heard about the extraordinary fabric.

She smiled and selected one piece of silk, laying the others on the bed. “This was a gift given to me by the King himself. It used to be a scarf, but I have since found better purposes for it.

“And that is?” I asked, eyeing her warily.

She took the silk piece and ran it along the side of my arm. “Feel that? Is it not exquisite? Silk is very strong, and does not tear easily, but it is soft on the skin.”

“I feel it,” I said, wondering where she was heading. But I also couldn’t stop thinking about how her expert lips had felt on me, and had to admit I was ready to continue.

She must have sensed my impatience, for she smiled. “Lie back on the pillows,” she commanded.

With a shrug, I moved backward until my upper body was resting on the many pillows. Lady Emmeline moved to the side of the bed and took my hand. As I watched, she wrapped one end of the silk piece around my wrist, tying it securely. Then, she fastened the other end to the bed post.

“Lady Emmeline, I—”

“Hush,” she said. “You are completely safe.”

And because she was so calm, and so in control, I trusted her. So I tried to relax as she gathered the other strips of silk and began to tie my other limbs to the bed. When she was finished, I was spread-eagled on the covers, incapable of getting up unless I tried to break the bedposts. And that looked like it would take a feat of strength I might not be able to do from my current position, as they had been made from sturdy pieces of lumber.

“You are thinking about escape,” the lady said holding the last piece of silk in her hands. “But Mordie, try to relax.”

And then, she blindfolded me, tying the silk fabric around my eyes, instantly making everything dark. My heart began to pound, but I didn’t know if it was excitement or fear.

I settled for excitement. At this point, I could not do anything about it. And anyway, if she had wanted to kill me, she could have done so with the letter opener downstairs.

The room filled with the smell of incense, and I suddenly felt more alive than I had felt in several days. I felt every movement of air as it brushed against my skin, and I heard the rustle of clothing, and the lady’s soft footsteps as she walked softly back to the bed.

Then I felt her hands on my body, moving up from my legs, to my thighs, her fingers feeling my muscles. Then, she moved upward still, ignoring my hardening erection and running her strong fingers up my stomach, pausing to pinch my nipples—hard!—before running her hands through my long hair.

She had shed her clothing because I felt her surprisingly soft flesh against my own naked body. The bed shifted, and she straddled me, still running her hands over me in slow, sensuous circles.

“Lovemaking is an art, Mordie,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, my voice growing husky.

“Would you consider yourself skilled in this area?” she asked.

“Until a few moments ago, I thought so,” I said. My breath hitched in my throat as her body moved downward over mine. I felt her shift as she slid lower and knelt between my spread legs. I felt exposed, but also incredibly aroused.

When she took me in her mouth once more, I gasped and wanted to move, but the silk bonds held tight. So I settled back and listened to the sounds of her sucking and licking on me, her tongue moving up and down in ways no woman had ever done before.

And I had thought Rosylin was skilled in this area.

Lady Emmeline even licked my balls, sucking on them while her hand ran up and down my shaft. I was breathing heavily, trying not to get too excited, but I didn’t seem to have a choice. The woman was too expert in her craft.

Then, she took me all the way in her mouth, sucked hard, and I exploded. She continued to suck and lick until I was spent, and my hips arched off the bed in an almost violent way. Lady Emmeline seemed to enjoy the taste of me, because she made sounds of pleasure herself as I finished.

When she finally released me, I was sweating again, and I could feel the moisture on her skin as well as she moved up beside me on the bed. She kissed me softly on the lips and then draped an arm over my stomach to trace the muscles there.

I felt utterly spent and exhausted.

“I feel like I still owe you payment,” I said after a moment. “Because you have just given me another lesson, Lady Emmeline.”

I could almost hear her smirk. “We are just getting started, Mordie. Tomorrow, I will have something else for you.”

“Can’t wait,” I said, and I meant it whole-heartedly.

34

Durstan’s movements throughout the city proved less predictable than Bryce’s had been, but he still had his habits, and the information provided by my growing network was more than enough to enable me to piece them together.

It became clear that regardless of what Rolf had him doing, what schemes and foul enterprises he was part of, Durstan liked to keep a certain amount of routine in his personal life.

He had no wife, no family, and women in general tended to avoid the brute of a man. Yet his activities with Rolf had made him comparatively wealthy, and he would spend part of that wealth at a particular brothel.

I asked my contacts to find out as much as they could, and soon learned that while he kept to no set schedule, he would stop by the brothel at least twice a week, and sometimes more often than that.

Even in the brothel, the girls didn’t much like him. While their encounters were typically brief, they weren’t gentle.

It turned out that Durstan enjoyed using his fists a little too much, and more often than not the girl–or girls–he chose would end up nursing bruises in the bargain.

Not that they could easily complain. Durstan was a Blackcoat. And with that came a certain immunity from complaint, retaliation, or pretty much anything.

So, I knew I had a likely place where I could find him. I just didn’t know the time.

Fortunately, there was a tavern across the way from Durstan’s brothel, with a window pointed just the right way.

I spent several enjoyable afternoons sitting at the table next to that window, nursing an ale as I kept watch.

At the same time, I chatted with the serving girls, adding them to my growing network in an informal way, just talking, learning whatever gossip they had. And I spent considerable time talking to one of the locals as well, a man who shared my taste for looking through windows. He was none other than Garath the blacksmith.

At first, I only struck up another conversation with him, but after a few drinks, he opened up to me.

Garath wasn’t always there, but when he was, we shared a drink and a tale or two, and I learned that things were not going too well. He’d lost his wife some years earlier, and while he’d always worked with two of his sons, times were harder than they had been before.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive.

Which was a shame, because he was good at what he did.

It turned out that Garath owned a horse and cart which he used mostly for delivering the goods of his trade, but which he was happy to lend out as well, if he approved of the use to which it would be put.

More often than not, the cart was parked close to the brothel’s front door, yet it didn’t obscure my view.

Garath began to question why I had suddenly decided to frequent this particular tavern, and though I didn’t tell him my exact plans, I said I was waiting for an opportunity. In truth, I began to wonder if I couldn’t use Garath in some way, if he could help me. And after a few afternoons, I finally let him in on my secret. The man had been downright astonished that I was hunting Durstan, but he quickly volunteered to help.

And in this way, we formed a better plan than the one I’d had, and he began meeting me every day to drink.

And he was good company, raising an eyebrow at my choice of pet, but saying not a word when Sir George climbed down from my arm onto the table to steal morsels of meat from my plate or a sip from my flagon of ale.

One day soon after, Garath was sharing my table when Durstan finally appeared, black coat and all, and entered the brothel.

I grinned very broadly and took a deep swallow of my drink.

“It looks like the time has come,” I said. “Come along, Sir George. We have a job to do.”

With that, I stood, and with an amiable nod to my friend, I made my way out of the tavern and studied the brothel across the way.

It was then that I saw the flaw in my plan.

I had intended to use the same technique that had been so effective against Bryce, before he figured out he was being followed. I wanted to basically lean against the brothel wall and wait for Durstan to re-emerge. But the Blackcoat hadn’t come alone. He’d come with a friend, another Blackcoat. And while this new wrinkle had wandered over to the brothel some seconds after my target, it was clear they were there together.

The new Blackcoat, a dark-haired man with a surly expression, hadn’t followed Durstan in, but instead had stationed himself next to the door, right where I had been planning to stand.

Perhaps Bryce’s untimely death had made Durstan nervous. Perhaps he didn’t like the idea of a stranger stabbing him through the heart. In any event, he had backup, in the form of a colleague who was standing watch.

And the guard wasn’t shirking his task. His eyes were constantly moving, scanning back and forth, and he had already marked me as I stood there, weighing my options.

There was no way I was going to back out of my plan, even with this stranger standing guard. Camelot was a big city. I could go my whole life without stumbling across Durstan by chance, and well knew from the information I gained that this was my best shot.

So I put my best grin on my face and stepped into the mud, crossing the way to the brothel as if I had every right to do so.

At every step, I feared that the Blackcoat on lookout might recognize me. I’d never seen him before, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know who I was.

For all I knew, he might have been on guard at my hanging. Or he might have been one of those Blackcoats who’d taken me from the storage room to the jail. I’d been unconscious at the time and couldn’t have known who was present if my life depended on it.

Which, if this man did know me, it could very well be. I would need to trust that my beard and changed hair would be enough to shield me from the casual observer, as it had seemed to do thus far.

Just in case, I rubbed the amulet Meghan had given me and relied on the knowledge that I didn’t know this man, so it was likely he didn’t know me, either.

My approach didn’t go unnoticed, though. He studied me as I drew near, his eyes flicking to Sir George on my shoulder and back to my face. And while it wasn’t recognition that I could see on his face, it was suspicion mixed with native hostility.

“What’s your game?” he demanded as I drew near. Unlike so many of his brethren, this man didn’t have a knob-ended club with which to threaten me. He did have a sword, but hadn’t drawn that either. Instead, he had a weighted sap in his grip, and the tension in his shoulders suggested he didn’t mind using it.

Of course, I did have a knob-ended club. The one that had belonged to Bryce. But I was holding it casually, like a short walking staff, doing my best not to look threatening.

I paused a few paces from him and gave him a broad, innocent smile. “No game,” I said cheerily. “I just wanted to say hello. You see, I am thinking about joining the Blackcoats, and I was wondering…”

I could see the man’s sneer start before I was done speaking, and knew he was on the verge of sending me away. To him, I’d put myself in the category of, “pest,” and I was happy with that.

Because it meant that to him, I wasn’t a threat.

Yet he didn’t look away, not even for a moment, so if I was to take him by surprise, I would have to do something he wouldn’t expect.

In my pocket, I also had the wooden discs Meghan had given me, the ones she had enchanted to take away a man’s sight. I gripped one between two fingers and a thumb, and applied enough pressure to break it into two.

I could only imagine the whisper of magic escaping from the disc, but the impact was immediate. All at once, the Blackcoat’s sneer turned into a look of astonishment and fear, and his eyes became wide.

I paused in my speech, looked around to make sure there were no witnesses to worry about, then stepped forward, took a two-handed grip on the end of my club, and swung it for all I was worth.

The club connected with the Blackcoat hard in the stomach, and he doubled over as he let out a wordless grunt of pain and surprise as the air burst from his lungs.

I didn’t stop there, either, but instead changed my stance just enough to deliver a second blow, this time to the back of his head.

The Blackcoat landed face first in the mud. Whether he was unconscious or dead, I couldn’t tell, and didn’t much care. From my point of view, he had sealed his fate when he aligned himself with my target.

But either way, I couldn’t leave him where he had fallen, so I rested my knob-ended club against the wall and quickly dragged the Blackcoat into the alley beside the brothel. Once there, I took off the man’s coat, did my best to clean the mud off it, and put it on in place of my own.

It was a decent fit. The man I’d just blinded and beaten was about the same size as me.

Nodding my approval, I encouraged Sir George to return to his spot, then took the Blackcoat’s place next to the wall.

“How about that?” I muttered to the rat dragon. “I have joined the Blackcoats. Who would have thought?”

Then I settled in to wait, thankful that today wasn’t one of those days where the drizzle was heavy.

I only had to wait a few minutes. Less than a handful, actually, and I couldn’t help but think what that might say about Durstan’s stamina where it mattered.

Nevertheless, the huge man soon appeared at the doorway, his expression unreadable. For all I knew, he could have been feeling content after his efforts in the brothel. Or he could have been disappointed. Not that it mattered to me. All that mattered was that when he stepped into the daylight and glanced in my direction, I had plenty of time to react.

From his perspective, the first thing he saw was the black coat I was wearing. I looked just enough like his friend to give myself the element of surprise.

It was all I needed. I grinned at Durstan and swung my club hard at the man’s face, smashing it into the bridge of his nose with all my strength.

To give credit where it’s due, Durstan proved to be much tougher than his friend. He staggered backward and swore in surprise, then gathered himself and charged at me with a roar like a bull.

I snapped a second one of Meghan’s discs, and had the satisfaction of hearing Durstan bellow in rage. I hit him more times than I really had to, smashing my club against his shoulders and back, and only going for the head when I saw him start to blink as if his sight was returning.

I had to hit him twice more, but in the end the result was the same.

Durstan lay face down in the mud just as his companion had done.

I could have plunged one of my daggers into his heart or slit his throat and watched him bleed out. But I’d made that mistake with Bryce and didn’t intend to make it again. And besides, I wanted him to know it was me before he died.

Which meant I had to move him to somewhere less visible. Trouble was, he was a monster. Much too large and too heavy for me to shift by myself.

Fortunately, Garath had wandered out of the tavern to join me.

He looked down at Durstan on the ground with an expression of loathing, his usually jovial expression nowhere to be seen. He then looked at me and gave me a nod.

“Good,” he said. “This bastard cost me everything.”

“You get his shoulders,” I said. “I’ll get his legs.”

My friend did as I asked, and in moments, we had the huge man up on Garath’s cart. Without a word, the swordsmith took the driver’s seat and goaded his horse into motion, while I used the rope we’d left in the cart to bind and gag Durstan tightly enough that he could never escape.

35

As Garath picked his way through the city streets, I went through Durstan’s belongings and came away with his coin pouch, an assortment of knives, a sword, and another satchel like Bryce’s.

Durstan’s satchel wasn’t anywhere near as full as Bryce’s had been, but when combined with the coin in his pouch, it still made for a decent score. I found myself wondering about that once again. I was able to survive all right with what I earned picking pockets, and if I needed anything else, I could simply steal it outright. But the schemes Rolf and his men were involved in were another matter entirely. They were the very definition of lucrative, resulting in a river of coin flowing to Rolf, and presumably to the King beyond them.

I couldn’t help but think that if I could get my hands on that sort of coin, I could do a lot. Maybe, I thought, once I was done with this revenge I was after, I would set my mind to figuring out some of those schemes for myself.

Before we reached our destination, Durstan started to wake.

It wasn’t a sudden change. He didn’t go from asleep to wide awake in an instant. Instead, he first started to move about in his sleep, as if caught in a bad dream. Then he began making noises through the gag in his mouth and turning his head back and forth, his brow creasing in a thunderous frown.

But he didn’t seem to be able to climb all the way back to consciousness by himself.

Finally, Garath halted his horse in an out-of-the-way spot next to the inner city wall beside the river, but a long way from any of the bridges, and nowhere near the dock.

I’d chosen this spot deliberately. The water ran deep here, but not swiftly. And the banks had been reinforced years ago with old brickwork that still held.

Garath could park his cart right next to the water without any difficulty.

The blacksmith set the brake, then clambered back over to me and Durstan in the back.

“He’s still out?” he asked.

“Mostly,” I said.

The smith looked uncertain. “What do we do? Wait for him to wake proper? Or finish him off before he ever does?”

“I want him to know who killed him,” I replied grimly.

Garath was generally easy-going, a friendly chap who worked hard and played straight. By the look of him, he didn’t seem the type to be a killer. Yet he didn’t flinch at my words. Just nodded and left it to me to decide what to do.

I slapped the semiconscious Durstan hard across the side of his face.

He flinched and muttered into his gag, but otherwise, his condition didn’t change.

So I slapped him again. And again, harder each time. The third time made the difference. His eyes flickered open, and he gave a snort of distinct irritation.

I slapped him again, just for the hell of it. “Come on,” I snarled. “I haven’t got all day!”

Despite my words, I pretty much did have all day. I wasn’t expected anywhere and didn’t have any firm plans for the evening.

Perhaps, when Garath and I were done with Durstan, I would make my way back to Meghan’s place. To celebrate, in a way. And perhaps see if the enchantress could spare any more of her blindness discs.

I slapped Durstan one more time, and that was enough. He came back to himself all the way, and glared at me and Garath. It took him a moment to realize he was bound, but when he did, he started to struggle and curse at us through the gag.

I let him waste his strength against my knots for a while, but that strength was truly prodigious. I began to fear he might be strong enough to escape. So I took one of my daggers, one I kept coated with Meghan’s bee venom poison, and dangled it above his left eye.

“Stop that,” I said.

He didn’t believe I would do anything. He kept struggling, so I took the dagger and poked a hole not in his eye, but through his muscular shoulder.

The bee venom did its job, and Durstan screamed into his gag. He stared at me in abject horror, as if the pain was far out of proportion for what it should have been with just a small wound. He writhed as if in the most hellish torment imaginable, and I smiled as I held the bloody blade above his eye once again and repeated my message.

Eventually, he calmed himself down. The glare he delivered to me then was one of pure hate, and I was more than pleased to know that he would not get the opportunity to enact whatever revenge of his own he was planning.

He made a muffled sequence of grunts that I chose to interpret as a question.

I smiled at him. “What was on my blade? Poison, of course. But don’t worry, this one isn’t fatal. It’s designed to cause pain.”

Somehow, he managed to stay in control of himself. He grunted through his gag once again.

“Sorry, you’re a bit hard to understand,” I said, smiling sweetly. “Try again.”

He did so, growling in anger, and this time I decided to answer. “You want to know what I want?” I asked, and he nodded.

I let my smile grow broader. “Everything,” I said. “But in particular, I want you to know who it is that has killed you.”

I let the words sink in for a moment, and then Durstan began struggling against his bonds once again.

He threw his weight against them, trying to knock me off balance, trying to surprise me enough to buy himself some time. But I was sitting on the edge of the cart, completely at ease, and the only thing his thrashing about accomplished was giving me the excuse to stab him again.

I did so, this time choosing a spot on his leg, in the meat of his thigh.

Once again, Durstan screamed into his gag, the sound coming out muffled.

“Is that really how you want to go out?” I asked him. “Screaming like a little girl?”

The bee venom was potent. It took some time for Durstan to stop screaming and calm himself down once again.

“Good,” I said. “It seems that even a block of wood like yourself is able to learn. Now, I’m not going to take off your gag, but you’re going to answer me anyway. Do you know who I am?” I asked. “Either nod or shake your head.”

The man nodded, and I could see the fear in his eyes. He was telling the truth. He knew who I was.

“And do you know why I’m doing this to you?”

A little less sure this time, but he nodded again.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m doing this to you because you did it to me. You, Bryce, Rolf. You left me to hang. And for that, you have to die.”

It was as if my words broke him. He nodded again, and much of the tension left his body as he did.

I smiled again. “You might like to know it was me who killed your friend a few days ago. Interestingly, he put up more of a fight than you did. But that means, once you’re gone, there’s only one left. And I already know what I’m going to do to him.”

This time, Durstan didn’t even bother to try to respond. He just clenched his eyes shut and squeezed a single tear out the side.

I was done. I’d said all I wanted to say. I knew that this monstrous man would go to his death understanding what I wanted him to know.

I looked across to Garath, who was staring down at Durstan with a thoughtful expression.

“Is there anything you would like to say?” I asked him.

I didn’t doubt his resolve. Over the past few days, I’d learned the depth of the hatred Garath had for this man.

He nodded and addressed his next words to Durstan.

“You cost me and mine everything,” Garath said. “This won’t change that. But know that it might make me feel a bit better about it all.

With that, he spat a great, wet gob of spit at the Blackcoat, who flinched as it caught him square in the face.

Then Garath looked to me. “Come on. Let’s get this over with,” he said.

I was happy enough to comply.

Together, we got down from the cart and grabbed the ropes at Durstan’s feet, both of us working together to drag him off the cart.

He landed with a thump on the perpetually damp earth.

As if that was a signal, Durstan began struggling again, perhaps understanding that this was his last chance, and these were his last moments.

I didn’t bother to stab him again, having already put my dagger away. Instead, with Garath’s help, we rolled him off the bank and into the water.

He went in with barely a splash and began to sink right away. But his efforts to keep himself afloat worked. He bucked and twisted about near the surface, and even managed to keep his head free of the water.

For a little while, anyway.

Then the weight of his black coat and boots dragged him under, and it wasn’t long after that when he vanished from view into the muddy depths.

Garath and I stood at the edge and waited until the bubbles stopped rising.

“And that’s two,” I murmured.

Garath looked at me. “What if they find him?” he asked.

“It wouldn’t matter if they did. Someone like Durstan, there are hundreds of people who want to kill him. I’m already dead as far as Rolf knows. And you? I doubt you’d ever be a suspect.”

I took a deep breath, feeling at once satisfied and disappointed, and continued. “Although I doubt they’ll even find the body. Some of the fish in there will already have started to gnaw on his flesh. And if there’s a river serpent about, not even his boots will survive.”

It was good enough for Garath. He held out a hand, and I shook it, an acknowledgement of a job well done.

Then the man climbed back onto his cart. He offered me a ride, but I was going the other way.

Meghan’s cottage wasn’t too far a walk from where we were, and I felt the need for her company.

Although, when I thought about it, it wasn’t a celebration as much as the simple comfort of being with someone I cared deeply about.

The girls in the taverns were just as soft and warm, and just as willing to share a bed with me. But somehow, Meghan was special.

We split the coin from Durstan’s satchel and pouch, and each of us went our separate ways.

36

Meghan seemed to accept that I wasn’t a permanent part of her life, but was instead more transient, stopping in from time to time as my goals allowed. Once again, she maintained her younger form throughout my visit, and even shared some of her food with Sir George by choice.

Finally, the rat dragon’s presence had been accepted for real rather than merely tolerated.

As for what she had done with the coin I had given her, I couldn’t tell. There were no signs of it in her cottage. But I didn’t ask. What she did with the money was her business.

At the same time, I didn’t feel compelled to share my latest windfall. The coin I’d gained from Durstan would be enough to live on for some months, if I was careful. And if I was not–well, hopefully by then I would have figured out a way to earn more.

As was her pattern, Meghan didn’t try to persuade me to stay. It seemed she was content with the time I could spend with her and never asked if there were any other women in my life. If she had, I would have told her, but I would have also said that none could match her.

Instead, she gave me more of her enchanted discs, as well as a potion that she was particularly proud of.

“A single small sip will change your appearance so that not even those closest to you will know who you are. With this, you could appear on my doorstep, and I would chase you away, not recognizing you at all.

I was intrigued. The vial seemed to contain enough liquid for maybe three of those sips, if I was careful. “How long does it last?” I asked. “Is it consistent? If I take a second sip a week later, will I look like the same man I was with the first sip?”

“It will last several hours at least, and yes. The way it works, it uses your normal self as a base and shifts everything you are around that. Your hair will grow darker. Your eyes and skin tone as well. You will appear maybe a decade older than you are, and that’s just the start. Your features are regular, so this potion will keep them as such, but they won’t be your features.”

I was amazed, and tempted to try it right there, but Meghan dissuaded me. “Remember, it’s very precious. I don’t give this away to just any pretty young man who knocks on my door. And I can’t make more. The ingredients are seasonal and rare. I won’t be able to get more until the end of the summer.”

“Finish this thing you have with Rolf and come back to me,” she said. “Remember, there is more to you than revenge. More to life than getting back at those who seek to do harm.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said something like that, and once again I wondered if she meant something beyond general advice. But again, she showed no interest in following it up, and I left.

And then I was back in the city, planning to balance the scales between me and my primary foe.

37

Rolf, I had decided, wasn’t going to get off so easily.

Durstan and Bryce were no more than low-level muscle. They’d shown who they were when they stood in line to defile Anwen and had gleefully been willing to fight their way past me to do so.

That was enough to earn them their deaths, as defending the King’s chosen companion was apparently enough to earn me a date with the hangman.

But Rolf was different.

Rolf had painted himself as my friend and abused my trusting nature. When all was said and done, he was as much my friend as Sir George was a true dragon–less, in fact, because at least Sir George belonged to the same general family.

Rolf had hung his crimes and those of his men squarely around my neck, and sneered at me when I’d needed him most.

I could have finished Rolf off in the same way that I had taken out Durstan and Bryce. All I needed was enough time with him by himself. But even if that was possible, even if Rolf hadn’t taken to surrounding himself with his men in the time since Bryce’s death and Durstan’s disappearance, it still wouldn’t be enough.

For my vengeance to be complete, Rolf had to suffer. For it to mean something, he had to go through the same hell I had experienced.

He needed to spend time in a cell where I could visit him and gloat. And he needed to be hanged by the neck, in full view of the townsfolk, until his still-kicking corpse was cut down by the hangman’s men.

Only then would I be satisfied that my vengeance was true. Only then would I be free to begin my life anew, following rules of my own making rather than those of people like Rolf.

And even though I still visited Lady Emmeline every day except Sundays, I wasn’t proficient enough with my sword to best Rolf in an outright swordfight. Perhaps not yet.

Although, at Lady Emmeline’s, I was learning quite a lot, and it wasn’t all about sword-fighting. At one point, I left her home, having just experienced being tied up with my hands behind my back, bent over, and thrashed with the flat of her sword. If it had been anyone but her, I would have been terrified, but I trusted the elderly woman now, and while the playful beating reddened my bottom, it also aroused me more than I’d imagined.

So I kept going back, and kept getting stronger with the blade. Because she worked me hard with the sword before taking me to the bedroom, and every morning was taken up with her activities.

But in the afternoons and evenings, I gathered information.

At first, revenge in the way I had planned seemed an impossible outcome. But the longer I thought about it, the more information gained from my network of tavern girls, street urchins, and random people, the more I began to think it might be possible.

Rolf’s day-to-day activities varied at least as much as Durstan’s or Bryce’s. Yet there was one thing about his routines that remained wholly consistent.

At his core, Rolf was a complete bastard.

He enjoyed running his scams. Reveled in causing pain for the sake of a few coins. He was as mercenary as they came, and would have gladly extorted the last copper from his own mother if he thought he could.

And when it came down to it, when all lies were swept away, it became abundantly clear, not just from the information I gathered but from my own experience, that Rolf was out for himself above all others.

Including the King.

I’d accepted as fact that many of Rolf’s schemes were completed under the King’s orders. But I knew with absolute certainty that not all of them were.

The kidnapping of Anwen was the key example. The King had marked her as his next companion and wouldn’t have done anything to put her at risk.

And if Rolf was prepared to do that once, then I would have bet huge piles of coin he was willing to do it again.

I just needed to figure out how I could turn this one simple truth to my advantage.

In the end, Ember provided the key.

She was one of my favorites, and I spent a surprising amount of time at the Goose and Quill, and not just because of her hot cocoa drink.

Ember was a calm, gentle presence in a dangerous world. A moment of peace in a city of loudness and chaos. And while she wasn’t quite as adventurous in the bedroom as Rosylin and her friends, sometimes her genuine affection was just what I needed.

We were enjoying each other’s company in her soft, oversized bed. Both naked, with her willowy body pressed against mine, we talked about random things, and she told me how popular the hot cocoa had become.

“You have seen how busy it is here,” she said, tracing a pattern on my chest with her finger. “It’s all on account of the cocoa drink. It has become the talk of the entire town, and last time we sold out, there were nearly riots because of it.”

Ember smiled, her pride evident in her eyes. “Even the King is said to enjoy a cup of it before bed, and another when he wakes the next morning. As a result, it has become an expensive product, with more than one tavern owner seeking the source.”

As I listened, the germ of an idea began to form. “Where does it come from?” I asked as I played with a length of her hair.

She grinned at me. “You wouldn’t be wanting to get into the business, would you?”

I laughed. While it was true I was looking for other sources of income, setting up a tavern didn’t seem to be quite the right thing.

“There is a merchant whose ships travel farther than most,” she said. “He is wary about the specifics, but he hinted that the world extends much further to the west than originally thought. This is just one of many exotic products he imports, but to me, it is one of the best.”

I nodded. “Is it just the one merchant?”

“It was to begin with. Now there are others. Even the King is said to want in on the game. He has his own, private supply.”

Very interesting.

“And I know something else,” Ember said. She beamed as if she’d been waiting all day to tell me.

I looked at her closely. “Yes?

“The next shipment is special, Mordie. It’s not just any shipment of cocoa.”

I grinned. “Please continue.”

I pumped Ember for as much information as I could get, and by the end of the evening, I thought I had found the knife with which to slit Rolf’s gloating throat.

38

Over the next few days, I refined my plans until they were ready to put into place.

I’d always known that Rolf was a Blackcoat of significant power and influence. He had his fingers in just about every conceivable pie within the inner walls of the city, and more than a few beyond those walls as well. It was a big operation, and more than a hundred men wearing black answered directly to him, acting as his own private army. Of these, a select few were given rank and privilege, either on a one-off basis or more regularly.

For much of the work Rolf did, that was all he needed. But when he chose to work a scheme for his own benefit, he wouldn’t hesitate to look outside of his men and use whoever he could.

That’s what had happened on those occasions where he’d sought out my help. Durstan and Bryce had been his trusted men, but neither of them had the skills I possessed.

Nor was I the only one Rolf would bring in at need. There were locksmiths, arsonists, thieves, and more, specialists in different areas whom Rolf could call upon at need.

And that was just the functional part of his operation. There was also the other side of it. The information-gathering side.

Rolf had his own network of informants spread throughout the city. I wasn’t exactly surprised. He had to learn about the opportunities he exploited from somewhere, and the Blackcoats themselves were just a small part of the answer.

Rolf employed a spymaster who did what I did but with more deliberate intent. Where I took my time to get to know people, to chat with the serving girls, the tavern keepers, the street urchins, and anyone I happened to meet, this spymaster was more direct.

He recruited people with overt intent, greasing their palms with one hand and offering threats with the other. And his methods were obviously effective.

Rolf didn’t know everything of importance that happened within the city walls, not by a long way, or he might have already decided to track me down and finish what he started.

But with his spymaster’s informants tucked away in strategic locations, he knew more than enough to get by.

And I knew enough to make use of the spymaster’s network.

The first part of my plan was easy, but I needed Samuel the street urchin.

“You’ve got a job for me?” he asked as he stood under the eaves of a building near the market, hiding from the rain.

“I might. Depending on if you can do it or not.”

The boy grinned, showing surprisingly clean, even teeth. “I can do it,” he said confidently. “You just see if I can’t.”

I gave him an approving nod. “I believe you.”

“Well? What is it?”

“I want you to spread a rumor,” I said. “There is a shipment of cocoa coming in. You know what that is?”

Samuel bobbed his head. “It’s that new drink some of the taverns are selling.”

“That’s right.”

“That’s it? That’s the rumor?”

“No. The rumor I want you to start is that the merchant is nervous. The demand for his product has risen substantially, and it’s the last shipment expected for months. Which means it’s even more valuable than before. So much so that the merchant has hired double the normal number of Graycoats to protect it, and he’s keeping his route secret.”

Samuel stared at me with wide eyes. “And how much of that is true?” he asked.

I chuckled. “All of it,” I said.

Samuel thought it over. Then nodded. “I can do it,” he said, and held out his hand.

“Name your price,” I said.

Samuel gave me a crafty look. “Something like this, you’re planning something big. What’s it worth to you?”

He truly was a cunning lad, and I had to give him credit for it. “It isn’t worth much to me in financial terms. For me, it’s more about revenge.”

It didn’t faze him. “In that case, if this is personal, then it’s worth at least a silver or two.”

I dug in my coin pouch and came up with one, which I placed in his hand.

“You get two more when I hear the rumor repeated back to me.”

Samuel looked like he wanted to object, so I raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you don’t think you can do it?” I challenged.

It was Samuel’s turn to grin. He nodded and made the silver piece vanish. “You got yourself a deal,” he said.

As he disappeared into the market, I nodded to myself. The bait was set. But that was just the first step. I needed to make sure Rolf took it, and then I needed to make sure it went the way I wanted.

Samuel did his job well, and it wasn’t long before I heard my own rumor repeated back to me from more than one source.

Rosylin from the Twin Barrels alehouse was the first. She told me all about the cocoa shipment, gushing about the value of it and the lengths the merchant was taking to conceal it.

I smiled, nodded, and made a mental note to give Samuel the coin he was owed.

Then it was time for phase two.

I had started keeping a room in the Goose and Quill, and not just because that was where Ember worked and I enjoyed her company perhaps a little more than most of the others.

It wasn’t much, no more than four walls and a bed, but it had one additional benefit—a small looking glass hanging on the wall.

I had done all my preparation work. I knew where Rolf liked to hang out in the evening, after he had completed whatever work he got up to during the day. He and some of his Blackcoat companions typically enjoyed an ale or two at the Rusty Dagger, a surprisingly upmarket inn quite close to the King’s castle.

Rolf would drink the evening away, sometimes becoming rowdy and picking fights with other customers. Sometimes his men would hold him back, but other times they would join in.

I knew I could simply head to the inn and wait for an opportunity to catch Rolf by himself. But he didn’t seem to want to take that sort of risk, and anyway, that wasn’t my plan. Not for Rolf.

So I looked at myself in the looking glass and took the stopper from the vial Meghan had given me. At once, the pungent odor of concentrated citrus hit my senses. It was strong enough to make my eyes water, and I hesitated.

But not for long. This needed to be done. So I put the open end of the vial to my lips, tilted back and took a single small swallow.

The liquid burned down my throat like acid. I coughed, grimaced against the sharp, almost acrid taste, and swallowed it down.

Then I replaced the stopper and waited.

The taste faded swiftly, and for a moment, I wondered if Meghan’s enchantment had failed. Then I felt decidedly odd.

My heart started beating too fast, and sweat formed on my brow. I felt nauseous, too. Seasick, perhaps, or maybe a little tipsy, like the room was spinning. And when I turned my head, my perceptions were slow to catch up.

I felt a bubble of gas form in my stomach and knew if I let it come up, it wouldn’t do so alone.

So I clenched my jaw and held onto the bed in an effort to steady myself, and closed my eyes against the swirling of the walls.

The peculiar sensations didn’t last very long. The bubble of gas in my stomach seemed to dissipate, and everything went back to normal.

I took a deep breath, reassured myself that I was okay, and listened to the sound of my own heart as the beats settled down to normal.

Then I opened my eyes and peered at myself in the looking glass.

Someone else entirely was looking back at me. Older, darker, and with a different shade of hair. And there were fine lines on my forehead and around my eyes. My features were largely as they had been before, but slightly altered. My nose, jaw, and eyebrows were thicker and more substantial than usual, almost as if my own features had been combined with Durstan’s.

It was the face of a stranger, and I was convinced there was no way anyone who knew me would recognize Mordie the Bastard with no last name.

I broke into a grin, and even that was a harder, less open expression than before.

I was ready. The transformation would only last a few hours. So it was time to get moving.

39

I staggered into the Rusty Dagger as if I was already drunk, finding a seat near the end of the bar where I could keep half an eye on the entire place. Then I ordered an ale with a surly, slurred tone, and hunched deep into my coat (a normal one, not the black one I’d taken from Durstan’s companion) like a man keen on escaping the world for a time.

I sat muttering to myself, grumbling under my breath about life while looking at no one. Every so often, my mutters grew louder and more specific.

“Curse the gods and merchants alike for their fickleness!” I would say.

“Kick me off the caravan, will he?”

“God rot the pack of them.”

“Would serve him right if he does get robbed.”

And the key part of my message that went out to anyone who cared to listen.

“I hope his god-rotting cocoa beans spoil before they arrive!”

To all the people in the tavern, I was just a drunk, spouting my vitriol to anyone and everyone who cared to listen. Not that anyone did. I kept my eyes mostly fixed on a point behind the bar and sloshed my flagon of ale about as if in punctuation, for all appearances just another mad drunk deep in his cups.

I kept my routine going for most of the evening, ordering more ale when I was done, and in truth, it became easier to keep the slur in my words. The tavern was crowded and noisy, but sometimes I still heard the cries of the beast that lived beneath the castle. It was a common noise in Camelot, but the proximity of this tavern to the King’s castle meant it was more noticeable.

For a few moments, I wondered if I had come too early and would need more potion. I had only enough of Meghan’s potion for two more small sips, and if I couldn’t hook the fish I was after before they were gone, I would have to come up with a new plan.

Despite my witless, drunken appearance, I was very aware of when Rolf entered the inn with several Blackcoat lackeys at his side. I almost flinched when I saw him and did my best to hide the reaction with another random mutter and wave of my hands. I kept my head down and turned partially away, but could do nothing to calm the pounding of my heart or the way the blood gathered in my head.

I felt wired, ready for action, and every fiber in my body tensed as if I was about to go on attack. This was the man who had sneered at me as he left me to my fate. This was the man who had gleefully informed me I was to be hanged.

This was the man who had shown me the error of how I’d lived my life before, and who had betrayed me like no one else.

I would happily peel the skin from his flesh and bathe him in acid. I would have fed him feet first into a meat-grinder and forced him to do the grinding for as long as he could. I would have cut pieces off him, cooked them up, and made him eat them.

And I would have enjoyed it.

Perhaps I should have done something like that, or just slit his throat and let him bleed out on the floor. But my sense of justice demanded to see him swinging at the end of the rope. It consumed me, and nothing else would be quite good enough.

As the treacherous bastard and his crew settled in around the tables at the other side of the bar, and I willed myself to calm down, took a steadying swallow of my ale and continued with my performance.

It was a busy night for the innkeeper. By the time Rolf and his crew entered, there were few places to sit, and the seat next to me at the bar was taken up by a large man who glared at me once when I shouted to the world in general that all merchants should be strung up by the balls, then proceeded to ignore me entirely as he sank into his own drink.

We continued through the evening as companionable strangers, each ignoring the other, until a man in a black coat approached him from behind.

“I’ll be needing that seat, if you don’t mind,” Rolf sneered at the big man.

While not as drunk as I pretended to be, my companion was a long way from sober. He didn’t even glance up.

“This one is taken,” he slurred. “Get another.”

“But I want this one,” Rolf replied, and I could hear the sneer in his voice even as my skin crawled at the sound of it. I found myself thinking violent thoughts once again and covered them with another swallow.

“Don’t care what you want. Fuck off,” said my companion.

It was the wrong thing to say. Rolf wasn’t the biggest man in the world, but he was powerful. He gripped the stranger by the back of his coat, and with no hesitation, dragged him off his seat and onto the floor. The man hit with a thud and started to curse as he reached for his weapon of choice, most likely a dagger at his waist.

But Rolf was quicker. He stepped on the man’s neck and ground it into floor. The move was quick and vicious, and sudden enough that the random murmurs and talk died down so the other customers could watch.

Rolf hadn’t even drawn his sword. He just kept his weight on my companion’s neck and snarled at him.

“I said I want that seat,” he said. “To which the answer is that I’m welcome to it.”

The man on the ground got the message. He thrashed about under Rolf’s weight, gurgling as his fingers sought purchase on Rolf’s leg.

“What was that?” Rolf asked. At the same time, he took some of the weight from the man’s neck.

“You’d be welcome to it,” the man on the ground muttered, his voice choked and ragged from Rolf’s mistreatment.

The Blackcoat beamed as if that was all he desired and offered the man on the floor his thanks.

“That’s better,” he said, taking the man’s seat. “Now get out of here, before I change my mind about being so gentle.”

The stranger scrambled to his feet. Rolf ignored him, instead picking up the man’s half-finished ale and taking a deep swallow.

I was doing my best to appear to be minding my own business while also taking in every last detail. The stranger looked to be on the verge of arguing further, but some of Rolf’s men had gathered. And the stranger wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t see the danger.

He took Rolf’s advice, turning and leaving the inn without another word, and the general conversation returned to its previous level.

Rolf smacked his lips and placed the man’s flagon back on the bar. Then, with no subtlety at all, he turned toward me.

“So,” he began. “You work for the merchant who is bringing in the cocoa,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

It was all I could do to stare blankly at him, trying not to give the whole game away. But inside, I was roiling with anger.

Sir George was under no such constraints. Maybe he’d caught my mood. Either way, he shifted his weight on my shoulder and hissed menacingly at Rolf.

Rolf glared at Sir George like an alpha predator looking at an annoying insect. Then he dismissed my faithful pet and turned his attention to me.

“You’re going to tell me his habits,” he said. “Most specifically, the route he plans to take to bring his goods into the city.”

I sneered at him. “Blackcoat,” I said, putting as much contempt into the word as I could. It was easy. The contempt I held for Rolf was immeasurable. “Why should I tell you a damn thing?”

It was a risky thing to say. There was a good chance Rolf would simply threaten to cut off my balls if I didn’t. But I had always been good at saying and doing just the right thing to get me what I wanted, and I put just enough of a genuine question in my tone that suggested I was in fact interested in telling him anything he wanted to know.

Rolf sized me up, assessing me. To him, I was a drunken malcontent who had been fired from his job, probably for good reason. Someone with an axe to grind, a grudge against the very merchant who could enrich Rolf’s coffers.

“You don’t like your employer much, do you?” Rolf began, attempting to get me on his side.

I sniffed and looked away. “That ain’t a crime,” I said. “You gonna arrest me for that?”

“I’m not going to arrest you for anything,” Rolf said. “Well, maybe if you don’t answer my questions.”

I grunted. “Course I don’t like the bastard. Let me go just before the most lucrative run of the season. Me and the others–we were in line for a bonus. And now I get nothing!”

I said it with all the bitterness I held deep in my soul, all the bitterness that had gathered there since Rolf had betrayed me. But he didn’t know its true source, obviously.

He nodded sagely. “That’s a bit of bad luck, true enough,” he said. “And I imagine it doesn’t sit well with a hard-working man like yourself, does it?”

“Damn right it doesn’t!” I said, maintaining my sneer. To my secret delight, Sir George unfurled his wings and hissed again, a threat in every movement.

“You would be put out,” Rolf replied, continuing to ignore my pet. “And right enough to. I mean, I wouldn’t like it. None of us would. In fact, you might say, if it were me, I might even want to get back at the merchant.”

I snorted in agreement and took another swig of my ale before smashing the nearly empty flagon down onto the bar. The movement nearly unseated Sir George. “Damn right,” I said again.

It was the admission Rolf had been waiting for. He gave me a wolfish grin, as if he thought he had me right where he wanted. “And that’s why you should tell me what I want to know.”

I did my level best to stare at him blearily. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“When you look at me, what do you see?”

“Humph. Cock-sucking Blackcoat,” I said.

The wolfish grin on Rolf’s face became a bit strained. But full credit to him, he kept it in place. “Sure. I’m a Blackcoat. But that just means I have a bit more freedom to do what needs to be done than you.”

I was doing my best to appear only vaguely coherent. As if I might fall off my seat at any moment and start snoring in a drunken stupor. It was my best chance to get through this part of my plan without Rolf simply deciding to haul me away and torture me to get what he needed. I had to walk a fine line between giving him what he wanted and it seeming too easy.

“What do you mean?” I asked. Perhaps it was the tone of my voice, but Sir George took it as a cue. He folded his wings and settled down just a little.

Rolf favored my little friend with a look of distaste. “I can hurt him for you,” he said. “The merchant. All I need to know is his route into town, and when he will be here.”

Rolf hadn’t really answered my question. There were still a few dots that he hadn’t connected. But the drunken malcontent I was playing couldn’t be expected to follow that clearly.

I nodded as if everything Rolf said had made perfect sense. But there was one more thing I needed to know. One more piece of the puzzle that I had to make sure was in place.

I snorted in his general direction. “Cock-sucking Blackcoat,” I said again, relishing the way it made Rolf’s expression freeze in place. “What do you care about guys like me? You work for the King. You ain’t gonna do nothing but what he tells you to do.”

This was it, I thought as I watched Rolf closely while pretending to be almost cross-eyed with drink. If I had been completely sober, my statement might have seemed out of place. But as it was, Rolf had no reason to doubt its authenticity.

His expression barely changed, and if Rolf had been a complete stranger, I might have missed it. But I knew Rolf. I’d watched him dice with other Blackcoats and random strangers. Watched him gamble and bet. When he knew he was onto a winner, there was a gleam in his eye that he couldn’t suppress.

That gleam was on full display.

“Who said the King had anything to do with this at all?” he asked, and because of that gleam in his eye, I was totally certain that he meant what he said.

“Tell me what I want to know,” he continued. “What route will the merchant take? What time does he intend to arrive?”

Rolf had taken the bait. Not just a nibble, but he’d swallowed it down whole and was dancing on the hook, begging to be reeled in.

In his mind, this was a pot of gold sitting there for the taking.

I’d done my job well. With so many people aware of the opportunity, the King would never know it was Rolf behind any attempt to steal the cocoa shipment. So there was no reason for the Blackcoat to tell the King what he was planning.

But it was the King’s own shipment that I had information on.

Rolf was going to do the job I had set up for him. And he was going to do it for his own benefit. And that was exactly according to plan.

So I told him, in glorious, slurred detail, everything he needed to know.

40

There was another risk with meeting Rolf like this. The man had the morals of a sewer, and I wouldn’t have put it past him to manage his risk by taking a drunken stranger out to a back alley and slipping a quiet knife between his ribs, after he’d got what he wanted.

My ribs. I countered this by finishing my drink, slurring something incoherent, resting my head on the bar, and feigning dropping off into a drunken stupor, complete with loud snoring.

At the same time, I kept my ears and eyes open, and waited.

For a moment, Rolf hovered next to me, and I stiffened. I could almost feel the tip of his blade sinking into my side, and knew he was considering doing just that.

But not even he was brazen enough to murder a stranger in his favorite watering hole. Eventually, he chose to head back to his Blackcoat companions, and leave me in peace.

Then I picked my moment, sneaking out of the inn without anyone paying attention.

There was just one more piece of the puzzle to go, and a single day to complete it.

The entire plan hinged upon me getting a meeting with Lancelot, captain of the Blackcoats and the King’s most loyal supporter.

My network had suggested that Lancelot was a fading force. He viewed Rolf as a threat to his own personal power, and was the one Blackcoat who would be most likely to do what I needed the Blackcoats to do.

I didn’t have to see him directly. Instead, I hired one of the city messenger boys, broke out my quill and parchment, and wrote him a letter detailing what was about to happen. And with that, I was done.

All the pieces were in place. All that remained now was to wait and rub the amulet Meghan had given me for luck.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to stay away entirely and let the cards fall where they may. But I wanted to see how it played out. Needed to see it. I had to see if my plans would work as I hoped, or if it would all be for naught.

So I made my way to the outer edges of the town and into the beginnings of the hills beyond, to the farthest spot where Rolf could set up his ambush. Beyond this crossroads, the Blackcoat would have to send men in multiple directions to be sure of his target. I knew there was a chance he would do exactly that, just to be sure he would be the first to greet the caravan. But I deemed it unlikely.

Perhaps, if he was working for the King, he would have the manpower to spare. But this was going to be a job for himself. And Rolf wouldn’t want to share the spoils any more than he absolutely had to. So he would bring a handful of men, just enough to get the job done and no more.

Which meant he would set his trap on the road he knew the caravan would take.

The road I had named during my drunken conversation.

I hid in the trees that lined the side of the road and took another sip of Meghan’s potion, just in case.

Then I waited for the merchant’s caravan to appear, with Sir George nestled comfortably on my shoulder. All my planning, all my talking, and all my manipulating had come to this. I could barely contain my excitement, but because too many things could still yet go wrong, I reined in my emotions and made sure no one else could see me.

The caravan was right on time. Just a handful of wagons, each pulled by a team of two sturdy horses with a fully-enclosed carriage at the back. Each wagon was stacked high and covered with heavy canvas to protect the goods beneath from the incessant rain.

“This must be them,” I said to Sir George, and while my pet rat dragon said nothing, I figured he must have agreed.

A caravan this size would typically be accompanied by only a token guard, a handful of men in gray coats and chainmail beneath, bristling with enough weapons to discourage the casual thief.

But this one had three times that number. It was almost as if the merchant wanted to advertise that his wares were more valuable than most. And, as Sir George and I watched from above, I could clearly see that they took their job seriously. Not one of them sat idly, inattentive on their mounts. Instead, each looked around with alert eyes, crossbows drawn and ready, and carrying long spears that would certainly discourage most bandits.

I waited until the caravan passed me completely before dropping lightly to the ground. From there, I followed along at a distance, keeping to the trees to avoid being seen, my senses alert for any hint of Rolf and his men.

Near dark, with the drizzle starting to settle in for the evening, we reached the edge of the city.

And that’s where Rolf finally made his move, standing in the middle of the road. The caravan came to a halt before him.

“Welcome to Camelot,” Rolf said, his shit-eating grin on full display.

From where I hid in the bushes, I could see the uncertainty on the faces of the caravan guards. That uncertainty translated to incomplete control of their horses, and the mounts of the two front guards danced back and forth in an equine dance of confusion.

If Rolf hadn’t been dressed in a black coat, likely the caravan wouldn’t have even stopped. Likely, they would have kept going, either shouldering the man aside or trampling him under foot. But Rolf did wear a black coat. And he knew full well the power it held.

He stood completely at ease, weapons not even drawn.

“What is your purpose?” one of the guards spat, his anxiety clear. “We have done nothing wrong. Why do you stand in our way?”

“I’m are here under the King’s orders,” Rolf lied. “Haven’t you heard? The King has enacted a new tax upon all goods as they enter the city. As luck would have it, you are the first to be required to pay. But the news isn’t all bad. You get a choice. Either hand over a third of your goods, or twenty gold coin. And then you can be on your way.”

The two front guards tried to bring their horses under control. They glanced at each other briefly, but apparently had no need to discuss the situation. The guard who had spoken before glared at Rolf.

“You’re not the King’s man,” he said. “You are a bandit! Next time, perhaps you should bring along more men. Clear the road, or we will run you down!”

Rolf didn’t so much as bat an eye.

My heart was pounding so loud I was surprised Rolf and the others couldn’t hear it. But Rolf had ice in his veins and didn’t move so much as a hair.

From somewhere in the buildings behind him, perhaps from a rooftop, came the sound of a crossbow firing. An instant later, the other front guard, the one who’d remained silent, grunted as the bolt caught him high in the shoulder.

The first guard swore, and I could see he was weighing the odds, only half a moment from charging Rolf and trusting to luck to keep him alive.

Rolf’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

“Don’t try it!” he snapped. “You said I should have brought more men. Well, here’s news for you. I did. As of right now, there are more than a dozen crossbows aimed toward you and yours. Now, stop wasting my time. Talk to your master and make your choice. And if I have to loose another bolt to persuade you, the price of your passage will double. Have I made myself clear?”

The man who’d been shot was beyond listening to Rolf’s threats and demands. He was cursing under his breath while he tried to control his horse, which had become spooked. The guard who had done all the speaking glared at Rolf for a moment, then looked around as if seeking Blackcoats with crossbows.

“I think you are lying,” he snarled. “I think you have one man hidden somewhere, and he is your only backup.”

It was a risky thing to say.

Rolf stared the man down, his grin never leaving his face.

“One way to find out,” he said without ever breaking eye contact from the lead guard.

In the end, with a curse, the guard wheeled his mount and headed to the back of the caravan, to what must have been the merchant’s private carriage.

I wasn’t close enough to hear what the guard said as he spoke through the window of the carriage, but I caught a stream high-pitched curses from the man within.

I could barely contain myself. Where were the other Blackcoats? Where were Sir Lancelot’s men?

Had I read the situation incorrectly? Was Lancelot part of the game, too? Were he and the allies involved in the thieving?

Had I simply gifted Rolf with a hefty payday?

Or had something gone wrong, and the message I sent never found its way to Sir Lancelot?

I began cursing my own naïveté. I should have delivered my message in person.

The guard finished his discussion with the merchant and wheeled back toward the front of the caravan. But he didn’t go alone. Instead, he signaled the other guards on that side to come with him, and in moments Rolf found himself face to face with half a dozen Graycoats with their weapons at the ready.

Still, Rolf didn’t flinch. He stood as unmoving as a boulder, his physical presence alone enough to overwhelm lesser men. But perhaps he had underestimated the resolve of the merchant’s guards.

Perhaps I wasn’t going to get my revenge after all.

Because it was starting to look as if Rolf had met his match.

I wondered if I should somehow prevent the confrontation that seemed to be brewing, to save Rolf’s miserable neck so I might still get my revenge some day in the future. I looked left and right, hoping to see Lancelot’s men, but the streets seemed quiet apart from the caravan and Rolf.

“You’ve made your choice?” Rolf said. “And before you give your answer, be aware that the wrong one will cost you your life. If you and your men choose to attack, know that you are attacking the King’s men, and even if you should run me down, you will not make it five paces before sprouting feathers.”

But the guard had the advantage of height and numbers on his side, and he knew it. “I said before. You are a bandit. Not the King’s man. And you are bluffing. You have one man hidden on a rooftop. No more than that. And I have a dozen, many with crossbows. Now stand aside.”

Despite the guard’s words, I could sense his uncertainty, and I figured Rolf could as well. Despite the assertion that Rolf was no more than a bandit, he still wore his black coat. And that alone was enough to stay the guard’s hand.

Rolf continued to grin. “Nathan! Julius! Paul! Reveal yourselves! The rest of you, hold your places!”

At Rolf’s word, three men did as he said, two appearing on rooftops, the third from behind the nearest building. All three carried crossbows, and all three of those bows were aimed at the guards.

It was a stand-off. Neither side was willing to back down, and yet so far only one man had been injured. I found myself starting to fidget enough that Sir George shifted his weight and chirped in my ear.

And where was Sir Lancelot?

If he didn’t turn up soon, all that would be left of this mess would be corpses. Graycoats, Blackcoats, probably both, and all of them would be on my head.

At the same time, I was surprised by how many men Rolf had brought. Did he really have more?

If the merchant agreed to the twenty gold coins, then that would mean five apiece. More than enough to justify the risk, but that presumed an even split.

More than likely, the men would be lucky to see one gold piece each, and Rolf would keep the rest for himself. Which meant that he could have brought ten men, an even dozen or more, and it would still be worthwhile.

As that thought passed through my mind, I sensed movement from down the back of the caravan. I turned my attention that way, and suddenly, I heard a high-pitched yet masculine squeal of terror.

As if that was a signal, Rolf’s shit-eating grin grew even broader. “I suggest you go back and talk to your master again,” he drawled. “I expect that he might have new orders for you.”

And then I realized what had happened. Rolf and his crossbowmen were just a diversion. As soon as the merchant’s location had been confirmed, one of Rolf’s men had crept along the road and forced his way into the carriage.

Even now, I imagined the merchant sitting there, all dressed up in fine clothing, with the point of a dagger lining up against his jaw.

And I understood how close I’d come to being seen. If Rolf’s hidden assassin had chosen to move along my side of the road…

I breathed a huge sigh of relief and continued to watch.

The lead guard knew he was beaten. His shoulders were slumped, and he no longer sat with the same look of intensity about him. He returned to the carriage window and received new orders, just as Rolf had said.

All I could do was watch, wait, and hope for the best. But with each passing second, my hope started to fade. Somewhere, my plan had gone wrong. There was nothing I could do except watch as the guard returned with a coin pouch and flung it at Rolf’s feet.

“Twenty gold,” he said. And despite his master’s capitulation, I still heard the contempt in the guard’s words. This was a man who didn’t like to lose, up against a man who would do anything to win.

Rolf ignored the coin pouch at his feet as if it didn’t exist. “I don’t like your tone,” he said. “And twenty gold was the price for immediate compliance. Which you didn’t do. The price has gone up. Twenty more.”

I could feel the tension soar once again. The lead guard stared at Rolf with an incredulous expression.

“You have what you asked for–” he began, but Rolf cut him off.

“And now I’m asking for more.”

The guard had no choice, and he knew it. Rolf’s man was still inside the merchant’s carriage, awaiting orders.

In the end, the guard did the only thing he could. He turned his horse about once more and headed to the rear of the caravan.

And then, finally, I heard the sound I’d been waiting for since the whole episode had begun.

Horses.

Hidden by the gloom of the evening, their hooves muffled against the mud of the road, they appeared from both directions at once, coming up behind Rolf and the caravan as well.

The lead horseman was a large, imposing man who had once been more. But now his thick frame was running to fat, his hair was thinning and gray, and he wore a sour expression as if he was suffering from permanent toothache.

Yet still, he was the second most powerful man in the city.

Sir Lancelot glared down at Rolf and bellowed, “What in all the seven Hells is going on here?”

From my hiding place among the bushes, I stifled a laugh.

41

All my anxiety and growing disappointment vanished, to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief mixed with hope. I found it hard to stay still and was grinning like a loon.

It wasn’t over yet, but my plan had worked. I’d managed to get Rolf and Lancelot together at just the right time, in just the right way.

Not even Rolf could withstand the glare of Sir Lancelot. The Blackcoat seemed more than taken aback. He was shocked.

And before my enemy could find his tongue, to my utter delight, the merchant’s lead guard filled the silence with words that were music to my soul.

“This false Blackcoat and his men are bandits! They threatened our lives to extort coin from my master, who is even now under threat in his carriage.”

Lancelot turned his baleful gaze back to Rolf. “Is this true?” he demanded.

Rolf was many things. A villain through and through, a greedy, slimy, treacherous bastard. He was dangerous in so many ways and acted without hesitation or mercy.

I’d seldom seen him at a loss for words, but that’s exactly what was happening.

But it didn’t last for long, though. It took only moments for his jaw to snap shut, and the cunning to reappear in his eyes.

“Of course not!” he said. “You know my role, Sir Lancelot, better than any other. You know what I am tasked to do. This is just part of my job!”

At Rolf’s words, my heart began to sink. It seemed Lancelot was in on the game.

Lancelot sat back on his horse as if considering Rolf’s words.

“While it is true that you are mandated by the King to commit acts like this,” he drawled. “In this case, I do not believe that’s what you are doing. You see, this merchant you have waylaid isn’t bringing in his goods for just anyone. He is bringing it directly to the castle itself.”

The old warrior paused to let his words sink in, then delivered his coup de grace. “You are waylaying the man responsible for delivering the King’s own supply of cocoa.”

It was a stunning revelation that Rolf hadn’t seen coming. But I’d known about it all along. It was one of the first things Ember had told me.

It was beautiful to see. Rolf’s defense evaporated, leaving him with nowhere to turn. He simply gaped for a moment, and that was enough for Lancelot.

The old knight grinned an ugly grin. “Arrest these men!” he said, and it was done.

Rolf tried to struggle, tried to resist, and was soundly thumped on the head for his troubles. In the end, there was nothing he could do. He was outnumbered, and his crossbow men had already been taken out of the action.

As it unfolded in front of my eyes, I felt like crying in triumph. It had worked!

Rolf was being arrested. He would be thrown in jail. And, as I knew from my own experience, for crimes against the King’s property, there was only one outcome.

No need for a trial. Rolf’s guilt was as certain as mine had been, so the punishment would be as well.

Hanging, until he was dead.

I watched as Lancelot and his men efficiently stripped Rolf and his men of their weapons, bound them, and made ready to walk them back through the streets to the jail.

The only sour note was when Lancelot himself dismounted and spoke directly to Rolf. I couldn’t hear the words, but the body language was clear. Lancelot was gloating, just as I felt like doing, with Rolf having little option but to take it and sneer.

Then Sir Lancelot bent and picked up the coin pouch from where it landed on the ground. He hefted it, and with no obvious intent to return it to the guard, tucked it away.

Then he turned to the Graycoats, who were still standing around, unsure what to do.

“Be on your way,” Sir Lancelot said. “The King himself is waiting for your arrival. I’d make haste, if I were you.” The old knight turned to the man with the crossbow bolt embedded in his shoulder. “I wouldn’t normally offer this to outsiders such as yourself, but I’m feeling in a generous mood. The Blackcoats have a surgeon on standby. He’s a good man. You would have even odds of surviving that wound under his care. Tell him I sent you.”

And that was that. Lancelot and his men departed with Rolf and his men in tow, with the caravan following close behind. I watched until all of them had disappeared into the town, then finally let myself relax.

I threw myself onto my back, unintentionally dislodging Sir George from his spot on my shoulder, and shouted in wordless joy. I didn’t even mind how damp the ground was, or the way the drizzle wet my face.

I had done it!

Not that Sir George cared. He made a clicking noise of discontent and tried to find a comfortable spot.

All that was left was to make sure that Rolf knew it was me, and then watch him swing.

42

I was in the mood to celebrate. Ideally, I would do so in the arms of Meghan le Fay, but it was too late to start the journey to her place. So instead, with her enchantment wearing off and my normal face on display, I went back to the Twin Barrels alehouse and got roundly drunk, and took Rosylin and Maise to bed.

I woke up with a mild headache, surrounded by soft, female flesh. I felt truly at peace for the first time in weeks. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and I liked it.

But even so, the job wasn’t quite done. I got dressed quietly so as not to disturb the girls, putting on my stolen black coat.

Sir George didn’t care that I was wearing a Blackcoat’s clothing. He just watched me from his position at the foot of the bed with his luminous green eyes, then launched himself to his usual spot on my shoulder and settled himself down.

I took out the small vial of enchanted liquid and studied what was left. There were only a few drops remaining. I could only hope they would be enough, and for the third time, I brought the vial to my lips.

Once more, I felt myself change, and only when the transformation was complete did I leave the room and head down to the jail.

It had been long weeks since I had last been anywhere near this godawful place. The jail wasn’t a building. Not exactly. The land the King’s castle had been built upon was made up of a network of interconnecting caves. It was a labyrinth, the bulk of which had been explored many decades before and turned into a network of storage rooms, passageways, dungeons, and more.

The jail wasn’t part of that system. It wasn’t directly under the castle. But it was nearby, a second, smaller network of caverns that had been put to good use.

The Blackcoats were garrisoned in the buildings above, with the jail directly beneath them.

I girded myself, aware I was taking a risk with so many Blackcoats about. But this was part of my plan, so I gritted my teeth and wandered in as if I had a right to be there.

Nobody paid me the slightest attention. But as I wandered past the cage-fronted caves, Sir George stirred on my shoulder.

“You recognize this place, do you?” I asked him quietly. “This is where I met you.”

And he did seem to recognize it, showing more interest than usual. Maybe it was the stench of old sweat, sewage, and death. Maybe it was the noises, the moans of despair, the quiet talking, the occasional curse.

Or maybe it was just the feeling of oppression and hopelessness that seemed to seep from the walls.

Either way, I recognized it as well, and didn’t enjoy being there one bit. But that didn’t mean I intended to leave. I still had a job to do, and I meant to see it through.

So I forced myself to look into every cell, searching for my foe, my eyes sweeping over the misery and gloom as I tried not to remember my own time in this place.

The cells weren’t as full as they had been when I had seen them from the other side of the bars. There had been a hanging day fairly recently, so another one wasn’t yet due for several days. Which meant Rolf would have some time to get used to his incarceration.

I kept looking. The prison was extensive, as was the crime in Camelot. There were nearly a hundred men in various cells, either serving their time or awaiting a worse fate. Some of them would leave this place when their sentence was done, thinner, maybe suffering from some sort of disease, but essentially whole.

Others would leave minus a hand.

And still others would leave only to find themselves on the gallows, awaiting a drop.

Of course, there were those who would never see daylight again. Those who had no release date to look forward to, or those who simply gave up and died.

But I didn’t expect Rolf to be one of those. Not him. He was too strong, too much a survivor.

I expected him to live right up until the executioner let him drop.

I had walked maybe halfway along the jail when I saw him. He was in one of the smaller cells, which he had almost to himself. When I first spied him, he was hunkered down against the far wall.

He no longer wore his black coat. It had been taken from him, leaving him in just his breeches and tunic.

He looked cold, and that was enough to bring my grin back in full force.

I stopped outside of the bars and studied him for a moment. He seemed a picture of misery, but where I had been largely despondent after my initial ravings, he seemed to be full of rage.

“Ahem,” I said, clearing my throat.

Rolf didn’t hear me. Either that, or he was ignoring me.

“Rolf,” I said, just loudly enough that he would be able to hear me, but not loud enough to attract any undue attention. There were risks with even visiting the man, although I had come prepared for that as well.

“Rolf!” I said again.

Finally, the treacherous Blackcoat looked up and stared at me for some moments. At first, it seemed he didn’t know who I was. Then he lurched to his feet, looking as if he was unsure whether to be surprised or confused.

He stepped toward the bars with greater hesitancy in his movements than I’d ever seen from him before, and stared at me closely, still not understanding.

“You’re the man,” he said finally. “The one who told me the caravan’s route.”

I grinned at him. “That’s right.”

He glanced down at what I was wearing. “You’re a Blackcoat?” he asked slowly.

I knew what he was thinking. Had Lancelot set a trap? Was that why he’d been caught?

I decided I didn’t care to correct him. Not yet, anyway. I just breathed deeply, relishing in his confusion and defeat, and then I grinned again.

Rolf gripped the bars in his hands, and his expression darkened. “You think you’ve beaten me?” he grated. “You think even the great Sir Lancelot can keep me in here? Well, he can’t! And when I get out, you can tell him from me, that I’m coming for him!”

It was almost too much. I leaned back from Rolf and laughed. For long moments, I let it all out, let him bathe in my glee.

It was more than he could take. He shook the bars as if it would do some kind of good, and let out a noise of frustration.

Finally, I was done laughing.

“I just wanted to see you one final time,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Before they stretch your neck for you. I wanted to see for myself that you were caught, and that there was nothing more you could do.” I paused for a moment, then let my face turn into a snarl of justified rage. “You put me in one of these cages once, not so very long ago. I survived my hanging, but the chance of you doing the same is next to nonexistent. I look forward to seeing you on the day. I will watch you swing.”

I felt vicious as I spoke to him, and victorious. Rolf, who had once pretended to be my friend, was in truth my rival, my nemesis. It felt good to tell him how I felt about what he had done.

Rolf stared at me in confusion.

“Who are you?” he asked.

I barked another laugh right in his face and wondered whether to tell him. At the same time, I felt that Meghan’s enchantment might not give me the choice. It wasn’t as strong this time around. I’d only swallowed a couple of drops.

Even now, I could feel its grip starting to fade.

I could have made my escape but decided to gloat instead.

“I was once your friend,” I said. “Or at least, I thought I was. I did jobs for you when there were things you or your men couldn’t handle by yourself.” I paused to enjoy his ongoing confusion and grinned at him once again. “I was there the last time one of your jobs didn’t go as planned. The last time you got too greedy for your own good, and accidentally went against your own king. Just like this time. But last time, you managed to pin it all on me.”

He was still confused. “What do you mean? I don’t even know you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said. I could feel Meghan’s enchantment losing its hold. Perhaps it would last another minute, maybe a little less, but very soon, Rolf would be able to see me as I was.

I was going to let him. “You were right, when you came to me as I waited to be hanged. I wasn’t cut out for the life I was leading. I was too trusting, too willing to follow.” Then I hardened my voice. “In a way, I should thank you. You opened my eyes. And now, perhaps you would see me in a different light.”

I knew Rolf was caught. Knew he was just a few days away from the hangman’s noose, but I still wanted to kill him. I wanted to reach through the bars and strangle him where he stood, even though he was the stronger of us.

I just wanted him dead.

“Mordie?” Rolf asked.

As if the gods had seen fit to align things just right, I felt the last of Meghan’s enchantment disappear. Rolf drew a surprised gulp of breath while I enjoyed my victory.

“That’s right,” I said. “Mordie. And now you get to be the one who walks out to the gallows with your hands bound before you. You get to be the one to feel the rope around your neck and the trapdoor disappearing from under your feet.”

Rolf gaped at me as he’d gaped at Sir Lancelot when the old knight had turned up so unexpectedly.

“And I get to watch,” I finished.

Rolf snarled and made a grab for me through the bars.

But I’d anticipated his move and stepped back. He gnashed his teeth and shook the bars again.

“You won’t get away with this!” he grated. “I will get out of here, you just see if I don’t! And when I do, it won’t be Sir Lancelot on the top of my list. It will be you!” he said.

I’d heard enough. I laughed at him once again, then turned to go, listening to the sounds of Rolf’s rage as I went.

Before I made it out of earshot, however, he offered one last dig. “Mordie the Bastard, I will find out how you did this! You son of a whore, you useless prick!”

Although I was tempted to turn and listen, I was out of time. And out of patience. The lying son of a bitch didn’t deserve my attention anymore. We were done. I was free of him, or I would be as soon as he hanged.

Seeing his words had no effect on me, Rolf called out in a loud, booming voice. “Guards! Guards! Stop him! He is not a Blackcoat! He is a thief and a liar!”

I’d thought Rolf might try something like that. I just kept moving along, pretending that all was well, and that let me get maybe halfway to freedom before the real Blackcoats started to gather.

I had just one of Meghan’s wooden discs left. I waited until the right moment and broke it in two.

Then it was a simple matter of making my way past Blackcoats who were temporarily blinded, and back out into the day.

From there, I went back to Meghan’s. I’d already spoken to Lady Emmeline, and said I’d be away for a few days. So there was nothing to keep me in town. And anyway, I planned to return on hanging day, to watch the last part of my plans fall into place.

43

I spent the days leading up to hanging day in the arms of Meghan le Fay. At first, I was euphoric, but as time passed, my victory began to feel hollow.

Sure, I had fulfilled my purpose, set my own rules, got what I thought I wanted. Bryce and Durstan were dead, and Rolf would soon be as well. But other than that, nothing had changed.

I was still no more than a casual thief, a pickpocket dipping his fingers into other men’s coin pouches, and living my days one at a time, sleeping wherever I lay my head.

Without revenge to drive me, I was back where I started, with only Sir George and Meghan to show that anything in my life had changed.

That thought drove a lot of my euphoria away, leaving me slightly melancholy on what should have been a day of celebration and revelry.

Meghan noticed. Perhaps because instead of reaching for her youthful, beautiful body the moment she came to bed, I simply lay there, distracted by my own thoughts.

“It’s not how you thought it would be, is it?” she asked.

I smiled in the candlelight and turned toward her, placing my hand on the curve of her hip and kissing the tip of her nose.

“It’s just… I’m not sure. I guess I thought there would be something more.”

I knew I wasn’t being very articulate, but Meghan nodded, a ghost of a smile twisting her beautiful lips.

“And there is something more,” she said. “If you have the courage to look for it. And I think you do. Or at least, you’ll start to.”

Her words were as cryptic as when she talked about my past. For some reason, she never seemed to speak plainly when I needed her to. It was frustrating, yet for the first time, I thought I understood.

Meghan expected me to find my own answers. My own purpose. To define my own future, and she wasn’t going to influence me one way or the other if she could help it.

In a way, she was reinforcing the rules I had set for myself.

I’d thought what I wanted was revenge, but Meghan was right. Revenge was temporary. Now that I had achieved it, what was next?

Meghan had decided the conversation was over. She plucked my hand from her hip and placed it on her breast, and her intent was very, very clear.

I smiled and pushed her onto her back before clambering on top of her in such an ungainly way that she burst out into laughter.

Later, as I was drifting off to sleep, I couldn’t help but wonder what to do with myself now that revenge was out of the way.

I didn’t come up with an answer. Not exactly. But I knew it would have something to do with making a regular income. Just before I drifted off, I thought about Rolf’s existing network. Not the Blackcoats who worked for the King, but the people from whom he gathered his information, and his spymaster. If there was a way they could benefit me now that Rolf was out of the picture, perhaps I should try to seek them out.

44

The day of the hanging turned out almost sunny, with occasional patches of blue shining through a high, light cloud layer. There was no rain at all, and the entire city seemed festive.

As a result, the hanging grounds were full. There were people everywhere. Young, old, men, women, and children, they had all come out to witness the hangings and had brought with them many of the food sellers from the market as well.

I wasn’t one to enjoy hangings as entertainment but had been to more than my share, on account of the easy pickings they presented.

So, in the same way as the food sellers plied their trade, shouting their offerings as they wandered the crowd, I drifted along in their wake, noting where their customers kept their coin pouches.

“Candied apples! Candied apples! Get your candied apples here!” shouted a fat man with rosy cheeks, his target the younger crowd members.

“Meat buns! The best meat buns in the city! Meat buns!”

“Roasted nuts! Roasted nuts! Get your nuts roasted here! Roasted nuts!”

The latter resulted in a smattering of laughter, a distraction which I used to good advantage, my satchel gaining considerable weight even before the main festivities began.

And when they did, I made my way to the front, because I didn’t intend to miss this for the world.

The King’s Justice was already in place, as were the guards and the executioner. I didn’t want to be too obvious. There was always a chance that someone would recognize me from my own appearance at the gallows just a few weeks before.

So I kept my hood up and stood where I could see clearly, but where it would take real effort to seek me out.

And I watched as the first of the men to be hanged was walked up the wooden stairs to the top of the gallows.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the King’s Justice bellowed. “Our first criminal to swing on this fine spring day is a man who is a butcher of the worst kind. He is known to have taken his cleaver to end the lives of his neighbors, whom he then chopped up into small pieces and fed to his unwitting customers. The butcher is ready to swing for his crimes, having been found guilty by a judge. The executioner is ready. The knots are all tied. The trap has been tested. Only one thing remains, and that is on you good townsfolk. Are you ready to see the butcher swing?”

The King’s Justice was on form today. At his first words, he had the crowd on his side, and they responded with a full-throated roar of approval.

I wasn’t interested in the butcher. I was there to see just one man swing, and that was Rolf.

I tried to see him in the line of those waiting but could not.

The King’s Justice continued through his routine, enabling the executioner to tighten the noose around the butcher’s neck, and ordering the latter to step back onto the trap.

In less than a minute, the first hanging was done, and the whole crowd heard the butcher’s neck break as it snapped.

Then it was on to the next man, and the next, and the one after.

I watched as part of the crowd, but also apart, not joining in with the roars of approval, or the shocked squeals of delight as the victims met their fates. I kept my ears half on the King’s Justice on the odd chance I’d missed Rolf in the lines, but my enemy’s name was never spoken.

And as the day wore on and the bodies were stacked high on the cart, I started to wonder.

Where was Rolf?

Was he still to come? There seemed to be plenty of meat for the executioner today. But why couldn’t I see him standing in the same line I’d stood in, waiting his turn?

Perhaps, I began to think, I had somehow missed him, and that he was already gone. So I moved to the cart to see if I could make out his face among the corpses.

But he wasn’t there.

In growing confusion, I watched as one after the other, more prisoners met their deaths under the ministrations of the King’s Justice.

And as the last of the condemned reached the stairs, I had to admit what I’d known for more than half the day.

Rolf was not among them. He hadn’t been hung. Somehow, something had happened, and Rolf had either escaped from his prison or been released. Or, maybe, he was still in jail, his crimes deemed not harsh enough to warrant execution.

But as the last of the men condemned—a small, weedy man who looked ready to panic—took his place on the gallows, another thought crossed my mind.

Perhaps Rolf’s history of service had saved him. If anyone else had done as he did, then there would be have been no respite. But Rolf was one of the King’s men. Perhaps that was enough to spare his neck from the executioner’s craft.

As the last of the condemned jerked to a halt on the end of his rope, I felt like kicking myself.

Somehow, Rolf had escaped me. And all I was left with was the bitter taste of disappointment as the King’s Justice brought the day to a close and the crowd began drifting away.

And then I suddenly felt cold with dread. If Rolf had been freed, he would find a way to come after me. I had revealed myself to him, had told him exactly where to find me, no less.

As the hangman’s field emptied, I moved quickly through the crowds, checking over my shoulder every few moments to make sure Rolf wasn’t there ready to drive his dagger into my back.

I was in a mild state of shock. All that effort, all that planning, for nothing. And now the danger was greater than ever.

Not even Sir George could distract me. I barely even remembered he was there, I was so wrapped up in my thoughts.

With a rush, my desire for revenge returned.

It didn’t matter that Rolf hadn’t been hanged. I’d find him, and when I did, I intended to kill him. And this time, I wouldn’t bother with elaborate plans.

This time, I would end Rolf’s life with my own two hands.

I just needed to know how to find him.

With that thought in mind, I ducked deeper into the crowds and made my way to the closest tavern where I had contacts, to learn what had become of the Blackcoat Rolf.

45

The first three taverns I went to were a bust. The girls, as usual, were happy to see me, but no one had the information I needed.

But the fourth, the Wooden Bucket, proved to be different. Cassandra stared at me blankly when I asked if there was anything she had heard, but as I was preparing to leave, a slim man of about sixty reached out and stopped me. He looked vaguely familiar.

“You are Mordred, a bastard with no family name of your own?” he asked me.

I eyed him suspiciously. This man wasn’t a Blackcoat, that much was plain. Aside from lacking the actual black coat, he also lacked the swagger that came with that position. If I had to guess at his profession, I would have said scribe. He had the look and the sharpness of eye I associated with the role.

“Who wants to know?” I asked.

He smiled. “My name is unimportant,” he said. “And I will take from your answer that you are indeed him. I have a message for you from the Blackcoat named Rolf.”

I stared the man as if a dozen snakes had burst from his face. “What message?” I demanded. Then I looked at him warily, keeping my distance lest the stranger pull out a knife and try to end my life like an assassin. “Who are you to deliver messages from someone like him?”

The sharpness in the man’s eyes turned into a sparkle. He gave a slight nod, as if acknowledging the merit of my question. “I am just someone who acts according to Rolf’s will, from time to time. But that isn’t the question. The question is whether you want to hear the message in this place, or if you would prefer to go somewhere more private.”

I looked him up and down. Anyone associated with Rolf was not to be trusted.

“I am unarmed,” he said, “apart from my regular knife, as you can see,” the man said. “And surely, even if I wasn’t, someone who is being trained in the sword by Lady Emmeline Hemonnet herself would have nothing to fear.”

Every word this man said raised additional questions. At the same time, he was right. Whatever Rolf’s message was, I would receive it in private.

“Outside,” I said to him.

“As you wish,” the man said, and with that, he turned his back, presenting an open target should I desire, and moved through the tavern to the door.

Outside, it was already dark, and the rain had returned. The stranger raised his hood, as did I, and for a moment, we stared at each other as if sizing each other up.

“Well?” I asked.

He gave another of his small nods.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said. “The way you put together your network, so swiftly, informal yet loyal, very impressive indeed. And how you manipulated Rolf to commit the only crime he would get in trouble for–again, very impressive.”

I froze, realizing who this man was, and where I had seen him before.

Rolf had a network of informants, more formal than mine. This must have been the man who headed that network. And on my first day back in the city after my hanging, he had sat in the tavern watching the customers, while I waited for Rosylin. Although he must not have known who I was then, or Rolf would have already been after me weeks ago. Having figured that out, I felt like I was on surer footing. And I managed a smile back at him.

“It didn’t work,” I said succinctly. “Rolf is free.”

“Oh yes it did. The only thing you got wrong was that you underestimated Rolf’s pull with some of his men. He asked me to call in all his favors, to make threats, to offer gold, anything he could to extricate himself from the pickle he found himself in.” There was a bitterness to this man’s expression, a small frown, and a downward curve at the corner of his lips that spoke volumes. He might work for Rolf but didn’t necessarily enjoy it.

But that didn’t mean this stranger was an ally to me. Still, it explained why Rolf hadn’t come after me at the hanging. He was on the run.

“What is Rolf’s message?” I asked yet again.

The man smiled.

“He hates you with everything he has,” the man said. “You bested him. And if you know Rolf, you know that being bested is something he can never take. He has put together a list of targets, and while Sir Lancelot remains at the top of the list, your name has moved into second place.”

It was interesting and slightly disturbing to know that we both had each other’s names on our respective lists.

“Is that the message Rolf wanted me to know? That he has my name on his list? If so then you can tell–”

But the strange man was shaking his head. “That is not the message.”

“Then what is?”

“You might think Rolf’s first objective would be to leave this city, to head out and never come back. Instead, he is in a secret place, under the King’s and Sir Lancelot’s very noses.”

“And?” I asked.

“And he bade me tell you where you might find him, so that you and he might put an end to your enmity one way or the other. While you live freely, he cannot be satisfied. And I believe that you might feel the same.”

I stared at the man for long moments. Inside, I was roiling with emotion. Rage, hope, anger, relief. I had been looking for a way to end things with Rolf, and it looked as if that way had been delivered directly to me.

I could end it this very night. All I needed to do was go to him and cut his throat.

Except…

“Why would Rolf ask you to tell me this?” I demanded. “He knows I’m out to kill him. Why would he want me to know where he is?”

The older man bobbed his head. “That is the question, is it not?” he asked. “Far be it from me to put words in my master’s mouth. But I would suggest that as you despise him, he despises you also. And he is in hiding. If he was not, if he could walk the streets of Camelot without fear of Sir Lancelot or his men taking issue, then he would no doubt have come to you.”

The man shrugged. “He wants you out of the way. If he could erase his problem with Lancelot in the same fashion, he would do so.”

“It’s a trap,” I stated.

The older man smiled. “While such as that certainly falls within my master’s experience, in this case, I feel he is acting in good faith. He is inviting you to a duel, one on one.”

It went against everything I knew of the man. I frowned. “Why would he do that?”

“Simple. He doesn’t see you as a genuine threat.”

At this, I barked a laugh. That did reflect what I knew of Rolf. He’d never seen me as anything more than the naïve, ineffectual man I had been. He viewed me with contempt.

Even after I’d beaten him, it seemed that his view of me remained the same.

“Does he not realize it was me who killed Bryce and Durstan?” I asked, a growl creeping into my voice.

“He does, although he didn’t at the time. It is only recently that he put two and two together. But your actions against Rolf have been indirect. He believes that is because you fear to face him directly.”

There was some truth to the man’s words. Rolf was the most dangerous person I knew. And while I had been training with Lady Emmeline, I was still a long way from being a true expert with the blade.

And, I had run out of Meghan’s enchanted discs that blinded anyone near. Any fight against Rolf would be difficult, if not foolish for me to attempt.

Except, I still had a few tricks up my sleeve, possibly. “In that case, why would he expect me to show up at all?” I asked.

Again, the small nod, and it seemed to me that it was a sign of approval. As if I’d asked the right question.

“He is counting on your hatred for him to inspire you. That, combined with his escape from the hangman’s noose. And if that wasn’t enough, he bade me to give you some additional… motivation.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What motivation?”

The man shrugged again. “I am not at liberty to discuss it myself. But there are two things he knows that you don’t. The first has something to do with Anwen.”

Anwen?

Anwen had been at the center of this mess from the beginning. Anwen whose unexpected status as the King’s property had condemned me to hang.

Beautiful Anwen, who had smelled like wildflowers, and who I would have liked to get to know a lot better.

“What about her?” I asked.

He shrugged again. It was a bit infuriating. “If you want to learn what Rolf knows, then I suggest you go to meet him.”

I felt like grabbing the man and shaking loose whatever he knew. But something about him suggested he wasn’t the sort to spill secrets easily.

“What was the other thing Rolf knows?” I demanded.

This time, the older man smiled. “It has to do with the secret of who you are,” he said.

I was a bit shocked, remembering what Rolf had shouted when he was in jail, that he knew something about me.

I was caught in indecision. Part of me knew it was foolish to face Rolf alone, but another part, a stronger, more vicious part, demanded I do just that.

This could be my best chance to get my revenge. If I didn’t go to meet Rolf now, I might never see him again.

Until of course, he appeared in my doorway at night, intent on slitting my throat.

It was this last thought more than anything else that decided me. I would be a fool to leave someone like Rolf about, free to do what he wished. Rolf was dangerous. Not just to me, but to everyone around me.

“Where is he?” I demanded.

The old man smiled, but he didn’t tell me where to go. Instead, he walked with me to the river that cut through the middle of Camelot, near one of the bridges. But instead of crossing that bridge, he led me to the riverbank beneath it.

“You have heard of the catacombs beneath the castle?” he asked, and I nodded. “This is an old a forgotten entrance. Rolf is waiting for you within. There’s a torch for you to use. I would wish you good luck, but doing so goes against my master’s intentions.”

I could see nothing but shadows where the man indicated. Nor could I hear anything, or otherwise find any indication that what the man said was true.

“How will I find him?” I asked.

The man smiled again. “You will have heard that the King keeps a creature of some sort bound in the greatest depths of the catacombs,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Of course I had heard about it. Everyone had heard its cries over Camelot.

“Rolf will meet you there, if you can make it within the hour. If you are unsure of your bearings, listen for the creature’s cry. Head toward it, and you will find him.”

With that, the man bade me goodbye and left me to decide what I was going to do. For long moments, I hesitated on the bank of the river. There were as many reasons not to go after Rolf as there were to do it. But he’d played his cards well. Carrots mixed with threats, all designed with one end in mind.

I couldn’t have arranged it better myself.

In the end, I had no real choice. I gritted my teeth and made my way into the shadows, quickly finding the opening the older man had referred to. Because although maybe I could have run away from the city and started a new life somewhere new, I would always be looking over my shoulder for Rolf.

And anyway, I had never been a coward, not when it counted.

The torch was there as the man had said, along with a sparker to light it. The torch caught at once, filling the air with soft, yellow light and an overabundance of thick, heavy smoke.

I made my way into the tunnels, grimly aware that I was once more dancing to Rolf’s tune even though I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t do so again.

Perhaps, in this case, it was worth it. The danger was real, but at least it was known.

If I were to let Rolf go unchallenged, then the danger he represented wouldn’t go away. Instead, it would become unpredictable.

And that was an advantage I couldn’t let him have.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I made my way through narrow stone passages, heading generally down and toward the bowels of the castle itself.

46

Whatever poor creature gave voice to its pain and anguish in the catacombs did so on a regular basis.

About once an hour, it would cry out, loud enough for all the condemned men in jail to hear. Every so often, that cry would be accompanied by a shuddering in the rocks upon which Camelot was built. The sheer volume and strength required to shake the city’s very foundations was staggering.

Today, its cries were louder than I had ever heard them before, shrieks that sounded like rusted metal being torn, mixed with the guttural sounds of primordial danger. And they were tinged with anger. More than once, the walls shook, and I imagined some mighty beast straining at huge chains. Fearing an ambush, I unsheathed my sword. I’d hung my knob-ended staff on a sling, but it was there, too, in case I needed it. At the latest shudder, I reached out to steady myself, pressing my sword hand against the cold, stone wall and trying not to think about the way the dust shook loose from the ceiling

Rumors about the creature abounded. Some said it was an elemental creature. Or a vast wyrm. Or a monster that defied description. I’d heard every story but never thought I would be in a position to find out which was true. I wondered if Rolf had chosen this place for our duel or if he’d had no other place in which to hide.

Either way, all that mattered was that I keep my wits and try not to walk into an ambush.

As the creature’s cries increased, I couldn’t help but think it was Rolf, prodding whatever it was to encourage it, just to make sure I would find my way.

I kept my teeth clenched tightly enough that my jaw started to ache and made my way through the tunnels.

“It’s okay,” I said to Sir George, who was curled up in his usual spot on my shoulder, completely relaxed. “I won’t let anything hurt you,” I said, even though I was unsure if I could keep my promise.

I had seen my share fair share of tunnels before, but nothing like these. It was like I could feel the weight of stone, of yards of hardpacked earth, and even the buildings above pressing down on me, with no more than hope keeping the tunnel from collapsing.

So thinking, as soon as the latest shudder faded, I rested my sword’s tip on the ground and gripped the amulet Meghan had given me, rubbing it for luck.

“It’s going to be fine,” I said to Sir George. “We are nearly there.”

I started to wonder if the sense of foreboding the tunnels engendered, the perception of helplessness against the vagaries of the earth, was why Rolf had chosen this spot. Had he wanted to unsettle me?

It seemed too subtle a ploy for the Blackcoat. More likely, he wouldn’t set such a psychological trap. He would set physical ones and do his best to cut me down without the least risk to himself.

Either way, I would be ready. I marshaled my courage, murmured calming words to my pet rat dragon even though he was fine, and kept going.

Eventually, after I had walked perhaps a mile or more and judged myself right beneath the castle, the passageway opened up, and I found myself staring at the most majestic sight I had ever seen.

Rolf had led me to a magnificent underground chamber, large enough to house half of the castle.

The roof was held up by mighty columns, and the whole area was lit by torches set into the walls. The floor had been polished smooth and inlaid with differently colored rock depicting intricate scenes. Yet much of those scenes had been worn away.

This underground room held a feeling of ages, from the way the floor was worn to the damage on the walls and the columns.

Claw marks, mostly. And it was easy to see how they came to be.

The worn images on the floor reflected the paintings that covered the walls. It was like a tapestry, a history told in images, and that history was of dragons.

Just like the one held chained in the chamber.

It was monstrous. Like Sir George in shape, but bigger than anything I could have imagined. It towered above me in the same way I towered above Sir George, and I couldn’t help but stare in amazement.

How had it come to be there? Such a creature… How could anyone have trapped it? And even though I could plainly see all four of its feet were bound in thick metal chains, I couldn’t believe even they would be strong enough to keep such a monster in place.

As I watched, my purpose for coming here all but forgotten, the monster reared up above me, it’s sinuous neck so long that its magnificent head almost touched the ceiling, its efforts shaking the chains so much that the walls shook. The dragon uttered an ear-piercing shriek of anger and rage.

Somehow, I heard the dragon’s anger in the very depths of my mind. It was as if some primaeval part of me, in some arcane way, was able to share part of its soul.

And in that shriek, I caught a lingering pain and an overtone of madness. Suddenly, I felt a huge pity for the imposing beast, knowing that its years of captivity had driven it mad.

At the same time, I had to move. Because as I stood there staring, it let loose with a brilliant stream of flame.

I hurled myself behind one of the columns and stood with my back against it as the air around me burned.

The air filled with the smell of sulfur, and the edges of the column melted.

Incredibly, Sir George wasn’t afraid of the fire. Instead, he seemed excited, unfurling himself from his spot and pawing at my shoulder, making a chirping sound and adding his own puff of smoke to the mix.

As soon as the fire faded away, Sir George launched himself from my shoulder and sped over to his bigger relative.

“Sir George!” I yelled after him. “Stop!”

But the miniature dragon didn’t listen. Instead, he circled his larger cousin as if greeting an old friend. I stared, heart in my mouth, hoping he wasn’t going to get his wings singed.

But there was nothing I could do about that, anyway. The dragon wasn’t the only dangerous creature in the cavern.

From where I was crouched behind my column, I could also see Rolf, looking at me from afar, laughing at my cowardice, then strolling toward me as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Rolf’s swagger, his sneer, and his physical presence were just the same as before. He didn’t even bother to draw his weapon, just strode toward me as if there was nothing I could do to stop him. And he was very nearly correct. With the dragon filling my senses like a living god, its thoughts and feelings echoing through my mind, I could barely form a coherent thought to save myself.

It was like I was instinctively driven to pay more attention to the monster than I was to Rolf, and he used that to his advantage. He drew his sword as he walked, casual like. And I knew if I didn’t move, he would skewer me without hesitation.

I blocked all thoughts of the dragon from my mind as best as I could. The torch in my hand was useless, so I hurled it at Rolf and scrambled to put some space between him and me.

Rolf batted the torch aside with the edge of his blade, a casual flick that told me much about his familiarity with the weapon. He used his sword like an extension of his own arm, as if it was made of his own flesh and bone.

The torch flew wide of the mark and clattered to the ground.

Instead of attacking with my sword, I sheathed it and unlimbered my knob-ended club. For this confrontation, I favored its weight and could still use much of what Lady Emmeline had taught me.

“Why did you bring me here?” I demanded.

Rolf paused in his advance, just far enough away to engage but near enough to talk freely.

“To kill you, of course,” he said. “I felt sure you would come. That’s your problem. Always has been. You’re too eager to please.”

My expression turned into a grim sort of smile. Rolf was underestimating me. Perhaps he was more than I could handle. Perhaps he would end my life in this chamber while Sir George cavorted with the dragon.

But perhaps he would not.

“Why here?” I demanded. “You could have brought me anywhere in the city. What’s so important about bringing me here?”

At this, Rolf tilted his head just a little, as if studying me from a new angle. “You really don’t know, do you?” he asked.

“Know what?” I asked, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

Rolf’s grin took on its characteristic wolfish edge. “You surprised me once,” he said. “When you appeared outside the jail. You see, I really thought you were dead. Hanged for your crimes. But to see you again, alive and in the flesh…” He shook his head. “I needed to understand how that could be. And that although I knew something of what you were before, now I needed to know more. So I set my man a task. I asked him to look into you and find out what made you special. What made it so you could survive being hanged.”

Despite my anger, I found that I was listening.

“You will be amazed what he found out,” Rolf drawled.

“What is it?” I asked.

At my undisguised eagerness, Rolf laughed. Instead of answering, he started moving again, casually sliding to his left while keeping his sword pointing my way.

“Should I tell you?” he asked. “Or should I just kill you without you ever knowing?”

Rolf had a talent for getting under my skin, but I was done with dancing to his tune. I straightened up and set my jaw.

“Perhaps you will start spilling your secrets when I start breaking your bones,” I said.

With that, I advanced on him.

I came close enough that the end of my club was touching the tip of Rolf’s sword. The Blackcoat’s grin remained firmly in place and seemed to have taken on a mocking aspect.

“Tell me,” I said.

Again, Rolf laughed out loud. But this time, he moved as well, lunging quickly to one side in a move I had seen once before, displayed to perfection by Lady Emmeline. Rolf’s execution was only marginally slower, marginally less fluid.

And still dangerous.

I spun in place, bringing my club around in a low arc, aiming for where Rolf’s lunge would take him, aiming to slip under his thrust and smash his ribs.

I was almost quick enough, just as he was. I felt the tip of Rolf’s sword catch in the fabric of my coat, over my shoulder. Somehow, he had caught himself in time and managed to leap away from my club. I faced the Blackcoat again, the distance between us back to what it had been, my heart beating loudly in my ears.

“Very impressive,” he said. “You’ve been practicing.”

“Yes I have. Practicing against your men,” I said.

If the barb hit its mark, Rolf didn’t give any sign. Instead, he just gave a loud bark of a laugh and began his circling again. “You’ve heard the legends, I take it. The origin of our King’s surname?”

I wondered where he was heading but didn’t answer. Instead, I kept a firm grip on my knob-ended club and circled him in the same way he was doing to me.

“Pendragon,” Rolf pronounced. “Legends say that he and his ancestors have the blood of true dragons flowing in their veins. That they could transform back and forth between dragon and human form as they chose. But that talent has been lost to the ages, and our good King Arthur Pendragon cannot do so, even though he shares that same blood.”

I’d heard the legends. And in a world where people like Meghan could enchant discs of wood, I was more than willing to believe them. But I had no more intention of letting Rolf see my interest, so I said nothing.

“That’s why he is keeping our magnificent friend here in the bowels of the castle. It is said he feels a certain… kinship with the beast. That his blood resonates with it, as if it wants to awaken that power again.” Rolf’s grin took on a malicious aspect. “Our good King seeks to find a way to reawaken that blood.”

Rolf’s words stopped me in my tracks. Kinship. The idea of blood resonating.

What did he mean, exactly?

And why was it that at the exact moment I had stepped into the chamber and seen the dragon for myself, my own blood had been almost vibrating in my veins? If I hadn’t been watching Rolf so carefully, I could have given in to the urge to sense that creature again. It was still there, but I was desperately trying to ignore it.

Was that the same thing Rolf was describing?

As if to punctuate the point, the dragon chose that moment to shatter the air with another mighty roar. I heard its frustration and rage as if it was my own, and I had to concentrate very hard to stay in the fight.

Once again, Rolf lunged at me, this time using a sliding technique that made for a much more subtle and dangerous attack. But this time, I read it easily, using my knob-ended club to block his blade, and then he was gone once again.

Rolf nodded as if in approval. “Very good,” he said. At the same time, he was still laughing, still smiling, still acting as if he held all the cards. “When my man looked into your past,” he continued, as if his attack had never happened, “he found something interesting. Did you know that the King ordered all his children slaughtered? That twenty years ago, he demanded each child to be drained of their blood so that he may drink it himself?”

I’d heard rumors of such but hadn’t paid them much attention. I could see no earthly reason why anyone would choose to do that, much less a King.

“His rationale was that he wanted to concentrate his own blood, you see. To see if that would help to ignite it.” At this, Rolf offered a casual shrug. “It didn’t work, of course. Even though he drank the blood of all his named sons and daughters and then started in on his bastard children. And that is why our good King Arthur, famed throughout the land for his enchanted sword, has had no living heir for the past twenty years.”

It seemed that Rolf was being just a little incautious, that he wasn’t paying me due attention, and I decided to use the opportunity. But instead of charging in with my club and chancing the outcome, I simply plucked one of the daggers from my belt and flipped it towards his face.

I did it quickly, with no warning. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been a fatal wound, but even if the dagger hit hilt first, it should have been a distraction I could have used. And it was one of those I’d coated with Meghan’s pain poison, so if it managed to scratch his skin…

But, just as he’d done when I’d thrown the torch, Rolf flicked his sword, catching the blade at the last moment and sending it to one side.

I snarled in frustration, and charged after him anyway, aiming to batter Rolf’s sword with my club and keep at it until an outcome was reached.

I expected Rolf to stand and fight, matching me sword against club. But instead, he danced lightly out of my reach, effectively running backward until my charge ended. Then he stood once again, his damnable grin still on his face, and spoke again.

“There were rumors at the time of one of the King’s bastards surviving. Rumors that a witch helped to spirit the boy away, and has protected him from a distance ever since.”

As Rolf spoke the words, I hesitated. Could he possibly be saying what I thought he was saying?

It was the moment Rolf was waiting for. He launched himself at me, not with a singular strike, but with a flurry of blows, each swift and strong, and aimed to hurt.

It was all I could do to keep the man’s manic blade away from me. I used my club like a sword and like a shield, blocking for all I was worth, stepping back, twisting out of his way, and doing my utmost just to survive.

I blocked one swift attack, then another, slipped past a third and fourth, and almost managed to completely deflect the fifth as well. But the sixth got through. Not fatally, not yet, but the very tip of Rolf’s sword cut a stinging line just above my left eye.

As if that was enough, Rolf stepped back, allowing me to stumble out of his reach.

“You are not going to survive this,” Rolf said. “But before you die, I’m going to cut you again and again. The looks that have served you so well in this world will not serve you in the next. When you are reborn, you will be ugly.”

I was puffing heavily, and knew that the club was not the right weapon with which to face a man like Rolf. It was too heavy, too cumbersome, and while it would be satisfying to smash it into his skull, his skill was too great.

So I dropped it on the ground and drew my sword once again.

“It isn’t my looks that let me do what I do,” I said. “It’s that I talk to people. I listen to them. They like me.”

Even as I spoke, I knew Rolf would never truly understand. He was a bully, a man who used others to get what he wanted. He had no use for people except as tools, and while that would work for some things, it would never give him what came naturally to me.

Rolf had needed my help with Anwen. He couldn’t have lured her away from the market by himself. And he would never understand the difference.

I’d grown tired of this game and wanted to end it. At the same time, I was eager for Rolf to complete his tale.

“That’s a nice-looking sword,” Rolf said. “Tell me, who made it? Because there are some on the market that are notoriously brittle. Will yours survive the first cross, do you think? And if not, will you?”

“Why don’t you try it and find out?” I asked.

Rolfs wolfish grin was still in place. I thought he might do exactly that, saw him tense to begin, but he held back at the last instant.

“The surviving bastard son of King Arthur was born to one of his courtesans, a beautiful but fragile woman who died not long after the boy disappeared. From all accounts, her features were similar to your own. Right down to the emerald green of her eyes. Why do you think that might be?”

I took half a step forward, feinted with my sword, drew him into the response that I wanted, and attacked in earnest. But Rolf’s reply proved quick enough, and his counterattack was enough to test the metal of both my sword and his.

As the sound of high-quality steel rang out in the dragon’s chamber, we stepped apart once again.

“The name of the boy, King Arthur’s only surviving bastard son, is Mordred,” Rolf said.

47

I was stunned. Was this truly the secret Meghan had been hiding from me all along?

Could I really be the bastard son of the King?

It hardly seemed possible. And yet… Everything seemed to fit. My early memory of escaping through the marbled hallway. My affinity with rat dragons, and in fact all things dragonish in nature. Even the resonance I felt now in the presence of the dragon in the chamber.

It all seemed to make sense.

I didn’t know what to say. What to think. Rolf had turned my whole world upside down in a moment. Now I understood why Meghan had insisted I was meant for more than simple revenge. Now, it seemed, I understood everything.

It was a coming together of massive proportions. From that moment, everything changed.

Or did it? Being a King’s bastard didn’t mean all that much, and indeed, it could prove deadly. What if he still wanted to experiment with my blood?

And what kinds of experiments was he already doing on the dragon in this chamber?

If Rolf had chosen to attack me just then, I might not have been able to react quickly enough to stay alive. But if Rolf had a weakness, it was that he preferred to gloat, to show how superior he was.

Whereas I just wanted to live.

Fight to win, I said to myself, adding it to my list of rules. Use what you’ve got.

Once more, the air itself seemed to cry out in pain as the dragon gave voice to another mighty roar. I felt the creature in my very blood, and knew that somehow, the dragon and I were kin.

And, all at once, I knew also that I had found my true purpose.

At least, some of it.

I was a thief, a small-time criminal, a nobody. But I was also the King’s bastard and had the blood of dragons in my veins.

My purpose was nebulous, difficult to pin down, but whatever it turned out to be, I knew it would be far greater than simple revenge.

At the same time, that revenge was still important.

Rolf was still looking at me with a superior smirk, and it needed to be wiped off his smug face.

“Look at you,” the man sneered. “Dumbstruck by a simple truth you should have figured out for yourself years ago. As if any of that it even matters. Having the blood of a King running through your veins won’t help you. You’re going to die here tonight, never knowing what has become of your sweet, precious Anwen.”

I had a moment to think that perhaps I’d underestimated Rolf’s cunning. I’d thought him a blunt instrument, capable of only the most ham-fisted plans. Yet there was subtlety in bringing me to this location after all.

He was trying to use the very blood in my veins against me.

Then the battle was joined in earnest.

This time, Rolf held nothing back. He launched himself at me with a flurry of powerful blows, beating at my sword with his own, and I had to call on every move Emmeline Hemonnet had shown me just to survive. The blood from the wound on my forehead began to drip into my eye, and I had to wipe it away to see clearly. Even so, I knew I was not Rolf’s match in this kind of fight.

The powerful Blackcoat forced me back step-by-step, and I knew I was getting dangerously close to the dragon’s range. But there was little I could do about it. Rolf’s power was just one of his weapons. He also had speed, ferocity, and a mind for tactics.

He didn’t give me the chance to return his attack. Just kept attacking, the point of his blade seeking my face, my chest, anything within reach.

I did the best I could, but it wasn’t enough. Rolf’s blade pinked the skin on my forearm, my thigh, and just missed ending my life more than once. Rolf beat my own blade aside again and again, slashing left and right, cutting the air with wide swings that were under his complete control.

I continued to duck, parry, and to step back, sensing the dragon behind me as I drew closer, acknowledging the feeling of rage mixed with incredulousness as I entered her domain.

But I was fighting to win.

I caught Rolf’s blade on my own and stepped forward, close enough to smell his stale breath and see the contempt in his eyes. For just a brief moment, we stood chest to chest, each of us straining against the other’s weight, swords crossed between us. Then Rolf took one of his hands away from the hilt of his sword and smashed me in the side of the face with his fist.

The blow was staggering, but I’d been expecting it. At the same time, I reached into my coat pocket and brought out the last of Meghan’s gifts.

It was the small package of powder, and as soon as Rolf’s fist connected, I slapped it against his face hard enough to burst the packaging.

I went down in a heap and rolled away, holding my breath. I thought that at any moment, I would feel the steel of Rolf’s blade slipping into my ribs, but when I looked at him, I saw it wasn’t about to happen at all.

Rolf had inhaled the powder, just as I’d hoped, and his expression was one of horror.

He looked deathly ill, as if he was about to throw up.

“What have you done!?” he demanded.

I jumped to my feet with a grin. “Played by my rules,” I said, not caring if he understood or not. “Not yours.”

With that, I stepped forward to attack, but I felt something that made me hesitate. The dragon’s rage was building to a crescendo. I knew what was coming, as did Rolf. Both of us threw ourselves away from the dragon as fast as we could.

Rolf went one way, and I went the other. Despite Meghan’s powder, Rolf was still swift on his feet. He made it to cover just before I did, and the dragon’s flame billowed around a column just as he hid himself behind it.

I was a fraction late, the flame catching my left side just as I reached cover. It felt impossibly hot, and I dropped my sword for a moment to pat out the flames on my coat. The odor of burning wool filled my senses, but I’d escaped the worst of it, and in moments, my coat sleeve was out.

Then I picked up my sword and waited for the flames to dissipate.

As soon as they did, I looked to Rolf, only to see that he was trying to flee.

“No!” I bellowed, and gave chase.

But he wasn’t as fast as he should have been. The powder must have worked. I caught up to him quickly, ducking a wild swing from his sword that sailed over my head. But I could tell by his expression that he knew he was done.

His face was green. He looked deathly ill. And he barely tried to defend himself as I lashed out with my foot, catching him in the back of the knees.

Rolf went down in a heap, and that was the end. I aimed an almighty kick at his sword hand and smiled in grim satisfaction when the weapon clattered over the stone floor. Then I dropped one knee onto his chest and aimed my sword at his throat.

“Don’t move!” I said.

I was ready to kill him. Ready to drive my sword through his throat, severing the artery that fed blood to his brain. Or to alter the angle of my thrust and jam the tip of my blade into his brain. Or I could have done a number of things, all of which would have been fatal.

But I didn’t.

Rolf’s words had been a revelation. My purpose had changed from revenge to something greater. Something more profound.

Something that had to do with who I was.

And there was more to it than that. Anwen, for example. He knew something about her.

I grinned at him.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I said. “Not unless you force me to. But know this. Your time is done. The life you once led here in Camelot is over. From this point in time, you owe me every breath you take, and you are going to pay me in full. You are going to tell me everything I want to know, about Anwen and more, or you are going to live the rest of your moments in such agony you will beg me for death. Do you understand?”

As I waited for Rolf to reply, the familiar weight of Sir George landed on my shoulder, and the rat dragon let loose an indignant chirp and puff of smoke.

The thought of the rat dragon being somehow distant kin to myself made me smile, and the sight of that grin was too much for Rolf. He quailed, his color going even greener, and he slumped as if he’d given up.

Glancing back at the dragon, I nodded to it, and seemed to feel some sort of return acknowledgment come back to me from the creature. My coat sleeve had burned away in the fire, but underneath, I was unscathed. I smiled. Yes, surprisingly, there was more to my story than I had previously thought, but I was going to use it to my full advantage, in whatever form that may take.

Sheathing my sword, I drew one of my poisoned daggers and hauled a green Rolf to his feet. He stumbled as I pulled him toward the tunnels that would lead back to the river.

This man’s usefulness was just beginning, and so was mine. Revenge could take many forms other than death, and I intended to make his life miserable while searching for more answers for myself. And anyone who stood in my way could be hanged, or worse.

Because I was going to make my own damn rules. And this was just the beginning.

~End Book 1~

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this book. It’s hopefully the first of many about Mordie.

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Until next time,

Jack

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