"Well, if you'd remembered the horses-"

"You distinctly said: 'leave the horses behind. We'll be back for them later.'"

"No fair pointing fingers," argued Derst. "But since we're on the subject, if you hadn't exposed our identities-"

"If you hadn't slept with Uhl's maid Emmi, we wouldn't have had to hide our identities."

A smile crossed Derst's face. "Ah, Emmi," the roguish knight said silkily. "Bars, you know I can't resist a pretty smile and a well-rounded ankle-"

"I suppose you didn't notice her chest," murmured Bars.

"Well, a little," he admitted. "It was hard not to, with a bodice like-"

At precisely that moment the Lord Singer swept out from the double doors that marked the entrance to his manor. He stood upon the raised entryway overlooking the crowd in his golden robe of office, carrying his fine yarting under his arm. To all appearances, Greyt looked as though he had been up all night and might be heading out to a dinner party. Bars and Derst knew better, though. Greyt's eyes gave him away: red-rimmed and containing a hint of savage anger. The eyes of a tired man on edge.

"My neighbors and friends," Greyt said in his smooth baritone. "To what do I owe the honor and pleasure of this visit?"

At his tone, the crowd quieted, except for a few discordant shouts. Derst swore. Greyt's disarming manner had just that effect: disarming.

One man, however, was not so affected. Black cloaked, he stood tall in the middle of the crowd and spoke in a rumble.

"Lord Singer," he called. "We demand justice."

"Sounds like you, Bars," said Derst. "Always straight to the point."

The paladin did not reply.

"By all means," Greyt called back with a smile. "I didn't think you'd all risen early to bid me a good morning."

There were a few scattered laughs.

"Really? That's exactly the reason I'm here," murmured Derst.

"Derst, that wasn't funny," Bars muttered in reply.

"In Speaker Stonar's absence," the cloaked man continued. "You are our defender and our lord. We demand protection. The fighting on the streets must cease, and your soldiers-"

"I find that demand ironic," Greyt shouted back. The crowd was stunned to silence. "Especially coming from you, who are supposed to keep the peace, Captain Unddreth."

A collective gasp ran through the crowd as the earth genasi pulled back his hood. The scars and bruises of battle still decorated his face and, if anything, added intensity to his words.

"Your men spent all night searching for some stranger, swords drawn, injuring or frightening the townsfolk," Unddreth accused. "This cannot stand!"

"A 'stranger?' Walker is a murderer who has been attacking our people for days!" Greyt corrected. "Many men are already dead and you insist I call my rangers back-you demand I leave our lands unprotected? I do what I must to stop this killer-for the watch has found nothing but failure." Unddreth shivered at the barb. "You protest my methods?"

"Speaker Stonar would have-" Unddreth began.

"Speaker Stonar left us in our time of need!" Greyt interrupted. "He refused to protect us, either because he would not or could not. He fled to our noble High Lady Alustriel when his countrymen cried out for aid! I can only hope she sees his cowardice or discovers his culpability."

Confused frowns answered from the crowd and Greyt chuckled.

"Guilt," he clarified, and the people cheered.

"A bid to rule Quaervarr?" Derst asked skeptically. "That's not like-"

"I know," returned Bars. Anger coursed through him. He hated politics and its machinations, but he understood the game. Greyt played the crowd like a yarting. "Not like the Greyt we know. He hates this city."

Greyt waited until the cheering died down. "I cannot believe, however, that Stonar is behind this," he shouted. "He is a good and just man, with nothing but noble intentions. I refuse to believe he is anything but ignorant-an unwitting piece of the puzzle."

Derst and Bars shook their heads. Not a power struggle, then.

"I believe the killer is acting on his own," Greyt said, "A lone villain murdering our people!"

"He is no villain!" Unddreth shouted, but his words were lost in the hubbub of frenzied shouting.

"Stonar must be told!" came a shout from the crowd. "Cast a sending to Silverymoon right away and bring him, along with a unit of the Argent Legion-"

"Impossible," came a voice that should have been too soft to penetrate the noise of the crowd but projected loudly all the same. At the sound of that voice, the crowd parted around a cloaked figure. Bars and Derst looked and saw a shapely half-elf woman in a leather cloak, flowers laced through her shockingly light hair and feathers adorning the end of a gnarled staff she carried. Though the morning was chill, she wore only a light leather tunic and leggings. Her face, flushed in the cold, was young and smooth, but her eyes were both knowing and wise.

Bars was at a loss for words. "Who is yon lady?" he asked Derst.

"Now that's a woman," the knight replied. "The Lady Druid Amra Clearwater, of the Oak House. Powerful, skilled, and an excellent tumble between the sheets." The paladin gave him a sidelong, warning look. Derst cleared his throat. "I mean, so I've heard."

The beautiful half-elf continued in a light voice. "Some barrier thwarts our spells, as though a dark moon rises over Quaervarr and shrouds our sight," she said.

"A magical barrier?" asked Greyt. "Then our enemy is more powerful than I thought!"

Cheers mingled with gasps of horror. The crowd fixed its eyes on the Lord Singer. The roguish knight and the paladin looked at one another, utterly confused. What could Greyt be thinking? Did he want to start a panic?

Silence, tense and fearful, gripped the square.

Greyt grinned. "Fear not, though, for the danger has passed," he said. "Thanks to my efforts, the killer is in our hands and we shall question him to find-"

"He escaped!" Bars shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. "The killer escaped!"

"Dolt," Derst cursed under his breath, turning his head so as not to be recognized.

Greyt swore inwardly, angry at this news. He had no doubt it was true. He had ordered his men to take Walker alive or dead but at all costs to take him. Incompetence and failure vied for his greatest frustration.

He moved to rub his gold ring, but found he had taken it off. Around his finger was a shallow indentation, reminding him of the first ring he had worn there, the ring that had inspired his seal.

His mind snapped back to the situation at hand. Walker's escape snarled Greyt's carefully laid plans. He was momentarily unsure how to proceed. His criticism of the watch would not carry the same weight if his own men could not capture Walker. And, loose, the murderer could talk to Unddreth, Amra, or even Stonar himself, and all would be lost.

Then the solution presented itself. The Lord Singer's quick mind found a way to approach this news that simply delayed his plans and, perhaps, even strengthened them.

"A testament to the power arrayed against us. Surrounded by attackers, cut off from the Marches… For all we know, there could be a war brewing just outside our borders!"

The crowd gaped.

"Save us, Lord Singer!" came a shout, a call that was quickly picked up throughout the crowd. Shouts of his nickname, "Quickfinger," and praises of his heroism reverberated around the square. "Save us!"

Greyt smiled and bowed. "The killer was in my hands, but he escaped. He will not escape again." He drew his rapier in a flourish and held it above his head. "Thirty years ago, I took up this sword against the giants of Fierce Eye, when the Raven Claw band was first formed. Know this now and know it true: mine every breath shall shield you!"