A slow smile crept over Vakkis face. "You actually don't, do you?" the bounty hunter chuckled. "This is more satisfying than I'd dreamed. Jonmarc Vahanian, played for a fool."

"I'm glad one of us is having fun. Mind letting me in on the joke?"

A cold smile made Vakkis's pointed features even harsher in the moonlight. "They managed to elude me in Ghorbal, but I heard they'd teamed up with you. Our little kingslayer, Martris Drayke of Margolan and his friends, seem to have bought themselves a guide," Vakkis said, watching Vahanian with amusement. "You really didn't know, did you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." To Vahanian's astonishment, Vakkis reached into his cloak and withdrew a small purse filled with coins, which he dropped at Vahanian's feet. "Even by your standards, there's fair compensation in there for information," Vakkis said, stepping back a pace and lowering his sword. "Now, where is Martris Drayke?"

"Go to hell."

"Loyalty from you, Jonmarc? I'm surprised," Vakkis clucked. "I thought you unburdened yourself of that along with your commission."

"Go screw the goddess."

"In time," Vakkis said with a cold smile. "Think about my offer. I'm easy to find. That purse is only a down-payment. Jared of Margolan has promised to make a rich man of anyone who delivers his brother alive. And you've never let king, honor or country stand in the way when money's involved."

The bounty hunter took another step backward, into the shadows of the alley, so that his face and form were barely visible.

"Think about it, Jonmarc," Vakkis said, his voice carrying in the chill night air. "More money than you can imagine. Pay me a cut and I'll stop hunting you. Wealth and freedom, just for delivering the goods. What businessman could resist?" Vakkis said as he faded into the darkness.

Vahanian did not move for several minutes, until he was sure that Vakkis was actually gone. Only then did he realize just how hard his heart was thudding. Wealth and freedom. He looked down at the purse at his feet. There's only one thing worse than a bounty hunter, a voice said in the back of his mind. And that's the snitch he pays for the kill. The cold night air seared his lungs. He paused and then, surprising himself, stepped over the purse and walked toward the end of the alley, stopping only to snatch up his fallen blade.

Vahanian found Tris at the edge of the camp when he returned, skinning the rabbits Harrtuck brought down for their dinner. "I killed a man for you tonight, Prince Drayke," Vahanian grated. Tris stiffened and rose to his feet as Vahanian continued. "You didn't think it was important enough to tell me the truth, even though it's my neck you're risking to get you to Dhasson."

"Jonmarc, I—"

"Let's get something straight right now," Vahanian continued. "I am not expendable. We don't move from here until I know what's going on. The whole story. If I like what I hear, and believe it, I'll take you to Dhasson. If not, I leave right now, and you can find another fool. And, Your Highness, I'm nobody's liegeman. If I take you to Dhasson, and that's a very big 'if right now, it's on my terms, my way. Do you understand?"

Tris took a deep breath and nodded.

"Good," Vahanian said. "That means you're smarter than most royals. Now, let's hear your story—all of it. "

"Vahanian, you're back," bustled Harrtuck. Harrtuck ambled toward them from the fires of the camp, coming up behind Vahanian. With one fluid movement, Vahanian wheeled, bringing his fist to connect soundly with Harrtuck's jaw.

"What the hell was that for?" Harrtuck shouted.

"I found out from a bounty hunter who your 'cargo' really was," Vahanian snapped. "He could have slit my throat and I'd have never seen it coming."

"Jonmarc, you don't understand—"

"I understand that my life is as important as your three nobles," Vahanian grated, still standing over the stout armsmaster. "And that I can't decide what risks are worth taking if I don't know the game." Glaring, Vahanian turned away and Harrtuck scrambled to his feet.

"In fact, I can't think of one reason right now—even your money—why I should take you to Dhasson."

"Arontala's back. And he's got a king this time, not just a general at his command," Harrtuck said quietly from behind Vahanian, who stiffened at the name.

"How do you know?"

Harrtuck gave a short, harsh laugh. "Know? How we know is the reason we're in the forest freezing our rumps off instead of toasting by a nice palace fire," he said, and together, he and Tris told their tale. This time, the only thing Tris omitted was what happened with Kait in the bedchamber and his subsequent dreams of his sister and his sorceress grandmother.

Vahanian sat in silence for several minutes after they finished, staring at his hands, his face unreadable. "I take you to Dhasson, and then what?"

"Then you collect your money from King Harrol and leave," Harrtuck snapped. "At that point, your jewels are out of the fire."

"And the rest of you?"

"I'm going back," Tris said evenly. "Someone has to stop Jared. I'm the only one who can."

"You're going to stop Foor Arontala? Look, prince, even with King Harrol's entire army, it just ain't enough," Vahanian said, shaking his head.

"Don't underestimate him," Harrtuck said quietly. "His grandmother was Bava K'aa. He's a Summoner."

"He's a mage?" Vahanian asked sharply, looking through narrowed eyes from Tris to Harrtuck. "You didn't tell me he was a mage."

"I'm not a full mage," Tris said, "at least, not yet."

"Yeah, well, I hate mages."

"Right now, I'm not even a mage student."

"Well, prince, if you're going up against Arontala and expect to live through it, you'd better be a damn good mage," Vahanian said. "Glad I won't be there to see it."

"I told you a hired sword was a bad idea," Soterius snapped, coming up from the campsite. "You can't trust them further than you can throw their money."

"Young pups bark the loudest," Vahanian returned with a shrug. "You know so much, you guide them. I've got other ways to earn as much gold as I want."

"You've wanted to get Arontala for ten years now," Harrtuck objected. "After what happened at Chauvrenne, you ought to be glad for an opportunity."

A cynical, lopsided smile drew over Vahanian's features. "You can't enjoy revenge if you're dead," he replied. "Save your breath. I'll take you to Dhasson. After that, you're on your own." He walked away, leaving the others in the glow of the fire. Tris looked at Harrtuck. "Now what?" The armsmaster gestured to the sky in frustration and spat. "Let him cool off," he said finally, and raised one hand to stroke his absent beard. "By the Whore, I miss my whiskers! Damn thing itches all the time."

"I don't like it," Soterius began, with a baleful glance toward where Vahanian had disappeared. "You wouldn't like any hired sword if he were led here by the Childe, vouched for by the Virgin herself, and brought on the wings of the Avenger," Harrtuck snapped. "Really, Ban, I know what guardsmen think of them. But I've hired out my sword and you trust me, don't you?"

"You know I do."

"Then trust me on this," Harrtuck pressed. "Jonmarc will come around." He looked after the angry mercenary, who was barely visible in the darkness. "Just give him some time."

Tris bent down to pick up the empty bucket that lay with their gear. "While that happens, I'll get some water," he said eager for the chance to do something other than sit and wait. The evenings were the hardest time. He headed down the slope toward the village well. During the daylight, with the ride to think about, he could push away the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. But come night, the loss grew almost too great to bear. Of everything he left behind, he missed Kait the most. At times, the loss ached as if someone had broken off a sword tip, deep inside him. At other times, it hurt too much to feel anything at all. Only the knowledge that he might have to outride Margolan troops kept him from seeking relief in the flask of brandy Harrtuck carried, and so he wrestled with the dull ache that made it impossible for him to focus on much else, and wondered when, if ever, it would lessen.