"Bound to be bad for business," Vahanian remarked, half-listening as he surveyed the room once more. It was unusually full for early in the evening. Perhaps the rumors were getting credence. If travelers truly feared both slaving gangs and magic monsters, it would be no surprise if they had sought refuge early. Then again, he thought, perhaps both rumors were instigated by tavern owners to boost their business. He did something similar himself, years ago, in his river days. Started the story that one of the tributaries was infested with poisoned eels, and made sure that some dead ones washed up near there. By the time the scare had calmed down, Vahanian had managed to steal most of the business from his upstream rivals, based, not coincidentally, on the ill-fated tributary. Of course, disclosure had resulted in hasty relocation, but such were the realities of business.

"You're right, it's too big a problem for any one man to worry hisself about," Vahanian's tablemate continued, undeterred by the lack of enthusiastic response. "Looks like old Vakkis has bitten off more than his share this time, I'd say."

Vahanian's attention snapped back to the present. "Why do you say that?" he asked casually, glancing down at his food to mask his acute interest. He could feel his heart beginning to pound.

"Why, he's sold his services to King Jared, down in Margolan, to rid the border of slavers and bring back the mage that made the monsters," the tradesman replied, in a tone that told Vahanian that it was no longer fresh news. "Says 'twas the same wizard as killed King Bricen, Goddess rest his soul, and that like as not, kidnapped that noble lady for some awful dark sacrifice." He shook his head, mopping up the last of the juices with his bread. "There's one that's dead for sure, that's a fact," he said ruefully, stuffing the bread into his wide mouth. "More's the pity, since the King of Principality offered a mighty fine sum for her return."

Just like Vakkis, Vahanian thought, feeling his fists clench under the table. He did not doubt that the bounty hunter was using the rumors of trouble in the north to hide his true quest to hunt down Tris. By linking Tris to the dark magic and the young noblewoman's disappearance, Vakkis made it impossible for Vahanian and the others to count on aid from noble houses along the way. Dark Lady take his soul! Vahanian swore under his breath. Now they would have to be doubly careful. Whatever they were going to pay me, I want double, whether or not they bring down Arontala, he thought, finishing off his dinner. Not for the first time, he reconsidered his decision to guide the party to Dhasson.

"He's got a king this time, Jonmarc, not just a general like at Chauvrenne," Harrtuck had said, and Vahanian closed his eyes. A decade's passing did little to cloud the memory of those horrors, or the knowledge of just how terribly a dark mage could twist a man of power and what evil could come of it. It didn't take much to hear the screams of the villagers in his mind, recall their fear. The tavern smells of wood smoke and roasting meat were close enough to the smell of burning shacks and searing flesh that he fought an urge to be sick. He forced the memories back, sure tonight's sleep would not be dreamless. The memories, and the chance to even the score with Arontala, were too powerful to walk away from, even now, even though he'd given up on hopeless causes long ago, at Chauvrenne.

Not yet ready to leave behind the light and warmth of the tavern, Vahanian lingered for a candlemark longer, listening to similar tales and watching the odd assortment of travelers. Finally, he stood. "Good travels to you," Vahanian said to his table companions. He had what he'd come for. Now to ride for the caravan and plan their northbound strategy—and press his employers even more about Arontala and his hold over Jared Drayke.

The three guardsmen emptied their jug of ale and made their way clumsily to the front as Vahanian stood. They pushed their way among the tables as they wended toward the doorway, jostling Vahanian hard as he got to his feet. So hard, that Vahanian took a second look at the red-haired guardsman who pushed him as the loud group passed. Vahanian frowned. Something prickled again in the back of his mind. In his line of work, guardsmen were a necessary part of doing business, whether that involved bribing them or eluding them. Still, for caution's sake, Vahanian settled back into his chair on the pretense of ordering one last ale and waited for half a candlemark to let the guardsmen be on their way before venturing out of the tavern.

The alleyway in front of the inn was quiet when Vahanian finally left the building. He checked the narrow lane with a practiced eye. A beggar leaned on his staff at one end, picking at rags in a heap. In a shadowed doorway on the right, Vahanian could hear the sounds of a strumpet's tryst. Along the street, the darkened stalls of the produce merchants waited for the morning market, with nets of plaster fruit strung above each empty stall and stacks of flat wheeled carts behind, awaiting the next morning's cargo. Cautiously, he ventured down the stairs. His horse stood tethered just beyond the alley's entrance. Vahanian's hand fell to the hilt of the knife in his belt. Something was wrong, an inner sense told him. The sooner he reached his horse and headed for the caravan, the better.

The darkened doorways remained silent as he passed them. Ahead, the beggar shuffled and sang quietly to himself. With the main street only a few paces away, Vahanian began to chide himself. You're losing your touch. Must be what starts to happen when you go into the guide business instead of real work.

The only warning Vahanian had was the whistle of the beggar's staff as it swung full force for his shoulder blades. The rod connected hard, driving him to his knees, and behind him, Vahanian could hear the beggar laughing. As Vahanian scrambled to his feet, knife already in hand, two of the guardsmen from the inn appeared at the entrance to the alley, closing the exit. Vahanian wheeled to find the "beggar" peeling off the filthy rags to reveal the red-haired guardsman from the tavern, leering drunkenly as he let the heavy staff bounce in his hands.

"Look, I've got no quarrel with you," Vahanian gasped as he struggled to catch his breath. "Let me pass and we'll just say that none of this ever happened."

The red-haired guardsman shook his head. "I told you he wouldn't even remember," the drunken guard shouted to his friends. His eyes narrowed. "But I remember."

The two guardsmen were slowly advancing, forcing Vahanian to back down the alley. Vahanian glanced past them at his waiting mount. An easy sprint, if he could get an opening. His horse was lightly tethered, important in a business that often required a quick exit.

"Whatever it is, you've got the wrong man," Vahanian stalled, letting the two guardsmen step just a little closer. He dropped to a crouch and wheeled, his left leg arching high as he executed a near-perfect Eastmark kick. Mid-arch, he gasped as pain radiated down his bracing leg and it collapsed under him. He grasped at the knife buried hilt-deep in his thigh.

"None of your tricks this time, Vahanian," the red-haired guardsman grated as Vahanian fought to stand. "I'll have back the money you cheated me, or take my satisfaction out on your useless hide."

Vahanian managed to get to his feet, although it was impossible to use his right leg for more than balance. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about," he gasped. There were too many "dissatisfied customers" over the years, too many places and too many deals.

"Let me help your memory," the red-haired man said. "A card game in Jalwar five years ago."

"Rubies," Vahanian replied, his throat dry. "I paid you in rubies."

The guardsman swung his staff once more, cracking across Vahanian's ribs. "Glass," he hissed as Vahanian gasped for air and staggered backward. "You gave me worthless glass. When I used your 'rubies' to pay my debts, the stinking tax collector arrested me for cheating him." The drunken guard's face hardened. "I worked off that debt in his fields, in his whore-spawned fields, because of you."