Hammen stood up and angrily kicked over his chair.

“You have no idea how I survived. What it took. And who are you to judge? Who are you to come sauntering in here and calmly decide to destroy it all? Because of you I lost four of my closest friends and have watched my city descend into chaos. At least before you there was order and the mob was happy.”

Garth reached down into his satchel, pulled out a small silken bundle and tossed it to Hammen. The old man caught it, and held it. Garth looked closely at him and smiled.

“You can control the mana, can’t you? I can sense that.”

Hammen lowered his head and let the bundle drop.

“You were once Hadin gar Kan, master fighter of the House of Oor-tael, weren’t you?”

Hammen started to shake and he lowered his head.

“Damn you,” Garth snarled. “You were the master fighter of Oor-tael, weren’t you!”

Hammen, sighing, picked up the chair and sat down heavily.

“And this is what you’ve become. A pickpocket, a street thief, a comic actor. A nothing.”

“Who are you to judge me now?” Hammen whispered. “I escaped the Night of Fire. I hid for weeks in the sewers and when I came out there was nothing left. I could never touch the mana again. I had betrayed my Master by fleeing. I would be tortured to death if found, and picking up my satchel again was the surest way to be found. So I threw it into the sea.”

Hammen was racked by a shuddering sob.

“Just leave me alone. I had almost forgotten after all these years. Why did you have to come and drag up the moldering corpses of the past? The House was dead, the Master dead, and all my comrades dead. There was nothing left. Are you saying I should have charged the palace alone and killed the bastard?”

Hammen laughed sadly through his tears.

“For what? It was finished and he had won.”

Hammen looked up at Garth, tears streaming down his gray cheeks.

“And who are you, Garth One-eye? I suspect, but who are you?”

“A memory, nothing more. Just a memory,” Garth said quietly. “One that refused to die.”

“Go away then. I don’t need any memories or nightmares to awaken me. Tomorrow the Walker comes and nothing can stand before him. Zarel is just a puppet, a paper-thin mask behind which the true evil lurks. He will dust you away like chaff on the wind. The folly is over. Now go away.”

“I think I’ll stay and see what happens,” Garth replied softly.

Hammen stood up wearily.

“I’m leaving. I’ll have no more to do with this. You’ll be dead tomorrow, Garth, and all the killing of the last days will be nothing but waste. I want no more of it. No more.”

Hammen went to the door and opened it.

“Hadin.”

The old man looked back.

“Hadin died twenty years ago.”

“Hammen.”

Hammen turned with a swiftness that caught Garth off guard. The blow of his staff caught Garth across the temple, knocking him over and sending him into oblivion.

Hammen stood over Garth, looking down sadly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a length of cord and tied Garth’s hands behind his back, binding him tightly. Then he reached into Garth’s satchel, feeling the power of the mana.

Mere touching it sent a shiver down his spine, conjuring memories the way smelling the scent of a flower might rekindle a long-lost dream of first love. He took the satchel from Garth and stood upright. All the memories washed over him, filling him with a fierce joy mingled with infinite sadness for all that was done and all that was gone forever.

Again he was young and filled with strength and was the first of fighters for the House of Oor-tael. Again all was before him and the power of the memories forced tears to his eyes.

He looked down at the body stretched out on the floor before him and he felt a sharp pang in his heart, the clear sight of the mana showing all, so much that he had known but could not quite believe.

He tore his gaze away from Garth and, drawing on the mana, found the spell he desired. He placed it on Garth, the power of it pinning him to the floor so that even after he awoke he would be frozen in place for hours until the spell finally broke down.

He started for the door and then turned back, kneeling down by Garth’s side.

“Galin.”

The name was spoken as a whisper. The old man reached out with a loving hand and pushed the hair back from Garth’s forehead, the way he had done so many years before when Galin was but a boy, the son of the House Master of Oor-tael, who would come to his father’s favorite fighter and sit on his knee for a tale of adventure.

“The Eternal keep you, boy,” Hammen whispered.

Standing up, he shouldered the satchel and walked out of the room. The door slipped shut behind him.

“It’s almost dawn.”

Zarel wearily looked up and nodded his head.

“And?”

Uriah looked around nervously.

“Go on.”

“He deserted Bolk during the rioting. He has not reported to any of the other Houses.”

“Will you stake your life on that report?”

Uriah remained silent.

“Damn you, will you stake your life on that?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I want it made clear to the House Masters. If One-eye fights today in their uniform, I will turn my fighters loose on them, right there in the arena. I beat the mob today. They won’t dare to intervene. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Uriah.”

“Yes, Master?”

“The pots, the clay pots. How?”

Uriah felt his blood run to ice.

“Someone added them into the shipment. The creatures were conjured, their power maintained by a small bundle of mana in each of the pots.”

“And how did they get in?”

“I don’t know, Master.”

Zarel fixed Uriah with his gaze and a lash of probing washed over him. Uriah stood still, struggling to control his thoughts.

“You’re afraid, Uriah.”

“I’m always afraid before you, sire.”

“I feel you’re concealing something from me, some knowledge, something that you know and I don’t.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Uriah whispered.

Zarel finally nodded and laughed with a hoarse whisper.

“No. You’re too much of a coward to try and deceive me.”

Zarel turned and looked away, satisfied that in his terror the dwarf was thus still loyal to him.

“You understand what’s to be done. Once the Walker leaves at sundown we attack the House of Bolk and kill Kirlen. I want Kirlen’s head placed in my lap before the night is over. Bolk is to be destroyed for their insolence.”

“The Walker?”

“He’ll be gone and it will be another year before his return. What can he do then?”

Uriah said nothing in reply.

I will also have that hag’s books and her mana, Zarel thought. Perhaps that will be enough to do it. If not, then the other Houses will go as well, their mana adding to the strength needed to pierce the veil. It has to be now. My support is slipping thanks to this damned One-eye. It has to be now.

“And the mob? You’ll have a quarter of the city, all the Brown supporters, looking for murder.”

“Let them try,” Zarel snapped. “Fentesk’s followers have always hated Bolk more than the others. Make sure today that Fentesk’s stands are showered with gifts. Tonight I want them satiated with blood and wine. They’ll back me.”

“And myself?”

“As I promised. You will be the new Master of Bolk.”

Uriah smiled.

“The Walker is not to know of what happened here this week. If Kirlen tries to approach him, I want her dead. We can blame the troubles on her.”

“And what if One-eye appears?”

Zarel hesitated. Perhaps it might just be as he surmised, that this One-eye was out for bigger game, that he had something planned against the Walker. Perhaps, just perhaps it might work to my advantage. But then again, he might be out after me.