Lives disconnect and reconnect. This is the way of the world. People move on from these moments of tension and union, and then later their roads may again intersect. Nothing in this life is clean, not these moments of connection, not our happiness, not our rage, not our fear, not our sorrow. It is a profusion of chaos, a flare of ineffable purpose driving us to something unknowable, yet inevitable.

  Moments of birfurcation and disjunction leading, in time, to reunion. The world is a curious place. Not so orderly that meetings have meaning right from the start, but not so chaotic that they have no purpose at all.

  Arioth and Soren, devil-blooded wanderers. One seeking purpose in the world, the other seeking to change the purpose of the world itself. Yet in this moment, they turned their backs on each other, leaving each to seek their own fortunes on this plane.

  And so fate continues to play its inscrutable games.

  Suture returned to the den, where Arioth waited.

  'And?' Arioth asked.

  Suture shook his head. 'He couldn't see it.'

  'I didn't think he would, no,' Arioth nodded. 'It's still far too early.'

  'Does he truly have his own mantra? He seems rather ordinary, all things considered.'

  Arioth sighed. 'The pall of death weighs heavy upon him. I have no doubt that it has dyed his soul, stained it black and white, the hues of Halflight.'

  'He bore the mark,' Aurel noted. 'Should we not have taken it?'

  'It would mean nothing to us now,' Arioth said. 'A bauble, no better than a copper coin. It must be replete with the energy born of reason, and it is a reason that he has not found yet.'

  Aurel folded her arms. 'The rules seem different for him. Are you sure about this?'

  Arioth grinned and shook his head, drawing an exasperated sigh from the Empyrean.

  'There's so much we don't know,' Suture said. 'I felt a shift when he entered Dwinvale. And as for the Erid...'

  Arioth turned his gaze to Suture and there was an eager light in his eyes. 'Yes?'

  'It has certainly turned its gaze upon him.'

  Arioth folded his arms, smiling. 'Perfect. The Golden One is in play.'

  Suture shook his head. 'You take far too much on faith.'

  'Not at all,' said Arioth. 'This is, after all, our grand undertaking. Soren has a particular place in this game, as the bearer of Halflight. And there is work yet to be done.'

  Suture sighed. 'This again?'

  Arioth threw his cloak about his shoulders and flashed a confident grin at his dour lieutenant. 'I get the feeling there will be more auspicious meetings this night.'

  --

  Something troubled him in the cold darkness, and he clutched at the death coin of Valefor. It did not bring him peace. The darkness of Dwinvale seemed more oppressive than before, the shadows looming larger than ever. Perhaps he was foolish to turn down the resources of Third Moon. Perhaps, as Suture suggested, he should have made use of them?

  He shook his head. There was no use second-guessing everything now. As the air around him seemed to clear of the illusory mist, he turned and saw a guardsman – perhaps the same one he spied before when he was accosted by Aurel and Zephon.

  He waved the guardsman down, who seemed to have no trouble seeing him this time.

  The guardsman, wary, approached, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword – a pointed warning that reminded Soren that his appearance was not always something that inspired altruism in others. He pulled his cowl over his head belatedly.

  ‘You’re out late, son,’ said the guardsman, stopping some ten feet away. He looked guarded, but not unconfident – he seemed fairly certain of himself. His eyes flicked to Soren’s sword, and his eyes narrowed, but he did not seem too bothered by it.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Soren. ‘I’m a newcomer to the town, and I was hoping to find my way to the local inn. Unfortunately, I seem to be lost.’

  The guard remained on his guard, but he seemed to relax ever-so-slightly at this all-too-innocent statement.

  ‘Well, you’re in the wrong part of town for that. Ain’t nothing down that alleyway but for an old ramshackle house. Don’t know why the alderman doesn’t just have it burned down.’

  The guard looked down at the illusion-shrouded hideaway of Third Moon and he shivered slightly.

  ‘Anyway. Red Anne’s the place you’re looking for. Decent food, decent beds, and they won’t empty your pockets for a single night’s stay like The Dwinlach Dandy. Come on, I’ll take ye. Nearly at the end of my beat anyway.’

  The guardsman seemed to relax as he led the way.

  ‘Staying in Dwinvale long, are ye?’

  ‘I’m not sure, yet,’ said Soren, quite honestly. ‘I was heading east, but there’ve been a few stops along the way.’

  ‘Well, it’s a nice enough place to be, and work if you’re the adventuring sort. There’s always a mark or two on the quarry board, some monster or beast that needs hunting.’

  ‘Are those common in Dwinvale?’

  ‘Hardly,’ said the guard. ‘But they do need taking down when they come too close to town.’

  He paused, thinking about it. ‘Though it is strange that there always seems to be something. I’ve been stationed in Drivorius and the Black Coast. Monster sightings are supposed to be pretty rare, but it seems like we’ve always got quite a few in this area. Still, we guards can handle them, but we like to leave it to professionals.’

  ‘There might be a reason for that,’ said Soren. ‘Is there anything of note near this town?’

  ‘Not sure,’ said the guard. ‘Hariod said there were ruins in the glade to the west of the Dwinlach, but that they went underground into the mines. Hard to imagine that the mines hold any monsters, not when we’re so active down there.’

  ‘Hariod?’

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  ‘Oh, one of the wizards who help the alderman run this town. Good bloke. Originally from Porter’s Hollow, they say.’

  Soren had heard of neither the man nor the place, so he simply nodded.

  ‘Have you ever been to the mines?’

  ‘Not often. Not much need for the guardsmen down there. Usually just go when the alderman or some visiting nobleman needs an escort or something. I was curious about where it connects to those ruins, but my duties don’t give me much chance for exploring. Not to mention that it could be dangerous. Might be good that we haven’t found where it connects to them, if it connects at all.’

  They came at last to Red Anne’s, a three-storey inn on the corner in a ward of the town that looked appreciably better than the area that Third Moon had claimed, but it was not exactly what Soren would call high-class. The wooden sign above the double door entrance was nicked and scarred, though the words, painted in bright, chipped red paint remained clear. Amber light spilled out of the threshold and the sound of laughter and music drifted out of the first floor tavern.

  ‘Seems like a quiet evening for this place,’ said the guard. ‘Well, enjoy. I got one more hour to go on my patrol.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Soren, bowing slightly. ‘I never did catch your name.’

  ‘Joff,’ said the guardsman. In the light spilling out of the tavern, Soren got his first real look at guardsman Joff – a middle-aged man with a grizzled look to him, hale and fit. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Soren.’

  ‘Well, Soren,’ he said, looking him up and down again. ‘You be good in our town, okay? And there’s no need to hide,’ he said, his eyes peering at him under the hood. ‘We have a couple of Daoine in town. You’ll find Dwinvalians a bit more open-minded than most folk. But don’t take my word for it. Our girl Anne can tell you that herself.’ He said, nodding at the inn.

  ‘Thank you, Joff. I’ll try to remember that.’

  Joff smiled and turned away, humming along to the tune that drifted out of Red Anne’s. Soren watched him go, thinking to himself that he would have felt far more at ease if that had been his first interaction in Dwinvale.

  Well, nothing for it.

  Looking forward to a flagon of mead and a reprieve from his worries, he walked into Red Anne’s.

  Unfortunately for him, this night’s troubles were only just beginning.

  --

  Stepping into the large tavern, his eyes were immediately drawn to the beautiful, red-headed woman in a yellow and green dress dancing on a stage to the accompaniment of two young men playing a violin and a flute. The men, little more than boys, really, exchanged smiles as their performance swept through Red Anne’s, drawing cheers and laughter from the spirited crowd, who thumped their feet in tune to the rhythm. There were more than a few catcalls for the beautiful girl who flashed mischievous smiles at anyone her eyes roamed over, her hair and dress aflare as she she pirouetted and twirled in dizzying, surprisingly intricate steps. She was no mere barmaid.

  Her outfit was vaguely remniscient of a jester’s motley, though it was far more flattering on her figure than on any of the hapless men Soren had chanced to see before, form-fitting down to the waist, where it flared out.

  Soren, walking up to the barkeep, eventually stopped and stared agape at her.

  There was no mistaking it.

  It was her. The woman in the temple in the forest of his awakening. At the sight of her, pain erupted in his chest and he had a flashback of something he was certain he had never experienced – a hooded figure, standing over him, a knife in his hands, poised to strike.

  He felt a moment of vertigo and swayed slightly, then shook himself out of his stupor and made his way to barkeeper, who watched him with a bemused smile on his face.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, stranger,’ he said by way of greeting. ‘Katerina has that effect on everyone.’

  ‘Katerina?’ Soren frowned. He would have thought her name, whatever it was, would have stirred something in his memory, but nothing came to him.

  At that moment, her eyes found him, but if she recognized him, she made no sign, and she carried on with her dance.

  ‘Strange lass,’ the barkeep went on. ‘Showed up about two years back, wearing rags, offered to wash dishes in my kitchen. Well, you’ve seen her. Washing dishes would be a waste. I asked if she could sing or dance, and she said she could do both, and she could also play an instrument. Back then, Red Anne’s was just an inn, but I had been thinking of turning the ground floor into a tavern area. I figured that getting ale wouldn’t be a problem, but then we’d be no different from some of the other places in Dwinvale. She offered to find me some musicians, and she somehow managed to. How she managed to wrangle two troubadours in the bargain, I’ll never know. But they’re a good team, and they keep the crowd happy. Now she’s so popular that most people think that she’s the Red Anne the place is named after.’

  ‘Two years ago, you say?’ Soren said.

  ‘Aye. She turned this place around,’ the barkeep said smiling fondly as her dance ended, to raucous applause and calls for encores. ‘One of Dwinvale’s treasures, I daresay.’

  Two years, Soren thought, musing. That meant that she would have had to come here immediately after he had died. Was he wrong?

  Katerina leapt from the stage, and was quickly flanked by the two men, who doubled as bodyguards for her it seemed, as one drunken fellow reached out to touch her, only to be slapped away by a practiced hand. The drunkard was immediately swarmed by his fellows for daring to try to touch Katerina, and a tiny brawl broke out in front of the stage.

  One of the troubadours stopped and turned, seemingly bemused by all of this, then shrugged and leapt into the fight. At this, his fellow shook his head and continued following Katerina, who was making a bee-line for the barkeep.

  ‘Not a bad jig, Anzel,’ she said, and there was a slight brogue to her speech that made her difficult to place.

  ‘Brilliant as always, Kat,’ said Anzel, smiling warmly at her. ‘Something to eat?’

  ‘Some bread and cheese for me and the boys, if you please,’ she said. ‘Not too heavy, mind. I might have another dance in me before the night is done.’

  ‘That’ll please the guests,’ said Anzel, smirking as the brawl in the center of the room seemed to devolve into mild pushing and hurled curses. All in all, nothing too serious, and the other young man walked towards them, looking morose.

  ‘Bad luck tonight, Irio?’ Katerina asked, smiling.

  Irio shook his head. ‘Nobody has any damned spirit tonight. They just want to go back to their drinks and enjoy their evening.’

  ‘Fancy that.’

  Katerina turned to Soren then, her eyes searching under his hood. Something flashed in her eyes, then she smiled.

  ‘You can lower your hood here, friend’ she said. ‘Dwinvale accepts all, be they Daoine or no.’

  ‘Force of habit, I suppose,’ Soren said. He gingerly pulled the hood off, feeling exposed as he did so. ‘Been chased out of a few towns that looked just like this one.’

  ‘Dwinvale’s different,’ she insisted, looking at his face, then looking up and down, then nodding in approval. ‘And it helps that you’re a handsome one, at that.’

  She seemed to make up her mind about something at that moment, then nodded.

  ‘Irio, Gwinly, you boys go amuse yourselves in whatever way you like. I’d like to buy this handsome stranger a drink and chat with him about the world outside.’

  Apparently this wasn’t a strange thing for her to say, because Irio just sighed wearily and Gwinly nodded before shooting a glance at Soren, perhaps taking the measure of him.

  ‘This again, Kat?’ Anzel sighed. ‘The man just wandered in, I’m sure he wants to get a drink and relax without answering a dozen questions.’

  ‘It’s okay, really,’ said Soren. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘That’s what they all say,’ Anzel warned him. ‘Don’t be fooled by her pretty face, she can be surprisingly obnoxious when she puts her mind to it.’

  ‘Be nice, Anzel. I just want to show the stranger some hospitality.’

  ‘It really is okay,’ Soren said, examining her closely. It really was her.

  Anzel shrugged and quickly prepared two bread rolls and two sliced blocks of cheese on wooden trays, along with two tankards of pomegranate ale, at Katerina’s request. Kat took them with a smile and a wink, then led Soren to a small alcove deeper in the room, putting them out of the line of sight of the counter and at least half of the room.

  Katerina sat down, placing the tray in the middle, and took a sip of her ale.

  She then looked at Soren, and her expression changed. Gone was the happy-go-lucky barmaid. Gone was the cheerfully talented dancer. In its place, a haunted woman. The smile was frozen on her face for a moment as she stared at him, and it seemed false now. Fragile.

  Soren took a seat, wondering what to say, wondering who she was, and how she was connected to him. As he searched for the words, though, she said something that robbed him of all thought:

  ‘It’s you isn’t it? The man I killed.’