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grabbing a horse and heading south? I think I’ve had enough of cold winters and jail cells,” he said.
    Rentor stifled a small laugh. “Don’t be absurd. No other land will take you and you know it. As for going alone, let me be perfectly honest. I think you are the best chance we have at avoiding a war. We lose if you fail. No, I’m not sending you alone. I need you but don’t trust you a lick. The others chosen will have just as much experience as you. Perhaps in different arenas but skilled nonetheless. Grelic, you and I may not see eye to eye any longer but you’re the finest warrior this land has seen in a hundred years. Thrae needs you. I need you. If ever a man had a calling it is you.”
    Grelic pretended to give the matter some thought. He’d known his answer the moment Rentor gave his proposal. Truthfully he couldn’t wait to have a purpose again. Too many aimless nights were spent getting drunk and whoring. The chance to swing a blade again was almost a dream. A violent demise was something he’d planned for a long time. Rentor almost offered him one. As a youth he’d gone to see a shaman. The wizened old man confirmed he was going to die in battle.
    He casually turned from the king and went back to his window. His one outlet to the real world. A flock of brown geese honked nearby, returning to their spring roosts. “Battle is all I’ve ever known. War. Duels. There is thrill in swinging the blade. I want to have some say in the men coming with me. Battles are won by men who live, breathe, and die together. The people you send will just get in my way and probably won’t return. This is my only demand.”
    His words were slow, calculated. Rentor immediately recognized the underlying threat. He was being warned not to send anyone along that was going to betray Grelic once the mission was complete. If suspicion kept the giant on his toes, so be it. Ever so slowly, Rentor closed his mouth and turned. He’d done what he set out to do. The rest was on Grelic.
    The giant didn’t bother turning back around until after the king was long gone. That’s when he noticed the key placed expertly in the lock and an empty hallway beyond.

NINE
    Secrets
    Fitch Iane shot up from a troubled sleep. Sweat pooled in the grooves of his forehead. His eyes were streaked through with red. Dark bags circled around his eyes gave him a haunted look. Lightning crashed outside. Fitch jumped. His heart pounded. Fragments of the dream infiltrated his waking self. It had been the same one since the monks of Harr first revived him. Since then he hadn’t awoke on his own, until now. Brother Arabub, half asleep himself, nearly jumped at the commotion and excitedly ran to find Father Seldis. The old man had requested to know the moment anything important happened.
    The aged oak door groaned close, leaving Fitch alone again. Panic threatened to set in. He struggled to slow his breath, quietly battling the demons leaping up from the darkness. He tossed back the bearskin blankets and eased his feet to the cold, stone floor for the first time in weeks. Fitch wanted to stand but not even the magic worked by the monks of Harr was enough to give him back his previous strength.
    Fitch breathed the strange air and looked around. He was clean and shaved. The monks were adamant about taking care of him as much as possible. His bedding was fresh and scented candles burned softly against the far wall. Appreciating everything the monks had done for him, Fitch knew there was no way he could ever repay their hospitality. He used to frown upon the Order. The monks of Harr were often persecuted through primal fear and a lack of understanding. After this he intended on being an ardent supporter until the day he died.
    Father Seldis entered the room and smiled warmly. “I hear you’ve recovered, my boy. Congratulations. You had us worried for a while.”
    Seldis buried his doubts. He’d figured Fitch for a dead man from the moment he was brought in.