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but he carried with him a ferocity born of pure anger.
    Derst parried at the last moment and whirled the chain around the rapier’s blade. With a flick and twist of his wrist, he tore the weapon free of Morgan’s grasp and sent both it and his chain-dagger clattering to the floor. Morgan, however, did not hesitate to stab out with his main-gauche, thinking to catch the knight unarmed and helpless.
    A light mace darted in like lightning and smashed down on Morgan’s hand. The dagger clattered to the floor even as Bars’s other mace shot around and caught Morgan on the back of the head. Without even realizing what had happened, the rake toppled limply to the floor.
    Bars reached down and scooped him up over one shoulder. He disentangled the chain from the rapier and handed the chain-dagger back to Derst. The roguish knight accepted it with a smile and twirled it around his wrist, where it hung like a bracelet. Then he turned to Garion.
    “I think he’s had enough,” said Derst. “What’s his tab?”
    Garion looked at the knight curiously then spoke. “Four silver an’ five copper,” he said.
    Scowling at the price, Derst nodded nonetheless. He took a small purse from his belt and started counting coins out into his hand.
    Garion eyed him sidelong. “Right courteous, seeing as how ye just caved his head in,” he said.
    “Well, a knight is always courteous,” said Derst. He patted Morgan’s backside as Bars carried him past.
    “How hard did you hit him?” Arya asked Bars as he carried Morgan to the door.
    “Hard enough,” Bars replied without hesitation.
    “Don’t worry, he’s still breathing. I think,” Derst reassured her. Arya raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure.” The eyebrow went higher. Derst shrugged. “Mayhap.”
    The barkeep Garion looked to Derst again. “Well, I don’t take fight starters under my roof, but you didn’t start the fight—he did,” he said. “Excellent throw, by the way.” He indicated the dagger.
    “My thanks,” replied Derst, retrieving the blade with some effort. “Oh, sorry about the damage, too.” He reached for his pouch again, but Garion waved away payment.
    Bars returned from throwing Morgan into the street.
    “You three can have his room,” Garion said. He held up the key to one of the rooms upstairs. “Fox room; Upstairs, second on the right—look for the etching on the door. Basin, copper tub. I’ll send hot water up. Only one bed, though.”
    “That won’t be a problem,” said Arya. “These two wool-heads will take the floor, of course.” Bars and Derst both looked at Arya sidelong, but Arya just smiled sweetly and stretched road-weary muscles. “A bath. I can’t wait.” She took her leave, humming lightly as she went.
    Bars and Derst looked at one another, then at the innkeeper.
    “Lasses,” Derst said to Garion. “Always in distress, and always ungrateful.”
    Bars laughed.

CHAPTER 3
    26 Tarsakh
     
    The dawn rose cold the following morning and dark clouds choked the pale skies. A chill and a light blanket of snow had settled over the western Moonwood, what local legend called the Dark Woods—a patch of deep forest where even the elves of the Moonwood would not venture. The guardsmen at the gate of Quaervarr, near the road south to Silverymoon, stood easy, however. There were no visitors that morning and the road seemed deserted.
    Deserted, at least, until a dark figure emerged from the mists.
    Opening their eyes wide, the guards made to stop him, stepping in his way and crossing their silver-tipped spears, but one look from the night-clad man and they cringed back. He didn’t have to speak—the chilling resolve that surrounded him said enough. It didn’t even occur to them to ask his name or his business, for they knew they would soon find out. They weren’t sure, however, that they wanted to.
    The man called Walker strode calmly past the silent, nervous guards without a second glance, carrying a small bundle wrapped in rough leather. His