"The Church of Jotal is run by madmen!" Shawna Wintermere, Roland's sometime lover, oftentimes opponent, raged. "And you're being sent there by a lunatic." She paced the room, a frown of outrage on her smooth brow, her shoulders back and fists clenched. "Where's that bloody cat?" Shawna, dance-trained from the age of six, gracefully aimed a kick at a rust-brown rat that had scurried out from behind the apple barrel. The rat made itself scarce.

​

"What do you know about the old man?" Some secrets even Roland was not privy too.

​

"From your description, he sounds like Falck's seneschal, Corbin Graylock. Strange piece of work, if you ask me. Gave me the creeps when I danced for him, Falck and some visiting dignitary."

​

Roland grunted as he pulled on his boots. This pair was his fleece-lined, dubbinned and ready for winter. He stood and shrugged into a heavy jacket. "The Church isn't that far. I'll be back before it gets dark."

​

"Darkness isn't the problem," Shawna fumed. "Southcourt is the problem. You have to go through there to get to the Church."

​

"There's enough daylight," Roland replied, keeping his voice mellow, while inwardly fretting about the town's notorious slum district. He couldn't let Shawna see he was nervous. It might make her do something ... unwise.

​

"Daylight in Southcourt isn't the protection it used to be. I was brought up there, remember? It's got worse since I was a kid. Someone was killed there just last week. Broad daylight."

 

"And the killer is hanging from the gibbet at the north gate."

 

"A little too late for the man he killed, though, isn't it?"

 

Roland couldn't fault Shawna's logic. "I'll be careful. More than careful, in fact." He glanced towards the small hearth.

 

"No! No bloody way," Shawna yelled. "You can barely lift that thing, let alone use it."

 

"My father taught me how to defend myself," said Roland, as he lifted his father's old broadsword from where it had been hidden amongst the firewood. "I'll be fine."

 

"You know the rules. If you get caught with that, you'll be flogged." Shawna relented a little and crossed to Roland. She placed her hand on his arm and lowered the sword. "And if you have to use it, you'll end up on the gibbet with the killer."

 

"You're probably right," Roland said with a shrug. "It's just a simple errand. I don't need to arouse suspicion. This, however," he pulled a blackjack from the jacket pocket, "might come in handy."