Relma woke up. The pain in her stomach was dulled, and she could see a fire smoldering over in the corner. A window was open high above in the wall from which light was streaming down, and she was warm. And she didn't have an arrow sticking out of her, so that was good. Unless the white covers were hiding the fact. Gradually her vision focused on Aunt Pan, knitting by her bedside. She shifted

Aunt Pan looked up. "Relma? You're awake, thank goodness."

"Aunt Pan, what happened?" asked Relma.

"Estela shot you in the heart," said Pan. "Don't worry. It was entirely accidental. You lost a lot of blood before I got to you. Fortunately, you should make a full recovery." She drew out a flask. "Drink this."

Relma took it, feeling faint. "What is it?"

"It should restore the blood you lost," said Pan. "I've had to feed it to you myself before now." Relma unstoppered it and drank deeply. Immediately she felt like she would choke. But she managed to get the bitter drink down. "It tastes awful."

Pan smiled. "Get used to it, dear. If you are going to fight in the next round, you'll need to restore your health."

"So, who won the archery contest?" asked Relma.

"Garrick," said Pan, lips thinning. "After Estela's rather dramatic miss, she was awarded second place. You should have never gone out there."

"If I hadn't, Estela would have been humiliated," said Relma.

"She should never have accepted the challenge in the first place," said Pan.

Relma thought about things. "Was that even legal?"

"Yes, actually. Everyone involved knew the risks involved, and it was a trick shot," said Aunt Pan. "So Benarus allowed it."

Relma finished drinking it down. Then she passed it back to Aunt Pan. Benarus had been allowing a lot of things, hadn't he? He'd seemed so reasonable before now, but Relma was having doubts. Letting Ajax into the tournament was one thing. Looking the other way at Relma's disguise was helpful. But that contest ought to have been halted before it got that far.

Why had Relma agreed to that? "Where is Estela?"

"She's spent much time by your bedside," said Aunt Pan. "But now, she is practicing with her sword for the next round."

"I'm going to go see her," said Relma, sitting up.

But Aunt Pan pushed her back down. "You will do no such thing. Wait here, and I'll get her."

She stood, and Relma felt the ache in her chest. "Aunt Pan, why does my chest still hurt."

"Healing wounds with magic requires a deep connection with the spirit," said Aunt Pan. "If your spirit has been injured, the healing magic will leave something behind. A pain, perhaps a scar.

"Most warriors pick them up as they go. Some have made a science of trying to find out what the source of scars is. The idea is to help with healing them.

"The source is always something within the person. Not without."

"Well, why should I hurt now?" asked Relma. "All I did was get shot with an arrow."

"Ask yourself that question, and you may find the answer," said Aunt Pan. "As far as I know, it may have to do with being called out in the first place. I'll get Estela." And she walked to the door.

"Aunt Pan?" asked Relma.

Aunt Pan glanced back. "Yes?"

"Why do you think William Gabriel has that scar on his eye?" asked Relma. "I mean, it's pretty gruesome, isn't it?"

"I expect it is a result of wounded pride," said Aunt Pan.

"Wounded pride?" asked Relma.

"Yes," said Aunt Pan. "Scars on the face are usually connected to pride in some way. One's over-the-eyes deal with our perception of the world. Since the scar did not touch his eye, it indicates that his vision was not damaged by it. Merely altered.

"My guess is that his pride or self-image was gravely wounded somehow. This led to a change in his perception of the world."

"Well, what does a shot in the heart represent?" asked Relma.

"The heart generally deals with friendship, love, and affection," said Pan. "Scars there generally represent a hurt dealt to you by one very close. A personal betrayal, for instance."

"Estela didn't betray me," noted Relma.

"True," said Aunt Pan. "Which is why there isn't a scar. But she did accidentally nearly kill you."I'll get her now."

And she walked out.

Estela came in a few minutes later. Her head hung low as she sat down. Her hands were clasped.

"Estela..." began Relma.

"Relma, are you alright?" asked Estela.

"Yes, I'm fine," said Relma. "I... why did you miss?"

"I didn't mean to!" said Estela. "I mean... I... I shouldn't have called you out there. But I just kept thinking about how De Cathe forfeit and how I didn't really earn the victory. And then I remembered when Fayn called you up, and I just...

"I became angry. I thought that after that night, you owed me, so I called you up. I told myself that even if I missed, I would probably only wing you."

"Estela, don't worry," said Relma. "I forgive you.

"I didn't mean to steal the spotlight anyway. On the other hand, I probably did owe you."

"But don't you understand?" asked Estela. "What if I had been nearer the mark? My arrow could have caught you in the head or the eye.

"Damn Garrick, to hell!"

"Well, maybe you could beat him in the arena," said Relma.

"One can only hope," said Estela with a sigh. "I hope that bastard makes it into the final rounds so I can crush him myself."

"Speaking of which, how long have I been asleep?" asked Relma.

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"A couple of hours," said Estela.

"Where are Ajax and Ronald?" asked Relma. "I thought they'd be here?"

"Well, Ronald came to visit earlier," said Estela. "But the wolf demon has disappeared. Nobody knows where he's gone."

"That's not like him," said Relma. "If he doesn't return by tomorrow, he'll miss his match."

"I think his match is the day after tomorrow, actually," said Estela.

"Oh, really?" asked Relma. Then she noticed something. "Hey, the pain is gone."

Estela blinked. "Pain?"

"Nothing, never mind," said Relma. Then something occurred to her. "Hey Estela, I've been wondering about something."

"What is it?" asked Estela.

"You mentioned a while back that House Vortegex betrayed House De Chevlon. It was because of vampires, wasn't it?" said Relma. "What is that all about?"

"Oh, well, um, the first thing you should know is that there are a lot of different stories about it," said Estela. The story goes that House De Chevlon is actually just a front for a clan of vampires. See, when a member of House De Chevlon proves themselves worthy, they get turned into a vampire. Usually, after they have produced an heir.

"Then, when they really should have started aging, they fake their own death. Then the next in line takes over."

"That sounds weird," said Relma.

"Well, the De Chevlon's do tend to die young," said Estela. "Usually after proving themselves. Though Raynald De Chevlon has proved himself a thousand times over, he hasn't died young."

"So why did House Vortegex betray them?" asked Relma.

"Well, vampires are mortals who have been infused with the power of Withering, a sort of-" began Estela.

"-a formless entity of malice behind all undead." Relma finished. "I know, Estela, I've been reading in the library."

"Right, right," said Estela. "Well, anyway, the way the story goes, the head of my house was invited into the fold. They wanted to turn him into a vampire and do the same to House Vortegex.

"He pretended to accept. But then left written instructions to his family explaining the whole thing. House Vortegex was honor-bound to destroy the vampires. So we had to prevent them from gaining control of Escor."

"That's uh..." Relma looked for a polite word.

"Silly?" said Estela. "I know."

"Actually, it was a bit more complicated than that," said Aunt Pan, returning.

"I thought you had business to take care of?" asked Estela.

"I finished it more quickly than expected," said Aunt Pan with a sigh. "Some people are coming here, as well. Unfortunately, it seems a great many attendees were running late."

"What do you mean, 'it was a bit more complicated than that?'" asked Estela.

"Well, at the time, House Vortegex had been entrusted with keeping the Heir of Kings safe," said Aunt Pan. "A nice young girl named Rusca.

"The vampires in charge of House De Chevlon wanted to turn her into one of them.

"Vampires can't have children. So by infecting Rusca, they hoped that one of their own would rule over Harlenor Reunited."

"So the vampires were real?" asked Relma.

"Were real?" asked Aunt Pan. "Far from it, they are real, and one of their chief agents is coming here to Gel Carn. The Baroness De Chevlon herself."

Time passed quickly as other tournament events went by. Soon they were back in the stands, and Relma was eavesdropping.

For a vampire, Baroness Saphra De Chevlon was awfully tan with long, lustrous black hair. She wore black boots and a long dark dress that clung to her substantial curves. Her face was covered by a veil, and she wore heavy gloves. She was also only a few years older than Relma, at most.

Steward Benarus greeted her as she came before him. But he seemed on edge as she bowed politely. The tournament's second round was about to begin, and she had just arrived. Relma was not, technically, supposed to be here. But she wanted to see the Baroness, so she had snuck close to Steward's entourage.

"Baroness Saphra De Chevlon, you honor us with your presence," said Steward Benarus. "However, I expected you some days ago. Was there trouble on the road?"

Saphra curtsied. "I apologize, Steward Benarus. But, unfortunately, some important matters came up. I corresponded with some of my allies, and I had to wait for their response."

"Understandable, of course," said Benarus. "The opening rounds have only just begun. Would you care to watch them with us?"

"Of course," said Saphra.

"I have prepared a shaded area so that it will not hinder your complexion," said Benarus. He motioned to an area of the stands conveniently some ways away. Several of the courtiers looked on in relief.

"You are far too kind," said Saphra. "However, if I must be separate from the rest, I prefer to sit over there." She motioned to where the competitors were standing. "I am curious to meet some of those participating in the tournament."

"Is that wise?" asked Benarus. "There is a half-demon among them. And there is a great deal of sun in that area."

"You needn't fear," said Saphra. "The weakness to sunlight that happens to my family as we age."

"Of course," said Benarus.

Relma quickly returned to her designated area, sat down, and tried to look inconspicuous. Saphra arrived and sat down in one corner, then, drawing out some thread and needles, began to knit.

"Weakness to sunlight, milady?" asked William, helm on.

"An ailment that has claimed many of my family young," said Saphra. "I must ask that you pardon me."

"Interesting," said William. "You see, I was taught swordplay by Raynald De Chevlon, and he never demonstrated any such weakness."

"Raynald is somewhat eccentric," said Saphra. "The gods blessed him with resistance in exchange for his unfortunate disability.

"Unless you believe all those stories about vampirism. Then it makes a different kind of sense."

"Of course, it would," said William. "Why did you feel the need to mention it?"

"It rather hangs on one's mind," said Saphra. "I'm put in the position of having to purchase the slaves they drink the blood from. But, unfortunately, animal blood doesn't do it, so we must use more advanced species."

"I thought you said you weren't involved in an elaborate conspiracy," said Relma.

Saphra looked at her flatly. "You caught me, of course. I have nothing to do with the purchase of slaves. In fact, I'm a part of the abolitionist movement." She looked back at William. "Your father attended a few of our meetings."

William eyed her in surprise. "He did?"

"Oh yes, there was a charming exposition on the Sornian sugar plantations," said Saphra. "How children are scalded alive by the work they do. Not to mention how those in the mines are treated. For example, did you know that when a miner slave gets too weak to work, they don't tend to his illness?

"No, they knock his head in and throw him in a pit. If he's lucky.

"And that's not even going into the slave ships. Hundreds of living, thinking human beings crowded into tiny cells. When one gets sick, they hurl them over into the sea."

"That seems somewhat unprofitable," said William.

Relma was stunned. "Is that really the reaction a paladin should have?"

"Of course not," said William. "I am not fond of slavery, having had friends subjected to it. But if I were a slave trader, I'd want as much cargo as possible to get into port. That would make more money. Also, keeping fewer slaves in good health means you wouldn't lose as many. So you purchase fewer and gain a greater profit.

"Why not just have a priest on board to tend to them?"

"Miracle workers are a novelty. They generally have a conscience if they are any good at healing," said Saphra. "I suppose you could pay one, but let me ask you this. How many trips on board a slave ship carrying sentient beings could you stand? How long before you helped them stage a mutiny?"

"I'm not sure," admitted William. "But I was under the impression that priests of Coinfurth are obligated to help anyone who pays them."

"True," admitted Saphra. "But they are also obligated not to help anyone who doesn't pay them. Coinfurth feels that if you don't pay for something, you don't value it. So they are also specifically forbidden from healing torture victims. Well, on behalf of the torturers, anyway.

"See, healing is a product of sorts. And people are entitled to refuse a gift. So if a torturer wants to heal someone they've been working on, they must get that person's consent. Unless they are a slave, then it counts as repairing the property.

"And believe me, the conditions are torturous in the realm of slaveholders. It's hilarious." Her tone held the first note of emotion, genuine amusement.

"You consider the horrific conditions sentient creatures are subjected to amusing?" asked William.

"Of course," said Saphra. "What is comedy if not laughing at the pain of others?"

"There is such a thing as poor taste," noted William.

"Taste is subjective," said Saphra. "And I have no such luxury anyway."

How was William able to pretend as if he didn't have a problem with it? Saphra seemed to be eyeing him in irritation. William simply remained silent. They knew one another quite well.

"Milady, is there a reason you decided to grace me with your presence?" asked William suddenly.

"Well, I was hoping to put you off," admitted Saphra. "I judge you to be sensitive and compassion."

"Complete with skull armor?" asked William.

"Yes, exactly," said Saphra.

William sighed. "One of my oldest friends used to kill squirrels and left them in my bed as a prank. After that, she had a collection of innocent forest creatures killed for revenge on Laevian. And I've seen far worse things than any of that. It will take far more than that to put me off."

"Good to know," said Saphra, drawing up her fan

William paused, wrestling with some curiosity. "Out of curiosity, why did my Father not keep up his association with the abolitionists?"

"Well, he is a great leader of men," said Saphra. "Warriors who conquer a place want to loot it. So they take people as slaves and use them or sell them. It is one of the great joys of war, I'm told.

"Naturally being opposed to taking slaves might be an... unpopular quality among the men. Or so I assume."

"Of course," said William. "Perhaps-"

"Shut up," said Estela. "The match is starting."

"Hmm, so it is," said Saphra.

Relma would be glad to see Ajax win this.