Now, don’t go thinking that I didn’t take the barkeep’s words seriously. I did. Even though I’d only reached a small fraction of the Shadow’s years, I was not exactly innocent of the ways of the world. I’d traveled widely and knew that not all towns were as calm and reasonable as Ulm had been. Strange was the norm, and normal was, in my view, fairly strange.

One of the strangest was the city where human sacrifice wasn’t just known, it was common. A spell of bad weather and they sacrificed a virgin. A fire in a pasture and they might sacrifice two. A flood might call for half a dozen sacrifices, and it wasn’t unheard of for a sacrifice to be made to bless a wedding. The people there were very scared, and prone to losing their virginity early.

But that’s another story. Suffice it to say, I’d seen my share of strangeness, and there’s one thing that held true between them: they all thought their way was normal.

So when the barkeep said that Brelor village would turn on anyone who transgressed where the villagers thought they shouldn’t, I believed him.

That said, believing the barkeep was one thing. Acting on what he said was another. The way I figured it, I’d come a long way to find the Fracture, and from what Gabby had said, I was close. To not follow it through would have meant all the trials I’d endured up until then were wasted.

So for the next couple of days I left Max happily drinking his way to oblivion in The Puking Orc and headed to the one place I thought I could count on tongues wagging freely: the central market.

Every town or village of any size has one. Brelor’s wasn’t as busy as many I’d seen, but it was lively enough with stallholders hollering about their various wares to anyone and everyone they saw, haggling in loud voices with customers keen to bargain, and suspicious that their neighbors would do all they could to beat them to any free coin. My type of place, I thought, and remembered another market not so long ago where I’d created such havoc that I attracted the attention of the town guard as well as an angry mob.

This time, I was more circumspect. I filched only those few items I knew I could get away with, bargained honestly (with pilfered coin, I’ll admit) and asked questions only when I thought I could get away with doing so.

The answers were much the same as I’d received in the tavern: blankness, furtiveness, or antagonism. The blankness was no help to me, so whenever I met it I quickly moved on. The furtiveness was more promising. These people I pushed, but without any luck. They were mostly too scared of any repercussions to offer me anything. The antagonism was more difficult to deal with. In these cases, I apologized as genuinely as I could and tried to smooth things over.

I didn’t know that my efforts were being noted and that my smoothing over wasn’t as much of a success as I might have wished.

On the second day I began to notice a change. Merchants started whispering among themselves and glancing towards the mountains. I followed their gaze and saw nothing more sinister than a dark cloud hovering over one particular spot. It seemed to roil around on itself and from time to time I could see sparks of lightning. I mentally gave a small shrug. It was only a cloud, I thought, forgetting that the barkeep at The Puking Orc had spoken of just such a cloud as part of his warning.

I never noticed the suspicious glances that many of the whisperers cast my way.

Later, something happened that I did notice. I was bargaining with a vendor for a hat made for a doll but which I thought Max might like when I caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of my eye. Someone small, wearing a very dark robe. Someone who ought to have been miles away at the very least. If not dead.

“Thork Yurger?” I said out loud.

“Huh?” the merchant replied.

“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

“Oh. Now about that hat, it’s as fine a piece of craftsmanship as every there was…”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

I finished the bargaining quickly. I probably paid a little too much, but what did that matter when it wasn’t my money? The stuttering assassin was more important. Why was he here? Had he somehow followed me? I didn’t think it was possible. And yet….

I resolved to make sure.

For the next several minutes I made my way through the market much as I had before, but kept a sharp eye out for anything amiss. And then I saw him again, watching me from an alley.

I paused to examine some baubles and the merchant hurried over, but instead of listening to his spiel I studied Thork Yurger in turn. It was definitely him, I decided. Sure, the robe hid many of his features, but he was small enough to be unusual. And he had a way of standing and moving that suggested a stutter. Somewhere about his person there was probably a small crossbow if he’d replaced the one he’d lost amongst the orcs.

What should I do? I wondered. If I ignored him, sooner or later he would try to kill me again. And while I’d replaced a few of my weapons since arriving in Brelor, I hadn’t yet found any armor. If I tried to hide, he would probably just find me again, and this time I mightn’t notice he’d done so. He’d found me before, several times; tracking was something he actually seemed to be good at.

That only left a more direct approach.

So thinking, I finished my bauble examination and walked casually through the market, heading steadily closer to Thork Yurger and his alley at the same time as trying not to look like I was heading in any direction in particular. I’d cut the distance between us by about half before he moved, and all he did was sink further into the shadows.

Perhaps he didn’t yet realize I was now following him. Well, he was about to find out. I judged that I’d closed the distance enough. Instead of continuing my casual walk, I broke into a run and reached the alley in no more than a dozen quick strides.

“Aha!” I cried, hoping to startle him. But Thork Yurger was no longer there. I looked quickly about and saw the edge of a dark cloak disappear around a corner. I charged after it and caught another glimpse of him before he turned down yet another alley.

I cursed under my breath. It seemed tracking wasn’t the only thing he was good at. Running away was another of his talents.

But I wasn’t slow either. So I ran, keeping him just in sight and trusting mostly to luck that he wouldn’t be clever enough to wait around a bend and fill me with crossbow bolts before I could dodge.

I was gaining. Of that I was sure. Where before he’d been maybe twenty paces ahead of me, I’d cut that distance down almost by half.

“I’m coming for you!” I called out. In a strange way, I was starting to enjoy myself. “I’m getting closer! I’ll catch you soon!” I yelled, fully expecting to do so within the next couple of minutes.

Thork Yurger didn’t respond. He simply darted around another corner. I followed hard on his heels.

Then I stopped dead in my tracks.

I’d learned another thing about Thork Yurger, and I have to say my opinion of him had never been higher. As well as tracking and running, he appeared to be pretty good at setting traps. While the only thing on my mind had been to chase him down and maybe beat him to within an inch of his life once I’d caught him, he’d been purposefully leading me directly towards a mob that looked set for business.

As you know, I’ve had a bit of experience dealing with mobs, and I’ve learned how to gauge the danger they represented. The mob back in Ulm was little more than a group of angry merchants bound together through the shared experience of having me upset their lives for a moment. Weaponless, goal-less and not used to fighting, they’d been about as dangerous as a large flock of geese. Sure, an unlucky peck to your most delicate region might have left you writhing on the ground for a bit, but other than that, it’d be like beating at you with a bag full of feathers.

This one was quite different. Nearly fifty strong, they looked determined more than angry, and very capable. Nor were they weaponless. Far from it, in fact. Clubs and spears were common among them, as were pitchforks and meat cleavers. I can’t say I was surprised to see the barkeep from The Puking Orc there. I recognized him at once. He held what looked like a cross between a cleaver and a broadsword. It was a weapon that any orc would have been proud to carry into battle.

I didn’t like the look of them at all. Nor was that because they were ugly. Most of them were, but one or two would have passed muster in a beauty contest. Nothing compared to me of course, but they’d have to be something special for that.

Anyway, this mob looked resolute and primed for murder. Thork Yurger stood with his crossbow aimed and ready to fire. He was puffing a little. At least I’d made him work for it. But he looked at me with the satisfied grin of certain victory twisting his visage.

“You were warned,” grunted the barkeep. “But you didn’t listen. And now the cloud’s back over his palace. You’ve made him angry.” He grinned through his beard. “We can’t have that,” he said, and the mob surged towards me with growls of anticipation coming from those in front and cries of “Get him!” emanating from the back.

“Um,” I said, once more showing off my sparkling wit when times were desperate. “I’ll just be leaving now, if you don’t mind.”

But apparently they minded. I’d only just started to turn away when something heavy hit the back of my head, staggering me. “Ow, sod it!” I said. “That hurt!” And then something else hit me again. Or perhaps it was the same thing. I didn’t know.

The world went black.