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Greyt ducked, his knees bending apart. The weapon passed harmlessly over his head. Even as the younger fencer tried to reverse his blow, Greyt's rapier slashed open the dark leather covering the man's side. A line of bright red appeared on his pale flesh.

As his opponent staggered back, Greyt took the opportunity to cuff him on the side of the head. "Keep your guard up, fool!" he shouted. "I should run you through for your stupidity!"

"I'm sorry, Lord Singer-" Tamnus said, dropping immediately to one knee.

Greyt promptly kicked him in the face, launching him backward. Blood streamed from his nose. When Tamnus looked at him in shock, the Lord Singer's mouth was hard.

"Did I say the duel was over?" he snapped. The aide shook his head. Then he cringed when Greyt raised his rapier once more, as though to thrust it through Tamnus's head.

A banging at the door startled Greyt, and he almost thrust. A tingle ran down his spine, and he whirled on the portal.

"Who is it?" he shouted.

"Captain Unddreth, Lord Singer," a rumble came. "I wish an audience with you."

The bard ran a hand through his graying hair. Then he turned on his training aide with a vicious glare. "Out of my sight," he ordered with a hiss. Tamnus wasted no breath in hesitation. He ran away, clutching at his side in obvious pain.

Greyt cared not. When Tamnus was gone, Greyt flicked the blood off his rapier and sheathed it. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, he assumed a more comfortable stance.

"Come," he called.

The doors swung open and the massive Unddreth entered Greyt's ballroom. The floorboards, hard, good wood, did not creak, even under his heavy boots. Situated in the center of the mansion, the ballroom was the largest-if not the finest-room in Quaervarr. Tapestries of scarlet, bold white, and vibrant purples adorned the walls, laced with ivory and gold thread. In the center of the ballroom, marble statues of dancing nymphs poured water from basins down into a great copper fountain. If it had not been so dismal outside, sunlight would have cascaded through high, stained glass windows depicting dancing fey, dueling heroes, and wheeling dragons.

If Unddreth was impressed as he entered the grand ballroom-useless in such a small town-he showed no sign of it. His blocky face was stoic, as always.

"What is it, Captain?" Greyt asked.

"I bear grave news," the earth genasi growled.

"Of course you do," the Lord Singer said. He started away, toward a tapestry depicting a dragon in flight. Unddreth did not follow. Greyt thanked the gods for that.

"I have come to inform you of a murder that transpired last night," Unddreth said. "Sir Torlic, a lieutenant in the Quaervarr guard, was killed in his house last night."

"What do I-" Greyt started angrily, but stopped himself. "Why bring this to me?"

The genasi's lip twitched. "He was once of the Raven Claws," Unddreth said. "I thought perhaps you might help me find the one who killed him."

"Ah." Greyt wanted to claim that he knew nothing, but that would make Unddreth suspicious. "I well remember our days on the road, but I know of no enemy who would kill him, nor even seek to attack him in his humble abode."

He had thrown out his hand in imitation of a performance and now became aware of a small spot of Tamnus's blood on his palm. He clenched his fist and looked back at Unddreth.

"Perhaps Jarthon and his People of the Black Blood. They have been quiet for long enough. Could your soldiers have relaxed their guard, I wonder, Captain?"

Unddreth's already dark complexion became black. "I personally fought the man responsible," he said. "And he was no werebeast. We are dealing with another attacker, one very skilled with a blade, and possessing powers I have never seen before."

"Powers?" Greyt asked idly. He peered intently at a tapestry of a military victory, with a knight of Cormyr leading a host of soldiers. One of the Azouns, perhaps? He could not recall.

"The villagers are whispering about a shadowy man named Walker," Unddreth said. "That may have been him."

That produced a stir in Greyt. The name sounded like a discordant note on his yarting. He rubbed his gold ring, as was his habit.

"And what do you want me to do, kill this shadow for you?" Greyt said, suppressing his reaction. "You and your soldiers find this attacker and deal with him as is proper.

"Or…" He drew his rapier with a flourish. "Could it be you have come to ask for the aid I can offer?"

"We need none of your thug rangers, Greyt," Unddreth spat. His animosity toward the Lord Singer was matched only by his contempt for Greyt's servants-as Greyt well knew. "Undisciplined scum, all of them. Especially Meris the bastard."

"I can't argue," the Lord Singer laughed, unsurprised. "It's very true."

Nor was he surprised that Unddreth had spoken so crassly. Unddreth had always been free with his tongue-it came from being raised a commoner. Greyt waved the captain away and sheathed his sword.

Blaming the Black Blood was a ruse-for all Greyt knew, the bastard werebadger and his kin were all prowling Malar's infernal forests in the Abyss, or wherever Malar's forests were. He cared little for theology.

After a moment, Greyt looked back and saw that Unddreth had not moved.

"You're still here," he said.

"I am." Unddreth, not prone to fidgeting, gazed at him stonily.

"There is more?" Greyt asked.

"Speaker Stonar left the city in your hands," Unddreth said. "Thus, when an event transpires that threatens the welfare of the city, it is your responsibility to deal with it, is it not?"

"And I have," Greyt said, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. "I want you and your soldiers to find this attacker and kill him. Or her. Or it. Just do what you are paid to do."

Dim-witted Unddreth. Greyt scowled. Are you as stupid as you look?

"We must inform Speaker Stonar of the event," Unddreth said.

Not stupid then, Greyt decided. He should have foreseen the suggestion.

He didn't miss a beat, though. "So send to the druids to communicate with their magic," he said dismissively. "They may not be under our control, but they will aid us."

"I already have," Unddreth said. "Something blocks their magic, some barrier they cannot pierce."

"Probably another of their foolish excuses-a damned equinox or something," Greyt said quickly. It was plausible, after all. Quaervarr was a frontier town in every sense: unless matters were really out of hand, the people preferred to settle their own problems, without help from the High Lady or her armies of mages. The druids would expect no less from the Watch. "Or it's a sacred time for their gods, or perhaps the guild of Silverymoon has better things to do than listen to our minor complaints-"

"So we must send a courier," Unddreth said.

"I'm sure that's not necessary," Greyt said with a shrug as if he meant to forget the whole thing. "As you said, it is only one man. Some independent town we would be if we ran to Silverymoon with our troubles every time a lunatic crops up. How much trouble can one man be? Take a few of your best soldiers and scour the Moonwood for him."

Unddreth hesitated, but finally nodded. "As you command, Lord Singer," he said curtly. Turning on his heel, the genasi strode out of the ballroom.

Greyt watched his retreating form for a long moment, tracing with his eyes the image of the white stag emblazoned upon the huge shield Unddreth wore on his back.

"As I command," he repeated to himself with a grin. He liked the sound of that.

Wrapped in steel, Arya was approaching the front doors of her uncle's manor when they flew open and the hulking Unddreth stamped out. His face was even harder than usual. She dropped into a light bow.

"Well met, Captain Unddreth," she said.

The genasi's frown turned to a soft smile when he saw her, and Arya was acutely aware of her appearance. Her silver armor gleamed and her auburn hair burned in the soft light. Shining on her breast, the badge of the Knights in Silver-a clasp with the sigil of Silverymoon-secured a deep blue cloak around her shoulders. Arya knew Unddreth admired her simple elegance, and embarrassed warmth blossomed in her cheeks.