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“Of course. Drink that down, lass; we’re just getting started. Having swept the legs out from under the tiny stool ye are so pleased to call the life ye’ve built for thyself, ’tis merely my duty to fill thy brain with weapons, to help ye defend that stool so it has any chance at all of lasting a little longer. I’ll be needing ye to help me find and steal certain little gewgaws that hold the ghosts of the Nine, but first, for thine own protection, ye should know the truth about this Talane ye’re now haunted by …”

Despite the hour and the fact that Stormserpent Towers was an abode of nobility, the Purple Dragons banging on its doors were most insistent. The burden of their repeated demands was the desire to speak with Lord Marlin Stormserpent, without delay.

Sleepy, exasperated servants failed to convince the soldiers to wait until a time fashionably after morningfeast, and so in the end reluctantly roused Marlin and brought word to him that soldiers of the Crown were at his gates, would not leave, and wanted audience with him immediately.

Marlin went from surly sleepiness to wide awake and stiff with alarm in a proverbial instant. His first act was to curtly dismiss his servants, telling them he was quite capable of dressing himself.

Indeed, he was well on his way to being garbed by the time the door closed behind the last of them. Running a hand over his stubbled face and deciding not to take the time to shave, the heir of House Stormserpent stamped his feet into his boots, snatched up the scabbarded Flying Blade and buckled it on, thrust Thirsty well into the breast of his jerkin, and gave his pet’s head the double tap that told it to bide quiet until he called or hauled it forth again, and took up the chalice into his hand as if he had been disturbed in the act of drinking from it.

There. Ready. He glowered at his nearest mirror ere turning and hastening down to the forehall to meet with the Dragons.

When he came down the stair, they were standing in a grim, silent little group, waiting for him.

“Well?” Marlin asked shortly, sparing no breath on greetings or even a pretense of politeness.

“We have need of your aid, Lord Stormserpent. Please come with us. Just as far as your front doors, yonder.”

“Why?” Marlin snapped. “What’s—?”

They said nothing, turning in unison to tramp to his doors.

Marlin glared sidelong at his silent servants then followed the Dragons.

One front door of the Towers was ajar, and there were more soldiers outside.

“So what’s all this about?” Marlin asked, stepping aside to avoid being caught in the doorway with Dragons all around him.

“We need you to identify this dead man,” a telsword told him gravely. “We’ve been told he’s a servant of yours. Truth?”

By then, Marlin was gaping down at the corpse on the litter, and his face was heading for the same dead-white hue that the body sported. It was Gaskur, the man he most trusted in all the world. His personal servant for years, his trade agent … a huge sword cut that left his throat gaping open told anyone with eyes how he’d died.

“Who … who did this?” Marlin blurted, his own throat closing around sudden tears, the room seeming to silently rock around him.

A firm hand at his back steadied him, and he was vaguely aware that the soldiers who’d been watching his face with intent and suspicious frowns were relaxing, some of them looking almost pitying.

“Where did you find him?” Marlin asked, his voice quavering like that of any young lass. Hearing no reply, he shook his head fiercely and turned away.

“That is my servant, yes,” he told the air blindly as he headed for the distant board across the forehall and its gleaming array of decanters. “Gaskur by name, a man true and loyal. I trusted him more than anyone.”

He found the decanters and turned. “Will you join me in a toast to a good man? And for the love of all the gods, tell me how he died!”

“Does the word or name ‘Talane’ mean anything to you, Lord?” The telsword’s voice was near and low down, as if the Dragon was half-kneeling