It was night at the Tevin Farm, when a knock came at the door. Tevin was sitting in his comfortable chair, the only one in the entire house to have padding. He supposed it was his age that demanded he pursue the activities of the old, or rather, the lack of activity, but he thought he had deserved this time to rest, for he was relaxing after a long day of hard work.

Grumbling to himself, Tevin got up from his seat at the family table, and made his way to the door. His sons were all asleep, and he was loathe to wake them. He could deal with one vagabond, or whoever else had the impunity to come calling this late at night.

As another knock came, this time, with more insistence, Tevin hurried over to the door, smoothing his graying hair. He found himself uncharacteristically nervous. After all, the last time anyone had come to the farm this late, it had been the rightful heir to the throne, and her protector!

Tevin opened the door a crack, leaving the chain fastened. He might be slowly becoming senile, but he was no fool yet.

Through the opening in the door, Tevin found himself looking at a somewhat short, pale, and nervous-looking man in dark clothing.

“I need your help,” asked the man simply. “Please let me in.”

“Who are you?” asked Tevin. “Not that it matters. Get gone, or I’ll rouse my sons, and then you’ll be in for it.”

The man took on a curiously pleasant tone. “I don’t have to worry about that,” he said. “I’m an alchemist, you see, and that means I make things.” He took out a brown vial, waved it in Tevin’s face. “None of your boys will be waking any time soon.” He then put away the vial.

Tevin didn’t know what the small, skinny man was trying to accomplish, and frankly, he didn’t care. He unchained the door, opened it wide, then grabbed the man and lifted him off his feet. As the man hung limp in his grasp, Tevin shouted at him. “You, witch, will undo whatever you have done, and then you will leave. Do you understand?”

“I understand perfectly,” said the man, utterly and completely calm. ‘But I don’t think I’ll be doing what you said. Look beyond me.”

Tevin looked outside the doorway. Beyond Tevin was perhaps the most frightening sight he had ever seen.

A gargantuan man stood there, clad from head to toe in black, spiked metal armor. He was twice a thick as Tevin, twice as wide, and seven feet tall. The man stepped to him.

Tevin hastily set the witch down. “What do you want from me?” he asked, taking an involuntary step backwards.

Using the space that had been provided, the pale man advanced across the threshold into Tevin’s house. Behind him, his massive bodyguard hulked down, and managed to get inside. The armored man’s head brushed the ceiling. The bodyguard carried no weapons, and the reason was clear to see. He could crush with nothing more than his armored hands.

“Now that you have been made aware of the balance of power here,” said the short man, “I wish to inform you a few things. Firstly, the appropriate derogatory nickname for one of my status is warlock, not witch. I am a male, and my name is Eton. And secondly, I would like to ask you a few questions.”

Tevin shifted in his stance. They stood in the living room now, but at the halfway point between that room, and the dining room, there was a fireplace, and over the mantle hung a sword. Tevin tensed, to prepare to make a run for it, but a moment later he realized he would never make it. The hulking, armored man would grab him before he could even get close.

“In the past month,” said Eton pacing back and forth through the nearly empty living room, “you played host to a rather unlikely pair. A formidable man, such as my friend here, and a helpless female. Am I correct?”

Suddenly, Tevin realized what this was all about. Broken had warned him. But despite what Broken had asked him to do, Tevin would keep his promise. “I know nothing,” he said.

Eton seemed to treat his statement as an acknowledgement. “Did they say where they were going?” he asked. “Right before they left, did they hint?”

Tevin said nothing. “No?” asked Eton. “Your boys, before I put them to sleep, were all the same. Even little Gabin. How touching. But from him, at least, I learned that they were indeed here. So tell me where they went.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Tevin.

“Liar,” said Eton lightly. “Your youngest also made it clear to me that you know where they head. Speak, or I will wake him up, and then he and I can have another chat, much less pleasant than the first. And, if you do not talk, I will kill you. I only offer this choice because it is easier to be told information by someone, than drag it out of the mind of a small child. Make you choice quickly, my friend.”

“We’re not friends,” said Tevin, growling.

“I think we are,” said Eton. “After all, I wish to spare your children the misery of losing their sole surviving parent.”

Tevin involuntarily thought back to the day when he had told Doner and Pelt that their mother was gone. A grimace of sadness crossed his face. She had been barren for so many years, so when he had realized Gabin was coming, the entire family thought it a gift from the God-Kings. He remembered when he learned he had been wrong. It was just fate.

“Not a pleasant memory, I see,” said Eton. “I can relate. My own mother died giving birth to me, just as your Julie died giving birth to little Gabin.”

“Shut up!” Tevin shouted savagely.

“So you are rejecting my generous offer, to give you back your own life?”

It was a strange moment for Tevin, as he had never really considered accepting the deal. His oath to Broken was his bond.

“I am rejecting your offer,” he said, putting it in Eton’s own terms.

“You are a fool, old farmer,” said the short man. “You are wasting your life because you will not tell me information I will learn if a few short minutes without your help.”

“My oath is my bond,” said Tevin.

“Well then,” said Eton, regaining the small bit of composure that he lost. “You have made your decision. “I, as an agent of powers far greater than you, cannot waste any more time here.”

Eton pulled out a vial of black liquid from a pouch, and pulled out the stopper. “Wrath,” he said, holding it up. “The drink of demons, for it is said they can ingest what causes, to us, paralysis and death upon contact. Enjoy.”

Eton splashed the contents of the vial at Tevin. Tevin tried to dodge, but a small amount of the substance landed on the sleeve of his right shoulder. In a matter of seconds, too quickly for Tevin to react, the black substance burned through his clothing, and reached his skin.

Tevin uttered a cry, cut of a moment later when his lungs could not longer draw breath. He fell to the ground, immobile. Through his rapidly fading senses, he thought he saw Eton smile down on him, and say, “The wrath of a Makini agent is swift.” Pain pierced the old farmer.

Then Tevin felt himself die.