When he’d seen the large Orc fall to the floor in agony, Rattick had decided it was time to go. Concealed in his cape of fading black, he slunk from the chamber. As he started up the main passageway, he could see flashes and hear crashing noises behind him. He quickened his step and said, “Don’t know, don’t want to know.”

Good thief that he was, it pained Rattick to leave so much gold behind. He was good at taking things, and he enjoyed it. But Rattick was even better at surviving.

By the time the Wizard had started throwing lightning bolts around like they were party favors, Rattick was halfway up the main passage. And just as the walls started shaking, he stepped out into the forest and ran for all he was worth, never looking back.

Rattick couldn’t imagine that the Merchant stood a chance against the Wizard, but he couldn’t see a percentage in sticking around either way. Rattick had seen Dimsbury lose his temper too often. At the very least, Rattick was certain the guy would unleash his considerable powers to see Robrecht burned to the ground. No, that wouldn’t be enough for Dimsbury. He would want to see Robrecht burned to the ground and then its ashes shoveled into the river.

But where there was chaos, thought Rattick, there was opportunity. So when he had escaped the depths, Rattick hid himself away in his favorite tree to see what happened next. What happened next was nothing. Clouds drifted across the sky, and a gentle breeze caused the tree to sway so gently that Rattick fell asleep. As he drifted off, he thought to himself, “No worries, you’ll never sleep through the sound of a howling mass of Orcs unleashed on the countryside.”

But Rattick awoke to something very, very different. It was the sound of a horse being harnessed. The jingle of metal on metal, the clop of hooves, and the slap of leather. He opened his eyes and realized it was night. The clouds had cleared, and a bright, waxing moon hung in the sky. By its light, he saw Boltac and Asarah help Relan into the Duke’s carriage. They had survived? But how?

He watched Boltac and Asarah climb onto the front of the carriage and drive away. Rattick waited many minutes, expecting to hear the howl of bloodthirsty Orcs hurrying in pursuit, or to see fireballs raining down from the heavens upon them. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. Was he dreaming? What was going on?

He descended from the tree and followed them. Of course, he couldn’t keep up with a horse-drawn carriage, but the track it left was distinctive enough, and it led back to Robrecht.

He walked through the night, recognizing darkness for the old friend it was. And he had all the small hours of the night to wonder why the cries of Orcs weren’t burning up the road behind him.

In the morning, he came upon a small cottage in a clearing. There was smoke rising from the fieldstone chimney. And behind the cottage, in space that was hard-won from the thick, primeval forest, were a garden and a pen with three pigs. Hungry, Rattick made for the garden. As he was rooting around the leafy plants, he heard the door to the cottage open behind him.

In one motion, he swirled his cape of concealment around him and stood stock still in the middle of the garden. He would fool the peasant, he thought, and then resume his free breakfast. What a fine thing to be a thief, and free at the start of a new day.

Peering through a fold in his remarkable cloak, Rattick watched an old man carry the remnants of breakfast to the hogs. The pigs squealed greedily as he filled their trough. The peasant turned and, seeing his garden, he froze.

Rattick remained motionless, wondering what the peasant might be looking at behind him. Then the Peasant asked, “Whattaya doing standing out there in the field? Are ye daft, man? Are ye hurt?”

After a long moment, Rattick unwrapped his cloak and asked, “You can see me?”

“Of course, I can see ya. I may be old and poor, but I’m not blind, am I?”

Rattick stammered. How had the farmer seen him? A master sneak-thief like Rattick, espied by this pie-faced rube?

“If yer simple,” the Farmer continued, very slowly, “Follow the road down to Robrecht. There’s them that can look after you there.” Then the Farmer had a thought, “Or you can stay here and I can hire you as a scarecrow.” The Farmer cackled at his own joke as if it was the funniest thing that had ever been said. Rattick hurried away to escape the mocking noise of it.

* * *

When Rattick reached Robrecht, it felt strangely empty. But as he entered through the north gate, the noise of many people gathered drifted to him from the south. At any other time, Rattick would have used a major gathering as a chance to burgle a few houses.

Right now, he just had to know what was going on.