Pothax was too shocked to even scream. He just watched in silence as Ror introduced Pothax's uncle, Borchard, Pothax's half-sister, Snowdancer and his cousin, Snowdancer's companion, Blackthunder. When he finally managed to say something, he screamed, "You bastard!"

Wynic was just down the hall with Redhawk and about fifty of Waytorn's killers. He recognized the scream as Pothax's and was running down the hall before Redhawk could say, "Hey! That sounded like Pothax!" The knight ran after the assassin with the killers on his heals.

They busted the door down easily to find Pothax smiling in a chair. "Get me out of here!" He gestured to the ropes binding him to the chair. "Cut me lose!"

"Where's everyone else?" Wynic demanded.

"Well, I screamed and they took off into the next room. Could you spare some time to cut me lose?"

Wynic nodded and cut through the bonds with a dagger, and handed it and his shortsword to the cutthroat. "Why'd you scream?" he asked as he drew his bastardsword.

"Well... Wynic, are you positive you killed Ror?"

There was a rumbling in Wynic's chest. "Yes! He's dead! I killed him myself!"

A similar rumbling came from Pothax. "Okay, then, we have one of these problems: the Lairmaster is an impostor posing as Ror, he was somehow resurrected or he never died. Take your pick?"

"Are you questioning my skills as an assassin?" demanded Wynic, pushing the cutthroat roughly across the room. Pothax bumped into a shelf and knocked over one over one of the jars. It crashed to the floor, glass, and pickled eyeballs rolling across the room. Correction, thought Wynic, an eye staring at him from his boot.

"What kind of sick person is the Lairmaster?" asked Redhawk, jumping back and trying not to step on any of the eyes.

Wynic swallowed his vomit and answered. "It's a Colnic custom amongst old fashioned cutthroats." As hard as it was to believe, Wynic had to agree. Ror could very well be alive. There was only one way to find out. "Lead the way, Pothax!" he shouted, gingerly crossing the room, not wanting to step on any eyeballs.

The next room was just as heavily furnished as the previous one. It was also empty of any people. Here too, there were more jars of eyeballs and more weapons. Pothax gathered up more weapons and led the way into the next room. Wynic struggled not to vomit at the sight of the eyeballs.

A small garden of potted plants, bear skin rugs and a huge buck head mounted on the wall. This room too was empty. The next was a bedroom, filled with down filled pillows, fine silk sheets and an assortment of clothes. The final doorway led to a tunnel. Wynic started down the tunnel, unsure whether to proceed slowly into what might be a trap or to charge right in hoping to evade a trap.

A thunder crack sounded and Wynic felt the air moved beside his cheek. One of the killers slumped to the floor with a groan. A trickle of blood came from his chest.

Wynic dropped to the ground and crouched against the wall. The others did the same and they waited several minutes without anything happening. "Uh, Wynic?" asked Redhawk. "Do you think we should go after them? I know they'll likely shoot at us, but we have to do something?" Wynic didn't answer. He felt fear. He hadn't felt fear for years. He hadn't felt it since the night Ror had died. He had felt it briefly on top of Kobalix's Citadel and when he fell, he'd felt it briefly when Snowdancer and Blackthunder, as Pothax called him, caught them in the mountains. Now he felt it again, but this time it was raw dread. It clutched his soul and heart with agonizing pain and taunted him to stand up and attack. It taunted him.

"I don't know, Redhawk. I've never fought this type of weapon," Wynic replied. "But I do know why I came here." He swallowed and looked at Pothax. The cutthroat nodded. "Ror!" he shouted. "Ror! I came here to kill you and if you're that scared of me, I suppose I shouldn't be worrying about you. You're small potatoes compared to Kobalix!"

"Oh, contraire!" a voice said with a laugh. "I can cause plenty of problems right here. A second Ice War for example!"

"Oh, really? Is that why you're here? To start a war?" shout Pothax. "As I understand it, you want to take over the world with all your new technology?"

"That is also true," came the reply. "But not until I find the Spear of Destiny!"

Waytorn crawled through the doorway and scrambled over to Wynic. "We've got problems, Wynic," he whispered. "Victoria's being injured, two of the elites have been badly injured, about seventy Kinians were massacred on the twelfth level." He took a deep breath. "Dillard's dead."

"What?" hissed Pothax.

"He's dead," answered Waytorn soberly. "He was killed by a giant minotaur in a battle with a hoard of poachers." He took another deep breath. "We found the Spear of Destiny."

"Who?" demanded Wynic. He glanced down the tunnel.

"Rades and I found it."

"Did you here that, Ror?" shouted the assassin. "Everything you've done here was in vain! King Waytorn found the Spear of Destiny! Give yourself up!"

"I find that hard to believe," shouted a voice. "I'll never give myself up to a child!"

"I'm a child to you, huh? Then why have you hidden all these years? Why didn't you seek revenge?" He drew a deep breath and looked at Pothax. "You're afraid of me, father!" he shouted.

"Yes, Wynic, but you are also afraid of me. Only a fool doesn't fear and respect his enemies! Did I not teach you nothing?"

"I have learned that a man that fears is like the mule. He is strong and high endurance, but he won't budge. Are you a mule?"

"You believe that? A man who admits his fears and works against them is a true warrior! If you cannot admit fears, then you are a fool."

"I do not have fears, I stopped fearing when I killed you."

"Tried to kill me!" the voice corrected. "You could never truly beat me!"

"Want to put that up to a test?" demanded Wynic. "Come out into the open with your sword drawn and I'll challenge you to a duel!"

"If you think your death will prove anything, deal. On the condition that the rest stay put and do not interfere."

"I promise on the condition that you do the same!"

"Of course." A man stepped out into the open about thirty yards down the tunnel with his sword drawn. Wynic's sharp eyes showed the assassin a man in his early fifties, of average height, build and stature. What was different was he had steely blue eyes, a stoic expression, bushy eyebrows, short black hair similar to Pothax's though tinged with silver. He smiled crookedly. It was Ror, there was no doubt about that in Wynic's mind now. The cruel gleam in those eyes frightened him.

Wynic had lied about feeling fear. Redhawk had taught him never to show weakness to the enemy. It was the hardest thing Wynic had ever done. Ror now thought him to be a fool, to have a weakness where there wasn't one. That might be the only advantage Wynic needed. He approached his father confidently, his sword lined up with Ror's heart.

Pothax stood behind him. "Stay, Pothax," he whispered. "I'll handle this. There is no need to worry."

"You're going to die fool," laughed Ror. "You know that and I know that!" He lunged forward, playing out a game stab. Wynic knew it was no serious threat, and revolved his sword around in an arc aimed at Ror's side. The old man side stepped easily and arced his stab into a swing at Wynic's forearm.

The assassin stepped into the swing, the blade passing harmlessly under his arm. He clamped his arm down on the blade and swung his bastardsword at his father. Ror held up his arm and blocked Wynic's forearm. The two man stood locked for a moment before breaking apart and circling each other. Ror laughed and pointed to the minor cut to Wynic's forearm. It wasn't his swordarm, but it hurt like hell!

Ror made a swing at Wynic's upper arm, flipping his wrist at the last moment. The blade whirled on an arc towards the assassin's exposed throat. Wynic's blade came up desperately and he kneed the Lairmaster in the stomach. They struggled back and forth for a moment before breaking apart.

Wynic ducked a side slash and stabbed Ror in the kneecap. The Lairmaster stepped back and kicked the crouching assassin in the chest. The younger man flew backwards into the wall, dropping his sword as he hit his head against the ice.

Ror laughed and scrambled to kick away the blade. The assassin drew a dagger and tossed it into Ror's stomach. It plunged in easily, causing him to howl in pain.

Wynic scooped up the sword and blocked a furious overhand blow. Ror rushed in, a flail coming out of his jacket and he knocked the assassin's sword away. He laughed and kicked him backwards into the wall.

Wynic stood there silently for a moment and waited for Ror's plunge at his heart. Sweat trickled down his back when he realized that Ror could easily swing at him instead, disemboweling him, but the old fashioned dramatic thrust would be the next attack. It came swiftly and Wynic didn't side step, duck or try to block it. Instead he reached out with his bare hand, grasping the blade, cutting his hand and diverting the thrust and aiming it at the ice beside him. The blade crunched into the ice.

Ror tried to yank the blade free but couldn't. It was too damn stuck! So he punched Wynic in the gut and reached for a dagger. The assassin ignored the pain in his stomach, ignored the blood running down his hand and spilling on the floor, ignored the fear clutching his poor heart. He reached out and grabbed Ror's hand and held it in place. With the other hand he grabbed the dagger still stuck in Ror's stomach and twisted it cruelly.

Ror screamed. He screamed so hard Wynic thought the ice might shatter around him and the tunnel collapse. Wynic stopped twisting and drew the dagger out of the wound and held it before Ror's face so he could see. He flipped the blade over in his hand and laid it under Ror's chin, right above the apple and beside that so crucial artery Wynic knew so well.

The Lairmaster stopped screaming. He stood there, wondering what to do and knowing true terror that he could die any second now. "Get it over with!" he demanded. He looked at Wynic with pleading, yet cruel eyes.

"First tell your companions to come out from their hiding places so we see them. I want to hear if they can think of any good reasons why I shouldn't let you die in pain!"

"Because he's my father," shouted Snowdancer. She stood beside her cousin and uncle. The uncle was a pale looking man with dark blond hair. He was frowning in disappointment.

"Mine too," replied Wynic. "And Pothax's. Still, can you give me any good reasons?"

Snowdancer threw her weapons down. "We'll surrender," she replied.

Borchard frowned and shook his head with disapproval. "Uh, I think we should-" he said, starting to disagree.

"Shut up," snapped Snowdancer, grabbing Borchard's sword and rifle. She threw the weapons on the ground and pushed them away with her toe.

Blackthunder muttered to her in a different tongue. She nodded slowly, and bit her lip before replying. Blackthunder nodded and raised his rifle in a split second move and fired. But not at Wynic, at Ror. The old man slumped over in Wynic's arms, blood pouring from the hole in his chest.

Pothax ran forward and grabbed the weapons from the three Doxon's. He tossed them aside, all except the rifle belonging to Borchard. "There's another one of you. Come out, Kristine," he shouted, leveling the weapon at the three of them. "You may not be a Doxon, but you certainly are our prisoner!"

Kristine stepped out from around a corner. She smiled crookedly and foam dripped from her tongue, spilling out of her mouth like she was a rabid animal. She fell to the floor and lay there.

"Cyanide," muttered Waytorn. "She killed herself rather than expose herself to the chances of betraying this... Poacher's Network."

"It was much more than a Poacher's Network, it was a giant laboratory devoted to both finding the Spear of Destiny and creating a new wave of weapons so they could conquer the world. When Kobalix died, the operation became the responsibility of the Lairmaster. Just imagine what Mathex is thinking now that he has hold of a large number of new and imaginative inventions?" explained Pothax. He had nearly been brought over to their side too. He knew it, but he wasn't going to tell his friends, he didn't like the thought of betraying his friends, but that wasn't what had changed his mind. It had been Bren. This role model stuff was pretty hard to live up to, he had o admit, but there was nothing these people could do here that could top the joys Pothax had already experienced as a father.

"Expect to see half a dozen new inventions by the time we're back in Athex. If we leave now, we might make it back for Springfest," suggested Redhawk. He tried to smile, but found himself remembering that this was not the best of times.

"That might be a problem since Springfest is tomorrow," muttered Waytorn. "If you had counted the days recently you would know this is the last day of winter. We can definitely reach it in time for Summerfest though. I have a feeling that we're going to have a very hot summer. Good for growing grapes and the apple blossom harvest this spring should be fair."

Waytorn couldn't have made a larger understatement. The appleblossoms this year and the grapes produced a wine that was more abundant, more tasteful and definitely more delicious than even the year of Forty-fourteen. There were several names for this red wine, unlike Ambrosia. Some called it Roger's Vintage, some the Ice Wine, still others, the group the public now liked to call the Crimson Companions, made up of the heroes Wynic Doxon, Pothax, Brigadier Victoria, Lord Redhawk, One-eyed Rades, Sir Eluth, Sir Roreed, Dame Brenda, General Gisoni, Brigadier Mathex, Roderick or Derick, Dame Larel, King Waytorn, Savin Geurkenstein, and yes, even Larry, called the wine Dillard's Blood. To them the taste was bitter, mournful and strangely peaceful.

Carlo drew a deep breath and looked Brenda in the eye. They were aboard the Icicle on the way back to Jaton in the cabin they shared. If he told her now however he would likely spend the nights in the sailors barracks with the sailors. But he had to tell her now. He couldn't live with this for much longer. "Brenda," he began.

She nodded and climbed into hammock with him. He was very conscience that she was naked and rubbing her breasts against his side. A hand snaked down and tugged playfully at his belt. "Yes!"

"We have to talk," he said. She watched him expectantly. She thought he was going to propose, he realized. "I'm not going to propose," he said quickly. Her chest drooped and her hand came up to her mouth. "We have to talk about the way you act when people die."

"Is that still bothering you?" she demanded. She crossed her arms across her breasts.

"Yes, or else I would have proposed long ago!"

"Really?"

"Yes. Really. I don't like it when you act so...so bloodthirsty and then you act like they aren't even there and expect to make love. I can't ignore them, it's not in my nature!"

"I can stop if you want. I can break down and cry everytime I kill someone."

"So you don't enjoy it?"

"Of course not! Waytorn once told me that people that kill for sport will eventually go on a killing spree! It's not normal for people to kill each other."

"So, making love is your way of ignoring it?"

"It takes my mind off it," she shrugged.

"Well, then I see no reason why we can't stay together. I'd much prefer if you broke down and cried than expecting me to make love to you when I'm busy trying to keep my breakfast."

Brenda laughed. "You're silly!" she exclaimed and tugged on his belt again. "Next time I kill anyone, I promise to try and find a different way of ignoring it. Okay?"

"Okay."

Most people had forgotten there was a war going on still. Thanks to Boyce, however, that problem seemed minor now that the poachers were out of the way. He knew the chiefs leading this campaign against the Kinians and it was a simple matter of him calling them together for a meeting. He explained how they had exterminated any sizable force in the Lair to the north east of Fort Phal, gave them a map of the place and told them of the huge stables and food stores currently there. He also told them not to explore the lower levels because of dangerous traps that could explode. The Ice Folk knew of Vormian Lake and the river that led to it. Good fishing spot, one of the chiefs proclaimed and said he knew the spot.

"There is one other thing that we must discuss," added one of the chiefs. "We have many prisoners between your kind and mine. A trade seems to be a good idea."

Prince Boyce already knew that this chief's youngest son was in the Kinian camp. "Agreed. I also have several poacher prisoners. Since this is your territory it is my duty to turn them over to your authority."

"Agreed. They will make fine slaves."

Boyce nodded. The Folk's meaning of slave was closer to servant than Colnic's meaning of slave. "I believe this trade can be the start of a new beginning. Let us all hope that we never have another Ice War. My people have no desire for such suffering and doubt your people have different sentiments."

"Agreed, Prince-of-the-Forest" said one of the chiefs. Chief Windfeather, Boyce knew him from previous trips north to visit the chief's tribe and join in the autumn hunt. He smiled and stood up, thus ending the meeting. The Kinian nodded and stood. He offered his hand to the Folk and the chief took it and shook it. "Au revoir, Prince-of-the-Forest," he said in old Kinian.

"Au revoir, Chief Windfeather."

"Snowdancer and her kin seem happy to be staying here with Windfeather's tribe," said Pothax thoughtfully. "Why? They are now slaves?"

"The Folk treat slaves differently, Pothax," replied Boyce, he waved at a pretty young Folk maiden. Chief Windfeather's daughter. "They treat them with respect and don't force their service. Eventually they may become members of the tribe. If they stayed with us, they'd be thrown in prison or hanged. This way they at least have some hope for the future."

Kerry nodded at her brother. "We're going to have some trouble now, when we cross the no man's land. The commanders don't know about the Lair's demise."

"Actually, they should," said Pothax. "Redhawk left a letter explaining their absence. They were probably pretty angry that he disobeyed orders, but from what I understand he has a conflict of allegiances so he can get away with it. As for General Chek, Gisoni, Waytorn? This is not Kinian, it's Ice Land. We are trespassing so..."

"You are more knowledgeable in politics than you claim to be, Pothax," noted Prince Boyce. "Excuse me, I must go speak with Redhawk on this matter."

Pothax nodded and turned to Kerry. "What about you?"

Kerry sighed. "You'll be leaving for Arthian soon. I won't be coming with you, as much as I'd like to. You're welcome to visit whenever you wish, of course."

Pothax frowned. "So this is one of the burdens of being Royalty? You make friends you can't keep? Then you go back to your Royal duties and are all alone?"

"True," Kerry nodded. "But I will have a line up of suitors when I get back. Unfortunately you don't qualify. Parliament would have a fit. Not only are you not nobility, but you're not a Kinian either. You do understand what this means?"

"I was beginning to wonder when you'd take this up with me. I understand. I don't think the parliament would like the fact that I'm also a father and a cutthroat."

"Take care, Pothax," Kerry sighed. She walked away towards the bow of the ship. Pothax watched her go, wondering why he wasn't sad. Probably because he had known all along this was not to be.

Ror. That problem had been nagging him. How had he survived? A stab through the heart was almost always fatal. He had better take this up with Wynic. Something didn't make sense. There was a hidden link, meaning someone had helped Ror. Borchard perhaps? Maybe Borchard had seen his brother and saved him? Took him to a doctor or something?

Rades walked over with his new friends. Grandee Rodrigo and the Stornium count, Graf Johann von Deltex. Rades looked much better now that his hair had been combed, an eye-patch covering his gruesome eye, or lack of one, and his injuries tended to and already starting to heal. "Pothax," he muttered in acknowledgment of the cutthroat.

"You've changed Rades, in more ways than one," noted Pothax. The Stornium was no longer that always cheerful young Lieutenant he remembered from Kobalix's Quest. He looked older, and infinitely wiser. He tried to smile and make a joke occasionally, but it was forced and the effect wasn't the same. Pothax knew that Rades had also learned a fair bit since they had last met in Athex. That much had shown in the Lieutenant's fighting skills. Before Rades had been adequate, now they were honed to razor sharpness. "How do you feel?"

Rades smiled bitterly. "I feel much better than I did yesterday." The day Dillard died.

Waytorn had mentioned Rades' music playing to Pothax earlier and the dramatic effect it had on Princess Kelly. "How's Princess Kelly?" the cutthroat asked.

"Derick said she's getting better though she'll never fight again and may never marry. She's afraid of men," Rades replied. His face betrayed no emotion. Pothax found it disturbing that Rades no longer wished to expose his emotions. Not even around his friends.

"What are you planning on doing when we get to Jaton?"

"Not sure yet," Rades replied with a small shrug. "Probably go back to Athex. Waytorn invited me to his keep. There will be work for you there, Pothax. Maybe for Wynic as well. For what Waytorn has planned, he'll need all his friends there."

"Oh?"

"Keep this to yourself," whispered Rades. "Waytorn is planning his retirement. He has it scheduled for Summerfest. With all the confusion there will be a huge struggle amongst the underworld. It will probably be broken into small crime lords or maybe no organization at all. It will be like Waytorn never united the smaller groups in the first place."

"Now that's a shame, but can you imagine the effect this will have on Colnic? The Kingdom will be thrown into chaos! That place is a major center for crime! We'll have a civil war there!" hissed Pothax. "On the other hand, Elexenia is incompetent and Jacog never really wanted to be Prince Regent anyway. If everything works out, they'll move to Arthian or Kinian and settle down as very high ranking nobility!" Pothax stood there thoughtfully for a moment. "If I were to offer to become an ambassador for Willium, I could stand to make a fair profit. Probably enough to buy my own estate in Athex and move out of Wynic's place! I've been looking for a place for the last three months so I wouldn't be imposing upon Wynic and Victoria."

"Good for you," said Rades. He smiled and turned away.

"Rades," Pothax said sternly. "You're not telling me something! I know Dillard died, everyone in Deltex died, but this change that's come over you is a little too much! What's happened to you?" he demanded. "You aren't the same Rades I remember!"

The Stornium turned around sharply, hand on his rapier and eye flashing dangerously. "You have no idea what's happened to me!"

"No, but I can probably sympathize. I was enslaved for over ten years. Sold into slavery by my own father! The same man who ripped out your eye! I'm your friend and you can tell me! I'm not going to go tell Lady Bardelias!"

"Do you remember during the Siege of Athex, the spies that were reporting back to Kobalix? I was betrayed by one of them, a lover! When I came to Fort Phal I was betrayed again by a lover! Kristine! And now I have only one eye, no home, barely any friends and absolutely no one to love me! I have been frozen, enslaved, betrayed, tortured, and for what? For peace between people that I don't even know and an enemy I've barely even heard of? Yes, I had met minotaurs before the Quest, but why is it me that has to suffer for others? Why must it be me that has my eye torn out for some old man's collection?"

Pothax didn't know what to say. Maybe he couldn't sympathize after all, not with everything Rades had went through. What could he possibly say in response? "What can I say Rades? It doesn't always end happily-ever-after! It can't! But you can try to make up for it! You don't have to close yourself up and barely say a thing!"

Johann nodded in approval. "Your friend is right, Rades," he said in old Stornium. "You have friends and they will help. To not let them help would mean to lose those friends and right now you need all the friends you can get!"

Rades swallowed. He knew they were right. He couldn't shut himself up and let his grief grow. He had to express it somehow, letting the anger and grief out slowly. "Yer right," he said slowly. "I just need some time though."

Pothax nodded. "I had to say it Rades. You're a good friend and I'd hate to lose you."

Victoria looked up from where she lay in her hammock and studied Wynic. "How do you feel?" she asked. "About Ror?"

"I-I don't know! I swear to you I left him dead in that alley in Jaton!" He sat down cross-legged on the floor. "He shouldn't have survived even if he had been still alive."

"Perhaps. Why were you two in Jaton?"

"We were going to meet..." Wynic trailed off. "We were going to meet a friend of Ror's. A man he called Borchard. He never mentioned that he was my uncle." He frowned. He felt very happy now that Ror was dead. Though it was Blackthunder who had dealt the killing blow, it still felt good to finally have that behind him. There would be no more doubts. "It is highly likely that Borchard found him and saved him. I wonder-" He smiled. "I wonder sometimes how many kin I have out there that I don't know of?"

"Maybe one for every trip Ror made out of Avolic. How many would that be?"

"Over thirty, assuming there's no twins."

"Twins," murmured Victoria. "Funny you should mention that?"

"Please tell me you don't have twins?" begged Wynic, getting to his knees.

"No," she smiled. "But I was thinking of Princesses Kelly and Kerry. Did you notice Queen Colette when we were in Jaton?"

"I don't recall seeing her. Someone said she hadn't left the cathedral since Prince Roger died. Why?"

"Derick and I saw her on one occasion. How many children does she already have?"

Wynic stared. "Eleven, ten now that Roger is dead. You're not saying...?"

Victoria nodded. "Redhawk's going have a fit if she has twins."

Bren leapt aboard the ship from a different iceship and ran across the deck of the Icicle to where Pothax, uncle Wynic and auntie Vicky stood. "Father!" he shouted and before he knew it he was up on the cutthroat's shoulders enjoying a better view of all the iceships returning to Jaton's waterfront and docking. It had been a minor task of sneaking aboard one of the iceships and jumping from ship to ship until he reached the Icicle.

"Hello there, Bren," said Wynic. He ruffled the boy's hair. Bren hated it when people did that. It made him feel like some shaggy haired puppy like that Saint one they talk about here in Kinian. "Hi, uncle Wy! What'cha bring me?"

Wynic frowned and drew an antique silver dagger from his boot. The hilt was carved in the shape of a growling bear and the blade had ruins that probably only Redhawk could translate. The knight liked that sort of thing. The crosspiece was a single six-inch long diamond. The crosspiece alone was a fortune. "This was your grandfather's dagger," he said, offering it to Bren. "Take good care of it. And be careful you don't stick your finger in the bear's maw. He'll bite it off!"

Bren frowned at his uncle and laughed. To prove Wynic was wrong he stuck his finger in the bear's mouth and pulled it back out. He turned to Victoria. "What did you bring me, auntie Vicky?"

The archeress smiled and shook her head. Then she brightened and pulled out something much like a thunder-bow only smaller. "It's a pistol," she explained. "I'm afraid it doesn't work though. Mathex took a couple parts out of every one he got his hands on. He doesn't want these weapons to get out into the populous. Imagine the problems we'd have with cutthroats?"

"Thanks!" Bren shoved the toy in a pocket beside his bone carved slingshot. He leaned over Pothax's head and looked at the cutthroat upside down. "What'cha bring me?"

Pothax smiled, though to Bren it looked like a frown. "I've got a secret. I'll tell you later. Okay?"

"Okay!"