Pierce kicked the coins across the vault and looked at Marque Draque for an answer. The elf only shrugged and looked to the heavy vault doors. "There's only about twelve thieves in the city that could have gotten past all of those traps," the Doctor began.

"And Valeska isn't supposed to be one of them," Draque finished for him. "She either got lucky or is better than any of us thought. That door takes me half a hour to pick and even then I can't bypass the last trap. The mechanism is too heavy to move with normal picks and too complicated to get at with anything else other than the proper key. Even if you do move it, you end up getting poisoned when a needle pops out.

"Perhaps it did work, and she's just resisting the poison?"

"Not likely. Its a rare fungus that's part magical. Normal antidotes and magical cures don't work. Unless Valeska has skin stronger than steel, she should be dead-"

"Leather stronger than steel," Pierce growled. "Chev's leather has been enchanted so it is stronger than steel," he said slowly, looking up at Draque with a half-amazed expression.

Draque pursed his lips. "Well, in that case all he would have to do is-"

"Stick his finger in it," Pierce muttered. He sat down on tired legs and half-cried, half-laughed.

Draque didn't think it was so funny.

It had been many years since Sharkslayer had been out of its sheath and already it was beginning to earn a new name: Lethal. So sharp and precise, its keen edge could cut through both steel and stone, and that was just the beginning. In Chev's hands the weapon knew no mercy and the gods above quickly became aware of this paramount of mortal fighters that now roamed Waterdeep's darkened alleys and strode confidentally in broad daylight.

Without pause and without fear, Chev entered a noble estate with both swords at the ready. He slew the guards without pause and walked up to the grand oak doors and promptly kicked them down. The elderly retainer standing in the foyer was crushed under the door and died in silence as his heart refused to pound any more.

The servants fled to safety, some out through the kitchen, some going down to the wine cellar and only a few seeking the protection of their lord. Lord Kyron however, a local noble, past adventurer and long time Harper stood his ground when he should have been fleeing. It was like Chev had stomped on an ant hill and all the ants had went scurrying away while the queen stayed behind to protect the hive.

For only a moment Chev saw the Harper's fear and felt saddened that such a brave warrior should die so quickly. He paused and made a pretense of combat as the two parried and slashed at each other. He then kicked Kyron backwards and jabbed Sharkslayer through his throat.

Wiping the blades on the drapes of a window, Chev kicked the window open and dropped three stories to land in a roll. Feeling invigorated, the warrior set out for a tavern to satisfy his stomach with a meal.

"Every so often he just goes on a killing spree," Pierce said to the very few Harpers assembled in the Academy's dome. "He comes and goes as he pleases and by the time the guards get there he's already gone. Not that the guards could stop him anyway, he'd simply makes pork chops out of them."

"Pork chops?" Draque muttered to himself. "Its nice to know Waterdeep's guards can be compared to pigs. Waterdeep's prized pigs. I like the sound of that."

Khelben Arunson snorted like a hog and elbowed Draque gently. His wry smile told his compatriots that he was still quite serious about the issue.

"I've come to the conclusion that there is no mundane way of capturing or killing Chev," Pierce finished and looked about at the silent room. "Which means we need magical traps of some sort and we need them fast. Until we find such a means, I can only ask that everyone spreads the word that all Harpers in Waterdeep should find a hiding place and stay there until they hear that Chev has been captured or slain."

From bow to stern, the ship was a masterpiece of naval vessels. Even to Chev's land-lover eyes there was the undeniable aura permeating the wooden planks that made up what would soon be dubbed Wavedevil. Running a hand over the smooth wood, the warrior swallowed and wondered how he could destroy such an incredible piece of craftsmanship.

He firmed his jaw and looked down the length of the hull. This was Doctor Pierce's pet project; A magical ship that could take on any other ship or beast the sea had to offer. A ship that Chev had learned would be piloted by Harpers and only Harpers.

Lifting the torch in the dark and dusty warehouse, Chev set it against the hull and waited for the timbers to catch flame.

A sudden unknown draft snuffed out the flame.

Fumbling around in the dark, Chev relit the torch and waited a moment before trying to set fire to ship once more.

Again the draft of air blew out the flame.

Cursing, Chev relit the torch and tried once more just to confirm his suspicions. Again the torch was blown out and he threw it down in frustration. Annoyed that someone had though far enough ahead to cast an enchantment to protect the ship from fire, the warrior went out in search of magical means to aid his purpose.

He couldn't go to Valeska. He would honour his unspoken promise to her and never bother her for help again. He didn't doubt that at first opportunity she would quickly desert him anyway.

A mage was what he needed right now and he had a feeling this would cost a fair bit. Magic was never cheap.

Grymav the Grand was scarcely more than a has-been. During his younger years he had been an adventurer of sorts, but after a near fatal fall that had left his right leg somewhere in the northern regions and himself a cripple, he had retired early to the easy life of a mage for hire. He made modest spells and enchantments and sold them for a flat fee.

He lived in a short, squat building with very little dirt on the outside but with plenty enough on the inside. Grymav never cleaned his house and he was notorious for being the only one who could safely get past the foyer alive, so thwarted with magical mayhem and discarded potions that had turned foul. Only a fool would seek out Grymav in his own house.

Unless that fool didn't use the door and came through a window in the middle of the night and pinned poor Grymav to his bed with two blades braced against his neck. The mage could do little but squirm his lower torso and stare up into the shadowy face of a man.

Chev licked his lips. "You are Grymav, correct?"

The mage tried to speak but could only croak. He nodded in the darkness and hoped the man could see him.

"I am Chev. I need your assistance." The warrior removed his swords from Grymav's neck and sheathed them quickly. "Get up and get dressed. Make one wrong move and I'll take off your other leg."

Grymav nodded quickly and got up slowly.

"Get moving! I don't have all night!"

Shocked into action, the mage hopped about desperately on one foot and pulled on his fur cloak.

Loaded down with magical scrolls that might come in handy for the task ahead, Grymav squinted around the pitchblack warehouse and quickly muttered a light spell. Simple yellow light lit up the warehouse and the mage got his first look at his task ahead. He also got an excellent view of Chev's cutlass pointed at his throat.

"Make one wrong move and I'm dead," he croaked, more to himself than to Chev, and approached the ship. "I'm just going to cast a detection spell now. I need to see what protections this has."

Chev nodded and lowered the sword to his side and waited.

Grymav fumbled about in his pocket for spell components and finally cast his desired spell. Inside he was tempted to grab the smoke powder and cast Ancient Flames, a spell he had devised in his youth and was still trying to perfect. The question was whether he could incinerate Chev with it.

The warrior waited with arms akimbo. "Well?"

"I, uh," Grymav fumbled for words. He knew now that the enchantment was a basic one that protected the ship from only mundane fire. It was defenseless against the Ancient Flames however. "I could burn it with a spell I have."

"Well, then cast it." Chev tapped the hilt of his sword impatiently.

"We'll need to stand back then. There's a lot of power behind this spell."

Chev gave him a doubtful look and with sword in hand he backed away from the ship. Grymav followed obediently, trying to figure out a way to keep his distance from Chev so that he wouldn't also be incinerated.

Chev paused and then grinned, the shadows adding a particularly evil touch to his wicked smile. "I know what you're thinking. Fire it at the ship. You'll just have to trust my code of honour. I won't kill you provided you complete the job." The warrior approached and clamped a hand down on Grymav's shoulder. "Go ahead, cast the spell."

The mage swallowed and licked his lips. He went through the delicate movements and spat out the command words.

It took a few seconds of silence but Grymav could see his spell starting to work. The wood turned a dull, dark brown and the iron fittings and nails turned orange with rust. Finally the whole length of the ship erupted into a roaring flame as the air itself caught flame and sent an explosion of energy erupting through the wooden ceiling of the warehouse.

Chev grabbed the mage and hurtled himself behind a stack of wooden skids. The action was not so much saving the mage from the backdraft of flame that swept through where they had been standing, but a living body shield against the falling debris that followed.

Martinez swayed in the doorway of a tavern when the explosion lit up the sky only blocks away. A quick jog of his vodka stained brain told him that Pierce's ship was in the same area and the fact was too much to be a coincidence. His curiousity aroused, the Harper spoke a command word and was lifted into the air on a draft of magical energy.

Floating down on the ruined building, he used a bandanna to keep his lungs clear of the smoke which didn't go well with his churning belly. Swirling through the smoke with his longflail at the ready, the fighter landed lightly like a prancing faerie. His trained ears caught the sound of movement near the back.

Stepping into the air once more, Martinez soared over the ruined ship and spotted a robed figure struggling with a broken skid that had landed atop of the poor mage. Drifting downwards, the Harper lifted the skid off the figure's back and tossed it aside with ease.

A smoke stained mage peered up at the warrior. He wet his sooty lips with a pink tongue and coughed at the taste. "Chev's getting away," he finally croaked.

"He did what?" screamed Pierce, his voice thundering through his packed office and down the marble hallways. "My ship? He destroyed my ship?"

Martinez looked at Durnan for help. Durnan looked at his boots.

Martinez looked the other way at Mirt. The moneylender looked out the window.

Finally the Harper looked at Marque Draque, the only person in the room who wasn't a Harper and yet helped out now and then provided there was something in it for the mage. Draque was busy scribbling notes on a scrap of parchment and looked like he hadn't even heard anything.

A vein stood out on Pierce's forehead and he clutched his desk for support. Mumbling something about needing a stiff drink, he sat down and put his head in his hands. Martinez sat down in Durnan's chair, took a quick sip of brandy from a bottle in his pocket and handed it to Pierce. The Doctor took it and downed it without a word. He leaned back in his bronze armour and stared at the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, Pierce stood and set the bottle down with a sound similar to a gavel. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the basement chopping up more wood for the winter."

It was with an eerie calm that Chev stayed low for the next few days. He stayed for long hours in shadowy taverns, watching the hours drift past. There was no more Harpers. Actually, there were more, but they had all disappeared. He didn't eat much and the food was always cold because he took his time eating.

He had caught a glimpse of Valeska in a crowd but she had spotted him first and disappeared faster than a quickling could blink. The bard had a right to avoid him but at the same time Chev had a feeling she was enjoying her sudden renewed fame so soon after the drow assassination. He too was getting more than his fair share of recognition.

Fame was something he had never wanted. Perhaps it was humbleness that had made him great, Chev mused in the darkness of his booth. He was a simple warrior, asking for nothing more than an excuse to keep his sword edge sharp, food in his belly and-

"Love," he said loudly, interrupting a bard's story.

"Love?" the fair haired man laughed from his stool by the bar. "I was about to say I fell in a pit, and you blurt out the word love? If you were being chased by an angry ogre, which would you prefer to fall in? A pit or in love? I for one would not want to fall in love with an ogre! Mystra's breasts man! What were you thinking of?"

Chev stood with casual ease and shook back the hood of his cloak to reveal his handsome face and brown hair. "I was thinking of a fair woman. A woman so fair and beautiful that any man would find it hard not to blurt out such a word. Can your bardic tongue put words to such a feeling?"

"Stupidity?" the bard blurted and his head rocked back from Chev's fist before he had even finished the word.

"Try love," Chev said evenly and lifted the young man by the neck with one hand and threw him across the room to crash into several alarmed patrons. "A feeling that leaves a man sick to the stomach for all eternity," he said as he walked through the room of parting people. "Do you know the kind of agony a man can endure when his soul is torn with a lost lover?" he said as he lifted the bard by the back of the shirt and held him at arm's length so that they were eye to eye. The man's arms and legs dangled down as if he was a mere puppet.

A stern heavyset barkeep positioned his head in between the two and looked Chev in the eyes. "You sound like a man with more than his fair share of stories. Instead of wreaking the place, how about you share a few with us?"

This was the kind of courage Chev liked. He saw in the barkeep a sense of comradeship that he had not seen in a long time. He had seen a bit of it in Pierce but he had always been too busy fighting to take a closer look. The warrior dropped the bard to the floor and broke open a smile. "You want a story, eh?"

And so it was that overnight Chev's fame spread across the realms. He told a story of a man caught between death, love and loyalty. A story that spanned a hundred and sixty years of Waterdeep and ended with one man's vengeance. When the first rays of dawn peaked over the cliffs to the east and shone down on the vast, sprawling City of Splendors, it showed a city that was abuzz with historians young and old, digging out ancient tomes and records and fleshing out more details of what could only be defined as a born again legend.

Sitting at outdoor cafes and indoor pubs, at the bars and in the back rooms of taverns, aspiring bards scribbled away hastily at ballads, poems and stories. By noon, there was a thousand variations of Chev's story, each distorting the truth and claiming to be the only true version.

Alone in her darkened booth, Valeska bit her lip to keep from laughing at the bard currently trying to convey Chev's real story. He portrayed the warrior as a romantic gallant with a heart of gold who had singlehanded sought out his fair lady and saved her from the grip of his enemies only to be betrayed by her father. Finally, the bard held aloft a sword.

"This is Chev's sword!" the bard declared to his small, yet attentive audience. He brandished the rapier in the air. "He gave it to me after he fought with Doctor Pierce. The good Doctor is great indeed but he was no match for Chev's superior skill and loving strength-"

The drow bard started to laugh hysterically and the story was cut short as the audience turned to face the darkly cloaked stranger. Trying to control her laughter, Valeska stood and shook her cowl back from her face, revealing her half-elven features. She took a deep breath and used her years of experience to control her face as she smiled at the bard. "Your story is so far from the truth, I'd swear you were talking about a paladin and not the treacherous Chev," she said, her well chosen words coming naturally.

"Treacherous?" squeaked the bard. "Are you calling Chev a villain?"

"He was a bodyguard belonging to one of Waterdeep's most ruthless family of villains. He is not only treacherous, he is conniving, greedy, vengeful, and without pity. He backstabs, betrays, and blackmails."

The bard's face turned beet red and he lowered his rapier at Valeska. The woman only smile and twirled on one toe, her adamantite-toed boot connecting with the bard's ribcage and knocking the air out of him. The man collapsed to the floor beside his fallen rapier and clutched his broken ribs.

Looking about at the shocked crowd, Valeska sat down and told her own story, despite the fact that her version would never be accepted. The truth must be known however, and she was determined that this might be her chance to gauge how well people accept her words when she told them something they did not want to hear.

Some of the people left, but those who stayed learned the truth and understood how the truth is so easily lost. The drow-bard saw this in their now knowing eyes, and wondered how many stories she'd have to tell before her own people saw the truth behind Lloth's lies.

The liquor flowed from the bottle in bubbly glops. Martinez tilted the bottle upright and stoppered it with a twist of his wrist. Taking the wine glass, the bald Harper swirled the red liquid and breathed in the smell.

Pierce grunted and split another log under his axe.

"You know, it's really kind of you to let me have access to your wine cellar, although I must admit the selection is far from complete," Martinez said before taking a sip. "The Fifty-Eight Dessarin correct?"

"That was an interesting year." The Doctor rested for a second before swinging once more.

"Indeed. The Time of Troubles left many a brew touched by magic that year."

"I must say that it was also my favourite year. Adventurers were in demand that year and the pay was sky high."

"Don't tell me ye stock this stuff just because of the year?"

"No, I stock it cuz I like it," Pierce drawled.

"You're definitely no wine connoisseur."

"I never wanted to be one. I still don't know what I want to be."

"Its a little too late for planning your future. We're both old men Pierce, we've already had our day and we messed it up."

"I killed the tarrasque. Was that a mess up?"

"That was luck and quick thinking. The rest was just a combination of stupidity and foolishness. We're not immortal."

"You're smarter than you look, you know that?"

"I'll take that as a compliment," the bald Harper smiled and downed his drink.

Pierce set another log up and sliced it down the middle with his axe. He kicked the twin pieces aside and placed another log on the cutting block.

Martinez poured himself a drink from the bottle marked Kicbor Red Sixty-Three. He paused as he poured it and looked up at Pierce. Pierce stopped and looked at the Harper, delving past the alcohol fogged thoughts. "How much better is Chev?" the bald man said bluntly, seeing the Doctor's intent look.

Pierce frowned as he chopped downward at the wood block, splitting it easily and left the blade stuck the cutting block. The Doctor swallowed and wet his lips. "On a scale of one to ten?"

"Sure," Martinez shrugged and leaned against the wall as he sipped straight from the bottle.

"Chev would be a perfect ten and I would be an eight."

"And me?"

"You'd be about a six, maybe a seven."

"And yet together, we still couldn't beat Chev."

Pierce shrugged and jerked the axe out of the cutting block. "A perfect ten. We have to remember that Chev is in his prime and he is still more experienced than both of us. Who knows how many battles he went through years ago?"

"Does it matter? If you've heard everyone talking about him then you know that he's now a legend and a public hero."

"I've heard, but he's also a murderer. How are we supposed to bring him to justice when we don't even know why he's killing Harpers? The public doesn't know that they're dying either because we always cover up the deaths. There's only been three occasions when he's actually attacked and had witnesses."

"So?"

"Don't look at me for answers. I never wanted this authority in the Harper ranks, it was more or less thrust upon me." Pierce held up a single finger. "One job I did for the Harpers. Just one! When I returned they were passing out silver Harper pins like there was an endless supply of them!"

"Perhaps they knew that you have nothing else to do and wouldn't refuse it?"

Pierce snorted. "Nothing else to do! Indeed! I train adventurers now and only when I'm not busy being a Harper lackey!"

"You need a hobby. Ever thought about becoming a wine connoisseur?"

The Doctor shook his head and sliced another log down the middle. "This is the closest thing I have to a hobby."

"Chopping wood? Congratulations! You're now a lumberjack!"

"Har har! I wish it was that simple!"

"Light."

Nothing happened. Draque frowned and spoke again. "Light!" he commanded. There was no sign of the fire faerie. The mage tossed down the parchment he had been wanting to read and went to the door.

The east wing was far from finished but Draque had taken the opportunity to use its space and privacy to set up a workshop to conduct experiments. In the corner a huge silver cauldron bubbled with purified lifesyrup, heated by his Everhot Bricks. Without light the mage wouldn't be able to tell if the cauldron was ready for the experiment because he needed to see the colour change from golden to white.

Unjamming the door, the elf opened it and looked down the hallway. "Where are you?" He shivered and pulled his cloak around him tighter as he headed down the hallway. The ceiling of the hallway was incomplete and snow had drifted down through and landed in the corners where the sun couldn't get at it.

"Of all the times the little brat could disappear," Draque muttered and followed the sensation of heat with his heat sensing eyes and found it down the hall coming from the half-elf boy's room.

Lighting a cigar with a minor spell, the mage approached the door with all the silence of a night owl stalking its prey. He opened the door and found the fire faerie playing tic-tac-toe of all things.

"Haven't I told you not to disappear when I need you?" the elf scolded, one hand on his sword and the other on a wand.

The faerie fire dashed up into the ceiling and hid in between the rafters. This was one of the few rooms out here that actually had ceilings. There was no escaping the mage however and he motioned the faerie towards the door and it flew out it in a flash of light.

Alone in the darkness with only his cigar for light, Draque looked at the half-elf Szymon. "I see you're feeling better. Have you a knack for distracting my construct?"

"Construct?" the boy said, his voice puzzled.

"Yes, a construct. Sort of like a golem or a gargoyle. A creature that is animated magically."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought it was a pet."

"More than anything else the little brat is part of me. He has all my skills but a completely different personality. He has intelligence but is more child than anything else because he's only about twelve years old."

"So, he's the only one?"

"Of his kind? No. I've sold the spell that makes fire faeries and now they're becoming quite populat amongst the older mages who lack the patience for stupid golems and even dumber apprentises."

There was a moment of silence while Szymon absorbed this information. "I should let you get back to your work."

Draque looked about the dark empty room. "Can you walk? I could use someone to talk to and you sound like you'd be good at listening. Provided you keep your hands to yourself."

"What? Watch you?"

"Why, do you want learn some magic too while I'm in a good mood?"

Stupid question, the mage thought to himself as the boy led the way down towards the docks. What street rat wouldn't jump at the opportunity to learn some magic? The problem was finding a place with enough residual magic to begin even the most basics. Draque's answer: A rather burnt out warehouse near the waterfront.

When they arrived at the ruins, Draque was happy to stand watch while the boy took his time picking the lock at the door. It took a bit longer than the mage had expected but then again he was used to dealing with experts of the artform and not amateurs. Still, the boy had the lock open in less than a minute which would have been quite satisfactory in most situations.

Stopping in the doorway, Draque waited for the fire faerie to provide suitable enough light before proceeding into the darkness. The light coming through the gaping hole in the ceiling only illuminated the charcoal ruins of what had been a complete workshop and a long husk of a ship. "You can see that there was a very large explosion in the area-"

"Fireball?"

"Similar to one but for our purposes it will do. All we're going to do is use the magic left over in the air to attune your senses so you can learn how to detect magic."

"How?"

"A very good question! Half of magic is the mystery of it all however and if I were to spill the beans and just tell you, then magic wouldn't be quite the same would it now?"

"Um, no. It will still be magic."

"You learn quickly. Now, lets get started."

Nicole paced across her parlour and back again, her hands fidgetting with her horse whip. It had been quite some time since she had seen Pierce. Of course, the last time she had also ended up with the hangover of hangovers, but she blamed herself for having the Screech Soaked Cod.

Tonight was a banquet night and she simply didn't feel like hobnobbing with old dowagers on an evening such as this. The trick was finding a suitable excuse to visit Pierce even though he undoubtably had troubles of his own.

A polite knock at the parlour door disrupted her thoughts and she turned to face a stableboy. The lad grinned sheeppishly and combed his hair between his fingers. "Mister Jark would like to talk to you-"

"Tell him I'm in no mood to talk at the moment."

The boy swallowed and decided it might be best to disobey. "He says that if you can't control your new horse-"

"New horse?"

"Yes, the huge black one with the bad temper."

Bartholomew hated stalls more than he hated being ridden and as such was more than happy to let Nicole ride him so long as he was freed from his stall. He had kicked three separate stall doors off their hinges before the stablemaster had decided to use a bit and bridle to hold the beast in place.

The huge black stallion would have none of that however and had sawed through the bit with his teeth and chewed whatever ropes had barred his path. The gardener had nearly had a heart attack the next morning when the huge horse was found munching lazily on his prized asters.

The stablemaster had responded by using a length of chain for a choke collar and placing the stallion in a secluded stall at the rear of the stables where he had gone unnoticed by all but the stableboys for almost a week.

That had ended this afternoon when Bartholomew was found in the orchard this time, helping himself to a bushel of freshly picked apples. The chain was still around the horse's neck but the stall was in shambles from the stallion's ruthless kicks. The stablemaster was getting tired of this and started back to the stables with the horse in tow.

His mistake was that of grumbling something about geldings and castration. The next thing the man knew, his feet were tangled up in the chain and Bartholomew was dragging him towards the rose garden when the gardener came to the rescue.

The question Nicole now wondered was whether the gardener was rescuing his roses and not the stablemaster. It was strange how the huge horse was so badly tempered in the hands of his supposed masters and yet a perfect gentleman when she had arrived on the scene. Or maybe that was simply her biased opinion based upon the horse's proper owner.

She didn't particularly care and she doubted the gardener or stablemaster cared either for the Bartholomew's two-faced nature so long as Nicole returned the horse. The stablemaster had no objections to letting someone else handle the horse and Nicole wasn't about to take no for an answer since she had been waiting for a suitable excuse such as this.

As she approached the gates of the Academy, it occurred to her how dark and somber it looked. Foreboding, was a better word she decided. The two veterans she passed at the gate only waved briefly, never pausing in their card game as they traded old wat stories.

Autumn had set in a little later in here. There was no snow on the ground, just cold frozen leaves. It was odd that there was an inch of snow outside and yet none in here and she couldn't help but wonder what sort of magic was at work.

A livery boy approached her and took Bartholomew's reins. The huge horse snorted and shook his head vigorously before glaring down at the boy. The lad only firmed his jaw and tightened his grip. The mean stallion was known for his temper at the Academy's stables and wasn't about to be forgotten simply because he had been missing for quite awhile.

Nicole slid down off the saddle and patted the stallion's rump to soothe him. She hoped he wouldn't cause too much trouble. "Where's Pierce?" she asked and missed the horse's ears perking up attentively.

"In the basement. There's a door in the stables that leads down there."

The Academy's basement was a mess of old rooms filled with broken or disassembled catapults and other large military equipment. The land on which the Academy had been built on had originally been the city's old armoury and seige depot before it had been separated and moved to several different locations so it would be closer to the city walls. When the city had moved the stuff that was still good, they had left behind the broken parts as junk for whoever was brave enough to buy the land.

The foundations of the originally building had still been good and so Pierce had brought in a team of gnomes and dwarves and together they had renovated the foundation for the new building. The gnomes had insisted that they try and salvage the old seige weapons. The dwarves took one look at it and promptly locked away the larger pieces away for "safe keeping" and burnt the rest.

Five years later, the locks had rusted away and the doors opened easily under Nicole's gentle push. Shoving her torch into the darkness, she revealed the wickedly pointed and barbed head of what looked like a huge harpoon. "One thing I wouldn't want to get impaled on," she murmured with a grimace and closed the door as she continued down the hallway.

Burning away the cobwebs, the lady continued on with her riding whip held out to the side at ready. There was light up ahead coming from around a corner and as she crept closer she could hear the solid thuds and the spliting of wood under a heavy axe. Stabbing the torch against the wall, she ended its flickering life and tossed it aside.

As she looked around the corner she saw the half naked form of the man she adored. He stood alone with his back to a blazing fire as he chopped away viciously at the wood before him. The wood, she saw, was what remained of the old catapults and after years of drying out they split easily under the axeblade.

The warrior kicked the wood aside into a ready wheelbarrow and set up another piece of wood to be split. He paused then and straightened, the sweat running down his bare chest and making streaks in his hair. Doctor Pierce turned towards her then and for a moment she thought he had heard her and so she ducked back into the darkness.

The man smiled and chopped downwards once more and kicked the split halves into the wheelbarrow.

Summoning up her courage, Nicole took a moment to breathe consciously before stepping into the open and knocked on the wall with her fist.

Pierce seemed only mildly surprised and he smiled at her. "I thought I heard someone coming down the hall. What are you doing here?"

"I was returning your horse and I decided to see you to make sure you knew."

The man only shrugged his broad shoulders and chopped another piece in half and kicked the results aside with his boot. "Thanks. I had forgotten about the old brute. How much trouble has he been?"

"My stablemaster threatened castration at one point," she smiled, hoping to get a smile in return.

Pierce only shrugged. "I hope he was talking about Bartholomew and not me for forgetting the damn horse was even there."

Nicole's thoughts turned naughty, and she blushed and put her hands behind her back. Banishing such thoughts, she looked about the room for something to talk about.

"You've heard about Chev I'm sure?"

"Yes," she replied slowly, unsure about how Pierce felt about the now famous man and Waterdeep's new greatest warrior. "Have you given up hope of catching him?"

"Not hope. I'm questioning the reason behind it all."

"I know about all the Harpers being killed. Is murder not a good reason?"

"I meant what is Chev's reason for killing the Harper's in the first place. It can't be a personal vendetta against me or else he could have killed me in my sleep a hundred times by now."

"Someone hired him?"

"Thought about that, doesn't make sense. He simply wants all Harpers dead and buried."

"Then why not you?"

"Because I'm not really a Harper, not in the truest sense."

Nicole crossed her arms. "And who is?"

"Danilo Thann is, if you can believe that. You wouldn't know it if you saw it in public. He has the heart of a Harper. He's perfect for espionage and loves every second of it."

"And you?"

"I'm supposed to be retired. I was never a Harper. I was always a survivor and a leader, and I like the Harper concepts but I don't belong with them. My soul isn't there."

Nicole saw through him then. She saw the frustration, the years wearing down on his shoulders, and the tears left unshed for friends long dead. He had adventured for so long he didn't know how to stop and was afraid to stop for fear of growing old and dying. So here he was, getting older and greyer and all the while biting back the tears belonging to dead friends.

Her heart ached to reach out and hold him. She could not help but respect and pity him at the same time. Then there was Witter, Pierce's mentor who had died not so long ago. He wasn't done grieving the death of his friend and she could see it on his face.

It wasn't sweat that stained his face and chest. It was tears.

He looked at her then, his face full of fear and his eyes welling up. A moment later she was in his arms kissing him passionately, how she had gotten there was a blur. Everything was a blur as she wrapped her arms around him and lost herself.

Pierce slid his fingers across her soft cheek and wondered what the servants were thinking. It had been the middle of the night when he had carried her up the stairs wrapped in his cloak and laid her down on his bed. She had slept silently curled up together with him, her smooth legs intertwined with his thick hairy ones. He had laid there the entire night dreaming the things she dreamed, sharing her most intimate thoughts.

He could not help himself, so intrigued he was as he studied her in her sleep, delving past her tanned face and into her mind. She was proud and defiant, holding herself up with a rigid code of honour, respect and common sense. Under that all was her strong opinions, something Pierce had also loved in people in general because his telepathy would pick them up. Even if those people lacked the courage to voice their opinions, Pierce knew about it and was quick to suggest that the person give their ideas. Nicole wasn't the quiet type however and that was only one more reason to love her.

Rising from the bed, the Doctor ordered a bath and returned to his canopy bed. She looked like a nymph sleeping there under his white silk sheets which clung to her curves. Sitting down, he pulled on his adamantite-toed boots and paused as he started to lace them up. Kicking them off, the warrior crawled back under the sheets and slid his body up beside hers and held her close.

She awoke with a start and splashed Pierce with soap suds.

"Thanks. I needed my forehead cleaned anyway," the warrior commented and wiped the soap away.

Nicole looked about Pierce's bedchamber and then back to the porcelain bathtub in which she lay neck deep in warm water and bubbles. "Well, well," she said slowly. "Such service! I must command the manager to give you a pay raise!" She gave him a crooked smile.

"I am the manager and I don't get paid anything," Pierce replied.

"It's nice to know someone else shares my weird sense of humour. How long would you like to continue this facade?"

"Eternity? I have nothing else planned."

"Nothing planned? Oh, I have plenty of plans!" Nicole leaned forward and kissed him delicately.

Pierce caught a glimpse of a mental image of a moonlit beach and straightened. "There's something I want to tell you-" he began and was interrupted by her panicked thoughts of marriage. "Its something very important and I know you're going to be a bit shocked.

"And impatient," she said, wanting to kiss him again.

"I'm a seer."

Nicole closed her mouth and for a moment her mind was a blank slate as the words registered. This immediately followed by a tumble of emotions and questions. "What like a fortune teller?"

"No, not like that. Just the immediate future. I could tell you how many fingers you are holding up before you even held them up."

The lady felt very vulnerable and utterly naked despite the bubbles covering her. When she spoke at last her words were slow as she sorted them out from her jumbled thoughts. "And if I changed my mind about how many to hold up?"

"That's the other thing. I can also read minds."

Nicole blinked and again she was confused and her thoughts were jumbled up with mixed emotions towards this news. "Okay, so let me get this right." She licked her lips. "You can tell me what I'm going to think even before I think it?"

Pierce paused and looked perplexed for a moment as he thought it through. "Yes, I can, but then I would be changing the future and it would never happen the same way as I had originally foresaw it."

Nicole's thoughts went back to yesterday and remembered what had happened yesterday.

"I foresaw you entering the room and knew ahead of time that you were hiding behind the wall and watching me because of your future thoughts."

"Which is why you kept chopping so you wouldn't mess up the future," she whispered.

"I can't mess it up, but I can get confused if I disrupt it too much but changing the future. When I fight, every second counts and I don't have time to ponder through a billion different possibilities for a single swing."

"So you kept chopping so you wouldn't get a headache?"

"More or less."

She smiled and stayed still. She wanted to ask more questions but couldn't think of any more at the moment. It would take time to adjust to thinking this way. "Who else knows about this?"

"Marque Draque, Rambertz the gardener and of course my father."

"Why would your gardener know?"

"You've noticed how its warmer in here than out in the city and the sun is a little bit brighter. Its because Rambertz is a sun druid and an old comrade when it comes to advernturing."

"Never heard of such a thing as a sun druid," Nicole said with a shrug.

"That's just the beginning."