He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, dreaming at times. Sometimes he saw Fayla's face. Other times he saw Nerris and Jhareth. He tried to call out to them, but had no voice. Finally, the pallid skin and white hair of the assassin wandered into his visions. He held up a hand covered in red dye, needle attached, ready to prick him once again.

      Then Fayla's face came back, and Dist realized he was no longer dreaming. She felt his forehead. "Your fever is getting worse."

      "Did you get what I asked for?" he asked.

       She nodded. "Rogsbane leaves, thistle stalks and garlic powder. Is this for a potion?"

       "No. Listen carefully." Dist directed her on how to grind the leaves and stalks, having her do it over and over until they were as fine a powder as the garlic. He had her measure out the proper portions before dumping it all into a wooden bowl and wrapping it with a spare bit of cloth. She shook it until the powder was well mixed. At last, he had her spread out a bit into a line on a wooden trencher.

       She helped him out of bed and led him to the table with the trencher. Dist bent over the powder. Holding one nostril shut, he inhaled the antidote, moving his face down the line. Immediately, he felt as if his brain had burst into flames. Nevertheless, he told her to lay out some more, and he inhaled that the same way. He had to get the antidote into his bloodstream as soon as possible. Satisfied, he slumped into a chair, breathing heavily.

       "Will you be all right now?" Fayla asked. She screamed a moment later as Dist toppled to the floor.

       When he awoke he was back in bed, though on top of the covers this time. He moved the afflicted hand. It still hurt, but the pain was lessened. Soon, it would be gone entirely. The discoloration had stopped spreading as well, and would also recede in a few hours.

       "Thank goodness," Fayla said from her stool. "I thought I did something wrong."

       "No, you were fantastic." Dist smiled at her. He felt much more spry than he had, but knew he had little time to act before the antidote freely flowed in his blood, weakening him again for a few hours as it worked its way through his system. "Fayla, I'm sorry for how I acted before. My parents had opinions about decency, but that is no excuse for what I said. There are kings who lack your nobility."

        Fayla smiled. "It's all right, Dist. You were dying. Let's start fresh."

        Dist sat up and stretched his legs. His head didn't spin this time, and he suffered very little shortness of breath. He was definitely getting stronger. "I have no right to ask you for another favor, but could you do something for me?"

       "What?"

       "I am a cadet at Gauntlet. I need you to go there and find two boys my age named Nerris and Jhareth. Or failing that, ask to see the headmaster or his son."

       "You're not going back there yourself?" Fayla asked.

        Dist shook his head. "I have a debt to settle with a certain assassin."

        "Dist, you can't! What if he hurts you again, or worse? And how will you find him?"

        "I'll wait for them to join me, but I want to do a little scouting first. When that albino bastard stuck me, I smelled something spicy on his breath. It's been bothering me ever since I woke up, but now I remember overhearing some of the older cadets a couple of weeks ago. They spoke of an inn close to the harbor that heavily spices their beer. I think that must be where he is staying."

        "The Quaffer's Quiver," Fayla said. "It's well known here in Orrigo."

       "Please, get to Gauntlet and let the headmaster know where I've gone. Do you have a blade I can use, just in case?"

       Fayla reached under the bed and brought out a short sword in a leather scabbard. "I keep this in case of intruders." She smiled. "Or if a customer decides to get rough without asking. One of the few gifts my father left me."

       Dist took the sword from her. "I will take good care of it." He took Fayla's hand and kissed her fingers and remembered his dreams. Jhareth wasn't the only one who could come up with a plan. "Oh, and there is one other thing I will need to borrow."

5. Dist's Dead End

       The sun was beginning its rapid descent past the mountains to the west by the time Dist found himself across the road from the Quaffer's Quiver. All around him people were heading home for the day, or to a likely alley if they didn't have one. He waited for a baker to push his bread cart past before crossing the street.

       The inn was a bit fanciful for a harbor dive. From what he had heard when asking directions, the place had a popular reputation and had fixed the old building up into something almost respectable. Its tavern extended to a veranda surrounded by an iron gate, the front door led out to a roofed porch and there were even some well kept flower bushes growing on a strip of soil next to the steps.

       The heavy smell of spice hit him as soon as he entered. The taproom was crowded and well lit, with several busty serving girls working their way around the many tables. Dist found an empty one in a corner facing the door, and sat down. He noted the diverse backgrounds of the men present. Some of them wore sigils of noble houses from Hilonia, Agos and Faerna, sailors for lords with shipping interests. Other men were unadorned, part of independent ships no doubt. Some might even be pirates.

       He had feared he would be kicked out due to his youth, but there were several boys his age at the tables, cabin boys most likely. He stretched out while he waited, in the cloak Fayla had insisted on lending him. He fingered the short sword at his belt, wondering if the assassin would even show himself. He may have already retired to his room. A stairway to his right led to a landing on the second floor, branching off into hallways where the guestrooms were located.

       Dist wondered if he was just being too reckless coming here. He had told Fayla to inform Gauntlet, but he had lied to her. He had no intention of waiting on them if he spotted the albino. But if something bad did happen to him, he at least wanted them to know where to find his body. That was the worst scenario, however. At this rate, the antidote would weaken him and make him pass out before his quarry arrived.

       Just when he thought that might be the case, the door opened and a man in a gray cloak entered. Dist pulled up the hood on his own cloak as he observed the new patron. The skin under the man's hood was pallid and Dist could see a few wisps of white hair even from where he sat. He looked away, keeping watch on the albino from the corner of his eye. The assassin immediately went to the bar, and Dist rose.

        He approached the counter himself, squeezing between two Hilonians with braided hair, and within earshot of the albino. One of the barmen approached him. "What will you be having, young master?" he asked.

        "I'm not familiar with this place," Dist said. "What do you serve?"

        The barman rattled off a list of ales and beers as well as the spices that went in them, but Dist paid him no mind and listened to the albino, who had called over the other barman.

        "What  will it be for you?" the barman asked.

        "House brew, heavy on the ginger," the albino said.

        The barman grinned. "Heard there's a heavy girl named Ginger at the brothel down the street. You should have a gander when you're finished with your drink."

        The albino didn't share his mirth. "I will be in my room. If a foppish man happens to wander in here, send him to me."

        "We get a few men like that in here every once in a while. How will I know which one?"

        "He'll order a glass of Agossean Red, light cloves, heavy mint."

        "I see." The barman finished fixing the drink and handed it to the albino. "It will be done, good master."

         Dist fought the urge to draw his blade as the assassin walked past him and up the stairs, but he knew it was better to wait. This foppish man could lead Dist to the right room without him having to ask any suspicious questions or risk tipping off the assassin by following him.

        "Young master?" his barman asked.

        "I'm sorry," Dist said. "So many choices. My mind wandered. Give me the first one you listed."

        "Any spices with that?"

        "What do you suggest?"

         The barman thought a moment. "A moderate pinch of cinnamon perks the spirits up right."

         "Fine," Dist said. He had never even heard of cinnamon before.

         The barman prepared his mug and slid it down to him. Curious, Dist took a draught. His eyes widened as the liquid slid down his throat, no doubt burning his tongue off as it went. Dist coughed and sputtered, and the barman laughed.

        "Never had it before, have you? I'm told it comes from the lands south of the Talsic Midsea. We don't get much of it up here in Agos."

         Dist smiled. He had little enough coin, but he paid the barman. Fayla had given him a fistful of coppers as well, on the promise he would pay her back. He sat at the bar, nursing his tankard as he kept an eye on the front door.

         The foppish man entered perhaps one half of an hour later. There was no mistaking him in his attire. He wore baggy pants and a vest, both dark green velvet, over a poet's shirt. His pants were collared above his knees, showing white hose extending to his ankles. A green, feathered cap matched his attire and a thin sword was sheathed at his belt. He had blond hair, and his blue eyes scanned the room before settling on the bar.

         He approached, and Dist scooted his stool to the right a bit in order to eavesdrop better. "What'll it be, good master?" the barman asked.

        "Agossean Red, light on cloves, heavy on the mint," the fop said in a low voice.

        "One moment." The barman fetched a glass and mixed the drink. He leaned close to the fop's ear. "Turn to the right hallway at the top of the stairs. Third door to the left is your destination."

        "I thank you." The fop paid for his drink and took his glass of Agossean Red up the stairs. Dist waited a few moments until the barmen were busy with other patrons, and followed.

        He turned right at the top of the stairs and entered the threshold leading into a hallway. He crept as carefully as he could, but his boots were not made for such work, and seemed to echo like a thunderclap with every step. As he approached the third door on the left, he moved a bit slower, edging up to the brass knob and straining to hear what was going on inside.

       "...I'm aware that you're aware Lord Feigh is still alive," the assassin said. "A few stable boys saw me scaling the wall and raised a clamor. No idea why they were out there that early. I was lucky to make my escape at all."

       "If you are in difficulty, Poyenas--" came the foppish man's voice.

        "No difficulty. I just need a little more time."

        "That is out of the question. My sponsor is on a timetable and this must be done quickly. He dies tomorrow."

        "Tomorrow is the Festival of the Saint. The whole city will be out in the streets."

        "Precisely," the fop said. "You should have no trouble slipping away once the deed is done."

        "Lord Feigh will be surrounded by guards after what happened today," Poyenas said. "That's if he even leaves the castle."

        "Oh, he'll be out and about," the fop said. "The Feighs are a stubborn lot, sure enough. They refuse to be bullied by anyone. In addition, the High Priest of Orrigo expects them to take part in the annual parade. He would take it as a slight if they were not present to honor Saint Bendel. Perhaps an arrow from afar--"

        "I am no marksman. I'm telling you, the best assassin in the world could not pull this off."

        "A shame. We thought you were the best, and agreed to pay you accordingly. If Lord Feigh still lives come nightfall tomorrow, I have been authorized to only pay you half. That is, assuming you eventually do kill him."

         "That's not what we agreed on!" Poyenas said.

         "It is my sponsor's final offer. You already failed once. He wants assurance it will not happen again."

         "Very well. Tell your master I accept this rebuke, but also warn him that given my nature, he would be wise not to make me his enemy."

        "I am sure he will be suitably frightened..." The foppish man paused. "What is it?"

        Dist realized what was coming a fraction of a moment before the door was kicked outward. He leapt to the side and rolled to his feet as Poyenas stepped into the hallway, with the fop right behind him.

       "I thought I felt unfriendly eyes on me," the albino said. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

        Dist cringed. This was not good at all. He needed open space for plan to work, the more the better. He didn't stand a chance against the assassin in close quarters.

        "House brew, heavy on the ginger, right?" Dist said. "Funny, I would have thought you more of a vanilla man."

        Recognition flashed across Poyenas's face. "You're one of those stable boys from this morning. The one I stuck." He smiled. "I see you know your antidotes, boy."

        "I know all sorts of tricks for dealing with killers like you," Dist said loudly.

        Poyenas shook his head. "No one will hear you. Even if they did, they know better than to interfere in this part of town."

        There was a window behind Dist leading right out into the street if he could just get there. Poyeans seemed ready to strike at the slightest movement. Summoning every ounce of courage he had, Dist's hand shot out and grabbed hold of the open door. He swung it back to a closed position with all his might. The assassin got his hands up, but still grunted when the doors struck him.

        That was all the distraction Dist needed. He turned and leapt at the window, crashing through the glass and falling onto the porch roof below. He could feel the gashes on his skin where the glass had cut him, but he was free of it soon enough, rolling down the sloped roof and falling to the street below.

        Dist landed hard in the dirt, but got to his feet as fast as he could. Poyenas came sailing out of the opening above, also landing on the roof. Dist took off at a run as the assassin rolled off and deftly touched ground on his feet. He heard Poyenas's blade hiss as it left its sheath, and rapid footsteps behind him.

       He ducked between the Quaffer's Quiver and the stone building next to it, coming out into an open area that led down to the docks. Dist ran to his left, but the foppish man intercepted him from around the tavern, brandishing his rapier. Poyenas circled around to his right, his own blade extended. Dist drew Fayla's shortsword and parried his cross slash.

       He dodged aside as the foppish man lunged with his blade, hoping to skewer Dist as he tangled with Poyenas. Dist continued to back down toward a dock, ominously aware he was being cornered, but unable to do anything about it. The blue waters of the Aristian Sea glistened in the sunset as the waves of the evening tide crashed onto shore.

       When he reached the end of the dock, Dist realized he was losing strength. The antidote was working its way through his body, and the exertion of the last few minutes had quickened it. He only had a few minutes before he was rendered helpless as a babe. Remembering his plan, he reached into his shirt pocket as Poyenas lunged.

       Dist barely had time to get his blade up to meet the assassin's arc. Steel clashed on steel, throwing bright sparks, and he struggled as Poyenas pressed into him. If the albino knew his poisons, he certainly knew his antidotes and knew Dist didn't have long either. Back toward the inn, loud voices shouted, though Dist could not make out what they were saying.

       "Finish this!" the fop said. "The watch comes!"

       Grunting, Poyenas pushed into Dist, causing him to stumble. The assassin sent a backhand cut in his direction which would have taken off the top of his head if it struck true. Dist threw himself down and slipped, falling to his back and rolling off the edge of the dock. He struck the water with a  loud splash, sinking fast.

       He pumped his way upward, breaking the surface and spitting salt water. He glanced up to the dock, but both of his pursuers were gone. No doubt the ruckus at the tavern had drawn the attention of the city watch, causing them to flee. Dist made his way to shore, but he was not a strong swimmer and his strength was waning by the moment.

       The ebb and flow of the tide took him underneath the dock, depositing him onto a thin stretch of sand and flotsam. It was all Dist could do to crawl away from the oncoming tide. When he was sure he was at a place the water would not overtake him, he collapsed to the ground, gripping the hilt of his blade. He closed his eyes, and lost himself in the breaking of waves.

6. Aledine's Unlucky Day

       Jhareth and Nerris left Orrigo through the western gate, tired and dejected. The sun was nearing its final descent behind the mountains. Sunset was the curfew for first year cadets, and they didn't have long to make the three mile walk back to the school.

       "It's a shame," Jhareth said. "I was looking forward to the festival tomorrow, but I can't stop thinking about Dist. We have to resume the search bright and early."

       "We can't just leave him out there," Nerris said. "Besides, what fun would the festival be if we couldn't enjoy it together?"

       Jhareth's visit to the Orrigo underworld had been fruitless. The thieves and vagabonds had heard nothing of Dist, or at least nothing they were willing to tell him without hefty coin to loosen their tongues. Nerris's plan to track Dist from the spot they left him at was a bit more useful, though it still hadn't turned up their friend.

       The alley had been easy enough to find, once they retraced their steps from Castle Feigh's west gate. Their boot prints were still in tact from the early morning chase, but more alarming was the wide dent in the dirt. It didn't take a master tracker to realize that Dist had lain there. Whether he had fallen or been waylaid they could not say. But Nerris found a new set of prints, made by shoes smaller than theirs. They went off to the south with Dist's, who looked to have been dragging his feet.

        They followed the trail through the back alleys and out onto a small, overgrown road. The tracks stopped at a wooden stair, which led to a loft on the second story of a rundown building. Jhareth debated with Nerris on what they should do next. He was in favor of kicking the door in, while Nerris applied his honey-before-vinegar argument.

       Nerris won out, and they knocked on the door. A young woman named Elys answered. "Oh, you must be speaking of that boy I saw this morning," she said. "Usually boys your age don't have the coin to pay us. Fayla definitely attracts an older clientele. I tend to favor the distinguished ones myself."

       Jhareth and Nerris shared a confused look. "Clientele?" Nerris asked. "What exactly do you do here, Elys?"

       "We're whores," she said. "What do you think?"

       Jhareth and Nerris shared another glance. Something strange was going on. It had been just yesterday at their midday meal when Dist had ranted against prostitution. What had he been doing here?

       "Do you know where he went?" Jhareth asked Elys.

       She shook her head. "I was gone most of the day. Both your friend and Fayla were gone by the time I got back. Bed linens a frightful mess, furniture knocked over... they must have had quite a playful romp."

       Since the trail ended at the loft and there wasn't much time before curfew, they thanked Elys for her time and began the trek back to Gauntlet. They pondered what could have happened as they trudged uphill on the dirt road that was the final approach to the school. They soon found themselves upon the front gates, which were closed for the night. However, raised voices shook Jhareth out of his anxiety.

       He tapped Nerris and pointed toward the gate. A pretty, tawny-haired girl was standing before the portcullis, hands on her hips. She was speaking to the sentry atop the walls.

       "I already told you my business, you dolt," she said. "One of your fellow cadets asked me to come here. He may be in danger!"

      The husky sentry scratched his head as he looked down on the girl from his perch. "What did you say your name was again?" Jhareth chuckled. No wonder the girl was in such a mood. She was speaking to Tarias.

      "My name is Fayla!"

      "I don't know any Fayla," Tarias said. "It's my job to guard this gate against any undesirables." He leered at her. "Though I admit you're desirable enough. Unlace that bodice and let me be sure, and I'll let you in to see whoever you want."

       Jhareth grinned. He recognized that name. This made things easier. "This young lady seems to be in some distress," he said to Nerris as they came up behind her. "Shall we assist her against this foul tormentor?"

       Fayla jerked forward, startled by their presence. Nerris smiled. "Normally one would find trolls under a bridge, not atop a wall," he said. "Who knows... if we get rid of him, I wouldn't expect our fair lady to unlace anything. But I wouldn't say no to a light kiss on the cheek by way of thanks."

        "Oh, my," Fayla said. "You two gave me a start. Are you cadets here as well?"

        "We are," Nerris said. "I'm Nerris Palada, and my friend is Jhareth Kanave."

        "You... are?" she asked. "What a relief! It was you who I was sent to find!"

        "Sent by Dist, by any chance?" Jhareth asked.

         Fayla nodded. "He's in a bad way right now, or will be soon. He's gone after his assailant and sent me here to let you know where he went. But I fear if he doesn't get help soon--"

        "Slow down, Fayla," Nerris said. "Where did he go?"

        "The Quaffer's Quiver. To scout, he said, but I think he wants your help. He said to find the headmaster and his son if I didn't find you."

        Jhareth looked at Nerris. "The Owens are going to want a report on our findings. I say we take her in with us."

       "Agreed." Nerris cupped his hands and called up to Tarias. "Open the gate, you lout! You weren't told to keep us out!"

       "We're not supposed to let strangers in," Tarias said, eyeing Fayla. "What will you give me if I do?"

       "Another day to live," Jhareth said. "If the Owens find out you're obstructing Gauntlet business, only your head will stand guard next time you draw watch duty!"

        Tarias grunted. "Point taken. Lads, open the gate! Cadets returning!"

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