CHAPTER 1

A Care-Filled Meeting

Any moment now, any moment now, I'll be taken away. To be honest, Ithought he'd find me sooner than this. Blackheart's melancholy thoughtsof his father are muddied by drinks he wanted, and made more soby those that found their way to him when he wasn't looking. Hisvoice, different and ruddier than he remembers, asks a passing maid foranother cup. She smiles at his drunken smile, and he knows anotherdrink will soon find its way to him.

The bar is a favorite of his when he is on the island of Grayshoal,which as of late has been too much. He has seen the bar pass throughmany hands in his brief time as a patron. The first owner was aman that was simply called Meza; his real name was something ...something ... Mezorian. It appears Blackheart's mind is as muddiedas his voice. One thing he takes pride in, and with good reason, is heremembers a person's name when he is told it. What he does rememberof something ... something ... Mezorian was his love of coin. He wasa foreigner originally, that had passed to citizenship with some measureof respect. It was three captains that had vouched for Meza's characterto the king, not just the required one. Blackheart felt that it was becauseeach owed the still enthralled, Meza money. Blackheart's uncle wouldsay that you would have to count your fingers after shaking the handof a man like that. This thought makes its creator smile.

The bar is called the Care Full; Blackheart doesn't know if it isbecause of where it's located or because it is supposedly full of care.The sign swinging from a heavily rusted and rather ornate iron bracketdisplays small hands holding three overflowing mugs of a very refreshingand heady beverage. If that is the type of care this place is full of,Blackheart is now full of it as well. Its strange location is rumored to beresponsible for at least twenty deaths since its birth some seventy-fiveyears before. It originally started as these things do, as a home, but thisone was made on the Northern cliffs of Grayshoal, just north of thecastle walls but very much on the same very high, very dangerous cliffs.It is widely believed that the home was made on the cliffs because thatis what a young bride wanted, and as the view is impossibly beautiful,that is understandable, but when the young bride's husband passed,not as a result of a fall but a drowning—he managed to survive thefall— she could get no men to come courting. Her beauty had fadedsome over the years from the harsh winds and winters on the cliffs, andher curves had receded, and as the couple never had any children, itmay be possible that her loins didn't work.

To entice a mate, she began to work her brew craft to astoundingresults. Once she created her home brew, she gingerly took two quarterkegs down from her heights to be shared amongst men just returningfrom a ravage, a practice regularly performed by the more availableladies. Before leaving the men, who were very pleased by her samples,she told them to visit her, for she had not only more of this brew,but others that surpassed this one in taste, color, and health, like beereclipses water. Her last words to them were to come to her and to becareful.

Another beer is placed on Blackheart's table, which widens hissmile; his thoughts on the barmaid's beauty widen his smile further. Thebarmaid's hips sway as she walks away, and her long, straight blondehair sways with them, acting almost as an ass duster. This thoughtmakes him burst into a short fit of laughter. The maid, unaware of anyjoke, glances back at him with a wondering and slightly self-consciouslook. Blackheart, seeing doubt and possible pain on her face, gives hera loving smile and a flirtatious wink, one or both of which makes thelady smile in return, and the hips sway a bit more as she returns to thekitchen. Blackheart returns his attention to his new beer. He must haveshook the table—which was a feat as it was a hand-thick, old dark oak,with a single stout barley twisted leg supported by four heavily carvedfeet—because the foamy head of his beer that was once just floating atthe top of his mug has since spilled upon the heavy tabletop's well-oiledsurface. Slowly, but with more than a little practiced grace, Blackheartgrasps the still very full mug, and without a shake to his arm or hand,takes another drink.

The second owner he met over a card table. This owner of theCare Full had acquired it after being rightfully accused of sleeping withMeza's wife; the accuser was Meza himself. Benin, the accused, deniedit and requested an old right that the devout call "Bllor's answer," wheresingle combat determines the validity of a claim. Unfortunately forMeza, Bllor's answer did not agree with him, and Benin became thenew owner of both the wife and the bar after killing Meza. Blackhearthad watched the fight, and Benin had the chance to spare Meza's lifeand impose a fine upon him for falsely accusing him. He could havehad the bar and all the coin Meza possessed, but he couldn't have hadhis wife, so Meza died, and Blackheart was forced to watch and donothing. He had liked Meza. Too bad Bllor's answer can't be heardthrough card playing; Meza was a much better card player than hewas a fighter. Blackheart drains his mug and speaks in a subdued tone,"You could have said no Meza. Did you really think that Bllor wouldhelp you win a fight that you couldn't win just because you were right?"Blackheart's breath escapes his lips in a sigh.

Blackheart looks over the rim of his cup and seems surprised by itsemptiness—empty except for a few strands of thick black hair that haveescaped the leather binding meant to keep it back. Looking around thebar for the maid, whose name he knows to be Sherry—but he does notuse it as it feels odd to call someone by their first name just because theybring you food and drinks—he sees that his cup is not the only thingthat's empty. The last time he looked further than the barmaid's hipsthere were still some folks in this place, including good-natured Bart,the fisherman, who was asleep by the hearth. He must have wanderedoutside to relieve himself. Blackheart's thoughts are hazy but still thereand keep sending messages that he can't seem to fully grasp. This seriesof thought is something like, Bart, fisherman, gone. This, he guesses,means something, but for the life of him, he can't figure out what thatis, so he carries on with his original plan; get another drink. He standsup slowly; he isn't some novice drinker that just jumps from his seat tofind himself rushed to drunkenness and then the floor. No, he takes histime and eases up to get a better look about the place.

It's a dark bar, in its woods and stones that make up its constructionas well as the near absence of light. Due to its location on the windy andsea-sprayed cliffs, the shutters are always lashed tightly closed. Again,the thoughts come unbidden: Bart, the fisherman, gone. But this time,before Blackheart gets the chance to work out the mystery, the heavywooden door is thrown open, and what passes for daylight in Ascadiasolves it for him. With the sound of the heavy door crashing open thewhip of the wind comes in to extinguish the candle at his table, with anease that mirrors things he doesn't want to think about.

Standing, he turns to greet his father, who stands in the entryway—no, blocks the entry way. The outside is visible only throughthe space between his...