29 KYTHORN (EVENING)

The candles burned low in Krot’s butcher shop. Dark-skinned and big, Krot wore his stoic Chultan heritage well, but today he veritably shook with excitement. He couldn’t sleep tonight—not with the stories of the mad king of Luskan filtering through the streets.

“You hear?” Krot said. “Is madman, you know? Fights hundred men, so they say, and he wins. Is king of Luskan by deed if not word, they say.”

Ansie, his wife of convenience and coin, stuck out her tongue at that. “Must be a bloody legend, Krot—now give us something to eat, dear? You be saving, no?”

“Isn’t nothing,” he said with a shrug. “The Dogtooths, they take the rest.”

“Not yet, we haven’t.”

The door to Krot’s shop pushed open, admitting three filthy men in jerkins of matted fur. Their leader—a many-times scarred man with a spiked collar around his neck—leered at Krot and Ansie. “You been holding out, Chultan,” the Dogtooth said. “You gives it here or we take what we like.”

Krot reached slowly for the war pick that hung on a hook, but one of the Dogtooths threw a knife that thunked into the wall an inch from his fingers.

“Ah-ah,” said the leader. “None of that now.”

A gloved hand appeared around the handle of the still trembling knife and wrenched it from the wall. A man in gray stood among them, naked steel in his hands. None had seen him coming and his sudden appearance evoked loud gasps.

“It’s him!” said Krot. “Shadowbane!”

Ansie gaped.

“Go back to your tavern,” he said to the Dogtooths. “You get one chance.”

The scarred leader of the Dogtooths stepped forward, eager to prove himself. He puffed out his chest. “Tluin you—”

The air rippled and a woman appeared in the chamber, her axe spinning. The haft slammed into the lead Dogtooth’s face. He flipped over in the air to land on the floor, clutching at his shattered jaw.

The other gang members drew back as the woman stepped toward them. Her eyes and skin were black as coal. Lines of darkness curled along her skin like veins. Her face bore no expression, but she stepped toward them hungrily, her ugly axe turning in her hands. She bent, curled and ready, like a poised snake.

“Sithe,” Shadowbane said. “Remember what I said of mercy.”

The woman hesitated. “Very well.” She straightened and drew back toward the wall.

“Return to your tavern with this message,” Shadowbane said. “Luskan is my city, but I plan give it to over to a king on the seventh day of Flamerule. Until then, violence will be met with violence, pain with pain, death with death.” He hurled the blade back at the leader of the gang. It sank into the floorboards next to his hand. “Understand?”

The Dogtooths did not need to be told again. They hurried out of Krot’s butcher shop without a glance backward.

The big butcher turned toward Shadowbane. “Eldath’s blessing upon—you? Saer?”

Shadowbane had bent over, supporting himself with a hand on the wall. His other hand grasped his chest. “Heh,” he said, blood in his teeth. “The big one at our last stop hit hard, eh?”

“You should have dodged,” Sithe said.

“No argument.” He spat blood on the floor. “You ready for what’s next?”

The dark woman stared at him as though he had asked a ridiculous question.

Krot looked at Ansie, then at the two visitors to his shop. “You—?”

“Stay inside,” Shadowbane said. “Rats will come with food. Wait.”

“Rats?” Krot blinked at him, perplexed.

“Wait,” Shadowbane said again.

They pushed out the door into the night, leaving Krot and Ansie staring blankly after them. “What did he mean, you think?” he asked. “He couldn’t mean—”

Within moments, the door opened again, admitting three weasel-faced men with the red sashes of Dead Rats. One of them twitched his nose, then stalked forward. “You be Krot, aye?”

“Aye,” the big man said.

“Compliments of Shadowbane.” The man gave him a glower, then plopped a sack on the counter. They left.

Tentatively, Krot opened the sack and gasped at its contents: half a loaf of bread, dried meat, and a hunk of cheese. The Dead Rats had given it, free of payment or favor. Ansie stared at the generous prize without comprehension. Krot started weeping.

“King of Luskan!” he said. “King of Luskan!”