"There is no need, Suturb. Thou wert valiantly defending our honor. Go and join the others. I will be there shortly." Suturb nodded and followed Dryden, Ghaland, and the rest of Blackthorn's guard to the empty tables. Like Suturb, Ghaland and the other men appeared perplexed by what had just happened. Only Dryden was calm, and thoughtful.

Blackthorn turned to face the knight. Unlike the others around the bar, all of who seemed to be adamantly debating about what, exactly, had just transpired, the knight showed no signs of confusion. His gaze remained resolute.

"I admire thy loyalty, Knight," Blackthorn said, softly, "but remember: Though 'tis Lord Malone who is thy leader, 'tis Lord British who is thy Liege."

"Lord British is lost. His expedition has been slain. 'Tis Lord Malone who should rule."

Blackthorn nearly slit the knight's throat then and there, so confident was his proclamation. Instead, Blackthorn simply cut at him with words, loud enough to draw the attention of those at the bar. "Believe what thou dost will," Blackthorn said to the knight. "Thou mayest even announce it to all who care to hear. But I warn thee, never act upon it, else I assure thee, thou wilt stand trial before thine order—for 'tis a man's deeds, not his words, that break the law. Lord Malone knows this as well as I. He will not rule in thy favor, even if his heart deems otherwise." Sweat formed beneath the rim of the knight's helm. In that single bead, Blackthorn could see himself, eyes drawn to slit. He hissed his final words. "And rest assured, Knight, that I will be there when thine order hangs thee for treason."

The knight wavered. Blackthorn swept a final, menacing gaze over those who had overheard him. They shrank back, all but one, an elderly gentleman who sat alone at his table, scribbling upon a slew of parchments. He peered directly at Blackthorn, the hood of his cloak shrouding the burned ruin that marked the right half of his face.

He nodded his approval, and returned to his writing.

"'Tis a reflection of the state of affairs everywhere," said Moragwain, referring to the previous night's incident at The Sword and Keg. Her voice was drawn with concern. "I have seen it in Moonglow. Friends fight in the street. Shopkeepers cheat their most loyal customers, and their most loyal customers pilfer from them. Panic is spreading, along with a story that Lord British has been captured and his expedition lost."

"'Tis all that my men can do to keep the peace in Trinsic some days," Veribed, the knightly captain from Trinsic agreed. "And ironically, my men have become despised, distrusted, and feared because of it."

Had it not been for the morning sun through the window, a pall certainly would have shrouded the chamber of the tower. Already it ensnared Blackthorn's mood. With the exception of the reports from Skara Brae and Yew, the intelligence from the captains of the Black Company was all the same.

He did not face his subordinates. Instead he peered out the window. Beneath a clear blue sky, the ocean around the Valorian Isles shimmered crystalline, serene, calm. So unlike Britannia, he thought. He, like the others, had caught wind of the story, about how Lord British had been imprisoned within the Underworld. Why this rumor had grown and others had not, no one could explain. "And what news is there of those who wish to succeed our supposedly captive King?" Blackthorn asked.