But when he saw the faces of the prince and princess, he turned absolutely white.

"Get out!" he shouted immediately. "You shouldn't be here! I don't want any trouble!"

"Nor do we," Tristan said courteously, taking a single step toward the counter. "All we want are the answers to a few simple-"

The twin doors to the shop suddenly blew open with such force that they banged into the walls beside them. Their etched-glass windows shattered, cascading to the floor in thousands of shards of prismed light. Moving instinctively, Tristan whirled around, reaching behind his back and drawing his dreggan. The ring of its razor-sharp blade resounded through the musty air of the shop.

There were five of them, and they were something out of a nightmare. The only way they seemed to differ from one another was in the various weapons they carried: in addition to swords, one of them carried a whip, another a trident.

Black leather skirts, slit down the front for walking, fell from their waists to the floor. Their chests and shoulders were bare. Their fingers ended in talons, rather than fingernails. Bright red capes cascaded down their backs. Short swords hung low behind their backs, almost to their knees. Tristan's experienced eye took quick note of the unique way the baldrics were hung, immediately sensing the ease and speed with which the things would be able to draw their swords. But it was their faces that were most unsettling.

Their skin was pure white-almost translucent-and seemed to shine. Polished metal caps covered their skulls and swept around their eyes and ears. The ears were long, pointed things, with earrings dangling from some of them. Their white, opaque eyes held no irises, but somehow seemed never to miss a thing.

Tristan's heart pounded in his chest, and his right hand tightened around the hilt of his dreggan. He heard the shopkeeper scream, followed by the sound of running and the slamming of a door. The prince knew better than to turn and watch the man run away.

He sized up the situation, and his heart fell.

He had never before faced five at once, he thought nervously.

Faegan wheeled his chair slowly toward the counter. Shailiha walked behind Tristan and over toward the far wall.

"What do you want?" Tristan barked. "Go away and leave us in peace!"

Two of the monsters walked closer. "We want you," one of them said as he approached. "You and the woman. We do not require the old man in the chair." The monster smiled, showing dark, pointed teeth.

"I don't think so," Tristan growled. He raised the tip of his sword a fraction.

In a blindingly fast motion, the other creature drew his sword. It was the quickest use of a blade Tristan had ever seen. Had his dreggan not already been drawn, he would surely have died on the spot.

The two gleaming blades clanged together with a force so powerful they sent sparks flying. As was his habit, Tristan quickly backed off, trying to gain some maneuvering room. But suddenly he stopped, realizing that he did not want to bring his attacker any closer to Shailiha than he must. He began hacking viciously at his foe. But the monster was as skilled as he was, and he could find no opening. Then at last, he saw the chance he had hoped for.

Teeth bared, his opponent suddenly screamed and rushed forward, his short sword raised high over his head. His intention was clear: to strike straight downward, cleaving Tristan's skull.

Just as the thing reached the zenith of his swing, Tristan rushed dangerously in and reached up, grabbing his attacker's sword wrist. And during the split second in which he held the monster's blade in place, he shoved the point of the dreggan to the thing's throat, angling it up.

He pressed the hidden button in the dreggan's hilt, and the blade shot forward the extra foot, entering just beneath the point of the thing's jaw and exiting the top of the head. The monster died immediately. Pressing the button again, Tristan retracted the blade and pushed the body off him.

Enraged, the second of them drew his sword as surely as had the first and with a scream, he rushed at the prince. But this time Tristan had the distance he needed.

Without hesitation he tossed the heavy dreggan from his right hand over into his left. Reaching back, he gripped the handle of his first throwing knife. With a whirl of his arm, the blade twirled unerringly toward its target and buried itself in the center of the thing's forehead with a sickening thud, stopping him in midstride. Stunned, the attacker simply stood as a trail of bright red blood snaked its sure, silent way down over his damaged skullcap and onto his white face. As if trapped in some impossible dream, the creature ran his fingers through it, then blankly examined it before staring back up at the prince. His sword slipped from his fingers and clanged noisily to the floor.

The white eyes closed, and he fell over onto his back, dead.

Chest heaving, Tristan glared at the remaining three. He tossed the dreggan back into his right hand, and his fingers tightened around the hilt.

He didn't have to wait very long.

Suddenly the huge oak chandelier came crashing down in a cacophony of noise, glass, and lamp oil. It smashed directly onto the heads of the three would-be attackers. All three collapsed, as glass shattered and oil spilled as the long rope pooled atop the mess. Blood mixed strangely with the oil and ran across the floor and into the cracks between the floorboards.

Tristan hesitated in shock for an instant, then rushed in and ran each body through. Two were already dead, and the third could not have been far from it-his neck lay at an odd angle, clearly broken, and he was unable to breathe. Tristan's blade was a blessing.

Once done, Tristan turned, and his eyes went wide.

Shailiha had untied the rope holding up the chandelier.

Letting out a great sigh of relief, Tristan uncoiled. Shailiha, arms akimbo, stared intently at the beings she had just killed.

This was the first time she had ever taken a life, Tristan realized as he went to her.

The moment he put his arms around her, she dropped her defiant stance.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently as he looked into her eyes.

"Yes." Her voice was strong and calm. She looked past Tristan's shoulder at the bodies lying beneath the chandelier. Faegan had wheeled his chair over to the tangled mess to examine the creatures.

"And just what were you prepared to do while all of this was going on?" Tristan growled at the wizard, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"After you killed the first two, even I doubted you could have handled the next three all at once," Faegan said with a smile. "I was of course prepared to use the craft to help you. But then I saw the princess had other plans."

"What in the name of the Afterlife are these things?" Tristan asked. Walking over, he reached down and wiped the blade of his dreggan clean with one of the victim's black leather skirts. Satisfied, he slid the sword back into its scabbard. Then he retrieved his throwing knife and repeated the process with it.

Shailiha walked up behind him and took his hand. "I have never seen anything like them," she said quietly.

"Do you remember your question to me about the demonslavers?" Faegan asked, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Well, I think you have just found your answer."

"But where do they come from, and why did they want us?" asked Shailiha.

"They are without question some product of the Vagaries," Faegan answered seriously. "But as to how they were produced or who they may have originally been, I cannot say. They may be mutated wizards, as are the blood stalkers. Or perhaps they are something else entirely. Only time will tell. These beings may have been hunting under Krassus' orders. He did, after all, literally dare us to come here to see what was taking place." He paused, rubbing his chin. "I fear, though, that we may have only scratched the surface of our troubles."