Cold shock washed over Leesil as he realized Lord Darmouth didn't want the truth. He simply wanted something with which to justify Josiah's destruction. If Leesil refused, both he and his father would be replaced, and servants of their kind did not just leave service. At best, they disappeared one night never to be seen again-as the first task of their replacements.

He traveled back north to the warm embrace of his new teacher and ate a supper of roast lamb and fresh peaches while making up stories at the table when Josiah asked all about his visit home.

That night, he slipped downstairs into Josiah's study, picked a simple lock on the old man's desk, and began reading recent correspondence. He stopped going through the parchments when his gaze scanned a draft of a letter not yet sent.

My Dear Sister,

The situation grows worse with each month, and I fear a loss of both vision and reason in our highest places. I would resign my seat on the council were it not for my work here with those in most need. I pray each dusk for some sign of change with each dawn, for some legitimate change for the better in the command of this land, for a change is needed. These unending civil wars will destroy all of us…

The letter went on, touching upon Josiah's simple daily routine, queries of family and friends, and other personal topics. It even mentioned a young half-elf as a promising new student. Leesil ignored the rest of the letter. The first paragraph, though not clearly pointing to Lord Darmouth, would be enough for someone like him to justify charges of treason. Leesil shoved the parchment inside his shirt, found Chap, and headed out that night for Darmouth's castle.

Three days later, soldiers swarmed Josiah's estate and arrested him. They dispersed the refugees, killing a handful in the process. After a brief trial by Darmouth's council, composed of ministers now staunchly loyal to their lord as they sat in judgment over one of their own, Josiah was hanged in the castle courtyard for treason. A letter to his sister proved his guilt.

Leesil was well paid for his services and lay in bed that night shivering, unable to get warm. He tried to focus on loyalty to his parents and not on his own tenuous grasp of Master Josiah's lessons on ethics and morals. Ethics were for those who could afford such luxuries as time for philosophical thought, and morals should be left to clerics and their doctrines. But he had destroyed a man he admired-one who'd cherished a young half-blood stranger in his own house-on the orders of the one man Leesil despised the most.

No, that was no longer correct. He loathed himself even more than Darmouth.

He couldn't stop shaking.

That night, Leesil left behind most of the blood money he'd earned for his parents, knowing they would have need of it once his own disappearance was discovered. He took a few silver coins, his everyday stilettos, his box of tools, and ran south for Stravina with Chap at his side.

For all his training and talent, Leesil found life on the road much harder than he'd imagined. He and Chap hunted for food together and slept outside. And each night, dreams of his past filled the dark behind his closed eyes until he woke before dawn soaked in sweat.

When they reached their first large city, a new possibility occurred to him as he saw a fat purse hanging from the belt of a nobleman.

Picking pockets would be as easy as breathing for him. He cut the purse in a heartbeat and disappeared into a crowd. Half-starved, he went directly to an inn and ordered food. Upon seeing the half-elf's money, the innkeeper smiled.

"You'll be wanting something to wash that down with," he said.

"Tea will be fine," Leesil answered.

The innkeeper laughed and brought him a large goblet of red wine. Neither of Leesil's parents ever drank alcohol, so he'd never given it much thought. The path they walked required a keen mind fully alert at all times. The wine tasted good, so he drank it. He ordered another goblet and then another.

That same night he experienced his first wave of numbed forgetfulness, not stirring to a dream until nearly the whole night had passed. The sickness and headache the following morning were a small price to pay for one sound night's sleep-and another, and another.

A new life began for Leesil the Pickpocket, who drank himself into numbed slumber each night. Frequenting taverns and inns and other similar places exposed him to cards and games of chance, and he learned to supplement his light-fingered livelihood with gambling. Of course, it was risky-especially if he were cheating and drinking at the same time. He was actually caught and arrested twice, but neither jail held him for long, even without the tools he'd stored away before going out for the evening's business. Years passed.

He lived nowhere, claimed no one but Chap as a friend, and just as this life was beginning to seem as pointless as his previous one, he saw a tall, young woman with black hair that sparked red in the street lanterns. A strange desire to pick her pocket filled his mind.

It was a bad idea, but he wavered as he tried to walk away. Young women in leather armor who carried swords offered little wealth. And uncommon as they were, they would have to be skilled to survive and might prove more trouble than he wanted should something go wrong. This one's armor was weatherworn and sun bleached, so she was likely not fresh off the farm looking for a life better than marriage and milking the cows. He never approached her type, but the voice in his mind became impossible to ignore, nagging at him over and over and over…

It would be easy. It would be quick. And this one might actually have something worth taking. Silently, he moved up behind her.

She had no visible purse, but carried a large pouch over one shoulder. Carefully matching pace with her, he watched the oversize pouch swing slightly from side to side and out from her back. It was little trouble to time his move. He reached out, poised as the bag bounced quietly against her back, and when it left contact with her body, his hand slipped inside. He was careful not to disturb its swing and rhythm as he fished slowly and carefully about the inside. It bounced twice more against her back without her noticing he was there.

The woman whirled around, grabbing his wrist in the same movement.

"Hey, what are you…?" she started to say.

He could have easily jerked away and run, but her dark eyes caught him. For a blink, she looked enraged, then stood there taking in the sight of him as well. He knew for a fact he'd never seen her before, but for some reason, he didn't run, and she didn't call for the guard. Neither spoke at first.

"You're pretty good," she said finally.

"Not good enough," he answered.

That was how he met Magiere and began what he considered to be the third and best of his lives. He didn't exactly remember at what point they came up with his involvement in the "hunter" game, but Magiere's restrained approval after the first practice run gave him a strange feeling of satisfaction he'd never experienced. After that, he had few responsibilities beyond playing a vampire several times each moon and traveling in Magiere's comfortable, capable company.

Memory ebbed away..

Leesil knelt on the floor of his room, staring at the metal remnants of his first life, the life no one present knew about.

How many years had it been? He honestly couldn't remember. And he realized that his once honed and hated skills would now be needed again if he were to help Magiere at all, perhaps for her life's sake.

He snapped the box closed and shoved it inside his shirt. A soft scratching and whining at the door caught his attention.

"Chap?" He walked over and opened the door. "Come on in, boy."

Looking down, he saw the dog held a piece of the bloody shawl Caleb had removed from Beth-rae before dressing her for visitors and burial. Chap's transparent blue eyes shone with misery. He whined again and pushed at Leesil's foot with his paw.