Lartaynior was sitting in the common room of the inn in Almaria. From time to time, he liked to pretend he was a commoner and get a feel for the general opinions of the populace. Today, the feeling was agitation. Merchants wanted out of the city to sell in the refugee encampment across the river, but no one was being allowed across the bridge. I wish I could make them understand how necessary this is. No matter how many times he had explained his reasons for sealing off the city, the people just didn't understand. Thomys had sworn that the evil presence was still east of the river.

"Give me another mushroom merlot," he said to the barkeep.

He downed the concoction and got up to leave. As he was leaving, a man in a dark robe approached him.

"I have a proposition for you," he said in a sibilant voice.

"Who are you?"

"A friend."

"Fine. Say what you've come to say."

"Not here. Too many ears. Follow me."

"Alright."

Giving a meaningful look to his disguised guardsmen, he followed the man out of the inn. They walked into an alleyway, his guards discreetly following.

"What is it you came to say?"

"Roband of Dharmon says hello."

"What?"

That was the last word he ever uttered. A wire garrote slipped around his neck from behind. He had never seen the hidden man, and now he never would. His guards rushed up and dispatched the two, but it was too late. The king of Avernum was lying on the ground, his lifeblood pumping out of his throat.