pang of sorrow not unlike that he felt the day he visited his father andrealized the man was dying. He had cut that visit short and never returned,preferring in his then-youth to preserve the memories of his sire in the joyfulstrength of his prime. Hakiem had always regretted that decision and, now thatthe town he had adopted and grown to love was in its death throes, he wasdetermined not to repeat his earlier mistakes by abandoning it. He would staywith Sanctuary, sharing its pain and comforting it with his presence untileither the town or he, or both, were dead.

Having renewed his resolve, the storyteller turned his back on the heartbreakingsight of the docks, once the pride of Sanctuary, now a ghastly parody of theirown memory and entered the tavern which was his objective.

The Wine Barrel was a favorite haunt of those fishermen who wished to indulge ina bit of socializing before returning to their homes. Today was no exception andHakiem easily located the person he sought. Omat was sitting alone at a cornertable, a full tankard held loosely in his lone hand as he stared thoughtfullyinto the distance. For a moment Hakiem hesitated, reluctant to intrude on theone-armed fisherman's self-imposed isolation, but then curiosity won out overdiscretion and he approached the table.

"May I join you, Omat?"

The fisherman's eyes came into focus and he blinked with surprise. "Hakiem! Whatbrings you to the docks? Has the Vulgar Unicorn finally run out of wine?"

The talespinner ignored the gibe and sank down onto one of the vacant stools."I'm tracking a story," he explained earnestly. "A rumor which can only befleshed out to audience-satisfying proportions with your assistance."

"A story?" Omat repeated, his gaze suddenly evasive. "Adventures only happen toyour rich merchants or shadow-hugging cut-throats, not to us simple fisherfolk