He dropped from the rafter, landing lightly on his feet. With a lump in his throat, he knelt down and rolled the child over onto his back, then pressed his fingers against his neck. He waited, and waited, but no matter how long he stayed there hoping, it never happened. No pulse.

“Damn you, Brann,” Haern whispered. “I hope you burn forever.”

Leaving the body there was not an option. Haern considered himself better than that. Lifting him onto his shoulder, he rushed out to the streets, praying no gutsy member of a thief guild spotted him and tried something incredibly heroic and stupid. There were several gravekeepers in Veldaren, plus another who burned bodies instead of burying them. Haern went to the burner, picked the lock of his door, and went inside. The owner was asleep on a cot in a small room, and Haern woke him with a firm prod of his saber.

“What? Who are…oh, you.”

The elderly man, Willard, rubbed his eyes, then reopened them when Haern dropped a handful of coins onto his lap.

“Spare no expense, and bury his ashes.”

“What was his name?” asked Willard, looking over the boy’s body as Haern set him down on the floor.

“I don’t know.”

“Then what shall I engrave on his urn?”

Haern went to the door, then looked back over his shoulder.

“Victim,” he said.

In a foul mood, he raced off for the Gemcroft estate, wishing he could put the prior events out of his mind, and knowing there’d be no such luck.

Scaling the fence was easy enough, though avoiding the guards was another matter. There was a secondary building in the back, where he’d been told the meeting would take place. Most of the patrols kept close to the mansion, which helped tremendously. Haern lurked beside the gate, running along it when outside the patrols’ vision, and lying flat amid the shadows when they passed. At last he reached the small building. Timing the patrols, he knew he had about thirty seconds to slip in and out without being seen. Faint light burned within. He pressed his ear against the door and heard no discussion.