Rain. Cold and harsh, thick and merciless. Soaking everyone who dared
to venture out on this bitter and soggy day, it refused to stop, plastering
Vollig Tier's shoulder-length, blood-spattered hair to his iron skull.
Another evildoer punished, another crime avenged. This one had been a
young woman, an adulteress, so since she had lost her head in the heat
of passion, Vollig believed she deserved to lose that very same head in
the name of justice. As for the lady's husband--he was the one who had
found Vollig and spilled his tale of woe just as he'd spilled his tavern drink.
As for Vollig, he never touched ale, knowing it dulled his senses. He needed
all of them sharp. The gods had chosen him out of all the people of Tarim,
male and female alike. The time had come to scour the Empire, to rain down
pain and judgment upon those who would not listen to the gods. Or to their
own consciences, for that matter. Who knew right from wrong these days?
Certainly not Lannik Septim, who indulged in women and wine. True, he
was tasteful about it, and so Vollig would capture him and return him as
a slave to his own master, Hrisskar. Hard labor would serve the man well.
Break his pride. After that, his soul would be saved. Vollig would see to it.