Wulfram took up a pail of water from the stormbringer. His name was Belton. Wulfram had known his name once, but much had happened in the seven years since they'd last met in passing, and Belton was kind enough to remind him now. It was dusk, and they were at one of the city cisterns, filling their water pails as a crowd of a dozen or more people behind them waited in line to do the same. Thedric stood nearby, watching a street performer juggle live guinea pigs. Before long, the rodents would be in the performer's stew pot, Wulfram knew; they were a common source of food for the poor masses here in Khail Sanctu. Once, Wulfram would have been disgusted by the thought.

"Why do you live here in the slums?" Wulfram asked, reflexively checking that his turban still covered his face. "It was my understanding you were sent away as an official emissary with proof of Thedric's birthright. The senators here should have harbored him as royalty in one of the palaces."

"The senators cannot be trusted," Belton said, grabbing up the second water pail and shooting Wulfram a dark look as he led him away from the crowded cistern.

"We've not been at war with the Old World in over 200 years," Wulfram pressed, unconcerned by the people around them. They were beggars, the lot of them, and spoke a dialect that was so warped as to be nearly unrecognizable. As long as they didn't see his face or body, they were safe. "What do the senators have to fear from a young prince of Sargoth?"

"Fear? Nothing. Desire? Much. We were welcomed in by the Speaker of the Assembly, but immediately he was in Thedric's ear, trying to steal the boy away from me and negotiating to provide military aid in exchange for control of the southern kingdoms. Then, before I could even plot a course of action, the Speaker was assassinated by another senator. They're all sorcerers, and they're endlessly fighting. We were offered refuge by another of the senators, but I chose instead to leave. We spent some time wandering the nearby towns to the west, but then returned here as pilgrims and have not left since. There is anonymity and safety in the multitude of poor in Khail Sanctu."

"And how were you to know if the Queen sent for you?"

Belton shrugged. "I have ears at the capital. A few bribes here and there and I can find out whatever I want. Though now, it seems, I'm better off saving my coin. No one here has even heard word of the war being over, let alone the Queen's death."

"I fly faster than news."

"Fly?"

Wulfram ignored the question, and instead went to fetch Thedric. "Come," he told the boy. "We're returning to the room."

Thedric seemed about to protest, but looked from the juggler to Wulfram and thought better of it. Belton fell in beside them and they began their mile-long trek back to their tenement building. They passed through an open-air market bustling with evening shoppers, and Wulfram was forced to physically clear a path before them with one hand, holding his water bucket safely behind him with the other. So intent was he on this task, he didn't even see the old woman until she fell at Thedric's feet and clutched his loose fitting sirwaal trousers.

"Oh, Prince. King of the north!" the old woman moaned.

Wulfram could sense her maddened aura of thauma, and he dropped his bucket and lunged at her, intent on tearing her throat out, but before he could reach her, Belton clutched him around the waist and held him at bay.

"No!" Belton hissed. "If you kill her, the Green Robes will be after us. Leave her. She's a seer. Harmless. She tells people's fortunes for copper agorats."

"The ways of Tel Mathir consume me, King," the old woman said, still clutching Thedric. "She tells me your future is one of glory. Greatness."

Wulfram pulled himself free of Belton's grasp and stepped to Thedric's side, ready to kill the woman if she so much as raised a hand. She seemed not to notice Wulfram, though. Her head was contorted upward toward the sky and her eyes had rolled back into her head, showing only the whites. Her arthritically deformed hands held Thedric's sirwaal only loosely.

"Yes, King of the North you will be..." she moaned.

"King of Sargoth?" Thedric asked.

"Of Sargoth and more. The entire north. Emperor. Emperor Guderian..."

"Emperor?"

"But beware the princess. The dreamwielder. Only she has the power to defeat you."

"What princess?" Thedric demanded. "Who is she?"

"Oh, mighty Guderian," she moaned.

She was saying his name too loudly. People were beginning to crowd around, and Wulfram could feel himself losing control of his anger. "Enough," he growled, but the woman ranted on heedlessly.

"She is not yet born, Emperor Guderian. The future is unclear. Your end will be your own making. Choose well, Emperor..."

Again, Belton was there before Wulfram could kill her, this time yanking Thedric off his feet and carrying him away into the crowd. Wulfram stayed put and stared down at the seer for a long moment, long enough for her eyes to come into focus again and to realize that Thedric was gone. She stared up at Wulfram, as if she could see his face through the folds of his turban. There was wonder in her eyes. Confusion perhaps, but not fear.

"What abomination are you?" she whispered.

All of Wulfram's instincts told him to kill her, but there were so many people watching. And there were the Green Robes to contend with-a city watch made up of sorcerers. He was sorely out of place in such environs. "Stay away," he whispered to the old seer, and then he turned and followed after Belton and Thedric.