Spoiler Warning! The authoress strongly advises you read her stories My Envied Lady (Part 1) and The Fairest Thing (Part 2) before continuing with The Dark Half (Part 3). You will be confused, and stumble upon some major spoilers if you start with Part 3. You have been warned!

The monastery had once been a peaceful, comforting place. Run by an order dedicated to healing, it served as a hospital for the remote, hilly countryside. All that changed when the plague came. When they took in the first few people complaining of a sudden fever, they did not expect a disease that spread like wildfire, ravaging the compound. It was said the last survivors fled in terror of the sickness, leaving the dead unburied. The buildings fell into disrepair and the once well-tended herb gardens became overgrown with weeds and brambles. Not long after, rumors began circulating about the place. That it was haunted, that it was cursed, that demons and monsters had taken up residence there. A decade passed, and the travelers who once avoided the monastery due to disease now avoided it for fear of its evil reputation.

It was as Chloderic wanted it. He and his "order" had taken up residence in the abandoned monastery, cleaned it, rebuilt parts of it, and set up their own industry there. His product was a closely guarded secret, as was his list of clientele. It was a rare product in high demand, and for the right price, a delivery could be arranged. Until the day the dragons appeared in the countryside.

The weather had become quite cold, and the sky was iron-grey most days. Johan had spent two weeks in the Free City of Freiestadt, trying to figure out where to go next before storms made travel impossible. There were many places where the people would welcome him; he had made numerous friends during his adventures, but he turned each option over in his mind and quickly ruled it out. Primarily because were he to go those places, he would need to explain why he needed to seek refuge there, and he did not want to have to relive that embarrassment or heartbreak again.

It was dark already, and the inn began to fill with other patrons seeking refuge for the night. Most of them ignored Johan; though he no longer wore the crest of the Good King, he still stood out as a nobleman and a knight, albeit one who had fallen on hard times.

He thought he heard a familiar voice say his name, though no one here knew him. It wasn't the first time; sadness and desperation had made him think he'd caught a glimpse of Sabina or heard her voice several times as he wandered through the city streets in search of a refuge or adventure to pass the winter months. Each sighting had ended in disappointment and a bitter reminder that he could never see her, at least not until spring.

But he refused to give up hope that they would be together again; him, Sabina and their child. I'm going to be a father. He'd always imagined that phrase would bring him unspeakable joy, but instead it taunted him, reminding him of just how much he'd lost.

There was that voice again! Not Sabina's, Peewit's this time. But why would Peewit be here? He was still in relatively good standing in the court.

"Well, if you haven't seen him, is there room for me to stay the night here? I can entertain the guests; I'm a court minstrel, you know…I can? Oh, you won't be sorry!"

The sounds of a lute being tuned, or rather, un-tuned drifted through the smoky air. Several guests moved from their tables to see what this minstrel was going to play. A shrill voice began to sing:

Dog goes woof
Cat goes meow
Bird goes tweet
and mouse goes squeak…

Johan pulled himself from his sorrow and pushed through the crowd to the hearth. Such sounds could only come from one person. It was Peewit, signing some terrible new composition to a crowd of startled people. As Peewit began the first "chorus" of his song, the crowd began to grumble, but he played on. Johan slid between two angry drunk men and grabbed Peewit by the collar, dragging him outside, lute still in hand.

"Let me go! How dare you interrupt my mus-Oh! Johan! It's you! I found you!" He stopped struggling and embraced his friend.

"What are you doing here, Peewit? Why didn't you stay at the castle?"

"I went looking for you, of course! I wasn't going to let you face exile alone."

"The king let you?"

"He wasn't happy about it, but I insisted. I even sold some of my instruments to pay for the journey. You wouldn't believe how many buyers I got to take them off my hands! Even Dame Barbara bought something!"

"I can imagine. How long-"

Johan was cut off as a crossbow bolt whipped past his face and embedded itself in the doorpost of the inn. He immediately went into a defensive position, drawing his sword and scanning the darkness for the source of the shot. Peewit yelped and dived behind him.

"Who goes there? Show yourself!"

Johan was answered by the faint click and twang of a small crossbow being reloaded and shot. He ducked just in time, the bolt catching his sleeve. He tore himself free and ran back inside the inn, with Peewit scampering behind.

"That's the first time anyone has ever tried to assassinate me for my singing!" Peewit gasped as soon as they were safe behind the heavy oak door.

"I'm not sure they were aiming for you, Peewit, though you probably should give the innkeeper some money since I don't think your song was enough to warrant a free night's stay. I'm not sure why, but I think those shots were for me." Oh, there were plenty of reasons. In addition to friends, Johan had made some bitter enemies. But why try to kill him here and now?

The innkeeper forgot about Peewit's offensive music as soon as Johan told him there was a sniper in the street. Having a guest killed in the doorway would do his business more harm than a bad musician would. They cautiously went to the doorway and looked for the bolts, but they were gone, leaving only greasy pits in the wood. The reunited friends decided that it would be best to stay inside until morning.

"You missed twice! Our Master is paying you good money and you missed twice?" The dark figure hissed, inside a dark, filthy tavern in a different part of the city.

"He was too quick! He's not an easy one to hit like those rich old men you've been sending me after. And besides, I got the bolts back. I'll get him next time. I didn't even know he was there until he grabbed his friend; there's no mistaking King Pepin's Jester."

"Good. At least you're not a total failure. Those bolts are as rare as gold dust. The supply of them dried up just recently. You waste those, I won't be able to get you any more!"