Shit. Shit. Shit. He could feel the noose closing around his neck and could hardly stop himself from looking around in a despaired search for escape like an animal driven into a corner. He caught Adderhead's gaze, though, eyes full of triumph and a shadow of a cocky grin playing on his lips.

Fuck. Damn Bluejay and his stupid book. Damn Adderhead - but he should have known the king would never expose himself to such a great risk. Damn Cosimo for destroying the Fire-raisers. At least he'd paid for it with his life. Twice, it seemed. Curse them all. Even Capricorn, whose Shadow had only obeyed him and then – although already useless – simply disappeared. He had no longer been able to use it to plant fear in the hearts of men. To hell with them all. But they weren't going to die. Unless he'd have something to say about it. Oh, how he would enjoy killing them, every single one of them.

What would happen if he drew his sword and go for the king's head? He was close, but would he be fast enough? Maybe not. Maybe he would. But Adderhead had already ordered him to move, and he somehow convinced his body to obey. His hand trembled when he scribbled his name into that damn book. How he'd love to rip it right out of the Piper's hands and cut it to pieces! He'd tear out the pages and made sure his boots trampled them completely. He'd wipe that smug look off of the minstrel's face with fists. Or maybe with the sword …

Fury raged inside him like a summer-storm out at the open sea. He wanted to destroy, to hurt, to kill; anything to get revenge on anyone he could – in one way or another – blame for his current situation. He was going to die here and now, as surely as the sun would rise tomorrow, he knew that. And the reason he wanted to attack somebody so badly was the same as the reason why he didn't. He knew he was practically dead. And he was afraid. It was fear that held his frozen in place, fear that made his legs as heavy as lead, his hands tremble, and his voice gone. It was fear that made him obey like a puppet whose strings had been pulled. Fear made him move down the stairs. And the grin he saw on the Piper's face only made it worse. He was enjoying this, damn it! Sly bastard!

Anger boiled inside of him, white-hot, even worse than before, and so did the fear grow. He felt his heart hammer against his ribcage, and the sound of his heartbeat echoed in his ears. Could others hear it, too?

Damn … The vein on his temple throbbed, and with every throb came a wave of dull pain in his head. His body felt strange. Everything felt strange. As if he were himself but also just an observer at the same time …

The way seemed horribly long. It felt as if an eternity had passed before he stopped in front of the Bluejay and stared at the man. Nausea washed over him. Hatred and fear together; they were so strong it made him feel sick. The air around him was hot … No, there was almost no air. Breathing was hard. For a moment everything spun in front of his eyes, but his gaze remained on the Bluejay's face. This man was at fault. The blame was on him. Most of it.

Words were spoken, words which he heard and whose meaning he understood, but still seemed so far away, unimportant, not connected. A few more words and then – pain.

His eyes snapped open, and there was a gagging reflex in his throat. A sword was sticking out of his torso. It hurt so badly his legs almost gave way, but he gritted his teeth together. How was this possible? He was alive, but with such a wound? No … This couldn't be real. Was it a bad dream?

There were more words, but what did it matter? Or maybe it did. Immortal, said Adderhead. Was he really immortal? Creating space for him? More words? What was this all about …?

"You may kill the Buejey," he heard. "If you'll have time before you die," remained hanging in the air, unspoken. How he managed to pick up the sword, he didn't know. Fear was still numbing him. Now he was really going to die. Nothing would save him. At least he'd been allowed to take the Bluejey with him. The boiling anger had disappeared, but hatred was still running through his veins, hatred and resentment. He was only one man, a small revenge, but better than nothing.

He spit out a threat fuelled by these feelings. A moment later there was another thought. Wasn't that exactly what Adderhead wanted – having the Bluejey dead? But he wanted it, too. What should he do? Damn, if he could at least think. But his heartbeat was too rapid, his body too weak, the pain too strong, and the air too thin. He felt hot and cold at the same time, nausea washing over him. So surreal … What did it matter what he did?

"One."

His arms raised the sword. It was an instinct – kill or be killed.

"Two."

Useless. Useless. He hated the man. He didn't want to die. He couldn't breathe.

"Three."

Instincts kicked in. As if somehow killing Bluejey would grant him life. Still, he wanted to …

The hilt slipped out of his grip.

Shit.