Thurmond risked a quick glance over his shoulder but then nearly collided with a washerwoman carrying a heavy load of wet laundry. She was taller than he and as stout as a stone pillar. Her immense forearms looked like a blacksmith’s, and he thought she might in anger seize and hold him. But instead, she said something unintelligible, laughed, and proceeded on her way.

That brief delay was costly. His pursuers were gaining. He heard the slap of their shoes on the hard-packed earth of the street and their shouts of triumph as their quarry came into view. Without thinking, he slipped into a small opening between two houses. This was risky. The corner boys were residents of Old Shambles and knew its turnings and bystreets far better than he did. He could easily find himself trapped in some blind passage.

The alley opened into a weed-choked court, bounded on all sides by buildings. Other alleyways diverged from it, leading off in different directions. This was good. If he could slide into one unseen, he just might manage to give them the slip. Exhausted now, he skirted an open cesspit and selected a passage partially hidden by a ramshackle chicken coop.

He had just made it to this opening when a great savage dog rose silently from the weeds and plunged at him. Caught unawares, Thurmond stumbled and fell. He stared helplessly as the monstrous creature launched itself at his face. But at the last instant, the force of its lunge threw it backward as it reached the end of the chain bound around its neck. Its yellow eyes bulging with rage, the brute immediately rose and resumed its attack, but the boy managed to scuttle beyond the reach of its fangs. It again threw itself against the chain, causing a stream of drool to fly from its jaws.

It was at this moment that shouts announced the approach of the corner boys. The dog at once turned and flattened itself on its belly in the weeds. It offered no warning bark or growl. Thurmond stole a quick peek around the edge of the coop just as the trio surged into the court. They paused, taking stock, but the chicken coop screened him from view. He pulled back, regained his feet, and made his way quietly down the passage toward the street beyond.

The corner boys remained unaware of the dog until it was too late. They came straight across the yard, three abreast—all were well within the radius of its chain. Thurmond could hear the squeals of surprise and agony as the dog at last found victims within its reach.

He chuckled. He was in Lady Fortune’s good graces today. He had outrun three ruthless criminals and dodged an even more malevolent dog. This was all good practice, for he needed to keep his skills finely honed. When he was at last permitted to join the Adventurers, he would need all the endurance and agility he could muster.

Above all things, Thurmond longed to join the Brotherhood of Underworld Adventurers, an exclusive fraternity of seasoned warriors who ventured into the depths of the subterranean caverns to wrest wealth from the fell creatures that dwelled within. Such a man must have astounding luck, skill, and courage. He had to be willing to risk all, to face unimaginable hardship and agonizing death. But limitless riches and a life of infinite luxury could be his rewards. The eager youth deemed the risk well worth taking.

To Thurmond, any danger was preferable to the tedious village existence to which he had been born. He had never fit in. His thick brown hair was considered dubious in a community composed mostly of mousy blonds. Moreover, he was naturally intelligent, articulate, and ambitious. With such terrible disadvantages working against him, he could never expect the simpleminded laborers who tilled Lord Beaufort’s farm fields to wholly accept him.

But worst of all, he had what his mother called the bing—an engaging, vivacious gleam in his eyes that was altogether lacking in your typical peasant. The village wives knew such attractive eyes could only be trouble. They might sour the ale, curdle a cow’s milk, or bring carbuncles to one’s buttocks. Thus his neighbors often turned away when they saw him coming and crooked their fingers behind their backs to ward off evil.

So he had fled his village, secure in the belief that he possessed all the requisites to become a top-tier Adventurer. Though of medium height and build, Thurmond was strong for his size, and his exceptional nimbleness had always served him well in village games. He had arrived in Gorgonholm supremely certain that the Adventurers would at once recognize him as a kindred spirit and admit him to their company.

Unfortunately, none of this had worked out as planned. He had, so far, been soundly rebuffed in his efforts to ingratiate himself into their ranks. The Adventurers were entirely unimpressed with his unbridled optimism, and his enthusiastic overtures had met naught but insult, mockery, and indifference. Even his bing had failed to move them.

Alas, Thurmond possessed no weapons, no armor, nor any money with which to purchase these essential tools. He was untrained in the use of the sword or spear or bow. He could not find his path by the stars, follow a track, scale a castle wall, pick a lock, or handle a galloping horse. He had no influential friends or family on which to draw.

The Adventurers were practical men who demanded more than bubbling energy from those seeking admission to their order. They wanted experienced fighters and stalwart outdoorsmen. Men of proven mettle. Men of ability and means. Callow boys were decidedly unwelcome, and they made sure poor Thurmond was well aware of this fact.

Nonetheless, his passion remained undimmed, for he was a tenacious lad who refused to be discouraged. He was certain that his worth would sooner or later be recognized. Thus he often lingered about a notorious drinking den that flourished under the name of the Old Traitor’s Head, more typically called the Severed Head or sometimes simply the Head. Its signboard depicted a freshly decapitated head held aloft by fingers entwined in its hair. Gouts of blood oozed from its stump of a neck.

This was where the Adventurers gathered to swill, relive past exploits, and discuss upcoming projects. Thurmond would often hang about, making himself useful in whatever way came along, usually running errands or delivering messages. But mostly he listened to the wild stories the Adventurers told, sometimes horrid accounts of death and deception but also fabulous tales of valor and treasure.

He had been en route to the Head when the corner boys jumped him, but with them disposed of, he was able to resume his journey. The sun had set beneath the city’s western wall when he at last took his accustomed place on a bench just outside the main entrance. This was a good spot. By now, the Adventurers all recognized his face, and some of them knew his name. So he was often asked to tend to the horses of new arrivals or to carry messages to such and such that such and such was back in the city.

Thurmond had been sitting on that bench for nearly two years now, but he would not give up. His determination must eventually pique the interest of some Adventurer who would then give him the chance to prove his skill and courage. Seldom, though, did he actually venture inside the tavern, where he would be expected to spend his scant coin on their notoriously overpriced ale.

But tonight Lady Fortune was indeed smiling on the lad, for he found himself—after only a moment and to his great surprise—summoned inside. A surly man-at-arms emerged from the tavern’s door, poked him on the shoulder, and without a word beckoned him to come along. Thurmond’s attempt to question the man was met with only a grunt and an impolite gesture, so he followed him through the main room and into one of the side chambers reserved for the more affluent clients.

There he met a well-groomed man with all the trappings of a gentleman—elegant clothes, long curled hair, fine jewelry, and expensive weapons. The man-at-arms took a position behind him, glaring, arms folded in a stance of physical menace.

Though trembling with excitement, Thurmond tried to keep all emotion from his voice.

“You sent for me, sir?”

The gentleman’s voice was controlled, silky, and soft.

“You are Thurmond.” This was a statement, not a question.

“Aye.”

“I have seen you about and asked after you. I have been told that you are a man who understands things, who knows how things happen.”

Thurmond had no idea who might have said such things about him, but he was pleased to hear them.

“Aye, sir. I always keep my eyes skinned and my ear to the wall.”

“More to the point, are you a man who knows how not to ask questions?”

“I am.”

“And how not to reveal what he has heard if questioned by others?”

“Aye! I certainly am such a man.”

“Then, as such a man, I am certain that you are already aware that good things often come in a series of threes. Perhaps a marriage, a child, and unforeseen wealth.”

Thurmond was confused. Why would the man mention such things to him? What could he want?

“Aye, sir. I have heard tell of such.”

“And ill things also come in threes. Loss of fortune, defamation, death.”

“I have heard that, too.”

Thurmond was growing impatient with these seemingly meaningless questions, but the well-groomed man seemed not to notice.

“Well, perhaps you haven’t heard that tests of character—of courage, intelligence, and skill—also come in threes. Those who pass such tests find themselves on the path to their heart’s desires. What is your heart’s desire, my friend?”

This, at least, was easy to answer.

“To become an Adventurer. To gain wealth and renown by the doing of great deeds. To ride a warhorse and wear armor of iron plate. To be remembered for my fortitude and honor.”

“Then you may be the perfect man for a job I have to offer, for it could start you on the path you wish to follow.

“And what job would that be?”

The gentleman now had Thurmond’s full attention.

“I cannot tell you now. This place is too public, and the personage I represent demands the utmost discretion. Come tomorrow, one hour after the setting of the sun, to the small hill halfway between the South Gate and the mill of the Gray Friars. Do you know the place?”

“I do.”

“Good. Then come tomorrow at the appointed hour. I will wait on the summit for one-quarter hour, no more. Consider this appointment the first test of three. If you appear at the agreed place and time, you will be given a task, which will be the second of your trials. Succeed in that, and you will be charged with a third and much more difficult undertaking.

“Bring that off successfully, and you will be granted a position that will lead to the fulfillment of your heart’s desire. You will become a soldier for a great lord, be given weapons and armor, and be trained in their use. You will be well fed and earn a generous stipend. After a given term, you will be allowed to leave service should you so choose. What say you?”

This was the answer to all of Thurmond’s most fervent prayers, but he still kept his voice controlled.

“I say aye! Of course I will meet you tomorrow one hour before sunset on the hill halfway between South Gate and the mill of the Gray Friars. I am your man already. Command me, and I will do your bidding at this moment.”

“Your zeal is commendable but premature. Appear at the appointed place and hour, and you will be informed of what is expected. You are dismissed.”

“By what name should I call you?”

But the well-groomed one just shook his head.

“We have no need to become acquainted.”