"Let's have another, Leru," she said, tossing a coin beside the mug.

He pointedly ignored her. Instead, he continued his cleaning, and then barred his door for the night, hoping she'd take the hint.

She had been lodging in his tavern since she had first come into town, and had spent every single night thereafter in his bar. Drunk through the nights and asleep through the days, she rarely left the place. And it had become nightly routine to have to usher her up to bed so he could turn in himself.

But to be fair, he liked her. The men liked her. She was good for business. These things he couldn't deny. And if not for her, he reminded himself, he may not even have a business anymore. Or much else, for that matter.

It had been only her second night in his pub, he remembered, when three thugs had burst in and threatened to burn the place to the ground unless he hand over his son, whom they claimed had stolen from them. They searched the place, but thankfully, his son hadn't been there that night. When he could tell them nothing, they made personal threats against him before finally leaving with the promise of their return.

The incident all but cleared his tavern that night. And the next night hardly saw the usual crowd. But she had returned, and when the pub cleared out that night, she had approached him.

"You should have this," she said as she handed him a crude dagger. "Or your son should. I do believe it was meant for him."

Leru recognized the weapon as the one the largest of the three brutes had viciously waived in his face the previous night.

Smiling eyes met his incredulous stare, and he understood. They would not be coming back. Ever.

He looked her over, as though for the first time. He had not at first taken her for one of such violence, but now, yes, after giving her a more careful look, he could see the truth of it.

"I don't know how to thank you. I can pay you only very little. What I have is�"

"You can start with a drink," she interrupted as she made herself comfortable at the bar, "but there is something you can do for me in return." She motioned him closer and, in a conspiratorial whisper, said, "I want you to keep something for me."

After that night, she had become something of a fixture in his establishment . . . as had something else. Since then, she'd claimed her own particular seat at the bar, and woe be to the one who didn't give it up when she walked in. Leru knew the reason for this, and he would placate her. He owed her. He'd simply taken to removing that stool during the day, and kicking it into place when she came in in the evening. So far, it hadn't caused any problems. Most didn't raise the issue. A mug on the house would normally quiet anyone who had something to say about it.

He looked at her now, as he worked his way over to her, clearing dirty mugs from the bar. He knew a defeated soul when he saw one. All the carousal and revelry to be found in a mug couldn't hide it from eyes wizened from years of tending bar. Each night she seemed more colorless than the last, as if she would soon fade from view altogether.

She looked up and smiled expectantly as he came nearer, but her smile became a frown when he simply took her mug and dropped it in with the rest of his wash. He took a damp rag from where it was slung over his shoulder and wiped the space in front of her, pushing her coin back toward her.

Her questioning look lasted only a second before she nodded with understanding. "Here again, are we?"

He knew what she meant. This, indeed, was routine. Tiresome routine. Leru balled his rag, tossed it onto the bar between them, and leaned forward on both his hairy arms, giving her the look he usually reserved for those moments when his daughters were unruly.

She instantly straightened, and their eyes met � hers surprisingly clear, he noticed, for all the ale she had put away that night.

"What are you doing here, Donnie?"

She appeared confused at first. Then a wry smile crept onto her face, and soon she laughed out loud, obviously drunk despite the illusory clarity in her eyes. "What are any of us doing here? The damned, the righteous, the cursed, the blessed? As for me?" She leaned closer to him as if to share a profound secret. "I'm Fate's bitch, and Fate is not yet finished fucking me."

"None of that, now," he said, as stern as before.

She settled back into her slouch and sighed. "Oh, Leru. . . ."

"'Oh, Leru' nothing! Look at you, girl, wastin' your nights in here with the scum that walks in off the streets." He lowered his voice. "Somethin' happened to you out there, and it's no business of mine to know what," he quickly added, "but it's no reason to drink your sense away."

She shook her head. "Enough, my friend. You don't know what I've�"

"No, I'll not stop. You listen to old Leru," he said, pointing a finger at himself. "You're too young to have give it up already. You lose your way, you get out and find another. I've seen too many lost souls wastin' away in here. Don't be one of them, Donnova."

He realized he hadn't used, or even heard, her real name since that night she had brought him the dead man's blade. It had fondly been "Donnie" ever since. He could tell it had gotten her attention.

"I'm not so young," she said.

"But not so old that you can't fight another day," he said, shaking a fist in the air. "And you are a fighter. But you're fightin' yourself, and let me tell you, you've picked the wrong fight.

"Your life's out there. It's not here, not in the bottom of an ale. You were meant for better things, Donnie, and don't you deny it. I've seen the proof!"

The woman sat, saying nothing.

Leru watched her closely, wondering if he was getting through. He didn't want to go on. To say more would surely be overstepping a boundary, he felt. And then there were things he couldn't bring himself to say. He had hoped she would find her own way in time, but he had long realized she simply wasn't looking. Old men could be content to drink themselves into oblivion, he decided, but not his Donnie, not anymore. He couldn't let her go on this way.

As he watched her, he started to regret having said anything at all. What place did he have to be lecturing her on how to live her life? He suddenly felt frozen in a moment that would not progress until the living statue before him deigned to move. He was beginning to think another drink wasn't a bad idea after all.

"Don't look at me like that," she said softly, and then with some annoyance, added, "And don't say such things about me. I'm no heroine, Leru. I am many things . . . but a heroine I am not!"

Leru didn't know what to say, and so he said nothing, only hung his head.

"I know what this is about," she said. "And believe me, I dread it more than you ever could." She paused and sighed. "Damned tether . . . holding me in this world . . . a way for the old man to control me, damn him!"

Then she was quiet, and he saw the inner struggle within her eyes, as if she was trying to make a momentous decision.

"Give it to me," she said at last, startling him. "Give it to me so that I can avenge myself upon the fiend!"

"Now, Donnie�"

"Just . . . give it to me. That's what you want, isn't it? To be free of it? You have an idea now of how it feels, don't you? How it feels to be bound to such a thing and finding no peace with it!"

He of course knew what it was she spoke of. The thought of the thing, and of whom she claimed had given it to her, had haunted him his every day and night. He paled at her request for it now, but was hopeful at the thought of being relieved of it.

But it was not that he felt bound to it. He felt no connection to it as she described. He'd kept it for her out of a sense of obligation. Hearing her speak of it like this made much sense against what he'd come to know of her quirks and habits.

After knowing her as long as he had, he was amazed at how little he'd really known her. Part of him wanted to pity her, but he found he felt more guilt than pity. It was a feeling like not realizing the signs that someone you love was as sick as she truly was until it was too late.

He looked at her, thinking of his poor wife who'd died so young so long ago. He thought of their children, and of how Donnie had come to be like another daughter to him. As obstinate as any of them, but then, he'd raised them all to be of strong will. Without his gentle wife's guiding hand, he'd had to prepare them for the cruelties of the world the best way a father could.

He felt that all he had done for Donnie was hold her back as he allowed her to hide from the world. He had to make her whole again. He would give it back to her, as she'd asked. It was time she reclaimed her property.

He knelt and worked to remove the two floorboards where he had been standing. Then he reached inside a secret space and brought out a long wooden box from within.

As he rose to set it on the bar in front of her, his eyes came level with bloody fingers that wiped a bloody key with his dirty rag. His grip nearly faltered at the sight, but he managed to set the box carefully atop the bar before backing away.

Her attention fixed on the case. She inserted the key into the lock and turned it. Leru flinched at the click of the lock's release, in spite of himself.

She laid her pale hands on the box and let them rest there a moment before looking up at him. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until their eyes met. He tried to read the expression on her drawn face. Was she looking for encouragement, or waiting for him to suggest it be hidden away again? He couldn't decide. But then she cast her eyes back down and, without haste, opened it.

Leru peered inside. Firelight danced along the blade of a sword that looked as if it had only recently been crafted and polished. He knew enough, at least, to know this was not the case. He silently willed her to take it, for he had never felt right or comfortable with such a thing in his care.

She reached to take it up, but stayed her hand, letting it hover a moment over its golden hilt. Finally, she removed it from the case and stood. She stepped away from the bar and held it out, tip pointing to the ceiling. It came to life with a shimmering glow.

Leru looked on in awe. "For one to be given such a grand thing . . . there must be purpose," he said in a soft, reverent voice. "You have a destiny, my girl."

"Not my own, I fear," she said with antipathy. Then she sighed, tilting her head as she regarded the blade. "You wouldn't believe how many times I've tried to rid myself of this . . . thing," she said in disgust. "I've tossed it from cliffs, thrown it into rivers, weighted it into quicksand, but after a time, it always returns. Blessing or curse, it is a part of me." She looked back at him. "I needed one to take it from me. It was the only way. I knew that as long as it was in your keeping, it could not haunt me."

But it had haunted her still, he realized. And he remembered then that she had made him take it from her. She had not handed it to him.

It was a part of her, she'd said. Yes, this was why she couldn't leave. This was why she would sit so closely to where it was hidden. As much as she claimed that she wanted to be rid of it, it seemed she could not bear to be wholly without it. A tether, indeed, he thought.

She lowered the sword, and its glow faded. "I'm sorry, my friend. I placed a great burden upon you these long months. One you never deserved. You've done me a service beyond favor, and I thank you for that."

He shook his head. "I've done you no service, Donnie. No service at all."

"You gave me refuge."

But he couldn't see that as having helped her. He opened his mouth to say so, but she spoke first.

"When I needed it," she added, obviously anticipating him.

Leru nodded. "S'pose I did," he said quietly.

"I roamed this realm until my feet were sore and my soul was empty. I was defeated and weary. I'd given up on finding a way home. It may be that there is no way home for me. But you're right. I can't stop looking. I have no place here."

"You do have�"

"No . . . no," she said, shaking her head. "No place." She took the scabbard from the case and sheathed the sword. A small smile played on her lips at the ringing of it against the sputcheon. He smiled with her.

She drew in a long breath and looked around. "It is late, isn't it?"

He understood, and nodded with knowing eyes. After a slight hesitation, she nodded back, and then headed for the door.

Leru stepped out from behind the bar and started to say something, but she had already let herself out. What was there left to say? He simply barred the door again and placed a hand against it. Something told him he'd never see her again. He hoped he was wrong. He felt as though he were losing a daughter, and from his heart, he wished her peace on her journey.

Then, in honor of so many other nights of conversation and laughter, he smiled at the empty room and quietly said, "Oh, get out of here, Donnie, and let an old man to bed."

From behind her, she heard Leru replace the bar at the door, and an all too familiar feeling filled her. She knew she had just seen him for the last time.

"Goodbye, my friend." A whisper in the night. Wasn't that what most of her friends were now? she thought.

She looked down to see a man sitting slouched against the wall. She guessed he was asleep under the hood that covered his head, probably passed out from too much ale. Without Leru's intervention tonight, she thought, she might have done the same.

She breathed deeply of the cool night air before strapping the scabbard onto her back, a task which her hands quickly accomplished on their own from remembered habit. The moons were high and bright, giving plenty of light by which to travel. She picked a direction and started walking.

She had made it just beyond the edge of the town when she stopped and looked back. She had spent more time here than almost anywhere else in the Realm. Hadn't it grown on her at all? Her eyes moved from house to barn to shop, and she pondered the detachment she already felt, the ease with which she could slip away into the night. Everything so distant so quickly. It had already become part of her past, as if stepping beyond the boundary of this place were stepping into a new era of her life. It all seemed so remote that she could imagine herself already forgotten, even by Leru.

"Forget me quickly. It's better that way," she said to everyone yet no one, and turned her back to all that had become familiar to her.

She had only taken a few steps when she saw something move beyond the brush ahead of her. Instinctively, she froze, but she was fully exposed by the moonlight and there was no cover here. Without sound, it came closer, becoming a familiar shape in the shadows. That familiarity was not comforting, however, and she cursed herself for her sluggish mind. She had almost reached her sword when recognition hit like a blow to the head.

"Oh, no. No, no, no," she moaned. She rubbed her eyes and stumbled backwards, as much from too much drink as from the added weight on her back that had not yet become as familiar as it once had been. But when she reopened her eyes, it was still there. He was still there.

"So, I take it you're not a drunken illusion, after all," she said.

He shook his head.

"Dungeon Master. . . . I told you I never wanted to see you again," she said, trying to keep her eyes focused on him. But then something occurred to her. "No. I change my mind. It's good you're here." She drew the sword out. "You must take this back. I never want to see it again. Take it! You're the one who gave it to me. You're the only one who can take it back!"

Dungeon Master shook his head again.

"Take it back, damn you!" She plunged the sword into the ground at his feet, but he did not move.

She watched him as she backed away, struggling to keep her balance, until she felt she'd put enough distance between them. Then she turned, intent on leaving both Dungeon Master and the sword far behind, but there he was again, the sword in the ground in front of him. She looked back where he had been, and then to where he was now.

"Why do you vex me? You have the sword, now leave me in peace! I told you never to appear to me again unless. . . ."

Unless you come to show me the way home, she remembered.

He nodded, as though he'd read her mind, and she visibly calmed.

Now she eyed him suspiciously. "Your timing is remarkable," she said in an acerbic tone. "One might think you've been watching me, waiting all this time for me to decide I was willing to try one last time.

"And I take it that your presence here now is your way of letting me know I have no chance of getting home on my own. I suppose I need you. And you like that, don't you?"

She watched him, but no answer was forthcoming. Letting out a long breath, she rubbed an aching temple and let herself slump to the ground, cross-legged. She smoothed her hands over her face to try to wipe away her lingering stupor, as well as a few errant strands of her long hair.

Then she looked up again, hoping he simply wouldn't be there. Like she had dreamed it, after all. But there he remained, waiting patiently, unobtrusively, with that patronizing smile on his wrinkled face.

She stared at him, weighing possibilities she knew didn't exist. She knew she couldn't win this. Not now, probably not ever. What was he? What were his limits? What was his weakness? Could he be defeated?

But then she heard Leru's voice in her mind, yelling at her to stop picking fights with the largest men in his place, threatening to cut her off and make her clean up the entire tavern if she didn't want to be kicked out for causing trouble.

But this wasn't a letting-off of some fortunate soul; it was her own surrender, and her only choice at the moment.

"Right. Let's have it, then," she said, feeling the familiar sense of defeat once more. She sighed. "Riddles and all."