1. Lachandro was at his workbench in the early morning light. Lachandro’s tower was in the square of the dawn, facing east towards the river. Lachandro looked at his workbench, the mess he had left in his fury when he was last here waited for him. The artifice had seemed so important hours ago. He looked down at his hand and idly wiped at some dried blood. It wasn’t his.
2.  
3. It had been a matter of honor, Lachandro told himself. It had been a matter of vengeance before long. In retrospect, his feud with Kalibos had mostly been silly. Kalibos’ pride as the King’s Magician had prevented him from acknowledging Lachandro’s obviously superior work. And Lachandro had been unable to resist the urge of needling Kalibos’ pride. Leandro shook his head, he would not do this. He would not commiserate for a murderer. Lachandro’s wife Ariel and his unborn child lay in his family sepulchre, lay dead.
4.  
5. Lachandro put away his materials, the ivory, the bronze, the sweet iron, His punches and chisels, his anointing powder, his divided notes of appearance. Each only a small segment of the whole to prevent unintended spell work. Kalibos’ pride as an artificer had been almost entirely unearned. His talismans weak, his fetishes uncompelling. It turns out that his position had been almost entirely determined by his fathers politicking.
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7. Lachandro looked across at the staff he had wrestled from Kalibos. It was a thing of the old style, well made and contained spirits and hexes and boons aplenty. It had been Kalibos’ father’s who passed it down to his son. It was neat work and for a brief moment Lachandro wished he had known Kalibos’ father. Told him to keep his know-nothing son far from court.
8.  
9. But it didn’t matter now. Kalibos was dead, dozens of the king’s guards were dead, the king himself was dead. It was over for him, soon the people would find that he had committed Regicide and the fact that it had merely been a stepping stone to the murder of the man’s artificer would not save him from the wrath of the mob. He could keep fighting, but no number of devices, no amount of sorcery could guarantee his safety. There was always some bladesman, some archer, some backstabber that knew enough about artifice or were equipped to be dangerous.  
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11. There were distant shouts now. His attack had been fierce, his weapon, the artifact sword Potere had been terrifying. It had far exceeded his expectations even if he had been repulsed at the ingredients. He would pay that debt sooner or later. But between his shield, his talisman and his sword he had been nearly unstoppable. He looked at his hands now, they shook slightly. The artifice had made his sword more then deadly, it made him deadly. It made him into a weapon. He started tidying his lab, trying to ignore the shaking in his hands. Whatever happened in the city wasn’t his concern. His life had been ruined and he had repaid the debt in full. It was all a man could ask for.
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13. Lachandro went thru his materials by rote. Picking out the more valuable and lighter reagents he prepared to flee the city-state of his birth. Logna had been his home for his scant years. He finally looked at his home, his tower. Leandro was packed and prepared to leave. His sword and shield hung with his pack at his back. There was nothing holding him here. Not anymore.
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15. Leandro turned and then froze as there was a knock at the door. It thudded thru his reverie with its heavy sound. His hand shook and reached instinctively for his sword before he stopped them.