Valliere stared into his glass, his mind clouded with thoughts. Thoughts as dark as the ale he was drinking. Not as sweet as fruit of the vine but the end result was the same and that was all he sought. Numbness. At the other table McCormick laughed with his newfound highland friend. Speaking in their loud boisterous Avalon they all but ignored Valliere and that was fine by him.

Blast that duChevalier! Valliere deeply regretted the explosion that bought him his freedom but cost, he was sure, the lives of so many. But he had seen it in duChevalier's eyes as they dined the night before. This was no idle mission for this man. The joy of the hunt did not twinkle in his eyes, what burned there instead were the flames of war. Yes, war. Why else would he bring a ten-gun ship against, what was by the descriptions he received, little more than a river barge? Why else would he bring over 30 men at arms against 3 men? Well then, If war is what he wants then Valliere will bring that to him!

Call him a murderer would he? How Valliere had longed to tell him how those blanket statements of accusation did not befit a gentleman. How they were more likely something that would fall from the lips of the Inquisitors. But it would do no good and it would only risk his ruse as a noble fop. No, Valliere was not a murderer. Valliere was a soldier and duChevalier's men had paid the price for his bringing war against Valliere and his friends. Their deaths are on his head then! "Le ravage du cri et librent les chiens de la guerre!"