Ten years ago Welkin laid down his staff and hawk's beak, shut himself away, and tried to forget a lifetime of rancor and bloodshed. Last night a pair of bravos kicked in his front door and tried to cut that life short. Neither bravo died well, but die they most certainly did. Now Welkin has a problem that extends beyond the stains on his floor. Who hired this incompetent pair of killers? How did they get past his wards and warnings? More importantly,...