“That’s true enough,” Han said, looking after her, shaking his head. He turned to Dancer. “You don’t have to put up with her ragging about the clans, you know.”

“She’s all right. It’s nothing worse than what I’ve heard in the Vale.” Dancer pushed his bowl away. “Want to go to the library now?”

Han shook his head. “Later. After dinner, maybe. I’m going to stop by Hampton and drop off my books, then I have to go see Abelard.” He rolled his eyes. “I an’t looking forward to that.”

Han crossed the quad to Hampton Hall. The dormitory seemed deserted, all the students either in the dining hall or in class. He loped up the four flights of stairs to the top floor. When he reached the landing, a stench hit his nose. Excrement. Pressing his sleeve over his face, he looked up and down the corridor. The door to his room stood open. Drawing his blade, he soft-footed down the hallway, his other hand planted firmly on his amulet. Keeping his body canted to one side, he eased his head around the door frame and looked into his room.

It had been completely trashed. His clothing had been dragged out of his trunk and sliced to pieces, his books yanked from the shelf and shredded, his lamp smashed on the floor, the oil soaking into the wood. His bedclothes were ripped from his bed, torn apart, and scattered. It appeared that a number of brimming chamber pots had been dumped on top.

A gout of anger flamed up in him.

The protective charms he’d laid had done no good whatsoever. And he knew exactly who was responsible. Someone who knew Han would be down in the dining hall. Someone Han didn’t remember seeing there.

Micah’s words came back to him. I know where you live, Alister, and I’ve got plenty of time.

Turning, he swung around the corner into the stairwell, heading for Micah Bayar’s rooms on the second floor. Two steps down, he tripped and went flying, head over heels down the stairs, slamming into the wall at the bottom of the first flight and bouncing down a second flight of stairs.

Han should have been dead, but he knew how to take a fall. He bounced once or twice on the way down, which slowed him down some, and he managed to wrap his arms around his head before landing painfully on his right shoulder on the landing at the bottom, his head hanging over the top step. He’d narrowly missed tumbling down the third and final flight. His knife flew out of his hand and landed with a ping down below.