I gasped to see my lover, Lictor François Cleuves, laid low by such a fierce blow from such a diminutive figure, and longed to rush to his side. Yet I could see the cold steel gaze of a true Hellknight in the eyes of the gnome, just as I often saw in my lover's eyes, and knew that only merciless death awaited there. I could not restrain myself from crying out in anguish, however.

"You are unfit to command a Hellknight order, Lictor Cleuves," declaimed the gnome harshly. "The unbreakable will and discipline of a Hellknight cannot be adulterated with pity or," here he sneered and spat, "tender feelings."

No clockwork-mad half-fey was this gnome, but a true Hellknight, I knew undoubtedly in my heart. He hefted an axe half again as large as he, and wore the dark armor of a Hellknight of Lictorial rank.

"You are wrong, Paralictor Gilles de Renge," replied my lover coldly, unbroken in spirit though he was laid low by the gnome's blow. "For though I have taken a lover, I freely admit, it has only strengthened my remorseless discipline."

"Then why," sneered de Renge, "did you fall so quickly before me? I expected a fight more worthy of a Lictor of a Hellknight order. But perhaps I shall see for myself." His sneer grew larger and more monstrous, and his remorseless eyes fell upon me. "For I shall claim this insipid lover of yours as the spoils of my victory."

My heart raced.