Dieredon shook his head.
“Never your place, Graeven. Die now, and may Celestia grant you the mercy I cannot give.”
Haern put his saber against the elf’s back, its tip aimed for the heart.
“Farewell,” he said, thrusting. Graeven gasped, his hands twitched, and then he lay still.
Dieredon slowly rose to his feet, careful to put as little weight on his wounded leg as possible. Meanwhile, Haern took a saber to his own cloak and cut off his hood. Tossing the cloth aside, he removed Graeven’s hood and held it in his hands. Flecks of blood stained it, but they were well hidden by the dark material. Taking a deep breath, he pulled it over his head. Shadows immediately covered his face, and when he spoke, his voice changed, a subtle magic weaving over his words.
“It’s finished,” he said.
Dieredon frowned at him.
“You would honor him in his death?” he asked, gesturing to the hood.
Haern shook his head.
“No honor, and not for him,” he said. “Remembrance, so I might never forget what I may one day become.”
“And what is that?”
He glanced at Graeven’s corpse.
“We’re men, not gods, regardless of how many lives we take. Can you run?”
Dieredon shook his head.
“Go on without me. Find your friends at the docks. I’ll not be far behind.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
No running, no leaping from rooftops. Haern carefully climbed down from the roof, put his feet on solid ground, and limped toward the docks.
26
Dawn was fast approaching, but that only meant the night was at its darkest as Haern slowly approached the docks. Even from afar, he saw a sight that made his heart ache. Clenching his teeth, he tried to hope for the best.
“No,” he whispered. “Please, Ashhur…no, it can’t end like this. It can’t be this way.”
Yet Zusa’s body lay so very still.
Holding his cloaks tighter, for he suddenly felt terribly cold, he kept walking. Alyssa was nowhere in sight. Even the many docked boats appeared empty. Haern could imagine where they’d gone, to Ingram’s most likely. Let them fight over the city, he thought. Far as he was concerned, they could have it.
At Zusa’s body, he knelt, and put his hand against her neck. He held his breath, and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the bloody wounded in her chest, not wanting to think about who had done it.
There was a pulse.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Tearing at his own cloak, he stuffed the cleanest parts he could find against the wound, to stem the soft blood flow. After that he tied it, careful when he lifted her. She grunted at the movement, and he saw her open her eyes. With tender care, he removed the wrappings from her face so he could see her better. A moment later her eyes came into focus, and she looked his way. Despite her obvious pain, a hint of a smile crossed her lips.
“Knew…you would,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Shush,” he told her, focusing on bandaging the wound. “Lie still until I can look at this better. Can’t believe you’re even alive.”
He heard the sound of soft footsteps on the wood, and he glanced back to see Dieredon arrive. He’d wrapped his wounded leg, and somewhere had found a long stick of wood to use as a crutch.
“Where is Alyssa?” he asked, glancing about the empty dock.
“They took her,” Zusa said, having to swallow repeatedly so her voice would not crack.
“Who?” Haern asked.
“Merchants…They’ll give her to the elves.”
Dieredon shook his head and muttered a few words in elvish.
“If we’re to save her, I need to act quickly. Can you escape the city on your own?”
“We’ll need to heal her first,” said Haern. “Give me an hour or so, and I think I can get us out.”
The elf nodded.
“I cannot be seen in here come daylight,” he said. “For obvious reasons, I don’t think the guards would take too kindly to my presence.”
Haern chuckled.
“Where shall we find you?”
“I’ll find you,” Dieredon said. “That’s what I’m best at. Just stay on the roads, and good luck, Watcher.”
He hurried away, moving at a remarkable pace for having to use a crutch. Haern watched him go, then turned back to Zusa. Her dark skin was growing pale, and he knew time was short.
“Should be used to this by now,” he muttered as he took her into his arms.
“Still don’t….like it,” she said, and despite the chaos of the night, he laughed.
Step by step, he told himself as he took her down the quiet street. Step by step.
At the entrance to the temple, he tried the door and found it locked. Beating on it with his fists, he waited, leaning beside the door to help support both his weight and Zusa’s. When he was met with only silence, he tried again, then a third time, refusing to be turned away. At last the door cracked open, first only a little, then wide as Nole realized who was there.
“We had nowhere else to go,” Haern told him. “She needs healing, and quickly. Will you help us?”
Nole chewed on his lower lip.
“You would trust me?” he asked.
“As I said…I have little choice.”
The priest nodded.
“Bring her in.”
Haern carried her into the empty temple.
“I sent Logan home when the fires started,” said the priest as he gestured to the nearest bench. “Thought it best he be with his family should something happen. This city grows worse with every day. What happened to Zusa?”
“She was stabbed by a blade,” Haern said, stepping away so he could lean against a wall. His breathing had grown short, and carrying Zusa had sapped what little strength he’d had left. Nole looked over the wound, a deep frown across his face.
“I’m not sure I can heal this,” he said.
“You better damn well try.”
“You don’t understand, my faith the past few days has been…weak. I fear this is beyond me. Ashhur may not hear my prayers.”
Haern took a step toward him, then suddenly lunged and grabbed the priest by the front of his robe and yanked him close so they could speak face to face.
“I don’t care,” he said. “You hear me? I don’t care what you did, that you betrayed me, or how badly you’ve failed before. You kneel there and you heal her. Don’t give Ashhur a choice to hear you, you understand?”
Nole nodded, and he looked visibly relieved when Haern let him go. Turning back to Zusa, the priest knelt, his hands on her wounds. He bowed his head and began to pray. Too scared to watch, Haern closed his eyes and waited. And hoped.
At last the prayers ceased. Still hesitant to look, he waited, head low, until he felt a hand touch his face. Opening his eyes, he saw Zusa standing there, her bloody bandages still on the bench, her revealed skin scarred but healed. Nole sat beside her, in tears.
