Three times, even.
Then his ears heard what he had feared: something walking directly behind him. The others might not see him, but seeing wouldn’t be necessary if one stumbled directly atop his prone body. His good hand fingered the bow pinned beneath him. If discovered, he would die fighting. The footsteps neared. A clacking sound haunted his hearing. It rattled sporadically, and it was most certainly bone hitting bone. He imagined a loose jaw hanging by only one side, or perhaps a hand held by a thread of flesh banging against a rotted femur.
It took all his will not to scream when a great weight pressed against his shoulder. Pain exploded throughout his body, so great that he blacked out as he lay there in the grass, a horde of undead searching for his wounded form.
A s Dieredon fought for his life, Harruq and Qurrah snuck their way through the streets of Woodhaven. They avoided the light of lamps at all costs and stopped only a moment so Harruq could don his new armor. They had to be careful, for if any saw the two half-orcs traveling amid the dark their lives would be forfeit.
When they neared Celed, Qurrah halted. He stared down a particular street for a long while before closing his eyes. Harruq waited in silence.
“That is the way,” Qurrah said. “It will be the only gated home.”
“I already see it,” Harruq said. He pointed at a sizable mansion that stood out above the smaller nearby homes. The two brothers hurried into the space between the fence and the surrounding buildings.
“It seems our friend has some prominence,” Qurrah said. Harruq nodded in agreement. The two-story mansion was beautifully painted and decorated. The sides of the building were a deep brown, like the trunk of an ancient tree. The roof jutted out far past the walls. It was the color of wet leaves. Many windows decorated the front, all covered with silken curtains. The fence surrounded the entire property, black iron spiked ten feet at the top.
“How do we get in?” Harruq asked. Qurrah examined the fence, his face locked in a frown.
“I don’t know. I have no spells that can aid us.”
The bigger half-orc stood and stretched his muscles.
“Well, up to me then.” He took out Condemnation, grinning as the soft red glow lit up his face. “Let’s see how strong this girl is.”
He swung the blade. Qurrah closed his eyes and hoped no significant enchantments guarded the fence. If any did, they fizzled against the magic of the ancient sword. Two of the bars Harruq cut cleanly, and a third he dented in enough so that a follow up chop sliced it like butter. Pleased, Harruq reached up and took two of the bars into his hands. His neck bulged, his arm muscles tensed, and then the iron screeched backward. Both winced at the noise. They did not move for the next five minutes.
When both felt comfortable, Harruq shoved the third bar forward, giving them a nice clean entrance. The two brothers slipped under, the bigger half-orc having to squeeze his arms together to manage his way through. They slunk across the lawn to the front door.
“Hold,” Qurrah said softly. “I will take care of this.”
Harruq shrugged and let his brother work.
Qurrah stood erect, his hands touching the sturdy oak. Words of magic slipped from his lips. The shadows that weaved about the door suddenly gained life, crawling and gliding until impenetrable darkness covered every bit of oak.
“What’d that do?” Harruq asked. His deep voice seemed like thunder in the quiet, although he did his best to speak softly.
“Follow me,” Qurrah whispered. “You will see.”
He took a step forward and vanished into the shadows. Harruq glanced around, swallowed, took two quick breaths, and then hopped into the door with his eyes squeezed shut. He expected to thud against wood, feel a strange sense of vertigo, or some other bizarre sensation usually accompanied with magic. Instead, he felt only the slightest tingle of cold air before his feet thumped against the floor. He opened his eyes to see a posh living room decorated with red and gold furniture, silk sheets, and a lit fireplace. Everything oozed elegance, to a point that even the half-orcs knew was over the top. When Harruq looked behind him, the darkness had left the door.
“Why did you not do that to the gate?” he asked.
“I can let us pass but a single object at a time,” Qurrah whispered. “The bars had gaps between them.”
Harruq gestured to the room.
“Amazing no one ever robbed this guy before,” he said. Qurrah shot him a glance, his meaning clear. The half-orc shrugged, drew his swords, and began walking. A sleek staircase led to the upper floor, while through the hallway they could see a room with an iron stove and shelves for storing food.
“Which way do we go?” Harruq asked.
“Up,” Qurrah said. “And quiet, before you wake him.”
“Too late,” said a voice from the stairs. Both turned to see Ahrqur standing at the top step, his arms crossed. He was dressed in a long green robe. Silver swirls marked the sleeves and front. Brown hair fell far past his shoulders.
“Pleased to meet you,” Harruq said with a bow.
“Indeed,” Qurrah said, his hand itching to retrieve his whip curled underneath his raggedy robe.
“If you are thieves, you are certainly incompetent ones,” Ahrqur said, his voice filled with contempt. He descended halfway down the stairs, his eyes never leaving the two. “Of course, what could one expect from Celestia’s cursed?”
“We are not thieves, Ahrqur Tun’del,” Qurrah said. “We are assassins.” The whip writhed around his arm, begging for use.
“Arrogant ones at that,” said the elf. “Such a claim is foolish. If you were assassins, you would strike without chatter. You are nothing but pretenders.”
Harruq clanged his swords together, showering the ground with sparks. His armor shimmered as his anger grew.
“Pretenders with wonderful toys,” the elf continued, eyeing Harruq’s blades. “Toys I will take from your dead bodies.”
He leapt down the stairs in a single bound. His feet hardly touched before he was vaulting over a red silk couch to land before the fireplace. He drew an ornate sword that hung over the fireplace, letting the scabbard fall to the floor. The blade gleamed in the firelight, impossibly sharp and deadly.
“I have killed a hundred like you,” Ahrqur said.
“And I hope to kill a thousand just like you,” Harruq said, clanging his swords together one more time before lunging across the room. Salvation and Condemnation smacked hard against Ahrqur’s blade. The weapons sparked, all three of the swords imbued with powerful magic. The elf fell back, his arms lacking the strength to block the massive blow. He danced away, his sword whirling upward to deflect two quick slashes by the half-orc.
Ahrqur found no reprieve for three bones flew for his eyes and face, even veering to follow the elf’s dodges. The elven blade whirled, cutting two out of the air. The third smacked into his throat. Luckily, the bone was part of a finger and lacked a sharp enough edge to cut skin. Instead, the elf was left gasping for air and retreating from another series of strikes from Harruq.
“Pretenders, are we?” Qurrah asked as his fingers performed a dark weave. “How much I wish for your pride to suffer.” Magical energy ripped out of him and tore across the air. The elf whirled, sensing the incoming invisible blow. Only a tiny part hit his shoulder, immediately encasing it with ice. Then Harruq was upon him, slashing recklessly.
Ahrqur batted his sword left and right, then jumped as Harruq swung back in a scissor-cut that should have shredded his waist. The elf landed atop one of his couches, balancing with ease.
“What reason do you have to kill me?” the elf asked. “Are you here for money? I could pay you twice the pittance you work for.”
“Just shut up,” Harruq said, hurling Salvation across the room. Ahrqur leapt again. The sword punched through the couch and embedded in the wall. The half-orc gripped Condemnation in both hands, snarling as the elf launched his own offensive series. The elven blade glided through the air, repeatedly feinting and looping wide so that Harruq’s sword danced about for phantom blows. Ahrqur let out a mocking laugh, gave him an obvious feint, and then kicked high. The foot smashed the bottom of Harruq’s chin, the same sore part Dieredon had hit.
Harruq staggered back, his sword swinging wildly. The elf charged in, knowing he outmatched the half-orc in
