mercenaries. Seems like he went through twenty guys, trying to find one who was…well, not scum. Lucky me, eh?”
Haern smiled but said nothing. He was still trying to wrap his head around everything. Here was someone he could talk to, could trust. After half a decade of silence and loneliness, it all came crashing to an end because of a single poorly-timed ambush. For all the many times he felt overlooked by Ashhur, he wondered just how unnoticed he really was. While he thought, he ate, figuring it a good excuse not to talk. All his confidence had flown out the window with Senke’s arrival. If anyone made him feel like the confused thirteen year old boy he’d once been, it was him.
“I see your eyes drooping,” Senke said when Haern finished his meal. “Let me send in Delysia to swap out some clean bandages and then you can rest, ponder over this craziness.”
“Delysia?” he asked. “Is she…is her last name Eschaton?”
Senke raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah, but how would you…wait a minute. You did know a Delysia. Is she her, the one you killed Dustin to protect and…shit, that is her, isn’t it?”
Haern nodded, and was totally unprepared for Senke’s eruption of laughter.
“Looks like she returned the favor. She’s the one that kept you from bleeding out like a stuck boar. Damn, this is too funny. You never told me she became a priestess. Always wondered how she hid from Thren so well.”
“I never told anyone,” Haern mumbled. “Kayla told me the night of the Kensgold.”
Senke’s face saddened at the mention of her name. “She was a pretty lass. What I heard, Thren killed her for aiding you. Such a shame. Didn’t pay much to help you out, did it?”
The comment stung deeper than Senke intended, and at the pained look crossing Haern’s face, he immediately started trying to take it back.
“I’m sorry, Haern, you know I don’t mean that. It wasn’t your fault, any of it. Your father’s just a bastard, still is, though his influence is slowly dwindling, thank Ashhur.”
“Senke, I…I’m not ready to see her yet.”
“She’s seen plenty of you.”
He blushed a fierce red but remained adamant. “Please, just let me rest. Meeting you again is too much as is. Let me think, all right?”
Senke shrugged. “I guess you’ll survive, though if those cuts get infected, it’s your own damn fault. Sleep tight, Haern.”
“Thanks.”
Even after Senke left, his words echoed in Haern’s head.
Didn’t pay much to help you out, did it?
How many had died because of him? Robert died by his hand. His father killed Kayla, again for helping him. Senke had nearly died in the fire. Delysia had been forced into hiding. And now, when every thief guild in the city would gladly string him up by his thumbs and let the entire underworld have a go at him, the two had brought him into their home and given him succor. Were they mad? He was a monster, a beacon of chaos and murder. The streets were where he belonged. Their gutters had room for the blood.
Besides, he couldn’t face her. He just couldn’t. The last image he had of Delysia was her gasping in his arms as the bolt pierced her back. She’d looked so shocked, so betrayed, and then to see his own father approaching, crossbow in hand, he’d felt such guilt…
He tightened his belt and held back a grimace at the pain in his stomach. His cloaks were folded up beside his bed, as were his tattered clothes. Again he blushed a bright red as he remembered Senke’s comment, and he prayed that it had been anyone but Delysia who had changed him into what he wore now, a plain white shirt and brown pants. Quietly he changed into his old clothes. In their dirt and dried blood he felt all the more wretched and eager to be gone. Everything about him was filthy, even the task he’d devoted his life to. Was he really any better than his father? At least Thren had developed an empire, however fleeting. All Haern was doing was destroying it all.
He shook his head, trying to banish such thoughts. He needed to concentrate. Drowsiness still tugged at his eyes, and that soft warm bed tempted him more than any woman had. Deciding it was now or never, he crept open the door and looked about.
Whatever building he was in was small in space but attempting to make up for it by being two stories tall. He saw a second door across from him, and a few feet away, stairs curling downward at sharp angles to the bottom floor. He heard muffled talking from the other door. Feeling like a trespasser, he hurried along as fast as his wounds allowed him to go. The bottom floor was blessedly empty. Sparsely furnished, he saw a table, an oak desk in the corner, and a modest pile of books atop it. At the door, he removed the bolt and stepped out into the street.
He looked around a moment, taking in his surroundings. The sun was rising, still low enough to hide behind the city’s walls. There was an inn not far away, Prather’s if he read the sign right, and that meant he was on… Crimson Alley, deep in southern Veldaren. He felt muted horror at the realization. Senke and Delysia lived on the Crimson, one of the most dangerous places in the city? No wonder he never saw either of them when he patrolled the night. They’d certainly keep their doors locked and windows bolted. How often had he passed right on by when scouring for isolated members of the guilds?
He worried about his injuries, but those desperate enough to rob in daylight he could certainly handle. Giving one last glance at the dilapidated building to memorize its location, Haern rushed north, eager to put some distance between him and his sudden assault from the past.
*
V eliana floated in silence, and that alone convinced her she was dead. She didn’t know if her eyes were open or closed. All she saw was darkness, though she didn’t really see it as much as be swallowed by it. The numbness she felt she likened to cold, so at least she felt something, however faint. Time drifted by as if it were bored of her. Then came a sudden, shocking pain to her chest. It lit up her darkness with streaks of red. Again she felt the pain, but this time there was a comfort to it, a strange familiarity. The third time it hit, she realized it was her heartbeat restarting.
Pins and needles came in waves, first to her chest, then her face, and last her extremities. The darkness gradually faded from black, to yellow, to red, and at last to an assortment of colors that congealed together to create the unmasked face of Deathmask.
“Welcome back,” he said with a smile.
She would have hit him if her limbs bothered to listen to her commands.
He vanished. She lay on her back, and now she stared at a cobwebbed ceiling. Based on the cold she felt, she decided she was on a dirt floor. Her ears, about the only thing working properly, heard shuffling, followed by a laugh.
“I’m sure you’re angry with me, but let me assure you, I hope I never have to do that again.” Deathmask leaned over, and she felt him press his hands against her neck. “Pulse is getting stronger. Good. Never actually tried that spell before, so consider yourself a lucky first try. Stopping someone’s heart is never easy. Well, not if you want to start it again.”
“What…happened?” she forced her dry throat and swollen tongue to ask.
“I faked killing you. The thrust to your chest wasn’t deep enough, but I made sure no one bothered to investigate the matter. With your heart stopped, and your body in stasis, there wasn’t much reason to think otherwise. I took over the burial, and here we are. Simple enough explanation, and once you get your bearings, I think you’ll be pleased with its elegance.”
The pins and needles returned throughout her body, and this time she felt herself regaining control. Her head pounded with the unholiest of headaches, but she forced herself to sit up, forced the memories to come back. She’d been in their headquarters, Garrick was there, accusing her of…
She reached for a dagger at her side but all she did was topple herself back to the dirt.
“Don’t rush things,” she heard Deathmask say. “You’ll be fine in a few more minutes. We have much to discuss, so try not to do anything stupid like killing me, all right?”
No promises, she thought amid her delirium.
As her body reawakened, so did her mind. She glanced about, taking in her surroundings. They appeared to be in a cellar of some sort, the only light coming from a single torch lit behind her head. She saw no door but assumed it was also behind her. Deathmask leaned against a stone wall to her right, his arms crossed, his face blanketed with a smug grin she’d give everything to cut off. Feeling far better, she sat up, braced herself for the
