murmurs.
Haern watched it all through the window of the small apartment. The fire had gotten dangerously close to Senke and Delysia’s home, reaching all the way to Prather’s Inn and burning it to the ground. People were everywhere, half-buried in the smoke that billowed from the dying fire. Soldiers of Veldaren hurried about, but their presence in the streets did nothing to ease people’s minds.
“You look troubled,” Delysia said, and he flinched as if poked with a stick. Blushing for no reason, he turned back to her and accepted the cup of warm milk she’d brought him.
“I mixed in some herbs,” she said, sitting opposite him in a rickety chair. “You’ll sleep well, and by looks of it, you could use the rest.”
He thanked her again and sipped the milk, wisely deciding not to comment on how terrible the drink tasted. His eyes lingered on her face, and he struggled not to make his staring obvious. She’d grown so much over the past five years, filling out into womanhood. Her hair was longer, but still the same fiery red. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, and in her priestess robe she looked almost regal. Her chest was also significantly larger. Out of everything, he tried to make sure his glances at that remained uncaught.
He continued to sip the drink, mostly to avoid conversation. He had no clue what to say to her. The last time they’d met, he’d come to her in desperate need for guidance. He’d needed to understand a life outside the cold retribution of his father. His tutor, Robert Haern, had spoken of the god Ashhur, and now here she was, a priestess of the same god. His thoughts had turned only to survival, yet now came back with a burning vengeance. What was it he’d told Delysia? He needed Ashhur, otherwise he’d end up like his father. He’d be a killer without mercy, a terrible creation the city feared.
Long live the Watcher, he thought. What have I become?
“I…I’m glad you’re all right,” Haern blurted, feeling lame as he said it. He saw a shadow cross over Delysia’s face, but she pushed it aside with a smile.
“I try not to think about that night,” she said. “There’s too much I don’t understand, even now. Who you were. Who you are. What Ashhur’s purpose might have been. I must confess, I almost hoped I’d die. I was so tired, so confused. But I feared I might never see my brother, and so I struggled for every breath…”
The room fell silent. The rest were asleep, exhausted from the long night, but Delysia had stayed awake, insisting she could manage for a few more hours. Haern, used to going long periods without sleep, had dully stared out the window and waited for a chance to talk. Now he had the chance, he didn’t have a clue what to do with it.
I’m better at killing. Does that prove just how far I’ve fallen? You’d be proud, father.
“The man who shot you was my father,” he said, figuring to start with what he knew for certain. “He feared what your influence might do to me. He was right to fear it, too. They dragged me to Karak’s temple and did their best to burn away my faith.”
“Did they succeed?” she asked, sipping from her own cup. Her green eyes peered over its edge. He felt like he was that same stupid kid she’d trapped in her cupboard. He remembered watching her cry moments after Thren had executed her father. What could he ever be to her but a remembrance of those painful times? He saw her watching him, and he remembered her question.
“No,” he said.
The past five years, murdering men in the streets, seemed to have done a fine job of it, though.
“What have you been doing?” she asked. “How have you survived?”
He didn’t want to answer. Why was he so afraid she’d judge him? So long ago, he’d come to her for advice. Now he feared every word she might say?
“I slept in the streets,” he said. He was the Watcher of Veldaren, damn it. He would fear no one, nothing. “Ever since, I’ve been killing members of the thief guilds, hoping to destroy them. It’s pointless, futile, but still I try. It’s the only thing that gives me meaning.”
He thought she’d berate him, or challenge his claim. Instead, she looked at him with sad eyes, and that was worse.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? Because you protected me?”
His mouth fell open.
“Of course not. Don’t be…Delysia, I chose everything I did. I would have stayed with you, spoken with you forever if I could. That night…that single night, I’ve cherished that memory. It was one of the few bright spots in my entire childhood. But then my father darkened it with blood. My precious memory always leads to him, his murder, his guilt. It pushes me on, consumes everything. I have become something I don’t think either that little girl or that little boy could ever have understood or accepted.”
He looked back to the window, not wanting to see her reaction. He was a damn fool, that’s what he was. Hoping she’d leave him be, he refused to react when she stood from her chair, set her cup down, and came closer. Her hand touched his face, and reluctantly he turned to her. Tears were in his eyes.
She kissed his cheek, then pressed her forehead against his.
“Go to sleep, and try to remember that while you are not that little boy, I am no longer a little girl.”
She trudged up the sharply curved stairs to the second floor. Haern watched her go, and when she was gone, almost fled to the streets. But he remembered that feeling in the Pensfield’s home, of having a home. He felt that same thing here, though the company was on the odder side. He downed the rest of his drink, grimaced, and then set the cup aside. His chair was comfortable enough, far more than the cold street he was used to, so he crossed his arms and tried to sleep.
Footsteps coming back down the stairs opened his eyes. He didn’t think he’d slept, but he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t Delysia that had come down, though. Instead it was the wizard, her brother. He’d shed his pointy hat, though he still wore those strange yellow robes. He rubbed his goatee as he plopped down in a chair opposite Haern.
“Had some words with Senke,” he said.
“That so?”
“Well, most involved variations of ‘get out of my room so I can sleep you idiot’, but there were some more intriguing bits I dragged out of him. Most interesting was that of your father. Thren Felhorn, really? You look more like something two vagabonds might bump out on a cold, drunk night.”
“Flattered.”
Tarlak tapped his fingers together, and his mouth shifted about as if he were chewing on his words before saying them.
“Not much for talking. I get that. I like to talk, so perhaps I can make up for the both of us. Senke says you’re good, really good. What I saw out there tonight certainly confirms it. Can’t expect much less from Thren’s son, of course. You’ve established quite a reputation, too. I’ve heard plenty talk of the Watcher, usually poor thieves grumbling into their cups about how much gold you cost them. A few even thought you were Ashhur’s vengeance come down upon them for their lifestyle, though they usually had to be incredibly drunk to admit it.”
“You have a point?”
“Several, one on my nose, one on my hat, and one where the ladies love me. But that’s beside the, uh, point. It seems like, other than revenge, you don’t have much going for you. Ashhur knows those streets out there aren’t comfortable living. So how about you join my mercenaries instead? Pay isn’t the best, but with half the city employed in killing thieves, I think we could make a few coins. Besides,” his eyes lit up, “can you imagine the rates I could charge if people knew the Watcher was in my pay?”
“I’m not for sale,” Haern grumbled.
Tarlak frowned.
“Well that’s disappointing. You sure?”
“Very.”
The wizard scratched at his chin. “This a pride thing?”
“I have no use for money.”
Tarlak grinned. “I’m not sure I believe that, but I’m more thinking you feel you don’t need money. Considering all the stories of you tossing gold coins in the middle of high market, I can believe that. But there are some things you can buy with gold that you might be more interested in. Our introductions were a little haphazard, but you met Brug, right?”
“Short guy, cussed a lot, can’t fight worth shit?”
