“What is blocking the top of the stairs?”
“A magical wall.”
Harruq chuckled. He retrieved Salvation and then clanged both swords together.
“You know, I do have an idea.”
T he barkeep downed his fifth glass, showing no signs of it affecting him. He had listened to the muffled sounds of battle, his neck hairs standing on end every time the spider screeched, but now all was quiet. His customers were gone, and it was too late for more to arrive. Perhaps it was time to call it a night.
A tapping against his magical wall interrupted his drink.
“Who’s there?” he asked.
“Please, help me,” said a weak voice on the other side. “The spider is dead, but I’ve been bitten. Please, the poison…”
“I’m sorry, but you’re supposed to die,” the barkeep told the wall. “Nothing personal, of course.”
“A drink then,” the voice whispered. “Please, a drink before I die. I have gold.”
The barkeep’s greed kindled. If he left the bodies down there for Thren and the rest to return, he would get nothing. If he could loot the bodies first, however…
“Very well,” he said. “I can’t refuse a dying man his drink.”
He picked up a silver wand resting atop the counter. Thren had given it to him, along with instructions of when and how to use it. He poured a drink, tapped the wand twice, and then said the correct words. The wall dissipated into dust, revealing Haern lying on his stomach, his hands shaking and his voice weak.
“Here you go,” the barkeep said. He reached out the cup to Haern. To his horror, a strong, healthy hand grabbed his wrist.
“That’s alright,” Haern whispered, his eyes full of life. “I’ll help myself.”
He twisted the wrist into a painful lock. The barkeep’s eyes bulged, and he turned his body to prevent the bone from snapping. Haern rose and shoved the man into the bar. Another hand slammed his face against the counter. Bottles of ale scattered, breaking and pouring everywhere.
“Where are they?” Haern asked.
“I don’t know anything,” the barkeep said. “They paid me to lock you in, that’s all.”
Harruq pounded up the stairs, his swords ready. He swung one next to the man’s head and left it there, embedded deep in the wood.
“Care to answer that one again?” he asked.
“I said I don’t know!” the barkeep shouted. “I serve drinks. That’s it!”
“These drinks?” Harruq asked, glancing at some of the bottles lining the shelves. He grabbed one at random, popped it open, and took a swig. “Aaah, good stuff.” Then he knocked the entire shelf to the floor. The barkeep winced with each shattered bottle, pondering the prices he had paid. Haern grabbed the barkeep’s head and forced him to watch the half-orc tear his place apart.
“Mmmm, brandy,” the half-orc said, guzzling a bit from a barrel. He used his other sword to split the barrel and spill its contents to the floor. He did the same for three more, sampling each one before destroying it.
“Gonna get trashed before all this stuff is gone,” he laughed, booze dripping down his chin.
“Do not forget the private stash,” Haern whispered. He pointed down below the bar, where a few small bottles were hidden. Harruq marched over as the barkeep’s eyes bulged in horror. He took one, popped the cork, and drank.
“Woooweee, that is good,” he said. He tossed another to Haern, who flicked it open with his thumb and drank a bit. He poured the rest onto the barkeep’s head.
“I don’t know how much they paid you,” Haern whispered, “but I doubt it was even half the price of that bottle. Or that blue one there. Toss me that, Harruq. Thank you.” He smashed the bottle and smeared the barkeep’s face in it. “Go ahead and lick it up. Someone might as well drink. My patience is ended, barkeep. Where are they hiding? Who paid you?”
“Thren and his boys,” the barkeep muttered. “They gave good gold to lock you in. They said they would return tomorrow morning. I swear, I don’t know where they are now!”
Haern let him up. Harruq downed half of another expensive bottle, then dropped it to the soaked floor. The barkeep glared.
“Nothing personal,” the half-orc said. The two exited into the night.
8
W here to next?” Harruq asked. The two stood outside the bar, still trying to clean off spider fluids from their clothes and armor. “We only have a few more hours until morning.”
“We will finish before the stars fade,” Haern whispered, pulling his hood down tighter. “And I have no idea.”
“Aren’t you the best of leaders,” the half-orc grumbled. “Why am I following you, anyway? Aurry’s hurt, and you can’t find the one who did it.”
“Aurelia may very well be dead, Harruq.”
“She’s not!” he shouted. They halted in the dark alley, Harruq grabbing Haern’s shoulders and shoving him against a wall. “How can you be so heartless? Never say that. Never!”
Haern smiled when he saw tears forming in the half-orc’s eyes.
“No, she is not dead, but it is good to see your rage and sorrow. Remember why we fight this night. Now come. I may not know where to go, but I will find someone who does.”
A small, unshaven man stood outside the expansive mansion, glancing up and down the barren streets. The gray cloak of the Spider Guild was tied around his neck.
“Who is that?” Harruq asked, staring around the corner of a nearby building.
“I don’t know, but he wears the correct colors. Stay here.”
Haern looked up, judging the height. After a few seconds, he nodded, seeming pleased. Then, to the half- orc’s amazement, he leapt into the air without even a running start, vaulting all the way onto the roof.
“How the abyss did you do that?” Harruq asked. Haern placed a finger over his lips and pointed to the thief. The half-orc threw up his arms in surrender, figuring some sort of magic involved. He leaned back and enjoyed the show. Haern stalked across the roof, his eyes locked on his prey. The man most likely waited for word that the Watcher was dead and theft could begin without fear of reprisal. The mansion certainly had its treasures, but he would get no chance at them.
With the grace of a cat, Haern leapt again, his cloaks trailing behind him. He kept his sabers out and ready. His slender body descended, his cloaks somehow not making a sound despite the air whipping through them. Haern landed directly behind the thief, standing back to back. The assassin spun, the butts of his sabers smacking skull. The thief dropped like a stone.
Harruq helped drag the body into the alley. Haern propped him up, and then reached into a pocket beneath his cloaks. He pulled out a small green vial barely larger than his pinkie. He popped the cork and splashed a little inside the man’s mouth. Coughing and sputtering, he jolted back to life.
“Welcome back,” Haern whispered, pocketing the vial. “Stay silent, or things will have to turn brutal.”
The thief realized who it was and paled. “You!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t done nothing, I swear.”
“Quiet.” Haern glanced to Harruq. “Do you wish to torture him, or should I?”
“I doubt I’m as neat as you,” Harruq said. “Think we got the time?”
“No, please, what do you want, I’ll help you,” the thief cried.
Haern yanked him close. His eyes, looming out from a deep shadow that surrounded them, pierced into the thief’s soul. “Where is Thren hiding?”
“Oh come on, you can’t go asking me that. It’ll be my head.”
“It’ll be your tongue, your fingers, and your manhood if you don’t,” Haern said. “Now answer me.”
“I can’t!”
Haern placed the edges of his sabers against the man’s neck, and then slowly moved one downward until it pointed directly at his groin.
