“You abandoned us,” Thren gasped, feeling the sharp edge cutting into his skin. “Now you come to murder us, murder your own father. I would not have tried killing the Watcher if I had known it was you.”
“You were a wretched father,” Haern whispered into Thren’s ear. “And I was not your son. I was your assassin, nothing more. Now, I am your better.”
He yanked both blades viciously to either side. Blood flowed. Thren died. The assassin stood, his cloaks wrapping about his body in the red haze. He pulled his hood back over his head, letting the comforting shadow hide all but the blue of his eyes…the eyes that shed tears despite the words he had spoken.
“Time to go,” Tarlak said, putting a hand on Haern’s shoulder. “Come on. I need help with the big guy.”
“I’ll be fine,” Harruq said, staggering to his feet. The movements jostled his face, and he clutched his shattered nose. “Damn it, always my nose.”
Tarlak hurried through a spell. A blue portal ripped open before him. Without another word, Harruq took two shaky steps and vanished through.
“He lied to me,” Haern whispered, staring at the body of his father.
“What are you talking about?” Tarlak asked. He put his arm around his good friend, trying to sound calm as he watched the spreading fire he had created.
“He knew I was his son. Perhaps for all these years, he knew. Yet he still tried to kill me.”
“It’s all over now,” Tarlak said, stepping toward his portal. “You have a better family now. You have us. Let’s go home. This smoke is killing me.”
Haern nodded. He gave one last look at his father, face down in a pool of his own drying blood, and then followed Tarlak home.
B rug greeted them at the door, his face sullen.
“Good to see you three alive,” he said, his normally boisterous voice subdued.
“How is Aurry,” Harruq asked, one hand still clutching his face.
“We’ll get that fixed up, and then you can go and see the elf,” Brug replied. Harruq nodded, stepped past him, and then collapsed. Brug caught his chest and held him steady.
“I’ll be alright,” Harruq mumbled. “I just need to…” His words trailed off as his body went limp.
“Just follow me,” Brug said. “Bedtime for you. You can say hi to your girl tomorrow.” He nodded to Tarlak and Haern before helping the half-orc up the stairs.
“Any wounds on yourself?” Tarlak asked, glancing over the assassin.
“None that will not heal in a few days. But I could greatly use a drink.”
Tarlak beamed.
“That, my friend, is something I can help you with.”
9
H arruq awoke sprawled on his chest, still dressed. He tossed his blanket aside. Sweat drenched his body. His entire head throbbed, his nose especially. It felt as if someone had rammed a tree branch up one nostril and down the other.
Gradually, the previous night came back to him, and he lurched to his feet. Fighting off an initial wave of nausea, he staggered downstairs, placing both feet firmly on a step before lowering to the next one.
“Morning, sunshine,” greeted Tarlak, who sat at the table on the bottom floor. “Although morning is hardly appropriate, considering I just finished lunch.”
“Slept too long,” Harruq muttered. “Where’s Qurrah?”
“Beats me.” The wizard shrugged. “I could spy on him to find out, but that’s not what I do.”
The half-orc nodded, rubbing his eyes with one hand. The huge fingers paused, though, when he spotted a large sausage link uneaten on Tarlak’s plate.
“Take it,” Tarlak said. “I’m stuffed to the brim.”
Harruq wolfed it down, even though the chewing ignited pain in his nose.
“How’s Aurry?” he asked, suddenly remembering her grievous wound. His heart shuddered at the look Tarlak gave him.
“Follow me, Harruq. I’ll explain on the way.”
The two climbed the stairs to the second floor, Tarlak talking as they walked.
“She’s been unconscious for hours. Her breath and heart are weak. Our hope is that she holds on long enough for Delysia to heal her.”
“Can’t you find another healer?” Harruq asked. The wizard opened the girls’ door, shaking his head as he did.
“That’s another thing we need to discuss. Your little elf has managed to attract some considerable attention.” He did not elaborate, instead beckoning inside. Both Delysia and Aurelia lay in their beds, tucked underneath several blankets. Delysia seemed to be only sleeping. Aurelia, however, appeared much worse. Her skin was pale, and her hair was dull and lifeless. Her breath was slow, the rise and fall of her chest almost invisible.
“Your brother said Delysia should awake in a couple more hours. As for Aurelia, well…”
Tarlak shrugged his shoulders. “Del managed to get a tiny bit of healing magic into her before she collapsed. Perhaps it was enough to combat the poison.”
“Yeah,” Harruq said. His eyes lingered on Aurelia, and in his breast stirred fears he had never felt before. He pondered thoughts of her death, each one tearing his heart to pieces. He walked over, slowly, as if not to wake her, and then knelt beside her bed.
“You wake up soon, alright?” he whispered into her ear. He stroked her hair with one hand, unaware he was doing so. “Don’t do anything dumb like dying on me.” A surge of fear shook his chest, and he wiped away tears, hoping Tarlak did not see. A glance behind revealed him long gone. Harruq smiled. Despite his oddities, the wizard could read people brilliantly.
Harruq turned back to Aurelia and stroked her face. He felt almost criminal. Never before had he touched her, and now, while she lay helpless, he felt the gentle curve of her chin, the gradual slope of her nose, and the soft brush of her eyelashes. Finally, he pulled his hand away, unable to bear the guilt. He pressed his forehead against her arm.
“Not yet,” he said. “I haven’t told you yet. You can’t die without me telling you.” He looked back up, overtaken by the beauty of her face. He leaned forward without thinking and gently kissed her lips. Despite the paleness of her skin, a trickle of warmth remained, and he relished its feel. The half-orc backed away, his throat constricted.
He left without saying another word.
G reetings, Tessanna,” Qurrah said as he climbed into the dilapidated building.
The girl glanced up from her drawing and smiled.
“Hello, Qurrah. Care to play a game?” The half-orc eyed the strange lines and circles she had drawn in the dirt.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Find and Seek. It is a scrying game, that’s all.”
“Another time,” Qurrah said, sitting opposite of her. “I come to ask a question.”
“Sure.” She sent a hand dancing back and forth, ruining the symbols. Qurrah spotted a fresh set of markings on her arm, but said nothing about them.
“Can you heal someone?” Qurrah asked. Tessanna gave him a funny look.
“I kill people, Qurrah, not heal them.”
“But can you?” he asked, more forcefully. “I have learned my spells from my masters, and from my experiments, yet you control power without ever having had a teacher. You are special, and we both know it. Now answer me. Can you heal someone?”
Tessanna crossed her arms and looked away.
“I don’t feel like answering.”
“You will,” Qurrah said. “I have no time for games. A loved one of my brother is dying.”
