Harruq drew his swords. “So what’s your new toy?”
“It will be more fun just showing you,” he said. He drew his sabers and tapped them together, a sign to begin. Harruq approached, lacking the reckless hurry he had shown in his earlier sessions. The two circled each other, each waiting for the first move. An obvious feint by the assassin sent Harruq in motion, one sword slashing high, his other kept back to block. Haern rushed forward, his swords high.
And then he was not there.
The half-orc slashed air, staggering forward as the expected block did not come. He whirled about to see Haern directly behind him, sporting a huge grin on his face.
“How in the abyss did you do that?” he asked.
“You mean this?” Haern asked. His entire body grew fuzzy and then he was gone. A finger tapped his shoulder. Harruq jumped. Haern stood behind him once more.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
“Short range magic,” Haern explained, showing him a simple silver band on his right hand. “It places me seven feet directly ahead. It is but a parlor trick, one that you will grow accustomed to. Those who have not fought me before, however-” his grin was dark and mischievous, “-I only need to fool them once.”
“Craziness,” Harruq said. “Pure craziness. But just straight ahead?”
“Yes. Not up or down or backwards.”
“Good. Ready to go?”
The assassin tapped his blades. Harruq charged, and even though he still batted his swords away with ease, Haern was pleased by the increased speed and skill his apprentice showed. A quick parry sent Salvation out of position, and a saber stabbed in to take advantage. Harruq, having purposefully given the opening, twisted to the side, the thrusting cutting wide. He slashed with both swords at the over-extended assassin.
When he struck air, the half-orc turned and swung, expecting his foe to be lunging from behind. Instead, he saw no one.
“Clever,” Haern said, poking a saber into his back. “But predictable.”
The half-orc turned around, his face the epitome of annoyance.
“You said you could only go forward,” he said.
“I did,” Haern said, his grin wide. “I never said I couldn’t turn around and activate it immediately after.”
“That’s it. I’m not sparring you anymore.”
“Alright, alright. I won’t use it for the rest of the day. Happy?”
“Yup.” Harruq clanged his blades together, their ring matched by another from Haern’s. “Let’s rumble.”
And rumble they did, and for the first time Harruq scored four kills to Haern’s ten. His previous best in a day was two.
A week later, Harruq heard loud grumbling coming up the stairs. He lay on his bed, recuperating after a rough assignment from Tarlak to show a coldhearted merchant that his wealth didn’t make him immune to retribution and justice. The half-orc’s ribs still hurt from a tumble with the merchant’s guards.
“That you, cheerful?” he shouted to the stairs.
“Nah, it’s the ogre patrol, here to take you back to your swamp.” Brug was in a surlier mood than usual, and he stomped into the room wearing a scrunched frown.
“Ogre’s out back on a chain,” Harruq said, doing his best not to wince when he sat up.
“Shaddup you. Now take it and be grateful.” He thrust out his hand, which held a tiny wooden jewelry box. The half-orc took it, popped open the top, and then felt his jaw drop and his eyes nearly fall from his head. Hand shaking, he took out the ring and held it for a closer look.
Brug had carved the ring from two pieces of interlocking silver, twirling them together in an eternal braid. Three inset diamonds shone across the top. Welded across the braids were the shapes of a scorpion and a spider, each facing the diamonds. Faint writing covered both sides.
“What’s it mean?” he asked, turning it around in his hands.
“Mean? What does what mean?” Brug had his arms crossed and his back to the half-orc, although he kept peeking to see his reaction.
“The writing, I can’t read it.”
“Scorpion side is orcish. Other’s is elvish. Aurry’s got this thing with spiders, and you got that scorpion on your armor, so it made sense. Both say love. Well, the elvish side says love. Orcs don’t really have a word for love, so I had to make it up. Eternal friend was the best I could do. Not too worried. I don’t expect any orc to correct my butchering of their guttural pig squealings.”
Harruq returned the ring to its box, his chest aflutter. He had a ring. He had everyone waiting for him. The gods help him, he was actually going to propose.
“Make sure you treat her good,” Brug said, interrupting his thoughts. “Something like that’s sturdy, but if she breaks, good luck ever fixing it.”
“Didn’t know you cared so much for Aurry,” he said. Brug’s face flushed.
“I meant the ring,” he lied.
“Of course you did. Thank you. I’ll never be able to repay you.”
“Don’t I know it.”
He stormed out of the room and down the stairs, mumbling the whole way. Once he was gone, Harruq took out the ring and held it, mesmerized.
“So,” he said, twisting the ring in the light. “Now I need stars, flowers.” He sighed. “A bath.”
N ight came too slow for the half-orc. He found a hill close to the tower that still had a patch of late-blooming flowers. He placed a blanket atop it, covered it with petals, and then topped it off with a bottle of strange, bubbly stuff that Tarlak had promised the elf would love. When finished, he paced his bedroom, working over how he would propose.
“How’s it going, loverboy?” Tarlak asked, entering his room without knocking. “Been pacing for two hours, I’m guessing. My poor floor.”
“Can’t figure out what to say,” he said. “No clue. I got no clue.”
“You’ll be fine,” Tarlak assured him. “Try to say something romantic, and if you bumble out nonsense, she’ll just find it cute. Now come down. Dinnertime.”
A fter dinner, Harruq did his best to nonchalantly invite Aurelia out to stargaze.
“Wanna go outside?” he asked.
“Outside?” she asked back.
“You know. Outside.”
“Oh. Outside. Sure thing, cutie.”
As the two left the tower, Tarlak shot him a wink. You’ll be fine, he mouthed. Harruq rolled his eyes briefly to show his opinion of that assessment.
O oooh, someone was prepared tonight,” Aurelia said when she spotted the blanket. “Is the grass too scratchy for my poor half-orcie’s skin?”
“Just, you know, thought it’d be nice.” He wrung his hands, his nervousness nearly immobilizing him. He had fought skilled elves in combat. He had witnessed the dead walk. He had spent countless nights in the presence of the dark prophet Velixar. Cake, all cake compared to this.
“It is nice,” she said, sitting in the middle of the blanket. She picked up one of the flowers and inhaled.
“Fall roses,” she said. “You’re up to something.”
“No, I’m not,” he said, far too quickly.
“Then what is this for?” she asked, picking up the bottle he had left and tilting it side to side. “Did you think it would be nice, too?”
“Yes, I did. That a crime?”
“I’ll have to check. Sit, before I get cold and lonely.”
He sat down, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and stared at the star-filled sky while she nestled her head against his neck.
Ask her now, he thought. Just get up, ask her, and get this whole thing over with. No, that’s too fast. Got to be all romantic, like Haern said. Or was it Tar? Besides, I can’t kneel like this. Ah, screw kneeling. Just pop the question, give her the ring, let her say no, and then be done with.
“You alright?” Aurelia asked, glancing at him. “You look rather troubled.”
