the table, each one accompanied by the joyful sound of her laughter.
“Har har har,” he said. “Not funny.”
“Of course it is,” Tarlak said, plopping down in a seat next to Aurelia. “What are we laughing at?”
“Harruq’s being a baby,” Aurelia explained, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth.
“Am not!”
“Are too!” the wizard shouted. He turned back to the elf. “About what, anyway?”
“I invited Dieredon to our wedding. Turns out he disapproves.”
The half-orc threw his hands up in surrender.
“Could make the part where we ask if anyone has objections interesting,” Tarlak mused.
“What?” the half-orc asked, very much worried.
“Nothing, dear,” Aurelia said, elbowing Tarlak in the side. “I’ll tell him to behave, and besides, seeing you do something civil for once might do him good.”
“Yes, the domesticated orc,” the wizard chipped in. Harruq’s glare was full of death promises.
“I’ll have to remember that,” she said, smiling at her fiance. “You’re my domesticated little orciepoo.”
“Why do I put up with all of you?” he asked, pushing away his plate and standing.
“Because you love us,” Tarlak said. “Well, you love me, anyway. Not sure about the lovely lady here.”
“Now now, Tar, I don’t need any competition for my Harruq’s love.”
“You guys are so…wrong,” the half-orc said, storming out the door. When he left, their laughter followed him down the hall.
“Should I worry about you stealing my love from me?” she asked him.
“Not really,” Tarlak replied, his grin spreading ear to ear. “His butt’s cute, but not that cute.”
They both lost control, laughing only harder when Haern came down the stairs with a most perplexed look on his face.
T hey would hold the wedding outside, cradled against the forest. Tarlak purchased a few extra chairs for seating, all at Harruq’s expense, of course. What Aurelia would wear they kept hidden from Harruq, just as his cape and clothing were hidden from her. No word had come from Qurrah and Tessanna, something that gnawed at Harruq even more with his wedding so close.
Felewen arrived three days before the ceremony. Her reception of Harruq was quiet but warm. The two elves talked for hours in Aurelia’s room. Many times Harruq stopped by the door, wishing to enter. Common decency held him at bay. Dieredon’s arrival the day after was just as quiet, but far less warm.
“Greetings, orc,” was all he said to Harruq. To the rest of the tower, he was charming, witty, and graceful. Time found ways to crawl ever slower, and come the eve of his wedding, Qurrah was yet to show.
“Think he’ll be here?” he asked his fiance, who was wrapped inside his arms, their backs pressed against a tree whose bark was smooth as pressed grass.
“You know him better than I. What do you think?”
He wrapped a blanket around them both, shivering in the cool air.
“I don’t know anymore. I think that is why I worry.”
Leaves rustled in the nearby forest as a soft wind blew through them. Aurelia kissed his cheek, and then settled right back down against his chest.
“He’ll come. There’s good in him somewhere, and I think he’s fond of me.”
“Hope you’re right.”
“So do I,” she whispered.
T he cold sensation of air against his legs pulled Harruq from his slumber. He groaned, tucking his knees to his chest for warmth. He lay there, halfway between sleep and consciousness, until the gnawing sensation of something missing forced his mind awake. The slender form in his arms was gone. Harruq sat up and looked around. Dew soaked his hands, back, and wetted the blanket that covered his waist. The sun was low on the horizon.
The sound of rustling grass alerted him to someone’s arrival.
“Aurry?” he asked, squinting against the light.
“Have they evicted you on your final night of freedom?” asked a quiet, raspy voice. Harruq beamed as his adjusting eyes spotted a frail form dressed in black robes.
“Brother!”
He staggered to his feet and wrapped him in a hug. Qurrah chuckled, offering a meager squeeze back. “I didn’t think you were coming,” Harruq said, grinning at him. “Why’d you take so long?”
“The elf’s spell told us to arrive by this morning. As far as I know, I am not late.”
“Did you bring the girl?”
Qurrah chuckled. “She did not wish to attend.”
Harruq was unsure of what to say that would not offend his brother, so he let the subject drop.
“Ah well. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”
Qurrah’s eyes glinted at the thought of food.
“That sounds wonderful,” he said.
Q urrah’s entrance to the tower was a mixed thing. The members of the Eschaton smiled and welcomed him, including Tarlak, but Felewen and Dieredon both lurched to their feet.
“I killed you,” Dieredon said, an arrow already drawn and ready. Qurrah pulled back his hood to reveal his face, and with his steeled eyes, he stared Dieredon down.
“I know, for I was there,” the half-orc said.
A deathly silence filled the room as the two faced off, the arrow not wavering even though the string was pulled fully taut.
“I will not have bloodshed in my tower,” Tarlak said.
“It is strange company you keep,” Dieredon said to the wizard, his body not moving. “Why should this one be left to live?”
“Do you wish me dead?” Qurrah asked, a sneer spread across his face. “I have seen my master murdered at your hands. I know my doom. The question is not whether I wish to live, but whether you wish me to die. You have released my brother from your condemnation. What have I done that he has not?”
“His eyes held regret when I was ready to take his life,” Dieredon said. “Yours openly invite it.”
“Regret is naught but fear in a different dress,” Qurrah said. “I do not know fear.”
“Enough!” Tarlak shouted. “Dieredon, put down your bow. Qurrah, outside, now. We have to talk.”
“No,” Qurrah said. “This elf thinks he can threaten any without worry. The supreme executioner, but he is wrong. There are those better than you, Dieredon. Faster. Wiser. Smarter. You are known only because you have murdered more than they. What have I done that you have not?”
Dieredon’s eyes narrowed. Tarlak grabbed his bag of spell components, expecting an arrow to let fly at any moment.
“You seek glory in death,” Dieredon said.
“Do not lie to me,” Qurrah said. “I am not alone in feeling the thrill of the kill. I fight with fire and darkness, you with steel and arrow. How are we different?”
“I value life!”
The whip slipped down Qurrah’s shoulder into his hand. Dieredon’s look was simple: try it and die.
Before he could, Aurelia stepped between them, her face calm as stone.
“Put down the bow,” she said. “If you harm him, I will kill you. Fail or not, I doubt you will sleep well with my death on your hands.”
The string relaxed, and the arrow slipped back into its quiver. Dieredon slung the bow across his back and gestured to the door.
“I wish to leave. Please do not block my way.”
Qurrah and Harruq stepped aside, giving him more than a wide berth. The elf glared at both as he left the tower. The door slammed shut, vicious enough that wood splintered.
“My apologies,” Tarlak said, greeting the half-orc with a handshake. “It seems you have a way with people.”
“I am used to that,” Qurrah said. “I will do my best to not agitate him further.”
“The fewer headaches the better,” the wizard agreed. “Besides, this is a happy day. A wedding day! Speaking
