“Spell runes,” he said, releasing her. “By Karak, they are spell runes!”
“You don’t know that,” she said.
“What else could they be?” Qurrah asked.
“Others have tried to speak them aloud. Nothing ever happened.”
“Those that tried, did they die?” Qurrah asked. Tessanna shrugged. The half-orc tossed her a rag. “Clean off the blood. We will see if I am wrong.”
A fire raged beside them as they stood underneath the stars. Already, the cuts on her arm had faded to angry red scars, the rate of her healing remarkable. Qurrah had studied them carefully, perusing his spellbooks and finding runes matching the ones Tessanna carved. Some were identical, while others had slight deviations that he hoped were insignificant.
“Give me your arm,” he asked her. She obeyed, seeming indifferent about the whole situation. She expected little to happen. As much as she loved Qurrah, she did not think him correct.
He, however, was certain he had stumbled onto something significant. What that significance was, well, he hadn’t a clue. He put away such worrisome thoughts and held her hand. One after another, read the names of the runes.
“ Delk Mord-thun, Vaeln Nelaquir, Tirug, Nolfwud, Xeudayascar! ”
He spoke them as he would a spell from a scroll, feeling the power reeling out his body. Wind swirled around him, blowing leaves and sending their clothes and hair dancing. The runes glowed as if the cut skin were embers of a lingering fire. All about, the night grew dead. When the final word was spoken, Qurrah looked to his beloved, taking pride in the lack of fear in her eyes. He held her hand and prepared for the storm.
“Qurrah, stay with me,” she said, moments before lightning struck her from a cloudless sky. The bolt lifted her into the air, her lithe frame hovering a foot above the ground. Her hand clutched his, her nails piercing his flesh. He felt no pain.
“Let all those who endanger the balance wither away as dust,” the girl said. Her tone was flat, all emotion gone. It was the voice of the Center. She pointed a finger at him. “Be gone from her.”
“Qurrah!” he heard her cry, a second voice from one mouth. Black power collected at the end of her accusing finger. Walls of wind ripped from the ground, sealing the two in a gray prison. The half-orc did not think, only react. He flung his arms around her, holding her tight. As a small ball of emptiness shot from her finger, he kissed her lips and awaited death.
The magic hit him. He wished for death. When he opened his mouth to scream, no sound came forth. His soul shrieked in agony immeasurable. The two hovered higher and higher as his vision blurred. A song rose over the roar of the wind, one of longing and desire, sung by an unseen choir of thousands. The magic ripping through him intensified, adding a physical component to his torture. The pain crawled up his arm and into his lungs. All breath ended, and his lungs filled with fluid. His arm were aflame with the pain of a thousand burns.
“What have you done?” Tessanna asked. The Center was gone, yet still she felt no fear, only wonder at the chaos surrounding her. Qurrah tried to respond, but his jaw locked as his neck muscles pulled tight. A black fog poured from his throat, which she breathed in like smoke. Her dark eyes flared with color, and then all he knew turned white. Continuous the choir sang, a chorus whose line he did not understand, but knew within it there was reason.
On and on, the ebb and flow of time. Balance, the balance, it will come eternal.
Ghastly was the pain, shredded was his soul, and all else a pure, numbing shade of white. So white, all thought, all breath, all heartbeat, halted. Arm in arm, the two swirled ever higher, stretching into a vast space beyond the sky, beyond the stars, and beyond time itself.
Part Two
19
H ow long you think they’ll be like that?” asked the ruffian. His leader grunted an unintelligible response. The man drew his dagger and thrust it into the ground, accompanying it with a grunt of his own. “Come on, we’ve been here for weeks. Why don’t we just gut them and get out of here?”
They were camped deep in the King’s forest, living off hunted game and growing fouler of mood with every passing day. There were nine of them, plus their leader. The generous coin each of them had accepted eased their complaints a bit, but not their boredom. More than a few would have considered abandoning their job, but they knew Karnryk the Slayer would have their heads if they left. So they stayed, grumbled, and pushed for a quicker ending to their task.
The complaining man was Marv, a bucktoothed scoundrel who bragged often of the many women he had taken at knifepoint. He pulled that same knife out from the dirt and pointed to the strange sight that dominated their clearing. A man and woman hovered in the air, their arms entwined. Their eyes were open, but they did not move. Their mouths hung low, as if in the middle of a scream, but they drew no breath. The air around them was calm, yet still their clothes and hair blew about as if in a great windstorm. They were Qurrah Tun and Tessanna Delone, imprisoned in time by a force unknown.
“What’s so important about them?” Marv dared asked.
Karnryk stood to his full height, the half-orc towering over the scrawny man.
“They dared cross me,” he said, shifting the greatsword on his back so his right arm casually rest upon the hilt. “And they dared hurt me. But go ahead, try and kill them. You’ll end up just like Stokham.”
“Stokham was an idiot,” Marv said. He glanced around, seeking approval from the rest. “Ain’t that right?”
“I know caves less hollow than his head was,” one man said.
“Two turds short of a pigsty,” said another.
A couple more nodded.
“Then by all means,” the huge man said, gesturing to the floating couple. “Kill them.”
“With pleasure,” Marv said, licking the edge of his knife. After an exaggerated time spent aiming, he hurled his weapon. Its aim was true, and had it gone undeterred, it would have pierced through Qurrah’s back and into his heart.
Instead, the knife froze in mid-air. An ethereal shield swirling around the couple flared to life. White magic crackled around the spherical defense. The sound of thunder boomed throughout the clearing. Wind blew. Dust scattered. A bolt of lightning tore through the air. Into the forest flew Marv’s body, charred and smoking. As his henchman landed with a cracking of brush and leaves, Karnryk cackled with laughter.
“What he gets for thinking,” he said to the rest. The swirling sphere vanished, and all was quiet once more in that dead clearing with the gray grass, withered trees, and mysterious floating couple.
W hile the others slept, Karnryk stayed awake, glaring at the two frozen forms. The very sight of them sickened his stomach and awakened old pains where the foul demoness had cast her spell. Their embrace was one of fear and love, and while he had no idea the reason for their imprisonment, it did not appear willing. In truth, he didn’t care why. All that mattered was that their freedom was met with his bloody, painful welcome.
The spherical shield was clearly visible in the moonlight, the pale glow reflecting off like flowing water. Tiny circles of light wafted like smoke from a doused fire, glowing a dull blue. Directly underneath lay the ash and bones of what had been Stokham. Karnryk removed his greatsword and scraped a whetstone across it, knowing he needed to keep his blade, and his mind, sharp.
“Don’t sleep too long,” he said. “It’s only making me crankier.”
As if in answer, a slow rumble shook the clearing. A second, louder rumble sent his eight minions scrambling out of the cottage. Some had weapons drawn; most did not. The half-orc swore. His original men, the ones he had personally trained and kept until the two crazed lovers had butchered them, would have made dog meat out of his current crew. No matter. Those he liked he would train. The others… whatever happened to them happened.
“Knock the sleep out of your eyes, something’s wrong!” he roared. A rainbow of colors poured out the magical shield, flooding the clearing with an unnatural hue. Karnryk held his sword high above his head.
“About damn time,” he shouted. Cracks appeared in the rainbow, akin to broken ice atop a frozen lake. Clean light shone from inside, as if it were daylight within the sphere. Larger and larger the cracks grew, until every man
