“Goodbye, night birds, dirt fills my ears.”
She cast her spell. His eyes blasted out his body by a great surge of blood, and his body shriveled and curled in obscene ways. She ended her song, smiling at the beautiful sight of death she had created.
“Goodbye, grave man, cover me in the morn.”
The sound of movement made her turn. She felt no worry. Pure euphoria swirled inside her head. She was a goddess among mortals. None would dare strike her.
Karnryk was a furious warrior, proud and arrogant. He had no respect for goddesses. As Tessanna stared incredulously, he shoved his greatsword through her stomach. The tip tore out her back, the blade soaked in gore. She gasped as her blood poured out.
“Where’s your magical armor now, bitch?” he asked, spitting on her face.
“Gone, as is your life,” Qurrah said from behind. Karnryk turned, his blood chilling. Surrounding the necromancer in strange orbits were the bones of his dead hirelings, numbering in the hundreds. With but a thought, they assaulted. His eyes cold, Qurrah watched as Karnryk staggered about, surrounded by a tornado of bone that shredded his flesh, stabbed his eyes, and bruised every bit of exposed skin. Down he fell, unable to withstand the torture. Still the bones struck, faster and faster, their chalky white turning red. Qurrah was not satisfied.
“You struck her,” he said, his voice a low, seething sound. “Suffer for your sins!”
The pieces of bone dug deeper into his eyes. Sharp rib bones broke through his teeth and poured down his innards. When the necromancer approached, the remaining bones parted for him. He yanked Karnryk’s bloody mess of a face by the hair and whispered into his ear.
“I will torture you, even after death,” he said. “You will yearn for the abyss, and you will not be granted its reprieve.”
He shoved his fingers deep into Karnryk’s eye sockets. The bones lodged there pushed farther in, deep into nerve tissue. Spasms wracked his body, and for the only time he screamed.
“ Hemorrhage! ” Qurrah hissed. Dark magic poured into the remnants of the half-orc’s body. Qurrah yanked his hand free as a great explosion of blood and brain burst from where Karnryk’s face had been. When the body collapsed to the ground, Karnryk was already on his way to the abyss.
“Qurrah,” Tessanna said, the sword still through her waist. She lay on her side, her legs paralyzed. The sword had shifted when its point touched dirt, grinding against her spine. Qurrah rushed to her, kneeling down and grabbing her hands.
“Tessanna, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I should have acted sooner, I should have-”
“Shut up,” Tessanna said, her face pale and cold. “I hear the singing again…”
Those were her only words. Overcome with grief, he placed his hands on the giant hilt and apologized before yanking the sword free. Holding in a sob, he wrapped his arms around the painfully light body of his lover.
“Don’t die on me,” he said. “You can’t die.”
The lack of breath and heartbeat insisted otherwise, but Qurrah would not accept it.
“Delysia can heal you,” he said, staggering south with her in his arms. Each step sent more blood dribbling across his knees. Everything was strange. It seemed the stars had shifted and the warmth of summer seemed lost into autumn.
The trek south through the woods was the longest, darkest time Qurrah had ever experienced.
N o cloud dimmed the light of a single star. The Eschaton mercenaries had just eliminated a troublesome band of thieves with delusions of creating a new guild. Haern had given them the choice of death or surrender. Their leader had drawn his weapons. The rest surrendered when they saw how quickly he died.
“Nothing like a job well done,” Tarlak said after depositing the thieves at the prison.
“This place always depresses me,” Delysia said, pulling her robe tight about her. “Let’s go home.”
All glanced to Aurelia, who frowned at them.
“What am I, your wagon?” she asked. “The night is peaceful. We can walk, unless someone else is capable of opening a portal home.”
“What about your kid?” Brug asked. “You should get home, not safe and all… right?”
Another frown. “Nice try. Aullienna’s fine. Bunch of whiners, all of you.”
They left town, traveling across the beaten path west. Harruq and Aurelia walked hand in hand, smiling as the wind blew against their faces. Haern let down his hood, shaking free his golden hair. Tarlak led the way, babbling to the assassin about the idiocy of common thuggery in Veldaren.
When they reached the tower, everything changed.
“Someone awaits us,” Haern whispered, seeing a deviation in the shadows at the door. Aurelia’s keener eyes widened as she saw what waited there.
“It’s Qurrah,” she said. When Harruq heard, he ran ahead, a smile spreading across his face.
“Qurrah!” he shouted as he neared. “Qurrah!”
His smile faded when he was close enough to see.
“Brother?” he asked. Qurrah looked up, and to Harruq’s great surprise, he saw tears. He held the pale body of Tessanna in his arms. Her limbs hung limp, her eyes closed. Blood soaked her clothes, which were ripped and torn. Harruq took a shocked step forward as his brother spoke.
“Please,” Qurrah said. “I need help. Please, help me.”
More and more tears rolled, along his cheek, past his thin lips, down the gray of his chin, and then falling, falling, until breaking atop the dead face of the girl with blackest of eyes.
20
W hat happened?” Harruq asked. He saw blood everywhere, and Tessanna’s face was a deathly white.
“Just help me,” Qurrah shrieked. Everything inside him broke. He buried his face in her hair and cried. The rest of the Eschaton mercenaries arrived, stunned and confused.
“Let me see her,” Delysia said, rushing past the others. She put a hand on Qurrah, only to have him shove her away. When he looked up his eyes were a bloody red. The priestess saw the wound on Tessanna’s stomach and gasped.
“Help her,” Qurrah said, realizing who it was. “Please, I know you, what you do. Please, help her.”
Delysia put her hand on Tessanna’s neck, and another on her breast. For a quiet moment, she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, her look contained only sorrow.
“She is dead, Qurrah,” she said. “Her heart is still. Her breath is gone. I’m sorry.”
“She’s not dead,” he cried, staggering to his feet. He held Tessanna’s body close. “You have healing spells. Cast them on her!”
“Qurrah, it will do no good.”
“Do it,” Harruq said, his face solemn. “Please, just do it, anyway.”
Delysia glanced to him, and then to her brother. Tarlak nodded his approval.
“Very well. Qurrah, give her body to Harruq. We need to get her inside.”
Qurrah reluctantly obeyed. Harruq lifted her in his arms, grunting at how light she was, and he shuddered at the strange ways her tightened muscles resisted movement. He laid her body on the long table inside. Everyone gathered about, watching in silence, except Tarlak, who moved to Qurrah’s side.
“Who did this?” he asked.
“A giant half-orc,” Qurrah said. “He wielded a greatsword, and had many men with him.”
“Karnryk,” the wizard said. “He posted a bounty for your whereabouts months ago. What did you ever do to him?”
“About a year back,” he said, watching Delysia preparing her healing rituals. “When Dieredon came to speak with Aurelia. They were sneaking through the forest toward the tower. Their intentions were ill, so we struck them. Only Karnryk survived, somehow…”
Tarlak nodded, stroking his beard in thought. Suddenly he stopped.
“A year ago?” he asked. Qurrah gave him a quizzical look, but Tarlak shook his head. He would inquire about it later. Pure white light enveloped Delysia’s hands. She put them across Tessanna’s chest, letting the healing magic flow into her body. Nothing happened. She cast another spell, plunging the light deep into her wounds.