longest trek he would ever take.
D eep within the forest, Tessanna cried out, grief and horror mixed into one terrible sob.
“What is it?” Qurrah asked, taking her into his arms.
“The girl is dead,” she sobbed, clawing at his chest. “I saw it, she’s dead. You killed her, you killed her!”
He did not stop her as she dug her nails into his chest so hard that blood flowed. He only held her tight as the shock of what had happened overcame him. He tried to say something, to say anything, but no words would come. They just would not come.
W hen the mercenaries returned to find the door to the tower open, they knew something was wrong. They set down their bags of trinkets, wine and ale.
“Did Harruq go somewhere?” Tarlak asked. Aurelia shrugged. Fear nagged at her, some nameless worry, so she did not rush up the stairs to check. She cast a divination spell to see her husband in her mind’s eye.
She suddenly cried out, startling the rest. She turned and fled out of the tower. Tarlak and the others followed, so surprised it took them a moment to realize she had even left. Around the tower Aurelia went, running for the forest as fast as her elven grace allowed. Staggering out from the trees came her husband, their daughter in his arms.
“Harruq!” she cried, flying over the grass. Her husband looked up at her, his eyes lifeless. She saw that look and knew. She did not need words, she did not need to see the way Aullienna’s arms hung lifeless beside her, or how her neck slumped in an unnatural way. She knew. She stopped running, her hands going up to cover her mouth, squelching a moan.
The half-orc stumbled. Tears streamed down his face. Less than ten feet away, he fell to his knees and cradled the girl to his chest.
“She’s dead,” he said, and then the sobbing came. It erupted from the center of him, great and powerful. He tried to speak, to say something, but he could not. Aurelia knelt before him, her slender fingers caressing her daughter’s face.
“How?” she managed to ask.
“She drowned,” he said, fighting for control. He placed her on the grass in front of him, unable to bear the weight any longer. The rest of the mercenaries came running, falling silent at the sight. Tarlak’s face flushed the deepest red. Delysia let out a startled cry before turning away. Harruq stood, looked to his wife, and then took her in his arms. He needed her. More than ever, he needed her. The two embraced, each quietly crying.
At last he could cry no more, for an easier feeling, one he knew well, overcame Harruq.
“He killed her,” he said. Aurelia gave no reaction, so he said it again. The words made him better somehow. “He killed her.” He pulled back, looked her in the eye, and said it one more time. “He killed her.”
“Don’t go,” she said, but he already was. He marched past the others, heading for where his armor and swords lay scattered across the bedroom floor.
“Where are you going?” Haern dared ask.
“I’m going to kill him,” Harruq turned and screamed. “I’m going to make him pay.”
“We need to talk,” Tarlak said. Harruq ignored him. He rushed for the tower, putting his daughter behind him. He could bear that image no more. He heard his wife call his name but he fought against it. Sorrow was for another time. Vengeance was now.
Then she took his wrist in her hands. He whirled around, fury raging in his eyes. Aurelia did not back down, even as the pain filled her face.
“Please, don’t go,” she pleaded. “I need you. Please.”
“He killed my daughter!” he shouted.
“She was my daughter too,” she said. A tear ran down past her nose and fell to the ground. “Can’t you see? She was our daughter.”
He nodded. More tears came to his eyes.
“I just, Aurry, I…” The anger melted away. His grief lost its razor-edge, fading down to a constant throb.
“We need to build a pyre,” she said. Harruq nodded and sighed. His shoulders sagged.
“I’ll make one out back,” he said. “I guess tonight we’ll…we…”
“We’ll give her body back to nature,” Aurelia said, trying to be strong. “Her soul has moved on. The pyre will make her as she was.”
“She’ll never be as she was,” Harruq said. To this Aurelia only clutched him tighter. The cold wind blew, the couple mourning amidst it as deep in the woods two more lovers suffered much the same.
30
S cattered among the forest of metal within Brug’s room was a great, hulking axe. One side was enormously thick, the edge sharpened to a lumberjack’s point. Harruq retrieved it, grunting at the weight in his hands. It weighed more than Aullienna. He didn’t know why, but that fact irritated him. He jammed it down on a broken chestplate, frowning as it punched a giant triangular dent across the middle.
“Good enough,” he said. They were the last words he spoke for the next three hours. His breathing ragged, and still wearing the thin sweaty clothes from the morning, he approached the forest. He knew the others watched him. This irritated him even more. The first tree he reached became his victim. Into the air the axe went, lifted high, both hands gripping the far bottom of the handle. When it swung, it swung with anger, with pain. The first bite drawn, he settled in for the rest.
The tree, a spindly, stubborn thing that had lost its leaves early, was just about to fall when Brug appeared.
“Thought someone should show you how to cut a tree properly,” he said, trying to sound callous, unimpressed, or bored. Harruq did not respond, nor did he move out of the way to let the smaller man move in with his thicker axe. So instead, Brug stood by and watched as the tree came tumbling down.
They needed logs, so Harruq began cutting off the branches and placing them in a large pile. Some were just tiny, while others were enormous chunks with many warts and growths. Meanwhile, Brug cut the tree into quarters, hefting the axe high above his head before crashing it down.
Haern arrived then, his hood removed. He knew kindling was needed, so he had retrieved a small hatchet from the tower. The smaller branches he trimmed and smoothed. The larger ones he hacked into smaller pieces. This he did while Harruq split the quarters into more manageable chunks, which Brug took wordlessly. With one great swing, he cut them into perfect sized logs.
With a polite nod to the half-orc, Tarlak arrived. Bearing no axe or hatchet, he instead took the branches to the place where the pyre would burn. Then he came for the logs, carrying them three at a time back toward the tower. He could have used a levitation spell to carry them, but he did not. Without sweat and toil, his help would be meaningless. The two women accepted his gifts with thanks given only in their eyes. It was their duty to prepare the pyre. It would be smaller than normal, much smaller. A web of the thinner twigs and branches formed the center, to give easy life to the fire. Surrounding it went the bigger logs, like a wall protecting a scattered bird nest. One or two thick logs went in the center for support, and then more twigs, branches, even dry leaves, all packed atop everything. They placed more logs around the sides as sweat ran down their necks.
When the pyre neared completion, Aurelia told Tarlak to bring them no more. He nodded, dreading the act. He didn’t want to speak. The silence and backbreaking work had done much to mask the grief that made them toil. A bond formed out of tragedy would soon be broken. His words would break it.
“We’re done here,” the wizard told them, crossing his arms to pull his yellow robe tighter across his chest. A large pile of wood remained to be taken, but they left it abandoned. Harruq plopped the head of his axe to the ground and leaned on the handle.
“You sure?” he asked.
Tarlak nodded. “Yes. I’m sure.”
The four left the woods. It was still the afternoon, but the days had grown shorter. The sun was already speeding its way toward the horizon. The orange light would soon be gone. Come nightfall, the fire would be lit.
