Harruq struggled into a sitting position, glaring at the assassin as blood ran down his lips and neck. Haern tossed him a white rag. Neither spoke as he cleaned himself, then held the rag to his nose. The morning dew vanished as the sun climbed higher in the sky.
“Are you ready to listen?” Haern asked. The half-orc nodded. “Good. I hold no anger against you, so hold none against me. It will simply lengthen things. Go inside and ask Delysia for a healing spell. Then, if you are willing, come back outside. I’ll be here.”
“In the open?” Harruq asked.
“Yes,” he replied, his smile hidden. “Right here in the open.”
Harruq stood and sheathed his blades. He dropped Haern’s rag as blood continued to drip down his face.
“You’re a bastard, you know that?” Harruq said.
Haern nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
With that, the half-orc went in search of Delysia.
S omething’s not right, Brug,” Tarlak said, staring at a map of Veldaren divided into several colored districts.
“What you mean, Tar?” Brug asked. He was dressed in his bed robes, and his eyes were still dark from sleep. Before the wizard answered, there was a knock at the door.
“Come on in, we’re decent,” Tarlak answered. Qurrah stuck his head inside, his robes clean and his hair straightened.
“I will be in Veldaren for a bit,” he said.
“Oh, alright, well you better take this then.” The wizard pulled open a drawer, closed it, pulled open another, and then took out a metallic pendant, which he tossed to Qurrah. A quick examination showed it to be a rectangle with a small yellow square in the center.
“What is this?” Qurrah asked.
“That’ll let people know you’re one of us,” Tarlak explained. “It’ll also get you in and out the gates without too much hassle from the guards.”
Qurrah bowed in thanks, and then slipped back out. When the door shut, the wizard turned back to his map.
“Lola’s not sent word to me since spring,” he said, continuing where he left off. “The Muggly brothers haven’t contacted me since summer, and Jerend’s offered no useful information for months now.”
“Perhaps because things are quiet,” Brug said from his seat in a comfortable padded chair.
“Thief guilds don’t stay quiet,” Tarlak said with a shake of his head. “Not even the neutered ones the nobles have created here in Veldaren.”
“Then what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking,” the wizard said, tapping his red goatee, “that somehow my contacts are expecting more money by not talking to me.”
“You think they’re being bribed?”
Tarlak glanced at Brug, who seemed disgusted with the prospect.
“I hope that is the case. If it is, Haern can get us new contacts. I’ve got a more worrisome idea, though.”
“Which is?”
Tarlak frowned at the multicolored districts, representing the territory of Veldaren’s thief guilds. “That somehow the guilds have developed plans that make feeding me information no longer worth the copper.”
Brug scratched at his beard, thinking over the idea.
“Can’t be planning something that big without us knowing,” he said. “Besides, Haern’s the Watcher. Any one of them guilds gets out of line, and he’ll come and set things right. A scary thought, though, the guilds working together.”
“I hate thieves,” Tarlak moaned, pulling his tall yellow hat down past his eyes.
“Half our business is keeping them in line,” Brug said, hopping from the chair. “You’re like a miner saying he hates the mountain but loves the gold inside.”
“That’s why I prefer to pay others to mine for me,” Tarlak said with a grin. “Have you finished the pendants for our new members?”
Brug shook his head.
“Had trouble deciding the animal. Figured Harruq’s would be a scorpion. Saw that one on his chest, so that makes sense. What about Qurrah, though?”
“Make it a scorpion, as well,” Tarlak said. “They’re brothers.”
“And the elf?”
The wizard shrugged. “Go ask her. She seems a bit friendlier.”
Brug half-saluted, then left. Tarlak leaned over the map, pondering schemes that might simultaneous earn every thief guild higher profits. Any that came to mind were either too farfetched, or too frightening. Brug popped his head back in five minutes later.
“Strange girl, that elfie is,” he said.
“What animal did she pick?”
Brug made a go-figure motion with his hands. “She wants a spider as well as a kitten.”
“As in one creature, or both?”
“Never heard of a spiderkitty before, so yeah, both.”
Tarlak chuckled. “Compromise. Make one, but have it be both a spider and a kitten.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
Brug rolled his eyes and slammed the door.
Q urrah wandered through the streets of Veldaren, blessedly silent in the early hour. No merchants hawked their wares, and the few men and women that wandered about were busy with whatever task forced them from their beds. Qurrah preferred the company and secrecy of cities to the green of the forests. He always felt uneasy amid the tall trees, as if part of his blood recognized them as home, but the other half rejected all their comforts. It was in the dust, dirt, and stone of a city that he felt he could go about unnoticed. More importantly, he could let his mind wander.
His path led him straight to the fountain in the center of town. He stared at the great king of old, whose loyalty to Karak had been unfailing.
“What purpose do you have in my life now?” he asked that statue. The stone gave no answer, which was no surprise. It was a relic of an era many seemed desperate to forget. What if the stone could talk, Qurrah wondered. What if its mouth opened and words of a god came through? He stared, wondering, until he thought he saw the lips of the statue begin to crack, as if desperate to open. He stepped back, frightened, and that was when he saw the girl.
She sat atop the edge of the fountain, one leg dipping in and out of the water. Her black hair hung over one shoulder, trailing down to her waist. His eyes took in her soft face and pale skin. She hunched over her legs, which were exposed below the knee by a fairly common skirt cut uncommonly high. Her right arm extended outward. She clenched her fist, and the veins in her arm swelled. In her left hand, she held a dagger.
Qurrah’s reaction was a mixture of shock and curiosity as he watched her cut the flesh of her arm. The movements of her dagger were not random. She turned the blade this way and that, forming separate runes. She showed no sign of pain or pleasure. The girl seemed completely apathetic to her mutilations as her bright blood dripped into the fountain, staining the water scarlet.
The half-orc glanced around, realizing he had been staring. He was intrigued by how the few people passing by showed no surprise at what the girl did. A few frowned as they went on their way, but most ignored her. Qurrah walked away, then turned about, resting his back against a small shop facing the fountain. His curiosity awakened, he patiently waited. For what, he did not know.
As time passed, and more and more people filled the center, the girl ceased her cutting. She raised her arm to the sky, turning it so she could better see the runes she had carved. A smile creased her face, and she giggled. She put the dagger into her pocket, not caring her sleeve and dress were soaked with her own blood.
The girl hopped down, turned to the fountain, and splashed the statue king. Qurrah’s stomach twisted as she drank the waters. A man swore at her as he walked past, but this only elicited another giggle as faint red water
