“Welcome back,” he said, using the bench to steady himself as he stood. “Though things have grown far more somber than your first joyous arrival.”
“Someone murdered a priest of Karak last night,” Lathaar said. “Hayden’s blaming Antonil.”
“Much as we’d like to take credit, we can’t,” Tarlak said. “Isn’t that right, Haern?”
The assassin shrugged. “Is that sarcasm, Tarlak? Say it again; I couldn’t tell.”
“Enough,” Aurelia said. “We need to find out who, and put a stop to it.”
“Why?” Haern asked. “We should be joining them, not hunting them down. You saw what the priests of Karak did to Veldaren. We cannot let the priests here do the same, not with an army within weeks of laying siege.”
“I will not listen to this,” Bernard shouted, startling them all. He stormed over to Haern, reached down his shirt, and yanked out the golden mountain pendant hanging from a chain. He let it fall, and as the candlelight reflected in all directions, the old man stared down the assassin.
“I am no fool,” he said. “You have fallen far, young man. A lying tongue and bleeding hands are welcome even here, but only if they seek forgiveness and atonement. I will not listen to you advocate murder.”
Haern pushed the old man aside and headed for the door. Just before he left, he drew his sabers and pointed one at Tarlak.
“You know what they did to Delysia,” he said. “You of all people should understand. We can’t remain cowards. We need to act, and now!”
“I know what they did,” Tarlak said, shaking his head sadly. “But I know the forgiveness Delysia lived and died for. If you wish to hunt down and murder the priests, you will not do it as an Eschaton.”
Hearn sheathed his sabers, the pain clear in his eyes.
“What Eschaton are left?” he asked the wizard. “Brug? Delysia? If I go, who else remains but you?”
Tarlak waited until Haern exited, then turned and slammed his fist against the wall.
“Damn it all!” he shouted.
“Should we stop him?” Harruq asked.
“No,” Tarlak said. “We’ll leave him be for now. Our first priority is protecting the priests here. We’ll have to see just how bold Hayden is. For now, we keep all of you here, to be safe.”
“We will not cower here,” Bernard said. “There are people who need to hear Ashhur’s word, now more than ever. If we have to risk our lives, so be it.”
“You’re right,” Harruq said, grinning at Tarlak’s surprise. “And I know how.”
Within the hour, the remaining priests of Ashhur spread throughout the camps of Neldar. Their reception was phenomenal. Tired men and women, who had suffered loss and death of friends and loved ones, found ears to listen and hearts willing to comfort and forgive.
“They are so many,” one of the priests said as Bernard swung by to check on him. “And we are too few.”
“Do what you can,” Bernard told him. “You can’t do more than that.”
Tarlak watched them go about the camps, grinning.
“Clever,” he said to Harruq. “If Hayden tries to kill any of them, publicly or in secret, he’ll earn the ire of the people Queen Annabelle’s welcomed with open arms.”
“And it’ll mean he came into our camps to do it,” Harruq added. “Giving Antonil valid reason to confront the queen.”
The two quieted, each pondering over the same thing.
“Haern…” Harruq began.
“Will come back to us,” Tarlak said. “He’s just hurt, like he has been many times before. He’s not turning to Ashhur for comfort, not this time. He wants his own comfort, and that’s why he’s going to stay hurting. We’ll wait for him, and we’ll welcome him back when he comes.”
The half-orc shifted uncomfortably. “You sound like Jerico.”
Tarlak chuckled. “I’m no paladin, and I’m no priest. Not everyone has to be one or the other. Sometimes Ashhur needs regular people to show other regular people that this life isn’t as impossible as it seems.”
“Guess so,” Harruq said. “So Ashhur doesn’t forbid drinking and womanizing?”
“Nah, he does,” Tarlak said, smacking the half-orc on the back. “I’m just hoping he lets me slide on those.”
11
H aern leaped across the rooftops, his gray cloaks a blur in the night. He kept his sabers sheathed, not risking a bit of starlight glinting off their blades to reveal his presence. Hurrying along the ground nearby was a cloaked man. He held no torch, and showed no weapon.
“Why so nervous?” Haern whispered to himself. “What is it you hide?”
He jumped down into an alley, sprinted around a few houses, and then leaped into the air, landing on the roof of a small home. The roof creaked under his weight. His prey heard the noise and spun, and as her hood fell low he realized he chased a woman. She had long red hair, and her right eye was scarred shut. With her one good eye she winked at him before continuing.
“I should have known,” Haern whispered as he ran. “What are you up to, Veliana?”
He traveled roof to roof in pursuit. Without a noise he descended upon Veliana, his sabers drawn. Veliana was ready. She curled into a ball and rolled, Haern’s sabers’ slamming the dirt behind her. She spun about, dragging one knee across the ground to halt her momentum. Out came her daggers.
“Why does the Ash Guild want the priests dead?” Haern asked.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Veliana said. She lunged. Haern batted aside her first two stabs, jumped over her sweeping kick, and then kneed her in the face. As she fell back her daggers twisted and jabbed, scoring a hit across his arm. She landed on her hands, arched her back and pushed, landing on her feet out of reach.
“The priests of Karak,” Haern said, sprinting after her. “I’ve seen your handiwork.”
“Are you so sure it mine?” she asked. She suddenly dropped and spun. Haern grunted as her kick connected with his ribs. He prayed that none were broken. He tried slashing at her face but she was already gone. He chased, slashing again and again but her nimble body weaved side to side, her daggers parrying away any cut she could not avoid.
“We do what we must to survive,” Veliana said. “Just like you.”
Haern pressed further, but she seemed bored with him. As his sabers veered at either side of her neck she clapped her hands and vanished. He staggered forward, cutting air. From atop a nearby house she laughed at him.
“Take a good look around this city,” Veliana said, brushing her hair away from her face. “Tell me where we could fit in, and then wonder why. You’ll find your answer.”
“You put everyone at risk,” Haern argued.
“The city will survive or it won’t,” the lady said, saluting him with a dagger. “What we do won’t change that in the slightest.”
And then she was gone. Haern grumbled and swore. He had gone easy, trying to bait information out of her. Instead he got puzzles.
“Where would you fit in?” he asked the night. He pulled the tie from his hair, letting it fall free around his face and shoulders. Come the morning, he was determined to answer that very question.
H aern trudged toward the castle. The road was a vastly different sight than when they first arrived. Vendors lined each side, selling food, weapons, and various types of alcohol. Hundreds of people milled about, heading to or from home, buying, and selling. Many were from Neldar, attempting to buy comforts with the meager coin they carried. Haern weaved through them, watching for the telltale signs of a thief. But every time he saw two people bump into one another, he saw no hands slipping into pockets. What he did see, though, were priests of Karak roaming the streets, offering greetings to those that passed by.
“No thieves,” Haern wondered after an hour. “How the Abyss is that possible?”
He found a vendor selling daggers, his booth tidy and small. Haern approached and smiled.
“How goes the day?” he asked as he picked up one of the blades.
