hoped.”
Hayden stopped his cutting long enough to glance down and see one of the runes he’d carved with blood scratched away by a small knife Haern held. His look of contempt turned to horror. His strength returned, Haern batted away the dagger and stabbed with his own. Hayden let the dagger fly limp from his hand and instead clapped. The sound was a shockwave in the small room. Haern flew back, unable to withstand the spell.
He expected to slam into the opposite wall, but instead strong hands grabbed him and held him steady.
“Need some help here?” Harruq asked as Tarlak and Aurelia stepped in front of them, fire and ice glistening on their fingertips. Hayden hooked his hands together in prayer and bowed his head. The entire room darkened, and when their spells of fire and lances of ice tried to pierce the black, they dissipated into smoke. Hayden looked up, and it seemed the entire temple shook with his anger.
“Be gone from my house,” he said. The shadows stretched and grew all around the four Eschaton. The floor wobbled unsteadily, and the ceiling turned to darkened sky. As a sound of thunder rolled over them, they realized they were no longer within the temple, but outside.
“What the…” Harruq said before falling to his knees and vomiting.
“Impressive spell,” Tarlak said as he tried to catch his breath. “I need to remember that one.”
“We’re outside the city,” Aurelia said, the only one to have kept her stomach in check. “I think we’ll have to think twice before ever entering there again.”
The three fell silent as Haern stood, clutching his bleeding finger.
“I left my sabers inside,” he said.
“You left your brain in there as well,” Tarlak said. “What were you thinking?”
“I was doing what you should have,” Haern said. “Making Hayden pay.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know vengeance was part of Delysia’s teachings.”
“Enough!” Aurelia shouted, stepping between the two. “Just stop it.”
“We know it wasn’t you,” Harruq added. “Deathmask and his pets stopped Bernard’s execution. They were the ones killing the priests.”
Haern adjusted his cloaks, but his face, normally calm and controlled, cracked. His blue eyes sagged and drifted to the ground, while his mouth tightened.
“No,” he said. “I killed them. Deathmask only wanted to hurt them, make them fear his arrival. I ended their lives.”
Tarlak put a hand on Haern’s shoulder, but the assassin pulled away.
“I understand,” the wizard said. “Really, I do.”
“Do you?” Haern asked. “Then why is it you do nothing? Why is it we tolerate those who speak blasphemy and death? Why do we let them live when they deserving nothing, absolutely nothing?”
“Because we don’t either,” Tarlak said. “No one does. You of all people should understand that.”
Haern’s entire body rocked in denial. The blood running down his finger flicked across the grass as he let his arms sag and his dead stare shift to the wall looming behind them. When Aurelia went to put a hand on his shoulder, Tarlak stopped her. Instead Harruq hooked his arm around her waist and led her to the entrance, letting the original two Eschaton have their peace.
“This isn’t the same,” Haern said once they were gone.
“A wretched thief and murderer,” Tarlak said. “That’s what I remember.”
“It isn’t the same!” His belief was wild in his eyes, and it was not borne out of truth but desperation.
“Do you remember why Delysia first met you?” he asked. Haern’s hands curled into fists and shook at his sides.
“Yes,” he said. He fixed his stare at Tarlak’s feet, unwilling to meet his eyes. His heart, already overcome with pain, could not bear an additional strain of guilt.
“Are you sure?” Tarlak asked, his arms crossed and a side of his mouth tilted downward in a frown. “I’m not convinced.”
Haern saw flashes in his mind, of a father bleeding from a deep wound, and a child watching, just watching. Yes, he remembered.
“You’ve always been quick to condemn,” Tarlak said. “But Delysia had every reason to think you a monster. You helped kill her father and nearly killed her as well. But instead she loved you. She talked with you, reasoned and argued, and spent night after night at your side. I was mad as the Abyss at her for doing so. I was wrong then, and you’re wrong now. We carry out Ashhur’s will in all we do, and his call is to redeem, not execute!”
Haern gestured with his bleeding hand to the city behind them, smirking at its supposed greatness.
“So we let Karak have it then?” he asked. “Without a fight? Surrender control to his priests while we lick our wounds in the shadows and await our doom?”
“Don’t be dense,” Tarlak said. “You say you do this out of pain and love for Delysia. Stop doing everything she would hate. Return to camp and hide there. We need to figure out what nonsense is happening because of Bernard’s failed hanging.”
“As you wish,” Haern said. He meant it to sound more sarcastic but his heart was too weak. “Do I go an Eschaton, or as a prisoner?”
“As a friend,” the mage said. “Always as a friend.”
T arlak joined up with Harruq and Aurelia on the way to the hanging ground. He looked haggard, and his step lacked its normal spring.
“Will they try to hang Bernard again?” Harruq asked once the wizard caught up.
“I’m not sure,” Tarlak said. “But I have an idea. Just go with me, and remember, just tell the truth if anyone asks you anything.”
“Um, all right,” the half-orc said. He shrugged his shoulders as he gave Aurelia a look.
When they arrived, soldiers surrounded the area, weapons drawn. Their movements were jittery, and their eyes nervous. Several carried torches, while others glanced at the last bit of light as if it were a bad omen. When the soldiers saw their approach they ordered them to halt, a couple even raising their weapons as if expecting an attack.
“We are friends of King Antonil,” Tarlak shouted, hoping the king would hear. “And we come to offer counsel.”
One in the front recognized them from earlier and cleared the way. Inside the ring of soldiers they saw Antonil and Lathaar standing before the two giant stones. In between them sat Bernard, waiting for a decision on his fate. Mira sat above them, her feet dangling off the stone as she watched the soldiers.
“Hail and well met,” Tarlak said, grinning at the king. “So what’s transpired after we made our sudden exit?”
Antonil waited until the three were close enough to whisper before answering.
“They’ve sent for the queen,” he said. “Their law isn’t clear about what to do after a failed hanging. Besides that, I’ve cast doubt about his guilt. Deathmask made it pretty clear he was the one behind the attacks.”
“Never said he did them, though,” Tarlak said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Antonil argued. “I can use it. Let me talk to Queen Annabelle.”
Aurelia slipped between them and sat next to Bernard, who had his knees to his chest and his head leaning against the stone, his closed eyes turned to the emerging stars.
“I figure it best if I’m a small part of this,” she said to the others.
“I do not care about politics,” Bernard said to her, opening an eye to look at her and then smiling. “But whatever happens, I am still committed to helping you. Even if I have to jump headfirst off one of these stones.”
“You’re a sweetie,” Aurelia said as he closed his eye. “But let’s try to keep the dying to a minimum, shall we?”
“She’s here,” Antonil said, straightening up. The others stood and tried to look proper, except for Mira, who just crossed her legs and peered curiously at the queen’s arrival. She was flanked by twelve guards, each wielding a shield and spear. The four at the corners carried torches, and it was by their light they saw her highness. She looked tired, and her face appeared to have aged years in just hours. Harruq wondered just old she was. He had originally thought the woman in her fifties, but at the lines that creased her face and the way her hair was pulled back, thin and fading, he wondered just how off he was. She stopped and talked to a guard who had been waiting for her, listening as he explained what had happened during the execution.
