useful, but he didn’t need such material clues. No, he had access to something far more useful.
“Clear out everything around him,” Qurrah ordered. “Leaves, flowers, even bugs.”
Harruq began sweeping the area as commanded. Qurrah watched him, feeling a tug of nostalgia. How many times had they worked his magic together, dabbling in arts that were so often beyond him? Not that he missed the experiments themselves. Thinking back to those times, sifting through body parts with his necrotically tuned mind… it’d been like a child cutting animals with a sword thinking himself training to be a knight. The shame of it was enough to make him shiver and push the memories far away.
“Find me small, smooth stones for the runes,” he told Aurelia. “You should know the type I need.”
Indeed she did, even if she didn’t know the exact runes themselves. When the spell enacted, Qurrah’s magic would flood into the carved runes. If shaped into something malleable as dirt, they’d be too weak, and the magic would break them, scattering the dirt and banishing the magic. But stone? Stone would hold. When he yanked this assassin’s soul back to the world of Dezrel, Qurrah wanted him completely, thoroughly enslaved.
Tessanna lingered behind him, her hands on his shoulders as she quietly watched. When he had the first of the stones, Qurrah took out a dagger and breathed against it. The tip shimmered purple, and then he began to carve. The blade easily sliced through the stone, creating the straight and curved lines he needed. One after another he carved them, never hurrying. When finished with each stone, Tessanna would stand, situate it in its proper place around the body, and then return to where she had been sitting. Harruq and Aurelia watched, holding hands in the garden. It was just the four of them together, and for some strange reason it made Qurrah feel very much at home.
When the ninth stone was finished, he stood and stretched his back.
“Make sure not to interrupt me,” he said. “Especially you, Harruq.”
“I was there when you brought back the ghost of our father,” Harruq said. “So don’t act like I’ve forgotten how to behave during a ritual.”
Qurrah chuckled. That, at least, was still a memory he cherished. Their father had been a coward and a racist, loathing the orcish race despite his coupling with their orcish mother. More and more Qurrah understood it for the confused, angry, and violent act it was, and more and more he both pitied and loathed his father.
Of course, they’d killed him prior to summoning his ghost and hadn’t known his true relationship to them. The half-orc shook his head. No, even his better memories were tinged with death and guilt. Such was the past, he thought to himself. At least he could move on into the future with his head held high.
“Aurelia, have you ever witnessed something like this?” he asked.
The elf shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I’m not sure I want to, either, but I will. This man tried to kill Aubrienna. I want to know why.”
“We all do,” Qurrah said. “And between me and Tess, I promise you, he will not have a chance to deny us. Everyone, quiet now. Let the ritual begin.”
Qurrah knelt outside the circle of stones, putting his hands on one of them. The ancient word carved upon it was the same as the first word of the ritual. He’d chant them all repeatedly, filling them with magic like one would fill a pitcher with water, but this one was the first and most crucial. The words left his tongue, tinged with melancholy, and the magic began to pour out from him. Tessanna was at his side immediately, her hand atop his. They echoed one another, demanding the veil of life be split, using the body as a guide to find the soul it had once belonged to. The stones began to glow, first purple, then a vibrant orange, as if within the stone were a great swell of fire eager for release.
Faster and faster they spoke the words, until with a great tormented shriek the ethereal visage of the man rose from the dead shell of his body.
“Welcome back,” Qurrah said, rising to his feet. “I assure you, your stay here will not be pleasant.”
The man continued to wail. He still wore the clothes he’d had on when he died, which Qurrah knew was common. Returning to the world of the living, even as a spirit, meant a frantic attempt to become as they were before, almost like a coping mechanism. The wailing was also normal. Qurrah himself had experienced the transition once, when Velixar had ripped him out of eternity and back into his rotting corpse. The sensation was beyond explanation, a combination of confusion, pain, and abandonment. Qurrah’s memories of everything beyond had fled him, and he suspected they would always be denied to him until he once more left the mortal coil.
But just because it was normal didn’t mean he had to endure it.
“Silence,” he ordered. The runes flared, and the spirit obeyed. Qurrah stepped closer, watching the spirit’s eyes. When at last he saw a bit of sanity returning, he knew the transition was complete.
“Answer all questions asked of you,” he ordered. “And speak no lies.”
“As you wish,” the assassin said. His voice was thin and whispery, as if he were in a distant room.
“What is your name?”
“We are not given names. We call each other by our colors.”
Qurrah glanced to the others, frowned.
“Then what is your color?”
“My designation was Crimson.”
“I can already tell this is going to go well,” Harruq muttered. Qurrah winced, prayed his brother was wrong.
“Why did you attempt to kill Aurelia and the children?” he asked.
Crimson looked to Aurelia, and it seemed he recognized her.
“Because that was our task,” Crimson said, as if it were obvious. “It is my highest disgrace knowing we failed. You should be dead, elf. We do not fail.”
“Silence,” Qurrah said. “Answer only the questions asked, spirit. You are not beyond feeling pain, let me assure you that.”
Crimson glared but obeyed.
Qurrah looked at the others, to see if any had ideas where the line of questioning should go.
“What is the name of your organization?” Harruq asked.
“We have none that we are told.”
“Your headquarters,” Aurelia said. “Where is it located?”
“I do not know. I shared a room with three brothers. We left through a single door. Sometimes it took us to a new place to train. Sometimes it took us to a place to scout. Most times, it took us to who we were to kill.”
The more Qurrah heard, the more he felt his stomach tighten. What he was witnessing, it was unreal.
“What were the names of those who taught you magic?” he asked.
“I do not know. We were only given numbers.”
“Who were your trainers in swordplay?”
“I do not know. We were only given letters.”
Harruq paced beyond the circle of runes.
“Are you sure they can’t lie?” he asked. “This is getting stupid. What life did this guy lead?”
Aurelia reached out and grabbed his hand to stop his pacing.
“Raised in a single room, taught by men he didn’t know,” she said. “I think Haern might have known something of that life.”
“One last question, spirit,” Qurrah said, sensing everyone’s patience nearing their limit. “Where is this door now? Where is it waiting for you?”
For the first time the spirit gave pause. Qurrah watched, then touched one of the rune stones with his finger. Power surged through it, pulsing into Crimson. The ethereal being let out a wail, its features fading for a brief moment.
“Answer me,” Qurrah said, his voice calm.
“I do not know how to answer,” Crimson said.
“Try.”
“If we had succeeded, I would have known. I did not, therefore I do not know. That is the only way I can explain it.”
Qurrah stood, glanced to the others. When none offered anything, Qurrah turned and dismissed Crimson.
“Go back to the Abyss,” he told him. “Maybe down there you’ll learn some answers.”
