The Cost of Betrayal

2

Now I’m pissed,” Harruq said, yanking at the web surrounding his body. He yanked one of his swords out from its sheathed. The black blade easily cut him free. Aurelia remained perfectly still, her eyes closed. Qurrah let his whip drop, the fire burning away all webbing that it touched.

“Just stay put, you durn idiots,” a voice cried out. A short, stocky human dressed in full platemail stood at the door, his chest nearly covered by his black beard. Each hand held a nasty looking punch dagger.

“Aren’t your swords a little tiny to be calling us idiots?” the half-orc shouted, tearing loose from the web and storming toward him. “Now what in blazes do you want?”

“Harruq, look out!” Qurrah shouted. Harruq glanced back, but was too late. A figure leapt from atop a pile of crates and crashed down on the burly warrior. The butts of two sabers smacked his skull, dropping him like a sack of grain. The attacker landed without a sound, his entire figure shrouded by swirling gray cloaks.

“Enough of this,” Aurelia said, still shrouded in webs. Twin lightning bolts arced out from her hands, tearing through webbing as they streaked toward the ambushers. The man in gray cloaks whirled, dodging the blast. The shorter fellow did not fare as well. The lightning hit him square in the chest, lifted him off his feet, and deposited him outside in a gasping lump of metal, dirt and flesh. Aurelia followed with two more bolts of lightning. The man in gray dodged back and forth, leaping off walls and crates so that each strike just barely missed.

Qurrah lashed his whip, burning away more of the webs. He heard soft chanting from within the darkness high above his head, and he recognized it for what it was: a wizard casting a spell.

“Darkness is no haven here,” he said. Invisible forces gripped his arms and legs, slowing their movements. Qurrah ignored them, knowing they were mental illusions. He kept his hands looping through the semantic motions for his spell. The darkness covering the ceiling suddenly recoiled and fled as if it were a living thing. Standing there, illuminated in no light but still clearly visible, was a middle-aged wizard dressed in yellow robes, a yellow cloak, and a tall yellow hat. In his left hand he held a long, knotted staff.

“Hello there,” he said, realizing his cover was gone. “Clever fellow, aren’t you?”

A ball of fire leapt from his hands to convey his appreciation.

“Aurelia!” Qurrah cried as the fire approached. The elf stopped her barrage of lightning just long enough to place a warding spell around them. The fireball hit the ground and detonated. The flame swirled about Aurelia and Qurrah, held at bay by Aurelia’s spell.

When the fire dissipated, the half-orc laughed at the wizard in yellow.

“Surely you can do better than that,” Qurrah said.

“Aye, that I can, but why should I?” asked the wizard.

“Because you gave me one mother of a headache, and that makes me cranky,” Harruq said. He staggered to his feet, his swords drawn but flailing wildly as he tried to gain his balance. Before he could move, the points of two blades pressed against his back.

“Move, and you’re gonna get more than just a headache,” a rough voice said from behind.

“You’re a short little guy, aren’t you?” Harruq asked. He shifted his hips slightly, tightening the grips on his swords as he did.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing.”

The half-orc leapt forward and away. Qurrah covered his flight with a sharp burst of cold air. Aurelia whirled on the yellow wizard, red light on her fingertips. Several bolts of pure magic flew outward, fizzling into smoke as they struck an invisible shield.

Harruq found little reprieve, for the man in the gray cloaks assaulted him with a wicked barrage of double-stabs and feints. He batted away what he could, furious and confused as he watched what should have been killing cuts repeatedly deflect off his armor, or cut no deeper than a scratch.

“You’re gonna pay for that one, ya pansy caster,” the short warrior said, a bit of frost sticking to his beard. He charged across the warehouse with his punch daggers pumping the air. Qurrah laughed. A snap of his whip took out his attacker’s feet. He crashed across the floor, a rolling, jumbling mess of armor.

“I’m a pansy caster too, don’t forget,” the wizard in yellow said, smiling down at Aurelia even as she launched a swirling blue cone of ice back up at him. He pointed his staff toward her, summoning a clear shield of pure magic. The cold swarmed about him, doing no harm.

She opened her mouth to cast again, only to feel the curved tip of a sword press against her lower lip.

“Do not give me cause to harm such beauty,” the cloaked man whispered. He shifted, using the elf as a shield between him and Harruq.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” Harruq said.

“Lower your weapons,” the wizard said. “We have no desire to hurt you.”

The fire left Qurrah’s whip. Harruq sheathed his swords, glaring at the cloaked man with open hatred.

“God-damned pansy-tripping cowardly weaselwhip-using orc-kisser!”

The short warrior jumped to his feet, fuming.

“Don’t worry, Brug,” the wizard said. “Being useless in this battle doesn’t make you useless as a whole.”

Harruq raised an eyebrow at the yellow-garbed wizard, who was levitating down to join them. A nod from him, and the cloaked man removed the sword from Aurelia’s face.

“Is there a reason you attacked us?” Aurelia asked. “Or did you just feel like a little fun?”

“One could have a lot of fun with you,” the wizard said, blatantly examining her lithe and firm body. “But, it would be impolite without first knowing my name. I am Tarlak Eschaton, at your service.”

“Did I miss something here?” Harruq asked.

“You missed a few of Haern’s swings, by the looks of your face,” Tarlak said. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you a healer, if you want.”

Qurrah joined his brother’s side, his whip dragging along the ground. He put another hand on the burly half-orc’s arm, hoping for patience, but not expecting it.

“State your purpose,” Qurrah said.

“It’s simple, really. The King has banned elves from Veldaren. Elves also happen to be a sneaky bunch. They can disguise themselves, as, say, a noble woman from a far off country. So our little gang of mercenaries was hired to flush out and remove any such sneaky elves.”

He bowed again to Aurelia.

“My apologies, but you must leave.”

A woman entered through the doorway, dressed in the white robes of Ashhur. Red hair fell down past her shoulders. Her face had soft, curved features, and she bore a strong resemblance to Tarlak.

“Should I attend to Brug first as usual, Tarlak?” the priestess asked. Tarlak glanced back to her, a smile flashing across his face.

“Do you have to ask, Delysia? Brug got himself-”

And then a whip wrapped around his neck. Haern drew his sabers, but Qurrah glared at him, prepared for his speed.

“With but a thought I can surround my whip with fire,” he told him. “Move, and I burn him alive.”

“I’d greatly prefer you stay still for now, Haern,” Tarlak said, the muscles in his neck taut.

Haern sheathed his swords. “Of course,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Let me know when you want them dead.”

“Qurrah, release him, he intends us no harm,” Aurelia said.

“He means to order us around,” Qurrah said. “I do not appreciate that. Besides, if you go, we go, and I happen to like this city.”

“Touching,” Brug grumbled, his knuckles white as they gripped his punch daggers. “But you’re a fool thinking you got yourself a bargaining chip. I’ll gut any who cause him harm.”

Delysia slowly approached, standing at Brug’s side with her arms crossed.

“I do not like stalemates,” Qurrah said, his eyes jumping from one to the other. “So I propose that you four pretend you never saw us, and no one will be the wiser.”

“Bad idea,” Tarlak replied, wincing slightly, half-expecting fire to engulf his neck. None did, so he continued. “We let you go, and someone finds out, or even worse, you go off and kill someone, our heads would find themselves a nice new spike for a home. Personally, my head likes my neck, so we need a solution that addresses that particular worry.”

“Don’t sound like there is one,” Harruq said, drawing his swords. “Because we’re not leaving.”

The cloaked man drifted around so fluidly that Qurrah did not realize he had moved until he was almost gone.

“Order him where I can see him,” Qurrah said. “I need no assassins at my back.”

“Well, that is what you have, my friend,” Tarlak replied. “And quite frankly, I can’t order him to do anything. You’re the one with the fiery whip, after all.”

“Qurrah, I’m not liking this,” Harruq said, shifting attention back and forth from the short warrior and the cloaked man.

“Nice to know,” his brother said.

“I believe I have a solution,” Delysia said. All eyes turned to her. “Let them join the Eschaton.”

Harruq, Qurrah, and Aurelia all glanced about in confusion at this, but this hardly matched the confusion of their counterparts.

“Join us?” Brug roared. “By Ashhur, I’ll join ‘em in a grave before I join ‘em in Eschaton!”

“May I ask what the Eschaton is?” Aurelia said.

“The Eschaton Mercenaries,” Tarlak answered. “Named after my sister and I. The four of us in front of you would be the Eschaton. We do a few jobs, kill a few people, and get paid outrageous sums for it.”

“They are skilled,” Haern whispered from behind, startling all three. The sharp end of a saber curled around Qurrah’s neck. “Skilled enough to be trained.”

“How does this solve the problem with my elven blood?” Aurelia asked.

“Vaelor’s edict ordered the Veldaren Guard, and the Eschaton Mercenaries, to remove all elves from his city,” Delysia replied. “It did not order elves to be removed from the Eschaton itself. Our home is not located within Veldaren’s walls.”

“It is a weak argument,” Qurrah said, his eyes locked with Tarlak’s. “And a tough decision to make at the point of a blade.”

“Well I have to decide at the point of a, well, whip. So go ahead. You three seem more than capable. Feel like becoming part of the happy family?”

“More like the black sheep of the family,” Brug grumbled. Delysia swatted him on the head.

“I will trust your judgment, Qurrah,” Aurelia said softly. Qurrah nodded. A flick of his wrist and the whip returned, slithering underneath the arm of his robe. Haern’s sword vanished just as quickly.

“Well,” Tarlak said, rubbing his neck, “glad that is over with. So, I guess I should be the first to welcome you.”

“Honored,” Harruq muttered. He looked about, seeing an angry man storming out of the warehouse, the priestess following him in mid-argument, and no sign of the cloaked one. “Odd mess of a family.”

“Well, we just added two half-orcs and an elf. It seems diversity is now our strong suit. By the way, do you three have names? It helps with the bonding process.”

“I’m Harruq Tun,” the half-orc said. “This here is my brother, Qurrah Tun.”

“And I am Aurelia Thyne,” the elf said, offering a tiny curtsey.

“Wonderful!” Tarlak said. “Follow me. I’ll show you your new home.” He followed Brug and Delysia out the warehouse, not stopping to see if the three followed.

“We really gonna do this?” Harruq asked.

“We have no home, and no lawful standing to be here,” Aurelia said. “Don’t forget, you two have elven blood as well. I see no reason not to give this a try.”

“I can think of plenty,” Qurrah said. He offered none when Aurelia gave him a look.

“Well, off we go then,” Harruq said with a shrug.

T he road leading from the west gate of Neldaren forked north and south less than a hundred yards from the city. The southern road followed the banks of the Kinel river, leading to a multitude of farming villages beyond. While the southern road traveled for hundreds of miles, the north road was far shorter. The King’s forest surrounded all of northern Veldaren, and built against the southwest curve loomed an old sentry tower. Back when orc armies could still cross the bone ditch, the small stone structure housed a powerful scrying device permanently aimed west. Years ago, the magic of the scrying device had failed, the sentry tower was abandoned, and when an enterprising mage in curious yellow robes offered to purchase the structure, King Vaelor had been more than receptive.

“Welcome to your new home,” Tarlak said, gesturing grandly before the stone edifice.

“It’s, well, a little better than our last home,” Harruq said, staring at the tower in surprise. The building rose far above the tops of the trees, looking like a cylindrical piece of stone growing out of the earth. Twin doors barred entrance inside. Windows marked each floor, which Qurrah counted to be more than six.

Tarlak continued talking, clearly proud of his tower.

“It’s a little drafty come the winter months, but a brilliant man designed the heating, and an even more brilliant man, me, decorated the place and made it livable. By the way, can you all share a room?”

Aurelia’s frown was by far the biggest of the three.

“Excuse me, Tarlak, but if you haven’t noticed, I have some important differences from these fine gentlemen here.”

The wizard laughed. “Yes. Two stand out immediately.”

Aurelia glared. “Do you know any polymorph spells, Tarlak?”

“No, why?”

“Because I do. Another comment like that, and you will have to admire my figure through the eyes of a mudskipper.”

For a long moment, the wizard paused, mulling over the concept with a blank stare.

“Moving on!” he said when finished, marching toward the oak doors. Harruq shook his head.

“Odd guy.”

“He would most likely prefer eccentric,” Qurrah said.

“I’ll go with lecherous,” Aurelia chipped in. The doors creaked open with a rustic sound, and then the three followed the wizard in.

B eautiful, isn’t she?” Tarlak said, smiling as he led them through the large bottom floor. Filling nearly half of it was a giant wood fireplace, a myriad of pipes stretching out from the top, entering the higher levels of the tower through snug holes in the ceiling. Still in the early stages of summer, there was no need for a fire yet, but Harruq smiled at the thought of spending his first winter warm and cozy, instead of miserably shivering in some rundown home.

On their left, stone stairs wound upward. On the right, split logs were stacked neatly. Two old but sturdy couches faced the fireplace. Next to the couches, a long table stretched from wall to wall. The couches, the drapes over two windows, and the carpet were all a deep, luxurious red. The contrast with the dark stone was sharp, to say the least. Still, the place had an undeniable, simplistic charm. To Harruq and Qurrah, who had lived in total squalor, the place seemed a castle.

“What are all the pipes for?” Aurelia asked, gesturing to the fireplace.

“That is my wonderful brilliance put into action,” Tarlak said, beaming as if the furnace were his own son. “When I first moved in, one large pipe acted as a chimney for the smoke. Now, however, each of the pipes leads to the different levels, heating them all.”

“Where does the smoke go?” asked Harruq.

“Gotta use this,” Tarlak said, tapping his forehead. “I have a few magic spells in me. The heat goes through all the pipes except that big one in the center, which funnels cold air in and smoke out. Trust me, come winter, you’ll be ready to worship me for how toasty my home stays.”

“Your home?” asked Delysia as she came down the stairs. “I do believe it was my money you purchased this place with, dear brother.”

“Our home,” Tarlak said, duly corrected. “After the nasty business with the Citadel, I needed a new place to start. My dear sister here was kind enough to lend a hand.”

Qurrah’s eyes narrowed at mention of the Citadel, but he kept his questions to himself.

“Giving the grand tour?” Delysia asked.

“Of course. I need to show them where they’ll be living. Speaking of, do you think you can share a room with lovely Aurelia here?”

Delysia glanced around Tarlak to look at Aurelia.

“Is that fine with you?” she asked.

The elf shrugged. “Better than rooming with these two lugs.”

“Excellent,” she said, still smiling. “Follow me upstairs. We’ll make room for you while Tarlak gives the boys the rest of the tour.”

“You’re gonna leave us?” Harruq asked as Aurelia stepped around a frowning Tarlak.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” she replied.

“I would prefer she stay with me, sis,” Tarlak said. A tiny pout crossed his face.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother,” Aurelia said, locking her arm in Delysia’s, a huge grin on her face. The priestess laughed and batted her eyelashes at her brother.

“Bye-bye, Oh Great and Wise Eschaton!”

The two dashed up the stairs, leaving an unhappy Tarlak and Harruq watching after them. Qurrah, amused by the whole ordeal, could not keep silent.

“So who exactly is in charge here, the women or the men?”

“The women, just like everywhere else in the civilized world,” Tarlak sighed. “Oh well. Let’s get on with it.”

They followed him up the stairs, which slowly curled about the wall. Tarlak stopped on the first floor, which appeared to be nothing more than a wall and a door less than two feet from the stairs.

“I added walls and doors to give every room some privacy,” he explained. “This is my sister’s, and now your elf girl’s, room. Don’t expect to be inside there much.”

“Same goes for you, I would say,” Qurrah said.

“Quiet you!” Tarlak said, although his voice hardly carried any conviction. “Let’s go to a more interesting floor, shall we?”

The second floor’s door was wide open. When they peered inside, they saw a mess of a place, with pieces of armor littering the floor. Buried underneath a particular deep pile was what appeared to be a bed. Various weapons, axes, swords, and daggers lined the walls. In front of a large grinding wheel in the corner, grumbling to himself, sat Brug.

“Afternoon Brug,” Tarlak shouted. Brug, in the middle of sharpening one of his daggers, startled so badly he fell off his chair and onto his rump.

“Dadgum idjit wizard! I told you not to do that!”

“Precisely why I do,” the wizard beamed. “I want you to meet the newest members of the Eschaton.”

Brug glared over before returning to his stool. “I already met ‘em.”

“Yes, but I would prefer you meet them without trying to kill them.”

“Don’t care to.”

“You’ll win him over,” Tarlak semi-whispered to the other two. “He’s always cranky after he gets his ass handed to him in a fight.”

“What did you say?” Brug roared, spinning in his seat so fast it sent him toppling, this time on his head.

“Next floor!” Tarlak said, slamming the door shut and dashing up the stairs.

The next door was shut tight.

“This is my room,” the wizard said. “Nothing exciting here. Next floor!”

W hen Tarlak stopped at the fifth floor, he turned to the other two, his face serious.

“This is Haern’s floor,” he said. “As a bit of warning, do not enter unless you want an attempt on your life.”

“Say again?” Harruq asked.

“That guy is an assassin, through and through. He likes to sneak up on anyone entering his room. I’ve tried catching him sleeping, eating, practicing. No luck. Had plenty of sabers poked into my back and neck, though.”

He pushed the door open a crack and gestured for them to enter.

“Guests first,” he said.

“How kind,” Qurrah said, shoving the door the rest of the way open. Harruq followed, his eyes searching the corners for the cloaked man. The entire room was barren but for a small chest and a simple bed at one side. There was no sign of Haern.

“Let me know how it goes,” Tarlak said before banging the door shut. Harruq turned and shoved, but could not make it budge.

“I hate this place,” he said. He joined his brother’s side. Other than the bed and the thick curtains over the window, there appeared no place for the man to hide.

“You sure he’s here?” Harruq yelled.

“I’m sure,” came Tarlak’s muffled reply.

“He hones his skills at all times to remain ready,” Qurrah said, methodically searching the room with his eyes. “This is a test. Draw your blades, brother. If he does not obtain the kill with his first strike, he will have failed.”

“You certain?” the half-orc asked as he drew Condemnation and Salvation.

“Very.”

They slowly left the door. Shadows blanketed the walls, but none looked deep enough to hide a man. Harruq knelt and checked under the bed. Nothing.

“Hate to have to let this guy know breakfast is ready,” he grumbled. He looked back to his brother, and then paused. Something was wrong. He could see the door closed behind Qurrah, could see the blank walls, but his gut knew different.

“Brother,” he said, and that was all it took. Qurrah spun as Haern charged. A few words dashed off his tongue as he completed the turn. A saber lashed out, resting on his throat in the blink of an eye.

“You could be dead,” Haern whispered, all but his mouth and chin hidden behind the low cowl of his cloak.

“As could you,” Qurrah said, drawing the man’s attention to a piece of bone hovering in the air an inch from his chest. “Stalemate.”

The saber slipped beneath the multitude of cloaks as the bone dropped into Qurrah’s hand. Haern abandoned his battle posture and stood erect. The cowl remained low, but his eyes shone through its shadow, a piercing blue color that reminded Qurrah of deep waters.

“I welcome you to the Eschaton,” Haern said, his voice never above a whisper. His gaze shifted to Harruq. “I have fought you in battle, and I find you lacking.”

The half-orc’s eyes bulged.

“My life may one day depend upon your skill. Meet me behind the tower at sunrise. Bring your blades and armor.”

Harruq was so flustered and angry he didn’t know what to say. So he said a whole bunch at once. “How dare you…I could…you never beat me!”

Haern pointed to the many cuts lining Harruq’s face and arms. “Every one of those could have been lethal.”

“Stop lying, you never…!”

“My brother agrees,” Qurrah interrupted, stepping between the two. “I thank you for the offer to train him.”

“Qurrah!” Harruq gasped. Qurrah whirled on him.

“Shut up you fool. Now let’s go.”

When they tried to open the door, it swung in easily. Tarlak grinned at them as he leaned against the back wall.

“So how’d you do?” he asked as a furious Harruq followed his brother out, slamming the door shut behind him.

“A draw,” Qurrah said. “To the final floor?”

“To the final floor!”

T he final floor was a bit different from the others. There were no beds, no chests, no drawers, and no current occupants. Instead, piles upon piles of boxes and crates were stacked everywhere.

“Yeah, this is where we store most of our potions, armor, stuff like that,” Tarlak explained.

“Where will we sleep?” Harruq asked.

“Will the floor do for now? I can purchase some beds tomorrow. I’ll just loan it out from your next cut.”

“Next cut?” Qurrah asked.

“Of your payment, of course. We are mercenaries.”

Harruq rubbed his lower lip, a few things connecting correctly into place. “So we’re going to make some gold here?”

“Not enough to be rich, but we carry a decent reputation here in Veldaren,” Tarlak explained. “We have little competition, we’re dependable, and now more than ever, we’re incredibly versatile. A tenth of all our contracts go to fund the organization, and the rest we split evenly. Sound fair?”

“More than fair,” Qurrah said. “I thank you for taking us in. It is more than we had hoped for.”

“Well, you might have hoped for beds,” Tarlak said, gesturing to the crates. “But we’ll see what we can do.”

Harruq waved an arm at all the miscellaneous things. “Where’s this going to go?”

“Good question. Ever seen a portable hole?”

Both shook their heads.

“Well, neither have I, but I plan on buying one tomorrow. I’ll consider it a one-time cost to hire you into our fold. For now, just shove aside all our crap and make yourselves at home.”

“I doubt this place will ever feel like home,” Harruq said.

“Yes, the roof doesn’t leak,” Qurrah muttered.

“Give it a shot,” Tarlak said. “We might surprise you. Probably already have.”

“Given our past few days, it’s just one surprise of many,” Harruq said, surveying the junk that filled his room. His room. Of his home. Surprising didn’t begin to describe it all.

T arlak sat on one of the couches before the fireplace, a much-needed drink in hand. His hat lay next to him, his shoes kicked off.

“About time you poked your head out,” he said when his sister appeared, her priestess robes switched out for a more simple and comfortable tunic. “So many lonely hours down here eagerly awaiting feminine company.”

“I doubt it is my company you were hoping for,” Delysia teased. She scooted his hat over and sat down next to him.

“Is that necessary?” she asked, nodding at the drink.

“Absolutely,” he said. “I just invited a whole collection of freaks into my little home, and on what grounds?”

“You know why,” Delysia said.

“Do I?” Tarlak asked before draining the rest of the glass. “Are you sure that’s them? Maybe Ashhur wanted some other group.”

“I’m sure,” Delysia said. “I don’t know about the elf, but the two men are damaged. We do them much good by giving them a home.”

“Yeah,” Tarlak said, still not convinced. “You’re probably right, at least about the damaged part, mentally and physically. But we’re acting on a dream.”

Delysia frowned, and her small face curled up in a clear expression of hurt.

“No dream,” she said. “And no hallucination. Prayer, quiet and certain. They’re the ones we were to help, and help them we will. It is not my fault Ashhur is more comfortable talking to me than you.”

Tarlak laughed.

“Ashhur’s just scared that if he says hello to me, he’ll find himself missing a few lovely angels.”

“Speaking of lovely angels,” Delysia said. “You should go check on your new friends.”

“As you wish, milady,” Tarlak said.

W hen Tarlak returned to the upstairs room, he was pleasantly surprised by the half-orcs’ progress. Qurrah had supervised while Harruq did the grunt work, as was common between them. Crates originally stacked against the wall they piled twice as high, and any empty crack did not remain empty. After about an hour of pushing and stacking, they had cleared a small space in the heart of the tangled jungle.

“I’d say it’s about suppertime, wouldn’t you?” Tarlak said, whistling at the sight. “By the way, remind me to have you two do my heavy lifting from now on.”

“What’s to eat?” Harruq asked.

“Come and see,” the wizard said with a mischievous look. The two were more than willing to comply.

Supper was a feast that put many feasts before it to shame. Evidently Aurelia and Delysia, both skilled in forms of magic, had spent a good half hour conjuring up the most exotic, rare, and mouthwatering cakes, meats, crumpets, pastries, bread, and fruits, most of which the half-orcs had never seen before.

“Great leapfrogging Karak,” Harruq said when seeing the food splayed out on the table.

“We eat well here in my tower,” Tarlak said with a huge grin on his face. “Impressed?”

Harruq did not have chance to answer. His mouth was already full.

A urelia joined the half-orcs as they were preparing to bunk for the night.

“You two busy?” she asked, poking her head through their door.

“Come on in,” Harruq said. “Here to see our lovely living conditions?”

“Whiners. I’ll be sleeping on the floor as well.”

“Don’t you mean hovering above it?” Qurrah asked. The elf shrugged.

“Same thing. I just wanted to make sure this was fine with you two.”

Qurrah tilted his head and gave her a funny look. “We would not have joined if we did not so wish.”

The elf shook her head and poked Harruq.

“You might not have, but I get the distinct impression this big lug would follow me around wherever I go. And I don’t see you abandoning your brother either, Qurrah. So, humor me. Is all of this good?”

Harruq walked over, put his arms on her shoulders, and very, very slowly, spoke down to her.

“We…are…good.”

“Good,” Aurelia said with a smile before zapping him with electricity from her forefinger. She kissed his forehead as he lay on the ground, tiny bits of smoke trailing from his skin.

“Ni-ni Harruq, ni-ni Qurrah.”

“Sleep well, lady Thyne.”

“Nighters,” Harruq groaned from the floor.

“You certainly have an interesting way with women, brother,” Qurrah said as he closed the door.

“You think I insulted her?” he asked.

“Seems likely. By the way, you need another haircut.”

“Very funny.”

T hat night, as the two lay on bedrolls and stared at the ceiling, Harruq broke the silence.

“Hey, brother?”

“Yes, Harruq?”

“This whole thing…things are gonna be different now, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Qurrah said softly. “I think they will be.”

Harruq rolled onto his side and stared at the floor. Yes, things were different now. He wasn’t sure how, he wasn’t sure why, but a new chapter had begun. The question was, what awaited him in those unwritten pages. And more importantly, why was he so troubled by it?

Qurrah fidgeted, remembering the death of Velixar, and remembering the dust his master had become, nothing but a swirl of gray and white piled underneath garbs of black. It was the fate of all things to become ash and earth, he knew, but what fate lay beyond? He remembered Velixar’s haunting words, and the thought of meeting him again did little to warm his heart. A soft voice, tiny and often ignored, dared speak up in his mind. All men turned to dust. Perhaps his life determined whether his soul, if it existed, would also turn to dust. The path he walked, dark and distant from so many, could it turn him to where the road faded into lightless forests of thorns and graves?

Neither slept well that night, despite their full bellies and warm blankets.