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.