Thren lashed out twice with his sword, pulled back, and then feinted with the other. Harruq fell for the feint, Salvation swinging wide to block. The guildmaster stepped forward, his foot snapping out. His heel crushed cartilage as it connected with Harruq’s nose. He gasped in pain as blood exploded across his face and neck. He collapsed to his knees, his vision blurry and his arms limp.

“Miserable,” Thren muttered. He thrust his sword for Harruq’s eye.

Haern parried away the fatal thrust, giving his father a brutal kick. His foot smashed against the left side of his neck. The wise old fighter rolled with the blow, fell to one knee, and then slashed blind. Haern was already in the air before the swing. He landed with both knees on Thren’s shoulders, blasting the air from his lungs. Both sabers curled around his throat.

“You abandoned us,” Thren gasped, feeling the sharp edge cutting into his skin. “Now you come to murder us, murder your own father. I would not have tried killing the Watcher if I had known it was you.”

“You were a wretched father,” Haern whispered into Thren’s ear. “And I was not your son. I was your assassin, nothing more. Now, I am your better.”

He yanked both blades viciously to either side. Blood flowed. Thren died. The assassin stood, his cloaks wrapping about his body in the red haze. He pulled his hood back over his head, letting the comforting shadow hide all but the blue of his eyes…the eyes that shed tears despite the words he had spoken.

“Time to go,” Tarlak said, putting a hand on Haern’s shoulder. “Come on. I need help with the big guy.”

“I’ll be fine,” Harruq said, staggering to his feet. The movements jostled his face, and he clutched his shattered nose. “Damn it, always my nose.”