Tarlak hurried through a spell. A blue portal ripped open before him. Without another word, Harruq took two shaky steps and vanished through.

“He lied to me,” Haern whispered, staring at the body of his father.

“What are you talking about?” Tarlak asked. He put his arm around his good friend, trying to sound calm as he watched the spreading fire he had created.

“He knew I was his son. Perhaps for all these years, he knew. Yet he still tried to kill me.”

“It’s all over now,” Tarlak said, stepping toward his portal. “You have a better family now. You have us. Let’s go home. This smoke is killing me.”

Haern nodded. He gave one last look at his father, face down in a pool of his own drying blood, and then followed Tarlak home.

B rug greeted them at the door, his face sullen.

“Good to see you three alive,” he said, his normally boisterous voice subdued.

“How is Aurry,” Harruq asked, one hand still clutching his face.

“We’ll get that fixed up, and then you can go and see the elf,” Brug replied. Harruq nodded, stepped past him, and then collapsed. Brug caught his chest and held him steady.

“I’ll be alright,” Harruq mumbled. “I just need to…” His words trailed off as his body went limp.

“Just follow me,” Brug said. “Bedtime for you. You can say hi to your girl tomorrow.” He nodded to Tarlak and Haern before helping the half-orc up the stairs.

“Any wounds on yourself?” Tarlak asked, glancing over the assassin.

“None that will not heal in a few days. But I could greatly use a drink.”

Tarlak beamed.

“That, my friend, is something I can help you with.”

9

H arruq awoke sprawled on his chest, still dressed. He tossed his blanket aside. Sweat drenched his body. His entire head throbbed, his nose especially. It felt as if someone had rammed a tree branch up one nostril and down the other.