“Beauty in all things,” Qurrah said, purple light dancing across his face. “Especially those things that are controlled.”

An orb floated above his open palm, seemingly made of thick, violet smoke. Within its center, a face shifted, glaring out with sunken eyes. When it opened its mouth, no sound came forth, just a soft puff of ash.

“A soul seeking release,” Qurrah said. “How destructive, I wonder?”

“Get rid of it,” Harruq said as he picked up the other sword the orc had dropped.

“You disagree?” Qurrah asked, his delight ruined by a sudden frown.

“No,” Harruq said. He thought to explain, and then just shrugged. “It makes me uneasy,” he said instead. “But do as you wish.”

The frailer brother approached the end of the alley where the sound of combat was strongest. His steps faltered only once. When Harruq moved to catch him, Qurrah glared and leaned against the side of a house. When a luckless orc rushed too close to the exit Qurrah hurled the orb. It exploded in shadows and shifting mists of violets and purples. The orc collapsed, white smoke rising softly from his tongue. In the sudden blinding light, Qurrah laughed.

“Never,” he said, “could I have imagined it so beautiful.”

A n hour before dawn the last of the orcs died, cornered by the city’s soldiers. The Tun brothers were not there to see, for they had snuck back to the outer wall at Qurrah’s insistence.

“I know his plans,” Qurrah whispered as they stared across the open grass covered with trampled orc bodies pierced with arrows. “He is familiar to me, though I know him not.”

“He isn’t your former master, is he?” Harruq asked as he fiddled with his newly acquired swords. He had taken a belt and some sheathes from one of the dead bodies but he was having a devil of a time getting them to fit correctly.

“No,” Qurrah said. “He is dead. I killed him. Whoever this is, he is someone else. Someone stronger.”