Qurrah dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “With exposure comes understanding. Fear not what I do. I am always in control. However, I have no way to learn, Harruq. I have no school, no teacher, nothing but scattered memories of my wretched master when I was nine. Nevertheless, death… death has a way of teaching us things. I can sense its power so clearly in its presence. I need it. You must give it to me.”

Harruq crossed his arms and stared into the corner.

“People die every day here,” he said. “Shall I find their bodies and bring them to you?”

“For now,” Qurrah said. “Yes. If the death is fresh, the power should still linger.”

Harruq reached out, grabbed his brother's wrist, and clasped his hands in his.

“I won’t like it,” he said. “But I’ll do it for you.”

“We are better than them,” Qurrah said, standing so he could look through the cracks of the boards across the broken door. “Stronger. Life is for those who take it. I need you to understand this, brother. Together, we can become something great.”

“Like what?” Harruq asked. “What can we become?”

Qurrah's eyes twinkled, but he said not a word.

G uard captain Antonil marched through the street, fifty of his men in perfect union behind him. His face was a portrait of stoic calm but it was all a lie. His heart was troubled and he had not a soul to tell why. He held a proclamation of King Vaelor to the entire nation of Neldar. He had argued as best he could, but his words meant little. When he asked that someone else deliver the proclamation, a frown had crossed the king’s smooth face and he had slammed a lotioned hand against a table.

“It will mean more coming from you!” the king had shouted. “They will know the seriousness of my order. I will not be flooded with spies, treated like a mere peasant, and then insulted by such blatant snubbing of my humble call for aid. Let them know I am king, my dear Antonil. Make sure they know.”