Antonil pointed to the wall, and he asked something which neither could hear when the orc army shouted another communal roar.

“The ekreissar will not aid you,” Dieredon said when the noise died. He shook his head, and a bit of sadness crossed his face. “We have been forbidden. Ceredon insists this is a minor skirmish, nothing more. We are not the keepers of man.”

“Minor skirmish?” Antonil shouted. “What about the necromancer traveling with them? You’re the one that said he was dangerous, that he might be…”

Another communal roar, even closer.

“I know,” Dieredon said. “Forgive me, Antonil. I will watch, and I will pray. Whoever started this war will not go unpunished.”

The elf whistled, and to the brothers’ surprise, a winged horse landed on the rooftop of a nearby home. Its skin and mane were sparkling white. Dieredon bowed one last time and then leapt into the air, using the ledge of a window to swing himself up to the roof. He mounted his horse, patted her side, and then took off into the night.

“Damn it all!” Antonil shouted, striking the wall with his mailed fist. Still shaking his head, he stormed back to the gate, muttering curses.

“What was that all about?” Harruq asked.

“King Vaelor asked for aid and the elves declined,” Qurrah said, chuckling. “The King’s pride will not take too kindly to that.”

“He and his pride can suck a rotten egg,” Harruq said. “Hurry or we’ll miss the battle.”

He pulled his brother down the alley to where a tall, crumbled house leaned near the wall.

“Onto my shoulders,” Harruq said, grabbing Qurrah’s knees and hoisting him high. Qurrah latched onto the roof, paused, and then stepped onto Harruq’s shoulders. The extra height boosted his head and chest above the roof, and flailing momentarily, he climbed all the way up. Harruq clapped for him, and he smiled at the next roar from the orcs. It was a goofy smile, and Qurrah recognized the fear hiding behind it.