“We’re already high up,” Harruq said. “We’re perfectly safe…”

“I said now!” Qurrah shouted. He doubled over, hacking and coughing. His breath was raspy and weak.

“Please,” he insisted. “Take me from the wall.”

“Alright then,” Harruq said, grabbing his brother’s arm. “Just hold tight.”

He leapt off the roof, pulling Qurrah with him. As his feet smacked the hard ground, he buckled his knees and fell back, catching his brother as he did. Without a word of thanks, Qurrah stepped off him and leaned against the wall. His whole body shuddered. He had often looked into the darkness. For the first time, the darkness had looked back, and was amused. Whoever this necromancer was, Qurrah knew he had been an idiot to challenge him.

“Lead the way,” Qurrah said. “And forgive my outburst.”

“I understand,” Harruq said, ignoring the pain in his knees and the bit of blood running from his elbow to his wrist. “We need to hurry, though.”

He looped his arm through Qurrah’s and then hurried down the alley. As a soldier’s body collapsed at the end, the two stopped, and Harruq swore.

“The orcs made it through,” he said, to which Qurrah nodded. “This could be bad.”

An orc stepped into the alley, blood splashed across his gray skin. He held a sword in each hand, both coated with gore. Shouting something in a guttural language neither understood, the orc charged.

“Get back,” Harruq said as he shoved Qurrah to one side. He slammed himself against a house, barely dodging a downward chop of the blades. The orc curled the swords around, all his strength behind the swing. Harruq ducked, narrowly avoiding decapitation. Qurrah lunged before the orc could strike again, latching onto his wrist and letting dark magic flow. The orc howled, feeling as if a hundred scorpions stung his flesh. Flooded with adrenaline, he hurled Qurrah aside, desperate to break the contact between them. Qurrah’s thin body crumpled in the dirt. At the sight of it, Harruq felt his rage break loose.