his body wrenched in pain. Hazkul Bern rubbed his eyes and temples. The elf was beyond frustrated. The huntsman was proving to be rather annoying, though Hazkul was more perturbed by the orc. Gar Karnak was becoming a thorn in the elf’s side. This was the third time the huntsman had been within their grasp and, somehow, had slipped through their fingers yet again.
Fingers … Hazkul thought. Ah yes.
He flicked his fingers out, and Chadwa drew her wand closer to herself, relieving the assassin from the agonizing hex.
“Tell me again what happened,” Hazkul said. “And this time, let’s hope I enjoy your story better.”
The assassin, a human, gulped. He’d already told the elf the story, but Hazkul Bern hadn’t liked it. The elf smirked, wondering how or if the man would change the story. He waited patiently, enjoying the man’s internal torment.
“I had the huntsman in my grasp, with my dagger pressed to his throat.”
“Good so far,” Hazkul said, flippantly. The assassin was sticking to his story. Brave.
“But the orc was awake. He was growling at me when an elf walked into the tent.”
“Right. And what did the elf look like again?”
“He had dark skin. He was bald. Medium armor,” the man listed.
Hazkul knew who it was—Feliketh, a Son of Silence in disguise to keep Ventohl apprised of the group’s movements. Hazkul Bern hadn’t shared that information with the sorcerer, and if this all played out the way he thought it might, he would have to spin a tale of his own.
“Go on,” the elf said, his dark brows shifting as he glared at the man.
“Well, the elf turned on the orc.” The man obviously didn’t know that Feliketh was a plant. Hazkul was so very good at secrets. “But a dwarf came into the tent. And then another elf, but she was different. She had magic. Knocked me clear away. I sliced another man in my escape.”
The elf pressed his lips together in disappointment. “And why did you not stay and make another attempt on the huntsman?”
“Well, as I said already …” the man grumbled.
Chadwa raised her wand, and the man wrenched to the side.
“Oh dear,” Hazkul said. “Chadwa really didn’t like that tone. Would you like to try again?”
The elf raised his hand, and the witch lowered her wand once more. The man heaved forward in a coughing fit. He pressed himself to his knees again and rolled his shoulders, straightening and protruding his jaw.
Very brave, Hazkul mused.
“I waited and watched for them to return, but I heard their conversations as I stayed hidden. They were flanked by four guards, too.” Chadwa started to raise her wand, but the man lifted his hands in surrender, continuing, “But … but I thought the fact that they are marching on Ventohl this day was of more importance than the huntsman.”
Hazkul stroked his smooth chin thoughtfully. The elf was glad the man had returned with such news. It proved his loyalty to the Sons of Silence. Frankly, Hazkul Bern cared little for Jaernok Tur’s wants and desires. The elf saw the orc mage as a means to an end. The orc was riding a wave of destruction, and Hazkul didn’t want to get caught in it. The only way to survive it was to go with the wave.
“You’ve done well, Nihel,” he said to the man. The assassin eyed his leader, suspiciously. “Come now, Nihel. Think about it. You’ve proven yourself loyal to the Sons of Silence, which is the only right thing to do. You brought us critical information about an imminent attack. Plus, if the huntsman is with them, you might as well take the credit for forcing them to hand deliver him to us.”
Hazkul pursed his lips at the notion. That wouldn’t do.
He whipped his hand toward Chadwa. The witch lifted her wand again, and the man screamed in agony. He writhed on the floor for a few seconds before the sickening snap of crunching bones sounded and his body stopped moving altogether.
Hazkul sighed as he walked to the window. Below, geldrin forces gathered and organized themselves. He missed the good old days when he didn’t have geldrins crawling all over Ventohl. To be honest, he was getting a little tired of everyone depending on him. Remember when I just got paid to kill people? he thought. Things were simpler then. Nobody ever bothered me. They just said, ‘Hey, we’ll give you coin if you’ll kill this noble for me.’
A couple of geldrins punched at each other in the courtyard. The sorcerer’s insistence on keeping a group of them at Ventohl annoyed the elf. Almost as much as that orc from Tarrine.
Chadwa stepped next to him and gazed out the window. Her dark eyes looked creepy in the morning light.
“Chadwa, my dear,” Hazkul said. “What have we found ourselves in the middle of?”
The witch didn’t answer.
“Yes,” the elf continued. “Every which way we look, a storm is brewing. The waves are tossing and turning. It’s hard to see which way the tides are shifting.”
Hazkul sighed again and turned to leave the room. He needed to find Commander Chol. The commander was going to lead the geldrins in defending Ventohl, an honor the commander begged for, and which Hazkul was happy to give him. Any possible way to earn favors, he thought. Meanwhile, Hazkul, himself, would lead the Sons of Silence. It was going to be a long day.
He stumbled but caught himself as he tripped over the limp hand of the dead assassin, still lying on the floor.
“Would you have someone clean this up?”
Chadwa shot him a look.
“What?” Hazkul shrugged. “It’s better than talking to our resident geldrin commander.”
The witch did not seem to think so, but Hazkul knew the face she made was her way of saying the task would get done. He swiveled on his heels and strode from the room.