In the small room at the Jewel, Moirah danced with Duvan. Their choreography started with playful gestures, discreet and calculated steps. He wanted her, but she dictated the tempo. She gave the instructions, and he obeyed. She took care of hima tease of the tongue here, a tender caress there. And he played because he knew the game was rigged; she would give him what he wanted in the end.
The deliberate progression of their flirting into passionate embrace allowed Duvan to lose himself. Moirah freed him from his worries, letting him unleash the wild animal inside him as he rolled with her, as he pressed her into the bed beneath him. Her magic urged him to lose himself. Nothing else mattered and he took her as she wanted him to, as she begged him to, as she willed him to.
Her spellscar magic controlled him and set him free. Free from making decisions. Free from his nightmares. Free from his thoughts of remorse, regret, and anger. And, ultimately, free to rest in peaceful bliss.
Moirah made all the decisions and held him safe, and he loved her for it. In that instant, he loved her. In that isolated moment, she was all that mattered. All that made sense.
“Now,” she commanded.
And with her permission explicitly granted, he lost the last vestige of control. His body and mind were one in feral heat. Primal, animal sex washed away all his cares and concerns.
The perfect moment stretched on and on…
Interrupted by a knock on the door.
What in the Nine Hells is that? Duvan thought. He’d clearly said no interruptions. He felt the ecstasy drain away, leaving a void for anger to fill. This was the not the freedom he craved, the rest he so desperately needed.
“Ignore it,” Moirah breathed. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake. Whoever it is will go away.”
Duvan turned back to her, so calm and beautiful beneath him. In the silence that followed, he drifted slowly back into her embrace. He relaxed into her arms and felt the anger start to give way to contentment.
Abruptly, the bedroom door opened. “I apologize for the intrusion,” came a woman’s stiff voice. “But I need to speak to Duvan about a matter of some urgency.”
His hope for peaceful rest vanished as he glanced over at the offender. Tall and lithe, wearing light combat leather, the woman’s proud nose and thin lips reminded him of his old lover from WildhomeRhiazzshar. Same arrogance. Same condescending voice.
Rhiazzshar had broken his heart and had manipulated him. She had used him, and he hated her. He could not allow Rhiazzshar to capture him. He would fight her.
Rage flooded back into him and took control. He’d get rid of this intruder, this enemy. Duvan sprang from the bed and rushed at the offender. Unconcerned about his nakedness, he shouted at her as he ran across the room, “Get out!”
If she was surprised or startled, she showed no sign. Her face was unreadable, and her expression did not change. She stepped very deliberately to the side to avoid his rush. There was a weapon in her hand, he suddenly registereda wooden staff or stick of some sort. But she didn’t use it.
“I come to enlist your service, Duvan,” she said. “Not to fight you.”
“Just get out!”
The infuriating intruder was now farther from the door, her movements light and calculated. “We need to leave today,” she said. “I’m prepared*
Duvan had closed in on her, pinning her between himself and the wall. This intruder would pay for her interruption. Then he could rest, finally.
Duvan punched the woman, aiming first for the face, then the gut. With a rapid movement of her head, she dodged his fist. His punch to her gut went wide as her staff came down hard on his forearm, deflecting his blow.
He missed! Duvan could hardly believe it. He rarely missed.
Rage pushed him into a flurry of blows, each one dodged or blocked or deflected. Every strike landed on the wall or her staff. He had her cornered, but he couldn’t hit her.
Some logic filtered past his rage. She was fast, he granted her that. He prided himself on being fast, but she might be faster. Yet perhaps she was just better trained.
Other details registered. This wasn’t the Rhiazzshar he remembered from Wildhome. This intruder was human and not elf. Her tunic sported a different clerical symbol a skeletal hand holding scales. Not Sylvanus. Instead of long mahoghany hair, her head was shaved save for a shoulder-length blonde sidelock, carefully wrapped with strip of white leather. His rage lessened.
Watching her dodge his attacks, Duvan realized that her senses were attuned, focused on his body and his eyes. She knew what to look for and how to react. Her response was logical and predictable… which meant that she could be defeated.
“I thought I knew you,” he said. “I thought you were someone who’s done me great harm.” “We’ve never met.”
“Idealize that now,” he said. “Still, I’m not going with you.” He started a punch to her gut, but changed it at the last second to strike her neck.
She started to block the attack, and he saw surprise in her face when she realized that it wasn’t going to work. At the last instant, she managed to shift her position and take the brunt of the blow on her shoulder instead.
She used the momentum of her movement to dive left and gain some distance from him. The close call with the last blow must’ve fazed her. Still, she did not return his attacks.
Duvan pressed forward. If she wouldn’t leave, he might have to take her down. Then he could pin her, tie her up, and drag her out of the room.
“I’m tired of this, but I’m not leaving,” the woman said. “My matter is urgent, and you are the only one who can help.”
Duvan found himself falling as she swept his legs out from under him. Then her weapon was arcing toward him. “But I am tired of this fight,” she said.
His head exploded in pain from at least two blows in rapid succession, and then inky blackness seeped in from the edges of his vision and the fight was over.
Slanya bounced to her feet, still at the ready in case the other personthe womancame after her. The woman, however, appeared to be no threat. Huddled in a ball up against the headboard, the petite young human had covered herself in pillows.
Slanya saw that the woman was shivering. Afraid.
Slanya gave the woman the warmest smile she could muster, considering the incredible awkwardness of the situation. At Slanya’s feet, Duvan’s naked body lay slumped, unmoving for once. Their initial exchange had not gone as she’d hoped.
Slanya loosened the ties to a pocket sewn into her pants and pulled out a gold piece. “Apologies for the interruption.” She tossed the coin to the woman. “Here is for your trouble. It should be enough to cover whatever he owed you for your services.”
Black curls shook as the woman emerged from the pile of pillows to catch the gold. Her shivering seemed to have vanished. She gave Slanya a flirty smile. “Yes, this’ll do.”
“You’ll be so kind as to leave me alone with him for a while,” Slanya said.
“He’ll be angry when he wakes,” said the woman, slipping into a silk robe and gliding across to the door.
“No doubt, but I can handle him.”
The woman nodded. “I’ll leave you two alone then.”
“Thank you.”
The woman closed the door behind her. Duvan stirred slightly as Slanya lifted him to the bed. The room smelled a stifling and pungent mix of odors that
Slanya found distracting. She used the bed linens to secure Duvan’s wrists and ankles to the bed posts.
He was thin and wiry with compact muscles. She eould admire his fitness while at the same time marvel at how poorly he seemed to treat himself. The numerous scars that traced light strokes on his chest, arms, and legs told of a hard life. Slanya made a quick count as she appraised his dark skin: twelve that she could see, and she guessed there were more on his back.
Duvan’s dark, unbraided hair grew straight and long, and his face bore only the faintest hint of the scars on the remainder of his body. He had no tattoos that she could see, nor any piercings. And no visible spellscar either. Slanya was surprised to find that as long as he was lying unconscious and quiet, he was handsome, in a rugged, unshaven way.
Slanya sighed. She’d prefer an ugly but polite guide any day.
Duvan came fully awake a few minutes later, his forehead wrinkling from the pain in his head. Slanya watched as he took careful stock of his situation. His demeanor was wary, and she was glad that she’d restrained him. This was a much more dangerous man than the anger-driven brute earlier.
“I will release you after we have spoken,” she said. “After you have listened to my proposal.”
She could see him weighing the options. He could undoubtedly escape from the bonds she’d tied. He’d likely done that sort of thing numerous times. But he was trying to figure out if he could do it before she knocked him out again.
“It’s not worth it,” she said. “You are quite vulnerable, as you can see.” She gestured at his exposed privates with her staff.
Duvan grimaced, then nodded.
“One of the leaders of the monastery of Ormpetarr has developed an elixir that prevents people who are exposed to thepellplague from dying.”
“Sure he has,” Duvan said with a snicker.
“But,” Slanya continued, “he has run out of a crucial component. And he needs more, much more, before the Festival. of Blue Fire begins.”
“So?”
“He has given me the task of heading into the Plaguewrought Land and bringing some back.”
Duvan let out a harsh laugh. “Well, you’re not nearly as smart as you look.”
Slanya ignored the insult. “It’s important.”
“More important than not being killed by spellplague?”
Slanya narrowed her gaze. “Do you know how many pilgrims die of spellplague sickness every day? Nine in ten just burn up instantly, and as for the rest… Well, have you seen the tents full of the dying? The funeral fires?”
Duvan asked, “Why should J care?”
“If you’ve ever been with someone sick from spellplague exposure, you’d have more sympathy.”
He started to retort but stopped and glared at her. What had she said, she wondered, to break his shell?
After a moment he said, “These people come here by choice. They do not deserve my sympathy or yours.”
“What if we could help everyone who’s exposed? Prevent suffering far and wide?”
“A fantasy,” he said. “I’ve seen what the changelands can do. I’ve seen it. You and your elixirs can do nothing to stop it. It’s too late.”
Slanya wasn’t sure what he was talking about. “Too late for what?”
A pained expression flashed across his face, and he turned away. “Nothing,” he said. “Don’t talk anymore about it. In fact, don’t talk to me anymore.”
“Believe me,” she continued, “if there was anyone else who could help us, I’d have never come. But Tyrangal told me that you were the only one who can safely guide me into the changelands.”
“Tyrangal sent you?” Duvan’s tone drained of animosity.
“She’s serving as a broker for your services,” Slanya admitted.,
“You should’ve just said so.” He relaxed into the bed. “We could’ve saved all this bickering.”
Slanya cautiously stood upright, still wary. Duvan’s body language and temperament had changed completely with the mention of Tyrangal.
Duvan held his free hand out to her, empty. “You seem to know who I am. May I ask your name?”
Slanya stared at the man’s hand. It was clearly a conciliatory gesture, but she could hardly trust him now. “My name is Slanya,” she said.
“Well, Slanya, could you untie me? I can get free on my own, but you seem like you’re in a hurry.”
Duvan sized up his companion as he dressed and walked out of the room. The human cleric could hold her own; he had to give her that. She’d had some good combat training, and he found himself respecting her. Still, he wasn’t sure he believed her story. He wouldn’t trust her until he had Tyrangal’s word.
He led Slanya out into the thoroughfare. “Let’s go this way,” he said. “Short cut.”
Slanya’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “Of course it is.” But despite her wry tone, she followed.
Duvan angled away from the Changing House building so as to lower the chances of running into any members of the Order of Blue Fire who might be looking for him.
Still, there was no place in Ormpetarr truly hidden from Order eyes.
As he and Slanya made their way through the crowd, Duvan avoided eye contact with anyone. They passed the innoperated by a member of the Orderand then skirted around the counting houseowned and run by Tyrangal and the Copper Guard. There was no law in Ormpetarr, and normally Duvan liked it that way, but the Order had started mounting patrols to persuade the darker elements to vacate the town.
Problem was that it was the Order who decided what elements were good and which were unacceptable. As soon as they decided that Tyrangal and her Copper Guard were in the dark faction, then the delicate balance would erupt into open conflict.
Many townsfolk had joined the Order and paid their tithe just to avoid being hassled. Duvan didn’t have contempt for those who did. It was the cost of business in Ormpetarr. Still, he hated bullies.
No sign of Beaugrat. Duvan surreptitiously patted his chest to reassure himself that his daggers were ready for action if need be.
Gliding beside him, Slanya remained quiet. She held herself with a ready confidence, wary and alert. Which was goodif Slanya were telling the truth, Tyrangal would have his skin for supper if he let something happen to her.
Slanya seemed content to walk in a wary silence as they passed out of the city and up the hill. They passed the ruined gates which marked the entrance into the ‘burn zone,’ as Tyrangal called it, a wide swath of destruction that surrounded the mansion.
Duvan suspected that Tyrangal purposefully kept this burn zone area around her mansion devoid of other new structures, making it more imposing and difficult for people to come visit her. No one just happened along here.
Duvan knew that Tyrangal had guards and sentries posted among the remnants of ancient masonry and sculpture that had once been part of a broad garden. Duvan knew where the hidden posts were, most of them, and he knew many of the Copper Guard too, but not all of them.
He led Slanya along the old flagstone path across the burn zone, until finally the two of them came to Tyrangal’s ornate door.
“Come in,” rang Tyrangal’s mellifluous voiee, and Duvan complied, noting that Slanya could no more resist the voice than he could.
Once inside the ornate and cluttered house, Duvan’s eyes still adjusting to the dim light, Tyrangal stood before them, radiant in her red finery. “Were you able to recover the tome?”
Duvan nodded, then slung his pack from his shoulders and pulled out the book. “I had quite the time getting this before the esteemed baron’s last bastion fell into the Underchasm forever.”
Tyrangal accepted the tome gingerly in her small hands. She muttered something under her breath, casting a spell as she examined the thick hide cover.
Slanya stood perfectly erect next to Duvan. No sign of her earlier rush to get moving on her journey was in evidence now. Duvan understood that; you didn’t hurry or interrupt Tyrangal. He’d learned that over the years.
Despite her luxurious appearance, Tyrangal was one of the most accomplished thieves he’d ever met. She’d rescued him three years earlier from the Wildhome elvesfrom Rhiazzshar and her ilk. Tyrangal had taken him under her wing, had continued his training in thievery, in combat, in climbing and falling and countless other things.
And in return, he acquired things for her. The sorts of things she sent him after were esoteric and bizarre: a vial of powder negotiated from a nomadic merchant in Murghdm; an amulet containing a metallic liquid at its heart, recovered from a treasure casket in prison dungeons underneath Alaghon in Turmish; a cache of wine barrels floated from a sunken galleon in the Sea of Fallen Stars.
Duvan never asked questions about why she wanted these things. He didn’t really care, and Tyrangal would never tell him anyhow. She paid him enough that he didn’t need to ask questions. Besides, he thrilled to the challenge.
He had done the occasional job for other collectors in the past, but like a child to fire, he always returned to Tyrangal. He owed her so much, and he loved the work she gave him. Can’t stay away from the intensity, he thought. It was the only thing that made him feel alive.
Tyrangal looked up from her examination of the tome. “You have done well,” she said.
Duvan smiled. He was embarrassed to admit it, but he wanted to please Tyrangal. He had wondered on occasion what it would be like to kiss her, but he had never dared to try.
“I will need the ring back as well; it won’t work where you’re headed next.”
“Of course,” Duvan said, and handed the teleportation ring to her. Enchanted jewelry and other magical items often misfired or just didn’t work in the Plaguewrought Land. The ring would be just as likely to explode or turn into a swarm of moths as it was to work properly.
“I received word that things did not go exactly as planned.”
Duvan scowled. “There are spies among the Copper Guard,” he told her.
“The Order is getting bolder with their infiltration.”
Duvan nodded. “I should never have let Beaugrat hire the team. I should have screened them myself.”
“Yes; then you would have had but one mutineer.” Tyrangal’s gaze was intense, but not disapproving. “Tell me, did Beaugrat or any of the others get a look at the tome?”
Duvan shook his head. “No. The other two are dead anyway, and I chased Beaugrat off when he tried to take the book.” “Did he know what he was trying to take?” “I don’t think so.”
“Excellent. Tell me the whole story.”
Duvan sent a questioning glance in Slanya’s direction. “In front of her?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Tyrangal said, her hands reached out and brushed the air in front of Slanya’s chest. The cleric went into a trance, staring straight ahead where she stood. “She cannot hear us now.”
So Duvan told her the whole tale. He relayed how they found the citadel barely hanging from a ledge down in the Underchasm, and how they’d descended to search it. He described the battle with the manticore, and the secret compartment he narrated the sorcerer’s demise and the tower’s plunge into the darkness, until finally, he told of the mutiny and Seerah’s death, Beaugrat’s spellplague attack and cowardly escape.
“Beaugrat’s spellscar created blue fire?” Tyrangal asked. “Are you certain?”
Duvan nodded. “I’m quite familiar with it.”
Tyrangal gave a laugh, although Duvan wasn’t trying to be funny. “I suppose you are,” she said, and then added, “And he realized that his attack had no effect on you?”
“Yes, I’m certain of it.”
Tyrangal frowned. “That is unfortunate. I fear you will be sought by those who would use you for your talents.”
Duvan looked away. It was convenient for Tyrangal to tell others he was clever or lucky, but she and Duvan knew the truth: he was resistant to the spellplague, and his resistance extended to anything and anyone near him. A blessing and a curse, as spellscars were, though in his case the curse came more often by the hands of those who had stopped seeing him as a person and only saw him as a spellscar to harness.
Duvan shuddered. His years at Wildhome threatened to come flooding back over him. He tried to focus on the here and now, on Tyrangal and this new mission. He needed sleep; dreamless rest would help him focus.
“Duvan,” Tyrangal demanded his attention. “Be exceedingly careful. Avoid the Order and get out of town. Take Slanya.” Tyrangal touched Slanya’s chest again. “Duvan here has uncanny luck avoiding the threats of the changelands. He is the only person I know who has survived near-exposure to spellplague without getting spellscarred.”
Slanya came out of her reverie and nodded her nearly-bald head. “He seems like the ideal guide for my journey. Well, except for the trying-to-kill-me part.”
“Oh?” Tyrangal said. She looked enquiringly at Duvan.
Duvan smirked. “Yeah,” he said. “That was a misunderstanding.”
“I presume,” Tyrangal said, “that it won’t happen again.”
His smile grew. “As long as she gives me no cause,” he said. “Besides, she can take care of herself.”
“Excellent,” Tyrangal said. “Sister Slanya has my full approval. And her quest is an important one, even though it is probably more dangerous than any I have sent you on previously; It is your decision whether to go or not; I will not exert my influence on you in-that regard. However, it would be a convenient way to stay out of potential mischief for the time being.”
“Yes, Tyrangal, I will”
“However, I request that if you agree to take it, you promise to see it through to the end.”
Duvan nodded. “I promise,” he said. “If I accept the job, I will see it through.”
Slanya looked at him. “Will you do it, then?”
“What’s the arrangement?” he asked Tyrangal.
“You will get triple your normal pay,” Tyrangal said. “One third up front and the balance when you and Slanya return with the plaguegrass load.”
You and Slanyahe looked over at the priestess. Solemn, but under that stern face she was worried. At least she was smart enough to know it wouldn’t be easy.
“So,” Duvan said. “When do we leave?”
Walking next to Duvan with the high Vilhon sun beating down on them, Slanya found herself sweating in the heat. For some reason that wasn’t yet completely clear to Slanya, Duvan wanted to avoid discovery by the Order of Blue Fire. So they had decided to skirt around the city on their way to the monastery, where they would pick up their supplies and head out to the Plaguewrought Land.
Gnarled trees and tall brown grass surrounded the disused trail on either side. Through the foliage Slanya could see glimpses of some ruins off to their leftperhaps an ancient military tower, its once-strong structure no more than discarded rubble now.
A stony mote floated like a low cloud above them, and as it drifted to eclipse the sun, it cast a wide shadow that blocked the searing heat. Slanya was grateful for the reprieve, even though the close proximity of the motes made her nervous. Sometimes, the small ones fell out of the sky.
“We must hurry through this area,” Duvan said, keeping his voice low. “If we are being pursued, this is the best place to”
The sound of approaching hooves interrupted Duvan. Slanya glanced around. “You were saying?” “Hide!”
Slanya barely noticed Duvan disappearing into the tall grass and ducking behind a pile of stone rubble. And as she moved off the path and crouched down in the shadows of a ruined wall, her eyes lost track of him. She concentrated and tried to find him again.
Yes, there he was: just across the narrow track in the shade of a large flagstone. It was right where she knew he’d been all along, but if she looked away, even for a second, she had a hard time finding him in the tableau of shadows and shapes.
The riders approached at a rapid canter from the direction of the Tyrangal’s mansion. Slanya picked out four of them, coming directly for her: three human men she didn’t recognize and one red-headed female dwarf in blue clerical robes, tied at the waist with a braided white rope. The dwarf had been part of Vraith’s party when she’d visited with Gregor. Within moments they drew reins in the path next to her.
“We can see you, cleric,” said a large man in dull plate armor. “And our quarrel is not with you. I’m Beaugrat from the Order of Blue Fire. We’re looking for a man by the name of Duvan.”
Behind the man, an archer with a pockmarked complexion nocked an arrow. Next to him was a thin skeleton of a man with the air of a pilgrim.
“The criminal was recently seen walking with you,” said Beaugrat.
So they havent seen Duvan yet, she thought.
Slanya stepped out into the open, standing ready. She gripped her staff loosely, prepared to swing it. “Good morning to you”
Beaugrat swung down from his horse and stood facing her. He wore a heavy suit of armor and a huge sword on his back.
“Criminal?” Slanya took stock of the other three. The archer and the pilgrim hung back on their horses. The pilgrim wore leathers but seemed uncomfortable in them. The archer brought the bow up, the ready arrow aimed at her. The dwarf cleric merely looked on, her dark eyes set in a ruddy face. The Order of Blue Fire symbol of a flaming blue eyeball, was embroidered on her robes.
“Yes,” Beaugrat said, “he killed two respected members of the Order and is wanted for questioning and enlightenment.”
Slanya winced. Enlightenment was not something that could be imposed upon someone by an external force. Despite the fact that Gregor had forged ties with Vraith, the more Slanya learned of its practices, the less she respected the Order of Blue Fire.
“My meeting with Duvan was brief. I don’t know where he is at the moment.”
Beaugrat stepped closer, prompting Slanya to lift her staff. “If he submits without a fight,” the man said, “you have nothing to fear.”
Slanya drew up to her full height. She was taller than Beaugrat, and although the man outweighed her by double, she managed to look down on him. “I do not want to fight you, sir,” she said. “But you will find me a formidable opponent. There is also a formal alliance between the leaders of my monastery and Commander Accordant Vraith of your order. Any aggression toward me would jeopardize that, and such an act would meet with punishment from above. So, in that light, Beaugrat, I suggest you look elsewhere.”
For a passing moment, Beaugrat hesitated, his face revealing his confusion. Then he threw his head back and laughed. Tm afraid you don’t understand,” he said. “Just tell me where Duvan is, or we will be forced to kill you.”
Without warning, the bowman on the horse behind Beaugrat grunted. Slanya looked up to see his face stricken into a frozen grimace of pain. He toppled sideways off the horse, bis arrow springing free from his grip. The wayward quarrel plunged into the hindquarters of Beaugrat’s riderless horse. The black stallion reared and bolted.
Slanya saw Duvan’s shadowy form approaching Beaugrat from, behind, moving fast. Go, go, she urged silently. On the periphery of her vision, she noticed the cleric make a pattern with her hands, drawing power from her god. That would not do.
Slanya leaped sideways, closing the distance, and struck three rapid blows to the cleric’s head and neck, aiming for the specific spots she knew had a high chance of stunning the dwarf. Two of the blows landed, and the dwarf slumped unconscious mid cast.
A quick glance told her that Duvan was fighting with Beaugrat. Duvan lunged, touching the tip of his dagger blade to the exposed part of the big man’s neck. Beaugrat’s huge gauntleted hands tried to lock down on Duvan. They failed as the smaller man snaked out of his grasp and danced away.
Not dead yet. Which was good, because she needed him.
Slanya darted at the pilgrim in leather armor. The man made a slow attempt to draw the unfamiliar sword on his waist. But he was clearly not trained for this sort of activity and had come along as a tourist or voyeur. His mistake. Two strikes of her staff later, and the pilgrim lay on the ground, disarmed and knocked out.
Slanya heard the distinct sound of a large sword being drawn from its sheath. She turned to see Duvan and Beaugrat circling each other. The big man swung the huge sword in broad arcs that prevented Duvan from getting in close. Duvan, for his part, was keeping a good distance, dodging and feinting to keep the barbarian off-balance.
Slanya purposefully made noise as she approached. “You’d do yourself a favor to leave,” she told Beaugrat. “Your companions cannot aid you.”
Beaugrat took his eyes off Duvan to glance at what remained of his group. When he turned back, there was a brilliant flash of light in Duvan’s vicinity, blinding Slanya for a second.
She caught the sound of metal glancing off metal and saw one of Duvan’s throwing daggers skitter across the hard dirt.
Beaugrat swung his sword in huge arcs, backing toward the other horses. He grabbed the pilgrim’s chestnut mare and swung up. “I’ll be back for you, Duvan,” he said, riding off. “And you, too, priest.” He rode off toward the city.
Slanya looked over to find Duvan standing over the dead body of the archer. He was breathing hard and taking stock of the situation.
“I had things under control,” she said, feeling the anger driving her words. “Fighting is not always the best option.”. Narrowing his eyes, Duvan said, “You’re welcome.”
Slanya blinked, unperturbed.
“He was going to kill you!”
“No,” Slanya said. “He would’ve realized that he couldn’t attack me without angering his superiors. Then he would’ve left us alone. A peaceful solution.”
“Um, not likely,” Duvan scoffed. “Beaugrat is driven by revenge for his wounded pride. I don’t practice revenge myself, and I suspect you don’t either, but unlike you, I do understand it. He would never have given in to a logical argument.”
“Perhaps not,” Slanya conceded. “But there’s more to this attack than simple revenge. The Order of Blue Fire is interested enough in you to spy on your activities. Think about it: what do they want from you? Boiling it down to revenge is a dangerous oversimplification.”
Duvan was quiet for a minute, then he nodded. “You’re right; they want me for something.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Slanya decided to let the issue drop. For now.
“I’m sorry that you got caught up in my business, Slanya. This was certainly not your battle.”
Slanya shrugged. “I am not worried,” she said. “They attacked us, and we held our own.” In truth, she’d found the fight exciting. “We should get going.”
Nodding, Duvan drew a dagger from one of his leg sheaths and kneeled by the unconscious body of the dwarf cleric. He started to press the dagger to the cleric’s neck.
“Stop!” Slanya said. “There will be no more killing.”
Duvan looked up at her, his eyes wide in stunned disbelief. “You’re not serious. If we leave her and that scarecrow alive, they will be back after us, and they might kill us the next time. Or worse.”
“Perhaps,” Slanya said, her voice measured. “But what they have done to us does not deserve death, and it is not our role to mete out this level of justice. Death will come to them on its own time.”
A scowl crossed Duvan’s face as his brows narrowed. He stood up and sheathed his dagger. “You knocked them out, so I will respect your wishes here,” he said. “But you’re being naive, and your decision now could cost me later.”
“You can’t kill the whole world, Duvan,” Slanya said. “You can’t even kill those who may do you ill in the future. That is not your role in the universe, and it goes against your responsibility to society.”
“I dont want to kill the whole world, Slanya,” he replied, and his scowl gave way to an all-too-attractive grin. “I just want to kill these here. They are the threat. Your ethical code is just one way to approach things. One idealistic point of view. In the real world where I live, I’ve found it prudent to eliminate threats when the opportunity presentsbecause there may not be another chance.”