Halfway through the fourth hour he heard shuffling footsteps. He leaped from his spot in the shadows to a roof nearby and peered down. Three priests of Karak hurried down the street, all carrying large clear bottles filled with an orange liquid. Haern frowned, not recognizing the liquid. He glanced down the street, where the temple waited unguarded. A chuckle nearly escaped his lips. If Tarlak wanted to play politics, then he would give him some ammunition.
He followed the three, crossing from roof to roof without making a sound. When they stopped before the temple and uncorked their bottles, he watched. The first hurled the bottle, and with a loud crack it shattered across the door. The orange liquid burst into flames, a deep red fire that spread frighteningly fast. Haern drew the dagger he had purchased earlier in the day and grinned. The second priest hurled his bottle, splashing the fire-flame atop the roof, setting it ablaze. The third lifted his bottle, preparing to throw it, when he heard a brief sound of whirring air, and then the bottle exploded in his hand. The liquid showered his arm, burning his flesh and robe. The priest dropped to the ground and screamed as he rolled.
Haern landed before them as the two priests tried to help their third.
“Priests of Karak,” the assassin said, drawing their attention. “I want you afraid. I want you knowing you’ll die. You don’t deserve a quick death.”
He drew his sabers. The two priests reached for their holy symbols, spells on their lips, but Haern was faster. He activated the magic of his ring and teleported, reappearing less than a foot in front of them. He kicked the first in the face, turned, and stabbed a saber through the hand of the other. The screams of the third priest faded as he choked on smoke that filled his lungs. Most of his robes were gone, and his skin was horribly burned. Haern shook his head. If the priest lived, he’d be in horrible agony the rest of his life.
The other two however…
“I have seen your face,” said one priest as he sat on his knees. “You will pay dearly for this.”
“Is that true?” Haern asked. He killed the other, all the while staring at his accuser. “You’ve seen me murder now, too. What punishment should befall me by Mordan law?”
“You will be executed,” the final priest said. “Filthy dog of Neldar.”
Haern kicked the priest in the face a second time. Blood shot from his nose, and he collapsed on his back whimpering.
“Let me tell you something,” Haern said, whispering into the priest’s ear. “You’ll need to either tell them what I look like, or see me with your own eyes and declare my guilt. But what if you can do neither?”
He drew out a small dagger and thrust it into the priest’s eye. As the man screamed he pulled out the dagger and mutilated the second eye. Haern spat, no sympathy in his heart for the shrieking man.
“You’ve done worse to me,” he said, standing so he could place his foot on the man’s forehead to hold him still. “You and your brethren. You can be their warning, wretch.”
He pulled out the priest’s tongue and cut it off with his dagger. He tossed the severed tongue to the dirt. Coughing and gagging, the priest turned to one side and spat out pools of blood.
“Good luck with your justice,” Haern said. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a thin, short piece of rope. With it he tied the priest’s ankles together.
“Try to flee and I’ll kill you,” Haern said. Finished, he stepped back, breathing heavily. All he could feel was hate, and he used it to bury the shred of guilt that dared protest in his heart. He wasn’t finished, not even close.
He left them to be found by the guards. It was time to visit the rest of Karak’s faithful. Behind him the temple of Ashhur burned, and he did nothing to stop it.
T he temple to Karak was ten times the size of Ashhur’s. Large iron gates surrounded the complex. Several buildings linked with thin corridors towered over visitors, decorated with roaring lions carved into the stone. The main chamber for worship had four doors of oak, with paid guards standing watch at all times. Haern stood in the shadows, watching their patrols. He assumed the smallest of the three buildings was the priests’ living quarters. It was there he would have his fun.
Before he could make his move, a hand grabbed his shoulder. He spun, slashing with his sabers. Both clanked against the wall. He saw no one.
“You play dangerous games, Watcher,” said a voice, referring to his title back in Veldaren. Haern turned again and glared at the interloper.
“What do you want, Deathmask?” Haern asked, keeping his weapons ready. The sorcerer laughed as ash floated around his face, all but his eyes hidden behind his gray cloth mask. His mismatched eyes, one red, one black, held no joy as he laughed.
“I want you to cease your efforts,” Deathmask said. “Go join your Eschaton.”
“I do the same as you,” Haern said.
“No,” Deathmask said. “You go too far. We have only beaten them, giving them solid warning as to what would happen if they interfered with our business. You, however, have killed two, and mutilated two more.”
Haern frowned. It had been less than an hour since he left the temple. How could have already known?
“I did what had to be done,” Haern said. “Let’s see the queen deny their guilt when they are found at the scene of their own crime.”
“Their own crime, oh yes,” Deathmask said. “Blind, dumb and bleeding. You proved their innocence, not their guilt, you stupid fool.”
Haern pointed a saber, his patience ended.
“Move,” he said. “Or I go through you.”
“So worried about vengeance,” Deathmask said. “Did they kill someone you love? But what will you do now, Watcher? They’ve harmed another of your friends while you were not there to protect them.”
“What?” he asked, lowering his blade. “Who? What have they done?”
“Go to your Eschaton,” the sorcerer said. “Now.”
Haern sheathed his sabers, glared, and then vanished in a blur of gray. Deathmask shook his head, glancing up at the rooftops.
“He’s nothing but a wild animal,” Nien said, peering down from above.
“Wild and dangerous,” Mier said from the opposite roof.
Deathmask nodded in agreement with the twins.
“We will contain him the best we can,” he said, staring down the long street where the assassin had vanished. “Especially after tonight.”
“S ure it was wise leaving the two of them alone?” Tarlak asked as the three waited on the outskirts of the camp.
“Lathaar and Mira will behave,” Aurelia said, nudging him in the side. “At least, I hope.”
“If me and Aurry could behave during all those late night assignments, I’m sure a paladin can stay on task,” Harruq said.
“Guess so,” Tarlak said, eyeing the half-orc. “You know, you two did vanish an awful lot. You sure you behaved?”
“Stop worrying,” Aurelia said. “And try to focus.”
The wizard shrugged. They were standing outside a large tent they had purchased. Sleeping inside were ten priests of Ashhur. Ten more slept in a similar tent, except instead of between the giant walls, it was set up in the western fields, with Lathaar and Mira watching over.
“Just why is it we’re always stuck doing jobs at night?” Harruq asked. “Can’t someone pay us to work during the day?”
“Shush! People are trying to sleep,” Aurelia said, gesturing to the multitude of tents around them. “Don’t either of you have any decency?”
“Figured we’d already established that as a no,” Tarlak said. “And we take jobs at night because there are less witnesses at night, and besides, it’s not my fault that people won’t try to kill our charges during the day.”
Harruq suddenly straightened. He pointed deeper into the camp, to where a lone man with a torch walked among the rows of tents and smoldering fires.