BLACK NIGHT RUN

CHAPTER 10

They couldn't be bothered with the aftershocks of Tyrune's retaliation, which not only lit up the streets with chaos but full on immersed Greyshire's shipping docks in a great and unbending tide.

Mace and Decan planted themselves upon the roof of Greyshire's highest stone tower that faced the ocean's night edge—where Tyrune was last seen sailing away victorious once more. Below, stray ships junked against the city's stonework. The waters had long since receded, and in its aftermath, casualties were met. Those who endured Tyrune's attack paddled to shore, but given the gravity of the disaster, the damage done was inexcusable.

"He could've killed those people...but he didn't," said Decan knelt upon the roof's edge, masked in the night's shadow with a stone-faced Mace standing close behind—his thoughts painfully the same.

"Do not allow the waif to deter you from the task, Decan," Mace warned. His gaze grew cold and annoyed by the truth—and their conflicting principles—that plagued both himself and his now dubious apprentice. "We are forged by our union's creed, to ward against the insidious arcane and its profane creations, and to never question the tasks evoked upon us."

Decan collected a deep and silent breath. "You and I both know that we cannot ignore the truth that rests in Edrik's keep."

"Our duty is just," Mace said.

"But his escape—"

"Is punishable by law of the high king."

"A law that was unjustified."

Mace puckered his brow. "We were summoned, and like all summons, our duty is to uphold order!"

Decan lingered his gaze to the calamity of ships and people. "I do not seek to argue with you, master, but something is off. Our creed is true, yes, and we are bound by the order, but what if the waif...that Quartari Sorcerai...shares our principles, but of a greater prospect far beyond our own?"

Silence stole its way into Mace's throat yet again. His apprentice spoke the truth; just as he did back in Sabahli's jungle, and it bothered him since. The high king ordered the Quartari exterminated. Mace and Decan are more than capable. However—distressingly so—their encounters with Tyrune were unproductive at worse, and now their mission reached a dire impasse.

But back then, when they followed the waif's trail to Coldmarsh, Edrik declared their objective blind. What disclosed before them, heavily written within the Sacred Letters, threatened not only the high king but the entirety of Spirus' existence.

And still...Mace embraced his objective as truth.

The truth was a lie.

"The Sacred Letters were conceived by the Elderhands long ago; sacred writs since Spirus' beginning. The symbolist, Edrik, possessed one of the ten texts—and its words are far from forgery. The Quartari are indeed the pinnacle of Spirus creation, as well as their dissolution. What rested in the letters...I cannot defy. And I cannot defy our mission. It goes against our creed."

Decan closed his eyes; beaten. Mace had yet to realize the conflict in it all. What hope remained in his master's awakening vanquished by words alone, and Decan, disheartened as his eyes cast down an despondent gaze to the city's port edge, ceased his coming words. The moment suppressed his conscience. What worked for a response now proved futile against the stubborn resolve of a man tight in his duty.

There was no changing Mace Vergil.

"So, the two of you are Secret Swords, and the one you hunt slips across the sea."

The husky voice of Orcarina was like silver fruit; clear, pleasant, sweet, and plump. Not like before, when she found herself close to the brink of misfortune in Greyshire's seedy alley. The honey-coated half-elf stepped out of the shadows with a firm grin upon blacken lips and leaned against the tower's central spire; crossing both arms and legs. She posed dauntless against the jump of Mace and Decan—they spun with curved swords half flashed from their broad sheaths and not once did her presence falter. Her comely face an immaculate visage, her eyes, lined in dark olive, seemed to burn a heavenly turquoise, and her healthy crown of silver mane shone its luster beneath the night's moon. What peeked upon her voluptuous tresses, plated ears of pure silver, hinted a starry gleam; achieving an elegant tone that oddly complemented her roguish garbs—but failed to captivate the two before her.