BLACK NIGHT RUN

CHAPTER 15

A nip of anticipation trickled down Decan's spine. He surmised that his imagination made events much worse than it should be, but deep within the recesses of his soul, there was nothing far graver than the truth swelling in him. The exile was innocent, he told himself, ensuring the most as he, Mace, and Orcarina infringed upon the edges of Skullhammer Isle's gaping mouth of darkness and silence. This Quartari Sorcerai, once locked up and forgotten on an island of impenetrable strength, baffled opposition as they now worked to eliminate him and his goal—and Decan and his master, his mentor, his guide, were the ones responsible for the convicted exile's ultimate termination.

So much for that termination order.

Odd, how orders seemed to fade in the sentiments of the pupil, turning his master to more reprimanding replies at every insubordinate turn regardless of how slight. Decan questioned the order of the High King; Mace insisted on the creed in stern response. Their law must not be squandered, but like the vessels of mankind, even laws possessed flaw.

Flaws that even those whose minds were tempered by these laws refused to see.

"Ready to descend into the void?" Orcarina trailed the unbeaten path. The air's humid warmth took on an odd sensation as nature itself grew silent around them. Her words made the moment all the more strange.

Decan somewhat shook his head. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"So you claim." Orcarina smiled.

"Only in dreams."

"What else do you know of the island's deep?" Mace changed the subject. Decan's dreams of facing the void were informal talks between them. The irony behind the half-elf's facetious inquiry evident, but not important. "Could the waif possibly flee without emerging from the gorge?"

"From my belief, there is no escaping this island unless the sea takes you," replied Orcarina. "We speak of a Quartari Sorcerai. His powers can steer him anywhere, everywhere, but it appears that he, too, isn't as adept as even I would hold."

"He's able enough to shirk us," said Decan; a little crisp in his words. "We faced him twice, and he managed to cheat death's cold edge."

"If destiny wields, then the cold edge of your blades would have claimed him."

Decan scoffed in mind. "Destiny."

"Quartari are supreme beings from an immemorial time untold to the inept," Mace explained. "This one fled the labyrinth prison. He's able enough, but far from insuperable. Our blades will cut him down."

Mace, at Decan's back, could not witness the aspect of doubt declaring itself on his disciple's face. It was better that way, even when Mace experienced the full extent of Decan's scrutinous behavior. Decan's bearing on the matter forever contended with Mace's devotion to the cause, and for brief moments before their deep pursuit on this island, Mace, for once in his long years as a blade of the Secret Swords, he saw it Decan's way—just for a moment.

They knew better than to challenge the creed.

Orcarina never lost her smile; until her skin risen in goosebumps and her ears twitched to an unwelcomed silence. The island's air, its nature; silence beyond the calm of ancient nothingness awaiting them beneath the earth. This was no ordinary silence. The half-elf's saunter drugged into a concerning halt that drew Mace and Decan to pause and hunt the thickets with their eyes.

Orcarina quickly released Tiebreaker from her back, the repeating crossbow snapped and sprawled alive as she aimed for the bush. Mace and Decan clutched their swords. The half-elf narrowed her eyes beyond the brush and without a second to breathe, something wicked plunged upon her. Orcarina dropped and rolled sideward. For an elf of her make, a half-elf whose blood hailed from the old world; tempered in the shrewd trenches of charlatans and rapscallions, the assault of assassin blades paled in comparison to her evasive instincts.