Highwater and Glass

The Red Falcon, Chapter 5 - Oran

Horus's face was one of malice. His blond hair was a tuft of flame. His eyes, shaded with kohl, glowed like embers.

"Hello Or."

In all the time Horus had spent with him, he had never shortened his name. Oran decided to return the informality.

"Hello Hor."

Horus grimaced; annoyed he had set up Oran for the double entendre. He and his companion stalked closer, wearing bravado as a protective veil, just as he always had.

"The years have not been good to you," he said.

Though the intention was to insult his physical appearance, Oran couldn't help but agree. The years had indeed been tough. He was only twenty-four, yet already had white hairs on his temple and in his beard.

Horus eyed beyond him to the fallen mage skewered by Eloise's arrow. He did so without any sign of pity or anger; only mischievous curiosity.

"The lad's name was Emed. He was one of the children I rescued in Skyward Mountains. I see now I made the right choice in taking them away with me on the day I left your side. It's clear they would have been unsafe in your company."

"That boy meant to impale me," said Oran.

"I don't believe that any action of a child should be punishable by death. Do you not agree, Oran? Or is Miss Glass, as usual, somehow excused from your scorn?"

Oran exchanged looks with Eloise. She was miserable. Horus's words were as cutting as they had ever been. It was an unusual feeling to go five years without speaking to a man he had known so well. In some ways, it felt as if no time had passed at all. There they were, having the conversation they would have had if Oran had given chase instead of rushing to douse the flames that enveloped Navinia LeMorae.

"What do you really want, Horus? I see you're working with a cult now. Am I to gather that this means the last five years have treated you favorably? Is associating with a cult in vogue?"

Horus scowled again. As much as he enjoyed a barbed comment, it irked him to receive them in return. Oran remembered exactly how to do it; with a touch of feigned innocence and only the hint of a wry grin in the corners of his mouth.

"We work for respected MageLord Daronis Setti," snapped Horus. "He has taught me more than Cirrus ever could. I hear Cirrus is back and with a new little twerp. I hear he demoted you. I would have set him on fire."

"Yet another way we're different," replied Oran.

"How is Navinia, anyway?" Horus asked. "Alive and well? Merely alive? Did you ever get to bed that woman before I charred her like a cut of meat, or did you wait until she was broken and vulnerable?"

The man beside Horus chuckled. Oran hadn't recognized him at first. He had a broad chest and tanned skin. His dark hair was tied into a knot behind his head. He seemed to recall the man was called Fernon. He had served the Mage, Malthus in the skyward mountains. He had left at Horus's side.

"Since I last saw you, I found power, I found wealth," said Horus. He stopped and set his hand on Fernon's cheek. "I found love."

"I'm happy for you," Oran found himself saying.

He meant that, genuinely. Horus needed love. He needed validation. Regardless of the paths he had taken, Oran knew that to be true.

He caught Eloise's movement out of the corner of his eye. She had reached into her pouch and uncorked a flask of anti-Incendiary potion; the very same that was consumed by the soldiers at war in the north. She took a hearty swig. He was pleased to see her thinking ahead.