Chapter 4 - Part 7

They hunched together on the roof, under a tarp. Climbing back down the way they came was out of the question. Tzaryan’s own ogres were all about, weapons out and eyes scanning. Tzaryan had come in demanding Shaidan’s attention, yelling something about a hidden gold mine that Shaidan had been trying to hide from him. When Shaidan’s headless body had been found the yelling changed to orders and the place became a beehive of activity. All of the soldiers and agents that had been sent out following Delegado’s red herrings were now reassigned. The town was being put under lockdown, with everyone ordered in their homes under threat of arrest or death.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in his ear.

“Don’t be,” he whispered back. “And stop talking, I’m trying to think.”

“Tzaryan is dangerous,” she said.

“No kidding, really?” he whispered sarcastically. “A ten-foot tall giant that can fly and turn invisible at will?”

“He can also summon cold and cause his enemies to fall asleep,” she said helpfully. “Oh, and he heals quickly, cuts and wounds close up of their own accord within minutes.”

He looked at her, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“You didn’t know?”

“Ois, I make it a point to avoid Tzaryan!” he said. He began to swear. “He’s probably going to lead the search himself once the perimeter is to his liking. We’re dead.”

“Where the Silver Flame is, hope is,” she said.

“Great, then hope is two thousand miles to the northeast.”

“I carry the Silver Flame in my heart,” she told him calmly.

“I carry flatulence in my colon,” he said. “And it’s about as useful. Now shut up.”

“Have you nothing in your heart?” she pressed him.

He considered another sarcastic remark, then decided against it. “I had you in my heart once,” he said. “Nothing since.”

She chose not to respond, so they kept to their position.

They waited in silence, listening to the movement and shouted orders. For a half-hour they lay next to each other under the tarp, saying nothing. Finally she touched his hand.

“I still love you,” she whispered.

A heavy stone wrapped around his heart with dreadful familiarity. “But your bosses won’t let you be with someone who doesn’t follow their flame, and you love their approval more. We had this conversation eight years ago. I don’t feel like having it again.”

Now she squeezed his hand. “I don’t care about that.”

“What?”

She swallowed. “They rely on me now. They won’t turn me out just because I have a lover who is a heathen.” The words came in a rush, like water from a bursting dam.

He stared at her, not believing what he was hearing. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’ve missed you, and I want to be with you,” she said. “You’ll have your work, I’ll have mine, and we’ll both travel, but we’ll come home to each other.”

He grabbed her shoulder tightly. “Do you mean that? Don’t say that if you don’t mean that!”

Instead of answering she kissed him with ferocity. He kissed her back, just as passionately. Just like it had been before, their lips meshed. She used her shapechanging to work around his lower canines, and his eyes brimmed with tears.

The door to the roof opened.

They hurriedly broke their embrace. She pulled the potion with the target sigil out and slowly poured it into his mouth while he gripped the small hand crossbow. Both made as little movement as possible.

A group of three gnolls was walking around, poking at debris and looking for intruders. The leader of the three wore plate mail armor. A larger gnoll with a red sash on his helm, he was apparently a high official to Tzaryan. The red-sashed one made hand motions and his assistants responded quickly. Clearly they had worked together for some time.

One assistant checked behind the chimney and barked to his leader. The other assistant came over and the two of them dragged forward the whiskey-laden gnoll that Delegado had punched out, hauling him to an upright position. As red-sash stared angrily, the two assistants began slapping the unconscious gnoll’s face in order to wake him up.

Delegado steadied his wrist. The potion filled his senses, making everything stark, real, precise. He knew that he would not miss.

The gnoll was waking up, and he was muttering. Ois went rigid. “He just said ‘half-orc’!” she hissed. “He made you!”

Delegado did not hesitate. The poisoned bolt flew and hit the leader gnoll in the flesh of his neck that showed between his helmet and his torso armor. Gagging, the gnoll fell forward, trying to breathe with lungs that were paralyzed.

The half-orc and the changeling were already moving when the red-sashed helmet hit the rooftop. Ois threw a knife, catching one of the assistant gnolls directly in his eye. That gnoll simply dropped without sound. A moment later, Delegado slammed the gnoll that had made him with his shoulder. That unfortunate individual fell backwards, landing on the ground far below. The other assistant gnoll ducked Delegado’s hasty sword swing, and attempted to bash the half-orc’s head with an axe. Delegado moved to the side, circling the gnoll, seeking an opening.

“Hey, over here!” came a call from below. One of the ogres that had come with Tzaryan was yelling from below, pointing towards the crumpled body of the gnoll that had fallen.

Ois stepped up and drove a dagger deep into the kidneys of Delegado’s opponent. The gnoll stiffened, and the half-orc swung, decapitating it. The two of them had used a similar maneuver many years before. Without saying so, without planning it, they had fallen back into their combat routines.

“Come on!” she said, pulling him along with her to the other side of the roof.

“That’s the front gate!” he grunted.

“Yeah,” she said, stopping long enough to change herself and her armor into the appearance of a gnoll. “Stay down.” She bent over the edge and began barking down instructions. A chorus answered her, and a stampede of feet could be heard.

“You told them you spotted the intruder,” he said as she gestured to the right. The two of them ran to that edge.

“You speak gnoll now?” she asked, punching her byeshk dagger into the rooftop. She grunted as she tried to shove it into the stone, slate, and timber.

“No, I guessed,” he said. He gestured for her to move over and he flexed his massive biceps. The dagger slammed all the way into the hilt. She quickly began to tie one end of her silk rope around it.

“I told them I saw a shifter climb down the wall behind us after he threw a gnoll off the roof. They’re after one of the lycanthrope-born now.” She shook her head as she tied the knot. “I just hope no innocent gets caught up in this, but it was the first thing I thought of.” She gestured. “Come on. Go. I can keep my disguise up.”

“Until they find the bodies,” he told her. “And if you’ll notice, they’re starting to blow lamps out. Sundown was two hours ago, remember? I can see in the dark and you can’t. You need me. Let’s go.”

“I memorized the street layout,” she told him. “I’ll find my way.” He hesitated, not wanting to let her go. “I’ll show up as a male orc at the Tharashk enclave. Now go!”

He gripped the silk rope in gloved hands and slid down the side of the building, carefully kicking off of the wall at a controlled rate of speed. A couple of windows went by, but there was nothing he could do about that. Nothing happened, however, and he made it the whole way without incident, dropping the remaining few feet to the ground.

He quickly scuttled over to a large container that had been used to store street waste. Ducking behind it he pressed himself flat against the wall and watched the rooftop. He would not leave. Not yet. She was good, but she needed him now. She would not fool them for long, she didn’t know their passwords or their customs, else she would have come in the front gate in disguise when they first started the whole thing. A long minute went by.

A gnoll came down the rope, slower than he had, going hand-over-hand. It was far too graceful to be a real gnoll. He tensed, watching her.

Okay, Flame, he thought intently. This is me praying. It doesn’t happen often. Get her down here safely. Please.

She passed the first window. Nothing happened.

Come on, come on.

She passed by the second window.

Come on!

A huge wave of crackling, cold, blue-and-white, eldritch energy burst out from the window, shattering the glass, and catching her as she lowered herself down the rope. She made no sound as she dropped, not even a single cry. Her frozen form fell the remaining twelve or so feet to the ground, and she made a thick, horrible sound as she struck.

He saw that she had reverted to her natural form.

“No,” he whispered. “No.”

Tzaryan himself came out of the window, floating effortlessly down to the ground, his sword in hand. He was just as tall and muscular as he had been the last time Delegado saw him, with greenish-bluish skin, and rippling muscles. There were small, black horns on his head, and his expression was calm, even contemplative. “You saved me the trouble of executing him myself, little shapechanger,” Tzaryan said to the frozen form at his feet. “Too bad for you that you didn’t wait another hour.” He put his fingers to his lips and blew a sharp whistle. An ogre’s head poked out of the shattered window. “Call off the searches and unbind the town,” Tzaryan called up. “I found the assassin.” The ogre nodded and withdrew his head. Tzaryan looked down at Ois again and shook his head.

Delegado’s eyes were burning, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from running out then and there. It would be pointless. Tzaryan wouldn’t even break a sweat while cutting the half-orc down. So he waited, hoping to claim the body at least.

Tzaryan suddenly grabbed Ois’ corpse and lifted it up in both hands. The ogre magus flew upwards, back into the building through the shattered window. Delegado watched as the body of the only woman he had ever loved disappeared from view.