supernatural senses to focus. He found a moth-eaten gray
cloak and dropped it on my lap, as well as a stained pair of
trousers and a shirt. I needed something besides my old
clothes to wear in town. It wouldn’t do to have everyone
know who I was – including the Theiwar, right at first. By
the way his big nose wrinkled up, I knew the clothes had
to stink of mold and mildew. I probably stank worse, but I
couldn’t tell, since I never breathed.
It grew darker outside. Energy poured into me like a
cold river. When I faced in the direction of town, I could
tell that my murderer was just a short walk away.
“I see him,” I said.
Orun nodded, wrapping up his feet with a dry cloth
strip. “Like I said,” he replied, tugging on his boots next,
“Theiwar hate sunlight. Probably stayed at an inn or in a
cellar, hidin’ from that sun and heavin’ ‘is guts out, waitin’
for the night. Reorx Almighty, they hate that sun.”
We left at nightfall. Orun had wrapped an extra layer of
moldy cloth under his armor to add a little protection from
the daggers he said Garith was fond of using. He knew it
wouldn’t stop a crossbow bolt, though, and I’d earlier told
him about the poison I’d seen. Black wax was difficult to
use, so it wasn’t likely that Garith would have his bolts
already poisoned. Still, we couldn’t count on anything.
He’d slain a dozen hobgoblins in one evening, probably
without breaking into a sweat.
It was a clear night. The stars were out early. A warm
wind rolled through town ahead of us. I remembered the
last night I had known like that, how peaceful it had been,
how everything had gone along fine right up to the end.
“Gonna miss you in a way,” said Orun. His axe was
tied to his belt. He walked with a broad, quick stride,
matching my pace.
The comment caught me off guard. “How is that?”
“Well, you know all you are here for is for findin’
your killer man. When it’s over, you go, too.”
I had suspected as much, but it didn’t bother me.
Dying a second time seemed like such a small trade for
seeing my killer go first.
“Just lemme know when you see ‘im,” Orun added.
I wanted to laugh, but it wasn’t in me. “You’ll know.”
As we entered the broad dirt streets of Twisting
Creek, several people walked by us, giving me looks of
disgust at the condition of my clothing and probably my
smell. None of them even glanced at Orun. Dwarven
merchants came here all the time from Kaolyn.
We passed rows of families sitting on the sides of the
road, children chasing each other or fighting. Almost as
many people in town had no home as those who did,
thanks to the war. I recognized many of them, but none of
them seemed to know me in the darkness.
“You followin’ your man?” Orun asked quietly.
“He’s not far.”
Orun sniffed and smiled.
My senses led me on through town toward the other
side. I had a strange feeling of dread when I realized I was
walking in the direction of my uncle’s farm.
We rounded the blacksmith’s shop and stable. I looked
up and saw a small manor house on a low hill, only a few
hundred yards away. It was lit by yellow globes of glass
set along the sides of the house and up the front walkway.
The long rail fence I remembered repairing in life
surrounded it and the farm buildings behind.
There,” I said, stopping. “He’s in there.”
Orun stopped, too, and squinted. “Nice place.”
I nodded slowly as I started off again. “My uncle’s.”
Orun glanced at me, face hard. “He’s in there with
your kin?”
I said nothing. My uncle was a good man. He had his
flaws, but if he was hurt, it would be one more thing I
would owe the Theiwar when we met.
We turned at the half-circle wagon path that led up to
the doors of the manor. Balls of yellow crystal set on posts