the Turessians you fear, though I am not like them in many ways. And yes, I can bleed, but I choose not to.”
“You’re undead.”
“No,” On’esquin snapped quickly. “I am something else, though I don’t know what words describe it, either in my language or yours. I will not die, but I do not hear the voices of the dead like Dorralt and the others. My curse takes me a different direction.”
“You live forever and don’t feel wounds that would kill others,” Raeln argued, pacing around the shadowed woods as he spoke. “Tell me how that’s a curse.”
“A curse is a burden put on you that you cannot cast off and is a weight on your shoulders,” On’esquin explained, closing his eyes. “I offered to help my master, Dorralt, before I knew what that entailed. I did not choose what I am and I did not ask for the burden of this insane prophecy. Most importantly, I did not ask to outlive my own children, the grandchildren of my friends, even my whole clan. I have listened as generations died and nations fell, bound by only two tasks until I find a way to die.”
“What tasks?”
On’esquin shook his head. “That is a topic for another time and place.”
“No, please, tell us these tasks,” came a new voice, making both On’esquin and Raeln straighten and look around. “Is long walk you made to get here, so I hope to hear full story, yes? You make this old man tired.”
Sitting against a nearby tree was the dark-skinned gypsy that had attacked On’esquin back in the mountains. The man had On’esquin’s weapon on his lap and the contents of several of his pouches already spread out on the ground, though Raeln had not seen him arrive or touch the bags.
The man eyed a tin container, sniffing at it, then shook his head. “You bring no good supplies, either,” the man went on, dropping the tin to the ground with a clang. “How you live so long with such poor food, I wonder? Is a magic thing, no? I have never liked magic, even when my kin learned. Give this man a knife and some kind words, and he will do much more than most wizards, yes? Wizard with knife in his throat is not better than any other man.”
Raeln dropped his hand to his sword, ready to attack the man, but On’esquin raised a palm, warning him to stop.
“Do let your friend attack if he desires,” the gypsy told them, smiling broadly. “My wounds no longer bleed, so is good time for some exercise, no? My second wife often says I need to teach more young men their place. My third say I need to exercise more to keep my boyish figure.”
Looking the man over, Raeln saw the dried blood that coated the side of his shirt where the wound had been visible earlier in the night. Now he could make out what appeared to be mud, packed with leaves. The man had made some kind of poultice to keep himself from bleeding out.
“Why are you here, human?” Raeln demanded, tightening his grip on his sword’s hilt. He cared little for On’esquin’s warning glare. This man had already proven himself dangerous and a nuisance. “Explain yourself.”
The gypsy held up the rolled parchments On’esquin always carried that bore the full text of Turess’ prophecies. It had been tied to the orc’s remaining belt and he never allowed it to leave his side. “A little thing I found earlier,” the human said, eyeing the parchments. “Like the green man’s face, these have old words of the northern people on them. These people declared war on all lands and people, killing many of my family and friends. I follow you both to see why enemy of these lands walks around without his army. First, I think I kill you both and figure it out later. Then I hear green man say he hunts crazy dead men, and I think maybe we talk this out like the city-folk always wish. Is good plan, yes?”
“And if we say it’s none of your business?” Raeln asked.
“Then I kill you and see if I can kill the green man. Is good challenge and practice for when I find more like
“You’re undead.”
“No,” On’esquin snapped quickly. “I am something else, though I don’t know what words describe it, either in my language or yours. I will not die, but I do not hear the voices of the dead like Dorralt and the others. My curse takes me a different direction.”
“You live forever and don’t feel wounds that would kill others,” Raeln argued, pacing around the shadowed woods as he spoke. “Tell me how that’s a curse.”
“A curse is a burden put on you that you cannot cast off and is a weight on your shoulders,” On’esquin explained, closing his eyes. “I offered to help my master, Dorralt, before I knew what that entailed. I did not choose what I am and I did not ask for the burden of this insane prophecy. Most importantly, I did not ask to outlive my own children, the grandchildren of my friends, even my whole clan. I have listened as generations died and nations fell, bound by only two tasks until I find a way to die.”
“What tasks?”
On’esquin shook his head. “That is a topic for another time and place.”
“No, please, tell us these tasks,” came a new voice, making both On’esquin and Raeln straighten and look around. “Is long walk you made to get here, so I hope to hear full story, yes? You make this old man tired.”
Sitting against a nearby tree was the dark-skinned gypsy that had attacked On’esquin back in the mountains. The man had On’esquin’s weapon on his lap and the contents of several of his pouches already spread out on the ground, though Raeln had not seen him arrive or touch the bags.
The man eyed a tin container, sniffing at it, then shook his head. “You bring no good supplies, either,” the man went on, dropping the tin to the ground with a clang. “How you live so long with such poor food, I wonder? Is a magic thing, no? I have never liked magic, even when my kin learned. Give this man a knife and some kind words, and he will do much more than most wizards, yes? Wizard with knife in his throat is not better than any other man.”
Raeln dropped his hand to his sword, ready to attack the man, but On’esquin raised a palm, warning him to stop.
“Do let your friend attack if he desires,” the gypsy told them, smiling broadly. “My wounds no longer bleed, so is good time for some exercise, no? My second wife often says I need to teach more young men their place. My third say I need to exercise more to keep my boyish figure.”
Looking the man over, Raeln saw the dried blood that coated the side of his shirt where the wound had been visible earlier in the night. Now he could make out what appeared to be mud, packed with leaves. The man had made some kind of poultice to keep himself from bleeding out.
“Why are you here, human?” Raeln demanded, tightening his grip on his sword’s hilt. He cared little for On’esquin’s warning glare. This man had already proven himself dangerous and a nuisance. “Explain yourself.”
The gypsy held up the rolled parchments On’esquin always carried that bore the full text of Turess’ prophecies. It had been tied to the orc’s remaining belt and he never allowed it to leave his side. “A little thing I found earlier,” the human said, eyeing the parchments. “Like the green man’s face, these have old words of the northern people on them. These people declared war on all lands and people, killing many of my family and friends. I follow you both to see why enemy of these lands walks around without his army. First, I think I kill you both and figure it out later. Then I hear green man say he hunts crazy dead men, and I think maybe we talk this out like the city-folk always wish. Is good plan, yes?”
“And if we say it’s none of your business?” Raeln asked.
“Then I kill you and see if I can kill the green man. Is good challenge and practice for when I find more like
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