Hello!!

I had a good break from this and I am going to pick it up again! Thank you very much for sticking with me! Cookies for all of you! Not much happens in this chapter, call it a transition. If you action mongers want action, it's on in the next chapter :) And for those who are waiting for romance, it is coming, I assure you, do be patient, for Racqkiel is not someone who's easy to deal with when it comes to romance XD

That said, enjoy the chapter.

Araway wondered how she was losing so much blood in such a short span of time. The wound on her hand could be the cause of it, but blood from such a relatively small injury could not account for the excessive gore that bathed her head to toe.

While he waited, Araway felt his clothes cling to his skin, sticky and wet. He did not need to look to know what was soaking them. The vibrant colour of her blood was beginning to cloud his vision like some mental fog. However, he couldn’t smell the usual metallic stench blood usually carried. Instead, her blood released a strange more she bled, the more fragrant she became. It smelled like flowers that bloomed at night; faint, pleasant and soothing. At first, he had thought it was her perfume, but apparently it was not.

Her steadied breathing hailed his attention. Gone was the weak heaving of her chest, though nothing else seemed to change. Then, slowly, her eyes began to open, holding a lost, dreamy gaze.

“Racqkiel,” he called.

She showed no signs of response. Her eyes remained open, staring into nothingness. Not a single muscle in her body moved.

Gently, he laid her back in the cradle of roots and went to retrieve a bag he had brought. The time was finally right for the summoning to begin.

Taking in a deep calming breath, he fished for the long, thick candle Hamora had given him. He had asked her in advance what would occur during the summoning and she had replied him honestly that her knowledge of it was meagre, if she knew anything at all. It was rare for anyone to summon a being like Racqkiel, though Hamora revealed to him that it had been done before several times in the forgotten past. However, the success rates were extremely low. The reason behind most successful summons was the willingness of individual beings. It did not matter if the summoner was superior in terms of power, or sorcery. In spite of all the things she had mentioned, Hamora consoled him, the candle, combined with the drug she had brewed- things previous summoners did not have- would ensure a successful summoning.

Suddenly, Racqkiel moved, as he tried to light the candle with the flint stones. Her limbs functioned to help her stand on their own accord. She faced him with dazed, empty eyes as the flame flared on the twisted wick with. Step by step, she approached him.

Araway stood still, clutching the thick candle firmly in both hands. It felt surreal and strangely unnerving to face her as she moved, though still with the natural grace of a warrior, heading directly for him. The faint breeze stirred her blood-matted hair like a phantom’s touch, and her limbs swayed slightly with her movements. All of this added to her unique allure. She was not a conventional beauty with the usual flawless, curvaceous figure. To the contrary, her body was too emaciated to be perfect. Her charm originated from within. It was the aura she exuded that instilled awe, and held her charm.

When she had only a few more steps to go to close the distance between Araway and her, she stopped abruptly.

A pang of dread touched his heart when he saw a flicker of emotion pass in her glazed eyes. Was half a vial of the drug not enough?

He saw her chest heave in one rapid movement. Fear was apparent in her wide eyes when she seemed to realize what was happening. However, still captive under the drug’s influence, Racqkiel found, to her horror, that she could not feel or control her body. Any effort made only resulted in mild tremors through her muscles.

Then, as swift as it came, a sharp pain plunged itself like a stake through her head, wrenching consciousness from her grasp.

Araway swallowed, realizing he had been holding his breath. Hamora’s prediction was indeed accurate- no matter how potent the drug was, Racqkiel was not one to be subdued easily. Thankfully, her conscience was resealed.

Slowly, she continued mechanically towards him and raised a hand. Just as her fingers made contact with the melting wax, he felt his fingertips tear and his hands sear with intense pain. He cringed as he fought to hold on, watching the hidden red feathers in the candle wax unravel themselves and dissolve into his skin. Like needles worming their way up his arms, the agony it caused was almost crippling.

A groan escaped him as he fell to his knees but he knew he mustn’t let go. Every muscle in his body was strained against the torture. He could feel his hands tremble violently, but Racqkiel’s iron grip helped to steady his. Tears escaped, blurring his vision and muddling his already clouded mind.

It did not take too long to cross his threshold for pain. His senses were starting to numb, leaving his head and body throbbing. Then came fatigue, whispering for him to close his eyes and forsake all else.

“It seems I failed to alter the course of her fate,” Elden spoke in a soft voice.

She smiled wryly and said, “Who has ever been able to achieve that?”

“You are right,” he said, sparing her a cursory glance. “But the candle was meant to preserve the children of Binding. To allow an outsider to use it to enslave the child- would it not spell disaster?”

Hamora frowned at him and sighed. “There is no need to remind me of that. Right now, Racqkiel is a danger to herself. At least the Halfling will keep her safe.”

“He will find out her origins. Humans, and all those raised by the human hand, harbour greed. The Halfling will become more of a danger to her than she is to herself!” Elden countered, stamping one of his rear hooves to punctuate his point.

For a moment, Hamora turned her gaze away from the stern eyes of the centaur. “I believe greed exists in every living being, Elden.”

Her words struck him like a hammer and sentenced him to silence.

Hate. Hamora understood the one powerful emotion that emanated from him. She understood why he chose to interfere despite the common, unspoken law that said otherwise. Serisel and Racqkiel were the only twins, and the only generation of Binding, whose goal was similar to his. It was clear to her that he could not work towards his goal, but the twins could.

“What you and I have done are only mere stones on the road she’s on. They are insignificant, useless, because we are no longer entwined with her fate. I believe it is time we returned to ours,” she said in a gentle tone.

Elden did not reply. His broad shoulders sagged as though he carried an invisible burden, while his brows knotted and his gray eyes brimmed with sorrow. At that very moment, he appeared to have aged. He turned away from her in a gesture of finality and walked away without a word.

Hamora watched him go, until his figure vanished into the fog and all that was left was the faint sound of his hooves striking the earth.

Many voices whispered, spoke, hollered and screamed like the sound of rumbling thunder before a storm. A myriad of colours flashed and danced like the blurring curtain of rain. He could make no sense from the things that unravelled before him. His past thoughts and actions hummed as he returned to relive, and experience them a second time.

Perplexed, Araway attempted to move. However, he found that he could control nothing, simply because he did not exist. It felt like he was everywhere, and nowhere at the same time. All of his senses churned as a single body. He was unable to tell them apart.

Suddenly, a surge of melancholy, pain and hopelessness possessed him. Though the degree of it was impossible, it passed as quickly as it came. Then came a longing so strong that it made him restless, pushing him to look for what it was. A rise of courage and confidence brushed it aside, and finally, happiness. It was the simplest version of bliss- quiet, empty and content. Simplicity may not possess the power to amuse or entertain, but it held the power to captivate and , it only lasted for one blink of an eye. Then sorrow returned again, embracing him gently.

The severe pain he had forgotten returned in odd, mild waves. He could feel it, and knew it was there, but he just didn’t know where exactly it lay. The ebb and flow of the tumult of emotions that engulfed him was magnified a thousand folds by the pain, as though his entire mind had spilled before him. felt like a plethora of foreign textiles, which all had different, varying textures.

Something odd captured his attention, then. Power. Here was a single entity that could grant him the idea of omnipotence. A feeling swept over him, filling his entire heartwith absolute confidence and infinite courage. Araway knew that with it this power, he could accomplish anything. However, as potent as it was, he also felt its fragility. It was so elusive and easily destroyed, like the foams that toss over rumbling waves- it possessed an uncertain existence.

A ghostly, misty presence appeared. Driven by curiosity, Araway explored it eagerly, hoping to discover more within the realm of enigma.

A calm that recalled to him the peace of sleep and oblivion swept through him. Everything was immersed in a soothing lull of silence. However, a slight disturbance of his own emotions broke this tranquillity. Like a lake monster awoken from its slumber, a foray of fiery sensation spewed forth from everywhere, encasing him in an incinerating cove. Struck by the unexpected assault, he didn’t know how to react or defend himself from the onslaught. Instead, he shrank instinctively away from the foreign presence, retreating towards the farthest recesses of his own territory.

However, whatever was attacking him did not stop. Its rage seemed to feed from Araway’s fear and pain. It came in pursuit of him, attacking with vigour and bone chilling ferocity. A jumbled mass of unknown force buffeted and pierced, working to the very core of his soul. He wanted to scream from the hellish torture, but couldn’t. There was nowhere to turn. Nowhere to hide, or seek shelter from the acidic pain. Worst of all, he didn’t even know how to retaliate. Araway lay back, exhausted, and waited for death to claim him.

“Hold on,” a familiar voice spoke.

Hold on? Araway thought, as a spasm of sarcasm and disbelief passed his way. Amidst the hellish agony, he couldn’t help thinking how absurd that piece of advice was.

“Hold on. Do not forget why you are here,” the voice came again. “Failure must not be the outcome. She will kill you.”

He could have laughed if he had the voice or the strength. Araway knew for certain he could not survive the relentless torture. Never in a moment did he forget what he was supposed to do, but failure felt absolute.

Slowly, something wrapped itself around him and diminished the pain. “Weak,” the voice mocked. “Giving up something you treasure. Weakling.”

Something I treasure? He thought dumbly. Lives. Understanding gradually dawned on him. He struggled pathetically, fighting against the nothingness with nothing but his own strength, which seeped away with each growing second. Help me.

“I am can only do so much,” the voice replied.

Suddenly, everything began to throb, accompanied with a low humming that shook his world. For every tremor, he felt his consciousness slip and return. The world that dissolved came back. A sudden pull devoured him and suddenly made him aware of the constraints of his physical body. The return of his hearing, sight and touch brought him back to reality.

Araway blinked rapidly, taking in his surroundings. The dry crumbs of earth and dirt underneath pressed onto his knees under his weight, reminding him that he was still in the glade.

Something dripped onto his hand, causing him to start up in alarm. He found Racqkiel’s hands, which were still clasped around the melted candle wax, cupping his, still raw and red from the heat. Another droplet of clear liquid dripped onto his thumb. This time, he raised his head to find the source of it.

Standing tall before him was Racqkiel. Her usually emotionless face was stricken with silent tears that were slipping down her cheeks.

He swallowed, feeling a lump coming up this throat. She was alive. The summon must have succeeded.

However, she appeared so much more withered, as if a part of her had been lost. This was the first time he saw her cry. Knowing that he was the cause of it made him guilty. It would hurt her more if she survives.

“Racqkiel?” his voice came out hoarse. Something tugged at his heart when she moved her head to look at him. Her mere gaze that was directed solely at him spoke volumes. In her eyes, he saw for the first time her disappointment, bitterness, loss, defeat and a thousand other emotions swirling together.

She parted her lips as if to speak, but no words came. Like the feeble beat of a butterfly’s wings, her eyes closed. What strength was left in her body abandoned her, and she fell crumpled at his lap.

For days she lay like the dead. No matter how loud he shouted at her or how hard he shook her, she never showed any signs of response. Hamora had explained to him it was natural for her to enter a death-like sleep. Her severely damaged body was doing its best to recover. But the wait was wearing on his nerves.

Ever since the summon, he felt a change very distinct and strange. He wanted to know everything that is to know about her. He needed her to be awake, to be by him. This odd restlessness only made him more aggressive and impatient with the passing of time. He would sit by her bed all day and fall asleep when night came.

To see him so distressed was worrying. His two friends, however, knew nothing of the summon. Hamora had cleverly woven a lie that Racqkiel had injured her head. They accepted the false explanation and understood Araway’s reaction.

“I have to return to the village soon,” Soril said. “Autumn is already here. The people need me there for the next hunt.”

Lyette gave him a doleful gaze while twisting the hem of her dress with a finger. “But Soril,” her voice faltered. “I’d be alone.”

Heaving a sigh, Soril smiled apologetically at her. “I understand. I will wait till Racqkiel is awake before I make any decisions. Hamora said it won’t take very long anymore. As for you, your safety is more important. We can’t keep you company for long,” he said gently. “I have a village to help and Araway has to finish his errand.”

“I know.” She rested her chin on her knees, hugging her shins to her chest.

“Don’t fret, we’ll visit you sometime,” Soril attempted to assure her, but he was genuine in his intentions. If he had wanted to lie, he wouldn’t have been able to lie to someone so innocent.

She smiled at him with gratitude and rose to her feet, turning to head back to the tunnel.

She could hear it- the steady thumps of her own heart. Something wanted her to wake, to open her eyes.

As her vision cleared, the dark shadows of a ceiling greeted her.

“You’re awake,” a familiar voice spoke from beside her. Master. My master’s voice.

The moment she realized who he was, Racqkiel could find no courage to look at him. Hamora betrayed me. Her heart twisted painfully at the thought.

“Look at me,” Araway said firmly.

She had to obey. Slowly, she turned her head to the source of his voice. What she saw puzzled her- Araway’s jet black hair was in a mess and he had dark shadows under his eyes. His thick shoulders were slumped as he rested his elbows on his knees to lean towards her. Fatigue plagued him. A bitter smile tugged at the edge of his lips.

“I will tell you who you are,” she began in a voice just above a whisper. “You are the knight sent to hunt for the Shade. I am half a Shade. I am who you are looking for.”

Araway recalled the time when she had said he would regret saving her life. He could not understand then, but now he did. He didn’t care. The relief of knowing that she was alive and well was enough to quell him. “Are you hungry?”

Her eyes searched his questioningly, unable to understand why he ignored her words.

After a moment of silence, she replied, “No.”

“I will get you something to drink,” he said in a strained voice that revealed the tumult inside. He left the room swiftly without waiting for her response.

By the time he returned, she had almost fallen back to sleep. Racqkiel turned on her side and struggled to sit up, but failed miserably with her frail body. His strong arms suddenly appeared and took her shoulders gently, lifting her off the bed. In one swift movement that caught her off guard, Araway enveloped her in a tight embrace.

She sat frozen in shock, with his arms wrapped around her. The warmth of his body was so foreign to her that she could not comprehend what was happening. Panic slipped into her thoughts when he wouldn’t release her. She tried to speak, to find her voice, but she could not. Instead, her breathing hastened with growing fear.

“Just a little longer, please,” he pleaded hoarsely.

Racqkiel tried to calm herself off her illogical trepidation. She started again when he moved a hand to stroke her hair. She wanted to escape, to huddle in a dark corner where no one would find her, and shut the past memories away. But he would not let her go. Helpless as she had been when she was a child, tears welled up and spilled from her eyes.

“I will never hurt you, please don’t cry,” Araway said softly. “I wanted to say sorry. I didn’t want you to die.”

Her hands balled into fists on her lap as more tears poured down her cheeks.

Amidst her irregular breathing, she managed to form the words, “I will never forgive you.”

As soon as the simple words left her lips, her heart constricted. Her breath froze in her throat and Racqkiel could feel her blood stop flowing in her veins. She needed desperately to breathe, but she couldn’t. With the lack of oxygen, her consciousness slipped.

“She has awakened, I see.” Hamora nodded knowingly, a pained expression on her pale face.

Heaving a sigh, Araway ran a hand through his mass of hair. “She returned to her sleep. I was the cause of it. I shouldn’t have placed so much pressure on her.”

Hamora paused to look at the shifting fog and shook her head at his words. “Racqkiel is responsible for that. Tell me, Araway, did you experience anything strange when she spoke to you? And if you please, what were her last words before she lost consciousness?”

His head dropped as he struggled with his own emotions. Racqkiel’s words had branded themselves on his memory, singeing it. It was unlike him to feel this way. He had endured worse in his life. Sometimes, some things did injure his feelings, but none of them were truly painful. This pain, however, was almost like a physical wound, throbbing inside him.

“I apologized to her,” his voice trailed away as he recalled her voice, and how every syllable knocked a hole in his chest. “She said she would never forgive me.”

“What were her exact words?” Hamora turned to face him with her arms folded behind.

She waited patiently as she observed his troubled demeanour. Clearly, he was struggling to cope with the bond that was born from the summon. Such difficulties rarely surfaced, but Racqkiel was to blame.

“She said,” Araway paused, closing his eyes as he sucked in a deep breath. “I will never forgive you.”

Before she could produce an explanation, Araway asked, “Why does it feel so oppressing?”

A gust of cold wind stirred the drifting fog, causing it to swirl in a smoky white mass. The great tree behind them shook its faded leaves and several leaflets fluttered down to the forest floor.

“That is because she meant her every word.” Hamora glanced at him, but he still had his eyes closed. “Simple words that carry the weight of an eternal condemnation- it is a breach of faith. I do not know if you have fully understood the complete implications of the summon you’ve performed, but it is not something to be taken lightly.

“Her kind is what we call the Bindings. What you hold in your hands, Araway,” she stressed, “is something even greater than power. But with it comes a boundary, or restrictions that the Bindings have to abide by. It applies to their summoners as well, because of the obvious reason that they have access to what the Bindings are capable of. What you are experiencing now is her renitence. When a Binding utterly disapproves with the actions of the related summoner, the summoner will know due to the link of restrictions.”

Frowning, Araway focused his eyes on Hamora’s dark ones. “I am doing something wrong?”

“No, you’ve done nothing to step beyond the boundary,” she replied carefully. “The link does not only apply when you’ve committed the unforgivable. It also affects you when it goes against Racqkiel’s wishes.”

“I see,” he whispered to himself, noting how his insides churned with discomfort. “Why did it disturb her so badly? She went limp right after she said those words.”

With the same pained expression, Hamora replied, “It was a breach of faith. When Bindings lose their trust and belief in their summoners, the link both parties share will attempt to repair the damage that had been caused in order to revert to the original, healthy relationship that both parties shared. Depending on the circumstances, the link causes different reactions for each party. That is what’s happening right now.”

Another sigh escaped from him as he sank to the ground and laid there with arms and legs spread out. He knew it would have appeared ridiculous to the elder, but he was simply too exhausted to bother. The dry ground felt so cool and soothing. It eased his tensed muscles and helped to calm his thoughts. How bizarre it was to be flung into a world that he thought existed only in books and old magical tales. The irony of it all was that he himself was part of this magical realm. Does the King know about people like me? Does Rohr know? Is the kingdom aware of all the other fantastical races living amongst them?

All the questions that swarmed his mind almost made him forget his mission. He should have been on his way, with Racqkiel in tow, to report to the Court. Yet, here he was, entangled in complications which he had willingly heaved onto his own shoulders. If the Court knew he saved the infamous Shade, it would grant him a death warrant and bring shame upon the Nathain house- that should not and must not happen. Rohr was his benefactor; Araway would never tarnish his lord’s name. Racqkiel’s identity must remain a secret if he wanted her alive.

What you hold in your hands, Araway, is something greater than power. Hamora’s words echoed behind his thoughts.

Cold nights and vacant seats in the inn was not a common occurrence. However, that night, the inn was unusually silent. Even the rooms were mostly unoccupied.

After lighting the last lamp, Brothrein hooked the glowing beacon onto one of the coarse wooden pillars. He sighed softly and patted the rough surface with his thick hand before returning to the back of the bar to pick up a tankard and his rag. Ever since he had started running the inn, it had become his habit to scrub tankards day and night during his waking hours, whether they were dirty or not.

There was only him now in the inn. He had given Gezel permission to leave early since there were no customers to entertain. Old times seemed to fade so quickly. Something that stood strong for decades took only a single week to demolish. They were once a merry group, almost like a family formed from patches of people here and there, stitched together by the need to survive. Yet a single member’s fall tore up everything.

Brothrein was so deeply buried in his thoughts that he didn’t notice a slight breeze that whistled in from the kitchen. Windows and doors were always closed in the evenings, especially when no one was cooking.

“Brothrein,” the familiar raspy voice of a demon called.

His hands stilled in an instant as a frown etched itself on his lined forehead. He must be dreaming. Shaking his head, he muttered to himself, “Oi, me ol mind must be playin me. Ah, age, time fer me ter sit in rockkin chars.”

This time, something touched his shoulder lightly. “It’s me, Brothrein,” the grating voice came again, only it sounded closer and more threatening.

With wide, disbelieving eyes, he turned clumsily to meet the crimson eyes of a towering shadow. “Shayde? That ye?”

“I would like a private room if you please,” the figure replied, sounding slightly weak and tired. But Brothrein couldn’t be sure, for all he could see was that same faceless mask and penetrating eyes. The Shade had never asked for a room in the inn before and it sparked a suspicion in him.

“Shayde twas long dead! Who are ye?” he bellowed, hunching his shoulders in an effort to look intimidating.

A short moment of silence hung between them, sizzling with tension.

It was the Shade who broke it with his hoarse laughter. When he stopped, Brothrein had to suppress a shudder when he found the laughter never reached the eyes of the famous assassin- a trademark that he could never forget. “I am not so easily disposed of,” the Shade said softly, but the monstrosity still lingered. “A great loss I have made, yes. But death will have to wait. It would be in your best interest if we discuss this in private.”

“Aye, tha devil ye are,” Brothrein muttered as his eyes darted to scan the empty hall. “Follow me.”

Brothrein climbed up a flight of wooden stairs that led them to a series of gloomy corridors where rooms were situated.

“I need a safe place, Brothrein,” the Shade spoke behind him. “I may have escaped death, but not without consequences...”

Frowning, Brothrein wondered why the Shade asked for a safe shelter. It was unlike the Shade he knew.

A gauntlet hand touched his shoulder, breaking his train of thoughts. “Eh? Ae, to tha attic then.” Brothrein nodded absently, proceeding to enter a corridor and up another flight of stairs. He fished out a bundle of keys from his pocket when they came upon a closed door and unlocked it.

Though sparsely furnished, it was surprisingly clean. There was enough space to walk around, and a rounded window revealed the scenery of the town below. The Shade gave Brothrein a gentle push into the room before shutting the door quietly behind them, satisfied with the accommodation provided.

“We can speak freely now. I can see you have a lot on your mind,” the Shade stated.

“Ae, lad. Ya didn hav any guards followin ye here de ye?” he asked, even though he knew the Shade was not so foolish. He trudged to the table nearby and slumped heavily onto the chair, causing it to creak in protest under his weight.

“No,” the Shade replied. “My plan was to return to the guild and report to Conan that the last mission was a trap. But there was no one there.”

There was no need for the question to be asked. It rang clearly in the Shade’s questioning tone. “Everyun left tha town when they thought ye dead, lad,” he sighed. “Cept fer Conun. Ee’s in town somewhere. Tha guild were afraid ye’d tell on em, see. Wha happened to ye?”

“The last mission was a trap to kill me.” The Shade stumbled slightly as he approached the bed, but he did not sit. “The Seigheal Martyrs know that they are my target. They brought an army to guarantee my death. I escaped, but since they’ve wounded me, they probably assumed me dead.”

Slowly, Borthrein leaned forward in his seat and studied the Shade critically. The figure before him met his narrowed eyes fearlessly, without challenge or ill intentions. Everything about this mysterious figure proved that he was the original, one and only Shade. That ragged dark red cloak and smooth crimson mask and those unique blood red eyes were unmistakeable. “D’ ye know tha ye was burned in the city of Rell? Conun saw ye an tha whol city saw ye,” he said.

Although he was stunned by the news, the Shade kept his cool. “I’ve been away from civilization until now, Brothrein. But I am certainly not burnt or dead, as you can see. Tell me everything.”

When he did not say another word, a tattered, ghastly sigh escaped the Shade. “What must I prove for you to believe that I am real? You trusted me enough to take me here. What more?”

“Ye’ve been wiff us fer years, but ye never show yer face. Who knoes if ye aren Shayde? I cun wear yer clothes an say I’m ye, an I cun toture ye ter tell me all I need ter knoe,” Brothrein said carefully.

A strange light danced faintly in the Shade’s eyes. His gaze was strangely gentle, and if Brothrein could see his face, he would have thought the Shade was smiling. “Once upon a summer night, the thieves and murderers drank precious wine-”

“Roun an roun tha danced, throwin clothes an undawear,” Brothrein laughed as he continued the silly song. “Hey! Hey! Silly drunks ye drinkin wine o’ stolen loot! Roun an round throwin clothes an undawear, unce upon a summa nigtch!” He stopped abruptly, embarrassed by his outburst of singing and cleared his throat.

“My captors wouldn’t force that information out of me, would they?” the Shade asked with a smile behind the mask.

Clearing his throat, Brothrein regarded the Shade with clear admiration. “Tha’s good ter know yer alive. Huginn missas ye, ye knoe?” Slowly, he began to recount the past events, telling the Shade of Conan’s discovery at the city of Rell, and the guild members’ departure and the mercenary who asked about the marshes.

“Wha ye gonna do wii tha Sa-saghel Mate-yer-rs?” Brothrein struggled to pronounce the name, but failed miserably. However, he did not appear embarrassed about that.

“They fooled the entire public with another man’s body.” Another ragged sigh escaped the Shade as he finally settled on the bed. “I can do nothing more for the guild now. I’m too weak and... crippled to kill.”

“Dunna say tha, lad. Ye’ve helped tha guild moar than anyun cun do. Conun’s nay evn half as good as ye. But ye’re hurt are ye? We cun get Marcel ter lookit ye,” Brothrein approached him with concern in his eyes.

“Thank you, Brothrein, but I must decline. There is nothing any doctor can do for me. I will live; you can have no worries about that. But to start what I used to do again is impossible. I will need to speak with Conan and ask him to allow me to retire.”

“Ah, ye cun join me in tha bar eh? I need someun ter keep tha Gezel outta troble. She’s eattin on ma age!” Brothrein joked light-heartedly, hoping the Shade would accept his invitation. To be able to speak with the Shade was a rare chance and even though the assassin was menacing, he had proven to be a good company.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay here and help you with the inn.” It sounded strange for the cruel voice to say such kindly words. “I am going to finish Conan’s last mission for me, with a little bonus for our target,” the Shade’s voice suddenly turned hard and cold, almost as if he was breathing ice.

Brothrein was inapt at hiding his emotions. His disappointment was clear on his aged face. “An afta that?”

The Shade blinked, surprised that he could find no answer for Brothrein. After awhile, he finally spoke, “And ‘after that’ is still a long time. Who knows?”