Free Devastating Hate by Markus Heitz Page A

and just in the nick of time an óarco was foolish enough to cross your path, so you bled it.”
    Sinthoras laughed. “What’s your story, Carmondai?”
    “It’s a little embarrassing: I got lost and when I asked a group of óarcos for directions, the conversation was not as courteous as I imagined, so I was forced to defend myself. I really could not help it”—he tapped his writing folder—“this folder and its immeasurably valuable contents had to be protected at all costs.”
    “Of course,” agreed Sinthoras, but he did not seem interested in the details. “Your documents will be even more irreplaceable when you have recorded that my beloved Timanris is still among the living.” His smile grew even wider.
    Being part of the cultural elite of Dsôn, Carmondai was aware that Timanris was the daughter of Timansor, one of the most celebrated artists of the realm, but it had escaped his notice that the nostàroi and she had developed a close relationship. “Has she been unwell?” he inquired carefully.
    “We could put it that way,” Caphalor said. “We had been tricked by the false report of her demise and the news had affected my friend here greatly. I am all the more delighted to be able to put his mind at rest.”
    Carmondai made a note of this happy turn of events and recalled how Caphalor had lost his own life-partner—rumor had it she had been slain by a lovesick obboona. He had been sorely grieved by her loss; misery was still apparent in his eyes. “This is a happy day, indeed,” said Carmondai.
    “Do you have a partner at home, waiting for you? Or perhaps she has accompanied you?” Sinthoras looked at him expectantly.
    “Or he, of course?” added Caphalor. “If that is the case, perhaps you would both want to join the Goldsteel Unit of Friends?” He smiled. “No—not your kind of thing, I think. I understand your fighting days are over.” He looked pointedly at the óarco bloodstains as if to say, I don’t believe a word of your story.
    “Neither a male nor a female partner,” Carmondai answered. “I broke off all my commitments before leaving for Tark Draan. I would not have expected anyone to wait for my return. In my experience, even two moments of unendingness can be an extremely long time.” He paused a moment. “Forgive me, Nostàroi, but the Unit of Friends is with our army?”
    Caphalor nodded. “The Inextinguishables sent them to join us. We have placed them under Virssagòn’s command because he is in charge of the barbarian troops. The Goldsteel Unit will be a whip he can employ if there is any insurrection.”
    Carmondai was impressed to hear this; he wrote it all down.
    As far as he knew, the Goldsteel Unit of Friends was composed of 150 pairs of same-sex lovers—mostly males, but also some female älfar couples, who made up the core of the Inextinguishables’ personal guard. The advantage of lovers was that they would look out for each other’s safety in battle, supporting and protecting even more than conventional warriors would normally do. They had the reputation of being the hardest, most merciless fighters at the front where resistance was greatest.
    I must be sure to take a look at them. They are said to be a veritable adornment for the army—from their stature right down to the body armor. Every day that passed showed Carmondai that he had been right to join the Tark Draan campaign. Some of his friends had pronounced his plan to be madness because of the dangers involved, but they had had no idea of how much artistic material there was. None of the naysayers had ever, for example, seen the Goldsteels in action. Some thought they were only a myth. He could take home evidence of their existence.
    “I want to ride home to see Timanris.” Sinthoras drew a deep breath. He was consumed with desire and it was torturing him. “I need her!” He sent Caphalor an imploring glance. “I have to see her! Do you think you can hold the fort here till I get back? Nobody