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Quin/Qatar

With a roar the dragon woke, demanding who had disturbed it.  Quin shrank from the heat, a flashback pushing at the back of his brain.

“Qatar,” he spoke through a fog. “Do you have a–knife? Anything?”

His brother looked down at him, the small knife the Castle had given them in his hand. “It won’t do much against that.” he nodded at the dragon. Niarok was already dangerously close, an arrow fitted to the string. With a hiss, like mist against a raging fire, it struck the dragon’s soft place. The great beast recoiled and fell, lashing it’s great tail within feet of where the prisoners sat.

With it’s dying gasp of hatred, a ball of fire flared out, rushing past Niarok and engulfing something behind him.

…Yila!

Quin froze. No.

The beast was still, but Niarok staggered toward his prone sister. with something across between a sob and a moan he collapsed on his knees, taking her in his arms.

As the smell of burnt hair and scorched flesh reached Quin, he knew it was too late. The skill of a doctor and the love of a brother could do nothing.

Why? After everything else these two assassins had suffered, why?

Quin glanced up at Locran. the next instant he wished he hadn’t. He was standing with his weapon held loosely between his fingers, staring with an ashen face at Yila. He’d lost one like her, who knew how long ago. Now it was Yila. Tears stung at the back of his eyes.

Niarok was lying beside his sister, almost on top of her, too burned himself to stay conscious. Aydin was bending over them.

Locran…Locran just stood. It felt like hours, but it was actually only a second. The look in his eyes brought every agonizing day of pain and regret back to Quin. Every second of horror.

The look of pain in Locran’s eyes made the flashback win out, and Quin bent almost double, breathing hard. The smell…Oh, the acrid, horrid smell. The ghost pain was worse than normal, aching, burning with the smell of another life lost at the edge of a fire.

He clutched at something, anything solid. Qatar’s arm was there, steadying him.

“You okay, Quin?” [hold. it. FOLKS, DO YOU REALIZE HE NEVER USED TO USE HIS BROTHER’S NAME? Ahhh!]

Quin shook his head and gestured toward the little miserable group, which Locran had joined.

“Ghost pain again?”

Quin looked up, the flashback breaking in his surprise. “How’d–” Qatar had never mentioned it before.

“It’s always been there, hasn’t it?”

Quin nodded, and Qatar’s face set hard. “And I was too much of a fool to notice!”

He looked away. When he looked back his face was normal again. “Come on. That devil Fedor will be wanting us to release him.”

They started across the pile of rubble that was the dragon’s gold. The uneven ground was hard to walk on, and more than once Quin stumbled, but Qatar’s arm was always there, waiting for him if he needed it.

Fedor’s arm was burned from the slashing of the great brute’s tail, and he scowled up at them as they came.

“Hurry up, Hobble-Horse. Get me out of this.”

The chains that bound his wrists and neck were of Colondite design. Easy to work if you were free, but impossible if you were in them. Qatar shook his head. He’d never seen them before.

Quin knelt down and unfastened first one, then the others. As soon as Fedor was free he jumped up, enraged at the indignity of it all.

“You.” he spat at Quin and stepped toward him, but Qatar had already stepped in his way.

He gestured at Quin. “If you ever touch my brother again, I’ll incinerate you.” He gripped Fedor’s collar with one hand as he cowered away, and landed the other fist in his face.

Fedor reeled back and stumbled over a pile of gold. The other captives watched with interest. Qatar steadied him. “That was for me. This next one is Quin’s, because he’s too softhearted to give it to you himself.”   Another punch sent the Colondite sprawling.

Qatar turned back to Quin. “That’s been a long time in coming.”

“Come on,” Quin answered. “Let’s go see Niarok.”

 

@irishcelticredflowercrown @denali-christianson (I didn’t really use your characters, but whatever.)