Chapter 8 – Part 9

Delegado became aware of the pounding in his skull first. It was huge, relentless, a behemoth of a pain.

He cracked open one eye. The searing light stabbed at him, burning him.

He quickly shut the eye and rolled over. The rough cot creaked in protest, horribly loud in his ears. The empty clay jug – which had been full of whiskey when he’d first lay down for the night after watching her go – rolled off the end of the cot and shattered against the stone floor.

It was like hearing an earthquake.

Finally the pounding stopped, or slowed at least. The door opened, letting in a cold morning air that the remains of the fireplace could not hold back.

The half-orc grunted and fumbled for the blanket. “Shudda fi- fi- test – shudda door.”

“Delegado, are you all right?” came the warforged’s voice, from so far away.

Delegado sighed, feeling a horrible taste in his mouth. “Shut. The. Door.” Each word was like pushing a boulder uphill.

Orphan shut the door, and it seemed to Delegado that it shook his bones. “Did you drink all that whiskey?”

“No, Feather did,” spat the half-orc. An affronted squawk came from the perch in the corner of the room. Delegado shoved his head under the nearly flat linen pillow. And this was considered one of the nicer rooms.

“I take it that your father’s body is in that stone bier?” Orphan asked.

A dull rage began to build in Delegado. “Your point?” the half-orc asked. Do not blow up at the warforged. He says dumb stuff because he doesn’t understand what it implies.

“My point being they should have given him something fancier, wasn’t he someone important in your House?”

Delegado sat up slowly, feeling a thousand needles in his skull. “He still is.” The half-orc pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for the room to stop moving before he opened his eyes. “This is the fanciest they have. Blood Crescent is pretty much just a military outpost that collects dragonshards and narstones.” He opened his eyes slowly. Slow was the key.

“You drank all that whiskey because she left?” the warforged asked.

Delegado creaked his neck to look at the warforged. “No, I just figured it was what an honor guard for my father’s body should do,” he snapped. “There, I said it, I’m weak, I dishonored my father by getting drunk. Happy?”

Orphan walked over to him and stuck out a hand. After a glower, Delegado took it and rose to his feet with the warforged’s assistance.

They stood in silence a moment before the warforged finally spoke. “I do not judge you for drinking, Delegado. I think you should realize that I’m a better friend than someone who would criticize you in this situation.” He then produced a flask from one of the many pockets in his monk’s outfit. “Here, citrus juice mixed with a powder, got them both from the adept. He thinks it’s for someone else, an unnamed orc.”

“Damn, you’re becoming Riedran,” the half-orc said, taking the flask. He sucked half of it down in one long swig.

“No, I just know you really well,” the warforged said. Then he continued in orc. “We’ve spent time together so that we’ve given our brother stories.”

Delegado’s eyes widened in surprise. “You became very fluent,” he responded, also in orc. “Let me get myself together and we’ll get a real tour of this place. Take my mind off Ois.” He began to take another swig from the flask.

“You can also explain sex to me again,” the warforged said.

Delegado nearly spit the juice and powder mixture out. A moment afterwards, he realized that the warforged was flexing the corners of his mechanical jaw ever so slightly.