“Trust us.”

There was something about the way her husband told her to trust him that always had the opposite effect on Ar’thilmus but by now even she had learnt there was very little she could do to sway him from his plans. There were, after all, gold pieces involved. As they had expected, on more than one occasion the attention of the townsfolk had turned to the moon elf couple as they walked through town radiating a smug, and almost elitist, confidence. Of course, Ar’thilmus had used the extraordinary gifts of her mind to divert some of the wandering eyes, but anyone more than the common farmer and his wife proved too much strain, or too much hassle, for the psionic cleric’s bother. Ar’thilmus had unusually tied her flowing auburn tresses over her shoulders and she absently fiddled with them as she walked alongside her husband through the town. Their path was in fact a dirt track, made by countless feet and hooves over the decades, lined on either side by houses that could only just avoid the description of huts made of stone. Dust from the ground annoyingly ruined Ar’thilmus’ deep crimson satin dress, but she knew better than to bother trying to pat it down.

The pale golden eyes of Di’thang caught those of a small human child; perched in a window, apparently one that Ar’thilmus had failed to notice to redirect the attention of. The moon elf’s eyes narrowed slightly and the child wasted no time in hopping out of view for fear of what the adjustment of gaze might mean. Di’thang gave a small smirk and looked back to his wife as they strode through the meager town, and she looked away from him, brushing irritably at the dust marking her dress. Di’thang couldn’t help but give a grin, silently acknowledging how attractive she was, despite the dust, even when irritated. He was glad Ar’thilmus was in that mood, as he was glad her scythe hung on her back. She’d neglected to bring her armor for she expected no need of it, but there was always a need of her prized scythe no matter the destination. Di’thang, on the other hand, was clad in the midnight black leather armor that he rarely removed, a dagger in each sleeve, and his small elven crossbow and father’s rapier both hung from his belt. ‘Almost there’ he thought.

Sure enough the elven pair reached the destination Di’thang had in mind; a house that looked so similar to every other that it was indistinguishable by description alone. Ar’thilmus gave her husband a questioning look but just by his meeting her eyes she knew he was confident in the destination. Di’thang reached out for the curtain that was the door to the house, but his wife’s hand stopped him before he could make their entrance.

“Remind me why we’re here, Di’thang.”

“We told you, our love. We are here because we are getting paid handsomely for your clerical healing services.”

Again Di’thang went to move through the khaki curtains but for the second time Ar’thilmus stopped him, pulling him back a little more forcefully than before. She did not ask her question immediately, instead choosing to stare at Di’thang who complied by returning the locked gaze. He could see the darkness of her golden eyes and he knew she was suspicious of him.

“Since when have you made our money through healing diseases?”

“We have a feeling…”

Di’thang was hasty to go through the curtains this time and Ar’thilmus had no choice but to follow him. Oddly enough, Di’thang hadn’t taken to the shadows either, allowing himself to be almost perfectly visible as he led her into the small house. Perhaps because of its size or because of the status of its occupants, the house that the two entered was barely and poorly furnished. Up against one wall was a single bed with a single mattress and a single pillow, and against the opposite wall a stool in place of a couch. There was a dining table, but it was small and certainly not made of the highest quality Chondathan woods, and a ceiling-high cupboard that bared similar properties. Di’thang took in his entire surroundings within half a second, including the small grubby-haired boy laid out in the bed, face down, and making forced groans when he heard the two elves enter. Di’thang’s attention strayed on the boy for the most part of a second before he looked to the two men. The older of the two humans sat at the table in a four-legged chair. His hair was gray, his skin withered and he missed a tooth. The second man was younger, leant against the cupboard on the sidewall, his form certainly in a better shape than most of the town’s inhabitants, though he too missed a tooth.

“Ah, you arrived at last hrm,” said the older man from his chair, and gave an awkward smile, “you are Di’thang and Ar’thilmus Eil’deth, yes hrm?”

Ar’thilmus spoke up before Di’thang could, though her eyes were solely fixed on the boy, face down and coughing into his pillow. “That’s right, yes.”

“We’ve been waiting for you, hrm”

This time it was Di’thang’s turn to speak as he flitted a glance to the younger man, dressed in thick leathers, brown either by design or excessive contact with dust; or perhaps a mixture of the both. The moon elf’s attention returned to the older man who was looking at him with a labored breath… and a beating heart.

“Indeed? We wonder why that might be.”

Ar’thilmus looked across at Di’thang and frowned, making a faint hiss of disapproval at his manners but as usual her husband paid no attention and she was too far from him to bother with smacking him on the arm for it. Naturally Di’thang’s expressionless face failed to falter as the old man gave his reply.

“Well hrm… for the boy’s health of course.”

“There is a problem we notice.”

Ar’thilmus glanced across again; she had knelt at the young boy’s side and brought a hand to touch his arm, but he did not stir to look at her. She was as curious as the men at her husband’s comment, though not quite as nervous. Like a mastiff, Di’thang sensed fear in them.

“What?”

“We did not tell you our names.”

The old man grit together his teeth, more than likely cursing his mistake inside his head. Di’thang seemed for a moment to give a smug smirk, which faded the next moment. The old man gave a nod to the younger, who responded by flinging open the cupboard door and releasing its contents; a dire spider. The arachnid uncurled its spindly lime limbs and crawled instantly towards Di’thang with a single purpose. The rest happened in a blur.

The dark-headed child lifted his head from the bed and, as Ar’thilmus gaped at the spider, he retrieved a dagger from beneath his pillow. The blade found its target in the shoulder of the unsuspecting cleric. Ar’thilmus gave a shriek of agony, but this fell on deaf ears as Di’thang was distracted himself. The young human drew a cutlass as the older found a crossbow from beneath his desk. Only through elven reflexes did Di’thang manage to note this and dodge the spider poison that flew his way. A swift sidestep took the moon elf clear, but before he could plan a counterattack the old man had released a bolt from his crossbow and the young man had swung his cutlass. Di’thang dropped a moment soon enough, and instead of bringing his death the bolt imbedded itself in the young man’s chest, dropping him dead in the blink of an eye.

Ar’thilmus whirred around on the spot, still on her knees, and drew the scythe from her back before the child had even had time to pull the dagger out of her shoulder. She swerved the blade she had swung on instinct at the last moment, allowing instead the curving handle to shove the child off her and against the wall. The small human squirmed to resist the moon elf lady, but by the psionic will of her mind he found himself unable to move any of his limbs.

The old man certainly looked both aggravated and baffled. The ambush had gone horribly wrong; he had killed his partner and lost sight of the moon elf target as he vanished in plain sight into his own shadow. Before the old man could ponder the problem, a dagger imbedded itself neatly in his back, and the last words he heard came from the shadowy corner behind him. “We advise against back stabbing a backstabber.”

Di’thang had dispatched of the old man with little difficulty, his age having weakened his senses below that even of an average human. He was still pulling the dagger from the man’s back as the corpse fell, when the acid struck him on the chest, sending him staggering back into the wall. He had underestimated the reflexes and eyesight of the dire spider and could now feel the repercussions of the misjudgments burning through the leather armor that had undoubtedly saved his life. The spider was instantly upon its shadowed pray. Di’thang saw the opening that was its mouth boring down, ready to devour and digest the moon elf it had caught, and he felt the many legs pressing down around him. And then Di’thang gave a smug smirk. Ar’thilmus’ scythe blade removed two of the spider’s legs in one swing. A screech marked the creature’s agony as the limbs detached themselves from its body. The second swing removed another pair of legs, and the spider tumbled off its prey and slumped against the ground. The third time was unlucky for the spider, its bulbous green torso hewed clean in half.

Helped to his feet by his wife, Di’thang took the opportunity to survey the scene. Two bodies lay fallen, one decapitated, along with a broken cupboard and several pieces of dire spider flesh and a small child pinned back still by unseen forces. Di’thang gave a satisfied smirk and Ar’thilmus knew beyond doubt that her husband had been anticipating something like this. Her beliefs were confirmed when he moved away from her as she tried to tend to his burns, and reached under the table. He pulled from a concealed drawer several pouches of gold pieces; the spoils of previous duped clerics perhaps; and slipped it into a pocket.

“Clerical healing services, indeed…”

Di’thang simply chuckled at the sarcastic comment, but his humor dropped when Ar’thilmus jerked her head suddenly and stared at the young boy, his eyes wide in horror, more than likely in fear of what his would-be victims would do with him. But as Di’thang sought more spoils, his wife spoke and the boy found himself free of her psychic grip.

“Go…”

It took no convincing; the boy leapt down from the bed and was out of the room before the cleric might change her merciful command. Di’thang rolled his eyes at her lenience, which never failed to displease him; more than once he had warned her it would be her death. Their eyes met and he stepped towards her, lifting a bloodied hand to stroke her brow as she spoke to him again…

“Next time you say to trust you, love… remind me not to.”

Ar’thilmus shook her head at the smirk he gave her as his reply, allowing her own hand to touch his chest and divinely heal his wound. Only when Di’thang was healed did Ar’thilmus heal her own damaged shoulder into which the child had slipped his dagger. The couple left the bloodshed inside the house, accompanied by more gold pieces than any healing services would have earned them.