He stood, waved a finger.
“And most importantly of all about this nonsensical plan…there’s no money in it!”
The wizard plopped back down in his chair and rubbed his forehead with his fingers.
“I won’t help you,” he said. “None of us will.”
“I thought not.”
Tarlak sighed.
“You’re still going, aren’t you?”
Haern nodded.
“They wanted us dead, Tar. You know I can’t leave us in danger like that. What happens if he tries again? We still don’t know what Luther wanted to accomplish, other than plunging Veldaren into chaos.”
“So you’ll go alone? They’ll kill you, you have to know that.”
Haern seemed far too assured, far too confident. Nothing of his rant was rattling him. Something was up, and it stank.
“I know it’s suicide to go alone,” his friend said. “That’s why I’m not going alone.”
Haern stepped away from the door, revealing Thren Felhorn leaning against the doorframe behind him, arms crossed, an amused expression on his face.
“I must say,” he said, glancing about Tarlak’s room. “I think I expected something more. And forgive me if I may be so bold, wizard, but I don’t think anyone has ever referred to me as a pretty butterfly in my entire life.”
He smirked as Tarlak’s jaw dropped open.
“So please…don’t do it again.”