Chapter 2: The Ties That Bind

Chapter 2: The Ties That Bind

"Are you ready, Amalagh?"

The drow youth turned to Zabal and stared into the leper's eyes, and the elder male chuckled to himself. It wasn't necessary to ask such a thing of Amalagh; he was always ready.

At only thirteen years of age, Amalagh was larger and more athletic than most adult dark elves. About five feet eight inches tall and 190 pounds, he possessed the strength of at least three normal drow. He was also incredibly quick; two years before, Zabal had seen the young man run down and restrain a rampaging rothe, no easy feat for any dark elf. The pair had eaten well for a week because of it.

The leper was also astounded by how quickly his 'friend' had grown. Amalagh now inspired a sense of fear in his older comrade. With the same equipment, which included a brass knuckle and a gauntlet to defend, Amalagh could use his superior athleticism and ability in revi'n malarin ("street fighting") to put up a good fight. That was why Zabal kept several knives hidden in his boots to be his ace in the hole should Amalagh ever try to turn against him.

But the leper sincerely hoped that would not happen. For Zabal, the long-term partnership between himself and Amalagh was working out great. The two were a superb tandem in combat and crime, working together to defend themselves from the gangs who they robbed day after day. Not that he particularly liked the kid; Amalagh had his uses and would soon outlive them.

But he was blissfully oblivious to the beatings he administered on Amalagh when he drank his fill. While Amalagh was powerful, Zabal was the skilled and slick master of the streets. Without him, the young drow was just a target with no resources. The young drow did not fight back, leaving Zabal free to use his brass knuckle to his heart's content.

Even so, Amalagh's demeanor had changed over the years. He rarely spoke at all anymore – even to Zabal – and never in public. He was the silent but deadly automaton that everyone assumed Zabal commanded.

No other assumption could have been further from the truth. Eight years of bloody beatings had turned Amalagh's anger towards the leper into a fierce resentment. Unbeknownst to the rogue, Amalagh was biding his time for the moment to attack and take his vengeance on his partner. Amalagh was certain that no drow was capable of feeling affection, of having a mutually beneficial partnership with anyone, so he was sure that Zabal had some similar plot in mind.

He would just have to strike first.

"Okay, let's do this," Zabal said, interrupting Amalagh's silent reminiscing.

The two dark elves moved from their usual ditch and entered the main plaza, where a new prey – a group of thugs who frequented the area around their lean-to – had shown themselves. This was the perfect opportunity for the drow to make a quick getaway to the concealment of their home.

Amalagh circled the plaza until he and Zabal were facing each other across it. Even through the tide of moving bodies, Amalagh's keen eyes could pick out the disfigured leper. Stalking up behind the target – a quaggoth slave with tremendous amounts of scarring from his mistress' lash – Amalagh bumped into him casually. Annoyed, the quaggoth shoved him away, and it took the dim-witted beast a moment to realize that its pouch had been taken. By the time it figured out what had happened and turned to find Amalagh, the pouch had already been passed to Zabal, who was walking quickly in the direction from which his comrade had come.

With several long strides, the quaggoth reached Amalagh and grabbed him by the left shoulder with one huge hand. It was several inches taller than Amalagh and must have weighed over a hundred pounds more.

As Amalagh was spun around, he readied his brass knuckle and delivered a sharp punch to the bridge of the quaggoth's nose. Bone cracked as blood gushed from the brute's nostrils, and he collapsed into unconsciousness. The drow fled quickly, melting back into the crowd with no trouble and going back to the lean-to, where he met up with Zabal.

"Well done, kid." the older elf said in his usual nonchalant tone. "Now I'll just take the money and you can have your food."

Half and half was the deal, leper," Amalagh said coldly.

"The deal has been changed, kid."

The two glared at each other from across the small room until Amalagh bounded over the table to attack directly. He was a blur, moving with tremendous quickness.

But Zabal had fought for decades against opponents who were physically superior to himself, and Amalagh was not much different. The leper ducked under the young drow's right hook and delivered a vicious uppercut to his gut. Even with his brass knuckle, Zabal felt like he had tried to punch a brick wall, but the weapon did its work and winded Amalagh as well.

As the young drow doubled over, his elder grabbed him by the hair and put a knee into his nose. Amalagh sensed the oddly metallic taste of his own blood, which spilled from his nose and coated his face. Zabal took a swig from his flask and pulled a knife from his boot, pressing his knee into Amalagh's sternum to prevent a struggle. As he put the knife to Amalagh's throat, a high-pitched shriek echoed through the darkness, the sound made by the abyssal drakes ridden by nobles during the Beggar's Nightmare.

Mustering up all the strength he could, Amalagh threw the leper off of him and leaped to his feet. Sprinting towards the door, he could hear Zabal behind him, closing fast.

But not fast enough to get out before the house exploded.

Amalagh dove for the exit and was propelled even further by the tremendous blast from the drake. The ball of flame struck the lean-to and crushed it, causing it to collapse on the unfortunate Zabal.

Amalagh slowly pushed himself up and turned back to what remained of the lean-to. Zabal was in bad shape; with hundreds of pounds of rubble on top of his torso and legs, there was no chance of him escaping without help. Even worse, the plants and moss growing on the rubble were burning, having been ignited by the blast.

But Amalagh didn't care about any of those things right now. Zabal was a cruel and vile soul, as base and wicked as those he stole from. Whoever Ibar had been, he was now dead by the leper's hand, and Amalagh would be too if it weren't for the timely intervention of that drake.

"Amalagh, please help me," Zabal pleaded pathetically. All criminals were the same foolish cowards underneath all their malice. "All the times I helped you…"

"You were helping yourself."

Zabal stared up into Amalagh's eyes, which burned with years of sealed anger, anger that the leper had never seen the likes of before.

"Who's Ibar?" the muscular drow asked.

The question took Zabal by surprise, but he recovered quickly.

"Free me and I'll tell you."

"You're in no position to make demands."

Zabal craned his neck to look at the flames, which continued to creep towards him, and looked back to the younger drow.

"He was my brother."
"And?"

"I killed him, all right?! He had leprosy and he wouldn't stop crying. That was almost a century ago. How do you know about it?"

"Your mind doesn't stay in the present when you get drunk, Zabal."

The leper's eyes widened and he tried to move, but he couldn't.

"You disgust me, Zabal," Amalagh said, "but we had a deal."

Kneeling down, the dark elf extended his hand…

….and took Zabal's flask from his grip.

"What are you doing?" the leper cried.

"Freeing you from the pain of your existence."

Amalagh popped the cork off of the flask and turned it over, splashing the leper with rum. He continued as gallons and gallons poured out, with no signs of ceasing. The fires quickly raced down and covered Zabal's flesh. His screams drowned out the crackling of the flames as they boiled his skin, causing a sensation even more painful than the leprosy

"Goodbye, Zabal. I'll see you in Hell."