A Sliver of Redemption (31 page)

“Then let us remove that fear,” Antonil said. “Come. Join my army. Your allegiance to the true king of Mordan has not changed. You strike me as an honorable man. You know you belong at my side when I reclaim what was taken from me.”

“Your army?” asked Arthur. “I watched the chaos at the Bloodbrick. You fight with angels and elves and ruffians of Ker. Where are the men of Mordan? Where are the men of Neldar?”

“They are among the ruffians,” said Bram as he took a step forward. “Though I must say I disapprove of such an ignorant name.”

Arthur’s eyes widened as he realized who stood before him.

“King Bram,” he said, bowing. “You both honor me. I am not worthy, two kings come to visit just myself.”

“We’d prefer all the lords of Mordan,” Bram said. “Where are the rest?”

“They do not know of your arrival,” said Arthur. “We live in dangerous times. There are those in power who would frown on such a meeting, and the fewer here, the better.”

“So be it,” said Antonil. “I do not know what lies you have been told. I do not know what wrongs have been committed by the hand of the priest-king. I left to free one nation, and in return find another enslaved. I have come to free you, all of you. Let the nations of Ker and Mordan unite. Whatever oaths you have made, they were false and forced at the edge of a sword or in the darkness of a dungeon cell. I am your king. Lend me your swords.”

Arthur crossed his arms. His men about him grew quiet, and they stole glances at the angels, afraid of their exotic beauty and strength. No doubt they were pondering what chance they had if their lord rejected his duty and it came to blows.

“When Melorak took rule, he took over a hundred acres of my land,” Arthur said. “Land that had been in my family’s hands since my father was a babe. He went through every coin I had and took what he called a tithe. These things come and go, and all matters are dangerous when new blood takes the throne. But he also sent a priest to my house, and under penalty of death, he must remain. My wife and children bow to that wretched lion idol day and night, and that burns far worse than the loss of coin and soil. I worship neither god, my king, though now I wonder as I see the angels of Ashhur before me. To not have a choice, though…”

He drew his sword and knelt.

“King Antonil, King Bram, I offer you both my allegiance.”

His soldiers beside him immediately followed suit, many with bewildered looks on their faces. A few, though, grinned with an eager light in their eyes, as if they had suddenly become unchained.

“What of the other lords?” Antonil asked, biding Lord Hemman to stand. “Will they do the same?”

“Our time is short,” Arthur said. “I must go and find out. If we join you…can you promise victory? I’ve seen the wrath of your angels, and I saw the power of your elven goddess. But what of men? Can we turn the tide?”

“We will,” said Antonil. “This world will not become the terror Karak wishes it to be.”

“Return to your camps,” Arthur said. “If you would allow, wait for me at the Bloodbrick, and pray to your god that all goes well. If it does…”

“Go with Ashhur’s grace,” Azariah said, clenching his fist to his chest and bowing.

Arthur gave him a look, then chuckled.“Just make sure he doesn’t get forced into my house when this is done, either,” he said before returning to the camp.

When they were gone, the others lingered for a moment, as if hardly believing their fortune.

“Well,” said Sergan. “I think that went well. Great, even. Now let’s get back to camp so I can get some damn sleep.”

“W
hy aren’t we moving after them?” Harruq asked the next morning. “Figured we’d want to keep on their heels so they don’t start thinking of another attack.”

“Too close to their heels and they’ll see we’re just a little yapping cub instead of a bear,” Tarlak said, sitting down next to him and handing the half-orc a chunk of bread smothered with butter. “And I couldn’t get much out of Antonil. He’s spending more and more time with that Bram guy. Can’t decide how happy I am about that.”

“Oh no, he’s spending time with a king instead of you. How will you endure?”

Tarlak laughed, loud and open-mouthed despite the chunk of bread he’d just bitten into.

“I’ll mope and cry into Aurelia’s bosom. I think that’ll cheer me up just fine.”

Aurelia smiled at him but held back any normal retort. She’d been subdued since her display at the bridge, but Harruq hoped that she’d be back to her normal self in time. He frowned. Now that he thought about it, she hadn’t been her normal self for a while. Something was off, but what?

“Just wish we could get back on the move,” Harruq said.

“You’re never happy, you know that Harruq?” said Tarlak. “If we’re chasing armies, you grumble about the travel and your back hurting and how the angels like smacking you into trees, yet if we decide to take a single day’s rest, you’re at it again.”

“Don’t make me stab you,” the half-orc muttered.

Tarlak feigned fear, then took another giant bite.

“You know,” he said, staring north. “Maybe it’s me, but that looks like a big army coming our way.”

Harruq stood and squinted. “Huh. I think you’re right.”

Aurelia lifted an eyebrow. “Should we be worried?”

“Something’s up,” Tarlak said, staring off toward the front of the camp. “I see Antonil and his little buddies gathering up, but they sure don’t look ready to fight.”

“Then what’s going on?” asked Harruq.

Tarlak shot him a grin. “Well, let’s find out, shall we?”

A few words of magic and a portal opened before them. Tarlak beckoned them in, then followed after. When they stepped out, they stood beside Antonil and a rather surprised looking Bram.

“I don’t recall inviting you three to join us,” Bram said.

“That’s how they are,” Antonil said, adjusting the crown on his head. “They’re more useful disobedient, anyway. I’d probably be dead twice over if they bothered to listen to orders.”

Bram snorted, his mouth locked in a frown. Harruq grinned at him and offered a salute.

“Just here to protect his royal ass,” he said. “Don’t mind me.”

“So what’s going on?” Tarlak asked, sliding between Antonil and Bram while the half-orc kept his attention the other way. “Did we miss out on some fun?”

“You might say that,” Antonil said. “You can listen, but remain quiet and behave.”

Harruq surveyed the approaching army. They marched with their heads low, their backs slumped as if their shields and weapons weighed more than them. A few banners flew from spears and poles, but not many. His quick estimate, though, was massive. Thousands of men, come not to fight, but to…what?

“This is the reward for your bravery,” Bram said. “This is your rightful respect as king. Do not just expect obedience. Demand it. When they bow before you, do not heap praises upon them. They have done their duty. Their reward is their renewed honor in the eyes of their lord.”

“Surely the right path to be a beloved king,” Tarlak muttered.

“Says the honorless mercenary,” said Bram. “Do not pretend that you know how to rule. You control a pitiful few with coin. Nothing compares to being law and judgment for thousands.”

“Enough,” said Antonil. “They approach, and I don’t want them to see my friends squabbling amongst themselves.”

“Let them come to you,” said Bram. “Make them remember their place.”

Four men rode at the front of the great river of troops, dressed in exquisite armor no doubt handed down their family line for generations. Beside each of them rode a younger man wielding a banner. The colors and symbols meant nothing to Harruq, but he knew a lord when he saw one. They rode up to Antonil and then dismounted.

“Lord Hemman,” Antonil said, nodding his head slightly. “I am pleased to meet you again, this time in light of day.”

One of the men stepped closer and bowed. He was tall, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and firm.

“Only a few tried to stop us, and they backed away when we drew blood,” said Hemman. “We have come to offer our allegiance to the rightful king of Mordan. Antonil Copernus, will you accept my sword?”

He drew his sword, knelt, and offered it up. Antonil smiled.

“Of course,” he said, saluting with his own.

Hemman stood, but when he turned to go, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. His deep voice dropped lower in volume, possibly the quietest the man could whisper.

“They know we have left,” he said. “All our families are in danger. Our name is nothing without you. Will we win? Tell me, Antonil. Let me hear the words. Can we win this fight?”

Harruq looked to Antonil, and he was not the only one. Tarlak crossed his arms and waited. Bram’s eyes narrowed, as if ready to judge the new king by his answer.

“Both the grave and the throne await me,” Antonil said. “And by my sword, the wings of Ashhur, and the magic of my friends, I will seek them out, and run from neither. Let the priest-king fear my name. I come for what is mine.”

Hemman nodded. Worry still filled his eyes, but the answer seemed acceptable. He turned to the other lords and let them introduce themselves as the thousands crossed the river. As they bowed to their lord, Tarlak took his Eschaton and left.

25

V
illage after village fell. At Thulos’s insistence, they made for the Corinth River, seeking an entrance into Mordeina and meeting with the rumored priest-king.

“If his allegiance is true,” the god told Velixar, “then the last of the angels stand no chance. At worst, we find them already dashed upon the walls. It would be a shame, though. My sword desires blood, and this world has proved rather elusive in providing worthy opponents.”

“At least you killed the daughter of the whore,” Velixar said, stepping out of the large tent.

“Just one of them,” said Thulos. “Another remains.”

Velixar glared but kept his mouth shut.

On and on they travelled until they reached the Bloodbrick. Thulos led the way, and he stopped before it to survey the area. On both sides he saw communal graves burned with fire. Blood soaked the bridge. High above hovered a legion of crows, no doubt having feasted well the week before. Many bodies still floated, caught against the rocks, their bodies pale and eaten away by the fish and the birds. Distressingly few bore the wings of Ashhur’s angels.

“Who fought here?” he asked.

“It must have been Ashhur’s men, for I see wing bones among the pyres. But against who? I don’t know. Perhaps an army from Mordan marched south, hoping to subdue Ker and her king.”

“Then they were defeated,” Thulos said. “An ill sign. We must continue on. If Mordeina has fallen, then our task grows that much greater.”

Their supplies thinned during the weeks following. The villagers who surrendered instead of joining Velixar’s dead told of how an army had come from Mordan and taken much of their food, and then even more on the way back. Ashhur’s army had given chase only days behind. Thulos’s mood soured at that, and they rushed after with even greater speed.

Through it all, Velixar poisoned the night with his words. Through it all, Tessanna brought Qurrah back from the edge during the day.

“You know he lies,” she told him while they travelled yet another day north toward Mordeina. “What is it he says to you that tortures you so? What lies could he possibly have that you cannot outright dismiss?”

Qurrah didn’t answer immediately, but Tessanna was used to this. Often now Qurrah took a moment or two to think. It seemed every question he felt duty-bound to answer truthfully, no matter how terrible it might make him seem. She waited him out, part of her dreading the answer, part hoping she might help him in any way.

“He sends me into my past,” he said. “He forces me to live the life I would rather forget existed. You say I am not my past…but how can I deny what I must endure every night? I feel the pleasure in the kill. I remember my pride, my power. All the guilt I feel, it vanishes as I hold myself above the wretched that I murder. It’s so heavy, Tessanna. So heavy…”

She took his hand in hers as they walked. It was cold, but she had grown used to it, as she had his awkward pauses, his deathly pale skin, and the horrible silence in his chest. His eyes, though, they still had life. His voice might be a hollow reminder of what he had been, but his eyes told her how much he still loved her. As long as she could hold onto that, as long as she could cling to it so tightly that pulling them apart would spray blood and kill them both, then she felt hope.

“After Aullienna died,” she said, hesitant. She had never told him this before, but perhaps it might help. “After…you know. I dreamed of it. I saw her plunge into the water. I could even see what she saw, these little faeries dancing about her in a world so beautiful. Every night I watched her die. It was peaceful, in a way. She never knew the danger, not even at the end. She saw something I could only see the faintest glimpse of, something golden and wonderful. And then all would go dark, her body just a shell floating in the water. Every night, Qurrah. And when I’d wake up I’d hate you for casting the spell, and hate myself for ever asking you to do it.”

Qurrah’s lower lips spread tight across his teeth. She knew that meant he was struggling to keep his emotions in check. If he still had a living body, perhaps he’d even be crying. She kept going, needing to tell him. Needing him to know.

“I nearly killed you while you slept,” she said. “I tried to convince myself I didn’t need you. I’d lived without you before, and while it was lonely, I never hurt. But you hurt me, so bad, so deep. I held my dagger in my hand and imagined your blood on my fingers. It didn’t excite me. It didn’t ease me in any way. I hated you so much, Qurrah, but I couldn’t do it. Despite the dreams, despite my horror, despite being afraid and lost and clinging to you so desperately…I couldn’t. I loved you too much. I tried to imagine my life without you, and I couldn’t.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

She clutched his hand in hers and stared up at him. A deep ache swelled in her chest as she wished to kiss him but could not. She couldn’t even stand the thought of feeling his lips against hers, now dry, cold, and lifeless.

“Because now you endure the same. Velixar forces you to relive the hurt. He tries to glorify what you regret. I held on because of you…and you…can’t you do the same? I thought, just maybe, you could love me. Maybe if you love me enough, you’ll endure. Can’t I help? I want to help, Qurrah. I want to feel that I’ve at least helped one life, because all I do is ruin. All I do is destroy. Mother made me broken, and all I do is break.”

She was crying, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. She felt she had a thousand things to tell Qurrah, to ask him, to beg for forgiveness or understanding. But instead she pressed her head against his bloodstained white robes and sobbed. All around them the soldiers of Thulos marched on, giving them strange looks but not daring to speak.

As she cried, she felt his hand gently rest atop her head. Part of her tensed, afraid of what he might say, afraid that he might be angry at what she had once thought. The other part was glad she no longer hid it from him, even if he had never known the secret existed.

“I don’t know if it will work,” he said. “But I’ll try. For you.”

“I love you,” she said. “Even like this.”

“I know,” he said. “How, I will never understand.”

She smiled and wiped at her tears with her palms.

“Maybe because I’m insane.”

Qurrah laughed. It sounded so warm, so
alive
, that she laughed with him and momentarily forgot the army about them, the demons above them, and Velixar marching ahead of them, just waiting for night to fall.

T
hat night, as she lay down for bed, Velixar came to her.

“Come with me,” he said, his red eyes barely visible underneath the hood of his cloak. “Tonight, I want you to see what I have always known.”

“And what is that?” she asked.

He smiled but did not answer. She accepted his offered hand and followed him out of the camp, beyond the light of the campfires, and to a collection of runes carved into the dirt. Qurrah stood in their center, his head tilted back, his vacant eyes staring at the sky.

“What is going on?” she asked. Velixar pressed his finger to his lips and shushed her.

“He is lost in his memories,” he whispered. “Do not disturb him. I have chosen a very special memory, one I want you to see.”

“I don’t want to see it,” she said, looking away.

“But he is your beloved,” Velixar said, grabbing her jaw and forcing her to look at him. “He is the one you yearned for while you were with me. Should you not know everything about him?”

He pressed his fingers against her forehead. Images poured in, smoothly and expertly taking over her senses one by one. She found herself watching a frozen moment in time, that of a dark alley where the two Tun brothers stood before one another. Pain and anger covered their faces. She hovered between them for a moment, and then plunged into Qurrah. She saw what he saw, felt his emotions course through her. Time resumed.

“I will kill again,” Qurrah yelled. She felt pain in her throat, and a slight trickle of blood. “I will kill children, women, elders, elves, Tarlak, Brug, I’ll kill any I wish, whenever I wish. Aurelia, Aullienna, their lives are nothing to me, nothing to you. Have you grown too blind to see it?”

Aullienna…

The name echoed as time once more slowed. Beside her, a phantom of Karak’s prophet laughed.

“Do you feel his anger?” he asked. “Do you feel his honesty? Nothing to him. Nothing! Children, women, elves, Aurelia…Aullienna…does your name fall on this list? View your beloved as he truly is!”

He yanked her back and out, so that she stared at the brothers. Harruq was in mid-swing, the back of his fist ready to slam into Qurrah’s face. Still the name echoed. Nothing to me. Nothing.

Nothing.

“You clung to him in your darkest despair,” Velixar whispered. “But who is it you cling to? You bed a monster. You romanticize him into an ideal, a perfect master to fulfill your perverted desires. Look at him.
Look at him!
”

His face was curled into a sneer. Rage filled his bloodshot eyes. She still felt his emotions perfectly synced with hers. His absolute certainly nearly overwhelmed her. He meant it. Every word. The girl she adored, the one floating face down in the water…nothing?

“There is another memory,” Velixar whispered.

“No,” she said, terrified of what it might be. She wanted out. She wanted back to the now, to bury the past and think of it no more.

The world shifted and changed. She stood in their old home, her lover before her. Qurrah looked stunned and confused. Her hands moved of their own accord, her lips spoke with a mind of their own.

“What is it?” he asked. His arms moved about her, but the reaction was calculated, cold, a placating attempt.

“The girl is dead,” she sobbed, clawing at his chest. “I saw it, she’s dead. You killed her, you killed her!”

She felt herself tear into him. Her fingers passed through cloth and raked his chest. All her old anger roared to life, as absolute as Qurrah’s had been. She felt rage, pure, mindless rage. His blood ran across her fingers, and she thought of her words only hours before. His blood on her hands…and this time it did excite her.

The memory slowed, and she felt Velixar hovered nearby, laughing. Tears ran down her face, but then she felt anger, her own, not the memory’s. He was stopping the remembrance? Why? With her thoughts, she pushed ahead, surprising Velixar by the sudden willingness and acceptance of Qurrah’s torture. She felt her anger return, her clawing at Qurrah continuing, but then his arms tightened about her. He stood still, in total shock. Her thrashing stopped, and she pushed her head against his neck and sobbed. Despite the pain she’d inflicted, he stroked her hair. Still no words. What had they done? What horror had they committed?

Deep down inside her she felt a part of Qurrah connect, the part trapped there with her in the memories. He felt that same ache, that same communal pain. She could almost imagine his arms around her still as the memory twisted and turned a murky gray.

Not yet…

The words came from everywhere. She felt Velixar burn with rage, but now Qurrah forced his memories aside. Linked with Tessanna, they found another shared memory, though she had always thought it secret.