A Sliver of Redemption h-5 Read online

  “It doesn’t seem proper that you make your stand against Velixar wearing his former robes,” said the angel. “You are no longer a servant of Karak, and you shouldn’t dress as one. We have lost many of my brethren since coming here, but only one priest, a wonderful soul whom I loved dearly. I feel he would be honored for you to wear his robes.”

  Qurrah didn’t know what to say. The thought of him wearing white, and not just white, a sparkling white shining with such purity…

  “This isn’t me,” he said, offering it back to Azariah, who only shook his head and smiled.

  “It could be, if you wished it.”

  Qurrah looked down at his dark robes, remembering how he had taken them from Velixar after Dieredon had temporarily defeated him and his undead. He’d felt betrayed then, determined to be stronger than his teacher. Did he still feel that? Was that who he still wanted to be?

  He shook his head. Of course not. Not anymore.

  He shed Velixar’s old robes and donned the white. Azariah picked them up and folded them tight.

  “When you feel ready, burn them in a strong fire,” the angel said. “Let that end the last link Karak’s prophet has with your soul.”

  Qurrah accepted them but held in his thoughts. No, the robes would not be the last. Tessanna was the last. As long as she remained at his side, he could never be free.

  “Thank you,” he said, bowing.

  “Show the world who you really are,” Azariah said. He kissed the half-orc’s forehead and then took to the sky.

  T he angels led the way. Antonil rode horseback ahead of his men, who he encouraged the best he could. Aurelia found her husband waiting, watching the bridge and the men working at a feverish pace to improve its defenses.

  “Will you be all right?” she asked him.

  “It’s like we’re cursed to never be happy,” he said. “Never to be together. Never to be peaceful and content.”

  “It does seem like that,” she said. The dour look on his face hurt her, and she pursed her lips as she thought a moment. She had something to tell him, something she felt he should know, but wasn’t sure how he would react.

  “Harruq,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…”

  “Hmm?” He looked at her, but he wasn’t really seeing her. His eyes were red, and he looked like he carried an anvil on his back.

  “Never mind,” she said. “Now is not the time.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her.

  “Care to give me a bit of time alone?” he asked her.

  “If that’s what you need.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m here if you need me. I always will be. You know that, right?”

  He smiled at her. “Yes, I know.”

  She gave him his privacy.

  The rest of the army moved on, but as Harruq watched, he was surprised to see he wasn’t alone. Lathaar neared, lagging far behind the rest. He constantly looked back, as if hoping to see a glimpse of someone who was never there. Harruq changed the angle of his walk so that he neared, and eventually walked beside the paladin.

  “Lose someone?” he asked, chuckling.

  “I think I did,” Lathaar said, and his tone showed he didn’t think it a joke.

  Harruq glanced back the same time Lathaar did, and he sighed when he thought of Qurrah. No, it wasn’t much of a joke, was it?

  “Sometimes life is a real bitch,” he said.

  “Amen,” said the paladin.

  14

  B ram was sat in the Eye, staring at the enormous map of Dezrel, when Ian arrived home.

  “Ian!” the king cried, rising to embrace him.

  “They agreed!” the knight said, and his face was all smiles. “Theo and his soldiers will hold the bridge best they can against the invading forces. As for Antonil, he will join us in an assault against Mordan.”

  Bram smacked his arm and shared his grin.

  “Well done,” he said. “Now hurry, and bring Loreina to me. We have little time!”

  “Time for what?” asked the knight.

  To this, the king only smiled.

  M elorak seethed as his pock-marked friend and advisor paced before him.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “Absolutely sure?”

  Olrim nodded, his lips curled in together, as if he were ready to bite them off.

  “As sure as we can be of anything in this chaotic world. Bram left only one survivor, a young priest named Joshua. They cut off his hands and gouged his eyes out, set him on a horse, and ordered him to ride. It’s a miracle he made it here at all.”

  “I want to hear it for myself,” Melorak said, rising from his throne. “Bring him before me.”

  “He is wounded and blind, my friend. Surely you cannot expect him to be lying.”

  Melorak’s eyes shone red with anger. “I said bring him here.”

  Olrim acquiesced. A few minutes later he returned, leading Joshua by the elbow. Melorak crossed his arms, feeling his fury rising. The man looked hardly older then thirteen. Acne covered his face. His bloody stumps had been bandaged, and a long white strip of cloth encircled his head to cover his eyes.

  “You are safe, Joshua,” Melorak said. “You have endured much, and by Karak’s strength you come to me, to where we may right the wrongs done to you. Please, tell me everything you saw before they took your eyes.”

  “It was the bells,” Joshua said. Though he was tall, his voice was still young, boyish. “They started to ring the prayer bells an hour too early for service. We thought it strange, so we came. Edward-my teacher-he said perhaps there was an emergency, and we should hurry. But the guards were waiting. They were everywhere! I tried to kill them, but my faith in Karak was weak. Please, forgive me, I couldn’t even slay a single soldier before they beat me down.”

  “That you fought at all is enough to assure you no punishment for any failings,” Melorak said, hoping to comfort the boy. “Men fail. It is the very nature we embrace, and that Ashhur shamefully hides. Continue.”

  Joshua swallowed, and his body tensed as the memories continued.

  “They bound our hands and gagged our mouths. One told me he’d cut out my tongue if he heard a single prayer. Surrounded by soldiers, they led us to the courtyard.”

  “How many soldiers?” Olrim asked.

  “An army,” Joshua said, turning his head in the advisor’s direction. “Several hundred at the very least, and that was just with us. More searched throughout the nearby towns, finding every last priest and servant of Karak. Over a hundred of us, members of the faith. And then Bram came. He killed the first himself, and he wanted everyone to know it. Then the rest, they…they cut off their heads and tossed them in a pile.”

  Melorak felt his blood boil. Surely this pathetic king did not think he could commit such an atrocity and live, did he?

  “Why did they let you escape?” he asked.

  “I was to deliver a message,” Joshua said. “But first they said they must make me look like what I was: a blind, worthless beggar.”

  “Your message,” Melorak said, his voice low and quiet.

  “It must have been the king,” Joshua said. Tears ran down his face. “I recognized his voice. They’d already taken my eyes. It hurt so bad. He said to come to you, Melorak, and say that only the bodies of priests are welcome in Ker, and that he must politely send back the heads.”

  Melorak glared at Olrim, who bowed his head in shame.

  “Three horses were with him when he arrived,” he said. “Their backs burdened with sacks. I thought to tell you later, so that the goad from Bram would not affect your judgment.”

  “Affect my judgment? Are you mad?”

  He calmed himself long enough to send for another priest to care for Joshua, then paced before his throne.

  “This is just a desperate ploy for independence while we are still weak,” Olrim said. “He knows he cannot stand against us given time. He hopes to act now, before your position has been established. How many revolts might break out if you leave? How
many lords will suddenly grow a spine knowing you are not here to cow their men? You must remain here in the city! We must be patient, and wait for the voice of Karak to return with his demons and dead.”

  “How many of our friends live and preach throughout Ker?” Melorak asked. “Our brethren die at this very moment, hunted like dogs! Tell me, how many soldiers do we have at our disposal?”

  “At last count, fifty thousand.”

  “Fifty thousand men, plus my priests, my paladins, and a veritable army of Lionsguard. And yet you would counsel me to be patient while my rule is challenged, and my vassal declares itself a sovereign nation beyond my control?”

  “Avlimar floats above us,” Olrim said. “The seeds of rebellion lay scattered throughout the city. The Ghost is not dead; you know that, for Haern still hunts. This is a trap. I urge you not to walk knowingly into it, no matter how great our advantage may seem.”

  Melorak approached his friend and put his hand on his shoulder.

  “I won’t,” he said. “You will.”

  “My lord?”

  “You are right about my leaving,” Melorak said as he returned to the throne. “I must remain. My control over Haern would lessen given that great a distance, and I dare not let Ashhur steal away the hearts and souls of my nation just because some blasphemous king thinks he is above the judgment of gods. But your faith in Karak is strong, your knowledge of his teachings rivals my own. Take my priests and lead our army south. Cross the Bloodbrick into Ker and start burning. I want the whole country to be ash by winter. When you encounter this Bram, kill him and bring me his head. I will set it on a pike and give it life so he might scream for a year above the city gates.”

  “As you wish,” Olrim said. “I am humbled by such a great honor, and will do all I can to destroy the challengers to Karak’s reign.”

  “Go with the Lion’s blessing.”

  Olrim bowed low, then turned to leave. As he exited the throne room, he shook his head and murmured to himself. Melorak’s call stopped him at the door.

  “Do not consider me rash, old friend,” he said, his deep voice softening. “I have not forgotten the burning of the Great Fields. We lack the food to feed both our army and the people of this city. But Ker has plenty. Pillage and burn. Well do I know how precarious our position is until Velixar returns. Crush them all. I will be safe here among my Lionsguard.”

  Olrim bowed low, and this time the respect was honest.

  “I will not fail you,” he said. “For I could not bear the shame of kneeling at your feet when you have so nobly trusted me to succeed.”

  After he was gone, Melorak closed his eyes, letting his vision merge with that of another.

  “Come, Watcher,” he whispered. “The Blade is dead. It is time we find the Ghost.”

  D eathmask and Veliana had bounced from estate to estate, from Hocking’s to Gemcroft’s to Ewes’s home. They’d waited for the riots to start after the burning of the fields, but to their frustration, they never came.

  “The priests insist to the crowds that the fields are fine,” John Ewes grumbled as they gathered before the fireplace of his home. “But I’ve had my men return twice in daylight. They’re gone, all of them.”

  “Everyone is scared,” Deathmask said. “No one will dare contradict the priests. The price of bread has risen only a little, and the coin you distributed only eased things for the city instead of burdening them greater.”

  “I have nothing now,” John snarled. “No fields, no wealth. I’ve destroyed it all on your advice, and does the false king bat an eye? Does he squirm on his throne? Ruined, all ruined, and for nothing! ”

  They all looked about, but none could deny him.

  “Perhaps he only stalls,” Hocking offered. “He must feed his army somehow. They must eat.”

  “Unless he kills them all and brings them back,” Dagan said, and his words cast a dark pall over the rest of the meeting.

  “Come,” Deathmask said to Veliana when the others disbanded. “Let us stay at Hocking’s tonight. I don’t think we’d have a warm welcome here.”

  She nodded and glanced about with her good eye.

  “Broken,” she said, her voice a painful croak.

  Deathmask glanced back at John.

  “Yeah,” he said, sighing. “I know. And I’m the one who did it.”

  “No,” she said. “Melorak. His fault.”

  He smiled. “Of course. Shame on me to forget that.”

  They slipped out the door and caught up to Hocking (whose first name was Aaron, Deathmask had learned through not-so-subtle attempts). The sun had long set, the moon bright and comforting. Hocking had two guards with him, burly men who clearly preferred honest combat to skulking in the shadows. One stayed at Aaron’s side while the other hurried ahead, checking each street before waving them clear.

  “We just need to give it more time,” Deathmask whispered to the lord while they hurried along. “That John’s a damn fool if he thinks we’ll win this with a single act.”

  “None of us are fools,” Aaron said. “But we are human. Leave us be for now.”

  Deathmask shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  Up ahead, the guard turned to wave them along, then lurched behind a house out of sight.

  “What happened?” Aaron asked, his voice a whisper. Beside him, his other guard drew his sword.

  “Run,” Deathmask hissed. “Run, now!”

  Veliana drew her daggers and twirled them in her hands as Aaron hurried the other way. Deathmask pulled his cloth tight about his head and then sprinkled ash from his pouch. It wrapped about his head, floating, and through it he watched and waited.

  “When?” Veliana asked.

  “He alerted us to his presence,” he said, looking every which way. “That was no misstep. But why?”

  They couldn’t stay frozen there in the street, not even with Haern lurking unseen. The thought kept nagging Deathmask that a delay was what he wanted, and that a Lionsguard patrol was already on its way. He thought of climbing to the roofs, but while Veliana might be comfortable up there, he was not near as limber or quick. Besides, up there was Haern’s territory. He’d practically lived on the rooftops of Veldaren.

  “Can you protect me?” he asked.

  Veliana blew him a kiss in answer. He glanced at the shadows on the far side of the street, a good fifty yards beyond where Haern seemingly lurked. With that small a distance, perhaps he could make a shadow doorway. He hadn’t created one before on such short notice, but the only way he saw them surviving against the brutal specter was by doing something unexpected.

  He knelt there in the center of the street, putting his back to the moon so his hands pressed the stone in the center of his faint shadow. Words of magic slipped off his tongue with expert precision.

  A single cry from Veliana was his only warning. Haern leapt off a nearby building, soaring through the air as if a pair of wings stretched from his back. His cloaks flapped in the wind but made no noise. His sabers curled downward, ready to strike. Deathmask closed his eyes, continued his spell, and trusted Veliana to save his life.

  He heard the sound of steel striking steel disturbingly close above his head, then the heavy thud of what must have been two bodies colliding. The conflict traveled to his right, where weapons clanged against one another with horrific intensity. He dared not sneak a peak, not when a single errant word would ruin his spell. Faster and faster he spoke, risking the delicate weave for sheer speed. Veliana cried out once in pain, and he nearly lost his concentration.

  “No time!” he heard her shout. He looped his hands about, the spell near completion. She’d just have to find a way. She might have erred, but he would not look. He’d die with his eyes closed, ash about his face, trusting her with all he knew.

  Something sharp sliced his wrist, but he continued.

  Veliana’s firm body pressed against his back, and he felt her arms and legs jostle against him as the sound of melee combat rang deafening in his ears.
>
  He continued.

  At last, as he felt a saber curl across his face, looping down for his neck, he spoke the last word of the spell. The power rolled out of him, and clutching Veliana’s shirt, he fell through the ground.

  They reappeared in darkness, and finally he opened his eyes. Veliana spun, her daggers still drawn. She was clearly disoriented, so he grabbed her in his arms and held a hand over her mouth.

  “Not a sound,” he whispered. They were in deep shadow, but still potentially visible to Haern if they moved too much. He watched as the undead Haern kicked the ground where the shadow spell had been, then leapt to the rooftops to begin his search anew. His initial run took him south, the wrong direction. Deathmask breathed a soft sigh of relief.

  “Mad,” Veliana said, cracking a smile. Blood dripped from her forehead and arm. She had a wicked bruise on her cheek, but she seemed so beautiful to him when she smiled.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “And you’re right. That was completely insane. I’ll wait at least a year before trying that again.”

  They hurried north, deciding that perhaps Dagan Gemcroft’s estate would be a better choice that night.

  15

  M ira walked with her arms huddled against her, as if afraid her beauty might attract the eye of a forceful and unfriendly man. She knew they were afraid of her; the men of Neldar had surely told them outlandish tales of her power…a power that was slowly fading. Celestia’s world was dying. Her mother’s heart had broken as her creations bled and died.

  Very much a stranger at Theo’s camp, she knew only one man there. The rest were polite enough, offering her meals and thanking her for staying, though they stared too long at her hips or her breasts. Her face, though, they ignored.

  My eyes, she thought. My eyes must scare them.

  She searched for the only man she knew. At first she’d thought he’d be at the outskirts of the camp, in self-imposed isolation, but that was not where she found him. Instead, the half-orc stood near the heavy activity around the bridge. He stayed out of the way, but he watched intently at the construction. Mira slid beside him, saying nothing, only wanting to be in the presence of a familiar face.