David Dalglish - A Dance of Ghosts

Haern spun, awestruck by what he saw. Delysia hovered a foot above the ground, the irises of her eyes shining a vivid gold. Light lashed off her hands as she turned to the next paladin, cutting like blades through his armor. When the man turned to flee, she crossed her wrists and then flung them downward. Another wave of light, this time shaped like an X, flew through him, cutting into his back. When it hit, the man screamed, then fell to his stomach and did not move.

The last survivors, two dark paladins with great axes wreathed in flame, attempted to assault her at once. Haern thought Thren might try to stop them, but he was nowhere to be found. There was only Delysia, and at their approach, she lifted a single hand. Light grew in her palm, pulsing with silver and gold, and then it shot out in a solid beam that slammed into the first. The man’s ax shattered, his armor crunched inward, and then he flew, ribs broken, blood spewing from his mouth. The other swung, but she stepped in, catching his wrist and shoving her other hand against his face.

“Damn you,” she whispered, and it seemed those words traveled for miles. The man’s body snapped erect, every muscle tight as he screamed and screamed. When Delysia stepped back, releasing his face, it seemed every inch of his flesh became light. It burned, dissolving, becoming a white mist that floated into the air. As his armor hit the ground, only bones remained within, clattering as they hit the ash beneath.

And with that, they were alone, just Haern and Delysia. Leaping to his feet, he rushed to her side, his mouth hanging open as she floated back to the ground. Delysia turned to look his way, the gold slowly vanishing from her eyes, returning to their deep green.

“We need to run,” he told her, grabbing her hand. She said nothing, only nodded. Deeper into the wheat they rushed, Haern changing their angle at several intervals to ensure no one might guess their initial direction and follow. Given the miles that stretched out and the chaos of their battlefield, it’d be difficult to locate them until morning should any more be pursuing them.

Haern felt Delysia tug against his hand, and he turned to see her stagger, then collapse to her knees. Fearing her display had weakened her somehow, he grabbed her in his arms, went to lift her back to her feet, but he stopped when he realized she was crying.

“Del?” he said, tilting her chin with his hand so he might look upon her.

“Never again,” she said, voice remaining strong despite the many tears that ran down her cheeks. “I never want to be like that again.”

He clutched her tighter against him, kissed her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You saved our lives, but you never should have had to. We shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have ever left Veldaren.”

Wiping tears from her face, she kissed his lips once, then pressed her forehead against the side of his cheek.

“Help me up,” she whispered.

He did, and hand in hand, they ran from the Stronghold, ran until the morning light began to creep above the cloud-covered horizon.

Haern and Delysia avoided the roads for the first two days they traveled north, reasoning that the paladins of the Stronghold might send riders out in search. The way wasn’t difficult, the land mostly flat, the lush grass almost comforting as it brushed against their legs. All the while, they saw no sign of Thren.

“He only told me you two were separated early on,” Delysia had explained while they fled through the wheat fields, putting the Stronghold far behind them. “I knew he was lying, but he was just as upset as I was when night came and went without your return. I’m not surprised he betrayed you like he did, but he must have had his reasons, especially for him to risk his life to save you.”

“I’m sure he did,” Haern had said. “But they’ll be his own selfish reasons. I should have known better. I should have seen it coming.” She had neither argued nor berated him, instead letting the matter drop. She’d asked what he learned, and he’d told her of what he’d found in Luther’s room. None of it made sense, nor did it feel worth their trek, but she voiced no such opinion. For that, he was grateful.

On the third night, they risked building a fire. Haern kept it small, just enough for some heat and comfort. After their evening meal, the two sat side by side, Delysia leaning her head against his shoulder as they both watched the last of the slender twigs and branches burn away.

“With just the two of us, we should be able to make decent time,” he said. “Leen isn’t too far, and we can stock up on supplies once we arrive.”

“What if the paladins have people looking for us there?” she asked.

Haern nudged her in the side.

“Come, now,” he said. “Give me some credit. I can disguise myself if need be. Even if they have someone waiting, I’ll make sure they have no reason to think it’s me. And given the losses they’ve already suffered, I doubt they’ll give us chase.”

“You underestimate their thirst for revenge.”

Haern chuckled.

“Well, they’ll just have to go thirsty. It’s a long trek from the Stronghold to Veldaren, and they have no reason to know that’s where we’re headed.”

At the city’s mention, Delysia let out a long sigh.

“It’ll be good to be home,” she said, voice wistful.

“Miss your brother already?” Haern asked, gently pushing his elbow into her side.

“No more than you do. I see the look in your eye. You dream of his pointy yellow hat, don’t you? Is that what kept you going in the Stronghold’s cells?”

She’d said it with a smile, but the comment struck a nerve that he found difficult to shake off.

“No,” he said. “No, Del … that was you.”

Her own smile faltered, and she fell silent as she pressed her head once more against his side. She was so close, her arms wrapped around his, her red hair brushing the side of his cheek. Ever since his escape from the Stronghold, he’d felt painfully aware of her presence, of how long her eyes lingered on him, of how bright her smile had been at his presence.

“You scared me, you know,” she whispered. “I’ve always trusted you to return, but that place was awful, those men … Their hearts are so black, so terrible.”

She was reliving the final combat with the dark paladins, he knew. It seemed so strange to him. Here was a woman with incredible power, yet she had no desire to use it, felt no joy in its embrace. In so many ways, it seemed she was everything he was not. Daily, he had to remind himself to remain humble. Daily, he had to pretend that the familiar thrill of battle, of taking the life of a foe, was something he did not enjoy.

“I was scared, too,” he finally admitted as the fire crackled. “The idea of spending years in there, never seeing you again…”

He couldn’t continue the line of thought, but he saw the recognition in her, the awkward way she closed her eyes and shifted her face to the side. What was she thinking? He didn’t know. But damn it, he was the Watcher of Veldaren. To be this cowardly … to be this unsure …

“Delysia,” he whispered, and when she turned, he pressed his lips to hers. Her eyes flared open, and for the briefest moment, she remained still as stone. As he held her close, he felt her relax, felt her lips open the slightest bit to kiss back. Haern tried to be gentle, kissing slowly, banishing her fears and memories in the only way he knew how. His heart hammered in his chest as her fingertips gently pressed the side of his neck, a tentative touch with a trembling hand. Haern had imagined such a moment a thousand times before, but still he felt clumsy, reckless. He held her tighter against him, wishing to banish his own memories, his own confusing, torturous journey with his father.