Paul Kemp - Realms of War

"Ilmater forgive me." The man's voice was deep and thick with tears. "He suffers so that others may live. Please." Jaeriko could see his hands clasped in imitation of Ilmater's on the tower door. "I would gladly have given my body to this corruption, had you not prevented it." The man's voice was bitter, almost accusatory in its grief. "It was the only way. Were he older, he would pay her price willingly-the sacrifice of one for the good of many. You must see that." His voice grew desperate. "Why have you forsaken me?"

Horror and compassion warred within her. Without a doubt, this man was the seed from which atrocities were sewn. Much of the fallout of the Rotting War could be traced to him and him alone. And yet, this servant of Ilmater-a paladin, by his garb-had lost his god, his son, and his war. All that was left was for him to lose was his life. Jaeriko could sense Maze itching to relieve him of that burden, too, but the assassin managed to hold herself in check.

"He sounds like a man who's lost his faith," Jaeriko said, fingering her locket.

"He sounds like a man who's lost his mind," Maze said. "Never empathize with the enemy. If you do, you'll never make your kill."

"I don't want to make a kill," Jaeriko said.

But Maze had already moved on, motioning for Jaeriko to move with her. Turning the corner, they went up a staircase and emerged in a narrow hall with a door some twenty paces distant, lit by a single torch. The door was old wood, and the hinges were dull with wear, but the lock gleamed bright brass in the flickering torchlight. Jaeriko was grateful that the general's pleas to his god could not be heard through the floor and the twisting stone of the staircase.

"Perfect," Maze murmured. "This is what we came for."

"How do you know?" Jaeriko asked.

"What else does the general have worth locking up?" Maze padded up to the door and traced her fingers around the metal of the lock.

"Are you going to pick the lock?"

"Hells, no." Maze looked up, irritated. "I'm not a godsdamned thief. Why won't you listen to me?" The question was rhetorical, as the assassin turned, scowling, back to the mechanical device on the door.

"Then-"

"Just sit down and shut up." Maze pulled a vial out of the pouch on her belt and uncorked it-pointing it away from her. The stopper of the vial had a long glasslike needle attached to its bottom, and a drip of clear liquid hung off its tip. It glistened iridescent in the torchlight, then fell to the floor, drilling deep into the white stone. With great care, Maze dipped the needle into the vial and applied the point to one side of the lock.

The door burst open, banging against the wall, and a broken, pale figure in armor stood backlit in the doorway.

"Damn it!" Maze shouted, splashing the contents of her vial up into her attacker's face. Steam and the acid stench of boiling flesh flooded the hallway, accompanied by the most hideous hissing and popping sounds. Moments later, the pale figure in the doorway crumpled to the ground, face shy;less. Maze nudged it with her foot. It was another one of the general's ghouls. What it was doing coming through that door was beyond Jaeriko-possibly standing guard? — but it confirmed her suspicions about the fallen temple.

"Well, that's one way to open a door," Maze panted. With a mock bow, Maze motioned Jaeriko in.

It was obvious upon entering that the room was the source of the light that shone from the white tower. Alone among all the rooms in the tower, it was well lit. A red carpet graced the floor, pictures hung on every available section of wall, and candles burned on every horizontal surface, bathing the room in flick shy;ering light. An open window on the far side of the room let in a cool breeze and let out the room's startling radiance.

In the center of the room was a plain bed on a steel frame made up with white linen. Twisted in those sheets was as poor a boy as Jaeriko had ever laid eyes on. Boils peppered his fair skin like freckles, his fingers were blackened and bone-thin, and his skin glistened with sweat in the cool air. His eyes were closed and his lips were cracked and covered in dried blood. Moaning, the boy turned and thrashed in his covers, deep in the thrall of fevered dreams.

A hissing intake of breath alerted Jaeriko to another presence in the room. She snapped her head to the side and caught sight of a red-haired woman with frightened gray eyes holding a mallet inches from its gong.

"Maze!" Jaeriko cried.

Silver streaked through the air and blood blossomed in the woman's hand from the knife pinning it to the wall. The mallet fell to the carpeted floor without a sound. The woman opened her mouth to shriek but Maze's hand found its way into her mouth.

"Gods, Maze. You could have pinned the mallet!" Jaeriko rushed to Maze's side and examined the knife and the wound it had created. The woman's fingers were white with tension, and the dark red blood that pumped down it to drip on the floor spoke of serious injury to the limb. If it weren't treated quickly, the woman would lose a hand, and even then, she might gain a disease and lose more than that.

Maze rolled her eyes. "Assassin, remember?"

Jaeriko stood and looked the red-haired woman in the eye. The woman's face was painted with fear.

"If Maze takes her hand out of your mouth, you have to promise me you won't scream," Jaeriko said. The woman nodded, tears leaking from her eyes.

"Why in the Nine Hells would I do that?" Maze asked angrily, turning to face Jaeriko.

"Shh-just trust me on this one," Jaeriko pleaded. "We're partners, remember? Now, remove your hand." Maze glared at her for a moment longer, then reluctantly pulled her hand from the woman's mouth and wiped it on her jerkin. The woman gasped with relief.

"Don't make me regret this," Maze said, and she stomped off to examine the boy. Jaeriko watched her go, then turned to the woman whose eyes reflected much of the terror she'd felt that day.

"You're the boy's caretaker?" Jaeriko asked. She placed one hand on the hilt of the knife, and one hand on the flesh it pinned. The woman nodded and bit her lip. Jaeriko pulled the knife out with a wet slurping sound. The woman's lip began to bleed and she swayed on her feet, but she did not cry out.

"I can't heal him," the woman said. Her voice was weak with pain.

"Shhh. No one's asking you to," Jaeriko said, stroking the torn meat of the woman's hand. The wound was deep. Even with magical healing, it would take awhile for it to regain its dexterity. "Now who are you-are you a servant of Talona?" The woman looked horrified at the thought of the goddess of disease. A good sign, Jaeriko thought.

"Ilmater, like the general is-was," the woman said. She sucked in a breath as Jaeriko dug her fingertips into the wound, her other hand clasped around her locket. "My name is Kalmia. I'm an herbalist. The general keeps me because I can't do any harm-or good-without his supplies." Kalmia closed her eyes in relief as golden swirls of healing magic coursed through Jaeriko's fingertips and puckered the woman's flesh closed. It wasn't much-it would still leave a nasty scar and it would take a couple of days for the feeling to come back, but it should be enough to keep her from disease or permanent injury. "He only gives me enough herbs to keep his son alive-never enough to cure him or to end his suffering."

"What kind of man does this to his son?" Jaeriko said, more to the world than to the red-haired woman holding her healed but still blood-drenched hand and staring at it as though it wouldn't obey her commands. The fingers twitched but refused fuller motion.

"The general does not like losing," Kalmia said, sighing and letting her hand rest, useless, by her side.

"More like he doesn't know when he's lost," Maze snapped, but her eyes held a distant softness as she beheld the stricken boy. Her hands moved almost of their own accord, wrapping the boy in his bed linens.