David Dalglish - A Sliver of Redemption

“Training?” Harruq gasped after a long drink. “You call that an honor? I spend half the day fighting off clumsy strokes a child should know how to block, and the other half getting pulverized to a pulp by the ones that know what they’re doing. Last time I was this exhausted was when I was training with Haern.”

“At least you’ve been accepted,” Aurelia said, dipping her hands into the bucket and taking a small sip. “The same can’t be said for your brother.”

Harruq sighed and shook his head.

“He still won’t sleep inside the walls?” he asked.

“It’s almost been a month. Tarlak’s been joking that Qurrah will soon own the land he sleeps on. I wonder just how close to truth he is.”

Harruq took another drink, then tossed the bucket and rope back into the well.

“Azariah told me he had an idea to help cheer Qurrah up,” he said. “No clue what. Just hope it’s soon. Never seen him like this.”

“It’s still an improvement,” she said, rubbing her arms. “At least, over what he could be.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” he said. “Almost makes me wish Tess was here to cheer him up.”

“Don’t say that name,” Aurelia whispered.

Harruq kissed her forehead.

“No problem. Keep the bed warm for me tonight.”

He trudged out of the castle walls and toward the hill overlooking the city.

Q urrah gathered the ashes together in his fists and concentrated. The words were the same, the well of power within him the same, but the spell was not working. Nothing was.

“I said burn! ” he shouted, ignoring the pain in his throat. Flames licked around his fingers, the ash flared into orange embers, but the heat vanished. Qurrah cursed and hurled them back into the fire pit.

“Having fun?” Harruq asked as he approached.

“Don’t be glib,” Qurrah said, wiping the ash onto his black robes.

“Not sure what that means.”

Qurrah rolled his eyes as his brother shifted uncomfortably. As if afraid to meet his eyes, he instead glanced about the meager camp.

“You staying warm at night?” he asked.

“I doubt you’re here just to see if I need another blanket,” Qurrah said. He knelt before the fire and closed his eyes. He felt the workings of a spell, but interlocked with them were traces of Karak, his thoughts, his desires. How much of his power had come from the dark god? Always there, always tempting…

“I’m just worried about you,” Harruq said. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “You never come into the city. You never train with us. I’m scared to ask what you’ve even been eating these past few weeks.”

“Squirrels and mud,” Qurrah said, his eyes still closed.

“Stop joking. You’re worrying all of us.”

Qurrah stood, opening his eyes and glaring. He held up a fistful of ash.

“This used to be my life,” he said. “Fire and destruction obeyed my whims like slaves. But it’s gone. Every day I feel weaker, helpless. My mind is naked. My sword is made of wood, my armor cloth. Don’t you understand? No matter what those angels say, I must atone for what I have done. I will face Velixar. I must face him, and if he wins, he might not just defeat me. He might…he…”

He flung the ash down. Every part of him shrieked for it to burn, to erupt in a flame equal to the fear and frustration in his heart. But instead it only flared a soft orange before scattering across the grass.

Harruq put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“You won’t lose,” he said. “And even if you do, there’s nothing he can do. There’s no spell, no words, he can say to change who you are.”

“Tell that to Jerico,” Qurrah muttered.

“What?”

“Forget it.”

Harruq pointed to the ash.

“What’s the problem, anyway?” he asked. “I thought your spells were, well, spells. I didn’t think turning against Karak would change anything.”

Qurrah sighed. “Neither did I.”

The two looked about, as if neither were sure what to say. During this brief reprieve, Harruq glanced skyward, and then his eyes widened.

“What?” asked Qurrah.

In answer, Harruq pointed.

Flying low in the sky, her white wings spread wide with each rhythmic flap, came Sonowin.

“Looks like the horse’s wing has healed just fine,” Harruq said.

“I should go,” Qurrah said, putting the city to his back.

“Wait, where are you…ooooh.”

Qurrah chuckled. “That’s right. Last time I saw Dieredon, I was at Velixar’s side. I’d rather not be the one to explain to him everything that’s happened.”

“Yeah,” Harruq said, scratching his chin. “Remember back at the Eschaton tower? Elf nearly put an arrow through my throat. Aurelia’s the only reason he didn’t. Hmm. Maybe we should just let him land at the castle without seeing either one of us…”

T arlak stretched out atop his luxurious bed, his hat resting over his face to block the light from his eyes. He’d been given the room once they moved in. He found bittersweet amusement in knowing it had once belonged to an advisor named Penwick, who had put off seeing them, then lied to keep the death of his king a secret so he might hold onto power. Sweet because the room was now his; bitter because, well, the whole city had been executed along with Penwick. Tarlak found that only a little depressing, but he tried not to think about it.

A knock on the door stirred him from his daydreaming.

“You know how much beauty sleep it takes to look like this?” he asked through his hat. To his surprise, the door opened, and no joke accompanied Aurelia’s entrance.

“Tar?” she asked, something about her tone setting the wizard on edge.

“Hey, Aurelia. Something wrong?” He set aside his hat and sat up.

“Dieredon’s here,” she said. She bit her lip as she paused a moment.

“That’s great!” Tarlak said, forcing a smile. His heart was in his throat. It couldn’t be. He pleaded with Ashhur that it couldn’t be. Aurelia’s hesitation. Dieredon’s arrival.

She stepped aside so Dieredon could enter. Tarlak moved closer so they could embrace, then smacked him across the shoulder.

“It’s good to see you again,” the wizard said, grinning. “I hope you weren’t too bored. Things haven’t gone so well for us, but I think we’ve got a…”

“Tarlak,” Dieredon said. His voice chilled the room. The smile left Tarlak’s face. Aurelia stood at the door. There were tears in her eyes.

“Karak’s forces took the city,” Dieredon said. “Their numbers were greater than we could withstand. Haern died saving my life. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, Tarlak only stared. His mouth dropped open.

“No,” he said. He felt his hands shaking, and he couldn’t stop them. “No. He can’t. He’s the last. Brug, Delysia, now…but now…”

He stumbled back to the bed and buried his face in his hands. Aurelia was there, her arms around him, her own wet face pressed against his neck.

“It’ll be all right,” she whispered as she held him. “We’re here for you. We’re here.”

Tarlak tried to get it together. He tried to remember his friends, his newcomers, Harruq and Aurelia and the paladins. He tried to pretend the Eschaton mercenaries weren’t dead and gone. He tried to stop his tears.

He failed.

“H ow is he?” Dieredon asked once Aurelia stepped out.

“As well as could be expected,” Aurelia said, tucking strands of her hair behind an ear. She blushed a little, realizing how terrible she must look with her eyes puffy from her own tears. At her blush, Dieredon gently wiped below her eyes with his thumb and smiled.

“I need to tell Harruq,” she said. “I don’t know how he’ll take it. They spent so much time training. Haern was always hard on Harruq, but only because he expected so much out of him. Seemed a little unnecessary at times, though. But those were happier days.”