David Dalglish - A Sliver of Redemption

“I like making my own decisions,” Harruq said. “Besides, you think I’ll abandon Antonil? You think I’ll make everyone else stay to fight a god, all so you get your prideful death? You’ll abandon this castle, your lands, the homes you’re supposed to protect, all for one last desperate battle protecting Ker’s border?”

The ensuing silence frightened the half-orc. Theo looked ready to kill him.

“Get out,” he said. “Tomorrow my men march west for the Gods’ Bridges. If you would be a coward, then so be it. I will build my own legend.”

Harruq bowed and left, feeling the glare of the king burning into the back of his head. He went straight for the paladins, trusting their judgment on the matter. If any of his friends knew the politics and standings of the nations, it was they.

He found them sparring each other, lightly armored and sweating in the courtyard.

“Harruq!” Lathaar shouted upon seeing him. “Care for a fight? Jerico’s not much sport; feel like I’m spending my time chopping down a tree.”

Harruq shook his head, then blurted out everything he’d heard. The two paladins listened without saying a word.

“He’s desperate for glory,’ Jerico said when he was finished. “He probably spent so much time competing with his brother for his father’s devotion that it’s just become a part of who he is. Question is, do we think it is a good plan?”

“It’s the best one I’ve heard so far,” Lathaar said. “Granted, it’s the only plan I’ve heard so far. I’ve gotten the impression everyone here is just waiting for Karak to make a move so we can react.”

“Well, we’d be taking the initiative,” Harruq said.

“But you don’t like it,” Jerico said, seeing Harruq’s frown. “Why not?”

The half-orc shrugged.

“Not sure. But my place is with Antonil, don’t you think? That’s where we belong.”

“We should prepare for travel,” said Lathaar. “Either with Theo or with Antonil, we’ll be moving west. There’s no point in staying, not in an unguarded, unoccupied castle.”

“Come,” said Jerico. “Someone should tell Antonil. If all goes well, we might yet salvage his crown.”

H e’d spent almost two days weaving his way through the alleys and secret spots of Veldaren, but at last Deathmask was certain Haern had lost his trail. Under cover of night he slipped through the broken window, then snapped his fingers to summon a purple fire about his hand. He looked down at Veliana’s body and frowned.

“You slit her throat,” he said to the absent Haern. “Now why did you have to do that?”

Her eyes were still closed, her flesh pale and still. He put a hand against her face, the purple fire cold and giving no heat, only light. Carefully he looked her over.

“You seem no worse for wear,” Deathmask whispered to her. “Though you’re really not going to like feeling those maggots that I’m sure a few flies laid.”

He set down his pack of supplies and rummaged through them. The cut on her neck worried him, and complicated an already delicate task. It hadn’t bled, and the flesh had turned an ugly yellow where the wound had failed to seal. From his pack he found a small spool of thread and a single needle.

“You’re going to have one nasty scar,” he told her. “Hopefully you’ll forgive me for that, too. Sewing is not one of my better skills.”

Stitch by stitch he closed her throat, until it looked like she wore a grim necklace. After that he moved on to the stab Haern had given her, stitching it shut. That done, he stripped her naked and took out a bottle of alcohol from his pouch. He splashed it across her body, then began scrubbing. Anywhere she had a cut or opening he checked for bugs, eggs, and any other such vermin that was fond of the dead. He found plenty, but knew despite his diligence, he’d still miss some. Veliana was going to be so pissed…

“Cross your fingers,” he told her, then grinned at his own bad joke. With a single word he removed the spell he’d cast two days prior. Her heart resumed its pumping. Her blood unfroze. Her lungs gasped in a long, painful breath. As she emerged from her stasis, her mouth opened in a single scream that lacked the force to express the delirium and pain she surely felt.

“Easy,” he said, holding her in his arms as she shivered and thrashed wildly. “Don’t scream. Don’t talk. Haern cut your throat to make sure you were dead.”

Her fingernails dug into his skin as she clutched him. Blood seeped from numerous cuts and bites, and he winced knowing they had to sting like a hornet because of the alcohol. Her jaw and hands trembled as her body endured wave after wave of jolts and shivers.

“If there’s anywhere that hurts, point,” he told her. “I need to make sure nothing is in you and…alive.”

He carefully tilted her chin so she’d look up at him. Her good eye looked into his, and then pooled with tears. She nodded in understanding, then pointed toward her side. Taking out his knife, Deathmask knelt close and forced down any squeamish sensations. If Veliana was to endure, he had to be quick, thorough, and calm.

“This’ll hurt,” he said before slicing into her skin. A moment later he pulled out a thin white worm. He burned it with a spell before Veliana could see it. “Where else?”

She touched her ankle. Deathmask saw the bite, which had begun seeping puss once her body resumed its normal functions. Doing his best to ignore her choked cries, he pried it open. At first he saw nothing, but as the blood pooled he saw a ripple from squirming. The tiny grub died on the tip of his dagger.

One after another she pointed, he cut, and the intruder died. Dark blood seeped through the stitches and trickled down her neck, and any color slowly drained away from her face. Several times he thought she might vomit, but she never did. With every cut, he felt more and more proud.

“Any more?” he asked her after a very long pause. She bit her lip, then nodded. Her tears, which had dried up, started anew. With a trembling finger she pointed to her right ear.

“Inside?” he asked. She nodded. “Shit.”

He put his hand against her head and closed his eyes. He let his mind focus on the essence of life. The touch would be so gentle, so weak…there. With a few words of magic he focused in on it, a threat, a feasting intruder, and without warning he cast another spell. The bug burst into flame. Veliana screamed at the pain, her inner ear burning. Deathmask held her tight against him, wincing at her sobs, but he did not end the spell. He burned and burned until there was nothing left but the tiniest pile of ash. He tilted her head to the side, leaned down, and blew with a soft breath tinged with magic. Out came the ash, sparkling as it floated to the ground.

“It’s over,” he whispered, holding her naked body against him. “It’s all over. Your body needs to heal, and then it won’t hurt anymore. Hopefully Haern’s second cut didn’t cost you your voice, but it might take awhile before we find out.”

She whispered something, the sound wet and groaning.

“Yes, dear?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Bastard,” she whispered.

“Love you too,” he said, grinning. “And as enjoyable as this is, let’s get you dressed.”

Deathmask shook out her clothes, then helped her slide on the pants and shirt. Every movement hurt; he could tell by the winces she made and the little gasps that escaped her lips when he touched her. He talked to her the whole while, hoping the distraction would take her mind off the vast amount of aches and stings.

“I have a few people for you to meet,” he said. “It’s been two days since Haern, or whatever shell of Haern that was, attacked us. Since then, I’ve spent plenty of fun hours in undesirable locations I won’t bother boring you by listing. There was one advantage, however, and that was in finding others who felt a similar need to hide. I also killed a few of the Lionsguard. Can’t let them think the Ghost and his Blade are out of the game, can we? Anyway, it seems we’ve inspired some like-minded individuals. I’m sure you don’t feel up to lively discussion, but it’s with them we will be safest. Besides, there’s someone there who I think you will be very happy to see.”