David Dalglish - A Sliver of Redemption

But then Qurrah approached, and the apathy revealed itself a lie. She felt her love and hatred swirl through her, and lost for words, she sat there as he joined her at her campfire. Long minutes passed as they both stared at the fire. It seemed neither knew what to say. At last Qurrah stood and turned to leave.

“Wait,” she said. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

“What?” he asked, his voice so soft, so tentative.

“Are you still who you were?” she asked.

He paused as if to decide, and then nodded.

She flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she buried her face in his bloodstained robe.

“I missed you so much,” she cried. She let her tears bathe his chest. His hands wrapped around her waist. They were cold, but the warmth came from the act itself, the love that guided them. They said nothing as she cried, only held one another. She thought to say sorry, but didn’t know for why or if it even mattered. She wanted to tell him of everything that had happened, of the abuse by Velixar, the rapes by the men, and of how every single night she’d prayed for his touch before she could even think to fall asleep. But instead they held one another.

“What do we do?” she asked once she regained her composure.

“My life is no longer my own,” Qurrah said. “I do only what I am allowed. I’m sorry, Tess. You don’t deserve this.”

“I don’t deserve anything,” she said. “Please, just stay. I don’t care what he’s done to you. Just stay with me. Don’t leave me, not ever again. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

He kissed her forehead, and his lips were like ice. Compared to Velixar, though, he was a comfort, and that night she lay down with his arms around her, and though his breath did not blow against the back of her neck, she still slept without a single nightmare to ruin her rest.

B ram rode northwest with his vanguard when they first saw the men flying in the sky.

“What in the gods’ name is that?” asked Ian riding beside him. They had just passed through a gap in the Southron Hills, and before them spread the green plains of Ker.

“Either angels or demons,” said Bram. “Though I see them flying no standard.”

“They are too far away,” said a soldier beside them. “I see only birds.”

“Damn lot of birds,” said Ian. “And I never knew a bird that wore armor that glinted in the sun.”

They pressed on, now on edge and clutching their weapons tight. Their numbers were far from impressive, only five hundred knights and two thousand footmen. The rest of his army waited at Bloodbrick Crossing, guarding the entrance from Mordan into Ker. The southern lords had already been preparing for war before Bram ever contacted them, for they feared the covetous eye of Karak’s priest-king in the north. If it came to battle now, and Antonil’s men had fallen at the Gods’ Bridges, then they were already too late. Against such a formidable host, they had little chance.

Their fears were unfounded, though, for as the army approached the standard of the Golden Mountain shone from winged banner carriers. The ground forces also came into view, and they were clearly not dead but alive, men of Mordan and Neldar.

“Several thousand,” Ian said as they veered off course to meet the approaching army. “At least a thousand winged. Might it be enough to take Mordeina back from Karak’s devil?”

“We need only one man,” said Bram. He veered his horse around a deep patch of grass that grew like a tall pillar, sprouting from a muddy stretch where a spring surfaced. “If Antonil is there, the rest of the northern lords will turn to him, at last finding a unifying name to rally behind. Despite how thin his grasp, he is still their true king.”

“Some king. Within days of his crowning he was riding east with all of Mordeina’s troops to take back his real homeland. He cares nothing for Mordan and her people, and while he was away, he lost everything. Are you sure they will welcome him so openly?”

Bram shrugged. “He was Queen Annabelle’s husband. That is good enough for me. Thrones have been taken for weaker claims than that. And I’d prefer you guard your tongue when we meet him, Ian. We need his aid, not his scorn. If that is how you speak of one king, I fear to know how you speak of your own.”

Ian accepted the reproach and let the subject die. Behind them, their army buzzed with excitement. Many were eager to see the angels, for while a few had seen the demons, none but Ian had seen Ashhur’s celestial warriors. As they neared, their gold armor shining, the noise increased.

“Here is far enough,” Bram said. “We’ll have broken legs with how distracted everyone is. Too many animal holes in the grass.”

A scout approached, lightly armored and swooping low on the wind. Bram remained mounted, and he raised his sword high so the angel might see him among the rest. Beside him, Ian raised the standard of Angkar, a wolf in profile, its eye a bloody red. The angel saw this and banked lower, and then with a great beat of its wings and scattering of feathers, it landed.

“Well met, king of man,” said the angel. His voice had a strange accent to it, as if his vocal chords were not flesh but glass, so clear was his speech. “Are you King Bram, who we have been instructed to meet?”

“I am,” said the king. “And what name may I call you, angel of Ashhur?”

“My name is Horon, and I speak for Ahaesarus, our worldly commander. Would you meet with us, and with our friend, king Antonil of Neldar?”

Bram held in a smirk. What a poor way to introduce the man. Why not king of Mordan, of a land that truly mattered and was friendly to them?

“Our agreement has already been made with King Theo. Bring your men, Horon, and your angels. Let us break bread and share stories, for unless Antonil has changed his mind, we are still allies.”

The angel bowed.

“I will send them forward,” he said. “May Ashhur watch over you, King Bram.”

As Horon flew off, Bram rolled his eyes.

“Only person I want watching over me is you and your sword,” he said to Ian.

“Honored.”

Bram waited for Ashhur’s army to arrive while Ian set about ordering the soldiers, getting tents pitched and fires prepared. They circled the wagons together in the center, preparing to cook what salted meat they had so the few livestock that followed might last several days longer. At least they had plenty to drink, though. Bram personally felt he could live on wine if the need arose. Might even make him a better fighter, given how he over-analyzed everything about his opponent come a battle.

His eyes kept returning to the skies and the winged men. Winged men…how strange. What changes to a siege did that mean? He’d known of lengthy battles, castles held by a mere hundred that fought off thousands. But without walls, without moats, without thick gates of wood and iron…what then? Might Ashhur’s angels fly right over the walls of Mordeina and open the doors for them? He shuddered to think of the demons that approached from the east. He’d kept Loreina back at Angkar where he hoped the castle would provide her safety. Perhaps it would have been better if she’d come with him, or at the least, found a secluded home somewhere along the coast.

When the human army neared, Bram dismissed such thoughts and rode to greet them. He was curious to meet this Antonil. He’d tried to learn what he could, but his stay in the west had been too brief. Antonil had been in charge of Neldar’s forces prior to its destruction, and after the death of their king, Edwin Vaelor, he’d assumed the role of lord and protector over the survivors. His claim to kinghood had been tenuous at best, but then he’d married Annabelle, solving that problem. Bram had thought the man a potential opportunist, taking advantage of the war and destruction to claim control over two kingdoms, but every story he’d heard seemed to indicate Antonil was an almost unwilling partner to the marriage, reluctant to assume his role.