David Dalglish: A Sliver of Redemption

“Never again,” Harruq said, clutching Qurrah’s hands tightly in his own. His face paled, and he stood with strength that still stunned him. “You’re my brother. I won’t lose you. Not again. Together, Qurrah. Always and forever. Tell them. Live.”

“For you, brother,” Qurrah said, “I will try.”

He looked to the angel priest, whose face had remained steady as stone throughout the ordeal.

“You were given a wonderful gift, Qurrah Tun,” Azariah said. A quick nod from Ahaesarus and he continued. “You did not ask for grace, but it was given anyway, and you accepted it over death. Such is the state of all men, no different from you. And now we play this game, as if the crimes mattered, as if we live by the limits of man instead of the limits of Ashhur. Who will you be, Qurrah? What life shall you have?”

Qurrah felt a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and relief as he spoke his words.

“If Ashhur's grace is as good as my brother's, then I accept it.”

“Then consider yourself forgiven,” Azariah said. Ahaesarus sheathed his sword. It was as if a bolt of lightning struck the campfire. The paladins stood and murmured to each other, seeing a sight they had seen so many times back at the Citadel, while Aurelia went to her husband, pulling him away so she could tend to his wounds. Tarlak, furious beyond control, stormed away. Azariah saw him and hurried after.

“You're fools and weaklings,” Tarlak said as he heard the angel's approach. “He deserves death and you know it.”

“Who said what he deserved held any sway?” Azariah asked. Tarlak glared at him, remembering his sister Delysia's smiling face. He turned to leave, but Azariah grabbed his shoulder and pulled him close, so their eyes were inches away.

“Listen well to me, Tarlak Eschaton,” Azariah said. “Ashhur has said again and again that all who seek forgiveness, no matter what their sin, will find it. If grace has limits, then it is a sad, useless thing. Back there wept the greatest test this world has ever seen. If his desire for salvation is true, if his taste of grace lasts and Ashhur accepts him into his paradise, then who are you to argue?”

“After everything, he just falls to his knees, and that's it?” Tarlak asked, grabbing Azariah's wrist and matching him gaze for gaze. “And what of us?”

“As I said, it is your test. How much do you believe what you say you believe? That golden mountain that hangs above your chest, does it mean anything anymore?”

Tarlak pushed him away, feeling a tantrum building in his heart but not wishing to give in. He knew Azariah spoke truth, but to see such an egregious example, to see Qurrah Tun not only forgiven, but treated as brother, as equal, as friend, after everything he had done…

“Only human,” Tarlak said, shaking his head as he walked away. “May Ashhur forgive me for that, but I’m only human. Leave grace for those better than I.”

Azariah sighed, watching him go.

“There are few better than you,” the angel said to the empty night. “But perhaps that is your burden.”

He turned and rejoined the others by the fire.

H arruq grunted as Aurelia slid next to him underneath their blanket.

“Careful, I'm fragile,” he muttered as she softly ran her fingers over his freshly bandaged chest.

“One of these days you'll learn your stupidity gets you hurt,” she said.

“And that's when you'll leave me,” he said, sighing heavily and leaning his head back. She poked a finger into his hip and glared a feline glare. The playfulness was forced, however, and she curled up against him as gently as she could.

“It's Qurrah, isn’t it?” he asked as she nuzzled her face into his neck.

“Just seeing him,” she said. “It brings back too many memories.”

“Some were good,” Harruq said. “The early days, when we first joined the Eschaton.”

She smiled. “Those were good days, weren't they? You were still a goofy, scared half-orc. I thought you would die every time I grabbed your hand and kissed your cheek.”

“Slain by beauty, isn't that what happens to beasts like me?” he asked.

She didn't answer, instead letting the quiet night envelop them. High above, a thin line of clouds blotted out the moon. Harruq watched, waiting for the light to return.

“He killed our daughter,” Aurelia said, so quiet, so timid.

“I know,” Harruq said.

“He's hurt you.”

“I know.”

The light of the moon returned.

“How do I let go of that?” she asked.

Harruq shrugged, the motion spiking pain along his ribs.

“He's my brother. I love him more than I hate him.”

Aurelia nestled closer in, wrapping an arm across his shoulders and burying her face, like an animal seeking refuge.

“But what else can he be to me?” she asked. “Not a brother. Not kin. Just a monster.”

Harruq closed his eyes, remembering those words long, long ago.

You're an orc, aren't you?

He had nearly cleaved the boy in two, his blade slicing down from shoulder to chest.

“I was a monster, too,” Harruq whispered.

They said no more, and after several hours, they found sleep.

T hey kept Qurrah isolated from the rest of the troops. Many were unaware of his involvement, but his black robes and pallid demeanor signified him as different. Accusations of traitor, necromancer, and demon-worshiper filtered through the human soldiers until nearly all were aware of Qurrah's relevance to Neldar's destruction. When not carried in the air by an angel, he trudged along at the back of the army, with Harruq, sometimes Aurelia, as his only guard.

“They will never forgive me,” Qurrah said after another long, exhausting day putting Veldaren farther and farther behind them. “I think one night I’ll wake up to a rope around my neck.”

“Hard to blame them,” Harruq said, carefully watching Qurrah's movements for signs of exhaustion. He hadn't eaten well in days, and his weak lungs worried him.

“I don't,” Qurrah said, stumbling over a sudden burrow in the dirt. Harruq instinctively reached to help him, but Qurrah waved him away.

“How could I blame them?” he continued. “I started this war. How many are from Neldar? How many watched their loved ones die while my undead chanted my name like I was some glorious conqueror? How many…?”

He couldn't go on, and for that Harruq was glad. Qurrah looked over at him, a rare moment of humility drenched him like reams of wet cloth.

“I always claimed we were superior,” he said. “I was full of shit, wasn't I?”

At this Harruq laughed, hoping to dismiss the pall them.

“We were young, powerful, and poor,” he said. “Of course we were full of shit.”

Qurrah motioned to the angels flying overhead.

“They say I need no penance. No punishments. To even suggest it ruffles their feathers. But I must do something, for my whole heart aches for it. What should I do? How do I make it even? What does one man do to erase a debt owed to thousands?”

Harruq tried to think of his own moment of humility, knelt before Qurrah's army, weeping open tears as he begged for forgiveness.

“You do what you can,” he said at last. “Perhaps you'll never make it even. But I don't think that's the point.”

Qurrah smiled at him.

“It seems you've supplanted me as the older brother,” he said.

“Bah. Hardly a job I want.”

Up ahead, a soft chant rose through the groups of soldiers. They had started singing a song of home, and for each voice that took up the song two more were inspired to join. The deep, rumbling longing reached the two, and in its sound Qurrah halted his march.

“Leave me,” he said, silencing his brother with a glare when he tried to object. “I must wait here. Bad blood lingers, and if I do not deal with it now, I may never have the courage.”