David Dalglish - A Sliver of Redemption

“Come, my son,” said Keziel, grabbing Lathaar and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Into the fire.”

Lathaar didn’t understand, but he was too exhausted to question him. Together they rushed into the forest, the flames licking behind them. Light glowed from his skin, and he saw it lift off in waves. They were not consumed. He couldn’t even feel its heat. Step after step they walked, Lathaar leaning much of his weight on the older man. At last they came out the other side. The light faded.

“Next time think of a better plan,” Keziel said as they both sucked in air. “I don’t want to ever do that again.”

“Where’s Jerico?” Lathaar asked.

“With the others. They ran about the southern edge of the fire. We must keep moving. It won’t be long before the rest of the army comes in pursuit.”

“How will we find them?” Lathaar asked as they walked deeper into the forest, where the flames were but a frightening red haze in the distance.

“Once we’re outside, it shouldn’t be hard to locate them. Of course, the same goes for Karak’s men. Step it up. A young man like you shouldn’t be outpaced by an elder like me.”

J erico was waiting for them not far away when they emerged. Sixteen priests were with him, and they held their hands upward, shining as if they were torches. Keziel responded in kind, and then they hurried over.

“I take it all went well?” Lathaar asked when they neared.

“I made it inside without notice,” Jerico said, smacking him on the shoulder. “Getting out was a bit trickier. Saw you fighting out there. Would have terrified even me. A few soldiers caught us sneaking about, but they were too scattered to stop us. Of course, Keziel had to run off like the madman he is to save your hide.”

“It’s much appreciated,” Lathaar said, and he chuckled despite the heat and terror that moment had inspired. “Where to now?”

“We’ve heard only rumors of the outside world since Melorak’s ascension to the throne,” Keziel said. “You should know our destination better than I.”

“Are there really angels?” asked one priest, a younger man with just a shade of stubble on his chin.

“Aye, there are,” Jerico said, grinning. “I guess that’s where we’ll head…assuming they’re still alive.”

The man smiled, but then he caught the troublesome meaning at the end.

“What do you mean, still alive?” he asked.

“What of Neldar?” asked Keziel. “Do we not have aid from there and Omn?”

“For now, we head to the crossing,” Jerico said. “We’ll explain on the way.”

T hey traveled for several hours that night. Keziel detailed the events of the siege the best he could, with the other priests chiming in should he forget something. They’d heard of Antonil’s marriage, though after the event, otherwise they would have attended. When the priest-king slaughtered Annabelle and took over the city, again they’d heard only rumors from the occasional traveler seeking guidance or merchants bringing in their weekly wares.

With Karak in control, they figured it was only a matter of time before an army came for them. They’d stored up food and supplies, then barred the door and waited. Over five hundred had come at first, and they’d showered the towers with arrows and prepared their battering rams. The first and only assault had been brutal, but the priests had defended through the broken cracks in the door and from the various windows and towers. They’d killed over a hundred, though lost many priests in turn. After that, whoever had been in charge changed tactic, preferring to starve them out. They’d been dangerously low on food when Jerico made his rather surprising entrance.

“We nearly took off his head,” said another priest who held an ornate sword in one hand.

“You would have tried,” Jerico said, shooting him a wink.

After that, Jerico told their tale, of their horrible defeat at Veldaren, the war god’s arrival, and the planned defenses at the crossing and the Gods’ Bridges. Through it all, Keziel shook his head and frowned.

“Surely these are the end times,” he said when the paladin finished.

“Sure does seem like it,” Lathaar said.

“Nonsense,” Jerico said. “It’s only the end if we lose. I don’t plan on it. We’ll hold the bridges and the crossing. Just you wait. You’ll meet the angels, all of you, and then we’ll head to Mordeina. Karak won’t know what hit him!”

Lathaar glanced back at the forest. He couldn’t tell, but he swore he saw men in pursuit, just shades and illusions in the pale moonlight.

“If you say so,” he said, hurrying them on.

D uring the day they marched, and it was then that Tessanna had Qurrah to herself. It was at night, when she slept, that he became Velixar’s.

“You will stop feeling the need for sleep,” Velixar told him.

Thulos’s army camped in the heart of Ker, just outside a small village with a name Qurrah didn’t know and doubted any would ever remember. They had resisted the war god’s call for allegiance, so now they marched among the dead, yet more soldiers for Karak’s mad prophet. The half-orc glared, seeing no need to hide his hatred.

“I need no advice from you,” he said. “Just put me in the ground and give me death.”

“Your heart is not ready for death,” Velixar said.

Qurrah felt like striking him, but even the thought came with difficulty. He felt spells latched about his body like chains, denying him any vicious action against his new master. He could speak how he wished, but only speak. Everything else was a struggle, unless so commanded.

“My heart doesn’t beat anymore,” he said. “It is more than ready.”

Velixar smirked. “Your soul, then. It is good to know the transition back to life has not dampened your sense of humor.”

Qurrah looked to the distance, where the last remnants of the village burned like a great torch in the starlight.

“More lives you’ve ended,” he said. “When will you have enough?”

“All lives end,” Velixar said. “Don’t be sentimental. I have given their shells reason and purpose. I could do the same to you, but you deserve better. You served once, faithfully, and with love. Surely you remember that as clear as I.”

“I remember it like a nightmare upon waking.”

“Don’t bore me. Those were grand times. Had you ever felt so powerful? So in control? The anarchy of this world is a burden we must endure until the great cleansing comes. In death, we find order, so death we bring to the rest of Dezrel. They no longer suffer. They no longer toil endlessly to provide a meager respite from the pain in their bellies. They no longer pray to false gods that provide no comfort, no strength. Ashhur and Celestia die in the coming months, Qurrah. It is time you learn of the only god that matters.”

“I know enough of Karak. Too much, even.”

“Is that so?” Velixar asked. “Do you remember that quaint little village, Cornrows? Stay still. I command you.”

Qurrah turned rigid. He couldn’t lift a single rotting finger if he wanted to. Velixar’s cold fingertips pressed against his forehead, tingling with magic. A spell came from the prophet’s lips, and then Qurrah gasped. The pale green grass of Ker changed to the golden fields of the Kingstrip. The stars shifted their positions. He moved not as the dead but as the living. Beside him walked his brother, his muscles bulging, his swords awkward and new in his hands.

“So we’ll do what he says?” asked Harruq. “We’ll kill the villagers, all of them, without reason?”

Qurrah tried to answer, but the past answered for him.

“You have done much for me without question, without pause. This is different. Velixar has given us the power and privilege to do what we were always meant to do. I need you to embrace this. Velixar’s reason is the only reason we need, that we will ever need. It is in our blood, our orcish blood, and that is a weight even your muscles cannot hold back. We are killers, murderers, butchers, now granted purpose within that. That is our fate. That is our reason. Do you understand?”