David Dalglish - A Sliver of Redemption

He looked back to Tessanna, who glared.

“And it must be you to take her life. When you are ready, Qurrah. When you are ready for Karak’s true embrace, for you to fully understand…do the same to her. Take her life, and if you like, I can help you bring her back. She can join us in perfection, freed from the goddess’s taint.”

Qurrah stood still as a statue, but he had enough control to speak.

“Leave us,” he said.

Velixar smiled.

“Do the right thing,” he whispered, then returned to the camp. Tessanna ignored him, kept her eyes only on her beloved.

“Will he make you?” she asked as he stood there.

“He’s left me the choice,” Qurrah said. “For now.”

“Then will you?”

Qurrah walked over to her, fell to his knees, and then wrapped his arms around her.

“Never,” he whispered. “I never could. Please, Tessanna. Kill me now. While he’s gone, find a stone, a dagger, and tear out my heart. He’ll make me do it soon. I know him. His patience is almost gone, his mind with it. Don’t make me endure that. Please.”

She shook her head.

“So you’d make me kill you instead? Velixar tried that once. I won’t, Qurrah. We’ll find a way. Together, we’ll find a way.”

She nestled against his chest and closed her eyes.

“And if there isn’t?” he asked.

She clutched him tighter.

“Then we’ll make one.”

M elorak was executing a sympathizer of Ashhur when Olrim returned.

“Olrim?” he asked, pulling the dagger back and wiping it against his clothes without thinking. He’d been alone with the screams in the dungeon cell when the door opened, and he squinted against the light.

“Forgive me,” the other priest said. “They told me you had strict orders not to be disturbed, but I must speak with you.”

“You’ve returned months before expected,” said Melorak. “I imagine we have much to discuss.”

He gestured to where the bloody prisoner hung upside down from chains. If he was conscious, he didn’t show it. Pieces of his intestines hung down past his head.

“I will be done shortly. Wait for me at the throne.”

He sliced a few more tendons, but his mind was no longer on the task at hand. Olrim had already returned? What possibly could have happened? He’d seen the carefully guarded fear in the priest’s eyes. Whatever he was to hear, he doubted he’d like it. Frustrated, he cut the prisoner’s throat and stepped back from the blood. If only all of Ashhur’s followers could suffer such a fate, he thought. The meager resistance he fought would vanish altogether.

He left the man hanging and exited the cell. Two guards waited, one holding a change of clothes, the other a clean towel and a small basin. Melorak washed his hands and face, changed his robes, and then went to the throne room. Olrim waited as expected, kneeling in prayer at the foot of the ornate throne.

“Such passionate prayers,” Melorak said as he sat down. “I doubt even Karak has the strength to ignore such a plea.”

“I have failed him in terrible ways,” Olrim said. “Even with all my years, my faith is that of a child.”

“A child’s faith is both great and weak,” said Melorak. “Great in its strength, yet weak in its malleability. Such are our current failings. We must ensure the children hear Karak’s word from a very early age, before they even think to question what they are taught. But enough of that. I see you desperate to explain, and I am eager to hear. Tell me of this great failure.”

“An army waited for us at the Corinth,” Olrim said. He kept his head bowed while he talked, as if afraid to meet Melorak’s eyes. “It was them, my friend. The angels of Ashhur fought alongside men of Ker. Not just Ker, either, but the soldiers sent with Antonil from Mordan. They’d prepared, and I led us right into the trap. Some devilish spikes covered the river, and I watched hundreds drown. Many more died to the pikes that awaited on the other side. They built walls upon the Bloodbrick, and we paid dearly to cross each one. The angels killed many of my priests, and we slew few in return.”

“How many did they have?” he asked.

“Ten thousand, my lord.”

Melorak felt his anger flare.

“Ten thousand against your fifty, and you lost because of a few traps and the failed god’s angels?”

“Please, forgive me. But there is more than I have told. We lost several thousand, yes, but victory still would have been ours, if not for the elf.”

Melorak felt a sting of worry. “The elf?”

Olrim nodded.

“While we pulled back to regroup, she stepped before the bridge and began to cast her spells. Never before have I seen such power, Melorak. She tore the ground apart, sundered the sky, and sent such devastation toward us I lost all control of my men.”

“You had nearly my entire host of priests with you!” Melorak seethed. “How could a single elf defeat your combined might?”

“Even Karak might have felt fear at this display!” Olrim said, a bit of his stubbornness overcoming his shame. “You know me, Melorak, long before you took your new name and became Karak’s favorite. I would never lie, and if I say that it seemed Celestia herself had come to crush my men, you know I say so without lie or exaggeration.”

Melorak sat back in his seat and forced himself to calm down.

“How many have you left?” he asked.

“After the battle, nearly the entire host. But my failures do not stop there. Word spread of Antonil’s return, though how, I do not know. Come morning, I found nearly a third of my army on the march south. As I returned to Mordeina, my numbers dwindled even more. I posted guards, but it never mattered.”

“How many are left?” asked Melorak, stunned by the news. How could things have fallen apart so quickly?

“Fifteen thousand.”

Melorak sat there on the throne, running the numbers through his head. No matter what, he was suddenly outnumbered, facing Ashhur’s angels, the returned king, and some strange elf wielding the power of the goddess. The Lionsguard that remained in the city were only a few thousand, many of them recently trained. Would the great walls matter against such opponents? How many more might cowardly turn to Antonil and abandon that which promised to make them great?

“This cannot be,” he said. “We must inspire the people to loyalty. We must let every man and woman in the countryside know of Karak’s power.”

“But how?” asked Olrim. “Our time is short. We may have quelled the resistance here for now, but it will gain new life when word of Antonil’s return reaches the public’s ears. Our priests work night and day to spread the word, and our Lionsguard have executed hundreds if not thousands. Every week I send out more to the farmlands and homesteads to purge Ashhur’s taint. What more can we do?”

Melorak closed his eyes and offered a prayer to Karak for guidance. What could they do? Was there something missing, some vital task still before him? Or perhaps this was his trial of faith, his turn to make a stand and prove that they were the true way?

And then he heard Karak’s voice in return, and he had his answer. He looked to Olrim and told him what had been demanded.

“A dragon,” he said.

“But they don’t exist,” said the priest.

“Then I will make one,” said Melorak. “Double the patrols. Send every priest we have out into the streets. I want prayers made to Karak nonstop for the rest of tonight.”

“Where are you going?” asked Olrim as the priest-king hurried down the hall.

“I will be in the gardens,” he said. “Ensure no one interrupts me. And make plans for a grand revealing tomorrow. I want the whole city to witnesses the full extent of Karak’s power.”