David Dalglish - A Sliver of Redemption

“Then I’ll wait for him in Avlimar,” Harruq said. “After everything he’s done, it only seems right that I get to be the one to cut off his damned head.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Jerico chuckled.

“I hope it is.”

“Does our king approve of this mad plan?” Tarlak asked.

Antonil nodded.

“Very well then,” Tarlak said. “We all know our roles. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be long and bloody. We may never see each other again, so just in case, I have one thing I wish to say: Antonil, you’ll be paying me even in Eternity, so don’t think dying gets you out of your considerable debt.”

Several chuckled, but the humor was forced, and they all knew it. Tarlak looked about the fire, and his heart ached for those who were gone. His sister, who would have sat to his left, always ready to support him if he felt lost. Brug, who should have been guzzling down some ale and telling him how stupid their plan was. Haern, who would have mocked the demons’ blades and smiled underneath his gray hood. Aullienna, who would have bounced on her father’s knee, unaware of the dangers facing them, and the blood they would spill to protect her home. Even Qurrah and Tessanna’s absence was felt, though by the look in Harruq’s eyes, none felt it more keenly than him.

“Seriously,” he said, suddenly feeling quiet and awkward. “It’s been a pleasure to know all of you. Stand tall now, and may we meet each other once more, be it in this life or the next.”

“May Ashhur watch over us,” said Keziel.

“Amen,” said the paladins and the angel.

“Dismissed,” Tarlak said, waving his hand. “Go drink or talk or make love. We’ve got one last night. Spend it well. Come the dawn, we must forget ourselves, and let killing be all we know.”

M ake love is what Harruq and Aurelia did, once they found a secluded spot far enough away. He kept his movements slow, and his touch tender. Afterward he lay beside her, her arms atop his chest and her face nuzzled into his neck. He felt her tears against his skin, and he shifted so he might hold her tighter.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We’ve faced worse before and came out all right.”

“That’s not it,” she whispered back. “I’ve something to tell you, but I’m scared to say it. It might just be a cruel joke, or an unfulfilled promise stolen away from us by such a pitiless world.”

Harruq stared at her, and he felt the gears in his head slowly turning.

“You’re not,” he said.

She nodded, then broke into nervous laughter.

“For about two months now,” she said. “We’ll have another child, should we endure. You’ll be a father, and I a mother.”

He kissed her again and again, then pressed his forehead against hers as he felt his own tears building.

“We’ll endure,” he said. “And you should have told me sooner.”

“I know. I love you, Harruq.”

“I love you too, Aurry.”

“T here are just so many,” Lathaar said as Jerico sat beside him.

“Let them learn to pray for themselves this night,” Jerico said in return. “You have your own prayers to make.”

He chuckled as Lathaar nodded, as if reluctantly accepting the wisdom.

“How many of them die tomorrow?” Lathaar asked, gesturing to Antonil’s army around them.

“All,” he said. “None. Some may die tomorrow. Some the week after. Given enough time, all will die. At least they’ll die fighting for something greater than themselves.”

“Cold comfort to those they love.”

“It is for those they love that they fight.”

Lathaar threw up his hands in surrender. Jerico chuckled again, feeling like he dealt with a stubborn student.

“Will you be ready for tomorrow?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“I’d prefer an honest answer, not the expected one.”

Lathaar pressed his face into his palms and rubbed. He looked so exhausted…

“Ever since Mira died, I’ve found myself doubting. Where is Ashhur’s strength? Where is the god I have put so much faith in? Our order is destroyed, with only you and me remaining. Everywhere his priests have been butchered. Hundreds of thousands have died in the past few years alone. So much death. So much loss. How do I trust Ashhur to protect me in the face of such tragedy?”

He fell silent and waited for his answer.

“I don’t know,” Jerico said at last. “Do we judge him by this world’s failings? Is Ashhur wrong to ask us to forgive? Is he wrong when he asks us to help others? I know he’s not, for a world where kindness and mercy are seen as weakness and folly…that is a world I don’t want to live in. So I fight for the one I know. I fight for the one I love. We know little of the past and nothing of the future. In this bleak darkness, we must be a light even when others would fade. Don’t blame yourself for doubting, Lathaar. Your question is honest, intelligent, and true. I wish I could give you a better answer.”

Lathaar leaned closer toward the fire and stared at the burning embers.

“Yours will do for now,” he said.

T arlak scanned the distant walls of Mordeina with eyes magically enhanced by a spell. When Ahaesarus spoke beside him, the disorientation made him stumble, and with a quick jerk of his hand, he ended the spell.

“You will see nothing on the walls to prove your plan brilliant or folly,” the angel said, offering the wizard a piece of bread. “But I think a warm bit of food will do you wonders.”

Tarlak accepted it with a smile.

“Thousands of men about the camp, yet you come to me. Should I be flattered?”

“If it would make you feel better, then yes.”

Both laughed.

“You seem remarkably human, once you get used to the wings and the fact that your arms are as big as tree trunks.”

Ahaesarus smiled. “We were men, Tarlak. Being here on Dezrel…it brings back many memories, not all of them good, but most. I’m reminded of my sins as much as my triumphs. Truth be told, I miss the Golden Eternity. This world is cold and painful.”

“I can imagine.” Tarlak took a bite. “I bet the food is worse down here, too.”

The angel tilted his head a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. It is. Perhaps I think too much, and merely miss eating well.”

Tarlak chuckled. “Good to know I’ll still get to eat after I fall off this mortal coil. Wine, too? I mean, what’s the point of eternity if I can’t get tipsy every now and then?”

“Is this the closest you come to discussing theology, Tarlak?” the angel asked.

“Probably.”

He broke the bread in half and shared it with Ahaesarus. As they ate, Tarlak stared once more to the north, remembering the walls he’d seen, the many torches and guards.

“It doesn’t look good,” he said. “Starting to think I’ll be seeing my sister by tomorrow’s end.”

Ahaesarus put a hand on Tarlak’s shoulder.

“I hope you do not mourn for her still. She is much beloved, and many she touched were there to greet her upon her arrival.”

Tarlak’s cheek quivered, and he no longer brought the bread to his lips, his appetite gone.

“You met her?” he asked.

“I did. She’s beautiful, Tarlak, the kindness within her shining bright in a way your earthen eyes cannot see, nor understand until you’ve been there.”

“If you die before me, I want you to tell her something. You owe me that. I want you to tell her how much I miss her, and that I can’t wait to see her. And I want a hug when I get there, damn it, and I…”

“Enough,” Ahaesarus said, gently shaking him. “You’ll tell her yourself, dear friend. A day from now, a year, or twenty, it matters not. You’ll tell her.”

Tarlak forced himself to smile.