David Dalglish - A Sliver of Redemption

H er song floated along moonlight waves, drifting in and out of covering clouds. The entire city was one of ghosts, lifeless beings in armor without joy or happiness, only dire, ordered control. Her song punctured the quiet, lacking words but not a story. It rose high, and then lilted, a strong hum that drifted between whisper and heart-wrenching sob. Love lost, love found, brothers and sisters gone to the grave while mothers and fathers struggled on. Velixar heard, and was afraid.

He wandered through the castle, letting the song pull him closer, his chest aflame in a way he had not felt in ages. Through tattered halls and empty courts he traveled, until in a lone tower he found Tessanna, singing through a window to the starlit sky. Head bowed, he waited, letting the woman sing her course, his eyes closed as if in prayer. The respect wrapped around Tessanna like a warm blanket, and in its embrace she slowly quieted, humming only a few more aching notes before drifting away.

“That was beautiful,” Velixar said, his voice ugly and deep in the sudden silence.

“I didn't think you were capable of hearing beauty,” she said, her gaze distant.

“I am still a man, and still clinging to life,” Velixar said, sitting on his knees at the top of the stairs. There was hardly room for the two of them, unless Velixar crowded close, and he would not dare such a bold gesture, not yet. He followed her gaze, knowing she looked after the long distant army of Ashhur. At one time her powerful mind easily could have passed the miles and looked right into the tent of her lover…if indeed she still did love Qurrah Tun. But her magic had left her. The goddess no longer shone down on her beloved daughter.

“We will march after them soon,” he said, after waiting to ensure Tessanna had nothing she wished to say. “Thulos wanted to study maps and consult his most trusted before moving out. He's like a man with a game, wanting to know where every piece is and how it plays upon the board.”

“What do I care?” she asked.

“Because you care for the one we chase,” Velixar said. “Because you care for he that betrayed and abandoned you.”

“He would rather die than live at my side,” she said. “How can I care for one so weak?”

“Because we are all weak, in our own way,” Velixar said. He put his hand on hers. She did not flinch in spite of how cold his flesh was and how strong his bony fingers clutched her.

“Weak?” she said. “Is that what we are?”

Her voice was shallow and distant. No emotion, not even sadness, dared rear its head.

“Love continues on,” Velixar said. “Even after weakness, after lies, after anger and betrayal. It is not a weak thing, but it is weakness to bow before it and let it rule.”

“I do not fear pain,” she said. Tears ran down her cheeks. She put her other hand on top of his. “And I am used to hurt. But this was not that. So much worse, Velixar. I hurt so much worse, more than I ever thought possible. I am a mirror, twice broken, now abandoned. What hope do I have?”

Velixar laughed, and was pleased with how her eyes finally stole to his, a shred of passion flushing her cheeks.

“Hope?” he asked. “Forget hope. You are strong, stronger than even the god that walks among us. Anything you want, you can have. All you need to do is take it. You are a goddess among these mortals, and I smile at the mere presence of your divinity.”

And indeed he was smiling, and stroking her face with his hand, wiping away tears with a smooth, pale thumb. He felt a heat building, and it thrilled him.

“I am not blind to your desires,” she said, and it seemed her eyes sunk deeper into her face. “You are a corpse pretending at life, but perhaps Karak left that tiny piece of you working. Is that why you harass me here?”

“Dear child,” Velixar said, not at all upset. “Do you think that is the kind of love I feel for you? Qurrah, perhaps, desired nothing more, but in you I have seen such beauty and strength.”

He rose from his knees and sat beside her. He was death enveloping her, and with a small gasp she let his arms slide around her. Her heart quickened, and she felt her breath sticking in her throat.

“What will it be like?” she dared ask.

In answer, he kissed her.

She felt fierce, horrifying passion pour into her like a well underneath floodwaters. She felt his singular obsession, his devotion to his god overwhelming even his lust and fear. Images of his hundreds of years of life flashed before her closed eyes. His tongue flitted across hers, and she sensed the very essence of death tingling its way up and down her spine. More and more poured in, his life, his death, his unlife, all of it in random, startling detail. As his hand brushed her breast, she knew the amazing respect he held for her, as well as the tiny inkling of fear. All of him, she knew all of him, and then she saw what neither wished her to see.

She saw a bag, its contents moving slowly against the limits.

She felt her hatred roar to life like an unleashed demon, and at the sudden rage his own hatred spilled forth, no longer hidden behind his glowing eyes. He hated her as much as he desired her, all for her power, the power of a goddess. Her whole body trembling, she clutched her elbows and backed to the very edge of the window.

“Get away,” she said, her voice colder than the blood in his veins. “Go now, or I will fall.”

“I felt your desire,” he said, pulling his hood back over his face.

“And I felt yours,” she said. “Compared to Qurrah’s inferno, you’re nothing but a firefly.”

He moved again, and she scooted further back, her whole body hanging precariously above the castle walls. Velixar turned and left, but before he did, he offered one last piece of advice.

“Careful of your heart,” he said. “The whole world is ending. Do not let it end you as well.”

And then he was gone, and her sobs that came after were far greater than any she sang of in her song.

T hulos was looking over maps when Velixar joined him in the throne room. The maps lay scattered across the floor, and the war god stalked among them, staring, analyzing, memorizing.

“You have walked these lands for centuries,” Thulos said at his appearance. “Stay. My demons know very little, for Ulamn led them on a mad chase without the reconnaissance he should have done.”

He pointed to the northern plains stretching above Veldaren.

“I’ve been told orcs have run rampant here,” he said. “Is this true?”

“The Mug Tribe has been pillaging all throughout the plains,” Velixar said, leaning down at the map and pointing. His finger traced a path around the King’s Forest to the northwest, and a castle drawn against the edge of the Vile Wedge.

“That is the Green Castle, and Lord Sully rules there. He should be bearing the brunt of the attack by the orcs, who by now must be pouring across the Bone Ditch and into the Hillock.”

“And there?” Thulos asked, pointing to the north-east. At the edge of the Helforn Forest was another castle, not far from the Crestwall Mountains that lined the eastern coast.

“Felwood,” said Velixar. “Ruled by Lord Gandrem. Unless Lord Sully has already fallen, they might pose a threat. Their cavalry is much revered among the Neldaren people.”

“It is a wonder they did not retake this city while Ulamn went on his merry chase,” Thulos muttered. Velixar chuckled.

“We marched at the start of winter, and I’m sure the orcs have kept them on the defensive. Besides, who would believe such a tale, a city conquered by men with wings? If they are massing an army, it is because now they truly understand their danger.”

Thulos nodded. He paced for a bit, then pointed to a different map, this one showing the lands south of Veldaren.